#pretty vague in this post but i’ll add it for good measure :) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

khadij-al-kubra · 4 years

Text

Worst Impressions are the First (ch 7)

Main Characters: Logan, Patton, Roman, Virgil (Human AU)

Pairings: Romantic LAMP

Word Count: 5036

AO3

<=PREV

NEXT=>

Author’s (longer than usual but it’s for good reason) Note: *The Apocalypse—2020. Zoom in on a plague rat turned writer. She has survived thesis projects, getting a Master’s degree, burnout, writing and illustrating a children’s book, being a slave for the U.S. census bureau, months of overthinking anxiety spirals, and one or two incidents involving an asshole skunk. But now, battle weary yet unwavering in her love of art and love for her loyal readers, this onesie-clad tea slurping book dragon....has finally arisen from the ashes*

I LIVE BITCHES!!!!!!! And I am SO SORRY for taking so long!!! I’ve been hard at work, been editing like a mad woman, and I even have a beta now! The gorgeous and talented @humbletortoise So I am OFFICIALLY off hiatus!!! *cue confetti canon*

Also, one of the biggest reasons I’ve taken so long to update is because I’ve spent the past month or so essentially retconning the fuck outta this fic. I realized looking back at earlier chapters in this story that, although I was proud of them at the time and greatly appreciate the positive reactions, they were...not my best work. (shitty first drafts if I’m being honest) That’s because, at the time, I was trying to split my attention between writing this fic and working on grad school stuff, which resulted in my writing for this not being as best of quality as it could have been upon first posting. This story deserves my best, and so do all of you. So now I hope to give you that.

I encourage you to go back and re-read the previous chapters up till now (trust me, they’re near unrecognizable to the first drafts, but in the best way). Or if you don’t feel like doing that, you can just continue on from here. totally cool. For the sake of convenience and my own sanity, I’ll attach the AO3 Link to this fic from the start. I may also start just posting chapter updates on tumblr but only have the link to the chapter and add my reader tags. Again, for the sake of my sanity because Tumblr is a bastard when it comes to posting fics. (Also PLEASE let me know if there are any tagging issues if anyone’s on my tags list; yet another reason i’m considering just linking my fics in the future)

Anywho, without further ado, at LOOOOOONG last, here is the next chapter!

Chapter 7 - (POV Roman)

When Roman had offered to walk with Logan to class, it was only partly out of an innate sense of chivalry; a side of himself that he rarely got to show on account of being a socially awkward gay disaster. Though mainly, he saw it as a chance to get to know his second soulmate better.

He certainly hadn’t expected two long minutes of civil but silent walking. Well, as silent as a stroll through their school could be with its usual racket buzzing around them. With a vocabulary as big as the continents of Africa and Eurasia combined, you’d think Logan would be more of a conversationalist. Alas. He merely walked in step with Roman. They glanced over at each other every so often, but Logan stayed tight lipped and seemingly impassive; fiddling with his bumblebee hair pin every now and again. Damn. Looked like he was going to have to make the first move.

Roman was bad at this. How did people usually…Oh yeah, common interest. That’s a thing. He wracked his brain for some sort of ice breaker. One that’d make him look cool and calm or, something, in front of Logan. He was a fairly decent student though not quite mathletes level. He could compliment his outfit maybe? Was that too forward? Too shallow? Maybe he could find common ground? That was as good a place to start as any.

“So! So uhh…What kind of music do you like?” Roman asked. Yeah, that’s good. Everybody likes music.

Logan glanced at him. “Can you be more specific?”

Roman’s brow furrowed. “I mean, like, your favorite genre of music to listen to?”

“Classical,” said Logan in a clipped tone.

“That’s cool. I don’t really listen to classical myself.”

Logan only hummed, his face neutral. Roman was really hoping for more than that. A few awkward seconds passed, then Logan spoke up.

“Are you perhaps a fan of the classic Sherlock Holmes novels?” He inquired.

“Um, I haven’t gotten around to the books yet, actually,” Roman said, scratching his earlobe. “I mean, I’ve heard great things about them. And I’m a big fan of the Robert Downey Jr. movies.”

“Ah. I see.” Logan said, giving him the judgiest side eye.

Come on, Roman thought. Give me something to work with. “Oh! What about theater?”

“What a frustratingly vague inquiry.”

“Well, excuse me for trying to get to know my soulmate a little better.” Ay come jode, work with me here, man!

Logan sighed. “While I understand and appreciate your intention, I believe ‘getting to know someone’ as you put it, requires a certain level of specificity. Anything less indicates a somewhat shallow level of sincere interest, and I greatly despise shallow conversation. That said, if you’re inquiring as to whether or not I enjoy theater, no. I don’t understand the concept of professional make believe, though I appreciate it as an art form. I assume you’re a fan?”

Is he seriously implying I’m shallow? Roman groused, pushing his red frames up the bridge of his nose. Ugh, forget it Roman. He’s throwing you a bone here. Take it.

“Obviously,” said Roman, gesturing dramatically. “I mean I’m no actor—Eesh. No. Yikes—but everything about the artform enthralls me. And I like all kinds of genres and eras of plays, from Shakespear to Ruhl, but musicals are by far my favorite, because like, there’s so much you can do with them design wise. I mean just look at how groundbreaking Hamilton was.”

For a second, Logan’s face actually softened, his eyes lighting up. But just as Roman thought they were finally about to make some progress, his stony companion was back to wearing that platinum puss.

“Ah. How… original.”

Roman blinked. “Are you saying my tastes are basic?”

“Well, yes.”

Augh! Okay. Yep. I don’t like him. Patton was going to be so disappointed, and Roman was too. He’d wanted so badly to get along with all his soulmates, but Logan was a snob! Way less intimidating than Virgil and his ilk, but still a jerk. I wonder if soulmarks can make typos or something? Thank the stars they’d already arrived.

Roman and Logan filed in with the rest of the class for seventh period. Somebody had the liberty of opening a window– the AC was still busted in this classroom– so for once there was actually a decent breeze cutting through the usual mucky Florida humidity. Still smelled like it would probably rain later. Good thing Roman had packed an umbrella just in case, Mom’s orders. His hair looked too good today to be wrecked by frizz.

Roman took a seat at his desk, running distracted fingers over the carved letters in the wood while he mulled over his predicament. Just look at him over there, thought Roman as he glared at Logan, not two rows away from him. Sitting with his hands clasped on the desk all smug—of course he’d be near the front—and with such disturbingly good posture. What is he, a robot? Who is he to call my interests basic, the NERVE! And okay, sure, like Hamilton, sometimes I get over excited and shoot off at the mouth. But great Zeus, does that guy show passion for ANYTHING besides academics? Roman blew a raspberry, plopping his head in his hands.

He always thought soulmates were supposed to get along, even as just friends for life. Balancing each other out, bringing out the best in you and forming a deep connection—that was the whole point. He sighed to himself. Cymbals clashed less than he and Logan did.

He was stirred from his brooding by the bell. Apparently Mr. ‘Call-me-Terrence’ Williams had materialized without him noticing. Okay fine, he should probably pay more attention, but he was having a crisis here.

“Afternoon everyone,” Terrence greeted in that measured, upbeat tone of his.

He draped his navy blue blazer over the back of his desk chair and rolled his shirt sleeves to the elbows. Roman pitied the poor guy; he had to teach sauna of a classroom all day. He could see the glisten of sweat on his teacher's smooth forehead as he wrote things on the board. Yet he still kept a pleasant attitude towards his students.

“Alright class!” Terrence started, “Today we’re covering the next section on the American Revolution. Specifically, the Battle of Yorktown...”

Roman mentally punched the air. My time has come. He opened his textbook to the right page but didn’t bother looking at it. He already knew most everything about Yorktown. Not just because he’d listened to the Hamilton soundtrack fifteen and a half million times, but also because he’d done actual research on the event and time period that the musical took place; There was always the off chance he’d get to stage crew or, heck, even dramaturg the show. He liked to be prepared.

“So the battle of Yorktown took place in 1781, but a great deal of its success was thanks to the French Allies. Many especially aided in fighting the British Troops surrounding New York. Now who can tell me where the French Soldiers first landed?”

Roman half raised his hand. He was pretty sure he knew the answer.

“Logan.” Terrence called.

Roman turned to Logan desk, where his hand was held high and mighty.

“The French Ally ships first landed in Rhode Island, then made their way to Chesapeake Bay,” said Logan, adjusting his glasses. Not even a hint of second guessing in his voice.

“That’s right!”

He almost missed the quick smirk on Logan’s frustratingly pretty face. Look at that smug—thinks he’s so smart...Okay yes, he is smart, but he doesn’t have to be a show off about it. Terrence continued through the passages, calling on a student every now and again to review. Of course, Logan got called on most and he got every answer right. Roman didn’t feel like raising his hand anymore.

“Of course there were many turning points in the revolution, but Hamilton’s return to the field for Yorktown was a key point.” Terrence continued on. “And keep in mind- this was a man who up till now had never been in a position of command before. Not to mention the mental strains he must’ve been under, especially having had to miss the birth of his son Philip, the first of three children he had.”

Wait a sec. “Well, that’s not right.”

Even though he’d muttered, apparently Mr. Terrence still heard him. “Come again, Roman?”

Shoot. “Um, I said,” Stop sounding timid, you know you’re right. “I said that was, um, wrong.”

The whole class turned to him. Oh great, history class has its eyes on me. Roman cleared his throat and tried to look taller.

“What I mean is: Hamilton had eight kids, not three. And on top of that, Phillip was born a few months after they won the Revolution, not during, so Hamilton didn’t miss the birth of his son. I mean sure, it’s a small thing, but the devil’s in the details as they say. Heh.”

Terrence gave the most insultingly bemused look. And Roman definitely heard a few kids snickering behind him. He glanced quickly at the culprits and felt his ears go hot. This is what he got for putting himself in the spotlight.

“Roman, I applaud you for participating in the class discussion,” Their teacher started gently, “but I’m afraid you’re wrong on this one. If you read your textbook close you’d see in the fifth paragraph where it mentions from one of his later letters—“

“Actually Mr. Williams, if I may, Roman is correct.”

Roman saw Logan at his desk, one hand raised while the other adjusted his neck scarf. Was the teacher’s pet actually… backing him up?

“It is a common misconception that Alexander Hamilton only had two children, even more so modernly, what with the musical having only named two of them. However Roman has clearly done his research on the plays historical accuracies, which is more than I can say for some.”

Logan shot a cool but scathing look at their recently snickering classmates and they withered. Roman fought the urge to point and laugh aloud. He did however stick his tongue out real quick. What? He could be shy and petty at the same time.

“My guess,” Logan continued, “is that this textbook edition is also either misprinted or outdated, judging by the publication date in the copyright section.”

Brows furrowed, Terrence looked at the textbook laid open on his desk. He flipped back to the front, before pulling out his cellphone—“I’m the teacher, I’m allowed to do this. You guys aren’t.”—and after what Roman guessed was a quick Google search, their teacher looked up. His eyebrows drawn in a ‘hm, well damn’ expression.

“Looks like you’re right, Roman. And thank you Logan for bringing to my attention about the textbooks. I’ll have to talk to the principal about hopefully getting some updated materials. But we’ll see how that goes,” Terrence, muttered the last part, though Roman was close enough to catch it. Terrence cleared his throat and moved back to the board. “Maybe if we call on assistance from the inside. Much like how the Sons of Liberty sent in Hercules Mulligan to spy on the British...”

“Perhaps if we knew of an immigrant who was unafraid to step in,” Logan said just under his breath.

No one else seemed to notice the reference, but when Roman did, he felt like a mini volcano about to burst rainbow lava. Apparently there was a lot more to his soulmate than first meets the eye; and now that he knew, Roman was determined to see more of it. The rest of class passed quickly and everyone filed out to the halls as the first bell for the last class period of the day rang. Roman made sure to catch up to Logan on the way out and staccato tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey, Logan?” He said.

When Logan turned, he swore time slowed down for a moment. The brilliant boy’s skirt flared around his waist, and somehow his skin glowed even under the dull, inconsistent school lights. His posture was erect yet natural, he could have been raised among nobility. Amidst the stench and clamor of loud sweaty students, Logan was as poised and striking as the goddess Athena. Oh...

“Yes, Roman?” Logan asked.

Roman gulped. “I uh, just wanted to thank you for backing me up in there.”

“Thanks are unnecessary,” Logan said. “I detest when someone is shamed by other students for speaking up in class, regardless of whether or not they have the correct information.”

“Well regardless, thanks for coming to my aid in the face of academic danger.”

“Dramatic, but my pleas—oof!”

A hurried passerby bumped into Logan from behind, rushing off with a half-assed ‘sorry’. Logan, caught off guard, stumbled right into Roman’s arms. The two looked at each other, cheeks filling with heat. Roman caught a whiff of something faintly floral on Logan, something natural– a lavender and honeysuckle perfume, perhaps. It was heavenly. They were still in the middle of foot traffic though, so he maneuvered them to the side. Which was tricky since Logan was still so close to him and also a good two inches taller with the heels.

“Well,” Roman flashed his pearly whites. “Seems you’ve fallen for me.”

Logan pulled away, but his lips quirked upwards in a teasing smirk. “Oh please, I merely stumbled into you.”

“Ah, but stumbling is the first step towards being swept off your feet.”

“Bold words from an abashedly charming homunculus in such an… eye catching ensemble.”

Did he call me charming!? He composed himself, “Hey, don’t let the sweater vest fool you. I may be short but I’ve got guns.”

“Aaah. But mind over muscle, as they say. Do you find yourself up to the task?”

“Only if it’s you, my brainy blossom.”

Roman’s class was in the other direction, but Logan didn’t need to know that. They walked through the halls, conversing. class was still in the next ten or so minutes, but Roman was having fun. Banter with Logan felt surprisingly easy. Natural like they’d been at it all their lives.

“By the way, was that a ‘Guns n’ Ships’ reference I overheard, pastel poindexter?” Roman asked.

Logan cleared his throat. “It… may have been, yes. I found myself unable to resist toppling the figurative dominos.”

“In other words, you seized the opportunity you saw,” Roman said, matching his own reference to the source’s cadence, which got a chuckle out of Logan.

“Precisely. Under more casual circumstances, I may have even recited Lafayette’s part.”

“You can rap? You can rap Guns n’ Ships? Like, the whole thing, no tongue twists?”

Logan stopped for a moment, turned to Roman. The taller boy cleared his throat, and after a moment wherein he seemed to mentally restrain himself, he simply adjusted his glasses. “I have an appreciation for poetry.”

Roman blinked rapidly. Holy shit, he’s an even bigger nerd than I am. He definitely needed to see that at some point.

They turned a corner, stopping just outside of the science room. Some students were going in to take their seats, and the teacher was already making notes on the board. Logan pulled an AP Physics book from his backpack, but made no move to leave, much to Roman’s delight.

“So then,” Roman leaned against the eggshell wall, “How come you acted so indifferent earlier and called my tastes basic? Oh, and I think I remember you also implied I was shallow?”

Okay, yeah, he was still kind of salty about that. But then he saw the shamed look on the nerd’s face, and Roman wished he could have taken it back. Logan looked at his shoes then back at him.

“To be candid I was… hesitant to show the full extent of my enthusiasm. In case you thought I’d be—I believe ‘being the most’ is the term— it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve caused someone to lose interest in conversing with me due to informational overload. I nearly bored my Aunt Patricia to sleep once talking about a fascinating article on jellyfish. And considering how I blundered our initial meeting—“

“Pfft, ya think?” He mentally slapped himself again when Logan went tight-lipped and turned to go. “No, no, wait. I—I’m sorry. Truly. ...Truth is, I was no gentleman either. I’m not always great at thinking before I speak. It’s why I’m so awkward around people. Takes a while for my true charming nature to shine through.”

“Clearly. Still, you show a level of interpersonal aptitude that I, well, lack.” Logan fiddled with his hair pin again and a stray hair came loose. “Reading people and expressing emotions has never really been—It’s something I struggle with.”

Much as Logan tried to maintain his cool composed posturing, Roman could tell that this was something that really bothered him. He tried so hard to seem put together and confident and serious, but really he was just as awkward and insecure as anyone. Roman smiled softly and stepped closer to Logan, reaching up to tuck the loose ebony strand behind his ear.

“Hey, everyone’s got things about themselves they can work on. Including me,” Roman smiled. “And believe me when I say that I will never judge you for being passionate about something you like. So if you ever want someone to ramble about jellyfish or Sweeney Todd to or—I dunno, calculators or something?—I’m all ears.”

Logan’s cheeks went pink and he gave a hesitant yet sincere smile. “That’s...very kind of you, Roman. And coincidentally, I also greatly enjoy Sweeney Todd. The use of iambic pentameter and alliteration to give a succinct synopsis to the story in just the first sentence alone is pure brilliance.”

“Right!? I mean the man’s a mad genius. I’m dying to design sets for one of his musicals someday. Like last year? I came up with the concept of having the Sweeney Todd sets done in a way that highlights the class differences with the characters.” Roman went into a small three minute ramble regarding the specifics before he cut himself off abruptly. Logan was blinking rapidly, a look of mild shock crossing his feature. Roman nearly started sweating; Had he messed this up again?

“That… that’s ingenious”

Roman’s ears were burning. Ohmygosh!Ohmygosh!Ohmygosh!

“Hey, Logan!” They both startled and turned to an impatient cheerleader with a ginger undercut and they/them pronoun pin shaped like a coffin. “What’re you doing just standing out in the hall, ya dork? Oh, hey Roman.”

“Uh. Hey, October,” Roman said, waving awkwardly to them.

“I told ya, Red, you only get to call me that when we’re working on a show.”

“Wait, October? Red? You two know each other?” Logan asked, brow arching.

“Kind of. They sometimes help out with costumes for the drama club,” said Roman. And they have terrible timing. I mean seriously Tobes, we were having a moment.

“Come on Lo, class is about to start, and you promised to go over my homework with me real quick beforehand. See ya ‘round, Ro.” Toby grabbed Logan’s hand and pulled him into the classroom. “You can fill me in on what you were doing with Red later.”

Logan followed his—apparently—friend into their classroom, but he shot Roman an apologetic look over his shoulder. Roman bounced a bit on the balls of his feet before following halfway into the room. Logan was in his seat with Toby showing him an open notebook. A teacher in a tight grey hair bun was writing on the board. Students at their seats were chatting, and some looked up at the short dork in red who burst in. For once Roman ignored them, his mind set on one last attempt at wooing his green skirted genius while he still had the nerve.

“Hey, Logan,” he said. “I’ve also got some great layout designs for an Into the Woods set. If you’re interested, maybe we can meet up after school and I can show them to you? Maybe we talk a bit more over iced lattes or something?”

“Excuse me, Mr. Prince, seventh period starts in five minutes,” said the teacher. “Unless you’ve suddenly transferred to my class, I suggest you stop distracting my favorite student and get going.”

“I’ll be gone in just a second,” he said. “Well?”

Logan smoothed the silky fabric of his pink scarf and said, “That sounds optimal, Roman. I’ll meet with you. By the first floor water fountain perhaps?”

Roman grinned. “I shall be counting the minutes.”

“Mr. Prince,” said the teacher with a warning glare.

Roman blew a kiss at Logan and then ducked out of the doorway. Was he embarrassed of himself? Oh definitely. Did he regret it? Absolutely not. He felt ten inches tall.

Now to complete the quest of making it to class in time. He slid off a shoulder strap to unzip his classic Mickey backpack, getting out the notebook and the relevant homework. He found them amidst the mess of spiral notebooks, granola bar wrappers, two textbooks and rainbow sticky notes. But something was missing from his folder.

“Where are those– it should be here.” He could’ve sworn he had his stapled the blocking notes in his folder. No, wait, the last place he saw them was— “Ah shoot! I left them in the tech closet again.”

Under normal circumstances, Roman would’ve grabbed them after school, but the auditorium was locked on weekends. He’d have to wait till Monday to get them and that just wouldn't do! he wanted to show Logan his notes today! I’ll bet David Korins never has these kinds of problems. Okay, okay. Still got four minutes. He could rush to the auditorium, grab the notes, and then head straight to class. I should have enough time, right? Right. Besides it was only Spanish Class, he was already pretty fluent after all those summers visiting his grandparent in Nicaragua. He spent most of class time dreaming up blocking notes anyway.

