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myuminji · 1 year

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Just a comic about two people catching up again [Angel AU]

[ID: A Trigun comic of Wolfwood after his death in Trigun Maximum.

Abbreviated ID: Wolfwood is now an angel with wings and a halo tied to his grave. He cannot be seen or heard by others, but Livio visited his grave and mostly filled him in on the finale, and Wolfwood waits for Vash to show up. When he does, Wolfwood is stunned and worried by his black hair, though he deems Vash fine when he pulls out drinks for them both.

Vash pours the drinks and talks. He confesses that he killed someone and calls himself a coward and the worst, apologizing for being selfish and not saving Wolfwood. Wolfwood angrily shouts that everything was his decision, and Vash is an idiot for blaming himself.

He says that Vash has done so much for Wolfwood and for others, and he calls Vash brave. Vash falls asleep with tears in his eyes, but he seems lighter when he wakes up. Vash leaves, promising to return, and Wolfwood says that he'll "watch him from afar... again." The title is "#1 'What happened to your hair?'". Full ID below readmore in 21 paragraphs.

The comic starts with a dark, noise-filter panel of the Punisher being used as Wolfwood's gravestone, with the quote "Nicholas D. Wolfwood has died" written over it.

Below that is Wolfwood, who has wings and a halo. He sits pensively and narrates, "At least, that's what everyone has come to believe, including me. Yet here I am, still roaming on this damn barren planet... But I wouldn't say I'm quite alive anymore. Since I couldn't feel hunger or thirst like I used to." He thinks, "'Ghost,' like those horror stories was it?"

He narrates over sketchy panels of himself frowning while floating next to his grave and yelling at Livio. "There, are other things I found that fits the term, like how I can't bring myself to far too far from my grave, or how others can't see me at all." We see Livio tearing up and saying "Nico-nii..." while Wolfwood furiously waves his arms and shouts, "I am!! Here!!!!"

Livio is shown speaking with a teary smile while Wolfwood leans against Punisher and listens. Wolfwood says, "Livio is the first and only person I've met so far. And luckily, he was quite a storyteller. I was able to get a grasp of the situation, and its aftermath. And what happened to him in the end."

Livio smiles and says, "It's been three months ever since... But even if we couldn't get ahold of him now, I'm sure he'll come back to you someday." Wolfwood narrates, "—And knowing that idiot, he probably would."

A close-up of Vash's coat in the wind as Wolfwood narrates, "So it didn't come as a surprise to me when he visited my grave. I'd even thought up of things to say when we meet again. Everything was thrown out of the window when he appears, of course. I could vividly remember the one question that burns in my head..."

Wolfwood looks shocked as Vash, hair fully black, waves cheerfully, "Yo! It's been a while, hasn't it? Wolfwood." Below the two floats the question: "#1 'What happened to your hair?'"

Wolfwood sweats, "Spikey, your hair. Doesn't it mean... Are you okay???" Vash smiles sheepishly, "Ah, I hope you're not mad I didn't come sooner, don't haunt me please..." Wolfwood shouts, "That's not the problem right now!!" Vash pulls something out and exclaims, "But look what I got for you!! Alcohol!!!" Wolfwood shouts, "What sort of person do you see me as!?"

Vash excitedly pulls out a bottle and two shot glasses. "It's not the only reason why I'm late, but it did took me a month to hunt this down... I recall you said you wanted to try them, right?" Wolfwood buries his face in his hands and says, "Where the hell are your priorities... You know what, yeah. I'm not gonna ask anymore since you look fine."

Vash smiles a bit tiredly and says, "Hmm,, I'm glad this place hasn't turn to ruins yet~ I've still got lots I need to tell you that's happened out there! And I thought it's better to talk about it with drinks on the side…" He clinks two glasses together. "So, cheers! ..."

He and Wolfwood are both awkwardly silent, and Vash sweats and frowns nervously. Then he pours a glass onto the ground, and Wolfwood furiously shouts, "D'ya really expect me to drink off the ground!? Stupid needle noggin!!!!!"

Vash laughs sheepishly, and he speaks via empty speech bubbles while Wolfwood listens, drinking with a small smile. Vash says, "... And when that happened I..." He drops his gaze and says between long pauses, "I..... When that happened......" Wolfwood watches him seriously as he says, "... Say. Wolfwood, is this how you've felt all the time?"

Vash looks down sadly. "You I see, I... killed someone in the end." He laughs, eyebrows drawn in. "I guess you're right. I am bound to choose someday." He takes another sip, then downs it and falls backwards. "Isn't it funny? That I've called you a coward once for killing... But guess who's the coward now~? It's always been me, isn't it?"

Vash lies on his back and laughs. "... Haha. I wonder if you're laughing too. I really am the worst, aren't I?" Wolfwood looks down as Vash continues, "You've done so much for me, but all I've caused you are troubles. I was selfish, always chasing after my own goals... That you couldn't ask for my help. That I couldn't save you. Just what kind of friend am I?"

Vash scrubs his eyes with an arm and says shakily, "Sorry... Wolfwood... I'm so sorry..." A close-up panel of his mouth shows Wolfwood saying, "... Just so you know--" Expression unimpressed, he exclaims, "There's no way in hell I'm accepting that lousy apology! You drunkard!"

He stands up and seems to kick Vash, who's still on the ground and mostly out of sight. Wolfwood demands, "Why are you even sorry for something like that, huh?? I chose my own path. It was all my decision! How many times do I say it to get it stick in that thick head of yours? Stop. Blaming. Yourself. For the things. You've not done. Idiot! Stupid spikey hair!!"

Vash's face is cut off, but a tear in his eye can be seen as he weakly says, "... oof.. wood..." Wolfwood looks tired and sighs, "... Ha... Don't feel bad about me. Until when will you realise just how much you've done for us? You've done more than enough for me, Needle Noggin."

The perspective zooms out to focus on the sky and two moons, including the fifth moon. Wolfwood's wings and the Punisher can just be seen at the bottom. Wolfwood says, "And you're brave, to go against what you've been taught your whole life. You're not a coward. You faced them until the end. So don't sell yourself short like that next time, okay?" We see Vash's face, smiling with tears in his closed eyes. Wolfwood concludes: "I'll get mad."

Wolfwood narrates, "—He passed out right after for the whole night on the cold ground. I realised how little I could help in the situation." He tries to drape his coat over Vash, sweating, and wonders, "Wouldn't it just pass through ...?"

Time passes, and Vash gets up with a sneeze and rubs his eyes. Wolfwood watches him with his eyebrows raised, and Vash laughs quietly and a bit nervously. Wolfwood narrates, "As if he'd heard my voice, a burden seems to be lifted off his shoulder when he woke up. That, or maybe he'd forgotten what happened last night. He was quick to take his leave right after.

"And so, Vash the Stampede went on a journey with a promise." Vash waves goodbye, turning to leave with his bag in hand. "I'll be sure to bring back more stuff next time!! See you later!" Wolfwood concludes, "While I watch him from afar... again." Wolfwood sits below the Punisher and waves back, saying with bemusement, "Has he never heard the phrase 'do not disturb the death?' He really throws me off..." The title is named, and it says "/ END." End ID]

[link to Image ID reblog post!]

#''if you can't go to see the world I'll bring the world to you instead'' post trimax vash who often comes back to ww bringing things he foun #and it piles up. alot.#i have up to 8 chp of these tho idt i can draw them all haha #vash the stampede #nicholas d wolfwood #trigun #trigun maximum #trimax spoilers #trigun maximum spoilers #vashwood #centric #/p

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munsster · 2 years

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Hi! Could you write a Robin x Fem! Reader? Where the reader does not feel pretty enough to be with Robin, especially considering that Robin spends her time talking about Vickie. Let it all end with a fluffy ending, Robin confesses her feelings to the reader, and for her to tell her that she is beautiful 🥺✨

come up short

A/N: i want this to happen to ME. when is it my turn to have a pretty and nervous girl confess her undying love for me and then we fall in love????? is it so much to ask

Pairing: Robin Buckley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Robin is stunned you don’t see yourself the way she always has. 1.6k words.

Warnings: fluff, angst, miscommunication, jealousy, major insecurity, body issues, a kiss, cursing

Robin’s spread out across your duvet, limbs wild and stretching as she exhausts her ample knack for storytelling. Only you've grown to hate this story. You've heard it too many times before. Always the same girl with cropped orange hair and freckles like flakes of fairy dust and a smile like a movie star.

So you stand in front of your full-length mirror, leaned over and poking at the skin of your cheeks while she blinks up at the ceiling and tells you about her crush.

"And before I could catch it, the stack of tapes crashed to the floor. I mean, I'd spent hours inputting and organizing them, and suddenly, it was all ruined, and I just..." she sighs, "I didn't care. It was amazing. Besides, she helped me pick them up anyways, so..."

You know you should be happy for her. Robin's not the type to just not care. But apparently Vickie's baby blue eyes and elf nose and wicked taste in earrings do that to her. Change her. Make her into someone else. Someone other than your best friend and favorite girl. Turns her into a drifter that skips out on weekly movie-nights and cuts phone calls short because she's waiting for someone else. Someone other than you.

So you're stuck listening and fixing your eyeliner, trying not to engage, knowing it'll break your heart. "Oh. Yeah. That's cool," you huff, "hey, uh... forgot I have a thing due for Anderson tomorrow, and I should probably get started on it—"

She sits up and watches your reflection with furrowed brow. You're chewing at your bottom lip, fussing your hair about and tugging at your sleeves. You meet her perplexity with a shrug. But in that moment, she's hyper aware of what you want. You want her out. She just doesn't see why.

"Stats? But… we don't have anything due tomorrow."

"Late work. My extension ends next class, and you know how he gets," you say, devoid of the usual melody, falling from your mouth like bricks. Like you're reading it off a page. A script.

"Oh. Makes sense," she hums, sitting on the edge of your bed and watching you turn away to change your shirt. But she can't even remember the last time you did that. Deliberately hid from her. Tucked yourself away into the open face of your closet and tugged on a Sex Pistols shirt, scratching your elbow because you know it was an unusual thing to do. "I just have to call Steve and let him know I need a ride."

You nod. "Phone's all yours." And your voice cracks. On yours, you break and flinch, wrapping your arms around your own torso and feeling like you haven't slept in days. Like you've just kicked your person out after lying to her face.

She dials slow, glancing back at you pacing in a circle while she holds your pale yellow handset to her ear.

"Hey, Steve... could you… yep... perfect, thanks."

And the phone clunks back into place alongside the dread ebbing in your ears. Pounding when she looks at you. Because it feels like a test. Smile the wrong way, and she'll dock your grade. Smudge your mascara a little bit, and you've failed. Maybe she'll suspend you for not looking like Vickie. For not being good enough or pretty enough.

And now, she's looking at you, doe-eyed.

"You okay, honey? Look a little—"

"I'm fine," you bark, "don't worry about it. I'm fine."

She holds her breath, "just checking. You've been kinda quiet all night."

"Worried about the assignment."

"Right."

The assignment. Some assignment. Numbers and fractions and percentages and standard deviations are easier to handle than your own body. Tugging at the back of your shirt so it’s not touching your skin.

“What’s wrong?” she mumbles.

And you snap, “why do you care?”

“Because clearly something’s bothering you.”

“It’s not. I’m fine.”

“Yeah, so you’ve mentioned.”

This is one stupid chess match, smacking the timer until someone lays the king down. Ending in a stalemate, needlessly drawn out and glaring at each other. You’re seething like a lion, lungs working furiously with your arms limp at your sides.

“Well. That’s because I am. I’m fine,” you huff.

“Say it again, maybe I’ll believe you this time”—she softens when you tilt your head back and your breathing gets a little shaky—"I just wanna make sure you’re okay. You know you can talk to me about anything—"

"Except I can't, can I, Robin? Why don’t you just go home and… and call your girlfriend and have movie-night with her and tell her she’s gorgeous and awesome and special in every goddamn way, especially the ones… that I could never be even okay in,” you pant, eyes dropping to the floor when her mouth closes, tight-lipped and stunned. Appalled, shocked. Disgusted, you think.

