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rafescoke · 3 years

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Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High ; Rafe Cameron

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Request: The second one I was hoping could be a Rafe x reader based on the song why’d you only call me when you’re high by arctic monkeys. Maybe something along the lines of rafe only calling and giving the reader attention when he wants to hook up. Finally, the reader gets tired of it their feelings known.

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: Reader finds herself thinking about a certain boy more than what they had agreed on

Warnings: Hella angst, mentions of sex, masterbating, substance, cursing, toxic relationship

A/N: I’ve been updating a new fic every single day and the amount of love you guys are returning is beyond amazing. I love you so much, thank you for all of your kind words <3

p.s, again, my request box is always open. drop in any ideas and i’ll present to you my best :)

p.p.s, does anyone know why i can’t tag some users? im going crazy.

“I was thinking. . .” Rafe trailed, drawing invisible circles against her soft skin. She hummed in response, her eyes closed, feeling so relaxed under the silk bedsheet wrapping around her body.

“We should do this often.”

“Is twice a day isn’t enough for you?” she asked, hiding her smile. She felt him shift, placing his arms around her waist and pulling her close against him. She giggled lightly, feeling him behind her, but she was too tired to do anything.

“We should try doing it every minute,” he simply replied, smelling into her scent. She smelt like vanilla and caramel, just the way he likes it. “Is this the perfume I bought?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled, feeling so peaceful she could sleep if he hadn’t pulled her closer against his hardening member. She groaned, trying to scoot forward by an inch, but was stopped by his fingers gripping her hips.

“I’m sore.”

“I know,” he replied casually, still brushing against her bottom. Before he could do anything else she turned, now facing him. She looked at his handsome face, his blue eyes and his soft lips. Her thumb grazed over his top lip, and Rafe swore he could fuck her anytime soon if she kept doing that.

“Are you not tired?” she asked, now cupping his face. He stared into her eyes, feeling himself getting lost in them before giving her a smile.

“No.”

“You’re mental,” she sighed, but she failed to contain her laugh after. She giggled, still cupping his face, and she has never felt so calm and relax before. Just them two, on top of a bed in some cheap motel, sometimes hearing the couple staying on top of them screaming at each other.

“Are you?” he continued, tilting his head into her hands. She smiled when he closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth radiating from her. He loves it. He feels at peace.

(Y/N) sighed, loving yet also hating these kind of moments where she knew they would be acting like strangers after, in front of everyone else. She remembered the exact day after she had had sex with him for the first time, and how he acted so cold afterwards.

“Hey,” (Y/N) smiled, standing beside his form as he squinted his eyes against the bright sunlight to inspect his goal. He didn’t reply, swinging his golf club upwards and hit the golf ball. (Y/N) watched as it flew and landed near the goal, and expressed a smile.

“You’re good.”

“Huh?” he looked up to her, as if just noticed her existence. (Y/N) felt a pang of hurt across her heart, especially when he had just whispered so many love words into her ear the night before.

“I said you’re good.”

“Oh, thanks,” he muttered, already making his way back to where his friends were. Clearly not satisfied, she followed him suit, watching as his friends cheered for him. Rafe groaned even harder, and turned to look at her before they got too close to his friends.

“What are you fucking doing here?” he scolded, his eyes staring at a space beside her. (Y/N) raised a brow, being caught off guard, but she tried to play it cool.

“I’m a member of this country club too, Rafe,” she replied, scoffing. “You’re an asshole, do you know that? Are we not going to talk about last ni-”

“Shut up,” he grunted, looking backwards to check on his friends before pulling her a few distance away. “Look, I was on drugs last night. That was not me. Let it go, okay?”

(Y/N) has never experienced that kind of disrespect, and she swore she hated Rafe Cameron so bad that when she got home, she cried against her pillows until the night sky greeted her.

She thought about the many other guys who tried to be with her, but she had pushed them all away for a certain rich boy living 6 houses away from her. The fact that her parents are good friends with Ward and Rose Cameron doesn’t make it any easier, not when she is forced to see him every single Saturday night for ‘barbecue night’.

“What are you thinking?” he suddenly spoke, interrupting her thoughts. She sighed, suddenly scooting away from him. He watched as she turned away, but he didn’t put much thoughts into it.

“I can still smell the weed from you,” she suddenly said, and Rafe let out a laugh. He rubbed his eyes, hating the fact that they are going to repeat the same topic they have fought countless of times before, especially after sex and they had both came down from the high.

“Don’t start, (Y/N), fuck,” he sighed, covering his face with his large hands. He watched as she scooted further, wrapping the covers around her body. “Can you please just lay right next to me?”

“I want to sleep,” she replied, and bit her lips before she could express any tears. Rafe sighed, groaning, and sat up straight, resting on the edge of the bed before reaching for his jeans discarded on the corner of the room.

“I’m leaving,” he said, and (Y/N) heard the metal bar of his belt clanking against his jeans button. “Since you wanna act like a bitch again.”

“You’re an asshole,” she replied, still not looking at him. A tear rolled down her cheeks before she could stop herself, and she quickly wiped them away.

“Whatever,” he said, and she heard the door slammed shut. She cursed, unable to stop her tears now that she was alone. The banter between the husband and wife from the room above filled the silence as (Y/N) sobbed against the pillow and she thought about how it resembled her and Rafe’s relationship so much.

He would call her when he’s under the influence, whispering sweet-nothings through the phone, saying how much he’s missing her and longing for her forehead kisses. The fight they had before the phone call will immediately evaporate into thin air, and (Y/N) will make her way to wherever Rafe is. Sometimes they’ll do it in the car in a secluded alley or sometimes in the cheap motel at Chapel Hill.

But then it was the moments after their brief meeting that had her all moody and depress throughout the week; how he would ignore her, pretending not to see her and forcing himself to say ‘hi’ during their family barbecue.

(Y/N) never thought of herself as someone who’s prone to being in a sneaky relationship, but if that what it takes to be with Rafe Cameron, she was willing to be in one.

It had been a week since the incidence, and Rafe hadn’t call her to meet or anything of the sort. (Y/N) frowned when she thought of this, because the longest fight they had before only lasted for 2 days before he rang her up, asking to meet up.

(Y/N) shook her head, sipping on her martini before setting it on the side of the swimming pool. She dived into the water, trying to get the heat from the scorching sun off of her, and resurfaced seconds after, her wet hair falling down her shoulders.

“(Y/N), where’s dad?” Topper appeared, squatting in front of her as she took another sip on the martini. Her eyes fell to the figure behind her brother, and she almost choked on the liquid.

“Um, I don’t know,” (Y/N) replied, staring at Rafe Cameron as he took out his phone to check on his messages, ignoring her like always. She rolled her eyes at this, knowing that there were no new texts and he was just trying to act like she wasn’t there. She dived into the water again and swam to the other side, away from Rafe and his negative energy.

If Rafe knew she was going to be in the swimming pool, he would have made an excuse to Topper, perhaps saying how he has to take Wheezie to the clinic for an appointment. (Y/N) was almost never home every time he hang out with Topper, so he thought he was safe. But there she was; in the most tempting bikini, swimming and constantly sipping on a martini.

Rafe sat right next to Topper, watching her back from the corners of his eyes as she gazed at the view in front of her. She was laying on her arms, lazily humming to a rock song Rafe plays every time he’s driving.

He jolted when Topper touched his hand.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Topper laughed, “I said, do you wanna eat?”

“I’m okay,” he mumbled, closing his eyes and thinking about good she looked in that bikini. He made a mental note to guess the brand to purchase more of that sort for her.

“Okay, I’m going in to get myself some food. Are you sure you don’t want any food?” Topper asked, sitting on the edge of the seat. Rafe nodded, his eyes still closed, and heard him walking towards the sliding door into the kitchen.

“Why are you ignoring me?”

Rafe opened his eyes, and to his satisfaction, the girl with the (H/C) locks stared at him with her face rested against her arms. His breath hitched, seeing how beautiful she was with the chlorine water dripping from her face, down to her neck, continuing to her che-

“God, you’re a fucking asshole,” she suddenly said, and Rafe had to shook his head from the involuntary thought that appeared in his mind. He groaned, watching as she dived in the water again, and almost catching a glimpse of her bottom. He smiled.

“Are you still a bitch?” he asked when she resurfaced, crossing his arms. “Because if you are, I don’t feel like fucking you right here and right now.”

(Y/N) halted her movements as she tried her best not to look at the smirking boy, and instead staring into the swimming pool as if there was something interesting in it. Rafe laughed, knowing exactly the impact of his words towards her, and thought about wanting to have a little more fun with her.

“I’m asking, baby,” he said softly, and her eyes landed on his. “Are you still a bitch?”

“I brought cookies!” Topper suddenly yelled, appearing from the sliding door and walking towards them with a bright smile. Rafe cursed, laying his back against the seat again and pretending to close his eyes while (Y/N) dived underwater, trying to hide her red face. He was glad when Topper handed him a cookie, talking about wanting to surf tomorrow - so oblivious towards the sexual tension between him and his own twin.

“What do you think?” Topper asked, munching on the cookies all the while trying to see Rafe’s reaction. Rafe nodded, muttering his agreement, but under his sunglasses, he was watching (Y/N) and she too, was watching him.

“Can I have a cookie, Tops?” (Y/N) suddenly interrupted, and without looking at her, Topper gave her a thumbs up sign. (Y/N) smiled, pulling herself up from the pool and Rafe almost had a heart attack from the sight of her curves donning the bikini and the water dripping off of her.

She walked towards them, hair swept to her left shoulder, and Rafe’s gaze followed her fingers as she grabbed a cookie and immediately putting it in her mouth. He watched as she closed her eyes, enjoying the sweet taste, all the while sitting under the glowing sun that highlighted her features even more.

He could feel himself getting harder.

“Well,” (Y/N) suddenly said, and Rafe had realized he was too busy looking at her to realize that she was already conversing with Topper. “I’ll go. Is Rafe coming too?”

Both of the siblings’ attention fell towards him, and Rafe found himself clearing his throat before he spoke.

“I’m sorry, where are we?”

“Man, are you sure you’re okay?” Topper asked, removing his sunglasses to look at him clearly. “Do you need water?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Rafe quickly added, “Can I, um, go up to your room? I think I need a nap.”

“Yeah, okay,” Topper replied, not thinking much of it. They had been spending so much time under the sun during the summer, he wouldn’t be surprised if one of them got sick. “I’ll go upstairs in a second.”

He muttered a thanks, quickly making his way to the top of the house, where Topper stayed. He groaned, feeling himself getting harder, and hating the fact that she was most probably liking the way he was reacting.

He locked the door of the bathroom he has been using since the first day he became friends with Topper, watching himself in the mirror. He closed his eyes while he tried to picture her in his mind, his fingers trying their best to untie the knot of the band of his swimming shorts.

He held himself in the palm of his hands as he pictured her again, this time with her under him. He started sliding his palm over his hardened member, his other hand safely placed on the sink for balance. He thought of the way she’ll bounce on him when she rides him, and bit his lips before he could let out any sounds.

Fuck.

He hated how easy she’ll make him hard and how she has him wrapped around her finger. It was true how they would only do the unholy thing when he was under the influence or they were both under the influence, but he couldn’t deny the unsettling feeling in his stomach every time he saw her.

“Fuck,” he expressed, his grip on the sink tightening. His movements became faster as he tried to picture her mouth and around him, and felt his end coming. He left a string of curses as he finally released himself, watching the shot dripping off the sides of the sink. He grunted, having to do more work, and grabbed himself the white tissues before wiping his mess.

. . .

“Hey.”

“Hey, Rafe,” (Y/N) said, trying to maintain her normal tone. She bit her lips at the sound of his heavy breathing, missing his voice and also his handsome face. She longed to have his face in her hands again, staring at each other’s eyes and kissing each other’s lips right after.

“Can you come over?” he asked, his voice slurring. “No, I mean, can I pick you up?” The sound of laughter and booming music could be heard behind him, giving out his location. (Y/N) sighed, knowing the exact request behind the words, and looked at her wall to check on the time.

“It’s 12 a.m., my mom won’t allow me to go out.”

“Sneak out, then,” Rafe replied, and he said something to his friends before focusing back on her. “Please? I missed you.”

(Y/N) sighed, knowing exactly her problem.

This.

“Okay,” she replied, leaning over her mattress to close her laptop now that she had new plans for the night. “What time are you picking me up?”

“I can’t drive right now,” he said, suddenly realizing how sloshed he was. “Can you come and pick me up, please?”

She sighed again, but she had missed him so much. Him and his touches. His and his words.

Him.

“Okay, send me your location, okay? I’ll pick you up.”

(Y/N) thought about how she couldn’t do it anymore. Not when she has spent most of her life trying to make him love her. He had been friends with her brother since forever, but yet he never seemed to settle on her. She heard about the amount of girls he dated and how she tried to become like them, but after a while, she grew bored of it. She was tired of running after someone who doesn’t want to be caught.

Until the night at the party, where they had been smoking and doing coke and god knows what else. (Y/N) had watched him from the corners of her eyes, liking how attractive he looked under the party lights. He was in a black shirt, his hair messily parted, a cigarette loosely hanging from his lips.

“Thornton, do you know how perfect your smile is?” he asked, leaning towards her. (Y/N) giggled, her back against the wall as she stared into his eyes.

“You’re mistaking me for my brother, Rafe?” she asked, with that smile again. Rafe licked his lips, looking down to hers before leaning closer to whisper into her ear.

“I’ve got to confess, (Y/N),” he whispered, sending shivers down to her spine. “You’re the hottest sibling.”

When she woke up the next day, laying right next to Rafe Cameron, she had to pinch herself a few times to make sure that she was living in reality, but when she tried to approach him that evening on the golf course, it was like nothing happened that night.

It scarred her until he rang her up again, six days after.

“Rafe,” (Y/N) sighed, leaning over to open the passenger’s door from her seat, seeing how drunk he was. Rafe giggled, getting himself in before shutting the door and staring at her. He leaned towards her and placed a sloppy kiss against her cheeks, down to her neck and stopped directly before her chest.

“Just park in the back,” he ordered, placing his palm on the upper side of her thigh, too close to her heat. She bit her lips as she turned her steering wheel, entering the back alley of the club. Soon after he had texted her his location, she sneaked out through her brother’s porch and stole his car, driving straight towards Rafe.

She turned the ignition off and looked at him, watching as he unbuttoned his shirt slowly, groaning when he missed one button. He tried to reach for her, but she pushed his hand away, her face expressing into anger.

“Don’t pull this shit again, fuck,” Rafe sighed, throwing his head back against the seat and covering his face with his hands. (Y/N) caught a glimpse of a gold ring, and noticed how it looked so similar to hers hanging around her neck.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she said, filling the silence. Rafe let out a shrill laugh, still closing his eyes.

“Still a bitch, I guess.”

“This is the problem, Rafe!” she groaned, causing Rafe to look at her fully in the face when he noticed her increasing volume. “What are we?”

“What do you want to hear?” he simply said, staring at her with empty eyes. He licked his lips, “No, seriously. Tell me the answer, and I’ll say it.”

How cold could he be?

“Rafe, do you see how you’re treating me?” she asked, and she could feel her tears threatening to fall. “Do you realize the difference between sober Rafe and intoxicated Rafe?”

Of course he knew. He just chose to ignore it.

“I can’t do this right now,” Rafe said, putting his hands up in defeat. “Can we just fuck, get over whatever fight we’re having right now, and live our best lives the next day? Can we do that?”

He turned to look at her, and noticed her glassy eyes. He sighed, trying to cup her face, but she flinched at his touch.

“You make me feel like a whore,” she whispered, her lips trembling. “One second you love me, the next second you’re spitting on me.”

He just had the worst night of his life; having a fight with Ward about his business, bumping onto the pogues, catching Sarah and John B. . . and now this?

“You think too much,” he said, but his heartbeat was quickening. He stole a glance at her and watched as she stared at him with empty eyes. “I’m sober now. You know what, (Y/N)? You’re right. I can’t even look at you when I’m not under the influence.”

He turned to open the door, getting out while buttoning his shirt back, not wanting to look at her. He couldn’t stand it, he knew he’ll be too broken if he sees her cry over him. He didn’t know what to do; he panicked, never preparing for this exact moment where he knew she will ask about the state of their relationship.

He watched as she sped away from the alley, her engine roaring against the silence of that particular Friday night, where his day had been nothing but miserable. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to contain his feelings, but before he knew it, he had kicked on the empty beer can on the side of the road, watching its movement as it hit the opposite wall and fell into the trash can.

He laughed at the strange occurrence, his tears slowly rolling down his cheeks and made his way back to the club.

If there’s one thing he’s so sure about himself; Rafe Cameron hates himself more than anyone else in the world.

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anne-i-write · 3 years

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moriarty the patriot headcannons

| requested by anon: can you write headcanons for moriarty brothers meeting and having dinner with s/o's parents for the first time? and s/o's father is overprotective. thanks 🤍🙆🏻 |

william x reader; louis x reader; albert x reader

word count: 1857

tw: mentions of toxic behavior in albert’s hcs

a/n: IM BACK AND THRIVING BBS!!! it’s so good to be back again to writing!!! hhh i’m so sorry if this is far from what you wanted but i hope you all enjoy it nonetheless!!!! lowkey went off the railings w this one so 👀 also if i missed any tags, please let me know!!!!!

william: 803 words

it had been you and your father since you were younger bc your mom was the “lucky” choice of some noble

but you wouldn’t have it any other way

you two are very close and everyone in the town knows

that, and that you both hate nobles

so it’s no surprise when the moriartys move into town, you’re both less than pleased

you always try your best to avoid them whenever they come into your town and your father always begs his friends to take the nobles as customers, despite the fact it could be good for business

but the town you lived in was particularly small and you did end up bumping into william

literally

some stupid man didn’t see you crossing the road and you were nearly crushed by the carriage if it hadn’t been for the hand that pulled at your wrist

“i swear people these days don’t know how to drive carriages.”

you don’t know who you were expecting

BUT ANYONE BUT A NOBLE

“are you alright?”

“i’m fine thank you—“

you’re absolutely flustered

how did i not know that this was a noble??? he smells so clean!

“i’ve got to be on my way now!” and you left william there with no explanation

but lil did you know he actually knew who you were

or to an extent, you weren’t as sneaky as you’d hoped you’d be

he saw you hiding in corners and alleyways every time you two accidentally made eye contact

and some of the townsfolk actually told him a little about you and your father so he understood why you weren’t too welcoming

but to take great lengths to avoid him??? he is very intrigued

so he starts off small, trying to send you a kind smile before you dart off behind a fruit stall

he really tries his best to get close to you and after a few weeks (and a few persuasive friends), he finally gets to hold a conversation with you

and boy does he fall FAST

it takes a while but you finally reciprocate his feelings and he thinks its smooth sailing from there right???

lmao everyone knows your father is literally the most intimidating looking man that could ever walk the earth

if they didn’t know him personally, they would be afraid of getting curb stomped 🤠

i mean,, he’s a big softie but god forbid anyone even DARES to look at you in a romantic light

you warn william of this and he’s like “don’t worry love, it shouldn’t be too bad”

it is bad

even william has cold hands bc your father is giving him the dirtiest look

dinner isn’t even dinner it’s a grill with how much questions your father is asking him

it does NOT help that he’s a noble

“so,,, you’re a noble”

“your cooking is amazing sir”

your father leaves the table for a little bit and you can hear the quiet sigh of relief from william

“i’m sorry for my father”

“no, no,,, i just,,, your father’s really intimidating, isn’t he?”

you let out a chuckle and william relaxed, a soft smile gracing his lips

“he can be, but it’s just something he does.” you threw a wistful gaze at the door your father disappeared before.

“he’s just worried about you, i can see it. he doesn’t want you around people like me.” you grabbed his hand over the table and he gently squeezed your hand.

“if anything, if he’d give you a chance, he’d want me to be with you. noble or not”

you both continue to have a delightful conversation, your sweet laughs filling the room

however, you didn’t know your father was listening in on your conversation and he couldn’t agree more with william

your mother left with more than just a curt goodbye and unshed tears

she left you with a tear stained letter filled with sorrowful regrets and sincere apologies

he knew you would eventually grow up to be critical of the world and if you were to find out that your mother had left unwillingly, he was afraid that you would be too bitter towards the world

but as he hears your laugh and his worries are dulled down a little

he sees you smiling so happily at william and when he chances a glance at the noble beside you, his worries are completely erased

william’s looking at you the same way everyone swore he looked at your mother

it’s a gentle gaze filled with love and kindness, one that he knew could protect you and take care of you

your father hated nobles and hovered over you when it came to love

but he couldn’t help but hold back on questions when he came back and you instantly noticed that your father took a liking william

louis: 508 words

everyone knew you as “Little Noble” in your town

the sole reason being your father literally treating you like a noble lmao

he gave you the best of everything he could afford and tried his best to not let you do any work

tried

of course, you were a little angel and you HAD to help otherwise you’d cry about making someone else tired when you could’ve easily helped

you’ve carried this trait until your early twenties and there were no signs that you would stop

hence why you were bringing home some fresh fruits from the stall clerk before a man bumps into you

you were so caught off guard that your knee buckled and you fell on your butt

everyone was stunned into silence as you fell but louis was so apologetic

so when he helped you back up, he felt the chilling stares of the town burning into his back

and then you apologize for bumping into him when he was the one who bumped into you and you fell??????

“please, let me make you something! i feel so bad!”

he tries to decline but there was this odd pressure to say yes to you

he ends up going home with you

you’re both in front of the door before your father opens it, his eyes wide

“who is this boy?”

“oh, i didn’t get his name on the way here. what is your name?”

your poor father’s heart is pounding way too fast for his liking

“oh! look at that, thank you so much for bringing my child home! you should be going home now”

he tries to shut the door on louis but you hold it open and beckon louis inside

“i invited him here! i accidentally bumped into him earlier so i offered to make him something!”

louis is so awkward pls

your father reluctantly lets him in but gives him a side eye the whole time he’s in the house

“does your child do this often?”

“why? do you find it strange?”

YOUR FATHER IS SO PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE PLEASE SAVE LOUIS

anyways, you finish making your treat and give it to louis, your father glaring at your interaction

louis is still a little stiff but the more you talk to him, his guard is let down a little

soon enough he has to leave and you wish him well

he leaves with a wave and a kind smile and you look over at your father who had been scowling since you appeared at the front door

“he is a bit cute, don’t you think father?”

your father sputters, stunned by your bold claim

“y-you’re still too young to think about men like that!”

you laugh and shut the front door, teasing your poor father about finding love while also wondering if you would meet louis again

as you talk with your father behind closed doors, louis smiles to himself as he thinks about the unusual encounter today

surely, if i met them again tomorrow, it would make for a pleasant day

albert: 546 words

he meets your father before he meets you

it was during a ball your parents organized in order to connect with the more prestigious nobles around you

your parents were obsessed with the way your family was viewed and apparently being an earl wasn’t enough

so albert hears about you when your father boasts about how you’re the perfect child who answered to his every beck and call

in all honesty, albert was disgusted

no one deserved to be brought up like that

he casually makes his way into the conversation and your father is seething

“my child is your age, it’s a shame you act like this, i would have thought of you as a prime husband for them”

who is this earl to tell him what to do?

needless to say your father crosses him off of the guest list for the next ball

days go by and your father doesn’t know that you’re currently in town, doing what you can to help the working class as best as you can

it is on one particular day of visiting an orphanage do you run into the eldest moriarty brother

you two exchange polite greetings and you both pause

“your father is the earl, is he not?”

“you are a general of the army, are you not?”

a brief mention of your father and your mood dulls slightly

“yes, but i’m here on my own accord”

he would kill you if he found out you were amongst the “filth” as he called them

“well, i’ve brought books for the children, would you like to help me read some to them?”

he seemed sincere enough to not want anything more from you, so you agreed

he was actually very pleasant to be around and you find yourself enjoying his company

the meetups continued to happen and soon enough, albert finds himself standing in front of the doors to your family estate

your father is not pleased at all

“it’s nice to meet you again, sir”

“i didn’t forget about what you said to me at our first meeting”

and you’re sitting there like,, ????? they’ve met??? and your father doesn’t like albert???????

of course, inviting albert to your home would have repercussions but you didn’t expect your father to be so hostile

he was always hostile towards other nobles unless they were of higher importance than him

but for him to hate albert so quickly and openly??? this was quite new

you had mentioned that your father has always been one for power so it was clear to albert that you obviously grew up in a home that was more,,, toxic than protective

it was at dinner that this behavior reached its peak and albert despised the atmosphere and the way your father treated you

“i’ve come here to ask for your child’s hand in marriage”

your father rejects the idea without any hesitation

“i refuse to have them live the rest of their life in your household when they could do so much better”

when you invited albert that night, you knew there would be repercussions with your father

but what you didn’t expect was that you would leave your father and adopt the moriarty name as your own, the family welcoming you with open arms

moriarty the patriot taglist: @zoehanji

#moriarty the patriot #moriarty the patriot x reader #yuukoku no moriarty #yuukoku no moriarty x reader #albert james moriarty x reader #albert james moriarty #william james moriarty #william james moriarty x reader #louis james moriarty #louis james moriarty x reader

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its-me-im-coraline · 3 years

Text

First impressions // All

words // 1184

warnings // not explicit smut, more like teasing of smut

pairing // none particular, gn!reader

author's note // if you want to be on the tag list let me know. this is such bad writing omg. I can not easily navigate a scene between so many people without it looking weird i am so sorry and i do hope you like it. sorry for not posting last night but as i said i was having a panic attack. anyway im better now, hopefully ill be able to post one more fic tonight

request // yeap, here it is

summary // The band might have considered more than once of ‘entertaining’ their best friend. After their I wanna be your slave video comes out, sweet ol’ Thomas can not help but suggest they encounter their reacting to the video clip and showing them some of their moves.