Despite not being totally convinced by his own argument, Roman immediately turned on his heel and started running in the opposite direction. After a teacher told him no running in the halls, Roman power walked through the halls with a skip in his step and a song in his heart, feeling absolutely gay in both senses of the word. Logan had actually called his idea ingenious! And the way those sharp eyes softened just for him- he would squeal if not for the fact that it would draw too many eyes to him. The halls were still filled with a few stragglers rushing to the last class of the day, and he was already trying not to get caught being late for class.

Now he knew how Maria felt in West Side Story. Y’know, before Act 2. Oh sure, they’d gotten off to a shaky start, but as the Bard’s adage on the course of true love said; and Roman felt it in his gut that this was certainly the start of true love. Not just with brilliant Logan but also with soulful Patton as well. He didn’t know how an awkward geek like him ever got so lucky in the soulmate department…Then again, there was still the matter of Virgil. So maybe not so lucky.

Roman touched his arm, remembered flustered yet flattering purple words. I know they both said Virgil is secretly sweet and I can sympathize with the terrors of closet town, but COME ON! Virgil? Really? That gloomy gladiator? There had to be a mistake in that. After all, Patton liked to see the good in everyone. Logan was much more of a skeptic, but he does seem to have a blind spot with sarcasm. Maybe Virgil was messing with them somehow. Even if he’s not a jerk jock, the guy’s still kind of a creepazoid; with his dark eyes and cheeta-esq gait and those probably huge muscles hidden under that bulky jacket and big hands...

His gay disaster train of thought came to a merciful halt as he reached the auditorium. Roman pushed open the doors, took a pause to breathe in the quiet comfort of this chapel of the arts. Okay yeah, chapel was maybe a little kind for the school’s auditorium which doubled as the drama Club’s rehearsal space/prop closet backstage/Mx Joan’s unofficial office because the school didn’t fund the arts programs enough. Even so this space was Roman’s sanctuary. The place where he could help create magic from the shadows, bring stories of those gone and living to life. Here, Roman found something of a community with his fellow backstagers, glee club losers, and budding thespians (the nice ones). So he loved every squeaky stage plank, every duck taped seat cushion and every speck of dust that floated in the spot lit air like fairies.

Mx. Joan wasn’t around for once, thankfully. Probably in the teacher’s lounge or rendezvousing with the school nurse or something. They were pretty chill and Roman knew he was their favorite student, but the choir director/drama club moderator/music teacher (this school really needs to fix its funding habits) wouldn’t have been too keen on Roman being deliberately late for class.

Roman walked down the aisle and to the side room by the stage. It was originally a janitor’s closet, but their club moderator transformed it into a ‘Crew Only’ Storage Unit… Okay it was still a closet, but with less bleach and more coils. This was where they kept important equipment for semester shows, like the lighting and sound boards, along with other supplies. Roman made a quick mental note to get more gaffer tape later, seeing their supply was low.

He looked through the small pile of scribbled and highlighted sheets with the lighting cues for the spring show. I’ve really gotta get a binder for these…Ah-Ha! Here you are! Roman pulled out the stapled sheets titled ‘Into the Woods Dream Set’ and carefully shoved them into his bag. Perfect timing too. He might just be able to make it to class after—

RIIIIIIIIIIING

“GAH!”

What the heck? He could’ve sworn he was alone in there, but that yelp just now said otherwise. Up close, Roman saw that the curtains were rustling, accompanied by sounds of heavy breathing and moaning, yet not a footstep to be seen or heard.

Holy SHIT, this place IS haunted! I KNEW that backdrop fiasco last semester wasn’t caused by cheap slit plywood. My supplies are the best quality allowance money can buy. Great Macbeth’s bloody knife, I TOLD Kai we should've sprung for a ghost light! Remus always teased him for being superstitious but look who’s laughing now.

He dashed back into the crew closet and grabbed the heavy push broom leaning in the corner. Roman Prince was NOT about to be caught unawares and possessed by the ghost of a disgruntled student without a fight. He would defend his domain of imagination!

Roman slowly climbed the stage steps, wielding his broom like a bow staff, turned the curtain corner where the noises were coming from and was about to release a war cry on the—

“Virgil?”

Roman nearly dropped his weapon at the sight of Virgil Alighieri—star athlete, object of his fears and supposed soulmate—curled in on himself trembling and crying.

His jacket was pulled over his head like a hood, yet Roman could see the tear stained face peeking out from underneath. Virgil’s eyes were squeezed tight, making the dark circles he’d never noticed before more prominent. There was no denying the athlete had muscle but he was more lithe—thin enough for Roman to wonder if the guy ate enough. Virgil’s trembling could rival a chihuahua, shaky hands clutching his knees, and he was clearly in the midst of a bad panic attack.

Roman had built Virgil up in his mind as being like some odd combination of Hades and Ares. The strong silent wolf within his pack of jocks, a surging thunderstorm just waiting for the right nerd to come along and piss him off enough to strike down like the bolt of Zeus.

Someone to be afraid of.

But now? Seeing him in this state, all alone and whimpering like a wounded animal...it broke Roman’s heart.

He set the broom down gently and carefully crouched down in front of Virgil. “Virgil,” he said softly. “Virgil, can you hear me?”

Virgil let out a breathy sob but otherwise didn’t seem to register him. Just how long had he been sitting here like this?

Roman was at a loss for what to do. Sure he knew plenty of people with anxiety but never saw someone having an actual panic attack before. He did know that if he didn’t help the other calm down soon, Virgil was liable to pass out. He’d never wanted to hug someone so badly in his life. Roman tentatively reached out a hand but stopped. What if touching him makes it worse? What if I startle him so badly he actually has a heart attack!? Maybe I should get the nurse. But I can’t just leave him like this.

He caught sight of the colorful soulmarks written on Virgil’s arm. Saw his own harsh thoughts: ’Dios mio, he’s staring right at me—like he wants to punch my face!’

Roman took his shame and forged it into steel. I won’t abandon you...my soulmate.

Virgirl’s let out a hiccuped cry, and this gave Roman an idea. Something from back when he was a child. It was probably stupid and a long stretch, but it was all he could think of. He readjusted himself so that he was now sitting right next to Virgil, making sure not to startle him. Roman cleared his throat, then as softly as he could, he began to sing.

“Come stop your crying, it’ll be alright.

Just take my hand, hold it tight.”

Roman one and carefully gentled his hand over Virgil’s. After a moment, he felt a light squeeze, and that encouraged him to keep going.

“I will protect you from all around you.

I will be here, don’t you cry…”

General Tag: @quoth-the-sparrow @altruistic-skittles @em-be-lievable @justisaisfine @broadwaytheanimatedseries @thekeytohappiness-is-you @jynxlovesluck @queer-human-being @phlying-squirrel @ab-artist @grey-lysander @a-valorous-choice @xx-fandom-potato-xx @impatentpending @book-of-charlie @randomslasher @tinkslittlebelle @insanelycoolish @ironwoman359 @icecoldparadise @bluebloodstains @purpleshipper @patchworkofstars @axyzel @hissesssss @beautifully-terribly @pink-and-purple-flowers @thatsanswitch @6tick6tock6 @hanramz-the-fander @azlinne @helplesscreator @thestoryofme13 @bibbidi-bobbity-booyah @accidental-sanders @moonstone-fox @smokeyrutilequartz @madly-handsome @puns-and-patton @notveryglittery @eequalsmcscared @safesandersides @lizziepopanime @anxiously-unsatisfied-world @unikornavenger @humbletortoise @backatthebein @mephonic @paperghastly @ravenclawangst @iamtrashcans @loganberrysanders @ierindoodles @a-new-witch-in-learning @punsterterry @your-average-pangirl @goldteethandacurseforthistown @dragonsight9 @gattonero17

Worst Impressions Tag: @everphantom @wundergirllovesyou @im-awkward-go-away @reinefandoms @shadowenbynerd @always-in-a-fandom @deadinsidebutliving @somehowsnakesblog @halfcrazedandrogynouswizard @selectivereality @occasionally-pauciloquent @donalev @princessbelix @justasadchildwithablog @megkir13 @cats-vetal-miking-vomit @karmels-stuff @daughterofsomnus @soijusthavetoask @to-precious-to-process @kimolothecatt @gabe-killed-me-with-ace-cream @notveryglittery @loving-neko @corracii @nerd-in-space @absolutesandersidestrash @hanramz-the-fander @minamishipsit-secondround @i-read-by-lamp @irrelevantbutsanders @themultishipperchild @anonymous-by-design @analogical-mess @marvelfangeek09 @incoherentfangirl @mirror2thespirit @wherethewaterstarts-andyouend @redundant-statements-for-400 @deathshadowrules @basicmillennial @beach-fan @withspaces @cisnesincorbata @merlybird500 @lovingcreatorstrawberry @dante1138 @k9cat @no-no-no-no-6 @sanderssidesvp @sevencrashing @karmels-stuff @kaioanxiety @reblogged-anything @theotherella @randomsandersides @phantomofthesanderssides @unisaurioamorfo @fabulouswritingfanboyofdeath @sniffingoutmywilltolive @pippippippin @shadowenbynerd @sugarglider-s @angels-and-dreams @larry-angels @hexdream18243 @itsthemoooooooooon @ibasicallyjustreblogeverything @stormblessedcastiel @the-sweet-space-bi @bisexuallyinlove @ijustreallylovesanderssides @everythings-coming-up-aces @loving-neko @theunoriginaldaisy @dreamybluecupcake @selectivereality @soft-transboy @veryvirginvirgil @wowimsogoddamnoriginal @shaeshaetheravenclaw @anxiousangel121 @cataclysm-al @fanartfunart @flufflerekt @floof-13 @mining-pup @ofdismaldays @b0y-guts @a-trans-ghost @romantichopelessly @isaac-or-izzy @quietwords-loudthoughts @im-gonna-yeet-outta-here @bunny222 @xxlithiumangelxx @tinyemogod @edgy-gremlin @coloursintheblur @i-have-n0-idea-what-im-d0ing @damnitvirgil @unicorndragon1-2-3 @littleladynightshade @peanut0303 @seeyoube @why-should-i-tell-youu2 @idiot-anonymous @unicornofdarknessstuff @winterswishing @wundergirllovesyou @surohsopsisofclouds @andreaissy @neon-skates @pumpkindotorgdotuk @llamaly @thetruthaboutthesun @frankiprowsworld @gattonero17 @kittykat3e @i-willgo-on @theiwatobiicepic @emiliopiccolo @im-awkward-go-away @singularthoughtofstatic @notyourperfectmexicandaughter @la-dolce-vita-on-deck @chocomiruk @anianthe @cause-a-gay-has-got-to-slay @lunatatic @incoherant-ramblings @09shell-sea09 @stormblessedcastiel @zaisling @im-a-solanum-lycopersicum @r1ght-as-ra1n @here-is-your-paper-trail-unicorn @a-gay-treee @ambivalentanemone @halfblood-demigods @tssidesfamily @fightmedragonwitch @anteonnix @kai-the-person @annoying-alien @t0astyt0es @astudyinfuckmylife @respectmekaren @winterknight1087 @wewuzraw @annoying-alien @dragonphantom13 @emiliopiccolo @theiwatobiicepic @thefingergunsgirl @bluerosesbleedred

68 notes · View notes

isitgintimeyet · 4 years

Text

Just A Friend

Hope you are all having a good weekend. I’m the only one awake, the sun is shining and I’m enjoying my coffee in peace and quiet. Bliss!

Thank you for the continuing support for this story. it’s lovely reading (and re-reading) all the comments.

Hope you enjoy this next chapter.

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta.

AO3

Previous Chapter

Chapter 3: From Relationship To Release

You know, I’m a great believer in relationships. Relationships come in all shapes and sizes — take my relationship with Geillis, for example.

I met Geillis on my first day of postgraduate training at Glasgow Royal Infirmary. I was spending three months in orthopaedic surgery and she was just finishing her training as a theatre nurse. We somehow kept bumping into each other at social gatherings and found we had many things in common — a childish sense of humour, an intolerance of pomposity and snobbishness, and a love of cheesy rom-com movies.

From there, our friendship snowballed, and for many years now, I’ve called her my best friend. Even the arrival of a fiancé and her forthcoming nuptials haven’t lessened our relationship in any way. Our careers have developed in parallel too. So when a vacancy came up for a senior theatre sister at the Children’s hospital, I didn’t hesitate to recommend her for the post. We work well together. For all her joking around and flippant comments she is damn good at her job. And I love her.

I don’t think I love many people. I’m very fond of a lot of people, mainly my friends. But love? No. And certainly not the romantic, live-our-life-together type of love.

I see how it can work. I look at Robbie’s parents, for example. The way they are there for each other, supporting through all the worries with their son, their comforting touches and reassuring glances.They are a solid unit and I admire that.

I also see the way that Geillis’ face lights up when she talks about her fiancé, Dougal, and the way he watches her when we are all together in the pub. And I think it’s great, I really do.

But it’s not something that I’m seeking out for myself. I don’t think I’m cut out for that type of relationship. I don’t think there is someone out there, my soulmate, to spend the rest of my life with. And I definitely don’t think that I need someone else to complete me, make me whole.

That doesn’t mean that I’m a hermit. Far from it, in fact. I do date and enjoy it, but try to steer clear of any where-is-this-relationship-going type discussions.

It may well be to do with my childhood. I’ll admit, I’ve not had the most normal upbringing and that could have coloured my view of happily-ever-after love.

I’ve never been part of a conventional family unit. Well, I mean, I was for the first four years of my life —until my parents died in a car accident. And, at that age, how much can you remember? I do have some vague memories — rough tweed fabric against my cheek as my father’s strong arms lift me up, the smell of ‘Miss Dior’ perfume as my mother’s soft hands caress my cheek, the sound of laughter as we dance around the living room to Michael Jackson. But these are only fleeting recollections, ephemeral, gone in an instant.

All my real childhood memories are centred around one man — my uncle, Lambert Beauchamp. He, unhesitatingly, took me in when my parents died and became my guardian, my parent, my rock. He and I were a team, and I miss him every single day.

He was a confirmed bachelor, and I don’t mean that in a euphemistic way. He lived his life by his own rules and if he had been gay, he would have seen no reason to hide it. No, he had no need for romantic entanglements, no complicated relationships, no messy sexual encounters. He had two loves in his life — me and his work. He was a professor at the University, teaching archaeology and could, quite happily, get lost for hours in the bowels of the archives, studying ancient Somarian drinking vessels.

Growing up he was my role model, my yardstick against which to measure boys.

And over time, I've come to realise that I've always found myself attracted to the type of men which have certain ‘Lambert-esque’ qualities. Which leads me, I suppose, to Frank.

Just like my uncle, he’s a professor at the university. In history — more recent than Lamb’s studies only three hundred years ago, not three thousand. He’s single minded about his research, like my uncle, and he cares deeply about me, which makes me feel bad because I don’t feel the same way. Of course, I care about him, just not enough for a serious relationship that’s going somewhere.

All of this is a long winded way of saying what I’ve actually known for a while now... I need to break up with Frank.

*************

I’m just contemplating whether to brave the canteen or grab a sandwich from the hospital shop, when there’s a knock at my office door and a hand appears brandishing a couple of distinctive Gregg’s paper bags. This hand is closely followed by the rest of Geillis, who plonks herself down on one of my visitor chairs. A wonderful aroma of freshly baked goods wafts across the desk. My stomach rumbles in anticipation.

“Steak bake or sausage roll?” she asks as she places both bags on my desk, although she knows my preference.

“Ooh, how did you know I was just thinking about lunch?” I pick up one of the bags, the oozing gravy on its surface being a clear giveaway.

“We’ve been friends fer long enough,” Geillis smiles. “I ken what ye’re thinking. In fact, ye’ve something on yer mind right now. No’ a work thing. C’mon, spill.”

I swear, it’s uncanny. In the Middle Ages Geillis would undoubtedly have been tried as a witch. Her powers of deduction are that good.

I say nothing for a moment and focus on my lunch, blowing ineffectually on the hot meat filling.

“Weel? I’m waiting and ye ken I’m no’ a patient woman, Claire. This is tae do wi’ Frank, is it no’? Are ye planning on dumping him?”

See what I mean? Witchcraft.

“You make it sound so harsh. But I can’t carry on with Frank, he’s investing more into this… this—“

“Ye can say the word, Claire. Relationship… R… E…—“

“I know, I know. But I have to do something. I know Frank wants more than I want to give in this ‘relationship’.” I enunciate clearly just to make the point to Geillis. I’m not afraid of the word… I can say it.

“Anyway,” I add casually as I dab at the pastry crumbs with my finger. “I thought you’d be pleased. I know you’ve never liked him.”

Geillis tuts. “‘Tis no’ a matter of like. We jes’ havena got anything in common. He’s awfa serious and ye dampen yer personality down when ye’re with him. I’ve seen ye, ye canna deny it.”

I try to interject, but Geillis ignores my sounds of protest and carries on talking. “But it’s no’ jes’ Frank. Ye do this all the time, Claire. Whenever anyone tries tae get serious, ye run. What is wrong wi’ wanting a relationship anyway?”

“I have my work, I have my friends. I date, I go out with men, I have a good, if sporadic, sex life… and a trusty dual speed vibrator. What’s wrong with me wanting my life the way I want it?”

Geillis crams the end of her sausage roll into her mouth and chews vigorously for a minute. I pass her a paper serviette for her greasy hands. She gathers up the flaky pastry crumbs that have settled on her chest, wraps them in the serviette and pops it neatly in the bin.

“Ok, I get it. I’ll back off. But all I’m saying is dinna close yerself off tae the possibility of a real relationship, aye?”

Knowing she's gone as far as she can with this topic, she gets up and heads for the door. “Nae rest fer the wicked. Oh, and Claire, jes’ one thing…”

She pauses dramatically. “Dinna forget… ye’ve gravy on yer chin.”

And with that she disappears, leaving me with a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach caused by more than the calorie ridden pasty.

I am just settling down to dictate some patient letters when Frank texts to suggest dinner at my favourite Italian restaurant. This isn’t good. It’s a lovely restaurant, the kind of restaurant where special occasions are celebrated— birthdays, anniversaries, declarations…

So I have to lie… no, not lie, fib. I text back pleading a heavy day in theatre — aching feet, headache and so on.

His concerned response makes me feel bad. No need for fibbing, I do feel pretty shitty now. However, it also makes me more resolved to do what I have to do. I can’t drag this out, causing him more and more hurt. So, I invite him to my flat this evening instead.

*******

I have a final glance in the mirror in my bedroom. I do actually look a bit worn out. I haven’t really put any makeup on, just a touch of mascara and a slick of lipstick, which I have already managed to chew off.

My hair is, as per usual, a bit wild and untamed. I have a bathroom shelf full of products promising smooth and manageable curls, but have yet to find one that actually delivers on their promises. I tuck my hair behind my ears, pinch my cheeks to try to look a little less pale and head to the front door.

Frank is as punctual as ever. Unlike other things in my life, he’s always delivering on his promises. Which makes me feel even worse. I have nothing to accuse him of, no unacceptable behaviour— apart from wanting more than I’m prepared to give. That old cliché, “it’s not you, it’s me”, really is appropriate here. I’m going to try not to actually say those words though. He deserves more than that.

And so I take a deep breath and open the door. He stands there expectantly with two bottles of wine, one red and one white, in his hands.

“I wasn’t sure what we would be eating, so I got both just in case,” he volunteers as he walks in and leans close to me for a kiss.

I give him my cheek and make a fuss of taking the bottles from him to deflect my lack of affection.

He follows me into the lounge. I’m sure he notices that I make no offer to pour the wine. I set the wine on the coffee table and perch on the end of the settee.

Frank takes my hands. “Claire, darling, are you ok? Has it been a rough day?”

I shake my head. “It’s not been the best. Frank… I…”

I can’t even look at him now. I take a deep breath and plunge in. “Frank, I… the thing is… I don’t know how… I think we should stop seeing each other.” The words tumble out of my mouth like a deluge.

I finally look up as Frank releases my hands and walks over to the window. He stands still, his back to me, as if just taking in the view. Then he turns to face me, staring intently at me, scrutinising my face as if looking for a glimmer of hope. The silence is unbearable.

“Frank, it’s not you—“ I try to fill the void, by resorting to stale old clichés after all.