But she knows she’s worried. Over everything else, she feels the worry molding over in her guts, filling her with stuffing and cotton because she’s worried she should have asked before. Ages before. And now, even if it’s too late to salvage any of it, she’d die trying.

“Don’t you think that’s a little… I dunno—harsh?”

You scoff.

“So, I’m a bitch, and I’m not even pretty. Right? That’s why she’s so much better than I am, and why you talk about her for hours on end. I mean, I don’t know what you want from me, Robin—I listen and I listen while you gush on and on about her, and I never even got the chance to tell you—”

A horn blares from the street. She ducks to look out the window with a sigh.

"That's Steve." She grimaces at the sound of her own voice. Then she blinks at you, and you’ve gone blank, thumbing the sleeve of your shirt and itching at your knuckles.

"Okay,” you say with a shrug.

"I should go."

"Fine."

You still walk her to the door and wave at Steve from the porch, but your smile never reaches your eyes, and you prepare yourself to spend the rest of the night dry heaving over the way she says:

"I'll see you in class tomorrow."

And you just nod.

She trips down the sidewalk, deciding it’s best not looking back. Best to let it go until the morning. Apologize with a coffee in hand and the reassurance of rest. But she’d only be reassured knowing you got some. And right now it doesn’t seem that way.

You shut the door. It snaps into place. Her jacket lurches from it’s place on the rack. You stand with your back to the door, looking forward but not ahead. Watching the glassy shadows bend across the tile as the light outside shifts, and there’s a stinging screech of tires. Shoes bettering the pavement. A knock in the door.

You wipe the bleariness from your eyes, smudging the heels of your palms with gritty streaks of eyeshadow. And you open the door anyway.

"I left my jacket."

"I know," you whisper, holding the windbreaker with both hands. She looks down at it. Then at you. And she smiles, leaning in to kiss your cheek when she flops it over her forearm and fiddles with its stretch collar.

"Hey, I just wanted to let you know," she sighs, "I never felt that way for Vickie. I thought maybe if I talked about her enough, that shit would eventually come true and I could finally stop being obsessed with this... my girl. I mean, so obsessed it's kinda gross because she's definitely too nice to me—"

You duck your head, frowning at your bare feet and picking at your shirt.

"—even though she teases me all the time and makes fun of my pathetic flirting attempts... I swear I love her even more. She's perfect."

She shuffles closer in her boots, stepping onto your scratchy welcome mat and tapping your chin to get you to look at her. You lift your head, but you glance just past her, sniffling softly when a fat tear rolls down your chin.

"And beautiful."

Your shoulders lift with the promise of a deep breath, eyes flicking to hers, head falling to your collar with a sigh.

“Even if she doesn’t wanna see it. It’s always been her. Like the world didn’t matter whenever she was away from me, couldn’t focus ‘cause her laugh was so distracting. Thought about her all the time. She’d call me a creep for it. Definitely”—she laughs—“But… I think I’d rather be a creep than forget how much I love her…”

“… how much I love you.”

“But I’m not Vickie. I’m not her.”

“Exactly. I never loved Vickie,” she says, shaking her head, “I loved you. Still do.” She cups your face in her hands, jacket slumping to the brick of your doorstep because it doesn’t matter. It can collect dust or turn to it for all she care. As long as it’s you. As long as you curl your fingers into hers and lean in and let her breath the same air as you. As long as you kiss her. Like this.

With her lips soft and yours softer, a little wet and salty from the tears, but good with her eager tongue swiping against them. Your fingers weave across her scalp, and she hums, sliding her hand down your arm and pulling herself away.

“Me?” you whisper. She nods.

“You.”

“Me. All that time?”

“Mhm.”

“Wow,” you tease, “I think we might be the real dinguses.”

“I think you’re right.”

masterlist

#robin buckley fic #robin buckley fluff #robin buckley #x reader #robin buckley x reader #robin buckley x fem!reader #x fem!reader #x female reader #fluff #angst #stranger things #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x reader #robin buckley x you #robin buckley x y/n #*

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mistress-of-vos · 5 months

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Once again got all intense about how annoying Ra'sTim haters are. I'm remembering that time on Twitter not long ago when they were calling Ra'sTim i*cest... Yeah I know, Twitter is hell, but come on! 😭

I think it's particularly funny because Ra's is a man who reduces his family to his blood ties and even then he is picky. He *will* disown his children (not hurt them! Do not confuse it!) if he considers he has been betrayed so the proposition that he would see Tim as family... And that Tim would see Ra's as family! It's just so funny to me. Tell me you don't read comics without telling me you don't read comics.

I believe Tim and Ra's (before properly interacting) used to see each other as villain and hero. Period. Tim studies Batman's villains and cases so for him Ra's is synonym of bad guy, extremely dangerous, probably best if avoided. Ra's keeps an eye in all the bats, so Tim (still Robin) is a threat too: awfully loyal to the Batman, highly trained, more likely will provoke lots of damage and won't die. And that's mostly it, until Ra's is forced to meet the bats more frequently due to Damian going to live with Bruce. Ra's is more aware of Tim's abilities, and Tim is more aware of the danger Ra's represents, which I think explains why their meetings go as they do.

I don't think Ra's labels Tim as Damian's brother, but he might label Tim as Bruce's son. Which doesn't mean that makes Ra's *feel* like he's related to Tim, and similarly, Tim labels Ra's as Damian's grandfather, but nothing to him. There's no familiar tie between them, nor is their dynamic close to that, so I do wonder why people look at Ra's saying he wants a heir with Tim's blood and think that's familiar and not low-key homoerotic.

I get it if people dislike Ra'sTim due to the "dark" elements (tho I consider them very tame if compared to ships as Hannigram for example) but there's nothing on them that makes it "i*cest" so I do get mad when people accuse them of so. Particularly when it's the fans of certain Ra's' child and her ship who do so, as if Ra'sTim fandom doesn't actually treat her better than gen fans. Hell, Ra'sTim fics always lean in portraying her nicely, erasing the awkward comic canon and allowing her to have her classical bond with Damian. I have even seen certain tendency to ship her with Bruce (tho yes I admit most fandom goes with BatCat, myself included). So the fact that they have this need of hating Ra'sTim is annoying, because Ra'sTim is NOT the fandom treating their fav poorly nor doing anything wrong.

It's awful that we aren't allowed to like Ra's as his own character, that we aren't allowed to speak freely of the interesting elements of shipping him with MEN. Exploring a queer, individual Ra's al Ghul has taught me a lot about storytelling. Exploring an scenario where he falls in love with someone who contrasts with him the way Tim does has made me realize that fanfiction can be more than "I disliked the ending" and that you can write your own opinions on characters that sometimes other people share. It has been amazing and I adore it.

So what I'm trying to say is... People should stop being these loud, violent haters. There's no need for this. Why can't people let others enjoy themselves?

#rastim #ra'stim #ra's al ghul #tim drake #ra's al ghul x tim drake #shipping #my writing #comic discourse #shipping discourse #shipping discussion #pro shipping #analysis

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thelioncourts · 10 months

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Hi I don't mean to sound too stalker-like, but I saw on Twitter where you replied to someone and said that you didn't think personally that Loustat's divorce era was going to last too long in the show. You said you think maybe the end of season 3 they'll be back together. Can I ask why?

hi! that's not stalker-y at all lol you're totally fine! but I do hope a mini-essay is okay because I have a lot of Thoughts(TM) on this.

general disclaimer, as per usual: this is purely speculation. I know a lot of people on here think they know the exacts of what's going on with filming right and and throughout s2, exacts that may negate what I'm saying, and that's fine, you do you, but also since you're not telling me what it is you know, I am only running with what I know so. this is my speculation based on novels, the show, general television knowledge, and stuff my guy RJ has been saying.

okay so I'm trying to figure out how best to start this. let me just give a bullet list of what it is I'm thinking and then I'll elaborate:

Overall length of the IwtV TV show

Future Anne Rice stuff on AMC

Audience

Condensed storylines

S1 Finale - specifically 'love of my life' and Daniel's 'Well, isn't that neat and tidy?' commentary

Louis' future

Louis/Armand + Lestat/Nicki in the next two seasons

Exploration of Loustat in future seasons

Akasha storyline

so let's start with the "Overall Length of the IwtV TV Show." outside of The Walking Dead series and its multitude of spin-offs, most shows on the AMC network, even super successful ones, have only run between 5-7 seasons. Mad Men, Breaking Bad, and Better Call Saul are really well-regarded AMC shows that all only ran for 5-7 seasons. and while it could continue like TWD, it seems fairly unlikely. my personal guess is that IwtV is going to fun for 6-7 seasons, leaning toward 6 if I'm being honest. But like??? Who know??? I could be super off-base, but from the way television is going nowadays, I think a 6 seasons show is something we would be lucky to get. I think this article here really helps explain why this is a good thing, overall, and also why it's happening more often on television.

this brings me to future Anne Rice stuff; so AMC bought 18 of Anne's books. Obviously we have MW going on which is...........a thing..........but! we also have the Night Island series happening! I fully believe they may do several TVC-related spinoffs. Like, depending on Devil's Minion stuff, we could possibly get some kind of Devil's Minion show. We could easily get an Armand mini-series that would also work with Marius and Bianca and Pandora's stories too. Stuff with the Court when we get to the Court, etc. are all things I think we could see. With this in mind it's important to keep in mind that they are making the Immortal Universe. I think we're going to see a lot more beyond IwtV and I think this impacts the storytelling.

alright so now let's get into the audience; the audience is watching for Loustat. yes, they are watching for many things. yes, everyone knows they are watching for many things. but people are watching for Loustat. s1 is a Loustat love story, love tragedy. within minutes of the pilot, they are meeting, they are flirting, they are courting, and by the end they are utterly married and in love. we witness their early marriage, we witness their first marital problem, we witness them have a child to fix their marriage, we witness them separate, we witness them get back together, and we witness, in the finale, this love story close a chapter in a beautiful and heart-wrenching way in which lestat knows louis is going to at least stand aside while an attempt is made on his life, in which louis is destroyed by the "death" of his love, where they get so lost in one another in every single way that matters. the audience is watching for loustat. to a degree, you can't wait too long to give them that or people will get antsy and impatient.

now, in a much more succinct paragraph, Rolin Jones, and a multitude of writers for the show, have described this as a gothic romance. they have specified in a dozen articles and interviews "this is a love story." Rolin Jones repeatedly hones in on the fact that the chemistry read between Sam and Jacob going as well as it did was fundamentally important to the long run of the show. to not use that chemistry would be a waste and RJ has made that very clear, imo.

the show is also condensing storylines, as they should and as they need to. we're obviously not getting all 13 TVC books in their entirety, or in their order. during the first bts video we really had, RJ said that the first trilogy, tva, and prince lestat were where they were primarily pulling stuff, with a couple of other additions that he didn't name, but I very much believe were at least memnoch and merrick and some of the court aspects of the last two books. all of that being said, i think we're obviously seeing iwtv right now, but parts of merrick, parts of qotd, teeny parts of tva, and I think next season is iwtv, qotd, tva, merrick, tvl, and a teeny tiny bit more of prince lestat. basically, since they're mixing the stories together, it's like?? I mean, Loustat reunite in TVL. qotd is complicated but they float off romantically intot he sky together. comaaaaa in memnoch-merrick, saving louis' life in merrick and it's a super sexy blood sharing scene, then......married prince and consort??? like idk, if we're condensing the story then when loustat reunite, they, in general, stay together.

