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morifinwes · 4 years

Note

Lauraa I finished all the fics, apart from decay (currently reading that now) and I love it sm! Especially the lip gloss one lmao the whole thing was so hilarious to me XD but also like the concept of lwj wearing lipgloss is >>> -yibobibo

@yibobibo then i'm going to rec you some more!! the lip gloss one was !!!!! ajsksks yes!! lwj wearing lipgloss is just so!! good!!

modern

this one is the painful one i talked about:

visitations by var_abelasan (12K, wip, divorced wangxian, post divorce, most of this is angst, uhm lowkey don't but also do want wangxian to end up together, it's messy, the jiangs & lans are shitty, wwx was in prison (brief mentions of that but it's kind of a major plot point), mxy & xy are the little brothers he never wanted but wwx picked them up anyways)

"Wei Ying-" Lan Zhan says, stutters, "I'm sorry."

And now Wei Wuxian sees it, the red rimming Lan Zhan's eyes, the rumpled edges of his blazer. There is an old, familiar urge for him to reach over, to hold Lan Zhan's hand and smooth his hair, to tell him that everything will be fine.

"We're all a bit sorry about this, I think," he says instead, and finds that he means it. For Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji and everyone else in that Guanyin temple, the pain must be unbearably fresh, like skin just flayed open. But Wei Wuxian's chest had been cracked open a long time ago, his wounds licked and cauterized and sewn shut over five long years - Ever hurting, but a dull, constant ache, "It's really alright, Lan Zhan."

Five years after being accused of corporate espionage and losing everything, the Guanyin Scandal breaks open and Wei Wuxian finds a familiar face at his door.

please don't let me be misunderstood by sysrae (3K, partly deaf!wwx, lwj notices, nobody else does though, idk wwx is like made out of fucking steel or some shit)

Lan Wangji has known Wei Ying for a fortnight, the first time he sees him get hit by a car.

light by redkosmos (10K, blind!lwj, which causes angst, but they manage it, best friends to lovers, fluff, lwj being insecure and feeling like a burden, college au kind of? but it doesn't matter too much)

The realization slowly dawns on him.

He can never again see the brightness of Wei Ying's eyes, the way they crescent when he smiles, never again see the rich black of his hair, the mess of it in the early mornings, never again see the beautiful tan of his skin, the beauty of the scars and marks adorned on it, how he wears his clothes, how it hugs his frame beautifully, how he looks like he's adorably swimming in cloth when he wears Lan Zhan's, and-

(Lan Zhan loses his vision in a car accident and learns to cope with it.)

don't leave me by trippinonskies (19K, brief very brief mention of lwj cheating, he doesn't but wwx is afraid lwj is cheating on him or just wants to break up with him, (he doesn't), marriage proposal, lwj acting distant = wwx's insecurities show up, fluff, angst and comfort)

Lan Zhan! Where are you lost today?” Wei Wuxian finally asks, at the end of his patience.

Lan Zhan looks a little guilty as he looks at Wei Wuxian, “Sorry, just a lot of work to deal with.”

Lie.

If there is one thing Lan Zhan can’t do, it’s lying. Especially to Wei Wuxian. But he doesn’t question Lan Zhan. He just accepts the reply, too scared to know that he is right. Too scared to know the truth.

// or where Lan Zhan is too hung up in planning the perfect proposal and ends up accidently ignoring Wei Wuxian making the other think that he wants to break up //

want you closer by xiaobucephalus ((3K, HORSES, only in the background tho, but wwx is an equestrian vet, which is so fucking valid bro, the lans own horses, a sick bunny, lwj the bunny parent!, super cute, dark bay throughoutbred chenqing is honestly so valid)

“Thank you,” Lan Zhan said, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Don’t thank me, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying laughed again, his voice warming the chill of fear that had settled in his chest. “I’ve been looking for an excuse to get into your hutch for a while anyway.”

safe in your thoughts by anonymous (20K, it's a cherry magic au???? (i haven't watched it, but you have i think?), horny lwj but only for wwx (always for wwx))

Wei Wuxian learns three very important things on the night of his twenty-seventh birthday.

One, that Lan Wangji is ridiculously funny, which Wei Wuxian had known before but what Wei Wuxain hadn’t expected was Lan Wangji to be funny at his brother’s expense.

Two, that Wei Wuxian had finally gone mad, absolutely mental at the ripe age of twenty seven because nothing else would explain the third thing he had learnt.

Third, and the most unbelievable of the lot, that Lan Wangji wants to fuck him.

iura by yoo_im_finally_writing (1K, only added bcs op is right and wwx would've the cutest german accent, it's more fun if you understand german so hit me up if you want translations for the german sentences)

Wei Ying calls in the middle of the night to talk about German law, and Lan Zhan tries very hard not to fall asleep. Or at least, not to let Wei Ying notice he's falling asleep. (As best friends do.)

breathe in the air, the last of its kind by wereworm / @neverdoingmuch (27K, getting together, jealous!lwj, but also kind of supportive, brief mention of cheating bcs of miscommunication, no actual cheating tho, college au, lwj pov)

Following Wei Ying’s line of sight, Lan Wangji can barely prevent a smile from crossing his lips when he sees the short row of rabbit statuettes placed at the front of the display. Silver, with bright gems for eyes, they look elegant yet lively and animated.

“A-Yuan would love one of those,” Wei Ying murmurs, almost as if to himself.

Lan Wangji frowns; the rabbits, while cute, don’t seem like a suitable gift for Wei Ying’s A-Yuan.

...

It’s only when he glances back at the rabbits and notices what has been placed on display behind them, that the pieces fall into place. They’re engagement rings, there’s no doubt about it. Lan Wangji feels his heart sink – Wei Ying isn’t just dating A-Yuan, he wants to propose to him.

Or: the five times Lan Wangji thinks that A-Yuan is Wei Ying’s boyfriend and the one time he learns the truth.

paint smears on sunny days by snowshadowao3 / @angstsexual (53K, getting together, art teacher!wwx, single parent!lwj, they're rich if i remember right, wwx & lwj are both good with kids!!!, this is so good actually, fluff)

To say that he runs to his car would be incorrect, as he is a Lan, and running is both undignified and unnecessary unless in immediate danger. Nor does he slam his key into the ignition, or aggressively swerve around the cars on the freeway, or have a mild panic attack at the fact he is picking A-Yuan up late from school for the first time ever.

He comes close, though.

By the time he arrives, it’s 4:35PM, and he has imagined about fifty different worse-case scenarios. The door is partly open when he gets to it, a messy label of 104B—Art Room scrawled with chalk on a placard next to the faded wood. As he opens it fully, he expects to see a wailing, terrified child, or perhaps a scene of utter misery and betrayal.

What he finds is his son, hands covered in paint, being sung to by a beautiful, dark-haired stranger.

“Ducks live in the pond, yellow ducks, happy ducks!”

Lan Wangji stops in his tracks.

(Or: Falling in love with your son’s art teacher, in five parts)

no bunny compares by gusucloudbunny (4K, god this is cute, fluff)

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian cornered his friend one week before his birthday. “If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?”

Lan Wangji furrowed his brow at Wei Wuxian, not exactly sure how to answer that question in a truthful manner that didn’t involve confessing his undying love for his best friend.

Wei Wuxian is on a mission to get Lan Wangji the perfect gift for his birthday. What Wei Wuxian doesn't know is that the only thing Lan Wangji truly wants is him.

wei wuxian's week of realizing things by photojenny (12K, i have read this multiple times, i always forget what happens, idk why but my notes say it's good, the tags say drunkji makes an appearance and i'm always up for that)

"Lan Zhan, do you like Mianmian?" asked Wei Wuxian.

Lan Wangji blinked, and stared. It was not the first time Lan Wangji had questioned the perceptiveness of the boy he had a crush on. Wei Wuxian had been smart in the class they had taken together. Yet time and time again, Wei Wuxian had tested the old wisdom that there are no stupid questions.

---

Lan Wangji must figure out how to confess when Wei Wuxian is the most oblivious person he's ever met.

are you my wisdom tooth? because i'd like to take you out by yellowcarnations (1K, crack, fluff, lwj stop flirting with a stranger, even if he is your husband, drunkji but make it to max level)

Lan Zhan wakes up and he has no idea where he is.

There are bright lights and his jaw hurts, he doesn't who this man next to his bed is but oh he might be in love, maybe, probably, definitely.

–

based off that guy-forgets-who-his-wife-is-and-hits-on-her vid but its wangxian.

beep! goes his heart by wearing_tearing (3K, fluff, lwj is like "he, he likes me right? he likes me" and everyone is like "yes, yes he does")

“Wei Ying’s heart monitor,” Lan Wangji starts.

Wen Qing blinks at him. “Yes?”

“It beeps.”

“That’s… what they generally do, yes.”

“The beeps change,” Lan Wangji continues, “when others are around.”

Wei Ying’s heart only sings for Lan Wangji.

canon

obedient and bellicose by thunderwear (19K, lwj is cursed by the lan elders, they notice too late, fix-it fic kind of?, lqr being a good uncle and lxc is a good brother, wwx accidentally uses the curse but he doesn't know about it)

It took Lan Wangji a long time to realize he was cursed. Too long really, anyone else would have noticed so much sooner. The problem was, he liked following the rules.

Ella Enchanted AU that no one needed but I wanted.

hello my old heart, how have you been? by ravenditefairylights (10K, amnesia, fluff, wwx taking care of lwj, so much fluff and softness, angst too but not that much)

The issue is, Lan Wangji brings his thoughts back before they stray too far, that it is impossible for someone to be in his bed, unless Lan Wangji himself invited them. He has not. He would remember doing so, and besides, all his night clothes are still on and there is no headache to imply that he was inebriated last night. No, the situation is simple.

There is someone in Lan Wangji’s bed. It is impossible for anyone to be in Lan Wangji’s bed, and yet that doesn’t seem to have stopped the stranger.

or lan wangji wakes up, and wei ying is there. he doesn't understand how or why, and he can understand even less why his hallucination of wei ying is so insistent on bathing him, and braiding his hair, on holding him and fixing his clothes. why the hallucination of wei ying seems so happy to see him.

teach me the way by likeafox (58K, rogue cultivator!wwx, horny wangxian, lwj wants wwx to teach him how to be a good lover, ....wwx is a virgin, the porn is the plot, but there's less of it than i thought)

"I do not wish to leave my future spouse… dissatisfied with my intimate knowledge,” Lan Zhan says, very seriously. “I am hoping to find an instructor, to better prepare myself for such matters."

Wei Ying feels his mouth drop open. He's pretty sure the Second Jade of Lan just told him he's a virgin who wants to learn how to do sex good.

Rogue Cultivator Wei Wuxian is the stuff of local legends. Some of those legends are even true! The ones about his tremendous experience in bed, on the other hand, are not so true. Which becomes a problem when Lan Wangji, on the verge of an arranged marriage and worried he won’t know how to please his future spouse, enlists Wei Ying's help to teach him the art of love-making. Wei Ying's great at improvisation, though, and is pretty sure he's got this sex mentor thing under control. What could possibly go wrong

other aus

of god: my love unholy by tunnelodfawn (3K, tw blood / war, dark!lwj, god!wwx, kind of poetry)

Lan Zhan takes everything as a sign from his god. The blood staining his fingertips—a holy anointment. He sanctifies himself through blood. The strings of his guqin gleam red in the sun—a divine blessing. This is an instrument of destruction. A single note—a cry of power—and in this note the voice of his god unravels the earthly threads tethering man to earth.

The Yiling Patriarch blesses Lan Zhan with war. Wei Wuxian blesses Lan Zhan with agility. Wei Ying blesses Lan Zhan with love.

The base of the Yiling Patriarch’s shrine is the home of Lan Zhan’s knees. He worships. There is something of the blasphemous and the unholy in his prayers. He prays not for victory but for the sight of Wei Ying. Bless me with your presence, he begs.

Or, wherein, Lan Zhan bridges the gap between the mortal and the divine—the worshipper and the god—with blood.

the river and the sea by sasamelons / @sasamelons (7K, soulmate au, arranged marriage (wangxian with each other), they're both kind of dumb but i love it)

Lan Wangji gritted his teeth, wishing to just be left alone. "I am looking for my soulmate," he ground out.

"Oh."

It took Lan Wangji a few moments to realize that Wei Wuxian had stopped following him. When he looked back, the other boy seemed to be frozen to the spot, eyes wide and lips still parted. He quickly looked away when he saw Lan Wangji looking back. "I see. Well, have a good trip!"

At six years old, Lan Zhan met his soulmate on the streets of Yiling and promptly lost him again.

At sixteen years old, Lan Wangji met his betrothed and was determined not to like him.

#so...i realized i forgot to check the things i already listed but? i tried to avoid listing fics twice?#yes i've mostly been reading oneshots these past few weeks idk why but i can't seem to find any long fics #or at least not ones that i like #wei wuxian #lan wangji #wangxian #wangxian fics #mdzs #mdzs fic #cql fic #the untamed #aamna tag #we're almost through the rec list now? i have so much open but idk why i add so few #i'm just really picky when it comes to which ones to write down and which ones not #and then this became a kind of comfort list?#idk?#but also ANGST #not Angst but ANGST #fun fact: Angst means fear in german

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terrm9 · 3 years

Text

after all that i’ve done (Tatum x Lina)

This is officially part 2 of you give it to me anyway; however it’s perfectly readable as a one-shot, too.

WC: 4.4k, Rating: M (mature)

Warnings: swearing, mentions of army injury, alcohol & drug consumption, sex - only talking about these things, nothing graphic.

Author’s note: As expected, this doesn’t meet my writing goals at all. I got tired of looking at it, though, so here it is. Thank you so so much for reading and leaving a feedback, it means the whole world to me <3

Five weeks.

Five weeks of separation, five weeks filled with texts and phone calls and face-times and there was also a letter waiting on Lina’s bed one day – for old times‘ sake, Tatum joked.

And Lina has never been a patient woman, no. She hated those five weeks, in all her honesty.

(We managed five years, I can handle five weeks, she has been telling herself on repeat.)

The five weeks have passes. Lina’s year at Vancross was over. Election has been won.

She is home, at last. Home in Rutherland. Home in Mendozas‘ living room, Tatum’s arm wrapped around her shoulders and her own around his waist.

Leaning into his side and blushing under the attention she is getting from Mr. Mendoza, she is home.

(At last.)

„Lina!“ Tatum’s dad beams at her, a smile so wide she is sure his cheeks hurt. Where is all that Tatum’s stoicism coming from, she wonders (and then she remembers, those damn five years. Tatum used to be a perfect picture of his father – huge smiles and carefree laughters; there is nothing inherited in who he is now. He has become who he is in those five years.)

„It’s so amazing to see you again,“ Mr. Mendoza – Jerome, he insists – breaks her out of own mind. „Tatum couldn’t stop talking about you these past few weeks. It’s been Lina here and Lina there and ‚I wonder what Lina is doing‘ and-„

„Okay, dad, I am sure she gets it,“ Tatum interrupts, his voice carrying tracks of annoyance, but Lina knows it’s not really there. She has never seen a relationship more beautiful, more pure than the one between Tatum and his dad.

When Lina looks up at him, expression amused and an eyebrow raised, Tatum simply shrugs – he will not deny that he missed her. He will not support his dad’s teasing, either.

„Thank you, Jerome,“ she smiles back, probably just as widely. „I am more than happy to be back home.“

Tatum picked her up at the airport and Lina didn’t even consider going to her mother’s house. Without any conversation, they both knew she would be staying at Mendozas for some time.

She would be staying home.

„Well, I will leave you kids to it,“ Jerome winks at them and this time, Tatum does look slightly uncomfortable. „I promised Victoria I would help Josh with the nursery for the little one. Don’t wait for me with the dinner!“ He winks again and the suggestion behind his words is more than clear. Tatum’s hand twitches at Lina’s shoulder as he mutters under his breath.

„For the love of God, just go, dad.“

Lina is trying very hard not to think about what is happening. About how she is taking the stairs to walk into Tatum’s room – the room she hasn’t been to in six years. About how Tatum’s shoulders are tense under his tight black t-shirt, even though he is smiling softly at her as he opens the door.

About how this is all so well-known to her and yet so fucking different.

About the conversation they are inevitably having today. She is trying very, very hard not to think about that.

It takes several seconds for Lina to take the room in – to compare her memories to the present moment, to remember if the walls have always been this shade of gray and that there was definitely not a king-sized bed in teenage Tatum’s room.

"Ah," she can't help but grin as she spots the blank space above the bed.

"Where has the Emma Watson poster gone?"

Even though Tatum's face remains stoic, Lina catches a glimpse of amusement in his eyes.

"Dad turned this room into the one for visitors while I was gone," he replies shrugging. "I didn't think it would be, uh, appropriate to have the poster here."

Nodding, Lina takes the room further in and her breath hitches in her throat as she notices things that haven't changed, haven't been removed. The photo of the two of them from Tatum's eighteenth birthday party on a bedside table. The Valentine's Day card Lina made for him in the kindergarten pinned above his writing desk. The elegant black box sitting on the desk and she knows it's filled with the cinema tickets and concert tickets and the little notes Lina left from him in the books he has borrowed her. The ugliest mug ever made proudly displayed on a windowsill - Lina promised to bring him the ugliest souvenire from her trip to Prague and she came back with the mug. Photo of Lina in a long summer dress taken only a few days before Tatum left Rutherland, on a dresser (although it looks slightly rumpled and with a swell of her heart Lina wonders if maybe he had had this photo in his wallet while he was away, close to him at all times?)

"And these," she gestures around the room, "are not inappropriate?"

"Never," he doesn't miss a beat.

In two long strides, he closes the gap between them and taker her face into his hands, eyes full of that tenderness that scares her, full of affection and also, she notices, full of need.

„Lina,“ he whispers as he scans her face and Lina is not sure what he is trying to say – his eyes, God, those eyes, so beautiful, so breathtaking, screaming many things at once and Lina can only guess.

I missed you. I am so happy you are finally with me. I am, at last, at peace. I love you with my whole being and then some more.

All the things she feels within herself. All the things she is, just like him, not capable of saying. Neither of them has ever been a master of words. Of course, it has always been easy to talk to Tatum about others, about life, about nothing in particular.

But to talk to Tatum about Tatum?

(To talk to Lina about Lina?)

That’s... hard. Difficult. So easy to fuck up.

So she kisses him. Pulls him closer and covers his mouth with hers, pouring all that is unspoken into that kiss, hoping it could be enough.

(It is. It always is.)

Five weeks is a long time for everyone. It’s been fucking long time for Lina and Tatum.

The kisses are hungry, desperate, full of need and catching up, making up for the lost time – it would be so easy, so damn easy to just take his clothes off, to let him take hers off and then just have him take her.

So damn easy.

Lina knows he would do it, his higher principles be damned because the heat radiating from his body, the low rumble coming from the back of his throat, his hands caressing her torso – all a proof that he is just a man, that he wants her.

Tatum would do everything – anything – for Lina. He once told her he would die for her – and what a cliché, used by many, sung by rockstars and written down by poets, I would die for you, a confession or perhaps a promise, whispered freely by millions but meant scarcely by dozens.

Lina knows he means it. He would give up all his breaths for her.

(As she would for him. She decided to live for him, after all, and maybe that’s even more severe.)

And it’s so tempting she almost takes it, takes him-

It's the first time with you. (Spoken five weeks ago and still echoing in her head, those gentle words of his, for fuck’s sake)

- she can’t.

God, how she wants to forget what has been and what will be and just let them enjoy the moment of all that is physical and beautiful and easy - nothing that is their reality, has been for years, hard and ugly.

“We need to talk,” she whispers and she hates how her voice trembles already, trembles with all those wrong, dreadful emotions.

A long exhale leaves Tatum and he closes his eyes before nodding – and if he was tense before, he is statue-like now, the only movement are his hands, hugging Lina more tightly.

“Yes,” he says quietly and leads her to his bed, a habit older than Lina can remember – serious talks need to be taken to bed, they used to joke. Sitting next to each other, backs leaned against the wall behind them (knee to knee, shoulder to shoulder), Lina looks into his eyes briefly and murmurs: “Could you go first, please?”

There is no need to particularize what is this talk going to be about – two people that shared everything, two people who have been through most of that everything together, being separated for five years, well, that’s a lot of catching up to do.

And while they have gotten to the talks about Lina’s school and Tatum’s time in army already, while she already knows about the injury that made him leave and he already knows about all the fights she has had with her mother and how it all led to her year at Vancross, they have successfully avoided talking about the people they met in those years apart, until now.

There has been no talk about the relationships and as curious as Lina has been, she never dared to ask about Tatum’s sex life. He is her best friend, though. First and foremost, he is her best friend and she knows about the first girl he kissed and the first girl he has bought flowers for and the first one he invited for a date.

“It was not long after I joined army that I met Cara,” Tatum speaks, taking Lina’s hand into his own, fingers intertwined. “She was a cousin of a fellow soldier and lived in a town nearest to our base. She came to visit him fairly often and she was impossible not to notice,” he chuckles quietly. “So loud and cheery and full of joy. Everyone was excited to see her after some time. She brought life to the people that mostly talked about death. She never hesitated to show me that she likes me. And you know, at army, dating is anything but easy – but Cara was understanding. So we started dating after five months.”

His voice is soft when he tells her all of it (so freely, so naturally, and Lina wishes her story – her stories – could be that easy to tell, too), as is his smile. No matter what has gone down between Tatum and Cara, there is no grudge he is holding, not a sign of hatred. And maybe Lina should feel jealous, maybe there should be a pang of something inside her ribs, something uncomfortable. There’s nothing.

If anything, she is grateful that Tatum had someone he could rely on for all those years. Grateful that Cara had been there to look after him at times Lina couldn’t.

„She was always so,“ he hums for a moment. „So happy. It didn’t take long for me to understand that the happy face, the loud laughter, that those things were her cover up for something terrible, something that was making her miserable. But she never wanted to talk about it and so I didn’t ask. As she didn’t ask in return.“

Tatum’s head bumps into the wall softly, too and his gaze is on a ceiling when he speaks again.

„She was a good girl. And the relationship was... nice. Easy. We made sure it would stay easy. And in that easiness, it lacked depth. I have never gotten to know her better and she has never gotten to know me.“

A long silence follows and Lina wonders if she should ask more, if she should interrupt his thread of thoughts. Before she can say anything, Tatum speaks again and this time, his voice is filled with regret.

„She had your hair.“

She reminded me of you, is what he is not saying.

„How long did the relationship last?“ Lina asks when the silence gets too thick, too uncomfortable.

„Three years and something.“

„You broke up when you had to leave army?“ she prompts softly, curiosity getting the best of her.

Tatum shakes his head before looking down at Lina and responding.

„No, we ended it before the injury happened. She found the photo of you in my wallet one day, after the discussion about my driving license – she needed to see the thing herself and as she opened the wallet, the first thing she saw was, well... you. She asked me ‚So this is the girl you are trying to forget?‘. After my initial surprise, I only said that you are my best friend.“

Breaking the eye contact, he looks ahead before finishing the story.

„‘The best friend you are in love with?‘, she asked again and it was the first time someone said that aloud. I couldn’t lie to her, not when she asked so directly. She said she understood and you know what Lina? I think she really did. I never found out who was she trying to forget, but she did understand me.“

„And after Cara?“ Lina asks, even though she is afraid she knows her answer.

„After Cara, there was nobody.“

„Are you-,“ she takes a deep breath to calm down her rapidly beating heart. „Do you really mean that you only slept with Cara? Ever?“

Tatum laughs at that, squeezing Lina’s hand. „Life in army – or healing after the injury you have gotten there – do not exactly give you opportunities to get laid, galyetas.“

„Oh,“ is all Lina manages to breathe out. „Oh.“

Oh, shit. Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

This is her worst nightmare. This is worse than anything she feared.

Lina feels Tatum’s gaze on her, an unspoken ‚It’s your turn‘ hanging between them but she cannot, she cannot.

She feels like throwing up and crying at the same time and she cannot do this, she must run and run and run until she cannot catch her breath and never return because Tatum, her Tatum, deserves everything and she can give him nothing.

Not daring to look at Tatum, Lina tries to take a deep breath – to take any breath (and it feels like she has done the running already, she ran away and yet here she is, next to the man she loves, next to the man she is going to destroy.)

"You know you don't have to tell me anything, Lina," Tatum whispers, his knuckles caressing Lina's colarbone softly - a touch featherlight, almost too tender to bear.

And she needs to take another deep breath, the fire inside her blazing sedulously (painfully. It hurts to burn for Tatum, it pains as much as it pleases).

It all feels too much – his touch, his presence too good, too terrific; it feels like a dream.

(One she will soon turn into a nightmare)

„No, I do,“ she chokes out at last and finally looks into his eyes, forcing her memory to capture them fully – the chocolate brown of his irises with the specks of deep green in them, the dilated pupils and that damn warmth seeping from them, all those emotions. His eyes are smiling at her, eyes loving and caring and once she tells him everything, all of that love and care and smile will be gone and she begs her memory to remember Tatum’s eyes.

She begs her memory to forget everything but Tatum’s eyes (beautiful and breathtaking)

„I missed you,“ she begins. „I missed you like hell, Tatum, From the moment you were gone, it hurt. And I needed to find some kind of distraction, something to fill my mind with. The letters were not enough sometimes.“

Her voice is so apologetic, cracking after every other word and she hates it, hates how it sounds, hates how it is certainly telling Tatum where this is going, already.

“It was…” she stops and shrugs, trying so desperately to find the right words - which is ironic, really, as there are hardly any right words for this. “Manageable, that first year. I got drunk or high - sometimes both - went home, reread your latest letter and cried myself to sleep.”

Determined to look straight ahead of herself, Lina doesn’t see Tatum’s intense gaze on her. She feels it, however. (She always feels him, no matter her senses.)

She also hears his faint scoff.

Manageable has probably not been the most right choice of a word, then.

Then again, she has never done this before. Has never spoken about those years without Tatum to anyone.

Years of loneliness she decided to fill.

(Needed to fill, so desperately.)

Years of self-hatred that still lingers.

„The letters stopped coming, then,“ she whispers and even though she knows now why, she knows about her mother contacting Tatum only to ask him to stop sending them because it’s ‚too hurtful‘ for Lina; even though she knows all of it, she cannot keep the hurt from her voice.

„It was maybe three or four months after the last letter that it began to dawn on me, that another one is not coming. I was at this party and the first time, it was not planned, not intentional. It just... happened. I was getting drunk and ready to go home to reread the letter when it hit me, you know?“ she gulps and blinks several times to keep the tears from falling. „It hit me that I do not have anything to reread. And the guy was there, buying me drinks the whole night and he told me about his hotel room. So I went.“

Now, she needs to squeeze her eyes shut and the tears do fall and she hates them, hates herself, hates the past. But the dam has been broken and words are flowing out of her and she needs to tell Tatum everything, even if it is the last thing she will ever tell him.

