#sometimes I answer asks that are several years old. this is usually because I drafted a response ages ago & am only just now posting it djeb | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

obeymeluv · 3 years

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QUICK! KISS ME! [Bros x Reader]

A lead-up blurb before I go to bed.

School is killing me. This has been in the drafts far longer than I wanted.

No offense if your name is Bethany. It’s a name I picked at random.

The follow-up piece will have the kiss scenarios.

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Some of Asmo’s friends may have used you to get into a special makeup event, but it’s okay! They bought you a lip gloss as a thank you! The shade ‘Sealed with a Kiss’ was not what you thought it’d be

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Being one of the first humans in the Devildom could be uncomfortable and sometimes down-right dangerous! It also had its perks. To you, that meant being close with the Seven Lords of Hell (and Diavolo). To other lesser demons and classmates, you were kind of a ‘get out of jail’ free card.

Were they late to class? Oh, just helping the human out!

Caught sneaking in food or drink when they weren’t supposed to? It’s to split with the human, of course! They thought you’d love to try it!

Everyone was keen not to overuse it and you’d actually made good friends this way. It was starting to feel less like an excuse and more of a way to be included. You were the friendly, reliable human that had won hearts and saved some asses. As a thank you, one of your closer friends (a repeat offender for lateness), invited you out to an exclusive makeup release. She was a VIP member and had early access an hour before the store opened to the Devildom public.

The fact that she chose you, a human, over some LITERAL century-old friends caused a bit of tension but she could care less. “I’ve seen them every day for over a hundred years. You get one year, and we’re going to make it awesome!” Bethany breezed through the store at a dizzying pace, picking through concealers and opening a box of mascara to look at the packaging. She moved at a pace only demons could manage; you thought you saw her by the nail polish display but when you looked again she was throwing sheet masks in her basket. Hooking her arm with yours, she picked up some foundation on the way back to the coveted display of lip glosses and lipsticks.

You weren’t totally versed in the differences between Devildom makeup and human world makeup. In all honesty, there didn’t seem to be a difference. Bethany swatched powdery cream lipsticks on her wrist and followed with ribbons of liquid lipstick. Every now and then she dotted them on your arm; she was adamant about finding a shade the both of you could wear as your thing.

“This one,” she decided, waving the tube at you and booping your nose with it carefully. “This is our color!” she took you by the hand and joined the checkout line. She had two in her hand but refused to let you so much as hold one, wanting to pay for it first. It wasn’t technically breaking the purchase limit rule; if they tried to nag her she’d just say she was holding onto it so another demon didn’t bully you out of it. You didn’t know if it was her VIP status or the fact that her defense made sense, but you were able to check out without a problem.

A few sour faces and mean glares met you outside but Bethany ignored it all, eager to have a Devilgram-worthy celebratory snack break (snack victory? You know, since you got the makeup?) The plan was to eat, hold down a table at the nearby cafe while her other friends shopped, and have group makeovers (or try-ons) before calling it a day. That plan was interrupted three bites into a croissant sandwich when Lucifer summoned you back to the House of Lamentation. He’d gotten wind of all the girls you’d be with and didn’t feel totally comfortable letting you hang out with them,

Had Barbatos seen something? Did Lucifer feel spurned that you weren’t hanging out with the Seven Lords of the Devildom? He gave no answer, simply asking you to stay put while someone came to escort you back to the house. Bethany was put off by the turn of events but few people dared to complain about the Seven Lords due to their connections with Diavolo (she was no exception). “If we can’t get the full makeover, we’re getting the selfie!” she declared, deftly breaking the seal to her Sealed with a Kiss gloss and swiping it on with help from the front-facing camera on her D.D.D

You busied yourself with opening your tube. Before you could ask for her phone (since the camera was already open), she took the tube from you and tilted your chin up. She dabbed the center of your lips playfully before carefully tracing your lips with the color. The heat rose in your cheeks and she smirked. Being part succubus, she could draw energy from emotions like embarrassment and the feeling of being flattered. Her fingertips pulsed under your chin as she drew on that energy.

Getting energy sucked could feel like a lot of things -- being light-headed, getting a rush of excitement, all prickly and tingly like your whole body was pins and needles. Whatever it was, it usually faded into drowsiness and kittenish contentment. She probably only touched your chin for seconds but the wash of coziness had you melting against your chair, your cheek cradled in her palm.

Did she take the pic? What was happening? It felt like Asmodeus had materialized out of thin air, helping you stand and making small-talk with Bethany before pulling you away, out of her aura that was trying to suckle the vestiges of happy energy you offered.

“And what shade did you get on those pretty lips, hm?” the cotton fell out of your head and ears, allowing you to really hear Asmo now that the aura effects had worn off.

“Uh,” you fished around in your bag and looked at the packaging. “Sealed with a Kiss.”

Asmodeus stopped so abruptly it’d almost yanked you back to him. The two of you were barely tangled at the pinkies and now he’d completely laced your hands together. He held your hands captive, drawing them up in surprise and basically dragging you into his torso. You were forced to look up into glittering pink eyes and if you didn’t know any better, they looked a little panicked.

“How long ago did you apply it?”

“I don’t know.” you blinked helplessly at him. That energy suck thing had a way of making your brain tune out and turn to pudding. That aside, who knows how long Asmo stood there and talked to Bethany while you were being siphoned?! “Bethany applied it, not me.”

Asmo clicked his tongue, huffed, resigned himself to only holding one hand. and started scrolling on his D.D.D to find that selfie Bethany posted. You were being dragged along like a child as Asmo’s shoes clicked towards the House of Lamentation. It amazed you how well he could navigate his D.D.D with his long, painted nails.

Whatever he was looking for, he found it.

Asmodeus tucked his D.D.D into his pants pocket, scooped you up in a way that terrified and amazed you (two people being supported by one set of heels?), and flew to the House of Lamentation. He didn’t always use his wings, as he preferred to decorate them and maintain them with oils, but the fact that he was flying made you nervous.

What had he found? What was the deal?

“Asmo--” you started nervously, the flapping of his wings nearly drowning you out as he pushed himself. Flying against the wind didn’t help. Your hair was a mess and the wind was in your face; the Devildom was always a little chilly but now it was enough to make your face tingly.

“She gave you enchanted makeup. There is a reason humans don’t use enchanted makeup.” Asmo’s pretty brows furrowed as he cut a hard angle and glided over a portion of the square. The tell-tale thicket of trees that lined the winding path back to the House of Lamentation were on the edge of the horizon.

“What’s going to happen?” should you ask that? Did you really want to know?

“You’ll feel something in your lips--some people felt tingling, some people felt pulsing, it can be anything, I think--and then they’ll seal shut.”

“SHUT?!” you yelped. It was enough to make Asmo wince. The startle carried over to his wings; they shuddered and locked; the two of you dropped for a heartbeat or two before he corrected himself.

“If I can’t get some makeup remover on it first.” Asmo panted, tucking his wings in and preparing for a quick descent. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t thought to teleport first--the panic? Trying to one-up Bethany by walking home and being extra cute with hand-holding?--but a quick touch down could roll into a simple skip teleportation and everything should work out!

“But my lips are already tingly!”

“Ugh, Bethany! I can’t believe you! I mean, I can because it’s you, but really, Bethany?”

“Asmo, focus!” you’d already skipped several feet ahead, clearing the front yard in two teleports. The third put you in the foyer. “I don’t want my lips to seal shut!”

The House of Lamentation was huge but when the occupants had supernatural hearing, that exclamation turned heads.

“What’s this about your lips sealing shut?” Lucifer appeared at the top of his stairs, his head already shaking.

“DID YOU MAKE A PACT WITH A WITCH?!” Mammon screamed down the hall, clearly not far behind.

Asmo scoffed, lowering his D.D.D with a pout. He was halfway up the main stairs, fingers working at lightning speed. “It’s the lip color!” he explained, stomping his foot. Noisy people were just so annoying! If everyone was talking he couldn’t explain! How rude!

“All this over some makeup?” skeptical Satan peered over the banister, book and arm casually propped up on it.

“If two people apply the color and kiss, they’re locked in a makeout session until it dries down. When one person applies the lip color, they can use it like a cheat sheet to see who secretly wants to kiss them,” his words tapered out from authoritatively informed to quiet and shy. “It’s from their ‘Liquid Love’ collection.” he muttered into the stunned silence of the room.

You were trying to open your lips and ask why. The magic had already taken hold. Asmodeus could see you trying to move your lips and strain your chin. Luckily, demons could read minds. “It’s because Bethany is stupid.” Asmodeus rolled his eyes. “Ambitious, but stupid.”

“Please explain, Asmo.” even when using the dear nickname Lucifer couldn’t hide the demand. His demon aura was creeping up his body and slowly becoming jagged and suffocating.

“Bethany has had a HUGE crush on our little human here, and wanted to seal it with a kiss, so to speak.” Asmo’s cheeks got pinker and pinker as he explained. Mostly because he was mad he didn’t think about it. His heart did something funny at the thought of you kissing someone else. Lucifer also looked like he wanted to murder someone about now, and Asmo had to remind himself that he was being looked through, not looked at.

“Just grab a napkin and wipe it off.” Mammon shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Asmodeus shook his head angrily. “It’s too late now. We need to find someone for them to kiss! Someone’s lips will break the seal on theirs...that’s kind of the point of the enchantment.”

“So they just pick someone to kiss?” Levi’s face was turning tomato red. Would it be him?! It would at least be one of them, right? What if your person wasn’t in the House of Lamentation and you NEVER SPOKE AGAIN?!

“Sort of.” Asmo patted your shoulders with his gentle, smooth hands. He started to rub them like he was trying to warm you up. Partly in encouragement and partly to get your attention because he could feel your brain spiraling down into panic. “They basically follow their mouth.”

“So that lip color is like a crush detector?” Satan abandoned his book at the top of the stairs and was now perusing articles on his D.D.D as he sauntered down the steps. It sounded like he’d found the one that sent Asmo flying to the House of Lamentation.

“Basically.” Asmo sighed. It was the stupidest way to confess to someone, he thought. Demon to demon, it was fine. Demon to human?! NO! The whole thing gave him a headache. The fact that Bethany thought she could just steal your little lips and be greedy with them was the biggest annoyance of it all.

“So,” Satan’s green eyes cut sharply from his phone to you. The corner of his lips curled up in a smart little smirk. He knew it was wrong to find your predicament so funny, but this was a very human thing to get mixed up in. “Who do your lips want? Who do you feel yourself being drawn to?”

#Blurb #Lead-up #Obey me! x reader #Asmodeus x Reader #Lucifer x Reader #Mammon x Reader #Satan x Reader #Beelzebub x Reader #Beel x Reader #Belphegor x Reader #Leviathan x Reader #Levi x Reader

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becomingbts · 3 years

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Would You Like to Order a Sip of Happiness?

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Type: angst, fluff but without any real romance

Warning(s): mention of (natural) death, grief, and depression.

Genre: Fantasy, university au!

Summary: It had been a rumor, a fairy tale, an old story… Until Jimin had no other choice but to believe it.

5.5k words

Note: OKAY HERE WE GO I HAD THIS IN MY DRAFT FOR LIKE, FOREVER. I’m so happy I’m done with it!! I’m pretty satisfied I think, so I hope you’ll like it! Take care everyone, please, feedback is always warmly welcomed! I try to answer everyone uwu Take care, lots of love!!!! Dolly (who is going to sleep now lol)

It had been a rumor.

A groundless rumor said that there was a weird coffee shop in town. It had been there for ages, apparently. The rumors said that people found out about where the shop was only when they truly needed it; they said it was an unconscious process made by their brains, feet guiding them by themselves to the said coffee shop without leaving any memory about the right path to go back once they left. Thus, no one knew where it was. The few people who had found the coffee shop were left unable to find their way back to the place as if a spell was preventing them from finding the shop again. This unexplainable phenomenon made people dubious and for those who dared to say that the shop existed, that they had seen it by themselves, rare were those who listened to them without laughing at them. Nobody actually believed them. And if this whole thing of not being able to find the shop again was already sketchy, the rest of their stories usually made it even less credible. Rumors said that this coffee shop offered to serve memories; 'a journey into your soul, into life and discoveries'. It sounded like a fairy tale coming straight from a book, if not a complete made-up lie. It had been said that one slice of cake from the shop was enough for people to travel to unknown landscapes and that a sip of tea was able to recreate the happiest memory of someone.

Jimin had heard of those rumors too. He had even met one person who had declared to have been in the coffee shop by themselves and thus knew that it existed.

It had been his grandmother. She was not there anymore to narrate the complex story, but she used to tell Jimin that it did really exist. When he was a kid, he was fascinated by the story. From what his grandmother had told him and what he had gathered, it could mean only one thing: the coffee shop was magic. His grandmother had explained to him that a nice lady had asked her if she had wanted anything that was on the menu.

"Even though I thought that all the names were ridiculous, I couldn't help but be curious. The menu had many things like 'a sip of happiness' or a 'chamomile of joy'. I thought I was in a dream. I had never seen that shop before, and it felt like it had appeared out of nowhere. However, everything seemed very old inside, as if the café had been around for years. The chairs were crackling, the parquet seemed old too, and even the menu looked kind of historic! It felt like the shop had always been there." She had remembered happily with a hint of nostalgia.

"What did you order then, Ma?" Jimin had asked curiously.

"Ah, I ordered a 'latte of memories' and a slice of 'cakescape'. If you ever find the shop, you should order one slice of that cake too. I know you'll love it!" His grandmother had always worn that warm smile on her features. She used to smile a bit brighter when she talked about her encounter with the shop.

"Was it tasty?"

"It was the best thing I ever had. But it wasn't the most surprising part of the story. When I closed my eyes, I could hear and smell different things, as if I had gone out of the coffee shop and was somewhere else. It was confusing at first, especially when I noticed that the smells and the atmosphere felt familiar. It was hard to remember where I knew those scents and noises from, but after a few seconds, I realized it was just like my sister's home. It used to be my favorite place in the world; smelling like cinnamon and bread. I could hear her dog barking somewhere and her voice was so, so clear in my head as if she was actually there with me. I knew it was impossible because my sister had passed away a few months before. But I could hear her singing lightly, giggling happily as she was baking. It was almost as if everything that had gone wrong with my sister's death had never happened. But once I opened my eyes again, I was back in the coffee shop. The smell had changed again, and I could not hear my sister anymore,” the old woman’s expression had soured a bit before she had continued, “I cried a lot that day; all the pain left from my sister's death had come to my mind again, and it felt like I was finally grieving like I had wished to have the time for. I remember the owner giving me a hug and asking me if I felt better. I don't exactly remember what happened afterward, but all I remember is being out of the coffee shop and just feeling so relieved and relaxed. I never found the shop again. I tried, trust me, I redid almost all streets I had gone through that day. But I never found the coffee shop again."

"What was the name of the shop, Ma'?"

"Serendipity."

Jimin used to think that it was amazing, especially when he was a kid. Yet, he now knew that it had been a silly story that his grandmother had invented to make him dream. He had been feeling a little bit betrayed at first, but he knew better than to hold a ridiculous grudge against his dear grandmother who had just wanted to offer him a nice story to remember.

However, to his surprise, when he entered university, he heard the familiar story again. He realized that the university rumor—that he soon learned to be famous here—was awfully close to the story of his grandma, and it had bothered him at first. Maybe it had just been a popular story that his grandmother had learned about, after all? It had taken him aback, not ready to hear the story again after years of not hearing it, and especially not from someone else and with different details. He had definitely not thought that anyone would know this story; he had always believed his grandmother had made it up, so to learn that it was a popular rumor on his campus? That had unquestionably been unexpected for him. And as much as he had tried to convince himself that it probably wasn't the same story, that it just had been hazard playing with his head, Jimin came to the conclusion that it truly was the exact same one. There were too many similarities for it to be a coincidence. The story almost felt like some kind of folklore story that ran into the corridors for years without any answer for the people who were questioning the shop's existence. People either dismissed the story or some were fully engrossed in it; a club had even been created in the university in order to search for the said coffee shop.

Jimin wasn't too big on looking for the shop nor did he fully disregard the rumor, yet he had mixed feelings when it came to it. Maybe he had wished for this rumor to be less popular since his grandmother had passed away. His feelings had been locked away, tears hidden while he had not been allowed to take his time to grief; the university had still been ongoing and he had still needed to pass his semester. Jimin's family had refused for him to miss classes, and he had been sent back to Seoul without getting proper time to swallow his loss. It came to a point where Jimin just wanted to yell at every single person speaking about it because it just reminded him of his grandmother. It felt unfair.

Why did he have to go through that? University had barely begun, it was his first semester there and if the familiar story had brought him comfort the first few weeks, it brought him face to face with his worst fears now that he was left alone. The story no longer reminded him of a happy time, but rather of his loss that he was never granted time to cope with. Jimin couldn't help the tears that sometimes threatened to escape from his lashes, but he held on tight, mood souring as midterms came closer and so did his despair. Overwhelmed by sorrow, motivation felt like something he'd never be able to muster again. Getting up started being difficult, eating became a bother, washing up a burden, so learning was at the bottom of Jimin's priority list. Shaking himself up seemed impossible and while he didn't want to admit it to himself, Jimin came to terms with the fact that he wasn't alright, but he'd find a way to feel better eventually.

Not that this admission mentally helped, but at least, it would be a step toward his recovery (hopefully).

In the middle of the stress and growing tension that was palpable in the corridors of the university, Jimin had become detached from this little world. The anxiety of his friends was—to him—incomprehensible, and Jimin's passivity was frustrating for his close friends. They all tried to make him talk, to understand why he was falling into this deep hole he had started digging for himself. None of them could recognize him, it was as if he had been stripped out of his happiness and of the life that was glistening in his eyes and while they wanted to help, they also had their exams to worry about. None of them wanted Jimin to feel like their work was more important than his well-being, but at some point, none of them knew how to help him without feeling like they were losing him for an unknown reason. One of his closest friends, Namjoon, had even begged Jimin to talk, took him on several walks with him, brought him to their favorite coffee shop, to the library... Anywhere outside the university, since it seemed to be the place that was numbing him. He couldn't understand why, but the campus always seemed to push Jimin to his worst mood, so they all avoided bringing him there if not necessary. It had been a silent agreement between themselves, and Jimin had been honestly grateful for them to catch this little detail.

Yet, Namjoon's effort did not change Jimin's behavior. He never talked, never shared his feelings, never gave a sign of opening up. At least, he did smile a bit when they took a walk together, so Namjoon kept on going with him every single day in order to try and get him out of his bad thoughts. Maybe they couldn't help solve his problem, but if they could alleviate the pain, it would still be something they would gladly do.

It was during one of those walks that Jimin saw a small cat and got distracted until he actually lost Namjoon. Frowning to himself, Jimin had tried calling his friend, but to no avail. It was already quite late; looking for one another would just make them lose time. Leaving a voicemail to tell him not to worry and to just go home, Jimin activated his navigation app and walked in the direction of his home until he came to a dead end. Cursing against the app under his breath, Jimin turned around and noticed that the cat he had previously been distracted by was now sitting in front of an illuminated door, much to Jimin's surprise.

Had the cat followed him? But why did it seem like it was actually waiting for him? Curiosity getting the best of him, Jimin got closer to the cat that was observing him and he faced the shop, gawking.

The Serendipity.

Frozen as if time had stopped; snow could have been falling, Jimin wouldn't have noticed. He was staring at the shop, incredulity written all over his features while he tried to swallow the lump that had started to form in his throat. He couldn't talk, only a dry laugh escaped him as tears started rolling on his cheeks.

So that was it? He would never find peace, would he? He was doomed to eternally miss this old woman that had brought so much comfort to him in his teens. He had not been able to see her nearly as often as he wished he had, but she still had meant so much to him; why was destiny so cruel to take her away so quickly? Shaking himself up, he wiped his tears away as he grew angry.