now let's talk about what we know with the show thus far, beginning with the s1 finale. obviously the s1 finale is important, duh, but like??? god, there are three huge aspects that I think we're going to revisit fairly quickly in s2 and that impact the future seasons. the first is the 'love of my life' line with armand. like there's so much there, but namely when it comes to thinking of louis and armand's relationship (which will undoubtedly be coming to some kind of definite end in s2) and what that means for loustat and what that means for armandaniel. like obviously louis is going to be confronted, no doubt by daniel, about 'love of your life??? really??' not to mention the 'you're still with the guy that killed your daughter?????' and the inevitable explanation of louis' even more bizarre weirdness in how he's acting in dubai, the mental destruction he's been faced with, the true numbness and everything he's forced himself into, since claudia died. and then, of course, there's 'well isn't that neat and tidy?' comment daniel makes re: lestat's "death" and calling louis out for saving him out of his love for him. like louis is going to have deal with that, daniel isn't going to let it go when he gets over floating armand. it's !! going to be everything, things that will conclude or lead us into the s3 stuff. it all comes back to loustat. all of it.

louis' future is the next thing to discuss!! obviously I'm not trying to start anything by being like 'louis' story revolves around lestat' but to some degree it does and also they revolved around each other so heavily. like lestat's whole storyline in s1 is he comes to new orleans, falls fatally in love with louis, and it changes everything. s2 is very much about all of that, even if lestat won't be in paris for a large part of it. s3 is going to be lestat telling his life to louis, one way or another. that's why he wrote tvl, to tell louis all of the stuff he couldn't and wouldn't tell him before, to explain what he's gone through, what his vampirism truly was like, etc. like louis is going to be part of tvl. RJ has said they're looking to make it not a book, obviously, so I think louis is going to be an active person to lestat's story, I think lestat will be telling him directly. loustat. and it's part of why i think s3, possibly early/mid s4 will be the loustat get back together. because lestat telling his story, everything that will follow, is just. it's them? they have to be together.

the inclusion of louis/armand in s2 and the inclusion of lestat/nicki in s3 serve storytelling purposes, sure, but they also serve to show us as an audience why loustat don't work with other people. and, going back to 'the audience is watching for loustat thing,' if we have to see them be with other people for two seasons, we're going to need that to be worth it. them getting back together in s3, possibly early s4, would accomplish that.

exploring loustat in future seasons!! so if lestat shows up in dubai/2022 at least by the end of s2 as would make sense (to probably save louis from an attempted suicide attempt), we're going to see them reunite. s3 being about lestat's life and them talking for the first time in forever will inevitably lead to some kind of getting back together, sometime soon. s4 will, imo, start really getting into the nitty-gritty of qotd (something i'll talk about in the last paragraph), and then i think they're going to take the qotd storyline and end it with this 'well. the queen of the vampires is dead. we need to blahblahblah' and I think we're looking at a super early prince lestat and court creation, lestat becoming the royalty of the vampire world and the court's creation coming about to prevent whatever thing louis is talking about in dubai (the vampires he hears around the world and stuff) and the akasha stuff. so i think by s5-ish we're in full prince lestat mode and that is where loustat are, essentially, modernly married in the books. I also just. like s1 very much established they can't see the other with another person, very much established that they need each other and love each other in a way they'll never love or need another. like it's all right there, it's all something we'll see continue.

lastly!! I think the akasha storyline is going to be imperative here. I think we're going to get hints of the akasha stuff all throughout the next two seasons, getting more and more heavy the further we get into s3, obviously and especially with lestat's waking of akasha in tvl. i think loustat are going to get together right at the end of s3, leaving us with them together during s4, only for lestat to get snatched in the middle of the night from his and louis' bed, just as he was snatched from his and nicki's bed by magnus, by akasha sometime either in the s3 finale too or early s4-ish. then loustat are together, romantically, but not on screen, meaning it's not like straight up loustat stuff for entirety of those seasons as they'll be separated. it will make losing lestat to akasha all the more horrific (he and louis had just found each other again, we will have seen him getting taken by magnus in the previous season(s), etc.) and makes the impact of loustat....abundant.

this is super long and rambly and I'm fairly tired so god knows if it all makes sense but !!! this is why I think we'll get a fairly soon loustat reunion and why I think it will be <3 everything. like, even when they're together, they're going to have a lot going on and a lot to work through so it's never going to get boring and it's going to make their romance all the more lovely to witness.

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ophiuchus-interactive · 3 years

Text

Originality, Criticism, and Entitlement

After joining the IF community, I've come to see (and experience) the accusation that there are IF writers who steal, copy, or even plagiarize another author's work. I'm going to explain why throwing such accusations around is harmful not only to the accused, but the community as a whole.

This is also an explanation as to why they're incredibly stupid criticisms, and unless there is actual, direct evidence that the work is being copied or stolen, it is not, as such "critics" want to call it, "ripping off" anybody.

(Long read)

Star Wars (1977) is considered by many to be the world's first real blockbuster, with such sensation and hype that even over thirty years since its original release date, it reminds a key figure in our pop culture and media today. In every form or fashion, Star Wars was groundbreaking in terms of cinematic storytelling and movie-going experience.

But Star Wars is nothing new.

George Lucas, the creator, has discussed many times over the years just how precisely the world of Star Wars came to be, and its origins go back much, much farther than you think.

George Lucas claimed that the idea of Star Wars was inspired by Flash Gordon serials, a comic book series that was turned into a TV show in the 1930s. The famous title crawl that appears at the beginning of every Star Wars movie?

Look familiar?

It is also a pretty well known fact that the Galactic Empire and Rebels, along with the battle scenes within the movies, also take heavy inspiration from WWII. Stormtroopers are German Gestapo, the X-Wings and TIE Fighters are inspired by WWII aerial combat: https://youtu.be/msb8OdvBBjU

There is a clear right and wrong that is written into the Star Wars universe, and that most assuredly comes from the material and real world events that George Lucas was inspired by; serial comics and shows of the 30s, 40s, and 50s, leaned heavily into black and white morality. This is why superheroes from that era like Superman or Batman were originally written as static characters. "Superman is invincible, that's not as interesting as the X-Men struggling with their place in society!" Well, yeah, that's because Superman was meant to be nothing more than a comic book character that allows children to act out their power fantasy- "you can't make me go to bed, mom! Superman doesn't go to bed!" etc. etc.

But Star Wars has inspiration that goes back even further than the 1930s. It goes back to ancient Mesopotamia.

The Epic of Gilgamesh is the world's oldest and most notable form of literature that we know of. It is an epic that describes the heroic journey of one Gilgamesh, told in five parts. This is the earliest known example of what is known as "The Hero's Journey" in literature.

If you have any knowledge of the first movie of Star Wars, you're well aware of the story beats that you can read out in this diagram, as well be able to distinguish the similarities it has with The Epic of Gilgamesh.

Does this mean that Star Wars ripped off The Epic of Gilgamesh?

No. It doesn't. Because even though the story shares similar story beats, and features a black-and-white morality, a sci-fi space opera is a far cry from ancient Mesopotamian gods battling with each other. George Lucas didn't read the epic in school and decide "ah ha! I know how I'm going to make money!"

He was inspired, and he took that inspiration and created a multi-billion dollar franchise that millions love across the globe. He wrote that story and directed that movie, he put in the blood, sweat (lots of sweat- they filmed in Tunisia) and tears to make something WHOLLY NEW, and yet in some ways...similar.

Humans are very complex creatures, and our brain loves nothing more than finding patterns in things. Why is there such a thing as the Rule of Three in literature, a rule that dictates the satisfaction the reader gets when a story has a plot that occurs in three parts? Why is there traditionally only three acts? It is, simply put, satisfying. This traditional three-part structure often times creates stories that may look or feel similar simply because of how it is structured. This is not copying. This is a literature technique that humans have been using since the beginning of language itself.

And this is why I have such a problem with the people suggesting that authors are "copying" popular works- no one solely invented story beats, no one invented the supernatural fiction, no one, singular person, solely created the concepts that we are using today. No one. Not a single thing written is wholly original.

Originality is overrated. We are products of our environment, our culture, our media we consume- if an IF writer has a story with vampires and other supernatural creatures, and the MC is a detective attempting to solve crimes, was that invented by the very popular Wayhaven Chronicles by Mishka Jenkins? No. Vampires in media are nothing new, detectives in media are nothing new, and if they so happen to exist in other stories, what of it? Did Mishka invent vampires? No. They're a cultural phenomenon that has existed in multiple civilizations at once. Did she invent detectives? Obviously not.

Mishka was inspired and so were countless of other IF writers to write a story that involved the supernatural. These IF writers may have similar story beats, they may have similar themes, but that does not make it copying.

You know what makes Star Wars or The Wayhaven Chronicles or any other form of entertaining media great? Innovation.

It is how the authors tell the story, and why it is being written that creates such vast differences in genres. Star Wars isn't The Epic of Gilgamesh because its just "in space", it is the magnificent, innovative storytelling behind Star Wars that makes it so unique in our minds. The cinematography, the storytelling, the dialogue, the acting- all of that hard work into making something worthwhile and good is what makes it so unique when comparing it to other media that feature the literary use of "The Hero's Journey".

We all have something to bring to the table, to tell our stories that have a piece of us inside them. They are influenced by our laughter, our tears, our horror, our love, our rage or terrible indifference. They are influenced by our passions, our delusions, and they are written because we wish it to be so.

Are all impressionists copying Monet because he popularized impressionism? Are all artists who paint in similar styles copying off of the one who created the style in the first place? No. They're not.

To accuse IF authors, particularly the INNOCENT ones of copying others is an unbelievably insulting and ignorant statement that disregards the author's creativity and free will to write whatever the hell they want. If all you have to see out of a story is the basic, bare bones elements to it, then allow me to speak for all IF authors out there and say:

You're missing the fucking point!

We've all put our hard work into not only LEARNING a coding language (which, surprise, not ALL of us know and have to spend HOURS figuring out) but we've learned a coding language to create a game for other people to enjoy, and we'll be damn fucking lucky if we're able to get any money off of our work that we have put in it.

This criticism becomes a form of entitlement real fast, as if a reader has any say as to the pace or way an IF story (or any art for that matter) is written.

Most of us are doing this because we love the idea of putting our work out there as an IF fiction for fun. Some of us have to work jobs, some of us have complicated lives that demand constant attention, some of us wish to do this as a living, but all of us?

All of us deserve the courtesy of being a creator that is sharing their work with the world.

The next time you decide to accuse an IF writer of copying another person, ask yourself if it's legitimate plagiarism or you're just someone who doesn't have the capacity to consider that literary themes, tropes, cliches, and genres, are not the same thing as "copying".