„I do not remember his name and I do not remember what he looked like. I only remember that I hated every second of the sex, but the feeling of hating something else than the emptiness in me was strong enough for me to keep doing this. The second time, I planned it. And the third and every single one after that. I do not know who those people were, Tatum,“ she whispers and it scares her how still Tatum is, his hand still in hers but unmoving. There’s no reassuring squeezing.

(It’s what she deserves.)

„I never asked about their names and I never gave away mine. It happened every other week – I went to the city, got drunk, got fucked, went home. One time, paparazzi caught me kissing a woman in a bar and of course, the next day the picture was all over the magazines. My mother took a flight back home, then and I thought that maybe she would ask me what was going on, that maybe she would care. She tossed a bag my way, filled with wigs and contact lenses and told me that if I want to ruin my life, I need to make sure it doesn’t ruin her career, too. Then she left.“

Annie – Lina’s only female friend before Dionne – always used to say that what Lina is doing is a perfect example of post-breakup behavior. It never made sense to Lina. There was never a relationship. There was no breakup. She was just lonely and wanted some company.

It makes sense to her, now. She knows now that she loves Tatum in a way that is far from friendly and she knows now that she felt that way all those years ago, too. Back then, she would never admit that.

But Lina knows now. Her best friend, the closest person she has ever had, the person she’s been in love with left and Christ, that hurt more than a breakup.

„I do not know how many men I slept with, how many women. I never counted. The only thing I know that I never enjoyed the sex, not once,“ Lina scoffs and then muses, more to herself than Tatum. „Sometimes I wonder if I am even capable of that. Enjoying sex. Not that it matters,“ she adds in a rushed voice, because truly, her selfish wonder about her selfish sex life is not something that matters at the moment.

„I hate that it was that way, Tatum, I hate everything about those years you were gone. Most of all, I hate myself. But I cannot take that back. Those things are part of me now, no matter how hideous that part is.“

Silence. Long, terrible silence.

„What was the last time?“ Tatum asks suddenly and his voice is hollow, emotionless, so awfully neutral.

„Three weeks before Vancross? Maybe a month?“

This time when Tatum speaks, the emotions are clear in his voice – surprise, most of them all.

„And nobody after that? Nobody at Vancross?“

„Of course not!“ Lina exclaims, more loudly than intended – she still doesn’t look at him, though. „I was... There was no need-„ she bites her lower lip, trying to find the right words. She decides on the truth, in the end. „You were there with me. I was not lonely anymore. Not empty.“

There is a long silence, thick and suffocating and Lina feels like choking, drowning, this is the end, she thinks. She cannot meet Tatum's eyes, the fear of what she might find in them too tremendous - hate, disgust or perhaps resentment?

(All the things she would find in her own eyes, did she look in the mirror now)

And she deserves that look - the look that will crush her and destroy everything that is (was) between them; she deserves so much worse, she knows, but it doesn't make it any easier to open her damn eyes and look at him.

Taking a deep breath through her nose, Lina braces herself to face the reality, squeezing her eyes shut even more tightly, as if the counter movement of the one that is her goal could miraculously encourage her to do it and-

"I am sorry I was not there," she hears Tatum's whisper, the sound full of pain and regret and her eyes snap open without any forcible impulse sent by her brain.

What the fuck is the first reaction she manages to get out of herself.

„I should’ve fought harder for us,“ he adds and tugs her hand, forcing her to – fucking finally – look at him. „I should have been there, one way or another.“

„For fuck‘s sake, Tatum,“ Lina snaps and stands up, not able to sit calmly. „Stop this. Just...just stop this, okay? You cannot be sorry. You need to hate me, resent me. I screwed everything up. Be angry or something.“

„Lina,“ he whispers softly for what must be the eighth time that day and stands up too, cupping her cheek softly, gently enough for her to break free if that’s what she wants. „As if I could ever hate you.“

Lina’s heart breaks at those words. She is sure it does, she can feel the sharp pain in her chest and it must be that, right? Tears are threatening to fall once again and her hands are trembling and Tatum just stands there, thumb tracing her cheekbone tenderly, looking at her, waiting.

Patiently, calmly. Waiting. As he always is.

„You should,“ she whispers at the very same moment the first tear fall down, at the very moment a sob leaves her mouth. „You need to. I am not the Lina I used to be, Tatum. I am not a good person. I am all those terrible things that you are not and I can only cause you hurt. Please, Tatum, for your own sake just... please, just hate me.“

Tatum bows his head down, his lips – warm, soft, gentle – touching her cheek, kissing the tears away.

Lina’s heart keeps breaking.

„I know who you are, Lina girl. I see you as you are.“

Another kiss on the other cheek.

„It’s the past. Past that has not been easy for either of us. But it’s gone. We have each other now and I will have you for as long as you will have me.“

„But-„ she protests, only for Tatum’s thumb on her lips to stop her.

„You are not what you have done. You are not what happened to you. You are my best friend. My Lina. My galyetas. You are still the very same Lina that created the Valentine’s Day card for me at the age of five because you were worried I wouldn’t get a card from anyone else.“

They both chuckle at the memory – the bastard got eight – eight! – Valentine’s Day cards that year.

„You are still the Lina that alarmed her mother and all the assistants on the President tour because you needed to get back to Rutherland immediately – because it was the first Mother’s Day without my mom and you knew I would be miserable.“

Well, yeah, her mother was not overly happy when she had to pay for the private jet that took Lina back home. Immediately.

Tatum’s hand traces her jawline, falling down on her neck, her shoulder, her exposed collarbone until it lands on her chest, until Lina’s heart beats under it.

„You are the Lina I grew up with. You are my best friend. You are the most important person in my life and that cannot be changed. I know who you are. I see you as you are, I see you as the beautiful, loving, compassionate Lina you are and it hurts me to know that you cannot see yourself that way.“

Another sobs escapes Lina and she feels dizzy, heart beating rapidly, head underwater.

(How is she supposed to deal with this? With him and with herself?)

„I will make sure to remind you,“ Tatum whispers into her ear, kissing her earlobe there and again, Lina has no idea what to say. Again, she acts instead.

She kisses him, a deep, slow kiss and here it is again, that hope that it’s enough.

(It is. It always is.)

*** ***

Thank you so much for reading, again! I am already working on the third part in which these two finally get to the banging so I hope you won't get tired of them just yet

#l & t #foreign affairs #tatum mendoza #tatum x mc #tatum x lina #lina monroe

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consumedkings-archive · 3 years

Text

THE LAND OF GODS AND DEVILS, a sequel.

—part i.

word count: 6k

rating: m for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop, tags will be updated accordingly.

warnings: naughty language, massively canon-divergent, roman gets his own tag because he's a fucking nutso, canon-typical violence, established relationship that might not be the healthiest, age gap, domestic murder family. for this chapter in specific, roman likes to take things to the Extreme (i.e., "i'm going to fucking kms if you say this word one more time") but if you're here i imagine you know exactly what he's about.

notes: it's here! i know that most of my followers and friends on here are my friends through my far cry 5 content, but my return to the fic-writing world was inspired by my first longfic in a decade after watching birds of prey. you could say, perhaps, that i have a Type(TM), given that roman sionis lives rent free in my head forever and always. this is the sequel to my work carry your throne, though i like to think it's fairy user-friendly, especially once we really get into the thick of it.

special thank you goes to my beta and the loml, @starcrier; the first person to ever truly recognize varya for the wretched little beast that she is and love her anyway. thank you for being my beta and for loving my girl!

and, of course, another special thanks goes to @shallow-gravy, @vasiktomis, @faithchel, @tomexraider, and @belorage for being so supportive of my foray out of the far cry fandom and back into one that, in a way, brought me here in the first place!

summary: —by dread things, compelled.

roman sionis is the closest he has ever been to having everything that he wants; a perfect wife, a perfect family, a perfect international black-market arms dealing business signed over to him in its entirety. unfortunately for him, there are people in the world who would prefer to see him without, and that has never been a thing that roman has accepted for himself: being without.

(or: a fic wherein the devil spends his time rebuking sin.)

“If one more person says the word ‘chandelier’ in my presence,” Roman announced, drawing all eyes to him, “I'm going to blow my fucking brains out. Got it?”

There was a brief moment of silence that lapsed before the murmured acquiescence of the workers marked their return to their work. Blowing hot air from his mouth, Roman raked his fingers through his hair and turned back around to where Zsasz was watching him expectantly.

“What?” He demanded. “It’s my wife’s birthday.” Emphasis on the my, not the wife; it was not a favor Roman was doing for Varya, it was something he was doing for himself.

“V told them she wanted it.” Zsasz gestured to the offensive piece of lighting, which continued to haunt Roman’s waking and dreaming hours with its garish crystalline drippings and expensive bulbs. Ever since Varya had found out his fluctuating approval of the chandelier, it had been in and out of the Black Mask Club more times than he could count. Not that he needed to; he could very well put in or rip out a stupid fucking light fixture as many times as he wanted.

“Well.” Roman pulled a glass out from behind the bar, setting it on the top and dropping an ice cube into it. “She does so love to torture me.”

“It's just a—”

“Do you want my fucking guts on the floor, Zsasz? I mean it. Say the word and I’ll do it.”

The blonde regarded him drily. “No, boss.”

“Blood and guts everywhere.” Roman gestured widely with his free hand. “All over the floor. The bar top. You’ll have to clean it up. Maybe wipe down some of the bottles.”

“I won’t say it.”

“I don’t have to tell you how hard it is to get blood out of the carpet.”

Zsasz’s mouth quirked up in a smile. It said, without saying anything at all, no, you don’t. More agreeably, and with the flash of pearly whites and the capped tooth: “Sure.”

Roman poured well over what would have been considered the polite amount of expensive scotch into his glass, capping the bottle and setting it aside. It had been exactly twenty-four hours of making sure the club was perfectly polished and styled for Varya's birthday; though she was shrewd, she was so preoccupied with the twins and the lawyers and overseas business associates that she barely seemed to notice whatever was coming in and out of the Black Mask Club. He didn’t think she’d had a baby nor a phone out of her hands in over two days, and truthfully, it was starting to become tedious. Now that the twins were a little over a year old, they were supposed to be scheduling their honeymoon.

The delay of it hadn’t been a big deal, at the start. But everyday with you feels like my honeymoon, Varya had demurred months before the twins’ arrival, fluttering her lashes and gliding her fingers along the lapel of his jacket—and not even an hour after she’d curtly informed him that any more chatter, while she was nursing a headache, would be met with a swift and efficient extraction of his vocal cords by her own hands. Motherhood was supposed to have domesticated her, Roman thought, and had done the exact opposite; now, she was more assured of her status and power than ever.

So, yes; Varya had been busy, and he was almost certain she’d forgotten her own birthday. Never mind that everything had to be perfect. Never mind that it had to be immaculate. Never mind that Varya had deigned to order a brand new fucking chandelier from the same place they’d gotten one last time, knowing full well that he had made the executive decision to gut the fucking thing and get it out of his club.

“Tell you what, Zsasz,” Roman muttered, taking a swallow of the amber liquid in his glass, “don’t ever get fucking married. You want someone knowing all the shit that pushes your buttons all the time?”

“Maybe you just got a button pusher for a wife.”

Roman grimaced and took another swallow. It was true. “Fuck off.”

The blonde opened his mouth to say something else—and hadn’t he gotten confident in himself too, since Varya had become such a permanent fixture in their life, constantly goading and coercing him to voice his opinion on things, things that normally he would just defer to Roman on—when the doors to the stairwell and the elevator opened.

Eclipsing the doorway was Armazd, Varya’s hand-picked-from-the-batch-of-Russians-left-over-guard. Armazd had to be easily cresting six-foot-five, his dark beard neatly trimmed and peppered with silver, a scar breaking the color of his top lip. Roman had only ever seen the man swathed in dark clothes, like a fucking mourner on parade. His wife had been the one picked to be the twins' nanny, despite the fact that Roman felt like she barely did anything.

Also hand-picked. Thoroughly vetted. Interrogated for hours. No stone left unturned, when it came to Yuli and Ro.

“What are you doing down here?” Roman barked, coming around the side of the bar to make his way across the room. “You’re supposed to be going up and keeping—”

“She is coming down,” Armazd clarified. “In the elevator. Irina called to tell me.”

“Instead of stopping her?”

“She was—”

The elevator dinged in the hallway, and Roman quickly ducked around Armazd and closed the door into the club behind him. As soon as the doors slid open, he planted a smile on his face and closed the distance between himself and his wife.

Nobody would know, looking at Varya, that she not only barely utilized the nanny that they had furiously vetted and now paid handsomely, but that on top of juggling their twins she was actively in the process of getting a massive, international gun-running business signed over in his name. There was not a single hair out of place, not a single crease or rumple in the sapphire-blue silk of her blouse or skirt; the scent of her preferred jasmine perfume followed her like a cloud. She looked as put-together as the day he’d first seen her standing in his club.

And now, he desperately needed her to stay out of it.

“Kitten,” he greeted warmly, his hands—though gloved—immediately scratching the itch by reaching for her; they captured hers to carefully still her procession to the club’s main room. “What are you doing down here? I thought you’d be busy for hours.”

“Yuliana has been fussing nonstop,” Varya replied, her voice light despite what could only have been an expression of frustration quickly following, “all while I listen to grown men fussing nonstop at me on the phone.”

Roman feigned a sympathetic noise, bringing her hands up to his mouth to kiss them. “We have a nanny, V.”

“You know better than anyone else,” the brunette murmured, brushing her nose against his as their hands dropped, “that she is inconsolable without you.”

He tried not to look too pleased. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Don’t be modest, Romy.”

“Well, I’ll come up, of course.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “And console our princess.” Another kiss, to the other corner. “So that you can continue letting grown men fuss at you.”

She beamed at him prettily, and finally they met in the middle for a real kiss—nothing coy, nothing demure, but lingering warm and just between the two of them.

“I love you,” she purred. “Go on, then.”

And then Varya pulled away, as though to go around him and into the club, and Roman blinked rapidly. He had only just caught her around the waist before she could walk in and pulled her in a full one-eighty until she was facing the elevator again.

“What are you doing?” she asked, a laugh bubbling out of her. “I was just going to make myself a drink.”

“Encouraging productivity,” Roman replied, hitting the button for the elevator doors to open again. “Ready for all this paperwork to be done, aren’t you? It’s been over a year.”

A year of wading through mafia-esque bureaucracy. A year of listening to Varya say, these things take time. A busy year, to be sure, jam-packed full of things—the biggest wedding in Gotham since its founding, the twins.

A funeral.

Roman tried more and more every day not to think about his (now) brother-in-law’s funeral, the double burial of the only man that might have stood a chance at being loved by Varya more than Roman himself and the only man who had ever been anything like a father figure to her. Family is tedious, he’d wanted to say, brothers and fathers and mothers, the whole lot of them, cut them loose why don’t you? Why should anyone matter to you outside of the twins and I?

Varya glanced at him over her shoulder. “These things take time.”

He rolled his eyes. “Mhm.”

“Not to mention, we were a little busy,” she added, eyes narrowing playfully as he nudged her into the elevator, “you know—having children.”

“And what beautiful children they are.” Roman hit the button without looking, the doors sliding shut behind him.

“Well, how am I supposed to suffer through those phone calls without a stiff drink?”

He quirked a brow upward. “I’ll make you a stiff drink, Mrs. Sionis.”

The brunette propped herself up against the back rail of the elevator as it whirred into motion. The corner of her mouth, painted ruby, curved and her head tilted inquisitively. “Oh?”

“Of course,” he demurred, sidling forward and boxing her in against the wall. “I’ll make you a stiff drink—”

He dropped his head to the slope of her jaw to plant a kiss there.

“—you’ll finish up with the lawyers, and put on the dress I bought you—”

Varya hummed and sighed sweetly.

“—we’ll go out to dinner for your birthday—”

He dropped his hands to her hips, planting a kiss on her temple so that he could rumble, “And we can get to work on baby number three, hm?”

A sweet laugh billowed out of her just as the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open to bring to Roman the oh-so-sweet sounds of a caterwauling infant. Over the distressed crying was Irina’s voice, shushing and cooing dulcet words in Russian; he could see her swaying to and fro with a swathe of fabric bundled in her arms.

“I almost forgot about my birthday,” Varya said thoughtfully, completely unrattled by the sound of their daughter’s distress. She stepped out from between him and the elevator wall; Roman fell into step beside her easily, the sound of her heels clipping against the floor enough to draw Irina’s eyes to them.

Roman said, “I know you did,” and did not bother to hide his smugness as he held out his arms for the shrieking baby in Irina’s arms. The redhead regarded him with a sort of weary amusement before she acquiesced; with Yuliana safely in his arms, he watched Varya cross the room to turn the automatic rocker that held their son back on to a slow, lulling pace. The freckled infant babbled happily—ever the quieter of the twins—and as Varya said something to Irina in Russian that inspired the woman to depart to the kitchen, she absently picked up a baby blanket from the couch and wandered over to him.

“Yuli,” she murmured, waving her finger at the already-content infant, tucking the blanket around her “is that all you wanted, hm? Just for your papa to hold you?”

“What else could she want for?” he replied confidently. Soothing Yuliana’s fury had become old-hat for him at this point. And, certainly, it pleased him to know that sometimes, the only thing that would make his daughter stop screaming was being held by him. Not even Varya—who had taken to motherhood like a fish to water—bothered when she was in a fit.

Still, the brunette sighed dreamily, her finger captured by their daughter’s tiny hand before she said, “What a perfect little gem.”

Roman hummed his agreement. “Finishing that call with the lawyers?”

“Perhaps tomorrow,” Varya replied. “They’re in a mood today.”

“They’re in a mood every day.” Russians, he thought venomously.

“Yes.” She smiled, flashing pearly teeth at him. “But only today is my birthday.”

She had him there. Still, he was itching for the whole thing to be done—Ilarion had dragged his feet through the process of even drawing up the original contract, which had only been a spit in his face (“You are the only person who gets to fuck Varya Astakhova, that is as exclusive as it gets”) and by the time all of that nasty business had been wrapped up, Ilarion was dead.

Ilarion, and Nikita—leaving only a single living soul to be in charge of the Astakhov empire: Varya herself.

Which, she had expressed time and time again, she had no desire for; not in the public way that her father had done it, and Ilarion after them. She much preferred the clerical work of it all. Paperwork and public relations. Let the men do men’s work, she’d demurred one night, tangled up in their sheets, when he’d asked her what she was going to do with it. I don’t mind. They like me better as their madonna, anyway.

“You know,” she continued, breaking him out of his thoughts as she made her way to the bar cart, pouring herself a drink, “they will like you more if it’s you they’re talking to.”

“I don’t give a fuck if they like me or not,” Roman replied, lifting Yuliana with both of his hands so that he could look at her. “Isn’t that right, princess? Mommy gets to do all the paperwork so that your papa can spend all of his time with you, instead of listening to some dumbfucks bitch and moan on the phone.” He glanced at her. “Well, anyway, since it’s your birthday we can let it slide.”

“Very generous of you.”

“Get dressed, won’t you?” he prompted, depositing his now-content daughter in the mobile swing with her brother. “The table’s been ready for us since noon.”

Varya watched him, dark eyes glittering amusedly. “And why, my darling, did you make the reservation for noon? It’s nearly six now.”

“Because,” he replied, “I wanted to make sure they held it, regardless of how long it took us to get there.”

“Ah.” She lifted her chin a little, lashes fluttering with contentment when he reached up and brushed the hair from her face. “Or else?”

Roman flashed her a grin.

“Or else.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They held the table.

“Good for them,” Roman said as they followed the server out onto the balcony. The table had clearly been refreshed—a new candle, a new vase, a new bucket of ice and bottle of champagne. He’d heard the waitstaff whispering furiously among themselves as they idled in the lobby to be taken to their table; now, settled across from the birthday girl, Roman was content with the way they had squirmed.

“Quicker than the two-hour wait last time,” Varya noted by way of agreement, smoothing her hand along the edge of the tablecloth.

He scoffed. The only reason they had waited in the lobby for two hours was because Varya had asked him to stay for the table she wanted. If it had been his way, they would have left with a bloody warning and gone somewhere else. “I can’t believe I finally convinced you to leave the twins home for a night and we got stuck sitting in that fucking lobby because they gave our table away.”

“In my defense, they are good babies, Romy. Hardly ever cry. Certainly not too much trouble.”

“But there’s two of them,” he replied, “and toting two babies around is a lot of work. All I’m saying is, what’s the point of paying her that much fucking money if we’re just going to—”

The waiter came by the table, clearly a little stressed; the lines of concern on his face were clear as he cleared his throat and said, “Should I come back?”

Varya, perusing the menu: “No, my darling, you may stay. You were saying, Romy?”

“I just don’t know why we’re shoveling money into her bank account for her to be a glorified accent chair in our house rather than a nanny.” Roman gestured to the champagne bottle expectantly. “Open it.”

The waiter did as he asked, having been standing there uncomfortably for a moment during their exchange. As he worked to carefully open the champagne bottle, Roman turned his attention back to Varya; her eyes remained on the menu, absently twisting the engagement and wedding band on her finger back and forth.

There was no way, he thought, that she was putting off getting the business signed over to him on purpose. Surely, there was no way; even when Ilarion was alive, even when she had anticipated no further problems, it had always been, if you’re going to be my romantic partner, it seems only right you’d be my partner in business too, don’t you think? And yet—

And yet, Roman could not push down the strange, hazy doubt that occasionally flickered through his mind. He had always wanted Varya, had always found himself wanting and wanting and wanting more and more often, and Varya had always seemed content to indulge him. There was, it seemed, nothing she enjoyed more than indulging him. One more kiss, one more minute in bed, one more lingering glance across the room. She was the absolute pinacle of his hedonism, in every sense of the word, and had proven time and time again that she would give him anything that he wanted.

The business had always been for her and Ilarion. He wanted it, and told her he did, and she said, you can have it, if you like, but like in all things, there was a slyness about his wife—a cruelty—that he found endearing and dangerous. Dangerous, because it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d been on the other end of her cruel nature, playfully poking and unwinding and tugging the thread loose until she had pushed him to the limit.

Something echoed in his head, and he realized that the waiter was asking him what he wanted to eat. Varya had handed the menu over and steepled her fingers, watching him with dark, curious eyes and red painted lips, sooty lashes fluttering. A pretty, painted little snake.

“I’ll take whatever she’s having,” Roman said after a moment, setting his menu aside and returning his attention to the brunette across from him. “Something interesting, kitten?”

“Can I not just appreciate my husband?” Varya demurred. “You’re wearing the suit I like best, after all.”

“It is your birthday. What greater gift is there than me?”

She laughed, delighted by him—as she always was—and took a sip of her champagne. “You were away from me, for a moment.”

He watched her, gauging her carefully. Even I know not to drop my pants when a viper opens its mouth, Bianchi had said, just before Varya had unloaded six rounds into his face and chest less than two feet away from him.

“Just thinking,” is what Roman said finally.

“Hm. A dangerous past time.”

His expression flattened, deadpan. “It’s taken a significant chunk of time to secure your father’s business in my name.”

Something flickered across Varya’s expression. at the word father. “To secure my business,” Varya replied, her voice abrupt and cutting, her eyes narrowed, “in your name.” Absently, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked to be composing herself, like she’d spoken on a knee-jerk reaction rather than with thinking.

Then, glossy and silken again: “You know your patience means the world to me, Romy.”

There was nothing that he loved more than watching her pull back her venom for him. Drumming his fingers against the top of the table, Roman bridled his own irritation to say, mildly, “I’d do anything for you. Even wait...” He made a thoughtful noise. “Over a year to finally take on the responsiblities you wanted handed over to me.”

“Of course.” Varya smiled prettily, absently straightening out her silverware. “And we will speak no more of my father on my birthday, or any day after this.”

He knew what that meant. She phrased it pretty, wrapped it up in silk and velvet and presented it to him as unassuming as a doe, but he knew what that meant. There is my button, she was saying, there is my trip wire. Don’t push it, Roman. The name Nikita had all but been banned in their household, even when funeral arrangements were being made; any time he’d heard one of the lawyers mention her father’s name, there had been a sharp rebuke. Not in my presence, she would tell him later, I do not want to hear that fucking name in my presence.

“At any rate, there is nothing that I want more than for this whole process to be done,” she continued lightly, reaching across the table to take his hand. “It was always what I wanted, you know. Ilya was better suited to be a functional piece of the business; he was the face because he had to be, not because he wanted to be, and I am better suited for the nitpicking and the details. Being the overseer is much more in your circle of talents, Romy.”

Her words assauged something unsettled and prickly in him, the sweep of the pad of her thumb across the back of his hand returning that doubtful monster in his mind back to its slumber. He sighed.

“You’re right,” he acquiesced after a moment, “it is more in my circle of talents.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“I always got the impression Ilarion wasn’t happy with it,” he added. “Though you two certainly enjoyed making work of me that first night, didn’t you?”

Varya smiled demurely. “It was never meant to make work of you, only to make a good impression.”

“Hm,” he replied, eyes narrowing playfully, “but you enjoy pushing me, V.”

She looked pleased. She always did, when he remarked on something that felt like he was really seeing her, beneath the glossy veneer. His girl did so love being seen.

“Only,” V demurred, “because you so enjoy reining me in.”

“Guilty as charged.”

Roman brought her hand to his mouth, kissing the back of it before relinquishing it and glancing around. He would just have to exercise patience, of which he had the most; patience, modesty, and humility, all excellent qualities that he could participate in at will, at any given time. Without any restraint.

“Did the men get the chandelier installed?” Varya idled, snapping his attention back to her. He narrowed his eyes.

“I told you I didn’t want a chandelier anymore.”

She looked at him across the table, dark doe eyes wide and innocent. “I thought you liked how polished they make the club.”

“No, you little viper,” Roman replied, clicking his tongue, “Paolo has a chandelier in his club, and there’s no fucking way I’m going to have people comparing it.”

“Ah,” she murmured, “the drama of the chandelier goes on.”

“And while we’re at it, might as well gut that one from the estate, too.”

“There’s more than one chandelier in there.”

“Then the men will be busy, won’t they?” He tsked his tongue. “I know you dream about watching me blow my top, V, but I’m making an executive decision on gaudy light fixtures.”

A smile flashed across her expression, pearly teeth and delighted eyes. She sighed, almost dreamily, like there was nothing more that she liked than to be doing this exact thing, and with him.

“Oh, Romy,” the brunette said sweetly, “you are the only thing I dream about.” And then, almost as an after thought: “Gaudy light fixture terrorism included.” She waved her hand to dismiss any protest or rebuttal he might have given her and said, “Now, since it’s my birthday, tell me all of the things you love the most about me.”

Roman sucked his teeth, eyeing her for a moment as he leaned back in the chair. Wicked little thing, waiting to preen and glow under his attention, a feline seeking him out. Her little bout of cruelty before was already forgiven. He said, “We’re going to be here for a while, if I do that.”

“They held the table for over six hours,” Varya demurred, “I’m sure they’ll hold it for as many more as you need.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

By the time they got to the club, Varya was acting as though nothing had happened.