“Spare me that platitude.” He snaps at me. “We’re not fifteen. This was… is… serious to me, Claire.”

Frank now moves to sit next to me. His hand rests on my thigh, his fingers lightly drawing circles on my jeans. I watch for a moment. Am I supposed to move it? Should I remind him he no longer can touch me like this?

His voice softens. “I lo—“

“No, please, Frank. Don’t say it. Please don’t. You are such a nice man. You don’t deserve this.” Gently, I lift his hand and place it on his leg.

“Then don’t do it. Tell me, Claire, what do I have to do? What changes do I have to make for us to move forward? I’ll do it, tell me. We can make this work, I know.”

What do I say now? Anything I say will only hurt him more. All I can do is apologise and try to explain.

“I am sorry, really. It’s just, well, you want more than I can give. You think about a future—“

“And what’s wrong with that? That’s what most people want, Claire. Planning for a future together— a home, a family… our family.” Frank’s getting angry now, raising his voice.

“Please, I’m trying to explain. You want a future life together and I can’t give you that. I’m sorry that I’m hurting you.”

“Is there someone else? Is that what this is all about?”

I’ve been trying to remain composed, to give Frank the explanation he deserves. But this question annoys me beyond belief, as if I have to be one half of a couple.

“I can’t believe you asked that. No, it’s not about another man. I can’t be what you want me to be and that’s it.”

He stands up now, right in front of me. His hands are down by his sides, so tightly clenched into fists that his knuckles are white against the slight tan of his skin. For a fleeting nanosecond, I wonder if he is going to hit me. But, of course not, he’s just trying to gain control of himself.

“That’s it, then.” The words are spat out with venom.

“You know I’m sorry.”

He shrugs dismissively. “Of course. Well, goodbye.”

He makes for the door.

“What about the wine?” I indicate the two bottles, still on the table. It’s a pointless trivial comment, I know, but for some reason I don’t want him to think I expect to keep them.

Frank doesn’t even look over his shoulder. “Consider them a parting gift.”

And with that, he's gone.

I remain sitting motionless, processing what I’ve just done. It’s not easy hearing those words, but neither is it easy to have to say them. So many emotions are coursing through my body — sorrow, guilt, regret, self-reproach, worry. And in the midst of this maelstrom, there is one thing I can clearly recognise — a glimmering spark of relief.

#outlander fanfiction #outlander fan fic #Just a Friend #Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #bit more Geillis #Chapter 3

118 notes · View notes

pynkhues · 3 years

Note

Hello 👋 I know you are super busy with life and work and have so many asks to answer 😄 But is there any chance of a 'what the sea wants' update at some point? It's got me hooked ❤

Hello! And ahhhh, thank you so much! I love getting asks about What the Sea Wants, it feels like my giant monster baby these days, haha. Chapter 3 will definitely be up pretty soon! The next two chapters are more or less done – I’ve been experimenting with banking a few before I post to make the wait between chapters a bit shorter, but y’know...it’s me, and that’s not my strong suit these days, haha.

With any luck, I’ll post it this week though?

You can have a little excerpt though if you like ;-)

“Take her back to my cabin.”

It takes her a moment to process the words. To let them tear through the knit cloth of her frustration and try their hand at the softer seams below. To toy with the fraying edges of her wits, her dignity, her grace, her station, and then it’s with a new and breathless fury that Beth stares at Rio’s slender back, and says:

“Excuse me?”

But Rio does not turn his head back to meet her, nor stand, nor give any indication that he’s heard her at all. Rather he keeps his eyes fixed on his cabin boy, adds a “now” for good measure, and he reaches across the table for the flagon before topping up his cup. The stench of ale wafts below the dim candlelight, seeps into the loose petticoats beneath her untailored dress, and Beth hears the scrape of the bench across the wood floors as the cabin boy rises to his feet, but she doesn’t wait for him to grab her.

Instead, Beth steps forwards, a sharpness to her step, reaching for Rio’s arm herself.

“How dare you – you may not send me wherever you see fit, I am - -”

But Rio just snorts, has a drink, before swiping a pearl of condensation from his cup.

“I can do whatever I want, darlin’, I’m captain of this ship.”

“Captain of what?” Beth scoffs. “I am Lady Elizab - -”

The chair is suddenly pushed out, forcing her to step back lest it hit her, and before she has the time to rally herself anew, Rio is standing, his ale and meal abandoned as he turns to face her, his jaw clenched and his lips pressed into a thin, unamused line, and there’s something about it. That’s all. Something to the twist of his expression that has shed the easy brightness of the kitchens or the curiosity of the deck, and instead, he seems - - feels - -

Cold.

Beth blinks. Swallows. Tries to summon back her fury, but it’s like he’s seen it, smelt it. Blood in the water. Her cloth unravelled.

He clasps his hands before himself, and rolls his shoulders back

“Nah,” he says after a moment, drawls and yet it isn’t so casual as it could seem. “You ain’t a lady. Not anymore. See, anything you had, anything you were, is on that shore you left behind you when you stowed away on my ship.”

The blood thrums through her ears, a frantic cacophony of sound, and vaguely she’s aware of the hundred watching eyes of the men on this ship, of the only steps towards them Ruby’s through the fray, of her own stare, unblinking, unwavering, as she takes in Rio’s dark eyes and his set look, the coldness not disappearing, but shifting suddenly. He works his mouth, wets his full lips. His gaze seems to slip down her body, as easy as a nightdress off her shoulders, and something drips like molasses in the back of her throat.

“So when you stand in front of me,” Rio adds, slower this time, and his voice lower, as if just for her. “The only thing you are is lucky I ain’t the kind to send desperate women Davy Jones’ way, and if you wanna keep it like that, you gonna do what I say. You ask me what I’m Captain of? Baby, as long as you here, I’m Captain of you.”

#what the sea wants the sea will have #beth x rio #fic asks #this chapter really is pretty much done actually #i ended up re-reading it tonight to find an excerpt to post and was like omg sophie #it would take you like #three hours max to scrub this up #anyway #i'll get to it #i'm distracted by tfu haha #welcome to my ama #my fic #hunoncall

22 notes · View notes

thevoidable · 4 years

Text

How and why Dabi is still alive - a theory

Now, assuming the Dabi is a Todoroki theory is correct, there’s always been one big, persisting question since we got a certain confirmation several chapters ago in the manga: just how is Dabi still alive?

That’s the question I’m hoping to answer or at least provide some more insight on by the end of this post, and what I’ll be doing is going in-depth about the cremation process and digging into context clues within the manga, so, major manga spoilers and TWs ahead.

Before we look into how Dabi is still alive, we must first answer how Toya himself actually “died”. As I previously mentioned, chapter 249 gave us confirmation that the Todorokis all firmly believe that Toya is dead, but it was still left unclear on just what was the cause, and most of us had the idea that Endeavour had possibly killed Toya during training.

But then, chapter 252 gave us another vague yet crucial detail:

Endeavour was not directly responsible for his death, but the way this is worded still implies that he is somewhat part of the reason. So, if Endeavour didn’t kill him, what did? Previously in chapter 250, Fuyumi mentions the following:

So, we know that whatever happened to Toya was after the kettle incident. Now, given all the build-up of him being the eldest (therefore him seeing and experiencing the most), suffering through Endeavour’s abuse, and then his mother snapping and becoming potentially just as dangerous, the most likely cause of death for Toya is, unfortunately, suicide. Everything was just too much for him at that point and he, too, snapped. It’s likely that he hid away in an empty room and burned himself alive, and by the time Endeavour (or possibly any of his siblings) found him, it was too late.

So now that we know how Toya died, we can finally start getting to the juicy part, but before we do, I would just like to quickly bring up Dabi’s Quirk and how compatible it is with his body, because that’s going to be important later.

During Dabi’s fight with Geten, we got confirmation that his flames are indeed detrimental to his own body.

Paired with Endeavour’s words said to Shoto during training, and Natuso, Rei, and Fuyumi’s conversation in chapter 187,

it’s easy to put together that Toya inherited a body more suited for an ice Quirk. Given that, it’s still very impressive that Dabi is getting away with the burns that he has and isn’t just straight up dead, so just how hot are his flames? With a quick Google search, blue fire burns at a whopping 1400 - 1650 degrees Celsius (2600 - 3000 degrees Fahrenheit), which means that despite his disadvantage, he still has an amazingly strong resistance to extremely high temperatures. Not only that, but his body is also very likely to survive extreme cold temperatures too, so in a way, Toya essentially has a very flawed version of Shoto’s body and Quirk.

Alright, back to our regularly scehduled programming. So, Toya burned himself alive, and now Endeavour has to deal with the aftermath. What does he do? Something that I’ve noticed which is incredibly strange is that none of the authorities have been able to figure out Dabi’s identity at all - as of right now, every single core League member has been revealed except for Dabi. If Dabi is Toya, why has no one been able to get DNA tests, fingerprints, etc.? If the other members can be figured out, then Dabi should be too. ...Unless Endeavour had wanted to erase Toya from public existence entirely. It’s entirely possible that Endeavour contacted the Safety Commission to help him cover up his son’s death and make it as if he had never existed in the first place. Back then, Toya was seen as nothing but a mistake, a failure, so with him dead, it was easy for Endeavour to just sweep him under the rug and move on with his successful son. The Safety Commission would have handled erasing any and all data on Toya, which would explain why investigations regarding Dabi’s identity are coming up dry (oh the irony). So, with his digital existence erased, what about his actual physical one? Considering that around 99% of deceased in Japan are cremated, and Dabi’s name itself means “cremation”, the choice is blatantly obvious. What we have next to look at to figure out how Dabi survived is the cremation process. It consists of a few basic steps: - The body is transported to the crematory and kept in cold storage until the time of cremation - The body must be identified before the cremation process can begin - The body is cleaned and dressed (optional) - The body is placed into a cardboard box or casket and is cremated in the cremation chamber for 2 - 3 hours - Lastly, the remains are then ground up into “ashes” and given back to the family. First of all, in order for this theory to check out, we must address the elephant in the room: Toya is presumed dead. So how would he even be alive at this point anyway? Well, there’s actually a pretty good explanation for that. Turns out, people waking up in morgues can happen every so often. (As a side note, I’m no medical expert, so if I get anything wrong or get the information confused, then please let me know.)

A reduction in temperature you say? Like...being kept in cold storage? When Toya burned himself alive, he would have burned until he lost consciousness due to the fire eating away at his oxygen, which could have prompted his heart to stop or reduce its pulse greatly. Thus, as the above article suggests, when he was placed into cold storage, he was kept alive and given time to recover. The fact that his body is more suited to the cold is even better in this case, meaning that there’s no way the cold would harm him either.

With the elephant removed, we can now move on to the next steps: body identification and cremation preparation. Assuming that the Safety Commission is taking all measures to make sure that no one knows this is Endeavour’s eldest son, this part of the process suddenly becomes extra shady. What the body identification means is that the body is labelled with a unique number so that the remains can be identified after the cremation. However, there is also paperwork involved - yet another thing that the Commission would have to keep confidential, or perhaps even alter, giving fake names and the like. As mentioned earlier, the body being cleaned and dressed is optional, so that is clearly off the table too in order to keep Toya’s identity hidden from whoever works at the crematory.

And finally, we now get to the best part: the cremation itself. I doubt that Endeavour would have a casket prepared for Toya, so he would just be placed in a sturdy cardboard box, and then he’d be slid on into the cremation chamber, which is basically a human-sized brick oven. Now, this is where Toya’s body compatibility really comes into play. Remember how I said that blue fire burns at 1400 - 1650 degrees Celsius (2600 - 3000 degrees Fahrenheit), and that regardless of his burns he still has a crazy high temperature tolerance because of it? If he is able to withstand a decent amount of his own flames, then a measly cremation temperature of 1000 - 1300 degrees Celsius (1400 - 1800 degrees Fahrenheit) will do almost nothing to him besides make his already existing burns a little worse. So, it’s at this point that we now have to ditch science and research and start letting our imaginations run wild, because everything that happens next is all plot-based. It’s worth mentioning that I have never worked in a crematory before, so I’m not sure if the bodies are watched constantly while they burn (I know that families can watch their desceased be cremated if they so choose, but as far as general monitoring goes, I’m not sure), mostly because the process takes 2 - 3 hours, but if they’re not watched, then it’s my personal belief that Toya wakes up as he’s being cremated and busts his way out of the cardboard box in a fit of panic. Once out of the chamber, he realises what’s going on due to another body that could be cremating at the same time. I’d imagine that what’s going through Toya’s head right now is that people think he’s dead when he’s actually not, and he’d perfer it if it stayed that way. He has the perfect opportunity to get away from Endeavour and start anew elsewhere - this is his second chance. To avoid being found out, he braves the flames again to switch out the ID labels so that the other body’s ashes will be mistaken for his, and he makes his escape out of the crematory to face the streets for the first time. As for what happens during the ten year gap between then and now, I have no idea of what Dabi does or goes through, so that’s all for Hori to know and us to find out.

And so, that concludes my theory!

I hope you all enjoyed reading it - I did as much research as I could and tried to come up with the most logical scenario possible, and this was the result. I’ve been working on it since midnight and it is now 3AM, so I am going to go the fuck to bed and get some sleep lmao. Let me know your thoughts and if you have anything to add!

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #mha #bnha manga spoilers #mha manga spoilers #dabi #dabi is a todoroki #theory #todoroki touya #touya todoroki

155 notes · View notes

thirstbxtch · 4 years

Text

Triple

Rated: E (Smut)

Steve/Reader/Billy

The thing is, Harrington's new girl is hot and Billy's still not sure if Steve is actually a good fuck.

Cross posted to AO3.

This took an embarrassingly long time to write, like actual months okay, so if you guys could say nice things about it, that would be cool.

You're in the kitchen getting drinks when Billy sees you. Harrington's new bitch. His eyes land on your ass as you reach into the fridge. What can he say, definitely an improvement over Wheeler.

He thinks he vaguely remembers seeing you around school; thinks you must have filled out in the few months since then because he would have noticed an ass like that. Or maybe it’s just the skirt. He wonders if Harrington even knows what to do with you.

"Hey," he grins, grabbing the fridge door, holding it open for you.

"Umm, hi?" You return uncertainly, coming out of the fridge with two beers.

"I don't think we've ever met officially," he offers smoothly.

"No introduction needed Hargrove," you reply dismissively, stepping away from the fridge so he can shut the door.

"You here with someone?" He asks, playing dumb, nodding to the two beers you're holding.

"I'm here with Steve," you answer neutrally.

"Oh, I see, how is King Steve these days?"

He cuts you a smile.

"He's fine, Billy."

"Really? Heard he hasn't been doing so hot since graduation, let me guess you're with him just for the free ice cream?"

"We're fine, I'll tell him hi for you," you answer, trying again in vain to dismiss him, moving to step around him, but Billy's not letting you go that easy, not when he can feel Harrington's glare all the way from the living room couch.

"Why so tense sweetheart? King Steve not, uh, doing it for you?" He questions with mock concern.

"Oh he does it for me, you're not though."

"You sure about that?"

You square and tilt your jaw.

"Why don't you join us then Hargrove? And you can see for yourself," you retort, stepping into dangerous territory, but you have a good buzz going and it seems like the most logical comeback.

Billy's gaze flickers in interest. Mouth as sassy as it is pretty then.

"I'd love to but I don't think your vanilla pretty boy boyfriend is gonna go for that," he challenges, leaning in, smelling of cigarettes and cologne. Steve always smells of spring, new and green and faintly of chestnut.

"We'll just have to see, won't we?" You reply, not wanting to let him call your bluff.

The moment drags as you size each other up. Definition of his chest visible through the undone buttons of his white shirt, lightwash jeans tight on his thighs, blue eyes darkening rapidly as he looks you over. Somewhere in your alcohol induced haze you think you might end up regretting this later.

"Guess we will, princess," he remarks smoothly, finally moving aside for you to pass.

He locks eyes with Harrington as you make your way over and perch yourself on his lap. He's pissed; Billy can tell and he holds Steve's glare until Tommy finds him, and he reluctantly breaks away. Fucking Tommy, always getting in the way.

"What did he want?" Steve asks, watching Billy drift off to another part of the house with Tommy.

"Oh nothing," you hum, sipping your beer. You're hoping Billy is either going to get shitfaced or stoned or both and forget the exchange.

"It didn't look like nothing, come on, what did he say?" He pushes, eyeing you carefully, hand resting on your lower back.

"Just talking shit as usual," you start, "he doesn't think you're doing it for me."

Steve runs his tongue along his lower lip.

"He what? What did you say?" He asks, tone sharpening now.

You worry at the inside of your cheek.

"I told him he could come see for himself," you shrug.

It’s a near thing when Steve doesn't choke on his beer.

"You what?"

"I told him he could come see for himself," you repeat, avoiding his eyes.

"Why would you say that?" Steve hisses. "Why would you invite Billy Hargrove to a threesome with us?"

Steve's fucked around before with Carol while Tommy was over because they were all bored and Carol is kind of a whore; he's not really sure if that counts as a threesome. It wouldn't matter anyways because anything involving Billy has a way of putting him out of his element. And there's no way in hell he's sharing his girl with Be Sure To Leave You Some Hargrove.

You quickly see the need for damage control, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"It was nothing, we were just talking shit Steve, " you murmur sweetly against the shell of his ear, just the way he likes.

He bites his lip.

"Yeah, well, Billy doesn't just talk shit okay? He follows through," Steve adds uneasily.

Speak of the devil; Billy's weaving his way easily through the living room when he sees you and Steve are still on the couch; Steve's hand sliding possessively up your thigh as Billy's gaze lights on the two of you.

"Harrington," he nods.

"All those bitches in the sea finally dry up Hargrove?" Steve returns flatly.

Billy smiles slyly.

"What can I say? Your girl looks like she could use some attention," he takes a drag off his cigarette, "And I guess I was right after all, seeing as she did invite me for a three way and all, guess King Steve isn't enough for her," Billy adds snidely in a cloud of smoke.

Steve tenses and you know if you weren't in his lap, he'd be on his feet already.

"I said you could see for yourself Hargrove," you say, cutting into their pissing contest and reminding them that you are actually right there, between them. "Meaning you can look, not touch."

"And I said your vanilla pretty boy boyfriend wasn't gonna go for that."

A beat.

"Was I right Harrington?" Billy drawls.

Steve's fingers are digging into your thigh now. That dumb kind of anger rising within him.

"Can't be right all the time Hargrove," Steve returns evenly. The echo of Nancy's voice is calling him an idiot.\

Billy looks between you and Steve, shit eating grin slowly affixing itself to his features.

"See you love birds upstairs in five then," he says, leaving no room for argument as he slips away into the crowd.

Steve runs a hand through his hair, sighing. He's not nearly drunk enough for this. He finishes off his beer; wants to be mad but can't really, not when there's some fucked up part of him that's secretly thrilled at the prospect of having Billy eat his words.

So he just says "You owe me" low against the crook of your jaw before shifting you out of his lap to stand, brown eyes glinting as he takes your hand and makes his way over to the bar; grabs the first thing he sees--whiskey thankfully-- and pours a shot. Then another for good measure. You follow, finding you could use the liquid courage yourself, already starting to feel like you're in over your head at the thought of heading upstairs. You're no virgin, but this is a first.

"You ready, baby?" Steve asks, looking you over, drawing you close. He looks good tonight, more so than usual in his black jeans and the deep blue of his soft tee.

"When you are," you answer, placing a hand on his chest.

Kisses you briefly, before leading you through the crowd to the stairs now and you follow, fingers tightening in his grasp.

You manage to snag the last empty room, which is thankfully at the end of the hall. Billy is nowhere to be found as of yet; you both sit on the edge of the bed.

"We can stop anytime you want, if you get uncomfortable, okay?" Steve says, knows this situation is inadvertently your doing, but wants to make sure you're comfortable nonetheless.

"I'm good, really," you answer, gaze falling to his mouth, just as Billy opens the door.

"Oh I'm sorry, are you having a moment? Should I come back later?" He mocks, closing the door behind him

Steve gives him a flat stare. There's not a chair in the room or anything so Billy just leans against the wall for now, pulling out his nearly empty pack of Marlboro's.

"So let's see it then, Harrington," Billy says roughly after flicking open his Zippo and lighting up a cigarette; his blue eyes weighing heavy on you before sliding over to Steve.