#renny rants #if fiction

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sassyhobbits · 3 years

Note

for one night standards would you write a scene where aelin cant be found in the castle maybe bc shes doing sth ridiculous with her daughter like a mother daughter photoshoot to surprise rowan with later but when rowan can't find her he gets all panicked and out of his mind bc he still has unresolved trauma from when she was kidnapped and its all angsty until he has both back in his arms but also gives rowan a chance to talk and work through his experience with aelin gone? (because lets face it he probably ignores his feelings about that as much as possible in order to not burden aelin further and because it was just too painful)

loved this idea!!! i also added the prompt “Because I know when I open my eyes this will all turn out to be a dream and I’ll lose you again“ Thank you to everyone who supported ONS!! i had such a fun time writing it and im always happy to come back to it. enjoy!!

~~~

Rowan Whitethorn was generally a patient man.

He knew how to wait his turn, to take his time. He was always one to raise a brow at those who seemed to be in a harried rush to everything. It seemed stressful, to say the least. He was perfectly content to sit back when needed.

Except for now.

He had made a trip back home to Doranelle to surprise Isolde for her graduation from her masters program. Aelin had wanted to come as well, but with the baby and the responsibilities she had back in Orynth, it just hadn’t worked out. Still, she sent her well-wishes to Isolde through a video chat, letting little Eliora babble into the camera and say hello as well.

Their daughter was just over six months now, already growing far too fast for Rowan’s liking. He treasured every moment he got to spend with his two favorite girls.

And although he was always happy to see his family back in Doranelle, it had been the longest he had been away since Eliora had been born. It made him highly impatient to return home.

His jet touched down in Terrasen in the early afternoon. It was summer, though the day was mild. The sky was a vivid blue, fat white clouds floating lethargically on the breeze. Absolutely beautiful.

Due to the time difference, he hadn’t been able to call Aelin before he had got on the plane. He tried to reach her as he slid into the dark sedan that would drive him from the airport to the palace, but all he got was her voicemail.

Maybe she was in the shower, or changing Eliora’s diaper. Maybe their daughter had a finicky night of sleeping and now the pair were trying to catch up on their slumber. It was fine. Or so Rowan told himself. He still hadn’t been able to stop the small clench of nerves at the pit of his stomach.

He scolded those foolish feelings. Of course his wife and daughter were safe. They were just waiting for him to return.

The drive was quick and easy and he was back at the palace before he knew it. His feet carried him towards the room he shared with Aelin, a small smile curling on his lips as he thought about having his wife and daughter in his arms once more. He missed the feeling of Aelin curled against him as they slept.

“Aelin?” he called, pushing into their room and nudging the door shut behind him. “I’m home.”

He was greeted by nothing but silence. No sound of running water in the bathroom to suggest a shower, so soft snores or shifting sheets meaning a nap. He strode into the bedroom, finding that the bed was already neatly made, not a thread out of place.

He dropped his bags by the dresser, noting that Aelin’s phone had been left there, face up. He picked it up, seeing that she still had the notification of a missed call from him and a few miscellaneous emails that hadn’t been checked.

“Aelin?” he said again, moving towards the nursery. He had gotten used to the sight of Aelin sitting in the rocking chair with Eliora, either when the babe was hungry or she just wanted to hold her daughter. Rowan had countless pictures on his phone of the two of them in that position. The sunlight streamed from the window and hit them just right in the mornings, making them look like a painting.

But the nursery was empty and the window was shut.

Those nerves reared their ugly heads once more. He had no reason to assume the worst, the palace was one of the safest places in the kingdom.

But… Aelin had once been snatched away from him on palace grounds. During their own wedding.

Rowan shook himself. No. That was the past. This was now.

Since his wife didn’t have her phone, he knew it would be fruitless to try and contact her that way. But, Rowan knew Aelin better than he knew himself.

He began a sweep of the palace, checking out her favorite haunts. The library was a bust, so was the gym. He had checked the kitchens to see if she had swooped in for a snack or something sweet, but she wasn’t there either. Rowan luckily ran into Aedion, asking the prince if he knew where Aelin was. But her cousin hadn’t seen her at all that morning.

With each failed attempt at finding them, Rowan’s fears steadily crept up. It wouldn’t be much longer before they had wrapped themselves around his throat and pulled him deep into their depths.

He took a long breath to center himself before striding out into the gardens. His heart started beating faster, not seeing any sign of her at first. Rowan’s fingers curled into tight fists as he stepped over fresh, green grass. Gods, where were they? If something had happened to them…

But before Rowan’s fears could conquer him, he heard a soft voice on the summer breeze. A familiar voice at that. Relief washed through him, heavenly and soothing, as he followed that melodic sound.

It was Aelin. It didn’t take him long to realize that she was reading one of Eliora’s favorite books to her. It was a silly tale, and it was made even more vivid when Aelin told it. She was an excellent story-teller. They didn’t know how much Eliora really understood, whether she just liked the brightly colored pictures or the faces her mother would make when she told it. Regardless, it always made the little princess smile.

Rowan rounded a hedge, a warmth spreading through his chest at the sight before him.

Aelin had spread out a large quilt under the shade of a willow. Some of Eliora’s toys were scattered about, but currently, the toddler sat in her mother’s lap, wide-eyes glued on the book before her.

Rowan couldn’t help but think Aelin looked stunning today. Her golden hair was left loose, swaying on the breeze, the summer sun bringing a healthy flush to her cheeks. She wore a silky, pale blue wrap-dress, bare feet tucked beneath her as she read. Eliora looked mighty charming too in a bright pink dress with a matching bow.

Rowan strolled towards them, Aelin’s eyes jumping towards him as she noticed his presence. A huge smile broke out on her stunning face.

“You’re home!” she greeted, putting the book she had been reading aloud down. Eliora, no longer entertained by her mother’s storytelling, crawled over the quilt to grab one of her brightly colored toys. “I thought you were going to call me when you landed?”

“I did, Fireheart,” Rowan said. He lowered herself behind Aelin on the blanket, his wife situated between his legs, before wrapping his arms tightly around her and tugging her back into his chest securely. “You left your phone in our room.”

Rowan placed a lingering kiss on Aelin's shoulder, breathing in her scent deeply. She was safe, in his arms, Eliora happy as can be, sticking her toys in her mouth. Everything was fine.

Aelin turned in his arms slightly, brows knitted slightly. Rowan knew she could see right through him.

“What is it, Ro?”

“It’s nothing, love.”

Aelin narrowed her eyes at him, as if to say, Don’t you lie to me, Buzzard.

Rowan heaved a sigh, reaching out and brushing some of Aelin’s silky hair behind her ear. “It’s just… you didn’t answer me when I called, and I couldn’t find you and Eliora when I got back. I just couldn’t help but think…” His hand drifted until it rested on Aelin’s abdomen, right over the scar she bore from fighting her way to freedom. He saw understanding on his wife’s face.

“We’re here, Rowan. We’re safe.” She placed a gentle hand on Rowan’s cheek, bringing his gaze towards her.

“I know,” Rowan whispered, jaw clenched. “But sometimes, I just worry that when I open my eyes, this will all turn out to be a dream. And I’ll lose you all over again.”

Aelin took his hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “This is real, Rowan. We both fought for this life, for each other. And nothing, nothing, is going to take it away. Ever.”

Rowan saw the determination blazing in Aelin’s eyes. She was right, of course. This was their life now, they had built their happiness bit by bit, even when so much seemed to want to go wrong. But Aelin and Eliora… they were everything to him. He didn’t know if he would ever be able to banish his fears entirely, but he would treasure every moment he spent with them.

Rowan leaned in, kissing Aelin softly before murmuring against her lips, “I missed you.”

She smiled, kissing him again. “I missed you too, Ro.”

They indulged in a few more slow, sweet kisses before loud babbling sounded, tiny hands twisting into Rowan’s trouser. He looked down, finding Eliora’s wide eyes looking up at him, flashing a gummy smile.

Aelin laughed. “It looks like someone else missed you, too.”

Rowan grinned, reaching out and picking up his daughter. He held her up high, making her release the sweetest little laughs, little legs kicking in delight. He kissed Eliora all over her little face before tucking her in one arm, throwing the other around Aelin. Immense love and devotion flowed through him, holding his two girls close.

No wonder why he had been so impatient to get home.

#rowaelin #my writing #one night standards #its cute :)#love this au #what if i just changed the names and some details and turned it into a book

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artisqueer · 3 years

Text

RetroBangBoy AU - The Hangover (ao3)

Notes:

hang·o·ver /ˈhaNGˌōvər/ noun 1. a thing that has survived from the past. Example: "a hangover from the fifties" 2. a severe headache or other after-effects caused by an excessive intake of alcohol or drugs

Characters: OT7

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Brief mentions of alcohol.

Jungkook wakes up parched, hungry, and with a pounding in his head. He pushes the covers off his face and down his chest. His long fluffy hair standing from the static of the sheets. He stretches out his arms above his head, dragging out a groggy yawn. It feels like he’s just woken up from a century-long nap. He looks up past his hands outstretched in the air. The posters above his bed are the same. He looks down, past his bare feet at the bottom of the bed. His drum set, books, and gadgets are all in their place too.

Huh…what year is it?

A heavy thump on the other side of the wall startles him out of bed. The crash is immediately followed by a low moan. Jungkook dashes out to the hall where Yoongi is already standing at the entrance of the bedroom next door. His eldest roommate chuckles behind a mug of coffee, head tilted 90 degrees to the side. Jungkook peers inside the room to see the source of the ruckus, his round head naturally tilts to the side as well. They both stand in the doorway, observing their housemate, Namjoon.

On the floor, upside down, legs folded over his shoulders.

“Where are we?” he asks as he looks up at them from between his thighs.

Yoongi shuffles back to the kitchen, holding his head in pain. “It looks like we’re not in Jeju anymore…” His voice is raspy and deep.

***

Jungkook’s round eyes bounce back and forth across their house, looking for clues to explain their current predicament. His head is throbbing with pain too. He suddenly remembers his thirst and runs to the kitchen for water.

Once Namjoon has restored himself to a perpendicular position, he joins them in the kitchen too.

“Why does my head hurt? Did we get shit-faced last night?” Jungkook groans into the kitchen counter.

“I can’t remember,” Yoongi grimaces between gulps of coffee.

“Is it a week-day? We have never gone out on a school night… I would never go out on a school night!” Namjoon folds his thick arms across his chest and blinks. “I’m so hungry.”

Jungkook turns away from the sink and his eyes pop at the sight. A whole ass meal, complaining about the lack of a meal...in the kitchen of all places. pls.

“Me too. We better go out for food. There’s nothing to eat here.” Yoongi says with very little energy.

“How can that be? I always stock up on groceries!” Namjoon frantically checks the cabinets and cupboards, finding them all bare.

“What the hell did we do?” The two eldest housemates look at one another, dumbfounded. Jungkook leans into the kitchen wall, aggressively chewing on his thumb. He's nervous, eyes big and wide. He opens his mouth to speak when the phone rings.

Ring ring ring.

Namjoon answers it, rather desperately. “Hello?”

“Good, you’re home.” The voice on the other end breathes out a sigh of relief. “It’s me. Taehyung. Emergency meeting. Your place. Now!”

***

“So, we’re all blacked out from yesterday. We have the worst hangover of our lives. And Bighead and Jin are missing…” Jungkook repeats as he paces back and forth the living room.

Hoseok enters the breakfast nook and sets down an extra-large pan of sunny side eggs and sausage. He steps back before the starved men wipe it clean.

“What’s gotten into you? You’re all so hungry today,” Hoseok scorns them as a smile grows on his lips. He’s thrilled that he finally gets to cook for them. Jin normally does all the cooking.

“You’re not going to eat?” Jimin asks him from behind a mouth full of food.

“I just don’t feel hungry,” Hoseok shrugs. He wipes his hands on his apron. “I brought us enough groceries to last through the week, so eat well.” Oddly, Hoseok has more energy than everyone in the room put together.

Taehyung speaks from the head of the table. “Guys, we’re not all blacked out—which is why I called everyone here..."

They look up at him from their plates, still eating like the food will be taken away if they stop.

