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yourlocalshittywriter · 4 years ago

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The Duty of a Hero

Author’s Note: Howdy folks! I’m here with my first proper fic and I really hope that y’all like it! This will be exploring what could’ve happened if the Dabi that Aizawa fought wasn’t one of Twice’s clones. Since this is a fight, I advise the folks that are sensitive to things like that to click off and read another fic. Also, since this story does change scenery and moods a bit, I included some songs that change along with the the stories mood! This is mainly just because I like showing off my music taste and shit. Here’s Part 2!

Songs to Go Along: The Fighter by In This Moment, Acid Bubble by Alice In Chains, The Great Gig In The Sky by Pink Floyd

I felt extremely at peace for once in life. I felt the normal crackling of my joints silence into a warm nothingness. My aching muscles that had been torn to shreds time and time again, the ones that had been strained and stretched beyond the limits of the human body seemed to reform perfectly as they melted into the rest of my numb form. My skin, a forest of calluses, scars, stitches, and open wounds felt as if it was no longer there. I was no longer confined to the space of my body, and instead moved around as freely as water or air. I was a sort of goo, unmoving, stationary, simple, yet free.

With a quirk as self-destructive as mine, becoming a hero was a sort of death wish. My quirk was known as “pain transfer.” Anytime I made eye contact with a person, I could activate my quirk and subject myself to pain only to have them suffer the pain of the injury for as long as I was looking at them. I could also transfer existing pain to my target. Although I may have had a wicked high pain tolerance and quick recovery period, my humanity was bound to catch up to me eventually. Quirks like mine, “villainous quirks” according to most people, should be kept hidden and the people born with them should go on to live normal lives as ordinary civilians. My parents were among these people. When I told them that I was enrolling in the hero course at UA, I was given the choice to either become a hero and be disowned, or ditch my pipe dream and stay their beloved child. I packed my things that night.

It was a miracle that I passed the entrance exam the next day. I was running on little sleep, the loss of my financial support, and the trauma that came with the realization that your parents didn’t love you anymore because you didn’t live in a way that they approved of. I had trained since my will to become a hero first arrived, a sort of passionate drive that crashed into my life so unexpectedly that the impact nearly gave me whiplash.

I supposed that that inferno of, what? Spite? No, not spite, something deeper, hotter, and more righteous than spite. Let’s say ardor. This ardor was what drove me to take out as many robots as I could, despite the fact that my quirk was utterly useless in this situation. I took out a decent amount of robots, at least, decent enough to get into the hero course. A lady by the name of Recovery Girl healed me before I went on my way. I thought that I just had a few scrapes and bruises, but apparently I had a broken wrist. Surprisingly, I wasn’t the worst-off there, some poor kid broke both of his arms and one of his legs.

The time between this moment and when I got into UA seems to have flown by. I came into UA, a semi-blank canvas, and now here I was, bleeding out on the campsite that I planned to spend my summer at with my classmates. Dying feels far less painful than one would assume; you really don’t even realize that you’re dying at first. It’s sort of like that feeling you get after eating a warm meal after starving for so long, sickening at first, but comforting after you grow used to it. It’s like taking a hot bath after spending a day in the snow; it burns at first, but the burning subsides into a comforting numbness. Your senses slowly dull into nothingness but your brain is left to conjure whatever image it pleases. I could have seen dead relatives, met idols, or even pictured an alternate life where my parents still loved me, but I didn’t.

I didn’t want it. Fame, fortune, admiration, acceptance, rebirth, none of it. I wanted none of it. I wanted to live. I wanted to do what I swore to do as soon as I got into UA. I wanted what I signed up for when I packed my bags and left my parents’ house at age fourteen. I wanted what I fought tooth and nail for. I wanted my ambitions and goals fulfilled.

Of course I wanted what I had worked for, that was beyond obvious, however, I also wanted the small things in life. I wanted my afternoon tea with Yaoyorozu, Sato, and Todoroki. I wanted my fashion shows with Aoyama, Ashido, and Hagakure. I wanted my midnight conversations with Shinsou and Tokoyami. I wanted my video game sessions with Kaminari and Sero. I wanted my morning meditation meetings with Shoji, Ojiro, and Koda. I wanted to watch pro-wrestling with Bakugou and Kirishima. I wanted to train with Iida, Uraraka, and Midoriya. I wanted to swim with Asui. I wanted to listen to music with Jiro and Mr. Present Mic. I wanted inappropriate jokes with Ms. Midnight. I wanted to make Mr. Aizawa proud; I wanted to make myself proud. So, with so many incredible things to live for, I opened my eyes, and attempted to move.

Much to my distaste, it turns out that my relief from pain, as well as the disassociation from my body was nothing more than a thin veil that was easily permeated as I rose from near death. The forest was nothing more than a verdant blur, one that was far from easy to navigate. However, all things end eventually, so I decided to run from death and wherever I ended up would be the least of my worries. I sprinted through the disorder and dysfunction, and wound up walking in on my teacher fighting the son of a bitch who had left me to die a lonely death with only the company of insects and whatever plants were to take over my wilting corpse.

As Mr. Aizawa tackled the cremation villain, I rose from the forest, stared at the man in restraints, and activated my quirk. As the pain transferred from me to him, I felt the veil of insensibility slip over me once more. The villain howled out in agony, the very agony that he had inflicted on me only minutes before.

“Whatever you do, don’t break your gaze Eraserhead!” I chimed as I finally straightened my form, not wanting the hero to see me in such a state, “You’ll just have to trust me on this one!” Mr. Aizawa nodded, keeping a steady gaze on his target.

“Tried to kill me off?” I snarled as I made my way towards the sadistic bastard and beloved teacher holding him in place.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” the captive growled through gritted teeth, still under an amount of pain that would knock-out any average human. He looked beyond pissed that I survived, as if he took offense to the fact that I didn’t appreciate his work. I waltzed over to him, just far enough from Mr. Aizawa, but just close enough to the charred villain.

“Surprise, I remain,” I cooed, low enough for only the villain to hear. He bared his teeth at me, looking at me as if he were some sort of rabid animal. I wanted to taunt him. I wanted to make fun of the fact that he had been taken down by a high schooler and their teacher, but I knew that it was never good to brag, because Karma would usually come to bite you in the ass for it.

I stared at the man covered in staples, every blink I took releasing him from the effects of my quirk. Every blink motivated me to continue staring at him, to immobilize him so Mr. Aizawa could use his eye drops or blink, to buy him some time. However, I knew that this game of “pass the villain” could only go on for so long. Something had to be done. Eventually, the patchwork villain would catch both of us off guard and use his quirk, or one of his buddies would come and back him up. Mr. Aizawa and I were miles away from my peers or the rest of the pro-heroes. It was just the two of us up against this villain, and we were growing tired.

Only minutes after the realization had struck me, the villain escaped from Mr. Aizawa’s scarf when the two of us accidentally blinked at the same time. The human crematorium stood before us, and before I could use my quirk to disable him, he shot out a flurry of blue flames my way.

I dodged this attack as Mr. Aizawa ran towards the villain, yelling out the name “Dabi.” Before Mr. Aizawa was able to restrain him, Dabi grabbed the erasure hero and threw him headfirst into a brick wall, effectively knocking him out. I desperately wanted to check on my partner in battle, but I knew that I couldn’t let my guard down, because now Dabi was staring me directly in the eye.

I could attempt to charge at him, but I would be charred to bits, and even if I somehow managed to avoid his flames, I would meet the same fate as Eraserhead, knocked out and at Dabi’s mercy. I was screwed, I had no back up, my teacher was unconscious, and I was face to face with one of Japan’s most notorious criminals. I was dead meat.

That was until I devised a plan, one that would take out the cremation villain for good. One that would end his reign of terror once and for all. However, there was only one downside to this plan, and that was the fact that this plan would result in two casualties, Dabi and me. However, if I went with any other plan, Mr. Aizawa and I were to become the victims while Dabi walked off scot free.

I was destined to become a martyr.

With that realization, I turned to my teacher who was slowly coming to his senses and gave him a gentle smile,

“Eraserhead, it has truly been a pleasure,” I announced as Dabi’s arrogant gaze turned to one of confusion. As Mr. Aizawa slowly faded back into his previously comatose state before he had time to be confused, I focused my gaze back on the blue-flamed bastard. It was time to end it, to end his rule once and for all.

I reached into my pocket, grabbed a tiny weapon that fit perfectly in my hand, locked eyes with the villain, smirked, and painlessly slit my neck. As Dabi grasped his neck and choked on his unseen blood, which was truly my blood, he fell to his knees.

As I took what I knew were my last steps, I came face to face with the first half to my murder-suicide. He glared at me, an amalgam of agony that felt nothing at all, and snarled.

“I’ll see you in hell, you cunt.”

I laughed, of all the things he could’ve chosen to be his final words, he chose to give into the childish desire to have the last word with me. As his oddly-familiar eyes drained of life, I felt the pain I had so carelessly inflicted upon myself finally hit me like a freight train.

I began to choke as I fell to my knees, similarly to how Dabi had fallen only seconds before. I knew that my time was up soon, I would succumb to my injuries and lose the thing I had fought tooth and nail for only moments before. I looked to the horizon to find the sun casting his loving gaze upon my battered body. It was as if Apollo himself was granting me a warrior’s death, like he knew I had made some kind of a righteous sacrifice that warranted a soothing transition from death to afterlife.

The sunrise was something like I had never seen before. The blues burned brighter than the flames I had defeated minutes before, the yellow pooled around my weary being like an evening gown to a death dance, and the red painted a comforting scene in the clouds, as if to distract me from my own red that painted my body and the ground around me. I smiled my final smile as I walked into the loving embrace of the sun.

My duty as a hero had been fulfilled.

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proudfreakmetarusonikku · 4 years ago

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(/rp! also, huge trigger warning for assault, graphic violence, death, abuse, possessive behaviour, obsession, mental breaks, hallucination, really fucking creepy treatment of a corpse, unreliable narrators, the perspective of a villain, torture, manipulation, and gaslighting! this gets pretty fucked up).

When Dream sees Tommy for the first time, there is no dramatic shift, no acknowledgement that his life had changed forever. No knowledge of the fact. All he sees is a skinny little kid who's obnoxious and loud, and he catalogues him just as one of Philza’s strays and leaves it at that.

No, it’s when Tommy drives the sword into his chest for the first time, and Dream wakes up from his non-canon death smiling despite itself when it clicks. He’s not sure what “it” is, exactly, but it’s just something about him Dream hadn’t seen in anyone before that has him hooked, captivated from the beginning.

(There's the vague recollection that he was like Tommy once, a bright eyed naive youth too loud for his own good, but that’s not unique. It’s not that, at least not entirely.)

The conflict was not started by Tommy, nor was he of any particular threat to Dream, but he was fun. So he ignored the rest, and took the boy's music discs. He knew Tommy well enough that he’d fight for them, and fight he did, and even though Dream lost in the end he laughed all the while. He’d played many a game before, but none quite this fun!

They both know this isn’t where it’ll end. Only one hopes it will be.

——

Dream didn’t care much about Wilbur's little revolutionary movement at first. As long as he obeyed the rules, and stayed in the server, it wouldn’t matter whether he delusionally thought he was under his own governance or not.

This changed immediately when he learnt Tommy was involved.

L'Manburg, a name he didn’t bother to remember until he learnt Tommy named it, was tiny, barely any more than a scavenged old world vehicle and some trees. It’s populace was peaceful, only Wilbur even an adult. None of that mattered. It wasn’t that the nation was a threat, though he certainly wouldn’t dissuade his friends fear that it was. But fighting L'Manburg meant fighting Tommy, and Dream wouldn't pass up the opportunity for anything.

He grinned with glee behind his mask as he blew Tommy's strange dirt hovel “embassy” sky high, enthusiastically threatened Tommy before remembering half heartedly to threaten the rest of the nation. He made dealings, found weak links- a new immigrant to the SMP that joined L'Manburg after the war began, it turns out. He offered extravagant promises in exchange for their betrayal, hiding the strings attached to his fingers.

Oh, but it was all worth it when the person with the eyes of an old god lead the revolutionaries into a trap, all worth it when they descended on them at once. It was definitely worth it to kill Tommy, kill Tommy, see him scream and cry in pain and stumble trying to escape and him taking a shuddering last breath. Dream had never seen anything as beautiful.

(It was a war, and feelings like this were okay in wars, right? It’s not like he was obsessed, it’s not like he was a monster. He’d been trying to be good, and killing your enemies was good, right?)

He killed Tommy a second time, too. The boy with shaking hands and a leg hanging limp challenged him to a duel for his nations future. His loss was assured, and Dream knew Tommy knew that also. This one was quicker, Tommy dead between the arrow entering his skull and his broken body make a loud thud against the planks, but it was no less fascinating. If only he had infinite canon lives, Dream would happily give up any ambitions and spend eternity seeing the boy die in so many fascinating ways.

(No, what the fuck was he thinking? The SMP was worth more than some stupid kid, and Dream wasn’t so inept with morality to know torturing someone over and over, killing them, was wrong.)

(Yet, it was so tempting he was almost ready to renounce morality wholeheartedly.)

It eventually comes to the discs again, Tommy handing Dream his prized possessions for some silly little nation. Dream knew Tommy would do anything to get them back. Having so much control was addicting, even more than control of anything else. Dream had learnt long ago that if you didn’t have complete power over anything, people would take the power from you and make you hurt.

So why did he care more about control of some kid than avoiding his own pain?

——

Dream would have sided with Tommy. Really, he would have, but Schlatt just had the better deal.

He holds the book in his hands, power filling him. He repeats the incantation, sacrifices the blood from his veins. He stares into the face of a man near-identical.

“”Brother dearest,”” he says, voice level. “”What do you wish of me?””

Dream grins behind his mask. “”Tommy.””

—

Wishes must come true, Dream thinks, as he sits on the beach of Logstedshire, Tommy passed out and leaning against his arm.

Oh, what he’d give for this moment to last forever. Alas, it passes, like they all do. Still, Tommy's getting so obedient lately- barely even grumbling as he threw his item into the hole. Part of him missed when Tommy would fight back all the while- his pained screams were entertaining. Still, it was safer this way, and more enjoyable in the long run. He’d hate to have his little songbird break it’s neck against the cage doors, never to sing again.

He’s not sure when life outside of Tommy became a chore, but he remembers dimly that it wasn’t always like that. There was a Dream long ago that wouldn’t give up friends and family, who'd cry over losing them even if he’d cut their threads voluntarily. He wasn’t that Dream anymore, the numb feeling in his chest a sign of growth. It didn’t matter that everything outside of Tommy was so miserable, because just being around the boy was a feeling a hundredfold better than any happiness he felt before.

Still, he had duties and responsibilities. Ones that seemed so important long ago, so fulfilling. Maybe one day they’d feel like that again. He had plans, from what he learnt. Government had not left him satisfied, but- whatever you could call what his relationship with Tommy was, it definitely did. Family, he supposed, recognising the boys actions towards him and his brothers. If he could make the entire server like that, that’d be a happiness greater than any other, apart from how Tommy made him feel.

He spent time with Tubbo, getting further and further towards getting that stupid fucking ram boy to calling him a friend and giving him Tommy's disc, all he wanted from him.

(He wasn’t jealous, of course he wasn’t. The anger he felt whenever Tommy called Tubbo a friend, that wasn’t jealousy. That was just logical).

Far more interesting was checking on the prison's completion. When it’s completed, it’d truly be a thing of beauty. Of course, his favourite part was the main cell, that he’d put so much thought into. He’d included all the little things that made Tommy squirm, made his breath hitch and eyes dart around fearfully. That would be so much fun.

(Tommy would learn to appreciate the fun in time, too. He was a smart boy, if irritatingly yet fascinatingly stubborn. He just needed to be taught that if he listened and just played along, Dream could give him the world.)

It took far too long, but eventually it finished, and he could return to the ugly mess of tents and logs he’d made so sure Tommy could never leave. He always started shaking when Dream showed up, trying desperately to hide his fear in his voice, and it was absolutely adorable. Dream savoured it, savoured everything about Tommy as they spent hours talking. Everything, his hysterical laugh, his nervous glances for escapes, the way he flinched whenever Dream grabbed his shoulder, his wrist, the poorly hidden look of pain when he held tighter, just hard enough to irritate the bruises that painted his skin a canvas of black and blue, it was all perfect.

Only he could love Tommy this much, and in time he knew Tommy would learn to appreciate that.

——

The second time he used the book, a tower extended from the ruins of the makeshift prison he’d made for Tommy. DreamXD stated ahead of him.

“”Brother dearest,” he said, “why are you calling on me again so soon?””

“”Bring him back,”” he said, voice painfully numb.

DreamXD shrugged a shoulder, golden hair waving around like in water. “”Who?””

“”Tommy.””

“”I cannot,”” DreamXD said. “”He lives.”” Dream couldn’t help but smile at hearing that.

“”Then bring him back to me.””

DreamXD laughed, a sound like church bells. “”That would be unnecessary. Did I not already grant you the mortal?””

Dream clenched his fist hard enough blood dripped onto scorched earth. “”He left me-“”

“”And you shall find him, no matter what.”” DreamXD smiled under the mask. “”You are bonded to him, and neither death nor distance shall break that. Just look, and you will find him, til the end of time and even past.””

“”Thank you,”” Dream said, genuinely for once.

“”Only the best for my little brother and sister. And I know you would do the same for us, brother dearest.””

——

His planning had come to fruition for once.

They were alone, in the depths of the Earth, just him, Tommy, the fucking hilarious excuse for a “president” Tommy called a friend for some reason, and his axe.

Finally, he could bring his dreams to fruition. He could get rid of any loose threads, and claim what was rightfully his. And once he’d taught Tommy to be grateful, he could get to work on the rest of the server.

It’d be beautiful. Everyone would be his friend, his brother, his sister, something in between. There would be no more wars, just peace. Everyone would be safe, he’d know they’re safe and they’d never rip him to pieces and laugh at his pain. And oh, it’d like be hard work, breaking everyone into obedience but not too much to the point they become boring, but so enjoyable and satisfying. He’d almost be disappointed when it was over.

Tommy- his Tommy, his Tommy, was crying, and it was amusing but he almost wanted to reach out and comfort him and explain it’d all be for the best. He’d do that later, once he’d secured him and any loose ends were gone forever. He couldn’t afford weakness until they were alone, but Tommy made it so tempting.

The ram and Tommy hugged a final goodbye, and the adoration he had towards Tommy, hiding his fear behind a smile, made Dream fucking sick. He should know Tommy was his. They all should know. He’d teach them, when he made the server a perfect family. Even Tubbo, if Tommy begged enough. Dream would do anything to hear Tommy's pathetic, gorgeous begging, breaking through his aggressive walls, and bringing back some random sheep was easily in his brother's power.

See, he could be kind. He wasn’t cruel, he wasn’t a monster. He didn’t even care if he was anymore, fun was so much more important than nonsensical human concepts, but it wasn’t even true. He could be incredibly, selflessly kind, as long as he had a reason. They’d learn, once he fulfilled his dream.

The sound of a nether portal, of betrayal, shatters his dreams and at this point he wonders why he’s surprised.

——

He’d had doubts, during the weeks (months, years? he had no way of knowing) he’d been trapped in the cell, but Tommy being here with him confirmed his design was excellent.

Oh, Tommy was being fucking obnoxious- and Dream knew he was doing it on purpose- but he saw it in the way he never was able to look at the lava properly, the way he always woke up in a cold sweat calling for his daddy like the child he insisted he wasn’t. It was perfect.

(Of course it was, though. It’s not hard to build on something already perfected, and Tommy was the perfect little toy.)

Tommy was so frustratingly different though. He tried not to take it out on him- it wasn’t his fault that everyone else spread lies, planted nonsense in his head about Dream being bad and not trying to do the best for everyone but especially for him- but he struggled sometimes, and it was always so tempting to hurt Tommy anyway, and get lost in the melody of his screams. It wouldn’t teach Tommy anything though, and that’s what was important. He needed to teach Tommy what was best for him.

Tommy had unlearnt all the lessons Dream painstakingly taught him. That wouldn’t be an issue- it was so, so fun to teach- but he knew, painfully deep down in his heart that he could not hold Tommy forever, not yet. The lockdown wasn’t forever, and Dream had no escape route yet. Tommy would just forget everything again, at the hands of his “friends” that couldn’t love him as much as Dream did. They needed to learn far more than Tommy did.

(Except Ranboo of course- oh, the purple eyed boy had the silly naive thoughts in his head everyone seemed to have that friendship was anything but possessing another, but he agreed family came first, listened to Dream, helped him, even with clenched teeth.)

And when one day the frustration got to Dream one day and he was so furious he hit Tommy again and again against the walls of the prison and strangled him until he was cold all he could do was laugh and laugh and laugh.

It was so, so funny, because of course he’d be the one to destroy everything he loved.

——

This time, when DreamXD is called, he looks upon his brother with concern.

“”Brother dearest,”” he says, “”are you quite alright?””

Dream laughs, because of course he’s alright! The tears staining his face must be joy, because of course he’s alright. He’s holding Tommy here, with him, and he was quiet, he must be listening. He can’t be dead, he can’t be, then there’d be no point to any of this.

“”Drista has been concerned for you for quite a while, you know,”” DreamXD continued. “”Is this because of your mortal?””

“”He’s been ever so quiet lately,”” Dream said, with a voice hoarse from crying and laughter. “”I’m not sure to be concerned or happy with him.””

“”You’re not well, Dream.”” DreamXD said, with a tone of finality despite clearly being wrong. “”The boy is dead.””

Dream laughs. “”And yet he does not slip from my grasp.””

“”Then, brother, why did you call me?””

The silence pierces through air like a knife. Eventually, through hiccuping sobs, Dream says “”Just, please, bring him back.””

Tommy sputters to life with ghostly eye and pure white streaks and more bruise on him than corpselike skin and Dream thinks he has never been more perfect.

——

Quackity's left, he thinks, because the pain's stopped growing.

He laughs, because he doesn’t know what to fucking do anymore but laugh. He can’t give up the secrets of the book, of course he can’t. Family comes first, after all, and he dreads to think what the bastard would do to his brother. But the pain was awful, never ending in waves through his whole body, and he almost just wants to confess so he can die.

He cradles what’s left of his arm since the bastard cut it off at the elbow, and he sobs. He doesn’t even care to hide it with his mask. It’s not even the pain that hurts the most, even. It’s that Tommy's gone, and by the time Dream escapes- because he’s going to escape, he’s got to- he might be so far from his grasp even their fates being tied might not be enough.

“Of course that’s not true,” a fake voice says in his head, and wavy form approaches. Fuck, the blood loss must be bad today. It always is when he sees things. Usually it’s George or Bad or Sapnap, and it leaves him with a numb feeling in his chest that he’s familiar with, but today it’s Tommy, and that’s worse. It reminds him of what he cannot hold.

“Fuck off,” he mouths at the apparition, voice too tired and hoarse from screaming to speak properly. Not-Tommy laughs, and the sound is so similar to Tommy he almost thinks that his desperate prayers have been answered, Tommy is there again, but he reached his fingers forward and they go through his tired hallucination.

“You’re a real dick, you know that?” Not-Tommy says, and laughs again. “But I know you mean the best.” Dream shrugs his shoulder at the fake, and then curls up, new waves of pain curling up his arm.

“I don’t know why I was ever friends with that bastard.” Not-Tommy lies, and Dream wants to believe it. “You’re just having fun. He’s cruel.” Tommy would never understand that clear distinction, no matter how much Dream explained it, but the fake said it with such conviction it was almost enough for Dream to fall for it.

“When you get out, I’ll be there, Dream. And then we can all be a big happy family,” Not-Tommy says, the thoughts so obviously Dream's and not Tommy’s but- the idea that Tommy understood, that he saw sense, was so tempting, Dream allowed himself to believe it, just for a second. Just until the pain started anew.

Broken and bloody, Dream drifted into unconsciousness with a smile on his face.

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 5 years ago

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can you bless us with hcs or imagine of heartslabyul boys reacting to a mc that’s really into doing miniature cooking? if you need reference you can search on youtube! thank you if you decide to write this!

Curiouser and Curiouser...

Riddle’s absolutely enthralled with your skill in miniature cooking! Sure, he could probably get similar results by casting a shrinking spell on a normal-sized food item, but it’s so much more whimsical to make a tiny recipe from tiny ingredients from scratch!

He watches intently as you work your magic and asks you many questions (even taking note of your responses in a little heart-shaped notepad)!

Riddle becomes excited at the idea of little fairies or animals having a tea party in your small kitchen! He’ll whisk in some hard working hedgehogs and throw a mini tea party with them!

It’s so cute that he tries to savor the flavor of the miniature foods! He nibbles at them like a little mouse, alternating between a tiny slice of strawberry tart and sips of Darjeeling (with one sugar cube) out of the world’s tiniest tea cup. To take everything in one bite would be a disservice to the chef!

Trey’s delighted to see such small treats and sweets! His family bakery offers mini desserts (as well as gargantuan ones), but they’re are never quite as mini as yours are!

He truly admires your dedication to your craft. It’s already hard enough to cook or bake food as a one-man team in Heartslabyul, but to also have the patience to do it on such a smaller canvas that demands even more precision... not that’s impressive!

You show him how you use sodium alginate and calcium to form realistic little eggs (wow, something he can actually use for Science Club)! Trey will demonstrate proper piping technique on a small scale, and explain color and spatial theory as he expertly maneuvers little sprinkles around. It becomes a fun learning experience for the both of you!

He jokes that, with a tiny kitchen, at least clean up will be easy--and keeping an eye out on the food will be east, too! Trey can’t count the number of times Ace has tried to sneak some tarts before an Unbirthday party.

