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safination · 2 months

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Partners in Death...and Life

Part 5: Glimpse of Me and You: part ii

|Part 5: Gimpse of Me and You: Part i| Part 6: Radio's Last Broadcast| |Masterlist| Ao3| Taglist| Pairings: Alastor x wife! Reader Tags: fem!reader, established relationships, Asexual! Alastor, Reader is in hell for a reason Here it is! The second half of this chapter. Finally finished. Some parts are a little bit rough but I'll be away tomorrow, so I decided to post it now. I'll just edit it here and there.

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1932

Alastor is playing the piano.

The wooden door does nothing to muffle how feverishly his fingers glide over the keys, joining together to create a harmony of melodies. Was it a coincidence that Alastor presses the keys in the exact sequence of notes of the song you are currently calling your favorite? Maybe, but gosh does it ignite the most stupid smile in you.

You press your back into the front door, listening to Alastor play the piano. His music flows into the air, and reverberates out the walls. Part of you thinks it calls out for you. If you strain your ears, you can hear Alastor mumble the lyrics. You run a hand over your face, still with that stupid and wide smile. Unfair. Too unfair. How foul of him to hang such an expression on your face.

There’s no good reason to stay out here, seated in the cold. You should go inside. A warm bath and a proper meal await you. A simple twist of the doorknob, and you would receive all that and more…but…but Alastor is playing the piano. There’s even less of a reason to interrupt him, not when he there’s a tinge of joy when he sings into the air. So, you stay seated in the cold, eyes closed and numb fingers.

The tempo of the songs picks up, and Alastor doesn’t make a single wrong note. You could practically see him glide his fingers, pressing each key with perfection.

Two days…

It’s been two days since you’ve felt the traces of him. Two days since you caught sight of that brown hair, and stared into those two brown eyes that even the moon cannot compare to. It’s only a measly forty-eight hours, but even then, it was forty-eight hours too long since you washed the dishes with the person you swore to do so for the rest of your life. Forty-eight hours without being able to exist with him.

The music stops abruptly.

The door swings open, and your back smacks to the floor. You land between Alastor’s shoes, looking straight at him. He angles his head down, staring right back at you. There it is. It’s unfair, too unfair for him to possess a gaze that strikes you silly.

You smile at him.

He smiles back.

You don’t move—not yet. Not even when half your body sticks out the door.

“You are welcome to come inside, anytime,” he says, and his bangs hang in the air a bit. Alastor pushes his glasses up his nose. “Come on, I’ll heat up some food.”

You open your mouth to respond. There’s so much to say for you to say, so much you want him to know. But…huh…nothing can come out. It’s almost as if your brain refuses to produce any words.

Alastor sinks to his knees, reaching to poke your cheek. “You could have called me,” he says, shifting his hand to trail the back of his fingers down your face. “I would have gone to pick you up from work. All you needed to do was call for me.”

A smile is the only response you’re able to give.

Alastor hooks his arms underneath your armpits, dragging you across the floor. Your skin slides over the wood, squeaking with friction. Alastor drops you, not before safeguarding your head from the hard wooden floor. It’s the simplest of acts, but it's everything to you. He closes the front door with his foot.

Alastor lies next to you on this cold and hard floor. He nudges his head with yours, connecting you to him. “Hi.”

You can’t find the energy to say it back.

He inches closer, planting the softest of kisses on your forehead. His chapped lips prick your skin. You twist to face him, looking straight at him…just him and only him. You reach out to plant a hand on his cheek, caressing him with your thumb. The warmth of his face presses deeper into your palm.

You stay on this floor, even as the very hard and very solid wood aches your shoulder. But Alastor lies here as well, smiling next to you, and suddenly it doesn’t really matter where you are.

“Welcome home,” he says, peeling your hand off his face. He holds you, and pulls your hand closer to plant the smallest of kisses. “Are you planning on becoming our new doormat? Can you imagine that? Somewhere out there, in a different life, you and I are just a couple of doormats.”

And what a silly, silly man to imagine a world where even as a doormat, there will be him and there will be you, existing together as inanimate objects..

Alastor squeezes your hand, and his smile wobbles. “Talk to me?”

You squeeze back. “I…I heard you playing,” you say, because denying him will never be an ability available to you, not when he asks you in a voice that is oh so soft. “You were magnificent.”

Alastor’s smile brightens, and you know you did good. “Would you like to hear more?”

“Always and forever.”

He hops to his feet. Once more, Alastor hooks an arm underneath, and drags you across the floor, knowing very well that he has the strength to carry you properly. Your legs bump into the stray furniture. He lifts the upper half of your body high enough to sit you on the piano chair.

You lean into his side when he takes the seat next to you.

Alastor hovers his finger above the piano keys, taking one last glance at you. “When we turn old,” he sings, swaying a bit. “I hope we are never changing. Whenever and wherever we are, this is my dream.”

Alastor stills a bit, his fingers slowly pressing the keys. He looks at you with expectant eyes.

You smile at him, and bump your shoulders, singing along with a snort. “Will you be able to kiss me and hug me until we grow old?”

And there it is again, that bright smiles pointed at you and only you. “I’m just asking,” he sings, “will you still love me even when my hair turns gray?”