"I remember everything.”

Jungkook interrupts. “Wait. Has anyone checked the date?!” He wiggles out of his chair and nearly trips running to the front porch, where the Sunday paper should be.

Having just eaten to the brim, Yoongi yawns and casually turns on the TV set, out of habit. The display does something completely new. Huh, TVs don't have color? Jimin and Hoseok are most mesmerized by this, moving to sit at the foot of the screen as a Coca-Cola commercial plays:

It's more than taste,

Bigger than a name,

As big as your best times,

As good as your best friends,

As real as the way you feel…

Jungkook runs back with the newspaper all spread out into disarray like his long dark hair. “Um…guys?”

There’s a long pause in the room.

“We’re not in the fifties anymore…”

What—

Their wide eyes look from him to the television and back. There’s only one thing that could mean coming from Jungkook…and it’s not good.

“We, uh, must’ve jumped twenty-seven years into the future,” he scratches the back of his round head. “It’s...1985.”

Taehyung clears his throat. “You guys will need to sit down for this. I can explain.”

***

They gather in the living room. Namjoon and Yoongi take up the couch, Jungkook sits on the floor between them, and Hoseok and Jimin share the love seat.

Taehyung’s knack for taking pictures and love for journalism make him a natural storyteller. His fine hands sway in the air as he talks. “You all have varying degrees of memory loss. For some very strange reason, I can remember everything that’s happened to us in the last 48 hours.”

Tae recounts their field trip and the events leading up to the portal inside the Manjjanggul Lava tube. How Jin wanted to hide the portal from the lab, Heaven Inc., but Jungkook wanted to destroy it. How Namjoon, Hoseok, Jimin, and Yoongi stormed the cave clearing as Jungkook was opening the portal gate. How Namjoon and Jin fought each other as the cave collapsed. And most importantly, how they were all unexpectedly pulled into the warp after Jungkook. All, except Jin and their beloved Bighead.

Their memories start coming back to them, piece by piece. Oddly, it’s as though only Taehyung could trigger their recollections.

“I don’t understand.” Namjoon finds his glasses and puts them on. Suddenly, he looks more like a professor than a biker. Big-tiddied mathematician. “Why is Taehyung the only one who remembers what happened?”

Taehyung thinks for a moment before an unusual blush forms at his cheeks. “Probably ‘cause I appreciate art. So, I remembered.”

“Uhm, ok. And why doesn’t Hoseok have hangover symptoms like the rest of us?” Yoongi crosses his arms, which seemingly grew thicker in the micro-span of the jump.

Hoseok vibrates from his place next to Jimin. His bright smile radiating through the room. “Ooh, I know I know. ‘Cause I’m your hope! Everyone was totally beat, but I could give you my energy. Like sunshine to a dying plant or light at the end of a dark tunnel or a—”

“—mOtH tO a FlAmE,” the rest mock. Apparently, no one forgot Hoseok’s notorious house party pick-up lines. They all laugh.

Could this be? Do some of the jocks have certain abilities now? What about the bikers?

“We have another problem: where is Sweetcheeks, and Seokjin?” Taehyung seems frustrated.

“And another problem: why did we all get warped with Jungkook in the first place?” Jimin pouts. “What about our families, and my—”

“—Cat! Your cat! Cats have nine lives. For three they play, for three they stray and for the last three, they stay. Why...did I just say that? It feels so familiar, so stran—” Yoongi stops talking out loud, resorting to mumbling to himself instead. He quickly grabs the paper from Jungkook and begins searching it for something.

The others continue to talk over each other, flooded with their worries and bits of things they’re starting to remember. The upcoming homecoming game, the unattended house parties, mourning parents, exams, etc.

“Quiet!” Namjoon’s clear and booming voice silences the room.

“I don’t know,” Jungkook fiddles with his tattooed fingers. “I-I don’t know why I dragged you all here with me. That’s what I have to figure out. I will figure it out. I promise. I’m worried too. If Bighead and Jin didn’t get warped here with us, maybe they, they ended up in a different d—” they sit in silence, thinking the worst.

“No no, that can’t be,” Namjoon reassures. “Given everyone’s memory lapse and their expert recklessness, they may have just wandered off.”

“We have to go back,” Jungkook says. “We have to go back to 1958.”

“How? We’re stuck here,” Yoongi deadpans, his nose still in the paper.

“Actually,” Jimin recalls, “on my way over here I stopped by the coffee shop…and um…well my boss didn’t recognize me at all. He didn’t even know my name.” Jimin’s worries grow. It’s unlike Jimin to walk down the street without a single greeting. He is—was—very popular.

“It's starting to make sense...” Jungkook says under his breath.

“What does, Jungkook.” Namjoon’s jaw does the thing.

“People don’t recognize us in this place because,” he pauses, “because we’re not from here. I don’t mean this town, I mean, this dimension.”

Namjoon presses a finger to his lips, thinking.

“We should pick new names and find temporary jobs. To blend in. We can't go back to school, we don't have identification. We need the money anyway,” Yoongi advises, “to support ourselves while Jungkook figures out a way back.” Yoongi seems to have become incredibly wiser after the jump. He peels the paper apart, pen in hand, circling jobs from the employment section. He looks up from the paper again. “How did I know to say that?”

“Whoa, are you like, a genius now?” Jimin sasses, as much to tease him as to distract from the impending doom that is being stuck in the future.

“No.” Yoongi scoffs, withholding a severe blush. “It’s like I’ve read all the books at the library, and lived nine lives since we left 1958. I just, know things.”

Namjoon nods in agreement. “It’s the best plan we’ve got. If twenty-seven years have passed since our “disappearance”, then our sudden re-emergence could bring unwanted attention, or worse…”

“Could someone still be looking for us after all years?” Jimin asks Tae. Hoseok instantly understands and wraps him in a comforting embrace.

“We need to sort this out as quietly as possible. Let’s keep low profiles until we figure out a way to get back to 1958. I don’t want us to get tangled in loose ends.” Namjoon sighs somberly. Being the leader of the biker gang has made him a suitable leader for whatever mish-mosh-of-a-gang this is now. “We’re in a different dimension and we don’t entirely know what that means. It could be dangerous, but as long as we stick together we will be okay. My priority is to keep us all safe.”

At this declaration, all eyes sparkle. Especially, Jungkook’s.

“I got us here, Joon. You can trust me to find us a way home,” Jungkook gets up from the floor, making for the door.

“Stop!” Jimin interrupts. “We can’t go out dressed like this.”

They look down at their clothes. They are still in their 50s outfits.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Yoongi puts down the paper and pouts.

Hoseok pounces off the sofa, “YES! New clothes…get up get up! We’re off to the mall!” He tosses his apron aside and leads them out the front door. Namjoon and Yoongi groan, dragging their feet toward the back of the group.

Jungkook smiles ear to ear. Maybe the world is not quite right, but everything he truly wants is right here with him.

#retrobangboy #bts fic #bts #bts art #bts fanart #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook bts #retro jungkook #80s #biker!jungkook

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itssideria · 3 years

Note

As someone who personally had a fic under the Insane Wilbur Soot tag, ouch. Those statistics hurt, because yeah, I was playing into the whole abusive C!Wilbur thing, to make the story more thrilling. Granted I started writing it within days after the revival stream, when we didn't have half as much insight to his character - but still.

I took the fic down, despite it having over 10k hits. I hadn't really been updating it anyway.

oh, dang, anon

i mean, look on the bright side! you're in a famous post by a big blog!! yay!! /j

first off, holy shit, congratulations! you got popular, and your writing did well, and that mustve been hella cool!! you should be very proud of that!! getting 10K hits is hard, dude. i've never managed to do it.

that being said, though—i can't honestly say i would have enjoyed an 'insane c!wilbur' fic. i probably would have clicked off to find something else. not in a hateful or malicious way—i'm not into that—but in more of a, huh, author really likes evil fanon c!wilbur, huh, sorta way. its just—i really care about characterisation, and, yknow. seeing a dude you love and identify with get torn to shreds is definitely not a good feeling.

however, please don't beat yourself up about it! you've definitely figured out the iffy implications of that phrasing, worked past them, and apparently took down a 10K hits fic?? what the fuck?? im?? holy shit that is a BIG thing to do. anon, your resolve terrifies me /pos

and at the end of the day, man, you weren't actively harming any real people. even with your readership, you alone could not have pushed any real anti-c!wilbur agenda—you were just a person enjoying their story! the insane c!wilbur soot issue is a product of authors and readers both—high readership makes aspiring authors and newbie fanfic writers wanna write it, and then readers react positively and flock to the fic in droves, which makes authors write it more, and it's just. its quite the vicious little cycle, isn't it? its a fandom issue as a whole, much bigger than just a couple writers on ao3. and as much as i dislike it, i do get why people believe in insane c!wilbur soot—the whole irony of c!wilbur's character is that he played to the expectation of a villain, made himself extra-awful and 'insane' and evil on purpose, to try to fulfill that self-imposed villain role. not a lot of people realised that, at the time, which really upped the number of insane wilburs out there. and, hey!! having bad guys in the story is always fun!! aesthetics and shit, yknow? i can see why people leaned into it.

you're not by any means unwelcome here, if you're worried about that. as much as i care about c!wilbur and character analysis, i won't exclude people for disagreeing/getting it wrong. especially when a fair portion of the fandom is super young/new to fandom/inexperienced with storytelling techniques and character analysis. ive been reading and writing and analysing for years, now, and it genuinely is a learned skill! faulting someone for their inexperience, or for wanting a certain version of the character to be real, is just dumb. and it's cool that fandom perception is being challenged and called out and actively being changed! you're a prime example of that!! it was cool hearing your story :)

#asks #anon #wilbur soot #the only dealbreaker between me and a person is them supporting c!dreams actions lmfao #not to be confused with them enjoying c!dreams character. those are two very different things. i enjoy c!dream IMMENSELY #but yeah anon!! it was cool hearing from you!! thanks from stopping by man :)#(every time i use man or dude here its gender neutral i promise)#i hope that this hasnt discouraged you from writing if you wanna write again #and i hope i wasnt too mean #have a good night <3 #long post

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levinneheart · 4 years

Text

Never loved you

Shinsou Hitoshi x Reader (College AU)

Warning/s: Characters are 20+; slight IzuOcha ship; Fluff; Angst; implied Depression; may or may not been based on experience

And yes, the title is a Song by Evie Clair. You’re quirk is smth to do w/ Empath and it’s not hero material by norms.

You never expect to encounter him. Out of all the people you could’ve met, you didn’t believe you that you could met him online out of all the places.

It started when you became friends with a group of talented singers and musicians as you also joined into the fun – abeit not as talented as them, you tried your best and put your all into it. Not long after that, you began knowing the group which consists of all the previous students of Class 1-A and some other students of UA and soon, Mina invited you to join their group as an “honorary member” as you lived in another country which you gladly accepted.

Sometimes, you would join the voice call and be overwhelmed by the amount of voices blasting in your earphone. Sometimes, you would listen silently as everyone talked over each other while Bakugou screamed and make small explosions that literally makes everyone deaf. Rip earphone users. You loved and treasured these moments with them, although you didn’t know what they looked like.

It wasn’t until he joined that made you the happiest. You were currently teasing Midoriya and Uraraka, saying they were cute crushing on each other, much to Uraraka’s denial and Midoriya’s stuttering. Chuckling, you continue with your impromptu storytelling of their love blossoming until both of them are beyond speechless. You decided to stop when Bakugou joined the conversation.

“Yo, Mina invited other damn extra!” he informed in his usual loud voice.

“Kaachan, you shouldn’t talk to Shinsou like that! He’s listening you know!” Midoriya scolded softly.

You checked and someone was listening in, they had a cat picture as a profile pic and you couldn’t helped but smack yourself in embarrassment as you didn’t noticed earlier while Bakugou and Midoriya beefed it out in the voice chat. You muted them, not wanting to hear they’re yelling of being the no. 1 hero.

“I agree with you btw.” chatted the one with cat pic. “It’s so obvious, it makes me roll my eyes that they remain oblivious to each other’s feelings.”

“IKR!” You typed back, forgetting your embarrassment.

“You’re not from UA, are you?”

“No. Actually, I’m just an honorary member as Mina says since I live miles away haha.”

“I see. I’m Shinsou, Shinsou Hitoshi btw.”

“(l/n) (f/n)! Nice to meet’cha!”