Cater's impressed with the aesthetic and the spectacle of it all. Everything--from the colorful labels to the handmade tools--are super cute!

Something like miniature cooking is sure to be ultra trendy on MagiCam...!! In fact, can he shoot a vid or snap some pics to share with his followers? Cater will be sure to tag and credit you, just give him your MagiCam handle!

He’s not really into the production process, he’s moreso concerned with the end result and how photogenic it’ll be (unless you’re filming a time lapse vid--those are also popular at the moment)!

Overall, Cater’s interest is shallow, and his comments superficial. He might laugh and smile along with you, but there’s a lack of genuine investment. This, too, he thinks, is another trend that will soon go. He needs to prepare for the next big thing.

Ace doesn’t get it at all! Why would you go to all the extra trouble of making a small portion of food? You’re gonna eat it right away, so why not just make a large portion?

It’s supposed to be cute? Ace understands it even less now. What does it matter what food looks like? You’re gonna be inhaling it into your stomach in a little while, anyway.

He just carelessly crams whatever you hand him into his mouth (whoops, he almost chokes on a miniature plate), then whines a bit about how he’s still starving. You should make more for him--he likes your cooking a lot!

As long as you’re having fun and not hurting anyone, Ace doesn’t mind what hobbies you have (after all, you’re not a fan of his smelly basketball socks, either)!

Deuce is super curious! He spends hours opening little cabinets and inspecting the contents of your mini fridge. comparing the scale to their full-size counterparts.

Just from a glance, Deuce can tell that a lot of technical prowess went into preparing the work space for your miniature cooking! How did you get the sink to have running water? And how does the stove work with actual electricity and not a candle flame?

Will you let him try it out? (You’ll have to offer him the chance, because he has a little too fascinated to ask you himself!) Deuce regards the little tools and ingredients as though they are golden eggs, and he is the giant handling them.

The little omelet he made turned out limp and lopsided, but he does manage to get a heart-shaped dollop of ketchup on top! It’s almost too stinkin’ cute to eat... (but Deuce does eat it eventually, though he nearly sheds a tear during the process, thanking the Great Seven that he is able to experience such adorableness in his lifetime).

#twst #twisted wonderland #Riddle Rosehearts #Ace Trappola #Deuce Spade #Trey Clover #Cater Diamond #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland requests #twisted wonderland scenarios #curiouser and curiouser #Heartslabyul

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

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I Don't Know How I Know (But I Know) (Taywhora) - Ortega

fic summary: Tayce and A’whora have been friends for three years and the joke around school is that they’re joined at the hip. They started working there at the same time and they were both given the year two classes, so they planned together, filled out their assessment folders together and prepped for parent’s evenings together.

Tayce and A’whora have been friends for three years and Tayce has been a little bit in love with her for two of them.

(in which Tayce teaches year five, A'whora teaches Reception, Tayce hates Valentine’s day, and A'whora has a plan to change that.)

a/n: with thanks to my co-author, Lawrence Chaney. title from Intuition by LIZ, please listen to it it’s a vibe. happy valentine’s day everyone xo

***

Tayce has heard people say that teaching is a form of acting. She thinks this is true, for the most part. After all, there’s no way in hell she teaches her year fives the same way she would act around her friends.

She pretends she doesn’t know the TikTok dance to Savage Love and fakes ignorance at the memes her kids all communicate in. She’s impatient with her class when they run in the corridor and chew gum (because they’re almost the oldest in the school, and they should know better) but she’s patient when they struggle with area and perimeter and brings her chair over to sit beside whoever’s confused to explain it all again. She’s strict- she gets the girls passing notes to each other into trouble as if she didn’t do the exact same with her friends at the age of ten- and she’s built up a reputation for being one of the teachers that doesn’t take any shit. She expects a lot from the children she teaches, knows they’re a blank canvas and that they’ve got the potential to understand things that some adults struggle with, so she teaches them about racism, homophobia and transphobia, makes it part of her everyday teaching as opposed to one milquetoast lesson about Martin Luther King per year.

Some of the parents fucking hate her for it. She’d be lying if she said that wasn’t one of her favourite parts of the job.

It takes a lot for her not to drop that persona sometimes. When she has to tear through one of her boys for muttering “ah shit, here we go again” as she hands out a worksheet on direct and indirect speech instead of bursting out laughing as if it’s one of the funniest things she’s heard in years, which it is. It’s times like that when she wishes she could be more like A’whora.

A’whora with the blonde hair and the Disney-princess smile who teaches Reception. A’whora who does silly voices for all the characters when she’s reading picture books to her class and who sits and does colouring-in with them when they’re playing. A’whora who’s too nice to them all because she thinks they’re too cute to discipline, but her class love her so their behaviour is good regardless.

(A’whora with the completely inappropriate nickname only disclosed to Tayce five mojitos deep on the staff Christmas night out, which she’d earned herself at uni via her reputation. Tayce hadn’t asked for any further details.)

Tayce has never seen a teacher better suited to the youngest class in the school than A’whora. She’s constantly got specks of glitter on her face from the crafts she completes with them, she hums the silly little songs she uses to teach them their sounds when she’s at the photocopier without even realising. She turns up to work in immaculate outfits and finishes the day with them covered in glue, marker pen, and even (horrifically) a child’s snot once, but she doesn’t even mind, simply zips them up into little bodybags and puts them in for dry cleaning.

Tayce is never done telling her how she could never do what she does, she could never teach the little ones; her patience would snap, she’s too mean for them, she’d get bored having to teach the most basic of basic stuff. A’whora only ever brushes her off and says how she couldn’t teach Tayce’s year group either; they’d eat her alive, they’d walk all over her, she wouldn’t even be able to do the complicated maths she’d have to teach. Besides, she argues, drawing a glare from Tayce every time, she’s definitely goofy enough for the Reception kids.

Tayce and A’whora have been friends for three years and the joke around school is that they’re joined at the hip. They started working there at the same time and they were both given the year two classes, so they planned together, filled out their assessment folders together and prepped for parent’s evenings together. They worked well together, so when their headteacher sent them to opposite ends of the school Tayce almost had a meltdown. Still, they sit next to each other in the staffroom and at every staff meeting. They take turns making each other lunch every day and walk to the roll shop to get toasties every Friday. Tayce walks down from her classroom to come and sit in A’whora’s at the end of every day and they chat and bitch and sometimes cry and get absolutely nothing done for at least forty minutes. A’whora picks her up on the way to work every morning and terrifies Tayce with her bad driving and the way she almost causes road traffic accidents with only a “whoopsie!” of acknowledgement, but she’ll make up for it by taking them through the Starbucks drive-thru if they’ve got a meeting after school that night. She blasts songs by artists Tayce has never heard of but are all in the same energetic, poppy, Y2K-esque genre that A’whora seems to love.

Tayce and A’whora have been friends for three years and Tayce has been a little bit in love with her for two of them.

***

A’whora’s friends tease her and tell her that teaching five year olds must be the easiest job in the world. A’whora loves her friends, but she fucking resents them when they come out with that shite.

A’whora knows that she herself is not the brightest crayon in the box. She had known that she’d never be one of the girls in her year at high school that went off to study medicine or law, and she’d known she’d never graduate uni with a first class degree or write an award-winning dissertation.

(When she’s having a bad day she comforts herself with the fact that at least she’s not joined a multi-level-marketing scheme under the guise of being a “businesswoman”, and this helps her feel a little better.)

But what she lacks in academic ability she makes up for in spadeloads by being a damn good teacher. She’s big-hearted and silly and patient. She always picks up crisps and KitKats when she’s at the shops and keeps them in a drawer under her desk to sneak to the kids who come to school without a snack. She sits in the construction corner with her kids when they’re playing and asks them about the models they make, and pretends to die a gruesome, slow death when they shoot her with their little lego guns instead of trying to get them to make something less violent like she knows she should do. She reads books about unicorns that captivate the little shy girls in her class who come up to her afterwards and whisper in their tiny voices that they think unicorns are real, and A’whora agrees with them and watches their faces light up. She makes every day fun for her little ones; because the beauty of teaching is having the control to plan what happens every hour, so she makes sure that none of the six they have to spend in her care are boring.

The key to being a good Reception teacher is to essentially make a fool of yourself every day for the benefit of twenty-two four and five year olds, which A’whora has no problem doing. She doesn’t care what her pupil support worker thinks of her when she acts out The Gruffalo with soft toy puppets she borrowed from the library. She doesn’t care what the management team think of her when she turns up for World Book Day dressed as The Tiger Who Came To Tea. The only person’s opinion she does maybe care a tiny, ever-so-slight amount about, is Tayce’s.

Tayce is that teacher. Tayce is the cool teacher. Tayce is the teacher that all the children want to be taught by. A’whora hears the year fours whisper to each other in the corridors every June and watch as they cross their fingers and close their eyes before they open the envelope addressed to their parents, then give a screech of excitement and joy when they see the name Miss Szura-Radix on their class allocation letter. She wears heels all day without so much as a grunt of complaint and jumps in A’whora’s car each morning with a full face of makeup on at half past seven (while A’whora paints her face at quarter past eight at her desk in between shovelling a croissant down her throat in an attempt at ‘breakfast’ and sorting handwriting worksheets). The year five and six girls straighten their hair to a flattened crisp in an attempt to emulate Tayce’s endless shiny locks and she’s the only teacher that the rogue group of year six boys addresses with respect. She has the discipline of Miss Trunchbull with the heart of Miss Honey, and A’whora thinks she’s the best teacher she’s ever seen.

A’whora’s been friends with Tayce since she started working at the school but her heart still flutters in its chest whenever she sweeps in to her classroom to chat after work, or sits herself down next to her before a cluster meeting with two cups of tea in polystyrene mugs and two biscuits, or whenever A’whora mysteriously finds a packet of Percy Pigs on her desk hidden under a pile of marking with a post-it note stuck to it that says “u are a pig (but i love u)”.

She wonders if that feeling will ever go away. She kind of doesn’t want it to.

It’s that feeling that made her volunteer to help out at the year five camp last March. Tayce was complaining about having to go to a remote outdoor centre and supervise ten year olds completing various death-defying tasks for a week all in the name of character building, and A’whora had said she’d go with her. The smile it had put on Tayce’s face was worth every minute spent up to her knees in mud. Similarly every second she spent waist deep in freezing water was worth the moment Tayce fell asleep on her shoulder on the coach trip back to school on the last day.

(And she still hasn’t told anyone else about the moment she thought her heart might explode; on the last night of the week when temperatures had unexpectedly plummeted and A’whora had been trying to get to sleep but all she had been able to do was shiver and chatter her teeth and toss and turn, and Tayce had sighed dramatically, rolled her eyes, thrown off her duvet cover and patted the space in the bed beside her, with a “just get in quick, before it gets cold”. A’whora had spent the following hours until morning with Tayce’s body tangled around hers, in the most blissful sleepless night she’d ever experienced.)

There’s so many things that endear Tayce to A’whora. Her smile, her secretly chaotic funny side, the way she never, ever makes A’whora feel like an idiot. The way she’ll ask the questions A’whora’s too scared to ask in staff meetings. The way she cares so deeply and passionately about the futures of the kids she teaches to the extent where sometimes she’ll develop a little crease at her brow in front of her attainment spreadsheet and A’whora will have to gently pry her away from her monitor to reassure her that she can’t control the way her children’s lives pan out. The way she’ll sometimes call her Rory, which makes A’whora’s heart expand at least three sizes.

Something else that makes her heart expand three sizes is the way Tayce acts with the Reception kids, despite her insisting she could never teach that year group. It happens one day when A’whora’s marking literacy while letting her kids play and Tayce swings by her classroom without so much as a knock. They’ll do this to each other sometimes when one’s in class and the other has planning time; just drop by and check in to make sure the other isn’t having a meltdown.

“Hey bitchtits,” she murmurs quietly, smirking as she leans onto A’whora’s desk. “How’s your day going?”

“Terrible since you decided to show up,” A’whora cocks an eyebrow back, then jerks her head towards her distracted kids. “This lot are like sponges, y’know. You can’t be dropping that kind of language in this class, even if you think you’re out of earshot.”

Tayce sticks her tongue out at her. “Aw what, you gonna report me to management?”

“Report you to management and say you’re in my class annoying me during teaching time!”

“Piss off! I’m the highlight of your day and you know it.”

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“No. Just some very lucky ladies,” Tayce bites back with a smile, instantly rendering A’whora’s cheeks beetroot red as if she’s been slapped.

“You’re horrendous. You’re an actual deviant. Olly Murs without the Pringles can,” she rolls her eyes, trying to style out how flustered she’s become. She can see Tayce open her mouth to shoot a comeback her way, which is why she’s glad when one of her boys appears beside her desk holding a crumpled piece of paper covered in crayon blobs which are clearly meant to represent objects.

“Hi Archie! You okay?” she smiles brightly, turning all her attention to the little boy and trying not to cringe at Tayce getting full view of her Cbeebies-presenter voice.

“I made a picture for you,” he says, showing her the piece of paper and pointing out all the features of his drawing with a chubby little finger. “It’s a dragon that breathes fire and bombs, and he’s called Squish.”

“Wow! Thank you, Archie, I love it!” A’whora keeps smiling, blinking at the drawing the boy’s still holding. She points at some shaky rectangles with a pink acrylic. “And I can see he must be really tall because those buildings are tiny underneath him!”

Archie’s no longer interested in her or the drawing, though, as he’s looking up at Tayce through his glasses. “You’re my brother’s teacher.”

“Am I?” Tayce says, surprised that the attention is suddenly on her. “Who’s your brother?”

“Joshua. Joshua White.”

Tayce’s face instantly lights up in recognition. “Of course, you’re Josh’s brother! I should’ve known, you look so alike.”

“He’s ten and I’m five,” Archie adds, somewhat unnecessarily.

“See, I think you might be taller than him, though,” Tayce deadpans. A’whora watches affectionately as Archie’s entire body crumples up in a laugh and he splutters out a “nooooo!”. Tayce’s face breaks out into a smile- warm and genuine with her nose wrinkling up. It’s maybe the most adorable thing A’whora has ever seen.

“Josh is good at art as well. He’s not quite as good as you, but he’s good,” Tayce smiles, and as Archie smiles back A’whora feels her heart melting.

Archie turns to Tayce suddenly with the drawing still in his hand, and holds it out for her to take. “This is actually for you.”

A’whora gives a snort of outrage and amusement, which she quickly turns into a cough. She watches as Tayce accepts the drawing gratefully, giving Archie a little squeeze on his shoulder as she says thank you and Archie scuttles away back to his friends all bashful. There’s a second where Tayce smiles after him then looks down at the drawing with fondness, and A’whora’s feelings for her hit her like a tidal wave.

Tayce doesn’t notice (because of course she doesn’t) and as she straightens up she grins triumphantly at A’whora, holding the drawing in her face proudly. “Well. Guess Archie’s got a new favourite teacher then, doesn’t he?”

“He wouldn’t last five minutes in your classroom,” A’whora smirks, lying. The image of big-hearted Tayce with a class full of the littlest kids drying their tears and helping them get all organised for the day ahead is so unbelievably cute it makes A’whora want to squeal like an embarrassing teenager. She doesn’t, though. Instead she holds out a hand expectantly, raises her eyebrows at Tayce as if she’s one of her students. “Am I getting my drawing back or what?”

“Easy come, easy go,” Tayce winks at her, flouncing out of her classroom door just as the bell rings for break.

***

Tayce doesn’t really flirt with A’whora. Well, no, that’s a lie. She flirts and then immediately laughs it off, brushes it off as a joke or banter even though maybe if she’d taken flirting with A’whora a little more seriously she wouldn’t still be in this position two-bloody-years in.

Because she knows A’whora flirts sometimes. She’s positive she isn’t making it up. The way she’ll deadpan a “well, you look like shit” as she hops into her car in the mornings, the way she’ll sit close to her under her fluffy pink blanket if she’s round at Tayce’s for a movie day (because yeah, they hang out outside of work, because that’s what friends do). It’s always a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it raised eyebrow here, a laugh there, a touch of her arm and a squeeze of her hand and a smirk that bites back a thousand words Tayce wishes A’whora would just say.

So Tayce will flirt back because that’s probably just what A’whora does with her friends, and that’s all Tayce is to her. Maybe. Tayce is never sure if A’whora likes her back or not, and the risk of completely wrecking what is her only workplace friendship is too great to actually do something about it, so she’s happy being her friend for now. Every second she gets to spend with A’whora is a treat, so she can’t complain.

It would be easier if she was still labouring under the delusion that A’whora was straight, which was the whole reason it took Tayce so long to start slowly falling for her. A’whora had had a boyfriend for roughly the first six months Tayce had known her, so she hadn’t even thought of her friend in that capacity at all. Then one day on a rainy January she’d thudded her bag down on Tayce’s desk and told her they were going for drinks after work that night because her boyfriend was a cheating piece of shit and she’d broken up with him.

Tayce’s fate had further been sealed when they’d been sitting together for an inservice day on LGBT training and A’whora had turned to her and rolled her eyes.

“We don’t really need to be here, do we? We could just piss off to McDonalds.”

Tayce had laughed softly, fixing A’whora with a slightly confused glance. “Huh?”

“Well, I feel like we probably have enough lived experience of the whole thing to not need training. Still, we could always duck back in in time for the transgender part. But I mean we probably don’t really need to be told how to support kids struggling with their sexuality, do we?”

Tayce still remembers how A’whora had snorted at her, her face obviously looking as if she was searching for the last puzzle piece in the world’s most confusing jigsaw. “What is it?”

“I don’t get…what?” Tayce had said awkwardly, still unsure of what A’whora had meant.

A’whora had pulled a face, giggling a little. “Are you telling me that rainbow flag is on your desk for shits and gigs?”

“No…” Tayce said slowly, the pieces slowly falling together. “So…”

A’whora gave another funny little snort. “Tayce, did you not know I was bi? I’m sure I’ve told you this before.”

Tayce still thinks she deserves an Oscar for still being able to keep the conversation going despite the fact her entire world had been flipped on its head like a globe made of hourglass. “You’ve not! You’ve never. I mean, like, why would you need to? It’s not something that matters. I mean obviously it matters to you, but it doesn’t matter to me. You’re my friend either way. I mean it just never occurred to me because…your ex, and uh…you can drive.”

Mercifully, their headteacher had started speaking before A’whora could respond to her beyond a single raised eyebrow and a smirk on her face.

It’s been ever since then that Tayce has been looking at A’whora in a different light. How gorgeous she is at the start of the day with nothing but her laminated brows and lash extensions to pass for makeup and how gorgeous she still is at the end of the day with her mascara and eyeliner smudged a little at the edges and her lipstick all rubbed off. How she’s generous and patient and how she’ll go out of her way to help Tayce understand the new flavour-of-the-month resource their headteacher makes them use, pulling one of her kid’s chairs over to sit close beside her to see the monitor and bumping her knee against Tayce’s every so often.

It’s how she acts around her kids, though, that really highlights everything Tayce completely adores about A’whora. Tayce is on her way up to the staffroom with two tubs of chicken shawarma salad in her hands (one for her and one for A’whora, of course) and she makes it up one flight of stairs when she suddenly hears a cry like an air raid siren pierce the air, as well as a gentle, soothing voice muttering quiet consolations.

It’s the sheer hysterical nature of the crying that catches Tayce’s attention at first, and she looks over the bannister to see A’whora on the level below, sitting a little boy who’s bawling his eyes out down on the red squashy chairs outside the office. With a stab to her heart Tayce realises that it’s Archie, the boy who’d given her the picture all those weeks ago. Both his knees and the palms of his hands are torn to ribbons; he’s obviously had a fight with the tarmac and emerged the loser. Tayce knows he’ll be okay if an adult’s seeing to him, especially if that adult’s A’whora, so she knows she can leave. She doesn’t need to stay and watch the situation play out.

But she does. She watches as one of the ladies from the office comes out and reassures A’whora that she can take over, and as A’whora waves her away kindly and says it won’t take her two minutes. She watches as A’whora puts her hands on the boy’s shoulders and directs his breathing, talking to him calmly and softly. She watches A’whora rip into a packet of sterile wipes with grim determination, telling Archie how brave he’s being and that she knows it stings as she wipes quickly and carefully over his little cut hands. She watches A’whora peel the wrapping off four plasters, making it seem effortless even with her long acrylics, and the way she makes a joke about Archie being bandaged up like a mummy which brings a smile to his little tear-stained face and a smile to Tayce’s too. The other staff don’t get to see A’whora’s caring nature very often (given how often she whispers judgemental comments to Tayce during meetings) but Tayce sees it all the time. A’whora has the biggest heart of anyone she’s ever known, and the whole scene makes Tayce feel so endeared towards her that it almost frightens her.

It’s at that point when Archie looks up at Tayce on the bannister and makes eye contact with her. He flicks his eyes back down to his teacher.

“Uh, Miss Boyle? I think Miss Szura-Radix wants to talk to you, because she’s been there a long time.”

Tayce’s heart freezes solid at the same time A’whora turns around, who fixes her with a sort of funny smile, confused but not exactly unhappy to see her.

“Uh. Coming to the staffroom?” Tayce shouts down, under pressure to explain herself but simultaneously not having any explanation.

“Two seconds!” A’whora yells up apologetically.

“I’ll wait,” Tayce yells down, reassuring her.

Tayce is used to waiting for A’whora. She supposes another minute or so won’t make a difference.

***

This is the third Valentine’s day A’whora has spent with Tayce.

The first fell on a Monday and had been an abject disaster (or success, depending on how she looked at it). A’whora was still getting over her ex and Tayce had confided in her that she hated Valentine’s day and all its commercialised, capitalist tat with a burning passion, so they’d gone to the pub after work and got so outrageously drunk that the two of them were so hungover the next day A’whora drove them to McDonalds for lunch.

The second had been last year- a Tuesday, where Tayce had been subdued and a little down until A’whora had forced her into helping her choose new clothes for the roleplay area for her kids and the pair of them had collapsed into endless breathless giggles as they both tried on costumes made for five-year-olds, the memory of Tayce in a hi-vis vest, safety goggles and a tiny hard hat one that still makes A’whora laugh if she thinks about it.

Really she’s lucky that she gets to be one of the few people who’s spent the 14th of February with their crush for three years in a row, but not for the reasons she might want. Still, she can live in the delusional daydream she’s taunted herself with many times; how maybe today Tayce will turn up at her classroom door with helium balloons and a teddy, how she’ll say she’s been secretly in love with her for years and how she’s booked them a table at that fancy seafood restaurant in town that just opened up for an actual proper date (not a mate date and not some gal-entines or pal-entines bullshit).

And then Tayce hops into her car in a foul mood with her hair drenched from waiting for A’whora in the rain with no umbrella and a face like a cow’s backside.

A’whora tries to cheer her up. She blasts the R&B that Tayce loves but Tayce just asks her to turn it off, telling her that Kiana Ledé, Mahalia and Ella Mai are exactly what she doesn’t need to hear on Valentine’s Day, endless songs about being in and out of love. So A’whora blasts Charli XCX instead, which works well until shuffle puts on Forever, and then Tayce is in the huff again.

Teaching the year fives doesn’t exactly help her feel much better, A’whora thinks, as they both sit down to lunch together and Tayce turns to her with an incredulous scowl on her face.

“They’ve all got bloody boyfriends and girlfriends!”

A’whora stops eating the pasta salad Tayce has made for her and narrows her eyes inquisitively. “Who does?”

“All the kids in my class. They’ve been going around all day telling me who they’ve paired up with, who’s snogging who, the detailed dating history of these bloody ten year olds. They keep asking me what we’re doing for Valentine’s Day. ‘Are we making cards?’ No! We’re doing more work on decimals because none of you bloody understood it the first three times I explained it to you. Make a card in your own damn time,” Tayce rolls her eyes while A’whora snorts with laughter. Tayce side-eyes her, unimpressed as A’whora tries to defend herself.

“Oh come on, Tayce, you’ve got to admit it’s a bit funny.”

“Is it? Is it though? Is it funny that a ten year old boy can get himself a girlfriend but I can’t?”

Tayce’s words make A’whora’s heart jump a hurdle. She plays it off with a joke. “Yeah, but he’s got a ten year old girlfriend, Tayce. I’m assuming you don’t want that.”

“No, funnily enough!” Tayce shakes her head. She pouts uncharacteristically, tilting her head to the ceiling. “I just…I don’t know, I just want someone that’s there for me. Who’ll always listen to all my shit, someone that makes me smile when I feel like crap. Someone I can just be myself around and have a laugh with whatever the hell we’re doing.”

A’whora nods and doesn’t say what she wants to. We do that. We do all of that together already.

“But I don’t want all the shit of having to actually get to know people, having to go on dates and do the whole talking stage and get my hopes up only to have them let down. I wish I could just…” Tayce sighs, and A’whora’s on tenterhooks wondering what’s coming next. “…I wish I just already had that person, you know?”

You do have that person. I’m that person.

A’whora nods silently and the bell rings signalling the end of their lunch break.

Since she’s not as enraged by Valentine’s day as Tayce, A’whora has planned to get the sequins and glue out and get the kids to make Valentine’s cards. She loves planning tasks like this, mainly because five year olds don’t need much help when faced with a glue stick and a shaker full of glitter, so it means she can put her feet up and have a chilled afternoon. She explains to her class what they’re going to be doing, feels her heart burst with affection as they all get outrageously excited at the very notion of using glitter. She shows them how to fold their piece of paper carefully to make a card shape, and shows them the array of colours they can choose from (and has to explain to some disappointed boys that no, she doesn’t have any blue card so no, their Valentine’s Day card can’t be the colour of Crystal Palace football club).