Truthfully, Roman preferred it that way. It just also left a lot of room to wonder—his wife was a talented actress, adept at smoothing his ruffled feathers out and not divulging her own feelings on the matter. And he wouldn’t ask, of course. If Varya wanted to express herself, she would, and had, quite openly in the past.

“I am so happy to be home,” she announced, gliding past the door to the club once Roman had opened it for her. “Do you think the babies are asleep, yet? I always miss putting them...”

Her voice trailed off, pausing a little as she seemed to realize that the club was cloaked in inky darkness, freezing just a few steps past the threshold. Roman let the door swing shut behind him, nudging her forward with a hand at the small of her back. He was met with some resistance; she steeled, stiffening against his insistence, before taking a few steps forward.

He said, barely keeping the delight out of his voice, “You’re holding up the line, V.”

“Roman,” Varya said, her voice pitched oddly soft and tight, “why—?”

The lights flashed on to a loud, unified cheer of Happy Birthday!; the club had been packed with vases of flowers, the tables donned with food and drink, and everyone worth their salt within a fifty-mile radius had made their way there. Not a single thing was out of place—everything exactly where he had instructed it be placed, and not a fucking chandelier in sight.

Roman came around in front of the brunette, grinning. “Happy—”

He stopped. Varya’s expression was not happy, or even surprised; it was something else, something that he couldn’t read, the pupils of her hot-whiskey eyes blown wide and the normally Renaissance-soft lines of her face sharpened and hardened into an expression that was more vicious.

“V?” he asked. Her eyes snapped to him, and for a second she looked the same way she had that night in the loft, her hands drenched in blood and the kitchen knife clutched in her fist with bodies at her feet: like she didn’t recognize him.

It took a heartbeat, but her expression smoothed out and she smiled, almost sheepish—like she’d been caught doing something naughty, instead of being caught being somewhere else. Someone else, more the wolf than the girl.

“The lights,” she explained, hands resting on his chest, “they startled me, is all.”

A frown creased his expression. He brought his hands up to hold her wrists, thumb pressed against her pulse point. It fluttered unsteadily. Unconvinced, Roman pressed, “The lights?”

“Just the lights,” Varya assured him. She tilted her head up and kissed him, one hand departing his jacket to go to the back of his neck—and when she kissed him, he could feel that strange little flicker of energy, like she’d been stamping something out before it could catch, but it still vibrated under her skin.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but she disentangled from him and swept around to the crowd of people waiting, beaming prettily and playing at bashfulness, as though she did not enjoy their eyes on her and did not soak their attention up like a flower did sunlight. Whatever had been plaguing her in that moment was now gone, and she was awash with attention and love, thanking people profusely and accepting each hug and cheek-kiss directed her way.

Roman brushed off the odd feeling that she wasn’t being as forthcoming with him as he would have preferred—no secrets anymore, isn’t that what they’d agreed on?—and instead waded into the crowd. Music kicked on overhead; chatter picked up to a warm humming around them; there was nothing else to think about except letting his girl enjoy her birthday celebration.

By the time Varya had made a suitable number of rounds (which tended to verge much higher than one, much to Roman’s chagrin—what tedious work, to share her with everyone else), she had barely sipped the glass of champagne someone had planted in her hand. She circled back to him eventually; like always, there was that pinprick tugging in the cavity of his chest, like they were bound by a single thread that kept them from parting too much and too quickly, and when she drew closer to him again it oozed relief, warm and vibrant, through his ribs.

“Sufficiently loved on?” he asked as she neared, hand reaching up to slide around her waist.

“By them? Certainly.” The brunette’s hand smoothed along his shoulder, the pad of her thumb gliding across the velvet of his jacket. “By you, though, not hardly. Not ever.”

“You are insatiable,” Roman agreed in a rumble. He splayed his fingers against the small of her back, tugging her in closer and brushing their noses together.

“Just for you,” Varya murmured, and the words brushed their lips together just a little—but everything with Varya, like this, felt like almost-kissing, enough to push him to some kind of edge where his stomach twisted and wrenched with want when she added, “And only for you.”

“You know I can’t resist you when you talk like that.”

She laughed, leaning in to set her glass to the side and curl her fingers into his shirt for a kiss; everything for a second felt normal, and good, and right again, the strange way she’d gone-away back in the doorway having disappeared, the dark cloud over her having cleared, her wretchedness from dinner dissipated.

And Roman kissed her, with the sound of the party chatter ringing in his ears, and kissed her with the faint taste of champagne flooding his senses when she parted her lips against his, and kissed her while his hand fisted the fabric of her dress and he managed out in a voice rough with want, “So you’re trying to rile me up.”

“I always,” Varya murmured against his mouth silkily, “want you riled, Romy.”

“Varya?”

A stranger’s voice filtered through the haze—the rose-colored one that usually accompanied Varya saying anything like she wanted him riled up—and Roman felt the irritation spike straight through it. He turned to look at the interruption at the same time that Varya did, only to find a young, handsome blonde standing just a foot away.

Varya said, sounding faint, “Maxim?”

“It has been a while,” the blonde said, and he sounded sheepish. “I called Armazd, asking after you—”

“Sorry,” Roman interjected briskly, fingers still curled—now possessively—into the fabric of Varya’s dress against the dip of her spine, “but who are you?”

His wife started to say, “Romy, this is—” at the same time that the man began, “I am sorry, my name—” and they both stopped at the same time, a strange little silence stretching between them.

“Maxim,” Varya said after a second, turning to look at Roman now. “This is Maxim. He is Artyem’s son.”

Roman stared at her, more to buy himself time than anything; she said the name like he was supposed to know who that was. Artyem, but it didn’t sound familiar. Almost any Russian name sounded like gibberish to him, and if Varya had said it to him, it had been in passing, an afterthought, nothing but a whisper of information passed between them before it was gone again.

Until it did. Until he remembered that the person Varya had thought was her father had actually been Artyem, that she’d poisoned him, let him bleed to death on the carpet while she had mentally checked out of the moment. That she had watched him die, but she had been somewhere else—someplace else, the way Ilarion had described it, very far away where she couldn’t even enjoy what she’d done fully.

And Maxim—golden, and polished, and clean-shaven—looked awfully pleasant for someone whose farther had choked to death on his own blood because of Varya.

“I see,” Roman said, even though he didn’t. His gaze turned to Maxim. “And you’ve—shown up without calling ahead?”

“I have been in Turkey,” Maxim explained, “finishing up some business, and I did not know how to get in touch—”

“Well, you spoke with Armazd, didn’t you?” Roman’s head tilted. “The man practically sleeps in our bed, I imagine he would have been happy to get you in contact with us.”

“Admittedly,” Maxim said, “I wanted it to be a surprise—”

No, Roman thought absently, venomously, that won’t do at all.

“—Varya’s birthday—”

“So you slunk in,” Roman elaborated tartly, “like a little street dog, hm?”

“Maxi,” Varya interjected, fingers absently tracing the stitching on Roman’s jacket, “why don’t you go get a drink and acquaint yourself with our friends? Armazd is just there—you see?”

Maxim’s eyes darted between her and Roman for a minute. He shifted on his feet, tilting and giving a little smile that might have liked abashed if Roman didn’t think he saw a little squirm of self-satisfaction in his gaze. Fucker.

“Of course,” the blonde replied after a moment. “C dnyom razhdyenyem, Varushka.” He took a step forward, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Varya’s thumbnail dug into the lapel of Roman’s jacket. “Thank you, Maxi.”

Once the blonde had departed, linking up with Armazd in the crowd to get introduced, Roman straightened up from the bar. It was impossible not to stare at this newcomer—he glowed with an easy charisma, flashed bright smiles that were all teeth. Roman hated him already.

“Maxi?” he asked her, eyes narrowed, and Varya sighed. He waited for her to elaborate. Perhaps she’d say they had dated once, perhaps they were literally nothing. That would be ideal, after all. Ships passing in the night.

She said, “We grew up together.”

Even worse. Roman twisted a loose, dark curl of hers around his finger. “And you killed his father.”

“Well—” She paused, mouth pressing into a thin line. “He does not know.”

“He doesn’t—” The notion that she was keeping secrets, and not from him, coiled high and happy in his throat. He tried not to sound too delighted when he said, “V, surely he knows.”

“Surely he does not, that I did it. Only that it happened. And I will keep it that way,” she added firmly, picking up her champagne glass from the bar top. “Maxim was incredibly loyal to my father because Artyem was, but more than that—he was mine and Ilya’s friend. I’m sure he is missing Ilya almost as much as I am.”

“As we all are,” Roman agreed sagely, planting a kiss on her temple in spite of the dry look she gave him. It was hard to tell, to get a read on this Maxim. What was it he’d dragged himself out of the trenches for? Just to fly halfway across the world to wish Varya a happy birthday? Above all things, Roman understood that his wife was a desirable thing, and knowing that he kept her out of the reach of others was part of her appeal—but that much? Could someone who was just a friend want that much?

He continued, “So what is it that Maxim offers to the business, hm?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Varya demurred, which didn’t sound at all like the truth. “Artyem was the one who sent him out on jobs. My father kept things tight around the top, you know. If anyone would know what it was Maxim was up to in Turkey who wasn’t my father or Artyem, it would have been Ilarion.”

“I find it hard to believe you have no idea what your father was using someone for.”

The sound of delighted commentary drew both of their eyes away; Irina had come down, both dark-haired infants in her arms, and was walking them toward Varya and Roman. Murmured remarks on what could only be their cuteness passed throughout the crowd of party-goers.

“I am putting them down for bed,” Irina announced as she approached, “and I know you like to say goodnight.”

“Oh, you are an angel,” Varya murmured, glass set aside once again. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to baby Ro’s cheek. Yuliana babbled, and she sighed dreamily, “Have you ever seen more perfect babies, Roman?”

Perfect babies, a perfect wife; soon, he would even have the perfect grip on Gotham’s neck, throttling it until it was nothing but dust and ash. Soon, but not soon enough; he’d be content when it was just done and settled, when there was nothing else standing between him and everything that he wanted. Varya, and the guns—what an odd thing, to know that a year ago he’d set out for this and it was just falling into his lap.

“Romy?”

“Never,” Roman replied, smiling and glancing back at his wife, reaching and cradling the back of Yuli’s head. “I’ve never seen more perfect babies, V.”

Across the room, Maxim watched them. There was something about it that Roman didn’t like—the way his eyes flickered, the way he looked between the children and Varya, the way their eyes met and he didn’t deflect away. Like he didn’t mind getting caught. Where had he come from? What little shithole had he crawled out of, over a year after Nikita’s death and Ilarion’s death—longer, still, since his father’s death? Hadn’t he wondered what had happened to his father?

What are you doing here, he thought venomously, that you think you can just come in here like nothing? Like I won’t root you out like the little rat you are?

Maxim smiled. It was a polite smile, unassuming kind of smile.

Roman picked up his drink from the counter, taking a heavy swallow. Suddenly, the evening seemed to stretch out endlessly in front of him, no finish line in sight.

Nothing else standing between me and everything I want.

And he was going to keep it that way.

#birds of prey #birds of prey fic #roman sionis x original female character #ch: varya astakhova #ch: roman sionis #ch: victor zsasz #roman sionis/original female character #my writing #fic: the land of gods & devils #me sweating profusely posting this #i am really excited about this though and i want to really really thank everyone who has been supportive of me pursuing this!!!!#creeping up on varya's birthday and also the one year anniversary of CYT making me super emo #<3 <3 <3

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boymeetsweevil · 4 years

Text

SS6 - MYG, FLUFF, 2900w

For @bangtancentricsblogsmain because i wanted her to suffer :)

At 3pm, on a Thursday, there’s a knock on Yoongi’s bedroom door. He had come through that very same door not an hour earlier to lock himself away from the world after a particularly draining day. After dropping his bag somewhere on the ground, he showered, removed his contacts, and pushed the laundry waiting to be folded over to the other half of his bed in record time.

Normally he would have joined his roommate and their mutual friend circle who were seated on the couch in the communal living room, eating snacks and watching a game. But this time he begged out with a quiet mumble about needing rest.

When Hoseok knocks, Yoongi makes a feeble sound to signal he’s still, unfortunately, awake.

“What,” Yoongi grumbles.

He attempts to sit up on one pale elbow and then decides against it. Hoseok’s lips twitch up at how cranky Yoongi is pre-nap before sinking back down as his expression darkens into a pitying and somber mix.

“She’s here. And, uh, she’s asking for you.” Hoseok’s eyes dart back to some unseen spot in the living room.

“Tell her I’m asleep.”

“I know you’re not asleep, Yoongi!” Your voice rings from outside the bedroom and Hoseok cringes sympathetically.

“I’ll just leave,” Hoseok says when you shove your torso through the crack in the doorway.

You wait to start speaking until the bedroom door is shut and the noises from the TV outside wash away.

“Why haven’t you been answering my texts?”

“Sorry, I’ve been busy,” is all you get.

The backpack you carry drops unceremoniously to the ground with a thud and any dregs of sleep cloying to Yoongi’s brain vanish with the sound. It’s with a valiant effort that he shoves his face deeper into his pillow. You cock your head to look at your best friend and snort at him.

Yoongi’s glasses are skewed across his face. There are thin pink lines marring the left side of his face from lying pressed to the wrinkled sheets with glasses on. The platinum blond waves of his hair, normally coiffed styled, are squashed flat against his forehead. Rarely ever does he look this rumpled and it’s hilarious.

“That’s okay, I’ll just tell you what I wrote in the texts,” you say as you make your way further into Yoongi’s small room.

A look down at your feet shows him that you’ve shoved your feet into the pair of bunny slippers he got for guests you when he and Hoseok first moved in almost a year ago.

“Basically,” you continue. “There’s good news and there’s bad news. Pick one.” You help yourself to his desk chair and swivel it so it faces him.

“Bad news first,” Yoongi says after some deliberation. He pulls the covers up to his chin more securely.

“Smart choice,” you nod sagely. “The bad news is I’m gonna have to paint your face.”

“What the hell,” Yoongi barks.

“But the good news is that I have a new job as a face painter at the kids’ section of the farmer’s market this season!”

“How is that good news for me?”

“It means I’ll be slightly less broke and I can stop asking you to buy me breakfast before our 9am.”

Yoongi doesn’t really know whether to laugh or to cry. Firstly, there’s no way in hell he’s letting you paint his face. You’ve always been shit at drawing and letting you showcase that on his skin doesn’t do him any favors. Secondly, he’s in his twenties and he doesn’t even go to the farmer’s market. There’s no reason for him to set foot on the town commons during sunny Saturdays for local produce, much less to get his face painted next to a pen full of smelly goats and screaming kids. He’s just not seeing the connection between you getting this job and him getting his face painted. He stares at you with the hope that you’ll back off but he finds that you’re just blinking back at him with a huge, proud pretty grin.

For a moment Yoongi wants to smile back like things are normal. He wants to put on a groan and act like he’s annoyed that he’s been “forced” to order you sugary coffee drinks and muffins using his own money for longer than he can remember. He wants to gently muss your hair to see you make that cute shocked face you always make. But he can’t.

Because if he does all that, he might slip up again like he did last weekend.

At 10:24pm, Friday of last week, Yoongi told you he loved you while one small bottle of liquid courage was sloshing away in his stomach. After seconds of silence ticked by like the bangs of a gong, you replied. A sing-songy ‘Aww. I love you too, Yoongi’ and a light pat on the arm. Your words were basically the mirror image of his, but somehow also starkly different. Disappointment walked him home early that night and embarrassment laid him low the following week.

But it was just a week, he’d reasoned with himself, you’d hardly notice anyway...

“Yoongi? You okay?”

“No,” he hisses and shakes his head gently to dislodge memories of that pathetic weekend.

“Are you sure?”

“Why do you need to paint my face?”

“For practice! The market doesn’t open for another month but I need to get good. Jungkook said that if I do it really well the parents will leave bigger tips.”

“So Jungkook is behind all this.”

“Yeah,” you chirp. “He’s been really helpful in the last week. Usually I’d vent to you about how broke I am but since you were so busy, I ended up hanging out with Kook. He’s honestly really resourceful and he got me the job really fast.”

The hairs on the back of Yoongi’s neck bristle at the mention of the younger “peer”. Jungkook was a constant presence at group hangouts for a long while but Yoongi could only ever think of him as a friend of a friend. There was something smarmy about the guy’s smile that he didn’t like. And the way he was always draping himself over you, teasing you, buying you food that was all his job. He can’t put his finger on what it is exactly, but something about Jungkook always put Yoongi in a shit mood.

Yoongi curses under his breath. “Why couldn’t he get you a job at the cotton candy station or managing the photo booth or something?”

“What’s up with you lately? Do you really hate the idea of helping me that much?”

“It’s just annoying,” Yoongi huffs childishly from under the blanket.

“Fine, I’ll just ask Jungkook, then.”

“No! Wait!” Your eyes flash with hope. “I’ll do it. Just—don’t bother him. Since he already gave you the job, I mean.”

“Oh, thank god. I felt really bad about asking him for even more help.”

You turn around and pull out a face painting kit from thin air and begin scooting the desk chair towards the bed. When you’re close enough, you frown.

“What?” Yoongi sniffs at his sheets for good measure. All clean.

“Nothing. It’s just...” You look down at the ground and then the chair and then at Yoongi before looking at the chair again. “I usually practice on shorter surfaces so I can get used to working with the kids.”

“Oh, just pull the little lever underneath the chair. Raising and lowering the chair is Hoseok’s favorite thing to do when he comes in here, I swear.”

You reach under the seat like Yoongi instructed, find the little lever, and tug. There’s a low hissing sound before the seat suddenly drops 5 inches. You let out a yelp while Yoongi tries to stifle a laugh at your terrified expression.

“I guess—I guess Hoseok pulled the lever too much,” Yoongi’s voice creaks with laughter. Even when you flick him in the forehead he keeps laughing.

“Yoongi, this isn’t funny. I need to practice.”

“Just so you know there’s no way I’m getting on the floor. I’ve changed my clothes and I’m actually in the bed.”

He knows he’s being a bit of a dick at the moment, but he’s only trying to rile you up. He’s not expecting you to start to get up on the bed after flipping him off. The laundry he placed on his bed that morning to force himself to fold now laughs at him from its position shoved against the wall.

“W-what are you doing?”

“I need to be higher than you to paint your face. And you’re not getting up, right?”

“Well, no. But—”

“So this is where I’m gonna work.”

You shrug like it’s not a big deal that you’re straddling him. Like it’s not a big fucking deal that your soft thighs now rest on either side of his torso, that you casually rest a hand on his ribcage while setting up the painting kit along his sternum. He hopes your hand stays further south only to prevent the rapid beating of his heart from being discovered under your palm.

“What design do you want,” your voice is quiet now that you’re closer.

Makes sense. No need to yell. But it still drives Yoongi crazy that you’re basically whispering in his ear as you lean over him to grab at the unused cup of water behind the bed frame. You revive your paints with the water while he tries to keep his breathing in check, lest he cause your paints to tumble off his torso and stain his sheets in a pastel rainbow.

“Uhh, how about an old style tiger?”

“Really,” you deadpan, “I tell you I’m just starting to learn to paint and you ask for a tiger?”

“Fine. Stars, then.” He gulps when you look right at him, face flushing to create the perfect pink canvas.

“Oh, I can do that. No reference needed.”

It seems deadly quiet in Yoongi’s room. The sounds of the living room long since died down when a crowd favorite started playing and captured everyone’s attention. Now there’s only yours and his intermingled breathing and the sound of your brush tinkling against glass.

You lean down from your perch to focus on carving out a swatch of night sky to blanket Yoongi’s stars. Your breath softly puffs low against his left cheek at the same moment the wet tip of the paintbrush hits his skin. His breath hitches a little and he’s not sure which is the culprit.

“Hold still, okay?” Your words come out in a whisper.

“Okay,” he whispers back.

Minutes pass and two shaky stars are born on Yoongi’s cheekbone. You shift around on his chest to stabilize yourself and in your movement you lose your footing a little, your right leg slipping off the edge of the mattress.

“Ah—”

“I got you,” Yoongi grunts a little as his hands fly to your hips.

He easily stops your momentum and your paints, clutched desperately in your hands, remain safe from the ground. The pads of his fingers are still dug lightly into the meat of your hips and waist. In that moment you remember just how big Yoongi’s hands are.

“T-thanks.”

“No problem.”

A slow grin spreads on Yoongi’s face when he notices that suddenly you can’t make eye contact like you were just a few moments prior.

You do your best to continue, but your gaze keeps flitting to his, only to find that he’s already looking at you. It sets something hot aflutter in your chest. The points of the stars that you thought you had a handle on turn soft and wobbly once more.

“Look up,” you ask when you’re out of other options and keep having to paint over your work.

Yoongi has to bite his tongue to keep from chuckling at how jittery you seem. It feels good to know that the effects of this proximity are mutual, that you’re feeling just as lightheaded from sitting in his lap as he is from having you sit in it.

“You almost done?” He drawls. He’s been counting the small irregularities in the paint on his ceiling to keep entertained.

“Uh, yeah, almost.”

He feels the cold kiss of the brush tip once, twice more before it returns to its makeshift home of the water glass with a clink.

“Do you...wanna see what it looks like,” you sit up then.

There’s a small hand mirror across the room that you’re eyeing. But he stops you with a squeeze to your hips, reminding you that his hands have been resting there this whole time.

“Just use my phone,” he nods to the device lying abandoned in the sheets. “Take a picture.”

“Okay.”

For some reason, your hands are shaking even with the paintbrush gone and the need for focus lifted. Mechanically you wake Yoongi’s phone from sleep and access the camera app to take a photo, shifting your weight to your knees to get above him and snap a pic. Curiosity makes you open the photo album app to see the photo you just took instead of showing it to him first. The result takes your breath away.

Yoongi looks blissfully content, almost smugly so, as he gazes up at the camera. The stars under his eyes and on the bridge of his nose look like glowing yellow freckles amidst the banner of deep navy and rich purples you used to craft the sky across his cheekbones. The paint looks good and it’s probably even your best job yet, but you can’t help yourself from looking elsewhere.

Yoongi’s tousled bed head, soft sleep shirt, and dreamy eyes bring a cloud of butterflies to your stomach. The final killer touch of the photo is the fact that your knees just barely enter the bottom of the photo. Yoongi’s hands rest on each one like they belong there.

“Yoongi.” You breathe his name like a sigh and that’s when he surges up, as if to catch his name on your lips.

The kiss takes you by surprise and you tumble down to him in a soft pile of limbs. He hums a long, pleased sound when your weight settles on top of him. The hands he had on your knees suddenly grow restless and they amble up your thighs, up your waist, around your back. His hands are ever busy gliding over as much of you as they can in the moments that you let your lips press firmly against his.

Idly you pick out the details you notice with your eyes drifting closed. Yoongi’s breath leaves his nose in puffs against your face and his sighs echo quiet in your ears. His hair is soft between your fingers and so is the collar of the worn shirt that he’s wearing. The sheets that have raised around you like makeshift linen mountains smell just like Yoongi’s sweet soap, warmed with sleep.

“Shouldn’t we—”, he plants a kiss on your mouth, “shouldn’t we talk about this,” you mumble against his lips.

Yoongi’s hands stop in their tracks along the midpoint of your spine. The sigh he lets out is long suffering.

“Sorry. I just—I got carried away.”

“I mean, you don’t have to apologize for it. I just...thought you saw me as a friend.”

“Do friends confess their love for each other? That’s new.”

“L-love?” Your eyes turn wide and starry. “When have either of us ever confessed our love?”

“Well, I did. At the bar. Or did you have to block that memory out?”

Your brow furrows at the self-deprecating turn his smile takes and you clasp one of his still-wandering hands.

“You mean—Yoongi, I thought you were just being mushy. I thought you meant, like, ‘I love that we’re all here together as friends right now’. If I had known that was a real confession,” you trail off.

“You what?”

Yoongi’s mood elevates once more, enjoying the sudden turn your rambling is taking. Teasingly he bucks his hips under you, startling you out of your bashful silence and forcing you to press two hands to his chest for balance. A cute little sound leaves your lips and he’s tempted to do it again.

“You were saying,” he grins up at you and his hands start to wander once again.

“I would have—”

“Baby, speak up.” He’s all coos but there’s a little venom in his voice. He likes how embarrassed you are.

“I would have left with you that night. If I had known.”

His shirt wrinkles up where your fingers twist anxiously. Normally you trample through Yoongi’s space, no shame or hesitation in the way you leave him on his toes. It had always been a fun game for you to see how close you could get before he’d have to draw a line, before his besotted smile would become too hard to hide. But now you’re not so sure you can handle it directed at you in all its glory.

“That’s a nice idea,” he says.

In one moment he looks like he’s really weighing the idea, serious in his appraisal. The next moment he’s tugging you down when you least expect it, bringing a corner of the blanket to envelope you both. Under the cover of weak darkness, he threads a hand through the hair at the base of your neck.

“Why don’t you tell me about it?”

#btscreatorscorner #hyunglinenetwork #networkbangtan #bangtan scenarios #yoongi scenarios #yoongi fluff #yoongi imagines #yoongi fanfic #bangtan imagines #bangtan fanfic #bangtan fluff #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts imagines #bts fanfic

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violetfaust · 3 years

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I'm interested in hearing more about why you think Margot should've been Rumbelle's daughter. Sounds interesting, but what would that mean for her enchanted forest life? I think her being Robin Hood's daughter would've been fine if not for Zelena

Okay, Nonny, since you sent this a few days before Mother's Day, I'm gonna finally take the opportunity to try to sum up and speed-run the Belle's Daughter Margot feelings that have haunted me for THREE YEARS. Buckle in; this will be more than you or anyone asked for.

Disclaimer 1: It's been, well, three years, so my memory of Curious Archer and their story is not perfect; could be off on some details here. And Disclaimer 2: I really loved Tiera Skovbye as Robin/Margot; she did a lot with not much screen time, and she and Rose had fabulous chemistry. So although she was well cast as Robin Sr.'s kid, Tiera would be perfectly believable as a Rumbelle daughter, too--maybe give her some low-lights and call it a day. We keep Tiera as Margot in this rewrite. Okay: onward.

(Since one of the few things that would have to change about Robin if she were Rumbelle’s daughter is her name, I’ll just mostly use her Hyperion Heights name “Margot” throughout this post for simplicity.)

First and foremost, the foundation of everything: Margot is so like Belle! She is so like her. They have the same love of adventure, a similar sense of humor. She took Alice on a date to a bookstore. Most of all, she has Belle’s ability to see past “the mask of the monster” to a person’s heart. There was a great scene where Tilly explained that she didn’t want Margot to see her “bad days” because she thought it would be “too much,” and Margot said words to the effect that she was there for the bad as well as the good.