“That day will come when your hair will also turn gray,” you sing. It’s not as good as Alastor’s smoother and deeper voice, but you’re not embarrassed. Not one bit. Because why would you be? Deep down, somehow, you know he doesn’t care. “Together we will dream of our past.”

“I’ll remind you of my promise.” Alastor lifts his hand off the key, and boops your nose.

You laugh, pressing deeper into his side. What a silly, silly man to be married to.

“That my love is always yours,” he sings to you. “Even when my hair turns gray.”

The song ends too soon. Alastor lifts his hands from the keys.

You smile at him. “I didn’t know you knew how to play this,” you say. “When did you even learn?”

“Well, you kept singing it over and over and over again. It somehow got stuck in my head,” Alastor says. “I had some free time on my hands.”

You inch closer, pressing your lips on his cheek. “You are a wonderful singer, dearest.”

Alastor laughs. It’s breathy and light and the best thing you have ever heard. “Maybe I should sing for you more since you’re so keen on singing praises for me.” He grabs your hand. “Have I ever taught you how to play?”

You shake your head. “Not yet.”

Alastor presses on the keys, creating a perfect harmony. “Each key produces a specific sound.”

“I know that much!” you say, kicking his leg with a huff.

There are so many different keys on this piano. Each has their own special sound that it’s almost impossible to memorize them all. You copy Alastor’s form, and press down on a single key. The note reverberates across the air.

Alastor swats your hand with a strained smile. “What did our piano ever do to you?”

You blink at him, then at your hand, and take one, single, deep, breath. “Ooouuuuuccchhh!” you exclaim with the fakest of whines and place a hand on your forehead. “I don’t think I can ever recover from this, my love. My hand…Alastor…my hand! You hurt me! It hurts so much! It huuuuuurrrrts.”

Alastor rolls his eyes, but still, his smile never wavers. “I barely tapped you.”

You glare at him.

He glares back.

“Well, I’ll have you know that you deserved what you got,” he says, crossing his arms. “I give zero apologies to those who abuse pianos.”

You stare at him, and throw your hands into the air. “I just pressed it!”

“You did not ‘just press it’,” he tells you, pointing a finger at you. “You slammed your finger down on the key!”

You huff at him, crossing your arms. “I did no such thing,” you say, rolling your eyes. “You’re just exaggerating, and I will have you know, that really hurts.” (It didn’t. Not one bit.)

Alastor takes your hand he swatted, caressing your skin with his thumb. He brings it up to his mouth, pressing his lips. “You don’t need to press on it so harshly,” he says and hover your hand over the piano. He pushes your fingers with his own, and the piano sounds. “Gentle strokes will suffice.”

“Should I leave the two of you alone then?”

Alastor bumps your knees. “Funny.”

He keeps his hands hovering above yours, moving and pushing on your fingers to play specific notes like you were a puppet for him to control. With his guidance, you’re able to play different notes.

You twist one wrist, and intertwine your fingers around his.

Alastor slides gaze to you, raising an eyebrow. “I’m supposed to be teaching you how to play.”

“I think I’d rather watch you play.”

Alastor shakes his hand, but you only tighten your grip. “Let go,” he says. “I can’t play with one hand.”

You show him your most innocent smile. “Find a way.”

Alastor sighs, but plays with one hand. The sound isn’t as good as when he has full use of both, but that’s to be expected. There’s no more singing. Alastor presses his finger over a bunch of keys to create the most perfect harmony.

Alastor squeezes your hand, eyes still focused on the piano.

You stare at him, and squeeze back with a smile.

He turns to you with a smile that is oh so soft. His hand moves away from the piano and onto your face, the back of his fingers trailing down your cheek. “I…,” he begins, looking straight into your eyes, capturing your gaze. It was only ever his to catch. “I l…I think you need to wash your hair.”

Immediately, your lips twist into a frown, and you pull back your hand.

Why? Well…actually…you have no idea. There’s no good reason you can say as to why exactly.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that sleep has evaded you like a wildfire. Or how your stomach feels empty, but not grumbling empty that indicates hunger. But your stomach grumbled when you left work, and realistically, you haven’t eaten so you should be hungry. But you’re not hungry! And you don’t feel like eating. But also you’re kind of hungry? But you also kind of not. And at the same time—

You turn away from Alastor, walking away with a grumble.

Alastor calls out your name.

The way he says your name, the way it leaves his lips…it almost makes you turn back. Almost. But still—these eyes of yours. They glance back at him, and you swear they have a mind of their own.

Alastor buries his face into the piano keys. It causes a jumble of odd noises that mix with his own grumble.

You climb up the stairs, feet dragging and stomping up the steps. The bedroom door opens easily. Your fingers are still around the doorknob, and a question debates in your head.

…. Fine, you won’t lock the door. Maybe you should, but you don’t because doing so would mean Alastor stays locked out. You can’t do it. Not him—never him.

You plop into the bed, and scrape together enough energy to pull the blanket around you. It’s embracing warmth makes you realize how absolutely bone-deep tired you are.

It’s been two days, afterall. There’s only so much a person can tolerate. Take out meals used to be such a normal thing for you, but fuck Alastor and the meals that cooks. It’s his fault that you can never stomach another take out meal. You never want to see anything not home cooked again.