She’s giving out the different colours of card to her kids and cutting them to size when one of her girls stops, peers carefully at the selection of colours, then looks at A’whora thoughtfully.

“Miss Boyle, are you going to give a Valentine’s card to Miss Szura-Radix?”

A’whora almost slices through her own hand in shock. She looks with incredulity at the little girl in front of her. “Bella! No, of course not. Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re best friends and you love her,” Bella shrugs, A’whora’s attempts to shame her into silence obviously having no effect. A’whora tries to scowl, tries to do her best ‘cross face’ despite the fact that the thought of giving Tayce a Valentine’s card sets her heart racing so fast it makes her genuinely think about driving to A&E.

“I don’t…” she starts, until Bella speaks again.

“You told us before that girls can fall in love with girls and you said that we can make our Valentine’s cards for our friends too,” she insists innocently. A’whora finally musters up a frown, thrusts a pink piece of card into her hand.

“Why am I even entertaining this conversation- go and get on with your work, madam!” she says firmly, and Bella walks away with her blank card in her hand, nonplussed.

But as her kids all begin to make their cards and they’re all too caught up in glitter and painting their hands with PVA glue to even need her help with anything, A’whora begins absent-mindedly folding a spare piece of pink card in half. She draws one, two, three love hearts on it, then takes one of the little glue sticks and carefully, neatly, fills them in with splodges of clear glue. She asks one of the little boys sitting at the table opposite her if she can borrow the red glitter when he’s finished with it and he nods his head, A’whora’s heart involuntarily swelling with pride at how good her children are at sharing. She tap-tap-taps the glitter shaker over the hearts on the paper, making sure each one is covered completely before standing the card upright and watching the excess fall off like sparkly snow. Opening the card, she takes the gold shiny gel pen from her desk and writes without really thinking it through.

Maybe if Tayce isn’t going to magically read A’whora’s mind and figure out what she’s been yearning for, A’whora just has to give her a little nudge in the right direction.

When she’s done she folds it back over, stands up, crosses the room to her empty yellow message folder and slides it inside. She asks her class if anyone knows where the year five classroom is because she’s got a message to send there. Fifteen tiny hands fly up and A’whora basically has to whittle the volunteers down to the only two kids who actually know where they’re going, and she gives them the folder and tells them to take it up to Tayce’s classroom.

She doesn’t think about the reality or the implication of what she’s just done, because if she does then she’ll start hyperventilating and not stop until perhaps June of next year. Instead she catches the eye of Julia, the little girl who moved from Poland in January. She can’t speak or write a word of English yet, but the way she’s looking at A’whora with a little smile on her face makes her genuinely wonder if she knows. Sometimes kids can pick up on these sorts of things. She shoots her a little wink and puts her finger to her lips in a “shhh” just in case, and the little girl breaks into a grin that shows two missing front teeth.

The thing about teaching is that it’s a great job for providing a distraction. A’whora can’t think about the card she made for Tayce when she’s cleaning up an entire pot of glitter that Jared spilt all over the carpet, nor can she think about what she’s written in it when she’s comforting Angelica because she didn’t get to finish her card in time for hometime. But the moment she’s waved the kids off and dropped them off to their parents she walks up the stairs from the front entrance with an impending sense of dread which only increases with every new step she takes.

“What the fuck have you done,” she mutters under her breath, earning her a weird look from one of the ladies at the office.

When she gets back to her classroom to find Tayce sitting on one of the tiny tables waiting for her, A’whora feels her heart freeze in her chest and the blood rush to her face, blushing just from seeing her there. Tayce looks in a better mood than she was at lunchtime, though, which is a good start. Maybe she never even read the card. Maybe A’whora’s reception kids took it to the entirely wrong class. Christ, that would be even more embarrassing.

“Hey, boo boo,” Tayce smiles gently at her, as A’whora crosses the room and elects to sit on the desk opposite her so they’re face to face and not too far away. “How’d your afternoon go?”

“Oh, uh, y’know,” A’whora stammers out, blundering her words in the world’s worst attempt at appearing nonchalant. “Lots of glitter, lots of PVA. In fact I’m probably sitting in a massive glittery splodge of it, as are you.”

Tayce laughs, checks the table comedically.

“How was yours? You seem a bit more cheerful,” A’whora continues, looking to the floor and not darling to meet her eyes. “Did decimals finally click with your lot, or…?”

“I am a bit more cheerful,” Tayce smiles, A’whora’s heart racing and soaring in anticipation at the same time. “But not really anything to do with decimals. More to do with the fact somebody made me a really very lovely Valentine’s card.”

Tayce reaches behind her back and produces her card- A’whora’s card- from the table behind her, and A’whora feels her pulse race at her wrists and her heart leap into her mouth to the extent that she’s rendered almost too shy to speak. What the fuck was she thinking? Tayce is probably about to rip the piss out of her for it, it was a huge mistake, and she’s probably thrown their whole friendship away for nothing.

However. There’s a little something in Tayce’s eyes, a little sparkle that makes the grey shine silver. So A’whora shrugs, fixing a carefree smile on her face even though she feels anything but.

“Well, I know you hate Valentine’s day, so…I thought maybe if I gave you a card you’d stop being so mardy about it.”

When she looks at Tayce again she can see there’s a little crack in her perfect armour, the sparkle in her eyes dulled slightly. When she speaks her voice is quiet and nervous, so stripped of its usual hyperactivity and energy that A’whora wonders if it’s even Tayce’s voice at all. “Is that, uh. Is that the only reason you made it?”

A’whora can practically feel herself clam up. She has no idea where Tayce is going with this; to clarify that it was a joke or to clarify that it was serious, and A’whora doesn’t know which one Tayce wants it to be.

“What you wrote,” Tayce continues, her gaze fixed on the glitter-covered carpet and making it even more impossible to figure out her intention. “Was that, like…some girly besties chat, or was it…did you mean it…like that?”

“Yeah, I did,” A’whora says instantly. It’s out before she knows it, a terrifying leap into a freezing cold conversational plunge pool with no life raft to help her climb out. There’s only one way out and it’s Tayce’s reaction, whatever the hell that might be. She snapped her head up the moment the words left A’whora’s mouth, and her eyes are wide in what could be shock but could quite easily be horror.

A’whora doesn’t think she’s ever been more hopeful and frightened all at once. The seconds tick by and Tayce is still frozen in position, and A’whora can literally feel herself inching closer to the edge of the desk in terrified anticipation.

“Jesus Christ say something, Tayce, before I cringe myself to death,” she says breathlessly, her blood feeling almost electric as it races in her veins.

Tayce leans forward, not giving much away as she brings a thumb up to A’whora’s cheek.

“You’ve got a bit of glitter on your face,” she murmurs.

When she leans in and closes the gap between them, A’whora feels herself melt against Tayce’s lips with relief. They’re in the middle of her classroom at quarter part three with the door open and she’s very well aware that anyone could walk in at a moments’ notice, but A’whora doesn’t care. A’whora only cares about the fact that Tayce is kissing her and she’s kissing back, and it’s so hard to believe it’s actually real and not some daydream come to life, and it’s happening on Valentine’s day which makes it even more far-fetched. But every time A’whora starts to think that maybe she’s dreaming she feels Tayce’s thumb stroke her cheek, or their knees bump together, or she brings a hand up to rest at Tayce’s jaw just to make sure it’s all real.

When Tayce pulls away and they smile at each other, giggling and blushing like one of Tayce’s year fives, A’whora only allows herself to properly believe it’s all actually happening when Tayce presses their foreheads together, takes both of A’whora’s hands in her own and murmurs quietly to her what A’whora’s wanted to hear for entirely too long.

“I love you too.”

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #uk2 #i don’t know how i know (but I know)#ortega #taywhora #tayce #a'whora #british au #lesbian au #teachers au #fluff

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hannie-dul-set · 5 years ago

Text

your face lit up upon seeing the message on your phone. despite your objections, jaehyun had insisted on picking you up and taking you home today (you had told him that if he were to drop you off after your date later, it'd take him almost an hour to get back home. to which he responded with "it's okay as long as i'd get to spend more time with you" which resulted in you nearly dropping your phone). after giving yourself one last check-up in front the mirror, you had finally opted to go downstairs.

now, seeing jaehyun in the usual suit and tie ensemble was undeniably heart-stopping, but seeing him in a plain black shirt and jeans? now that was something else. you had told him the night prior to wear something casual, and that was probably the best decision you've ever made thus far.

he was leaning on his car, a coat loosely hanging off of his shoulder and attention drilled on his phone. noticing your nearing presence, he quickly shut off the device, eyes gleaming and dimples appearing.

"you're here."

it was around four in the afternoon, the sky rendering a beautiful brilliant blue. patches of little white clouds littered the heaven's canvas, and the sun's glare showered directly on jaehyun's face.

"indeed i am," you laughed, finding your spot directly in front of him. jaehyun's gaze lingered on you a little longer, a light wash of pink painting his pale cheeks. you raised a brow, expecting him to say something but he only stifled out a cough, quickly scrambling to open the front door of his car for you.

"after you," he stuttered out, attempting to keep his composure. jaehyun was nervous— not because of you, but instead it's because the whole concept of going out for mere pleasure had been foreign to him since he was sixteen. you'd actually been a source of comfort for him; even if he embarks on the unkown, it would seem like nothing with your presence alone.

you thanked him before entering, and shortly thereafter he followed.

"so, where exactly are you taking us, miss y/n?" jaehyun asked you but his attention remained on the road before him.

"you'll see when we get there, jae— oh, you should go left from here," and so he did. the next couple of minutes went on like that— you giving him directions, and him attacking you with questions regarding your destination (you refused to answer any of them, of course). after a while, a large ferris wheel can into view as well as vague sounds of boisterous merrymaking.

"jaehyun, we're almost there!" you gushed in delight, slightly bouncing in your seat as you gleamed at the distant sight before you and jaehyun couldn't help but smile at your honeyed excitement.

the car had landed in the the parking lot, prompting you to go out. but before you could open the car door, jaehyun swiftly left his seat, jogged over to your side, and opened the door for you. he extended his hand for you to grab and you couldn't contain your laughter.

"such a gentleman," with a painted smile on your face, you placed your hand on his as you exited the vehicle.

you looked up to jaehyun to see if he was just as eager as you to try all of the rides and games, but his expression remained unreadable. a question came into thought, so you tugged on the short sleeve of his shirt, prompting the male's attention.

the wide grin on you refused to falter even as you neared the park's entrance. there was a spring in your step as you walked and your enthusiasm only grew once you saw the endless colorful booths and stalls lining up from the entrance.

"jae, have you ever been to an amusement park before?"

"a few times, yes," he answered, a somber feeling tracing his features. "but it was a quite long time ago so i don't really remember what it's like."

a frown appeared surfaced after hearing his response. being bred into a family that garnered such a reputation undeniably brought about an immense amount of pressure, so you weren't surprised that jaehyun gave up his childhood so early in order to live up to expectations of dozens and dozens of nameless people. you'd made the right decision of bringing him to the amusement park today— maybe through this he'd be able to relive what he had long forgotten.

"well then," you quickly stood before him, blocking his path to move forward. with your new found determination, you quickly grabbed his hand, eliciting a look of confusion from the tall male. "i'll help you remember."

with a swift tug of his wrist, you ran, jaehyun dragging behind you. "miss y/n, slow down—"

"keep up, jaehyun! or else i might leave you in the dust!" you sang, a wide smile spread on your lips. at first, jaehyun was caught in a daze, but with a quick shake of his head and chimes laughter leaving his lips, he suddenly overtook took your speed.

"keep up, miss y/n."

he teased, your positions switching in a blink of an eye. jaehyun's hair flew with the wind— you couldn't see his face, but you just know that he was beaming, and that alone made you swell with joy.

the afternoon went by rather quickly. after running around the park for a while, you two decided to try out the games first— and dear god, you were met with an entirely new side of jung jaehyun.

"miss y/n, do you mind stepping away for a while?"

"oh, sure," quickly, you scurried away from him, finding a spot a few steps away from the jaehyun.

in front of you two was a punch machine, glaring at you with its red and yellow lights. you had just left from the one of the shooting games where you both failed miserably, causing jaehyun to be a bit dejected. you had told him that it was most likely rigged, but the male swore that he'd regain his dignity. when you glanced up at him to see how he's holding up, and you couldn't help your amusement— jaehyun's brows were in a furrow, face in frozen ice. the fact that he was taking this so seriously was absolutely adorable.

a small crowd of children had formed around you, and you could see that the worker in charge of the game was getting impatient (jaehyun started stretching a bit, and you could tell that the guy was this close to kicking you out).

with a few swift steps and the swing of an arm—

bam.

952.

the small crowd started clapping, and the first thing jaehyun did was look at you— face glowing with a smile that looked as if he had just won the whole world. the way his cheeks lifted and eyes disappeared strung a different kind of chord inside of you. springing from the ground, you leaped towards him, arms spread to capture him in an embrace.

"jaehyun, holy shit, that's a new record!" you squealed, rupturing a wave of confusion from jaehyun. his right arm ended up wrapping around your waist and his opposite palm was resting on your head which was buried in his chest. like earlier, his bewilderment quickly washed away and his voice broke out a chuckle. you looked up, only to see him staring at you with stars in his eyes.

"i told you i'd make up for my loss."

"you didn't have to, but i'm proud of you anyways."

after trying out most of the games and rides (as well as a second run at the viking, due to jaehyun's insistence), the light sky was replaced with the star-studded breath of the night. the lights hanging all over the park were shining— casting dozens of colors all over. the two had just gotten down from your ride from the ferris wheel. although the ride was spent primarily in silence while admiring the atmosphere and scenery before you, it wasn't at all awkward. instead, there was comfort lingering in the air inside the tiny box you two were enclosed in.

shortly thereafter you found yourselves eating dinner at the nearby boardwalk with the sight of the light-stained waters in front of you, and before you knew it the night was finally over. at 9:32 pm, you were already on yout ride back home— the card ride composing of you blaring one of jaehyun's playlists at full volume and singing your hearts out (at that instance, you had found out that jaehyun's voice was nothing less than heavenly and you had complained as to why he'd never told you before). moments later, the facade of your apartment building came into view, signalling the end of your date.

with the same routine as earlier, he had opened the door for you, hands pressed tightly together and showing no signs of letting go.

"i had fun today," you breathed out. the thoughtless grins on your faces mirrored each other, along with the enraptured adoration spiraling in your eyes. "so did you, i hope. if not, then i'd be really sad."

the streetlights and the stars were the only things lighting up the area, but everything suddenly became brighter when you heard the soft laughter slipping from jaehyun's pink tinted lips. "you being sad would be the last thing i'd want, miss y/n."

the cold wind nipped at your skin, causing you to hold onto jaehyun's hand tighter. as much as you didn't want to, you had to head back inside. it was already getting late and you still had work tomorrow morning.

"i should get going, jae," you spoke, earning a nod of understanding from the male. hesitantly, he slipped his hand off of yours, a glimpse of disappointment hinting at his features before being replaced once more with his dimpled smile.

"i'll wait until you get inside before i make my leave."

"alright, alright," you laughed, a gentle rose flushing you cheeks. "text me when you get home, okay?"

jaehyun nodded once more and you finally decided to head inside. once at the entrance, however, you turned your heels to see if he was still there, and indeed he was— standing alone under the coldness of the night, just because he wants to see you safely get inside. you see his expression— confused as to why you weren't opening the door yet, and suddenly you felt your heart jump in a giddy flight. your eyes met and you briskly scurried to unlock the door, lightly smacking on of your cheeks in attempts to calm the blazing red storm going about. you swung it open, but before you finally entered, a sudden thought went inside your head.

lips pressed together, you hesitated, but then ultimately decided

fuck it.

you swiveled around to face jaehyun again and you wordlessly speeded towards him, legs moving in a haste, the air gusting against you. he was flustered with you suddenly standing before him, and it didn't help his case when you looked up to him with your face flushed. without giving jaehyun any opportunity to speak, you sprung on your toes, quickly pressing a fluttering kiss on his jaw.

"goodnight, jaehyun!"

and just like that you ran inside, leaving jaehyun in a coral stained daze. he heard the door to your apartment building closing, and he snapped out. he shook his head, laughing to himself, before getting inside his car.

"goodnight."

gold painted canvas

the classic rich boy and poor girl love story but with less prejudice and more happiness

25 // goodnight

a/n: HHEHEHEH hope you enjoyed 1.9k words of tooth rotting fluff <33 pls lmk what you think hehehe

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#jung jaehyun #nct #jung jaehyun x reader #nct x reader #jung jaehyun social media au #nct social media au #jung jaehyun texts #nct texts #jung jaehyun scenarios #nct scenarios

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nerdy-bookworm-1998 · 5 years ago

Text

The Misunderstanding

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Summary: Bucky thinks y/n is cheating on him with Steve, but everything is not as it seems. Words: 1521 Warnings: Angst, fluff, sad Bucky, one swear word, assumed cheating(but not really) A/N: This was an anon prompt. I hope you like it nonnie! The prompt was: “anonymous asked:Hello there! Would you mind doing an angsty oneshot where Bucky can feel his girlfriend falling out of love with him like the way she becomes less affectionate and more secretive? The ending is up to you ofc 😘😊” If you liked this please leave feedback/reblogs and consider donating to my Ko-Fi and/or Patreon. If you want to be tagged in future works, please send me an ask.

When Bucky's alarm goes off at 7 am he reaches out blindly with his flesh arm to shut it off before rolling over and slinging it over the other side of the bed, expecting to make contact with the soft, warm body of his girlfriend of the last three years. Instead, he encounters only cold sheets, signaling that she had left the bed long ago. Bucky frowns deeply. This is the nth time in the last few weeks that he had woken up alone and it was really starting to bother him. With a long-suffering sigh, he slips from the bed and pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a blue t-shirt before heading in search of his first caffeine boost for the day.

As he reaches the door to the communal kitchen he can her soft giggling from within. He rounds the corner to find y/n and Steve with their heads bent close together over a StarkPad, Steve's arm slung casually over her shoulders as he whispers in her ear. Whatever he told her causes her entire face to light up in the way that it only ever did when she saw Bucky. The sight before him makes dread settle in his gut and drives all thoughts of coffee from his mind. Instead, he turns sharply on his heel and marches towards the gym, needing to blow off some steam.

After a long workout session, in which several heavy-duty sandbags were sacrificed, and a long, hot shower, Bucky wanders into the gardens where there is a large gazebo with comfortable lounge chairs in which y/n liked to curl up and read. Sure enough, his girl (is she really still his girl?) sits curled up like a cat in the shade with her StarkPad, tapping away and paying no attention to the world around her.

He walks into the gazebo, making sure to make his steps audible against the wood. Yet she still startles slightly when he crouches in front of her, gently touching her knee. When she realizes that it's Bucky sitting with her, her eyes widen momentarily in panic before she quickly schools her features into a calm mask. "Hey, babe, how are you? I missed you at breakfast," she smiles softly as she runs her free hand through his hair.

"Training ran a little longer than usual," he says calmly as his eyes flutter closed of their own accord and he presses closer to her touch before pulling away a moment later. "What happened to you this morning? You were gone by the time I woke up," he asks, waiting to see her reaction.

If she's surprised, she certainly doesn't show it, she merely shrugs a shoulder and taps on the screen in front of her a few more times. "I had an early meeting with Tony about a few upgrades he wanted to make on my suit."

"Was Steve there?" he asks a little more harshly than he'd intended but it was too late to backtrack now so he went with it.

"Steve?" she blinks at him. "No, he was out running a few errands with Sam. Bucky, is everything alright? You don't seem like yourself," she asks as she leans forward to brush a few hairs from his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he grunts before composing himself and offering her a too-bright smile. "How about we go out to lunch at that little Italian place you like so much and then spend the afternoon getting lost in Target?"

"I wish I could, but I have a meeting with Tony in a few minutes. Maybe some other time?" she asks with an apologetic smile as she starts getting up to leave.

"Didn't you just have a meeting with Tony this morning?" Bucky asks as he rises with her.

"Yeah, but that was about suit upgrades, this is about a team-building event he wants to organize. I'll see you later, okay?" She turns and walks away from him without another word or even a kiss on the cheek. She always used to kiss him when she left. Was this the end of them? Sure Bucky had been a little busy with missions, bad guys never took a day off after all. But had he really pushed her into the arms of his best friend? These thoughts plague his mind as he turns and slowly wanders back into the compound.

The next few days are no better, in fact, they seem even worse. It's almost as if y/n and Steve are actively avoiding him, spending almost every moment together away from the compound and only returning long after everyone else has gone to sleep. He didn't think y/n was even sleeping in the same bed as him anymore.

It's on his way back from training the new recruits, walking past Steve's closed office door that he hears the words that make his heart drop to the floor and shatter into millions of tiny shards. "I think Bucky is onto us, Steve," y/n is saying, her voice quivering the way it does when she's on the verge of tears.

"What makes you say that?" Steve asks with a tinge of worry lacing his otherwise calm demeanor.

"Whenever we're in the same room together, he looks at me with these heartbroken puppy-eyes, he refuses to be near me, just this morning he called out 'Say hi to Steve' all sarcastic as I was leaving the kitchen. I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this, Steve. I hate lying to Bucky," she sobs.

Bucky hears Steve walking around his office, probably pulling y/n into his arms. "I know, sweetheart. But it's almost over. We just have to be patient for a few more hours, I promise," Steve soothes her as she continues to sniffle.

Bucky cannot stand there and listen to more of their conversation. He silently walks past the door and to his room. He had to get out of there.

He is in the middle of packing his duffle bag full of clothing when the door opens and y/n walks in. She stops short when she sees Bucky with his hands full of clothes. "Bucky? What are you doing?" she asks cautiously as she slowly edges closer to him, closing the door behind her.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm packing," he says harshly, completely ignoring how hurt she looks as he continues stuffing clothes into the black canvas.

"I can see that, but why? I don't know of any missions popping up," she says as she takes a seat on the bed.

"Because I can't be around you right now, y/n," he says without any emotion in his voice.

"Why?" she asks, tears starting to fill her eyes.

"Why?" Bucky gives a humorless laugh before continuing, "Because, I know, alright. I know about you and Steve, and I can't just stand back and watch you have an affair with my best friend!" he yells.

"Bucky... there's nothing going on between me and Steve. You're the only guy for me, I swear," she pleads with him while tears run down her face.

"If there's nothing going on between the two of you why have you both been avoiding me? Why haven't you so much as hugged me in almost a month? Why do I keep seeing the two of you all over the compound, looking all cozy and giggly? Why, y/n?" he asks, suddenly sounding tired and defeated.

"Because we've been trying to plan a surprise party for you, dammit! And everyone knows what shit liars we both are, so it was just easier to avoid you than accidentally letting something slip! I never wanted to hide things from you! I never wanted to avoid you when all I wanted to do is curl up next to you and never let you go because I love you!" she yells, feeling frustrated and heartbroken that Bucky could ever even think that she would be unfaithful to him. "I love you," she whispers as she slumps in on herself, sobbing.

"You've been planning a surprise party for me?" Bucky asks, completely dazed as he slowly processes everything y/n had just told him. "Oh, doll..." he whispers as he drops the clothes in his hands onto the bed and slumps to his knees before her, wrapping his arms securely around her quivering frame. "I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry baby," he whispers in her ear repeatedly as he kisses every available inch of skin he can reach.

"I guess the cat's out of the bag now, huh?" y/n muses a long time later as she snuggles closer to Bucky's chest while his arms tighten around her.

"Just a little bit," he chuckles, "but I promise I'll still act surprised," he says before landing a kiss on the top of her head.

"I love you, Bucky Barnes," she says, stretching up gently kiss his mouth.

"I love you too, y/n y/l/n," he whispers against her lips before kissing her more firmly. The party could wait a little while longer, first, he had a lot of making up to do.

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#marvel #avengers #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #angst #fluff #angst with a fluffy ending #swearing #assumed cheating

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doyoufancyathought · 4 years ago

Text

Through The Utility Closet Part 3: Get Tested

Y/N had never been a fan of hospitals. In fact, she had gone above and beyond in her efforts to avoid going to them. She thought she could probably count all of her hospital visits on her fingers. Thankfully, she was a fairly healthy individual, so it wasn't hard for her to stay out of the Emergency room. They were too sterile, too clean, and everyone was always bustling and grumping around, and poking and prodding all the time. Y/N knew that the hospital wasn't supposed to be an enjoyable place to spend time, but she definitely was of the opinion that steps could be made to make it at least comfortable. Or hospitable, if you'll excuse the joke.

Still, she was in a new dimension, apparently, and so exceptions must be made when it comes to personal dislikes against institutions. She wanted to get home, after all, and this was a necessary step. In order for these scientists to send her back home, they must figure out where exactly she is from, otherwise they could end up sending her to a completely wrong place or time or what have you, and that would just be a disaster.

Once she was up on the exam table, Y/N did her best to appear friendly to the business-like nurse. She was quick and efficient as she hooked Y/N up to at least different machines, and tied a rubber band around her upper arm. For a moment, Y/N was worried that these strangers might be shooting her full of drugs, but then she remembered that this was simply routine for drawing blood. She hoped that medical procedures weren't too different in this world from her own.

Y/N was relieved when the nurse brought in a tray of empty vials and begin to explain what she was doing.

"I'm going to draw some blood so we can do some tests. I'll also need a hair sample, and I'm going to do a saliva swab as well, just so we can take a look at your DNA. How's that sound?"

"Invasive."

The nurse smiled. "I promise you'll barely feel a thing. The swab will be oral, same as checking for strep."

The nurse did her tests, and then let a few scientists in lab coats in. They pulled up chairs in front of the exam table and introduced themselves, although Y/N forgot their names as soon as she heard them.

"Okay, so I guess the first question is for you to introduce yourself and where you're from."