"Be sure to take notes, Hargrove, you might actually learn a thing or two," Steve replies coolly and Billy merely scoffs.

Steve turns towards you, leaning in to kiss you full and smooth as he cups your jaw, lips teasing your own apart so he can run his tongue slow and sweet across your bottom lip. He always kisses with an easiness that makes you weak in the knees. You open for him with a sigh, hands sliding up his neck, buzz of the shots you did really starting to kick in now as his tongue strokes yours at the same time Billy lets out a low breath that has nothing to do with his cigarette, chasing the rush of alcohol flooding your system.

You and Steve continue to make out, kisses and roaming hands growing steadily hungrier. You slip Billy a sideways glance when Steve breaks away to run his mouth over the skin of your throat. Billy's blue eyes both hazy and calculating as he meets your gaze, cherry burning on his half finished cigarette as he inhales. Already getting hard in his jeans and all you've done is kiss.

Steve sucks particularly hard at your collar bone and your eyes fall closed, his teeth nipping a pretty little mark there, which he laves and sucks to seal into your skin. He cuts Billy a look when he's finished; Billy just eyes the red and purple blooming there and gives Steve a knowing turn of his lips. Then Steve's hands are slipping up under your shirt and you help him lift it over your head, revealing the lace of your bra which they both eye hungrily. Steve palms your tits through the fabric as he catches your mouth again, running a hand up your spine, pausing briefly, brown eyes searching yours, silently asking permission to go on, deftly popping the clasp when you make no move to stop him, straps falling down your shoulders as you shrug out of it.

Billy bites his lip, shifting against the wall--you have nice tits. A shiver of trepidation runs through you at Billy's hooded gaze, only to be quickly pushed aside by Steve, already flicking his tongue over a nipple and you lean back on your hands with a whimper to give him a better angle, arching into the touch of his tongue and running a hand through his hair when he sucks; the sensation going straight to your core, pressing your thighs together at your growing desire. You catch Billy palming himself through his jeans, thumb hooked his belt loop, fingers resting over his fly, and it has heat running the length of your spine or maybe it's Steve's mouth on your tits or both. All you know is that you're aching and hot between your legs.

Steve knows you're absolutely wound up by this point. It's going better than he thought it would so far. Billy is surprising quiet for someone who's always running his mouth, and the weight of his ever present gaze doesn't bother him as much as he thought it would. He likes the fact that Billy gets to watch him take you apart. He releases your other nipple, sitting up to press his lips against your ear.

"You still good?" He asks lowly.

"Yeah," you reply in a rush of air.

"Wanna taste you," Steve murmurs, Billy still catches it in the quiet of the room, no mistaking his meaning in the low pitch of his voice and you lean into him, licking into his mouth in response, before you move to stand, hand reaching for the zipper at the back of your skirt.

But then Billy is pushing off the wall, coming to stand behind you, hands resting carefully on your hips, testing the terms of the agreement.

"Hands off, Hargrove. We said you could watch," Steve deadpans.

"And I think I've seen enough Harrington," Billy smarts back, voice hot against the side of your neck.

Steve has half a mind to tell him to just leave then, but the other half currently controlled by the blood rushing to his dick is focused on the way Billy's hands are splayed over your hips, and then Billy's hands themselves, and then Billy's skin, golden with summer, and the way he's looking at Steve, like he used to in the locker room, teasing like he knows something Steve doesn't, and it's annoying in a way Steve can't place he moves his honey eyes from Billy's to yours, finding no argument there, only the mirror of his desire.

Then Billy's slowly pulling down the zipper of your skirt, pushing it down over your hips until it hits the floor, leaving you in panties that would match the lace of your now discarded bra. Billy takes a moment to appreciate the fantastic view of your ass, before wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you with him fluidly as he comes around to sit on the bed, pulling you sideways onto his lap, an imitation of you and Steve earlier on the couch.

Steve drops to the floor in front of you, thumbs hooking in your panties and dragging them down. Billy takes advantage of your raised hips to nudge your legs apart with his thigh, so you're bracketing him, and moves his legs to a v, spreading you wide for Steve.

Steve bites his lip. You look so good, spread open for him on Billy's lap, and he shoulders in between Billy's thighs, looking up at the two of you before bringing his lips to hover against your clit, placing a chaste kiss there, tongue flicking out just so before dragging it along your slit, groaning at the wetness of you on his tongue, and your head falls back against Billy's shoulder with a gasp and an "oh", Billy watching Steve eat you out in between pressing kisses into your throat, his hands pressed against your ribcage, holding you tight against his chest, the worn leather of his jacket smooth at your back as Steve kisses and licks so sweetly between your legs.

You card a hand through his hair, so soft , like silk between your fingers sometimes you wonder if you could get off just from touching Steve's hair and you know Steve likes it too, always leans into it, likes the way it tingles from his scalp down the back of his neck.

Steve flicks his tongue hard against your clit and you moan.

"Hmm, he's good at this isn't he?" Billy hums against your ear, Billy hums against your ear, and with Steve on his knees between Billy's legs, eating you out so pretty.

Billy's hard in his jeans, bulge pressing against the curve of your ass as you squirm in his lap. His hands move up, cupping your tits, thumbing your nipples already sensitive from Steve's attention, and you arch into the touch with a choked off gasp.

Steve sucks at your clit, your fingers tightening in his hair, tongue working tight little circles, Billy nipping at your earlobe, and then you're coming in a rush on Steve's tongue with a whine, thighs squeezing in tightly against Billy's while Steve drags his tongue languidly along your folds tasting all of your release, aching in his jeans as he does so, Billy holding you in a vice grip against him so he can feel every shudder and watches Steve with interest--who continues until you tug at his hair oversensitive and flushed.

Darkened hazel eyes look up at you, mouth shiny and swollen.

"Still think I can't take care of my girl, Hargrove?" Steve prompts, shifting his gaze over to Billy's.

"Guess you're King Steve for a reason after all, Harrington," Billy replies lazily, a contrast to the mischievous glint in his blue eyes.

"Can I taste her, pretty boy?" He asks slyly, and you clench at the thought of Billy's mouth on you, but that's not what Billy has in mind at all, because before Steve has a chance to respond Billy is reaching down to drag his thumb along Steve's lower lip.

Steve is thoroughly dumbfounded as you both watch Billy draw his thumb between his lips, letting out a sound of approval at the sweetness of you, letting his thumb go with a soft pop.

"Taste good, princess," Billy says, keeping his eyes locked with Steve's, who's moving to stand now.

Steve leans down, locking eyes with Billy before kissing you deeply; Billy watches intently, rolling his hips beneath you, eager for friction while you palm the front of Steve's jeans, lightly cupping the bulge there, and Steve breaks away with a hushed sigh.

Billy quickly takes advantage of the opportunity, turning your head towards him, capturing your mouth from the side, licking into you hungrily, taste of cigarettes and beer hitting your tongue, the angle making it a sloppy exchange of tongue and teeth that floods you with heat, moaning against him when he slips a hand between your legs, petting you gently before pressing two thick fingers against your entrance, sighing at your tightness.

Steve watches Billy finger you with hooded honey eyes. Pulls his shirt off because its suddenly too fucking hot in here.

Billy strokes you just enough to have you wanting, before pulling his fingers out with a smirk. Then they're both moving you out of Billy's lap to lay back against the pillows; Billy laying beside you after shrugging out of his jacket and shirt, while you pop the fly on Steve's jeans , dragging the zipper down with certain amount of anticipation.

Steve toes out of his shoes, pushes his jeans and boxers down his slender hips until they're a pile on the floor. Billy's gaze immediately fixating on his hard length; sure he's seen Steve before, soft in the locker room and isn't this so much more impressive? Maybe a little more slender where Billy is thick, like the rest of him, but he's still nice and full at the tip with a generous length; he's certainly not average, nothing to shrug at.

Steve catches the weight of Billy's stare.

"See something you like Hargrove?"

"Just sizing up the competition, Harrington," Billy replies; can't have pretty boy getting all smug on him.

Steve runs a hand through his hair and climbs onto the bed, sitting on his knees between your spread legs, running his hands up your thighs and you shift closer to him, Steve's hands sliding beneath your lower back to pull your hips up, and you hook a leg around his, stroking him before placing him at your entrance, and then he's sinking into you, filling you slowly inch by inch, the three of you cursing and sighing at the high of it. Billy biting his lip because you must be so tight at this angle and Steve is already starting to lose his composure, breaths getting shallow, and Billy slips his hand down over your arm, over the back of your hand that's gripping the sheets, fingers lacing in yours -- an outlet for the grasp of your pleasure.

Steve lets you adjust once he's fully seated, waiting for that moment when you relax around him, exhaling sharply when you do. Any doubts Billy might have had about Steve being a good fuck are already disappearing with the first smooth roll of his hips, pulling almost all the way out, before filling you again, your eyes rolling back into your head, fingers tightening in Billy's grasp in time with Steve's unhurried thrusts, Steve's name falling loudly from your mouth, breaking the relative silence.

They both groan in response, and Billy leans over to capture your mouth, kissing you deep and slow like the way Steve is fucking you, and Steve can't fucking decide who's prettier as Billy's tongue slips into your mouth, it's too much, he thinks he gets it now--the teasing behind the blue of Billy's eyes or maybe he's always gotten it, he doesn't care murmuring a soft "Oh shit", dick twitching within you. You feel it, and rock your hips to meet his. Steve pauses to gather himself, and you take the leg that's wrapped around Steve's hip, and move it up to rest against his shoulder, bringing him deeper, tighter.

Billy's stopped kissing you, cheek pressed against yours as he eyes the line of your leg raised against Steve's shoulder and then he's unlacing his fingers from yours so he can get his dick out, god he's so hard and wet at the tip, he's not wearing anything under the rough denim of his jeans, pulls himself out without preamble because Steve is really giving it to you good now, wants to stroke himself in the same rhythm, and all you can do is stare at how thick Billy is, it has you clenching around Steve, your eyes meeting Billy's as you replace his hand with yours, and he sighs at the lightness of your touch as you tease him before really pulling him off, and the sigh fades to a moan that goes straight through you and Steve.

Steve feels so fucking good, every drag of his cock sending you higher, tingles of white heat curling around your spine, and your back arches off the bed.

"Are you gonna cum? Are you gonna cum on Steve's pretty cock?" Billy asks, voice low with desire.

Steve thinks it’s the first time tonight or maybe ever that Billy has used his first name in earnest, without the King Steve, and it has him flushing, rolling his hips harder.

"Yes, fuck--yes," you curse, and Billy presses two fingers against your clit, circling it deftly, and then you're seizing up seconds later, release hitting you hard, fluttering and tightening around Steve who's starting to lose it and Billy's watching him lose it, and you're still coming, and Steve's hips falter, head tipping back towards the ceiling, cock throbbing within you as he comes with a groan.

Your hand had stilled on Billy's dick at some point, but you resume its movement now. Billy's so wired, he spills after only a few good strokes, jaw going slack, letting out another moan, and Steve watches you pull him to the edge of oversensitive, hand thick with his come.

Eventually you all come down after long minutes and shifts and sighs and Steve coming to lay in the space next to you and Billy lighting a cigarette.

The silence is only broken by the exhale of Billy's drags. Then he's sitting up, puts his shirt back down simply because he doesn't want to carry it or some shit, so he doesn't even button it at all, just leaves it open and shrugs his jacket on while you and Steve are still wrapped up in each other.

Billy casts you both a lingering glance and a careless "Should do this again sometime". Gets off the bed and leaves to rejoin the party before that dumbass Tommy comes looking for him.

#billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove x reader #steve Harrington x reader

191 notes · View notes

lgcmanager · 3 years

Photo

PRODUCER MISSION 004

SCHEDULE TYPE: TRIMESTER SCHEDULE RESTRICTIONS: Cannot be paired with another trimester schedule, unless stated otherwise

on JANUARY 18, REO KANGDAE has summoned all the CURRENT PRODUCERS, old and new. in this early in the morning, the meeting with kangdae is still as informal as ever. the man has even brought pastries, coffee, tea and hot chocolate to each preferences. “hey guys, nice to see you.” he says, a friendly smile on his face “we have some new faces with us, so here’s a tl;dr about me; i am the head manager of LGC CREATIVES, i oversee pretty much everything creatively wise within the company. i’ve been spending a lot of times on future dreams and project origin lately” he confides.“anyway, one of my assistant managers is assigned to this team, called the junior producer team. you have your own office as a team, with desks for each one of you. there are a couple of recording studios in the new building, so no worries, you’ll just have to reserve them when you’re ready to work, there shouldn’t be any overlapping issues.” he makes sure that no one has questions before continuing. “you’re going to have to bear with me, because we have a lot more to discuss.”

DORMS

“for our new producers; those who are confirmed to leave can do so now, and the rest can move in the dorm.” he take a sip of coffee. “as i told the others before, since you’ve taken the producer path, we’re going to be a bit more lenient with you guys, but keep in mind that you are still artists under legacy entertainment and if you ever wish to dip in other path, you better watch yourselves. if we hear of bad behaviors, rules breaking or anything that could tarnish legacy’s image, unfortunately it won’t go unpunished. so don’t disappoint me and break a trusting bond, please.” he’s obviously not to please to have to talk about possible disciplinary measures.

SNS

“all the rules that we stated previously about having a PUBLIC INDIVIDUAL INSTAGRAM ACCOUNT haven’t changed. once you have completed a full trimester in this path and have at least 6 posts on the legacy entertainment account, you’ll be allowed to have one. we just want to make sure that you can be trusted, but you already know how it is. be smart. don’t make us take it away from you, got it? now, there are a few of you who are eligible for this new ... privilege,” he chuckles to himself, “anyway, the information will be provided to you separately. for the rest of you, better luck next time.”

DEBUT CONTRACT

“for the new producers, you must sign your NEW CONTRACT. don’t forget to read the fine print, that’s where they get you, of course, and once you’re good with it, sign it and bring it back, hm?”

( this is just an ic note, there is no need to submit this ooc )

PRODUCER MISSION 001: FUTURE DREAMS 3

“for those who where here last trimester, you know how draining future dreams has been on our resources. well, they gave us a sudden impossible task.” kangdae sighs. “i guess i’m to blame for proposing new songs.” he adds softly, almost as if talking just to himself. “anyway, we need new songs recorded for... yesterday. quite literally.” he announces. “and imagine that there are 24 of them and not that many of you. so we’ll need your help with this one; each of you will be in charge of the recording session of 2 members of future dreams !”

PRODUCER MISSION 002: MORE?

“some of you have been here for a couple of months now and starting to show promise.” kangdae continues. “however, i did say that this path would support you in future endeavors you’d like to take on. so during the trimester, i’ll be meeting you all one by one to know what you would like to do besides being a producer. be prepared, because i don’t want a vague idea, but a proper plan.”

PRODUCER MISSION: PRODUCER NAME

“quick news; i got some of your official producer names approved. Allie; we keep it simple, it’s Allie. Jiyeon; Yeony. Gitaek; ohboi. for the others, with your public debut coming soon, we’ll request you to submit THREE name ideas that you will use as a producer”

** ADMIN NOTE: please submit your choices through the lgcmanager account **

REQUIREMENTS

make sure to use the hashtag lgc:producermission for everything related to this event. you have until APRIL 3, 2021, 11:59PM EDT to complete the following requirements:

FUTURE DREAMS 3: write a 300+ words solo or a 4 replies (minimum 8 lines) thread with a partner about anything related to this event +4 POINTS TO DISTRIBUTE ANYWHERE and +4 NOTORIETY ! ** this can be claimed 2 times, one requirement MUST be with a future dreams boy **

MORE: write a 300+ words solo about your meeting with kangdae for +8 POINTS TO DISTRIBUTE ANYWHERE.

SOLO PROJECT: this trimester, producers are given time to work on their own projects. you may claim ONE TITLE TRACK released after January 2019. write a 300+ words solo or a 4 replies (minimum 8 lines) thread with a partner about the process for +8 POINTS TO DISTRIBUTE ANYWHERE

to validate your skill points and collect your notoriety points, please submit the following form ONCE on the points blog before APRIL 3, 2020, 11:59EDT.

TITLE: MUSE NAME ∙ PRODUCER MISSION 004

FD3: +4 (skill points distribution) +4 notoriety [ LINK ]

FD3 +4 (skill points distribution) +4 notoriety [ LINK ]

MORE: +8 (skill points distribution) [ LINK ]

SOLO PROJECT: +8 (skill points distribution ) [ LINK ]

#lgc:producermission #lgc:event #lgc:q12021

2 notes · View notes

honeypressed · 4 years

Text

fools

Genre: fluff, minor angst??

Pairings: jaehyun (nct) x female reader

Word count: 6k

Warnings: N/A

Notes: this is for @solilogyu bc i need to make her realise that she eventually needs to accept her Feelings for a certain valentines boy + i also realise its way past valentines but hey what can u do + i have no fucking idea about bowling. i had to wikihow. please dont hurt me i hope you can enjoy this and cait i hope you scream <3

“I don’t think she likes me.”

It takes a while for anyone to respond to Jaehyun’s somewhat depressing statement, because half of them are engaged in shouting at each other while playing PUBG, and the other half are trying to do their homework. It is Yuta who responds first, bless him.

“Who? Who are we talking about exactly?”

Jaehyun takes back his words, that bastard. “You know who I’m talking about!” Jaehyun groans, rubbing his palms over his face and slumping back in his chair, homework long forgotten in front of him.

Yuta flicks a bit of eraser shavings at him, just to annoy him a little bit more. “And you can just ask her out to find out if she actually likes you or not, idiot,” Yuta says as-a-matter-of-factly, like Jaehyun’s dignity doesn’t rest on the fact that he cannot ask her out just like that.

“I can’t do that!” Jaehyun cries, frustrated and he swears he’s going to tear his hair out first before it falls out anyway because he’s just bleached it for the fifth time in three months.

“Yeah,” Donghyuck pipes up from where he’s sprawled on the floor with Jaemin laying half on top of him, “hyung can’t ask her out because being rejected will damage his frat boy ego. Can’t let anyone know that our dear fuckboy – oops, hyung, was rejected, right?” There’s a mischievous grin on his face because he knows he won’t get into trouble.

“Dong-hyuck!” Jaehyun says, but there’s not one bite in his voice and he grabs his pen just to fiddle with it, spinning it repeatedly.

“Stop that, you’re going to flick it into someone’s face,” Taeyong says sternly, then softens when Jaehyun stops it and starts to bounce his leg instead. “Listen, Jaehyun-ah. If she matters so much to you, it doesn’t matter what other people think of you, or what she thinks of you. She will always be someone precious to you, one way or another.”

“Just take a chance, hyung,” Donghyuck adds, right after he’d sworn at the top of his voice loudly because Jaemin had team-killed him. “You’re gonna regret it so much more if you never asked her out.”

“She doesn’t like me,” Jaehyun repeats, and he knows that’s the truth. There may have been rumours that she liked him, and from the way her friends giggled and looked at him when they walked past, it had given him enough hope that maybe, perhaps, she liked him back just as he did… and yet.

Yet, she never gave him any hope. In the only class that they shared together, she never talked to him unless they were made to have a discussion or were grouped up for projects. And when she did talk to him, it was always polite, no trace of blush on her cheeks, just her calm, steady voice making this economics nonsense make sense to him.

It was not possible. She could not like him back.

That would be too much to hope for, and Jaehyun might be reckless but he isn’t a fool. And somehow, in some ways, he is also a fool – to fall for her steady voice and bright eyes and soft hair and softer smile and –

He is a fool.

As much of a frat boy that Jaehyun looks like, all his friends know he’s secretly a romantic, notwithstanding Valentine’s birthday at all. Which is why, against all of his hope and logic, he decides he should write her a letter. Anonymously, of course, which all his friends protest hotly against.

“How will she know if you write it anonymously?” Johnny asks incredulously, and they’re bickering in whispers even though the common room is full of people chattering loudly.

“I just want to gauge her reaction!” Jaehyun hisses, and his eyes dart around the world, flitting from one person to the next and hoping neither she nor any of her ten thousand friends are in the room. Why does she have so many friends? That always have to be around her in a gaggle? Jaehyun is tired of flushing to the tips of his ears when he walks past, and they start giggling. (it’s just unnerving, he insists; johnny tells anyone with half an ear to spare that he’s shy.)