Thomas’ idea did not just come out of the blue. It was not a spontaneous thing to do, but a long time formulated thought coming into reality. In all honesty, Thomas, Victoria, Ethan and Damiano had thought about it before, plenty of times. Having Y/N stay with them any time they were at the studio house was flaring up these thoughts like crazy. It was not just one time that the four of them had talked about railing them senseless initiating something more sexual with them, only the fear that they would be pushed away, keeping them from making a move. But after having seen the anticipation from the promotion for theri video clip of I wanna be your slave, Thomas went out on a limp making a move for them all after the video dropped.

“Hey, Y/N, what are you up to?” There were no regards as to whether it was ok to get in or not. The man just sat on the bed, a phone in his hand with it’s screen lit up already.

“Not much, Thomas. I was just finishing some things up on my laptop. What are you guys doing here, all together?” It was not common for all of them to be in the room at once. Usually they only were all together in the living room or outside, the time in any bedrooms spent with two or three at the time and late at night when they couldn't sleep.

By now the other three occupied the small room, sitting anywhere they could: a chair on the desk, on top of said desk, the bed. “We were thinking, cucciolo.” The one to speak up now was Ethan, sitting on their other side, hand in their hair, messing with it just like he always did.

“Our video clip is out and we wanted to see your reaction.”

“I told you guys I’ll watch it when I’m done with the assignments-”

“Did you not just say you’re done?” Damiano had a sneaky smirk on his face, seeing how flushed he made the band’s friend, getting caught in excuses.

Maybe I just don’t want to see it around you, they thought, avoiding to speak, instead nodding their head.

“Then let’s watch it, puppy.” This time it was Victoria’s chance to speak up, taunting the poor person on the bed. The blonde was on the other side of the room but it did not stop her from making Y/N flush in their seat, only fueling her desire to film the up and coming reactions.

Before the video started everyone shifted. Damiano and Ethan were on the right side of Y/N, Thomas and Victoria occupying the left, all within reach of the poor puppy in the middle. They all knew how quickly they’d react to it all, squirming in their seat at the thought of Vic tasting them like a candied apple. “Do you like it, puppy? Want me to tease you like that?” said girl questioned, never weavering from the filming

It seemed like every little thought was simply worse than the previous, the tip of the iceberg being Victoria tied up, all so wonderfully. Such a sight for sore eyes. At it Y/N let out a strained gasp, unable to hold it in.”What is it, cucciolo, you want to be tied like that? I can do it for you,” whispered Ethan, hands quick to tie up Y/N’s with a shoelace he found a few minutes ago. It was not tight but it was enough to restrain their arms behind them.

“So good you are,” he praised, placing his hand in their hair, giving space for Damiano to put his on their thigh.

The video went on, all these scenes with Damiano screaming at everyone’s face simply heightened the already extreme emotions Y/N was experiencing. The man himself could only laugh at that, face coming close to theirs, just like he did for Thomas on the video clip, so assertive, dominating even.

“Are you enjoying yourself, puppet?” His words pierced through them, shivers overtaking their body, a feeling that could only be described as anxiety but also excitement accompanying it.

It was all a dream, or it felt like it. Such situation was too good to be true for Y/N, causing the fear of this being just a very realistic dream. But, Thomas’ kisses on their neck and Ethan’s light tugs on their hair reminded them of the reality they were living inside of. “Use your words, bambino,” said Damiano, the same smirk as before all over his face.

“Yes, I enjoy this,” they finally whispered, words forced out.

The next few seconds were quiet, only facial expressions portraying any reaction, all four of the band members just looking, admiring their beautiful friend and silently agreeing on their next move. It was when they saw Damiano and Ethan kiss and share that pink bubble gum that the band got entertained. Their lips got parted, cheeks flushed to the point of ‘burning’ to the touch, their eyes got wide, all but drooling over the scene unfolding in front of their eyes.

A shock wave shot through Y/N’s body as Ethan grabbed their head, tilting it back, the video clip still in the background, attacking their lips in a hungry kiss. It was hot, wet and sloppy, and it went on for a bit, until the tall drummer ushered his tongue into the mix, allowing the same type of cherry bubble gum from the video clip to move in Y/N’s mouth at once. They did not know what to do, their mind utterly blank and unable to decide on an action.

“Bite it.” Thomas let the two words out of his mouth, straight into their ear. He looked so shy and innocent most of the time, who would have thought he had it in him. “Now move your head, puppy, just like that,” he all but moaned, pulling them back towards him.

“So good for us all,” Thomas spoke again, now him being the one to kiss Y/N, ridding their mouth of the gum and leaving sloppy kisses from their lips to their neck.

Victoria was fed up with how long the escalation was taking, unable to wait a minute longer before she could have her second of fun. With that thought in mind, she pulled the phone from Y/N’s hands, shutting it off and setting it on the nightstand.

“You already know what happens after, pet.” Her voice was more demanding than anyone could anticipate, very bossy one could say, but Y/N was not going to be the one to challenge it.

“Tell me if you are uncomfortable, baby.” Y/N let out a small ‘do it’, opening up their mouth and just waiting, caressing Victoria’s hands on their face.

“Such a good pet,” she praised, going ahead to spit in their mouth before assessing her ‘art’.

“I think we need another ‘rehearsal’ to get it right,” smirked Damiano, “there’s just a few more creative touches we need to add.”

tag list: @bieberhoodforever @tabi-toast @ginny-lily @moriro-da-regina @the-killer-queenie @makapaka11 @teenyweenynightghost @superchrystaldrug

#maneskin #maneskin imagine #maneskin fanfiction #måneskin #måneskin headcanon #måneskin smut #måneskin x reader #måneskin imagine #måneskin fanfic

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sugarvamgar · 3 years

Photo

you ever make some Bastards? anfisa and valentine! also the context of the little labels on valentine’s sheet is to like, number the parts of the story for me and my friend who’s working on this so we know when the hell in the story we’re talking abtsgddfg anyways more info abt them under the cut .. i love these bastards...

these two are in the same world as some of my other ocs - you can find them in my neontok tag under rum’s post for more information about the world nd stuff! if you do not want to look at it tldr its just me putting my more uh. “darker” concepts?? like these two! let’s continue into more info tho: so like, context! in this world, there’s this group of seven assassins who’s existence is.. very speculated. like, they’re a common myth. maybe not among all of society all around the world, but most people have heard folk stories of their existence at some point in their life. this group of assassins has existed for literal hundreds of years, and nobody knows how or why, so they just.. assume it’s a story. a myth. but it’s Not. the “seven” is actually countless people who have been trained throughout their family’s bloodlines as a tradition with every other generation’s first child - or in the case of assassins One and Two, the first two siblings. they’re all basically trained to do the exact same stuff as the original seven did, too. other than One and Two, the children don’t necessarily know each other, especially because usually they’re in completely different countries. anyways so, anfisa here used to be part of this. he was assassin Three, born and raised in russia, pretty much the only assassin of the seven to not be trained to be sneaky and quiet bc most of what he does is loud on purpose. he does know how to blend in among people normally and how to scramble away from people without getting hurt, but man. he is NOT graceful like the other six. he ends up defecting from the assassins (which is just him going. huh. fuck this <3) and leaving to not-america and goes. i will live a normal life now. he ends up going. oh wait actually i hate how society is and how much of this city is controlled via bribes and crimes - what if i just. actively tried to cement myself in that world. what if i did crimes? i already did them before. he ends up gaining a mild following of people for this and they help him to do this.. the dude who runs the Local Crime Syndicate™ (at least, the largest one), jack, gets. very pissed off about this once anfisa’s group grows large enough scale. he employs this highly revered journalist bc in jack’s mind this goes. “oh, this guy is SO very good at picking people apart and getting into their business, and my stupid police force isn’t doing their fucking job right (lol), i’ll hire this dude. if he dies its barely any loss on my part. the journalist is valentine <3 idk his first name but he’s valentine and he is SO full of anxiety and has so much in common with anfisa about Hating Authority nd shit. this is a mistake on jack’s part who is blind as hell and cannot read valentine’s old articles + thinks he can bribe him with money to do whatever. valentine goes. <:( okay i will try i hate this but also money and also you are pointing guns at me and threatening to kill me if i Dont take the money and do this. valentine ends up joining anfisa and goes from anxious timid british (lol) bastard to mildly terrifying and willing to organize and command a group of people with anfisa who are actively trying to like, overthrow a straight up crime syndicate organization thing that Also has quite a large hold on a lot of businesses and government related stuff in the city. and SUCCEEDS for the most part. he is very good at this and it scares the group so much esp with the fact that it grows from like 6 or 7 people to like, over 50 or more in like.. a year. shoutout to anfisa he intentionally picks on valentine bc he thinks this guy is cute. when valentine is lowkey stalking getting research on anfisa/the group, anfisa notices and goes. :) im going to make your life so very difficult but in an only slightly annoying way. you got knocked out one day so i stole your tie and then the next time you saw me on the news you saw me wearing it around my arm like a trophy. valentine is so very annoyed and takes all of anfisa’s mild friendly torment as This Little Man Hates Me So Fucking Much. Why Does He Want Me DEAD also shoutout x2 to anfisa for being great at working with machines and learning how to put foot pedals on his motorcycle so he can switch the seat around to like, a pedal control board and ride it like a skateboard. this is dangerous and very, very impractical. he does not care. he’s having fun ps. if you think valentine is similar to a certain someone you’re right. its on purpose. i “steal” canon characters all the time (see: idk, not often actually) with friends bc its very fun to see how you can reinterpret a character without it being basically an au of the original character. TLDr if you can make a connection with the other character; good! just know he’s still his own thing and its on purpose and i love him. ps. x2/bonus i named anfisa after cat no banana <3 also anfisa (анфиса) means flowering/blossoming. i have made anfisa allergic to bananas and have given him plant themed clothingLKJGFDLKJG

ps. x3 im planning on drawing the rest of this team and talking about them but i want to post them all at once. i honestly wanted to do that here but i havent posted in 9 days so i. went ahead and just posted these two and gave their info since its more than, yknow, nothing? ps. x4 (help i have so many notes) literally i never put any of my stories on earth but then dont make any effort to make the contries non-earth countries bc like. *gestures vaguely* man idk how to do that and dont have the energy to make new cultures nd stuff on my free time??? im not doing this for a professional story??? so like. yeah. anyways so anfisa is Not from russia. he’s russian. valentine is british. britain doesn’t exist. make of that what you will. anyways. that is all. thank you. i kiss you for reading this. if you have questions please ask me them i have so much information all the time and it shows me theres interest in this

#my ocs #character design #my art #neontok #oc anfisa #oc valentine #this is the same world as four‚ wren‚ rum‚ and turbomaslo's intruxx!#and quite a few others.#shoutout to neontok almost everyone's clothing designs is black with a primary bright colour #ALSO SHOUTOUT TO BLAKE FOR HELPING ME WITH ALL THIS I LOVE U SIR. THANK YOU SO MUCH YOURE SO VERY COOL AND I HOLD YOU.#I CANT TAG HIM IN THIS POST BC IM PRETTY SURE HIS ONLY ACTIVE BLOGS ON HERE ARE COMPLETELY UNRELATED RP BLOGS SO SDFGFDGFD #HONORABLE MENTION TO HIM IN THE TAGS IS ALL I CAN DO <3

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peachcitt · 3 years

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okay, so style reference you say? I'm 👀

YES STYLE REFERENCE I SAY

this is going to be. a very long post i think with probably a lot of tangents and probably with a lot more thorough explanation than you could ever want but. here we go

because all of my theory/explanation posts end up So Long, i like to organize myself by keeping myself to a structure, and i also like to think if i put stuff in sub categories with bolded titles, people reading can skip ahead to the stuff they want if they're low on time or don't feel like slogging through everything. so here's the structure of the official Peach Style Reference Narrative

1. Early Days - how i started writing, my early inspirations, origins

2. Current Days - discussions of current style references plus examples and comparisons, discussions of original content versus fan content

3. Future Days - where i expect my writing to grow, trajectories i want, conclusory thoughts

without further ado, let's get into it!

1. Early Days

like i mentioned on the discord server, ive been writing creatively for. a very long time. i just turned 20 (like. literally today. we love to see it) and that seems very young, but i remember writing creatively when i was maybe six or seven, and before that i played with dolls a lot, which meant every day i was creating little narratives for myself. in addition to this - and this is probably why i started writing so young - i was (and am!) a very avid reader. i was that little jerk in elementary school reading chapter books and going into the older kids' section in the school library because i'd already mentally surpassed the books in the section meant for kids my age. so, basically, ive been writing for maybe 13 or 14 years at the least.

when i was young, my favorite books that i remember trying to copy in my own stories were: the magic treehouse books, harry potter, and percy jackson.

the magic treehouse

i honestly could not tell you which magic treehouse book it was, but i remember reading a specific magic treehouse book where the magic lady that left the treehouse for the kids sends the kids (jack and annie??) a note in distress, and she didn't get to finish signing her name because whoever had gotten her had interrupted her. it had been printed in the book with the ink on her name running.

i could not tell you anything else that happened in that book, but i can tell you that at some point in time soon after i read that book i started writing a story with an interrupted letter just like that. i loved the drama, the mystery of it all. i wanted to do something that was a little scary like that, a little exciting.

harry potter

harry potter isn't much of a style reference, but it was a huge impact of my childhood. truth be told i kind of hated the books when i was really young because i grew up watching the movies, and when i tried to read the books when i was in elementary school, the teenage angst that hits about book 5 simply Did Not make sense to me. i also find the language of harry potter to be super cumbersome, and sometimes it feels to me like the books are long just for the sake of being long. they have a huge cultural impact, but i feel the same way about harry potter's style as i do about dickens. cool and interesting, but, like, could you get to the point already? (and also my opinion of j.k. rowling has steadily been growing worse and worse over the years, for obvious reasons. harry potter is nostalgic for me, but i can't look at it now without thinking about it critically, which really lowers my opinion of it)

however, you could probably call my first fanfiction a harry potter fanfiction. i started it when i was maybe six or seven, and it was a rewrite of the chamber of secrets with my childhood best friend as the main character (she didn't know about it, i just had her as the main character because i thought she was cool). i of course never finished it, but harry potter probably did a huge part of planting that seed of magic in me. everything i want to write included some form of magic - although my perspective on what can be considered magic has steadily expanded over the years.

percy jackson

of all my childhood "style references" that still influence me to this day, percy jackson has got to be the biggest. for starters, it's magic. second, it's main themes are about friendship and family - things that i like all my stories now to always include. third - and most important - is the narrative voice.

in terms of narrative voice, percy has a huge personality. he's witty and snarky, but also very thoughtful and poignant. a lot of my early writing was in first person, and it's probably because of percy. also, percy jackson was the first fandom i really got into, and it was the first media that i started officially writing and posting fanfiction for. percy's voice is so clear and hooking, and i wanted to be able to write something funny and real like that.

also - chapter titles. the original pjo series is famous for its weird and hilarious chapter titles, and even though i didn't really start writing fics or stories that were long enough to need chapter titles until a while later, i loved the idea of putting in a chapter title that would make a reader laugh, or maybe even make a reader feel a little apprehensive about the events to come.

but back to percy's narrative voice. i loved that style, almost conversational, so much that i started thinking like it. when i wasn't doing anything, like walking home in middle school, i often found myself narrating my life in my head like percy would, trying to find that humor and spark in my every day surroundings. i still find myself doing that very often, but not necessarily in the classic pjo style. now i narrate everything in my head a little differently, but that practice narration in my early days really helped my shape my voice, i think.

other series i read when i was younger include: a a series of unfortunate events and the name of this book is secret. i don't remember seeing a lot of influence in my early writing from those books, but i definitely think the styles of those books hit me a little later, which i will talk about in the next section.

but, yeah. these were the big three of my childhood. i also read a lot of ya romance, children's mystery books, princess stories, and various types of fantasy, which i think you could probably tell from the genres i like to stick to now. except i don't write a ton of mystery because, as much as i admire the complicated plots, im not sure if i'd have the patience to plan all that out.

in terms of the rest of the genres, a ton of my earlier writing included classic ya romance and fantasy tropes - chosen girl, love triangles, angsty overpowered teens, etc etc. even though those kinds of stories are not necessarily the kinds of stories i want to write or read now, i think my early writing of those kinds of things was really valuable. it's kind of a dirty secret with finished or unfinished works generally considered 'cringe' - often that writer is a new writer, or they're trying something new, or they just haven't found their voice yet. all of those things are perfectly okay and normal, and a lot of people in the writing community preach that kind of thing, but i don't necessarily see people cutting new writers slack in actual practice. writing "overrused" tropes isn't cringe, it's normal, and, besides, what trope isn't overrused? people have been writing and telling stories for thousands of years - nothing is really new. what matter is that someone new is telling the story, and that's what makes it valuable.

so, yeah, a lot of my childhood writing is cringe to me now, but i wouldn't be where i am without it.

with that being said, let's actually look at where i am now

2. Current Days

im going to break this section down into two parts, sort of: original fiction and fanfiction. because i think both of these things have become really important to me, and i don't believe i personally could exist as a writer without one or the other. it's a symbiotic relationship.

we'll start with fanfiction.

my relationship with fanfiction is relatively positive in online spaces: i write what i want to see from media that i like, and i have fun doing it. i also get some comments on my fics by lovely people that detail exactly what they like - some even go so far to talk about narrative style, voice, or tone - and that's really helpful. generally, i see fanfiction not only as a fun hobby and vent space for my strong positive feelings about certain media, but also as a place for me to try new things, experiment, and earn positive feedback.

i don't often share my original fiction online (and if i do, never at the same scope as my fanfiction), so i don't get that same opportunity to see what "works" with readers. fanfiction gives me the space to see that, and i apply new knowledge ive learned to my original fiction. that's what i mean by a symbiotic relationship.

in terms of specific style references for specific fics (which is what i know you probably most want to see), i'll try my best to pick them all out and give specific examples.

those benevolent stars and i am the messenger by markus zusak

in my favorite book list, i saw you mention tbs, so i'll start there. to be honest, i had no idea what my style reference for tbs was when i first saw your tags, and i almost didn't think there was anything specific. style references are a bit sneaky like that - if you've been referencing for someone for a long time, it becomes less of an intentional reference and more of just a you think, so it gets harder to tell.

lucky for this post, i just finished doing my yearly reread of zusak's i am the messenger, and as i was reading, i noticed a few spots where i was like wait hey i remember doing that.

for starters, iatm has been my favorite book for about six or seven years now, so i would say that some aspects of my style certainly comes from zusak because of how much i love iatm but also his other books. zusak has this huge talent for writing short, punchy sentences that convey so much in just a few words, and i think i've ended up trying to do that in my own writing. often, in my writing you'll see fragmentary sentences such as "He stopped. Blinked. Looked at her." that's not from anything specific, but i know ive written something like that maybe a million times over. zusak doesn't do the same thing - often his fragments are jam-packed with imagery in a way that mine aren't - but there's a thoughtfulness in his fragments that are in mine, too. a sort of pause. a hint that there's thinking happening in the narrator or a certain character. for example, i did a quick flip through of my copy and we have:

"We stare across the table.

Just briefly.

At each other." (I am the Messenger, p.144)

so you see how my common sentence fragment of "he stopped / blinked / looked at her" tracks with a fragment like this? i like the way zusak broke up sentences to make you dwell on them a little longer, consider the importance of each section, so i started doing that wayy before i wrote tbs i think.

also, at the time i wrote tbs, i think i was in the process of, or had just finished doing my reread of iatm, and, like i said, zusak loves imagery. tbs is a very imagery-heavy fic. tbs was influenced by a lot of music - a lot of the scenes have very specific pieces of music that i wrote imagining the tone and vibe of. iatm also references a lot of outside media sources, mostly music and films.

there are a couple of scenes in tbs that i think i wrote specifically mimicking or accidentally referencing from iatm. for example, we have this scene in tbs:

"It was almost like he could feel Marinette’s eyes on his back, steady and gentle. 'But you still love her.”

'Yeah,' Adrien said quietly, 'I still love her.' His eyes moved along a streak of purple that bled into a dark blue. 'I hate her a little bit, too.'

Marinette was silent.

He turned around, giving her a smile." (Those Benevolent Stars, chapter 3)

and this scene from iatm:

"'Do you hate me, Ed?'

Still stupid with bubbles and vodka in my stomach, I answer. Very seriously.

'Yes,' I whisper. 'I do.'

We both smack the sudden silence with laughter." (I am the Messenger, p. 233)

obviously there are differences, and i don't think i did it on purpose, but the interaction is very similar. i love the gentle intimacy of that scene in iatm, that weird complication relationship between the main character and the person he loves, the hurt, the brushing it off with laughter. so i wrote a scene that incorporated those things

zusak is also really good at writing moments of quiet into his books that aren't necessarily important to the plot, but are still important. if you've ever read that ghibli meta post talking about the 'quiet' between scenes in studio ghibli scenes, meant to give both the audience and the characters space to breath, it's like that. nothing in iatm is not imporant - it all serves a purpose, even the quiet moments, and i try to do the same thing. there's moments like that in tbs i think, like:

"Marinette gave him a small smile before turning back to her ice cream. Adrien tried to eat his ice cream a little faster, licking up where it had dripped onto his hand.

They were quiet for a while longer, and Marinette finished her ice cream. She leaned back on her hands and looked up at the dark sky, littered with stars.

He could see them all in her eyes, too." (Those Benevolent Stars, chapter 3)

and in iatm, you get scenes like:

"Our feet dangle.

I watch them, and I watch the jeans on Audrey's legs.

We only sit there now.

Audrey and me." (I am the Messenger, p.120)

so i definitely think tbs is a very i-am-the-messenger/markuz zusak-inspired fic. there's a lot of zusak's quiet, and there's the pieces of zusak's style that i've picked up along the way that really shine in tbs

tomorrow and this body's not big enough for the both of us by edgar cantero

ive talked about cantero a few times recently, but, as you've probably noticed, in relation to my fic called 'tomorrow.' i wrote tomorrow pretty soon after reading this body's not big enough for the both of us, and i used tomorrow specifically to experiment with cantero's visual writing style. in all the books by cantero ive read, there's this kind of hyper-awareness of a film gaze - how a certain scene would be shot on a camera, dialogue as script writing, and other things like that mixed with prose. i thought it was fascinating, and after finishing this body, i really wanted to play around with that idea. so i wrote tomorrow keeping in mind a "film gaze." for example:

"Two figures sitting on a rooftop, silhouettes. The moon hovers over them carefully, a crescent afraid to break the silence. One of the figures takes a breath, looks up into the sky at the hesitant moon, and he sighs. He closes his mouth again." (tomorrow)

versus in cantero's work, where we get descriptions like:

"And then, like a high-heeled coup de grace, she arrived.

She paused briefly outside the door, her hourglass silhouette cast upon the glass panel with the fresh shiny vinyl letters" (This Body's Not Big Enough for the Both of Us, prologue)

the tone of the two excerpts are very different, but there's a very visual sense to both of them, like they are being described from a shot in a movie rather than a regular work in prose. in tomorrow i also work a lot with specific camera imagery - saying where the camera goes in the scene, what it focuses on - and this body doesn't do this too much, but cantero's meddling kids does at least once that i remember.

regardless, after finishing this body, i wanted to try my hand at the visual structure that cantero uses in his works, so i really leaned in to the idea.

chat noir's white french man hit list for feminist purposes and grasshopper jungle by andrew smith

this is, as of right now, the most recent fic on my ao3, and i started it the literal day i finished grasshopper jungle. i think you might be getting a theme here - i read a really good book, and then immediately after i start writing something. the easiest way to get inspired as a writer is to read.

chat noir's hit list is a fic that is very much aware of the fact that it is a story being told - you don't know by who or for what real reason until the end, but it's a self aware sort of story. it's also very snarky and sarcastic, and it expands past just the confines of its own story; it's about chat noir and his hit list, but it also talks in depth about emilie agreste, chat noir's relationship with ladybug, and his relationship with himself. this is very much the kind of thing that you would find in an andrew smith book - grasshopper jungle is a story being told to you, and it's also about more than just the original pieces of the plot. the narrator tells the story that expands past regular confines of the story he means to tell - he's telling the 'history' of his life and his town, but he also talks about his great-great grandfather, the origins of the ketchup his girlfriend's dad eats, and what's happening in other parts of the country as he and his best friend are hanging out. the line in chat's hit list of "stars exploded, the sun did not, life continued on" was very much a grasshopper jungle and andrew smith-inspired line.

at the end of adrien's narration in chat's hit list, he says:

"It should be mentioned at this point in time that this story is not over, although I’ll stop telling it here.

So that’s the story of Chat Noir, who is also Adrien Agreste, who was very much a normal boy, except for the fact that he wasn’t. It’s a sad story, but it is also a happy story, and it is highly confidential. I’m sure you understand." (Chat Noir's White French Man Hit List for Feminist Purposes)

and at the end of grasshopper jungle, as the main character is closing out his narration, we get:

What I have written here is not the history of Eden. It is the history of the end of the world. All real histories will be about everything, and they will stretch to the end of the world.

The end of the world started when Andrej Szczerba slid into the cold sea as his boy, Krys, watched and wept and drifted closer and closer to the United States of America.