Why did this fucking shop have to appear now after years of thinking that it was a mere invention of his grandmother? Why did it have to remind him of the person he lost?

Jimin almost wanted to run away, turn around and never look back. He didn't have to enter after all.

However, he felt a pull toward the shop as if he subconsciously knew that he had to get inside and see what he would find. Jimin clicked his tongue, annoyed at his own curiosity. He wished he could honestly say that he just wanted to go home and fall asleep under his heavy blanket, but he knew better than to lie to himself. He had done that enough already.

The shop was calling for him and he physically needed to know what he would find. Even if his heart ached at the simple thought of his grandmother, he needed to know.

After all these years of wondering, he could have his answer. So when he heard the chime sound as he pushed the door open, Jimin let the warmth of the café engulf him, drying his wet cheeks while the feeling of warmth made his heart tighten. He couldn't help but think that disappointment was probably the only thing that he would be met with. Jimin wasn't as gullible as people thought him to be. He might have wanted to believe in fairy tales, but he knew better than to actually think it existed for real. Jimin knew that he would probably drink a cup of tea that wouldn't be out of the ordinary and neither would the cake be magical. He sighed heavily, almost ready to turn around and berate himself for his moment of delusion, yet before he could, the cat planted itself in front of the door and mewed loudly as if trying to warn him not to leave. Blinking a few times, Jimin crouched in front of the cat, tilting his head in a confused manner.

"What are you up to bud? You're cute, but I need to get home-"

"I see you met with Ji, welcome Jimin-shi, we've been expecting you for a while," Jimin's head shot up as he heard the voice of a woman coming from behind him. Turning around quickly, he was met with blue eyes and a warm smile while he stared awkwardly.

"How... Do you know my name?" He quickly checked his jacket to verify that no name tag was hanging for the young woman to see but he grew even more uneasy as he saw none.

"Ji told me," she smiled as she pushed a chair close to the counter to the side as if inviting him to take a seat. If he had to be honest though, Jimin would admit that he would rather run away than accept the invitation of a stranger who seemed to know him while he had no recollection of any previous meeting. He would be less suspicious if he had had troubles with remembering faces or names. After all, she looked young enough to be around his age, maybe she saw him around campus? But her face truly didn't ring any bell and Jimin usually had a really good memory when it came to faces.

Even more reasons to feel suspicious.

"Ji?" He asked cautiously.

"Yeah, Ji. The cat," the cat mewed before jumping on the counter and the young woman rolled her eyes, "I know, you're not a cat, you're a witch, blablabla, I know the song. Please, don't stress our guest more than he already is, he looks like he is about to run away any second!" She giggled as the cat mewed again; the young woman turned to Jimin again, smiling at him with caring eyes. He didn't know if he should be worried or soothed by her gaze; he felt like he should feel uncomfortable, yet, as strange as it sounded, he didn't feel ill at ease, "please, take a seat! What would you like to order?" Jimin wanted to politely refuse, tell her he needed to go and hide under the sheets of his bed after a warm shower. However, for some reason, Jimin's body chose to compel to her voice and not to his brain and he simply sat at the counter while struggling to find his words. Looking at the woman with terrified eyes, he noticed her name on her apron.

Serendipity's (Y/N).

The name did not ring any bell either. Why did she seem to know him then?

"Here, the menu. You can order what fits your heart." He shouldn't. He knew better than anyone else that he should leave, run away and never look back. This was starting to freak him out, yet his eyes merely listened to his brain as he started reading the menu.

Jimin's breath hitched; he definitely shouldn't have read it. He should have left the café when he had the opportunity to do so because Jimin felt nauseous as his eyes landed on "the latte of memories" and the slice of "cakescape". Jimin forgot how to breathe for a second as the vivid memories of his grandmother came back flooding his mind. It couldn't be a coincidence, could it now? He could still remember how his grandmother had advised him to order the latte of memories and the cakescape the day he would find the café. Her words were ringing in his head, loud enough for his head to spin ever so slightly. He couldn't make out the other words written on the menu as if these two words were the only thing he could properly read. Shaking his head for a second, he rubbed his eyes painfully before they landed on the menu again.

Without any change.

Jimin's still couldn't read anything else, the whole menu was blurry as if he had been crying. Would he be ridiculous for actually crying because he suddenly couldn't read anymore? Probably. He needed to get a grip on himself. Jimin couldn't let his feelings overwhelm him like that; he was in an unknown—and potentially dangerous—place, he had to focus so that he could leave. He wasn't stupid; he knew that he was not in the right state of mind to be alone in the streets at such a late hour, but he also needed to get out quickly. He couldn't stay here where he could feel himself already spiraling.

"Have you chosen anything?" His head snapped in the direction of the young woman, (Y/N), as her voice woke him up from his trance. Her eyes glistened almost with mischief and he wondered what it was about her that felt so ethereal.

"I-" Struggling to find his words, the lump that was stuck in his throat made itself known again and Jimin coughed a few times as he tried to voice his thoughts. He mentally cursed, what was it today with his voice not coming out when he desperately need to put his distress into words? His despair must have been clear on his face, features contorting in pain, because (Y/N) disappeared for a few seconds before coming back with a glass of water. Jimin's eyed it nervously, watching her curiously as she took the seat next to him.

"You can drink it, it's just water, we don't charge for water, don't worry," she smiled soothingly but he didn't dare to try to tell her that money was not really his first concern. Though, the water looked clear and when he brought his nose to the glass, it didn't smell anything weird. It seemed to be plain water, which put Jimin a bit more at ease than he previously was. Drinking hastily, Jimin didn't dare meeting (Y/N)'s cheeky smile and smiling eyes. He didn't want to see the triumphant features on the woman's face. Feeling her gaze on him as he put his glass back on the counter, he glanced hesitantly in her direction. He noticed the cat (the witch?) jumping on the counter too as if curious about the Newcomer. Ji seemed to study him until it could be certain that he was harmless.

Weird, he thought. If anyone should be suspicious of the place and of someone, it should definitely be him, not the cat. It had felt like the cat had led him there and even expected him, if Jimin were to be honest. Yet suddenly, it felt as if the danger could be him as if his presence had disrupted the tranquility of their safe bubble. Jimin's feelings of uncertainty and uneasiness seemed to vanish slowly as he watched the cat's tail wrapping around his wrist gently. Internally giggling, Jimin stretched out his hand, letting the cat sniff his hand before deeming him worthy enough to let him run his hand through its fur. Tilting his head in curiosity, Jimin watched the cat jumping out, going back to its original spot.

"So, should I get you anything?" Meeting her eyes in confusion, Jimin got reminded where he was and what he was doing. Blinking slowly, he wondered if he should get something as his grandmother had recommended him to, or if he should simply get up and leave to find his way back home. Yet, despite his chaotic thoughts and prior fright, his answer came out almost naturally.

"A slice of cakescape with a latte of memories, please," he watched as her smile grow while she nodded before disappearing, leaving him wondering what the hell he was doing.

Jimin should have left a while ago. He had to get home quickly so that he wouldn't be too tired tomorrow. He had a lot of classes; it wasn't the time to fool around. He should be freaking out about finding the Café of the rumors and reading the exact same order like the one that his grandmother had recommended to him when she narrated the story when he was younger.

Nothing made sense and yet...

And yet, Jimin felt like he belonged here for a while. The cat had somehow trusted him enough to let him pet his head, (Y/N) seemed like a normal person (oh well, maybe not normal, but normal enough)... He didn't feel nearly as panicked as he probably should and he didn't know if it freaking him out or if he was eased by his sudden feeling of safety. Maybe he had been bewitched. After all, (Y/N) did say that the cat was a witch...

Jimin chuckled at himself. He really needed to stop believing in children's stories. He was an adult now, he should know better.

Yet, if he had not believed his grandmother's story before, he was now met with the fact that she had probably told him the truth. Maybe not the part of the crazy story about her being brought back to the house of her deceased sister, but the café truly existed.

His confused trail of thoughts got interrupted as he saw a plate with a slice of cake and a mug dropped in front of him on the counter. The young woman smiled at him before organizing her desk. Watching her for a quick second, Jimin wondered if he should ask anything. Why was the café so Well hidden? Did she know about the University club created to search for the shop? Did she know about the fame of the café? Yet before he could ask any of the questions that had been burning his tongue, she had turned around and had already disappeared in what Jimin expected to be the kitchen. Only him and Ji were left in the room and even if Jimin tried to ignore the fixed glare he felt behind him, he sighed, turning around to face the cat that was indeed staring at him.

"What?" Jimin asked, thinking about how ridiculous he must have been looking to talk to a cat. He obviously did not get any answer. Rolling his eyes playfully, Jimin gawked at his order in wonder. What should he start with?

Eating. You always eat before you drink.

Digging into the cake, Jimin closed his eyes at the taste in amazement. Fuck, it was really good. It would have been dumb not to order anything.

Always trust Grandma.

Sipping in his latte, Jimin ate his slice too quickly for his liking (had his discovery been during the afternoon, he would have probably ordered a second one, but the late hour did not really leave him with that choice), yet he felt a bit dizzy. Rubbing his fingers on his temple, he squinted for a second before feeling like the ground was moving under his feet. Hands harshly gripping at the counter to try to remain firmly seated, dizziness fully overwhelmed his body until it finally stopped.

Panting uneasily, Jimin tries to catch his breath and to soothe down his panic, however, it only grew greater as he realized that he was unable to open his eyes. Trying to force them open, nothing worked. Jimin's eyes remained firmly closed against his own will. He gritted his teeth in frustration while trying to breathe deeply to avoid any panic attack. He needed to remain calm and to have a hold on his feelings. Getting overwhelmed was not a possibility.

God, Jimin had known he should have run away the moment he had entered the shop. What had suddenly gotten him so pliant? So happy to stay? He had no idea and it was frustrating him to no end. Yet, Jimin froze as he heard a familiar tune. Catching a painful breath, Jimin tried to focus on what he heard rather than on the building anxiety that was eating him alive. Mind overwhelmed with racing thoughts, Jimin couldn't believe what he was hearing.

This melody; he knew only one person who could sing it and this person left him a while ago. It wasn't possible, where the fuck was he and who was trying to torture him in such a cruel way? Had it not been enough to take his grandmother away from him? Now they had to make him believe that she was still there? It wasn't a good joke; that wasn't funny at all. Had he ever told anyone about his grandmother's story? Jimin didn't think so, but it felt like someone was playing with him as if trying to make him believe that the story of his grandmother had fully been true and that he was brought back to the one person he loved unconditionally but had been taken away from him. Yet, it was impossible! What the hell was he thinking about? He couldn't seriously start thinking that it was true, right? His grandmother couldn't have possibly told him the truth when she told him that she had been brought back to her sister's home, could she?

"Jimin-ah!" No, it wasn't possible. This voice couldn't be here now. She couldn't be... There. "Jimin-ah, my boy! You're still so handsome, what a man!" Was there a way for it to stop? He couldn't do it, he would crumble under the pain if he let himself believe that it was true. It had to stop. "Oh no, my love, my baby. Don't cry, Jiminie. I'm so proud of you, you've been doing so well! You entered University just like you wished! I'm happy for you, I truly am." Jimin had not even realized that he had started crying, his tears had just naturally rolled on his cheeks. Feeling a warm hand whipping them away, Jimin couldn't help but burst into tears in the arm of the old woman that was seemingly in front of him. She caught him easily, gently rubbing his back as he cried, pained by his inability to see. He still couldn't open his eyes and it was killing him. What would he give to see his grandmother again?

"You've been strong, Jiminie. So strong-" he had never felt strong ever since she left; he had only felt the weight of despair hold him back.

"I miss you," he didn't even think that his voice would collaborate, but it surprisingly did.

"I'm always with you, bub, you're never alone."

"But I miss you," he repeated himself like a mantra, he hoped that maybe saying it, again and again, would make her take the decision to stay, to remain by his side. He would quit University to take care of her if he needed to, he'd do anything.

"I know you do, but you have to live on, Jiminie. You have so much to do, so many friends who care. Try to see what you still have, not what is not physically here anymore. My love for you will always remain close to you. I'm watching over you Jimin-ah, don't forget, okay?" He nodded painfully against her, feeling like a child all over again.

"You'll be fine without me Jimin-ah, trust yourself more! You're a capable young man, you'll do great!" He heard her giggle almost lightly and it made him smile between his tears.

Yet as her hands stopped rubbing his back, he suddenly opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. (Y/N) was watching him with a sad smile and his cheeks were still wet.

He was back to reality as his dream crashed into billion pieces of broken glass, leaving him in a vulnerable state as he had never been before.

Jimin was much too honest with his feelings to hide his trembling lips and the tears that already threatened to escape his lashes and even if he hates himself for being in such a vulnerable state in front of a stranger, the young woman didn't hesitate for a second before hugging him tightly as he cried his despair and pain. It took him a few minutes to finally regain his composure and even he apologized for ruining her shirt (his tears had stained the thin white cotton), she had brushed him off with a smile, preparing a warm tea for him to take on his way to home. Confused yet grateful for her gentle gesture, his words were again lost in his throat and as he was almost ushered out by Ji, (Y/N) followed him to the door. It was such a weird headspace. Everything seemed to happen as a movie, Jimin didn't feel like he had any say or power over what was happening. His feet carried him outside while (Y/N) waved him warmly from the door. He had already started walking away when he suddenly remembered something. Jolting awake, he turned around quickly to find the young woman still at the door, looking at him bewildered.

"Will I see you again?" He asked, hopeful.

She smiled gently, yet it didn't feel like it was nearly as warm as a few minutes ago when she held him tightly.

"We'll see each other when you need me against Jimin-ssi." Waving one last time before she got back inside the café, Jimin was left alone to wonder. She still had not given a proper answer as to how she knew his name. Or did Ji, the cat—witch—really tell her? He didn't remember telling her or knowing her from somewhere, but maybe he did? Running back to the café to ask her, Jimin was met with grey doors; nothing that looked like the shop that he had previously visited.

What ... The hell?

Where the hell was the café? Looking around, Jimin noticed that the street had considerably dimmed as the main source of light had been the decoration of the shop. Had he just... Dreamed or had the shop truly disappeared?

Recalling (Y/N)'s almost sad smile, he wondered if it was the reason behind the sourness of her features and her last words.

They'll see each other again when he'll need her? He hoped this time would come soon then because he had a lot of questions. He felt much lighter now that he had had a shoulder to cry, though.

But when he said a lot, he meant enough to make a list that he would actually write on a sheet of paper and hide in his wallet. He would get his moment to ask them, he somehow just knew he would.

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notmrskennedy · 3 years

Text

Professor, pt 1

A/N - so i heard from like four of you which is enough to warrant me posting drafts that weren’t supposed to see the light of day - ANYWAY this was originally written in third person and let me tell you it takes a ridiculous amount of effort to change tenses like holy hell.

(Technically the prequel Friendliness but can stand alone if you really want it to. There’s a part two to this so watch out for that tomorrow.)

Summary - Spencer meets a professor and falls in love for a few hours

W/C - 2k

Warnings - none-ish? there’s a small smattering of violence and horrible changing of the tenses

-----

Spencer can’t help the irony that he’s in a freshman college class for the first time ever while protecting one of the students. Who knew that a tiny club of DnD players could incite so much rage out of an un-sub? So here he was, trying to blend in—even though he’s 25, he still looks 14 and there’s really no real reason why he should be worried about being caught—in order to protect a freshman who was more pimple than male specimen.

Joesph—the poor kid in question—takes a seat in the front row and Spencer’s obligated to sit within tackling distance, though he hopes it won’t come to that. Hopefully, Morgan will have the kid the un-sub goes for and Spencer can just enjoy being in college again. The painfully familiar auditorium seats, the stale air, and bad fluorescents feel more like home than he cares to admit.

College hadn’t been all too unpleasant. High school he’d gotten picked on mercilessly. College, however, had meant getting doted on by hot sorority girls and earning the protection of frat boys—they’d picked up rather quickly that he knew football strategy better than they did after Spencer had hustled a TV and 400 dollars from them. Sure, he didn’t drink, but every single drunk teenager had welcomed him with open arms and lots of ginger ale.

There’s chatter and for the ten minutes before class starts, Spencer is torn between trying to figure out which song is quietly playing around the room and watching for a particularly rage-filled college student serial killer. Instead, he just finds too many bored faces. Most of the kids are drinking coffee like the best of them and he’s itching for his next fix just looking at it.

The first two rows: a terrible vantage point to be profiling, but a beautifully defensible post. He watches absently as one of the TAs, who looks a little younger than him, organizes three stacks of papers on the front desk and flips through several different pages on the podium. His attention is focused solely on you for nearly a minute too long—he can hear the voice in his head chastising him for how often he gets distracted by pretty people.

You look of the fragile sort, the in-the-lab kind of future scientist. There’s something about you that’s captivating. It might be the way you keep reorganizing the papers to perfection or maybe it’s the way you study the room so closely. And while he thinks that you might not be able to physically stop someone, you sure look like the kind of person that could crush him in chess.

He’s 25 and is considering chess as a marriage proposal.

Joesph shuffles his books around in the seat in front of Spencer and you, the beautiful TA in question, hold a watch up as you move to the centre of the room. Class is starting. Class is starting and he’s hopeful the professor never actually shows up.

He notices your watch is on your right wrist—are you left handed?—as you smile widely and clap her hands together. First day jitters seem to keep everyone silent, waiting on baited breath for you to start. Spencer would stay on baited breath for the rest of his life for you. You were utterly captivating after all—he could see the drool from several students’ mouths a few seats over.

“This is Anthropology 101,” you announce. “If this isn’t your class, you’re free to leave. Or stay if you want. Did you guys know that anxiety disorders affect more than 40 million US adults? Or 1 in 5, I guess, if you want the easier pill to swallow.”

Spencer’s heart jumps into his throat and he wants to raise his hand just to ask you to marry him.

“Anyway,” you sigh, leaning back agains the front desk, “I spit out a lot of facts. Usually something that begins with ‘did you know’ won’t be on the tests. I try to be fair. Which brings us to ice breakers.”

The class collectively groans. You scoff.

“Oh hush, I’m the only one doing the ice breakers so chill out. Jeez.” Spencer waits patiently for your soft breath and then your further announcement of, “I’m officially Dr. Y/N Y/L/N, but that’s like only if my boss comes in or for any emails you send. You can call me Y/N because that’s like normal. I got my doctorate in forensic anthropology a year ago and I’ve been teaching since I started grad school three years ago. You’re in safe hands, I promise.”

He almost kicks himself. You’re the professor. How many times had he been nearly kicked out of a classroom when he was in grad school for saying he was the professor? How many times had he been 18 and trying to get an ounce of respect for himself?

You continue, waving your hands about like you could pull your ideas back down to earth. “Um—a fun fact about me is that I am not welcome in certain parts of the world for ‘violating’ what are called exhumation laws, which is silly in my opinion. I had the legal right to carry that head on the plane and—and I hope you did the reading because there’s a first day pop quiz.”

The entire class lets out one simultaneous frustrated whine that alights something almost wicked in your eyes. You wave over two students from the other end of the front row and they begin passing out test papers as you explain.

“You’ll have a total of fifteen minutes to answer ten questions. We’ll start on my mark. If you have any trouble, give me a shout and I’ll help you out. After this, we’ll go over the syllabus and if you’re lucky, leave early.”

Spencer’s passed a test and immediately notices there’s no place for a name. Just a bolded “Student #21” at the top. Another girl raises the question and you snicker. “I like puzzles,” is the only answer you give before the time starts.

Question four: what are the top three songs you’ve been listening to? Please list.

Question six: why are you taking this class?

A: This is a requirement

B: I heard it was easy

C: I heard the professor was hot

D: I really enjoy anthropology! (liar)

Question nine: Creationism or Evolution?

Question ten: Quickly. If you were going to have dinner, would it be with Bill or Hillary Clinton?