“And I gauge that you are an idiot,” Johnny concludes, calmly and then says in a much louder voice, “The Valentine’s Box is just there, Jaehyun! Why don’t you post your letter?”

Jaehyun has half a mind to tackle Johnny to the ground; the other half is contemplating how hard it could be to sink into the carpet and never rise again. Johnny’s words had attracted some curious glances, and then they settled to watch him, interested.

“Wow, thanks,” Jaehyun deadpans, but he walks up to the box and drops his letter in before he books it to the door with Johnny in tow.

“That was the worst thing I’ve ever done,” Jaehyun starts to bemoan, “the worst thing. I’m so bad at this, I’ll just never move on from her and then I’ll live out the rest of my life being alone –“

“Oh, hello.”

Jaehyun comes to a screeching halt, just inches away from – her. She’s put her hair down today and – it’s silver. When did she bleach and dye her hair? He can already feel his ears start to become hot, and he wills himself to calm down.

“Hi,” Jaehyun says, and his voice cracks on the single syllable.

She laughs a little, just the tiniest little thing that Jaehyun wants to hear again and again. “How was the econs test? I didn’t expect the 25 mark question to be so vague.”

Economics? What the fuck is that? Jaehyun can hardly say hi, let alone try to make his brain think about economics and free trade agreements and transfer pricing.

“Oh, yeah, yeah it was. So vague. I just – scribbled something down. I think I talked about the transnational corporations at one point? I’m not sure, I don’t think I’ll do well,” Jaehyun says, managing to not stumble over his words and feeling so awkward with his hands because he doesn’t know where to put them.

“I did too! I wasn’t sure if that was the correct choice, but I didn’t know what else to write… oh, did you post something into the box?” She asks suddenly, and Jaehyun’s heartbeat goes from slightly above average to notching at one hundred in two seconds.

“Um – yeah. Yes. I did. Just – yeah. I did.”

She doesn’t seem to take notice of his flustered state, but Johnny is making stupid expressions at him behind her and Jaehyun swears to the highest powers out there that he’s going to bury Johnny and his six-foot ass into the ground later.

“Hmm, I think I should as well. If the school’s popular guy sent a lucky girl something then perhaps, we should all join in, right?”

Jaehyun’s words dry in his throat. “What… popular?”

She snorts and pats his arm – a little condescendingly, Jaehyun would say. “Yes, popular, you frat boy. Now I think we have to move, we’re blocking people.” For a moment, her hand lingers on his arm and the warmth bleeds through his shirt and it’s like all his nerve endings suddenly concentrate in that part of his body only. And then – she smiles.

It’s like nothing Jaehyun’s ever seen before. Her eyes crinkle up sweetly, and her cheeks bunch up and someone accidentally switches on more lights in the room and they bathe her in white light, and it reflects against the silver of her hair. She cannot be from this world, and Jaehyun is hallucinating.

Pretty, Jaehyun’s mind helpfully supplies. So, so pretty.

“Well, I’ll see you around,” She says, and then her hand leaves his arm and the lights are dimmed again and all he’s left with is the glint of her silver hair making its way through the common room to a corner where all her friends have clustered.

“Wow,” Johnny says, wolfish smile, and Jaehyun punches him in the arm for good measure. He can’t pretend like he’s not flustered, but he’s also happy because that was the only time they had ever interacted outside classes, and if half an hour later, he can still feel warm where she touched him… that’s only for him to know.

“19 years old!” Sicheng says cheekily, sidling up to Jaehyun on the morning of Valentine’s day as Jaehyun is sorting through the books in his locker. “How does it feel to be old?” Sicheng’s acting like he isn’t the same age, turning nineteen in October, but Jaehyun overlooks it because one, Sicheng is cute and two, everyone loves Sicheng. It’s just the rules.

“You mean, how does it feel to be pining over someone for 6 months?” Johnny sings, and slowly, the hallway starts filling up with students, all chattering in low tones about their day, or if they had bought roses or sent a letter. It only makes Jaehyun remember he’s sent her a letter.

Jaehyun glares at him. “It’s my birthday. You have to be nice to me, that’s the law.”

Johnny rolls his eyes, then hands him a small, wrapped box. “Whatever. Happy birthday, Jaehyun-ah. You’ll get the dozen of roses I bought for you later,” He adds, winking cheesily, and Jaehyun pretends to balk.

“What, one for every year we’ve known each other?” Jaehyun asks dryly.

“Oh, here’s mine too!” Sicheng says, and rummages around in his bag before producing a soft, wrapped parcel with a note attached to it.

“Thank you,” Jaehyun says, and reaches over to hug Sicheng. Johnny makes an outraged sound, and starts going off on a spiel about how Jaehyun never appreciates anything and I spent so long picking out this present and I don’t even get a simple thank you! and it’s all really so entertaining but then a steady, familiar voice cuts through the dramatic of Johnny’s monologue.

“Am I interrupting something?” The voice asks, amused, and Jaehyun thinks both his brain and heart stops for a second.

“Oh, not at all,” Johnny says, quick to react.

“Nothing at all,” Sicheng adds, very helpfully. “In fact, Johnny-hyung and I were going to get coffee! Right?”

Johnny nods enthusiastically. “Absolutely. Now, if you will excuse us, we have some very important business to attend to.” He offers the crook of his arm very seriously to Sicheng, who accepts it and then they go off into the hallway and the turn to the vending machines so that Jaehyun is left – with her.

“I see you’ve already got Valentine’s gifts,” She says, smiling a little as she spots the two packaged in his hands.

“Ah, this – it’s just presents, from my friends,” Jaehyun explains hastily. “I… don’t think anyone got me Valentine’s gifts, anyway. Or if they do, they say that it’s a present. It’s kind of a shitty move, isn’t it?” He remarks, a little hollow because he can reject Valentine’s Day presents all right but to reject what someone he doesn’t know insists is a birthday gift… Jaehyun doesn’t want to be guilt-tripped into accepting something.

And all of a sudden, something changes in her expression. It’s like something he’s said that’s acted as a light switch, and her soft, open expression is suddenly schooled into something alarmingly like steel.

“I see. Well, I just wanted to tell you happy birthday. See you,” She says hastily, and then turns around where she came from. For two seconds, Jaehyun is sure he sees something in her hand that she then clutches to her chest, but then she’s walking away and – and Jaehyun is too shocked to do anything other than stare after her.

What did he say? What did he do? Did he have something in his teeth – or did he do his hair weirdly today?

Jaehyun spends the next ten minutes contemplating about whether he should just go and ask the student council to take his note out so it won’t be sent, and then the next ten minutes as he walks to class wondering why he ever chose to have a crush in the first place. It’s unnecessary, too much work, and not good for his heart.

Except his mind reminds him a couple beats later that she is clever, and kind and patient, and her eyes make the ugly florescent lamps look like a million stars and she can explain ridiculous concepts to him that actually make sense. She’s funny and laughs a bit too loudly and her friends look at him weird but all of that is her and god, Jaehyun is so whipped.

It’s fine, he convinces himself when class finally starts and he blinds the teacher with a charming smile so she won’t notice his homework is half-assed when he hands it in. He won’t be there when she receives the letter, and anyway, she won’t know it was him because it’s anonymous. It’ll be fine.

Everything is about to be a little less fine.

“Jung Jaehyun.”

It’s lunch time, and Jaehyun’s barely managed to step into the cafeteria before he’s accosted by one of her friends. He smiles at her and tries to remember her name – Hyerin? Hyolin? Fuck, this isn’t going well already.

“Hello,” He says nervously.

“We have to meet up for the discussion for the debate team now, remember? Have you written your opening speech?”

“Right,” Jaehyun says, the realisation dawning over him abruptly. “I’ve done it, don’t worry. Is it okay if I grab a sandwich and I’ll meet you in the common room? I’ve got the speech written on my phone.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. The rest of the team is waiting there as well.” She waves a hand at him – Jaehyun still does not remember her name – and she exits, leaving Jaehyun to blink after her and make his way to the section where cold lunch is available.

“Hi, hyung. Are you going somewhere with Hyunae?” It’s Mark, who’s eating lunch with the younger ones in their ridiculous circle of friends, and they’re all looking at him with wide, eager eyes. Jaehyun feels very much attacked, like he’s surrounded by a bunch of wolves.

“’Ve got debate team,” Jaehyun mumbles, blindly reaching for a sandwich and then picking a fruit for good measure.

“Well, the letters are being delivered now, hyung,” Renjun says, smiling so sweetly that Jaehyun thinks he can trust Renjun for one second until he remembers that Renjun’s on the student council.

Jaehyun narrows his eyes. “And?”

Renjun blinks at him. “What do you mean? I’m just telling you… information that could potentially be really useful to you in the next half an hour or so. Also, you’re about to drop your sandwich.”

Jaehyun squints at them one last time before he backs out the door of the cafeteria. The moment he leaves, he swears he hears a wave of guffaws coming from them, and the tips of his ears burn. One day the Dreamies will get themselves into trouble and he won’t save them, that’ll teach them. (of course he will. everyone’s got a soft spot for the dreamies, including him, and if helping them means he gets into trouble he will gladly do so. just – no one can know about this.)

The common room only has a few students mulling about, presumably because everyone else is eating lunch, and so Jaehyun makes his way over to the corner where his team is settled. They’re all eating lunch and there are papers spread out on the table in front of them, half eating and half discussing.

“You’re here,” Hyunae cheers as Jaehyun sits down. “We were waiting for your opening speech so that Minjun can correct his since he’s going after you.”

“Sorry – here, I’ll just forward it to you guys.” Jaehyun fiddles with his phone for a little before phones start pinging with the document he’s forwarded.

“Alright,” Minjun starts, but as soon as he starts to talk, the common room door opens and people start filing in, laughing and talking, and everyone sighs collectively. But it doesn’t even stop there – a few members of the student council come in right after that, each holding a package of letters and eyes darting around the room looking for their targets.

Jaehyun’s so distracted by the sudden influx of people and noise that he doesn’t notice her settling in a sofa next to his group.

“Hey, having fun, Hyunae?” She calls and laughs when Hyunae makes a face. Then she catches his eye, and she smiles at him, just a little, small one that is no less precious than the one he saw a couple days ago. He has to smile back and then tear his eyes away before the red in his ears transfer to his cheeks.

Just in time, a member of the student council – Myungsoo – comes to their group and starts handing out letters. “Is Minjun-ssi here… alright, here are yours. Oh – Daehyun, here are some for you…” He fiddles around and hands them around.

Jaehyun doesn’t really expect to receive any, and yet Myungsoo really has the audacity to hand over the rest of his stack to Jaehyun. “Here you go!” Myungsoo says cheerfully, “This is all yours, Jaehyun-ah.” Then he winks at Jaehyun and goes off with barely contained laughter as Jaehyun lobs some of his orange peel at Myungsoo.

Ignoring his teammates giggling and nudging him, he flicks through the letters slowly, seeing names on them. They’re all from his friends, including a collective one from the Dreamies that he immediately opens, only to see that all it says is Valentine’s in big letters and – it’s even spelled wrong. Still, he can’t help but grin, seeing their messy signatures scrawled at the bottom, and he puts it away to sort through the remaining pile of mess on his lap.

Johnny has sent one, a thick envelope that Jaehyun is sure is full of glitter; then the rest are all named, Taeyong and Yuta and Jungwoo and Sicheng, just to name a few, and then – there’s one with no name.

It’s a plain blank envelope, with his name written in neat, dark ink and the words are pressed so hard into the letter that they seem like engravings. Jaehyun frowns – the handwriting looks familiar, but he can’t seem to place it.

With his teammates equally as distracted by the letters, Jaehyun decides he can open this particular letter now. He unfolds the envelope, and he feels an unusual sense of peace, like two pieces of his life are about to slide into place in a few moments, and then he slides the piece of paper inside out. The words are inked so hard that the back of the letter feels like an engraving, and god, the writing is so, so familiar.

Even as Jaehyun reads over the letter – the contents simple, just, ‘I like you, but I know you don’t, so I just want to confess to you to get over my feelings. And happy birthday as well, Jaehyun-ah. Happy Valentine’s Day! I hope the lucky person who gets your letter receives it well.’ – he is completely distracted by where he’s seen this writing before.

It isn’t until he sees her stand up to receive a couple of letters that it clicks.

It can’t be.

It cannot be.

No way – the same letters on this letter – and the letters he’s seen countless times before in Economics – the way they’re pressed so hard onto paper – but there isn’t a signature at the end of the letter? – and… and can it really be her?

Jaehyun’s heart is in his throat as he reads the letter again, this time going over the words, and she likes him too and god, he almost wants to stand up and go over there and ask if this letter is from her, but he’s frozen and suddenly she’s standing up and looking around her frantically and then she sees him, and their eyes lock onto each other and she gestures to go outside, clutching some letters to her chest.

Jaehyun doesn’t even think about it, just ups and leaves the common room behind her and then they’re in the relatively quiet hallway and it’s like this morning all over again.

“You – this is yours?” She asks, and there’s a degree of hesitation to her words, like she doesn’t believe it.

Jaehyun takes a look at the letter she holds out. “Yes. It’s me.” He doesn’t know what else he can say when his heart has already stopped beating and then she’s looking at him, eyes brighter than the fluorescent hallway lights and he thinks he forgets how to breathe as well.

“It’s not a prank, is it?” She says, and her voice is so small Jaehyun wants to shake her. “You’re not – writing this for fun, are you?”

“Did you write this for fun, then?” Jaehyun asks in return, and shows her the letter. His hand is shaking but that’s inconsequential.

“No!” She says, tearing her eyes away from the letter to land on his face, then his shoulder then somewhere behind him. “I didn’t – I didn’t. That was – what I felt. I just, I don’t understand why – I don’t… you don’t –“

And then all Jaehyun can do is to look into her eyes and then the first thing he says is, “Transfer pricing.”

She looks at him again at that, startled by the sudden mention of their classes. “What?”

“Transfer pricing. Just – at the beginning of the term, we were learning about transfer pricing and god, I didn’t understand one single words from our bullshit teacher but then we were in a group and you explained it so well to me and I just…” He trails off and pushes a hand through his hair, feeling the heat in his cheeks as he tries to put his feelings into words.

“You were so nice to me,” He finally says. “You were so patient and kind, even though you didn’t need to do any of that and you’re also really funny. And, I guess it helps that you’re pretty,” He finishes, and his face must be in flames, but he’s said it and it’s done.

But then – she’s blushing. His eyesight is not as bad as Kun’s or Sicheng’s or Lucas’, so he must be seeing it right. She’s blushing. There is red in her cheeks and she refuses to meet his eyes and god, she’s so fucking cute.

“I hate you, Jung Jaehyun,” She finally says, but she’s looking at him with red cheeks and a small smile and her silver hair spills messily onto the side of her shoulder and – Jaehyun thinks his crush is running deeper than he initially thought.

“Change your mind?” Jaehyun offers with a sudden rush of courage he doesn’t know came from where. “This weekend, I’ll take you bowling, at the alley by the beach. What do you think?”

“Is this a date, Jung?” She asks, raising one eyebrow.

“Yes,” Jaehyun admits, “and I’d be really, really happy if you said yes, because I like you too.”

And then, she smiles again. Bright and loud and it curls the corners of her mouth and Jaehyun wants to imprint this one moment into his mind for the rest of his life. “Well, you’re lucky, because I want to make you happy, Jaehyun,” She says, and then Jaehyun can feel the smile stretching his own lips, so wide but still not enough to convey the leap of his heart.

For now, this will have to be enough until the weekend.

Don’t crash, don’t crash, don’t run a red light, Jaehyun reminds himself as he drives through the streets, glancing at his phone every now and then to check he’s going the right way. He’s hands feel oddly cold even though it’s approaching spring and he jacks up the heating in his car a little more.

It’s Saturday, just after lunch, and there are no cars on the street. It’s a refreshing change from the usual jams of morning or evening when he drives to or from school, but it’s also refreshing because – he’s going to pick her up.

For a date.

Just the thought makes him nervous and excited in equal parts, and he nearly misses taking a right turn because of it. She had texted him to pick her up at two, but he’s already here and it’s just ten to, so he thinks he’s got some spare time to kill. Right at the same moment, his phone chimes with a notification so he parks his car by the side of the road and checks it.

[13:49] you’re coming at 2 right?

[13:49] I’m ready so you can pick me up anytime ^^

[13:50] oh

[13:50] if you’re ready I’m here

[13:50] but don’t rush!!

[13:51] take your time, I can wait for you ^~^

[13: 54] no no that’s fine

[13:54] I’m ready anyway

[13:55] and it’s almost 2

[13:55] I’ll be coming out~~

Jaehyun has five minutes to calm down and not make himself seem like a fool in front of her. Tall order, considering how jittery he’s already been when he’s around her – and they’re together a lot more often now. Since Valentine’s Day, they’d spent a fair few lunchtimes together and hung out once after classes at the convenience store.

Jaehyun had bought her an ice-cream bar, only for her to snort and then eat it.

“What?” Jaehyun had asked, bewildered.

“I’m kinda lactose intolerant,” She says, shrugging. Half of the ice cream bar is gone.

Jaehyun panics. “You’re what? Stop eating the ice cream then!”

“Too late,” She sings, throwing the wooden stick away and laughing. “I really don’t mind, I’ll just suffer. How can I not eat it when you’ve bought it for me?”

He had ended up buying her two samgak kimbaps to make up for it, and they’d sat on the bench in the nearby park to eat.

Jaehyun remembers every moment fondly, but then he sees her stepping out from her house, locking the door behind her and jogging up to his car with a small smile on her face. He fumbles to unlock the car and then she slips into the passenger seat and turns to him with a bright smile.

“Hello! This is for you.” She hands him a small bouquet of daisies and then reaches over, busies herself with putting her seatbelt on.

Jaehyun’s clutching the flowers and there’s heat coming into his cheeks and he has to pass an arm over his face because he’s blushing and he’s blushing hard because he likes her so much and she brought him flowers and – wow, he’s really in this deep, huh.

“Are you blushing? Have I made the infamous Jung Jaehyun blush?” She asks, teasing in her voice but her cheeks are red too and she looks pleased.

“Thank you,” Jaehyun eventually says, when his voice has returned. “These are really pretty, thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” She says softly, and then right there, in the quiet between them in the car, in the late afternoon sun, Jaehyun thinks maybe he falls in love. It’s simple, like the dawn of the sun and the set of it, the formation of clouds and the fall of rain, the wilt of winter and then the bloom of spring; everything is simple and their course has been set.

The sun shines so bright on the tarmac that Jaehyun has to pull down the sun visor, but her laughter is brighter in his ears and when he looks over at her at the red lights, she is already looking at him, ruby lips and diamond eyes and Jaehyun doesn’t want this moment to end.

They pull into the parking lot just as it’s half past, and by the time he’s killed the engine and gotten all his stuff together, she has gotten out of the car and has opened the door for him. As he gets out, she bows very seriously and even curtsies a little.

He stares at her and she at him, challenging, but then they burst into laughter two seconds later, and it is only natural that he takes her hand, interlacing their fingers as they walk into the bowling alley.

When they get it, they pay and get their shoes, and then bicker about which bowling balls they get to have, and Jaehyun eventually relents, lets her have the bowling balls she prefers. He only does so because he knows he’s absolutely going to smash her score regardless of whatever bowling ball he has, and so armed with this confidence, he sits back and lets her make the first roll.

As it turns out, she’s pretty good. She knocks down six, and then another two, and she grins at him smugly.

“Gonna do better than me, Jung?”

“You bet I will,” He returns, and waits for the pins to be set in place before he takes his stance. The movements are safe, and familiar, and when he does let the ball roll, he knows it’ll be a strike before it even hits the pins.

There’s a gasp of surprise from behind him when all the pins topple over, and he only smirks a little to himself as he rolls the second ball, and that scores a spare too.

He goes back to the bench with a too-smug expression on his face, so he deserves the solid hand to his chest from her.

She pouts a little when she concentrates, Jaehyun notes idly, and then the tips of his ears start to burn when he realises what he’s doing.

Still, she doesn’t give up, just concentrates and then rolls a perfect middle, knocking down all the pins. She lets out a little victorious, “Yes!” and then makes a face at him before going in for her second throw. Jaehyun is distracted by the silver of her hair that he doesn’t see she makes a seven and that it’s his turn to throw.