Nobody knew anything about it." (Grasshopper Jungle, p.382-3)

It's not overtly similar, but the structure is the same: recognition of the end, short summary of where we started and left the story, tag phrase that was used prior in the work. when i was writing the end of adrien's narration, i didn't mean to mirror grasshopper jungle so closely, but sometimes things just happen that way - honestly, so many of the things i do in my writing aren't intentional, they're subconscious. when i make a conscious choice, it's related to plot or to a new strategy im applying to style or voice that i'm not used to, but a lot of the things i do fly under the radar in my brain unless im purposefully trying to piece them apart like i am here.

i will say the meta-story of chat's hit list was pretty directly inspired by grasshopper jungle because i love meta stories, and i like using opportunities to put them in. i just love the idea of reading a story of someone telling someone else a story, which is what the two books by andrew smith i've read have been, and i think that's just fascinating, which is why i used it here.

ive gotten a couple of comments on chat's hit list that liken the narrative style to pseudonymous bosch's the name of this book is secret and lemony snicket's a series of unfortunate events, which i thought was really interesting, because i was purposefully trying to make the voice an impression of andrew smith's voice adapted to the tone of ml, but i could definitely see their reasoning.

andrew smith, like i mentioned before, likes specifics - what exactly people were doing at certain times, where a specific bottle of ketchup came from, etc. from what i remember of the name of this book is secret and a series of unfortunate events, i remember the descriptions included in those books chock full of highly specific, snarky details that aren't truly necessary, but do a whole lot in terms of adding a certain flavor to the narration. i won't try and look up examples from unfortunate events and the name of this book, but here are a couple examples:

"See, the thing about Emilie Agreste, formerly Emilie Graham De Vanily, is that she was what could be generously called a ‘radical.’ Born in 1969, like most amazing and world-altering things, Emilie Graham De Vanily grew up in London alongside her twin sister, who is a nice enough woman and who is not really that important to this story, and she was raised with the firm and gentle hands of people who had witnessed war and cruelty and had found that they did not like at all. Emilie Graham De Vanily grew up learning about the true history of England, which is not a very nice history, truly, and she grew up knowing that people with white skin like her were historically not all that great. That, historically, was a very radical thought." (Chat Noir's White French Man Hit List for Feminist Purposes)

from chat's hit list, and this:

"In 1905, being seventeen years old made you a man. In 1969 when hungry Jack fought in Vietnam, seventeen years old was a man. My brother, Eric, who was somewhere in Afghanistan, was twenty-two.

Krzys Szczerba came across the Atlantic with his father. They planned on working and earning enough money so Krzys's mother, brother, and two sisters could come to the United States, too. People who did that were called Bread Polacks. They came here to make money." (Grasshopper Jungle, p. 68)

from grasshopper jungle. once again, obviously very different, but you can tell im playing around with that same feeling of giving a surplus of facts in my narration in the same way that andrew smith does. you can't really tell in the grasshopper jungle excerpt, but oftentimes the surplus of 'facts' serves almost a comedic effect, which is definitely something that you can feel in chat noir's hit list.

[REDACTED] and six of crows by leigh bardugo

as a reward for sticking around through this, i'll give out something fun here. the current long fic that ive been working on recently has proved to be very bardugo-inspired, particularly six of crows-inspired.

in six of crows, bardugo gives us action right off the bat and then integrates flashbacks into lulls of action so that there's never truly a dull moment. i found [REDACTED] to be a fic where i wanted to use flashbacks in a similar way, so that i would get something like:

"She doesn’t stay for the whole parade, but she stays for enough of it. Nothing unusual happens, just like always, but she still makes cursory patrols around the city, ending up at the Eiffel Tower, just like always. She sits on the railing way up at the top, and she crosses her ankles, swinging her legs back and forth and humming softly to herself as she watches the sun set.

'Little kitty on the roof, all alone without his lady,' he used to sing when he’d gotten back to their meeting point from patrolling his half of the city before her. It was just a silly little song, one that he’d clearly made up for himself."

It didn’t hurt until he’d been akumatized, and she’d seen that one version of the future - the one where he’d destroyed the whole world because of Gabriel Agreste. She’d seen him then, a lonely figure in white, humming his little song to himself. Who knows how long he’d been like that before she’d been transported to him, how long he’d been really and truly alone. (REDACTED, chapter 1)

and in comparison, we get a lot of scenes in six of crows like:

"Kaz leaned against the ship's railing. He wished he hadn't said anything about his brother. Even those few words raised the memories, clamoring for attention. What had he said to Geels at the Exchange? I'm the kind of bastard they only manufacture in the Barrel. One more lie, one more piece of the myth he'd built for himself.

After their father died, crushed beneath a plow with his insides strewn across a field like a trail of damp red blossoms, Jordie had sold the farm. Not for much." (Six of Crows, p.205-6)

bardugo uses most of the flashbacks during a time in which the main characters are on a long sea voyage, which means they have a lot of time to reflect on their pasts and what brought them to these situations - it's a smart way to fill the empty space of the sea voyage and to really dwell on how important the voyage is. in a similar way, i chose to use the flashbacks in dull or lulling moments in the events of the story, ones in which marinette lets her mind wander or sees something that makes her remember something specific.

however, here's a situation where you can see me adapt the style into something that makes more sense for me, personally: in my excerpt, the tense changes between the current events and the flashback events, while in bardugo's excerpt, the tense stays the same at a comfortable past tense. when i was writing my fic with the flashbacks, i thought the constant, sometimes abrupt, switching would get confusing, so i made sure to always have a clear line using the past and present tense that readers could consciously or unconsciously take notice of.

so there are a couple of instances within some fairly recent fics i have that have specific callbacks to specific books. there are a whole bunch more, i think, but these are the ones that ive played around with intentionally the most recently or the most often.

3. Future Days

based on my recent rapid experimentation in fics (the most recent four fics on my ao3 have been very experimental in comparison to most of my works), i really anticipate a lot of growth in my overall style. ive been having a lot of fun experimenting and throwing in things that a few years ago i would've never even thought of, so im really excited to see where that might lead me, style wise.

i think as a writer there's always room for growth and learning, and that kind of growth and learning comes from not only practicing writing, but also reading. i cannot stress enough how valuable and impactful reading is on writing. considering ive been trying to read a lot more than i have been in recent years, it makes a lot of sense that ive been making a lot of weird decisions and learning more about what i want to see in my own writing.

honestly, if you ever want to know about any of my other fics, or you want to see how this kind of thing translates to my original works, just shoot me an ask! this post is already long enough, so i think i'll go ahead and end it here, but just know you can always ask questions<3

thank you so much for asking me this question and letting me indulge, and thank you for reading!!!<3<3<3<3

#ask #miabrown007 #writing #writing meta #writing style #writing style reference #my writing meta #this took. actually i will not say how long this took because i do not want to hurt myself that way #just know that this took a while. did it need to? fucking no absolutely not you didn't ask for something this long i did this to myself #this is why i didn't answer this for a couple days btw i wanted to take time to actually sit down and write down a thorough post like this #for you and i didn't have the time when you first sent it #technically i should not have had the time today but that sort of thing doesn't count in the middle of the night #happy birthday to me im giving myself a super long meta post where i info dump about some of my favorite things #also you did not. you did not ask for writing or life advice and yet i also gave that. im sorry it just happens i don't know how to stop #im so tired. i have class tomorrow (today) my cat's being a little piece of shit. we love to see it #thanks so much for asking this and i seriously mean it when i say you can ask any time #i obviously didn't go over the majority of my fics and most of this was done off of memory alone #(in terms of my own fics. the books i had to flip through to find the quotes i wanted)#so if you have any more questions about a specific fic don't hesitate to ask!! that goes for everyone btw #anyway now i have to pay attention to my cat and then go to sleep goodnight love y'all

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dylanxmin · 3 years

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painkiller ∣ 5 ∣ j.hs

breakups are habitual, ordinary maybe even easy for some other people, and maybe it could be easy for you, too, if you haven’t been dumped by your boyfriend after finding out that you were pregnant. no, it wasn’t easy even a bit. and a stranger who wants to be your side doesn’t make this all easy for you, at all.

pairing; jung hoseok x reader

genre; angst, fluff, humor, pregnancy au, strangers to lovers au, single!mom au, slice of life au,,

warnings; little high on angst, swearings, mention of abortion, mention of adoption, mention of miscarriage, unedited(rlly sorry about this)

word count; 5k+

rating; nc17

a/n; heyyy, it’s been a month since i last update this story and i only blame my finals, my sudden lost of muse, and some side effects of my life but there it is, freshly served, angsty episode!! ion know how did this come out but im feeling positive for the next episode! so,,,, hope you all enjoy reading this part, and as always, i do really appreciate a little comment soooo... lol, love y’all ♡

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taglist; @xxluckydreamsxx ,, @parkminhee

∣ send me an ask if you want to be on the tag list ∣

‘‘Yes, can we have a brief explanation about the story of our current project?’’

‘‘Miss Y/N?’’

‘‘Y/N?’’

Light, red and yellow mixes and crushes down when something hard nudges at your shoulder and brings you the reality. Shake of your body startles Namjoon, who was nudging your shoulder to wake you up. Pairs of eyes currently stares at you, wide, curious and surprised, too, as no one expects you to fall asleep in the middle of an important meeting. But, you did anyway. Surprising yourself with such an action, yet you lost control of your sleep schedule way before this meeting, so you weren’t that ashamed as the sleep still lingers around your head.

Blinking, blinking, blinking for a couple of times before your vision loses its blur, and the faces look way better to your own eyes. Shock still fresh on their faces, a weird sound rises by your throat as you try to clean it before talking. Namjoon holds his laugh back, but you can see it in the redness of his cheeks and the veins that struggle under his skin.

‘‘I-’’ you clear your throat, once again as it comes hoarse from sleeping. ‘‘I’m sorry, can you say it again?’’ Mr. Lee stares directly into your eyes, he opens his mouth but closes again. And you know you will try to drown yourself in the sink if the corner of his mouth hasn't curled up.

You sigh, before he asks again, and listens to your explanation. You try to keep it smooth, and once you start to talk about your work, all the sleep leaves your head, enthusiasm fills it place.

You love your work. Falling asleep doesn’t mean the opposite.

‘‘I swear to god if you won’t stop laughing, Kim-’’

‘‘But..- but you told the story of our new game, drool drying on your chin, with such an enthusiastic manner.’’ Namjoon’s giggles cut himself, palm hangs in the air, other on his knee. A manager who is in his thirties enjoys his coworkers suffer, laughs his lungs off. Such a mature man. You sigh, hand curled around the cup full of water for you to go to the bathroom after. Countless times.

Fingertips pinching the tip of your brows, you stand on the kitchen side of your office. Shame still red on your face, you barely able to hold yourself back from either crying or smashing the cup on your friend’s head. Which, you like the last option very much. It’s a shame that you possibly couldn’t do that here. Maybe later, on one of your movie nights.

‘‘I think it was cute, though.’’ the man in his much more formal clothes rather than his usual sweatpants and his shirt enters the kitchen side. Brown hair brushed neatly on the left side, his features look good. ‘‘Don’t pressure yourself anymore. I’m sure they are used to these things.’’

‘‘Thank you for helping my self-reliance to gather itself, but I don’t think it’s that simple, Damien.’’ imitating his smile, even though it’s more faint then he has, you sigh once again. Taking a spot on the table, you let your head fall on it. ‘‘I was literally drooling all over myself. Ugh… such a mess.’’

Another laugh escapes by Namjoon’s lips, but he pats your head also. ‘‘Damien is right. You know Jihoon and Yeona will be cool about this.’’

You scoff. ‘‘Yeah, but I don’t refer to them by their first names as they are the Ceo’s of this company. Like you,’’

‘‘Then you shouldn’t refer to me with my name, too, as I’m your boss.’’ an annoying smirk alive on his mouth, he swipes his body on the table. Gulping down his coffee, his stares never leaves you. Something hot, almost burning coils in your chest. Reminding you red, as you stare at him back. Mouth wrinkled, your breath felt heavy.

It was anger and you didn’t know how to pressure it back where it came from. Even before your pregnancy, you weren’t good with handling your emotions, but now. With so many hormones not knowing what to do, you were even worse. Sudden crying sessions, constant fury always ready to burst out, and the sneaky, dark anxiety getting you at the worst moment, where you were alone and in the dark. It was hard, and too much. Even before being pregnant, and while being pregnant. You weren’t good with them.

‘‘You know what, I decide not to cook for you anymore.’’ heartbreak flashes in Namjoon eyes, you crossed your arms over your chest. ‘‘You can buy your own chicken breast from somewhere and eat that shitty sauce.’’

‘‘Ouch..’’ Damien who is currently watching the cold vibrations coming from you, stays silent after your gaze lands on him. He is scared, and not ready to be the next target of your stinging tongue. Though, it doesn’t last that long.

Once you see the tremble of Namjoon’s lips, and his hug follows his sorry’s, your coldness melts away. Shame creeps back, sits heavy as you lower your head on the table. But before you can dive in your bad scenarios in your head, brutal yet familiar bickering starts when Nara enters the kitchen, after she takes her place on the table. Her nose crinkled with disgust while waiting for Namjoon to end his insults, only to throw another to him. Damien tries to cut them off, but it’s useless as he gives up and rests his back on his chair. Hesitant stares gather on you, only to tear them apart while you pretend like you didn’t notice.

Yet, you don’t want to suffocate yourself with your thoughts, you raise your head, eyes meeting with the brown haired man. Because you don’t and probably can’t break that cold war between your friend and Nara, you find your escape on Damien.

‘‘So, we have to prepare a meeting for you to put a suit on?’’ cocking your brow high, you ask. His surprise fades after a moment of waiting. Maybe because you aren’t the warmest person or because of the effect of your friends that filled your head with the idea of him having some feelings for you, you never attempt to talk with him first. Not that he isn’t a decent man, but more likely, you weren’t into him and did not want to make a wrong move. For him to get the wrong idea.

But maybe you are being stupid for believing your delusinal friends about his feelings, and he just wants to be friendly. Though, it’s good to not risk anything, right?

‘‘Suits just not my type, and also, who is wearing these other than him?’’ Damien points Namjoon, who is in a deep, hurtful conversation with your other coworker. You tear your eyes from him to land on Damien once again, his smiling this time. Wide, eyes imitating it. ‘‘Also, doesn’t it hurt your feet? You weren’t wearing heels for a long time.’’

After he mentions it, your feet start to pulse with pain. Embarrassment clouded all over your other senses, but his words bring them back. And you wrinkle your face in pain. Of course, it hurts. How it won’t hurt while your feet try to set themselves free by growing bigger inside of its cage and the process isn’t an easy one. Though, these whining are the last thing for your coworker to hear so you simply go with a soft smile.

‘‘Yeah, a bit but nothing I can’t handle.’’

‘‘Oh okay then. Good to hear.’’ he leans closer, eyes gleaming like a child in his pre-mischievous stage. ‘‘Just in case, I have a pair of nice sneakers waiting in my closet. All comfy and less deadly.’’

Mirroring the act, you also get close to him. Palm covering the side of your curled mouth, ‘‘I will consider it, but why are you acting like you were selling drugs?’’ whispering the half of your words, you cocked your head aside, watching his face wrinkle due to his growing smile. And seeing him from this side, you realise how good looking he is. Radiant smile adds more point to his charisma as he does, eyes narrow but curls cutely on the ends, and for a second you just stare at his side profile. His spotless skin dips on the cheek as his dimple wants to show off. Thankfully, when he starts to talk the silvery sheet goes away, to your luck.

‘‘Well, we won’t want other heel wearers to come at my desk for my fancy shoes, right?’’

Nodding, you point your finger at him as if he made a good point. ‘‘I see… Of course we wouldn’t want that, of course.’’

After the short break, everyone turned in their work the same as you. And you find yourself so tired after talking about the details of the story of your current game with Heejin. Trying to find reliable reasons and motives is hard for some time, as you continue to work on the specific character’s choices in the game, and why and exactly how they should do is sometimes irksome even when you have someone who tries really hard to help you. Yet, you know you can’t put all the weight on Heejin’s shoulders as the poor woman barely had some sleep because of the pre-cold effect.

When she sneezed for the fourth time in the last five minutes, you had to stop and be sure of her well being. Putting your palm on her clothed arm, you mimicked a smile to look sympathetic rather than annoyed. Even though you were a little bit. Thankfully, she doesn’t have to know that.

‘‘I know I asked this before but are you sure you are okay? Maybe you should take a rest for the rest of the day. Obviously, you need some.’’

She looks hesitant at first, eyes widens at your words but she covers it with a faint smile and nods. ‘‘Oh, I’m okay, I’m okay. You don’t have to worry about me.’’ Heejin bites down her lip before continuing again. ‘‘Did I annoy you? I’m sorry, I just took a pill, so I think that will make me better in a couple of minutes.’’

‘‘No, no…’’ pulling your hands in the air, you shake your head in denial. It did bother you but not much for her to apologize for being sick. ‘‘I just wanted to check on you, I’m not… disturbed. It’s okay.’’

Your half reassurance works barely, as she tries to lower the voice of her sneezes after that. And everytime, a drip adds to your growing guilt. As Heejin is younger than you for three years, and you have been working here longer than her, it puts some stairs between you two and now with that, you fix the ice between you two. The ice that you have been trying to melt from the first day she was here, and now, thanks to your pregnancy hormones, it started to build once again. Not just with Heejin, but everyone around you was walking on eggshells around you as your rage came out of nowhere, so sudden that sometimes it even shocks you. But for a stupid reason - well, it’s not stupid as you are pregnant and that played with your emotions -, you couldn’t control the sudden change of your feelings.

One second being calm and the other being tense did tire you for sure as senses flow through every nerve you have. Breathing exercises merely helped, and that led you to staying away from the people around you. As sometimes words come out rude before you can realise. And nobody deserves that kind of attitude, even the ones you know from your childhood.

For that reason, you turned down Taehyung’s offer to come with you as you know that owing to his nature, he will do something silly to make you angry or stressed even when he does it with all his good intentions. Some days, even when you are in your usual state you can’t stop being bothered by him, and you had no intentions to taste it today. Which, nothing was normal in your current mental state, so that’s for the best.

Driving past the now familiar streets, you learned a new thing: Driving with a jean without opening its button can be hard, as you have to undo the button while your stomach growls in need. While your stomach become visible, looking like you ate too much for your stomach to handle, sudden thirst for stupid cravings increased day by day. Sadly, it affected your friends as much as you.

In the middle of night, you woke Yoongi up for him to get you apples, pickles for Taehyung and last but not least, ice cream for Namjoon. As your cravings decide to choose the oddest times, three of them find the solution to fill your fridge until there is no space left. Well, after you sat on your kitchen floor and cried they had to eat some of them with you, as they basically called you fat by doing that, and paid for it. For them, they just wanted to make sure you get what you want but at this point, what they thought barely mattered.

‘‘Okay, that was tiring.’’ you whispered through your exhale, while parking the car. For the records, parking turned into a hell show for you as going further and back, further and back, further, further and back has your nerves strain like a string. Though, you never liked it anyway. You were ready to leave your car, but the ringtone of your phone cut the act.

‘‘Hey, mom.’’

‘‘Nope. Your voice sounds the same, rather than I thought so.’’ sighing, you brushed your face by your palm. Words like a needle on the skin, your mother always knew how to use them. ‘‘Well don’t ‘ahhh’ at me. As we barely speak, I obviously expect to forget your voice, tell me if I’m wrong.’’

Nodding as if she is able to see you through the phone, you put your head on the wheel. She was annoyed as it was very clear by her high and thin tone.

‘‘Yes, Ma’am.’’ your reply earned another high pitched warning from her so you had to calm her between your giggles. ‘‘Okay, okay… You’re right, Mama. I should call you more but you know work and everything keeps me busy. But I will try my best, promise.’’

‘‘Apology accepted. But even though I know you prefer to talk about work, and the video thing you adore talking about, I’m most likely interested in my baby’s baby. So, how’s the pregnancy going?’’

This is the exact reason why you didn’t call her more than you did. As she is very interested in your life and interior with it, of course pregnancy will be the same. And you couldn’t ignore the things you can as she will talk about them, will want to know about them and give some advice from her past experiences. Not that you will need any of them, but of course as you postponed everything, you did the same thing to this topic, too, and left your mother in the dark. You will run as far as you can.

‘‘They called games, not video thing but it’s your choice.’’ while thinking of it itched your tongue, you swallowed all the tensing thoughts down, and ready yourself to talk. ‘‘And the… pregnancy is going good if we don’t count the constant eating, peeing, crying, being tired twenty-four-seven, not fitting in my favorite clothes and all the pain it put me through.’’

She laughs as if you just told the funniest joke she heard. Cocking your brows, you run through what you said to make her laugh this much to fail.

‘‘Ohhh, my baby. Stop talking about this as the things are all bad. You have a baby in your belly, your baby. They will become your everything, and mostly good things because you will love them more than anything you can. Believe me, I could die in return for your laugh. A bubbly, vivid laugh. Ahh… remembering it made me soft, right now.’’

‘‘Trying to be unbiased about gender, I see?’’

‘‘Well, I don’t want to affect the baby.’’

Though you want so bad to ask how that could actually affect the baby, you stay silent. All the baby talk is already pulling you down, it is better if you can stay out of the gender topic as much as you can. Not that it mattered, you thought.

‘‘What do you mean? Why it wouldn’t matter darling?’’

Huh?

Clearly, you weren’t thinking, but murmuring under your breath as your mom heard it. When you hit your head on the wheel, the horn startles you both. Fixing your posture, you answered your mother’s hurried question.

‘‘It was horn, I’m in the car. Yes, yes I’m okay, don’t worry. I’m at the hospital- No, no- Mom, for the appointment. Yes… yes, for the baby. I will talk to you later, okay? I will call, I promise- Yes, I promise. Okay, love you, too.’’

You sigh once again. A loud one.

You do hate lying to the woman who would do anything you want, but you know she is not ready to lose her grandchild, yet. You are not ready for the speech you will receive, also. Not that it will be harsh or critical, you just are not ready to accept the whole thing. Yes, you still had problems with the whole pregnancy thing even though you made your mind with adoption. You still had thirty weeks to go, and that won’t go fast. Not in a normal time, or in the pregnancy.

Head full of blurring thoughts, you missed the man who shakes his hand from afar. The black haired man’s smile faded as you passed by his side without sparing a glance. Too busy with thinking how to calm your mother after you give her the news. The news that she won’t have a grandchild anytime soon. Fuck… that’s gonna be hard.

Well, maybe not hard as much as the door you decide to welcome it with your face rather than opening. A loud thud, and muffled curse under your breath, instinctively you checked your nose if there is more than the pain you feel, as there is no blood you calm down, shoulders drop their usual place. Apparently, you were conscious enough to lead yourself to the floor where your doctor’s office, past the stairs, and find his door but when it comes to open the door you fail. Tears sit on your eyelids at once as you close them due to the pain that crushes your sight. Trying to massage your nose bridge barely helps but giving it a try won’t hurt, you think.

‘‘Oh my, are you okay?’’ from your closed and blurred eyesight, you can’t choose who is the one talking but his voice lets you know that he is your doctor, Seokjin. ‘‘I heard a loud thug but couldn’t understand it was a human until you groaned. Are you okay, you bumped your nose? Let me get a look at that.’’

Not forgetting to thank him while he guides you inside his office, now you are able to open your eyes and set the tears free as they go down. Seokjin sits you on the white sheeted chair, handles your head to go right and left as he scans your face and nose behind creased eyes. He looks really concerned, more than you, and somehow it puts you on a stage where you feel like you have to make him sure that you were okay and nothing was wrong. It still feels weird when someone gets concerned over you more than yourself, as who would care for someone more than one’s self so it’s still vague.

‘‘I-I’m actually okay. I didn’t hit that hard as it sounds, it doesn’t even bleed so…’’ wry smile is all you offer him as your voice trails down when his eyes meet with yours, a bit keen rather than you thought they will.

Seokjin sighs with a line between his brows but he lets go, and when he puts a decent distance between you and himself, professionalism settles in his features as he adjusts his tie.

‘‘It does look okay, but make sure you put some ice when you can as it could leave a bruise behind.’’ he smiles, both sweet and very technically. As he practiced it for every client he had and now performing it without any difficulties. It looks natural. ‘‘So, tell me how are you feeling? You should still have the early pregnancy symptoms such as morning sickness, sleep issues, and more likely they will hang around for a few more weeks. But it’s more important if you have a symptom that comes unnatural or unbearably painful for you?’’

After taking two deep breaths, you feel ready to give him a reply. Nose still throbs by the hit but it’s faint now.

‘‘Uhm…- yeah, other than the ‘expected’ symptoms, I don’t feel like something is wrong, or not supposed to happen. No more painful urination, though I still need it frequently.’’ you grimace lightly as you share, shifting a bit. ‘‘But yeah, I’m okay.’’ you try to wipe the fresh embarrassment with the non glowing smile you had in your storage. Probably he should but you still don’t know if he needs to know that you choose adoption. As he is your doctor, and the one who is taking care of you and the baby, you know that he must know about it, but unpleasant eerie stops you from doing what you should.

Old habits die hard, that’s for sure.

‘‘Excellent. It’s good to hear that everything is going on it’s way, and today, as now you are in the tenth week of your pregnancy, I’m recommending you a genetic test in case there is any birth defect.’’

‘‘What is that?’’ even though Seokjin was done with talking, you utter so fast that it feels like you interrupted him, as you shut your mouth with wrinkled brows. It was just getting tiring day by day with all of these tests, things to do and not to do, being extra careful because you have another living creature in you to take care, more than yourself. No more selfish, damaging, stupid choices can be done as your body no longer belonged to you. At least not only to you and this was really, really tiresome.