Spencer can’t hide the grin he’s got the entire test. It’s all ridiculous get-to-know-you questions. He can tell what merit you’re getting out of them. There’s one judging study habits, one judging religion, feminism, politics—you’ve created her own little innocuous questionnaire. Spencer was sure the students would just think you were strange, but he saw the cleverness.

Spencer also notices that once you notice him, you don’t stop noticing him. He wonders what you see. You’re so obviously profiling him that it hurts. Do you see the FBI agent? The scholar? The doctor? The drug addict? The man in a boy’s skin?

Your timer beeps and you shout for pencils down. Your makeshift TAs are dispatched to collect the papers and you make the stacks perfect when they make it to the desk. You move to the whiteboard, a set of papers clutched in your hand, and lean against it to address the class.

“Test go alright?” your grin is contagious and Spencer can’t help but mirror it. You glance at Spencer, turns back to the class, and tuck your hair behind your ear. You let the class chatter on for a moment, setting the papers down on the table, and readjust the undone cuffs of your white button down. He never thought that a sweater vest and jeans could look so hot.

You smirk and check your watch one more time. “Let’s talk about tests because I know you all have questions. Everything on the test is either written on the board, on the notes, or in the study guide—if you fail after that, come to office hours. I’ve got Advil for the hangovers.”

Thankfully, Joesph is one of those students who has to speak to every single one of his professors. Spencer waits patiently behind the kid, trying to keep the smell from the lack of deodorant just out of range.

He keeps a hard gaze on all of the students moving in and out of the auditorium. There’s nothing to see, just a lot of students with a lot of normal college apathy. No anger, no serial killer, no one to tackle.

“Sometimes the BO is worse than a corpse’s expulsion of gas,” you joke from your place atop the desk. Spencer looks up, and furrows his eyebrows as his brain processes. Your face falls for a split second, but your curiosity replaces it just as quickly. Joesph’s jaw hits the floor, stumbling for some way to explain himself or maybe some half decent way to insult the pretty professor.

Spencer laughs, probably a little more than he should have, considering he wasn’t supposed to out himself as an FBI agent. You tuck your hair behind your ear again and, for someone younger than 25, you are surprisingly wide eyed with perception and curiosity.

“Do you like puzzles, Doctor—“

“Reid,” he supplies, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. “Spencer.”

You raise an eyebrow, chewing on your bottom lip in contemplation. You turn your focus back to Joesph—a boy worse at talking to those scoring higher than an 8 than Spencer was at the same age. “So, Joesph, why does the good doctor need to be within tackling distance of you?”

Joesph flounders, turns to hide his blush, and yelps like God himself has come down to kick him in the ass. Spencer takes one good look at the 18 year old girl charging towards a pimple of a boy and he launches before he can give much consideration to how much its going to hurt.

But between the noticing and the launching, he makes a list: she’s got so much black eyeliner that Emily’s high school yearbook photos would be jealous; she’s about to inflict about a 9 on the pain scale if she’s left to her plan; there’s obviously no plan other to scratch Joesph’s eyes out; her nails are the size of tiger claws and Spencer desperately wishes he had a better pain tolerance; there’s no weapon.

The tackle takes seconds. It’s a practised movement. Roll. Knee. Handcuffs. The girl is screaming and crying and kicking and biting. His arm’s on fire and she’s struggling enough that it’s taking more than ten seconds to get the handcuffs on.

It’s calculated as he presses his knee harder into her back. She yelps and stills long enough that Spencer closes the handcuffs on her tiny, sliced up wrists. The cutting explains some things…

“Hence the tackling distance,” You sum up, bending down just slightly to look the killer in the face. Your nose wrinkles. “You had very distinct ideas on the cultural value of suicide.”

Spencer shakes his head, hauls the girl to her feet, and beckons for Joesph to follow. The entire world falls out of view as he manhandles the girl into an easy walk. The students step to the side to gawk, and he’s thankful for the wide berth. If someone got hurt, the paperwork alone—

“It was nice meeting you, Dr. Reid!” you call and he glances back over his shoulder. You’re waving around the stack of papers in your arms, utterly ridiculous, terribly adorable. He hopes his smile is more suave than love sick, but the fleeting flirtation is especially over when Miss Unchecked Rage kicks out as Joesph comes into her line of sight.

Spencer throws his whole weight into keeping her down. There’s no room to fall in love after a day. Especially with someone on a college campus halfway across the country from him. There’s even less room to manoeuvre Miss Eyeliner even without Joesph waddling into her eye line every few seconds. Seriously, he thinks, how hard is it to keep behind me?

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #reid #reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction

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funkymbtifiction · 3 years

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Re: the recent request about "merging" and also your post a while back about reminding you to talk about 9s and their interactions with entertainment media (movies, etc.) - whenever you have time I would love to hear your thoughts on this! What exactly does "merging" mean? Is it a lack of emotional boundaries? Or a kind of easy identification with characters? Thank you! I hope you're having a good week so far!

9s merge into whatever is happening around them and get swallowed up by it, whether that is other people with louder personalities or the world in general. They have no real boundary against the outer world, and it consumes them. So naturally, 9s would get ‘swallowed up’ by entertainment and merge into it, partly because the brain doesn’t consciously discern between false and real realities in terms of what we “see” happening. 9s think they lack the inner resources to stop this from happening and put up a boundary, so they are ‘helpless’ against it until they realize that they totally can put up a boundary and block things from becoming ‘part of them’ but until that happens... they get swept along.

I have at least eight separate 9 friends that I interact with on a regular basis, so I have a lot of time to watch and think about them. And one thing in particular struck me as interesting -- I happen to love the remake of 3:10 to Yuma. I think it’s a great western, but two of my 9 friends hated it and love the original... so I decided to watch it for comparison. And midway through the original, it dawned on me that the original is the “9 version” and the remake is the “8 version.” The original has a rather pleasant, mild-mannered, congenial villain who even though he is a murderer is a pleasant villain to be around--and the remake’s villain is someone who stabs people in the face with forks and shoves them off cliffs. The original villain is someone you could pleasantly see spend a few years in prison and you wouldn’t mind them getting out again, and the remake villain would probably cut your throat in your sleep. Not only that, the movies themselves are 9ish vs. 8ish in their overall vibe -- slow moving and dreamy original, intense and visceral remake. So I laughed and thought, “Of course 9s would prefer the original, it’s so much more pleasant!” There’s nothing in it to upset them particularly or make them merge into anything they don’t like.

That caused me to start thinking about the other 9 feelers I know and their movie preferences... and how I was usually the one to engage them in stepping outside their movie comfort zone and consider watching something more intense. Some of them loved it, but others did not; and I noticed they had a lot of favorite shows and whatnot where the conflict was all very muted and/or easily resolved. Several episodes into the West Wing, I commented to one that “nothing much happens.” She practically beamed as she said, “I know! It calms me!!“ Another 9 loved old sitcoms because they’re funny. One 9 had a bad reaction to a movie where her favorite actor played a villain, because it made her feel like she was a bad person too for merging into him (as usual). It’s almost like the barriers come down and they are ‘part of’ the characters or the stories; in some instances, it feels for Fi-doms like things are happening TO THEM due to the self-insertion that happens instinctually with Fi-9.

I’ve also noticed as writers, they avoid spending too much time with villains or maybe do not want to create them in the first place. This puzzled me (tbh, I live for writing villains and anti-heroes) so I asked some questions and got a lot of similar answers -- they didn’t want to “spend that much time” with a villain (same for reading about them, or someone they “dislike”) or merge into them, they did not want to think about unpleasant, mean, cruel things (because it would be them doing it in their imagination), and they want to keep things overall mild-mannered and free of conflict. Internal conflict rather than external villains is a huge theme I’ve noticed, especially with FP + 9s. Jan Karon’s Mitford books are written from a 9 point of view (everything calm, peaceful, even-keeled), and most of the direct conflict comes from inside her 9 Father Tim -- who angsts about making minor changes in his life, procrastinates about asking out the beautiful woman next door for months, and sits calmly throughout an 8′s tantrum without moving or saying anything. Karon “leaves the room” for a lot of unpleasant scenes and conversations, leaving you to imagine what was said or done / the fall-out, I presume because she doesn’t want to “live them out.” I’ve seen other 9s avoid writing too much about a bad guy, decide to take him out of a draft, or struggle with writing something with a truly evil person in it. Another 9 friend wrote an entire novel where the only villain was internal angst.

This seems to be more common in feeler 9s than thinker 9s; an ISTP 9 I know has no trouble reading or writing about bad guys, although she doesn’t like certain kinds of intensity in entertainment and admitted it once took her hours and hours to get through an hour and a half long movie, because it was “too much” (too intense, everybody dies, nothing good or nice happens).

9s want to use movies and books and writing to “relax” and relation for them is of course PLEASANT. They want to be at inner peace and that means shutting out or avoiding anything that threatens to make them uncomfortable.

One 9w8 ISFP doesn’t mind watching unpleasant or dark things, but she gets mad about all of them. Her reaction to the 1979 version of Dracula surprised me until I thought about it from a 9w8 perspective. 8s are afraid of having their autonomy taken away from them -- and this Dracula does that to people. He charms them, bedazzles them, or puts them under an “allure” -- her Fi + 9w8 did not like that and it put her on the defense against him. The idea of being ‘violated’ by having her will removed made her hate him immediately and she took it a step further by also hating his 8w7 girlfriend. She “merged” and made it about her reaction to it, rather than just sitting and watching it platonicly.

9s want to avoid intensity at all costs (that’s how you can tell them apart from 7s) which intrigues me, because my 6w7 loves intensity in fiction -- it’s a way for me to safely experience a bunch of different intense feelings and situations all without leaving the comfort of my own couch. But I even notice my 9 fix merging into movies sometimes and blurring the distance between ‘me’ and ‘them.’ It seems to happen when the narrative is too dark and/or depressing -- for some reason, I merged a lot into Mad Men and it made me depressed, and I had a hard time watching Girl, Interrupted as well. So for me it’s sporadic and seems to be based on whether there is any ‘hope’ at the end of the tunnel or not.

#question #enneagram #enneagram 9

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genaleah · 3 years

Text

ANSWERING WILDCARD QUESTIONS

For the first time in about a year maybe??? Some of these might be even older than that.

Yes, it is Korka! I definitely want her involved, she’s a wonderful character and there is a *lot* of fun paranormal stuff going on in this setting that she can help them research. Also, I’d just love for her and Nelson to become friends!

Thank you! I love him a lot, and it’s fun to picture him interacting with the other guys. They’d all make for some interesting uncle figures, but they might not be that great in terms of role models.

OHOHO. Devilish laugh. That’s a wonderful idea, and a good way to keep him occupied at some point. He’s a great character, but he’s incredibly powerful, and I want these dudes to solve their own problems whenever possible.

A good question! I don’t remember most of my dreams, but there’s usually a consistent look to the vivid ones. Lots of water, mountains, creeks, and high, winding roads. There are also a lot of buildings that are closely integrated with nature, even though I have almost never seen construction like that.

I had not, but now I have! Here’s a trailer, for anyone else that missed it:

https://youtu.be/33HXHaaagsw

I really like these new models! I’m looking forward to watching a playthrough when that’s available. Just like with Rhombus of Ruin, I don’t think I’ll be able to play this one myself.

DOUBLE FINE, I WISH TO SPEAK WITH YOU- no, I’m kidding! I think great minds think alike. But I’m really excited to learn more about that character and possibly involve them in this whole au eventually.

I’ve actually tried to avoid almost any info about Psychonauts 2 so I can go in mostly-blind, and a lot of the characters are vague to me. It’s fun to look forward to, but it’s also a little harrowing because I don’t know how to anticipate for it!

N...NO..... I NEED TO... Honestly those are old enough that it might be a good idea for me to re-make them, as well as the playing cards I made for the mega playlist cover. I think it’d be nice to remake them as vectors... that might make for a nice art stream sometime. I’ll mention publicly if I start doing that, and sharing any of these conceptual Wildcards arts when they’re done.

And if you’re just curious about what the tarot cards for the other characters are going to be, it’s this:

Eddie: Judgement, The Magician, The Emperor

Manny: Death, Justice, The World

Sam: The Chariot, The Tower, Strength

Max: The Devil, Wheel of Fortune, Joker

Although! I may actually give the Moon card to Max instead of the Devil, and replace the missing card from Nelson’s selection with the High Priestess? 🤔 I’ll decide when I get to it.

Could be! I’ve flip-flopped occasionally on if I want the split-a-cab gang to participate much in the story. I think they deserve a break, and splitting an apartment in New York seems like a good situation for the four of them.

Oh boy, that must be so disorienting for him. The Psychonauts deal with a lot of hippy-dippy weirdness in a seemingly organized way, but it seems like they’re not as paranoid about safety as a real federal organization would be. Not necessarily a good thing, considering one of their camp counselors went AWOL one day, and the head of the Psychonauts got kidnapped the next. They kinda need to get their act together.

Fun fact, in one of the earlier drafts of Chapter 3 I was actually going to make Nelson get scanned by the equivalent of a metal-detector for malevolent thoughts at the door and get really spooked by it, but I decided against it.

YEAH IT’S ON THE LIST

Honestly, a big bulk of the plot in this just regards characters having to face their mental health struggles... via facing it as literal internal demons, unstable powers, etc. It’s going to take a little while for any of Eddie’s teammates to realize how MUCH he has going on under the surface because he does a pretty good job of hiding it. “Needing to help others above ever helping themselves” is a hard issue to notice if you’re not looking for it. But it’s a guarantee that once they find out he needs help, they’ll give it; whether that’s making sure he’s not working himself too hard, or fighting off demonic cultists. Care comes in many forms.

SHE NEEDS TO REST.... POOR SYBIL (on the upside, they don’t TECHNICALLY work there, so she might be fine most of the time.)

Strong Bad isn’t a Psychonaut! He’s just a vlogger and a petty (psychic) criminal. It’s honestly not very different from canon.

Free Country, USA is a smalltown hotbed of psychic activity. Nearly everyone there has some mild capacity for supernatural powers, but nobody really notices or cares. Strong Bad just pops the tops off of cold ones and.... sometimes alters reality, a tiny bit. But mostly just in regards to media. The cartoons, comics, etc, that he invents and talks about have a tendency to suddenly voip into existence and nobody knows how. I swear, there’s actually a line of him saying something to this effect, but I can’t find it anywhere. Don’t worry about it! Nobody in town is ever going to do anything truly nefarious with their powers, so it’s not a high priority on the Psychonauts’ radar, just a weird footnote.

The only reason Homestar is an actual agent is because he seems like exactly the kind of guy to sign up for a job like that on accident and then stick with it. And he’s a talented telekinetic! None of his other friends know about his job or notice his absences.

And just for fun, here’s some weird instances of psychic overpowering that happened in the cartoon:

---

(Poor Strong Sad)

I’ve actually answered this one before! BAM Pretty sure all of it is still accurate.

Nelson: He sees floating sheets of paper containing notes, questions, etc. Anything that he wants to know more about regarding that person. The notes are subject to edits, cross-outs, ripped pages, etc.

Guybrush: He sees the item that the person is carrying that he wants most. As he gets to know people better, he sees them for their useful skills first.

Manny: His view of most living people is not very kind...

The people he’s closest to will eventually look a lot less garish. More like a flattering, camera-ready versions of themselves.

Eddie: Sickass sketch drawings that look like they belong in the margins of a composition book. The illustrations improve as he gets a better picture of where they’d fit in the internal lore of his mental world.

Sam: A lot like Nelson; Sam pictures case files, though his are a bit more in-depth.

Max: Max’s visions of people are highly personal and uncomfortable for those who witness them. He sees Nelson as a puzzle with a piece missing. Guybrush is a ripped up voodoo doll. Manny is a forgotten ofrenda. Eddie is a powder keg with a long, lit fuse. Sam is Sam, but he’s the wrong one.

I also got two questions that were pretty big subjects, or that I didn’t want to repeat, so I’m gonna cover them pretty broadly:

REGARDING [X] CHARACTER OR SERIES INCLUDED IN THE AU

Sure, I support it! I’ve gotten this question a few times in regards to things that I haven’t had time to delve into yet, or I’m not interested in, so I’m not going to include it into the AU myself. But if you want to explore an idea like that, feel free! This AU is pretty dang collaborative.

My main focus is just on the main 6 properties: Psychonauts, Puzzle Agent, Monkey Island, Grim Fandango, Brutal Legend, and Sam & Max.

But my general rule of thumb for “characters that exist somewhere within the background of this story” are any other properties owned by Telltale, Lucasarts, or Double Fine. And considering all of the licensed games that Telltale was getting into before it kicked the bucket, that includes some really weird characters, even up to the Venture Bros. I loved that series, but I’m not really interested in doing anything with them for this story! Partly for my sanity, the canon I’ve picked are already a lot of content to play with.

ASSORTED QUESTIONS ABOUT THE WILDCARD AU DISCORD

There’s no particular criteria needed to join the discord, and it’s not strictly on a need-to-know basis! Because it’s been a long while since anyone has joined, I've been hesitant about adding new people in... But I‘ve decided to try sending invitations again! Everyone who had asked about it in the past will be getting a ping by me in about a day or so, since I want to double-check if you’re still interested. If you’ve been nervous to ask you can reply to this post or message me privately.

Some things to keep in mind before asking or accepting the invite:

If you’re not a friend or a follower I recognize, I will likely double-check your tumblr along with some other current members before sending the invite.

Here’s the Rules page, so you know what to expect before you join:

Be Mindful - Respect other people's boundaries, don't do or say things that would cross the line. If your behavior makes other people feel uncomfortable or unsafe, I will remove you from the chat. In most cases I will try to resolve things with you and offer a chance to do better, but that will depend on the severity of the situation. And if you have any concerns regarding another member of the chat, you can contact me privately.

Health Boundaries - While discussions of mental health do occasionally pop up, do not rely on the chat for help. None of us are equipped to handle serious mental health concerns, and it will only cause distress for everyone. Please seek real help if it is needed! If you rely on people beyond the point that they have asked you to stop, I will remove you from the chat.

NSFW - Generally speaking, try to keep NSFW talk to a minimum. Swearing and humor is fine, but don't get too explicit please! Discussions should usually keep to a PG-13 / occasional R, but no NC-17.

Spoilers & Censorship - Please use the spoiler function to hide story spoilers, as well as discussions and graphic depictions of gore/excessive blood/body horror/severe psychological horror. Include a content warning so that people know what they could potentially be seeing when they click on the censored content. If the spoilered content is the subject of a back-and-forth discussion, please use another warning when you are switching to a different spoilered topic. (Note that these rules were added to the chat later, so be careful when using the search function or back reading.)

The canon series involved with the Wildcard AU are Psychonauts, Puzzle Agent, Monkey Island, Grim Fandango, Brutal Legend, and Sam & Max. Please be mindful of story spoilers!

Channel Organization - Also be mindful of which channel you're in and move a discussion over if need be! That way they don't get too clogged with unrelated info.

Creative Criticism - When it comes to writing, art, or character creation; try to be open to suggestions from others! Nearly all of the creative work in the chat is collaborative, so input from others is important! Creative criticism is not the same as judgement, and is not a personal attack.

Have fun! - Discussions move quickly in this chat! Don't feel bad if you ever need to step back, whether it's because of the speed or a disinterest in whatever current topic we're focusing on. If you ever want to come back, we're happy to have you and can give quick explanations if you feel out of the loop! :thumbsup:

We’re a group of approx. a half dozen to a dozen people, either posting very very quickly in a span of a few hours or barely anything for a few days. We’ve been in an activity uptick lately and there’s about a year and half of back content, too. If it’s hard to keep up on, not that interesting to read through, or you just have a hard time gelling with the group that's already there, there’s no shame in just lurking or dipping out if you need to.

We also talk a lot about Psychonauts OCs, so anticipate that.