The pillows are heavenly. Too heavenly that you’re ready to pass out in your clothes. Two days of sleeping on hard chairs and empty hallways tend to do that to a person.

The door creaks open.

(If you smile into your pillow, then that’s your business.)

Footsteps creak the floorboards. The bed dips as Alastor props his legs across the bed. From underneath the blankets, you curl closer to him and him alone. And finally…you are home. Okay, yes maybe you are still a little ticked off, but it’s been days. Human beings were created with nuance, after all.

“Are you asleep?” Alastor asks. Part of you wonders what he looks like right now, in this moment of time.

You shake your head. And there it is again. Your brain refuses to allow your throat to utter even the smallest of words. Not that you were planning on talking to Alastor anyway.

Alastor tugs on the blanket. “Talk to me?”

Nothing comes out of your mouth. You refuse to scrape up the energy to speak to him. He made his bed, and now he gets to die on it. The audacity of him to say your hair stinks when you have to drag him by the ear to brush his own teeth!

“Do you want to sleep?”

You pause, then shake your head. Not yet. Sleep could wait, because Alastor is here, next to you, and this was too nice of a moment not to stretch.

Alastor tugs on the blanket once more. “I’m going to need words.”

You hum as a reply.

Alastor reaches inside the blanket, fiddling around until your hand brushes with his. He grabs it, and pulls it out of your cocoon, lying his palm directly on top of yours. The rings on your fingers clink together. Alastor traces your hand, the pads of his fingers going up and down the lines of your palm.

He taps you, then writes a H then an I….’Hi’

You smile deeper into where you press against him. Alastor squeezes your hand, and twists it to rest your fingers directly on top of his.

‘Hi’ you write into his skin, giggling a bit. Okay…well…hmmm. This isn’t technically speaking. So, you’ll allow this.

Alastor leans closer, the weight of him grounding you. Actually, him just being here, existing in this space with you, tethers you to this world. It’s too good to be home. So good you might never leave again. “Did you have a long day at work?”

‘Long day’ doesn’t capture it. Not one bit. But still, you trace your reply on his palm. ‘Yes.’

“Are you hungry?” Alastor asks you. Even from underneath the blanket, you feel how his other hand stretches to lay a hand on your head.

It’s a bit difficult to trace your reply when the answer is both a yes and no and ‘I don’t know’.

“An answer, please,” he says, pressing deeper. He’s practically on top of you. “Or are you not sure if you’re hungry?”

‘Yes.’

No more questions. You don’t have it in you to answer any more. So, you close your hand around his hand, using it as a lifeline. And oh…it’s shaking—you’re shaking. But, still, Alastor holds on to you.

Alastor squeezes your hand. “Yesterday, I realized that you make better coffee than I do!” he says and you can hear him smiling. “I did everything you do, and still it tasted like burnt bean water. It’s almost unfair. How can we both use the same beans and the same pot, but still produce an entirely different taste?”

You smile into your pillow, and press deeper into him.

Alastor caresses your hand, swaying his thumb up and down your skin. “And this morning, I completely gave up on making coffee, and since I arrived early for work, I bought a proper cup at this little stand,” he says. “They were selling salted pretzels. It was a bit pricey for such a simple thing, but I think you would enjoy it. Shall I take you there?”

A hum escapes your mouth as Alastor tells you about this day. You didn’t even ask. These days, you rarely need to ask. Alastor tells you about every little thing like it was the most automatic thing for him to do so.

Alastor says your name. “I’m going to remove the blanket now.”

You tighten your grip on his hand, and shake your head. Not yet. This moment can’t pass just yet. You just got home, and it’s too soon to end.

Alastor pauses for a moment. “What if I pull it down to your face?”

You give him a thumbs up.

Alastor peels the blanket, fulfilling the promise of only pulling it down until he sees your face.

He’s looking directly at you, smiling.

You stare and smile back.

Alastor presses a kiss on your cheek. And then he shifts, leaning closer to press a kiss on the other. He trails his face upwards, his nose nudging your skin, and plants his lips on your forehead.

You push him off, pressing your hand on his cheek. You are supposed to be mad at him!

Alastor takes your hand, giving that a kiss as well. “Just one more?”

You sigh, but pull your hand away to allow it.

Alastor traces the back of his fingers down your cheek, and pecks your lips.

Your eyes widen when Alastor leans away. The way he stares down at you has you pulling the blanket back up to hide your face.

“You can’t rot in there the whole night with your outside clothes,” Alastor says. “Come on, I’ll draw a bath for you.”

A bath sounds nice. You uncurl your hand, giving him a thumbs up.

Alastor peels the blanket, and your eyes meet his. What does he see when he looks at you? You smile at him, and Alastor smiles back. He hops off the bed, circling around it. He hooks an arm underneath your knees, and the other under your shoulder to carry you like the bride you are.

You lean into his chest. He’s not wearing a bowtie anymore. It must be packed away for the day.

Alastor opens the bathroom door, flicking the lights. He sits you on the toilet, and brushes strands of hair behind your ear. He turns towards the bathtub, opening the faucet to let the water accumulate.

He lets the water drip on his fingers until the correct temperature warms his skin. “About earlier…,” he says, keeping his eyes on the water. “Your hair doesn’t actually stink.”

You shake your head, smiling.