“Stop spacing out,” She says, kicking at his feet as she sits down, “it doesn’t look good on you.”

“I look good in everything,” He protests, and then scores a nine.

“Boo! Stop hyping yourself up, frat boy.”

“I can’t hype myself up when I’m naturally talented,” Jaehyun argues, but then he’s distracted as he makes the roll and he messes it up slightly. Of course he would.

He may be good at bowling, but she is stupid competitive and also petty as hell, so her scores start to catch up with him as they play, and he has to actually play really, really well to stay in the lead. She overtakes him at one point in the seventh frame, and he only manages to pull ahead in the ninth frame, at which she glares at him hotly for.

It’s his last throw now, and he has to make it count.

With the burn of her gaze on the back of his neck, he goes in for the last throw – and all the pins are knocked down. Letting out a loud whoop of glee, he turns to face her, hands on his hips and grinning smugly as she rolls her eyes at him.

“You won by a five-point difference!” She says as they turn their shoes in. “That’s not a significant difference, that was luck –“

“I won fair and square,” Jaehyun says, and then ties the trailing lace of her other shoe because she couldn’t be bothered. “Stop being so petty, you can beat me next time.”

“Oh you bet I will, Jung,” She says, just the tiniest bit of sulking in her voice. It’s both endearing and adorable for him to look at her sulking over a five-point difference in their bowling scores, so instead he pulls her to the fast food restaurant next door.

“C’mon, let’s get some fries,” He says, taking her by the wrist and dragging her out slightly. “Stop being so grumpy, it doesn’t look good on you,” He adds, repeating what she told him a couple hours ago, and she snorts, then aims a soft punch at his arm.

“Where are we going after this?” She asks as they wait in line to buy the fries, and she’s moved her hand to hold his properly. She’s not looking at him and is studying the menu board very studiously, so he squeezes her hand a little in return.

“I thought we could go walk on the beach, since it’s right next to the building. And the sun’s almost setting so it’ll be pretty nice. What do you think?”

She sighs, rubs a thumb over his. “Stop being so good at everything, Jung. You’re going to make me actually like you.”

“That is the point though, isn’t it?” Jaehyun teases, then lets go of her hand to pull her into his side, slipping his arm around her waist. “Do you wanna get two packets of fries?”

Her cheeks are red but she doesn’t stutter over her words. “Ah – isn’t it cheaper to get one big one? We can share…” She trails off, like she’s just realised how romantic that could be; Jaehyun jumps on her silence and capitalises on it.

“Yes, yes you’re right. Let’s… hello, can I get one large fries, please? Yes, it’s just that… thank you.” He has to let go of her waist to fiddle with his wallet and take the change and receipt, but as soon as he stows his wallet away again, she slips her arm through his and leans in close.

“Next time I’m gonna beat your ass at bowling,” She says, side-eyeing him. “No mercy.”

“You keep trying, babe,” Jaehyun says, the pet name slipping out carelessly as he watches the screen carefully as so not to miss their order.

“Babe?” She asks a beat later, in a slightly strangled voice.

“Oh – sorry, it just slipped out. Do you like it – are you comfortable with it?”

“Stop being so cute for two seconds, Jung Jaehyun!” She hisses, but there is only adoration in her eyes, tenderness on her lips.

“I’ll stop being so cute if you stop being so pretty,” Jaehyun replies sweetly, and right then, under the shitty lights of some fast food restaurant, he can only see her, her silver hair and bright eyes and small smile, and he only looks away when their order number is called out.

They collect their fries and head out, going round the back of the building to where an expanse of sand stretches out before them before the waves come up to lap at the shore. The sun has just started to set, casting a soft orange glow around them so that the sand shines golden and the waves are coloured red and yellow.

Her arm is tucked in his and she holds the fries as they start to stroll slowly along the beach, fries bursting salty over their tongues and hot in the mild cold of the coming spring.

It’s peaceful, and the silence isn’t awkward; it’s calming after the rush of their bowling game, and Jaehyun doesn’t think it could have gone any better. He hadn’t ever expected anything to come out of this crush of his, and yet here he is, on the beach with his crush’s arm in his and her hair glowing its own moonlight.

“It’s so nice out here,” She says quietly, and a soft smile comes over her face. “I’d forgotten how nice it was to come out here. Thank you for bringing me here,” She adds, looking up at him, and he’s so distracted instantly, his focus going from everywhere around him to only her, pinpricks of his nerves all focused on her.

Which is why he yelps and drops some of the last fries in his hands when a seagull suddenly squawks loudly, obnoxiously somewhere overhead.

“Your face,” Is all she says before she starts laughing, snorting so hard she’s bent over and stumbling as they continue to walk along the beach. “Oh, my god, I can’t believe you got scared of a bird, Jaehyun! What else is going to scare you? And you wasted those fries, what a shame.”

“Shut up,” Jaehyun says, pouting a little.

“You big baby,” She says, smiling and poking his dimple lightly. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from any big, bad seagulls that want to steal your fries.” Jaehyun takes a look at the box of fries, notes that there are only a few more left, and then he makes his decision.

He spins them so they’re face to face, her hand still on his cheek and now he winds an arm around her waist and the other cups the back of her neck gently, feels the softness of her hair as it spills through his fingertips like molten silver.

“Jaehyun?” She asks, quiet, and her hand moves to cup his jaw; the other is braced on his shoulder, the box of fries just barely held between her fingertips – he can feel it pressing against his arm.

“You know, I didn’t think I would ever get to take you out on a date,” Jaehyun starts, voice low and tone reverent. “I just thought – you were too good. I didn’t think I could actually try and get you to like me. Do you… think it worked?”

There’s a moment of silence, and then she’s looking at him, really looking at him, eyes bright and beautiful and she’s starting to smile, the curling of the edge of her lips into her cheeks.

“You, Jung Jaehyun… I hate you the most, really,” She says, but she’s breathless and there is pink in her cheeks and her hair is a mirror and her hand is still warm on his cheek and there is no bite to her words.

“Glad to know the feeling’s mutual,” Jaehyun says, and his eyes crinkle into a pretty smile and his dimples are so deep she thinks it holds all the love he has for his friends, his family, everyone. She looks up again and there’s warmth blazing in his eyes and her heart is a rapid succession of thumpthumpthump that she hopes he can’t hear.

“Would your feelings change any further if I kiss you?” Jaehyun whispers now, and it’s like the whole world stops for a moment, and everything that matters is only them.

“Why don’t you find out?” She murmurs, so close against him that her words feel like the sea breeze against his cheek, and then – he kisses her.

It’s the sea breeze and the setting sun and the rush of the waves and the grains of sands in their shoes; it is all and everything and now and forever; it is warm even though it is cold and it is home even though they’re the only ones on a bare beach.

“’Ve changed my mind,” She says when they separate, and he can still feel the press of her lips against his. Her eyes are still closed and their foreheads are pressed together. “I think I really like you, Jung Jaehyun.”

She opens her eyes again and Jaehyun only has to look into them one more time to have a bit more bravery.

“Then, be my girlfriend?”

“Yes, Jung.”

#drabbles #nct #nct fanfiction #jaehyun #jaehyun fanfiction #look at me writing 6.5k in 2 days #i rly overachieved huh #anyway tumblr doesnt have line breaks anymore i am FURIOUS #i hope u enjoy this at any rate cait!!!!!!!!!!

42 notes · View notes

jasperdunlop · 5 years

Text

The Difference Between a Dream and a Fantasy

Henry decides to confront Charlotte about why she’s been avoiding him. Meanwhile, Jasper has an accidental heart to heart with Ray and Schwoz.

Word Count: 2058

Note: look at me i’m actually writing! this was an idea i came up with for the end of the next ep! i wrote the outline before the promos came out so if it doesn’t totally match up, that’s why. i also wrote this kinda quickly so it’s not my best but i wanted to post it before the ep and i hope y’all enjoy it