You didn’t know how it happened but you felt an instant connection to him and you two hitted it off from then. You two would always chat in your private message and it quickly became unnoticed by the others, they even started to ship is and make an official name for the ship. You played oblivious as did he, although both of you already know about it.

After two weeks, he called you bb and you couldn’t helped but blush before awkwardly telling him: you really really liked him. At first, he didn’t say anything so you were half-expecting him to reject you and that’ll be it. But surprised, he told you: he liked you back. However you both decided that it’s too early for a relationship so you two now have a peace of mind that at least the other feels the same way.

It was fun, interacting with him, sending him uwus and heart memes, etc. You learned that he’s working as a pro hero while you studied in university. You learned he’s a gamer who sings, plays the guitar and ukulele ngl i can honesty see this as canon. And he plays basketball and soccer just pretend sksksksksk.

You two would schedule voice calls as you both were busy, it would always play out as – you would come home late and wait for him to get out of work as you two chatted away before actually getting in the call once he’s home. You would usually ask about he’s day and about his job and he’d reply with his usual deep tired voice that you’ve grown to love curses my deep voice kink.

This went for two months. Until one night while you were staying up late studying, he chatted your name. This was the first time he called you by your real name, usually he would call you by your username or “bb” as usual so this sudden change set butterflies in your stomach.

“Yes, Toshi?” you replied before teasingly sent, “This is the 1st time you called me by my name haha.”

“I wanted to tell you something important so I thought it’d catch your attention.”

“Well, what is it?”

“I love you.”

Without thinking you typed, “I love you too.” and sent it before realizing what he meant. “Do you meant that as a friend?” You immediately sent.

“Do you want me to say that?”

You blushed hard, you can imagine him chuckling at your stupid question. “Uhhh no??? Idk??? You’re not joking, right??”

“I wouldn’t have said it, if I didn’t mean it.”

“Really?” You couldn’t believe it so you just had to ask.

“Yes.”

“Tell it to me again plz 🥺👉👈.”

“I love you, (y/n).”

“I love you too, Toshi.”

“In advance, I’m so sorry for being a weirdo.”

“But you’re my weirdo.”

Cue squealing. But after that, it went spiraling down. A month and a week went by without communication from him; no updates, no greetings, no nothing. You decided to confront him about your concerns. You understand that he’s busy at work and you were always supportive and understanding at his job were his top priority.

But couldn’t he at least spare you a few minutes of his free time, maybe when he woke up or during his breaks. You didn’t ask for more so you were slightly disappointed with him as it worried you that he worked 6am-2am everday without holiday breaks besides Nov.1-2.

You voiced those concerns to him, he apologized and you forgave him. But this behavior of his continued on and this made you sad, other would say you’re depressed but you were too occupied with thoughts of him; his voice; the feeling he gave you, etc.

For another month and three days, you confront him again but this time he left your pm and blocked you. You panicked as negative thoughts flooding your mind.

Did you do anything wrong? You weren’t too clingy, right? Your chat wasn’t too honest, right?

You somehow managed to calm your mind after a couple of minutes and through logical evaluation and elimination, you concluded that you didn’t do anything wrong. But the questions remain: Why did he leave? Why did he blocked you?

For the longest time, you couldn’t answer that. You spend your time drifting off from reality and to your memories with Toshi while day-by-by you lessen your interactions with your online friends, seemingly just vanishing from thin air.

You felt empty, a void of loneliness filled you as you went your way through your own life, not knowing what to do with yourself or even feel. Why did it come to this? Everything went fine, you two were happy so why? Why did he suddenly leave you all alone like that?

———————————————————————

Today was the reunion of UA batch [number]. Shinsou stood in the far corner of the Gym Gamma, his back leaning against the wall as he observed everyone and everything. He noticed an unfamiliar yet familiar (h/c) locks, he watch as you talked with Sero, Tokoyami, Shouji, and Ojirou. You were especially close to Ojirou, you practically by his side with your arm linked with his.

He didn’t know why he was growing irritated and angry at sight of you being in someone else’s arms when he damn well know that you deserve to move on after what he’d done to you after all those three years but still… He had hoped that you actually waited for him.

You were suddenly called by Kirishima as you leaned towards Ojirou and whispered a soft ‘see you’ before walking towards to him.

“(Y/n)-chan! I want you to meet someone!” He said as he dragged you towards where a lone lavender haired man stood before running away. You opened your mouth to objects but it was already too late, he was gone. You looked at the stranger and felt that same connection when you met him, you knew. Although not having to see his face, you just knew that it was him: Shinsou.

“(L/n) (f/n)! Nice to meet’cha!” You cheered brightly, just like when you first introduced yourself to him.

“I know.” he replied. “I’m Shinsou Hitoshi.” God, why I am so lame. He thought.

“Oh! Nice to finally and officially meet you, Shinsou-san!” You smiled as you raised your glass towards him.

Why did you have to call him like a stranger? And not the usual ‘Toshi’ you would always call him?

He clicked his glass with yours and took a sip as his eyes spotted a shiny accessory on your ring finger, making his heart froze. That’s why. You were engaged. Of course, why wouldn’t you be? You were ever so patient, understanding and supportive. It didn’t even surprise him.

When you finished you glass, you excused yourself as Jirou announces the last song for tonight that is written by the guess before she yelled out your name and you climbed up the stage.

“Love do you know?

We've been growing apart

And you should know

That for me that's hard

Darling I'm scared if I let you go, oh

This will be goodbye for good

It's easier this way

I'll spare my heart some pain

Even though I know it isn't true

It's easier this way

I'll spare my heart some pain

Even though I know it isn't true

‘I never loved you’

And I won't say

That I knew it from the start

So you can say

That we weren't torn apart

'Cause for me, oh it's easier to bleed, oh

When I know you can sleep so I keep telling myself

It's easier this way

I'll spare my heart some pain

Even though I know it isn't true

It's easier this way

I'll spare my heart some pain

Even though I know it isn't true

I feel numb when the drums slow down

Oh, leave me dumb so I can't tell myself

Myself, oh

It's easier this way

I'll spare my heart some pain

I already know that it just isn't true

It's easier this way

I'll spare my heart some pain

Even though I know it isn't true

‘I never loved you’.”

Part 2, maybe???

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imzadi-caskett-huddy · 4 years

Text

House, M.D. Fanfic (8/?)

Thank you to everyone who has taken time to leave a note on my story. I hope you continue to enjoy my kind of rewrite and/or additions to certain episodes! As always, I don't own House. If I did, Lisa Edelstein would have gotten the respect she deserved contact wise for a season 8.

As stated in previous chapters, the story follows the big picture laid out on the show, but with my own take on things. This chapter starts with Cuddy's struggle to keep it a secret from House about his previous diagnosis being correct. I should say that I REALLY don't care much for early season 3 Wilson, and I'm going to do my best not to let that affect the storytelling. This chapter is longer... lots of story development to get through.

Thanks to @love-hope-faith-feels-like-a-lie on Tumblr for reading my ideas and providing positive feedback! Anything in the way of feedback is always appreciated! Enjoy!

xxxxx

She was definitely not comfortable lying to House about this. He deserved to know he was right. She didn't know why Wilson suddenly thought he needed to teach House a lesson on humility and make her a party to it. "I have to tell him. I see him every day. I..."

"Everybody lies."

Wilson's words echo through her head that night as her head lay on his shoulder, her fingers tracing lines across his chest. "You were right."

He turned his head slightly to see her better. "I'm right about a lot of things. You're going to have to be a little more specific."

She pushed up slightly on her elbow, the sheet sliding down her chest a bit. "Your patient. In the wheelchair," she started.

He smiled slowly. "You gave him the shot."

She sighed, dropping her head back to his shoulder. "I gave him the shot."

"Why?"

"Because I know you. Because you see things the rest of us don't see. Because as infuriating as it is, you're never wrong about the medicine."

He smiled smugly. "I was right."

"Yes," she sighed, rubbing her face. "You're always right. The man stood up from his wheelchair and hugged his son."

"You weren't going to tell me..."

She looked up at him then. "Wilson thought it was a bad idea..."

"Wilson would think this is a bad idea too. That mean you're going to stop sleeping with me to get pregnant?"

"No, of course not..."

"Then why are you suddenly listening to him?"

She was quiet a moment. "You like the high. The night you showed up outside my window with your diagnosis, you were higher than I've ever seen you on Vicodin. We just worry about you."

"And yet you told me anyway," he pointed out, shifting to get up and grab his boxer briefs. He needed to walk. He needed to think.

She made a grab for his shirt and slipped it on. There was an argument brewing. "You're an addict, House. You're always looking for a fix. If it's not Vicodin, it's a medical mystery that only you can solve. If you don't have the puzzle, you get your high in my bed. Its all just a fix for you."

"That's what you think this is? That's all you think you are? A fix because I don't use Vicodin anymore and you told me no at work?" He spun around to face her. The look in her eyes said it all... she did think that's all she was to him. "I'm going home," he started pulling on his clothes.

"House, that's not what I said..."

"You said enough. I got my 'fix.' Keep the shirt." He headed for the front door.

"House!" She called after him. But it was too late as she heard the front door slam. She sighed and for back into bed. She should have said something. She should have told him him she knew she wasn't just a fix...because she did know. This had been going on for months... it was way past just sleeping together to get a fix or to get pregnant.

Her hand moved over the place he'd occupied in her bed not even ten minutes before. How had this even spiraled out of control that quickly? Sliding closer to his pillow, she inhaled his scent. She could hear his bike engine revving as he tore down the street, and she knew sleep was not going to come easy now in her empty bed.

xxxxx

"How's the leg?" she asked cautiously as she opened his door. She wasn't going to push too much since they were at work, but she was trying to judge his mood. Especially since he hadn't bothered to tell her that his leg was starting to hurt again.

He looked up from his desk and saw her entering his office. "My leg is fine."

"You're limping. Cameron thinks it's because we lied to you. We both know that I already told you, so that's not it. Is it because we had a fight?"

"Your breasts are different," he studied her closely, completely ignoring her attempt to talk about him.

She continued unfazed. "Wilson thinks I haven't told you, and that I'm feeling guilty and want to coddle you."

He shook his head. "You're pregnant."

"I'm not pregnant. How badly does your leg hurt?"

"Your breasts are firmer. As someone who had intimate knowledge with the girls, I would know," he stated. "You're pregnant."

"It's called an underwire. Tell me about your damn leg." She was not going to let him deflect by turning the tables on her.

"My leg is fine."

"Let me do a scan on your brain. If the Ketamine is wearing off..."

"Let me do a pregnancy test." They each wanted to test the other. Fair was fair, after all.

"House, I'm not pregnant!" she dropped her voice at the end, not wanting that word to escape the walls of his office.

"You've been taking fertility drugs. You've been getting laid on a regular basis, without protection. Your breasts have enlarged. You're doing crazy things, because I can't think of any other reason why you would ever listen to Wilson about lying to me. You're pregnant."

"You're not always right, you know."

"Actually I am. You said so yourself. I'm never wrong about the medicine. But you and Wilson would just have me think I'm wrong. You'd rather have me doubt myself and lie to me about it than tell me the truth and prove I'm right," he said lowly, massaging his thigh.

"House, let me look at your leg."

"My leg is fine!" After a moment, he dropped his head slightly. "Don't you think if I thought the treatment wasn't working that I'd do something to try to fix it?"

She sighed softly. "If it gets worse, call me." She knew she wasn't getting anywhere with him then, so pushing further was futile. He was still pissed at her for not telling him he was right. She was pissed at herself for going against her better judgement on this and actually listening to Wilson.

xxxxx

He hated that he'd had to grab his cane. He hated that he had taken the pills. He hated that he was now standing on her front porch, leaning against his cane, knocking on her door.

"Tell me the truth. Are you pregnant?"

She wasn't surprised to see him, not really. Not after the way they left things. She was, however, surprised to see him with his cane. "Why do you keep insisting I'm pregnant?" She moved to let him in.