Alastor turns back to you, staring straight into his eyes. “I want you to know that you can stop me anytime,” he tells you. “And I won’t get angry.”

You nod your head, glad that you won’t have to scrape together the energy to do so yourself. If talking takes too much out of you, this would be downright impossible then.

Alator’s fingers catch on to the first button. It lingers there for a moment. He looks up to meet your eyes, and you nod once more.

With your blessing, Alastor slowly unbuttons your blouse. It’s funny, charming, almost. With any other person or any other marriage or in any other story, there would be lingering eyes or breathy and soft touches, but you don’t see any of that from Alastor.

His hands trail down to unbutton your blouse. When the last button finally pops free, Alastor takes your arm, helping you slide off your blouse. He pulls your arms out until it’s fully off your skin and you’re sitting in front of your husband in your bralette who pays no mind to it. Alastor throws your top into the laundry basket.

Alastor kneels on the tiles, tilting his head as he unhooks the clasps of your bottoms. You have to push up the toilet to let him peel the thing off you completely. That too gets thrown into the laundry basket.

“I’ll leave the rest to you,” he says. “I’ll heat up some food. Try not to fall asleep.”

As he begins to leave, panic kicks in. You don’t want to be left alone in a silent, closed room, and so you grab his hand before he can step out.

Alastor looks back to you, smiling.

“…stay?” you say. “Please?”

Alastor holds your face in his hand, moving his thumb to caress your cheek. He presses his lips on your forehead. “I’ll be right outside.”

“Thank you,” you say and release his hand.

The door clicks shut, and you toss your undergarments into the basket. You step into the warm water, closing your eyes in relief. Slowly, you lower yourself in the tub, bringing your knees to your chest.

The water stills. It’s the correct temperature.

You squeeze your eyes shut, and…once and for all…you think you finally understand what Alastor means when he says how completing it is to be able to just exist. This life. It’s one he chose to spend with you, and he’s better than anything you can ever dream for yourself. This couldn’t be a dream. It can’t. Because your mind could never create Alastor.

All those little details don’t matter, not when you would burn everything for his smile.

You and him.

Him and you.

The evidence is already there.

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Alastor sits by the door, leaning his head against the wood.

He doesn’t fully understand why he agreed to stay, not when he knows he doesn’t need to humor your request. After all, he could be doing more practical things like preparing for work or brainstorming new segments for his show…or something as simple as making sure you have something warm to eat when you finish your bath.

Alastor can leave at any moment. For a second, he thinks it would be the funniest thing in this world. You will step out, glancing around the room because you asked him to stay, and he gave his word that he would, but he would be downstairs.

It would be funny. That is until you realize he was missing. Would you be disappointed in him? Alastor imagines you, and your lips twist when you see that you are utterly alone. Does he stay, seated outside this door, because he doesn’t want to take the chance that you would frown when he didn’t keep his word?

You could very well kick him as you huff, and refuse to utter a single word in his direction.

Or worse…

You would accept that leaving was something he was capable of doing, even when you asked him to stay. Does he even care?

He doesn’t.

He does.

He doesn’t.

He does…but only because Alastor was a man of integrity. There has never been a moment where he has broken his word, and he won’t begin now.

Your mind looked so far away when he opened the door—eyes almost hollow.

Were these two days as torturous for you as it was for him? Eating alone used to be such a normal occurrence for him. It’s your fault he cooked more than he could eat, even when he knew you wouldn’t be sitting across from him, listening to the events of his days. Instead, it was two days of silent meals. Two days of shit coffee. Two days of just…you not being there.

“You’re taking quite a while,” he says, just to let you know that he’s here and keeping his word. It’s important for you to understand that he is a man who does so. “Was the water too hot?”

Silence.

“I think I specifically told you not to fall asleep,” he says, calling out for you and only you. “That would be quite a terrible way to perish. I can already imagine the headlines, ‘Local Radio Star’s Wife Drowns in Their Bathtub’”

Silence once again.

In all the years Alastor has been with you, from the moment he stepped into your clinic, never once have you accepted his taunts. You don’t stay silent when he pokes at you, not when you find it better to return it tenfold. There would be a fire blazing in your eyes as you challenge him. So, why are you silent right now?

You’re unfair. It’s too unfair of you to torture him with your silence.

Alastor runs a hand over his hair. He blinks and finds himself standing to enter the bathroom. Maybe you actually fell asleep. He twists the doorknob and pokes his head inside.

“You weren’t answering me,” are the first words that come out of his mouth because for the first time in his life, he doesn’t know what else to say. “Don’t tell me you actually drowned.”

You’re lying your head on your knees, staring straight at the water, an empty smile on your lips as exhaustion settles heavily over your shoulders. It’s weird—almost funny, even—how your eyes remain blank when you retreat into yourself, but a tiny smile paints your face.

It reminds him of a doll, beautiful and fragile but empty. And Alastor hates dolls. Humans are able to create vast arrangements of expressions, and a doll only has one.

“Have you even started?”

Alastor wonders if you’ll ignore him again, but your eyes shift to him, smiling as you say a quiet and exhausted, “…hi.”

“Hi,” he says. “Have you even started?”

The water ripples when you shake your head. “Later.”

Before he could fully think, he takes a step inside and shuts the door behind him.