Obviously, people don't have to grow up to be exactly like their parents (Belle and Rumple sure didn't)...BUT. In fiction, one of the fun parts of next-gen stories is for the audience to see how their favorites' personalities are passed down. It's just more fun to see a Henry who has parts of Regina/Emma/Neal than one who doesn't; it's fun to see Lucy resemble little Henry. And it would be fun to see Margot be like her parents (she is very like Robin Sr; not so much Zee). Seeing a character who has so many of Belle's traits becomes just more...fun...when she learned them FROM Belle.

The family feud Rumple/Hook angle turns Alice and Margot’s relationship up another roman tic notch. A classic trope! It’s about reconciliation and love remaking and erasing those old grudges. Which is even more important when we’re supposed to believe that the evidence of Rumple’s final redemption is his saving Rook.

On a more macro level: the entire claim that OUAT is "a show about hope" COLLAPSES because it ends with the annihilation of the Stiltskin family. Rumple, Belle, and Neal are all dead; Henry doesn’t acknowledge them as his family; and Gideon is a friendless and forgotten orphan in another world. I did my rants about this three years ago, but long story short: the show’s not about hope unless it’s hopeful for EVERYONE. And having at least one of Rumbelle’s children alive and happy at the end (with her True Love and friends and acknowledged as part of the family) would fix that. My objection has never been that Rumple (and even Belle) die, but the way it happened.

And of course, Rumbelle needed to have at least one other child because Kitsowitz managed to deny them even one single shared happy moment surrounding Belle’s pregnancy with Gideon and his birth. Even if the audience didn’t get to see it (and we could have gotten a glimpse in Beauty), we deserved to know it happened.

Finally: Zelena did not belong in S7, period. I know it was fun for her fans! (Although apparently there weren't enough of them to positively affect the ratings, meow.) I do know! But it was bad storytelling. She served no point in the larger season arc, and the serial witch killer plot that was invented to serve her was one of the worst and most stupid things Kitsowitz came up with in seven years, and ate up time that could/should have gone to develop other characters. (Driz and Ana come immediately to mind, instead of having them shunted off to another universe, but also Henry/Cinda/Lucy and of course Rumple since his plot was coming to a close.) Zelena didn’t even get any significant growth herself, or develop her relationships with Regina or Robin. She still didn’t express regret for the horrible things she did to characters we love (Rumple, Neal, and Robin Sr.); the only result of all that screentime was to give an unrepentant rapist a love story with a person--we barely see and have zero investment in. And even that was ultimately negated at the end of the season, because in the finale Zee’s back in Storybrooke sans Boo Bear.

So, all that said: what would have to change about Margot’s, and Curious Archer’s, FTL storyline to give us Margot Gold?

Her name—but actually very little else. (And frankly it would have been more respectful to have Belle name her daughter after Robin Sr., who was actually her friend, than for Zee to name her kid after the man she raped, manipulated, and ultimately got killed—but that ship had sailed.)

Belle and Rumple could have given their daughter any number of fairytale names after people they know, aka fresh take on a Disney character. My favorite possibilities are Aurora (and then Curious Archer could have been Curious Beauty, and done a riff on the Sleeping Beauty story as part of their FTL backstory, with a built-in TLK) and Merlin (very pretty for a girl, I’ve always thought).

But the character herself would have been very much the same: she could be Rumbelle’s jock daughter, trained in archery and swordsmanship by family friends (Merida/Mulan/Charming), but always feeling out of place in her family of scholars/sorcerers/nerds.

I am SO sorry for the length of this--there's even more under this cut!

Robin/Margot felt insecure about trying to live up to her father’s name; Rory/Merlin/Margot could have similar anxieties trying to live down her father’s Dark One rep. There could even be a similar story where she was born with magic (like Robin was) but loses it or chooses to give it up—something that would estrange her further from her family. Or, if she was Merlin, she could keep her magic but be reluctant to use it, and part of Curious Archer’s Hyperion Heights arc would be both Margot and Tilly discovering and accepting their magic. (Sapphic sorceresses for the win.)

Now, one of the cutest things about Alice/Robin’s FTL dynamic was Robin being a girl from the Land Without Magic finding her feet in an enchanted forest, with Alice’s help. But it would only take a little finessing of S7 Rumbelle’s story to get that for Rory as well. (Of course, any decent story would have a LOT of finessing of Rumbelle’s plot so that Belle didn’t die and put Rumple on a suicide mission, but again—assuming the ship has sailed…)

Say that Rory is five to six years younger than Gideon. The Rumbelle family spend a dozen years or so traveling the realms, but then Rumbelle decide that they want Gideon and Rory to be comfortable in the LWoM with their extended Charming family, so they settle back into the Pink Palace so the kids can get a LWoM education. They still take occasional journeys, often Rumbelle going to save some hapless souls, but Rory grows up primarily in SB with very few, vague memories of all the fascinating places they visited when she was a small child. This feeds her hunger for adventure along with some envy of Gideon for having so many more fairytale experiences—another thing that makes her feel like a misfit in her family. So, presto, when she moves to FTL she and Alice have pretty much the same meeting/adventures.

One of the key notes of Rumple and Alice/Tilly's relationship, showing his growth and making it so special, was how he chose to set her free of being the Guardian or whatever, allowing her to be free and get what he never had, the chance to grow old with the woman she loves. And that would be weakened if Rumple knew that by choosing Alice's happiness over his own, he was also choosing his own daughter's happiness (because we know Rumple picks his kids over himself ever time). But--he doesn't have to know WHO Alice's True Love is when he makes that choice. He could just know that there is someone, or simply realize that Alice deserves her freedom for her own sake. (Rumple's daughter also getting happiness would be a side benefit that he didn't learn about till later, and have the added perk of Rumple actually getting a narrative reward for doing something good. Which almost NEVER happened! Bonus.)

Finally: I do understand that Robin's presence on the canvas was important to fans of Robin Sr.--getting to know he's remembered and having someone carry on his legacy. Of course I get it--Rumbelle and their family not having that is my biggest complaint (of so so many).

But we don't need a grown-up Robin Jr. to be Robin's legacy. Let her stay a cute background kid with perennially baby Prince Neal. There's already a character, one we're invested in, to carry on for the Hoods: Roland. And again, it would be satisfying for the audience to learn that a five-year-old orphan wasn't shunted off from what family he had left (Regina and Henry) into another universe and never heard from again. If Kitsowitz didn't waste time with Zelena, they wouldn't have needed the idiotic Jack-is-Hansel-the-serial-killer twist, and we could have have had Roland filling the role of Henry's best friend/little brother (and therefore Lucy's fake HH dad--God, that plot was bad all the way back in season 1; why Kitsowitz why?). We'd see Roland onscreen, part of the family, at the end of the show, perhaps with his own True Love (Drizella, maybe, or better yet Gideon) and happy future.

So, that's it: the combination of Margot Stiltskin-Gold and Roland Hood tightens and heightens the storytelling throughout S7, closes some plot holes, and actually fulfills some of the show's stated themes. Who knew!

Anyone else want three years of OUAT theory vomit? 😋 Shoot me an ask!

(I actually have another one, god help us all, but I might save it till Father's Day...)

#rumbelle #ouat of all things #curious archer sort of #rumbelle family #belle french #deserved a daughter damnit #roland hood #anti-kitsowitz as all things should be #long post guys sorry #op #UN!proofread!

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eleanorfenyxwrites · 3 years

Text

You Are Of Their Ilk - Sequel to 'You Need Tending'

[1] [2]

Part 3

[Masterpost]

Traveling with Wei Ying over land rather than on the river proves to be somewhat less terrifying. Once they’ve left the town behind and there’s nothing but empty road ahead of them he finds the energy once again to dart this way and that, chasing birds and turning over stones to see what may be hiding beneath them, but without the danger of losing him in the river, Lan Qiren is less inclined to admonish him for his behavior. Instead he simply watches closely whenever he wanders too far ahead for them to hear his excited babbling and he continues his sedate pace with his nephews obediently at his sides, confident that Wei Ying will always come running back to check in with him between adventures.

Though they are too polite to say anything (or write anything, in Wangji’s case) Lan Qiren knows that his nephews must be confused as to why he’s allowing such wild behavior for his new ward when he has always expected decorum and obedience of them. He takes the opportunity to explain one mid-morning when Wei Ying has run far ahead of them to overturn a rock almost too large for him to lift and poke at whatever grubs are beneath it with a stick. They are drawing nearer and nearer to Cloud Recesses and will arrive within a day or so if they’re able to maintain their pace, and so he feels that it’s time for them to understand what roles he’ll be expecting them to take on once they’re home.

“Wei Ying is a lively child by nature and he has lived without anyone to guide or teach him for a very long time, which has led to him being unaware of proper conduct. It is in the interest of his health to encourage him for now, when he is free to behave as he always has, to make sure he feels comfortable and safe with us so he will accept our help. When we reach Cloud Recesses I trust you two will help me teach him proper behavior so that he may fit in quickly.”

“Yes Uncle,” Xichen says dutifully, though it takes a bit longer before Wangji nods and faces forward again. They walk a few more moments in silence like that before Wangji suddenly lengthens his stride - almost running but not quite – to join Wei Ying where he’s squatting by the rock. He can just barely hear Wei Ying’s delighted cry of, “A-Zhan!! Lookit the bugs!” from where he and Xichen are still walking and, utterly without his conscious permission, the corner of his mouth twitches into a hint of a smile.

Traveling with Wei Ying is not always quite so…chaotic as that, however. Since the afternoon of their first day of walking and each subsequent afternoon since, Wei Ying grows so tired after their midday meal and the excitements of the morning that he would fall asleep on his feet if Lan Qiren didn’t carry him. After the initial fright of Wei Ying doing precisely that and needing to be caught before he’d fallen on his face in the dirt, Lan Qiren spends each afternoon with the boy perched on his back, his head resting on his shoulder and his little exhales puffing against the side of his neck. Lan Qiren is well aware of how heavy sleeping children should be, having carried his own sleeping nephews too many times to be counted over the years, and so he is continually alarmed by the fact that Wei Ying feels as if he weighs nothing at all on his back no matter how much eats - even when so deeply unconscious he should feel like a sack of bricks. It’s during these hours that Lan Qiren is viscerally reminded that for all his enthusiasm and energy when awake, Wei Ying is still very much in need of recovery from the hardships of his life up to this point.

Favoritism is frowned upon, but Lan Qiren doesn’t think anyone could see Wei Ying, could look at the light in his eyes and the laughter that comes so easily - and then hold him and realize he’s as fragile and light as a songbird - without wanting to protect him and give him the things his heart desires. So far those desires are all easily met anyway. He wants to spend time with Wangji and Xichen, he wants a hug from Lan Qiren in the evening before he sleeps, he wants food (though he still hasn’t learned he’s allowed to ask for it when he’s hungry), he wants to play. Any desires Lan Qiren may have to prevent him from receiving any of these things are promptly outweighed by the memories of each time Wei Ying has shown even a hint of the depth of his injuries, mental or physical.

As frail as the boy feels to him any time he stops moving long enough to be held, it’s a wonder to Lan Qiren when they finally make it to Cloud Recesses without any further incidents like the morning in town. For the children’s sake he has elected to bring them up the mountain by a quieter path than the road that passes through Caiyi Town. He has also elected to carry Wei Ying up the mountain, uncertain of the child’s footing or his ability to climb the mountain path under his own power (and wary of his tendency to run about. As illogical as it is he can all too easily picture the boy slipping on some wet leaves and falling right off the mountain and it makes him..anxious.)

Despite entering the mountain using a lesser-travelled path, there are still two disciples waiting for them at the boundary of the wards, and though Wei Ying has been nodding off on his shoulder he suddenly goes tense and hides his face properly in the curtain of Lan Qiren’s hair as soon as it’s clear the four of them aren’t alone anymore.

Lan Qiren steels himself for the way their lives are all about to change as the disciples salute him and he recognizes that he will no longer be able to allow Wei Ying to run as free as he always has.

Upon reaching the waiting disciples, the senior of the two informs him that the elders are waiting for his report from Yunmeng and he nods his weary acknowledgement. “I will return the children to their rooms and come make my report,” he says and does his best to ignore the dread curling through him.

Getting the children settled is easy enough. Xichen is, of course, well used to taking care of himself by now and Wangji is similarly accustomed to it when necessary. The only excuse he really has not to report immediately to the elders is Wei Ying, who is not as much of an excuse as he would like as he’s gone quite still and well-behaved all the sudden even though Lan Qiren can tell from the rhythm of his breathing against his neck as they walk through Cloud Recesses that he’s not asleep.

“It’s alright, A-Ying,” Xichen murmurs softly when they’re alone on the path to the family dormitories, having apparently sensed the same fear in him that Lan Qiren has. “A-Zhan and I are going to stay with you, you don’t have to see anyone else until you’re ready.”

Wei Ying nods a few times but says nothing, and the rest of the walk to Lan Qiren’s quarters is quiet. Wangji is still young enough to share the space with him but Xichen has been living with his peers in the student dorms for years already to better pursue his studies without distraction. He comes for tea once a week to report on his own progress and of course Lan Qiren monitors his studies personally so they see quite a lot of each other anyway, but when he passes through the space to deposit Wei Ying in the room he will be sharing with Wangji, Xichen looks a little startled to see his old bed and belongings precisely as he had left them the day he moved out.

Lan Qiren attempts to unsling Wei Ying from his back to set him down but the boy clings to him with surprising strength and attempts to nuzzle deeper into the back of his neck as if hiding beneath the fall of his hair will protect him from the rest of the world.

“A-Ying,” he says quietly, carefully, more wary than ever of speaking too sharply. If it comes out a bit too flat instead then he supposes that’s at least not as bad as it could be. “I must report our arrival to the elders and it is time for you to sleep for the afternoon as you do each day.” It isn’t the schedule of Cloud Recesses to allow children of his age to sleep in the afternoon and he will have to break him of the habit at some point, but any sort of structure had seemed beneficial during the uncertainty of travel and for now he’s wary of letting Wei Ying break out of it simply because he’s feeling nervous.

It takes a bit more coaxing from Xichen before Wei Ying allows Lan Qiren to carefully pry his fingers free, and as soon as Lan Qiren gets him down on his own two feet Wangji is right there to grab his newly-freed hands and tug him over to his own bed. Lan Qiren suppresses a sigh to see that he’s likely going to also have to break Wangji out of this new habit of sharing his sleeping space with Wei Ying – it had taken a long time to break him of the habit of crawling in bed with Xichen in the middle of the night when Xichen had still been living with them, and something tells him that Wangji is going to be even more determined to keep up the behavior out of concern for Wei Ying and his already obvious desire to take care of him.

A problem for the future. For now there’s nothing else keeping him from going to the elders and so once he reminds Xichen to watch the younger pair carefully and order food to be brought to them all when Wei Ying wakes, he leaves again. He takes a moment to straighten his robes from where Wei Ying’s grip has bunched them and to comb his fingers through his hair to ensure it’s lying perfectly flat and straight down his back, though no amount of fussing and attempting to achieve perfection will raise the elders’ opinions of him, as he’s already aware. It still wouldn’t do to appear too rumpled despite what he considers the very valid excuse of having been traveling with three children for the last few days and not even allowed a bath before being summoned.

No matter. He knows what has to be done and to give into the anger it could incite in him would only make the experience even more unpleasant than it promises to be. Best to simply get it over with and spend the rest of the day attempting to figure out how he’s going to balance his usual duties to the Sect and to Wangji’s education with the new duty of teaching Wei Ying how to be…well. Something besides a half-feral street child.

The elders are, of course, already assembled when he arrives and he feels the weight of their cold, perpetual disapproval as keenly as ever as he kneels in front of them to offer them a greeting and begin his reports.

“The guards at the boundary reported an unexpected individual with you upon your arrival,” Lan Feng says after Lan Qiren has delivered his last account of the business he had discussed with Jiang Fengmian while in Lotus Pier. Her tone is just acerbic enough to be plausibly deniable but impart her displeasure with him nonetheless.

“A child from Yunmeng and a new ward of the Gusu Lan,” he replies with a nod in her direction.

“The children’s hall is not prepared to accept a new occupant.”

Lan Qiren very carefully doesn’t curl his hands into fists on his knees but he’s unable to keep his fingers from twitching slightly – he just has to hope that it goes unnoticed.

“I will be taking the boy in myself.”

The ensuing silence is heavy around his shoulders, full of the weight of the intense judgement he has become well accustomed to after feeling it for most of his life.

“That is inadvisable.”

“I understand it is not ideal, but I have already given the boy my word that I will take responsibility for him.”

“Your duties to the Sect and the Heirs take precedence over this...ward.”

“They do. The boy’s presence will not keep me from fulfilling them.”

“You were never meant to run the Sect,” Lan Yun intones. The criticisms that have already been levelled at him thus far have come from several of the elders, but they all go still at this (rather unnecessary) reminder of Lan Qiren’s inherent shortcomings. Lan Yun is the oldest of the lot as far as Lan Qiren is aware - certainly his word carries the most weight. He is also, in Lan Qiren’s experience, extremely opinionated and unafraid of offending anyone at all. “Your work is still standard at best, nothing like what we expected of Qingheng-Jun prior to his indiscretion. You should focus on improving for the sake of the Sect rather than wasting your energy on a stray child from Yunmeng.”

The general murmurs of assent that pass through the gathered elders have Lan Qiren’s neck tingling and he digs his fingertips into the tops of his thighs just above his knees to attempt to ground himself.

“I am aware of my faults,” he says with his gaze trained on the floor beneath him to avoid letting any of them see the anger burning in his gaze for their flippant dismissal of him, as if he hasn’t known his entire life that he has never been as favored as his brother, never meant to do great things. As if he doesn’t know he is absolutely no one’s first choice for much of anything.

The elders have always wished Qingheng-Jun would lead them. His nephews have wished their whole lives that their parents would raise them, particularly their mother prior to her passing. He is a good teacher, an excellent one even by many standards outside of Gusu, but there are others within Cloud Recesses who have more experience than him who would be chosen before him no matter the circumstances. The only thing in which he truly excels is his knowledge of the rules, but that is only to be expected. All Lan disciples know the rules, it’s not impressive that he does as well even if he has a better understanding of those rules than many would be able to claim.

Yes, Lan Qiren is extremely aware of his faults, as he has never been allowed to forget them.

“I am aware of my faults,” he repeats into the heavy silence. “However, I have an obligation to this boy. He is alone in the world and frightened. I do not believe he will excel with any guidance but my own at this time.”

“Beware of pride, Lan Qiren,” Lan Feng warns instantly, to remind him yet again that none of them thinks he has any noteworthy skills to speak of.

“It is not pride, but humble observation. I understand that had someone else found the boy there are many who would raise him better than I will. However, he has grown to trust me these last few days and I believe he will be open to instruction from myself before anyone else with whom he is unfamiliar. I will prepare him to take classes alongside his agemates when the time comes, and then I will turn his education over to those who are more qualified to do so.”

He does not say that Wangji will likely become inconsolable if they attempt to separate the two, as that would only prove his defective parenting in being unable to control the emotional response or Wangji’s behavior - or perhaps even in encouraging the boy’s affection in the first place. He does not say that Wei Ying will likely lash out should he feel himself backed into a corner in which he doesn’t feel safe, as that will only be further proof to them that Lan Qiren will be unable to handle raising such a difficult child along with his other duties. He does not say that once upon a time he had been the top academic in his classes and that, should they allow him a proper chance to teach he might continue to improve enough to meet their standards, as that would show ingratitude and perhaps the threat of pride again, that he thinks himself capable of becoming better than the current teachers who have been instructing the Lan youth since he had been a child.

He learned very quickly after being thrust into his current position in life that anything he says to the elders beyond that which is absolutely necessary could easily turn into yet another weapon in their hands, and so he says the bare minimum and accepts their displeasure with him as steadily as he can bear.

“The moment this responsibility becomes too difficult for you to maintain, you will relinquish the boy to a more appropriate situation,” Lan Yun declares. “We will closely monitor the boy’s behavior and studies to ensure you are not neglecting this responsibility you have taken on.”

It’s the same thing they said to him when he took Xichen in following his birth, and Wangji’s as well. Lan Qiren bows fully both to acknowledge the threat of losing the children he loves due to his own incompetence as well as to take his leave.

“This humble one thanks the elders for their wisdom,” he barely manages to say through the tumultuous thundering of his emotions. He stands and retreats with his head held high and shoulders braced against the stares that follow him out of the room like an angry ghost at his shoulder.

He doesn’t breathe easily again until he’s nearly all the way back to his rooms, but he knows already that he’s in no position to attempt to be calm and collected for the children as he needs to be and so he takes a different path to begin walking the familiar track that marks the perimeter of the wards that protect the inner residences and main pavilions of Cloud Recesses.

He’s constantly aware, of course, that the Sect as a whole (not just the elders) is watching and waiting for the day he fails. There probably isn’t a day that the knowledge of it doesn’t cross his mind, though after over a decade of it he can typically ignore the way it makes his shoulders tense and his gut feel empty and hollow. He has long since resigned himself to doing what must be done on his own and being judged for it at every step of the way. And yet, for some reason, his discussions (if they can be called such) with the elders never fail to make him feel like a much younger man again, still reeling from the whirlwind of his brother’s misbehavior and subsequent isolation and suddenly being handed the reins his brother had so carelessly tossed aside - all for the love of a woman who didn’t even love him in return.

He had never been prepared for Sect leadership. Qingheng-Jun had been, for his entire life, the golden child, the pride of the Lan, perfectly primed to take their father’s place when the time came. And he had. He had been allowed to grow into the position, the expectations. He had been carefully trained first at their father’s knee, and then at his side until the mantle of Sect Leader was comfortably and naturally passed from father to son when their father had been ready to retire. He had retreated from the world confident in the security of his sons, Qingheng-Jun bringing honor to the ancestors and to the Sect, and Lan Qiren doing his duty to support the Gusu Lan in whatever way he could with his average cultivation and unwavering loyalty.

He had never once been expected to lead the Sect, or to even provide heirs let alone raise them. No one had ever expected much of him at all, really – he was only the spare, the emergency plan, the lackluster younger brother who paled in comparison next to the radiance of Qingheng-Jun.

It had never truly bothered him until the day all eyes had suddenly turned to him and found him wanting, but unfortunately necessary.

He has spent every day since fighting to be respected, fighting to show that simply because he was unprepared that does not make him unfit for the responsibilities laid at his feet. He had done as much as he possibly could to learn what was needed without the elders’ help, as their guidance in those early days had visibly come with the cost of any burgeoning respect they may have for him, any potential hope at all in his capability.

He had barely begun to feel he had his feet under him when word had reached him that Madam Lan was pregnant. He supposes now, with a wry, dark sort of amusement, that his brother had at least performed one more useful function in his seclusion (even though it was clear evidence of his breaking it) and provided the Sect with the heirs that Lan Qiren very heartily did not wish to. Not only did the mechanics of such a thing make him feel like running to seclude himself from the rest of the world as well, but the idea of passing his unlucky reputation onto whatever children he could help produce had always made him equally ill at ease. At least Xichen and Wangji are free of the taint of his direct lineage, for surely any heirs of his blood would face the same sort of unfavorable scrutiny as he has himself. Xichen and Wangji, though they’re being raised by him, are already the darlings of the Sect for which he’s immensely grateful.

Though Xichen’s birth had been another addition to his responsibilities, it was one that Lan Qiren had welcomed in a way he never would have expected of himself prior to the precise moment Xichen - then a wide-eyed infant with a perfect little shell-pink pout and full cheeks - had been carefully placed in his arms. He had reached one chubby hand up as if to touch his face, Lan Qiren had leaned down to allow it, and in that moment he had promptly lost a piece of his heart to his first nephew – a piece he was more than happy to lose.

Despite Lan Qiren’s numerous shortcomings and failures in raising him, Xichen is already showing promising signs of growing up into an incredible man. He will lead the Sect well, of that Lan Qiren is certain, but he also knows that Lan Xichen will be kind and generous nearly to a fault, and he already cares deeply for every person he meets. He’s good, genuinely good, down to his core, and the Sect adores him, including the elders. Lan Qiren can only be grateful that he’s so far free of the stain of the previous generation.

When Wangji had followed after his brother five years later, Lan Qiren had been much more prepared to shoulder the burdens of parenthood and juggle them easily with the demands of Sect leadership, though no one but him seemed to believe that to be the case. The elders had watched him like a hawk for years after Wangji’s birth, waiting for him to slip, for the boys to show signs that he was anything less than attentive and dedicated to their improvement, or that he was so engrossed in their development that he was letting the Sect fail for their sakes.

He can recognize now with chagrin that the external pressure had led him to be stricter than he would have otherwise felt inclined to be with the boys. Xichen, with his gentle nature, shows fewer signs of this error. But Wangji, who is so like Lan Qiren in too many ways to count, has taken every stern word to heart and become such a serious little thing that Lan Qiren knows even Xichen sees enough of it to be worried on his brother’s behalf. Lan Qiren had worried when he fell silent following Madam Lan’s death that that would be the excuse the elders needed to take the boys away from him, but thankfully they only see it as a phase, a sign that he’s taking the rules to heart perhaps a little too much but an extreme that he will ultimately grow out of. Lan Qiren, who often wishes he had the luxury of keeping utterly to himself in such a way, is not as convinced that that will be so. He keeps this fear to himself for Wangji’s sake.

Either way, the boys are both praised at every turn for the credit they are to their Sect, and Lan Qiren is more grateful for their presence in his life than he will ever find the words to express. His own stain on the Lan legacy will be short lived in the grand scheme of their history, and his only hope is that Lan Xichen shines so bright in his adulthood that Lan Qiren’s failures will be forgiven him.

As the sun dips deeper in the west Lan Qiren takes note of the time almost without thought and turns his slow steps towards home again, aware that Wei Ying will wake soon and he should likely be there when he does. He doesn’t know yet what kind of child Wei Ying will prove himself to be when some of the rough edges of his experiences have been sanded away and his behavior corrected into proper paths, but he hopes that he too will live to outshine Lan Qiren as a final proof to the elders that bringing him into the Sect wasn’t a mistake. After so many years of fending for himself and being on his own Lan Qiren can’t help but think that Wei Ying deserves support, a family, a place to call home that is capable of being kind to him.

Lan Qiren may never in this life earn the support or affection of the Lan simply for the crime of being born second-best and forced to take the helm despite that, but by the gods he’s going to ensure that the children in his care will never have reason to doubt that they’re appreciated and loved here in their home.

#the untamed fanfic #wangxian #Lan Wangji #Wei Wuxian #Lan Xichen #Lan Qiren #This is the last LQR chapter! The rest of the fic (as far as I'm aware lol) will be from the kids' perspectives #I miss writing the babies' voices and I think I've done enough of explaining LQR's inner narrative to reasonably switch away from him now #and now that they're in Cloud Recesses it's time to see how the babies handle all the changes in their lives <3

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supermantv · 4 years

Text

the sound of i need you (chap. 2)

chap. 1 | ao3 link

Because he is a gentleman and the streetlights have quickly become the only source of light, Paxton offers Devi a ride home. She thanks him, only a little flustered, but declines his offer, gesturing to her scooter that is laying a few feet away. They live in a relatively safe neighborhood with a low crime rate, but he's still allowed to worry.