#wildcard au #wildcard hcs

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angelinasway · 3 years

Text

Regaining Hope Chapter Seven

Pairing: Clark Kent/Buffy Summers Warnings/Triggers:Torture, Violence, Mention's of Major Character Death, Bad Language, Sexual Tension, Eventual Smut, Mentions of Sexual Assault Summary: Takes place during Man of Steel. When Buffy discovers the U.S Military trying to keep quiet about an object buried in a twenty thousand year old glacier, she immediately thinks the worst. However, when a surprise visit to the Canadian Arctic puts her in the path of a mysterious stranger her whole world is changed forever.

Previous Chapters: [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five] [Chapter Six]

[TTH] [AO3] [FFN]

Authors Notes: Thank you all for your amazing and wonderful reviews. I do need to address something though, when it comes to reviews, I honestly don't mind anyone critiquing me when comes to grammar, characterization, or even if its kind of a heavy subject and someone feels like they need to debate me on it. That is absolutely fine, for instance I knew I would get a few blocks and even someone asking about the religious views of this story. I do not mind that. I do however mind, if you think I'm a decent writer, but then proceed to belittle the content of my story. I'm going to try to say this as absolutely nicely as I can...If you don't like the content of this story, if the talk of soulmates, soulbounds, or claiming is not for you, if the romance of this story is not for you, kindly back out of this story now and please just don't leave a review. I will say that anyone who's been in the BTVS fandom long enough already knows what a Claim is pretty much a fanon canon, since its been around our fanfiction community since like 2002 at least. Wesley mentioned Angel and Buffy being soulmates in season one of ATS, so that is actually canon. I say this in the nicest way possible, because sometimes I think reviewers who don't write, do not realize how much a review about content can actually screw with our muse and inspiration and I believe there will be at least a handful of people that do write who will agree with me. That being said, this chapter took as long as it did for me to write because of a bad review, so I'm sorry for the long winded exposition everyone. I know this chapter is a bit choppy and if it wasn't for my beautiful Beta Hipkarma, I'm pretty sure it would have been illegible. This chapter deals with some pretty heavy subjects and I added a warning tag just in case. I do not expect anyone to feel the way Buffy does on this subject, and if you feel the need I will gladly talk to you through pm about it. Thank you guys so much again, and please review, unless you know its an above subject and you hate it. Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter Seven

The plane arrived right on time as Clark anxiously awaited Buffy’s arrival outside the terminal. He’d felt this way since he awoke this morning and he didn’t know why. It was almost like that feeling you get when you know you’ve forgotten something.

He’d dreamt of her last night and it was so vivid and real that when he opened his eyes, he expected her to be there. The feeling had washed over him after that, like a sudden cold draft in a stifling room. He’d also been as hard as nails and had to relieve himself twice in the shower. His dream Buffy whispering filthy words into his ear as he imagined pinning her to the shower wall and driving into her hard and fast. It only seemed to make the feeling worse though. There was a pounding, an almost driving force that told him he needed to see her and that coupled with the lust, he couldn’t seem to shake was a dangerous combination that he did not enjoy feeling at all.

It was so strange, yesterday he’d been fine, more than fine really. He’d walked into his house humming and smiling. His mom had noticed his exuberant mood in an instant and raised her eyebrows in surprise, a curious yet knowing quirk in her lips. She had immediately started bombarding him with questions about his evening and Clark had been unable to deny her even a single detail. Well, there were definitely a few things he left out, but he told her everything from meeting Buffy at the school to him having to sing at Lorne’s. This was a first for both of them, Clark making friends and being able to tell his mom all about it. She listened intently, a happy smile on her lips as if this was something she had always wanted for her son. The ability to just be treated normally by people, even if they knew what he was. The more he spoke about how great Buffy was the more his mom’s knowing smile grew. He told her he promised Buffy that he would pick her up at the airport, and his mom had agreed to let him use the truck as long as he promised to take her to work before he left. She had a full shift at the diner tomorrow, so he was pretty sure he could make it back in time to pick her up and take her home.

Later that night, after getting off the phone with Buffy so she could go patrol, Clark had spent the evening on the internet looking up several theories and ideas on the concept of soulmates. All in all, it was pretty simple stuff, a soulmate could be a romantic or platonic relationship with a mirroring of the souls. Where, both their values and ideals deemed them a perfect match. He had even gone to a few sites on the mystical aspects of soulmates that seemed to be pretty legit, and they believed that when it came to soulmates not only were the souls similar, but both souls usually challenge each other to perceive themselves and the world differently. In essence, your soulmate could help you transcend into a higher state of consciousness. All of that seemed to match very much with what he had been feeling since the moment he met her. None of that however, explained how he felt now.

Buffy had been right the other day when she said it wasn’t just the soulmates thing. He was almost positive the out-of-control lust and the uncontrollable desire to be near her had very little to do with the fact that they were soulmates and everything to do with the prophecy. Something wanted them to consummate their relationship, and he was pretty sure that something had a reason. He wondered if he was in danger of meeting the other woman and somehow changing his mind about her. He definitely couldn’t imagine ever doing that though, not when he felt what he felt, not when she had consumed his thoughts so thoroughly since the day they met.

He felt physically ill at the idea of ever having to fight Buffy as an enemy, Lorne’s words about killing her making him nauseous and dizzy. The demon said it most likely wouldn’t happen now, but God, what if it did? What if he wasn’t capable of fighting off this mystery enemy of the future. He shuddered at the thought, his anxiety level spiking in worry. He had to get himself under control.

As the passengers began to exit the terminal Clark looked on, his eyes searching for golden hair and green eyes. When he finally spotted her the tension that had been growing in his limbs immediately eased. It happened so fast he almost felt boneless by the sudden release. Her eyes met his and a similar look of relief washed over her face, but there was something else there. She was scared, which just made the tension begin to build again. Clark frowned in confusion, but didn’t deny her as she ran to him wrapping her arms around his waist tightly as she laid her head on his chest.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

She shook her head and closed her eyes. “There’s something wrong,” She whispered. “I shouldn’t be feeling this–”

“I know,” he whispered. “I feel it too.” Clark shuddered, so it wasn’t only him who was feeling it. “I think it’s time we learn more about this prophecy.”

He felt her nod. “I’ll call Wes once we get to the safe house.”

****<S>**<S>****

The drive there had been mostly quiet. The only real sound was Buffy’s smartphone giving directions to their destination. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from reaching out and entwining their fingers however, and she smiled at him gratefully before closing her eyes and sighing. They finally arrived at what looked to be an unassuming house just outside of town that rested on a few acres of property. Buffy untangled their fingers and reached into her carryon bag that was between them and pulled out a large multicolored crystal.

“Here,” she said quietly. “Hold this.”

Clark, frowned but did as she asked. Watching her as she muttered the word, “Agnoscis.” The stone suddenly warming in his palm as he caught the house in front of him shimmer for a moment out of the corner of his eye.

“Latin?” He guessed.

Buffy nodded. “It means recognize. It’s so you can get through the wards.” She bit her lip, “We can also bring your mom here, in case you ever need to hide her you’ll have a place to take her that’s pretty impenetrable.”

Clark nodded gratefully, his eyes studying the sad expression on her face. He reached out and gently brushing the back of his knuckles down her cheek. Her whole body shivered at the contact, a small gasp escaping her lips.

“Are you…are you okay,” He asked.

She shook her head, “I think it’s affecting me more than you.”

Clark was quiet for a moment, and then he shook his head. “It’s not, I think I’m just a lot better at controlling my impulses.”

Buffy chuckled humorlessly, “Maybe, that’s something you can teach me sometime.” She met his eyes and Clark lost his breath at the want he saw shining there.

God, she was beautiful like that. Her eyes almost swirling with color and heat. His temperature immediately skyrocketed, his pants becoming tight. He wanted to ask her if there was anything he could do, but didn’t dare for fear of what her answer might be. She had already told him she wasn’t ready, and if he was being honest with himself, neither was he.

He swallowed, his heart beating in his chest. “Come on,” he whispered, opening his door and stepping out. “Let’s go make that phone call.”

He walked around her side of the truck as she fumbled with her seatbelt, opening the passenger door for her and holding out his hand. She took it gratefully as she slid out of the passenger’s side, hoisting her bag over her shoulder after her feet hit the pavement. Clark reached in the truck bed and grabbed the only other bag she’d brought with her. He wondered where her weapons bag was, but remembered she’d just went through an airport and realized she probably couldn’t bring them with her.

As if she was reading his mind, she said. “Willow was here last night; I had her ward the training equipment so that we can use it without destroying it.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye as they walked up the driveway. Her hand fumbling with her keys as they made their way to the door. “I also had her fill the fridge and bring my weapons bag over.”

He didn’t say anything as he watched her slide the key in the lock and open the door. He followed her through a spacious living room that was tastefully decorated, through another door and into a modern kitchen. She slid her bag off, dropping it unceremoniously on the floor. She pulled out her phone next, scrolling through her contacts and hitting send before putting it on speaker. She set the phone on the island between them and walked to the fridge, leaning her back against it as she closed her eyes.

Clark wanted to go over and comfort her, but something in his gut told him that would be a very bad idea. She was putting distance between them for a reason and he completely respected that. Her sudden change however, worried him and he was beginning to think maybe she really was suffering more than him.

"Buffy?" A cultured British male voice answered after the first few rings.

"Yeah, it’s me." She said quietly.

"Is everything alright?" He asked, his tone worried.

"No, not really." She answered. "I think it’s time you told us about this prophecy."

"Buffy, I've already explained–"

“No,” She cut him off. “No Wes, you don’t get to do this. Not now. Something is wrong with me, I feel…” Her face went red, as she looked at Clark, “I feel like I’m on fire, I…” Her eyes moved to her phone and glared, a growl tearing from her throat in frustration. Her teeth clenched as she ground out. “I feel incredibly sexually frustrated, okay? Like a cat in fucking heat.” Her face went scarlet and she avoided looking directly at Clark. “Want to explain?”

There was a sudden choking sound on the other line, as a coughing fit proceeded it. “Good Lord, it’s happening already?”

The outrage in Buffy’s eyes, did something to Clark in that moment and he stepped forward his anger simmering under the surface. “What’s happening?” He demanded.

“Mr. Kent,” Wesley said in surprise, “I didn’t…I didn’t realize you were on the line as well.” Clark heard the British man sigh, “I’m sorry we were finally introduced this way, I had hoped to meet you in person. I’m sure you already know that I am Wesley Wyndam-Pryce and that I am head of the Watchers Council.” There was a pause, before he continued. “I do apologize for not telling you both sooner, but I had hoped we would have a few more days before the bond started to require a need to be fulfilled.”

“Bond…what?” Buffy’s face scrunched up in confusion.

“I don’t really understand it myself,” Wesley admitted. “But it’s written that once the Immortal Slayer and, I believe the correct term is Star God meet, a…I think the term is soulbond will start to form and a compulsion to fulfill it will start to take hold. Now, both Willow and I think we’ve found a way to counteract the compulsion, but I didn’t expect it would start to take hold so quickly. I do apologize Buffy; I had planned to have Willow bring me there tomorrow so I could explain.”

“What’s a soulbond, exactly?” Clark asked, “And how is it any different than being soulmates?”

“I honestly don’t know, there are very few references to what it is exactly. I imagine that much like soulmates there must be a similarity or mirroring of souls if you will, but unlike soulmates there is a need…a compulsion for a confluence between the souls. As far as I can tell, once that happens it would act very similarly to a claim.”

Buffy gasped and looked at Clark, her eyes wide and disbelieving. Clark swallowed, “What’s a claim?”

“It’s a…a type of marriage between demons, vampires in particular.” Buffy shifted uncomfortably and looked down. “It’s barely ever used now because its unbreakable, not even magic can undo it. It’s ancient and powerful and requires total trust and consent between both parties.” She met his eyes then, an apology shining through but Clark didn’t feel like he needed one, in fact he just felt very confused.

“That doesn’t make any sense, not after what Lorne told me.” Clark said with a frown. “If this bond is as powerful as you say then…” It was his turn to look at Buffy apologetically, “Then even if I met this other person first, wouldn’t the bond take hold when I met Buffy regardless?”

“I don’t quite understand what you’re referring to.” Wesley said in confusion.

Clark looked up at Buffy and saw suspicion in her eyes. “Lorne didn’t tell you?”

“Lorne doesn’t give me the details of readings Mr. Kent; he treats all his clients very much like a therapist treats a patient.” Wesley said, adding. “The only thing he told me was that you were the one the prophecy spoke of and that you were on the right path in regards to your destiny. What exactly did he tell you?”

Clark shifted uncomfortably, feeling Buffy’s eyes on him but unable to meet hers. “He said I had two very different futures, that Buffy was my soulmate but I have another as well and in this other future this woman dies and something makes me go bad.” He finally got the courage and looked at Buffy, her eyes were wide and burning with hurt and maybe a bit of jealousy. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, thinking he had ruined everything.

Buffy shook her head and swallowed, “Did he… did he say what would happen if you met her now?”

Clark nodded, "He said I'm a one-woman man, that it wouldn't matter."

She seemed to relax a bit at his words, her eyes softening and darting back to her phone as Wesley began speaking, "Then you are very correct Mr. Kent, if you met Buffy in this other future, it should have activated the soulbond whether you had feelings for this other woman or not. A soulmate is not always a love interest after all." He paused for a moment, "There are only two things that could have stopped it. One would be that you don't meet Buffy until this mystery foe had your mind or if you did meet her, she was already claimed."

Buffy gasped, and looked at Clark guiltily, “I almost asked him to claim me.”

A potent wave of jealousy and possession swept through him at her words. If she was referring to Angel, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to control himself much longer. Not when the very idea of her being tied like that with someone else made his blood boil.

"What?" Wesley said, shocked.

"Spike, Wes. Not Angel." She clarified. "It was...it was right after we found Alicia. I knew it could make us stronger and I... I thought it might give us an advantage against Angelus. I never had the courage to ask him though."

“And thank every deity in the universe for that!” Wesley said sharply, “I don’t think you quite understand the repercussions that could have had on not just Clark’s future but your own.” There was a long silence, the only sound was heavy breathing before a much calmer Wesley finally said, “That kind of bond Buffy…think about what you did to Angelus and multiply it by a million. I was there that day you came through the portal after Spike died. You were almost feral; your Slayer was in complete control and she wanted to kill Willow for making her immortal. There was a part of her that already thought of Spike as her mate, and she wanted blood from whoever had wronged her. If you had been claimed and Spike died…” They heard him take a shuddering breath, “You would have burnt the world and then marched into Hell without a second thought in search of him. There would have been no stopping you.”

Clark watched Buffy shiver at Wes’s words, her eyes getting lost and faraway. His possessiveness grew at her words, but a small part of him couldn’t help but be curious as to what happened between the two of them and why she so rarely spoke about him. The book had only said that the vampire had killed two Slayers, and had tried to kill Buffy on numerous occasions. He had been hampered by some form of neurotechnology by the US Government and began working with her reluctantly. Somewhere along the way he had fallen for Buffy and regained his soul, sacrificing himself for the world once, where he was resurrected by a mystical amulet he was wearing when he died. The author of the book believed he’d been brought back by mistake and the amulet was meant to be worn by Angel, but there was also some speculation that Spike may have been the actual bearer of the Shanshu prophecy. The author however, was highly skeptical about this because Spike didn’t do what he did out of heroics, even with a soul he relished in the violence of his nature. The author believed that becoming mortal would feel more like a punishment than a reward for the vampire. It spoke some about his time at Wolfram and Hart, about his part in the fight against Angelus, and how he died saving Buffy a second time.

“I don’t…I don’t remember any of that.” She said quietly, wrapping her arms around herself. “Even what I did to Angelus, I only remember parts of it. I felt like I was outside my body looking at someone who wasn’t actually me, except I could feel what I was doing.” She shivered, and it took every bit of self-control he had not to go to her, especially when her voice cracked. “When I came to, I-I was covered in blood and…God, Wes there was nothing left but a torso and head. I…” She choked. “I even took his face.”

When a single tear tracked itself down her cheek, Clark couldn’t take it anymore and he rounded the island and pulled her into his arms, hoping she was too upset to be affected by the embrace, but not really caring if she was, not when he could feel her trembling in his arms. He understood now why she’d been so adamant the other day about her being wrong in the way she killed Angelus and about Slayers not actually being creatures of light but warriors for the light. He could never picture her being capable of such carnage even after hearing it from her own mouth. Then again, he could never picture himself killing her either or anyone else for that matter, not on purpose at least.

They heard a muffled sniffle over the line, before a choked sounding Wesley finally said, “Oh, Buffy, I never…I never knew it was that bad. We found the warehouse and the blood, so I did realize…but…not to what extent, and then you just disappeared and Willow couldn’t ever get a read on you. It was like you were blocking her somehow. Why didn’t you ever tell me any of this?”

Clark felt her shake her head, “I was ashamed.” She answered honestly. “Lorne’s the only one who knows everything, even the stuff I can’t remember.”

“Do you remember anything that happened before you captured Angelus?” Wesley asked cautiously. “I’ve always wondered how you did it, but was always too afraid to ask after the way we…the way we found you.”

Buffy sighed against Clark’s chest, her shivering increasing. “I think I let myself be caught,” she said quietly. “The only thing I really remember is being bound magically by Amy and then Warren tearing open my shirt.” Clark stiffened at her words, his whole body going rigid. She squeezed her eyes shut, her grip on him tightening. “Angelus threw him out of the way, and said everyone would have a turn, but he got to have me first.” Clark’s anger flared at her words, his fist tightening behind her back, he had to squeeze his eyes shut at the sudden heat he felt building. “I-I don’t know how, but somehow I was able to break through the magic that was binding me. Everything’s kind of a blur after that, but I think…” She frowned, her forehead crinkling in confusion. “I think none of the spells were working on me. I think…I think I killed everyone.”

Clark found himself sighing in relief at her words. God, just the image of someone trying to do that to her made him see red. Literally, in fact. He really hoped that something like that has never happened before, because he could already tell he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from tearing whomever did it to shreds. As horrendous of a way she killed Angelus, he couldn’t judge her for how she did it, not after hearing that. God, if she hadn’t been able to break the magic… He felt himself shudder.

Wesley was quiet for a long time, “I’ve always known that Willow brought you back stronger, but being able to break a binding spell with sheer force of will is extraordinary Buffy. We should have started testing this advantage years ago.”

“I try not to think about that day, Wes.” She huffed. “I don’t think the magic going wonky even occurred to me until this moment.” She was quiet for a few moments, before she finally said, "So what happens if I bond with Clark and I lose him too?"

Wesley sighed, "Well, I'm hoping since it’s your souls that are bonding and not your Slayer, that it will make quite a difference."

"You're hoping? That’s really not a guarantee, Wes." She said in annoyance, stepping out of Clark's embrace and leaning on the island. "And what’s to stop my Slayer from trying to initiate a claim? What if this soulbond thing isn't good enough for her? Lorne already said she's been looking for her mate since I was called. He said that's why I was so drawn to both Spike and Angel." She shook her head, "Well, according to this prophecy he's my mate, right? Or the closest she'll ever get to one. So, what's to stop her from doing what she's been wanting to do for years? I mean I looked up claiming in high school, Wes. As soon as I read the word, I was fascinated."

Clark stepped around the table so he could look at her. She seemed worried and deep in thought before her eyes met his and they softened immediately, a small smile forming on her lips as she studied him.

Then they heard Wesley sigh, "I honestly don't know. We've still not even translated the whole thing and we've been working on it for over a year."

Clark watched Buffy frown in confusion. "Is there a reason you haven't gotten Dawn in on this?"

"I'll give you three guesses as to why." He said sarcastically.

Buffy snorted, saying mockingly, "Aww Wes, you're not afraid of my baby sister, are you?"

There was silence on the other end of the line and then a grumbled, "I would rather face all the demons in hell than deal with Dawn on a tirade about you."