Opening the cabinet, Alastor grabs a washcloth. There’s a stool hidden underneath the toilet. He drags the stool next to the bathtub and sits, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. Your smile shifts. You always do that—smiling at him in weird ways.

He dips his fingers into the water, checking its temperature. Still warm. “You can tell me to leave anytime.”

You sigh into your knees, and shut your eyes.

He dips the washcloth, letting the warm water soak up. Grabbing your body wash, he pumps it once on the towel and lathers it. Alastor brings the washcloth to your back, gently scrubbing it across your shoulders. He slides his hand up and down the length of your spine, letting the soap lather all over.

You hum with a smile and sink further into the bathtub.

Alastor takes your arm, peeling it off your knees. He scrubs at your skin, careful not to press too hard. Though he was gentle, he was thorough as well to scrub away any speck of dirt. No one deserves to go to bed filthy…well, actually, there are some who do…but you don’t. Not you—never you.

When he reaches your wrist, you flip your hand to catch his own. With a sigh, he takes this opportunity to work the soap between your fingers, massaging his thumb across your palm. Once that’s done, he properly holds your hand, and the soap spreads further into his hand.

There was still the matter of your scalp, but these days, Alastor has gotten used to doing basic tasks with only a single hand. All this because his wife decided that his hand wasn’t just his own anymore.

With his free hand, he grabs your shampoo and pumps it into his palm. It’s hard to lather, but not impossible. He runs his hand across your hair, letting the soap spread around. Alastor presses his thumb into your scalp, massaging it clean, and you hum when you press deeper into him.

“Are you okay?”

Please say yes.

“Later,” you tell him, eyes closed as you lean further into his touch. It’s weird. Alastor can feel the weight of your head pressing deeper into his palms. “I’ll be okay, later.”

A strand of hair sticks to your face. Alastor brushes it away, tucking it behind your ear. And there it is. You smile at him, bright and so full of life. It strikes him. Not even once has he ever told you how precious you are in his eyes. Surely, you wonder how you look in his eyes just as much as he wonders how he looks in yours.

Maybe, if he were a different man. Then and only then, could he be a husband that you deserve to call yours.

Alastor has always been a selfish man, and that would be your ruin. The thought of you sharing a life with someone else causes a muscle on his face to tense. Would you want to know about their day? Would you dance on the porch with them? Would you fill their life with laughter and so much joy that they could barely contain it? But…would you also be happy?

You deserve to build a life with someone who could give you a proper family. You deserve to find someone who could give you the emotions that you have a right to. You deserve someone who could hold you at night every single day.

“Alastor.”

He blinks at you, and continues to scrub your scalp. “Yes?”

You release his hand, and inch the tips of your fingers closer. It pokes the edges of his mouth, and pushes his lips into a smile. “A frown doesn’t suit you, my love.”

Alastor takes your hand, holding it in his to press a kiss. He shows you the wildest smile he can muster. “I never frown.”

What an idiotic thought to pop into his head. You would surely kick him for such a thought. Alastor would give you anything you could ever want. He will be every single little thing you can ever wish for.

The next minute goes something like this:

You flick water at his face. He ignores it.

Flick. Ignore.

The soapy water damps his hair. “Stop that.”

Your smile widens when you dip your hand under the water, letting it drench, and flick it at him. Water droplets hit his cheek, and it trails down along with all the other drops.

His smile strains. “I’m going to hold your head under the water,” he says as his smile strains. “That would be a horrible way to die as well. Water would fill your lungs.”

You roll your eyes, and let the water pool between your cupped hands. Water splashes into his face, and his hair is wet now. Alastor glares at you.

And you give him one of your innocent smiles when you want to get away with something.

And fuck….That was the most empty threat he’s ever uttered. Alastor never makes empty threats. A part of him wants to follow through, to hold your head underneath the water with the single purpose of keeping his word.

But you’re still smiling at him, bright and innocent and its everything to him

Maybe…just this once…he’ll break his word.

Alastor takes the shower head, turns on the faucet, and rinses away the suds. He passes a towel to you. “I’ll get you some clothes.”

The door clicks behind him. He walks to the closet, going through your clothes for your nightwear. There’s a certain pair you tend to like when going to bed. It takes a while, but he finds it. Alastor leaves the clothes on the toilet.

He waits on the bed until you come out.

There’s life in your eyes when you step out, a shy and sheepish smile on your lips. “I’m hungry.”

“Of course.”

He grabs your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. You follow him, taking every step he takes until he reaches the couch.

Alastor leaves you there to go to the kitchen. It’s late. A heavy meal would do you no good. The rice porridge heats up easily. He tips the pot, letting your meal pool into a bowl. Alastor touches the sides, making sure it isn’t too hot to touch, and goes back into the living-room.

You grab the bowl eagerly, already taking a sip before he could even take his seat next to you.

There’s a brush on the table, lying next to one of his books. Alastor takes it, moving your back to face him. The bristles go through your hair. He lets the damp strands of your hair flow through his fingers, letting it linger for a moment.

You take another bite and turn to him. “You don’t like it when I eat on the couch.”

“That’s because a child makes less mess than you do,” he tells you, bringing the brush through your hair. “You leave stains everywhere.”

You reach behind you, and swat whatever you could reach. “I do not!” you say, huffing. “These stains were already there.”