Devi leaves first upon his insistence. Paxton watches her retreating figure carefully and climbs into his car only after she's entirely out of his line of sight.. He rests his hands on the steering wheel and takes a deep breath. His thoughts are on the fritz. Paxton is secretly glad that Devi decided not to take him up on his offer to drive her home. He doesn't waste time worrying about it though and starts the car. He fears that if he doesn't start driving now, he won't be able to soon, too busy being preoccupied with never-ending thoughts of her.

When Paxton gets home, his phone comes to life, buzzing obnoxiously in his back pocket. He fishes it out as Becca arrives at the front door to greet him.

"You're late," she points out.

Paxton lifts a brow. "I don't have a curfew?" It is meant to be a definite statement, but comes out as a confused question.

"You're twenty minutes late," Becca says simply. "It's never taken you this long to drive home after practice."

Paxton grins and shakes his head. "Wow, stalker much? It's kinda creepy how much you track my movements, Becca."

His sister huffs. "It's not creepy. You're just boring and predictable."

He feels his jaw hit the floor. He has been called many things. Devilishly handsome, breathtakingly gorgeous, highly attractive. But never in his life has Paxton Hall-Yoshida been accused of being boring and predictable. And he knows his sister likes to mess with him, but wow, this is a devastating blow to his ego.

"I am not boring," he says firmly. "Or predictable."

"Oh, yeah?" Becca narrows her eyes at him.

"Yeah," he says indignantly.

"I'll prove to you right now just how predictable you are."

"Hey! Give me my phone back you little brat!" He shouts but he's not angry. In fact, he's suppressing his own laughter at his sister's antics. He chases after her.

Becca has positioned herself on the opposite side of the kitchen, wisely putting the dining table between them. She has a perfect view of him, enabling her to see any move he may make. He respects her intelligence begrudgingly, and bides his time until he's able to make a grab for his phone.

"You were looking at your phone when you walked through the door," Becca says. "So, I'm guessing someone texted you. And to prove that you are predictable, I'm going to unlock your phone, and I won't be surprised when I see it's a text from some random girl, asking if you want to hang out with her. And this will also prove that you're boring, because all the girls you date are basically interchangeable and one in the same."

Paxton feels a smirk begin to form, because there is one thing his sister hadn't thought of. "You don't know my passcode."

Becca clicks her tongue. "Uh, yes I do, because you're predictable." Becca stresses the word like it is the most obvious thing in the world and giggles.

Paxton groans loudly. "Look, I didn't see who texted me, but this is a violation of my rights."

Becca doesn't reply, fingers busy typing in his passcode. She cheers triumphantly a second later, and he takes that as confirmation that she wasn't lying, and he is predictable, because he has never told anyone that his phone's password is his birthday, but now that he thinks about it, maybe it is a little on the nose.

"Oh!" Becca exclaims, her eyes widening as she scans his screen. Paxton's head snaps up, alarmed and a little frightened at what she may have found.

"What?" He asks, somewhat nervous, because for all he knows, his sister is simply messing with him, but he can't be too sure.

Becca meets his eyes accusingly, but when she speaks, she's smiling widely. "Why didn't you tell me you were talking to Devi again?"

"What?"

"Devi!" Becca grins at him. She slides his phone across the table to him, and his eyes scan his most recent message.

'hey! we forgot to schedule a time to meet up, so i was wondering if tomorrow after school was good? i'm okay with any location. your bedroom. my bedroom. ;) that's a joke btw, lol. just let me know!'

"Your bedroom. My bedroom," Becca says. "Sounds like things are heating up, huh?"

Paxton does his best to will away the blush beginning to form on his cheeks and rolls his eyes. "Calm down, it's not like that. Devi's just messing around."

"Uh-huh." She doesn't sound even a little convinced. "So, why are you meeting up with Devi then?"

Paxton tilts his head back, and focuses on the ceiling of the kitchen. "Devi's uh, going to be my tutor for History."

He is deliberately not looking at Becca so he doesn't have to bear witness to her reaction.

"That's great! She's kind of weird-", a lot weird, "-but she's also super smart, right? How did you even have time to ask her? Oh my God, is that why you were late coming home?"

"Yeah-."

"Wait! I thought you guys were caught up in this really weird fight? Did you two make up?"

Paxton clears his throat and says awkwardly, "I don't know if I would call it a fight necessarily."

"Then what would you call it?"

I would call it, I'm an idiot, Paxton thinks to himself bitterly.

"Nothing," Paxton sighs, finally lowering his eyes to meet her gaze.

Becca offers him a small smile and changes the subject. "Well, even though you are a little predictable, you've successfully proven that you're not completely boring."

"Shut up," Paxton laughs, swiping at her from across the table.

The next day at school, Devi approaches him at his locker.

"Good morning," she chirps brightly.

He takes in her appearance. Rumpled clothing, mismatched socks, helplessly tangled hair. Tired eyes, sagging shoulders, wary smile. He doesn't know why this causes bile to rise in the back of his throat.

"I don't think you've had such a good morning," he comments dryly.

Devi's exhaustion quickly bleeds into embarrassment. She does her best to smooth down her clothes and comb her fingers through her hair, but her efforts are futile, because if anything, she only looks more of a mess.

"Um, it was a late night," Devi finally says sheepishly.

"I bet," Paxton nods, unable to keep the snark out of his voice. "Hot date with Gross?"

Devi's brows crinkle in confusion. "No. I was up all night preparing everything for our study session today."

"Oh."

He's such a fucking jerk.

Awkward silence falls over them.

"Sorry," he murmurs.

"Um, it's okay." Devi expertly steers the conversation in a new direction, adjusting the bag slung over her shoulder. "So," she prompts. "You never answered me last night. Where do you want to study?"

Paxton mulls it over. He's never been inside Devi's house, but considering her mom is decidedly not a member of the Paxton fan club, he's not even sure he wants to set a single toe through the door.

His house doesn't seem like an appropriate alternative either. He can imagine them studying in his room, a dozen papers strewn across the bed. He can imagine Devi speaking, overflowing with knowledge and eager to share with him. He can imagine himself zoning out, eyes drawn to her lips. He can imagine a faint blush crawling across her cheeks, as she realizes he's staring at her mouth, but she'll pretend she doesn't notice and chide him for not listening. He can imagine cutting her off with a chaste kiss. He can imagine pulling back, searching her eyes for permission and being met with a soft smile and a dazed look. He can imagine diving back in, desperate for the taste of her lips on his tongue, and the feel of her body melting into his and-.

Paxton pulls himself from his fantasy before it goes any further, clearing his throat.

"Um, we could study in the library," he offers.

"Oh!" Devi nods in agreement. "That's a good idea. You'll probably be more productive in a more structured environment anyway. And there are more resources available in the library."

"Yeah," Paxton says slowly. "I was thinking the same thing."

"Good idea," she praises, beaming at him.

Paxton feels his face flush. "Yeah so, I've gotta go find my coach before the bell rings, so I'll see you later, Devi."

Devi flashes finger guns at him. "Catch ya later, Pax Attack."

Paxton shakes his head. "Er, you might want to work on that nickname."

She winces and nods. "Noted."

Devi is already waiting for him in the library, and does not look amused when he finally arrives ten minutes late. Sheepishly, he slides into the chair across from her, trying to put as much distance between them as possible, because if he were to sit right next to her, the chances are high he might do something extremely impulsive.

Devi is all business and sass when she speaks.

"I can see you're taking this very seriously."

Paxton bows his head guiltily. "Sorry. I would have been here sooner but Trent needed me for something."

Which isn't a total lie. Trent did need advice on "the ladies" and Paxton was dubbed the man with the most expertise. But, Trent's question was quick and stupid, and it was all Paxton could do to keep from strangling him when Trent suggested that lavender scented deodorant was an appropriate gift for a girl.

"But she's like, super athletic, dude. She's the star of the tennis team!"

Paxton pegs him with an incredulous stare, because his friend cannot possibly be serious. "That doesn't mean she'll want some guy buying her deodorant."

"But why not?" Trent demands, frustrated. "It's practical and thoughtful."

"She'll punch you."

"But why?"

Paxton shakes his head and walks away.

Truth be told, he spent a good seven minutes pacing in the hall outside of the library, inciting more than a few curious stares in his direction.

He's nervous about being so close to her after weeks of ensuring that she'd never get the opportunity to approach him.

He's nervous that she'll bring it up after they've spent an absurdly long time poring over textbooks and making flashcards.

And he's especially nervous that once they get started and she sees how little he knows about AP World History, she won't be interested in him at all.

But, Devi doesn't need to know all of that.

Devi rolls her eyes, but she's smiling faintly. "Okay. First order of business. Turn your phone off and give it to me."

Paxton's hand flies to where his phone rests in his back pocket. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. I don't want you to be distracted by anything. And as an act of solidarity, I'll turn mine off too."

Paxton has no doubt that the biggest distraction of all will definitely prove to be her, but he complies easily and after shutting off his phone, places it in her outstretched hand.

"Excellent," Devi nods approvingly. "I'm going to put your phone in my bag if that's okay with you."

"Go ahead."

After she is finished putting their phones away, nestled safely in the front pocket of her book bag, she slams a huge, at least three inch thick binder stuffed with a gazillion papers onto the table. Paxton gazes at with wide, fearful eyes as Devi pats it fondly.

"I spent all night organizing this," she states proudly.

He grimaces. "Devi, you did not have to do all that. Really."

Devi laughs at his reaction. "Don't worry. This is more for my benefit than yours, just so I know what to cover with you. I was serious about helping you get a good grade on the midterm."

Paxton's shoulders sag with relief.

"So," Devi begins, flipping open her binder. "Where do you think you're struggling most? MCQ's, SAQ's, DBQ's, or LEQ's?"

He swallows. "Um. All of it? Anything with writing is a little more difficult, but yeah."

Devi hums thoughtfully and continues rifling through papers. "Okay. Personally, I also think the essay questions are a little more complex, so we can begin there. Do you think you're struggling more with the subject material or applying your knowledge into a cohesive argument?"

"I don't know," Paxton groans, because already, he feels the familiar wave of anxiety and indecisiveness that rushes over him whenever he's taking a test.

"That's okay." Devi smiles at him encouragingly. "Do you have your old tests with you?"

Paxton nods.

"We can start there."

They spend two hours together in the library after school that day, half of it spent with Devi mulling over all of the returned tests he'd given her. Paxton shifts in his seat restlessly, because she hasn't given him anything to study, and she's also revoked his phone privileges. But mostly he's antsy because there's only one test in the pile that he'd gotten a B- on, two, maybe three C's, and the rest are low D's and a couple F's. And she, arguably the smartest girl in the class, is now looking at his piss poor essays and reading them intently.

Occasionally, she will mutter under her breath, and he's not sure if he's supposed to be paying attention, listening for potentially valuable advice.

"That's not the year Constantine came into power. Never write dates unless you're absolutely positive. Points aren't rewarded for a correct date, but are deducted for an incorrect one."

Or:

"Your argument was getting there, but you ran out of time. Don't worry about erasing or trying to spell things correctly. Cross things out. The person who grades your exam will skip over it, they have hundreds of other tests to grade and they're trying not to waste time. Get as close to the spelling of a word as possible and don't sweat it. Most likely someone will know what you mean."

And:

"There was no point in name dropping Seward's Folly on the imperialism essay, because you never connected it back to the main argument. Don't waste time mentioning events if they don't contribute to the central idea."

Helpful tips like this that only aid in crushing his confidence and self-esteem. She means well though. And she is right.

After she's finished reading all of his essays, Devi slips into the seat next to him and their shoulders brush. Paxton forgets how to breathe for two seconds.

"Okay, I think we should go over them together now that I've gotten a grasp of your writing capabilities, and I can point out where and why you went wrong."

And so they spend another hour going over writing Paxton would have been very fine with never rereading.

Everytime he notices a misspelled word he feels the tips of his ears catch fire.

More than once, he finds that he's mixed up timelines and dates, and he's embarrassed.

For every essay that doesn't have a coherent thesis or line of reasoning he wants to curl up into a ball and quit school entirely.

"Overall," Devi says once they've made it through his third LEQ, and seventh piece of writing in total. "It's not bad. But you're clearly struggling with taking a stance on the prompt, and the indecisiveness is reflected in your poor evidence and backing. You can't defend an argument you don't have."

Paxton nods. "Okay. So. How do I fix that?"

"Well, it's clear to me you don't really have a problem with the actual course material. Occasionally you can get confused with dates or times periods, but I think that's mostly because you get in your head too much. I can help with test taking strategies and ways to combat nerves next time."

Devi glances at the clock nestled in the wall opposite of them.

"I actually have to go. I told my cousin I would go shopping with her today." She shrugs apologetically at him. "Sorry."

Paxton waves her off. "No worries. We can pick this up again tomorrow?"

"Sure!" Devi agrees enthusiastically, but quickly becomes sheepish and meek. "Also. Would you mind giving me a ride?"

Paxton lifts a brow. "Am I your chauffeur now?"

Devi purses her lips. "Weeeell," she drawls, "I am tutoring you for free."

Paxton shakes his head, smiling fondly. "Sure. Grab your stuff, let's go."

On the way to her house, they lapse into silence. Devi'd asked permission to keep his tests overnight so that she could read them over and add her own notes. Paxton doesn't want them, so there really is no inner turmoil in handing them over to Devi. She spends the car ride flipping through them, and he spends the drive focused on the road.

When they come to a stop in front of her house, she doesn't even notice.

Paxton clears his throat and Devi lifts her head.

He smiles playfully at her. "We have arrived at your destination, m'lady."

She goes along with it, bowing her head in gratitude. "Why, thank you, good sir."

They share a laugh as Devi packs away her belongings, and he expects her to exit the car, but she doesn't. She catches her lower lip in her teeth and glances at him warily. Paxton suddenly feels uneasy and more than a little nauseous with the look she is giving him.

"Something wrong?" He's doing his best to keep his voice steady, ignoring the hammering of his heart in his chest.

"Yeah," Devi says slowly. "Earlier… Why did you make that comment about me and Ben?"

He feigns ignorance. "I don't remember saying anything."

"Don't lie."

He wilts under her steely gaze.

"Why would I be on a date with Ben?"

His knuckles become white with how tightly he is gripping the steering wheel. "Why wouldn't you be on a date with Ben?" He challenges.

Devi's brows furrow and her tone is exasperated. "You're not making any sense. Stop talking in circles, it's a simple question."

"You're the one playing dumb!" Paxton accuses. "Why wouldn't you be on a date with your boyfriend?!"

"Boyfriend?!" Devi shrieks loudly in his ear. "I am not dating Ben Gross! That's gross!"

Paxton nearly gives himself whiplash with how quickly he turns his head to stare at her, flabbergasted. "What do you mean you're not dating him?!"

"Why would you think I'm dating him?!"

"Because you kissed him!"

"Oh my God, Paxton, that doesn't mean I'm contractually obligated to date him!"

"But I mean!" Paxton gestures wildly with his hands, increasingly flustered as he comes to terms with the fact that he had apparently been avoiding Devi for absolutely no fucking reason. "He's been all over you at school!"

"We're friends!" Devi cries.

"I mean-! He-! You!" Paxton stammers gracelessly.

Their screaming competition comes to an end when Paxton fails to string together a coherent sentence. They stare at each other. Devi's eyes are wide, and her expression is caught between disbelief and disgust. He ducks his head shamefully and wants to scream, because how much of an idiot can he be?

She breaks the silence.

"You're so annoying." Devi says, but she's trying to smother a laugh threatening to bubble over. "I can't believe you thought I was dating Ben." She sticks her tongue out and makes a gagging noise.

Paxton has nothing to say in response, because he's fucking dumb and mortified and how could he be so wrong about something so important?

Devi's laughter cuts off abruptly and she sucks in a sharp breath. Realization brightens her eyes. "Oh my-. Is this why you've been avoiding me?"

It would be so easy to fling open the car door and throw his body into the middle of the street to await his fate.

The girl in his passenger seat is suddenly very confused. He can practically see the gears shifting in her head, spinning so fast that they're on the verge of malfunctioning. "That doesn't even make sense."

It makes perfect sense.

"I like you, Devi."

Her lips part to form a perfect 'o' shape. "You like me?" She asks unsurely.

"I like you," he confirms, shooting her a reassuring grin.

"You like me?" She's smiling dreamily at him now.

Paxton leans over the center console, bringing their faces closer together. "I like you." He's close enough that his breath moves loose strands of her hair.

"I-." Devi pauses, smile dissolving into a frown, and Paxton feels his heart sink to the bottom of his stomach.

"I'm mad at you!" She exclaims, hand flying out to whack him on the shoulder. He flinches more out of shock than hurt and leans back into his seat. "How could you avoid me over something so stupid?!" Her voice is soft and her shoulders hunch when she speaks again. "Why couldn't you just talk to me?"

Paxton draws in his next breath slowly, contemplating his words carefully. He's never been the best at articulating himself, almost always complicating matters with poorly chosen phrasing resulting in misconstrued meanings.

"Your mom thinks I'm stupid," he says slowly.

Devi cringes. "She was just stressed and-."

"She was right," Paxton admits. "And I guess it just made me wonder if you thought the same thing. I'm not… good at school, like you or Ben. Honestly, I wanted to be with you. But, after that run in with your mom, I started questioning whether you would even want to be with someone like me.

"So I iced you out for a while. Which is wrong, I realize that, but it's so much easier to reject someone than to be the one rejected. Becca eventually called me out on being an idiot, but by the time I decided I was going to tell you how I felt, you had already moved on. Or so I thought. I guess that's my fault for jumping to conclusions."

He pauses, waiting to see if Devi wants to chime in, but she remains silent.

"So, uh, I guess the moral of the story is that I'm an idiot."

She still doesn't say anything.

"Look, I really thought you dating Ben would be for the better. I mean, he's smart in a super annoying jackass way. So like, you two could have steamy and intellectually stimulating conversations about scales triangles, or whatever turns nerds like him on."

Devi breaks into a small giggle. "I don't think scales triangles turn anyone on."

Paxton feels relief as her laughter reaches his ears. "Hey," he says jokingly, "who are we to judge a nerd's sexual perversions?"

Devi continues laughing to herself, and Paxton feels warmth spread throughout his chest watching her. Her eyes are scrunched shut and she's leaving forward in her seat, and it's hard not to notice the way the sunlight glints off her hair and-.

She glances up and catches him staring. Her laughter subsides as she reaches out to take his hand in hers. He hopes his palms aren't sweaty.

"You can talk to me about anything. And I don't think you're stupid."

"I think I'm stupid," he admits softly.

Her fingers tighten around his. "You're not. Reading your essays, I can tell. You struggle to recall specifics and put it down on paper in a clear and concise way, but I can tell you understand everything we're being taught. You're not stupid. And to circle back to what you were saying earlier, I like you too."

"I know," he grins cheekily at her. "You made it very clear a few months ago when you cornered me in the parking lot after swim practice and demanded I have sex with you."

Devi drops his hand and gapes at him. "I did not!"

"Ehh," Paxton shrugs. "You kinda did."

Her hand flies up, her intention to hit him for the second time that day, but he catches her before she's able to. He flips her arm over, and lowers his head to kiss the exposed skin on the inside of her wrist. Pride swells within his chest as he feels her pulse quicken, and affection explodes within his heart at the soft gasp she emits.

"I-!" She squeaks.

"Yes?" He smirks at her.

"I gotta go!" Devi yells in his face. She forcefully pushes the passenger door of his car open, and throws herself onto the sidewalk. She lands with a heavy thud, and Paxton is ready to leap out after her to check that she's fine, but her head pops up not even two seconds later.

"I'm fine!" She shouts, frazzled and disoriented.

Clumsily, she manages to retrieve her bag from his car, and murmurs a quick goodbye before she sprints across her yard into her house, slamming the front door behind her.

Paxton smiles fondly to himself.

A few weeks later, Paxton taps his pencil obnoxiously against his deck, and bounces his leg restlessly, waiting nervously for Mr. Shapiro to pass back his midterm.

"Don't worry," Devi says into his ear, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly. "I know you did great."

Mr. Shapiro gives nothing away in his face as he places Paxton's test face down on his desk. He immediately rushes to flip it over, and feels Devi leaning into his back to get a better view.

All the air leaves his lungs once he sees the grade circled in the upper right-hand corner.

"OhmyGod!" Devi exclaims. "Paxton!"

He feels her arms wrap tightly around his shoulders as she plants an adorably sloppy kiss on his cheeks. "You did so well!"

And she's right. The 88% scribbled in bright red sharpie accompanied by a huge smiley face confirms it.

"And you have your incredibly sexy and smart girlfriend to thank," Devi says smugly, because this grade is just as reflective of her work as it is his own.

"Hell yeah I do," he twists around in his seat and places his hands on either side of her face. "And she's going to find out just how much I appreciate all her help."

"Hey. Hey! No PDA in the classroom!"

#daxton #never have i ever #nhie #paxton x devi #h.l. writes #they're cute n dumb and i love tht for them #also im taking prompts/requests!!#drop them in my ask box <3 #also there were 3 different versions of this chapter #and i finally settled on this #hope you like it!!#also.. i fcken hate formatting on tumblr pls click the ao3 link hfjdk

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tsauergrass · 5 years

Note

Hi! I noticed your comment on gnarfs fic recs and was wondering what are you favourite fics and which you would recommend :)

oH it would not be an exaggeration to say I’ve been waiting for this ask since practically the day I created my blog lol (I’m so excited!!)

I do have a fic rec list sitting in my drafts (tagged forever ago by @rockmarina and still haven’t found the time to complete 😭) but oh dear here we go! In no particular order:

Running on Air by eleventy7

Draco Malfoy has been missing for three years. Harry is assigned the cold case and finds himself slowly falling in love with the memories he collects.

This fic is so beautiful it will break your heart without you even knowing it and you will be left aching for days. It will forever be my favorite fic and it is the most beautiful fic I have ever read—it is the one that brought me into Drarry when I didn’t even ship them! The loneliness is so well captured, the scenes so beautifully described, and both the suspense and the emotional storylines are so well crafted. td;lr: please go read this stunningly beautiful fic I promise you won’t be disappointed

The Lip-Lock Jinx by cassisluna

It's a jinx that renders the victim mute, unless he/she serves the purpose of the jinx and kisses the person that they desire. It's just Harry's luck that he's in love with Draco. HPDM, one-shot, eighth year.

Already fussed over it once but here we are again! Eighth-year fic, Draco is quieter but still witty, Harry is clumsy in his affections, Ginny is brilliant. It’s so soft you will place your hand on your chest and sigh, you will smile helplessly because your heart is brimming with softness. A dose of this fic on a bad day and I promise you will feel just the bit better.

Stop All the Clocks (This Is the Last Time I’m Leaving Without You) by firethesound

Living with Draco was difficult; living without him is unbearable. But if there’s one thing Harry learned from the war, it’s that even when one life ends, the rest of the world goes right on living.

Warning: MCD, it is—oh dear it is the angstiest fic I have ever read. It tore my heart out of my chest and it is so, so good. The writing is beautiful, I love the way Draco and Harry’s relationship progressed, I adore their characterization, how they bicker and care. Harry’s road to recovery is rocky and winding but it is,, so genuine. (I also adore the structure of this fic lol, the two timelines are weaved together seamlessly and it just fascinated me!) This fic will leave the most beautiful scar in your heart but really, if you can afford it, it is so worth it.

Grounds for Divorce by tepre

Malfoy finds a coin. Harry finds a letter.

A story about histories, a story about families. A story about a lemon tree somewhere in Upper Egypt.

This is, like, the slowest slow burn of all slow burns. It’s a bond fic, as you will discover pretty soon into the story—but it proceeds so differently than I ever expected. It is messy, beautiful, winding, Harry and Draco proceed to take the same freakin path two thousand times without ever reaching the destination—but it’s all good, and you see the beauty in the messiness because that is how life is. And when they finally get themselves together it’s just, so sweet you can’t stop smiling and you can feel their happiness, so close to your heart. It’s a slow journey and you have to take it with them if you want to see it bear fruit, and you realize in the end it doesn’t matter how winding the paths are, because you were always going to reach that place. And stay. Like I lie in bed at one a.m. and I think about how Draco and Harry are sleeping together in Grimmauld and I wanna tear up. The prose is beautiful, and messy like the story itself, and I just adore the way everything is described, so authentic, and the way the start of the end is the beginning (no spoilers yes?) Go read it and afterwards sit at the same place for twenty minutes in complete awe and content

The Generation Who Lived by lettersbyelise

In the months leading up to the 10th anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy writes a series of articles about war survivors.

So far, he’s managed to interview everyone he wanted.

Everyone...except his old nemesis, his one-time lover, and the elusive war hero who stubbornly refuses to be featured in Draco’s interview series; Harry Potter.

This fic tackles so many different aspects of consent—and weaves them into the story itself so well. There are many controversial topics, and they were explored with honesty: nothing is shunned, nothing is avoided, there are many voices that challenge what you really think. And these are the best kind of fics, really. I especially love the characterization of Luna, because it is so difficult to get her right—but she is, wonderfully candid in her whimsical way, tripping you over in your own thought. I love Draco and Harry’s story as well, the misunderstanding and the miscommunication—the confrontation, a reminder for a lot of us that being upfront and honest is so so important. The way Draco is neither redeemed nor un-redeemed yet trying in his own way is also very dear to me.

Sharing Different Heartbeats and Let Them Wash Off in the Rain by talithan

Before Harry ever saw Draco’s room, before they ever shared a greasy order of chips or long-held secrets, before Draco’s boss ever tried to chat up Harry, they hadn’t even exchanged mobile numbers. To be fair, Draco didn’t have a mobile then.

It’s Harry’s first time in New York City, and he is determined to have a good time. How Draco Malfoy figures into this remains to be seen.

I recently discovered them and just, ahhh. Completely adore them! They are not related, just by the same author. Both are so gentle and it feels as if nothing really important is happening—and nothing is—but the feelings are there all the same, gentle too. It’s like sitting by the window listening to soft rain. The sky is grey, the lights are dim, and you’re not really thinking about anything... just listening to the rain falling...

These are some of my absolute favorites! There are many more, (so many more,) and if you’d like you can check the bookmarked recommendations on my ao3! (It’s a messy, rumpled place but) here are a few of them:

fly like paper, high like planes by harryromper

Harry Potter, Head Coach of the Appleby Arrows, is very content leading a quiet life. He has a doddery old house-elf who makes his breakfast, a team of players who love Quidditch almost as much as he does, and a Kneazle that curls against his damaged leg at the foot of his bed at night. The absolute last thing he needs is a fit, tattooed, and wildly talented Draco Malfoy back from living his life on the margins. Soon he’s dealing with goblins for the first time since the war, traveling to Prague, eating dodgy squid, and maybe, just maybe, accepting that Quidditch, Malfoy, and even Harry himself are still capable of change.