She chuckled and shook her head. "Well tough, because I want her in on this."

"But Buffy–” He started to whine.

“No Wes,” she said cutting him off. “I love both you and Willow, you know that. But, if there’s anyone in this world who will have our best interests at heart and give it to us straight, it’s her. I want her in on this.”

“Fine,” He groaned.

Then a smile broke across her lips and an evil look of mischief Clark was slowly becoming familiar with sparked in her eyes. “Plus, she already knows I spent time with Clark the other day and she knows he’s something other.”

“How on Earth did she find out about that?” Wesley said in surprise.

Clark smirked as Buffy’s smile grew. “I may have pissed Faith off by waking her and Gunn up with a cold shower. She ratted us out.”

There was silence on the other line, but she swore she could hear him shaking his head. “Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not.” She said chuckling and then sighed. “I’m feeling a little better now, I mean as far as the compulsion stuff goes.”

“Hmm,” Wesley hummed. “Perhaps it gets worse when you’re apart. I knew that you would feel a need to be around each other, but perhaps being away from one another has an even greater affect than I imagined. How about you Mr. Kent, how do you feel?”

Clark blinked in surprise. Now that Buffy mentioned it, he was feeling less uncomfortable than he had all morning. “Better, actually. It’s still there, but not as potent.”

“Then perhaps the theory is a sound one,” Wesley said. “However, to be on the safe side I’ll have Willow drop off the pendants she’s making this evening. They should be able to subdue most of the compulsion until you both feel ready to move forward with the bond. I would also recommend spending as little time apart as possible. I believe that the pendants are powerful enough to ward off the worst of it, however if this bond is as powerful as I think it is you very well might override the magics if the compulsion becomes too powerful.” He sighed, “I suggest staying there with Buffy for the time being Mr. Kent.”

Clark shook his head “That not going to work Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. I need to help out on the farm. While I was away my mom got behind on the payments and if we don’t bring in a decent crop this year my mom could lose it.” He looked at Buffy nervously. “You could stay with us though; we have a guest bedroom.”

Buffy nodded, “Yeah, yeah, that might be a good idea. I can help you with anything you need, and we can start your training in the afternoons.”

Wesley cleared his throat, getting both their attention. “I think you’re forgetting the contract, Buffy. He may very well not need to worry about that any longer.”

Buffy’s eyes widened, “Oh, yeah. I almost forgot. I’ll be right back.”

Clark watched her run out of the room as Wesley said, “Are you still there Mr. Kent?”

Clark looked at the phone, “Yes.”

“Good, I thought I’d go over the numbers for you and see if they’re satisfactory.” Wesley said. “I had thought of paying you as we would a hired mercenary or demon hunter, however since your role in the future will be pivotal to keeping this world intact, I decided you deserved what we would pay any Slayer, it’s only fair after all.”

“What aren’t you telling us about this prophecy?” Clark said, Wesley’s words telling him the man knew more than was saying.

He heard the man sigh, “I would prefer not to say at this moment. I already know how Buffy will feel about it, and I believe you both have enough on your plate with the bonding. I’ll tell you both, but she’s not ready to hear it yet.”

Clark frowned, “I don’t think you give her enough credit.”

“You may be correct,” Wesley conceded, “But I know she will not be happy about this, even if it’s a good thing. I, at the very least need to prepare myself for Dawn finding out, and she may very well tell Buffy even if I ask her not too. I do not believe either of you have long to wait.”

“Alright,” Clark said, “I’m going to hold you to that though.”

“Now,” Wesley said, just as Buffy walked back in the room. “How does two hundred-thousand a year sound?

Clark blinked in surprise, the blood rushing to his head. He couldn’t have possibly heard that right, could he? “I’m sorry did you…did you just say two hundred-thousand?”

“Clark are you okay?” Buffy asked, running to his side. “You look a little pale.”

He shook his head, “It’s…that’s too much.”

“No,” Buffy disagreed, shaking her head. “It really isn’t. Entering this world Clark… you’ll be putting not only your home but your mom at risk and no amount of money will ever make up for that.” She bit her lip and nodded, “Trust me on this, most demons aren’t stupid enough to mess with the good guy’s families, but the real big-bads, the uber-powerful demons, who’s only goal is destruction and world domination? Those demons won’t care, they’ll do everything in their power to try and hurt you, even if that means trying to break you.” She sighed, “It’s why I want your mom to have access to this place too. It will make me feel better knowing you can get her to safety if you needed to.”

Clark sighed, reaching out and sliding the small stack of paper out of her hand. “And what happens if I sign these and change my mind?”

Wesley spoke up, “You are not beholden to anything Mr. Kent, if you sign those and decide that helping the Watchers Council is not in your best interest, it would simply be like you quitting a job. You wouldn’t be paid anymore of course, but you would not be obligated to continue helping us either. However, with the bond beginning to form I’m not sure how you would be able to distance yourself from the Council or Buffy, but if you made that decision no one would stand in your way.”

Clark pulled out a chair and sat down, his eyes quickly reading it through. It was pretty standard stuff, nothing in it that had some sort of hidden agenda. He flipped the page and read through the rest before getting to the signature line.

“Do you have a pen?” He asked, looking at Buffy.

She went to a small drawer and pulled it open, grabbing one from inside and handing it over. Clark took the pen signing his name on the dotted line. “Okay Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, I signed it.”

“Very good.” Wesley said, “Now, I don’t suppose you’re up for giving him a tour of the underground facilities?”

“Of course.” Buffy said.

“Very well,” he said. “I’ll call you before Willow leaves, in the meantime try and keep your wits about you.”

The line disconnected and Clark raised his eyebrows in curiosity. “Underground facility?”

****<S>**<S>****

Buffy slid open the hidden panel in the wall of the master bedroom. She entered a number into the keypad and then looked up into a camera where it scanned her face, and slid her keycard into the slot.

The computer’s AI came online and a female voice said, "Good afternoon Miss Summers, what can I do for you this afternoon?"

"I need to give a new recruit security clearance."

"Name?" The computer asked, as Buffy removed her keycard and slid in the blank one Willow had left for them.

Buffy nodded at Clark and stepped away from the panel so he could stand in front of it.

"Clark Joseph Kent," he answered, stepping into the space Buffy had just vacated.

"Facial recognition." The computer said, and Buffy pointed up to the camera, indicating he needed to look into it.

Once that was done the computer said, "Four-digit pin."

Buffy looked at Clark and nodded, "Now choose four numbers you'll remember easily."

She watched as he thought about it a second before he put in his code. Once that was finished the computer said, "Thank you Mr. Kent, you now have full access to the Watcher Archives as well as all facilities. Ms. Summers would you like access into the rest of the building?"

"Yes," Buffy answered before the hidden wall shifted, sliding away and revealing the steel doors of an elevator that would take them down into the heart of the house. The doors slid open and Buffy removed the new keycard handing it to Clark as they stepped into the elevator, Buffy pressing the simple down-arrow button.

“We had these built in all the safehouses after what happened with Angelus.” Buffy said as way of explanation. “Or I should say, Wes and Willow did. I wasn’t really around for that.”

It didn’t take long for the elevator to reach its destination and the doors slid open. She could feel Clark’s eyes on her as she stepped out of the elevator and into the large steel control room. There were several monitors on the walls with keyboards on a stainless steel counter top that bolted into the walls along half the room.

“This is the control room.” Buffy said, “For safety reasons, if we’re ever in any code-red type situation, this room is always occupied in case someone manages to get past the outer wards. We can house up to thirty bodies here at a time and since most of us are a little something-other, we can at least hold off whoever’s broken in to give the rest of us a fighting chance to escape by sounding the alarm.”

She knew she was rambling, but she couldn’t look at him right then. It was just occurring to her all that she admitted to Wesley and what she’d said in front of Clark. He was going to ask about Spike, she could almost feel it. Of all the things Wesley could have brought up, it had to be claiming. She felt Clark move closer, and wasn’t surprised when she felt him place his hand on her shoulder as she rambled on about where the exits were located.

“Buffy?” He whispered.

She sighed and looked down, “Yeah?”

“Why…why don’t you ever talk about him?” Clark asked.

Her shoulders slumped at his words, but she still couldn’t bring herself to turn around and look at him. “It’s…it’s complicated.”

“Well then, I think you should try to uncomplicate it for me, because this thing sounds pretty permanent between us and I need to know if I’m going to be living in another man’s shadow.” He said honestly.

She spun around, her eyes meeting his in surprise. “God, no. It’s not like that at all. We were…” She sighed. “Maybe we should go into another room that’s more comfortable. This is a long story.”

Clark nodded at her and she turned, leading him through the heavy metal door to their left and down a hallway the AI illuminating the rooms as it monitored their approach. Buffy led him into a large rec room, a massive tv mounted to one wall with a standard sized couch in front. There was a card table in a corner and a pool table in another. A few pinball machines lined one wall of the room and a dartboard hung near a foosball table. She led him over to the couch, gesturing for him to sit before she wrapped her arms around herself protectively. She waited for him to sit down first, and sat at the other end biting her lip in thought, staring straight ahead into the black void of the blank tv screen, not sure exactly where to start. She figured the beginning was probably best, so she started there.

“When I met Spike,” she said slowly. “He was just about as evil as they come, or at least that’s what my sixteen-year-old-self thought. Though, I hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting Angelus yet, so I was a bit naive in that department. Anyway, his girlfriend-slash-sire had been weakened in Prague at some point and he came to Sunnydale to try and restore her and bag himself another Slayer.” She shrugged, “So, we pretty much started out as mortal enemies. We fought each other a lot that first half of the year, and he was a hell of a fighter. He almost got me on that first one, but incredibly enough my mom was the one who saved the day.” Buffy smiled in amusement. “Clocked him on the back of the head with an axe.”

Clark snorted in amusement. “Sounds like something my mom would do.”

Buffy smiled, “Yeah my mom could be pretty tough.” She shrugged, “Anyway, I ended up putting him in a wheelchair after dropping an organ on him during a spell that actually did end up restoring Drucilla. On my birthday I found out they were both still alive and Dru was reassembling an ancient demon called the Judge who couldn’t be killed by any man-made weapon. Me and Angel tried to stop it from happening, but we were both too late. That night I made the colossal decision of losing my virginity to Angel.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye and sighed, “And just like that his soul was gone. Maybe that’s why I clung on to the notion that we were somehow destined for so long. I mean, the breaking of Angel’s curse literally states that only a moment of perfect happiness could release the soul. I guess I thought that if our love was enough to drive his soul away, it must be special.” She rolled her eyes at herself. “Honestly, knowing Angel it had more to do with him somehow feeling redeemed in me or it very well could have been that he hadn’t dipped his wick in over a hundred years. Whatever the cause, so began several horrible months of mental torment from a demon wearing my lover’s face.”

“And Spike?” Clark asked.

Buffy sighed, “Spike went through his own torment at the hands of Angelus and Drusilla. Spike really did love her, but her love compared to his was fleeting at best. He told me once how they would mock him for being wheelchair bound and Angelus would…well, he would fuck Dru right in front of Spike because he knew how much it hurt him. I think that’s when whatever destiny Spike had must have started. He came to me and made a truce in the hopes of getting Angelus away from Dru and also according to him, he actually liked the world and didn’t want to see it destroyed like they were planning.” She sighed again, “Anyway, that’s probably the first instance where I started to see Spike in a somewhat different light. Less of a danger and more of a nuisance if that makes sense.”

“Yeah,” Clark nodded. “I guess I could see that.”

“Okay, so skip ahead a few years, when I’m in my first year of college. I’ve seen Spike once in that time when he kidnapped Willow and Xander, trying to make Willow preform a love spell to get Dru back. Apparently, our little truce didn’t sit well with her and she dumped him.” Buffy shrugged, “We had one more real fight where we were actually trying to kill each other that year, and then a few months later the Initiative planted the chip in his head and then once again he came to us for asylum.” A small smile tugged at her lips, “We fought like cats and dogs that whole year. I think our bickering is partly what drove Giles to drinking so much. Then sometime during the next year when Dawn arrived and my mom got sick, he realized he was in love with me.” Buffy sighed. “It wasn’t a healthy love though, not even a little bit. He was obsessed with me. He had a weird shrine to me and he had, the super nerd Warren make a lifelike robot of me for reasons I’m sure you can guess.”

Clark grimaced before saying, “Is that the same Warren that–”

“The one and the same.” She interrupted. “I’ve dealt with some pretty gross demons before, but as far as Warren goes, he’s probably the worst human I’ve ever had to deal with.” Buffy sighed, “Anyway, as weird as Spike’s obsession with me was, he did some things that year that really surprised me. Things that normal vampires wouldn’t do, though I still to this day haven’t decided if Spike was the unique one or if Angelus was, because I know for a fact Spike isn’t the first vampire to keep a portion of his humanity after being turned.” She shook her head getting back on topic, “Anyway, he protected my sister’s secret when Glory tortured him for information and he promised to protect Dawn until the end of the world. When I came back the next year, I didn’t really acknowledge it at the time, but he was still there. Still looking out for my baby sister. It’s strange how you don’t see those things when they happen, but Spike loved Dawn like a little sister and he loved my mom too. For some reason he was drawn to us Summers women.” She sighed and looked at Clark. “I already told you when I came back, I went to a dark place.”

Clark nodded, his eyes studying her face. “You have.”

“I went to that dark place with Spike, I didn’t… when I came back, I was numb and I didn’t know it at the time, but my Slayer had gotten stronger. Part of me hated my friends, I was furious with them for bringing me back and expecting me to be happy about it.” She swallowed, “Spike became my confidant at first, he became my quiet solace. I could sit with him and just be… he didn’t…he didn’t expect me to just be okay like everyone else. I was the one who made the first move…we were under a spell at the time but that didn’t stop me from making a second move after it was broken. One night not long after our second make out session, after my Watcher decided I needed to learn to do things on my own and left, we got into an argument about the kiss and I hit him,” she frowned bitterly, rolling her eyes. “He retaliated and must have realized his chip didn’t fire. The next day, well he started a real fight with me. The first one we had since…well since our brawl before the chip.” Buffy could feel her cheeks heat up at the memory, “It was the first time I felt alive since my resurrection and one thing led to another and we…well we weren’t fighting anymore. At least not with fists. It was the first time I didn’t have to hold back and it was exhilarating.” She looked at her hands, “And the next day I told him how disgusting we were, and I was cruel and awful to him.” She shook her head. “I’m not saying that he didn’t give as good as he got, but I was always the one saying the cruel stuff first. I was awful to him Clark; I beat him once and left him for the sunrise. He was trying to help me…well, I thought I accidentally killed someone.” She pursed her lips, even the memory of Warren now days could send her into a rage. “I hadn’t, Warren once again was trying to fuck with my life, but both of us thought I did. He didn’t understand why I had to turn myself in, how much even thought of hurting someone innocent was killing me. I…I just snapped. I honestly don’t know how he managed to make it to safety on time.”

She didn’t realize she was crying until she felt Clark’s arms come around her. “He still had bruises a week later and vampires, they heal fast.” She sniffled. “Shortly after that my ex-Riley came to town and somewhat reminded me why being with a soulless vampire was a bad thing. I realized that what we were doing…we had to stop. I was using him and it wasn’t fair to either of us, so I broke things off.” Buffy shook her head, “It was hard, because I really did still want him, but I resisted. Some things happened, over the next month or two, my friends ended up finding out about us and one night, he showed up at my house. I was pretty banged up from a fight earlier that evening and he tried to…I’m not even sure he knew what he was doing…but he tried to rape me.” Buffy said quietly, she felt Clark’s arms stiffen around her, this was the judgment she’d been waiting for. “I kicked him off, and he was shocked at himself and then I said, ask me again how I could ever love you?”

She looked at Clark then, and she could see the anger swirling in his blue eyes. “That’s why Spike got his soul. He thought it was the only way he could be sure never to hurt me again. He wanted to be the man I deserved. He did it for selfish reasons of course, but the outcome of those reasons? It was worth it in the end, because he’s the reason we don’t still have a Hellmouth in Sunnydale California.”

Clark shook his head, “I don’t…how can you have feelings for someone after they…even if he didn’t, how could you have not wanted to kill him?”

Buffy shook her head. “Because love isn’t rational, because it can be beautiful or a nightmare, and unfortunately feelings can’t just be flipped on and off. I think if he hadn’t gotten his soul, I would have felt differently, and maybe I eventually would have stopped caring about him. You have to understand though…what he did, it’s never been done before. He fought against his nature and became something incredible for it. I think I would be kinda a hypocrite if I could forgive and still love Angel for what he did to me without a soul, but couldn’t forgive and still have feelings for Spike.”

“Your ability to forgive, Buffy…I think you might have me beat in that department.” Clark said.

She shook her head, “I don’t necessarily think that’s true. I don’t think I can ever truly forgive Willow for bringing me back, and you now know what I did to Angelus.” She sighed. “I really do think it depends on the transgression. Willow tore me out of Heaven, she made me immortal, denying me the peace and reward that all Slayers crave. Angelus went after people I love and he tormented and killed my sister Slayers, all of which were young girls, newly called. I know what Wes said, and part of its true, but Spike was just the catalyst, he was not necessarily the cause. It was my hate, my emotions guiding my Slayer, and it wasn’t the first time that part of me wanted to kill Willow nor was it only her that wanted to destroy Angelus for what he had done.”

“And the claim?” Clark asked.

Buffy sighed, “It was something that was swirling around my head for a while, and at first it was absolutely a hundred percent my Slayer. But by the time I started seriously considering it, that was definitely all me.”

Clark looked away, “You wanted to bind yourself to him for eternity.”

She was silent at his words; she knew what he was thinking and he was wrong. She remembered very clearly why she wanted to do it. “It…I really did want to win, Clark. I know you’re thinking I must have been head over heels in love, but… I loved Spike, I did and I still do, but not…It was the type of love you hold for your best friend, for the person who gets you more than anyone else. I’m not saying it wasn’t romantic in nature either, but it was a love that formed over time. There was no cupid moment. I knew we were compatible sexually; I knew he would never leave me, and I knew it would make us stronger. Claims, they don’t even require love to be fulfilled, just a mutual respect for one another and I knew we could make it work.”

Clark sighed, leaning his head against the back of the couch. “Why didn’t you then?”

“Fear,” Buffy said simply. “Fear of the unknown, fear that he would say no, and fear that he would say yes.”

She watched Clark swallow. “And you want to do the same to me?”

Buffy blushed. “I-I don’t know. Yes, I think so…” She was silent for a moment. Did she want to claim Clark? Her Slayer seemed to think so, but was that the prophecy or an actual want. She certainly didn’t want to lead him on, so she said “But I think it’s something that could happen in the heat of the moment.” She could literally feel her face heating up even more. “Just, if…if I ever bite you when we…and say ‘Mine’, don’t answer unless you’re willing to do the same.”

“I’m assuming when you say bite, you mean breaking skin.” He said raising an eyebrow.

“I do.” She admitted. “That’s basically what a claim is, it’s a symbolic ritual of sharing one’s life force, blood, saliva, semen. The mixing of your essence with another to create two halves of a whole.”

A slow amused smile broke across his lips. “That actually sounds kind of beautiful, if not a little messy.”

Buffy snorted, her own amusement growing at his analogy. “Anything else you want to know, before we continue our tour?”

His eyes slowly gave her a once over, before he shook his head. “No, I think that was more than enough for today.” He looked down, “It’s hard for me to picture you like that, being cruel I mean. Not when…not when you’ve been so nice to me. I don’t think I’ll ever truly understand anything you told me about him and you, and…and if I’m being honest, I can’t help feeling…” He looked at her seriously, his mouth set in a firm line. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t come back from the dead again, because I can’t promise I will be very nice.”

She found herself giggling at the visual. Dear God, that would be funny, especially with how quiet and reserved Clark was. Spike would drive him up the wall. “Oh, trust me neither will he, even with the soul he had the ability to drive just about anyone mad with rage.”