As he was expecting this, Seokjin comes up with some papers as you can understand them. ‘‘As I said before, it’s a test to acknowledge any kind of defect in the baby. These tests take two forms: screening tests and diagnostic tests. And a screening test tells you the likelihood that your baby could have a birth defect; a diagnostic test tells you with more than ninety nine percent certainty whether the baby has the disorder.’’ He explains more as you take the papers from him, scanning the words but they are almost identical as Seokjin continues with his further explanation. The blank eerie gets heavier and heavier the further he talks, and when he comes to the risks, it feels like your pulse palpitates on your throat. Tearing your eyes from the papers that sit on your lap, you stare at the man who is still talking.

‘‘There is small risk of miscarriage, that’s why you need to carefully consider tha advantages and the disadvantages of these test before you make any decision, even it’s small.’’

A slap to the face, a weight falls on your stomach after Seokjin is done with his statement. Mouth hangs open, you stay still, silent as the Doctor waits patiently, now he is behind his desk, sitting his hands intertwined. As if he knows the new information would put a heavy dullness in you as he searches your every movement, yet you gave him hardly any.

‘‘Do I… have to?’’

The idea of taking these tests would be tiring is there but the cause of your nausea is not just that. More likely, it’s the idea of losing something. Even though that something doesn’t belong to you because you never wanted it, and nothing has changed since then. Whether it's the guilt of knowing everything caused because of your recklessness, or it’s because you feel obligated to give the baby a good life due to your current maternal instincts - you hardly say you had one -, whether it’s beside you or far away from you, you feel the suffocating necessity. Even if the risk has one percent chance, you can’t take it. Maybe it’s odd to push your one percent chance to become free with the back of a hand, but that would be running away, and both of you already had one runner in your lives, and the baby wouldn’t need another.

‘‘I know it sounds scary but you can take your time, you don’t have to do it now. You can search it a bit more about the cons and pros but I never had any problems with my former clients if you need any consolation. And you can always ask for me more.’’

Chewing your bottom lip, you still look at him in the eye like you need to give him an answer. You do trust your doctor but that doesn’t mean that you purposely rejected the idea of getting abortion while you deal with an unwanted pregnancy only to come across with a risk of miscarriage. Of course it is always there whether you do the test or not, but that's nearly a consolation.

Nodding, you put all the papers in your bag before leaving the doctor’s office. Biding your goodbyes after ending with this week control.

You come to the hospital with a dazed head, and you were going to leave it even more wrecked. But you just needed some air, somewhere to ease the wave of emotions that is going through your head. To catch your breath, you adjust your route to the cafeteria in the outdoors. Maybe, that could help you somehow.

Not temporarily, but taking fresh air in your lungs somehow helped you. The phone call you had with Taehyung while you were at the verge of tears, too, and you sit in the cafeteria during all of these. Mimicking the doctor's words to your friend and Taehyung had listened to you, hang on your every word as much as he can on the other side of the line. Tried to console you, said that things will be alright and nothing bad will happen as if he was as sure as his name. And momentarily, you believed him. Both because you needed it, and he was being a good friend and you didn’t want him to feel useless.

For good or ill, now, your heart is resting in ease.

Well at least it was until you see a glimpse of dark uniform in the corner of the wall, and then a familiar face you haven’t seen in a while. A smile that softly shaped as heart, causing your heart to palpitate fast but in a much different way than the news you learned today, or the idea of your mother's future disappointment. It’s more thrilling and in a way even scarier than the other two options. As the opposite of how familiar the face is, the reason for your heart going this insane was abrupt. Even odd when you think the very less time you spent with the owner of the familiar face, yet it was there, forcing you to gulp down, consume every emotion he forced you to feel.

Contrary to what you expect - and you didn’t know why you were expecting him to be happy after seeing you - his face falls, the shape of heart shutters around his mouth. And to your shock, it put needles somewhere near to your chest.

The last time you saw him, the atmosphere was intense as you shared things that normally you wouldn’t do with a partially stranger but with him even though feelings were gloomy, you weren’t uneasy. And to you, when he was consoling you, internalizing what you were telling him, he wasn’t disturbed. At least he didn't look like that. But, the more you size him up, the more you get sure of his strange disturbance. And it did burn. Smoke choked you down, and put tears on your eyes. Fucking pregnancy hormones…

Not aware of your action, you caught your hand in the air, in the middle of a shake as Hoseok greeted you by the tiny bow of his head. And expecting more cutted harsly, as a knife in the gut.

Whether it’s because of your blind act, or whether he feels obligated, Hoseok comes closer to the table you were sitting, leaving the person behind he was talking to before he saw you. With every step, you breathe another air to gather your confidence a bit high, but it’s useless as your hands start to tremble under the table, fortunately away from his sight.

‘‘H-hi,’’ no matter how much Hoseok tries to sound friendly, it’s not, and you can hear in his voice as it comes out broken. His eyes are still deep and candid but not glowing the way it fascinated you when you first saw him. Still, you greeted him with a tight smile, wave of your hand small.

‘‘Take a seat-’’ pointing the available chair, you cut yourself to say something else. To correct your words. ‘‘I mean if you want… of course,’’

To your surprise, he holds the chair to adjust for him to sit on. But everything feels so forced and awkward that you can’t stop wondering if you said something to him and cause him to feel uncomfortable around you. Your brain works so hard to scan the memories of that day, but you fail to find something so disturbing to make Hoseok shift in his seat, a line between his brows and a noticeably insincere smile.

It takes minutes for someone to talk first and scare the clouds away only for a moment.

‘‘Are you waiting for your appointment or has it already finished?’’

‘‘Ah, yeah, it’s done. I just needed to take a moment and fresh air because…’’ your voice eventually trailed off as you realised he just asked to look friendly and probably doesn’t want to hear your whelming emotions anymore. ‘‘of stuffs, you know.’’

Hoseok nods, his mouth thin as a line, and even though it shouldn’t, it breaks your heart. Yes, this man owes you nothing, and of course he doesn’t have to sit there and listen to how sorry and depressed you feel over the things doctor Seokjin have told you, but it still hurts to see him this… joyless. The curiosity burns deep and wild as you desperately want to know what the hell you did to make him this anxious, but your mind barely helps as you wander in the empty field.

‘‘I should probably get going-’’

‘‘It’s been a while-’’

Words clashing and drowning one another, silence takes over and Hoseok abruptly stops above his chair as he was about to leave before you parted him. And now he looks at you with wide eyes, fear in his chest growing big as your bottom lip trembles for only a second but he catches it.

He sits back on his seat with hands on the air. ‘‘Oh, yeah, it’s been a while since we last saw each other.’’ he says but you know it’s out of pity, and you would rather die than crumbling under his gaze. So you shake your head with a false smile, though hammers work in your chest.

‘‘Ah, don’t mind me. Go ahead, you are probably busy and have so much to do. So, you can leave, seriously.’’

‘‘No-, no, no, Y/N. I’m sorry, I want to stay and talk to you, really. I really am sorry for acting rude.’’

Maybe because the look on his face, or the warm tone of his voice, you decide not to pressure him to leave after you ask if he really wants it for a second time. But he nods and smiles, and this time it reaches his eyes, a hot pink blossoms in you.

Though, before either of you can say anything, a touch at your back stops you. You hear the breathy voice before you turn your head. ‘‘Ahh, finally I found... you. Care to explain why you are-...not picking your phone?’’

And when you turn over, you see a panthing Yoongi. His hand on his knee and looks at you with concerned gaze. Then, they leave you only to land on the man on the other side of the table, and Yoongi’s eyes go wide.

He extends his hand in a non-moving shake to the air. ‘‘Oh, hi. Sorry to butt in.’’ he stretches his hand towards him, the ghost of a smile appears on his lips. ‘‘It’s Yoongi,’’

Voice deep, and it takes long to draw out when the man in dark uniform mirrors the act. ‘‘Hoseok.’’

#heartsforbts #bangtanhq #bangtanarmynet #houseofddaeng #btsgoldnet #btswritingcafe #hyunglinenetwork #hoseok x reader #hoseok fanfic #hoseok fluff #hoseok angst #jung hoseok #painkiller #dylanxmin

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all-things-mlqc · 3 years

Note

What do you think Shaw's fairytale could have been, had he been included in the "Wonderland after Dark" event?

First and foremost, now that I’ve written my response, I went way over the top with this idea. Was originally going to just summarize this idea and maybe slap Shaw’s face on Disney’s “Robin Hood” fox as a shit edit for funsies yet here we are with a whole HC. Anywho, I hope you enjoy and feel free to comment what other fairytale stories you guys think Shaw would’ve been good for!

Honestly my first thought was Aladdin or Robin Hood. I’m trying to think what best goes with his personality and how you could twist those stories into something new like they have with the other boys. I honestly feel like Robin Hood fits his personality especially with his latest event where he basically pulls a Robin Hood move, stealing from an antique store that was trying to sell fakes for the price of authentic pieces. He “took care” of the owner and people who were involved with this shameless exchange and by took care I mean beat them to a pulp in the alley, stole the items, and even got the shop closed down. While he didn’t necessarily steal valuable items and distribute the wealth to others like what our known Robin Hood does, what he did still protected many people without them knowing. Shaw has that sly, fun way of living life and really does help others without their knowledge. Even if it’s in his own dumbass way which can be selfish at times, I think he could’ve had a pretty good Robin Hood story in this event.

Robin Hood Shaw

Here’s your shit edit that took a total of 4.6 minutes to make

I imagine it would’ve gone something like this:

Shaw as Robin Hood would never settle in one place for too long. He enjoys adventuring around and would often be found visiting many different villages.

There were rumors in nearby villages of a vigilante who would supposedly ambush criminals, bandits, and even rich folks in the nearby villages who were involved with some sort of dirty business.

While he is a stubborn moron who does stupid things and can be selfish at times, he’s never once harmed or stolen from innocent people. He finds it thrilling when he’s able to let loose and be on the verge of getting caught, so fighting criminals/bandits/bad people within the village was how he enjoyed living life.

While most of his reasoning behind it may be selfish, the people of the nearby villages still considered him a hero.

He enjoyed taking out the rumored bandits outside of the village, getaway criminals within the village, and most of all, he enjoyed stealing from tactless, arrogant “royals” is what these people call themselves who used dirty tactics to gain the wealth they had.

Shaw loved the thrill of sneaking in and stealing their valuable belongings that were acquired unjustly with the chance of getting caught. And what he loved more was seeing their infuriated expressions after realizing they had been robbed.

To cover up his tracks, he would distribute the wealth among the good people of the village. He insists his good deeds are nothing more than him wanting some good entertainment and only gives the villages the wealth to cover up his tracks but we all know he’s secretly soft. Under all that bitchassness ofc

He would, however, always keep one item for himself. Whatever seemed to have caught his eye in that moment. The items he collected varied. He didn’t always care about their worth and would often take whatever seemed interesting to him.

Most of the money he used to provide food, clothing, and shelter came from the bandits and criminals. He had plenty of money to get around.

So in this date, I imagine MC going around village to village looking for this vigilante so called “Robin Hood” to help her village. Similar to Disney’s “Robin Hood” film, the people of the village are forced to pay an unfair amount of taxes to the people in control who then use those taxes for their own selfish desires, leaving the people of the village to suffer.

MC uses Robin Hood’s latest sightings from different villages as clues to where she may be able to find him, but many villagers tell her it’s hopeless, that he never shows himself as Robin Hood in public.

While asking around in a nearby village, Shaw overhears her conversation and catches her outside the village during her departure back home.

He asks why she’s looking for Robin Hood so she explains her village’s current situation vaguely to him.

Without explaining himself, he joins her on her journey back to her village.

She was uncertain about him tagging along without an explanation but soon had some friendly banter I say friendly but this man is just annoying as hell and we love it with one another. Y’all know how friendly Shaw is. Annoying but good at making conversation. Ya know... like his usual self.

Anywho, they come across some bandits on the way back where *enter Robin Hood Shaw*.

While Shaw fends off the bandits, MC also joins in and surprises him with some fighting skills of her own which ya’ll know damn well he’s gonna like.

MC was able to piece things together after seeing his fighting style and capability in which she asks if he’s Robin Hood.

He chuckles and responds with a simple “let’s go” as he continues towards the direction of her village.

She follows suit with way too many questions like mood mc, I wanna know what life is like as a bitch vigilante too but you also gotta remember he’s an annoying asshat

To be honest, her first impression after realizing he was Robin Hood was something like “wow wasn’t expecting him to be a dumb bitch” after all that friendly banter. But then again what do you expect from a man who purposely gets himself into danger?

Her questions included those as such: Why did you become Robin Hood? Have you ever been caught? Why do you always keep one stolen item from each place you rob?

His response was a question of his own “Why do you need the help of Robin Hood when you are capable of fighting, yourself?”

She pauses and explains she isn’t capable of helping the village all by herself and thought if she could find Robin Hood, the village would have hope.

Shaw pauses and states his own desires, “I’m not the person people make me out to be. I don’t do these things for the people, I do them for myself. Whether or not you want to believe I help people, in the end, I’m only doing this for myself.”

With that being said, MC suddenly felt a wall being built between them. Not that they had a well developed relationship beforehand

Still, MC explains her village’s situation in much more detail in hope of coming up with a plan.

MC throws out a few ideas while Shaw asks questions about her village and the men in control and then offers his own ideas.

After a lifetime of teasing and bickering, they come to a conclusion.

Once again bringing in Disney’s classic “Robin Hood” film, I thought it would be fun to include a fox in this story and even did some research on Chinese mythological creatures.

Huli jings are fox like mythological creatures that have the capability to shapeshift.

So to add a little twist in this story like the rest of the boys, MC’s village just so happened to be guarded by a huli jing spirit, or so the legends within the village say.

Shaw, with his sly, sneaky Robin Hood persona decided to use this to his advantage.

For days after returning to MC’s village, they gathered materials for their plan for the next time taxes would be collected.

With Shaw’s skills, he would dress as the huli jing spirit shapeshifted as a human wearing a fox mask and fight those who come by to collect taxes, threatening them to leave the village and never return while MC was in charge of special effects to make the “performance” seem more realistic.

He thought the idea of these awful villagers being frightened half to death by a “spirit” was rather entertaining and would make this mission much more satisfying in the end after everything going according to plan. Basically his thought process was “imagine pulling something off so ridiculous yet so incredible”

Slowly driving one by one out of the village, Shaw continued to “haunt” and threaten anyone involved.

However, it was only a matter of time when one of them realized it was all staged after finding MC off to the side, helping Shaw with his “performance”.

MC was then taken to the person in charge and held captive.

Once Shaw realized she had gone missing, he suspected the remaining few caught on and had her as a hostage so he finished his job more quickly and efficiently. Mr. iM dOiNg ThiS fOr mYsELf

Being stuck with the man in charge who was responsible for the village’s suffering, MC began asking why he did everything he had done, why he doesn’t help the village like one should. Oh MC, sweet sweet MC, there are some terrible people in the world and you should know this

After talking with the man for some time, there was a loud crash following the man being knocked to the ground by a powerful force.

“I’ve come to steal you away” is all MC hears before being swept up into Shaw’s arms.

With the man on the ground letting out painful cries, Shaw reveals himself as Robin Hood, receiving an appalled gasp from the man lying on the floor as he demands him to leave the village for good and never return.

The man refuses to give up, calling for backup only to be met with silence.

Shaw: Oh? You haven’t heard? They all fled the village. The remaining ones have been dealt with as well. It’s best you do the same if you value your life.

With this being said, the man got up and frantically stumbled out of the building.

As Shaw carries MC outside, the villagers thank him as they distribute the wealth found within the mans home among everyone, now safe from their continued suffering.

Enjoying her embarrassed expression, Shaw quietly teases MC while continuing to carry her away from others.

MC: You can put me down now, Mr. Every man for himself.

Shaw: Oh? I guess I found that time spent with you is utterly amusing and would be a shame to lose such entertainment.

MC: Well if you don’t go back soon, everything will be taken and you won’t be able to get your reward.

Shaw: And what reward would that be?

MC: The one item you choose to keep from every theft you’ve ever done.

Shaw chuckles while leaning close, whispering in her ear, “I’ve already taken my reward”.

Bye, I’ll be suffering while wishing we actually had Shaw in this event because he would’ve been 👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻

#mlqc #mr. love queen's choice #mr. love #mlqc shaw #asks #mlqc halloween #what have you done #I feel like this HC just got more and more ridiculous as I kept writing #I should’ve just stopped at ‘he would’ve made a good Robin Hood’#he would’ve made a good Aladdin too but I didn’t know how to create that story in MCs pov #I only have limited braincells #and all of those are borrowed from my friends #brain go brrrr #but yeah I hope maybe possibly hopefully you enjoyed this because my brain really do be dead right now #also feel free to comment what fairytale stories he would’ve been good in for this event!

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franklyshipping · 4 years

Text

Cyber-Flustering ~ A Markiplier and Jacksepticeye Ego Fanfic

HERE WE HAVE ANOTHER WONDERFUL AND JAZZY ANONYMOUS PROMPT WITH OUR FAVOURITE GLITCHY BOY HECKIN GETTING IT! LET’S DO THIS!

TAGGING: @anti-switch-glitch and @googlee-oliver

This was it for Anti. He had five minutes. Five minutes left to figure out who was doing this to him. Three weeks ago, someone had set up an Instagram account. Anti knew it had to be an ego, because only someone he lived with could have gotten the videos and pictures that ended up being posted. Pictures of him smiling or mid-sneeze or interacting with Gab’s cat, and videos of him snort-laughing or giggling or crafting with Robbie or napping with three blankets wrapped around him. And everything was captioned with something calling out how cute he was being…..and in the bio of the account, was a message directly to him. Anti blushed as he looked at his phone, re-reading the bio for the millionth time.

“Hey Anti! I’m sure this account documenting all your cutest moments is flustering enough for you….but let’s take it up a level, shall we? If in three weeks to the day you still haven’t figured out who I am….then I’m going to find you, and tickle you on a lovely livestream for aaall the followers of this account to see! That’ll round off the content nicely, don’t you think? Can’t wait to see if you find me out or not, good luck!”

Anti tossed his phone on his bed and buried his face in his hands, whining as a flustered smile spread across his face. In the first week of the account being up he’d been like Sherlock Holmes, trying to analyse every single ego out of embarrassment at the world seeing all this content. However, he soon came to realise that the account was only letting fellow egos follow it and see the content, which made Anti feel far better about it. Also, as the days continued to go by…..though it was all still flustering, Anti at the same time felt more loved than he’d ever felt before. Not just from the complimentary captions, but the comments from the other egos were so….kind and sweet. He didn’t feel belittled or mocked, he just felt surrounded by love.

So, in the third week especially….Anti had kinda stopped trying to figure out who the person was. Frankly, the thought of being tickled with the egos as an audience made him kinda excited, especially with how he knew they all cared about him and still respected him and his strength whilst he still liked things like tickling. So Anti was now just waiting….and soon enough, the time flicked to 8pm…...and he got a message on Instagram….from the account itself. He nibbled his lip as he opened it and read it.

“Uh oh, looks like your time is up! If I’m honest, I’m glad that this is the outcome…..now, come to the main living room, it’s time for our little livestream!”

Anti gulped, but took a breath and hurriedly replied.

“I’m on my way.”

Thus, he got up, and headed to the living room….and as soon as he crossed the threshold, he got chills down his spine. The lights were dimmed, the main couch was very obviously set up with a pillow, and there was a phone set up on a tripod….already streaming. Anti tentatively walked in front of the camera, glancing at the screen, before looking around and calling out.

‘Alright….I-I’m here, you win….who are ya?’

Anti gulped when he suddenly heard a little giggle from the darkness….but NOTHING could have prepared him for who actually stepped out of the shadows. Anti gawked, gobsmacked as he looked the person up and down, before whispering in disbelief.

‘…..O-Oliver?’

The kind-hearted, sweet android with golden eyes giggled and grinned, his tongue poking out through his teeth as he sauntered to Anti, cooing to him.

‘Hey there GlitchyKitchy.’

Anti blushed….the damned name of the account was flustering enough by itself. Anti was astonished. Out of everyone that it could have been, Oliver was the literally the LAST person he would ever have suspected doing anything like this! It was so mischievous and sneaky, and now all Anti wanted to know was why the heck Oliver decided to take it upon himself to start this teasy vendetta against him.

‘I-I….I-….I-I don’t understand….why?’

Oliver grinned fondly at Anti. It was true, mischief and secrecy weren’t things that came naturally to Oliver, and he had to muster up some courage and determination to actually do all this….but he had a very compelling reason driving him. A reason which he now revealed to Anti with a sweet, affectionate smile.

‘Well…..almost everyday people tell me I’m sweet, or cute, or adorable. And every time I hear something like that it always just….lifts me up. It gives me butterflies, no matter how hard a day I’m having, hearing stuff like that from people makes me so happy. I wanted you to feel that too, because I think you deserve it.’

Anti blinked. He was just….lost for words. Oliver did this, made a secret account and spent all that time and effort collating flustering pictures and videos of him….just to try and make him happy? The usually wild man was struck silent with bashfulness, because this was literally the kindest, sweetest thing that anybody had ever done for him…..ever. Oliver’s internal processors whirred and warmed affectionately at seeing Anti be so struck and bashful and happy, and Oliver was so happy that he’d done this for the guy, because Oliver knew that behind the knife-play and wildness….Anti was a good person who deserved sweet attention like everyone else. Oliver went up to him, and Anti shivered at the android’s gentle smirk.

‘Now then, why don’t you have a little lie down?’

Anti nibbled his lip as he glanced to the couch, before clearing his throat and replying challengingly.

‘And if I don’t?’

Oliver giggled. It was a sweet sound, but it gave Anti chills, especially with what Oliver said next.

‘Oh Anti, don’t forget that I’m an android. I am just as strong as my brothers, and I could make you lie down with only one hand if I really wanted to. I want to be nice to you Anti….do you want me to be nice to you?’

Anti got more chills. He never thought he’d see the day where Oliver, the sweetest of them all, made him feel flustered and intimidated. Anti nibbled his lip lightly, before averting his gaze with a nervous smile.

‘Y-Yeah….I guess….’

‘Good, now get yourself comfy!’

Anti bashfully lay down on the couch on his back, squirming as he get comfortable, trying to school himself and at least make it look like he had at least SOME resolve to be working with. Alas, this was foiled when Oliver sat on the edge of the couch and gasped brightly as he gestured to the livestream.

‘Oh look, there’s so many people watching already! Everyone must reeeally wanna see you get tickled Anti.’

Anti ended up smiling a shaky smile and letting out a quiet whine as he look anywhere he could except for the livestream. It was a noise which the ordinary person probably wouldn’t hear, but with Oliver being a Google, he heard it alright. The first cute noise of many. Oliver giggled, wasting no more time as he straddled Anti’s legs and kept Anti’s arms pinned beneath his knees, and Anti let him, because he knew that Oliver was the one with the power here. The squirming man let out another quiet whine as Oliver lightly cracked his knuckles, before waggling his eyebrows and wiggling his fingers in the air playfully.

‘Oh where oh where to tickle first! You’ve got so many sweet spots to choose from!’

Anti pursed his lips as he retorted embarrassedly.

‘I-I do not!’

Oliver raised an eyebrow as he giggled affectionately.

‘Oh yeah? You sure about that? Because I’ve already spied two cute lil tickle spots riiight….here!’

Anti gasped and yelped as Oliver reached and started gently scratching behind his (small, elf-like and adorable) ears, and the poor guy just burst into jittery giggles. Oliver felt like he was going to melt, because Anti’s natural non-maniacal giggles were the sweetest things ever.

‘AGH! N-Nahahat gehehet ahahaway!’

Oliver grinned at his cute protests, and kept softly scratching as he cooed.

‘Awww but your little ears are so cuuute, I can’t not tickle them! Plus, these are your consequences for not figuring out who I was.’

Anti kept giggling as he tossed his head about, but nothing could dislodge the gentle tickling. So, through pinker cheeks and splutters, Anti tried a threat out for size.

‘I-Ihihihi’ll b-bihihite yohohou!’

Oliver giggled at the threat, because when it came from someone consumed by bouncy giggles it didn’t exactly fill Oliver with fear. On the contrary, it gave him some inspiration. Allow me to present to you, the biggest backfire in tickling history.

‘Not if I bite you first!’

Oliver purred, before eagerly diving down and nibbling the shell of one of Anti’s ears, making him squeal in ticklish shock and kick his feet at the new, evil sensation. His giggles reached a much higher pitch too, and he realised that he’d literally just brought that on himself.

‘Nahahaha ohohoho my gahahahad!!’

‘Mmmmm nummyyy!’

Oliver hummed, making Anti squeak more and blush harder as the goofy android made the silliest nomming noises that he possibly could as he nibbled all over Anti’s ear. The fact that Oliver was being so silly rather than sinister with his tickling affected Anti more, it made him giddier. Usually if someone tried to intimidate im amidst tickling, it hardened his resolve because he could bite back, but with silliness it just turned him into happy mush.

‘S-Stahahahap wihihith the nohohohisehes yohou gohohoof!!’

‘But I can’t help it! It’s in my programing to make noises when I eat!’

Oliver retorted to Anti’s exclamation, making Anti snort and shake his head at this absolute gooby goofer of an android.

‘Thahahat ihihihis suhuhuch buhuhullshit!’

Oliver gasped. Oh he was NOT having that kind of language!

‘Hey! Don’t be so rude!’

Oliver nipped right behind Anti’s ear, making Anti yelp and jerk his head to the side adorably as he exclaimed VERY quickly.

‘Ohohohokahay okAHAY! Ihihi’m sohohorry!’

Oliver giggled, and leant up because he was always nice at heart, and he ruffled Anti’s already messy hair gently as he replied.

‘Apology accepted! Now then, where to tickle next?’