"My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and I'm from (hometown) in (country). I was working at one of my jobs when I fell through an inter dimensional portal and ended up here."

"Good start. Can you tell me about the planetary system from your home world?"

"I guess so." Y/N thought about it for a second, trying to remember those astronomy lessons from many years ago. "Earth is the third planet from the Sun, which is the centre of the system. Then there's Mercury, Mars, Earth, Saturn, Jupiter, Uranus, Pluto, and I think I'm missing some. I can't remember the order, sorry, I've never been good at planets."

"That's all right. Can you tell me how many days in a year?"

"365."

"And how old are you?"

"22."

"And how old do people usually live to be?"

"Uh, I don't know. Maybe anywhere from 70 to 90 years?" Should have paid for attention in stats class.

"How big are spiders in your world?"

"Some of them are super tiny, like you can barely see them. And then some of them are huge, like a dinner plate."

"I see. And how big are chickens?"

"What?"

"How big are chicken? I know it's a weird question, but some worlds have gigantic chickens that actually prey on humans."

"Thats, um, disturbing. But my chickens are normal size? Like small enough to fit in an oven."

"Ok, well that's good. "

There where more questions like this, some about history and some about geography and flora and fauna. When they were all done, the scientists discussed for a minute by themselves.

"Okay, well, from what we can tell, your world is incredibly similar to our own, with the major differences likely being social development. You say you don't have the Avengers in your world?"

"No, we don't have any superheroes or superpowers at all. I wish, though."

"Yeah, that makes sense. How much do you know about inter-dimensional portals?"

"Absolutely nothing."

"Ok, well that's fair, it's a tough subject. So pretty much, each dimension has kind of bridges to reach out to other dimensions. When two bridges line up, there's a chance for people or things to cross over."

"Okay, that makes sense I guess."

"A lot of the time, these bridges go unnoticed. Some dimensions are connected permanently, some are connected cyclicly, and some are connected for less than a second at a time, which makes them extra hard to track. You with me so far?"

Y/N nodded.

"Don't worry if you don't get it. Basically, what I'm trying to say is that we might have a hard time tracking down your world."

"Okay, but how long do you think it'll take? How long does it normally take?"

The scientists shifted uncomfortably. "Well that's the thing. There is an infinite amount of universes you could be from, and it'll take a while to narrow it down to just the most likely. From there, we would have to figure out what kind of bridges they all have, and figure out how to predict it, and then figure out a way to send you back."

"Oh, that does sound complicated. So like a month?"

They glanced at each other. "We've never done this before, and we've never sent anyone back through a bridge."

"Two months?"

"Maybe a year."

"What?"

"I said, maybe a year?"

"I'm going to be here for a year."

"Maybe, like I said we've never done this before so we can't really give you an idea of how long it will take."

"Oh my God."

"We're very sorry. We'll give you some space."

The scientists left, and the nurse from before came back in and started unhooking Y/N from the monitors.

"We've run all the tests we need to, dear. Do you have any questions?"

"I have so many questions, I don't even know where to begin."

"That's understandable. We'll have your results back in a few hours, and that'll help the scientists get a head start on where you're from. I've got your clothes here, if you step through that door you'll be able to change in privacy."

Y/N nodded and jumped off of the table, gathering her clothes in her rooms and she quickly walked across the cold floor to the changing room. She pulled on her work clothes, which consisted of jeans and a black t-shirt, but opted to leave the apron and baseball cap off. There was no need to wear them here. Y/N put her shoes back on, simple canvas slip-ons, and reflected on what she had just learned. Here are the facts.

1. She had magically teleported through a door.

2. She was now stuck in a world that apparently had superheroes.

3. The superheroes had no idea how to get her back, or how long it would take to figure it out.

4. She was stuck.

Now, a normal person might cry when they considered this situation. But, Y/N was not a normal person. She had the fun meal-deal of anxiety and depression, and at this moment, she thanked her ill little brain for causing her to overthink every little scenario so she would be prepared for the worst to happen. Of course, none of those thoughts covered time and dimension travel, but they had covered a sudden zombie apocalypse, so it was just a matter of adjusting the survival strategy. Find shelter, find friends, and fight to live.

So far, Y/N had maybe found friends. The Avengers seemed like a friendly bunch, if oddly beautiful, and Sam had offered his basement as shelter. Now, all she had to do was figure out the day to day stuff. Get a job, live a life, and get back to her world.

So she stepped out of the changing room back into the hallway, and say the Avengers gathered around. They all turned to her as the door closed behind her.

"And what did you find out from the scientists, Y/N?" Vision asked.

"Well, they tried explaining how inter-dimensional portals work. That went way over my head. But basically, I'm gonna be stuck here for a while until they can figure out where I'm from and figure out how to get me back. So, I guess I'm going to need to find a job or something pretty quick."

Tony shook his head and stepped to the front of the group. "That won't be necessary. I'm loaded, and I'll make sure you're set up to not need anything."

"Why?"

"Because I want to? You just flew through outer space into a whole new world, and you're worried about getting a job? Come on, live a little! You look like you work too hard. What work do you do?"

"At which job?"

"Well how many do you have?"

"Three."

"Holy moly."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Y/N shrugged. "I get bored."

"So you work?"

"Beats sitting around on my ass."

"Fair point. Well anyways, enjoy the vacation for now, and in the future if you still want a job, we'll have to figure out the proper documents. For now, enjoy your vacation! I'm loaded, and this is the perfect opportunity to share, okay?"

"If you really want to, I mean, I don't mind working."

"Clearly, you have three jobs. Psycho. But no, I don't mind. In fact, I would be offended if you didn't accept my offer."

"Okay, well, then, thanks!"

"No problem. I already gave Sam a credit card for you, so you can go shopping on your way to his house. You do know how to work a credit card, right?"

Y/N grinned. "Yes, Tony, I know how to work a credit card. My world apparently isn't that different from this one, just a few small differences I guess."

"Good. Alright, well, roll out, team."

The Avengers dissipated until it was just Sam, Steve, and James standing around with Y/N.

"So you're still coming with us, right?" Sam asked.

Y/N shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so. If you don't mind, of course."

"Not at all. It'll be nice having a girl in the house, for once."

The group of four started walking down the long hallway.

"So do you just collect strays, Sam?" Y/N asked, curious of why he was so eager to offer his spare room to a total stranger.

Before he could answer, Steve cut in. "Yeah, I mean, why else did you think we lived with him?"

"I don't know. I thought maybe you were in a band, or really good gym buddies, or maybe even a throuple."

Sam choked on a laugh, but Bucky and Steve looked confused. "What's a throuple?" James asked.

"It's like a couple, but instead of it being two people, it's three." Y/N explained.

"And you thought?" Steve almost looked offended.

"Look, sorry, I don't know what's normal for you here, and I didn't want to assume it was all platonic!"

Sam was dying laughing. "You thought -" he had to lean on a wall to keep standing upright. "Man, we're just good friends, and these two have absolutely no credit, so it's hard for them to find places to stay."

"Ah. I guess being a superhero might not pay well."

"Well, I mean there are other reasons too, but yeah let's go with that." Steve didn't exactly want to jump this poor girl with the fact that he was also over 100 years old and had been frozen for a while. She had enough to worry about.

Y/N didn't pursue the other reasons, because they had finally exited the building and she was looking around, comparing this new world to her own. It was dark out, because it was night. She looked down the street and saw a McDonalds sign, which made her smile. At least she could have her chicky nugs if things got too tough. Turns out this world was just like hers, just with a bit of a different history. A lot more violence, hence the need for superheroes.

They got into the car, and Sam drove them to a mall, where they spent an hour and a half hopping around to different stores to get stuff. Y/N got used to spending someone else's money, and she definitely took advantage of the three guys following her around who offered, nay, insisted on carrying her bags. However, she insisted on going into the drugstore alone so she could collect toiletries.

She grabbed a cart (and honestly who uses a cart in a drugstore unless you have serious money to spend) and spent about 45 minutes going up and down most of the aisles to find what she needed. Luckily, the products were exactly the same as she was used to, so it was only a matter of finding exactly what she needed.

When Y/N finally walked out, she spotted her new companions sitting down on one of those middle-of-the-mall benches that are intended for senior citizens and mothers with rowdy children and men waiting for women to finish their shopping.

"Got everything you need?" Sam asked as he stood up and stretched.

"Yup."

"Alright, let's head home. You feel like pizza for dinner?"

"What's pizza?" Y/N deadpanned, and the three guys looked shocked.

"You don't know what pizza is?" Steve asked.

"Nope, never heard that word before in my life."

"Seriously?"

"Why would I joke about it?"

"You've never had pizza before." James reiterated.

"Nope. What is it?"

"No, you gotta experience it." Sam smiled and started walking back the way they had come.

Steve and James were perfect gentleman, and oddly strong as well, but Y/N again did not complain when they grabbed her bags from the drugstore. She opened doors for them as they went out to the parking lot.

Once they were back in the car, Sam got on his phone and ordered pizza that would be delivered right as they got home, provided traffic cooperated. Y/N spent the drive looking out the window at all the lights and people she saw, and didn't pay much attention to the conversation the guys were having. Nothing looked too out of the ordinary, except for the whole superhero thing.

Once they got to Sam's house, a tidy little bungalow in a quiet neighbourhood, they unloaded the car and headed inside. Steve and James ran downstairs to put Y/N's bags in her room, while Sam gave her a tour.

As they were walking down a hallway, Y/N stopped to look at family pictures hanging on the wall.

"Is this your family?" She asked.

"Yeah, that's my sister and her two boys. They've grown a lot since that picture was taken though."

"They look like lots of fun."

"They're a handful, that's for sure."

"And these are your parents?"

"Yeah," Sam said quietly. "They passed a few years ago, that's the last picture we ever took of them both together."

"Oh I'm so sorry." Sam shook his head as Y/N reached out to touch his arm. "They have really kind eyes." She said, her gaze returning to the picture.

"They were the kindest people I've ever known." Sam said, and just then, the doorbell rang. "Sounds like the pizzas here."

Y/N could hear the two boys thundering back up the stairs as she followed Sam to the front door. She expected that he would need help carrying all the food in.

She was right. The delivery driver had to go back to his car to get a second load of pizza. Y/N brought the first load into the kitchen and got a few plates down from the cupboard.

"Oh, good, you found the plates!" Sam said as he walked into the kitchen a few minutes later.

"Yeah, lucky guess."

They set the table in silence as Steve and James washed up, and then they sat down for dinner.

Sam decided he wanted to know more about Y/N. "So, Y/N, tell us a little bit about yourself."

"Ok, well," Y/N hated this questions, because how do you boil yourself down to just a few facts? She just wished people would ask direct questions, because she could answer questions if they were clear. She hated vagueness. "I'm 22, I still live, or lived, with my parents. I like dogs. My favourite colour is yellow. I have three jobs, as a nanny, in retail, and also at a Bubble Tea shop in my hometown. What else do you want to know?"

"Well that's a lot. Why do you have three jobs?" Steve asked.

Y/N shrugged, having to explain her workaholic tendencies twice in a day. "I get bored. And I like working, keeps life interesting."

"I'll bet. What do you do for fun?"

"I read a lot. And I like to go to the lake. And crochet."

"What kind of books do you read?" Steve asked.

"It depends. Sometimes fantasy, sometimes mystery. I read a lot of those cheap drugstore romances."

"Wait, you crochet?" Sam asked. "What are you, a grandma?"

"Like a crazy, chaotic grandma, kinda. I drink a lot of tea and wear a lot of sweaters, sorry for being comfy!"

They went back and forth for a few minutes. "How do you like the pizza?" Sam asked.

"Well," Y/N waggled her head back and forth, debating how to break the ruse. "Not the best I've ever had, but it's close."

"Wait, you've had pizza before?"

"Yes."

"You said before though-"

"And you believed me?Rookie move, gentlemen."

"Why would you trick us?" They weren't mad, just a little confused. And amused. James hadn't really said much since they sat down for dinner, but he grinned and chuckled at the confused looks on his friends faces.

Y/N shrugged. "Gotta keep you guys on your toes, yaknow?" They all laughed. "But hey, tell me more about you guys. You're super soldiers? What does that even mean?"

Sam and Steve took turns explaining who they were, and how the Avengers came to be. They didn't touch too much on James, who excused himself fairly into the evening. He was a little shy and quiet around newcomers, apparently, but Y/N wasn't bothered. She had bigger things to worry about than someone being shy around her.

When the talking turned to yawns, Sam offered to show Y/N to her room. He took her down the stairs into the basement, which opened up into a spacious rec room. There was a massive TV and a pool table. Down a short hallway were the two previously spare rooms, both of which were now occupied by strays that Sam had picked up. The only bathroom was unfortunately across the basement, but Y/N didn't foresee any problems with that.

Sam explained how every room had it's own colours for sheets and towels and stuff, and Y/N was very impressed with how domestically organized he was turning out to be.

Sam went back upstairs, and Y/N took a few minutes to settle in. She would unpack and run her new clothes through the laundry tomorrow, but for now all she wanted was a hot shower and a good long nights sleep.

She went into the bathroom, and saw that James had already made space for her stuff in the shower caddy, on the towel rack, and in the medicine cabinet above the sink. With a smile on her face, she put her few new belongings in those empty spaces, then drug herself through the shower and fell into her bed, exhausted.

Before her eyes closed, Y/N considered what had happened to her today. In a new dimension, living with three strange yet wonderful men, something that would be sure to give her mother a heart attack. And yet, she was excited for the morning to come. Part of her hoped that when she opened her eyes again, she would wake up in her home world, and she would be surrounded by people she knew and recognized. That's what a normal person would hope for in this situation, right?

But as I've told you before, Y/N is no normal person, and the other part of her was wishing that when she woke up, she would still be here, in Sam's house. She wanted to opportunity to explore, so see what else was out there. Maybe she'd discover a new life, a new chance to be the person she had wished to be but never got the chance. Whatever happened, she knew that tomorrow would be full questions, and hopefully a few answers. She hoped, anyways.

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yoon-kooks · 6 years ago

Text

Witch Hazel- Pt.5

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: FanficWriter!Jungkook, Idol!Reader, College!AU, Angst, Fluff

Summary: There are two students in your art class with a secret: you and the quiet Jeon Jungkook. You’re a problematic idol singer, infamous for your ice cold reputation and perpetual resting bitch face; he’s the artist and author behind the viral comic series based on a certain ice queen idol. After a blowup of destructive rumors, lost motivation and inevitable solitude, you stumble upon Jungkook’s comic and find a new and unexpected light.

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: none

Parts: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // ?

“So are you in, Jimin?”

“I’m in,” he chuckles at your little proposal. His laugh retains its charm, even through the phone. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little jealous of that charming quality of his. “But can I ask you something, Snow?”

“Go for it.”

“Why me?”

“To prove a point,” you say. “You also have something to prove, right? Otherwise you wouldn’t have shown up at my concert that night despite being well aware of how the public and media would react.”

“Right… Sorry about that, by the way.” You hear the sorrow still beating him up in his lowered voice. It makes sense that he feels the need to blame himself for all the backlash you received, but he shouldn’t have to feel guilty when all he wanted was a little freedom as a normal human being and not as the perfect idol the world makes him out to be.

“It’s fine, Jimin. We may be glorified idols at the top of the industry, but there are a lot of things we have no control over.”

“True… Sometimes it seems like the only way to escape the judgment of the public eye is to hide behind a mask, huh.” Jimin sighs. “But we can’t always live like that either.”

“Exactly.”

After hanging up, you toss your phone aside and pick up your guitar.

On your way to class, you’ve made a habit of checking jk.seagull’s blog for any updates on Witch Hazel, and you’re delighted when you find this new text post:

“it’s not done yet, but I’m planning on posting a new chapter this afternoon after class!”

To celebrate the occasion, you stop by your local coffee shop to pick up a special mocha with extra whipped cream. You’re already late for class after failing to hear your five alarms this morning anyway. And besides, maybe you deserve a little pick-me-up after all the writing you’d done the night before. For once, you feel pretty good about the direction you’re headed in.

Not even a scolding by your professor could ruin your mood.

“Oh, Y/N. How nice of you to join us,” your professor motions for you to take your seat as soon as you step foot into the art room. “I was just talking about how certain students have not been taking this class seriously as of late.”

She glances directly at you, along with your tablemates, Taehyung and Jungkook. “Sorry,” you mouth with a lack of sincerity, before taking a long sip of your mocha.

“And because of that,” the professor continues, “I’ve decided to move up the due date of our portrait project to tomorrow.”

A collective groan fills the room from the entire class, with the exception of those few lucky bastards who’ve already completed their project early. Once the class is dismissed, the scramble to actually get shit done begins. Even Taehyung opts to stick around as opposed to his usual obligations, and that speaks volumes.

As soon as your team relocates to one of the empty art studios nearby, however, it’s apparent that no one is really vibing with this project.

“So… what’s the assignment again?” Taehyung scratches his head. As much as you’d love to scold the boy for his lack of awareness of anything happening in art class, you haven’t been in the proper mindset to give the project any thought either.

“Something about drawing ourselves based on how others perceive us?” Jungkook yawns. “Or was it drawing each other’s portrait?”

“The first one, I think,” you say. “It doesn’t really make a difference when Jungkook’s gonna end up drawing Taehyung’s portion anyway.”

“True,” the boys say together. If there’s one thing you’ve learned from your art class shenanigans, it’s that the more you get to know someone, the easier it is to understand them and their actions—even if they’re completely different from you like Taehyung.

“If that’s the case, let’s hurry up and let each other know how we perceive one another. I have a doubleheader later on that I’d really hate to miss,” Taehyung nods in satisfaction at his clever wording for what you presume to be back-to-back one night stands. “I’ll start: Y/N, there’s not much I know about you besides the fact that you’re unfriendly, but I think that’s intentional. Like you’re hiding a dark secret or something. Jungkook, if you weren’t so shy, I’m sure you’d get laid more often.”

“Let’s not sugarcoat anything,” you roll your eyes. “I would say you, Taehyung, abuse your charm to get what you want. You use sleeping around as an excuse to avoid responsibility. And you embrace it because you fear that that’s the only thing people will ever acknowledge you for.”

“I’m not usually a masochist, but I kind of like it when you roast me like that, Y/N,” Taehyung shrugs it off, though you know you’ve hit the mark. Everyone has a poker face, and Kim Taehyung is no exception. To take the attention off of himself, he throws an arm around his favorite art buddy. “Roast this guy next.”

You glance over at Jungkook who’s in the midst of adding to your roast on Taehyung. It’s interesting to see how differently he acts with Taehyung, with you, and with everyone else. The more he knows someone, the less he withholds. If he knew you more, you wonder what he’d tell you. “I agree that if Jungkook weren’t so shy, there’d be more potential for a lot of things, but-”

Buzz! Taehyung looks down at his phone. “Well, that’s my cue. Jungkook, Y/N, you know what to do~”

“Have fun at your doubleheader,” you wave off your incompetent teammate until he’s out of sight. “Should we be enabling him like this?”

“Probably not. But even I can’t say no to that charm of his.” Jungkook sighs as he pulls out a blank sheet of bristol paper. In what feels like an instant, several dots and lines transform into a general outline of Taehyung’s face. “I’m surprised you haven’t fallen for his charm yet… unless…?”

“Look, I get the appeal of a smoothtalker who walks with confidence, but Taehyung really isn’t my type,” you laugh.

“Still, I’m a little envious of him.” Jungkook draws Taehyung a nice and natural wink. “Because he isn’t afraid to chase after what he wants.”

You want to tell the boy that he should chase after whatever it is he wants, but you know that’s easier said than done. After all, you know exactly how it feels to take that leap of faith, only to fall short before reaching the dream you so desired. So all you can do is nod and start working on your own portrait.

For about five whole minutes, you try to sketch out a decent upside-down egg shape for your head, but it always comes out a little lopsided or rough around the edges. Once you’ve got a little mountain of eraser shaving piling up, you decide it’s time to sneak a peek at Jungkook’s sketch to get an idea of how a well-seasoned artist draws a proper face.

What you see instead, however, is the boy staring back at your mountain of eraser shavings. You swear you hear a little pft come out of his mouth. The nerve.

“Hold your pencil like this,” he says, holding his own pencil with his pinky sticking out.

You replicate his grip, wiggling the pinky. “Is this some sort of weird pinky promise that artists do?”

Before Jungkook can even respond, your pinky is already linked to his. Funny how his finger curled around yours as if it were the most normal thing to do, but his burning cheeks say otherwise. You might’ve jumped the gun on this one.

After blinking at the empty pinky promise for a good three seconds, the boy finally lets go. “Use that pinky to steady your hand as you sketch.”

“Oh… right…” You feel a wildfire spreading across your own cheeks. Your dumbass somehow misinterpreted a drawing technique for something as childish as a pinky promise! Whether it’s because you’re flustered or just shitty at art, you fumble around to get your pencil on the paper. “…How do I do it again?”

Rather than trying to explain or demonstrate it to you, Jungkook motions for you to come closer. So you do. He takes your hand and individually sets each finger onto your pencil like a guitar teacher helping their student find the right chord position.

You’re pleasantly surprised by how gentle his touch is. Rather than forcing your fingers to conform to the conventional ways of an artist, he gives them the little push they need to find their own place along the length of the pencil—wherever is most comfortable for you.

Once you’ve got a good grip, Jungkook guides your pencil back to the canvas with your pinky just barely touching the drawing surface. “Now try drawing the outline of your face again.”

You do as you’re told and see immediate results. Although it’s not a perfect egg, your lines are noticeably smoother as if your skin had just been cleared. Jungkook gives you and your improved egg a thumbs-up, which you return with a thumbs-up of your own.

As you both resume your portraits, you can’t help but wonder if it was the tiny adjustment of how you held your pencil that made the difference. Or if it was Jeon Jungkook himself. You suppose only time will tell.

Several hours later, Jungkook has finished Taehyung’s portrait, you still need to color yours in, and an announcement goes off through the intercom.

“Due to the art auction charity event tonight, this building will be closing in ten minutes. Thank you.”

You groan. This is the worst case scenario for your damn group project. Because if you’re kicked out of the studio, you won’t have access to all of the necessary art supplies.

Unless…?

You exchange glances with the most devoted artist you know.

Jungkook’s apartment is not exactly how you imagined a weeby Snow stan’s habitat to look. There’s not a trace of Snow, nor is there a hint of magic anime girls floating around. But the one thing you did correctly predict is the amount of art scattered across the boy’s room.

Everywhere you look, you’re blown away by something different from the last. A painted city landscape detailed enough to be mistaken for an actual photo, a busy abstract pattern that makes the little wheels in your head spin, the familiar animation booklet of the flower in the snow, and an interesting little doodle that doesn't seem to scream “college art project”.

You try to make sense of what appears to be the chaos that ensues when the worlds of mathematics and music collide. Half of the basic times tables chart is replaced with values represented by music notes. The math nerd in you laughs when you see that a sixteenth note is correctly placed where two quarter notes align. Similarly, the music sheet on the other side of the doodle has a time signature of “75%” aka ¾ time aka the rhythm of a waltz.

“How old were you when you drew this one?” You point to the artwork titled Math Musician written in tiny font at the bottom corner next to the boy’s initials.

Jungkook chuckles, probably out of embarrassment. “I think I was ten.”

“Imagine being a talented artist at age ten. Can’t relate,” you clown yourself as you pull out your unfinished portrait from your art bag. In addition to looking “unfriendly”, your drawn face is rather lifeless and more so demonic for some reason. Hopefully some color will bring more dimension and life back into your flesh.

Just then, you realize you’ve made a fatal mistake.

“Umm, Jungkook?” you continue to stare down at your mistake. “I forgot to factor in your opinion of me into my portrait and now I just look unfriendly like Taehyung said.”

Jungkook tilts his head to get a better look at your monstrosity. His reaction could go one of three ways: he could laugh and give you a hard time about it, he could help you find a solution, or he could do both.

“You definitely nailed the ‘unfriendly’ part,” he snickers. “The RBF is strong with this one.”

“So you agree that I’m unfriendly?” On one hand, that would be good because you won’t have to revise your portrait if Jungkook shares the same opinion as Taehyung. On the other hand, you don’t want Jungkook to have that opinion of you.

“Not necessarily,” he says. “I think if people looked beyond your unfriendly demeanor, they’d find someone very different.”

Before you can ask the boy to elaborate, he has already left and come back with the solution to your problem: fancy coloring markers.

“Since you already drew your appearance based on Taehyung’s opinion, you can color it in based on my opinion, if that makes it easier.” Jungkook hands you an assortment of markers, though a large portion of them are just different shades of one color in particular. Yellow.

Yellow was the last color you were expecting. You expected cooler and darker tones like blues or greys to match your ice queen personality. But yellow? Yellow, to you, has always meant bright and happy.

“Yellow is a happy color, isn’t it?” You start swatching each shade of yellow to see how they translate onto a white canvas. Your favorite shade out of the bunch is the soft pale one called Banana Milk, but that still doesn’t mean it suits you. To prove your point, you hold up your unfriendly demon portrait to your actual face and pout. “Do either of these faces look happy to you, Jungkook?”

“No, but they do look silly.” The boy cracks a smile at your humor. “In a good way.” The way he smiles so brightly plants a dangerous little seed in your head. Maybe the yellow is meant to represent not how he perceives your feelings, but rather, how he perceives his own feelings for you.

By the time evening comes, you’ve shaded in every inch of your canvas, completing your portion of the portrait project. You were right—the bright colors really did help bring life back into your face, and there’s less of a demonic aura about it now.

It also looks like one big contradiction: an unfriendly-looking face with a cheerful brightness around it. But that’s probably what Jungkook was referring to when he said you were very different beneath your unfriendly mask.