“Well, then it’s probably a good thing he’s not around anymore. I don’t think I’d like to be responsible for killing someone you cared about.” Clark said seriously.

Buffy rolled her eyes; he might be from another planet but he was definitely a hundred percent male. “Yes, Clark, lucky for you, you only have one of my ex’s left to contend with and he’s married.” She pushed herself away from him, grabbing his hand as she did and pulling him to his feet as she stood. “Now, come on, I’ll show you the training room.”

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zannolin · 2 years

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9 and 6 for the fic ask!! :D

6. what's the hardest part of the writing process for you?

you know i get asked this a lot and i feel like my answer is just always "yes". the answer is yes. all of writing is actually hard for me in one way or another. i struggle a lot with dialogue (i'm always worried in the back of my head that i'm writing people ooc) and action sequences or just location descriptions are very hard for me because both involve spaces or characters moving through spaces and i have aphantasia, so i cannot see SHIT in my head. i said a little while ago every time i'm writing a specific location, i'm pulling up google maps street view to cruise around and that's why. for the abba au chapter seven, i actually had like eight tabs about bailey island and harpswell, maine open looking at things like directions to the nearest iHOP lol.

also i think i've mentioned it before but just opening a word doc to start writing is often really hard for me. executive dysfunction and all that. very often my brain really wants like the serotonin hit of getting a comment or a reward for posting (instant gratification monkey) so writing is very difficult if it's like, a multichapter update because those get essentially no reaction compared to, say, a oneshot i post that will get a few comments in the day or so after posting. or a more niche fic i personally love but know no one will read. i have started to learn a lot about ao3 stats within the fandom and it's really fucked with my head when i'm writing (i diagnose myself with recovering clout chaser) so writing overall can be....just really hard for me.

9. what's your writing process like?

mmm not super exciting really. right now i usually hand-write my outlines in a journal i carry around (i stg it's always in church, i outline all my fics in church....from the abba au to hell is empty to planetarium stickers it has ALL been there) just to get the juices going. then when i have time (right now that is just. always.) i sit down, type the outline into a word doc, usually adding bits and bobs as they come to me (for example, "home never home always" from true north popped into my head while outlining it) and throwing in scenes that i might already have lying around. the compass tattoo from that fic was something that's been sitting in my ideas note doc for months, and the for want of a nail scene was something i vaguely drafted at my old job last year.

after that i kinda just. write. usually i have to have "santa monica dream" or an instrumental song/playlist looping. generally i write in my room but sometimes i make myself go downstairs in my house. used to, i would go write in the coffee shop on campus or the laundromat when i was in college. i should go to a coffeeshop to write more but frankly i can't afford to buy coffee that much lol. anyways, i also usually have to have a fic titled before i get into working on it. most of my aus end up with titles before i even finish outlining—it's normally stuff pulled from songs, though one of my friends has gotten me onto a two-word title kick recently. i come up with title ideas sometimes and just put them into the notes app on my phone. fun little screenshot of that for u!

i will usually write a fic over a course of a few weeks. rarely it will take a few days (planetarium stickers was four days total) or months (my clingyduo fic took seven months), really just depends on my motivation and what's going on irl for me. every time i open the doc to keep working, i reread the entire fic up to where i left off and proofread/edit as i do. that way it's usually been through several rounds of editing before it ever makes it onto my ao3, with only a few exceptions like true north which i wrote in two days and had to deal with my typos after posting lol.

that's pretty much it tbh. thanks for the ask :D

ask game.

#answered asks #anonymous

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aliatori · 3 years

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L, T, U for the writer asks?

Oh hey, Hope. <3 Thanks for these asks—they were thought provoking and fun to answer.

L: What advice would you give to other writers?

Oh man. This is one I could write an essay on. I will do my best to stick to the few points I wish I had internalized earlier in my creative journey.

1) Comparison is the thief of joy.

Fandom in particular can be brutal for this, but I have seen it happen in ugly, messy ways in original writing communities as well. The more you focus on what you think someone else’s writing has versus your own, the less time you’re spending on nourishing your own creative joys. Comparison also assumes juxtaposing any two works is an apples to apples situation, when in reality it’s usually apples to oranges (or chandeliers, or old dusty skeletons, or whatever).

2) Be willing to experiment with both prose and process.

So much of writing advice is filled with prescriptive black and white maxims when the reality as I’ve observed it is a lot more flexible. For every person who froths at the mouth about unnecessary adverbs or avoiding the phrase ‘X let out a breath they didn’t know they were holding’, there will be readers who are delighted by the inclusions. The same goes for process stuff. There’s no magic number of words/days/hours/places you need to write—only that you put some amount of words down on a page in a way that works for YOU.

3) Find your people.

Writing becomes far less difficult and lonely when you are surrounded by a community that supports you in meaningful, positive ways. Having inspiring, skilled creators in my orbit who have also become dear friends has made me strive to improve my craft, to push myself past my comfort zone, and to keep going when I otherwise would have given up.

T: What’s your favourite part of the writing process? Why?

In official terms, honestly, prewriting is my favourite part. This is usually where character creation happens for me and is a favourite without a doubt. Aside from sometimes a loose concept or idea, characters are the first elements of a story that come to me and the central focus of my writing process.

After a few years of reading 150+ books a year, I’ve come to find strong characters are one of the elements that make a story stand out to me years down the line (followed by unique worldbuilding or memorable style/prose), so I made the conscious decision to direct my focus towards robust, three dimensional characters to align my interest with a useful craft decision. My other big love, worldbuilding, usually happens in prewriting, though much like characters will tell me fun new things during the drafting process, worldbuilding gets expanded on too.

The bulk of my daydreaming, Pinterest board making, playlist curating, and worldbuilding is 1) absolutely is a tandem favourite part of my process and 2) I have started to think of as post-pre writing. 😂 In trying to adhere to the old adage of writing for yourself first and foremost, I find this sort of in between mental work keeps me engaged and internally motivated between drafting sessions.

And like… hear me out, but I love drafting (with one exception I’ll note in my other answer). The satisfaction of building a story brick by brick, scene by scene, is so satisfying to me. And I have gotten better over the years at not self editing too hard as I go, so feeling myself and my oats on a first draft brings me a lot of joy. The more id, the merrier. Also, as a recovering pantser, discovery writing certain parts during drafting—like characters surprising me or teasing out an interesting answer to a plot hole—lights my fire.

U: What’s your least favourite part of the writing process? Why?

*grabs an imaginary mic and pulls it too close to their mouth* Editing.

Full disclosure, I am biased because editing has given me so much trouble the past several months. I can admit it’s a weakness. BUT! It actually makes sense in a way. In my last fandom experience where my writing got kick started after long dormancy, I didn’t spend a lot of time doing more than perfunctory revisions since, hey, people get this for free and can take it or leave it. So like any unused muscle, I am feeling the growing pains as I attempt to keep expanding and making significant structural changes to a previously ‘finished’ story.

The addendum to my drafting note above: I also hhhhhhaaaaaatttteeeee middles of any novella+ length story. Act 2 is my forever nemesis. It’s where I’m most prone to lose my grip on pacing, likely to write weaker scenes, and feel impatient until I get to the brain buzzing material when the rising action kicks up.

And, though I don’t delete anything outright, I hate when I have to make the hard decision to give up on a story that isn’t working/ready. Feels bad, even though I recognize it’s still valid practice.

#ali answers #writing

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gifted-burnout-archive · 4 years

Text

Jim’s Best Friend

Part Twenty Four: A Severe Attitudinal Problem

Word Count: 3.6K+

Author’s Note: Agh! Sorry! My week has been hectic and I just haven’t had the chance to sit down and write properly. But, I have finally produced something with this chapter that I wanted to share, and I quite like it. So I hope you enjoy.

Warning: discussion of past abuse (briefly. We bring up Brian again, remember that asshole?)

For previous chapters, click here.

June, 2008.

"DID I STUTTER?" Stanley asked in a raised voice, his question directed to Michael. Your boss had messed up, you knew it: no-one bothers Stanley enough to get him shouting, but Michael interrupted his crossword. The entire conference room fell silent in the wake of Stanley's address, Jim glancing over at you, his hand sat comfortably on your thigh, drawing little circles. A few minutes ago, he was winding you up, having you thinking that he would propose in the middle of a meeting. And however much your boyfriend's teasing would border on anxiety-invoking, it was so much better than the sheer silence around you now, and the look of shock on Michael's face. The same face that had been submerged in cement earlier that morning... What fun times you let fly by you...

"Good... This is good." Michael said quickly, turning away from his paper chart board with the word 'Energise' scrawled over it, now facing the door. "I'm going to get myself a glass of water." He exited quickly, leaving his employees to their own devices, and you knew he had gone into the storage closet to cry. Michael did it a lot.

You were the first to move after a minute or so of Michael disappearing, the phone at reception beginning to ring and seemingly shaking the rest of your office from their stupor. You squeezed Jim's hand before rushing out the conference room to answer the phone, taking a seat at your desk with a happy sigh as you tried to bring back your cheery tone of voice.

"Dunder Mifflin, this is Y/N." You answered, smiling as the rest of the team exited and returned to their desks, sending a wink Jim's way. You listened for a moment, hearing heavy breaths on the other end of the phone, causing you to frown a little. "Hello?" You asked.

"Sorry, who am I calling?" The voice on the other end was male, gruff, and you cleared the lump from your throat when replying.

"That's alright sir. This is Y/N Y/L/N, at the Dunder Mifflin Scranton branch. Is there anything I can help you with today? Have you dialled the wrong nu-" Before you could finish your second question, the caller hung up, and you let out a note of confusion as you set down the phone. You spun in your chair, quickly gathering some files for Toby, and getting up from your desk, Jim grabbing your hand as you walked past.

"Y/N..." He said seriously, reaching into his pocket and causing your breath to hitch. The reaction made him grin, and you knew he had got you again. "I propose that you tell me who was on the phone." He suggested with a cheeky smile, and you hit his arm lightly, his other hand retrieving a pack of gum from his pocket.

"Some old guy, I think he called the wrong number." You said with a shrug, taking one of the fruit gum strips and unwrapping it. You popped it into your mouth quickly, Jim following suit.

"You know, it might be your stalker." Dwight interrupted, not looking up from his computer, causing you and Jim to look over at him. you almost choked on your gum.

"Run that by us again, Dwight." Jim asked quickly, tilting his head to make sure he heard his co-worker right the second time.

"Y/N's stalker." Dwight restated, and your eyes went wide. Since when had you had a stalker, and since when did Dwight know?

"Dwight, you really need to expand on this on, buddy." you said quickly, a little off-guard. Dwight looked over at you, rolled his eyes dramatically, and turned his chair away from his computer.

"There's a man, who hangs around the building sometimes. Especially in the last couple of weeks. He watches the cars come and go, I saw him last week watching you leave." Dwight said nonchalantly, and Jim looked up at your shocked expression which matched your own.

"Why wouldn't you tell me this, Dwight?" You snapped, your heart beating a little faster in your chest. the subject of your anger shrugged.

"It's not my fault you aren't observant."

"I'm... This is a prank right, Dwight? You're getting back at Jim for last week by pranking me?" You let out a nervous laugh. "Good one!" Before either of the men could refute what you were suggesting, you tapped on the papers in your hand. "I need to get these to Toby. Excuse me." You were quick to hustle your way to Toby's desk in the annex, shaking Dwight's prank from your mind. It had to be a joke, right? Scranton isn't the place you have a stalker. It just isn't.

Unless Brian was back, then you had a whole other problem and a restraining order to keep him away.

"Oh, thanks Y/N. I was just about to ask for these." Toby said with a weak smile as you handed over the stack of paper, and you returned the facial expression. He went on to ask how your day was going as Michael walked past the pair of you, a tub of ice cream in hand as he shuffled back to his office from, now confirmed, the storage closet.

"You know, might be an idea for you to talk with him about the whole Stanley thing..." You suggested, and Toby sighed, responding with a nod. You weren't sure what was meant to happen when an employee shouted at their boss, but Michael needed to at least talk about it. You gave him a final smile, quickly poking your head over the separator to ask Kelly if she wanted a coffee. When she politely declined, you headed back to the kitchen,dumping the gum in the trash, making yourself and Jim up some coffee, Angela and Andy sat at the kitchen table playing some sort of madlib on thier break.

In all honesty, you were surprised they were still together, but glad it seemed to be working out. Even Dwight seemed to be moving on, what with the photo Michael shared the other week of Dwight swapping saliva with a six foot two college athlete in New York.

"Hey, you guys." you got their attention with a quick smile, the pair looking up form their rather tame madlib. "Sorry, I just had to ask... Has there been a guy hanging round the office? Brian, maybe?" The final question was directed more towards Angela, who seemed to see how anxious you were about it. She stood up and walked over, placing a hand on your arm before helping herself to a bottle of water from the fridge.

"I haven't seen Brian in over a year, Y/N. Probably more. If any of us saw him, we would let you know." Angela assured you, and you felt yourself relax a little. Despite the on-off friendship you shared with the small blonde, when you finally had to ask Pam, Oscar and Jim to testify at your court proceedings for your restraining order against your ex, you made it clear to the office that Brian was not a good man. You didn't go into much detail, but everyone got the jist, and since then he had been put on a banned list for the business park.

"Thank you... Dwight must have been joking." You explained, topping yourself up on sugar and creamer before heading back out to your desk, setting a cup of coffee on Jim's as you went. You sat yourself down, taking a sip of your own beverage as the phone rang. "Dunder Mifflin, this is Y/N." you said quickly.

"I propose that you are the best girlfriend ever." Jim said over the phone, and you looked over, rolling your eyes at him. "Thank you for my coffee."

"You are very welcome, Mr Halpert. Now get off my line, I have clients to transfer and voicemails to answer." You couldn't help but giggle as you spoke. The pair of you put down your phones, you continuing about your business answering emails and calls, catching Toby heading into Michael's office and closing the door behind him.

As morning turned to afternoon, and Michael's attempts at denying Stanley's outburst at the morning meeting became even more futile, oyu had the displeasure of welcoming Ryan into the office, the scrawny temp having done his best to ful full douchebag with his permanent stubble beard and blinding white shirt. He walked past you without a second glance, throwing his coat onto your desk as he typed away at his blackberry.

"How's my favourite branch doing?" He asked, a habit he had gotten into when visiting his old workplace, before heading straight into the conference room with Tboy at his heels.

You looked at his coat in disgust, using a pencil to scoop it up an throw it onto the coat rack haphazardly, earning a chuckle from your approaching boyfriend. He leaned onto your desk as you wheeled back to your usual position, smiling up at him.

"Were you about to go for more coffee?" You asked, running a finger along his exposed forearm. "Because I propose that you get me a fresh cup." You teased him, switching his game on its head, and getting an impressed look from your boyfriend.

"Touché." Jim said simply, giving your hand a quick kiss before grabbing your mug, along with his own and heading for the kitchen. You watched him in your peripheral, enjoying the view of your extremely good-looking boyfriend fetching you coffee, but tried to stay focused on the email you were drafting to send to corporate. You were doing it so Stanley didn't have to, trying to keep on the older employee's good side. It seemed to have worked, he smiled across the room at you as you sent the draft his way, getting a nod of approval.

Jim, on his way back to deliver your coffee, was stopped as he passed the conference room door, called in by Ryan.

"Hey Jim! Come here for a second!" Ryan called him in, and Jim gave you a quick shrug before heading into the room, a coffee mug in each hand. "Can you answer me something as, as a true Eagles fan?"

"Oh boy..." Jim sighed, a smile appearing on his face.

"How do you live with a franchise this bad?" Ryan asked, and Jim let out a chuckle, one you could hear from your desk when you listened hard enough.

"On a wing and a prayer mostly." Jim responded, sharing a quick smile with Toby.

"All right, whatever you say. Uh, listen. While I have you here with Toby, I need to give you a formal warning about your job performance."

"A formal warning?" Jim let out a nervous chuckle.

"It's actually not a joke." Ryan cut him off, dead serious. "I know how you spend your time here. And I know how little you care about your job. And, honestly, if spent as much time selling as you do goofing around with Dwight and hanging out a reception with your girlfriend, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"I'm sorry..." Jim was shocked, to say the least. "Is this because I talked to Wallace about your website? Because I really didn't mean to go over your head." Jim asked. He had been against the idea from the beginning, a voiced his concerns about Ryan's twisted version of your website idea with David Wallace at Christmas time. Ryan, undoubtedly, hated Jim for a number of reasons, and Jim did not liked Ryan. The problem was, one of them was in a position of power now, and it wasn't your boyfriend.

"This has nothing to do with that, all right? I always appreciate constructive criticism about my job performance. I thrive on it." Ryan said decidedly, leaving Jim a little lost.

"I'm sorry, then do you mind explaining a little better?" Jim asked, looking down at the mugs of coffee in his hands, starting to go cold. "Because I'm not sure what's really-"

"Woah, don't get all defensive, all right?" Ryan cut him off, holding his hands up in faux surrender. "It's just a warning. If you want the details, Toby can provide.you take it easy, all right? Say hi to Y/N for me." Ryan dismissed Jim with that line, the lanky shaggy-haired man walking out with a face displaying puzzlement as he walked over to you, setting your cooling coffee on your desk. You took a sip, trying your best to hide a grimace as you drank the too cold to drink coffee, and glanced back at Jim.

"Everything ok?" You asked him as he took a sip of his own coffee. He frowned as he swallowed.

"Just talking about bureaucratic stuff. Let me make us some fresh cups." He said softly, taking your mug back and heading to the kitchen, not saying another word on the subject. You kne he would talk to you in time, he always did, so you let it go, continuing to type away on your computer. When Jim returned a few minutes later, he dropped off your coffee with only a smile, heading back to his desk to start making calls. You hadn't seen him so focused at work in months.

It was coming on half four when Michael finally emerged from his office, conveniently the second Stanley left for the bathroom. Ryan had only dropped in for an hour or so, taking time to pull in a few employees about HR problems, corporate benefit changes, the boring bureaucraatic stuff Jim had told you about earlier. Luckily, he was gone by the time you had come back from your lunch break, and you had enjoyed the more relaxed afternoon.

That was, until Michael decided to ruin it.

"Ok, everbody, shh. Listen up." Michael stage whispered as he entered the main office. "Earlier today, Stanley sassed me. And Toby gave me some suggestions on how to discipline him. They did not work, obviously, because they were stupid. So I am now going to fake fire him." Michael explained, and you raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"Michael, what does that mean?" You asked, looking up as you sent an email away. You loved your boss, you really did, but sometimes he was so, so stupid.

"It's like a mock execution."

"That's not a good idea." Jim injected, inhaling sharply.

"Yes it is a good idea." Michael defended. "It's the only possible solution I have left."

"Well, you can actually fire him." Toby suggested.

"No! Ok, I've had enough of you." Michael scolded Toby, who just sighed.

"Why are you telling us this?" Oscar asked, voicing the question you were all thinking.

"Because I want you to behave like I'm actually firing him, Oscar, ok?"

"Michael, if you hadn't told us this, we would have thought that you were actually firing him." Kevin chimed in, and Michael seemed to get even more distressed.

"I'm not firing him! I'm not! I just- what I'm going to do is I'm going to pretend that I'm firing him. And I need you to act like I am firing him. Do you get that? Do you get it? I'm teaching him a lesson." As Michael spoke, you watched Dwight, who nodded along with every word the boss said like it was gospel. "He needs to learn humility. All right? that's all I'm-" The creaking bathroom door set Michael on alert, his eyes darting around as Stanley exited the bathroom. "Ok, here he comes. Let's just play act." As Stanley walked back into the room, Michael composed himself. "Stanley, may I talk to you for a second?" Michael asked, the older gentleman sighing and walking round to stand face to face with Michael. "Stanley Hudson, you are fired."