(I love Draco covered in tattoos, Draco with a family in Prague, Harry with disability, Harry and his kneazle, amazing OC’s)

Reigniting Harry Potter (A Task For Draco Malfoy) by QueenofThyme

Harry Potter is depressed and won't leave his house, or his bed if he can help it. Hermione has the bright idea to send Draco Malfoy over, who is surprisingly gentler than Harry realised, and might actually just be able to reignite a spark in Harry...if he stops being an arrogant prat of course.

(It’s a gentle story, I love the ending and the description of Harry’s depression just feels really genuine)

To Hurt and Heal by cassisluna

They say that everybody who gets out of Azkaban comes out a little mad. After the war, Draco Malfoy spends three months in Azkaban. He just wants to go insane in peace, but Harry Potter finds that he, inexplicably, still can't leave Draco alone.

(It’s. Heartbreaking and tender all at once)

Don’t let go by parkkate

When Draco ends up having to take care of Teddy’s new pet, he’s sure the universe is trying to torture him. Little does he know things are about to get so much worse. And of course, it involves one Harry Potter.

(The amount of cuddles is atrocious in the fic, I repeat, atrocious. The depth is also amazing and unexpected)

Take Into the Air (My Quiet Breath) by GuardianMira

Draco is dying of Hanahaki Disease. Serves him right, Harry thinks.

(But this is, like, the perfect Hanahaki disease fic. The perfect blend of angst and tension and relationship development with a heartbreaking, beautiful ending.)

Four Times Harry was Late...and One Time He was Late again by dracogotgame

Title says it all

(FLUFF. LOTS OF THEM. And it’s so clever you want to throw your phone across the room and clutch your heart and AWWWWWW, you’ll know it when you get there)

Talk to Me by Saras_Girl

When the usual channels of communication are shut down, the most surprising people can find a way in. A strange little love story.

(The setting is similar to The Lip-Lock Jinx, so very sweet!)

Slow Hands by eleventy7

Blood, shadows, and paper hearts. The Shadow hunts students, but Draco Malfoy most of all.

(This is,, beautiful. Gentle. Quiet, like when you wake up early before dawn and no one else is up.)

Everything a Word Can Mean and Constant Flux by rockmarina

In a world where magical people are born with the nickname their soulmate will call them by tattooed on their skin... what does it mean that the word on Harry's chest is the thing he hates to be called the most?

Harry Potter is the one constant in Draco's life, only each time in a very different way.

(These are just. Soft. Fluff. The first one is so poetic I love it so much, the second one gave me so much Feels)

Inferno by jadepresley

If he was ice then she was the fire, and though he loved her he was quite certain they were destined to destroy one another in the end.

(Okay this one is not Drarry but it will BLOW YOUR MIND. Seriously, the writing is so beautiful, the story so vivid, so strong. It will ring in your mind)

There we go! There are so many more fics I would gladly rec only this post is getting quite long. I would also recommend you check out the rest of an authors’ works if the first one you read fascinates you, you won’t be disappointed!

#fic rec #drarry fic rec #this took me QUITE A WHILE #to assemble and agonize over which ones I should include #as proven by the repeating there are many more!!!#and the formatting #I'm so sorry if it's messy #I literally squeaked in delight when I received this ask #thank u lovely anon

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bangtan-dreamland · 5 years

Text

Winter Coffeeshops [3]

Prompt: “What if I kissed you right now?”

Pairing: ksj x reader

Word Count: 5.6K

Warnings: none!! just fluff all around

Summary: It only takes one moment for Seokjin to realize that maybe, he’s been in love with his bestfriend for god knows how long. It’s surprising, it’s thrilling, but as he stands at your apartment door with your hand in his, your cheeks rosy and snowflakes stuck on your hair, he realizes this- it was only a matter of time, wasn’t it?

Now if only he knew how to tell if you liked him too.

Genre: slowburn, friends to mutual pining idiots

Previous //

≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫

‘Spontaneous’ is a good word to describe him. Seokjin lives in the present- although that isn’t to say that he doesn’t think about the past or the future. Rather, it means that he strives to live every day, savoring every moment of joy, working through the times of sorrow, learning from mistakes made and applying it for the future.

After all, if there’s anything the years of idol life has taught him, it’s that no matter what, the world will go on. The sun will rise, and you have to learn to keep yourself going- sometimes by yourself, sometimes with the help of your friends. Time will pass regardless, something to both be thankful and disappointed about- that as time passes, so does everything else. Joy, sorrow, laughter and tears and therefore he’s engraved it in his heart to love everything he does, he is, and the people he’s surrounded by.

A perfect example is this- it’s Saturday morning, and for once they have a day off, instead of practice and shows to attend to. Everyone is at the dorms, and while most of the guys are asleep at seven in the morning, Seokjin is wide awake, already cooking.

The maknae line is asleep- having played video games until it was a few hours past midnight, only stopping at Seokjin’s reprimand. They won’t be getting out of bed until almost noon- except, perhaps, for Jungkook, who might wake up earlier to go work out. Taking a run in the middle of the day is less pleasant than it is in the morning, after all.

Namjoon would still be asleep as well, along with Yoongi and Hoseok. The three rappers had stayed up late last night as well, discussing the latest song track they were writing in the studio. When they got back home to sleep, it was almost four in the morning, and although they protested being tired when he called them, they fell straight asleep when they got into their beds.

He gives it an hour or two more before Namjoon wakes up- and then Hoseok a little while later, and then lastly Yoongi, who will always sleep in on their days off, and then stay up far later in the night. He claims that he works better at night, although Seokjin wonders why and how when it’s not like he can differentiate what time it is from his studio, which has no windows outside and is soundproof.

Seokjin is the only one who, although he also stayed up late, has had a few more hours of sleep than the rest of his members. Although waking up in the middle of the night to worriedly (and angrily) call after them to go and rest already has taken an hour or two off his sleep, he’s still well rested when he wakes up. He always wakes up the earliest between the members-

“Hyung, it’s one of the signs you’re already old,” Jungkook laughs. “Early to sleep, rising with the sun.”

He’d squawk in offense, and then gesture to his face. “Excuse me? Have you seen a grandpa as handsome as this? Besides, I don’t have any wrinkles of white hair.”

“The dye covers up your hair, makeup your wrinkles,” Jungkook would cheekily reply, and then they’d bicker, laughter ringing out seconds later. The memory in question makes him chuckle to himself as he flips over the eggs he’s cooking.

As if on cue, he hears the sound of shuffling footsteps from the hallway, followed by a loud yawn. He reaches for another plate, and then takes a look at the doorway to see who it is.

You lean on the doorframe, still sleepy and bleary-eyed.

Your clothes are still rumpled from sleep, and your hair still somewhat messy, although he can tell that you tried to comb it out. You squint your eyes at him, cheeks pressed to the wall, and mumble out a greeting.

It’s adorable. You’re adorable. Seokjin grins, and, tugging you on your arm, lead you to the table. Food is one thing that will help wake you up, he knows, so he starts setting down the food. Right on cue, your eyes, which had been slowly drifting close, flutter open again and you sit up, starting to eat even if you’re only taking small bites.

Seokjin waits for you to finish the food. This is usually how mornings with you go- sometimes, when they have day offs and you can afford to take one as well, the two of you (and sometimes the other boys too) play games together and watch movies. Last night you’d both been watching movies on Netflix with the maknae, and, after a thriller (that Jungkook insisted on since it was his turn to pick a movie, Seokjin barely agreed because at least it wasn’t horror or paranormal), you suggested playing Mario Kart to get your minds off the movie and sleep.

The two of you had fallen asleep on the couch a few rounds later, only waking up at what seemed to be two in the morning with the maknaes still playing.

Seokjin had scolded them for staying up so late, but eventually softened up. They did have the next day off, after all.

His attention turns back to you when you hum appreciatively at the food he’s made, and he smiles. You’ve never been an early riser, he knows. You could sleep until lunch like Yoongi- which, you’ve done at least a few times now, after staying up (you were embarrassed the first few times, but then you grew comfortable enough with them to not mind)- but for some reason, these days, he finds you’ve started to wake up earlier than you would. It surprised him the first time, but now he likes it.

It’s nice, he thinks, spending early morning with you. There’s only the two of you, after all. And while he loves his members, who are all but his family, he loves you too. You’re his best friend, after all, and it’s rare that the two of you get to hang out by yourselves only.

“How do you always wake up so early?” The way you squint your eyes at him, trying to keep yourself awake makes him feel like cooing over you, especially when you sleepily prop your head on the table. Your voice is raspy, but soft.

He slides into the chair opposite you, and begins to eat as well, though not before he answers your question. "It’s one of my many talents,” he says, winking at you. “Besides, now you get to be blessed by not just my face but by my awesome cooking first thing in the morning.”

“A blessing, huh?” You giggle. “I must be lucky then, to have been the first to be blessed by Kim Seokjin on this lovely morning,” you say, teasing him.

He doesn’t tell you, but looking at you in the soft morning light, a single thought appears in his head- you look ethereal. If there’s anyone being blessed right now, it isn’t you, it’s him. The thought makes him smile.

Yes, today as well, Seokjin is happy, and he’s determined to make the most out of it.

≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫

This particular day off, the two of you have planned together a picnic with the rest of the boys, having picked an out of the way park where the foot traffic is low and there are a lot of trees and meadows. It’s perfect, when you take in that the day is a weekday too and therefore there would only be few people.

Seokjin’s glad to have your help in planning the day’s events- each of the members has been cooped up in either their dorm or their studios for far too long, but a surprise trip to the park was something that would hopefully make them relax. Judging from the excited look on his members’ face as they approach the park, they’re fully on board with the idea and it makes him grin at your success, the two of you.

Granted, it’d be better if you all set off early in the morning and not after lunchtime, but considering it only takes half an hour to get to the park, and another half hour to pick a place to set down your bags and spread out the food, it’s still manageable.

As soon as they’re done eating though, everyone starts to branch out. Jungkook, taking out his camera, leaves to walk around and take pictures of the scenery, with Taehyung following him. Jimin goes off to the nearest meadow, trying to make flower crowns, Hoseok enthusiastically trying to teach him. Yoongi lays down on a tree somewhat far from all of you, cap on his face and immediately falling asleep. Namjoon stays by his side, earphones plugged in as he writes something on his notebook.

You and Seokjin remain sitting near the bags, just in case. There’s a book you’ve both been meaning to finish, but as Seokjin reads the book out loud, he can eventually hear you yawning a little. He looks down at you- at the way you’re trying not to nod off, but it’s obvious you’re having a hard time not falling asleep. He nudges you with his shoulders.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “If you want to sleep, you can, you know?”

You start, looking at him guiltily. “Sorry,” you say, brows furrowed, before sighing. “Was I really that obvious?”

“Kind of, yeah. Come on, lay on the blanket with me,” he cajoles you, making you roll your eyes even as you obey his instructions. The two of you lie down, a small distance between the two of you. The change in position has you both staring at the sky, and while he can faintly hear Jimin and Hoseok playfully arguing in the distance, it’s a peaceful day outside, and it’s as if nature itself is singing you both a lullaby- it doesn’t take long before you’re asleep.

“They really look like a couple right now, don’t they?”

It’s this voice that stirs Seokjin awake, head buzzing with snippets of his dream. He can hear a set of voices around him, Jungkook and Yoongi in particular. There’s a chuckle- and then the sound of a camera going off.

“What the- Jungkook!?” Your squeak is loud, and the embarrassment that covers your face is even more telling. “You- I told you not to take pics!”

“It’s just pictures though,” Jungkook says cheekily. You scowl at him, wide awake so suddenly.

“Yeah, and the last time I let that happen you made memes out of every one and kept using them in our chats!”

Jungkook bursts out in laughter, before diving out of the way as you lunge for him, and it isn’t long before the two of you are running around the field, you chasing Jungkook and the maknae easily evading your attempts to catch him.

Your impromptu reenaction of cat and mouse catches Hoseok’s attention though, and he sees you mouth a ‘help me!’ to him. He gives you a thumbs up- and then helps you out by tackling Jungkook when the latter comes near him, allowing you to pluck the cellphone out of his hands. Seokjin assumes you quickly deleted the photo Jungkook just took of you, but then you stand there for a few more seconds, a surprised look on your face.

“Wait, are these pictures of when everyone got drunk last week?” You exclaim, confused. Seokjin makes his way to you, curious as to what’s on the phone. When he’s close enough he sees you swipe to the next, and the two of you see a very unflattering but hilarious picture of Yoongi with a dazed expression on his face, looking as though he’s about to scold the other person on the other side of the pic. You let out a loud chuckle. “Oh my god, Jungkook, the amount of blackmail material you have…”

The next photo is of you two dancing to the macarena- you splutter and immediately move to delete it, but then—

“Yah, you have no respect for your elders!” Seokjin squawks as the two of you are promptly surprised when said maknae somehow snatches the phone from your hands. He tries to grab it back, but the maknae is faster and Jungkook smartly sprints away.

“Jeon Jungkook, get back here!” You yell at him again, starting to chase after him, Seokjin himself hot on your heels. Like before though, Jungkook is just faster than both of you, and it’s obvious that just one addition isn’t going to cut it. You come to this realization at the same moment that Jin does, because you seem to remember just what it is the two of you were looking at. “Everyone, Jungkook has meme pictures of us from last week’s party!”

It’s as if someone’s splashed a bucketful of water on everyone who was watching you with amusement on their faces- Yoongi sits up with a scowl, Jimin and Taehyung turn to your way, conversation forgotten, surprise on their faces as well. Hoseok only lets out a disbelieving laughter- “Wah, really?”

Jungkook stares at you all warily, but with amusement clear in his gaze. “Sorry hyung, noona, I couldn’t resist,” he cheekily calls out. “I’ll make sure to turn all your pictures into good memes!”

“This kid! Jungkooooook!” Jimin yells as he runs after him, and soon enough, Taehyung is also in on the fun, and then Hoseok (both of which seems to be more into the fun of chasing after Jungkook rather than getting the phone. Yoongi though, seems to opt out from the game, but then Seokjin notices him go over to Namjoon and whisper something, making their leader splutter, before he starts to run after Jungkook.

Which, is fine and all, and the complete chaos that has suddenly descended the eight of you, but then—

In the process of going over to you, Namjoon trips spectacularly in the middle of the grassy field, although he somehow manages to land on his back where his huge coat protects his skin from gashes. Somehow, somehow, he knocks over Jimin in turn, who, flailing, also falls down.

There’s a hush of silence in the meadow, and then--

Laughter bursts out, long and hard from almost everyone, and even Seokjin himself can’t help cracking up. It’s too funny, good god he can’t believe how clumsy Namjoon is sometimes. He turns to you, a quip on his lips already, but then the sunlight somehow hits your hair just right, because it makes you seem like you’re glowing, and he stops short as the sight captivates him.

But then you snort loudly, head thrown back a little from how hard you begin laughing. You lean into him, your head against his shoulder, your hair soft and ticklish on his neck, arms wrapped around his, and suddenly-

It feels like his world has been tilted askew.

Seokjin lives in the present, that’s true. He relishes in making the most out of every moment. Although that doesn’t mean he never thinks about the future, at most it’s a set of goals that he relates to that word.

But when you laugh, and oh, his heart. A single thought stays in his head.

I want to see her laugh like that every day, for the rest of my life.

It’s easy to brush off at first. It’s not the first time he’s thought that about you- you’re his best friend. Why wouldn’t he want you to stay in his life until after he grows old?

But this time when you look up at him, grin present in your face and eyes teary from laughing too long, he feels his heart beat faster. You tug on his arm- he’s never been more self-aware than he is now of how your touches feel, minute traces of warmth on his skin and he’s not sure if you feel him jolt from surprise. Lips that he never paid much attention to before seems to demand his focus now, and try as he might he can’t help but see you in a whole new light.

“Jin,” you chortle, “did you see that? I can’t even-“

In the background, he can make out Hoseok laughing. Namjoon is quiet, save for a pout on his face that screams resignation and exasperation at himself. Jimin, eagle spread on the grass is laughing his heart out as well with Taehyung coming up to him to pull him up. Yoongi makes his way to them, first aid kit already in hand, and Jungkook keeps a distance but comes closer to check up on Namjoon.

It fades away like white noise though, as you tug on his hand and beckon him to come check up on the boys with you. A part of him knows he must look anything but okay right now, what with the way he’s so intently looking at you, a dazed look on his face.

The rest of the afternoon after that feels like a blur to him, the realization that he likes you, he’s in love with you, how long has he been in love with you!? fully hitting him and reducing his brain process to mush. He’s distracted and it’s obvious- he’s seen Yoongi look at him in confusion, and he knows the others must have seen his current state too, even if they haven’t said anything yet.

It’s only when you’re all going home, the sky above fading from pink, to purple to black that he feels himself regain a steady balance on the world you’ve shaken just by existing, just by being you.

You’re all sitting in Jungkook’s car, the youngest maknae having insisted he be one of the drivers, the other one being Jimin. Namjoon is sitting at the front, with Jungkook, while you and Jin are at the back.

Your cheek is pressed against his shoulder as you lean on him, asleep. Sleep is something that came to you early on on the journey back home, something that eluded him as you used him as a pillow of sorts. It’s not that minds though, no. Alone as much as he can be with his thoughts (Jungkook, focused on driving and Namjoon listening to music again- both also too tired to talk at all, when there’s nothing that needed to be discussed at the moment), he finds himself slowly come to terms with it.

He’s in love with you, his best friend of more than half a year, with all your quirks and weirdness, and as he brushes a lock of hair away from your face, he finds that he’s more than okay with it, because—

Even without the feelings he now knows he has, you are a wonderful person and he couldn’t choose someone better to fall for.

So he stays like that for the better part of the ride with you, until he recognizes the street they’re on only a few minutes away from your complex. It’s regrettable, he wants to stay like this even longer. But it’s not like he can stop you from going home- you have work tomorrow, he knows, and you’d be angry at him for making you mess up on your job. So it’s with a heavy heart that he gently stirs you awake.

“Wha…?” Your sleepy reply makes his heart flip, moreso when you look at him with half-lidded eyes, confusion clear on your face and your cheek still pressed against his shoulder. It’s adorable, you’re adorable, good god he wants to kiss your face silly right now.

It’s a good thing though, that you’re too sleepy to properly look at him and see your effect on him.“We’re almost at your apartment complex.”

“M’kay,” you mumble and, letting out a big yawn, you sit upright again, gaze empty as you stare off into nothing and try to become more awake. Seokjin chuckles at the very, very cute image you make right now.

“Here we go,” Jungkook slowly eases the car to a stop, parking in front of your complex. He calls your name then. “Thanks for today, both you and Jin-hyung,” he says, bunny smile showing on his face.

“It was nothing. Everyone deserved to have a good outing- it helped that I had a good co-worker,” you say, winking at him before you lean forward to ruffle Jungkook’s hair. Namjoon is not so surprisingly already asleep- you send him an amused look.

Still, time waits for no one and he watches you straighten up, scrunch your nose at the thick snow outside and sigh. The weather outside is unforgiving as always.

“Wait,” the words fall from his lips before he can even process he’s said them. “I’ll walk you home.”

He ignores the look Jungkook sends him, curiosity and a smug, sort of teasing look evident on his face. Instead he braces himself for the cold and follows you out of the car, shivering even under the thick coat he’s wearing. He turns to look at you- you smirk at him as he walks beside you.

“Forever a gentleman, huh?” You tease him as you step into the walkway leading to your apartment complex, the sound of your boots muffled against the thick snow.

Seokjin laces his hands through yours, even though the gloves are kind of thick, and he grins when he feels you firmly hold his hand in turn.

“Nah, just thinking it’d be better to escort you to your apartment, in case you slip down on some ice and fall on your butt,” he eventually says. You scoff, lips half turned into a mock offended pout, but the way you’re struggling not to smile yourself is obvious.

“Yah! I could get home by myself.”

It’s as if on cue though, that as soon as you say that sentence, you slip momentarily on a patch of ice- Seokjin immediately tugs you upright, and if in his surprise he tugs you a little too harsh and end up pulling you against his chest, then, who is there to see? Still your hands are intertwined, and his heart is racing, and he’s feeling such an intense combination of surprise, nervousness, and giddiness then that his words come out short.

“See? What did I say?”

“That your face is stupid,” you instantly reply, your voice muffled against his coat, and his reply is automatic at this point.

“My face is handsome, thank you very much, it’s-“

“-worldwide handsome, I know,” you tease him, finally pulling away from his chest as you regain the balance you lost. Seokjin huffs, but resumes walking alongside you again. The two of you fall into a comfortable silence.

It’s only when you’re a few floors away from your apartment that he starts speaking again.

“Why were you blushing so hard earlier anyway?”

“Ah,” you say, blushing again, though whether out of embarrassment or something else, he isn’t sure. “My boss was asking me yesterday why I was spending today off,” here you pause and sheepishly smile. Seokjin’s heart skips another beat as you direct that look towards him.“… I may not have told her I was out on a date to make her sympathetic,” you confess.

“Aish, really?” Seokjin’s flustered at that reply, what with the connotations, but he replies soon enough. “Consider yourself blessed then, since you got to go on a date with BTS, and most importantly, me,” he says, winking at you as he says it.

Instead though, you burst out into giggles, and he pouts.

“Ya, what’re you laughing at?” He eyes you suspiciously, and you grin, leaning into him and- wow, it makes his heart feel quadruple as fast.

“No, you’re right,” your laughter is soft, and it touches parts of his heart that makes him feel like melting. “If it was like that, then, this is probably one of the best dates I’ve been on.”

“I- really? You haven’t been on many dates then,” he says. A part of him wants to confidently say, I could take you on better ones, the other one wants to blush and exclaim, One of your best dates already!?

It’s not like he has the courage to say either though, so he settles for a middle ground and jokes instead. It’s a good thing you’re both wearing gloves- otherwise you’d know how much he was sweating.

“No, I suppose not,” you admit. “But hey, it fit the criteria of my ideal date the most for me, so does it really matter if I’ve only been on a few?”

“Criteria?”

“Well,” you pause, trying to find the right words to say. “At first, I tried to imagine my ideal date as the one in books, and, maybe in movies, but then I realized that that was too unrealistic.”

“So I just thought, if I have fun the whole time, then that’s what matters, right?” Your smile, sweet and sincere, does nothing to quell his thundering heart, more so when you redden and start to flail.

“Not that I meant this was a date! I just- I had lots of fun with everyone today, uh, not that I don’t usually-“

The two of you really were two kinds of idiots, he can’t help thinking, the beat of his heart fading a little into background noise as he tries to calm you down from your embarrassment.

“Yah, hey, it’s okay,” he nudges you. “You’re kind of weird if you consider playing tag as part of a good date though.”

You scoff.

“And to think this would be the part where we’d share a romantic moment as I go home, but no, you had to ruin it,” you sassily reply, face still red as you bury it in your hands.

“If this was a normal date?” He can’t help repeating the words, playing it over and over in his head.

“If this was a date,” you huff.

Too soon, the elevator dings, and the two of you proceed to get out. The walk to your apartment takes less than a minute, and all too soon the two of you have arrived at your place.

And right then, he can’t help feeling torn.

Hesitance is something Seokjin rarely feels, but at this moment, it’s what his body is screaming to him. Standing by the door to your apartment, your back turned to him as you look for your keys, it hits him all over again just how much he loves you. How much he’s realized he’s been in love with you.

It had been a slow and gradual change of feelings- he thinks it started from the moment you laughed in that coffee shop. He only intended to stay awhile, wait out the heavy snowfall, but you’d lured him in with you awkward fumbling and shy smiles, and hours had flown by before he remembered he had to back to the apartment with his members too.

He’d seen a lot of girls in his life, that was true. His job as an idol practically demanded it, from their fan meets to their concerts to their variety shows and even airport arrivals and departures. He’d met a lot of people with different personalities, that was also true, as his job required him to be social and to act a certain way, in order to maintain their image.

But even so, you were different. And it had only taken an afternoon to prove that, because the next day, there he was, back again at the coffee shop.

You had greeted him with an excited smile, your eyes lighting up with surprised glee. He couldn’t help returning the smile, and then the two of you began to spend your afternoons together. It was only a week and a half, that was true, but that was still enough to cement you as someone important in his mind.

He didn’t hesitate then, letting himself fall into a friendship with a stranger, that even though at the start he was cautious about if she was an army, he eventually trusted her enough to lower his defenses around her. Not that she ever seemed to recognize him then, though…

But then they had to leave. They only stayed there temporarily, the weather deemed too dangerous to fly out in. He knew they’d have to leave, eventually-

But, for the first time since his trainee days, Seokjin was hesitant.

He was hesitant to reveal his true identity to the friend he’d made, the girl he’d come to associate with coffee and pastries and smile, with bookshops that smelled of warmth and wonder, because then he might lose her.

And that scared him.

He tried to stay away, but in the end, he found himself walking back to the coffee shop, where- he hadn’t known then whether to be thankful or curse his luck- he bumped into her.

And she found out who I am, he thought. But she stayed anyway, and declared she wouldn’t so easily let me go, not because I’m Kim Seokjin, BTS’ vocalist and Mr. Worldwide Handsome, but because I’m Kim Seokjin, her best friend.

And that made all the difference in the world.

Now, he realizes that it was only a matter of time before he fell.

Really, if you were anyone else, he’d be confident in asking you out on a date. But you aren’t just anyone, and suddenly he finds himself struggling to say the words he wants to say. He isn’t sure you like him- you used to blush a lot, early into your friendship, but rarely does he see red spread across your cheeks these days. You’re more receptive to his touches now, sometimes even initiating contact, but he’s not sure if it isn’t just because you two are close (which it probably is). You smile and laugh a lot around him, more than you would with any of the other members, but is it because you like him or is it because you’re best friends?

While he knows you see him as someone dear to your heart, he isn’t quite sure of if he’s dear to you in how you would family, or, well. His brain feels like it’s overheating from how much he’s thinking over almost every interaction with you. Still, it’s another blaring sign that he’s way in over his head with these new feelings.

You open the door- there is no warmth to be found in your apartment yet, making even the darkness inside seem cold. It contrasts with the warm light out in the corridor, making Seokjin’s hold on your hand seem favorable in comparison. Stay with me for a while longer, he thinks.

But then you flick the lights inside open.

A second more and you’d step inside- and Seokjin let everything he had inside him push him to say the words he wanted to say.

“What if I kissed you right now?”

He feels you tense immediately under his hold, even under the many layers of cloth. It feels as though his heart has jumped to his throat- he hopes you don’t turn around and look up at him, because it’d be obvious then how nervous he’s feeling, the red prominent on his ears. For a beat or two, there’s only silence around the two of you, before you mumble into his coat.

“Like a goodnight, goodbye kiss?”

The teasing, joking remark in which you reply with makes his heart sink, unsure if it’s rejection or if you haven’t realized he’s serious. It’d been a spur of the moment decision, that’s true, but this realization has been a long time coming and his feelings are not something that will quickly go away, just like that. But before he can speak up, you look up at him, smile, and then it feels like his heart is being slowly squeezed.