As you stretch out your arms and yawn, you peek over at the boy’s progress with his portrait. He stares down at his markers scattered across the floor, pushing his long locks out of his eyes, in search of his next color. From the small portion that he has colored so far, you notice a big difference between his portrait and yours. While your color scheme is bright and flashy like a star, Jungkook’s is soft and subtle to mimic his shy and lowkey personality.

“Use this,” you toss him the Banana Milk marker and pull a scrunchie off your wrist, “and this too.”

Jungkook places the pale yellow marker down right on the area he’ll color next. He doesn’t, however, know what to do with the foreign hair accessory in his palm. He just blinks at it.

With a dramatic sigh, you join the boy on the floor and take back the scrunchie. Like a puppy with long bangs poking its eyes, he lets you comb your fingers through his hair before tying a tiny sprout on top of his head.

“So this is what the world looks like,” he nods, as if his long hair had greatly hindered his view of the world in front of him. At the same time, he spots the finished product of your portrait. “Your self-portrait is a lot different from how I would draw you.”

“I would’ve appreciated a compliment for my hard work, but go ahead and insult me, Jeon.” You square up.

“Oh sorry. You did a phenomenal job, Y/N.” He doesn’t even try to put effort into masking his sarcasm as pity praise. But that’s expected in how he hasn’t missed a single opportunity to tease you and your shitty art. “It’s just interesting how differently others interpret us from how we interpret ourselves.”

Now you’re curious. “How would you draw me then?”

“You want to see?” Jungkook pushes his own portrait aside and starts digging around for a sketchbook with a blank page to spare. What possesses him to prioritize a drawing of you before his own portrait that’s due in less than 24 hours? You won’t allow that.

“I want to see it after our project is finished, please,” you pull his unfinished portrait back in front of him before making yourself comfy on the boy’s bed. “In the meantime, I’ll be reading you-know-what.”

“Smut?” The boy has a dirty mind, it seems.

“Unless Witch Hazel plans on getting a little smutty, no, I will not be reading smut.” With a hmph, you scroll through jk.seagull’s blog. “I wonder if the new chapter is posted yet.”

Jungkook, too, picks up his phone with wide eyes when he hears you say “new chapter”. Your hype and excitement around the fanfic must be rubbing off on him.

But unfortunately for you, there is no new post since the one you saw before class. You make a sad booboo face, but it isn’t the end of the world either. You’ll just have to reread the series from the beginning as you wait for either Witch Hazel to be updated or Jungkook to finish the project. Whichever happens first.

“Wait, I think the seagull guy just posted something.”

You’ve never jumped onto your phone so quick when Jungkook mentions the seagull guy. It isn’t a new chapter of Witch Hazel, but instead another small text post.

“sorry for not updating witch hazel today like i said i would!! i was bombarded with an unexpected art assignment;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;”

Your sad booboo face disappears. It seems you’re not the only one struggling to find balance between the arts and the need to satisfy others. “Isn’t it funny that he’s an art student too?”

“Haha, yeah…” Jungkook’s voice fades as he returns to his portrait.

“Maybe that’s why I like his work so much,” you say, clicking back to the very first chapter of Witch Hazel where Snow is helping out those who she had unintentionally scared away with her witchcraft. “He just gets it.”

“He gets what?”

With the biggest yawn, you shrug because you don’t really know how to put it into words. It just feels as though you and him think alike. And the thought of that is comforting enough to put you to rest until Jungkook finishes up the project.

“Y/N.” You hear things shuffling around in your half-asleep state. When you rise from mysterious pile of blankets on top of you, you see Jungkook putting his art supplies away and clearing space on the floor for him to camp out since you’ve apparently claimed his bed.

“Did you finish?” You check the time in the dimly lit room, and you’re shocked to see it’s past midnight.

“Yeah.” He pulls your scrunchie out of his hair and drops it into your palm. “Thank you for your service.”

“Keep it.” You slide the hair tie onto the boy’s wrist when you notice he looks a little different somehow. The hoodie he was wearing earlier is replaced with a plain white tee, and his torn jeans have become grey sweatpants. The unspoken reality of you stay over at the boy’s apartment is slowly becoming realized. “In exchange, I’d like to see how you’d draw me.”

“Already done,” he says, jogging to his desk and back to you with a page from his sketchbook in hand. “I drew you as a superhero.”

“What kind of superhero?” You kick the blankets off of you and reach for the drawing, but of fucking course, Jungkook pulls it back real quick just when you were about to snatch it. “Let me see!”

He keeps it hidden behind his back for a while until he gets a little too cocky and dangles it above where you’re sitting on the bed. It would be too predictable for you to reach for the hand with drawing in it, so you decide to aim for the other arm to trap him in.

But rather than latching onto his arm, you catch only a piece of the scrunchie around his wrist, causing you both to lose balance. Your back hits the soft bedding as you stare up into the eyes of the boy who just so happened to land on top of you. Aha, you finally figure out why he looked a little different after you woke up. No glasses, just his handsome brown eyes.

You’d give yourself a pat on the back for figuring that out if you weren’t distracted by the drawing of you as a “superhero”. You were expecting something tough like the Avengers or Sailor Moon or even Izuku Midoriya. But instead you see someone who looks very much like yourself with a guitar and yellow flower crown.

“That’s not a superhero,” you say quietly.

“There are people who would feel otherwise.” Jungkook plops down next to you on his stomach.

“Like who?”

“Like people you share your music with.”

You bite your lip before rolling off the bed to run and get something. When you hop back onto the bed, you drop a pencil into Jungkook’s hand make him hold it with his pinky out like he had shown you earlier. You do the same with another pencil and link your pinky to his once more.

“Promise me you won’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you.”

#bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts imagines #jungkook x reader #btsboulangerie #jungkook fanfic #bts angst #bts fluff #jungkook #bts #bangtan #witch hazel

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malecsecretsanta · 5 years ago

Text

Merry Christmas, miss-shiva-adler!

For @miss-shiva-adler. Darling! This is my way of wishing you a Merry Christmas! I am equally happy and disappointed because this story was not what I had in mind for you, but no matter how much I tried to write the one I wanted, I just couldn't. On the other hand... I'd like to believe I brought my A game out with this story. I'd also like to apologize in advance if this isn't your cup of tea after all. I genuinely feel like I was testing limits here and bending rules there and all I can hope at this stage is that I didn't end up crossing the line I've been tiptoeing in the next 7,000 (or so) words. Once again, I wish you Merry Christmas!

Hello people! First of all, thank you for even considering giving this story a chance! <3 I would like to warn everyone, that this fic is DARK. The tags are not there for the crack, please don't take them lightly. Also, I’m not sure how this happened. This is not how this was supposed to go, in all honesty.. I have no idea what just happened. But it did. All in all, this fic is bloody brilliant in my humble opinion, so if the tags and my warning was still not enough to scare you away... then be my guest!

Read On AO3

*****

The Last of Us

”If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story.”

- Orson Welles, The Big Brass Ring

He stood rooted to the spot, eyes wide in fear as he stared at the man in front of him.

He felt his heart beating in his throat, a fast, erratic thumping as fear clutched at his heart, squeezing the air out of him in a shaky breath.

He looked into the familiar golden amber eyes and knew that it was over.

His eyes moved to the gun pointed at him, cold and deadly as the man moved his finger, resting it on the trigger.

28 days ago…

He woke up with a dull headache, a thumping behind his eyelids, growing stronger and stronger with each blink. He groaned as he sat up, eyes taking in his surrounding but seeing nothing familiar.

The small room he was in, was rather simple. The walls were painted in white, bare around him, lacking any personal touch, not even a picture or a photograph. The bed was comfortable, a very simple single bed with white sheets and covers and a lone pillow. He glanced down at the bedside table and picked up the clock placed on top. The analogue digits showed that it was exactly 07:00 am. His eyes landed on a sink right next to a door before he spotted a small round mirror above it.

He frowned as he pushed himself off the bed, walking slowly towards the mirror, almost afraid of what he would see. He blinked once, twice, gazing at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes took in every detail, the way his black hair flopped to the side, soft strands falling onto his forehead. He stared into his own eyes in the mirror glass, trying to identify the exact colours of them. They were a mixture of amber and brown with gold flecks. He looked at his small nose, then down onto his cupid’s bow... his thin lips. His tongue darted out to lick his dry lips in a nervous gesture. He lifted his hand, touching his cheek, fingers running along his jaw line.

“Who the hell am I?” His voice came out a hoarse whisper, but whether it was due to not using it for a long time or due to the fact he had only woke up now, he didn’t know.

He looked down at his body, he was wearing a simple white trouser and t-shirt with a number 9 printed on the left side of the chest along with a pair of white shoes that somehow reminded him of those cheap, canvas shoes that prisoners would wear.

His eyes widened, shoes and clothes forgotten as a dreadful thought occurred to him. Was he a prisoner?

He spent 28 days, stuck in the building with no windows, no doors that would open. Alone.

He wished he could tell where he was, why he was there, but the only thing he ever managed to remember was his own name and even that, took him several days to recall.

The first time it happened, he wasn’t sure if it was a dream or a hallucination. It felt like a memory, familiar and personal. Almost like a glimpse from the past or perhaps a vision, created by his mind, he wasn’t sure.

“I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced. I’m Magnus.” He felt his lips tugging into a smirk as he held a hand out to the other man.

He watched with a little flutter in his heart as suddenly, a bright smile spread across the other’s face, lighting up his hazel eyes before grabbing his hand.

“I’m Alec.”

He wasn’t sure who Alec was, but from that day, he stopped thinking about himself as a number in some kind of system and instead he thought of himself as Magnus.

There were days between the first time and the next and it left him once again with more questions than answers.

He walked slowly up to the wall, phone in his hand as he scrolled through his contacts, stopping on a certain Pretty Boy . He bit his lip before pressing the call button, painted nails shining in the light.

“Hello. Who is this?” He heard a deep voice coming through from the other end and he smiled to himself before answering.

“Alexander, hi. It’s Magnus. We met the other day,”

“Uh, yeah. What’s up?”

“I was just thinking, it was very nice getting to know you.” He said as he walked around in circles, trying to play it smooth. “You seemed…sympathetic.” He blurted before closing his eyes in embarrassment. That was as far from smooth as possible. He picked up a book he was reading the night before, flipping it in his hand as a nervous tick. “Would you like to go out for a drink sometime?” He added, thinking that if his previous words didn’t scare the man away, he might as well go for it.

“That sounds fun.” Came the reply and Magnus stopped fidgeting with the book in his hand, smiling happily.

He still didn’t know who Alec was and couldn’t recall how he got his number, but the fact he liked the other man became very obvious. He spent night after night lying in bed, thinking about him. Was he out there? Was he... missing him? Did he realize he disappeared? Maybe they never managed to go on that date and they never spoke after.

He spent his days in loneliness, walking the endless corridors, looking into room after room, hoping desperately to find anything that could give him answers.

He started to doubt more and more that he was in prison. A prisoner? Maybe. But not in the common sense. There were no guards, no other inmates. He frowned, trying to remember how he knew what a prison was like, but all he managed to achieve was a throbbing headache and some nausea.

He sat in the small, kitchen like room, eating anything he could find and deemed suitable for human consumption. There was enough food in the cupboard for month by the look of it. He wondered when and who put them there, he even stayed awake for two nights, hoping to catch someone coming in, but it turned out to be pointless. No one was coming.

The next time he remembered something about Alec, it became clear that they have had gone on the date and it turned out rather successful.

He felt pump limps pressing against his own, eager and so ready to please. He felt the lips against his, opening slowly, letting his tongue in, meeting it halfway. It made him press his body closer to the other, hands moving to cup his face as they got lost in the kiss.

He kept replaying the memory in his head, occasionally touching his lips with his fingertips.

There were moments when he wondered if Alec was perhaps no more than a trick of his mind, someone created solely to make him feel less lonely. It was a bitter thought. One that sent him to heave above the toilet, stomach turning, throat burning.

They were standing in front of each other and he could see the small signs shoving just how nervous his boyfriend was.

“I was thinking... maybe we could move in. Together.” Alec said in one breath and it took him almost an embarrassingly long time to reply.

“Only if I can have a walk-in closet.” He said seriously but he felt the beginning of a grin tugging at his lips.

“You mean that?” Alec asked with a wide smile, full of happiness, before stepping closer to him.

He was angry. Whoever Alec was... they lived together. So, where was he? He counted the days, and he was there for almost a month, surely, he would realize something was missing in that time. He felt his stomach turning with nausea and his head spinning with all the questions he had with no one to answer them.

He wondered what he could’ve done, making the other man give up on him, forgetting about him.

He systematically explored every inch of the building, pulling everything apart, turning the entire place upside down. He knew well enough that there was nothing to find but it made the anger and fear subdue even if only for a short period of time.

He watched his boyfriend leaning over the pool table with a cocky smirk while he stood motionless, cue in hand as he raised a single eyebrow.

“It’s all about the angles.” His boyfriend explained before pulling the cue back slowly and with a forceful, punctual move, he sent the first ball into the hole. “Like archery.” He added with a smile, turning towards Magnus, motioning for him to go next.

He tried to hide his smile as his boyfriend turned away, taking a quick sip at his drink and he quickly leaned forward, pushing two balls in with ease.

He straightened up, finding his boyfriend staring at him with wide eyes that instantly ripped a laugh out of him.

“Oh darling, did no one ever tell you, that if you can’t find the one being hassled at a pool table, it’s probably you?” He asked.

“Oh, you’re on.” His boyfriend laughed with a shake of his head.”

Magnus was desperate to get out. He went from room to room, wall to wall, pounding and kicking the locked doors until he was out of breath, until his hands were bruised.

Whoever locked him up, made sure that there was no way he could ever get out of this hell hole. There wasn’t a single clue anywhere about what this place was. He hated it. He hated the white walls, the white floor, the tiny number nine on his t-shirt. He hated it all.

He sank down along the wall, back tilted against the cold tiles and took a deep breath. He felt his throat closing up, making it harder and harder to breathe.

Then he heard it. A door opening.

He was on his feet in seconds, the rapid movement giving him a whiplash as he swayed on the spot.

He felt his heart almost beating out of his chest, scared and hopeful at the same time.

He tried to listen to any noise, but he could barely hear anything apart from the buzzing in his ears.

Before he could make his mind up whether to hide or to go and see who was there with him a figure turned at the corner, coming to a halt as he spotted Magnus pressed to the wall.

It took him a minute until he could speak, his eyes strained on the man in front of him as he whispered.

“Alec?”

It seemed to pull out the other from whatever shock he was in, making him blink rapidly as he took a step closer to Magnus.

“Magnus.” He breathed, not a question but a statement. Before Magnus had a chance to do a much as blink, Alec was standing a few feet away from him, hands in the air between them a clear invitation.

“Are you really here?” The man asked with tears in his hazel eyes, making Magnus unable to do anything but nod.

He didn’t know who moved first, but the next moment he found himself between strong arms, his own grasping the man’s t-shirt, holding onto him with everything he had.

”You are beautiful.” Alec whispered in the dim light of his bedroom before cupping his face gently, kissing him with love and care. He felt his skin tingling where his fingertips touched, leaving goosebumps in their tracks. They spent hours and hours discovering each other, tangled together in the sheets, breathing and moaning, whispering “I love you��s into the dark.”

Magnus spent the whole day subtly avoiding any eye contact with Alec.

It’s been over a week since they met, and they never left the side of the other ever since.

At the start it was both awkward yet familiar to be around the other man. He felt like he knew him and deep down he knew he did, but having a glimpse of memories of him here and there, didn’t feel enough.

First Magnus hoped that Alec would have more knowledge of their situation, but it turned out that he had even less than what Magnus had. He told him about a few memories he had with him, a dinner night, some walk in the city were they placed a lock on the wall but apart from that, Alec had as much idea about the place or their reason for being there as Magnus.

They spent the next couple of days coming up with possible options from prison to hospital, but it didn’t bring them any closer to find answers.

“Neither of those add up. Not even with the numbers.” He said as he gestured towards the small 9 on Magnus’ t-shirt before he glanced down into his number 4 before continuing with a sigh. “Say we are prisoners, where are the guards? And other inmates? I mean, even if we did something absolutely horrific and were deemed to be the most dangerous criminals of all time, it doesn’t explain the lack of prison system. There aren’t even cameras.” Alec explained. Magnus suddenly remembered a tv-show about two brothers and prison. He couldn’t name it, nor any of the people in it, but from what he knew, Alec was right.

“Yeah, we are definitely not in a hospital either. There are no nurses, no doctors, no other patients. Although the white walls and sterile feeling is definitely there.” Magnus said, getting a nod from Alec.

“Plus, if we were, I’m sure our family would have visited by now.” Alec said quietly.

“You… you remember them?” Magnus heard the words slipping out before having the chance to stop them.

Alec shook his head with a humorless chuckle.

“I wish.” He said and looked at Magnus with an odd look.

“What is it?”

“It’s just, strange. I remember things. But I don’t know how. I know things but I can’t remember when or how I learnt about them. The only thing I seem to remember clearly is… well, you.”

“I remember you too.” Magnus said with a smile, before gently touching Alec’s hand.

On the good side of things, it helped Magnus to get to know Alec a bit better and to learn about him; like how he woke up super early, how he would spend hours to do push-ups and god knows what each day, that rolling his eyes seemed to be his default reaction to anything and everything, that his whole face lit up when he smiled, that his voice was always a few octaves deeper in the mornings, he also blushed on cue and stuttered when he was embarrassed, but was still charismatic, even authoritative on occasions which somehow always made Magnus’ knees weak.

Alec has been there for a lot longer than Magnus. He wasn’t sure in days, he lost track of the days after he reached one hundred and Magnus tried his absolute best not to dwell on that information or try to guess at which point will he lose the track of days.

The man was blunt and honest but not in a rude way. He also made jokes that were a tad bit too sarcastic but with no heat behind them. He was also caring and paid attention to everything that Magnus said and to the things he didn’t. He seemed to sense when Magnus wanted to be alone, leaving him to himself without trying to engage him in a conversation. He also spotted where Magnus felt unable to stay still and then they went for a walk, observing the place where Alec was staying until now. The part of the building Alec was in, seemed a lot bigger than his own. Maybe even three times of its size. It turned out that the door separating the two parts of the building could be only opened from Alec’s side and since Alec has spent majority of his days in the opposite corner, the furthest from where Magnus was, he never heard any noise. Not until that one day, when the sound of someone shouting and beating the walls echoed in the entire wing.

Despite the significantly spacious environment on the other side of the door, it seemed to be providing no information about their situation.

In fear of being separated again, or in Magnus’ case, waking up to loneliness realizing that Alec was nothing more than a dream, a hallucination, a mirage he never truly had and could never reach, they spent the nights together, two beds pushed next to each other.

They slept together, but save for the occasional hugs and comforting touches, they never got closer.

So, waking up one morning with an erection after having erotic dreams about the other, Magnus had no idea what to do.

It was obvious that they were once a couple. They lived together. For all he knew, they might have been married, but Alec never made a move and neither did Magnus.

Hence, Magnus stood in front of the sink, trying to splash some water on his face.

“Are you okay?” Alec asked, voice raspy in the morning as he squinted at Magnus.

“Yeah.” He breathed as he blinked at the man, smiling at the sight of his bed head.

Alec looked exactly like the version in his memories, saved for the slightly longer hair and beard.

They had a shower with cold water and soap, but there was nothing to shave.

The clear lack of anything that could be used to harm others, or even themselves, was both surprising and expected.

Magnus blinked a few times, only realizing that he must have spent this whole time staring at Alec.

Alec gave him a look that he couldn’t exactly decipher. He was frowning but there was no sign of annoyance. It almost seemed as if he was thinking about something, really hard.

He opened his mouth to ask him about it, but before he could do so, Alec jumped out of bed, stopping in front of Magnus with barely a few inches separating them.

The close proximity of the other man brought all the memories of his dream back with a renewed force, vivid pictures of the man, all naked and sweaty flushed before his eyes.

His eyes met a pair of hazel ones, full of hope, want and love and before he knew it, they were kissing.

It was nothing like their first kiss, nor like the one they shared in his memories from last night.

This kiss was like a moment of freedom, a freedom he didn’t know he was desperately yearning for, like a gulp of fresh air after being confined between four walls for so long.

He felt a hand gently touching his face, while the other pulled him closer by his waist and despite the absurdity of their situation, he would not be anywhere else in that moment.

They parted slowly after a handful of minutes, resting their foreheads together as both of them tried their best to catch their breath.

A few hours later, Magnus walked slowly, giggling as he raised his hands, trying to feel anything in front of him.

“I’m not gonna walk you into a wall.” He heard Alec’s voice coming from right behind him, his lips almost touching his ear and it sent shivers down his spine.

“I know.” Magnus said with a smile and he meant it. He trusted Alec with his life.

“Okay. I’m gonna move my hands now, but please keep your eyes closed.” Alec instructed before doing as he said, stepping away from Magnus.

He had no idea what Alec was up to, but he disappeared in the kitchen thirty minutes ago or so, and Magnus wasn’t allowed to follow him. Until now.

“Ready? You can look now.” Alec said and Magnus raised an eyebrow at the sudden change of his tone, all of a sudden, he sounded nervous and it only intrigued Magnus’ curiosity.

He opened his eyes, and he felt his mouth parting in surprise.

On the table was a dinner. Probably the most pathetic dinner he ever had, yet the most touching one.

“I know it’s not much; I mean...” Alec gestured with his hand, oblivious to the tears of happiness in Magnus’ eyes.

He shook his head and opened his mouth to explain that it was perfect. That Alec was perfect, but the next moment he felt his breath hitching in his throat and he fell to his knees, his hands grabbing his hair as he groaned in pain.

“Magnus!” Alec shouted and he saw him move towards him as his world shifted, the image blurring in front of his eyes before it changed completely.

He walked onto a balcony and he found the most beautiful candle lit dinner table he’s ever seen. Red rose petals were covering some of the tables as well as the ground. It was dark, starts peppered across the sky, the only light coming from the dozens of candles placed around the balcony, illuminating the small circular table.

“Magnus. Magnus!” He came back to Alec hoovering above him, white as a sheet, concern and worry plastered across his face.

Magnus sat up with a groan, the pain was gone as suddenly as it appeared.

“Oh my-.“ Alec choked before hugging him tightly.

He hugged him back, felt his body trembling under his touch.

“Just a flashback.” Magnus explained with a wave of his hand as he let Alec to pull him to his feet.

“Was it because of the dinner?” He asked with so much guilt in his voice that Magnus shook his head, trying to ignore how he blatantly lied to the other man.

“Of course not.” He said with a smile before pressing a kiss to Alec’s lips, pulling him to the table.

After their ‘date’, the rest of the day passed in a blur as they laid in bed, kissing and smiling at each other and for the first time since Magnus could remember, he felt happy.

Truly happy as Alec pulled him close, his head resting on the man’s chest, his heartbeat steady and calming as they drifted in and out of sleep.

When he woke up, he found the bed next to him empty and his heart skipped a beat.

Alec was gone.

He sat up, head spinning, vision blurring as he fought against the panic crawling up his throat.

“ALEC!” He shouted, panic and fear laced in his voice as he willed his body to move forward.

He felt his legs shaking as he took a step closer to his door, but before he could reach it, it opened with a loud bang, revealing a panting Alec, eyes wide as he scanned Magnus, looking for any sign of injury.

“F…F-Fuck...” Magnus breathed, legs giving out from under him as he collapsed against the bed, hands moving up to cover his face.

“Magnus. What happened? Are you okay?” Alec kneeled in front of him, his hands moving to his, peeling them away softly from his face.

“I woke up and you were gone.” Magnus whispered softly as he looked away from Alec, feeling awfully vulnerable all of a sudden.

“I was... oh Magnus, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think you w-. I didn’t think. I’m so sorry.” Alec breathed as he pulled Magnus into a hug, one hand caressing his back while the other cupped the back of his neck, allowing Magnus to bury his head in the crook of his neck.

“I can’t lose you. I can’t. You are all I have.” Magnus muttered into Alec’s neck.

“You won’t. I promise. I… I love you Magnus.” Alec said quietly before moving away just enough to look into Magnus’ eyes.

“I love you too, Alec.” Magnus said before pulling him back, hugging him tightly.

“I... found something.” Alec said after a few minutes and Magnus sat up suddenly.

“What?” Magnus asked, trying not to get his hopes up too much, but it was hard considering that after all this time, they finally found something.

Alec walked him to the other end of building, before stopping in front of a door.

Magnus raised an eyebrow, glancing at Alec, not entirely understanding what Alec’s discovery was.

The door was there before too, steel double doors, shut closed at the middle.

They spent half a day previously, trying to get it open with no luck.

Alec glanced as his boyfriend, before removing what turned out to be a panel at the left side, revealing a small pin panel and a handprint scan.

“Oh my god.” He was stunned as he stepped closer, hardly believing to his eyes.

“I haven’t touched it. Not sure what it would do. I wanted to talk to you first.” Alec explained.

“I’m sure it’s like any other PIN pad, and something would definitely happen after three trial, but if it is like one, it also means that it resets after 24 hours.” Magnus explained with a frown, wondering how was he sure about that information being right.

“Okay, let’s say you are right. Still. It’s a four-digit pin. That means 10,000 variations. If we try three each 24 hours, that means we would be here for nine years trying out all of them and that is if it doesn’t block the entire system. Or worse.”

Magnus blinked at Alec for a moment or two.

“Let’s try the scan.” He said with a shrug, before reaching out, just to have Alec catch him by the wrist before he could touch it.

“We have no idea what happens if the scan fails.” Alec said, eyes wide with fear. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I can’t think of anything worse than spending nine years here.” Magnus said, looking into Alec’s eyes, hoping that the other would understand. They had to try.