And there it is. The defiance. That fire in your eyes. Tonight makes him realize that flames can be snuffed out if not taken care of. As long as he lives, he will never allow that to happen. It’s a silent promise he doesn’t tell you.

“Where did you wander off to?”

“Nowhere,” you say, taking another bite of your porridge. “I was just tired.”

There are no more tangled strands on your hair, but Alastor passes the brush through it anyway. “I could tell.”

You turn to him with a smile that he knows means trouble. “Hey, Al…”

“Yes?” he says, sighing.

Your smile widens. “My dear.”

Alastor could stop humoring you at any moment. “Yes?” he says because denying you was an ability he does not possess. “Will you just keep calling me?”

“My love”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes?”

“My, most, dearest.”

“Yes?”

You turn away from him with a laughter that’s loud and breathy and the greatest thing he has ever heard. “A few years ago, you told me you were nothing I would want.”

He drops the brush, leaning back into the couch. “Did I?”

“Yes!” you say. “You absolutely did.”

“And are you just saying that to remind me?

“Well, look at us now. To be able to be here with you has been my greatest joy,” you tell him like it was the most natural thing for you to say. “Thank you…for everything.”

“Is this the part where you tell me you’re terminally ill and have a month left to live?”

…Please don’t say yes.

You swat him, laughing. “Be serious!”

Alastor rolls his eyes, yet he doesn’t stop the smile you’re bringing. “I guess we’re kind of odd little things, you and I,” he says. “Bound together for infinity, like the stars.”

“Oh, not just the stars!”

He thinks of the way you held on to him earlier. How you desperately clung to him as though his hand was the only thing helping you stay together. Would it be okay for him to cling to you? Would you mind?

Alastor pulls you before he can talk himself to stop, wrapping an arm around your shoulders until your back bumps into his chest. He presses his face on the back of your neck, his nose nudging the skin of your nape. Two days without this. Two days of feeling incomplete.

A hand is placed on his forearm, you touch feather light. “The bowl is going to spill.”

“Eat later,” he says because…just because. Alastor cannot find any good reason as to why. He just does it. “I only need a minute.”

You lean into him. “No.”

Alastor loosens his arm

You grip him tighter. “No!” you say. “I meant no to the minute. You might only need one, but I’m going to need more.”

Alastor laughs, tightening his grip on you. He pulls you deeper into him, so much so that you’re practically on top of him.

There are words you need to hear. Three words he’s not above saying, not if it means you will understand just how deep they mean for you. It’s just a measly three words with eight letters.

Alastor controls words like a puppeteer, able to string thousands of letters into sweet metaphor and soft analogies. He can give you millions of poems. Each filled to the page with metaphors about how your smile is a drop of heaven that no being could ever re-create.

Alastor can write about how the sun nor the moon nor the stars can compare to the light that shines in your eyes, nor can they compare to the light you ignite on his own. Alastor can write about how not even the water or air can be as important as existing with you in every moment across space and time.

But Alastor doesn't need millions of poems to make you understand. Three words that consist of eight letters are all he needs.

Only the true poets know that using the correct sequence of words will always be better than stringing together thousands.

Alastor eyes land on you because they are only ever yours to catch. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Your eyes crinkle when you smile. Part of him wonders if you’re aware of how beautiful each and every one of your expressions are in his eyes. If he told you, he’s sure you would gloat and spout some ridiculous nonsense that’s surely meant to jab at him. It would be worth it.

“I…,” he begins, but the words lodge in his throat. “I think your meal is getting cold.”

“We can always re-heat it,” you say, and your shoulders relax in his hold. “This is too nice not to hold on to.”

Coward…He is a coward. That’s twice he’s tried to tell you, and twice that he chose to run away.

That mind of yours. It contains so much knowledge.

There’s a wish that comes suddenly and out of nowhere. Maybe he should have spent his youth studying muscles and bones instead of learning how to correctly string the right set of words that feed into his sense of self. Not once has he ever wished for a different pursuit. But Alastor would forfeit each and every skill set that brought him the attention of the masses just to be able to see the world in your eyes.

Alastor wonders what you see when he tells you about his day. He wonders what he looks like in your eyes. Do you see the same thing he does?

Alastor’s not above telling you the words he so desperately wants you to know. But you and that bright mind of yours always seems to understand him in a way he cannot understand how. Perceptive. You were too perceptive when it came to him. Like you made it your life mission to study each and every thought he makes.

The question isn’t if he can. The question now is what will you do when he tells you, and you see the truth he’s displaying for you to see.

Or worse…

What will you do when Alastor says the words carved into his very existence, and you see a lie?

He’ll say it tomorrow. He’ll say it when you bring him his coffee or when you leave or maybe when you compliment the food he oh so carefully prepares just for you, and only you. There will always be a tomorrow. There will be another chance. Another day to be honest. Another tomorrow. Another next week. Another next month. Another next year.

If not tomorrow, then until there is no doubt remaining in his mind that you will be able to see the truth…only the truth.

There’s no need to say the word. Not right now. Not when the evidence is already there: There will be you, and where you will be, there will be him. Always and forever.

There will be a lifetime of moments like this waiting for him in a world where he is yours.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

1933

All we could want was already there: You and I.