Oliver started tapping his chin in thought as his eyes flicked down over Anti’s body, which made the man squirm in adorable anticipation. You know when a tickler is looking all over your body, trying to decide where to go, and it feels like you’re being scanned? Well, this time it was literal, which made it all the more flustering for Anti because he knew Oliver could see ever little nerve in his body. Oliver giggled amusedly at Anti’s restlessness.

‘Yohou’re such a cute lil wriggler!’

Anti pursed his lips, and ended up letting out a half-growl half-whine sort of noise as he replied.

‘O-Only cuz you’re t-teasin’!’

Oliver giggled again, before beaming brightly as he replied.

‘Ahaawww I’m sorry, would you rather I just got on with it? Okey dokey! Let’s try these ribs shall we?’

Anti spluttered at the sudden shift, which meant he couldn’t prepare any defence as Oliver’s fingers darted to his ribcage, scratching light and fast in the most diabolical way. Anti was a mess of cackles in seconds, arching his back as he babbled.

‘NAHAHA NAHA W-WAHAHAIT OHOHLIII!’

Oliver put on a mock innocent expression, cocking his head down at Anti like butter wouldn’t freakin’ melt.

‘But you wanted me to just get on with it didn’t you?’

Anti whined through his cackles, and as he tried to retort, Oliver picked that moment to spontaneously pinch his uppermost ribs. Let’s just say that as a result, Anti didn’t get across everything that he wanted to say.

‘IHIHI NEHEHEVER SAHAHAID-EEEK!’

‘Never said what? Sorry bud, I don’t think even my sensors could catch that!’

Oliver replied with a teasy giggle, and decided to keep pinching the new sweet spots which had Anti thrashing and yipping amidst his open mouthed cackling fit. He was so flustered and giddy and loving how playful the tickling was, he’d never admit it obviously, but he was loving it none the less, despite his faux protests.

‘NAHAHAT THEHEHERE NAHAT THEHEHEEEERE!’

Oliver grinned fondly, and lean down nice and close to him so he could croon as he kept tickling him.

‘Awww this is another sweet spot isn’t it? Riiight at the top of the ribbies!’

‘OHOHOHOLIHI C’MOHOHOON!’

Anti wailed at the teasing, which made Oliver hum down at him with playful nonchalance.

‘Well, where is it you’d rather I tickle?’

Anti’s blush was creeping down his neck now, and he threw his head back with all his mind-swirling flusteredness as he exclaimed cutely.

‘IHIHIHI DUHUHUNNOHOOO!’

Oliver couldn’t keep the grin off his face now, Anti was just too endearing and perfect not to constantly smile at. Oliver kept up the tickling as he subtly glanced over Anti’s body again….before spying that Anti’s t-shirt had had ridden up, thus exposing a rather precious little button. Oliver chuckled, before cocking his head at Anti.

‘Are you sure you want me to stop tickling your ribs?’

Amidst his mirth, Anti hadn’t noticed Oliver’s little ploy, and he didn’t think….he just nodded.

‘YESYESYESYESYEHEHEHES!’

‘Okey dokey!’

Oliver let up with a bright smile, and let Anti gasp and pant for a few moments, since he was a sweet tickler like that. Anti was relieved for the time Oli gave him to get his breath back, and he slowly refocused on the android….but then his eyes widened as he watched where Oliver was headed. The android had shifted a little further down, and now had his lips hovering over Anti’s bellybutton. The poor glitch was speechless, which allowed Oliver to grin, wink, and then blow a rippling raspberry right onto his navel. Anti just absolutely screamed with laughter.

‘AAAAAHHHHHHH!!! OHOHOHOLIHIHIHAHAHAHA!!!’

Oliver gasped in amazement at Anti’s strong reaction, and eagerly blew another raspberry to make Anti shriek before he teased.

‘How’s this Anti? Do you like this better? I think I do!’

Anti was shrieking with wild laughter, kicking his legs and arching his back sharply at each raspberry, and the poor man as just becoming more and more incoherent by the second.

‘OLIHIHIHIIIII IHIHIHIT TIHIHIHICKAHAHAHA!!!’

‘Wohoah, it must really tickle if you can’t finish your words! I’m so glad I did this, you look like you’re having lots of fun!’

Of course, despite how mad and intense it was, this was the truth. Anti was loving the hell out of every tickly and torturous second, and in all honesty this was probably going to end up being the highlight of Anti’s whole freakin’ month.

‘SHUHUHUHUT UHUHUHUHAHAHA!!!’

Oliver giggled, and nuzzled his nose into Anti’s navel as he cooed.

‘Oops, did I fluster you a lil bit there?’

Anti had tears in his eyes as he writhed about…..before his laughter went silent. Oliver smiled fondly and leant up, having mercy properly now because he could see that Anti had taken as much as he could take. The android carefully released Anti’s arms as the man panted and caught his breath, but then Oliver’s felt his heart-core swell when Anti grinned up at him and spoke amidst giggles.

‘Yohou….ahare the mohost mischiehevous cute person….Ihi’ve ever mehet….oho jeez….’

Anti hugged his middle, rubbing it as Oliver beamed bashfully, before replying brightly.

‘Well I could say the same about you!’

Anti giggled, and smiled when Oliver helped him sit up, as well as promptly giving him a loving cuddle. Then though, Anti’s blush bloomed once more when Oliver turned to the still-going livestream, and he hid his face in his hands when he suddenly remembered that every ego had been watching all of that. He whined as Oliver grinned and addressed it.

‘Well, I think we can all agree that this was pretty freakin’ cute! Now, if any of you guys wanna give our trooper here a cuddle then you’d better get down here quick before I take over!’

Anti snorted and giggled embarrassedly at first…but then, he nearly got new tears in his eyes when he suddenly heard sounds of stampeding, hurrying footsteps throughout the whole of the manor. Anti smiled, and Oliver grinned, satisfied that he’d completed his mission…..because Anti definitely felt happy, and oh so loved.

WOOOO HOPE YOU ALL LIKED THIS FIC LEMME KNOW IF YA DID WOOOO LUV YOUS XX

73 notes · View notes

rurifangirl · 3 years

Note

chile ya shoulda told me i missedd the oc asks🙄✋

imma just send in a few not to heavy on ya💃💃

echo🌸

🍁 Where does your OC go when they need to have some time to themself? Would they ever have their own “comfort corner” filled with all the things they like? Do they have a favourite spot outside that feels like its theirs and theirs alone?

kayn🌸

🍂 Does your OC enjoy hugs? What do they do as a show of affection for: their friends, their family, their significant other(s) or for strangers? Over all what are they like with recieving affection from others?

kida🌸

🌾 Describe your OC through the eyes of someone absolutely head-over-heels in love with them

shou🌸

🌸 What are some of their favourite things and why? List as many as you can think of!

myst🌸

🌠 On a scale of 1 - 10 how Baby is your OC? BONUS when asking this question rate the OC yourself as see if the reply matches up!!

I'm sorry bestie, but I was prepparing for our 20th marriage 😔💔

Echo🐏-

It's not rare It needs space for himself, but even when he'll later on join the dumbass trio, It does have a soft place where it goes to, especially when stressed.

Any places with water nearby Is perfect for him. Which Is a reference from when he got cursed, and It Is kind of ironic. But since it got cursed, It found the sound of water..oddly soothing.

Not that he enjoyed it that much, but more because It was so tempting, that made him forget about all doubts and much about the outside world.

When with the gang, it will spend less time there, which Is understandable, since they will travel in many places.

If there isn't that place, it would panic, and decide to kick themselves out of everyone else. Hoping It can resolve this by itself. Most of the time, he forcefully does so, but there are times when only crying could help.

Kayn💜-

HE'S THE DEFINITION OF AN HUGGY BEAR OF COURSE HE'D LIKE THEM!! Litteraly anything physical related, as long as It ain't sexual, Is absolutely great for him. He himself does to others some surprise hugs, even tho to the only ones he's close to. And Ruri too naturally. I miss adding the boys to shit so here, Ruri finnaly has been mentioned.

He'd give the world n beyond to anyone if they'd want to, he's doing his besttt💜💜

Kida💮-

Abldkdkaldk as with the other Shou's asks, I'll try😭😭

"Such classyness and worth, in yet such a rough body. The flowing beauty, with a fierce spirit, easly feedable. Through compentent fights. Hands, as though used, were pleasing to look at. And understandably warm. With such soft eyes, you could almost be lost in them. The liliac, almost ethereal lights did help, too. Such, inky and flowing hair made me remember of one of a lion."

Shou🍵-

OHOHOHO OKAYOKAY, I GOT ITT

1- His design obviously. I just, really love It, and might be my fave overall, even if I really like Rui's and Myst's quite a lot too. His hair Is something that just makes me go brrrrr.

2- His development, even more than personality. I know I didn't use this as much, but I love how he goes from a shady, "villain", trying to murder Lyva and Rui out of jelousy and rage, to a far more understanding, and trying for the redemption he never knew he needed, until he met Qiran. Which Is why Id like to Say that, of he didn't meet him, he would've become more and more villanous with time. He's not a villain, nor an hero, even now. He doesn't know that too. And that's something i really, rEALLY like in his character.

3- His past, and how he can't let go out of It, even if that severly hurt him. But he couldn't understand that, even until now he doesn't. He still portrays his mother as someone who didn't deserve such pain, completely ignoring and not understanding how that still hurt him.

4- His wording abilities. Most times he's so sneaky, and even oddly teasing, in subdule ways, as if that could help him, in any way. No matter if it's morally wrong or right, if that's what he belives in, that's his decision. Will he regret It? Perhaps. But that's a risk he knowingly always takes. Even if that would mean doing the same for Qiran.

IM GETTING SO LONG BUT I JUST REALLY LOVE THIS DUDE AND HIS CONFLICT W BEING A CANIBALISSTIC SNAKE DEMON ALRIGHT BYEEEE

Myst🎸-

A big 7.5. Ya can't convince me otherwise. The reason why I'm not giving them an 8 Is because of her,, moments. But even then, he's a big bimbo and i love him so fucking much toooo😩

Also id overall rate em an 8.5/9, Idk either. I think he's really great too, but probably goin for the 8.5.

Tags undercut

@a-chaotic-dumbass @spoopy-fish-writes @nadi-117 @damnfoxx @dopesaladlady @audre-falrose

#ruruasks #rurusocs #oc #ocs #my ocs stuff #dragon raja #(Only kida n kayn)#kayn #kida #echo #shou #myst #my ocs rambles #my ocs #pls write somethin if ra reblog cus i spent a lot on time on echo n shou help😭😭

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love-and-anarchy-au · 3 years

Text

Love & Anarchy: Chapter 21

heyyyy, happy friday!! im so excited about this chapter; i couldnt wait for you to meet all this new (and old) characters! this chapter is the longest yet, so please be patient xd i hope you enjoy this chapter as much as i enjoyed writing it. may i go back to writing l&a 3 <3 have a nice day!

REMEMBER THIS AU HAPPENS IN THE SAME UNIVERSE THAT THIS ONE

Find out what this AU is about here

Masterlist

Tag list: @healing-winston-pratt @honey-hippie-harper @obsidianfr3sk @nodrianbcyes @everyone-has-a-nightmare @magykaldealings @nobellrenaissance @cerenoya @cassin-the-assasin @cindersnightmare

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Words:

36,962 (i meant it xd)

Part 2: A teen named Ace Artino

17 years old Alec

“Are you Leroy Flinn?”

“Yes, that's me.”

Alec smiled, subtly, in a respectful manner, the way James used to smile.

Alec had asked one of the janitors about 12th grader Leroy Flinn, and they (the janitor wasn’t not a he nor a she) had told him he spent most of his time in the outdoor lab, which was practically his’ since he had been showered in acid eight months ago (to avoid going to court over one of their students being burned to the ground, the school had decided to make amends by giving the nineteen-year-old student, Leroy Flinn, his own space). Alec assumed the school didn’t know that Leroy was a prodigy, as if they did, they would have kicked him out; besides, he was already nineteen years old, so Alec supposed he had had to repeat some grade.

The laboratory was very well illuminated and had many windows, from which the air flowed in and out at ease (although that did not prevent the place from having an almost unbearable smell of antiseptic). There were three gray marble tables, with dirty burners and sinks full of test tubes. There were also glass cabinets, from where you could see that there were chemical elements and even stuffed animals. There were a couple of worn out leather stools, one of them being the one in which Leroy Flinn was sitting, using a microscope before being interrupted by Alec’s unexpected arrival.

While Alec wore a long dark coat that was the last present from his best friend (it was hidden in his closet, wrapped in gift paper, with a card that said ‘Congratulations! You have survived seventeen years in this society. Here's a present.’ Alec remembered the lump in his throat, because his birthday was a week away when James died and he decided to look for something to remember him), the long blackish blue sweater with a yellow ‘A’ on it (this had belonged to his girlfriend) and had his hair strictly slicked back with the most expensive gel he could find (in James' apartment), Leroy Flinn wore a pair of ripped and faded jeans, a vintage T-shirt from a band Alexandra would have probably liked and a white lab coat, stained with what Alec suspected, were different types of acid. Leroy had matted, greasy hair, skin riddled with acne and burns, and lab goggles covering his small dark eyes. His attitude reflected how confused he was with Alec's visit.

“I'm Alec James Artino. I have a proposal to make you,” Alec introduced himself and offered Leroy a hand. He shook it. Alec felt calluses on Leroy's hand and even felt a slight itch at contact.

“What do you need, Alec James?” Leroy said, offering him one of the stools. Alec sat down, straight as a ruler.

“Call me Ace, please,” Alec asked and Leroy nodded. Alec continued. “I have heard that you have contacts, contacts that interest me.”

Leroy went pale. His hands began to shake slightly. Alec smiled and shook his head at the reaction.

“Easy, Leroy Flinn, I'm of the same ilk as those contacts,” Alec explained and to demonstrate what he had said, he drew a test tube towards him in a blink of an eye. Leroy's mouth was open; he must have been very impressionable if he was impressed with just that.

“You're a telekinetic.”

Alec nodded, and returned the test tube to its place.

“I need the contacts of all the prodigies you know. Only that.”

Leroy frowned.

“Why do you need them?”

“To start a revolution. The liberation of prodigies.”

Leroy's eyes sparkled, but his brow furrowed a bit more.

“How do you plan to liberate a sector of society that has been discriminated for more than ten centuries? What do my contacts have to do with that?” Leroy asked, practical.

Alec inhaled.

Don't tell the speech to them, tell it to yourself.

“I think that, although violence is not always the answer,” Alec emphasized the word “always”, he let it float, “in this case it is the only way to make our voices be heard. Make them respect us, as we are humans just as they are. Throughout the history of humanity, the great changes in society have been violent, since there was not, nor there is now, nor there will be any other way. It is a sad reality, but it is the one that we have and I will do what has to be done so that prodigies are treated as the humans that we are; it does not matter if I must destroy every building in Gatlon City, or kill the mayor, I will not rest until a prodigy can walk on the streets without fear.” Alec did not let the carbon out of his lungs, even though he needed oxygen and did not that; he continued with the second question. “My best friend was brutally murdered and he firmly believed in this revolution. He once told me that the key to this revolution was you, Leroy Flinn. He told me that you have contacts of powerful prodigies, majestic prodigies and suitable for our purpose.” The latter was not true; James had never mentioned the ability of any prodigy, but it didn't matter, he was sure that if James needed those prodigies, it was because they were powerful. Alec continued. “That's why I'm standing in front of you now, Leroy Flinn. That is why, and only for that, that I ask for your contacts.”

Alec finished his speech. He had never spoken so many words together; perhaps that’s the effect that James had on people.

Leroy didn't say anything for a long time.

He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair.

“I have some,” he said and rummaged in his drawer under the marble table. The drawer creaked when it was opened and also when it was closed. Leroy pulled out a worn out and dirty notebook with only five sheets and impregnated by the smell of gas. He handed it over to Alec, who took it in his hands and gently stroked it, feeling the rough texture of the notebook. Leroy said. “I hope they are useful.”

Alec smiled unemotionally the way James would have.

“I'll need your help too, Leroy Flinn,” Alec said.

Leroy frowned once more.

“Mine? Why?”

Because you're a prodigy and that's enough, Alec thought, but that wouldn't convince anyone to join a revolution, so he did what people had been doing for ages to convince others: he complimented him.

“Because you're a genius, and you'll be very useful in the revolution,” Alec said, but he realized something was missing, so he added, “Please, Leroy.”

Leroy smiled, embarrassed and flattered at the same time, but above all convinced. Leroy Flinn promised:

“I'll take you to the prodigies.”

The first prodigy on Leroy's contact list was named Henry Bleach, and he attended the same school as them. Leroy and Alec just had to leave the lab and head to the area closest to where Alec and James used to go to chat or just hang out, the restricted area of the school. They crossed the yard fence, and arrived into the old basketball courts, also fenced in with wire. Leroy played with the wire using his hands and after a few seconds, it began to melt. Alec separated the melted piece of wire from the others, and they made their way onto the concrete field.

There was only one person there, and it was a boy who looked around Leroy's age, from his medium height and slightly shorter. Leroy hadn't said anything to Alec about the prodigies on the list, and Alec was fine with it, he wanted to judge the prodigies himself, no gossip behind.

He hated gossip.

They approached the boy, who was standing in front of a wooden lectern, staring at the sun. The closer they got, the more Alec noticed the boy's fiery hair: red as the dawn, blazing like fire, standing out against his dark skin. The boy must have been painting, because Alec's senses were telling him he was holding something made of wood, and that near him were pigments condensed with oil and ...

“Hey, Henry,” Leroy said.

“Flinn! What’s up?” Henry saluted, waving his hand with a brush at Leroy. His smile was huge and his teeth were perfectly white. Alec pictured them as priceless pearls. The boy (Henry?) noticed Alec's presence and said, “Hey, who are you?”

Leroy threatened to respond but Alec wouldn't let him. His voice was his’, and his’ only.

No one would ever steal his voice again.

“I'm Alec James Artino …” Alec introduced himself, before Henry interrupted him.

“What are you, from royalty?” laughed Henry.

Alec didn't flinch and continued as if nothing had happened.

“No, I'm not from royalty, actually. Anyways, you are..?” Alec denied, before asking Henry his full name. He wanted him to say his name himself, even though Leroy had already told him.

“Henry Bleach,” he answered, with a huge smile. Then he asked, “What are y'all here from?”

Alec took a sneaky breath.

“I'm gathering prodigies for a revolution. I know you're a prodigy, so don't even try to deny it. So am I,” Alec snapped, and pulled a huge rock to him, one he'd spotted in the restricted courtyard. He let it float in the air before separating it like he had done with his rosary. As for the tiny remains on the ground, the wind carried them away. Henry had an approving expression on his face.

“So, Alec James Artino, you want to organize a revolution? For what?”

“To free the prodigies. To avenge the dead.”

Henry nodded.

“How would you do it?”

Alec calculated how to answer this question to Henry. He was an artist, according to the acrylic stains on his pants, and the tubes of spray paint in the pockets of his joggers. Alec thought Henry would be the type of people who believed in destroying something for the creation of something else.

“We’ll destroy everything to build something better and new,” Alec promised, a smile on his face.

Henry smiled his pearly teeth and laughed.

“I'm in, Alec James. Count with me,” Henry caught on.

“Please, call me Ace,” Alec asked, shaking Henry's hand.

Henry laughed once more and said:

“That’s better. When do we start?” the boy asked anxiously.

Alec and Leroy exchanged a look. Alec promised:

“We’ll keep in touch, but don’t worry, I can assure you we’ll meet very soon.”

The second prodigy on the contact list was Bruce Chapman, a physics student from the Gatlon City National University. Alec and Leroy's High School and Gatlon’s College were quite a distance to walk, so they had to take public transport. Near the school, there was a subway station, so they headed there.

Leroy and Alec left the school without pain or glory, since the mandatory school hours had ended and only the optional subjects remained, and they walked three blocks, in silence, until they reached the stairs that led to the Poles Avenue subway station and Marooned Road. Alec and Leroy descended, sunlight trickling down as they went lower and lower.

Alec hated the subway.

The stairs ended and they found themselves in a large space, illuminated with pale lights and despair. In front of them, were the devices where you put your transport card and paid for the trip. Alec had no idea what their names were, but he knew it would take a second to destroy them and make his way to the damn train. Leroy and Alec kept going, Alec steady, and Leroy crestfallen. Leroy produced a blueish card with a sauce stain from his grimy backpack. The boy laid the card on the scanner and it motioned for Alec to pass. Alec shook his head, and dug into his pocket for a crumpled bill. He handed it to Leroy. After Leroy took it, Alec passed by and headed for the platform.

Every second slowed by.

He stopped next to the platform, and he waited for the train.

Leroy stood next to him, hung his backpack over his chest, and dug into his pocket for a pack of gum. He took one out and offered another to Alec. Alec took it; chewing something would help him calm down.

The train arrived. Leroy and Alec got in, sat in two empty seats.

Anyways.

Leroy sighed.

“How did you come up with revolution idea?” asked Leroy.

Alec laughed, just because he was expecting that question.

“Actually, it wasn’t my idea, but my best friend’s,” Alec explained as chewed his gum, absentmindedly, without exaggerating or pronouncing the movement.

Leroy nodded and also chewed his gum.

“Aren't you ... scared?” Leroy questioned.

Alec didn't see that question coming.

The real answer was “yes”.

And “no”.

He was afraid that everything would go wrong.

But, the truth was, he had nothing to lose.

“I have nothing to lose,” Alec said, and the train stopped. They had reached their station.

Leroy nodded again, and they stood to get out of that metal which Alec despised so much.

This station was exactly the same as the other, only it was full of art, young people, and a small café. Alec contained an expression of disgust at the putrid smell of that place. With his eyes, he searched for the exit stairs. He found them and in two strides, began to rise to the surface.

Alec took a deep breath as he emerged from that underground prison.

Nevermore.

Leroy exited after him, and headed straight for the monumental building of the campus from Gatlon City National University .

The building was ancient and modern at the same time, almost as if it had been built on top of a graveyard. It was a gray building, with mirrored windows, stone columns, sliding doors, and marble floors. Everything was gray, gray, gray. It was absolutely depressing and yet...

“Bruce is in the physics faculty,” Leroy said, as they walked into the building, without pain nor glory. Inside, it was very well illuminated and smelled like bleach, which Alec liked and disliked simultaneously. His leather shoes collided with perfect marble. Leroy's slippers squeaked.

They continued walking down the long and wide corridor, until they reached its division. They turned right, going deeper and deeper until they found themselves in front of a gray door, with the inscription "LAB 3B - KNOCK THE DOOR." Leroy knocked on the door with his knuckles, twice, once more, and three times to finish. They waited.

A boy (a man, to tell the truth), twenty-three years old, sturdy and tall (he was four inches taller than Alec, who was already tall), with ashen hair cropped on the sides of his skull and combed into a gaudy quiff, and dull amber eyes covered with circled glasses, opened the door for them.

Leroy smiled.

“Bruce, hi, how are you doing?” Leroy greeted and high-fived the man (Bruce).

Bruce grinned from ear to ear, a childish smile.

“Leroy, man, it's been so long! Oh, with whom you've come with?” Bruce asked, still smiling. Alec smiled, poorly compared to Bruce.

“I’m Alec James Artino, and I dare to ask if we may come in. I have a proposal for you,” Alec introduced himself, respectful and cordial.

“Of course! Come in, come in,” said Bruce enthusiastically.

They entered the lab, which was very much like Leroy's, only a thousand times messier. Everything, the floor, the tables, even the ceiling, was full of papers-large papers, cut, chopped and folded. Alec shifted the papers as he passed, made a clean path with his mind.

They sat on the swivel stools . Alec locked the wheels with his powers, to stop them from moving .

“Well, what’s this proposal you have for me?” Bruce asked, still smiling.

How can a human being smile so much without cramping?

“I know you're a prodigy,” Alec said bluntly. Bruce's smile faded. “Don’t worry, I’m one myself.”

Alec felt each and every piece of paper in that room, and collected them all, arranging them in neat, perfect piles. For a second, there was a whirlwind, and the next, the lab was clean. Bruce's mouth was open.

“Wow, that was ... incredible,” Bruce whispered, and ran a hand through his gaudy quiff. Alec nodded and brought his fingertips together.

“Bruce Chapman, right?” Alec asked, only to divert the conversation to the proposal he had to make.

Bruce nodded, like a little boy.

“You know this society in which we live is sick, right? You know the way prodigies are treated isn’t right, don’t you?” Alec asked rhetorically. Bruce nodded again.

“What if I told you we can change this society? That we can change this world,” Alec said, his eyes hungry and his expression alive.

Bruce's dull eyes lit up.

“How?” Bruce whispered, mesmerized by Alec's words.

“By gathering prodigies, powerful prodigies, and rioting. We’re the only ones that can save prodigies from dying in the streets, so we have to. I'm planning a revolution, and I need you to be part of it. Will you, Bruce Chapman, join me,” Alec looked at Leroy and corrected himself, “join us, in this uprising?” Alec finished his speech, the most inspiring he had said so far. He had hardly any breath, he had savored the words so much, he had forgotten to breathe.

Bruce Chapman had tears in his eyes.

“Of course. Of course I’ll join you,” Bruce declared, his voice cracking with belief and hope. Alec grinned, and shook hands with Bruce, who had not stopped smiling through his tears.

It was like a child in the body of a man.

One way or another, he would be helpful.

They said goodbye and promised to keep in touch.

The third prodigy was a girl two years younger than Alec, a girl who attended the most expensive boarding school in all of Gatlon City. The boarding school was only a few blocks from the university, so they went by foot. The Gatlon area in which they were, was the richest and most prestigious area of the city. The sidewalks were clean, the parked cars were the most expensive, the least accessible stores were there. Alec felt like a toad from another well, being there.