After what felt like hours of silently staring at each other, Alec closed his eyes.

“Okay.” Alec said with a sigh. “But let me go first?” He asked and Magnus had to bite his tongue to refrain himself from saying no. After all, it was his idea and he couldn’t back down now, so instead he grabbed Alec’s other hand, intervening their fingers before giving him a firm nod.

He watched as Alec let out a shaky breath before placing his hand on top of the scan.

The screen quickly flashed red. “Access denied.” Before turning black again.

They stood there, unmoving for a long few second, waiting for any kind of consequence.

“Well, no apocalypse.” Magnus said with a grin, trying to lighten the mood.

He raised his hand, but once again, Alec caught it.

“What if that’s why we are here?”

“What?”

“What if we are the last ones alive?” He asked and Magnus wasn’t sure if Alec was joking or serious for a moment.

“One way to find out.” Magnus said before pressing his hand onto the cold surface of the scanner.

He felt his heart jumping up to his throat as the screen fleshed green with the two words he never truly expected to see. “Access granted.”

They simultaneously took a step back, holding onto each other’s hand as the doors opened slowly, revealing another room.

Contrast to the rest of the building, it was rather dark, all steel surfaces.

They looked at each other and he found that everything he could say to the man was already reflecting in hazel eyes.

With a deep breath, they walked in.

Magnus wasn’t sure how, but he knew the purpose of the room as soon as his eyes scanned the room.

They were in some kind of laboratory.

He glanced at Alec and with a nod they parted ways, never losing sight of the other as they explored around. He walked towards with two computers on top, but his eyes were already on the sea of papers, haphazardly scattered across the desk, some of them lying on the floor. Magnus’ eyes widened as he looked at the notes.

There were numerous files on the computer as well as lying around in a mess.

He frowned as he picked up a notebook and his eyes ran over the seemingly random dates and what seemed like symptoms.

06/06/2025 – slurred speech, clear indication of hallucinations, depression 12/07/2025 – weight loss, inability to speak, memory loss – advanced symptoms of CJD 01/09/2025 – entered final stage 28/09/2025 – death

He turned the page and found a continued list of symptoms, all of them assigned to different dates.

He turned to the front and found the first note dated back to 2018. The last one was dated three months ago. He looked at the computer and his eyes caught a series of files, each numbered from 0-9. His eyes landed on nine. He felt his heart beating faster as he moved the cursor over it and tapped it twice to open it.

“What the hell?” The words left his lips in a whisper.

On the screen… was him. His name in big capital letters: MAGNUS BANE. But that was not what shocked him… no… it was the footnote under the name.

Subject number: Nine. Trial: same as subject Four Status: initial stage Information on his blood pressure, blood sugar level along with many more he couldn’t focus on.

He wasn’t speaking loud enough for Magnus to make out the words, but it was audible enough to allow him to pick up on the tenseness in his voice, the nervous tone to his words. Without thinking, he turned away from the computer and rushed to him.

There was someone else with them.

“Alec?” He called out as he stepped into the room and he felt his world shifting, the ground almost slipping from under his foot as his eyes landed on the other man in the room, standing opposite to Alec.

Magnus knew him. His hair was longer, he looked older… but everything else was the same. The small nose, the thin lips, the amber eyes… Magnus looked at himself… but this time not in a mirror... but across from him in the room.

“Hello, Nine. I’m Magnus. Magnus Bane. The real one.” The man said calmly, almost matter-of-factly as he locked eyes with Magnus.

“What do you mean the real one?” Alec asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he looked between the two men.

“I mean what I said. I am the original Magnus Bane.” The man explained and he raised a hand towards Magnus as he spoke “He is the ninth one.”

“I... I don’t... I can’t...” Magnus stuttered as he took a step back, something nagging at the back of his mind, something that was becoming clearer and clearer since he found those notes, but he couldn’t put a name to it.

“It’s alright. Calm down. There is no need to panic.” The other Magnus said, hands raised in a defensive move as he took a step forward, now standing closer to Alec than Magnus was.

“I don’t understand. Any of this.” Alec said, his eyes flicking between them.

“Oh, Alexander. You have no idea how happy I am to see you.” The older man said as he smiled gently at Alec, lovingly even. “I thought you were dead.”

“What?” Alec whispered as he took a step back away from the older man, towards Magnus and it took Magnus everything he had in him to stop himself from reaching out to his lover.

“I mean... you were meant to be dead. A long time ago. The fact that you are here… it’s a miracle... it’s proof that it worked.” The older Magnus smiled happily, tears welling in his eyes as he looked at Alec with such intensity that Magnus almost believed his words.

“What worked?”

“The treatment. I found the cure.”

“The cure for what?” Alec asked once again, and it was becoming clear in his voice that he was close to losing his patience.

“For the disease that killed my husband. My Alexander.”

“What?” Magnus blurted, but now the confusion came a certain kind of dread that settled in his chest, growing bigger and bigger with each passing second.

“I met Alexander when we were both young, in our early twenties. In 2012.” He said with a deep breath and a barely-there smile as he looked at Alec. “We fell in love, fast and hard. One could say that neither of us saw it coming, by the time we realized what he had we were both in too deep. Our love for one another was like no other love out there. We were invincible. Or so we thought. Until Alexander got sick. It started with depression... and for a long time, we thought it was only that. But then... other symptoms came. The dizziness, the headaches, the anxiety, the difficulty to focus… to speak. By the time we realized what the problem was… he was almost at the end of the initial stage. I will never forget the day when we sat in the hospital and the doctor came in to inform us that he had Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease.

There is nothing worse than being told that the man you love more than life itself has a condition that is incurable. That from now on.. they aren’t focusing on treating him and trying to save his life... but instead now we wait… for the inevitable end. I think a part of us died on that day. The part of us full of plans and hopes for the future. We were just told that we won’t grow old together... that we won’t be here next year... that in a few months... death will do us part. I tried everything. I tried treatment when other doctors refused to treat him. I spent days and nights trying to find a way to save the man I loved. And I failed. I watched him grow weaker and weaker each day... until one autumn morning... he stopped fighting.” Magnus remembered the first notes from 2018 and he felt his breath hitching in his throat as realization slowly settled in.

“The day before he died... I promised him that I will find a way. And I spent the last decade or so, working on keeping my promise. After years of research… I found a way to clone people. I used his DNA I had from previous tests… and I created him. The man I loved. And I couldn’t have been happier. I had Alexander back. But then it started again... the depression... the balance and coordination problems... and less than a year after... I lost him again. To the same disease. The DNA I had from him was after he got sick... so the new Alexander also received the disease… So, I created a new one. He lived for even shorter than the previous one. I realized that this way... I can find a cure. I have someone with the disease... I can do tests and trial treatments… But losing you, over and over again... it killed me. It broke my heart and no matter how many times I watched you leave me... it never got easier... so I decided to create a clone of myself... infect it with the disease... and try to find a cure. The disease in my case was even more peracute. The second one died less than half a month after exposing him to the illness.

I created the last clone of Alexander... over a year ago. When I saw the first signs of the advanced stage... I decided that I can’t watch him die again in my arms... you were meant to die within months. No one with Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease lived longer than a year after the initial symptoms appeared. But you are still here... and you speak...and...”

“You… you cloned me? Us?” Alec asked, voice laced with shock and utter disbelief.

“I had to. It was the only way to be with you again.” The older Magnus said with such softness in his voice that it almost made Magnus believe that it was regret woven into his words.

“How many... clones did you make?” Alec asked and Magnus felt his stomach dropping.

“Nine.” He whispered, his eyes moving down onto the number etched into his t-shirt.

“Yes.” The other man nodded as he looked at Magnus before quickly turning away from both of them. He walked away slowly to the desk. “You see... the first three Alexanders I created passed away quickly... it was after I created you, number four – he said before pointing at Alec’s t-shirt – that I realized I can’t lose you again. So, I created Magnus one, which if we want to be precise was number five. Ninth here was the last one.” He said still not looking at them, only nodding towards Magnus’ direction vaguely before turning around.

“But now... I have the cure. I have you. I don’t need him anymore.” He said as he pointed a gun at Magnus.

He stood rooted to the spot, eyes wide in fear as he stared at the man in front of him. He felt his heart beating in his throat, a fast, erratic thumping as fear clutched at his heart, squeezing the air out of him in a shaky breath. He looked into the familiar golden amber eyes and knew that it was over. His eyes moved to the gun pointed at him, cold and deadly as the man moved his finger, resting it on the trigger.

He felt tears in his eyes, mourning for himself and all the others. The thought of all of them... having thoughts and feelings and memories... they were real. They were real, living and breathing people.

All created in a lab by a man who couldn’t let go of his love.

As he stood there, eyes not leaving the other’s face.. he mourned for him a bit too. As twisted as it sounded... he felt sad for the older man. To imagine a love so strong... that it was enough to wash away any morals or ethics the man once must have held as a doctor, just to be reunited with his lover.

He remembered vividly all the memories he had with Alec and realized that they weren’t his memories but memories of the man in front of him. It broke his heart.

He knew, he felt the love the real Magnus felt for Alec. The respect, the admiration he felt for the other man. He wondered what his Alexander would have said if he saw the man he loved, once kind, caring and so considerate of everyone around him to turn into someone so lonely and hurt by the cruelty of life. That the man he loved was willing to play God, to break rules and overstep boundaries so easily just to be with him again.

He closed his eyes, allowing a single tear to roll down his cheek. He wanted to live. He desperately wanted to experience the world, all the moments he thought he once had, but turned out to be nothing but someone else's memories. He selfishly wanted that happiness to be his. Even if he knew that they were never his to start with.

He prepared for the end and for a fleeing moment, he wondered if this was what Alexander felt like at the end of his condition. This gut-wrenching fear and helplessness knowing that no matter what he did, the end was coming, and he had no way of stopping it.

He mourned for him too.

He heard the sound of the gunshot and he squeezed his eyes shut so hard it was almost painful, but apart from the self-inflicted pain, he didn’t feel anything.

He opened his eyes and found the the older Magnus lying on the floor, Alec on top of him.

“Alex-.”

“Stop.” Alec grunted; hand curled around the man’s wrist that was holding the gun.

He watched as Alec forced the gun out of his hands before turning it around, pointing at the older man under him.

“What are you doing?” Magnus panted, eyes wide in shock as he was pinned to the floor. Magnus watched the two of them, unable to move.

“I... I…” Alec stuttered and even though he couldn’t see his face, his back was turned towards Magnus where he stood, he could hear the pain in his voice, tears choking him as he tried to speak.

“I have all his memories... I remember everything. The first time you met, your first date, your first kiss… the first time you made love to him. I know how much he loved you, how he adored you. This isn't what he would have wanted, Magnus.” And this.. this isn’t how I want to remember you Magnus. And I know he wouldn’t want to either.” He said, shoulders shaking with silent cries.

“Alexander...”

“You killed... so many of us. Over and over again. That is not something the man I fell in love would ever do. I died Magnus. I wish... I wish you would’ve had the chance to grow old together. To have a family. But life... life doesn’t always give us what we want. Alexander isn’t the only one who died that day. You did too. A part of you never moved on. I think... I think you should... be with him.”

“We can be. We can be.” Magnus chanted eagerly, voice hoping yet desperate.

“And we will be. I will be waiting for you at the Brooklyn-bridge. I promise.” Alec whispered as he leaned down, pressing a kiss to the man’s forehead before a gunshot rang through the air again.

He never thought he would ever have this. Now, here they were, standing on a roof top surrounded by the blue and white lights of the never sleeping city. The sight of the Brooklyn bridge, bright like a beacon of hope in the darkness of the night. He felt the warmth of a body pressing up to his back before arms sneaked around his waist, hugging him gently. He smiled as he tilted his head back against his lover’s chest, finding comfort in the small puffs or air hitting his neck and the familiar scent of Alexander’s cologne.

#miss-shiva-adler #malecsanta20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

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bngtanah · 5 years ago

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The Difference Between Boys & Girls | o2

summary: Sam & Erin are university students who share a cheap one bedroom apartment above a shitty takeaway restaurant. Due to the limited space, they’ve grown accustomed to sharing just about everything, including the occasional kiss. Despite the amount of time they spend together, their complete comfort in sharing a bed, etc, the pair continues to hold on to the idea that they are completely “platonic.” None of their friends believe this excuse, but as ridiculous as it sounds the unconventional living situation truly does seem to work for them.

Well, it used to anyway..

pairing: Jung Hoseok (Samuel Park) x Named OC characters: meet the cast.

genre: angst, smut, fluff

chapters: o1| o2| o3| o4| o5| o6| o7| o8| o9| 10| 11| 12| 13| 14

warning: boyfriend!hoseok, jealous!hoseok, friends to lovers trope, college au, angst, sexual themes, slow burn, ambw

a/n: i am a fool. I accidentally deleted my blog so this is me re-uploading EVERYTHING.

With her body wrapped in a dress that stopped just a couple inches below her ass, bare shoulders and a sheer cutout in the front Sam was having a hard time keeping his eyes from travelling along the contours of Erin's body.

Originally she planned on wearing just a pair of jeans and a cute top, thus ensuring that she would attract the least amount of attention when they reached their destination. That all changed when Samuel decided he was going to tag along, she didn't mind all eyes being on her as long as he was by her side.

And of course, the surge of confidence she felt after having caught Sam's eyes widen and his mouth drop open slightly when she stepped out of the bedroom may have had something to do with it also. He had managed to settle his features and avert his gaze once Erin joined him for their obligatory pregame shot in the kitchen, making sure to keep his distance like he was drinking with his baby sister and not some woman he'd leer at in a dim nightclub.

His reaction only made Erin stifled a giggle after she allowed the alcohol to ease down her throat. He could play it cool all he wanted, Erin knew she had ruffled his feathers and that alone was almost enough to make their whole night worth it before it even began.

"Aren't you, like...cold? In that dress?" Samuel asked, uttering his first full sentence since they'd left the apartment.

Erin only shook her head and made a small noise to demonstrate her disagreeing.

Samuel scoffed and moved closer as they walked in stride, he knew better than to believe her when she was obviously freezing. He snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her close to his side, the pad of his thumb drumming lightly against her hip. "Like hell you're not."

The touch burned through the flimsy layer of cloth and Erin was sure her cheeks would be flushed if she had any less melanin in her skin.

She couldn't allow her mind to read too much into his actions, however. As far as she knew Samuel had always been a very hands-on kind of guy. If he liked you, you knew because he'd find any excuse in the book to touch you. But there was also the side of his personality that just radiated affection when he was comfortable, the occasional hand grab, hug, caress usually mean nothing more to him than simply being friendly.

Sammy just liked human contact and sometimes it honestly drove Erin nuts.

"I think we're almost there" Erin commented as she glanced down at her cell phone, rereading the address Kim sent her a few hours earlier. "It should be on the left after this intersection."

"This doesn't really look like a good location for a bar" Sam noted as he glanced around their surroundings.

The streets were considerably empty for a Friday night and the few people they did see shuffling around looked like they were auditioning for part in Rent. Definitely not the young hip crowd either of them had been expecting.

Five minutes, and one wrong turn later they figured out exactly why the area seemed so dead.

The 'fun night out' Erin had been invited to turned out to be a gallery showing for a few unknown local artists. The air of excitement deflated the second Erin and Sam entered the building.

Kim was there at the entrance, craning her head back and forth and when she spotted Erin she beamed, and waved wildly. The second she did a quick scan of Erin's attire and noticed the handsome young man attached to her hip, her smile dulled considerably.

"Unnie! You remember my roommate, Samuel?"

Kim extended a hand, a smile way too broad to be genuine plastered on her lips. "Of course! It's a pleasure to see you again."

She was clearly lying since her nostrils were a bit too flared to be sincere. That didn't stop Sammy from grinning widely and taking her hand, bowing slightly to press his lips lightly to the back of her palm. "The pleasure is all mine."

Erin rolled her eyes gently and quirked her eyebrow in his direction, he winked at her and stood up straight again.

"Right. Well Erin I thought the friend you mentioned bringing along was a girl? Since this is a supposed to be a girl's night out."

And you said we would be going out for a drink, I guess we're both liars huh? Erin thought to herself.

"I know, but she couldn't make it and Sammy decided to volunteer to take her place. He might as well be a girl; you'll hardly notice the difference I promise."

Kim looked skeptical. Like she wanted to push the issue further but decided against it. "Alright he can stay but he has to participate like the rest of us."

"Participate, in what?" Sam asked.

"The post night discussion of course!" Kim answered, with more excitement than necessary as she reached down into her purse and dug out a notebook and pen for each of them. "We're all going to take notes on our favourite pieces and discuss them after the viewing, fun right?"

Erin braved a smile since she was used to Kim's concept of fun. Sam, on the other hand, refused to believe that she was serious as he erupted into a fit of laughter. Erin dug her elbow into his side and gave Kim a look of reassurance, "He has a weird sense of humour, we’re going to love this."

Kim nodded slowly and readjusted the strap of her purse "Okay, if you need anything just find me I'll be around" She began backing away "Oh and the drinks are free if you want one" The petite girl added before turning and disappearing into the shallow crowd.

"Homework, E. Seriously?" Sam began complaining not two seconds after Kim was no longer within earshot.

"What happened to Mr. Positive? The drinks are free that's something, right?"

"It's the only reason I'm still standing here"

"Oh come on, you wouldn't abandon your noona. Especially after you asked to tag along" Erin chuckled as she clipped the pen onto the side of her notebook.

"That's because I thought we would be drinking, not analyzing crappy art"

"Listen, I don't wanna do this anymore than you do. I'm way overdressed and I don't even like art. But at least we're here together and we've already been spotted so it's too early to bail anyway. If you want to continue grumbling I won't stop you but grumble on the way to the bar to get us some drinks."

Sam parted his lips to argue, but the resolve in Erin's eye made him second guess that. They could literally argue all night over this and he wasn't about to upset her when she looked that nice. "You're right," He sighed "You want your usual?"

"Yes please," Erin beamed and leaned upward to peck his cheek before he sauntered away in the direction of the bar with a dopey smile.

Suddenly very aware of the fact that she was standing in the middle of the floor alone, Erin quickly moved towards the nearest display of art. She pulled the pen from her notepad and pretended to be interested in the large canvas splattered with various lines and squiggles. Erin was never very appreciative of art even when she could understand the concept.

"Oh my god, this looks like a goddamn finger painting" She muttered underneath her breath.

A bellow of male laughter tickled Erin's ears from behind and almost made her jump out of her skin. She turned and came face to face with an unfamiliar person. His rounded cheeks made him seem young, much too young to be mixed in with this crowd but once Erin allowed her eyes to drift further down from his face she determined that he was probably in her age bracket. His hair was parted through the middle and pushed away from his face, colored a shade that Erin could only describe as neon tangerine and he wore a smile on his face that made the room seem ten shades brighter. He was tall but only by comparison to Erin, he was still a few inches shorter than Sammy so that brought him right to her eye level.

"Sorry, I didn't realise I was talking out loud," Erin said softly, accompanying her words with a slight bow.

"Don't be, you're not lying" He answered, still trying to stop himself from laughing "I'm Brian by the way."

"Erin"

Brian bit into his lip once his laughter subsided and subtly felt Erin up with his eyes. She pretended not to notice and returned her attention to the painting.

"So I guess art isn't really your thing either?"

"I love it actually, but the use of color and composition here is just lazy and uninspired." Brian commented and took a step closer, he was close enough for Erin to catch the scent of his cologne and a tiny shudder ran down the base of her spine. It was small but significant considering the only man that made her feel that way lately was Sammy. "Look at this area right here" He gestured to the far left side of the canvas "To the untrained eye it would probably look like a deliberate splatter of red paint to represent anguish, but I know that this artist just stepped on a tube and left the mark there."

"Mhm.... wait can you repeat that first thing again," Erin said, quickly putting her pen against the notebook and writing down the gist of what his.

"Are you a journalist?" Brian asked, scratching the back of his neck.

"University student, this is just for my.... study group. How do you know so much about this?"

"Because it's my painting and it only took me about five minutes to finish" Brian grinned and turned to face Erin. He was inches away and the coy smile that spread across his lips when their eyes connected made her chortle. Brian wet his bottom lip with his tongue which inadvertently drew Erin's attention there before the sound of someone clearing their throat behind them broke up the staring contest.

"Uh. The line was long, here's your drink. Who is this?" Sammy asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Erin smiled and took the tumbler of liquid from Samuel "This is Brian, we're making fun of his terrible art. Brian, this is my roommate; Sammy"

Both men nodded toward each other, exchanging a polite handshake before turning their attention back to Erin. Samuel was the first to speak.

"Listen do you really want to stay here all night? The drinks are watered down and I know how much you hate this art crap"

Erin shrugged gently but made a sour face the second she took a sip of her drink, it tasted like cranberry juice mixed with tap water, not vodka.

"Oh gross, let's get out of here before Kim finds me again," She said resting her cup on the nearest flat surface. She was all prepared to sprint out the nearest exit when a hand gently grabbed her upper arm and stopped her in her tracks.

"If you're going to leave can I see your phone before you go?" Brian asked, flirtatious smile still present.

"Why do you need to see my phone?"

"So I can put my number into it"

"Wow, you are subtle!" Erin laughed, taking a second to think of a response. "Ah, what the hell" She sighed and pulled her phone out of her purse, unlocked it and handed it over.

"Oh, what's this? It looks like you're accidentally calling me, that's weird. I guess I'll just have to save your number in my phone as well" Brian mused as his fingers moved over the keypad.

The entire interaction made Sam's lips fall into a flat, disapproving line while Erin giggled like it was the most amusing thing she'd ever seen.

"I hope to see you around sometime, Erin" Brian waved while she and Samuel headed toward the entrance.

"You too"

Instead of going home like Erin thought they would be, she and Samuel ended up at a bar a few blocks down from the warehouse where the gallery viewing was. Kim and all the members of her study group called multiple times but Erin stopped feeling bad about not picking after the first few shots.

Somehow one hour turned into to two and both Sam and Erin were tipsy to say the least they burst out onto the sidewalk, laughing at jokes neither of them were saying out loud.

"Do you know what we should do right now?" Sammy said excitedly, his hands holding onto Erin's shoulders.

"What?"

"Go watch the stars! Like we used to in school... I'm pretty sure there's a park somewhere around here" He muttered to himself but propelled forward anyway, dragging Erin along with him. She allowed him to pull her along as he tried to gain his bearings, she wasn't really ready to go home yet either.

After some trial and error, they managed to find the "park", which was actually just a patch of grass and a small hill but who was complaining?

Sammy motioned for Erin to sit next and she scrunched her nose upward "I don't want my dress to get dirty I'll stand, it's okay."

"Here," He sighed, pulling the jacket he was wearing off his shoulders and laying it down over the grass. "Better princess?"

"Much" Erin grinned as she moved to sit, exhaling a deep breath once she was settled and Sammy's arm found its way behind her. "I can't remember the last time we did this," She said after a beat, glancing up at the illuminated night sky.

"I do. It was the night of my graduation, you rode the bus all the way from Seoul to Daegu just to be there for my ceremony and stayed up with me to watch the stars even though you had a class the next morning." Sammy recalled with fondness in his voice.

"I remember that you begged me for like two hours to sneak out to the beach with you. Then when we actually got there you couldn't stop freaking out about being caught."

"My mother is a very perceptive woman; I still think she noticed me leaving in her sleep!" Sammy retorted and both of them exploded with laughter.

"You made a promise that night too, do you remember that?"

Sam nodded with a smile but didn't saying anything.

"You're just going to make me repeat it by myself?"

"You look so cute when you say it noona"

Erin rolled her eyes, but cleared her throat anyway "I- state your name-"

"Sang-min 'Samuel' Park!"

"-So solemnly swear to live my life to fullest degree of potential and happiness possible from this moment on, recognising that I am no longer a child, but that doesn't I have to turn into a cynical old man. All agreed say aye." Erin was hardly able to finish talking before she gave into the laughter.

"Aye!" Sammy repeated in a squeaky voice and joined Erin in a chorus of giggles and guffaws.

A moment of comfortable silence passed over them once the laughter died down and Erin sighed again, snuggling closer to Sam and leaning backwards on her elbows. "You think you kept your promise? Are you happy, Sam?"

He frowned for a second and shrugged "I'm alright, I've still got you with me so that's good enough for me." He said softly, reaching forward to brush a stray hair out of Erin's eyes and tuck it behind her ear. The tips of his fingers slowly trailed along her jawline as if he was touching her for the first time. When he cupped her jaw in one hand and pulled her face closer his Erin found herself letting him do so.

They had kissed before, games of spin the bottle at high school parties and a few times after having a couple drinks at home. But those could be explained away by a momentary lapse in judgement and raging underdeveloped hormones. This was a deliberate action and Samuel made sure to move at a slow pace to give Erin enough to time to back out if she wanted to.

She didn't want to.

"You looked so good tonight, noona" Sam whispered against the shell of Erin's ear, the bridge of his nose nuzzled against the hollow of Erins cheek and the warmth of his breath fanned over her skin causing heat to spread all over her body. Her breathing grew shallow and her eyes fluttered shut in anticipation, just as his lips barely brushed against her own a loud blaring noise shattered their fairy tale and made them both jump backwards.

"Oh shit, I think that's my phone. Sorry" Erin fumbled around with the clutch in her hands before pulling out her cell phone and preparing to curse out whoever had the misfortune of calling her at that exact moment.

"Hello?" Erin barked into the receiver.

"I- I'm sorry is this not a good time? Were you sleeping?" Brian’s gentle voice momentarily disarmed Erin's annoyance and she shook her head.