"Why do you keep insisting you're not?" He studied her. That had, afterall, been the purpose of them sleeping together to begin with. She had been very actively trying to get pregnant. So why was she now suddenly opposed to taking a pregnancy test to try to confirm it when he suspected it?

"You're walking with your cane. That means the Ketamine wore off." Now she was deflecting.

"Or it just means I need my next fix. That's what you and Wilson expect of me anyway, right? No puzzle to take my mind off it. Time to give sex a whirl."

She crossed her arms. "That's why you're here?"

"Why not? You have been so eager to welcome me into your bed. Figure I'll get high on endorphins from mind blowing sex and walk out of here without my cane," he said sarcastically. He caught the hurt look on her face at his comment and looked away.

"Call one of your hookers if you want mind blowing sex. I'm not in the mood," she turned to walk away.

"Hookers can do the distraction. They can't do the mind blowing sex. They don't do what you do..." He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. He'd crossed a line with that last insult, and he knew it. He'd tried to hurt her with it... knew just what button to push to get the desired reaction. "I took the Vicodin. My leg hurts," he admitted quietly.

She took a step closer then, resting a hand on his arm. "We can figure something out."

He shook his head. "Nope. Tried Ketamine. It didn't work. House the cripple is back for good," he told her simply. He'd gotten a beautiful glimpse into a pain free life, had allowed himself to hope, only to have it yanked away. "Probably for the best. I do my best work this way. Less likely to screw up diagnosing patients when I'm in pain. More likely to be an insensitive ass, but less likely to miss something and screw up the medicine."

"House..."

"Are. You. Pregnant?" his voice low, his eyes dark as he closed down any chance of continuing to talk about himself.

"No," she pulled her hand away and crossed her arms once more.

"Take a test?"

"No. It's not time y..."

"Then how do you know?" He interrupted her, moving closer.

"It's too early to..."

"Better to have another go then. Just to make sure it takes," he murmured lowly, pulling her against him in a kiss then. He was ready to lose himself in her and the way she could make him forget everything else.

At first she was going to push him away, but after a moment, her body melted against his, not bothering to stop him as he pushed her shirt up and over her head. He was in pain. He needed the distraction. Maybe she did too. Maybe she needed the high of sex with him even more than he did. Biting his lower lip as she deepened the kiss, she shoved him back against the wall hard.

He growled when his back hit the wall, his eyes darkening with lust, fingers digging into her skin as he pulled her roughly against him. His mouth moved to her neck, biting her pulse point hard and causing her to hiss, before soothing the spot with his tongue. She'd have to cover that with makeup tomorrow.

Her hands started pulling at his clothes as they worked their way to her bedroom. He closed the door with her body, pushing her back against it as his hands slid to her thighs and lifted her up, using the door to support the added weight so it didn't mess with his leg.

xxxxx

They finally both fell into her bed, breathless and in better moods. "Does that count as makeup sex? Or is that still angry sex?" He asked a moment later.

She lifted her head and couldn't help but smile slightly. "Shut up, House."

"I just need to know if I'm going to be expected to go another round for makeup sex, or if that was already covered..."

She grabbed her pillow from where it had landed on the floor earlier and smacked him lightly with it before shifting to get more comfortable in bed. "Shut up, House." But she did giggle softly to take the bite out of her words. She wasn't mad anymore. He didn't seem to be either. "Go to sleep."

#house #house m.d.#house md #house fanfic #house x cuddy #greg house #lisa cuddy #huddy

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unholyhelbig · 6 years

Note

Always incredible writing! Can't get enough of your storytelling and I'm sure many others can agree. Keep up the amazing stories. Prompt idea for ya since I've just been Netflixing tons of movies after work lol: Movie Tulip Fever, oldtimeAU Beca is a lowly painter who has been hired to paint a portrait of a wealthy man and his new much younger wife. She has married him to support her family. They fall in love. Btw the movie was pretty shitty lol, but I thought it would be a fun/diff idea for ya!

[A/N: Thank you so much! This movie would have been so much better if it was gay… Anyway, this is a big prompt so I could only fit so much into it. This is longer than I usually do. So if you guys want to see a part two, send me an ask about it!]

The candle gave a soft light to the crowded room. It was an arc of brilliant yellows that was cut with a horrid orange. However, the two colors worked together in an almost therapeutic way- one tiny combination of wax and wick giving a new life to the smallest room in the house.

That was no feat; the mansion was massive- coated in royal reds and cobalt blues. Nothing was spared when it came to Garret Beale. His family being ahead of all the trade on their small island- often taking a page out of the colonist’s books and resorting to working with the men of the sea. Men who pillaged and brought back three times what this home was worth, only keeping a small portion of it to get the great law of the king off their flame-heated trails.

He was a handsome man, one with charming stature and the best-assembled clothes. Garret carried himself as such- royalty that didn’t have a true bloodline, but enough to get everything he desired. Including the woman who stood with a hard stare in front of him. His deep Irish eyes were scanning over her figure, taking in the small stature that she carried. In fact, she reminded him of one of his men; not a nationally regarded painter.

She wasn’t traditional, a pair of grey slacks and a black shirt hugged her figure, her eyes almost as dark as the midnight sky. Different colors of paint popped against the fabric; it made her look more like a street beggar than anything. But he had seen her work- seen the way she made use of the canvas and vibrant colors given to her. She was an artist, one like no other.

“I’ve seen your work,” Garret said, quite dramatically as he leaned backward in his seat. It creaked and groaned in irony. A man with that much wealth should have a better place to sit. Maybe there was some semantic value, but the woman didn’t question him. Instead, she lifted her chin, keeping her jaw tensed. “it’s good.”

“Just good?” She finally spoke, lifting her eyebrows. She leaned heavily on his hand-crafted desk, annoyance sparking within her stomach. He had more money than he knew what to do with; Beca running her fingers over the carved edge. It was done well. Better than his chair. “I mean no offense, Mr. Beale, but I have spent years studying under masters of artistic ability. You’ve pulled me from sea two weeks ago, for what? To design your walls?”

“Garret, please.” He seemed unphased by her annoyance. The man knew that she wasn’t happy, practically being pulled onto his family’s property. She agreed, having to travel weeks to even get to the home. He offered up a project, one that peaked her interest. “If I wanted to have my walls recolored, I would not send word for you, Miss Mitchell, have a seat.”

She drew in a soft breath, that skeptic look still in her deep stare. However, she eventually lowered herself into the chair pushing at the back of her legs. It was cold against her spine, making her swallow back a shiver uncomfortably. She waited patiently, despite questioning the man’s privilege.

“My wife,” he drew in a long breath, “She is quite exquisite.”

Beca pressed her lips together in a frim line, instantly finding discomfort in the man’s words. The whimsical look in his eyes solidifying just how much he cared for this unnamed woman. A small smile played at the corners of his expression. “I have yet to find someone who is talented enough to capture her beauty, which is why I called you.”

“To paint her?” She eased out, “I paint what I feel, Mr. Bea- Garret.” She corrected herself last minute. “There is no rhyme or rhythm to my work. It’s near impossible for me to construct something when I feel nothing.”

“Ah,” he leaned forward, pressing his elbows against the desk. “I assure you, Miss Mitchell when you see my wife it will be highly unlikely that you won’t feel a thing.”

She gave him a jarring look. This man was quite clearly in love with this woman. So much so that he would invite a near stranger into his home to paint a fine picture of her. He had apparently done so before, many times, but was never happy with the outcome. Men, she was sure, men who drooled and didn’t focus on the task at hand. Maybe that’s why he hand-selected her. It couldn’t’ just be based on her work. He was a picky man.

“Are you insisting that I should fall for this woman?”

“No, of course not.” He waved his hand dismissively “I merely suggest that you form a bond with her before you even sit down to draw your first stroke. I’ll pay for it all.”

She lifted both brows, her head resting on her hand as she kept her fingers on her lips. She watched him carefully. “How so?”

“You can stay here, for as long as you need. I certainly have the room to spare.” He stated plainly. “I just require that you spend time with my wife enough to know exactly what I need to be portrayed in her portrait.”

“Her essence,” Beca said as more of a statement than a question. “Not just the way she appears to the human eye.”

It was interesting, something Beca had never done before. She was more into taking an edge of charcoal and sitting on the bow of a boat- sketching the way the waves ate at a flat-lined shore. But if this woman, whoever she was, took so much captivation from the world, then it would be a certain challenge.

“Do we have a deal, Rebeca?” He held out his pale hand, firm and strong.

“It’s Beca.” She took his grasp in hers, squeezing it with force. “And how could I say no?”

The warm spring day changed the atmosphere in the usually dark house. There seemed to be no such thing as vibrant yellow, and unforgivable violent the night before. Beca having an uneasy sleep in one of the cold master bedrooms. It was far from comfortable- but still too fancy for her taste.

She woke up to a long ray of sun pressing against her gaze, birds chirping incessantly on the balcony. The stone balcony that was warmed by the very star that stirred her from her snooze. Regardless, she pulled herself from the clutches of the duvet, flinching as her bare feet hit the cold floor.

Begrudgingly, the talented artist slid on a pair of black pants and a loose fitting white shirt- not ever bringing more than that with her. She was fairly simple, hating the wire corsets and edged dresses of the time. They were too heavy and nice for her to paint in.

After lacing up a pair of brown leather boots, Beca made her way to the kitchen of the house. It wasn’t too far, Garret had set the place up like a maze, although, she was at the edge of it. He gave her a half-hearted tour before fleeing from the property himself, claiming of some business he had to do. It was close to three in the morning, there was nothing he could busy himself with at that hour- but again, the woman didn’t question his generosity.

She was close to the service quarters, residing in the same sector as the staff; she was staff. Having been hired for a job. To paint a wealthy man’s wife in exchange for room and board. Part of her wanted to drag it out to its full extent, the other part hating the idea of spending one more minute in this place.

A sickly-sweet scent coated her lungs the moment she walked into the kitchen. It was large, set up and built like a room from the Spanish colonies; complete with deep yellow walls and terracotta tile with intricate suns and moons. Natural light seeped in from the grassy courtyard. It was good work, just like Garret had said, no expense spared for his family.

There was a woman leaning heavily over a mass of dough, she was tall, almost tall enough to bump her head on the chandelier, it hung low enough. Flour coated her fingers and clothing as a strand of dirty brown hair fell from the bun on her head, sweat forming on the woman’s brow. She glanced up with deep charcoal eyes at the change in atmosphere.

“Oh!” She let her folders fall back, moving her eyes down her smock as a certain heir of heat pressed against her cheek. She reached for a dish towel. “I’m sorry Miss Mitchell, I didn’t see you there. The dining room is right through the left corridor.”

This woman, whoever she was, looked petrified. Like she had done something wrong against the curiosity of the young artist. Beca having noticed the same thing as she cocked her head to the side slightly- like a lost puppy.

“I’m not looking for the dining room.” She stated simply from the doorway, trying not to scare the taller woman off. She was young, a simple look of amusement finding a way to her face. “You know who I am?”

“Of course.” The stranger let out a soft breath, pushing the base of her palms into the moldable dough. “Mr. Beale often hires new artists to tackle capturing the enigma that is his wife. Many of them leave after the first few days. They’re not very social.”

Her slate eyes flicked up towards Beca, almost as if asking a question.

“I’m not either,” She relented, a small smile on her lips. “But I know proper manners. I take it none of them have ever been back here?”

The woman grimaces, shaking her head as she struggles to blow the strands of stray hair from her gaze. She was becoming more comfortable with the conversation, with the presence of Beca in general. This was her kitchen, the woman knew not to overstep her boundaries.

“Never, Miss Mitchell.” She held back a snort. “Wouldn’t give the staff a second glance. A bit like Mr. Garret himself, if I might add.”