Now it’s just you.

Now it’s just me.

Where was the lifetime waiting for us in a world where I was yours?

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Next Part : |Part 6: Radio's Last Broadcast| First of all, yes, it is. You aren’t being delulu. That’s why the title is Glimpse of Me and You as well. If you know, you know. If you don’t sorry na lang lol. (Joke. I’m not going to gatekeep.) I don’t know why I did this to myself to be honest. This chapter brought a need to write more scenes of just Alastor and Reader vibing to OPMs, especially 90s OPM. RIP to Alastor. I think you would have really loved Harana. Here’s the link to the song that Alastor and Reader sings together. So this is marriage year 1932 or basically 6k words of just Alastor and Reader realizing that two days of not seeing was two days too much, and it was not something they liked. Look at them both, thinking about growing old together. ❤️:D Also, also. There’s just something so sexy about non-sexual stripping. It was really important for me to just write about it. Like just stripping and cleaning your significant other and do it for the sake of just helping your partner get clean because you care and want to help. Next chapter: Radio's Last Broadcast Taglist: @mybrainautocorrect @ray-rook @teavibesaf @valentique @qardasngan @alastorssimp @aestheticgals-blog @slaggylemon @reikamasama @obessivlyonline @okay-babe @lyralibra @holymusicalmothman @amoraneuro @tobyisher3 @sooha-neul

#alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #alastor x wife!reader #alastor x you #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel imagines #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin imagines #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin headcanons #asexual alastor

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whorejolras · 1 month

Text

as promised: jess' les amis fanfic rec list ✨

this is mainly e/r, a little bit of e/r/c and a few courferre

This is just the stuff that was in my bookmarks on ao3 when I started writing this post (months ago lol sorry it took so long). Going through I was shocked to see so many of my faves weren't actually bookmarked so I will for sure do a part two when I find them again, and have also added heaps of new fics to my bookmarks since then, but for now 25 fics is enough 😂

many of these will be rated E and will have sexual content, some are straight up pwp ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

ok first is my ultimate fave that isn't even on ao3 anymore, but thankfully is on the authors tumblr, and that's:

Gnomon by luchia

50-80k words (?) (bc it's not on ao3 i'm estimating)

rating: E

Enjolras/Grantaire

terrorist/assassin Enjolras my beloved ever. My fave are the "charming young man capable of being terrible" fics obviously. This one is my #1 e/r like in my head this is it's own canon. & this series has my fave e/r smut scenes ever. I still daydream about a Gnomon tv show...

- trigger warnings bc it's not on ao3 so doesn't have tags: murder, gun and knife violence, bombs, conversations about the deaths of children. this is not healthy relationship fluff but it makes for a 🥵 dynamic that's for damn sure.

also linking the rest of the series which is up on ao3 still, even though it is officially abandoned and unfinished - i am going to break my ultimate rule right off the bat and link an unfinished series bc I like it so much.

stupid terrorist boys by luchia

series, 5 works

200k words

rating: M and E

here we have gnomon's prequels, two sequels, and some one shots in between 🫶🏻

if you're here for kinky pwp Senselessly Happy and Unsuspecting could be good stand-alone (but it's better when reading in order). I would say read Gnomon first on tumblr then read the rest in order on ao3.

Silence Is the Speech of Love by lady_ragnell

50k words

rating: E

Enjolras/Grantaire, background Courfeyrac/Marius/Cosette

Enjolras is cursed for speaking out against the gods, Grantaire is there for him.

will I ever shut up about this fic? Never. fave fave fave. the world building, the mythological/religious system, the writing, the "I love you" "I don't think you do, actually" scene URGH!!!! I think of this fic every time i hear chopsticks. Everything happening with courf/marius/cosette, and the genius inclusion of social worker Fantine my beloved. This is one of those "could be it's own novel" fics.

and the sequel from Enjolras' pov 😭 - Left Unsaid

World Ain't Ready by idiopathicsmile

185k words

rating: T

Enjolras/Grantaire

yes it's the top fic yes everyone probably knows it but it's good for a reason. THE fake dating high school au fic that I broke all my rules for back in 2015. I refused to read unfinished fics, let alone T rated high school fics, yet I remember waiting for the updates for this one as it came out, messaging mutuals on the day the last chapter was released. and every time I reread I remember why. Brilliantly written, the pining, the angst, the miscommunications. All the Joly and Bossuet scenes.

honourable mention to the scene where Joly is so excited for the battle of the bands, then next scene starts with "I think it's more of a sitting night today" the realest simple yet most gut punching illustration of chronic pain that gets my ass every time.