Dedications: i’m not sure how many of you like to read fics or if you’d be interested in this one specifically, but i’m gonna tag a bunch of friends and if you don’t want to read it you totally don’t have to! also lord knows i take forever to read fics so absolutely no rush lol @cactus-con @xanderdewitt @ciara-knightly @up-the-tube @youngbloodthekilljoy @ginger--binger @gwendastacy @max-thunderman @jelenarulestheworld

~~~~~

"I think I'm gonna, uh, work up in Junk N’ Stuff today, call me if you need anything," Charlotte tells the group as she speeds into the elevator right as Henry walks out of it.

Henry barely has time to process what Charlotte said before the elevator door is starting to close. "Wait, Char! I wanted to talk to you about-"

Charlotte gives him an exaggerated shrug as the door closes between them. Henry scoffs and turns to face Jasper, Ray, and Schwoz on the other side of the Man Cave. "What is her deal? She's been super weird around me all week. Did I do something to her?"

The three others share a hesitant look. Charlotte told them about her dream the day before, and they all promised to keep it a secret from Henry while she got over it.

Henry notices the look and squints at them. "Wait, do you guys know why she's being weird?" When no one answers, he takes a step towards them, "Come on guys! If I did something then I wanna know so I can apologize!"

Jasper sighs and walks over to him, putting a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "You didn't do anything, alright? Something… weird happened and Char just needs a little bit of space."

Henry tilts his head at the vague explanation, "Are you sure? I mean, maybe I should go talk to her or something." He turns slightly to look back at the elevator, considering the idea.

"You can if you want to, but I promise she's fine," Jasper responds as he lets his hand fall off of the other boy’s shoulder.

Henry glances back at Ray and Schwoz, and they both give him a half shrug in agreement with Jasper. Henry takes a long breath in, considering whether he should follow Charlotte or not. After a second of thinking, he turns around and walks to the elevator, pushing the button as he says, "I'm gonna go talk to her, I'll feel better hearing all that from her." The others nod at him in acknowledgement as he gets into the elevator and heads upstairs.

The second the elevator door is closed, Ray turns around and pulls up the video feed of Junk N' Stuff on the monitor, currently showing Charlotte sitting alone behind the counter. Jasper knows that there's no way he can talk Ray out of this, so he figures he may as well watch too. Plus, he can't say he's not interested in how the conversation between his best friends will go.

While Jasper casually lingers a few feet behind Ray, Schwoz eagerly rushes to the man’s side, practically bouncing with excitement. "Do you think they're finally going to date?"

"Oh, definitely. They've liked each other for years," Ray casually responds, eyes glued to the screen as he waits for Henry to appear.

Jasper chuckles slightly at their excitement and a second later they see Henry walking through the bead curtain and towards the counter of Junk N' Stuff. Charlotte awkwardly greets him as he stands across the counter. “Hey,” he responds. “I asked Jasper and he said you weren’t, but are you mad at me?”

She basically repeats the same thing Jasper told him earlier, that she just needs a bit of space, but that doesn’t seem to be enough for Henry.

"But what happened that made you need space? I must have done something, and I wanna fix it," he says, desperation clear in his voice.

Charlotte smiles at his dedication. "Seriously Henry, you didn't do anything wrong! It's really not a big deal."

The two go back and forth a few more times, Henry insisting that she tell him, and Charlotte insisting that he doesn't need to know. Even Ray and Schwoz seem frustrated by the aimless exchange.

Luckily, Charlotte eventually relents. "Fine! I just had a... weird dream about you and I guess it freaked me out a little bit."

Henry pauses for a second, clearly not having expected that answer. Once he's taken a moment to absorb the information he asks "So, what happened in the dream? It must've been pretty crazy if it freaked you out that much."

It's barely noticeable on the tiny screen, but Charlotte's eyes widen at the question. "Oh, uh, it was dumb, don't worry about it," she stutters.

Henry giggles at her sudden shyness. "Oh, come on! Just tell me." Charlotte shakes her head and gives him a firm look but he pouts in response and adds a "please" just for good measure.

For a second Jasper thinks she isn't going to give in and tell him, that she really is way too embarrassed about it, but it only takes a few seconds of Henry's pout for her to crack. "It's not a big deal, okay? But uh, I fell into the lion's exhibit at the zoo and couldn't get out. Then you showed up as Kid Danger-"

"As I do sometimes.”

"-and you pulled me out. So, we were standing close, you were uh, holding me, and since you had just saved me you looked so... heroic."

Henry has his elbows on the counter now, leaning forward slightly in interest. Charlotte hesitantly continues, "We were just staring at each other, and we were so close that we both started... leaning in. And we were about to uh," she pauses again, her eyes looking anywhere but Henry, "about to kiss. And that's when I woke up."

Henry's eyebrows shoot up at the word kiss, but nothing else on his face reveals his thoughts on the dream.

Charlotte laughs awkwardly, put off by the lack of reaction. "Pretty weird, right? So I figured that if I was around you too much I might accidentally try to... you know... kiss you." Jasper has never seen Charlotte stutter this much before, she's rarely ever nervous when talking to people.

She stays quiet for a moment, now staring intently at Henry, whose face still hasn't changed, making it impossible to gauge any sort of reaction. "Henry?" she finally says, her tone begging him to say something.

The tension in the Man Cave is just as thick, everyone leaning forward and intensely focused on the screen, like if they stare hard enough they can make something happen by sheer brain power alone.

Without a word, Henry pushes himself off of the counter and walks around it to where Charlotte is standing. "Uh, Henr-?" he cuts her off by pressing a kiss to her lips, catching her off guard.

Ray and Schwoz immediately explode into cheers and grins, while Jasper’s jaw drops in shock. Ray turns to high five him, but isn’t met with the enthusiastic reaction he was expecting from the boy. Once he realizes Jasper isn't going to return the high five, he slaps a hand on the boy's shoulder instead. "Son, come on! Those two finally got together, this is awesome!"

Schwoz grins and nods behind him, finally tearing his face away from the screen to look over at them. Jasper tries to wipe the shocked expression from his face and give them the smile they want, but it comes out forced and insincere. Ray takes his hand off of Jasper's shoulder as his eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. Schwoz walks a few steps closer to them and says "Come on Jasper! Isn't this exciting?"

Jasper lets the fake smile drop as he looks at the ground, kicking his foot slightly. "It's... it's hard to be excited when your best friend and your crush are kissing," he cautiously responds, voice wobbling a bit on the word crush. He had no plans to share his feelings with anyone, ever, but something about actually watching the two kiss made him just vulnerable and heartbroken enough to do so.

Ray and Schwoz share a wide eyed look, and Ray turns back to him with pity in his eyes. "Oh wow, kid. I had no idea, you never said anything," he says gently, like he's worried he'll hurt Jasper even more if he's not careful. Jasper shrugs a bit, still avoiding eye contact. "How long have you liked Charlotte?" he uses the same gentle tone, but he asks the question so quickly that Jasper can tell he's dying to hear the answer.

Jasper fixes his gaze even further into the Man Cave floor, biting his lip and staying completely still. After a couple moments of Ray waiting impatiently, Schwoz speaks up, words gentle but deliberate, "How long have you liked Henry?"

Jasper glances up at Schwoz for a second, a soft and knowing look on the man's face. Who knew Schwoz of all people would be the one who could read him the best?

Ray spins to face the other man, an incredulous look on his face. Jasper doesn't see the face Schwoz gives in return but Ray slowly turns back to him, realization dawning on him as he takes in Jasper's expression. "Oh."

As much as he wants to never speak again, Jasper knows he needs to say something, otherwise this horrible silence will go on forever. He decides to answer Schwoz's earlier question, "I realized it a few months ago, when Henry lost his powers. But I'm pretty sure I've liked him a lot longer than that."

"Oh," Ray repeats, still not having fully processed this whole conversation. Schwoz just gives him a tight lipped smile, and unfortunately for Jasper, the silence returns.

He can tell neither of the men want to push him on the subject, and aren't sure what to do in this moment. Jasper can't handle it, so he speaks up again, "Guys, it's not a big deal, okay? He's still my best friend, and him and Charlotte clearly like each other a lot, so I'm not gonna get in the middle of that."

That seems to snap Ray out of his funk, because he gets his fervor back as he says "But your feelings still matter!" He bounces back and forth on his feet, like he's trying to physically force an idea into his head. "There's gotta be something we can do, right?" he asks as he waves his hand, gesturing to nothing in particular. He suddenly snaps his fingers. "Schwoz, could you make some sort of reverse love potion? Something to get Jasper to stop liking Henry?"

Schwoz opens his mouth to respond, already nodding slightly, but Jasper cuts him off before he gets the chance. "No! Dude, I don't need a reverse love potion. It's a crush, it'll go away eventually. It sucks for now, but I can deal." Ray and Schwoz share an unsure glance. "I'm serious! I don't need you two to alter my brain chemistry or whatever. I'll be fine," he states firmly. Ray and Schwoz seem to accept it this time, but they still look at him sympathetically.

Jasper glances back at the screen and sees Henry and Charlotte now holding hands and heading towards the elevator. "They're coming back downstairs. Not a word, okay? Neither of them need to know about this." Ray and Schwoz both nod and Jasper sighs in relief just as the elevator dings and the doors begin to open.

Luckily, Ray and Schwoz's excitement about the kiss did not fade after their conversation, and as soon as Henry and Charlotte walk out of the elevator saying that they have an announcement, they start jumping happily and yelling about how they saw the whole thing on the monitor. Jasper approaches them too, giving them the most genuine smile he can muster, hoping that it’s more convincing than the one he gave Ray and Schwoz earlier.

Once everyone calms down slightly, Jasper finally speaks up. "So, should we call you guys Chenry from now on?" he asks, a teasing tone in his voice. Henry and Charlotte both roll their eyes but grin all the same, and Henry claps a hand on his shoulder as he slips the other hand around Charlotte's waist.

Ray and Schwoz continue to prod the new couple with overly personal questions while Henry and Charlotte gag and refuse to answer. Jasper can't help but smile genuinely as he watches his friends joke around casually. He still isn't exactly happy about what unfolded today, but if even Ray can support him no matter what, then maybe he can be happy about it someday.

#henry danger #chenry #hensper #my writing #also feel free to give constructive criticism! i'm aware that this is a bit rough so i don't mind!#also big thanks to lou for telling me she believed in me yesterday #it honestly motivated me to finish this lol #alternate title/summary: jasper tells his two dads about his crush #i finished this literally a minute ago and CANNOT read it again so lemme know if there are any typos or smthg

76 notes · View notes

echoeternally · 5 years

Note

What do you do to get motivation? I have a fic that's been going on for years now. I have the whole thing drafted, I mostly know what I want to happen, though I sometimes get stuck on side details.

Motivation works differently for everyone. I wish I had one universal answer to simplify it, but it really depends on who you are and what drives you.

To help, I can give you some tools that I use to help inspire me, and maybe from that, you can find your answer as well.

Short version for that would be the following:

Books, Media, and Other Stories

Music and Art

Unexplored Territories

Rewinds: Re-read and Remind

Audience

Friends

Research

Creating Goals

Slightly longer blurbs will go under the cut to explain things.

Ok, let me explain some inspiration sources a little more. (And because each section is longer, this now is a very long post.)

Books, Media, and Other Stories: This is usually a good place to start, since you can help engage yourself to your work by getting into other things. Books get a particular special mention because writing and reading go hand-in-hand. This can be extended to comics and manga though. Media is the umbrella term for tv shows, movies, video games, and other forms that entertainment take to portray stories of different kinds. Other stories themselves are meant for the less conventional venues to explore, like articles or history, or even other fanfics as well. Each source has their own story to tell you, and by looking into things, you can find how storytelling flows from each of them.

It doesn’t have to all be good stuff either. Maybe you hated the latest episode of your favorite cartoon or tv series. There was a book you finished last week, and it just completely fumbled the ending into a mess. Perhaps history was duller than dirt. Think you can come up with something better to tell? Great! Then fire up and get into writing how you’d do it better.

Music and Art: Another good spot to rouse creativity. Music and art tend to help bring about some life into you that stoke your creative fires well. Both are broad to describe, but they each have a lot of forms to them, so you should go with what you like to delve into. For example, art doesn’t strictly have to be fan art for fanfics; maybe there was a cool painting you remember from a museum that you wanted to recapture or explore. That can be useful. Same goes for music, as maybe there’s a song’s lyrics that you want to elaborate on, or take into a story of your own.

Personally, I prefer music that doesn’t involve lyrics. Classical music and media soundtracks (movies, video games) are usually super helpful, because they can have dramatic flares to them, and don’t always have people singing with lyrics that you end up associating with the song, which becomes a story of its own. If you can get the right tune that you can relax to, it can then help you want to create a story that goes with the atmosphere. There are all kinds of feelings that songs can stir in you, so experiment and see what you like.

Unexplored Territories: Stories are mostly not quite groundbreaking in what they tell, but rather how they tell it. Nevertheless, there are numerous less explored resources that can be immensely helpful to get into. Most people go for realistic stuff, like cultures that aren’t as primed for media representation. It’s good when you’re doing grounded things that deal with people mostly. For those more engaged in fantasy, though, you’d want to get into stuff that’s not tied for cultures, or extract it from them. Maybe you look up a list of mythological creatures and want to write about something that isn’t the woefully tiring trend of wizards/witches, vampires, werewolves, or clowns. Even changing it up in simple ways, like establishing a difference between sorcerers and witches, or having werewovles, werecats, and werebears all in one story that operate differently.

But don’t be afraid to turn to real life stuff too, especially for less explored spots. I tend to use LGBTQ+ stuff (mostly gays) to both give representation to groups that I identify with, as well as use character dynamics that mainstream media is too afraid to touch. Those two main male characters that are best friends? Make them boyfriends. That lady who seems like she’s super sexy? She’s actually asexual. I’m not telling you to specifically use this stuff, mind you, but this is an example of less explored territories that you can have a little more flexibility with. Heck, it can even simplify the story you tell with minimal changes: Beauty and the Beast’s titular characters are both female. The rest of the story plays out as follows, but it now gains brand new angles to be explored by a small change. That’s part of why I also like shipping and going for “rare pairs” for romance stories: they’re not as explored, and therefore, prime for new content that can be exciting just by existing!

Rewinds (Re-read and Remind): A simple concept, but sometimes you can help stir some motivation by looking back over your old work. Checking back on things can help remind you of what’s going on, or can help create the desire to continue what was going to happen next. It’s basic, but sometimes just the smallest trick to help start some sparks you lost.

It doesn’t have to be a lot, either. Maybe you just wanted to write up this one scene, but you haven’t gotten there yet. Write it anyway, and then work on how you need to get there. While you’re reading over something you wrote, don’t focus on editing, but on the content. Maybe there’s this one line of dialogue that you really loved, and it’s this excellent one-liner that defines your character really well. And then that can make you want to give more to them. When you rewind and recall things you had ideas for, sometimes reviewing them can help you expand on them.

Audience: Has anyone read your stuff yet? If not, ask a few people to do so! An audience can help you immensely, because their reactions help gauge what works and what doesn’t. By giving them content to look over, and interacting with your readers as well, you can end up helping drive yourself to want to deliver more to them. It keeps things flowing nicely! (And this is why writers cry a lot about wanting feedback: it super seriously helps out in a great big way!)

Make sure to look for readers too, not just other writers. Sure, other writers can give you tips and tricks, but they’re looking at it from a similar perspective to yours: the creator’s. For readers, they’re specifically interested in consuming the content, and therefore, have different interpretations and interests for the story. They can give you opinions that other writers can’t quite so easily offer, because they can be more to the point of entertainment engagement. (Writers do typically double as readers, though, so it works out either way.)

Friends: I wanted to add a special distinction for friends as opposed to audience. Friends are nice, but are infinitely less likely to read your work. Online pals, irl friends, whichever you’re comfortable with talking to, they’re still not always the people you’ll go running to so you can grab a new reader. But that’s ok, because you have other ways they can help!

Sometimes, just telling a vague summary of things that are going on in your fic can help you get interested in telling more about it, and to others that might understand it more. Telling your friends puts you in a spot that helps you come up with ways to break down your story to its bare bones, and then what you want to do to help build it up. Another way to go about it would be to listen to stories that they have to tell you. Maybe they’re not writing, but sometimes just interacting with others can help you with developing dynamics that people can share in stories. Or events that are so out there, and you can come up with a way to create a related scenario. (No, I’m not telling you to write your friends…unless they make good characters, lol.) Even just being with friends to take your mind off of things and relax? That helps out too, more than you realize in the moment or immediately after.

Research: It kind of goes with some stuff above, because by viewing media, other stories, unexplored territories, music, and art, you’re doing a type of research. Each one presents a different medium that lets you get to know about them, and the more you look into it, the more you learn.

But the cool thing about research is that it takes you places. Websites like TVTropes and Wikipedia can take you to all kinds of weird places, but that’s what makes them great! You end up learning new topics and angles to explore, and they can help inspire new ideas by doing so, or help you restructure ideas you might think are too cliché or simply don’t work. Delving in deep can be time consuming, but also can lead to major payoffs.

Creating Goals: This one I’m not quite as sure about, because it depends on what you’re looking for out of stories. Still, it can be a helpful boost in its own way, so I’ll include it. Goal creating isn’t just something like, “Today I want to write a sentence.” That’s good to do in general, but I’m talking a little more along the competitive lines.

You’ve got a fic written up, but you’re looking to keep it rolling. Maybe you’re exploring two neglected characters from a movie and giving them a new life. But, guess what? Someone else tried something similar about two years ago. Heck. Are you going to let that stop you though? Heck no! What you do with that is see what that story nets for ratings, and plug away at trying to match them. Don’t overwhelm yourself by trying to outdo them entirely, especially the top ranking stuff. You don’t have to be the best. But you want to compare as well, so see how your content measures up. If they have bookmarked readers that stack to several hundreds, and you can net half after writing about the same characters? That’s pretty great stuff on your part! Even if you don’t have something specific to go up against? Tackle the archives or stories in general! See how highly rated you can get your stuff to be, and duke it out to be visible among everyone else’s content.

This one is really dependent on your personality type, so if you’re not competitive, don’t put stock into it. But if you get fired up about a challenge? Bring it on!

…

There’s a bunch of different avenues that you can look into, and different ways to help bring some motivation and inspiration into your creative mind. These are some suggestions based on angles that I’ve personally attempted, so they may or may not work for you. But that’s ok, because you might be able to come up with more ideas as well.

It just depends on what you like, what you want to do, and what stories you want to tell. From there, just let loose and explore.

But, please do keep in mind to keep yourself (yes, you) in check and feeling good. Tired? Get some rest! Hungry? Go eat! Overwhelmed? Decompress and relax. Know your five senses? Engage them all! Your mood definitely matters as well, and it’s little things that can sometimes hold you back in major ways. Take breaks, and when you come back, things might flow a little easier.

No matter what though, make sure you’re having fun! That’s what really counts in the end, above all else. Do stuff that’ll make you happy, and you’ll flourish in ways you might not even realize. These may be typical lines you’ve heard in countless places before, but they’re pretty helpful.

Again, go for it, and have some fun with the writing!

#askecho #echo's writing advice #writing tips #writing #fanfics #motivational #inspirational #motivation #inspiration #bobosmith01

7 notes · View notes

rosalind-of-arden · 5 years

Text

Paper and Fire Reread, chapter 4

This one gets its own post. Looking for Morgan, Wolfe, Santi, worldbuilding, whatever else. I am easily distracted by shiny objects and timeline discrepancies.

Ugh. Timeline. “brought just a year ago to Alexandria.” Ok. Fine. We can work with this. Fall technically ends December 22, 2031. So let’s say they’re in France in December, and it’s January by the time they get back to Alexandria. Add 6 months to that and we get July. Say we have a couple extra weeks in there instead of 6 months exactly, so middle of July. Bump the start of Ink and Bone back to August (it’s vague enough to work, could probably go as far back as July there), and we’re close enough to a year for this line to make sense.

Morgan is worried about Wolfe. Jess does not even think about what this means. Yes, it means that Morgan cares about Wolfe, as Jess notices. Again, suggesting a closer bond between them then Jess observed. But also: Morgan knows that Wolfe was in danger. She knows Jess is safe. Morgan is getting a lot of information. For all we know, she already knows about Thomas. She says she will have more information soon, after all.

Jess is willfully ignorant of details Morgan has fucking told him. Yes, Jess, they’re trying to breed her already. She said they would. You didn’t listen.

Jess thinks Morgan has been hiding her abilities her whole life. Morgan told him her ability only developed after taking the Library test. Who is wrong/lying?

Second time in as many books we have had a scene involving Wolfe, Santi, and handcuffs. Remind me again why we think they have such a fun sex life?

Regardless of what they may or may not do with handcuffs in the bedroom, it really is a statement of how much Wolfe trusts Santi that he’s as calm as he is here. Especially when Santi refuses to take off the cuffs.

Based on the way this scene ends, I can only conclude that Wolfe and Santi planned this little meeting, probably making the best of bad circumstances by using the Artifex’s attempted assassination to arrange an opportunity to talk to Jess and Glain. But I think these angry outbursts from Santi are off script, as is the refusal to remove the cuffs.

I’m pretty sure this argument between Wolfe and Santi is intended to read as a continuation of an off-page fight about how to handle the danger Wolfe is constantly in, with both of them using some fairly dramatic metaphors. That said, we could totally take a darker interpretation here and say their relationship has turned abusive. The physical fight at the end of Ink and Bone, the arrest, “Tell me why I should ever let you roam around unmonitored again,” “You’ve locked me up.” This is not healthy, guys.

Then there’s the kinky little voice in my head that wants to read this as a consensual power exchange that has gone badly.

So much of what Santi says and does here points to PTSD. The extreme measures to keep Wolfe safe. The anger. The attempts to avoid topics that could be triggering to Wolfe. The irrational expectation that Jess and Glain will see Wolfe hurt and react with the same protectiveness that Santi feels. That last one is so far outside Santi’s usual strategic thinking, but it isn’t the first time he’s done it (he tried an emotional “look how badly Wolfe’s been hurt” appeal with Jess in Ink and Bone, and it didn’t work there either). He’s too traumatized to think rationally about Wolfe, and he responds to threats, both perceived and real, with anger at anything and anyone he sees as a threat to Wolfe, even Wolfe himself.

Notice how Santi starts to soften as soon as Wolfe calls him on this irrational behavior. From the cold and angry “You’re still under arrest, Scholar Wolfe” to the plaintive “Chris...” He sits down when Wolfe points out that Santi’s behavior is triggering. But he keeps going back to the anger, probably because he’s having a panic attack here and genuinely cannot stop seeing Jess and Glain and Jess’s message as imminent threats to Wolfe.

Some panic attack symptoms, along with the anger: flinching when Jess speaks to him, seeming to forget Jess and Glain are there (tunnel vision?), “His face was tense and pallid, and there was something else there - real fear, Jess thought.”

Also, the warmth of Wolfe’s smile and the gentle tone he uses. He’s not mad, even though Santi is being a total dick. Santi might be trying to hide his trauma from Wolfe, but Wolfe knows.

This line isn’t supposed to be sexy but it just is: “Santi quickly leaned forward and grabbed the chain of his manacles to pull Wolfe toward him.”

This is interesting: “I’m not insane,” he said. “I’m not on the verge of it. I may be stretched to my limits - my limits being admittedly lower than they should be.” So, if he’s not on the verge of insanity, what limit is he stretched to? I’m taking this, along with Santi’s statement that Wolfe hasn’t been himself and has needed extra protection, and Wolfe’s refusal of the gun in the last chapter, as meaning that Wolfe is borderline suicidal here. He’s not quite at the point of actively trying to kill himself, but he is engaging in riskier behavior than is normal for him, maybe even some form of self harm as well. Part of why Santi sees Wolfe as a threat to himself is that Wolfe actually is a threat to himself (and Santi’s own trauma feeds off of that).

Santi kicking over the chair and stomping off may seem like his angriest outburst yet, but this is actually a sign he’s getting control of himself again. What does Santi typically do when he’s mad at Wolfe? Walk away to calm down. Not long after this, he’s calm and quiet when he comments on the risk Jess is taking with the smuggled book.

Also, Wolfe vs. Santi. Again. What are we at, 5-0 Wolfe for on page fights? Santi never wins when they argue (or have staring contests) in front of the kids.

Ugh. Timeline. Jess read the prison guard’s journal and “hurt for days after.” He literally got this book two days ago. “Days” can mean anywhere between two days and two fucking months. Argh.

Wolfe has a good poker face. Jess thinks Wolfe doesn’t get it when Jess announces that Thomas wasn’t executed. Then Wolfe is hard to read when Jess accuses him and Santi of knowing about Thomas. Wolfe reads about his own arrest and torture without any visible reaction. Do not play poker with Wolfe.

More significant looks between Wolfe and Santi. I should be fucking counting these.

Here, again: Santi reacts to potential Wolfe triggers with irrational anger and protectiveness. Wolfe sees this and responds with warmth, but also refuses to change his own actions based on Santi’s trauma response.

Wolfe massively censors himself when talking about his past. He says that he was “made to disappear,” then jumps to “Nic was a fool and risked himself trying to find me. He nearly died in the attempt. At any rate, I was finally released.” Omitting all details of what happened to him while he was in prison. The closest he gets to saying how bad it was is “I didn’t just get out.” Partially trying to protect the kids, but also probably protecting himself. He can handle reading about the torture, but not talking about it.

More significant looks between Wolfe and Santi. And a “strange” smile from Wolfe. And then Santi just takes the cuffs off. Interesting that this happens not after Jess tells them everything he knows, but after Jess and Glain commit to helping Thomas. Why there? Assuming the cuffs were supposed to come off earlier, this is where Santi gives up on protecting Wolfe from himself and his former students. This is where Santi is convinced to go along with the rescue effort.