“Beca is fine.” The smaller girl said, shoving her hands in her pockets as the woman gave her a kind smile. She was different than the rest of them, actually making conversation and not attempting to rush the other way. She made eye contact and didn’t hold her shoulders along the straight edge of a metal plate. Instead, she looked calm and collected. Strong, even. “And you are?”

“The chef.” She answered on instinct.

“I figured that.” Beca elicited a small laugh. “I meant your name.”

“Oh,” she stilled her movements, a genuine smile finding it’s way to her flour specked face. “I’m Stacie Conrad.”

The Conrad’s were a fun group of people, a family name that Beca recognized almost immediately. She had met a man in the Pacific with the same surname, almost the same features as the chef that stood in front of her; a strong and seducing fella with a great sense of humor. If this woman was anything like her bloodline, Beca would get along great with her.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Stacie.” Beca reached out to shake the woman’s hand, reaching over the island, not hesitating a bit as the taller girl produced a powder covered one instead. She shrugged sheepishly- taking it regardless, Stacie’s mouth falling open. “What’s a little dirt?”

“Ah,” She nodded softly “Miss Chloe will love you.”

“Chloe huh?” The name rolled off of the artist’s lips. It was the first time that she had actually heard it. She was always proclaimed as Garrets wife, or even the woman no one could really paint. But she hadn’t met Beca yet. “Do you have any idea where she is?”

“You two haven’t met yet?” Stacie raised a pointed eyebrow.

“I got in around three last evening,” Beca explained, following that ashy stare towards the courtyard. It was a feat in its own; large hedges shielding the home from the outside world, lush green grass coating the full area, even a tall tree that produced bright fruit like that of a flame. Yellow and sharp. “Mr. Beale took me right to my quarters. After a tour, of course.”

“A fine man that’s proud of his home.” Stacie grimaced, stepping away from her task as she rounded the large counter. She was just as tall as Beca though, both of them turning towards the large doors, leaning heavily against the island as they stared out into the yard, Stacie crossing her arms over her chest. “Every morning, you can find Miss Chloe out here.”

“Reading?” The tiny girl still couldn’t see much but the yard- assuming the woman of the hour was situated on the other side of the large tree, back against the bark as she perused some ancient form of literature.

Stacie scoffed. “You wish.”

Beca threw her an odd glance before turning her attention back towards the area. Struggling to focus her hearing. She had been so focused before- not paying much stock to the little patch of outdoors. She noticed the taller woman first, at least she thought it was two women. Both in form fitted white suits- mesh masks over their faces. Fencing.

This woman who everyone raved bout was battling it out loudly with another, stepping gracefully against the grass, unlike any high-class girl that Beca had seen before. Both grunting as the metal of their foil’s clanked with each fluid hit. The shorter of the two took a step out of bounds, her partner not sparring a second.

“Avertissement” Beca scoffed under her breath, shaking her head.

“Aubrey never plays fair” Stacie spoke without tearing her gaze away from the pair. “I’m sure she does it to keep Chloe on her feet. You fence?”

“I used to.”

The two burst into laughter, muffled by the door that separated their spectators. Each woman panting with a purpose as the taller of the two removed her mask first- face red from the labor as she struggled to catch her composure. Stacie cocked an eyebrow at the blonde, cheeks maintaining their rosy complexion. “That’s Miss Posen.” She informed the small girl. “I swear, Chloe and she are joined at the hip. Protective, that one is.”

Aubrey went to remove her chest guard, but Beca didn’t have the attention span to continue watching the blonde. Instead, she focused on who she deemed to be Chloe. The mask was removed, a bout of coppery locks fell against her shoulders; she shook her head trying to free them from the heat of the island day. Her own chest was heaving, cheeks a bit red as she tucked her weapon beneath her arm. An angelic smile pressed close to her lips, a thin layer of sweat coating her collarbone.

“You’re drooling, Beca.”

“What?” The brunette snapped her mouth shut, dragging the back of her hand across her cheek, checking to make sure she was in fact, not drooling. Stacie was right, she could catch flies the longer she stood there, each passing second, she stared at Chloe made a heat press near her core. “I was doing no such thing.”

“Hmm,” Stacie nudged her new friend. “There is a reason they call Chloe Beale unpaintable.”

#beca mitchell #chloe beale #bechloe #fanfiction #request #i really like this

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butt-lore · 4 years

Text

Oh yes hello I’m alive! Want another fic? Of course u do! I had the MOST fun writing this cuz Sehyoon is one of my fave ppl for his facial expressions alone!

That one birthday fic I put off

Summary: you and Sehyoon had been dating awhile now, have had many shared shenanigans together. And when a fan asks about how Sehyoon is when he’s drunk, you’re more than happy to share...

Words: 1480

Warnings: it’s grossly fluffy? Alcohol usage, cursing I think

Not my pic but how I see him when he’s defeated.

“Happy birthday!” Sehyoon blinks aimlessly, a party hat strapped to his head upon entry, a placid smile on everyone’s face but his. They cheered and popped poppers around him in merriment, chuckling at his flat annoyance. Usually one to keep to himself on special days, or share his day with a very few, a group of thirty is a little much. If he was enjoying this, he wasn’t showing it, a full range of emotions but joy passing through dulling brown eyes. You move a bit closer, waving a timid hand pass his face. “Yoonie?”

“Thanks… I love it.” Even and full of disappointment, his husky voice pushed through clenched teeth. While his lips picked up, the rising star’s thousand mile gaze stayed put. Your own mouth threatening to break open in laughter, holding his stare, enveloping the both of you in a world much more familiar: a world you two have been sharing happily alone for two years. He said thanks, and he meant it, but here, where there is only you, he asks what the fuck?

You insisted, a party for Sehyoon would be amazing to celebrate debuting and his birthday, he deserves it. It was much easier than spending the day bouncing around from place to place visiting. A long, tedious tradition you hoped to avoid this year and hopefully many more. Please, try to have fun, your smile said, and you meant that. You knew, the hardest part of living in your head was interacting with others. Sehyoon was improving, but, you see now perhaps this was not thought all the way out. Shit. I’m very sorry.

Yes. Acknowledged. Then he was whilst away in a whirlwind of the many pieces of memory he’ll have of his twenty-fourth birthday. Drink after drink all but poured down his throat. Kim Sehyoon wasn’t good at drinking. And what you witnessed this night would live in infamy in your heart, and it all started with a single beer.

“To be fair it was a beer and soju.” Toned arms cross over a fitted black sweater, Sehyoon’s lips dipping to a frown.

“Yes honey we know.” You responded patting his thigh affectionately. “I thought I said that?” You look up claiming innocence, humming softly.

“Mm.” Peach gloss disappears as a line presses his cheeks up when you look back after a long moment of silence. His eyes pinned you down, shining in bewilderment. You weren’t sure what to call this face but it was very effective, you bursted into laughter and he soon followed. You both calm down to chuckling, Sehyoon fidgeting with imaginary dust on the desk the phone sat upon. He clears his throat twice before speaking. “After a soju and beer.”

“Right, after a soju and beer-“

Everyone had scattered to corners of the house, breaking off to smaller conversations, Sehyoon passed around in a ten min rotation. You watched, concerned for his social battery and well being, but after a drink poured for him by Chan, Sehyoon didn’t seem to have trouble keeping up. He wasn’t very talkative, but when spoken to, Sehyoon kept pace, even if he was slurring words. He spoke of a multitude of things he likes with passion a total of six times, something he does mostly when he feels like it: even then that’s when Sehyoon felt he could trust them. His forty-six minute rant about avocados was new to you, however, and by the end of it, you’re not sure if he’s for or against them, or why and how they were brought up. It was the way everyone zeroed on him, transfixed it seemed, holding onto the words spilling from him.

“I don’t care one way or another about avocados.” Sehyoon throws his hands up, licking his lips in the same motion he swoops black bangs between long fingers. “Hope that answers your question.”

“He’ll eat em.”

“Just don’t have an opinion on them.”

As the night neared its end, many participants heading home, meaning you, too, would have to leave at some point. As it dwindled to just you, the crew, and group members, Sehyoon truly came alive.

“I have a confession.” He almost said, the syllables dragged out longer than necessary. “But none of you can tell anyone.” Jun is first to lean in, trying to make sense of the gibberish he’s attempting at. Sehyoon sits bolt right, speech clearer. “I have a girlfriend.”

“Oh?” Chan just about shouts, jumping onto the cushion next to Sehyoon, bright eyes promising mischief.

“Mmm. Yes. She’s very pr-pretty. And very interesting.” Sehyoon carried on, you watch helplessly as he exposes you both so randomly. Sehyoon has a lot of secrets he can confess, you knew it, and he had been good for about two years. No one but your families knew up till now, not even the other members, you both were content with that for now, so if things don’t work out there's no questions, no scandal, a clean break if need be. And here he was, drunkenly ranting about you thighs. At least he hasn’t called you by name, it would be the strawberries on top of his birthday cake, you might start laughing. In fact, this whole situation was so funny to you. Seeing him so completely relaxed and friendly, not to mention by this time Byeongkwan had claimed Sehyoon’s lap for this important announcement. You watch Jun stretch himself across both Donghun and Chan, hundled close to their storyteller.

“What’s she like,” Jun laments, leaning his silver head into Donghun.”Tell us.” He’s equally if not more drunk, only adding to your enjoyment of the scene. You are grateful no one has kicked you out yet, but who would with the way you are holding your mouth covering a series of snorts. You meant no harm, posed no threat, well, not one to anyone but your own stomach, which was starting to ache.

“Y/n?” You zone back in, shaking your giggles free to prepare for you doom. It’s Jun again. “Do you know Yoonie’s girlfriend?” His smile mirrors that of his friends; drunk.

Chan and Donghun are snickering, you can understand why, you were just seconds from bursting into a cackle.

It's what Byeonkwan says that stops your fun time, “Is this the same girlfriend or a different one?” His comment is innocent, genuine curiosity in his soft tone.

“We’ve been together for three years, keep up, Kwannie.” The two drunken men descend into chaos, dragging the one on Sehyoon’s lap in by proxy.

“You told us…” Donghun answers, “Twice, dear.”

“Oh.” Sehyoon looks dissatisfied, with what, you can’t place. His black straight eyebrows knitting together in concentration. “Did I tell you who?” Well isn’t that just about the dumbest thing your boyfriend has ever said.

“Yes, Y/n is literally right there.” You’re not sure who had more patience, A saint or Donghun.

“Oh right. Y/n did I tell you?”

“You know that look you get when your brain just shuts down and you feel so defeated you can't do anything but just sigh and think about what life events got you to the current situation you’re in?” Sehyoon pushes his office chair back, a sharp bark from his chest as he doubles over. “I felt like Satan had won that day.” You keep your tone plain, sipping from your coffee mug. Sehyoon is still howling behind you. You just blink ahead, he’ll tire himself out.

His laughter continues to echo as you carry on the tale of a Drunk Sehyoon.

“No, you haven’t.” You smile brightly. “Who?”

Sehyoon doesn’t have an answer for you, not a good one for that matter. “I don’t remember her name.”

You knew this wasn’t right, to tease a drunk person, but he already confessed twice before, a harmless prank wouldn’t hurt. “Is she made up?” You tilt your head gently, listening to the mixture of his ranting and the others staggered amusement. “Well why don’t you call her here then?” You shoot when he tells you you suck for not believing him.

“I will.”

“I will never live it down ever. They won’t let me. The crew, the group, Y/n. And now you all.” Sehyoon’s soul slips from his eyes again, shoulders sagging. “And that’s the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done.”

“It was a good birthday though.” You hummed, remembering how he refused to let you go home after that phone call, it ended with you holding him close against your chest. Drunk Sehyoon was just as cuddly as sober Sehyoon.

“From what I hear I had a good time.” Sehyoon swipes at the back of his head sheepishly. “I’m glad this year we decided against that, though.”

“Wouldn’t want to confess to your girlfriend that you have a girlfriend again right?”

“Well that’s a good place to end it, thank you for joining us today-”

“You’re confusion when my phone rang was just the cutest.”

“Thank you, bye bye.”

#a.c.e #a.c.e stories #a.c.e senarios #a.c.e writers #a.c.e wow #wow #kim sehyoon story #kim sehyoon #someone told me #not my s/o #that when the love is rlly strong #you can talk to each other without words #i hope he hears me say fuck off next time

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