They reached the imposing gates of Gatlon City's Boarding School for Girls. The building was old, but it had been preserved with dignity, unlike Alec and Leroy's school. The pillars were ancient, graveyard style, the huge doors of polished and dark wood, the colonial windows so clean they could be used as mirrors. Alec and Leroy climbed the four steps before the entrance, and then Leroy pushed open the door (with the help of Alec's power). They closed the door and found themselves in a wide, well illuminated corridor with a gleaming white marble floor.

Alec envied this place so much.

Leroy went to a tall desk (made of the same wood as the front door) that was at the side of the hall. A young woman, her hair in a perfect bun, sat behind this desk, typing in indistinct words on a computer. Leroy cleared his throat.

The woman looked up and pursed her lips.

“How can I help you, gentlemen?” asked the woman, who had an elegant but annoying voice; it scraped in Alec's ears like nails colliding with each other.

“We want to visit Margot Climat,” Leroy said, emphasizing the gravity of her voice. Alec arched an eyebrow, saying nothing.

The woman nodded and typed more words until there was a beep and she nodded. Then she stood up, stepped from behind the desk, and pointed her forearm to her left.

“Follow me,” she said.

Alec and Leroy followed her and turned left into a secondary corridor that led to a spiral staircase, also made of marble and polished wood. The woman's heels struck the ground over and over again, constantly twitching. They climbed the stairs, one, two, three floors, until they reached one where there was only one more hallway, with doors marked with numbers and a long railing to keep people from falling. Alec peeked out discreetly, and noticed that from there he could see the entrance hall. He was tempted to jump and fly, but he knew he wouldn't get very far without his helmet.

Or maybe yes.

He preferred not to know.

The woman led them to a door marked with the number 134, and knocked on the door, before opening it without waiting for an answer. The woman leaned out, and announced:

“Margot, you have visitors.”

Then the woman walked away, motioned for Alec and Leroy to come in, and left, without closing the door. Alec and Leroy came in, and closed it. The door did not make the slightest sound, so well oiled and maintained despite its clear age.

They were in a room the size of Alec's entire apartment (which was twenty square meters). The room had two huge windows, wide open, and the silk curtains were drawn. There were three individual chairs, beige. In one of them, opposite Alec and Leroy, sat a girl, Margot Climat.

It only took a quick glance at Alec to realize that Margot was a very, very strange girl. Her gray hair was extremely long, and it was somewhere between being straight and curly; it rippled in the air on invisible currents of air, although it was true that the day had turned cloudy and rather windy. Margot was short, or so she appeared with her feet just touching the ground. Her skin was golden and her eyes were gray. No, they were light blue. No, they were gold. No, they were covered in expensive black sunglasses. And her hair was styled into a gray braid.

“Bonjour, Margot,” Leroy said. And he sat down in one of the armchairs.

“Bonjour, Leroy,” Margot answered. Her clothes were also expensive; according to Alec's senses, they were silk and pure cotton. Margot lowered the level of her glasses until they only covered half her eyes. She smiled insightfully and said, “Bonjour, monsieur. Sit down, please.”

Alec smirked. Margot was French.

“Ciao, Margot Climat. I'm Alec James Artino.” Alec introduced himself and held out his hand towards her. She shook it and then flipped the magazine she was reading.

“To what do I owe the pleasure? What do you require?” Margot asked, and took off her glasses. She tossed them to the ground, and they bounced off the carpet as the girl rubbed her knuckles against her eyes. Margot sighed/yawned.

“We came to make you a proposal,” Alec began, and intertwined his fingers. He did not lean back in the chair, like Leroy, but stood straight and respectable.

According to Leroy, Margot was the key point for his revolution.

Although he hadn't explained why, Alec believed him.

Why wouldn't he?

“Especially him,” Leroy clarified, and Margot laughed. Her laugh was music and it reminded Alec of Alexandra's laugh.

“Of course, Leroy. Go on, Artino,” Margot said, and uncrossed her legs.

“We are gathering prodigies for a revolution. Are you interested in joining?” Alec blurted out, but when Margot looked at him with frantic eyes, he clarified, “Don't deny you're a prodigy.” Alec picked up the glasses from the floor and put them on Margot's hair, like a headband. “I am also one.”

Margot smiled with her thin lips, and prompted Alec.

“What is the purpose of this revolution?” questioned Margot, savoring the word revolution, as if it was a precious commodity.

Alec smirked.

“Do you have any idea of the estimated number of prodigy deaths per year, miss Climat?” Alec asked rhetorically. He expected Margot to shake her head.

But Margot Climat tensed and replied:

“A million deaths a year, in Gatlon City only,” Margot reported, staring at the ground. The data was a sword between the ribs.

“Precisely, miss Climat. Do you consider that this genocide must continue, that the killing of prodigies in the streets shall be extended?” Alec asked, his voice strong but on the verge of shaking with the rage, provoked by hearing those words coming from his own mouth. He hated society, he hated it, he hated it.

They had to stop this.

“No,” Margot replied, her voice determined and strong.

“The purpose of this revolution is to free prodigies, it is to free ourselves from the chains of this sick and manic society. We will do whatever it takes to be recognized as human beings, but we cannot do it alone. We need you, Margot Climat, you and all the prodigies we can recruit who are brave enough to raise their voices and claim their rights,” Alec paused for a breath. “Will you be part of this liberating rebellion?”

Margot looked Alec in the eyes. Her eyes were glassy, but none of those raindrop-like tears spilled out.

Margot nodded.

Alec grinned with his teeth, and sat up. Leroy did the same.

“Magnificent. We'll see each other later to fix the rest,” Alec assured, but before leaving Margot asked/begged them:

“Do not forget me.”

Alec looked into her eyes. They were like the sky: cloudy, windy and dark.

“Never,” Alec promised.

And they left.

The last two prodigies on the list were sisters and lived outside Gatlon, on a family farm. They were two sisters, and Leroy had found them by chance, once he had left Gatlon with his grandmother. The farm where these sisters lived was a hundred kilometers from Gatlon, and it was too late to buy a bus ticket. However, they agreed to go the next day, taking advantage of the fact that there were no classes as it was the weekend.

Alec did not return to the apartment at Drain Way and Southwest 435.

He went to James' apartment (though he had thrown all the corpses to Gatlon’s river, it was still risky, as the police could show up searching for James’ mothers; he didn’t care, he was going to fight to police anyways, besides, he would never go back to his father’s apartment), and drank all the coffee in the house, which was a disaster since Alec had scrambled everything to find something to use as concrete proof of James Roselo's existence (in that search, he found hidden cameras, probably installed by James’ mothers to keep an eye on him; that’s how they found out he was a prodigy); just like he had the dust from his sister's rosary, his girlfriend's letter and cassettes, he needed something from James.

And he still hadn't found it; the coat was a gift, but not an inheritance.

Maybe it was his name.

Maybe.

The next morning, Alec sported a fresh pair of dark circles under his eyes ready to be shown. He decided to at least look decent, so he changed his clothes, brushed his teeth, and went back to combing his hair. He drank no more coffee. He ate nothing. He went out into the street and headed for the Gatlon City bus station, where Leroy Flinn was waiting for him.

When he arrived, Leroy was sitting on a bench, dressed exactly the same as yesterday, only with a new threadbare cap. In his hand, there were two bus tickets. He gave one to Alec when he sat next to him. They said nothing. They just waited.

Alec couldn't believe that he had already recruited four prodigies.

He couldn't believe that James' dream was already underway, that the prodigies' dream of freedom was closer to coming true.

Soon, soon, soon.

The revolution would save all prodigies from dying like Julieta had died, dying like Alexandra died, or being coldly murdered like it had happened to James.

Everything Alec did and would do, would be by and for them.

For his sister, the most innocent and pure person to ever inhabit the Earth.

For Alexandra, the bravest girl Alec ever knew.

By James, visionary and thinker. Creator of the revolution.

Alec owed everything to them.

Without them, he wouldn't be there.

He inhaled deeply.

The bus arrived and got on with Leroy.

He sat by the window, took out a book he had brought, and began to read.

Leroy started reading too, but it was a scientific report, or so the headline said.

The bus started and they left.

They read and read. The bus went on and on, the buildings shrinking into houses, and then into open fields. They passed by the river, by the sea, through fields, humble neighborhoods and suburbs. Alec didn't pay much attention to the landscape, he read on.

It said this:

“...and yet, it is impossible to predict a human being. The human being is unpredictable, or as it is called: ‘unique’. However, and although it may not seem like it, controlling a human being is easy, it is only a matter of practice. Throughout the years, it has been appreciated how there is always a leader in the pack; that leader is the one who uses words and does not write a book with them, but paints a picture. Paints a dream, an ideal, a future. This future, this dream, is precise, but not specific, and has at least one thing that everyone is looking for. Whoever finds that something that a group of humans is looking for, will become the leader of the next generation and will reign until the end of its time.”

The book had belonged to James and had the margin of the page folded, with a couple of words.

To Ace.

Alec's throat became a knot .

James had found that dream in common that prodigies had.

It was Alec's responsibility to paint it.

He straightened up and wiped away a tear, like someone would wave away a fly .

He would make the dream of prodigies come true.

He just needed to recruit two more sisters.

Leroy brought him back to reality by touching his shoulder.

“This is our stop,” he said.

Alec nodded and put the book in his pocket. The pocket was large, the book small. They stopped, went out into the narrow corridor of the bus, and went down the steps of the bus. Leroy nodded to the driver, before the driver closed the sliding doors and drove off.

They were out in the open, next to a cracked pavement road, and an endless field of wheat. A few feet from them, there was a wooden gate, with a carved wooden sign, in which there could be read “Harper Farm”. Leroy headed that way, Alec followed him.

They walked down a dirt road, with recent car wheel markings. In the distance, you could see a small forest, and a couple of red stables (they were only visible thanks to that bright color). The sky was covered with plenty of fluffy clouds, and a gentle breeze played with Alec's wheat and hair. It was crazy even to think that that place was a hundred kilometers from Gatlon, that in an hour and a half you could get away from that urban jungle...

They walked for about half an hour. Neither Alec nor Leroy had a watch, nor reliable perception of time. Time just passed, it was subjective and objective at the same time. For Julieta, time was a gift from God that should not be wasted. For Alexandra, time was torture. For James, time was an investment.

For Alec, time was just that: time.

And after all, it didn't matter.

But it would.

They came to the doors of a red and white barn, with a wooden sign announcing the sale of fruits and vegetables, and their prices. Alec lifted himself a few inches off the ground, so his (James') shoes wouldn't get dirty with the mud. They entered the stable, and approached a table used as a desk where there was an antique cash register and a young girl behind it, counting money.

The girl was wearing a jean jumpsuit, with a pocket in the center of her chest that had a flower painted on it. She had thin, light brown hair tied in a light ponytail, and grass-green eyes. Her skin was tanned and her lips were thick. She was deep in her world, just like David used to be.

“Excuse us,” Leroy said, in a respectful manner . The girl looked up from the cash register. “We are looking for Carrie and Honey Harper.”

The girl straightened, and her lips pursed.

“I'm Carrie Harper,” she introduced herself, stretching the vowels like sticking gum. “Honey is my sister . What do you need us for?”

Alec cleared his throat, and linked his arms behind his back.

“We have a proposal to make you both.”

Carrie tensed.

“I'll be right back,” she said, and went behind the curtain behind the desk.

In a minute, she returned with a girl of the same height, but with a rather curvy body. The girl, Honey, had curly blonde hair, dark eyes, and was wearing a full body outfit like her sister. Alec thought he saw a bee sting through Honey's hair.

She blushed when she saw Alec.

“What proposal do you have for us, mr…?” said Carrie, expressionless.

“Artino. Alec James Artino,” Alec introduced himself and offered his hand. Carrie shook it. Alec continued with his proposal. “You are aware that prodigies are constantly mistreated and their life expectation is a maximum of thirty years, right?”

Carrie went pale, but nodded.

“What does this have to do with us ...?” Carrie questioned, but Alec cut her short.

“I know you two are prodigies.”

Honey cut him off.

“How dare you…!” she snapped, until Carrie stopped her with her forearm.

“Honey, silence,” Carrie said. Then she turned to Alec. “Mr. Artino, please, tell us why do you think we are prodigies.”

Leroy answered for him.

“Well, you once contacted me for help, telling me you were a prodigy. Then, Ale-Ace came to me asking for the contacts of prodigies I got so I gave them to him.”

“All for what? Searching for prodigies in order to hunt them?” Honey tricked, and a considerable amount of bees began to enter the barn, to alight on Honey. The girl was furious. “Well, I am a fucking prodigy and I won't let you kill me, Mr. Artino.”

Carrie sighed.

“Why are you here, Mr. Artino? I beg you to go to the point and stop beating around the bush,” begged Carrie, crossing her arms.

Alec sighed too.

“I'm a prodigy too, just like you,” Alec explained, as he took the cash register with his invisible hands and made it go round and round. He compacted it into a perfect cube, and then returned it to its original shape. Honey's bees scattered, Carrie arched her eyebrows. “I’m gathering prodigies for a revolution that will free us from this sick society we live in, and assure us the rights we deserve.”

Honey pursed her lips, more contemptuously and judgmental than her sister.

“A revolt? In the city? Why would we care?” Honey observed, with an arched eyebrow.

“This isn’t about the city, about Gatlon; this is about us, prodigies. This is how it starts: a group of prodigies freeing themselves from the chains of society, inspiring other prodigies to do the same,” Alec explained, playing his soul on those words, saying what had to be said. “We’ll be the voice of the voiceless, the savior of the lost. We’ll be the light of this generation and the next one, we’ll start a fire that no one will ever be able to stop at all. We’re prodigies, we’re strong, powerful, we’re gods. We deserve the same rights as non-prodigies, and that’s what we’ll get.”

At all costs, James whispered in Alec's mind.

“At all costs,” Alec repeated and finished his speech.

The eyes of the three present were shining, Leroy included. Carrie's mouth was half open, Honey's mouth was wide open, and Leroy was looking at Alec with pride, with…hope? Leroy patted Alec's shoulder, and Alec, for once, didn't stiffen.

They believed in him.

Just like Julieta, Alexandra, and James had.

Alec smiled, without showing his teeth.

“Will you join us?” Alec asked.

Honey approached Alec, hopping and screeching.

“Of course!” exclaimed Honey enthusiastically. Her eyes were dripping with anticipation.

Carrie smiled sheepishly.

“I assume we'll be useful so…” accepted Carrie.

“You're the key, Harpers,” Alec stated. Honey blushed. Carrie managed a half smile.

“We will keep in touch,” Alec promised.

Honey and Carrie nodded.

“Mr. Artino…” said Honey. Alec respectfully stopped her with a wave of his hand.

“Call me Ace, please,” Alec asked, with a smile. Honey smirked.

“Ace,” Honey said again, amused. “Just ... thank you.”

Alec didn't frown, but looked at her in confusion.

“May I ask for what?”

Honey laughed at the way Alec had asked the question. It reminded him of Alexandra, complaining about James because he said everything in a very elaborate way ...

Focus, Artino.

Carrie walked over to her sister and placed one of her hands on her shoulder. It was a protective gesture, and more maternal than sisterly .

“For saving us,” Carrie finished.

Alec was about to blush.

About to.

“Don’t thank me. It is you who are saving yourselves,” Alec affirmed and said goodbye.

Leroy also said “goodbye” and they started back.

When they got to the bus stop, Leroy said:

“Well, that's it.”

Leroy sighed. Alec gently shook his head.

“I'm not done yet. I have another prodigy to meet.”

Leroy arched his eyebrows.

“Whom?”

Alec remembered a paper, one that Alexandra had given him a long time ago, one that she had found by chance, one that had ink calligraphy and an address and a name ...

“You’ll see.”

8 notes · View notes

vanchlo · 4 years

Text

The Assistant / Chapter Thirty-Three, “If It Kills Me”

A story about what happens when she can’t be just his assistant anymore, and he can no longer be only her boss. Now, can they be happy with being just friends?

Read this story from the beginning here! :-)

Inspo tag here!

*NEW* Spotify playlist in the works can be found here, songs that inspire me for the story and have significance in the story c:

Warnings: one brief mention of vomiting, and some mild language.

SNEAKY PEEEEEEEEEEEK

“And Becky’s face consumes my thoughts, much like it’s been captivating my conscience as of recent. Rather unsurprisingly.

There it remains for days, much like it has been. It follows me through the air as I stare out the window, floating above the clouds. It crops into my conversations, leeching any enjoyment gathered from them. I even see it in a crowd of people inside the walls of the courtroom before I deliver my closing statement. When I look a second time, I’m disappointed to find the eyes of a stranger.

I only find a respite from longing for her face when I turn my phone off, trying to stop wondering why she won’t return my texts. That thought only sticks to all of my others during the coming week with more ignored texts, craving her voice, and sufficing for browsing her Instagram. Her face. That smile. The smell that sat in the corner of her neck. I miss all of it.”

Song Inspiration: If It Kills Me by Jason Mraz (click to listen)

“It’s like before it’s gonna storm, you know? You can’t see it, but you can feel it, like this, uh electricity, you know?” - Steve Harrington, Stranger Things

The warm rays hit my cheeks as my sandals pound on the pavement. I wonder how I could ever be unhappy given the May sun shining down on me, and walking from my favorite restaurant. Without fail, the blissful idea is stolen away by a swarm of thoughts dosed in reality. And a particular one that reminds me of what I need to do, despite the dread I’ve been feeling. Not even the former respite of Asher’s hug after our shared lunch can keep them away.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I swipe through my apps until I find the right one. Stopping in front of my gray car, I lean against the door with a huff. My thumbs hover across the screen nervously, followed by a curse under my breath. Quickly, they flit across the screen composing words in front of my eyes. Sliding into my driver seat, I stare at the screen for a moment longer before hitting send.

I wait for the chime to come, telling me I have a new message, from him. Nervousness coats my limbs and only grows worse as the minutes tick by driving home. Waiting. But when I check my phone after walking in the door, my lock screen showing my dad and I’s smiling faces is blank.

No new messages.

Sliding off my black sandals, I pad through the shared living room and kitchen area before reaching my bedroom. My laptop beckons for me across the room on my desk, and I sit down before it. I hope that maybe if I don’t procrastinate this specific thing, maybe things will turn out a little better. But as I’m opening a study guide for Family Law’s final exam, I’m proven wrong.

The chime grabs my attention immediately, making my fingers still on the keyboard. Flitting my eyes to the lavender Speck phone case, I grow antsy at wondering who the text is from. And what it says. Inhaling nervously, I pick it up and wake up the screen. The few words of a preview I see of the text cues a sour anxiousness to grow in my stomach. Bringing my knees up onto my chair, I pull them against my chest as I open the text.

Hey I’m so sorry I’ve been terrible at texting back, finals these next two weeks are getting to me. Speaking of that I realized that I have to take a final at the time we’re supposed to get lunch in a few days. I’m really sorry but can we reschedule . . . again? I was thinking in two weeks when I’m finally free from the clutches of uni????? :(

Harry

sorry cant love. im in edinburgh all that week for a case. lets talk about it when im back. good luck w finals xx

Sighing, I type up a short response, agreeing to that. With guilt casting a shadow over me, I return my attention to the lengthy study guide. The gross feeling in my stomach remains, and with its arrival, my excitement for our lunch date is replaced with disappointment. I’ve been looking forward to it for weeks since we rescheduled it the first time, due to me messing up the dates, again. Peeking my eyes at my phone, I turn away and slump against my chair.

It’s been a month since I saw him last, and although we’ve sent a handful of texts, they haven’t been enough for me. Skye, of course, told me that there’s nothing stopping me from showing up at his office door, but she’s wrong. I don’t know his schedule anymore, and for all I know, I’d be waiting around for him. Plus, my appearance would just yell ‘desperate!’ Sometimes, I wonder what little world Skye is tucked away into that’s far simpler, not realizing I still have to work during the day, especially more so this summer.

But as the days drag on with chemo and radiation appointments, and lectures upon lectures, I think maybe Skye has the right idea being so optimistic. Maybe.

Over the next few weeks, I see him at almost every corner I turn, and it hurts more than it should after all these weeks. The ignored texts shouldn’t feel like a fresh stab wound when I see that Scrabble box in the family room, get on that very same lift, or walk past the nurse’s station I found him leaning against that morning. Nothing compares to the piano and the pang I feel in my chest at the sight of it. It comes every time I walk through those doors and am reminded of the intimacy held on those keys. No, it didn’t get easier after the first time being back there with my dad, or the fifth time. Avoiding that gray sofa like the plague only reminded me of the texts I sent him that went unanswered. I can’t blame him though, because like a bitch, I took a week sometimes to reply to him.

The tight feeling in my chest only feels heavier as I sit on the plaid couch in my childhood living room. I can’t even enjoy watching FRIENDS like I used to be able to, as their faces bring forth the sound of his laugh. It pains me to turn down their voices as I dig my phone out from under the cushions. I try not to let it get to me when I, once again, find no new text messages. My attempt is futile and it only causes me to take longer to open the phone app. By now, I know his number by heart, but my shaky hands cause me to mess up a few times.

Pressing the phone to my ear, all I can hear is its ringing and the pounding of my heart. As the seconds drag on, I’m almost certain I’ll hear the voicemail next. But then I’m pleasantly surprised, although the bitterness in my stomach blossoms.

“Hullo?” His gravelly voice pulls my lips into an instant smile. Rubbing the back of my neck anxiously, the words fall from my lips hurriedly.

“Hi, Harry.”

“Hey, how’s it goin’?” he responds curtly, a clattering noise heard in the background before he mutters a ‘shit.’

“I’m sorry, did I call at a bad time?” I ask quickly, regret filling my veins.

“No, yer fine. ‘m jus’ makin’ dinna.”

“Oh um, nice. What are you cooking?” I inquire, twirling the braided silver ring on my pointer finger. Swallowing, I wait to hear his molasses drawl again, like music to my ears.

“Jus’ a stir fry. So . . . why’d ya ring?” Harry responds, a coolness hugging his voice.

“Um, I haven’t heard from you in a while and wanted to say hi.”

“Hi,” he hums awkwardly, followed by the sound of a door closing. Squeezing my eyes shut, uneasiness falls over me in a wave. Oddly, I wonder if all of a sudden I can’t call to say hi. “Ya, we’ve both been busy. Cases fer me, an’ prolly uni an’ yer dad’s treatments fer you.”

“Yeah,” I agree aloud, my chin falling to rest in my palm. But it leaves a second later to lose my fingers in my hair. “I wanted to tell you that I finished my finals last week, so now I just have clinical left in the fall. Oh, and my dad got to ring the bell today. He’s all done with chemo and radiation after his scans all looked good. It’s hard to believe that he’s cancer-free. His doctors will, of course, have to keep an eye on him in the future to make sure it doesn’t come back, but I couldn’t be happier.”

“Tha’s wonderful, love,” Harry coos into my ear, the first notes of happiness heard in his voice. It begins to put me at ease, and cause me to think maybe something isn’t off after all. “‘m really glad t’ hear that- well both o’ those things.”

Unbeknownst to me, I find myself nodding along with his words as if I needed his confirmation. But his words stop there, and the sickening feeling that something is wrong settles back in. A small ‘yeah’ stumbles off my lips as my fingers form into a fist in my lap, debating what to say next. Or if I should ask what I’ve been wanting to say the entire time.

“We weren’t able to get ahold of each other a few weeks ago to reschedule lunch. Would you still like to?” Going out on a limb, I let the words fly.

I watch for them apprehensively, uncertain if they’ll take flight. The loud sound from his side, the subsequent shuffling, and a voice saying his name shoots them down hastily.

“‘m sorry, I gotta go. ‘ll text ya ‘bout gettin’ lunch,” Harry remarks, his words stringing together swiftly. I barely have the chance to say an ‘okay’ before he abruptly hangs up, sewing together an unwanted thought for me.

Tossing my phone to the other end of the couch, I fall back against the cushions. Turning up the volume of the telly, I avert my gaze back to the make-believe world I’ve always taken comfort in. As the phone call gnaws away at my insides, planting insecurities every few steps, I let the characters whisk me away. Even if their faces and familiar jokes will now never stop reminding me of him, and something I let go of that I didn’t know I had. I only feel worse when I realize that I knew then that he’d never send that text, and I think he knew that, too.

“Staring at it isn’t going to make it ring, y’know,” somebody states, pulling me from my webs of thoughts.

Lifting my attention away from the black screen in my hand, I catch Myles looking at me impatiently.

“Wha- ‘m sorry. I was listenin’.”

“Then what’d I just say?” he requests, the hand propped against his chin rising in a silent question.

My lips fall apart to welcome my voice, but nothing comes out. Shrugging, he receives his answer and replies with a disapproving glare.

“Hare, this is important stuff. We’re leaving for Edinburgh tomorrow for the case, it’s a huge one.”

“I know, My. Jus’ repeat what ya said, please,” I huff, batting a hand at him. His eyes roll into the back of his head when he leans back in his leather chair.

“I swear to God, Harry, I-.”

“Stop,” I retort, growing annoyed.

He plays with the point of his quiffed blonde hair before clearing his throat. Although I try to listen the second time around, my gaze is lulled back to my laptop screen. My fingers itch to touch the keys and type up words, and when Myles begrudgingly answers his ringing phone, I find my chance. Sliding my silent phone into my pocket, I click on the blue thought bubble, only to be met with disappointment. Brushing it away, my fingers fly across the keys and my words are sent with a soft hum. Soon, Myles hangs up the phone with a perturbed sigh and resumes the conversation we were having. Again, I try to return to the bubble we share and the words that occupy it, but my mind is consumed with the anticipation of that coveted ding. And with Becky’s face, much like it’s been captivating my thoughts as of recent. Rather unsurprisingly.