"Oh Brian is that you? No... I'm actually not even home yet, Sammy and I stopped for a drink before going home"

"O-oh okay," Brian replied softly, taking a second to think before speaking again "Well maybe you can text me when you home just so I know you're safe."

"I can do that" Erin answered, trying her best to smile even though she noticed the sudden change in Sam's posture, going from relaxed to rigid the second Erin answered the phone. He stood up after she hung up and held out a hand to help her to her feet. After she was standing he leaned down to pick up his jacket and dusted it off before placing it around Erin's shoulders.

"I should get you home."

#jung hoseok #hoseok smut #hoseok scenarios #hobi x oc #bts scenarios #j hope fanfic #j hope smut #dbbg #bngtanah

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haberdashing · 5 years ago

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This Place Is Not My Home

TMA fic. After a very long day, Elias returns to his living space... which he doesn’t recognize at all. Luckily, he has a few companions by his side to help him figure things out.

Follow-up to A Rude Awakening and The Blind Meeting The Blind.

on AO3

Elias knew every square inch of his flat, which would probably be more impressive if the place wasn’t so damn tiny.

Objectively speaking, it wasn’t much to write home about, he knew. The space was cramped, the wallpaper was peeling, the hot water supply was iffy at best, it was freezing in the winter and sweltering in the summer no matter how he configured the thermostat, and there was always the lingering scent of mildew and weed (he was trying to cut down on his use of the latter--mostly because it was an expensive habit, partly because he was afraid the smell would catch on his work clothes and James would notice and he’d get in trouble for it--but, well, old habits die hard)...

It was a shitty flat, sure. But it was his shitty flat. Elias didn’t share it with anyone, didn’t have to leech off his trust fund or beg his father for help just to pay the rent. It was a space all his own, one he had earned the right to reside in, one that he worked to maintain as best he could, one where he could relax and unwind after a long day of work without any fear of interruption.

Or, at least, that was how things had been back in 1996. Which felt like it had been only hours ago, but had in fact been all of twenty-three years in the past now.

He still had a flat of his own in 2019, but it wasn’t the same one. It was more centrally-located, for one, compared to his old place, which had always required a lengthy Tube ride to get to work at the Institute. It was on the top floor of a skyscraper, with what was apparently a spectacular view of downtown London, not that Elias himself would ever get to appreciate it.

And it was utterly foreign to him.

It smelled like old books and cleaning supplies, it was actually a reasonable enough temperature inside (slightly warm for Elias’ tastes, but then, he always did tend to be on the warm side), and Elias was pretty sure that a single room in the place could easily contain his entire flat from 1996 with room to spare.

At least he wasn’t there alone when he arrived. Jon and Martin had gone off to do... something with the rest of the night (Elias’ money was on them snogging, or possibly doing more than snogging, though he couldn’t say for sure), but Basira, Daisy, and, to his surprise, even Melanie had agreed to accompany him as he entered what had apparently been “his” living space for years now for the first time.

Admittedly, it became immediately apparent that at least one of them had an ulterior motive for volunteering to help Elias.

“What can I break in here?”

Elias instinctively turned towards Melanie, though he knew well enough that she couldn’t see the gesture any more than he could see the expression on her face. “Wow, rude.”

“I mean, I’ve been dreaming for a while now of going to Elias- er, going to Jonah Magnus’ home and trashing the place. And now he’s dead and everything, and this place practically smells like money... c’mon, let me have this. It’s not even your stuff.”

“It literally is my stuff though. I mean, I might not have picked it out, but legally speaking-”

“Right, because you all are so big on following the law, aren’t you?”

Elias wasn’t sure what exactly Melanie was referencing there, but he could definitely feel an uncomfortable tension settle over the room just the same.

“Just let me break something.”

“Nobody’s breaking anything in my flat.” Elias paused, considering what monstrosities might well be waiting inside, especially given what he now knew about Jonah Magnus’ proclivities. “At least not without getting my permission first.”

“You’re no fun.”

Elias probably would have rolled his eyes at that, if he had them. As it was, he let out an exaggerated sigh and trudged further inside.

It took less than a minute before Elias heard the clang of metal striking marble.

“Elias, can I-”

Elias’ shoulders tensed up a little as he prepared for the inevitable question from Melanie, but her speech stopped suddenly, and when it restarted it was softer and shakier.

“I’m sorry, that just- it sounds wrong, to me, I promised myself I’d never ask Elias for anything again, and I know you’re not the same Elias Bouchard but it’s still weird somehow-”

Elias scratched the back of his head nervously. “You could call me Eli, if that’d help. Some of my old school mates used to call me that. ‘s no skin off my back.”

Admittedly, he hadn’t been called that since he was a teenager, which felt like ages ago, and the wrinkles that were starting to cover his skin were proof that it was even longer ago than it felt...

...but Elias remembered those days fondly, remembered how his father would protest because “We named you Elias because we wanted you to be called Elias!” and how that only made him cling to the nickname more fervently in a fit of teenage rebellion, and it felt right, somehow.

Plus, whatever steps he could take to avoid being confused for Jonah Magnus again, Elias would gladly take in a heartbeat.

“Alright then. Sure. Eli, can I break this?”

“You’re gonna have to tell me what ‘this’ is first.”

“Metal statue of a person wearing robes, it’s got eyes and a smile but no nose, which is surprisingly creepy-”

“First off, what’s your plan for breaking a statue made of metal?”

The long hesitation before Melanie’s response was practically an answer in and of itself.

“I’m sure I can figure something out.”

“Aaaand that’s a no from me.”

Melanie let out a huffy sigh.

“Try again?” Elias said in a more encouraging tone.

“Speaking of creepy, get a load of that painting.”

Elias jumped a little at the sound of Daisy’s voice; he’d been so focused on talking to Melanie and making sure she only destroyed things that deserved it that he’d half-forgotten that Daisy and Basira were there as well. The two of them could be surprisingly quiet when they wanted to be, apparently.

“What painting?” Elias asked.

“It’s hanging in the middle of the hallway, old guy wearing fancy Victorian-looking clothes. Dunno who it is, but I don’t like the look in his eyes.”

Daisy and Basira took a few steps closer to the painting in question.

“I think...” Basira let out a soft gasp. “I know who that is. God.”

“Who is it?”

“Jonah Magnus. The original. I read up on the history of the Institute back when I first joined, I remember that face. The smirk’s familiar enough too.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“He put a painting of himself in his front hallway? Seriously?”

“Apparently. Not terribly subtle, was he?”

Melanie cleared her throat loudly. “Can I?”

Elias let out a shaky laugh as he replied, “Please.”

The painting was taken off the wall, in a way that sounded like it might have scraped against the paint on the way down, but the state of the paint on the walls of his flat was the least of Elias’ concerns right about now. It got handed to Melanie, who wasted no time in attacking it; the sound of a knife stabbing canvas was a peculiar one, but after a few solid stabs she went from stabbing to ripping, the noise indistinct enough that Elias wasn’t sure if she was still using the knife or was tearing the painting apart with her bare hands.

After a minute or two of tearing, small pieces of what had once been a painting landing on the floor with soft thumps periodically, Melanie wiped her hands on her pants and said, “God, that felt good.”

After a brief pause, she added, “Thanks, I guess. I take back that time I got Tim to call you Elias Douchard-”

“Never heard that one before.” Elias said in the driest tone he could muster.

“-and then he posted it on Twitter dozens of times over--he was so proud of himself, too, even though it wasn’t even his idea--think he got a couple hundred retweets out of it, more than I expected really...”

Elias knew he was going to respond with a question, because how could he not after an apology/confession like that thrust upon him without warning, and two possibilities for what that question might be stood out to him.

This was the first time he’d heard the name Tim--from Melanie, from anyone in 2019--and Elias was naturally curious as to who that might be... but whoever Tim was, he clearly wasn’t a part of their little gang anymore, though it sounded as though he once had been, and regardless of the specifics of how exactly this Tim was forced out of the picture, it was almost certainly an unpleasant story that would bring down the mood right when things were finally starting to get a little less somber.

So instead, Elias went for the safe option.

“What’s Twitter?”

Basira let out a soft snort, and Daisy said, “Oh, you sweet summer child...”

“It’s a website--social media thing, the gimmick is you can only write so much--but that’s not the point.”

“What is the point, then?” Elias asked, a hint of teasing in his voice.

“...I’m sorry, I guess? I mean, that’s on the Internet forever now. That’s your- your Internet legacy.”

“If a childish pun being part of my ‘Internet legacy’ is the biggest problem I have to face from all of this, I’ll be damn lucky.”

“Fair point.”

They made their way through the hallway and into another room--The living room? Family room? God, Elias didn’t even know the layout of the place well enough to tell--before Basira spoke up.

“Giant eye tapestry on the couch... he really wasn’t subtle, was he? Or maybe he just thought he was being clever...”

“Go for it.” Elias said, a wry smile on his face.

“I- I wasn’t actually-” Basira laughed a little there. Had he heard her laugh before? If so, he couldn’t remember. It had a nice ring to it. “I was just making a comment, but you know what, sure, I’ll destroy it for you.”

“Good. Probably not in the best taste to have eye stuff all over when, well, you’ve got none.”

Elias had meant the comment to be a light-hearted one, but an awkward silence fell over the room. (He still didn’t know which of the group had done the actual eye-gouging bit--and rather preferred it that way, to be honest--but it belatedly occurred to him that it might be a sore point for more than just him, especially since Melanie’d gone through much the same thing.)

The sound he heard from Basira after she grabbed the tapestry off the couch was a much smaller one than he’d expected, a far cry from the grand spectacle of stabbing and ripping that Melanie had performed, and Elias wasn’t even sure what the sound was until he smelled smoke and heard a series of crackling sounds. A lighter opening and flicking on, then, and fire beginning to consume the fabric. She was burning it, then. Sensible enough, he supposed, though...

“Don’t go burning this whole place down, you hear me?”

“I’ll try not to.”

“If you do, you’ll have to replace everything in it for me, you know. Even the spooky shit.” Elias paused briefly, more for effect than to actually consider his next words. “Especially the spooky shit.”

“And bankrupt myself halfway through?” Basira snorted. “Nice try, rich guy.”

Elias let out a hollow laugh, but he couldn’t bring himself to continue their banter further. Basira probably didn’t know it--aside from the general outline of things, he hadn’t gotten that into his life story with them, probably knew more about each of them than they did about the real him--but it wasn’t the first time he’d had his wealth thrown at him as an insult, and maybe it was a stupid thing to be sensitive about, being mocked for being a trust fund kid, but he was sensitive about it just the same.

After a brief pause, probably the others taking the time to realize that Elias wasn’t planning on speaking up anymore, they went back to trudging through the flat, Basira and Daisy giving an ongoing commentary on what was to be found in there. Elias had had his fair share of money before, but it sounded like Jonah Magnus went above and beyond even the usual shows of wealth he was used to. Everything was luxurious and bespoke and impeccably-made. The sight was probably breath-taking, though Elias wouldn’t know, and those who did were hardly in the mood for admiration.

Meanwhile, Elias had grown used to towels filled with holes around his place, partly because replacing them all would make finances difficult for a bit without dipping into his father’s money one way or another, partly because he was just too lazy to bother with hunting down replacement towels in his free time outside of work.

This was... going to be a bit of an adjustment.

“Mantle’s got some big-eyed Russian nesting dolls-”

“Matryoshka.” Basira muttered.

Elias could hear the grin on Daisy’s face as she repeated, “Yeah, like I said, Russian nesting dolls. Don’t like them one bit, something about their expression... Unlike some people-” And here Elias was sure Daisy was staring at and/or gesturing towards Melanie, not that she’d know any better than he did. “-I didn’t come here to break things, but destroying those would probably put me a little more at ease.”

“Sure, why not.” Elias said, a slight sigh in his voice as he wondered how much of a mess the flat--his flat--was going to be by the time the others were done breaking things in it.

Part of Elias was curious to see how exactly Daisy would go about demolishing the nesting dolls that made her so uneasy. Would she go Melanie’s route, stabbing and smashing them until they were unrecognizable? Or something subtler, like Basira’s flames, quiet but still sure in their destruction?

Elias jumped when he heard the gunshot, flinching as the dolls shattered to pieces. He instinctively threw his hands up in front of his face protectively, only lowering them slowly when he heard Daisy softly laughing.

“I- I thought you knew-” she stammered out between laughs.

“That you had a gun? No, I didn’t! Why do you have a gun, anyway?”

Daisy didn’t respond, but as her laughs quieted somewhat Basira joined in with her own, and Elias began to slump down, feeling that somehow he was the one who crossed a line here...

...until Melanie spoke up to defend him when he himself felt too awkward to speak.

“It’s not really that funny, you guys. And it’s a valid question, you know, if you’re- him.”

That emboldened Elias enough for him to speak for himself again. “New rule: no using guns in my house. Didn’t think I needed to specify that, but apparently I do.”

“You’re right, you’re right, I’m sorry.”

“And why do you have a gun?”

“It’s... it’s complicated.”

“Everything’s complicated with you lot, isn’t it?”

“Like you’re one to talk.” Basira muttered, and Elias could feel his face heating up; rather than respond, though, he just walked onward, forcibly changing the subject as yet more of Jonah Magnus’ household arrangement was uncovered.

They stopped asking to break things, after that, though Elias offered things up for destruction once or twice when they sounded particularly offensive. He realized, as the conversation moved forward, that he hadn’t been the one who had crossed a line there after all, and that they’d probably realized as much as well. Things were calmer, then, a mood of inquisitive exploration rather than righteous destruction.

As Elias walked from room to room of what was now his flat, learning more about what was in it, how perfectly coordinated it all was, how much wealth had clearly been poured into making it just right... it didn’t feel like the space he was exploring was his own. Description after description of the tasteful and mildly eccentric conversation pieces to be found on a number of surfaces there seemed familiar, but not as things Elias himself would have chosen. It felt uncomfortably like this was all his father’s stuff, that perhaps his father had died (had his father died? Elias still didn’t know either way) and he had inherited his old living space. It was an easier scenario to wrap his head around than the reality of things, but not one that really made him feel any better about it all.

Elias would make it his own space eventually, sure, but that would take time, time and effort, and Elias felt like he had used up enough of both already by just getting himself through the day more or less intact.

For now, though, he dragged his hands along the row of suits (”Does this man own a single pair of sweatpants? I know I sure did--what’d he do with them all, bag them all up and give the lot to Oxfam?”), and when Basira noted dryly that he was getting blood on them, he didn’t hesitate in his response.

“Good. That’s a quality aesthetic right there. Imagine me going into a room of businessmen with my fancy bloodstained suit. What are they going to do, point it out, ask where the blood came from?”

He got a few laughs from that, and an appreciative murmur of “Hell of a power move” from Melanie, so that felt like a success, at least. Bloodstains weren’t the kind of mark he really wanted to leave on this place, but it was something, at least. It was... it was a start.

Eventually, the whole of the flat--which was huge, a much bigger space than Elias needed or even really wanted--had been fully explored, and after a bit of awkward discussion, Basira, Daisy, and Melanie left him on his own. It had been a long day, and Elias didn’t hesitate to head to his bed.

The mattress was almost obscenely soft, a far cry from the uncomfortable solid block of a mattress Elias was used to, and it had an imprint in it that fit Elias’ shape perfectly, if he slept on his back. Which he didn’t. Elias was strictly a side sleeper, though he switched which side he slept on periodically, often tossing and turning and switching between the two in the middle of the night.

Elias curled onto his right side and clung to those too-soft sheets and thought about what now was and what had been.

For all the wealth contained within the space that Jonah Magnus had curated as his own over the years, Elias would have gladly traded it all to be back in his shitty, cheap, cramped, falling-apart flat from 1996, to be somewhere that was truly his once more.

He’d never thought he’d wax nostalgic over that flat, had figured he’d be glad to be rid of it once he could get something better, but... well...

Life wasn’t always that simple, was it?

#tma #tma fic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fic #the magnus archives fanfic #personal #my writing #elias bouchard

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hatandgoggles-writing · 6 years ago

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Two Guys and a Baby: Day 3 part 2

Read on AO3, FF.net or under the cut, or read up to 2 chapters ahead as a $1 Patreon patron!

A little voice in his voice in his mind that, had this been a cartoon and not real life, would have manifested as a tiny angel on his right shoulder, shouted as it worked itself into a panic and hid its face into the collar of his shirt,��oh, God, Crowley, what were you thinking?! You literally just reconnected with him two days ago, shut uuuuuuup!

Or, Crowley fucks up.

Chapter 5 of 20 Ongoing 1700 words Romance/Humor

It was half an hour past Adam’s bedtime and Crowley had just picked his palette back up when someone knocked on his door again. He sighed and put it back down, stalked to the door, yanked it open and said:

“Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want it.”

“Good evening to you too,” said Ezra who, in his vintage jumper, vintage shirt… vintage everything looked extremely out of place in the sterile white hallway of the modern apartment building.

Crowley bumped his forehead against the doorframe in frustration. Ideally, he would have gone for slamming, but he knew the other wouldn’t approve.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today,” he mumbled. He hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, but his mind was so overflowing with thoughts that raced too fast for him to grasp them, it might as well have been empty. It had bothered him all day.

Ezra just smiled his usual gentle smile. “It’s okay, we all have off-days sometimes,” he said. “If it’s any consolation to you, I brought you this.” He held up a bottle of wine that had a thin yet persistent layer of dust on it. He must have had it for a while.

Crowley carefully took the bottle and examined the label as he stepped aside to let the other in, only to come to the conclusion he had no idea what the words on the bottle actually meant. “As long as it doesn’t taste like cork or vinegar, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” After all, years old wine wasn’t the worst thing Crowley had drank. “I’ll get some glasses and a corkscrew. You make yourself at home in the meantime.”

Once in the kitchen, Crowley smacked his head against the cabinet a little harder. What on Earth was Ezra doing here? Better yet, why hadn't Crowley just sent him away?

Then again, there was no use dwelling on it now. And who knew, a little alcohol might actually slow his thoughts down enough to firmly grasp one by the balls and demand to know what it wanted from him.

With newfound resolution, he took two wine glasses from the cabinet, produced a corkscrew from the drawer under his pristine cooktop and returned to the living room.

“Sorry I took so long, I usually get the bottles with the screw—”

Crowley stopped dead in his tracks when he found Ezra standing at his drawing board, smoothing down the crumpled and discarded sketches with gentle hands and glancing at the canvas on the easel next to it. He heard the man murmur to himself, but didn't catch a single word of it. What did catch his attention were his eyes. Striking blue, creased with fondness, but still sparkling with youth. He knew Ezra was a little older than him, but it never made him any less charming.

He realized a little too late he was staring. Ezra turned to him and smiled.

“Ah, sorry my dear, I was just admiring your handiwork,” he said, beaming more brightly at Crowley than he had all day. He considered putting his sunglasses back on.

“Oh, that? That's nowhere near where I want it to be,” Crowley scoffed in a weak attempt to play it cool.

“That's okay. There's more than enough time to figure it out.”

“If you say so,” Crowley mumbled, yet he couldn't help the smile creeping to his face. He picked the bottle of wine from the glass salon table, twisted the corkscrew into the cork and pulled. And pulled. And pulled…

Ezra chuckled. “Here, let me help you,” he offered and reached to take the bottle, brushing against his hand.

Crowley dropped it, Ezra caught it.

“See, the trick is that you need to twist the cork while you pull it out,” he said as he did just that, pulling out the cork with a satisfying pop. “There we go. Now, I believe you were holding some glasses?”

“What? Oh, right,” Crowley stammered as he tried to regain his composure. He held out the glasses and Ezra poured. And poured. And poured…

“Are you sure you know how this works?” He dared to venture when the wine was nearing the rim of the glass. Ezra stopped pouring with one millimeter to go.

“I do. I just figured you could use it,” Ezra shrugged as he poured himself the normal amount.

“I was that much of a mess, wasn't I?” Crowley asked before carefully slurping some wine from the top of his glass. It tasted like what he imagined a mouldy gym sock to taste like, but still, he persisted. It wasn’t so bad once you got used to it.

“If I'm completely honest, you still look like a mess.”

“Of course I do.”

“I don't care that you do. And I don't know what all that in the bookshop was about and I can imagine that you absolutely won't feel like it, but if you want, you can always talk to me.”

Crowley groaned. What he had said and done in the bookshop was the last thing he wanted to think about right now. He placed his wine on the table and sat down on his white leather couch, his back hunched slightly.

Ezra followed suit.

“These last few days, I've been thinking a lot. There are things in my life that you've made me reconsider and I just don't know how to cope,” he admitted, masterfully dancing around Ezra’s quest for answers. Crowley gazed up, and Ezra seemed to be taken aback.

“I'm sorry dear, but I'm afraid you're giving me too much credit.”

An exasperated laugh escaped Crowley's throat and he took another swig from his wine. It seemed to taste better this time around, but then again, perhaps that was only because it was starting to work.

“I'm really not. You were right about my job. I'm actually glad to be out of the office for a while. Lucy seems to be the only redeeming factor. My work is boring, and Hastings and Liggett, the head of studios and head creative, they make my life a living Hell at every chance they get. It gives me security, but it drains me. And it certainly doesn't make me happy…”

Ezra reached and took his hand. It was soft and warm. Hot, even. And yet, Crowley didn't recoil. In fact, he squeezed back.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel this way,” he whispered.

“No, it's… It's okay. I needed that wake-up call, I think. I mean, now that I'm drawing and painting and having fun again, I'm actually realizing how shit my job is,” Crowley smiled, but it quickly faltered. “Except if I were to quit I would have to figure out how to make a viable income from my art.”

Ezra raised his hand to make a suggestion.

“Drawing portraits in the park for tourists is an absolute last resort,” Crowley insisted.

And Ezra immediately lowered his hand again.

“I appreciate it, though. And you in general, you know.” He took another swig from his wine for courage. “You,” he started, “are very…”

Oh, God, Crowley, what were you thinking?! You literally just reconnected with him two days ago, shut uuuuuuup!

Another little voice in his mind that, had this been a cartoon and not real life, would have manifested as a tiny devil on his left shoulder shouted kicking, screaming and pulling at his hair.

Just fucking say it you fucking coward, you started this, now with God as my witness, you’re going to finish it!

"Persuasive?" Crowley tried.

Ezra quirked an eyebrow.

Wrong word. Try again.

"Learned?"

He frowned.

Fuck. Third time's the charm.

"Wise," Crowley finally settled on.

Ezra smiled. "Thanks, but I'm not that much older or smarter than you."

"Since when does that matter?"

Ezra shrugged. "They say wisdom comes with age."

"As do wrinkles, but you still look like one of those, whatchamacallit…" Crowley wracked his mind for his hungover art history lessons. "Cherubs, was it?"

"That's what I get for not smoking," Ezra smirked.

Crowley placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. "You're too harsh, angel."

"There it is again. Are you planning to keep calling me that?" Ezra asked. Nothing in his tone remotely suggested any objection to this.

"Is that a challenge, angel?" the taller man teased again, leaning closer.

Ezra, on the other hand, leaned backwards. "What are you trying to do here, Crowley?"

There was a pause. Crowley’s breath caught in his throat. The realization that he had no idea what he was trying to do hit him like a brick wall.

Well.

Of course he knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to have a nice evening with a good friend whom he also had a crush on. Why was that so hard?

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said as he pulled himself back. “Just, kinda… I don’t know…” He glanced away. He couldn’t bear to look at Ezra any longer. It was like the angel on his shoulder said, they had just started to reconnect, and now Crowley was going too far too fast. “Forget I ever said anything, I guess.”

Ezra laid a sympathetic hand on Crowley’s back and rubbed firmly between his shoulder blades. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come uninvited. You made it quite clear that you needed space and I didn’t respect that…” he said as he gave Crowley’s back another pat. However, upon likely realizing the irony of the situation, he quickly removed his hand and scooted further away on the sofa. “I should go. You can keep the wine. Consider it a gift.”

Crowley didn’t move an inch as Ezra got up and made his way back to the door. He only buried his face in his hands with a deep sigh.

“Until tomorrow.” he heard Ezra mumble before the door clicked shut.

He’d fucked up.

#EN #fanfic #Good Omens #ineffable husbands #human AU

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porkchop-ao3 · 7 years ago

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Park Chinois: PART 2/3

Part One - Part Three

The second part to I.C and reader’s date! SFW.

The singer, a woman dressed all in red, stepped down off the stage with mic in hand. She strutted down the middle of the room where the table layout created a sort of aisle for her, glancing from patron to patron as she went. Every now and then she'd sing a few lines to one of the tables before spinning around on her way to the next one. When she paused at our table she flashed us both a wink, then she was off. It was quite captivating really, being so involved in her performance. Rick and I watched her, completely entranced. Eventually though, she made her way back to the stage where she was joined by a pair of dancers.

“This wasn't at all what I expected, this is fun!” I told Rick, and he seemed pleased with my reaction.

“I had no idea about this either. It-it's certainly a surprise.” He snorted, though he didn't seem at all displeased by the way the night was turning out.

Our appetizers arrived shortly after that, carried over with grandiosity by the waiter and placed in front of each of us with a beaming smile and well wishes to enjoy our meal. I looked down at the plate in front of me and quickly realised just how stark the food to plate ratio was. Little portions of crab were elegantly stacked in the middle with a drizzle of chilli sauce and a few sprigs of some green stuff. It looked beautiful, but two mouthfuls and the whole thing would be gone. A glance at Rick's plate told me his was the same. On his plate sat a beautifully presented, yet singular dumpling. His face said it all.

“What's this shit?” He snorted.

“Oh, but it's just the appetizer, you wouldn't want anything huge…” I trailed off.