“Too bad for you, I don’t do romance,” you giggle. “So your charm won’t work on me, I’m not going to blush just because you’re teasing me a little. Still, it’s a good thing we even out-“ you smirk while saying it, and he hopes you don’t hear his heart drop, “if it were anyone else, I’d probably be doubled over, squealing and flushed red. Even if you were only joking. But I’m your best friend, so I know better.”

You make his heart feel like it’s on a rollercoaster. It’s true, because while he feels hollow inside one moment, the next it feels like he’s ascended to heaven as you gently press a kiss to his forehead instead.

“Forehead kisses are supposed to be a sign of protection,” you explain, smiling at him and he thinks his ears are the reddest they’ve been in his life and he really, really hopes it isn’t that noticeable in the dim light. “I’m already at home so I don’t need it, but since the situation demands a kiss then I’ll give you one since you’ve yet to get back home.”

It should be illegal, how you affect him. His heart skips a beat, and then another and another as it beats faster and faster. He hopes you don’t see how much you’ve just made him blush.

“Yah, just admit you’ll miss my handsome face.” He almost stumbles through his sentence, but thankfully it comes out fine. You huff, but there’s a smile on your face as you roll your eyes.

The two of you hear the sound of the car honking from below, and you let an amused smile show on your face. “You should head back now, I think Jungkook might come up any moment to get you.”

You take one step into your apartment, pause, and then give him one more hug, one that he fully embraces. Your cheeks are pink when you let go, but you beam at him and he can’t help smiling back.

“Goodnight, Jin,” you say softly, before heading inside.

#mine #my writing #kim seokjin x reader #seokjin x reader

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lenle-g · 5 years

Note

give me a cute short fic of jeff and alan together!!!!!!!!!!!!!! like some father son bonding moment and I know jeff boy hasn't appeared yet but I need the content

Ask Meme: I wish you would write a fic where…

Well, this… this is 90% not cute (with a cute ending tho I promise) but here on the Len blog it’s feels or death lads, feels or death. Also this is supposing the Space BoysTM and Scott goon the Rescue mission, and leave Gordon and Virgil to keep up with rescues onEarth.

His voice is morebooming than Alan remembers it. When he laughs he laughs with his whole body,shoulders shaking, knee slapping. He wonders if the grey of his eyes were alwaysthat shade? Were his lungs always so expansive? His tone so rich with love?

“Oh my god.Boys. Boys I can’t believe it, I…” Jeff’s got Scott’s arms around his shouldersand John, who honestly might actually be, oh god is that, laughing?, captured in a mean headlock. “You kids haven’t changed at all. Have you all beenok? Eating alright?” There’s a tussle between the three of them as Jeff goes toscrub his fist against ginger locks and John, with all the composure of a boyquarter of his age and an minute fraction of his usual sensibility actually squeals.

“Ha! Johnny! Who went and swapped your legs out for string noodles! Huh? Geez kid!” John struggles to freehimself absolutely ineffectually against his Father’s thick arms as he getscompletely ignored as Jeff turns to scrutinise Scott.

“Right then Scotty, how’re the Thunderbirds? Wereyou able to keep up operations? Lord Creighton Ward promised to be at yourservice if anything ever should happen but I can’t say I anticipated this.”Laughing he gestures at the dark, empty expanse of space above them. At thesharp silhouette the Zero-X2 makes parked alongside the wreck of the old one. “Boys,I can’t believe you’ve…”

It’s then he looks up at Alan,standing a little apart from them. The youngest Tracy is eyeing them almost nervously. His stare frozen inwide and disbelieving. There’s a pause of quiet between them as Jeff simply regardsthe young man and the young man regards him.

Jeff frowns.

“Alan?” He callsout, loosening his grip on John enough for his spaceson to wiggle free, hairrumpled and expression unsettlingly pleased about it.

Alan doesn’t move.There’s a beat of time. Scott frowns sharply at him, making gestures to comeover here right now from behind Jeff’s back.

There’s another pause.

“Hey, Allie?” Jefftries again, puzzled. “Is that you over there Sprout?” As if Lucy’s blues could possiblybelong to anyone but one of his sons. “Com’ere kiddo.”

Alan has only blurryhalf memories of the man stood before him with his arms open and there’sa tight, twisting sensation somewhere inside him that feels an awful lotlike the vessels of his heart tying themselves in knots.

“Dad?” There’s nothing Alan can do aboutthe way his voice breaks on the vowel. Nothing he can do about the way hishands are trembling.

His last fuzzy half memories of this man are of beingcarried up the stairs cradled close to a broad, warm chest. Of his Father’sheartbeat, strong and solid under his tiny hand. Of fingers in ducking-downblond hair and the press of a kiss to his forehead. Of a ‘goodnight, sleep tight, see you in the morning light’ that neverhappened.

“Oh Alan.” Jeff’s arms drop. His voice is very soft and is familiar inthe way only a faded photograph can be. His voice had become just a memory,something that Alan realises he thought he’d never hear again.It’s another one of his Dad’s ghosts.

Because that’s nothing new. Whenhis Father had disappeared Alan kept seeing his ghost everywhere. Not in any literal sense, but instead in the thingshe’d left behind. In the empty desk in the hall, the chair where only he wouldsit, in the bits and pieces of their Father’s life that Grandma, gradually overthe years, began to pack away. Alan remembers how the sight of John wearing oneof Dad’s old pullovers would twist something sharply in his chest. How so manylittle things that before would have brought to mind happiness and safety andthe warmth of his Father’s arms instead triggered a sharp, deeply burrowedanguish in him. He’s tried to put on a brave front, to hide his reactions fromhis brothers, never quite sure if they feel what he’s feeling too. They must, afterall, losing someone you love can’t be done lightly. But he’s never been braveenough to ask.

Loss is isolating like that.

John, his closest brother, had thrown himself intowork. Into stats and schematics and rescues. He became as much part ofThunderbird Five as Five was of him and the part of Alan that aches for hisFather aches for the old John too.The John before he’d had to pair up with Gordon and use pranks to get his attention. The one who spent time with himplaying games and joined in with his hobbies, the one before everything becameabout training. About preparing their youngest brother to face the perils ofspace and save lives. About making sure that if they sent him up into the blackhe’d come back again.

Everything was so, so different now, and he hasthis selfish, awful fear that’s been building the whole trip that theirFather’s sudden return into their lives will throw everything off all overagain. Alan doubts things will go back to the way they were before: after all,they’re all different and older and wiser now. Scott’s the only Field CommanderAlan’s ever known and they youngest Tracy doesn’t know if he’s ok with changingthat - let alone if Scott himself could ever step aside again. And yes, he doeswant John home more often, he wants to have his brother physically around and maybe Dad can make that happen but he doesn’twant John to lose something so importantto him. Their Father had just seemed so critical of John’s appearance and…What if Dad tries to force John down from orbit? Alan knows his brother is up there, not justbecause he adores it, but because it’s more importantfor him to be up there saving lives than down on Earth playing video games withhim.

Alan feels, frankly, kind of ill.

He can pinpoint in his head the exact moment that Johnbecame so distant from him and it involved an explosion over the South Pacificand The Hood’s dark laughter breaking up the recording. He’d been asleep whenit actually happened. But he’d seen the tapes.

They’d all seen the tapes.

And Alan would have given anything to see hisFather again instead.

And now here he is. And Alan Tracy doesn’t have a clue what he should do.

He becomes viscerally aware of the fact he’sshaking.

“Allie? Son? What’s wrong?” Jeff separates himselffrom Scott and John, both of whom are regarding their younger brother with a quiet understanding.Their Father crouches down next to his baby boy, aiming to level their heightsbut finding, surprised, that it puts him lower than Alan’s eye line. “I’m here now, yeah? I’mnot sure I agree with their decision to bring you out here when it could havebeen so dangerous, but your brothers did a great job piloting the new Zero-Xand…”

“I piloted it.” It’s the first time since theinitial shock that Alan’s properly found his voice and it comes out squeaky. “I… I flew the Zero-X2, D-Dad.”

A hand falls on Jeff’s shoulder, gently pulling himslightly out of Alan’s personal space. Alan relaxes only minutely.

“You’re looking at the most talented young pilotthe world has ever seen.” John tells their Father, with perfect sincerity.“Alan is a fully fledged member of International Rescue and has been runningmissions for three years now. We trained him ourselves. I don’t have enoughflight experience and Scott doesn’t have enough spacetime racked up for this.” John’shand settles on his little brother’s shoulder and Alan feels a rush of gratitudetoward him that takes his breath away. “He was the right man for the mission.”

Jeff looks from John to Alan and back, disbeliefclear on his face. He takes a moment to just stare openly at Alan, taking inthose wide, familiar baby blues and the soft blond curl of his hair. This youngman is so different to the child he left behind and Jeff is hit with the suddenrealisation that he’s missed a lot ofhis youngest boy’s growing up. There’s a firmness to Alan’s jawline now. He’s lostmuch of the baby fat from his cheeks and he’s taller, so much taller. If heshoots up much more he’ll not only surpass Gordon but maybe even Virgil.

“I…. kid.”There’s an awkward fumble where Jeff seems lost for words but then wide, warmarms pull Alan from John’s side and wrap tight around the kid’s shoulders,pulling him in to that broad, familiar chest. “I’m so proud of you.” Jeff chokes on the syllables and something in Alanbreaks down.

There’s a deep gasping sob from the littlest Tracy.

“I thought you were gone.” The teens fingers curl tight in the thick material of hisFather’s old International Rescue blues. “I woke up in the morning and theytold me you were g-g…” There’s a uncomfortable hitch in Alan’s chest and hebreaks down into monosyllables and broken sobs.

“Hey hey,” Jeff’s fingers smooth reassuringlythrough his baby boy’s hair, “its ok Allie. It’s all ok now. I’m here. You didit kid, you absolutely did it. I’m here.”

And actually, Alan thinks, as he buries his face inhis Dad’s shoulder and clings to him like he never wants to let go again, that’sall that’s really important.

Everything else will work itself out.

Dad is here.

#doopy doop doop have a bunch of FEELS #Thunderbirds #Thunderbirds Are Go #Alan Tracy #Jeff Tracy #TAG #Thunderbirds 2015 #Zero-X #John Tracy #Scott Tracy #Lenleg's Thunderbirds tag #hecke YEAH #hanaxsongs

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lookninjas · 5 years

Text

So this is the piece I wrote for the last issue of FUCKIT, and I’m posting it here for a couple of reasons. A -- I always kind of wanted to and it’s mine, so I’ll do what I want. B -- As a word count case study, this is 1309 words or so, and it’s about four pages long. Which seems bad, but it also depends on how I format, what font I choose, and honestly this last issue was 32 pages and still pretty slender, so my point is don’t stress the length too much unless you’re at, like, 5,000+, in which case we’ll have to have a discussion about giving you your own little thing.

And then, C -- if anyone out there feels like what they wrote is too off-the-cuff or messy or goes into too many tangents or just isn’t formal enough or whatever:

This is what I deliberately chose to write, as the person making the zine. This is what I felt best encapsulated the feeling of FUCKIT. And honestly, even though I almost kind of cringe at some of it, I still feel that way. We are saying FUCKIT. This is the point.

So:

The problem is wanting to write the perfect thing.

The problem is wanting to write the perfect thing when your subject inherently is imperfection. The glorious messiness of life in all its bitterness, all its frustrated lashing out and bad decisions, too much and then again not enough and then too much again, petty jealous miserable misanthropic messy messy messy because at the same time I still want to somehow get it right. To be understood. To make some kind of a damn sense.

It's hard.

Of course it's hard. Every damn thing is hard.

That's not the point.

Anyway. This is a tribute to Robert Smith.

It isn't just that Trent Reznor probably said it all first, and arguably said it better. It's the problem of saying any of it without it coming off worse than it should. It is 2019 and at no point are any of us to aspire to be any less than our best selves. To live our best lives. Instagrammable soups in designer bowls we got for cheap on Amazon with free next-day delivery and I swear to God I will get to the point here soon I'm just trying to establish some context.

So.

For context: I am a forty year-old woman aging awkwardly in a world I understand less with every passing day. And I don't mean antifa, and I don't mean memes, and I don't mean this modern music or the clothes or the slang or the tattoos or the funny hair colors. I mean, mostly, contouring. Contouring and everyone's weirdly identical eyebrows. The fetishization of names like Apple. And Tesla. Mindfulness. Fucking mindfulness. And manifesting. What the fuck is manifesting and why the fuck does Alyssa Milano think that's the way for us to get the game show host out of office and for the fucking record how the fuck did the game show host wind up in office and what the fuck made the United Kingdom go "Oh, we've got one of those! Let's elect him Prime Minister!" and why the fuck does Alyssa Milano (Alyssa Milano!) think we should instead be manifesting into office a goddamn faith healer with a Course In Fucking Miracles and why the fuck am I supposed to care what Alyssa Milano (Alyssa fucking Milano!) thinks to begin with and how much of this can I blame on John Mayer because I'm fucking blaming some of it on him at least fuck you and your Waiting for the World to Change, Johnny-boy, fuck you straight to Hell --

But Robert Smith still exists, and I guess that means there's hope for us yet. A specific kind of hope.

Black-clad. Hair a graying bird's nest of tangles. Eyeliner unfashionably heavy, lipstick smeared, guitar festooned with stickers like the hatchback of my niece's hand-me-down Subaru. Bursting into tears at the end of a concert, bursting into tears in the middle of "Disintegration," bursting into tears because boys might not cry but Robert Smith goddamn does and I guess if he does, then maybe it's okay if I do too. Maybe I can go back to dying my hair black if I want to, maybe I can wear eyeliner if that's the mood of the day, maybe I can pile on jewelry or maybe not, maybe I can do what the fuck I want to because Robert Smith goddamn does and he is perfectly fine. Better than fine. Robert Smith got inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame by Trent fucking Reznor, and I get that that's never going to be my life story (I'd have to take up an instrument other than euphonium, for starters), but still.

Maybe I don't have to think about the right way to age, the right way to eat, the right way to shower or take a nap or tie my shoes. Maybe I don't have to compete against my weird imaginary Best Self living her Best Life in total wellness and inner peace, this race I can never win, this high score I can never catch up to. Maybe I can just, you know, be a fucking person. Human and strange and spiky and flawed. And it's okay. I'm okay. So are you, while we're at it. We're not okay, but you know, we still are.

Maybe this still isn't the best way to explain it.

Maybe it's the only way there is.

It's hard. All of it is hard.

That's not the point, but then again it is, too.

Look at your imaginary Best Self, living their imaginary Best Life. Looks pretty easy, doesn't it? Looks like it all just kind of happens without trying. Without smudging the makeup, without rumpling the clothes or messing up the hair. No unflattering wrinkles, no bulges distorting the line of the dress. Simple and clean.

Now look at Robert Smith. Rumpled, messy hair, smeared lipstick, thick black eyeliner. Living his life, his only fucking life, and tell me it's not a hell of a life? It sure as fuck is. Married to the girl he fell for as a teenager, still in a band with his best friend, still in the Cure after over 40 years of it, playing festivals, recording music, maybe even releasing it someday (we kid because we love, Robert). No one could accuse him of making it look easy; looking back, it sometimes seems a hell of a lot harder than it should've been. But you know, he fucking got there. On his own terms, in his own inimitable style, he got there.

Doesn't it all kind of make the whole Perfection Quest seem kind of pointless? A distraction at best, a modern-day Soma at worst? I'm not saying don't do what makes you happy, just -- do what makes you happy, not what you think will make you happy at some point in some future where you've finally got your shit together. Where you've completed every quest, beaten every boss, finished every level. Because we don't. Or I don't think we do. I don't think we get our shit together. I don't think we ever feel adult, or mature, or ready. I don't think it ever gets easy.

I don't think you ever say it the way you mean to.

I don't think that's the point.

The point is that, sometime over the summer, YouTube suggested I watch a video of the Cure performing at Glastonbury, and I did, and it hasn't been the same since then. Or rather, it's been more the same than it ever has. Or both at once. Or neither. It's hard to say. A lot of things are.

The point is that it helped.

The point is that it's still hard, and it's always going to be hard, and that doesn't really matter and then at the same time it absolutely does.

The point is, go listen to "Fight" if you need to. Go listen to "Faith" if you need to. Go listen to "Friday I'm in Love" if you need to.

Wear black or don't. Smear your lipstick or fill it in perfect with a brush or don't wear any. Listen to the Cure. Listen to Lizzo. Listen to the birds or the river or the wind howling against the windows or top fucking 40 radio. Be as clean as you want, be as messy as you need to, be the you that is you right now and not any other imaginary you because that you doesn't exist and it never will. Live the life that you are living right now because that's the only life you get and it might be the worst sometimes but at the same time it is still the best. It is the only.

Write something, even if it's not as perfect as it ought to be.

And fuck the point, anyway.

#fuckit #robert smith #kind of #fuck it it's sort of about him it counts #also i really do stand by this all 900%#FUCKIT: the zine

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lilacmoon83 · 5 years

Text

A Darker Curse

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 23: Whatever It Takes

Snow gazed through the window to the interrogation room and tried to calm her racing heart. She was trying to clamp down on her panic, as she refused to break down with Cora in the room. She wouldn't give her the satisfaction, but she was finding it increasingly difficult to stay calm as the moments passed.

Slowly, she felt a bit of it ebb away, as he put his arms around her waist.

"They're not taking Emma from us. If I have to move us into the woods or we have to live on the run, then that's what we'll do," he said. She sniffed.

"Never again Snow...she's not separating this family again," he promised, as he pressed a kiss to her hair. She turned in his arms and hugged him tightly, almost afraid that he was going to disappear. They looked at Gold, as he came out of the interrogation room with Neal.

"What happened?" Snow asked with bated breath.

"They offered me a deal. Three years with the possibility of early parole. It's not a bad deal for the charges," Neal said.

"You're taking it?" Snow asked in surprise.

"Of course he's not taking it," Gold answered for him.

"Papa…" Neal said with a sigh.

"No Bae...I told you that I am not losing you again," he snapped, as hobbled toward Cora.

"If he is taken away...there will be no where you can hide from me," he warned. She smirked.

"I look forward to any battle with you, Rumple...you always lose against me," she cooed.

"Not this time," he hissed, as he went back inside the interrogation room to represent Emma.

~*~

Emma sat in the interrogation room and waited for the Detective to start asking questions.

"Miss Swan...we have several surveillance tapes on record that show Mr. Cassidy pocketing goods, while it appears you are distracting the store proprietor," the detective said.

"That's what you're going with? Because in this video, it appears that Miss Swan is actually purchasing goods from the store clerk," Gold objected.

"That's a well known tactic with teams of thieves. One actually makes a purchase, while the other is stealing them blind," Michael argued.

"Hardly much to go to a jury with. Especially when the young woman you are attacking is just a young, single mother that has moved to a small town to raise her baby. A young mother who is now our town's deputy," Gold countered.

"Yes...a young, single mother. Raised by another single mother. I pulled your mother's file, Miss Swan," Michael said.

"You leave my mother out of this. She has nothing to do with any of it," Emma snapped, which made the detective smirk and Gold put his hand up to silence her.

"You know...it's not often in the digital age that I run across someone that hasn't left a digital footprint, but before 1983, there's no real record of your mother and when I ran her in the system, her papers came up as fake. Your brother's too. That makes them undocumented persons in this country and forged identities is also a criminal offense," detective Bishop said. Emma looked like a deer in the headlights at that information. She had never anticipated that this detective would have dug so deep into her mother's background.

"Miss Swan's mother is not on trial here," Gold interjected.

"But she could be," Michael warned.

"Mary Margaret Swan is not an undocumented person," Regina interjected, as she walked through the door.

~*~

Outside the room at the same time

"Oh Gods…" Mary uttered, as she realized that the documents she had managed to get for herself and August all those years ago were now in question.

"Dammit...this could be bad," August muttered to David.

"He's not taking Emma and he sure as hell isn't going to take you or Snow either," David hissed, as he pressed a kiss to his wife's head.

"Stay with her," he said, as he went over to talk to Regina, who was talking to Graham at the same time.

"We have to do something…" he blurted out.

"And I am getting ready to go in there now. I have a plan and part of it is this," Regina said, as Graham handed a badge to him. He was stunned for a moment and took the star in his hand.

"While Emma is embroiled in this calamity, I need help and Regina tells me that there is no one better to deputize than you to help protect this town," Graham said. David swallowed thickly, as the insecurities he still had from the abuse he had suffered gnawed at him and told him there was no way he was good enough for this. But he banished those thoughts and clipped the star to his belt. If wearing this badge meant finally getting to protect the people he loved, then he was eager.

"You can count on me and I think I might know of something that will help get rid of them. It's a bit outrageous, but if it sends them running for the town line, because it's too crazy for them to handle, then I'm good with that," he said. Regina smirked and walked past him to go into the room, but not before leaning close.

"Welcome back, Prince Charming," she said, as she burst into the room.

"Mary Margaret Swan is not an undocumented person," Regina interjected.

"Oh?" he asked.

"She's my step-sister and she escaped our town with Emma when she was a baby to save her life. She took August too and adopted him to protect him as well," Regina explained.

"And what exactly was she running from?" Michael inquired.

"My mother...the very woman that called you here. She's the real villain in all this and once again, she's trying to destroy my sister and her family. But now that I'm older and finally in a position of power...I'm not going to let her do it. Or you," Regina said.

"If she's an undocumented person in this country, one call to the correct government agency, and it will be out of all our hands," Michael replied.

"Really? You're going to call the Feds and get yourself kicked off your own case?" Regina questioned skeptically and he looked a little startled by that, as she had clearly called his bluff.

"Fine...give me one good reason why I should believe this story?" he questioned, as the door opened again and David stood in the doorway.

"Because...I was there for all of it. Emma's best chance was leaving this place, even if it killed me to see her and her mother go," David interjected. The detective looked confused.

"I'm sorry...who are you?" he asked.

"I'm Mary Margaret's husband...and Emma's father," he announced.

~*~

Outside the room at the same time

Snow gasped, as her husband dropped information that the people from outside their world wouldn't be able to understand.

"Charming...what are you doing?" she said in a worried tone. August chuckled.

"Yeah...we're not going anywhere, mom, because your husband is about to go all Prince Charming on their asses," he quipped.

"But...they'll never believe it," she replied.

"Oh, I don't think they'll have any choice," August said, as she listened to the spectacle.

"I'm sorry...you want me to believe that you're this young woman's father?" Michael asked, almost laughing at the idea of it.

"I don't care what you believe," David said, as he plucked a hair from his head and put it in an evidence bag that Regina handed to him.

"Take it and a sample from Emma. Have the hospital run it and I'm guarantee that it will prove it," David said.

"And even if I were to go test your DNA against hers...how does that change the fact that your supposed daughter is a potential suspect in several thefts?" Michael asked.

"It would definitely prove that there is obviously more going on here than you know and things you don't understand. And as for your case against Emma...if I had to guess, it's circumstantial at best. You just want to question her to see if you can get her to admit anything. I'm no stranger to interrogation tactics," David replied. He was bluffing a bit there, but he had a good amount of confidence in his ability to at least intimidate even the seasoned detective before him. And he could tell that his mind was doing gymnastics, as he looked between them. Emma was the perfect mixture of himself and Snow and the resemblance was obvious. No one bothered to look for it before, but now that it was on the table...it was hard to deny.

Greg studied the man with scrutiny and could see the resemblance between them. It was really weird, but then...that's why he was here. This town had popped into existence twenty-eight years ago and he knew that meant strange things were going on here. This might be the start of exposing it all.

"I'll take you up on that test," Greg spoke up and Michael looked at him in surprise. Emma shrugged and plucked a hair from her head

"Can we please get back to my questions for Miss Swan?" Michael interjected.

"Is my client under arrest?" Gold questioned. Michael gave him a hard look.

"Not at this time," he said reluctantly.

"Which means you really have only conjecture against her so without any hard evidence, then we are done here," Gold stated.

"Your son is still very much under arrest and he's spending the night in that holding cell. Then tomorrow morning, he's leaving for Portland with us," Michael hissed.

"I do have some questions for your mother, Miss Swan," he said.

"No...you don't. My sister-in-law, our new Mayor, just told you that she's native to this town," David responded.

"He's right...I can get the town Census if you'd like and I can assure you that my mother, the former Mayor who had a stranglehold on this town until now, is the real evil. She's ripped out more hearts than you can imagine," Regina added.

"Fine...but this isn't over. There is something rotten in this town and we're going to find out what it is," Greg said, as he and Detective Bishop left the room. Tia was about to follow them, but Gold and Regina cut her off.

"Not so fast...fairy," Gold growled. The blonde smirked.

"So you know," she said.

"Did you really think I wouldn't recognize you?" Regina asked.

"It doesn't matter," Tinkerbell replied.

"It does!" Regina exclaimed.

"Your mother ruined my life," she spat.

"Look around...she's ruined everyone's lives! But we're finally making progress against her. She's going down, so I'd like to know why you of all people would do anything to help her," Regina hissed.

"I'm not doing any of this to help her...believe me," Tinkerbell answered.

"Then why are you here, Tink? Cause I'd really like to know. I really thought we were friends," Neal interjected, as he stepped back into the room.

"You know Tinkerbell?" Emma asked.

"I was in Neverland for almost two hundred years. It's how I'm still alive," Neal replied. Emma's mind was a little blown at that, but then there was a lot she had never known about him before he came back into her life.

"Bae...I'm glad you're okay and that you got away," she said.

"Looks like you got away too," he mentioned and she frowned.

"Not exactly," she said, as Emma turned to her father. Emma wanted to listen in on that, but she took a moment to turn her attention to her father.

"Dad...are you sure that was a good idea? The DNA is going to match and it's not going to make any sense to them," Emma said.

"No...but it distracted them enough, especially that district attorney. He seemed pretty interested, which begs the question as to why. Seems like he might not be the only one that isn't what he seems," David replied. Emma had never thought about that and felt relief, as he hugged her.

"No one's taking you and your mother from me again," he promised, as he pressed a kiss to her hair, just as Snow came rushing into the room. She practically tackled him to the ground and he took her in his arms, as she crushed her lips against his.

As their lips parted, they started to hear things get pretty heated between Regina and the blonde detective that was really Tinkerbell, a former fairy.

"What do you mean...not exactly?" Neal asked. But his eyes widened, as he saw his father swing his cane at her. She dodged and David jumped in to diffuse the situation.

"Whoa...whoa...what are you doing?" he asked, but Rumple ignored the Prince.

"You're working for him," he growled in an accusatory manner.

"Not by choice...but it was the only way to get out of that hellhole," Tink replied.

"Working for who?" Regina questioned.

"Shit...please tell me you're not working for him," Neal said in exasperation.

"Someone better tell me who the hell you're talking about," Regina interjected.

"Pan…" Rumple hissed.

"Well...isn't that kind of obvious? I mean in the story I always heard...Tinkerbell kind of worked for Pan," Emma chimed in.