It crowds my mind when I wait for the boarding call, tapping my fingers along the screen and watching the words be sent off. I only find a respite from longing for her face when I turn my phone off, trying to stop wondering why she won’t return my texts. That thought only sticks to all of my others during the coming week with more ignored texts, craving her voice, and sufficing for browsing her Instagram. Her face. That smile. The smell that sat in the corner of her neck. All of it. I miss all of it. It gnawed away at me slowly, and terribly, burying doubts beneath my defenses. They sprang up when I least expected them, and when I thought about sending just one more text. A few words wouldn’t hurt anything, I thought, but at the same time, I distrust the ultimate impact they could have.

The pounding jars me from my reverie, bringing me to my feet slowly. Padding past the television and kitchen area, a yawn jumps from my lips. Another pound lands on the door, dragging my brow into a knot.

“Oh, shuddup!” I exclaim in disbelief, wrapping my fingers around the smooth metal of the door. Yanking it open, I find the grinning bearded face of my mate standing on my stoop. “‘m not goin’, Rore, I already told ya this.”

“C’mon, Harry, I’ll look like a right idiot being there all alone,” Rory responds, his steps telling me he’s following me inside once I turn around. “Help a mate out here.”

“Ya, ‘coz ya were so helpful tha otha day when I asked ya t’ consult with me fer the Starkey case.” Scoffing, his words pause between his lips as I fill a glass of water from the attachment on the fridge. “Why’re ya goin’ anyways, since it sounds like sumthin’ yer dreadin’? And since when d’ya even go t’ these sorta things? Last place I thought ‘d see you at, Rore.”

“I don’t, but it’s for me sister’s showing. I can’t miss it, she’s me baby sister. I’d hear about it from me mum for weeks.”

Snorting, I have to pull the glass of water away from my lips.

“Hope ya bloody choke on that water, mate,” Rory scoffs, only making me laugh harder. Water flies from my lips as I’ve forgotten the glass on the marbled countertop. “Are ya coming or not, Harry? Ya know it’s a good place to pick up chicks, too. They blooming love these art gallery places.”

Recovering from my fit of giggles, I turn my head to find Rory waiting with the question in his eyes. He huffs and riffles a hand through his tousled blonde hair a few shades lighter than that which covers his face. Shaking his head, he wiggles his head at me.

“I’ll consult with you on the next case, or even give ya first pick,” he whines, folding his hands together under his chin, as if he’s praying.

“‘m yer bloody boss, I always get first picks,” I murmur, a smile cracking at the end of my words.

“Oh, fuck off, would you?” he spits, pushing at a chair in front of the seated bar attached to the kitchen island. Clucking his tongue, he messes with the collar of his navy blue blazer thrown over a bloody Zeppelin shirt. Yeah, you sure look artsy there, Rore. But with the next words that fly from his sailor’s mouth, he pins me down. “What’re ya gonna do here anyways, sit and watch the bleeding telly all in your lonesome when ya could be with me getting damn a date?”

Biting my lip, my house slippers come into my view and when Rory’s eyes find them, a laugh explodes from his lips. “Go hurry up and bloody change before you’re too far gone, mate. I’ll be in the car,” he titters before his voice falls with a delighted sigh. Delight found in my pain.

“Two cases, Rore. Any two cases I want, ya consult with me on. Ya got it?” I argue, following on his footsteps.

“Whatever makes ya feel better, mate. I know you'll be thanking me later tonight.”

“Doubt it,” I mutter, watching him open the door, sure there’s a sly grin covering his face.

I turn to jog up the stairs until I arrive in my bedroom. Quickly, I toss on skinny jeans, a Keith Haring shirt, and a mustard button up smattered with faded white flowers. I look rather artsy, I reckon, I decide as I look at myself in my bathroom mirror. It’s an easy feat when you’re standing next to wannabe Rory over there, though. After taming my hair and finding a pair of shoes, I pad down the stairs.

“Alexa, turn off all o’ my lights,” I announce, slipping my wallet and phone into my pocket as my hous darkens around me.

“Take fucking long enough?” Rory groans when I slide into the passenger seat of his silver Sentra.

“Shuddup and drive, will you? So we can get this ova with.”

“If you’re gonna be an ass tonight, then just go back inside,” he almost laughs, beginning to back away from the towering walls of my house.

“Talking ‘bout yerself, are ya now?” I quip, bringing my phone from my tight pockets, tapping in my passcode.

“I’ve noticed, y’know,” he mumbles, barely loud enough for me to hear him. Looking up from the bright screen, his eyes don’t stray from the road. “There’s a girl, isn’t there? Or there was?” he continues, a man I’ve come to love over the last three years he’s worked with me. And somehow I thought I had fooled him, but it turns out, I haven’t. I can’t even fool myself.

“Sumthin’ like that,” I whisper, my attention straying back to the conversation lit on my screen. Another day of the ball being in her court, and she just leaves it in the bloody corner, neglecting it. “I see why ya wanted me t’ come now . . . jus’ don’ try t’ set me up with yer bloody sista. She’s like twenty.”

His hearty chuckle fills the space around us, the words of a song from Death Cab for Cutie lurking in the background. “I won’t, but y’know she’s not gonna let ya out of her sight, mate. She’s had the hots for you from day one.”

“Oh God, Rore, what’d I let ya drag me into here?” I joke, my lips curling into a nervous smile. But the smile feels good, and it feels even better when her name disappears from my screen, and I forget my phone in my pocket.

“What happened to making me dinner?” I whine from the couch, crossing my left leg over the other under the comfort of my blanket.

“That was when you were busy, and well, the other day when I was feeling generous. Not today, missy,” Skye scoffs, the sound of the fridge shutting marking her words. Something lands in my lap with a plop, startling me.

“Wow, how gourmet. Why thank you, I definitely don’t need to make dinner now,” I joke, picking up the wrapped piece of string cheese.

“I know you’re still going to eat it. Just eat cereal or something, you hobo. I’m going to bed at a decent time, unlike somebody.”

“Hey, it’s a Friday!” I argue, pressing the page down button on the remote, waiting for something to catch my eye on Netflix.

“Yeah, and some of us still have a job on Saturdays!” she calls from her journey down the hall.

“Party pooper!”

She remains silent on the defensive line, and so does the list of boring content on the television screen. Relenting, I click over to My Stuff and press play on the next episode of FRIENDS. Relaxing into the cushions, I unwrap the cheese and slowly eat it in strings. Giggles flow from my lips watching the scene unravel in front of me, and some eye-rolls because of Ross or Monica. After a while, my legs stray to the fridge, and I return to the tan sectional with a bowl of Cheerios. The milk threatens to spill over the side when I sit up suddenly, almost yelping in laughter at the scene when Monica and Rachel lose their apartment to Chandler and Joey. The sugary Cheerios soon disappear, and the milk follows them as the episode nears the end.

Placing my bowl and spoon in the dishwasher, I hurry back to the sofa to catch a Phoebe scene. My cheeks warm with a smile, but they soon grow cold when my thoughts have to interrupt with a memory of his face. That god awfully sweet smile adorned with his cherry lips and precious dimples. Without knowing what I’m doing, the cartoon looking app appears under my nose, and pictures fill my feed. I take a second look at a few of them that catch my attention, the angry voices of Rachel and Monica tickling at my ears.

Soon, the search bar materializes and although it feels wrong, I type in letter after letter to create his name. I can’t remember the last time I glanced at his profile, just to catch a hint of him. Finding the profile I’ve become familiar with, I tap on his picture and wait for his profile to load. Glancing away, the tv captures my attention once more as I scratch at an itch on my leg. Yawning, I rub at my eye before it falls back to the blindingly bright screen. Blinking hard to clear the haze from my vision, I scroll down to see what new pictures he’s posted, although they’re usually few and far between.

I find the most recent picture I recognize and tap through them. Picturesque shots from high in the clouds. His unbelievably adorable niece. Food-grams. A picture of a homemade pizza is making my mouth water and is still stuck in my mind when I happen upon the next photo, and the most recent one. The moisture in my mouth is wicked away, suddenly bone dry when the image in front of my eyes slowly registers with me. But I can’t believe it, even though I’m seeing it. I don’t want to see it, or believe it. The moisture reappears in the corners of my eyes quickly as a sourness quickly knits together in my gut. The image shakes in my hands and then blurs in my eyes, accented by the thrashing of my heart inside of my chest.

“Skye!” I shout, the words leaping from my lips with little success.

My lip wobbles and I feel my entire face collapse from pain, disbelief, the whole shebang. The sob screaming from my lips is muffled by my fingers coming to my mouth.

“No, no, no, no, no,” I mutter, inhaling fast and feeling the tears in my throat. Because I can feel it everywhere in my body - the pain. In my eyes, my stomach, my hands, and my chest. The sight of Harry’s lips touching that of another girl’s sends knives into my heart, and my stomach roiling. “T-this can’t . . . ,” but my words escape me, because the multitudes of feelings punished with anguish and despair course through me.

“Skye!” I yell again, not realizing that I’ve gotten to my feet. I stumble at first, feeling the weakness reach my legs. Her name leaves my lips wet with tears as I run past the kitchen and down the hall.

Pushing open her door, darkness meets my eyes, and I swear in that moment it swallowed me. Hitting me, I grab the doorframe and feel my forehead fall against it. Leaning there for support, the sobs roll through me, the very reason still clutched in my hand.

“Whaaaaat?” she groans tiredly from her bed across the room.

But I only reply with a sob of her name, hiccups havocking my chest. My hands claw at the wall, darkness coating my eyelids.

“Ree?” Skye asks groggily, the click of her lamp following her words. “What happened? Are you alright?” she hurries, the pillowy patting of her covers being thrown back meeting my ears.

Her arms wrapping around me are almost numbing, and do nothing. And feel like nothing. But when I feel my head meet her chest, the slowed-down world I lived in for those few seconds vanishes.

“Skye, I-. . . ,” I attempt, once again falling up short as tears suffocate my voice, much like they’re making me feel. Shakily, I press my phone into her hand as I try to find safety in her arms.

I wait and then am rewarded with her intake of breath followed by a sigh. “Holy fuck,” she whispers, and retaliates by pulling me closer against her. “Come here, Ree.”

She walks me over to her bed and helps me under the covers until I’m surrounded by them, and her arms.

“Who i-is she?” I demand sloppily, searching for something to hold onto and to anchor myself with. I’m compensated with the smooth fabric of her shirt that I cling to the back of, my head falling into her hair. The mundane scent of strawberries wafting from her body tries to relax me, but to no avail.

“Ree-,” she begins, but I don’t let her start, let alone finish.

“I want to kn- I need to know,” I respond, sniffling against the warm expanse of her neck. There’s shuffling next to me before she sighs, and I sense the light of my phone. Tapping prods at my hearing as I try to form coherent thoughts.

I’m met with images of him. Harry. His dark curls, the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, and the high-pitched giggle that accompanied my tickling as well as his own. The intruding memories rack my body with shaking sobs, pressing my lips together as new tears gush over them. My belly contracts with each sob, and I don’t even register the cramping in my hands from holding on so tightly.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Skye hums warily from above, pulling my head into her neck, leaving her arm there to shield me from her words. Or the image that I can’t remove from my mind even if I tried. It’s burned there indefinitely now.

His arms in a blue button-up surrounding her and his lips enveloping hers. A smile creasing his cheeks with happiness, and spreading to those of her dark cheeks. Her curvy body pressed against his, flowing ebony curls tickling her chocolate skin.

“Tell me.”

“Okay,” Skye caves, the tips of her fingers running marathons along my back, in attempts to calm me down. But I don’t know if the tried and true will work this time, although it has for every other, even when my dad’s life was painted with the C-Word. “She’s a London based artist, does some sculpting and gallery work locally. According to her Instagram account, anyways.”

“I asked . . who is she?” I repeat, my voice wavering under the dominance of the tears.

“Her name’s Bailee Taylor.”

“W-what does her page look . . . like?” I request, exhaustion blanketing me, and only adding another feeling to the rest. Blinking away the tears, I try to take in a deep breath, but my memories hit me with the safety I felt in his arms. Unwaveringly.

“It looks like they’re . . dating,” Skye announces quietly, squeezing me around the middle. The confirmation I didn’t know I’d been searching for hits me like a train, knocking the air out of me again. And all of a sudden, hatred pulses through me, asking me where to lay it. Where to feel it. “There’s a few pictures of them on her feed, looks like they met maybe a few weeks ago.”

“Why?” jumps from my lips finally, taking a nosedive to join a sea of unanswered questions. The word shakes the second it leapt from my tongue, and somehow it hurts more than all of the rest. “I h-hate him,” I cry, my nose smushing against her skin when I try to hold onto her tighter than I already am.

“No, you don’t,” she coos, raking her fingers through my hair slowly, and carefully.

“I know, b-but I wish I could,” I answer, the memories dancing through my head at hyper speed. Falling asleep in his arms, and waking up in them. The tickling fight. The almost kiss. The Scrabble game. Waking up to find him waiting there in the doorway. Him coming back even after the way I treated him. Finding him standing there at the front of the lecture hall. The reprieve of being in his arms again after so long spent away from them. And then, like a wall, my mind runs into the strings of unanswered texts. The canceled lunch dates. The both of us ignoring the other’s texts, but then at the end, it was him. It was him who was awkward during the last phone call. He hung up on me abruptly, and I heard somebody else was there. Was it her? It’s possible they would have already been together by then. He said he’d text me to set up lunch, and he never did.

“It won’t make you feel better,” she murmurs, cupping my head with her palm. The sound of tears edging at her words only makes mine come harder, and the feeling in my gut grows louder.

“Then what will?” I beg, wondering if I’ll ever forget the taste of the salty tears. A taste I thought I could forget just late last month when my dad was cured. News that I told him, and had been impatiently waiting to do all day. “I thought I was just feeling okay again, Skye.”

“I know, Ree, I’m so sorry,” she returns, placing her cheek against mine, the first tear peeking through in her voice. “I’m sorry.”

I unpeel myself from her anxiously, kicking away the blankets before my feet land on the floor.

“Where are you going?” she almost demands, the sound of her following me far away.

“I’m gonna be sick,” I confess, rushing down the hall before falling to my knees in front of the toilet. The Cheerios and milk from earlier make a reappearance, along with the string cheese, and mushy contents of my other meals.

Running a cold cloth along my face, Skye kneels in front of me, her face painted in sadness.

“How can it hurt so much, Skye, when he wasn’t even mine?” I croak, focusing on the lone tile in our bathroom that doesn’t match the rest of the flooring.

“I think you’re wrong, he was yours, Ree.”

“I was so close. I fucked up, again,” I weep, my lips collapsing with yet another sob.

“Don’t say that, don’t,” she insists, tucking her hair behind her studded ear when it goes every which way with the shaking of her head. “You can’t blame yourself for this.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It feels like it is. She’s so pretty . . Of course she is,” I remember aloud, breathing in quickly before the tears take hold of me once more. Closing my eyes, I reach out for her and let my head rest against her shoulder.

“She really isn’t, Ree. A big pair of tits doesn’t make you pretty, and anyways, you’re far prettier. He could do much better, like you.”

“You’re just saying that,” I confess, trying to swallow, but my throat has tied itself into knots with the thoughts of him. And when that word falls out of bed inside of my head, I find that it can hurt worse. “I was his Becks, Skye, I thought it was right there. That it was gonna happen for us.”

“Oh, Ree,” she cries, sniffling against my hair when she pulls me against her. “I know, I’m so sorry . . so sorry.”

Nodding into her chest, it feels right as her necklace digs into my wet cheek. My jaw aches from clenching my teeth, and so does every other part of my body in some way. Somehow I let her bring me back to her bed, and hide me away in her arms. My head swims with questions, then fleeting hatred for him, and inconsolable longing the very next. I shed a tear for his smell, his contagious smile, that Scrabble game we’ll never finish, the churros I’ll never be able to eat again without him ruining them for me, the color of his eyes I could never forget, and the lost feeling of his lips I never got to kiss. The list miles long of things I never got to say to him, or do with him, or make him feel. Because now she does, and she isn’t me.

“I-I thought . . that he felt the same way about me, and that somehow he knew that I loved him.”

A whimper escapes Skye’s lips as my tears fall into her neck, adding to the puddle I’ve shed there.

“What does she have that I don’t? Am I not interesting? Does she have a nicer body than I do? Am I not pretty enough? Was I not nice enough or appreciative of him?” I weep, the questions flowing off my lips from the recesses of my mind. My name greets my ears firmly, but I ignore it. “I was trying to answer his texts when I could, but things got so busy with uni and my dad. All the driving, the tests in both places, and I couldn’t keep dates right in my head. Maybe if I’d texted him back sooner that one time, or made the lunch date on the right day the first time-.”

“Becky, don’t do the ‘ifs’ thing,” Skye urges, pulling the covers further up our shoulders before returning to combing my hair back again and again.

“But I can’t stop thinking about what went wrong, a-and how much I miss him, Skye. I miss him a hundred times more after seeing that picture,” I reveal, falling into her, my lips meeting her shoulder. My teeth dig into my skin and I let them, numb to the pain as the same word is too busy with my mind. “I don’t know if I ever wanna see him again.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“But I do want to, I’ll always want to. Like something inside of me will always want him.”

The sunlight streaming in through the windows is the first thing I see when I awake. Ducking my head back under the covers, I pull them over me with a groan. The blissful ignorance of the first few minutes after waking up follows me, until it all comes crashing back.

“Are you awake?” a voice murmurs, sleep clinging to it.

“Unfortunately,” I whisper, staring into the muted light underneath the gray covers.

“I can stay home if you want me to, I was just making some breakfast,” Skye responds, the tapping of her feet along the floor following.

“No, don’t cancel your hair appointments because of me. I’ll be . . I’ll be fine,” I tell her, but then the tears greet me good morning.

“Oh, Ree, I’ll cancel and we can watch movies all day, or FRIENDS. Whatever you want,” she announces. The bed falls to one side when she sits on the edge, and I feel her hand find my back.

“Thanks, I was hoping you’d say that,” I return, turning around and sitting up to dive into her arms. “I was hoping I had dreamt it all and it was just a bad dream. But my life is the bad dream.”

“Oh, Ree,” she coos, surrounding me with her arms. “I know this is cliche and it doesn’t feel like it, but it’ll get better.”

“I don’t know about that. My life is a running joke lately because it feels like it’ll get better, and then it just gets worse.”

“Your birthday is coming up, isn’t it, Becky?” somebody asks. Looking up from my cupcake, I find the face of Sophie.

“Yeah, end of next week,” I answer, picking an orange sprinkle from the white frosting to eat.

“Do you have any big plans?” my boss asks as she places her lunch in the microwave.

“My brother and I hang out every year, we’re twins.”

“Oh, how fun! I remember meeting him once when he brought you lunch one day,” she smiles, turning to face me as she waits in front of the humming microwave.

I just nod and dip my finger into the frosting, feeling it melt on my tongue a second later.

“Everything alright, love?”

“Yep, just tired is all,” I fib, taking a bite of the carrot cupcake, although I’m not wrong when I think about it. Skye has been a lifesaver for the last two weeks helping me get back on my feet. Thinking back on it and all of the tears leaves a funny taste in my mouth, but I try to brush it away with a forced smile.

“How old will you be this year, Becky?” Sophie asks, pulling out a rolling chair to sit to my right at the long table.

“Good old 26.”

“Wow, still a spring chicken, I’d say,” she comments, bringing a quirky smile to my lips. I almost follow her laugh with mine. “Well you know what, an early birthday present from me is you can have the rest of the day off. You always do a great job, Becky, and so you deserve it.”

“Sophie, I-,” I begin, my jaw falling to the floor.

“I mean it, go. Get out of here. Go do something that makes you happy, love, it looks like you need to,” she smiles, squeezing my arm from across the table. Standing to my feet, profuse ‘thank yous’ leave my lips before I leave the break room.

I drive around with my windows down, unsure of where to go instead of home. Before I know it, I find myself walking into my favorite little coffee shop. I’ve always loved to hang out here with a cup, reading a book, doing homework, or just relaxing on one of their sofas.

Soon, I sit down with a Cubano sandwich and an iced cinnamon roll coffee, my very favorite. Pulling a book out of my work bag, I crack it open to the first page, unable to remember when I last had the time to read a book for fun. The words of Ruth Ware stare back at me, slowly drawing me into a made-up world, and away from the desolate one trying to swallow me.

Quickly, I’m grateful for the respite from the thoughts mucking up my mind. Instead I lose myself in the sentences that spin a scary story, thanking my old self for stashing something besides a romance in my bag. That’s the last thing I could even think about indulging in right now. For some reason, the mystery entices me, a genre I’ve always had a love for. I think, especially now, it’s the aspect of being able to solve a mystery, and to fix a problem. If only I could do that now, I wish silently with a spiteful snort.

Placing my empty plate on the return area by the cash register, I return to my cozy spot on the couch and to my book. Losing my fingers in my hair, I prop my head up and open the book to where I had left off. Soft indie music trickles from the speakers as conversations float around me. Several more sofas are dotted around the large room and booths, as well as tables varying in sizes. Friends play board games borrowed from the shelf by the fireplace, and others do schoolwork or actual work. A laugh from behind the counter echos through the room, right as the bell on the front door jingles. Although across the room, I can hear the voices floating in from the sidewalk. Cars honking and birds chirping. The sounds make me itch to leave the air-conditioned room, and bring my reading outside into the June sunshine.

The words covering the pages root me to the spot, but they can’t protect me from what I hear. It’s a voice that I know inside and out, from the shortened words to the often used words. My vocal cords soon begin to tangle into knots in my throat at the mere noise. Beneath my baby blue blouse, there’s a clobbering in my chest as the voice grows near and then stops. Instinctively, hair falls through my fingers as I lower my head, wishing to remain unseen. Unknown.

I can’t stop myself, and there I am looking up to see that crinkly-eyed smile through wrenching tears.

Harry.

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harlot-of-oblivion · 5 years

Text

A Rose of Unconscious Beauty (Part 6)

All work and no play make Dante a dull devil, but when he finds out about his brother's flowery friend he sees an opportunity to cure his boredom. Well, that and his curiosity about what kind of woman catches Vergil's attention. So, he decides to spontaneously visit your garden to see what all the buzz is about.

Hope you enjoy these two finally meeting! And gardening puns...just all the gardening puns. 😆❤

Here’s the link to the list of all the flowers featured in this part. 🌹🥰🌹

Chapter 1: Meeting Dante

Life has been pretty good for Dante since he got back from his little foray into hell. He may still be in quite a bit of debt, but that never stops him from living life to the fullest. For the first time in a long time he does not feel so alone in the Devil May Cry shop. There is just one problem that plagues him now as he leans back in his chair, feet propped up on the edge of his desk as a huge overdrawn yawn escapes his mouth…

He is bored.

Very, very…BORED.

The occasional odd job usually keeps him entertained, but business has been slow recently. There is only so much games of pool and swimsuit magazines before Dante is positively itching to fight something…anything. Nero has taken advantage of this dry spell and is finally getting hitched to Kyrie. Even Vergil, who he annoys into fighting sometimes just for sheer fact that it relieves his boredom for a while, has taken to disappearing from time to time.

Oh yeaaaaah. The mysterious flowery friend.

Dante ponders the potential of that whole situation giving him something to do besides sitting alone in his shop. He did not think it strange when Vergil started to go out more…in fact, he is proud that his brother is finally embracing his humanity and making this world his home. But when his cranky brother came back to the shop with pretty little blue flowers wrapped around his beloved Yamato…well, now that just piqued his curiosity. He tries to goad Vergil into telling him where he got the flowers or where he has been disappearing off to lately, but that conversation usually ends with him being stabbed a lot. Dante got his answer one day when Nero asks if he knew this florist that his old man just recommended to him. It all just suddenly clicked. The constant visits, the soft cloud nine smiles, just the overall secrecy…

Vergil…has a crush.

Just the idea of his brother being head over heels for someone has Dante shaking his head in wonder. Vergil has already left the shop, probably visiting his florist friend if Dante had to guess. It happens to be the day that Nero and Kyrie are supposed to meet their savior of flowers. He wanted to tag along to see what all the hype is about, but Nero absolutely refused to let him. Usually, that is not enough to deter Dante, but then his nephew just had to sick Kyrie on him. And how could anyone say no to her? So, here he sits…extremely bored and very curious.

I have to know if it’s true…if my dumbass brother really is lovestruck…

A sudden idea pops into Dante’s head as he takes out his cellphone and begins to text:

Dante: Hey! Gonna see your old mans flower girl today, amiright?

Nero: NO. Forget it.

Nero: Im not spying 4 u

Dante: NO ONE said ANYTHING about spying!

Dante: Just a couple of pics!

Nero: NO U CREEP

Dante: OH C’MON!!!

Dante taps on his screen vigorously as he provokes his stubborn nephew to reply, but after a few minutes of continued silence he gives up. He rolls his eyes as he groans in mild irritation and drops his phone onto the desk. His nimble fingers stroke his scruffy chin in thought, wondering if there will ever be an end to this torturous boredom…then it hits him faster than the Devil May Cry van. Nico! Dante snaps his fingers and nods his head in approval at his own ingenious idea. He snatches his phone back up and begins to text again:

Dante: Heyyyyyyy

Nico: Wat

Dante: Wanna help a friend out?

Nico: Lemme guess

Nico: U want me to spy for ya, right?

Dante: A couple of pics is NOT spying

Nico: Yeah yeah whatever

There is a long pause and Dante almost thinks his last-ditch effort is a bust. Until…

Nico: Mayyyyybe I’ll do it

Nico: Wats in it for me tho?