“Yeah but-” he jabbed his fork into his dumpling and held it up. His plate was pretty much empty already. I snorted, and quickly covered my mouth and flashed him an apologetic look. He couldn't help but become amused too, the edges of his mouth lifting despite his attempts at keeping a straight face. “Jesus.” He sighed, shaking his head.

Without further complaint, he stuffed the whole thing in his mouth in one go. I blinked in surprise, watching him chew the entire contents of his plate. He made a pleasant humming sound and shrugged.

“Tastes alright.” He admitted.

“Well, at least there's that.” I laughed, picking up my knife and fork and cutting myself a small piece of crab, I intended to make mine go a little further than his. It was tasty, and I was sure to savour each bite, no matter how few there were. Rick was back to picking at the bread (which the waiter thankfully left for us), though that was dwindling too.

“Do you want the last piece?” He asked me, nodding towards the remaining slice of sourdough.

“You can have it. I don't want you starving to death, sweetie.” I teased. He rolled his eyes playfully and dipped the bread into some unidentifiable chutney, by the look on his face when he bit into it, he wasn't a fan. He finished the bread without any condiments.

Unsurprisingly it didn't take me long to finish my appetizer, and I couldn't help but wish there was at least a little more of it.

“How was yours? I'm sorry I didn't ask before you finished, I blinked while you were eating it.” He said. Some of Tailor's sarcasm seemed to be rubbing off on him and I snorted.

“It was delicious, thank you. Just enough to whet my appetite, and that's all an appetizer needs to be.” I gave him a grateful smile and sipped my orange juice for the first time that evening. “Holy shit.” I exclaimed, suddenly feeling glad for the loud music, which helped to stifle my curse.

“What?” He asked me, his face dropping, clearly thinking something was wrong.

“This orange juice is incredible, it's the best I've ever tasted. Have you had some?” I asked, taking another big sip. The flavour burst in my mouth like I'd just bitten into an actual orange. I didn't know what I was expecting from freshly squeezed orange juice, but it was clear I'd never actually had it before.

“Mm, yes, squeezed between the thighs of virgins.” He murmured haughtily, picking up his glass and swirling it's contents before taking a dainty sip, pinky out.

“I think you're getting it confused with Cuban cigars.” I laughed harder than I should've and he simply grinned at me. The waiter stopped by our table, noting the empty plates. They were really on it with the service in this place, that was for sure.

“Are you both finished with your appetizers?” He asked us, and Rick and I nodded. “Let me get those plates out of the way for you, did you enjoy your dishes?” He smiled, lifting the empty plates away one by one.

“Yes thank you.” I beamed.

“Absolutely, nothing like a nice, light bite to really make you work up an appetite.” Rick said with a smirk, and I resisted the urge to shake my head at him.

“Well I'm very pleased you enjoyed it! Your next course will be with you shortly, and I hope you're even happier with those.” He smiled widely at us both before adding. “Is there anything I can do for you both in the meantime?”

“No, we're good thank you.” The two of us agreed, and with a nod, the waiter left us.

The singer on stage was no longer singing, she had joined the two dancers in a routine, while the band continued to play instrumental music. Some of the dancers would occasionally step down off the stage and do part of the routine in the aisle, again bringing us into the performance.

“Do you think you'd come here again?” Rick asked me out of the blue, and I thought for a while as I looked at him.

“It's a little early to tell, we haven't had our main meals yet. But if you're trying to find out if I'm having a good time, I am.” I assured him.

“I'm glad. I'm just curious about h-how you're finding living the high life. Like, if this is the kind of thing we should do more often.” He murmured, resting his head on his fist as he watched the dancers.

“If you want my honest thoughts? This is nice and all, but I don't necessarily think we need to do this often. I like our dates, I like exploring new places and chatting with the owners of those small family run restaurants and feeling at home there. I like how sometimes we go to a place and the food is terrible, but it doesn't matter because it was dirt cheap and we can have a laugh about it later. But mostly I just like going to those places with you.” I watched a smile appear on his face as I continued, though he didn't look at me. “I said to Tailor earlier; you could've taken me to McDonald's tonight and I'd have been content cause what's important is we're celebrating together. The fact that you went to all this effort and wanted so badly to give me this experience is a huge bonus.” I explained, still waiting for him to look at me though I could always tell when he was listening carefully because he'd absentmindedly run the tip of his tongue back and forth across his bottom lip.

After a while, he finally turned to look me in the eye. He wordlessly leaned forward, lifting up off his seat just a little, so he could kiss my lips. The kiss was delicate, light, but full of tenderness and it made me forget everything but him. I couldn't care less that this perhaps wasn't the proper place for public displays of affection. I couldn't care less that people might be staring. Let them look! All I cared about was him. And when he finally broke away and realised his tie had been dipping in his drink the entire time, with a chuckle I thought to myself; this is who I am meant to spend the rest of my life with.

As Rick tutted and patted his tie with a napkin he muttered; “This is why I don't wear these things.” sending me into a fit of girlish giggles.

Our main courses arrived very quickly, just like the waiter had said they would. As the plate was lowered down in front of me, I could've laughed until I cried. I frankly didn't know how I kept a straight face. Especially when Rick's was placed in front of him; his face was a blank canvas as he blinked down at his food.

If you'd told me that this was an appetizer, I would've believed you.

My sea bass consisted of a small fillet in the center of the dish, scattered with thin slices of kumquat (which I learned was some kind of orange) and sauce, a sprinkling of herbs. That was about it. I'd maybe get five mouthfuls out of the whole thing if I were to eat ordinary sized bites. Rick's stir fry was presented in a narrow line across his plate, each element neatly and perfectly placed, like every slice of vegetable or chunk of beef had been placed individually by hand. I couldn't deny that the thing was pretty, both dishes were attractive and appetizing, but considering the price, the quantity was a bit of a joke. The more I thought about it, the less surprised I was; posh restaurants typically served small portions, though they were meant to be delicious enough to make up for it. And that was what we were yet to find out.

We both thanked the waiter and he walked away, and as soon as he was out of earshot Rick said;

“Thi-this looks lovely, but… I'm not used to these tiny portions. I'm gonna be starving after this. I'd consider getting dessert but I don't know if I can handle being served a teaspoon of ice cream with a sprig of mint on top.” He just sounded astounded at this point, not even angry or upset.

“I know what you mean, baby, but let's just give it a try, hm?” I said softly, patting the back of his hand before picking up my knife and fork. I gathered a piece of fish along with some of the sauce and kumquat, and Rick tucked in too with a soft sigh. I popped the fish into my mouth, chewed once, twice, and immediately realised; I did not like kumquat. At least not with fish. I didn't let my face betray this though, I smiled as I chewed, nodding my head appreciatively.

“Yep. I don't like ginger with meat.” Rick just came out and said it after swallowing his first bite, his lip turned a little in a grimace. “Th-this is the problem with posh places, they all have weird shit in the food and I think it only tastes good if you've got rich taste buds.”

I accidentally snorted, covering my mouth as I continued to chew through my amusement.

“How's yours?”

“It's good!” I told him, it was almost true. The fish was delicious and cooked perfectly, it was just the sauce it was slathered in I had the issue with.

“Good?” He cocked his brow at me.

“Yeah.” I smiled.

“You don't like it, do you?” He deadpanned.

“I do like it. It's interesting, I've never had anything like this before.” I said, averting my eyes as I went in for another bite.

“It's interesting, huh? You mean gross?” He smirked.

“Rick.” I sighed, feeling my cheeks flush. “It's not terrible, okay? The sauce is just a little weird for my not rich taste buds.”

“I thought so.” He chuckled. “Look, baby, don't eat it if you don't want it. I won't be angry.”

“I want to eat it, it's honestly not that bad if I just scrape off most of the sauce.” I assured him, he laughed again, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of it all.

“Jesus Christ.” He said under his breath through his laughter. “Le-let's just eat up and we can go somewhere else.” He added, spearing some veg and meat and stuffing it into his mouth unceremoniously.

“We don't have to go anywhere else, you've spent enough money.” I shook my head, beginning to feel incredibly guilty.

“Money doesn't matter, don't worry about it, seriously. Th-this is just… let's call it an unsuccessful experiment. It's just a bit of fun in the end.” He shrugged his shoulders. I watched him for a moment and he really did seem unphased by it. He had a soft amused smile lingering on his face, which made me feel a bit better.

I continued eating, getting more and more used to the flavour as I went. By the last few bites I no longer found it all that unpleasant, but it wasn't something I'd ever have again. After finishing I felt pleasantly satisfied. I wasn't particularly full up; I was comfortable, but I knew it wouldn't be long before I was getting peckish.

I drank some more of my orange juice and soon realised how little you actually got. Though the glass was tall, it was incredibly narrow towards the bottom, meaning as soon as you drank what was in the flared out top, the rest of the glass was barely a mouthful. Wow. They can't even be generous with the orange juice? I couldn't help but think the place was a total rip off.

“The thing is, I can tell this is decent food. Someone would like it. It's just not for me, you know?” Rick said as he wrapped up his meal, swigging the last of his drink too.

“I agree. It's high quality, cooked beautifully. It's just not to my taste.” I shrugged.

“I'd prefer going out for a proper steak somewhere. Give me some chunky oven chips like every other restaurant in this country has and I'm happy.” He grinned.

“Trust me, you get bored of those chips very quickly.” I rolled my eyes. They were served with almost every dish in every English pub, it was like there was an abundance of chips and they were just trying to get rid of them.

“I doubt it. A little salt? A little vinegar?” He kissed the tips of his fingers. “And that's coming from a dessert fanatic. Speaking of, d-do you want dessert?”

“Honestly I didn't see anything that caught my fancy when I looked. If we're having pudding I'd rather have something from your truck.” I admitted, shrugging my shoulders a little. The look on his face was a mixture of flattered and proud.

“That can be arranged.” He nodded thoughtfully.

“Of course, if you'd like dessert here, don't let me stop you.” I held my hands up, knowing what a sweet tooth he had.

“Nah, I can almost guarantee my ice cream will be better.” He said without a hint of a joke. I cocked a brow and grinned.

“Ooo, look at you! I like it. Confidence.”

“Hey, I put heart and soul into my ice cream. I-I-I don't just mix up stuff with fancy names, expecting everyone to love it, which I assume is what they'd do here.” He glanced down at his empty plate as if to prove his point.

“Oh, I agree. Yours definitely would be better.”

“Are you both finished?” The waiter appeared out of nowhere again. When we both agreed, he continued. “Could I get you any desserts?”

“Ahh, no thank you. Couldn't possibly eat another bite.” Rick said, leaning back in his chair and patting his stomach. My face must've betrayed my amusement.

“Are you sure? I can bring you the menus again and give you some recommendations, see if I can't tempt you?” He said with a bucket full of charm.

“No, we're good. We'll just have the bill, thanks.” He reiterated, and the waiter nodded.

“I'll just get that for you, sir. How will you be paying?”

“Cash.”

The waiter nodded again and off he went. Rick pulled his wallet out of his inside suit pocket and opened it up. My eyes widened at the thick wad inside.

“Place your bets, baby, how much'll it be?” He grinned at me and I rolled my eyes.

“That's not a fun game, just don't tell me, okay?” I pleaded. He chuckled a little.

“I won't.”

The waiter brought over the bill inside a little leather bound book, he busied himself with checking up on the surrounding tables for a moment. I averted my eyes as Rick looked, and then filled it with the appropriate amount of cash.

“I have no fucking clue how much to tip.” He whispered to me.

“You're the American! I thought tipping was like… part of the culture.” I hissed back.

“Fuck it.” He sighed. Shoving an unknown (to me at least) amount of money into the booklet. He closed it and placed it down on the table and right on cue, the waiter turned back to us.

“Wonderful sir, I do hope everything was to your satisfaction.” He said, gathering up the check.

“Yeah it was all great.” Rick told him, already rising from his seat with a tight lipped smile. It wasn't as if he was trying to be convincing, but the waiter ate it up.

“I'm glad. We hope to see you again soon, enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“Thank you.” I nodded at him and rose to my feet too. Rick held his hand out to me and I took it, he led me through the restaurant back to the entrance, where the bathrooms just happened to be located. He knew me well enough that he automatically waited outside the ladies room for me without me having to ask, I always needed the bathroom before leaving a restaurant and this time was no different. Except part of the reason I wanted to go this time was to check if they had fancy hand lotion in there. They did.

Getting back into the familiarity of Rick's ice cream truck felt like a bit of a relief. It wasn't as though I hadn't enjoyed the evening, I absolutely had, I just felt a little out of place in places like that. It was nice to be able to lean back and feel comfortable away from the prying eyes of well off diners and overly attentive waitstaff. I reached over and touched Rick's knee once he'd climbed in, and he looked over at me.

“Thank you for tonight. I really do appreciate all the effort you went to, and I had a lovely time.” I smiled at him, stroking up and down his thigh just a little. He caught my hand, interlacing our fingers so he could lift it up to kiss the back of it.

“I know it's not been perfect but I'm glad you got something out of it. And we aren't done yet. W-w-we're gonna go to that planet you like and we're gonna fill up on ice cream.” He told me, placing my hand back down on his knee so he could start up the truck.

“The planet with all the stars?” I smiled brightly at him.

“That's the one.”

Sitting up on the hood of Rick's truck, indulging in a wafer cone filled with chocolate and caramel ice cream, enjoying the view; was perhaps the highlight of the evening. It was just quiet and calm, the air was warm and the two of us were bathed in light from the sky. Oh, the sky! It was the reason this particular planet was my favourite Rick had ever brought me to. It was night time all the time here, but the sky was lit up with billions and billions of bright stars. I could see the colours of the galaxy we were in swirling and blanketing the whole sky; rich pinks and purples and reds… it was the most breathtaking thing I had ever seen and every time we came here, my words failed me.

Rick was leaning up against the grill of the truck next to me, I could feel him pressed up against the side of my leg and he was staring up at the sky too as he licked his own ice cream. Neither of us had spoken for a long time and that was okay, we could enjoy the easy silence between us. Well, almost silence. Critters could be heard all around us, similar to crickets in that there was a constant harmony of sound from all directions, but here it was a deep bassy hum that I found extremely relaxing.

I'd licked down to the cone of my ice cream, and I crunched through the wafer, disrupting the hum. Rick wasn't far behind me though, so I didn't feel like a noisy nuisance for long, and we soon finished our ice creams. After having some of Rick's delicious ice cream, I was feeling much more full up; it was the perfect end to the evening. Rick eventually turned around, stepping closer to me so he was standing with his tummy against my knees. He brushed his hand across his mouth to remove the residual crumbs from the wafer, and licked his lips.

“Do you want to go back yet?” He asked me; I was quick to shake my head. Wrapping my arms around his shoulders I bent down to kiss his forehead, my lips lingering for a few seconds.

“I want to stay here for a bit, if that's okay.” I whispered, and he nodded.

“Anything you want, baby. I like it here anyway.” He smiled up at me, leaning his hands on the hood of the truck either side of me.

I tilted his chin so I could join our lips, giving him short, sweet kisses until he chased me, keeping our mouths connected for longer. He tilted his head, opening his mouth, he tasted sweet and his tongue was still a little cool from the ice cream. I parted my legs and wrapped them around his waist, perfectly content to stay locked with him like this until I could no longer breathe.

Tbc...

#rick and morty #rick sanchez #rick sanchez x reader #my oc #ice cream rick #fanfcition

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rue-by-another-name · 7 years ago

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10 Reasons to read Marlie B’s ‘Novelty’

Okay, so I’m sure you’ve all already seen me posting about my good, cute, adorable, passionate, smart, sassy friend Marlie ( @hey-marlie ) and her novel - ‘Novelty.’ But I figured I’d just clue you in to some of the things you’re missing and why it’s such an important piece of literature that you should definitely at least sneak a peek at. Marlie is a really talented writer, whether she believes it or not, and I’d love to share this story with the entire world.

So, that being said, let me just Buzzfeed this bitch and tell you the Top 10 Reasons why YOU should be reading ‘Novelty’ :

1. Fallon Ford - The main character is an aspiring writer working on her senior capstone project. She’s spunky, short, affectionately called a ‘Tiny Demon’ by her ex-best friend (and total hottie). Fallon Ford is a strong and confident woman, and she may be a hot mess in her brain about her writing, but she’s got some serious power moves out there with the way she handles her work life, academic course load, friendships, and free time. Her fashion is kind of basically the cutest mix of vintage boss-ass bitch, and she’s a literal fucking ray of sunshine. We need more more strong female protagonists in our lives, and Fallon’s main goal in this novel isn’t to find a man and be happy - I mean, sure, she’s Out There and Getting It with some total hotties that I will mention later, but her main goal and aspiration is to become the best writer she can be and do her best. And that, my friends, I think is super awesome.

2. Diversity - The cast of ‘Novelty’ is super diverse and it’s not the kind of diverse that is trying to make a statement, but the kind of subtle diversity that is a part of all our lives and should be talked about more. When asked about her diverse cast of lovely characters, Marlie responded by saying: “initially i don’t really think i noticed that my ‘cast’ per say was quite diverse. my college campus is 50% international students - on a campus of less than 1,000 students - and so having extremely diverse classes, or diverse ‘friend groups’ and all that is super normal. we have a really active lgbtq community, and so that’s a huge norm in my life and so i really wasn’t questioning it until i was pinteresting and realizing that i’ve got a really good group of kiddos that i’m molding to perfection and helping them be the best versions of themselves. so i think it’s obviously important to have representation, and i think it should be second nature that we don’t have to think ‘oh i have to have a character to fill out ____ quota’ because then what’s the real reason you’re doing it, ya feel ? so yeah … definitely a diverse squad, but that’s how it should be. and i’m really happy with the characters i have so far and i’m looking forward to what’s to come ! thanks for the shout out ! it means a lot and it’s good to reflect on these things.” Her characters represent multiple members of the LGBTQ+ community, multiple POC - African American, mixed-race, Vietnamese, Bangladeshi, and Puerto Rican. Marlie also tackles body image and represents all her characters in all shapes and sizes.

3. Friendship - The friendships in ‘Novelty’ are the kind of healthy relationships with a bit of banter and tough-love that I think we can all learn lessons from. The relationship between best friends and roomies Fallon Ford and February Vale is one for the books. They are supportive of one another, basically co-habitating grannies, who help each other dress, motivate the other in their fields of study, and also find the time to hold each other accountable for their actions and emotions. There’s no judgment, no secrets, and while their friendship is a central part of the novel, it’s not something that Marlie overdoes or feels the need to include in every chapter. It’s authentic and organic, and it’s a great lesson in how a friend can be supportive in multiple situations. Honestly, they’re just super cute, and it’s nice to see how they interact with one another both in private, in public, and respect the other with utmost love and adoration.

4. The Enemy - The main plot and conflict of the novel comes in the form of a tall drink of water known as Dane Jacobs. He’s a year older than Fallon, a post-graduate teaching assistant at their university, and he and Fallon share quite the history. They’re the best friends to enemies trope wrapped up in an angst blanket that makes your heart throb whenever they’re alone together. But what sets Dane “The Enemy” Jacobs apart from other enemies to potential-lovers trope is that he’s not diminished to an abusive or degrading male who sees the female as inferior to himself. Yeah, the fall out he and Fallon had was not quite the separation many of us would ever want to feel in our lives. But Dane doesn’t put Fallon down in any way when he’s assigned to be her advisor for her project. If anything, their banter and quippy remarks to one another show the deep rooted friendship they once shared, and how their separation from one another since the breaking off of their friendship has impacted them in a more emotional way then they’d care to admit. He still supports her writing and is honest with her - sometimes a bit too honest - and only wants her to do best. He masks it by saying he wants her to do well so he can be graded fairly on his work ethic as a teaching assistant, but I think we can all agree he’s doing it because deep down, he still loves Fallon and wants to see her succeed. Plus, he has an adorable puppy named Watson who makes an appearance whenever we need him most.

5. Breaking Masculine Norms - Where the obvious pairing a lot of us are hoping for is the reunion of Fallon and Dane, there is one character that has waltzed into Fallon’s life in a big way - Lawyer Tom, the ultimate hottie. Marlie writes Tom in a very specific way - he’s not buff, or strong. He’s a freckly, unruly red-haired, tall and lanky man with bony shoulders and a nose that wrinkles when he laughs. He’s not your typical heartthrob, but he’s mouthwateringly perfect in every single way. He comes into Fallon’s life at a time where her love life is in a bit of disarray, and in the past couple chapters we’ve come to learn that Tom is the gentlemen-status all men should aspire to be. He lets Fallon stay overnight after a night out clubbing and doesn’t expect anything from her but her company over dumplings. He visits her at work when she tells him she’s nervous about getting back to her normal shift. He even finds time to make morning runs with Fallon fun by going out for breakfast quiches at a little cafe every morning. He’s quarting her platonically and it’s so goddamn adorable and quirky. Yeah, they kissed once and it was hot hot hot, but he hasn’t kissed her since and he’s letting her take the relationship at the pace she wants. She’s the one who has to ask him on dates, and he’s the one who’s always justifying her emotions and actions whenever she’s feeling down or insecure. He’s a great support system and is open about his emotions and the fact that his home life hasn’t been the absolute best in the past. He’s confident in his work, is constantly calm and at peace with his surroundings, and enters every situation with grace and poise. Not to mention he has the most amazing relationship with his younger brother Cody, and honestly, is my new ultimate hero. He’s the role model all men should be aspiring to be, and the fact that he’s being so patient and kind and wonderful with Fallon is a huge turn on.

6. Success in Art - The legendary roommate February Vale is a goddess not only casually in life, but also in the art department. I know this is only a little tiny thing, but February is also in her senior year of university and she’s already had great success in her art career. It’s not often we see characters studying art portrayed as successful, or as having a grip on their education. The concept of the “struggling artist” is romanticized and oftentimes degraded to nothing more than just a hobby. But February expresses everything that’s wonderful about art - immersing yourself in your project, applying to galleries and exhibits, and being raw with your art in a way you sometimes can’t express yourself in words. When February came out as bisexual to her parents, it wasn’t received well and she took those feelings to the canvas, winning her awards and slots in galleries all through London (the characters’ home base). Marlie also never explicitly mentions what kind of art February is most interested in or establishes as her signature, and so I think that is truly important for us as readers to depict what we consider to be successful art and know that it can not only come from a student, but a woman, and a damn wonderful and courageous one at that.

7. The Banter - One of Marlie’s greatest triumphs in writing is her dialogue. She’s taught me so much about how to find multiple voices in your characters and to embody those personalities within their conversations. The banter between all the characters - primarily the snippy and sometimes crass comments rapidly fired back and forth between Fallon and Dane - is exceptional. The characters come to life through their words and expressions, and it’s a great way to not only connect to the characters yourself, but to really feel as if you’re standing there watching these characters interact. The office scenes between Dane and Fallon are truly amazing, and the flat scenes Fallon and February bring to life are hilarious. You can tell that these characters are can portray different versions of themselves depending on whether they’re in public or in private, and I believe that’s a great attribute to the great writer behind the words.

8. Pinterest - Per a request from an anon, Marlie has constructed an entire Pinterest account dedicated to storyboarding the personas of her characters. Every outfit mentioned, every studio described, and every action played out by each individual can be found within the boards of the Novelty Pinterest, and is a great outside resource to gaining a better understanding of who these characters are and how Marlie is envisioning them. They’re super fun to scroll through, and I oftentimes find myself going back to the characters mentioned in each chapter and attempting to find the outfits they were wearing, or the coffee shop they were sitting in. Seriously, it’s the absolute most unique thing I’ve ever seen a writer do and I’m fascinated by it.

9. Updates - Marlie is extremely good at making sure the updates are on time every single week. She updates every Saturday mid-morning and provides her own thoughts on the chapter as well as some insights to her writing mind. If Marlie has received any donations to her ko-fi page that week, she works hard to make sure the updates go up faster. She’s even posted on a Wednesday before. So really, you’re always getting new content and always learning more about the characters and the story, which is really truly wonderful.

10. Marlie - Obviously I’m going to talk about my girl. Marlie has been writing for ages, but has never really shared anything with anyone in public like this before. She’s taken what little concepts I had about these characters and this world and she’s run with it. I get the most random texts from her at 3am saying she has this great idea for how to develop a specific relationship, or introduce a certain character. She thinks everything through and edits the shit out of whatever she’s written so that it’s pristine by the time it’s published. She works so hard, and she lives with these characters in her mind 24/7. The thought and care that goes into her writing after each chapter and how she interacts with her readers is so important, because she will write paragraphs depicting specific, seemingly minute moments from the previous chapter, only for your mind to be blown as you learn something that you may have missed. She’s a lovely human and cares so deeply for her writing. She’s been helping me for years, YEARS, with my own writing and the fact that she’s out here creating this whole world and community of her own now is fascinating to me. There is nothing this girl can’t do, and I am constantly in awe of each chapter and the emotions I feel even if it’s what she considers a ‘filler’ chapter. She’s a keeper, that’s for sure.

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SO, those are the top ten reasons why you should be out there reading ‘Novelty’ and supporting our girl Marlie B. There are so many other reasons why the novel is as amazing as it is, but I think what it all comes down to is having a writer who cares about her readers, cares about her writing, and cares enough to want everything to just make sense. I’ll put all her links below so you can explore it all you want, but let’s support some new writers on here and make sure you’re reblogging what you like. Circulating what you’re reading is so important! And this girl deserves our love for sure.

Thanks for everyone who is already out here representing our girl and for all the questions and donations you’ve provided for her! She loves it! And she’s going to kill me for posting this! But I love her so freaking much! If anyone ever wants to freak out about each chapter with me, I’m always here to fangirl. No doubt about it. Thanks for your support, everyone! Have a great weekend.

Read ‘Novelty’ HERE Support Marlie B HERE Find the Pinterest Boards HERE Ask Marlie B a Question HERE

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