"Em...you of all people know that this world's quote, official story, is rarely on point," August reminded her and she shrugged.

"But nothing on Pan is in your book," Snow interjected.

"No...but I'm still the author and the pen tells me things," August said, as he met Gold's gaze and he sighed.

"Tell them...or I have to," he prodded. Gold glared at him and he shrugged.

"They're my family and every time I lie, it seems to come with more consequences than it does for a normal person," August added.

"Papa...do you know Pan?" Neal asked.

"Yes...he's my father," Gold announced, shocking them all.

"Your father?" Regina asked in disbelief.

"Isn't Pan a kid?" Emma wondered.

"Not really...he just looks like one," August answered, as they looked at Neal, whose mouth was ajar.

"I take it you didn't know that," Emma said.

"That...psycho is my grandfather?" Neal questioned.

"No...he stopped being my father when he abandoned me, so he's no grandfather to you. He's the worst...even worse than Cora," Gold said.

"Why would you work for Pan?" Neal asked in disbelief.

"Isn't it obvious?" Tinkerbell asked.

"Your freedom. The question is...what does he want in return? Because not even my pen is telling me what that is," August replied, as their eyes met, before hers finally flicked back to Neal.

"You should say your goodbyes, Baelfire. We'll be leaving for Portland in the morning," she said, as she prepared to leave. Rumple blocked her path and she glared at him.

"Out of my way, Dark One…" she hissed.

"You're not going anywhere, flea," he hissed back.

"Move...or I'll make sure you join your son in a jail cell," she threatened.

"If you think this is over...you have another thing coming," Gold replied, as he stepped aside and let her leave.

"What now?" Emma wondered.

"We work on a plan to make sure those detectives don't take either of you away," David replied.

~*~

Cora stared at the blonde detective through the glass and their eyes met, as she walked out into the office part of the station.

"Well, well...long time no see, Madam Mayor," Tink said smugly.

"Oh that's right...former Mayor. Unfortunately, you look none the worse for wear after your fall from power, but I'd say if the lynch mob in there has anything to do with it, you're going to be burning at the stake when they're done," she added, as Cora glared at the former fairy.

"That's definitely a bonfire that I'd bring marshmallows to," she joked, as Kathryn looked confused by the whole thing.

"Excuse me...who are you? And why would David claim that he's Emma's father? That's insane. And he keeps saying he's that little tramp's husband when he's really mine," Kathryn complained. Tink rolled her eyes.

"Whoa...you really did a number on this one I see," the blonde commented, as she brushed past her.

"Watch your back, Madam Mayor...you have made a lot of enemies and you might find a knife in it," Tink said, as she left the station.

"Cora…" Kathryn started to say.

"Shut up and follow me," Cora snapped, as the blonde obeyed.

"Where are we going?" Kathryn asked.

"I have something I must do to ensure that all my enemies will be destroyed," Cora answered darkly.

~*~

"So...what's our next move?" David muttered to Rumple.

"I think the real question is...how far are you willing to go to protect our families, deputy?" Rumple countered. David glanced over at Emma, Snow, and August, as they both exchanged hugs with his wife.

"Too far doesn't exist when it comes to them. What do we need to do?" David asked. Rumple smirked.

"Your little stunt with the DNA was a nice touch and it might be just the distraction we need. Depending upon how that goes, I'll know what we need to do next. For now...take your family home," he instructed. David nodded and put his arm around Snow. They exited the interrogation room, just as Cora was leaving with Kathryn following her like a puppy. By the way they were walking, it was clear they were off somewhere with purpose.

"What do you think they're going to try next?" Snow asked, with a slight quiver in her voice. Her normally strong exterior had been deeply shaken by these people's attempts to take her daughter away. But unlike so many times in the last twenty years, she wasn't facing adversity alone this time.

"I don't know and I don't care, because they can't tear this family apart again. She may have succeeded once before, but her time in power is over. She's going to lose this time," he promised. Snow turned and he pulled her into his arms, as she rested her head against his shoulder. His words, as always, gave her hope and comfort. But she also knew Cora. She knew she was desperate again and feared what it may drive her to do now.

"Let me take you home," he suggested and she nodded.

"Honey...are you coming?" she asked their daughter.

"Uh...I'll be along later. I think Neal and I are going to take little David to the park and spend some time with him, you know, just in case," Emma replied.

"We're not letting you go, princess...and if I know Gold like I think I do...he won't be letting his son go either," David promised. She nodded, as a few tears escaped down her cheeks and they hugged her between them.

"I love you guys," she said, as she felt her mom press a kiss to her forehead.

"We love you too, baby and we're finally a family," she said, as she took her daughter's hands in her own.

"Your father is right...there is no way in hell we are letting you go and that goes for Neal too," she promised. Emma nodded, as she watched him put their son in his stroller and then went to join him, as they left the station. The detective and the district attorney would be upset to find that they didn't put Neal in a cell when they returned to the station, but she couldn't be bothered to give a damn.

"How about you, sweetheart?" Snow asked, as she noticed her son's preoccupation.

"Yeah...I'll be home later too. I think there's a story to chase here," August replied.

"You mean with Tinkerbell," Snow deduced.

"There is a long, sordid story there and it stops at the point when Blue banished her," he said, as he scoffed.

"Another person screwed over by the benevolent Blue Fairy. I think she needs to know she's in good company," he said.

"You think you can find some common ground with her?" David asked.

"It's worth a shot. You know, I don't know a lot about Pan, but I do know that he's known to prey on lost people. Maybe she just needs someone to offer her a home, like you did for me, Mom," August said, as he looked at her.

"Me?" Snow asked. He smiled and gently hugged her.

"You once told me that all you wanted when you were on the run as a bandit was a home and that you found it when you met David," he reminded her.

"And then I found it with you," he added.

"I mean...I know I had Geppetto for a while and he was a good papa, but to be honest, I don't remember a lot of that. I was too young and the trauma of the night the curse was cast and what he did will always overshadow it all," he continued.

"He was scared, honey...don't be too hard on him," Snow admonished.

"You're kind for saying that, Mom...but regardless, I would have been a very lost little boy without you. I honestly don't know how I would have turned out if you hadn't come through the wardrobe after me," he said.

"What was taken from you...from you both was so unfair. You lost almost everything, but you gave everything to me," he replied, as Snow melted and hugged him tightly.

"I love you so much sweetheart," she gushed.

"I love you too, Mom and we were always okay, because you fought and worked so hard for us," he said, as he gazed down at her.

"But now...we no longer have to worry ourselves about you," he said, as he looked at David with a smile. Snow smiled shyly, as David slid his arms around her.

"No...you don't," she said.

"Anyway, maybe Tinkerbell just needs to know that Pan's way isn't the only way and that maybe she can find a home, instead of doing his bidding. Either way, there is a story here and I think it needs to be in the book," he said, as he left the station as well.

"Do you think all that is really about a story?" David asked her and she smiled.

"Definitely not, but I think I'll take you up on that offer to take me home," she replied. He smiled and kissed her tenderly, before leading her out to his truck.

~*~

As Gold stormed back to his shop, he was surprised when he ran into Lacey.

"Oh...there you are. I was actually on my way to the station. I...I heard about your son," she said.

"Well...whatever you heard isn't happening," he growled, as he brushed past her.

"You mean they're not taking him out of town?" she asked curiously.

"Oh, they're going to try and if they do...I will make sure it is the last thing any of them do," he said darkly.

"Let me help," she offered and he looked at her skeptically.

"You want to help me?" he questioned. She shrugged.

"You helped me by putting Keith in his place and I'd like to help you with whatever you need," she replied.

"I'm not a good man. If you want to work with me, you might see some very dark things," he warned. She smirked.

"Oh I'm counting on it," she replied. He wasn't sure whether to be excited by her attitude or sad. On one hand, Lacey being attracted to his darkness was inviting. But Belle had always been the opposite of that and therein kept him tied to his humanity. Either way though, he didn't have time for any of it.

"Come along if you so wish," he said, as she followed him with a smirk.

~*~

The more this day went on, the more confused Kathryn grew. Everything David had said and done at the station had confused her to her very core. He had told that detective that he was Mary Margaret's husband and Emma's father. It was absolutely ludicrous, but then he had gone and given them a DNA sample like it would be some sort of proof. It was impossible though. Complete and utter lunacy and yet no one else around him was treating it as such. Instead, the new Mayor Mills and Sheriff Humbert had rewarded his idiocy by giving him a deputy badge of all things. And if she hadn't felt like she was in the Twilight Zone before...she did now.

She had followed Cora to the old library, which had been locked and boarded up for years. Cora had pulled out an astonishingly large ring of more keys than Kathryn had ever seen and let them into the old building. Sidney Glass was there too and she had gotten into a hand cranked elevator with the former Mayor.

Now she was confused and terrified, for they had been lowered into a cavern beneath the library and it was pitch black.

"What...what are we doing down here?" Kathryn asked, as she finally found her voice.

"I need something," Cora replied vaguely, as she watched the woman look and stopped, as she leaned up against something.

"This...this doesn't feel like a wall. It...it feels scaly…" Kathryn said in a frightened tone, as she walked back from the mass that lay in the cavern.

"What...what is that?" she asked, as her eyes refused to believe what they were seeing.

"Never mind that! Get over here!" Cora hissed, as the other woman stumbled around the rocky outcroppings in the cavern, until she finally found Cora and stared at the object before them.

"A coffin?" Kathryn squeaked with a quiver in her voice. Cora smirked and gently ran a gloved hand along the dirty glass covering.

"A glass coffin," she corrected.

"This was once the answer to me getting everything I ever wanted," she continued.

"She was never supposed to be such a problem...but she rallied more love and support around her than even her distasteful mother ever could. But this was supposed to be her end," she said.

"She was supposed to sleep here eternally, her own body as her tomb. And he was supposed to be executed so he could never press the kiss of true love to her red lips," she continued.

"Then her suffering would have been eternal. She would never awaken, yet never die...she'd never be allowed to reunite with her true love and then my revenge would have been complete," she growled, as she thrust her hand through the glass and pulled out a small, velvet pouch.

"But they ruined it...they ruined my perfect revenge and now my perfect curse," she said, as she pulled a large black diamond out of the pouch and cruel smile curled on her lips.

"What is that?" Kathryn asked. Cora looked at her.

"The only way I'm ever going to get rid of all my enemies," Cora replied darkly.

#Snowing #SnowxCharming #Charming-Mills-Stiltskin family #Golden Lace #Swanfire #Emma Swan #Neal Cassidy #August W. Booth #Tinkerbell #Wooden fairy #evil Cora #CORA cast the curse #Regina Mills #romance #adventure #family #a darker curse

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blindspot-repata · 5 years

Text

High School Blindspot

Chapter 5 - Party

Natasha arrived early at the Patterson’s house, as she had agreed to help her friend with some preparations to wait for all the staff. They owned a large and imposing house. The parents were scientists and were able to earn very well from their research. Patty was thinking of pursuing their parents career, but not so much Freddy, he was very smart, but it seemed that the world was small for the boy. At the age of twenty he had not yet met, while he loved to hold parties with friends. The preparations were ready and some young people had arrived.

“Natasha, how are you handling everything? You know what I'm talking about, don't you?” Patty was always very worried about her friend and tried to help when she was in trouble, followed her relationship with Ricky from the beginning and never had the courage to give an opinion about it, but clearly saw how bad this dating did to the brunette.

“Look, I didn't measure the consequences, and my relationship with Ricky has gotten out of hand. There was no love, I don't know what I feel anymore. I just know I don't want to see him anymore. I hope he leaves me alone. I want to start my life over. The Latin girl seemed determined on the subject. Something seemed to have changed inside her.

“And how do you think to do that? Have you got a plan?” Natasha turned to the door and found Edgar who had just entered with Kurt, her friend followed her with the look and the smile of both became very clear to the blonde.

“I'll be back!” Natasha announced heading quickly towards the door.

“All right!” The brunette didn’t hear what she said and Patty smiled at the scene. If there was one person in this world who could do Natasha good, it was Edgar.

“Hi Ed, hi Kurt. Glad you came.” Natasha addressed the boy as soon as she reached him at the door.

"It's not like I'm hanging around. I worked almost all day and wanted to get some rest before coming.” The girl's smile enchanted him and he couldn’t stop looking at her. Natasha was beautiful, the tight black dress accentuated her qualities, the platform heels made her a few inches taller, she wasn’t at all vulgar but very beautiful and sensual. The boy didn't know what was happening to him, but he was very fascinated with her.

“Funny. Come on, let's have fun.” She pulled him out of his trance by pulling him by the hand.

They went to the counter that was filled with food and drinks. The two didn’t drink alcohol often. They grabbed a soda and headed outside to join the rest of the already crowding people.

Kurt had searched the whole party and had not seen Remi anywhere. Maybe she didn't really come. He grabbed another beer and leaned against the counter already regretting his hopes. It was best to forget whatever it was that she was awakening inside him. Maybe he should have brought Allie, not that she hadn't insisted, but he'd been categorical about the breakup, only she didn't want to accept the facts. That's when the blond boy came in and Kurt kept an eye out, but didn't see his sister with him. Already giving up, he turned his back to join the rest of the crowd when Roman called him.

“She's out there. I think two girls got her talking. Why don't you go there.” Roman had noticed from the beginning the connection between the two, he wasn’t to interfere with his sister's relationships, but realized how the other boy seemed disappointed to not see her.

Kurt didn't think twice and headed for the exit where he found her talking and laughing with Patty and another girl he didn't remember the name. Then she saw him and he waved at her from the door. The girl was dressed in tight, low waisted black trousers, a long sleeved black blouse that left most of her belly out, she looked perfect. She said something to the girls and came to meet him.

“Hi. You took too long. I mean, it's none of my business. Do you want to come in? Eat something, dance.” Kurt's clumsiness with her was visible. What happened to him? It looked like she was the first girl to talk to.

“ I couldn't leave before, I was late.” Shyness was on her face. Maybe because she didn't know a lot of people at the party and all the people already seemed clumsy. She escorted him to the outside area where a metallic sound and a little too loud came out of two huge boxes located at both corners of the porch. Remi waved to Natasha who was talking animatedly with Edgar and some other friends. If those two didn't have something she couldn't say anything else, because to her their relationship seemed to go far beyond just friendship. Rich came to meet them very excited.

“Hey, you two! You need to try this drink.” Rich held a bottle in one hand and a half full glass in the other. The contents weren’t identified by both, as the bottle had no label. “It will leave you two crazy people to catch each other!” The short man spoke in a lower tone.

“Rich! Get out!” Kurt shouted at Rich because he could ruin anything the boy intended with Remi. Rich was a total clueless.

“Rich, come on, this is starting another song.” Boston came pulling him by the hand.

“I'm sorry for his nasty comments.” Kurt apologized to Remi, who had gone very red.

“Don’t worry. I know how he is.”

The party went well and many were already drunk, as they could not see drinks available and control themselves to drink little. The style of music changed to something quieter and soon the romantic songs that rolled over at the end of the holidays began and some couples were already forming on the dance floor.

“ Remi, dance with me?" Kurt ventured, for he had nothing to lose and would not stand still knowing that tonight could be a great opportunity for him to approach her.

“ I'm not very good and...”

“ No problem. I conduce you. Come on." Kurt held her by the waist and Remi wrapped his arms around the boy's neck. Their faces were very close arousing many sensations between them. He led her down the track to the rhythm of the song and with a few steps they were already in tune.

“Hey, do you wanna dance?”

Natasha was coming back from the house with a glass of drink in her hand when she was surprised by a boy she had rarely seen.

The girl looked around the room and didn’t find Edgar. She knew how annoying it was to refuse a dance. It could make you embarrassed. “All right.” She was taken by the hand to the dance floor and the boy held her by the waist, she was careful not to get too close. They both danced with a visible lack of tune and the music seemed endless.

“My turn.” The music stopped and Edgar was beside them on the track. Natasha flashed a smile that didn't hide her satisfaction at seeing him.

"I thought you weren't coming anymore." Natasha spoke softly as he approached.

Edgar, in turn, pulled her to him and their bodies were very close together. Natasha laid her head on his shoulder, put an arm around his neck and his other hand rested on the boy's shoulder. She closed her eyes and let the melody seem to have carried them to another dimension. She could hear his strong heartbeat, which made her happy to think a little might be for her. The girl was realizing that what he aroused in her was reciprocal.

“Hey Roman, do you dance?” Patty risked talking to the boy who always seemed angry.

“ No. I don't like it very much.”

“ Me neither. Do you want to know my lab?”

“ What?” Roman didn’t know what was hidden in the invitation, because he could see from the beginning the way the girl looked at him.

“My lab, come on, I'll show you.”

She led him into the basement and when she turned on the light Roman was as surprised as she was disappointed.

“You thought that was what? An excuse for me to be alone with you? Maybe it is too.” Patty approached him and saw that he was red so decided to take it easy. “I'm kidding. I'll show you my little things.”

“ You look tired. If you want to go I'll take you.” Kurt and Remi danced a little and went out for a breath. It was a little late and the girl's tiredness was visible.

“Okay, but I don't want to go home now. If you don’ mind.”

“Okay, we go for a drive and when you want I'll take you.”

“I need to warn my brother.”

They didn't find him so they asked some friends to let them know they were gone.

“ Where were you?”

Natasha was a little startled by Patty's appearance upon returning from the interior of the house. Her hair was very messy and the buttons on her shirt were buttoned all wrong. The brunette looked back and realized the reason for her disorder also coming from inside the house. Roman had a rumpled shirt and a mischievous smile. She started laughing and gave Remi's message to him.

“Patty, I'm tired and I can't stay to help you, but I think you already have a helper. She said pointing to the blond boy. “ Edgar will take me home.”

“All right. You can go and enjoy and have fun both of you.” The girl clearly had drunk too much to say that making Natasha and Edgar totally embarrassed.

“What is here?” Remi wanted to know as soon as Kurt stopped the car in front of the ruins of an ancient church. They got out and stood against the side of the car.

“I came here with a friend when we were kids. Remi felt a pang of sadness in his words. “She passed away, was murdered, and never had a chance to grow up and live so many things that might be waiting for her.

“I'm so sorry.” Remi held tried to bring some comfort to the boy.

"Somehow you remind me of he. Not just for looks, but for determination, the way you look. They were now facing each other and Kurt's gaze was so penetrating that Remi hardly blinked. "I just wanted to make one thing clear. I didn't drink Rich's drink, but I have a crazy urge to kiss you.”

In the absence of answers Kurt took it as a consent. He approached the girl and placed his lips over hers, the kiss was nothing angelic but intense and firm, the two there in the moonlight and the stars let their bodies speak for themselves.

“Today was perfect.” Natasha said as soon as Edgar stopped the car at the door of his house.

“Yes, it was a long time ago I didn't have fun or dance that much.” You dance very well.

Natasha laughed at the compliment. “Some say I get the hang of it.” I'm going down. It's late, and Grandma must be worried about my delay.”

Edgar wanted to say so many things, he didn't want to let the night's charm end like this, because tomorrow they would just be friends again, as usual. The boy didn't even know if they could be anything else, but when they danced together he had her in his arms and she was his for a few minutes, there was nothing between them, not Ricky, not Sarah, or any other ghost that could stop them from enjoy, this moment was just theirs. He took her hand and delicately intertwined her fingers with his.

"Natasha..." He dipped into her gaze and the girl bent over him and pressed his lips to hers. It was just a quick kiss that lasted a few seconds, but it was enough to make it clear that there might be something more between them in the future, who knows.

Neither of them took the next step or said anything. Natasha went home and fell into her bed with feelings swirling.

Edgar had a restless sleep, closed his eyes and felt her in his arms with her lips glued to his, he wanted more, much more. Now that she had taken this step he knew he was ready to talk about his feelings.

He woke up with the phone ringing nonstop, he didn't want to answer it. He looked at his watch and it was four in the morning, had slept less than two hours. Who would this time be? The mother was not home and Lis was sleeping.

“Hello! His voice was sleepy and angry.

“Edgar.” It was Natasha on the other end of the line. “ You can come? I need you! Please...”

#blindspot #blindspot fanfic #jeller #Repata #tasha zapata #edgar reade #patterson #roman briggs #kurt weller #jane doe #bshiatusproject

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shortmania · 5 years

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If Olga had children, what do you imagine they would be like?

Oh, I created a batch of those years ago. This pic’s from 2014:

To create OC kids, there’s a lot of junk you have to consider. Mother, father, family, parenting styles, income, environment, and all the ways these things might come together to form a person. And thinking about Olga as a mother has always been… fucking hysterical, honestly. Like can you imagine? Can you stand it? I’ve only ever been able to think about it in short bursts because it’s too much for me. It’s too much.

There’s also The Patakis to think about, and the ways Olga is likely to change as she gets older. Lucky for my sanity, I see her developing into a calmer, wiser, less chaotic sort of person. Less luckily, I don’t see this being a particularly significant development. It doesn’t matter if she’s 20 or 50, she’ll always be Olga Pataki and Olga Pataki is ridiculous. I don’t want to say she’d be a bad mom, but… she wouldn’t be a very good mom, either? She’d do some things right and other things very wrong. I’ll get into that, but lemme just do a quick rundown of the other basic considerations here: dad, income, and environment.

I created a husband for Olga around the same time I made these kids, but I never developed him very far past a few basic traits and a general backstory. So he’s very basic, but he works. Charles was a good friend from Wellington College (in England) who shared most of her English classes, was the only one to maintain contact with her after she transferred to Bennington, came from money, raised by nannies, bit of a nervous wreck but hides it well because that’s how he was taught–to be pent up and twitchy. His fam wanted him to be a lawyer or business man but he quietly rebelled by becoming an English major instead, knowing full well how useless a degree it is and not caring at all. He eventually goes on to be a successful playwright, though, and Olga performs in all his plays. So, income would be decent verging on very decent, and their kids would grow up somewhere teeming with theatrical opportunities. Probably somewhere really crowded and loud and pretentious.

Getting right into it then, from left to right, we have Angelique, Helena, and Genevieve, because Olga’s That Bitch. They attend(ed) a fancy private school because Olga’s That Bitch. They’re all very well-read, well-traveled and “well-behaved” because Olga’s That Bitch. But since Olga is, as specified, That Bitch, her kids didn’t escape her influence unscathed.

Tbh, I do think any kids Olga would have would be Pretty Good Kids™– barring her having any with an absolute scumbag like she so easily could, but that’s another question entirely (I write fluff and comedy, so these kids reflect that) – but. Hmm. I see Mom!Olga being extremely affectionate, extremely emotional, and frequently selfish; generally hella overbearing; definitely stifling. And she wouldn’t want to, but I can’t see her not on some level perceiving her children as extensions of herself, and thus incapable of coping with anything less than Excellence on their parts. Not to say that I think she’d be a monster. I don’t think she’d force them into things or demand they win awards or anything like what Bob or Miriam did to her, but being in the same room as her with a less than impressive report card would be… uncomfortable. And that’d be on top of her always being in their business, looking over their shoulders, and constantly trying to spend quality time with them. Even when they don’t want to spend time with her, and so help any of them that say as much, because Olga’s incredibly sensitive. So layers upon layers of bad, there.

Some rebellion would be expected, then, so Genevieve gets into the goth punk scene. She’s more casual about it as an adult, but Olga doesn’t understand her. Helena uses comedy and misdirection as a defense and smiles very big and very nervous when her mom’s lip wobbles at her a little too expressively. Angelique straight up hides from her. She used to be sweeter, used to gently comfort her mom whenever she inadvertently did anything that upset her, but it took a toll on her and she can’t handle crying, or disappointment, or criticism, and she hates explaining herself so she avoids ever needing to. She’s a little emotionally underdeveloped, as a result. Not good for anyone to avoid conflict.

I also see Olga babying the hell out of her kids, so that would be another reason for Genevieve to rebel and Angelique to be Babey. In some ways, it’d be good, like they’d be generally very sweet kids, but I’m not sure how emotionally stable they’d be. Better than Olga, at least. Their methods of coping with heartbreak and life’s little every day tragedies would be… interesting, though. I sense a lot of Beethoven’s 5689574th and other general dramatics. Dancing, ice cream, black mourning veils being broken out over the smallest things. Either that or just complete repression.

Since you asked specifically how I imagined the kids, I’ll go ahead and give a messy little bio on each.

Genevieve: I wanted to play with the dichotomy of the Posh Gifted Nerd archetype and the Cold Badass Rebel archetype. Bob has an influence on her in that he’s something of a military enthusiast (I guess?), and I see Genevieve being lowkey into that as a kid, until she gets older and learns more about what goes on overseas and how much carbon emission hummers give off. Incorporates a lot of her old camouflage into her goth punk looks as a mocking salute to that now. Proudly rides on the outskirts of society in her down time, but she’s the most academically-driven out of her sisters and was absolutely Valedictorian. Reads a lot of books, a lot of Smart Person magazines, and listens to a wide range of music (classical, alternative, showtunes, punk, jazz). Creative. Loves history, but especially the Georgian, Victorian and Edwardian periods of Europe. Super into black pearls and lace. Bit nihilistic, but cares a lot about everything. Always gets into very interesting conversations with Helga, but Olga has no clue how to talk to her.

Angelique: I already kinda rambled about her, but she’s my All Natural Girl. No makeup, no piercings, had to be talked into using conditioner, almost gave up shampoo once (bad month for everyone). Shy, sweet, sensitive. Concerned with the world at large. She tries to be an academic like her family but she’s really not. She dresses and behaves like a perfect little nerd, but school doesn’t interest her, and she feels hella guilty and self-loathing about it. All she ever really wants to do is watch trashy made-for-TV dramas, cook/bake and moon hopelessly over guys. DIY af, buys nothing new. Is Babey. Soft clothes, soft eyes, a little messy and chaotic. Constant low-level thrum of anxiety. Rumpled button-ups and over-worn sweaters energy, forever jeans, rarely in skirts because skirts are stressful. That character you forget and underestimate but shocks you with insight from time to time. Will probably end up a baker or smthn. The oldest of the kids, actually, though she rarely acts like it.

Helena: That girl who raids your fridge, chews twelve sticks of gum and paints your nails whether you want her to or not. No sense of personal space, very touchy-feely, always wants to braid hair and thinks makeup on dudes is the greatest invention ever. Goes against the dress code at her school very brazenly but gets away with it because her work is excellent and the teachers adore her. Attitude in spades but she’s a sweetheart. Lots of friends. Loves her mom to death but tends to avoid her without quite meaning to. More Daddy’s girl, though she avoids him, too. Parents are no fun. Thinks her Aunt Helga and Uncle Arnold are the absolute shit, because why would we want to live in a world where she didn’t?

And that’s my take. There are lots different ways Olga With Kids could go down, but Intense and Stifling are pretty much the two things I see as being universal variables in the equation. So, yeah. Maybe a little less fluffy than originally intended, but Idk. These are old designs. Other drawings and further information on these kids here and here. Shown pic here. I hope this was helpful anyway. Have a good.

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