"Are you serious?" Stanley asked quietly, looking around the room. You instinctively averted your eyes, glancing back down at your computer.

"I am serious. We are all serious. You are fired like a heart attack." Michael had his arms folded over his chest, doing his best not to break.

"You're firing me over three words?" Stanley clarified, and when Michael nodded, Stanley took a deep breath. "Have you lost your mind? Do you think I'm going to let you do this to me? I've watched you screw up this office for ten years, and I'm filing a lawsuit, and I'm going to tell them about every stupid thing you've ever done up in this office." Stanley said with confidence that only came with honesty, and you shared a look with Jim.

"Alright, ok. You know what? Now you know how I feel." Michael took his turn to speak, holding out a hand as he spoke, managing the distance between him and the disgurntled employee. "This was a fake firing. Lesson learned. Good work everybody. Very nice." Michael sent a thumbs up your way, and you just sat your head in your hands.

"So I'm not fired?" Stanley was beyond confused, and getting angrier by the second.

"That's it." Michael nodded. "And do you have anything to say to me?"

"Ooh, yes.. I do" Stanley almost growled the words, before taking a deep breath. Everybody in the office mentally prepared for Stanley raising his voice for the second time that day. "You are out of your damn little pea-sized mind. What is wrong with you? Do you have any sense? At all? Do you have any idea how to run an office? Everyday you do something stupider than you did the day before! And I think there's no possible way he can top that! But what do you do? You find a way, damn it, to top it! You are a professional idiot!"

"HEY! Stop it!" Michael yelled back, causing Stanley to go silent, the two men facing off. Michael took a breath, and you saw his eyes were red and watery, sending a pang of pit to your heart. "Ok, everybody out. Everyone except Stanley." Michael ordered, the office quickly clearing, Jim taking your hand to lead you out the door quickly. Neither of you needed to see what happened next, no-one in the office did, so you all filed into the elevator for the parking lot.

Stood out in the parking lot as Stanley and Michael discussed upstairs, you looked up at Jim, who, like so many others in the office, had been smart enough to leave with his bag and coat, the latter draped over your shoulders to block out the chill that came with the approaching night.

"Y/N, will you do me the honour..." Jim started, leaning onto one knee, causing you to gasp and glance around. Most of the office had gone home, the few stragglers stood by cars while you waited at the door. Jim looked up as you inhaled the air, his hands tying his shoe and his lips forming into a wide grin. "Of coming over to my place for pizza tonight?"

"You bastard." You muttered, kicking him lightly in the foot, more of a tap than anything. Your cheeks were flushed red, you heart just slowing down. "You can't keep this up, Halpert." You said with a small smile, and as he stood up his lips connected with yours. It was soft, delicate, but you melted into him, eyes fluttering closed. Everytime he kissed you, it felt like you were getting a taste of heaven.

"You want to head now?" He asked. Almost everyone else had headed home, Dwight being the only person waiting until it struck exactly five o'clock. You shook your head.

"I left my stuff upstairs, I'll be at yours within the hour?" You promised, and Jim kissed you once more, shorter this time, before heading to his car. As he pulled out, Stanley walked out the door past you, smiling quickly at you as he walked to his own car, and you took it as a cur to head back inside and pick up your stuff.

When you got into the office, Michael was leaving, the pair of you sharing a quick smile, wishing the other a good weekend. Michael seemed more excited than normal, no doubt having a date the next day. Ever since he and Jan had broke up, the man was just happier. It only took you a few minutes to gather your things, sitting down to send the last few emails of the day before closing up the office for the night. You had been in the office no more than thirty minutes, but the sky was already dark, no doubt in part because of the fog that seemed to have settled.

You took the stairs down to the ground floor, notcing Hank had left early, though you couldn't blame him. Driving in the fog was going to be a nightmare. The parking lot lights helped a little, and you rummaged through your bag as you exited the building, looking for your car keys. Quickly grabbing them, you unlocked your car and headed over, putting your stuff in the back seat.

A sudden rustle of the hedge leaves cause your eyes to snap towards the sound. Was your mind playing tricks on you? There was no-one there, no-one left in the building. You shook it off, opening your phone and dialling Jim's number, hoping to offer to collect the pizza on your way back, but it went straight to voicemail, Jim no doubt on the phone to the restaurant at that very moment.

Another rustle, followed by the snapping of a twig, caused you to tense up. Insinctively, you slide your keys through your fingers, this time entering 911 on your keypad as you walked round your car to the driver's door. You knew how horror movies played out, and you weren't going to be a victim.

In the few seconds it took to shift your attention to unlocking your door, you looked up at a shadowy figure. Your heart seemed to stop for a moment before speeding up, fear taking over. Surely Brian knew what would happen if he tried anything?

"Look, Dwight, it isn't funny!" You said, a small part of you hoping this was all just some elaborate prank. But the figure kept moving towards you, and you stumbled back, rushing round your car door, planting one foot in the car before the figure finally spoke up, in turn entering the light given by the street lamp above you.

"Hey, kiddo." The voice was gruff, familiar, for more than one reason. The man in question had his hand shoved deep in his jacket pockets, with polished shoes and a jacket and suit that looked more expensive than your used car. In fact, he looked more expensive than anything you had imagined. Photos of him from years before had him as overwight, with no grooming tendencies whatsoever, a proclivity for beer. This wasn't the same man, but those eyes were your own, and the pit in your stomach opened wide.

"Dad?"

Tags: @imsuperawkward @poppirocks @rosie2801 @onceuponahuntersrealm @aziggya @suitelifeofafangirl @legendaryoafhairdozonk @dxbriksx @retrodrummers @sugar-snap @art-flirt @biwwie-iwish @im-a-writer-right @hiyaitssans

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ghostmartyr · 3 years

Text

So if you, like me, have nothing to do but wonder about the state of my inbox, you might rightfully be wondering how I plan to deal with the obscene backlog I have spent so many years failing to deal with.

If you have never wondered that, fear not, that doesn’t exclude you from finding out.

Today we’re just going to go through my entire slew of unanswered asks, and instead of answering them, I am going to provide excuses for why I didn’t do anything with them.

For added fun, several of the asks were in my Drafts.

I will not be cutting out the comments I started to make.

I will no doubt regret this.

Let’s have a time, shall we?

I don’t even know what year this is from. If I remember correctly, I didn’t get back to you because I thought about trying to reason out who would legitimately win, and there were too many points for both sides. I kept intending to come up with a proper answer, then time went by and this got buried.

Though the actual answer is probably “it depends on who gets the main character sticker at the time.”

...

Well.

I can tell you this is multiple years old.

We, as humans, aren’t equipped for time travel.

I didn’t answer this one because I didn’t feel like it was asking for one, and I’m only reproducing it here because it is really, really funny now.

Two years old. Plus change.

I think the entire reason I never replied to this one is that it cheered me up whenever I scrolled down enough to see it, so thank you.

You know, I entered the link at the time. Really, I did. But then came trying to come up with a comment and what can you really follow that with?

(Click the link.)

Okay then.

I still feel no need to respond to this, so that’s probably why I didn’t to start with.

Historia and literally anyone.

I don’t remember why I didn’t answer this, which usually means some combination of feeling tired and not being in the mood to scroll down to where it was.

Oops.

The thing is, this crosses dangerously close to being a fic idea. Fic ideas take time and effort. You can imagine the absolute dread I felt at having to engage with either concept.

It would have been a lot of fun to do, though. Hats off.

See, again. This is a very interesting concept that requires thought. I can tell you when I received it I was in no mood for anything that required anything of the sort.

I wrote a fic that is possibly never going to see the light of day now where they hang out in a kitchen with hot chocolate together and bond through unstated trauma and Frieda attempting to make things better.

That probably contributed to interfering with imagining how they would actually get along.

Anyway, I ship them slightly in that fic AU. Don’t @ me.

Oh dang. I remember this.

I actually really wanted to answer it, but the problem is that I wanted to come up with a good answer. Every character, tiered by their chances. A full Hunger Games edition of what went down and who killed who.

Then I didn’t.

Anyway, turns out the answer is that no one feels the need to chop of rocking chairs in a hurry, so she’d last a long time!

I didn’t answer this because I try to avoid responding with, “I don’t know.” My secondary answer would probably have been, “By being killed.”

Not that there’s anything wrong with those answers, but unless there’s been a tonal trend in asks, I assume that pithy answers that don’t actually have any meat behind them would not be appreciated.

I would stick to him probably being killed, though. But some signs do point to him being relatively immortal.

Hm.

Hmm.

I don’t know why I didn’t answer this, but I would guess it had something to do with me caring very little about Ymir’s thoughts on anything outside of her little clutch of people. And ongoing trauma of repeated dead/alive Ymir commentary killing off my desire to come up with a good answer.

Sorry?

I... have no idea why I didn’t answer this? Maybe I didn’t see it?

Anyway, yes.

There’s a longer version behind that yes, and I’m sure that might have contributed to never getting around to answering this. ...Assuming a past where I did actually see this one.

I have a confession.

I don’t really like crossovers.

There’s a sliding scale of degree, but that’s basically why this didn’t get a response.

Ah, we’ve landed on a recurring theme.

Sometimes, answers involve me thinking about the entire cast.

The usual consequence of that is I don’t have the energy for that, so nothing ever happens with these.

Oh, this one’s easy.

I had no fucking clue.

No ideas, head empty.

That didn’t seem like a good answer, so here we are, probably around a year later. I still have no clue. If I were forced to write a singing duo AU, I would probably just put some adjectives and nouns into a blender and flip a coin.

Names are hard.

I think I didn’t answer this one because I felt like I’d answered similar asks before. And I’m not really sure when this is from, but it’s possible canon complicated coming up with an answer that wasn’t distressed screeching.

Something something give Connie and Mikasa hugs, not partial about where they get them from.

Apparently not. Oops.

I can’t remember why I didn’t respond to this one. It’s possible the oodles of bad parenting proved too distracting to formulate such a post.

Sometimes I get an ask, and my immediate, gut reaction is, how the fuck should I know?

If I can move past that, the ask is answered.

If I can’t, the ask continues its descent through scroll hell.

I am sorry. There are no answers here.

Yeah, this is just the same as the above, just with I have no idea.

It’d probably be a Madoka Magic deal.

Huh. I don’t remember passing this one over. If I were to guess a timeline, I was probably too bitter over potential post-timeskip looks that I never got to be interested in focusing on the characters lucky enough to get good ones.

Go Connie for being less short, I suppose.

This clearly belonged to something that I was doing, but time has eroded the context, so I am simply left with failure and disappointment on all sides. Sorry.

Aw, we’re getting into the boring part of the inbox now, I think. Not because of the questions; you guys are always great. But I can’t think of a reason why I wouldn’t have answered this, which leads me to think that the reason was I was too tired to put words together.

That’s a boring reason, so maybe I should go into Drafts for the next few...

Yeah, still unfairly prejudiced against crossovers. I am no fun, etc. etc.

I have no memory of it, but I feel like I didn’t answer this because there was no way I could match this kindly anon’s enthusiasm.

You go, random internet person.

You have good ideas.

Oh no.

Uh.

See.

I know exactly why I didn’t answer this one.

I am so sorry, Anon.

I really didn’t care.

I am filled with affection for you because you clearly do, but uh.

...I basically put this on Read.

This has a very simple, ie boring, explanation. Any time someone asks about the cast as a whole, I want to think about the cast as a whole, and that takes a lot more thought than most of the asks I get. Cue putting it off. Cue it getting lost in scroll hell. On and on we go until we end up here.

Anything that opens with kilometers is something that requires more brain power than I have had in the past year.

Also I think I got this during a spoiler week, so I saw it, but I was trying not to look at it, and then it got lost in the post-chapter asks.

That happens a lot.

We might see it more soon.

If I can’t come up with words more than “-shrug-” I try not to answer.

...Good news, though!

The manga did my job for me!

I feel like I answered some variation of this. That might be why I didn’t answer this specific one.

The wiki does a better job keeping track of the timeline than I ever have. I probably didn’t answer this because it would involve trying to remember which volume actually name-dropped a number of weeks or months. Searching for lines I know a character said is pretty easy, but searching out lines I have a vague feeling of someone providing? That tends to hit the frustration button with the force of a truck.

But yeah, if you ever want to know how long something took, the wiki is absolutely your friend. They do good work.

Consider: “What if” questions are hard, and I am lazy.

This is actually one I really did mean to get to, sorry. It’s an interesting thought, and I miss Sasha.

...I clearly did a magnificent job answering your asks, friend.

Prediction asks are hard for me; I feel like I’m throwing darts randomly into the air and the dartboard is still deciding if it’s going to show up. So uh. I guess I just kept putting this off until it didn’t get answered.

This post is going to have so many apologies. Implied and otherwise.

I continue to be the No Fun Police who accidentally-on-purpose avoids crossover commentary.

I feel like I didn’t answer this one entirely because seeing it in my inbox gave me far too much joy to have it lost in a sea of posts.

This is what my inbox was made for.

I have no idea when this was from, but I see your emotions and appreciate them, Anon.

...Did I not see this one?

Hey, Anon who probably doesn’t remember sending this: This is a good ask and deserved some good attention, and I’m sorry I missed my shot at it. Good thoughts.

I didn’t answer this one entirely because I knew I couldn’t match the energy of it, and responding with anything less felt heretical.

That is one hell of a mood, Anon.

This is definitely from the era of, “Can’t think, brain empty.” Sorry about not getting back to you, I just really couldn’t organize my thoughts well enough to come up with an answer.

I feel like I didn’t know what this was continuing from and was too exhausted to ask.

LOOK YOU CAN SEE I WANTED TO ANSWER THIS BECAUSE IT’S A DRAFT.

Too many things, Anon.

I liked so many things about all of that. Trying to turn that enthusiasm into words wasn’t agreeing with me, so I put it in Drafts and told myself one day I’d do the most awesome post detailing everything.

Intentions, huh?

Every time I tried to take a normal screenshot with formatting Tumblr just laughed at me, so that might have been a contributing factor.

Dang, I’m really sorry. This is another one of those cases where I wanted to take my time with a response, and I took too long.

I, uh.

Am guilty of not being too interested in pondering Ymir’s thoughts on Levi or Erwin.

That’s it, that’s the explanation.

Yeah, I just couldn’t come up with an answer here? Or someone else asked? Or several of my friends decided to be annoying about lists on Discord? I don’t even know.

Presumably there could be a list.

There is not.

Honestly, I just couldn’t figure out how to follow that starting sentence up. A thought exercise on Armin, Historia, gender, and themes sounded really interesting, and I put it in Drafts so as not to forget it being interesting.

Then, you know. This post sort of paints the picture.

Ah.

Man, I really was looking forward to putting some proper thought into this. That’s the problem with having so many things I love in one place, I guess. Symbolism? Historia and Ymir? Mikasa? So many good things! Where do I start!

With paralyzing indecision that results in not a lot. Sorry, Anon. This really did light up my day when I got it.

Here’s the thing about me and writing:

I often fail to.

(I love both these ideas, though.)

Yes.

Do I know why I didn’t get around to answering this?

Absolutely not.

But yes, I’d agree with that.

GOOD NEWS!

The manga actually gave us some of them together in the future.

I occasionally giggled over their shared distaste.

It was a good time.

And this is another one I just do not know why I didn’t answer, whoops.

This never got answered because I couldn’t come up with an answer.

Broad questions are scary because they can go just about anywhere and I didn’t know how to handle that level of commitment.

I think I didn’t answer this one, A), because words are hard, and B), because mostly I just wanted to listen to more of your wondering and less of mine.

I probably could have answered this by saying I don’t have any, but that seemed rude, so I didn’t respond to it at all.

Yep.

Frieda is worthy of my time and effort.

Landing this in Drafts instead of my inbox.

Where the lighting makes it more obvious that hope has gone there to die.

I think about it so much too.

I find the answers fundamentally upsetting.

That is probably why I did not provide an answer here.

That is a lot of kids to make up headcanons for.

So I didn’t.

She’s eaten by dogs before she develops a personality.

Since that seemed like the wrong thing to say, I said nothing, and into Drafts this went.

‘I have no earthly clue’ seemed similarly unhelpful.

At this point, we understand that there is no mystery to my backlog.

This one hurts.

-sees the 112 reference-

Wow does it hurt.

As I hope is obvious, I really, really loved this question, and kept meaning to carve out time to work on it specifically. What went sideways was trying to put words to how EMA functions. I knew the feel of what I wanted to express, but every time I tried to write it, it came out wonky.

I’m very sorry I couldn’t do anything for this, because I was thrilled to spend time with it.

I didn’t answer this because Fuck Marley.

It’s nothing against you. At the time, I simply wasn’t in any mood to consider any version of Marley. Even the canon version was too much for me, so giving it my time in a roleswap AU had me hissing.

Roleswaps in general are amazing, and I love them a lot. A dedicated person could make a fantastic one based around Marley and Paradis. I think it would probably be cool af.

But I was so tired of Marley when I got this, I just couldn’t make myself think about it. Sorry. It’s a fun idea.

I didn’t answer this one because I kept trying to extend my response past, “I think he just really likes baseball.”

I think he just really likes baseball.

My feelings on that as a quality answer are derogatory.

Mm. The ones where I actually tried to get something started hurts.

Ultimately, this ask was a larger demand than I could make my brain work through at the time. I made sure to write down the tl;dr version of Sasha’s, because I found that desperately important, and not something that people talk about much, but the additional weight of trying to think of themes for multiple characters made it hard to progress.

Me, looking at the prompts: Hi my brain left me.

Sorry, Anon. Too many gears were moving for me to get a proper feel for what I wanted to do with this one, so I ended up ditching it. ...I was planning to finish it, though. Eventually. See, I even put the quote in the Draft version as a reminder of what I was doing, so I could get back to it right away.

Yeeeeah, this is just one more to the “I will give this wonderful thing all the time it deserves!” pile.

The pile is stored in the Failure Corner.

Perfectionism is the enemy of progress.

You guys really like crossovers.

I love that for you.

-spends two years ignoring you-

I mean, I just didn’t know what to do with the rainbows.

They sure are there.

They sure are pretty.

I sure couldn’t come up with a comment to add.

...I don’t know why I didn’t answer this. Possibly because I think it’s fine? I’m not too attached to it, and spent the whole manga period wanting to watch an anime version instead, then we got an anime version.

I’d guess that my general “meh” feelings interfered with responding here.

No idea why I didn’t answer this.

Yes, and good for you.

I support all thoughts on giving the Reiss kiddos personalities.

I think I didn’t get back to you on this because I wasn’t sure how to encourage you to keep going so I just sat awkwardly on my hands and felt weird about not saying anything.

...Thanks for sharing!

I love how it’s the little things that date these.

Unfortunately, we’re now at the point where 90% of the reason I didn’t answer was because I was too sick to muster up anything approaching enthusiasm.

Or because I’d just finished answering a bunch of chapter-specific things and was burnt out.

This felt pretty self-explanatory to me, so I felt like that gave me permission to ignore it.

Also, it mentions Marley.

I might be slightly petty.

Really though, I think what stopped me from giving a proper answer is that the question of what an author is trying to say throws me off a little. I work better thinking of it in terms of what the story is saying, with the author just happening to be the hands that wrote it all down.

I don’t know. This was probably another case of feeling like I should give this more of my time than I was able.

I couldn’t decide.

That’s it.

That’s the reason.

Everyone needs to give Mikasa a hug.

My blog title for a hug.

-the crossover snake hisses and consumes another-

I am so sorry.

This is fun.

I probably should have just gone with posting and saying so, because I am genuinely charmed by this. I tend to feel like I have to add something to asks to justify the post. That policy maybe didn’t need to be a thing.

I love my anons.

I want that to be clear.

Really, I do.

I especially love their willingness to embrace my crackpot logic.

Still.

Sometimes, the only response one can have to Schrodinger’s Ymir is to ignore its existence, find a pillow, and scream into it for the rest of time.