Dante only has to think about her prize for second before replying.

Dante: I’ll let you check out my guns

Nico: Ive already seen my fair share of muscles

Dante: Im talking about Ebony and Ivory

Nico: U GOTTA FUCKIN DEAL

Dante clenches his fist in victory. Nico tells him to hold tight while she finds a good hiding spot and the perfect angle. So, he grabs the nearest swimsuit magazine to read while he waits for Nico’s sneaky photos.

He only has to read a couple of pages of articles and check out a few curvy ladies before his phone vibrates. “Well now…let’s see what we've got,” he announces aloud as his hand instantly picks up his phone and eagerly opens up the message. Here she is! is written below two pictures of a bubbly woman with a bright smile and lively eyes. In one photo she is sitting down at a garden table, and in the other she is standing by a bed of flowers. She is wearing white summer dress and has a white flower in her hair. Dante chuckles in glee because now he understands why his brother has fallen so hard: the local florist is a total babe!

Dante is about to get back to his magazine when another text from Nico comes through:

Nico: Yoooooooooo

Nico: U didnt tell me that Vergil was gonna be here!

Dante: Im not my brother’s keeper!

Nico: Im NOT about to get stabbed if he catches me

Nico: Im out

Dante: WAIT

Dante: I’ll sweeten the deal!

Dante: If you get a pic of them together

Nico: DANTE

Dante: Then I’ll let you check out my guns

Dante: FOR A WEEK

A very long pause follows and Dante thinks that Nico is still going chicken out despite his sudden add on to her prize when her response chimes in:

Nico: U better hold up your end of the deal, Dante

Dante: Nicooooo u know I always keep my word!

Nico: Cuz if u dont, I’ll run u over with the van

Dante: No u wont

Nico: VROOM VROOM BITCH

Dante’s amused chuckle echoes throughout the shop. “So, that’s where you’re running off to,” he comments to himself. “The secret garden.” As he waits for Nico’s next photo, he starts to wonder what kind of a woman catches the eye of his broody brother. I mean…sure, you’re a cutie, but Dante knows that Vergil is not so easily swayed by looks alone. Of course, he could be reading into this too much and you’re actually just a really adorable friend…which is why he has to see both of you together. If Vergil has that soft smile on his face and if you show any sign of reciprocating his brother’s feelings…

His phone vibrates and Dante immediately opens the message. How's this for ya? reads Nico’s text along with a bunch of laughing emojis and a video clip. He arches an eyebrow as he presses play. He sees Nero, Kyrie, Vergil, and you all walking together by a bunch of flowers. He cannot make out the soft conversation of the group, but he does hear a lighthearted giggle as you do a twirl. Dante squints his eyes when he notices your hand reach for something in your dress…then his eyes widen as you throw petals into the air. The distinct growl of his brother comes through the audio and Dante nearly chokes on his own laugh. Some of the little pink flowers you threw…are sticking to Vergil’s hair!

I’m totally saving this just for the look on his face!

Dante kicks his feet off of the desk and he leans forward in his chair, never taking his eyes off the screen as Nero and Kyrie step out of frame. He tilts his head when Vergil kneels and you start to pluck the flowers from his hair. Dante has to rub his eyes to make sure he is really seeing these events correctly. Things get really interesting when you move in closer. The awkward expression on his brother’s face is pure gold. But what really has him pressing his nose to the screen is when Vergil stands up and you both just stare at each other. It is like a scene cut straight from a romantic movie. Dante has never seen his brother look so…totally in love. And you are mirroring the exact same expression.

Jackpot!

The video starts to shake and he hears Nico quietly cursing up a storm. The screen is a blur for a moment before it just totally cuts off. Dante is still for a while as he takes in everything that just happened. He honestly did not expect Vergil to be bitten by the love bug. A genuine smile curls on his lips as he thinks that maybe you are exactly what his brother needs to finally let go of the past and start living. But he cannot be the helpful little brother that he is without at least meeting you first. The genuine smile turns mischievous as Dante texts Nico about happened after the video ended and where exactly is this secret garden in the city...

(A Week Later...Reader’s POV)

The late afternoon sun beats down as you wipe the sweat from your brow. You examine the rambling roses you are currently pruning, checking to see if you missed anything before standing up and stretching your legs. Sweet basil, it’s hot, you thought, taking off your gardening hat and fanning your face as you pocket your pruning shears. You think about Vergil and how he always seems to keep cool while wearing a long blue coat in the summer.

The power of Sparda must also include internal air conditioning. You giggle at your own quip as you put the gardening hat back on your head and decide to take a break. As you walk through the multitude of flowers you search for any sign of the Son of Sparda among the flora. He has not called to inform you that he is stopping by today, but that does not necessarily mean he will not show up unannounced…annoyingly startling you before buttering you up with an offering of beautiful blooms.

Vergil has been regularly visiting you in your garden now. Sometimes both of you read and drink tea under the fruit trees, other times you have to work and just let him read in peace while frolicking about your garden. Every now and then he insists on looming close behind you, claiming that he wants to observe how you arrange bouquets and care for the flowers. There are a few times that you somehow rope him into helping since he is so inclined to learn and you must admit…seeing a tall and imposing man handle tiny flowers carefully is so endearing, making you fall even harder for the handsome devil.

You step through the backdoor and walk into your kitchen, heading straight for the fridge and swiftly open the door. When the cold air hits your face you sigh and just stand there for a moment to cool off as you reach for a bottle of water. You close the fridge and head to your office to check the status of a shipment on your computer while you guzzle down half of the bottle. The flowers for Nero and Kyrie’s wedding are well in supply, but you ordered some extra ribbon, wires, needles, and other miscellaneous supplies. It is a little stressful that you only have so much time to pull this off, but that only pushes you to do your utmost best to give them the best flowers they have ever seen. All seems to be order, you mentally note, finishing off your water bottle as you tab out of the website.

Time to get back to work! You go back out to the garden, grab the garden hose, and turn on the outdoor faucet. You adjust the nozzle on the hose to spray into a mist and set off to water some flowers. “Alright, my darlings!” you say cheerfully as you step up to the first section of flowers. “Who’s thirsty?” You happily spray their petals with glistening droplets as you hum softly. One of the many reasons why you enjoy gardening so much is just how tranquil it can be, your mind slipping into a peaceful state as all your worries just drift away and you feel like a flower basking in the warm sunlight.

Although, you do find yourself ceaselessly daydreaming about a certain white-haired gentleman while gardening lately. You cannot get the feel of his slicked back locks out of your thoughts, yearning to do more than just pluck petals from his hair. You wonder if the bergamot scent is from a cologne he is wearing or the constant cups of his favorite tea. And the expression on his face after you picked the stray petals from his hair…cheeks slightly blushing as his gleaming silver eyes stare straight into your soul. The very memory of it has you shivering in delight as you turn around to water the next section of flowers.

“Holy hollyhock!”

The sudden appearance of a man in a long red jacket standing in your garden has you jumping back in surprise. Your foot steps on the garden hose, making you lose your balance and start to tip over. Thankfully, the stranger has quick reflexes and quickly leans forward to catch your fall. “Whoa! Easy there!” he exclaims as he sets you upright, doing his best to avoid the misty spray of the hose still clutched in your hand. That is when you notice his distinct white hair swaying in front of his blue eyes. And his face…if it was not for the slight fuzz of a beard or the care-free expression, he would be the spitting image of Vergil. Which can only mean…

“You must be Dante.”

“What gave it away?” he asks, dramatically holding his hands out to the side as he nods his head in confirmation.

“You wouldn’t be a Son of Sparda if you didn’t scare your local gardener to death!”

Dante tilts head at your answer and smirks as he examines you from head to toe. “I dig the overalls,” he comments as he gestures to your attire. You look down at your green gardening overalls, the phrase "I like big buds and I cannot lie" imprinted on the front surrounded by large colorful flower buds.

“Thanks!” you laugh, turning off the garden hose. “I’m Y/N! I don’t recall Vergil saying that he was going to finally introduce me to you.”

“So, he’s told you about me? Did he mention that I am the better-looking twin?” he jests as he takes a step back and strikes a charmingly rugged pose.

“Uh, he mentioned that you are a demon hunter, a foolish buffoon, and…whoa!” Your eyebrows shoot up as you closely examine his coat. “Your jacket does look really expensive!”

Dante rolls his eyes as he relaxes from his over-the-top stance. “He just can’t let that go, huh?” He shakes his head and lightly chuckles.

“So…what brings you to my garden?” you inquire kindly, not letting his surprise visit distract you from being hospitable. Dante did not mention his brother being present here with him, so you hope that Vergil does not mind you being friendly and helping his brother out if he needs it.

“The girls keep telling me I need something to brighten up the shop,” he explains as he scratches the back of his head. “So, I figured some flowers from my brother’s friendly neighbor florist might do the trick.”

You smile sweetly. “Okay! Do you have any kind of flowers in mind?”

“Well, my mother’s favorite flowers were-”

“Burgundy roses!”

Dante quirks an eyebrow. “Did you just read my mind?”

A giggle escapes your lips as you shake your head. “Vergil told me that his mother had a modest garden herself, and that she grew those roses a lot. Don’t worry,” you affirm as your hand sets down the garden hose. A big confident smile spreads across your face as you twirl in excitement, pausing to strike your own cute pose. “I got you covered!”

He nods his head in approval. “Right on.”

You make small talk with Dante as you lead him to the rose section of your garden, asking if by “the girls” he means the other two demon hunters that work with him. He confirms your guess and grumbles about how unfair it is that you know so much the crew while he knows next to nothing about you. That is quickly remedied though as he bombards you with the oddest series of questions…most of them involving strawberries and pizza. When you tell him that you used to work at the local pizzeria and bakery in your home town he enthusiastically asks if you made the pizzas. You laugh at his boyish glee and inform him that you sometimes helped with the pizzas, but you mostly baked the pastries and desserts.

“Here we are!” You point to a bush full of the dark reddish-purple roses as you step through the various buds and blooms. “Roses of unconscious beauty!” Dante studies the rose bush as you approach it, lean in, and inhale their lovely fragrance. You breathe out in delight and start looking for the best blooms for a bouquet. “Aren’t they lovely?” You look over your shoulder and see that Dante is barely paying attention. His blue green eyes gaze distantly at the rose bush, reminding you a little of Vergil’s silver blue eyes when he recedes into his head. You wait a moment before deciding to coax him out of pensive stupor.

“Flower for your thoughts?”

Dante blinks and shakes his head. “Sorry about that. I was just…remembering something.” He walks over and stands next you, a small grin appears on his face as he peers down at you. “These would look nice on my desk. I’ll take ‘em.”

“Alright!” You reach into your pocket, taking out the pruning shears still stored in there and begin snipping some select roses, carefully removing the thorns before sticking them in another pocket until you can properly tie them together.

Dante quietly watches you for a few moments before he crosses his arms and leisurely leans back. “So…you and my brother.”

You snip a third rose as you glance over at him. “Me and your brother…?” you repeat, hoping he will expand upon the conversation he started. Dante just continues to gaze at you inquisitively. Your brow furrows in puzzlement as you wonder what he is trying to imply…until it suddenly hits you.

No way. He can’t be…

“Are you…Dad-terogating me?”

“Am I what now?”

“You know…that thing fathers do when daughters bring home their boyfriends.” Your voice drops as you do your best impersonation a stern father figure. “What are your intentions little girl?”

“Oh man,” Dante snickers. “And what if I am?” he counters with a puckish smirk.

“Well, Mr. Sparda,” you begin with a cheeky grin, turning to him while you clutch a thornless burgundy rose close to your chest. “I only have the best intentions towards your brother, Vergil. They include smiles, laughter, and a healthy dose of poetry with dash of tea…Oh!” You dip your hand into the front pocket of your overalls. “And lots of flower showers!” Your grin turns cheerful as you toss pink hydrangea petals high into the air.

Dante stares at you closely for a moment, totally unfazed by the petals scattering around him before he chuckles softly. “Well now…how can I argue with that? My party pooper of a brother needs it.”

You giggle and go back to snipping more roses. A fourth one is freed and you begin to remove the thorns from the stem. “It’s sweet of you to look out for him, you know,” you point out with a genuine smile. “You’re a good brother, Dante.”

He smiles back and is about to respond when an awful hellish screech fills the air. Your head snaps over to the direction it is coming from, but you already know what those sounds mean. Dante casually looks over as well, but he does not look as concerned as you. His face reminds you more of the neighborhood kids when the ice cream truck drives by. “Looks like our flower pickin’ is gonna have to wait,” he surmises as he struts briskly towards the commotion.

You pocket the pruning shears and the rose in your hand as you hurriedly follow behind him. The screeching is now really loud and as you step into to a clearing you see the familiar forms of demons just beyond the gates of your garden. Even though you live in a city known for its constant hellish attacks, the sight of their malformed bodies never fails to freeze your blood. The closest one, resembling a large corrupted bat, flies over the gate and hovers near one of your apple trees. It shrieks as its throat starts to glow red. Anger floods through your body when you register what it intends to do to your lovely fruit trees.

“Oh, no you DON’T!” you shout as you run by the gardening tools still laying out, grabbing the garden hoe as you pass by and rush towards the bat-like creature. It swivels around just as you draw your makeshift weapon back and swing up at it with all your strength. The hoe connects and a pained squeal rings out as the demon is knocked back a little bit away from the apple tree. You let out a shuddering breath, quickly realizing that perhaps smacking a demon with a gardening tool was not the best idea.

Multiple gunshots startle you out of your internal dread as they streak up at the bat-like demon. It shakes violently before it drops to the ground and disintegrates. You turn around and see Dante holstering two guns behind his back before giving you a round of applause. “Not bad! Very inventive use of…” his hands pause as he inspects your tool curiously.

“It’s a hoe,” you bluntly inform him.

“Really?” Dante puts his hands on his hips as he circles around you, shielding you from the oncoming demons notice. “Well then…you really know how to handle a hoe!”

You snort and check your tool for any signs of it being broken or bent. “You know what they say…a dirty hoe is a happy hoe!” you joke, flashing him the disgusting bloody residue on the tip. Dante hunches over as a hearty laugh burst from his lips. You feel a sense of accomplishment at making such a clever gardening pun, but it is short lived as a series of terrible growls and roars remind you of the current danger. “Umm,” you mutter softly, “as much as I would like to give more demons a good hoeing…”

Dante reigns in his boisterous laughter and nods. “Yeah...get yourself to safety.” He runs and skillfully jumps over the gate. Before he goes to deal with the demons, he looks over his shoulder at you. “Even though I’m not a hoe I can still get rid of these nasty weeds,” he quips with a wink.

You laugh and shake your head at his own gardening pun before retreating back to your house, sighing in relief as your backdoor comes into view. When you are a few feet away from safety, a low rumbling growl reaches your ears, making you stop in your tracks. You still have your garden hoe, so you hold it up in defense as you scan your surroundings for any immediate threat. It is quiet for a moment…then a series obscure red streaks zoom around you. Your eyes try to track whatever is circling you, but you cannot see what is stalking you like prey.

Your body is quaking now as you turn around to glance behind you. A lizard-like demon with a vicious red blade protruding from one of its scaly arms is leaping through the air straight at you. Your instincts kick in and you raise your gardening tool up in defense, even though you feel certain that it will not enough to block that sharp blade. A series of tumultuous emotions sling around your mind, but one strongly overtakes you as the image of Vergil pops into your head…regret.

I didn’t even get to tell him that-

Before you are able to close your eyes and brace yourself for the deadly impact, a sudden blur of blue spheres pop up and knock back your scaly assailant. A familiar form clad in a blue coat suddenly appears next to the demon and proceeds to hit it with a series of slashes. When he finishes his ruthless onslaught, he turns his back on the demon and dramatically sheaths his sword. Just as the hilt of the sword slams into the case, the demon convulses in pain one last time before collapsing on the ground.

The regret you felt earlier fades away as your devilish rescuer turns towards you. The usual scowl on his face is now even more severe as he scrutinizes your appearance. He may be fuming with rage, but you do not mind, nor do you care. “Vergil!” you cry, trying to thank him for saving your life, but you feel so overwhelmed that no words come out. All you can do is smile gratefully as your eyes well up with tears, so happy that you get to see the man you feel so deeply for again after all.

Read Part 6 (Ch. 2) here

Read on my Ao3

My Master List if you want more ❤

Tagging: @drusoona, @thedyingmoon, @bettybattaglia, @veenus-ow, @meowykittenn, @fandomhell97, @vergilsangel, @venomous-lawyer, @alicewinchester

#vergil x reader #vergil #devil may cry #dmc 5 #romance #fluff #flowers #the language of flowers #gardener reader #writing #fanfiction #humor #meeting the family #hijinks and shenanigans #wingman dante #A Rose of Unconscious Beauty #a rose among the briars #and just like that a legendary wingman is born #harlot writes

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tony-starkrogers · 5 years

Text

rec week day five

For the Cap-IM rec week 2019 day five: Fix-It Friday! @cap-ironman

There are so many good fix-its out there - this list is divided into categories to make it easier if you’re looking for a specific type of fix-it. Be sure to go show these writers some comments and kudos love!

CACW FIX-ITS

Last Train Home by erde (T, 10.9k)

Steve writes letters to Tony that he never sends. By the time he hands them to their rightful owner, Tony has had a brush with death, has retired as a superhero, and now has a small town workshop of his very own. But it's okay, Steve has gone into retirement too.

Over Sea, Under Stars by vorkosigan (T, 36.6k)

Tony gets the phone, but he never uses it and he never intends to. Or, he doesn’t until Steve starts texting him, asking strange questions about medication and mental health, which is when Tony gets worried.

(A texting fix-it that grew beyond all proportion. Deals with depression and anxiety quite a lot. There is even some plot in there somewhere.)

If I were a Bell by Annie D (scaramouche) @no-gorms (E, 4.2k)

Officially, Tony hasn't seen Steve since the Sokovia Accords were ratified. Unofficially, Steve is a sneaky bastard who keeps taking risks to see Tony whenever he wants.

Dear Tony, by sirona (T, 5.9k)

Once the dust after what no one is referring to as "The Break-up" has settled, Steve starts writing and doesn't seem to know how to stop.

Even My Phone Misses Your Call by rainbowninja167 (E, 10.8k)

Steve makes it all the way to Ohio before conceding that the post-Chitauri road trip might’ve been a mistake.

Or, ten times Steve has to call Tony to come pick him up.

An Infinite Number Of Monkeys At Typewriters (Or, Steve and Tony Finally Get It Right) by JenTheSweetie (M, 18.6k)

Tony blinked up at the face staring down at him. This was impossible. This was definitely 100% not possible, he had not just started giving a good morning handy to -

“Steve?”

After the events of Civil War, Tony and Steve wake up in bed next to each other in an alternate universe. It goes about as well as you'd expect it to.

Like a Postcard Phrase by isaksara (T, 8.6k)

How to say ‘wish you were here’ without actually saying so, as done by Captain Steve Rogers.

IW FIX-ITS

The Future is Yet in Your Power by @festiveferret (T, 14.9K

"Now." Wong leaned back in his chair. "What would you do to save this world from Thanos' attack? What would you sacrifice?"

"Anything," Steve said. "Anything at all."

Wong considered him for a moment, expression unreadable. "There's one thing, maybe."

Recognize Fate (A Dramedy of Manners) by vorkosigan (E, 25.4k)

During the horror that was the Infinity War, Tony has somehow managed to fall in love with Steve. No, really, his timing's always been stellar, in all things. He would like to pursue his feelings, he would; only, this doesn't mesh so well with his other resolution: Steve must never ever know.

It's been a year since the victory, and the time has come to celebrate. Everyone is about to meet again at a big gala.

live wire by spqr (M, 7.8k)

The marks are a welcome distraction. The media fixates on them, the mystery of them, because it's a lot less daunting to think about big thumbprints on your back or your side or your thigh than to think about how the planet's population just dropped from 7 to 3.5 billion overnight.

(as a side effect of Thanos’ culling, everyone who’s left gets a soulmark)

Lost With You (Might Be All I Need) by ann2who (E, 22k)

Tony and Steve fall through a portal just after defeating Thanos and his army. Stranded in another dimension, the two have to finally face what happened—and what could have been.

The Future Is Ours (Whether We Want It Or Not) by ann2who (M, 30k)

After a hit from the Time Stone, Steve switches places with his future self.

when i run out of road, you bring me home by quidhitch (M, 18.4k)

“Oh, I won’t bother you.” The tone of Steve’s voice implies that he definitely will be bothering Tony, aggressively and frequently. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll keep to my farm, you keep to yours. Solitude together.”Tony opens his mouth to argue that that’s not how this works, but he snaps it shut at the realization that Steven Grant Rogers is fucking with him. That twinkle in his eye has accelerated into a full-on glimmer, and the ends of his lips are twitching. Jesus, he hates this man. Or maybe he wishes he did. Tony can’t really tell the difference anymore.

A New Way For Us by ann2who (M, 24.4k)

They fight Thanos—and they’re losing. And before Tony knows what’s happening, he’s standing with Doctor Strange in front of the Eye of Agamotto and gets send back in time. Can he find a way to fix things this time around, or are they doomed to fall apart all over again?

ENDGAME FIX-ITS

Five Seconds by @elcorhamletlive (unrated, 3k)

From the moment Steve suits up, he knows what he’ll do.

brave new world by @nasafic (T, 2.7k)

Steve visits Peggy first. But he doesn't stay.

And Time Can Do So Much by JenTheSweetie (M, 11.1k)

"I really shouldn’t be talking to a figment of my imagination,” Steve said. “Sam would be reading me the riot act. I can hear him now. Therapy works wonders, you know.”“Sounds like Wilson,” Tony agreed. “And therapy does work wonders. You might want to look into it, once it becomes a thing in a couple of years.”“I’ll keep that in mind,” Steve said.A few years after Steve moved permanently back in time, he started having conversations with Tony again.

Something Beautiful by Annie D (scaramouche) (T, 5.2k)

In one universe sideways, it’s 2012 and the Avengers have just defeated Loki and the Chitauri. Steve Rogers, who has been out of the ice for almost ten years, wonders if his retaking the shield for this event was a one-off, or if he’s ready to keep it again. It depends on Tony.

Same old story. by spqr (T, 7.4k)

“We’re toasting our regrets,” Tony explains. “Your turn."“Oh,” Steve says.It takes him a long minute to think of something. Or, more likely, it takes him a long moment to work up the courage. But then he turns and raises his bottle to Tony. Looks him dead in the eyes, a sad, sort of wistful smile on his face, and says, “You.”

The God of Solid Life Advice by kehinki (T, 1.5k)

It's 2012. Steve is just informed by Loki that Bucky's alive.Loki also tells him some other things.

Symmetry Breaking by Annie D (scaramouche) @no-gorms (E, 10.8k)

After the Battle of New York, Steve rode off on his motorbike. That's how it went the first time.This time he rides back, all the way to Stark Tower, where he asks Tony for help.

The Butterfly Effect by @itsallavengers (T, 20.5k)

While fighting with Loki, Steve Rogers from 2012 hears the two simple words: "Bucky's alive."And the whole universe ripples with the aftershocks.

616 FIX-ITS

Yours, Steve by soniclipstick (veriscence) (T, 8.3k)

Tony has read the news, he’s seen footage of the infighting and the arrest and Steve’s bloody body on the courthouse steps. He might not remember, but he understands why Steve can barely look him in the eye anymore.But there’s a ring on the chain of a set of dog tags that have no business being in Tony’s safe. And it fits his finger perfectly.

Your Name on Every Wall by @sineala (T, 17.8k)

The Time Gem throws Steve into the past rather than the future, and in doing so, it gives him the opportunity to undo his past mistakes. But when it turns out that all of his mistakes involve Tony Stark, Steve begins to wonder if he's ever going to be able to mend things between them.

Highest fall you'll ever grace by @laireshi (T, 5.2k)

“You’ll probably want these back,” Tony says at last, and it hurts almost physically to pull the dog tags over his head and offer them to Steve. But they never really belonged to Tony, did they?

Steve seems to hesitate for a second, but then he takes his dog tags with a weird expression. “Yeah,” he says. “They’re mine.”

Double Time by @sineala (E, 123.3k)

Cassino, Italy, December 1943. Special Agent Tony Stark, former Marvels adventurer, is sent to investigate a Cosmic Cube found by the Invaders -- and it's the perfect opportunity for him to rekindle his secret romance with Steve Rogers. But when Hydra attempts to steal the Cube, an inadvertent wish for help leads to the appearance of a Tony from the future of another world: Director Stark of SHIELD. This Tony is a man with a lot on his mind. He refuses to tell them anything about the future, but he seems to know much more than he should about Captain America. And something's happened that's clearly killing him inside, but he's not talking. When Director Stark's failed attempt to return home leads to the unexpected appearance of another visitor from his universe, all the lies come undone. Now there are two wars to fight, and the second one could ruin all of them.

Transmission by laireshi (T, 29.1k)

The incursions are stopped. Steve hopes for things to go back to normal. Instead, he finds himself stranded in an alternate universe with Tony.

Getting home won't be easy. There are too many things they haven't told each other, too many arguments they've never solved.

Now, with just each other for company, they might have to face them all—especially as they seem to be telepathically bonded, and can't keep anything unsaid anymore.

AVENGERS ASSEMBLE FIX-IT

Moments by captainshellhead, vibraniumstark (G, 5.4k) (avengers assemble)

After being trapped in a pocket dimension, Tony tries to find his way home - and ends up lost in the multiverse.

#capimrecweek #stevetony #stony #stony fic rec #superhusbands

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