Santi puts Wolfe in cuffs as a protective gesture. So, so kinky, omg.

“I’ll do what I can,” he said. “But you’d best try to find another way to get the information you need.” Two ways to read this: 1. Wolfe is trying to minimize his own involvement in this and is pushing the kids away. 2. Wolfe is admitting that he can’t do this on his own and needs help. Right, you all already know I favor option 2 there.

Khalila and Dario! Not at all relevant to this reading, but still good to see them again. No mention of curls, but we do have Dario growing his hair longer. Longer than what? We do not know, and thus we can imagine literally any length we want here, I suppose. So at least there should be enough for Khalila to grab a good handful and pull. Er. Ahem. Hey, look, a Dario-Wolfe parallel, maybe? Long hair for both of them? No wonder Santi likes them both.

#the great library #paper and fire reread

8 notes · View notes

bastardreynolds · 5 years

Note

ooh 13 or 18 macdennis for the prompt 👀

original prompt post

13. “No, that’s not how you do that”

18. A new mattress

i’m something of a loose canon and so combined these two prompts into one fic. enjoy this utter chaos.

fic after the “keep reading” break but i would prefer if u would read here on ao3 because tumblr fucked up the formatting and got rid of all my italics, which imo add to the tone in important ways

Mac and Dennis Buy a Mattress

“So you’re telling me,” Dennis says. “That your mattress just spontaneously caught on fire?”

Mac shuffles awkwardly in his seat. “Yes.”

“And you expect me to believe that?”

“I’m not lying, dude. I was just minding my own business, thinking about God, checking out our new flamethrower and –”

“Wait, so you were using the flamethrower inside?”

“No, that’s –”

“You realise that you actively doing things to cause the fire doesn’t make it spontaneous, yeah? You do understand what the word spontaneous means?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t do it, Dennis!”

Dennis raises an eyebrow and Mac glares at him.

“I’m just asking you to check the bank account to see if we’ve got enough for a new one. Also, my room smells like burnt mattress so I’m gonna crash in your room tonight.”

Mac suddenly can’t look Dennis in the eye, but simultaneously pushes himself further towards Dennis’ end of the couch.

“Check it yourself, asshole.”

“You know that I always forget the password for the internet thing.”

“My god!” Dennis is getting increasingly exasperated. “My god, fine! Also I know we don’t have enough, because you spent all our goddamn savings on the flamethrower, which you then used to set your mattress on fire!”

Mac pouts, and fixes Dennis with a look that is completely and utterly pathetic, but still has its desired effect, making Dennis give in and say, “Fine. Fine, I’ll ask Frank. Also, we’re getting the new one today, because I don’t want you sleeping in my bed.”

Two hours later at the mattress store, Mac and Dennis stand facing a rows and rows of beds. Mac’s hands are resting on his hips and he’s glaring at the overwhelming number of options in front of them like he’s resisting the urge to whip out the flamethrower and make the entire store spontaneously catch fire. Dennis slings his arm around Mac’s shoulder, to make sure he doesn’t run off and do something dumb.

“Where should we start?” he asks Mac.

Mac’s frown deepens. “I didn’t think it’d be this complicated. Last time I bought a mattress –” he pauses to think. “Actually, my old mattress was just your old mattress when you upgraded.”

“Okay, well,” Dennis starts to lead him toward some of the mid-range queen mattresses. “My personal recommendation is this one. Perfect balance of hard and soft, and optimal bounce for banging.”

Mac ducks out from under Dennis arm and sits down on the mattress, bouncing gently to test Dennis’ assertion. “I don’t know dude, I feel like it needs more bounce.”

Dennis chortles. “No, no, no, Mac. Trust me, when you’re plowing a chick, this mattress is perfect.”

Mac hums, but doesn’t seem convinced.

“Okay, let me show you,” Dennis says, because it’s really the only option left. “So I’m the girl in this situation,” he says as he climbs on and lies in the middle of the mattress. He pushes himself up on one elbow and looks at Mac. “Now come straddle me.”

“What? Why, dude?”

“Trust me.”

Mac shrugs and moves towards Dennis. When he’s kneeling beside him, he grabs Dennis’ waist and tries to roll him over. “What are you doing?”

“Rolling you over, duh.”

“Why? That’s not how you do this. What are you –”

“Well if you’re a chick I’m gonna roll you over,” Mac says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I don’t like seeing their front. It wigs me out.”

Dennis blinks. “You don’t like seeing the faces of the girls you bang?”

“It’s not the face so much as the,” Mac gestures vaguely at his own front, and Dennis thinks it’s maybe meant to indicate tits and things that make it clear that Very Gay Mac is fucking a woman.

“Okay, whatever. Just don’t roll me over, okay.”

“But if you’re the girl –”

“Then I won’t be the girl, I don’t care. Just straddle me, it’s important.”

Mac does as he’s told and swings his legs over Dennis waist, settling comfortably at the top of his thighs.

“Now,” Dennis instructs. “Feel how easy that was. And notice how the mattress gives way just the right amount under your knees.”

Mac nods. “Dude, you’re right.”

“And then, when you thrust, the girl – the uh, the other person –”

“A hot chick.”

“Yeah, whatever. The other person, they also get a fantastically sensual experience, because the physics of the mattress are perfectly in tune with the thrusts of an expert sexual partner.”

Mac places his hands either side of Dennis’ head, lifts his hips, and then thrusts down, and repeats several times. “I can see that.”

Dennis notices Mac’s boner, but doesn’t comment on it, because he’s kind of used to that shit by now.

“Um excuse me, sirs,” a voice says from behind them. Mac’s head twists to fix the stop assistant with a scowl. “You can’t, uh – do that on the display mattresses.”

“Buddy, I’m doing your job for you right now,” Dennis rebuts. “Do you want a sale or not?”

The shop assistant doesn’t reply, and just sort of gawks.

“Well, do you? Do you?”

“I mean – I guess so?”

“In that case, you’re welcome. A good mattress needs to be good for plowing, and that’s what I’m perfectly demonstrating to my friend right now. I’ve basically sold him on it, you know?”

“And he’s right,” Mac adds.

The shop assistant doesn’t seem to know how to respond. “You still can’t – I’m going to have to ask you to dismount – to, uh, to get off the bed.”

Mac rolls his eyes, and pushes himself away from Dennis, flopping down next to him.

“Can you believe this asshole?” he asks.

“I know right,” Dennis responds, turning his head to meet Mac’s eyes.

“I think you’re right about this mattress though, dude. Could definitely get some plowing done.”

“If you’re going to make a purchase can you please do so and leave,” the shop assistant begs.

So they buy the mattress, and after an extended argument at the till decide to waive the $100 delivery cost (which is quite frankly extortionate), because there’s no reason they can’t just strap it to the roof of the Range Rover and drive it home. It turns out it’s harder to secure a mattress to the top of a vehicle than initially thought, but after several attempts, and Dennis taking a trip to the hardware store to buy more rope, they’re relatively confident it’s fine.

“So, I was thinking –” Mac starts, staring up at the mattress.

“You’re not riding home on the roof,” Dennis cuts him off, and Mac frowns.

“Why not?”

“That’s so unsafe, on so many levels. And illegal, probably. And not a thing that grown men do.”

“Think of the core strength I’d need to stay holding on. It’s totally manly.”

“I’m not – we’re not having this argument. Just get in the car.”

They’re half way home, and crossing a bridge over the river when Dennis has to swerve to avoid some piece of shit old lady who obviously shouldn’t be on the road.

“Die quicker, you bitch!” Dennis shouts after her red Toyota, for good measure.

By the time either of them realise what’s happening, it’s too late to stop it. There’s a creak, and a snap, and then the mattress is sliding off the roof of the car, and falling into the Schuylkill River. The whole thing seems to happen in slow motion, but Dennis just sits in the driver’s seat of the car and stares like an idiot as his money (Frank’s money) bops languidly under the bridge.

“Oh goddamnit!”

Frank refuses to give them more money for another mattress (I’m not gonna keep bailing you out every time you throw a mattress in the Schuylkill River!) This is how Mac ends up sleeping in Dennis’ bed.

It’s about two weeks into the whole arrangement, when Mac rolls over to Dennis and asks, “So when you fuck in this bed, are you normally on top or underneath?”

“What?” Dennis asks, blinking and looking up from his phone screen.

“I mean, where does the chick normally go.”

“It – it depends. Depends what we’re doing, what role –”

“But you are on the bottom sometimes?”

“Yes. What does this have to do with anything?”

Mac shrugs. “Was just thinking about it.”

The next night Mac asks, “So what about blowjobs?”

“What?”

“Is the mattress any good for getting head?”

“Yes. For giving head too, but – What are you doing? What is this?”

“I miss my mattress, dude. I bet some homeless dudes dragged it out of the river and are going at it right now.”

Dennis frowns, because not only is that an unpleasant image, but Mac’s questions are also completely bizarre.

The next night, Mac restarts the line of questioning. “And so, for handjobs?”

And then the next night. “Do you ever do butt stuff?”

And the next. “What about just for making out, you know?”

It’s then that Dennis can’t fucking take it anymore. He screams, and then he’s kissing Mac. It’s hot and furious, and he isn’t surprised when Mac kisses him back, arches up against Dennis, breaks the kiss to push Dennis’ shirt over his head.

Afterwards, Dennis’ head is resting on Mac’s shoulder, and Mac’s fingers trace the outline of his spine. “The bounce was pretty fucking great, dude.”

Dennis hums. “I told you so.”

“Gotta try it again though. For the scientific method.” Mac’s words are complete nonsense, and Dennis kicks at his ankles to shut him up, but their legs just end up tangled together.

“And facing you was okay and shit too. I didn’t even know dudes could do it facing each other.”

“Oh my god, will you shut up for one second.”

“I’m just saying it wasn’t how I thought it’d be. Also, I’m pretty sure I’m gay.”

“I know you’re gay, Mac. Everyone knows.”

“Hey, you have no way of knowing for sure that I’m gay.”

“Your dick was in my ass like ten minutes ago.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t prove anything, that –”

“Just shut up and go to sleep or I won’t let you fuck me again.”

Mac is silent for a moment, and Dennis thanks God and Jesus and all of Mac’s Catholic Saints because he just wants to go to sleep.

“You so will let me fuck you again,” Mac says.

“I’m not replying to you anymore.”

“I’m gonna give you a blowjob tomorrow morning, so be ready for that.”

“If you don’t let me sleep I won’t be ready.”

Mac seems to find that argument compelling, because he hums and lays a kiss to Dennis’ hair, and whispers goodnight, before mercifully shutting the fuck up. True to his word, Mac gives Dennis a blowjob the next morning, and they’re late to work, because Dennis drags Mac into the shower with him and returns the favour.

By the time they’ve saved up enough for a new mattress, it’s no longer a priority, or even a necessity really, because even with a second bed, there’s no way that Mac is going to extricate himself from Dennis’ space. And that’s just how it goes.

#ask #macdennis #macdennis fic #iasip #iasip fic #mac mcdonald #dennis reynolds

37 notes · View notes

old1ddude · 5 years

Note

The Phil Lester (Dan and Phil) tweet about Kiwi has me feeling all kinds of feels about that song again. I know you love looking at and thinking about lyrics, and now that we've had some space from Harry singing it live every night, I'm curious about your take!

Oh anon! This is a subject dear to my heart. I’m afraid you’ve provoked my propensity to pontificate! Last weekend, I wrote a short post about the striking similarities in theme between Niall’s ‘On the Loose’ and ‘Kiwi.’ (I had heard them back to back on my shuffle.) (I know you’re supposed to put quotes around titles, but it’s too awkward to type them all the time. I’m going back to quote-less titles now.)

Kiwi and Cowell

Harry writes lyrics in a very particular way. The vast majority of songwriters and poets use imagery, but Harry takes it to another level. He uses fewer words than most and it’s been said that he paints pictures with his music. Looking at it this way, I think his lyrics sketch the outlines shapes and structure while his music paints in colors, light/shadow, emotion. His language is often vague and very open to interpretation. Only in understanding the pictures he paints, can we attempt to understand his true meaning.

I believe interpreting music is best done backwards. It’s easy to pick lyrics apart and make them say virtually anything. Becoming very familiar with the whole song allows one to then break down the “pictures” it has painted. Once you know you’re looking at a elephant, it’s much easier to explain how all the parts work together! A picture is worth 1,000 words, but I’ll try to be as brief as is practical.

A few of my favorite images from Harry’s songwriting: “Fridge light washes this room white. Moon dances over your good side.” “Even the phone misses your call, by the way.” “Running through the garden, oh when nothing bothered us.” “Welcome to the final show, hope you’re wearing your best clothes.”

I think it’s helpful to go back to the X-Factor days to understand Kiwi. “The boys” (the 1D boys) wanted to make it in music. Once they had a taste of performing they lusted after it, it consumed them. I was a once a boy in my late teens. Sexual thoughts and desire were omnipresent - they were an obsession. Harry is painting a picture of what it was like to be seduced by the lure of fame. It was every bit as powerful as the sexual desire of a teen boy with raging hormones. (That’s why the sexual images are necessary - they give Kiwi it’s power.) The seductress is attractive, she appeals to the eyes and libido - the desire of teen boys to smoke, drink, party. (Also, important elements of the pop star lifestyle.) She mixes a “bit of intellect” into her honey trap. She seems to be the whole package. It was getting crazy. The boys were getting into it, they were losing it - surrendering to their lust and desire.

Then the foreshadowing begins: “Oh, I think she said, “I’m having your baby (hey), it’s none of your business.” Notice it’s “I THINK she said.” The boys are intoxicated with lust - they’re becoming aroused. Harry thinks she said, but he isn’t listening closely enough. Pregnancy doesn’t reveal itself right away - the results of giving into temptation take time to materialize. He’s far too intoxicated by his lust for fame to worry about the consequences. The intellect is a distant memory now - it’s only raw lust and desire.

After this first foreshadow, Harry gives us a glimpse behind the curtain. He shows who the seductress really is - who she turned out to be. “It’s New York, baby, always jacked up, (hey) Holland Tunnel for a nose, it’s always backed up.” (I didn’t really need to quote that line, but honestly, has there ever been a better image in music? No, there has not!) She’s a massive coke head, a lonely fraud and a fake. Her promises are as empty and cold as her barren home, with only a cactus for comfort. (How often does fame end up in drug addiction, etc.? Way too often.) Even so, Harry brings us back to the prophesy. He’s still losing it, even though he again thinks she might be having his baby and taking it away from him.

Now we’re back in the bar where it all began. The seductress has increased her intensity. She’s all over him to the point that he’s spilling his drink all over his shoes. He can’t believe she’s into him this much - as if he paid her attention. Even within the fog of lust, he has that tingle of warning - his brain is giving self-preservation one, last ditch effort. “I’m gonna pay for this.”

Even knowing he’ll pay for it, Harry consummates the relationship. He does not wear a condom, but willingly gives her his seed. All while the foreshadow of, “Oh, I think she said, “I’m having your baby (hey), it’s none of your business.” plays in his mind. (A distribution deal is like a condom. It gives an artist some measure of control over what becomes of their “seed” - their creative output.)

I don’t think the seductress represents Jungleworms. For one thing, Louis would never, in a million years, fall prey to her wiles. She’s a pawn, not a mastermind. I very strongly believe she represents a combination of “lady fame” and Simon Cowell. Simon is the one who seduced the boys and convinced them to sell their souls (and give up any meaningful control) to get the fame they wanted. Simon finds his nourishment in the souls of “his” artists. I believe the foreshadowed baby has dual meaning. It’s not so subtle shade on baby-gate and it represents the boys’ having their creative output and their images under the oppressive thumb of Simon and the music business. “It’s none of your business” which singles I choose, what your public image is, etc., etc.. Also, I’m pretty sure Cowell is a coke head, so…

I’m going to add a quick edit here, since I forgot about the title!

A kiwi isn’t only a fruit, it’s also a flightless bird. I can’t help but be reminded of SoTT - “Why are we always stuck and running from Your bullets, the bullets.” The kiwi can’t fly away, can’t soar to safety, but is stuck running from it’s enemies on the ground. The image is a small flightless bird, helpless when it’s seductress reveals her true, malevolent nature.

#Anonymous #Kiwi

27 notes · View notes

scapegrace74-blog · 6 years

Text

Vacationland

A/N Written for the 50 States of Sex collaboration so brilliantly thought up by @viceversawrites and @softnow. I picked Maine, since I just visited this summer. Set during that vague timeframe that is post-Per Manum flashback, pre-Requiem. A bit of angst, but hopefully just enough to add some depth to what is otherwise pretty much a fluffy PWP. Rated NC-17, ‘natch.

It was possible that after many years of miscommunication, frustration and upset plans, it was time for Fox Mulder and Logan Airport to call it quits and go their separate ways.

He stared at the digital terminal display, lit up with row after row of on-time departures. All except the last remaining flight to Bangor, which had been winking a smug fifty minute delay for the past three hours. Outside their gate, the New England sky was a tint of robin’s egg blue only witnessed in early September when school was back in session. He remembered it well.

He paced back to where his partner sat, poised and still, staring out the concourse window at nothing. Her hands were folded in her lap as though in prayer, and he made a mid-second correction in course.

“I don’t think our plane is ever showing up, Scully. It’s a regional carrier - maybe they only fly when it’s foggy enough.”

She didn’t react to his stand-up routine, so he took matters into his own hands and lifted the handle on her roller bag. That got her attention.

“Mulder, what the hell? This is our gate. When the plane gets here, they’re not going to wait for us.”

“The plane’s not coming, Scully. Let’s grab a rental car and drive up. Bangor’s about four hours’ away on the interstate, and four hours in a moving vehicle will feel like heaven, after an afternoon in purgatory at Logan.”

She didn’t acquiesce, but she didn’t stay staring at the blank canvas of the sky either. He considered that a win.

***

“This isn’t the interstate, Mulder.”

Scully had dozed off somewhere near the New Hampshire border, and he’d taken the next exit to the coast road. They’d been averaging thirty miles an hour through one white clapboard hamlet after another since then.

“You’re very observant, Scully. You should consider a career in law enforcement.”

“Very funny. But seriously, where are we? It’s 6pm - we should be nearly in Bangor by now.”

Scully woke up grumpy. He had years of experience devising counter-measures; everything from grande cups of her favourite dark roast to humorous observations of local law enforcement. More recently, he’d developed a technique that included plucking her nipples like a harp and then anchoring his head between her thighs until she levitated, but he couldn’t very well do that and still drive. He handed her a blueberry fritter, still warm in its brown paper bag.

“We’re not nearly in Bangor,” he ventured after she’d inspected the treat.

“I can see that.” Her tone mellowed as she licked homemade lemon frosting from the tip of each finger.

“We’re actually closer to Wells. I decided to take the scenic route. We can grab a room here and still get to Bangor tomorrow in time for our ten o’clock interview.”

He glanced in her direction, trying to judge how this change in plans was landing. Scully could usually be counted on to let her strict professionalism lapse when he was the only witness, but she’d gone far inside herself these past few weeks, and he couldn’t blame her. This was his first attempt to coax her back out of her shell.

“A room, Mulder? A room, singular? We’re on the clock.” She was still prickly and resistant, however, and he found it endlessly heartening. A passive Scully was no Scully at all.

“Well, that clock had us landing in Bangor five hours ago. Right now, Agent Mulder and Agent Scully are sitting in their adjacent hotel rooms, chastely reviewing their case notes before retiring to their separate beds. You and I are grabbing a room in Wells. It’s September. Any one of these little roadside motels will have a vacancy.”

“A roadside motel? You really know how to treat a girl, Mulder.”

He made eye contact and gave her his best attempt at a sexy grin. He might know next to nothing about how to treat girls, plural, but he was the world’s leading expert on how to treat this one.

***

The little efficiency cottage was basic, but clean. They changed out of their travelling suits and into casual clothes before walking, hand-in-hand, up the main road through town.

“What exactly are you looking for, Mulder? These places all serve lobster.”

“Spoken like a true non-Yankee, Scully. There’s lobster, and then there’s lob-stah. I’ll know it when I see it.”

The restaurant had been there so long its shingle siding had weathered to a nondescript grey. You ordered at a take-out window, then ate at a collection of ramshackle picnic tables, spread on a sloping lawn overlooking the estuary.

They sat on the same seat bench, facing the marsh that dimmed into darker and darker shadows of green as the setting sun released the day. The lobster rolls were fresh and buttery, served with coleslaw and house-made pickles, and washed down by pints of pale blond beer. It was, in his estimation, the perfect meal.

Scully’s left hand crept over and stole his last pickle. Her hair was molten copper where the last rays of light caught it. He took a deep breath of salt air, then exhaled.

***

“I would, Mulder, but I don’t have my bathing suit. The hotel in Bangor - you know, the one where Agent Scully is staying right now - doesn’t have a pool.”

“Just go in your underwear. It’s dark out, and I doubt there’ll be anyone else swimming at this hour. This place empties out after Labour Day.”

He saw her struggle with propriety, and decided to stack the deck in his favour. He stripped off his shirt and jeans. He heard the little catch in her breath as he briefly bared his naked backside before donning his swim trunks.

In the three weeks since the last IVF attempt had ended in a whirlpool of blood and tears, they hadn’t made love. He was a psychologist, and he knew Scully was dealing with a lot of anger and ambivalence over her body’s failure to provide refuge for even one of their offspring. He doubted she’d even noticed, but she’d ceased to trim her nails, hadn’t gone to the gym, and her roots were growing in: all signs that she was denying her body loving care in the way it had denied her a child. So her reaction to his nakedness, no matter how minute, was reassuring.

“Oh, alright. But if I get arrested for public indecency, I’m taking you and those ridiculous board shorts down with me!”

***

The small fenced pool was tucked between the line of cottages and a copse of pine trees. You couldn’t see the ocean, but you could make out the dull thrum of its eternal give and take. A single flood light triggered by a motion sensor lit the shallow end, and the water itself glowed aquamarine from a series of underwater lights.

Scully was wrapped in one of the motel’s scrawny bath towels. She looked furtively towards the curtained windows that overlooked the pool. Other than their own, none of the cottages showed signs of habitation, so she slowly released the tuck of the towel and draped it over the fence.

She had lost weight. He could see it in the sharp nip of her waist and the loose fit of her panties. Still, she was pale and lovely as the moon, and he was struck anew by the juxtaposition of tenderness and lust she brought out in him. Thinking a tented swimsuit might betray his intentions, he jumped feet first into the deeper end of the pool, appreciating the coolness against his heated skin.

“How is it?” Cautious as ever, Scully was descending the steps slowly, and he grieved the slow disappearance of her body until he realized the underwater illumination acted like an aqueous spotlight, lighting her up from below.

“Come over here and find out,” he beckoned her towards the deeper water.

She dove fluidly beneath the surface, re-emerging two feet in front of him like a modern-day naiad, cedar-hued hanks of hair and eyes bluer than the sky that afternoon.

“Mmmm, this was a good idea, Mulder. Thank you.” She brushed against him, skin polished and warm, and dropped a chlorine kiss on his lips. He tried to pull her closer, but she pushed hard against the wall and floated away with a laugh.

They paddled languorously as the curious moon rose above the pines. The floodlight had long subsided into darkness. Scully drifted easily on her back, nipples and pubic hair umbra signals to his baser self through the opaque cotton covering. His cock twitched in the loose confines of his trunks, despite the coolish water. He could feel the tug of something primeval, dark and instinctual, coming from the endless wilderness to the north. This is your mate, it said.

As she drifted within reach, he pulled her easily into his embrace, kissing the damp from her eyelashes and cheeks. She settled her arms over his shoulders, light as a feather in the water’s buoyancy.

“I love kissing you, Scully,” he murmured between pecks. She chuckled at his juvenile admission.

“Yes, I got that impression. I love kissing you too, Mulder.” She licked his chin, to emphasize her point. He growled and initiated a hungrier kiss, holding her against him in the the ebb and flow of a subtle current, where she could certainly feel the physical proof that he wasn’t exaggerating.

“Is this okay?” he asked as he made his way down her arched neck, one hand now gripping her ass beneath the clinging fabric of her panties.

“Mmm, very okay. I missed this. Even when everything else feels wrong, you’re the only thing that still makes sense, Mulder.” She gasped out his name as he nipped her earlobe.

“That’s how I know you’re my one in five billion. You’re the only person who’d ever assert that I make sense,” he teased.

“What I don’t understand is why I make sense to you. Especially now...”

“Oh, Scully. Are you serious? You mean besides the fact that you’re the most stunning woman alive, and you put up with all of my shit? How about this - you’re the only person who already is what I want my future to be.”

She leaned back and observed him, limpid and wet, as though measuring the truth of his statement. Then, holding his head very still between her ragged fingernails, she kissed him deeper than all the oceans combined.

By the time they broke for air, they were mindlessly thrusting together, the surrounding water adding an erotic slickness to their movement.

“God, I want you. Is it too soon?” he gasped.

“No. I don’t think so. It’s okay. Let’s go back to the room.” She was panting like a frightened animal and pawing at the waist of his shorts.

“Mmm, no. Here. God, Scully.” This as her hands finally worked the knot at his waistband loose and dove inside to grab his cock.

“Mul-derrrrrr, we can’t. Bacteria, lubrication. C’mon.” She nodded towards the stairs, trying to encourage him into shallower water.

“I know what I’m doing. You trust me, don’t you Scully?”

Without waiting for her response, he lifted her even higher in the water, so her crotch rubbed his navel. He shunted his shorts downwards until they dropped to his ankles and he flicked them away. Tucking her knees beneath his armpits, he lifted the gusset of her panties out of the way, then slid his aching cock into the tight hot space between cotton and skin.

“Like this. See? Like this. Outside. Oh shit Scully.” He was frantic already, the head of his cock sliding up the seam of her body, over her clit and then against the elastic membrane of her underwear. It felt amazing.

“Jesus, Mulder. Where did you...? Nevermind. Just keep, yeah. Ohmygod yeah.” She had her elbows braced on the pool deck, her torso leaning away from him to create just the right angle for each exquisite slide. Her head fell limply backwards, chin tipping towards the night sky as she moaned so deeply he felt it inside his body.

“Fuck, Scully. So good, baby. So fucking good.”

He wasn’t going to last at this rate. He looked into the water to see the obscene bulge of the head of his cock advancing and retreating beneath the cotton’s opaque skin. Shit, that wasn’t helping. One hand dove down, pushing himself even deeper into her slit with each thrust, letting the ridge stroke over her hood until she let out a sharp yelp and began thrashing against him in ecstasy, stirring up a tiny tempest of waves between them.

“That’s it, Scully. Fucking come for me. Come on me.”

He grasped himself through the material, gave two quick tugs, and released what felt like a thousand lifetimes of fervour onto her skin. His agonized groan tapered off to a whispery chuckle.

“Fuck, I have the best ideas.”

***

Showered and tucked into bed, pink and boneless, he thought Scully was already asleep when she asked, “Do you really see your future in me, Mulder? Even now?”

He tightened his hold around her shoulders, tucking the damp crown of her head beneath his chin.

“They say the only thing that can make sense of the past is the future, Scully. You’re the only answer I want to find.”

#my writing #x-files #50 states of sex

231 notes · View notes