This replaces typing.

-looks at Armin-

-looks at Eren-

Yeah, don’t know why I didn’t answer this one, either. I blame tiredness? Sorry about that.

I feel like I didn’t answer this one because it felt like work.

This is where I start considering that making this post was a mistake.

I could have just agreed with you and gone about my day.

Probably should have.

Did not.

Another one for that, “had nothing to add so I just left it in a corner, abandoned and unloved,” pile.

There is an apology section at the end, but we’re not there yet.

This one I don’t think I noticed.

Alternatively, I did notice, and wasn’t sure “Yes,” would pass as a good enough answer.

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

Okay, time to really just get into it: I think for the remainder of my inbox, I didn’t answer because physically, I was just too damn exhausted, and I kept waiting for a point in time where I’d feel better. Sorry to put a limit on the personalization, but in the end, that’s all there was to it, and rephrasing it a dozen times will make me crazy.

And here we are.

Well.

Good grief, do you guys even have any clue how much I like all of you?

Obviously there’s a lot of guilt in the above, because I can’t tell you how much I wanted, each time, to give a great answer that would make you thrilled you messaged me. I am so sorry to all of these I didn’t get to. There were days when the alerts in my inbox were the best thing to happen to me, and I never wanted to let any of them go without acknowledgment.

I try to say thank you as often as I can in my responses, because that’s as close as I can get to reminding you all, constantly, that I am grateful for your participation. The only times I don’t say it is when I worry that it’ll look like it’s being done out of habit, not genuine gratitude. Or when I think you might take it the wrong way if I say thanks for a basic conversation. Because you provide me content and make me interested in things I might not normally look twice at.

There are so many instances of people saying hi, and thank you, and wishing everyone well here.

I haven’t been active in the larger fandom in two years, but I have always been so happy that you guys kept dropping by my space anyway.

You are a pleasure and light in my life, no matter how much snark I might throw about.

Thank you all.

#attack on asks #tl;dr #long post

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musedblues · 4 years

Text

Born To Love You [Part: 7]

summary: When Gwilym ropes you into a lie, the truth becomes painfully obvious. When Joe makes things harder, there’s no telling if he even has a clue

a/n: I can't really believe I've finally finished this. If only you all knew how long this story sat in my drafts before I even considered sharing it. I'm eternally gratful to those of you who’ve stuck around and shared your thoughts and shown me and this fic such sweet love. I can only hope I've done some kind off justice in bringing this wild ride to a close. As always, and especially now, I really can't wait to hear what you lot think. So here you have it.... The End! 💖

w/c: 4k

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Even after all this time, not a moment passed that didn't dazzle you. No little gesture slipped by unnoticed, or underappreciated.

From across the room, you adored the way his eyes glowed as he laughed. How they shined and crinkled in a pattern you'd memorized long before you were brave enough to stare. How they always sparkled just so when he spun into a fit of giggles, a sound you couldn't help but turn toward.

Joe tossed his head back, letting out a hearty chuckle as James and Andy filled him in on the details of their recently disastrous road trip. For their anniversary, they planned to cruise around the countryside for a week. But a flat tire, and a run in with a couple wild animals sent them running back to London before the week was up.

You couldn't have gotten luckier, when you found the perfect house in the safest part of the city with the best schools; just a half an hour drive from where James and Andy had moved a couple years before- after living with you for longer than you could recall in a flash.

They helped you move boxes from your old flat, and stood with you in the empty place, taking a silent beat to say goodbye to all the life you each lived there. You'd fondly remember the parties, and even the tears. The day you found out about Olive. The room you brought her home to. The place you loved. But it was never the same after your dear flatmates found a home of their own.

On their generous drives to help you unload boxes in an all new place, that's when your pair of best pals really got to know Joe. They (like everyone else) laughed at most of his jokes, and beamed when he laughed at theirs in turn. When they weren't helping you unload boxes, they were off cackling with Joe, too awestruck by shared conversation to help you move your sofa into a reasonable spot.

And when you and your man with fossil colored eyes were settled, James and Andy still managed to stop by for plenty of surprise breakfast visits. And every time they stopped over, they each took turns insisting that their location was the sole purpose you'd been so keen to move to this part of the city. And while they might have been half right, you'd never let on that it was one of the many reasons.

London just made sense. It was closer to Gwil's new place. He'd been traveling to and from the city for work so often that he'd felt like his usual train car was more of his home than the one down the road from your old flat. So he found a cozy space just outside of London and loads more work within the first few days of settling in. When he wasn't busy on set, or away for an audition, he was just a few streets away- ready and willing to come and take Olive on days he hadn't planned to, at her beck and call.

Some days you missed when all Olive knew how to say were a handful of words. But you knew you'd soon miss all of the girls never ending questions, too. "Why can't cats talk?" "Where do all the badgers sleep at night?" "Why do I have to wear socks with my shoes?" She had a knack for asking the silliest questions when you least expected it. She'd come out of no place while you were busy making dinner. While she should have been practicing tying her shoes. In the dead of the night, at the edge of your bed. She'd stop everything just to ask a question or two, and some days you reckoned she fancied getting you to giggle more than hearing an actual answer. You always chuckled before you could muster the brain power to give any semblances of an educated response. And when you were too busy, getting ready for work, or hurrying about the market before it closed, Olive would ask Joe.

You loved the way Olive made him laugh then, too. Just like you. But before ever giving a reasonable answer, he'd always ask her the same questions back. "Well, what do you think is at the bottom of the ocean?"

And as she decidedly rambled about imaginary creatures and cities, Joe would listen. He'd even remember the names of some of those made up monsters long after Olive had moved through several more memorable questions. You couldn't believe how patient he was. It was astounding to you, the way Joe dropped everything to bend at Olive's will, as she wrapped her fist around his wrist and yanked him across a bookstore toward the children's section.

You'd find them after getting what you strolled in for, and join in for story time, before checking your watch and ruining all the fun. Joe was usually more disappointed for those moments to end than the kid who was hooked on his every fictional word.

You loved Joe's heart. How you could tell when it was in the right place. When he offered help and advice and suggestions to anyone who trusted him enough to pour their heart out to his open ear. How he at least pretended to be excited when your friends begged the two of you to join in a night out at the end of a particularly busy week. Neither of you were keen on letting them down, because you'd come to value those rare nights out with the people you loved. You'd made a sacred, personal decreed to never let your friends forget how vastly you'd cared for them. So you were right behind Joe each time another offer came to sit among your pals and listen to their lame jokes and drunken singing.

But it was no secret that nights in were your favorite. You might have marveled even more so, over Joe's heart, then. You relished how it hammered under your palm, as his pulse raced from your touch. You loved the sound of its steady beat under your ear, as you rested against his chest till morning. He'd run a lazy set of fingers through your hair while the quiet of the new day threatened to lull you to sleep again. Then he'd say something so ridiculously hilarious that you'd laugh your drowse away.

You never took for granted Joe's countless attempts to get you to smile, despite yourself. In the middle of movies, at the end of long hard days- and during times you wondered how much stress you could endure before your head exploded and your dramatic expiration ruined the upcoming holidays.

When you and Gwilym argued over Olive's imminent school year and how many summer holiday trips were one too many, Joe waited for the bickering to end. Then he'd say something that made stupidly perfect sense. He'd make you and Gwil apologize to each other, and you did with all the grace of two grumpy toddlers. Then you'd all go to some posh brunch place and try and enjoy the last of the perfect summer weather that crept into the first few weeks of London's picturesque autumn.

Olive would stop eating to ask one of her latest queries to the sweet elder waitress who dropped off another round of drinks. You'd all take turns giving the kid answers, and steal bits of the chips she'd left over. When your meal was finished, Joe and Gwil went off to see a game together, and you were left with your darling girl for a whole glorious day.

Times with just the two of you weren't very rare. When you could, you made sure to take afternoons off work and save the laundry for later to spend a day with Olive. Of course, some were just as difficult as ever. But between odd growing pains and missed nap times, were icecream dates and trips to the aquarium. The latter, a place she always begged to spend hours strolling through. So when you could, you'd be quick to take her.

And when Gwilym took Olive along to visit his mother's family in Wales, you'd gotten used to the tiny wave of melancholy that came when your girl wasn't attached to your hip. But unlike all the other times before, you weren't nearly as lonely.

When it was just you and Joe, and a handful of days to waste however you pleased, you had to stop yourself from wondering how you'd gotten so lucky. You knew if you thought too long, you'd start to feel bad about how everything came to be. But you learned to let go of the regret attached to the mess you'd made during your first month long visit to London. You realized that it was silly to wish for a redo. Because everything worked out anyway, didn't it?

Joe was always quick to remind you how lucky he felt, too. Sometimes he'd say so, when he worried about the future and stopped rambling long enough to let you promise everything was going to be okay. Or first thing in the morning, when you got to wake up with the sun instead of a blaring alarm. But most of the time, he showed it. He'd leave silly little notes for you to find while you brushed your teeth. He'd bring your knuckles to his lips while waiting in the queue at the market. He'd take photos of you walking through the park and pointing to a pair of birds flying close overhead. He'd upload them in the middle of the night- when he said he was staying up to finish writing a script, or memorizing lines of another.

You'd get the notification and smile to yourself while you pretended to be asleep in the other room. When it was just you and Joe, it felt too good to be true. But that feeling didn't go away when your time alone was over.

Ben asked you to fetch him from the airport after he'd spent months away filming in another country. You and Joe fought over who got to hug him first, but when the blonde materialized from baggage claim, his arms were too stuffed with packages to dream of embracing either of you. He'd collected far too many presents during his time away- all of them for Olive. You scolded him, reminding Ben of the article you read about how kids with fewer toys grew to become more creative and resourceful. Ben argued that since you weren't going to spoil her that he was just going to have to. He'd leave the dozen gifts in the back of your car, and drag you and Joe out to a pub until you could hardly keep your eyes open.

Life felt too good to be true on nights like then, too.

And the feeling remained when Lucy and Rami got back from acting their hearts out in America. They stole Olive away as you and Joe ambled behind them on trips through high end shopping centres. When that day turned to night, your remarkable friends settled onto your sofa to tell all the stories they'd been saving up. Then they crashed there, when the night turned to morning and the sun threatened to rise before you'd stopped giggling long enough to sleep.

Those times were cherished. When your friends came around. When you went out of your way to go and see them, because it had been too long. You knew you were lucky to have mantiatiend a handful of connections with some of the most adoring and admirable friends that must have ever existed.

And on some especially rare, but guaranteed occasions, everyone got together.

The thought of joining forces was usually a never ending sentiment exchanged through the group chat that kept you all in touch. But it was Lucy's eventual doing, of course. She went about renting that darling little cottage in the countryside- the one she'd found last minute for Joe's birthday.

She got there before everyone, before Rami, even. The paint was a little more chipped, and the trees seemed even more mighty, guarding the home nestled miles away from the nearest town.

"You're just in time!" Lucy squealed as you lugged a bag into the house that hadn't changed a bit since your stay a few years back. You snorted a laugh as you stepped closer to the den full of mismatched furniture.

"For what?" You wondered. No one else had shown up yet, the night was very young.

"To keep me company, duh." Lucy shrugged as she moved to wave out of the open front door.

"Does bigfoot live out here?" Olive asked, as she skipped inside, her beloved worn down stuffed penguin tight in her clutch.

"He might." You chuckled. Because hell, you'd come to believe anything was possible at this point. And you didn't realize Olive even knew about the mythical creature, but you had a hunch about who'd been the one to tell her.

"I can't believe this place is still standing. It's charming as ever." Joe marveled, shutting the door behind him. Lucy beamed, turning to glance around.

"Yes! Remember last time?" Lucy asked, like she really wanted to know. Like it wasn't something the lot of you thought back to often. And right when you considered responding, she spoke up again. "Well forget it because this time is going to be the best ever."

The bubbly blonde recruited Joe to help her finish unloading all the treats she'd brought along to store away for the entire weekend you planned to stay. Olive trotted ahead of you toward one of the dozen tiny rooms you remembered struggling to sleep in last time, finding no reason to bite back your smile now.

It was too cold to think of going out back to enjoy the chest full of sporting goods, or the tattered net that somehow still remained. Olive was already complaining about the chill, so you abandoned your bags and tossed her a sweater, deciding to start a fire in the stone place while you awaited everyone else.

Ben was the next to arrive, bringing his usual ton of liquor and a brand new set of books and crayons to keep Olive entertained. You flashed a middle finger his way when the kid wasn't looking, and called dibs on his most expensive bottle of booze he brought to decorate the counter tops much like the time before.

By then the kitchen had been stocked, and Lucy was on a new mission to make some Pinterest worthy snacks. You scolded Ben for encouraging Olive to dance around the countertops and banished them to find some new trouble to cause. Lucy kicked you and Joe out soon after, following close behind with her plate of savory treats.

Rami dashed in from the cold around then, chucking his bags away and rushing to join the rest of you in record time. The fire you'd maintained was starting to die, and the home was too perfectly warmed to dream of starting up another, for a while. So as the evening shifted, you and Ben offered to clean up and carry everyone's rubbish away, while Joe offered to pour everyone a drink. While you went about your duties, Olive was busy yanking on the strings of Rami's hooding, begging him to join in some imaginary game the two of them made up long ago.

"I'm really glad she's joined us this time around." Ben grinned, catching a glimpse of Olive, her curls peeking around the corner, her laughter floating from one room to another. You agreed with the sentiment as you tossed your collection of rubbish in the bin. And as he followed suit, Ben rambled about his high hopes to have a couple of children of his own one day. It was something you'd always suspected Ben was keen on, but a subject he'd only just ventured into discussing lately.

"You ever think about having anymore?" He wondered in passing.

"Sometimes." You smiled to Ben, offering an innocent shrug, before catching Joe's eye from across the kitchen. He balanced a trio of glasses of wine on his way out, shaking his head of coppery hair. He shot you a look you knew well, an eager grin below a set of fiery eyes. "Sometimes" was an understatment. But Ben didn't need to know everything.

By the time Gwil showed up, Olive was on cloud nine. She ran to attach herself to his ankle, so you took his bags while he bent to scoop her up. Then, you reckoned, that this might have been the first time everyone was together that Olive might be able to recall for years to come.

She bounced from one person to another, showing off nicely colored pictures in the books Ben had brought along. He shot you a wink from across the room before she fell asleep with a dozen sunset toned crayons in one fist. You gathered her from the floor and carried the girl to the room you'd chosen hours earlier.

And before you'd even finished tucking the kid away in bed, another set of feet creaked into the room behind you.

"Here's this. And some things she forgot last time." Gwilym extended Olives favorite stuffed penguin in one hand as he rested a bag decorated in cartoon drawn bats on the chair in the corner. Your tradition of trading the girls things might never end. You'd be rattled if it did, actually.

"Oh, thank God. I mean, I know I asked you not to forget that, but I'd forgotten." You chuckled in a whisper, tucking Olive's ratty old penguin beneath the covers at her side.

Gwilym chuckled too, saying something about how he'd nearly left her bag behind on his rush to get here before nightfall. And then a silence fell, as you both waited a beat to make sure Olive was out cold. It was second nature, something the pair of you became accustomed to after the first year, when leaving Olive alone for a minute was usually followed with unhappy, ear piercing cries. And as you thought back to then, you seemed to think back to everything all at once.

"Lucy said that last time we stayed here won't be worth remembering, because this time will surely be the best." You said with a lithe grin. "And I think she may be right, but last time wasn't so bad."

"It wasn't?" Gwilym turned to you with a quizzically raised brow, a hint of a smile on his lips. You knew he was asking if you were sure. If you remembered correctly. How he'd said things he didn't mean, last time you were here. How you hardly slept that night. How it haunted you for days afterward. How he knew that.

"It wasn't." You kept your smile, sure. It could have been much worse. You could have been alone through all of that shit. But you weren't. You had Gwilym. And you hoped he knew what you meant, now. How grateful you were for him, and the kindness he'd show you, how it still remained. You couldn't go on worrying that his company might fizzle away in the years to come. Because it couldn't. You wouldn't let that possibility come to pass. So you bumped your shoulder against his arm and nudged Gwilym to leave the room.

"Let's go have some fun." You whispered. Gwilym let his smile linger as he studdied you for a beat. Then he nodded, and led the way back to everyone else.

The coloring books had moved to rest on the mantel, and bottles of alcohol had moved to the coffee table for easier access. And then you all took turns cleaning up for the evening and flipping through stations on the telly till some classic film flashed across the muted screen. And it was lots better than last time, with familiar drinks mixed in fancy new ways, and favorite laughs decorating the old unchanged home.

By the time Ben had drunken himself into a fit of random laughter, and Gwilym was nodding off between Rami and Lucy, Joe was saying something about American traditions. He demanded everyone's attention, and insisted the lot of you confess at least one thing you were thankful for. And after Lucy shouted the name of the drink in her hand and Gwilym sat up to clink his cup to hers, you all started giving actual answers. Each revolving around family, and friends, and health and happiness. But before anyone could get too choked up, Ben stood to shift gears with his favorite game of drunk history that never really went the way he wanted it too.

But it wasn't till the next morning that you realized it must have been that silly American holiday. And when you rolled over to find Joe was already awake, you announced how poorly you felt for not realizing when he made everyone say thanks. You hadn't even said good morning before you started yammering promises about how you'd remember to have a proper celebration next year.

But instead of saying good morning, or acknowledging your apologises, Joe broke into a laugh. The kind of laugh that reaches his eyes, the way you love so much. Then he told you he loved you, and you said it back; and then you sprung into another lucky day among friends.

You spent the weekend watching Gwilym teach Olive how to bake and assisting her in passing around treats she helped pour spoonfulls of ingredients in to create. Rami was most often roped into her imaginary games, and he played along with ease. You and Joe were invited to join in one morning, but neither of you could grasp the ever changing rules to Olives satisfaction, and you were swiftly kicked out of the loop while she and Rami played on.

Lucy made sure Olive was perfectly content snuggled up with Ben to watch cartoons, before she pulled you into her room with a bottle of wine for each of you to sip from. You spent a whole afternoon there with her, taking turns spilling your guts over all things you could only discuss with your dearest darling Lucy.

And when the getaway was over, everyone left in separate hurries much like before. But unlike then, you weren't so worried about where everyone might end up. You weren't worried about where you were going, either. You'd all managed to keep coming back together so far, and with an established faith that your group would keep finding excuses to do so, you didn't despair.

You remembered everything, on your drive back to London. The time you'd closed your eyes on this ride, years before. How you and Gwilym survived the nonsense you'd swept yourselves up in. Lucy's unconditional friendship. Rami's strong hugs. Ben's strong feelings.

You thought of what Joe said to you, when you met. How he said he saw a future with you, before he even knew your name. And the thought tore you away from remembering everything to look ahead. To look over, and settle your gaze on Joe. His pretty profile, and the shine of his moonstone eyes. You couldn't quite picture the places you'd end up, but you realize that you couldn't dream of a day without Joe at your side. He was always meant to be there.

While you drove, he entertained every one of Olive's questions that echoed from the back seat. You turned a grateful smile his way every now and again and savored the way he smiled back, in the way you loved so much. In a way that you didn't have to wonder how he felt, or what might come next. Unlike before, Joe made up a million of your memories. And unlike before, you knew he always would.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

taglist: @sonic-volcano @imtheinvisiblequeen @redspecialty @itscale @stardust-killer-queen @joemazzelo @dancetohotspace @kiwi-hardy @joeneslee @borhapqueen92 @im-an-adult-ish @johndeaconshands @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @beepbeephardy @slutforbritdick @joemazzmatazz @almightygwil @sadhwstudent @freakibanana @lelifesaver @drummah-in-a-rocknroll-band

#joe mazzello #joe mazello x reader #joe mazzello fanfic #joe mazzello imagine #gwilym lee #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee fanfic #gwilym lee imagine

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