Lovesickness by idiopathicsmile

11k words

rating: T

Enjolras/Grantaire, Joly/Bossuet/Musichetta

(we're gonna see a fair bit of idiopathicsmile on here)

this is one of my absolute favourites. not only bc I quote "hit by a truck full of shirts" all the time. a Joly pov fic!!!!!! my beloved!!!!! I'm a BIG JBM fan (they are essential to me when I'm writing grantaire) and love fics that stay true to his friendship with Joly and Bossuet. also I love when Enjolras is a giant dumbass who thinks his feelings for Grantaire is a mystery illness 😂

Still the Same by The Librarina (tears_of_nienna)

74k words

rating: E

Enjolras/Grantaire/Combeferre

ok ok ok. listen. Yes. in this fic, Enjolras IS an fbi agent... and u know i'm the first and last to scream acab always...

that being said this is fully still one of my fave e/r/c fics. Enjolras and Combeferre are married & Enjolras needs to work with art thief Grantaire (fave) on a case. also that one bit at the end when Grantaire *redacted* 👀🫣

cupbearer by illuminate*

*this one is locked, you need an account to view

series, 4 works

124k words total

ratings: T, M & E

Enjolras/Grantaire

this series!!!!!! VAMPIRE ENJOLRAS!!!! thrall Grantaire!!!! canon era AND modern au! REINCARNATION!!!! i'm eeeeaaaaattiiiing 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

More Than Just a Game by ecaitlin

36k words

rating: E

Courfeyrac/Combeferre

Fake dating courferre 😭 this one is so good for the desert scene alone 👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻 one of my fave courferre fics

Good Intentions by ecaitlin

95k words

rating: E

Courfeyrac/Combeferre, background Marius/Cosette, Joly/Bossuet, Bahorel/Feuilly, and Enjolras/Grantaire ofc

THE les amis hogwarts au. 95k of Courfeyrac pov is always a treat for the system. in their last year at hogwarts, Courfeyrac decides to play matchmaker for all his friends. shenanigans!!!! fuck jkr, but whenever I wanna reread harry potter again I read this fic 🫶🏻 fave courferre ever, and also fave background e/r

if you remembered me by nightswatch*

*this one is locked, you need an account to view

40k words

rating: M

Enjolras/Grantaire

one thing about me is I love an amnesia fic! Enjolras loses his memory and Grantaire helps him recover 👀 this one's for the hurt/comfort and miscommunication/not being upfront about shit fans. also there's some past Grantaire/Combeferre and i'm always a fan

Beautiful Music Together by lady_ragnell

31k words

rating: E

Courfeyrac/Marius/Cosette

a rare Courf/Marius/Cosette fic for your palette. established Marius/Cosette need a little help from their good friend Courf with their sex life 👀 while the three of them also work on a musical assignment together 😭 prequel to You Dance Dreams kinda 👀

You Dance Dreams by lady_ragnell

61k words

rating: E

Enjolras/Grantaire

(you can tell when i've found a writer who has a fair few fics and just gone nuts lol, lots of lady_ragnell too)

BALLET AU I LOVE YOU!!!!!! so set in the same universe as Beautiful Music Together, Combeferre ropes everyone into working on his opera, a Midsummer Night's Dream sequel. Grantaire dances as Puck alongside Enjolras singing as Oberon 👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻

In Defiance of all Geometry by idopathicsmile

51k words

rating: T

Enjolras/Grantaire/Combeferre

this is a top fave E/R/C fic and a top fave les amis fic of all time! Them living in a co-op and all the little details of how they make it work is sooooo real and anyone who wants to see accurately written community organising in les amis fic it's here! now for the ✨romance✨ - Grantaire moves in to the amis co-op and starts crushing on both Enjolras and Combeferre, who have both been pining for each other for years.

Years Since It's Been Clear by lady_ragnell

10k words

rating: E

Enjolras/Grantaire

Enjolras offers his spare room to grantaire - or the one where enjolras chases the sun across the living room floor like a cat. That image has lived rent free in my head for and I am not exaggerating here, 10 years.

Gonna need (a spark to ignite) by FinditAgain*

*this one is locked, you need an account to view

47k words

rating: M

Enjolras/Grantaire/Combeferre

soulmate au! soulmate au with E/R/C!!!!!!! enjolras and combeferre are soulmates who lost their bond as children. when combeferre and enjolras find each other as adults, enjolras is already in an established relationship with grantaire 👀👀👀

secret agent man by goshemily

30k words

rating: E

Enjolras/Grantaire

yes another cop one haha 😭 bc if ur not able to contradict urself with the media u like are u even a person? but also I wouldn't recommend if it wasn't a good read for the stairs scene alone 😅 Enjolras and Grantaire need to go undercover as a married couple in a small town.

Leaves in the Void by myrmidryad

16k words

rating: M

Enjolras/Grantaire

this is one i've found since rejoining tumblr late last year that 😭 fully broke my heart bro 😭 space au, enjolras writes letters to everyone when he's accidentally isolated on a ship for what to him was eight and half months but was two hours for everyone else.

Blame Delicate Artemis by hyenateeth

22k words

rating: E

femslash Enjolras/Grantaire

posting omegaverse on main? more likely than you think!

this is porn with a tiny bit of plot, but also one of my fave for femslash e/r and also..... girl dick. that's all.

omega enjolras alpha grantaire canon era lesbians.

that's enough description to find its right audience I feel

Eyes to Serve, Hands to Learn by myrmidryad

94k words

rating: E

Enjolras/Grantaire

Grantaire runs into Enjolras at a kink club. enter 94,000 words of bdsm porn and pining. mostly dom Enjolras and submissive Grantaire, mostly.

Never Be Satisfied by torakowalski

15k words

rating: E

femslash Enjolras/Grantaire

dental dam mention! win!

Grantaire gives Enjolras some advice, lends some toys, and then offers some hands on help when she learns Enjolras has never come before 😏

potentially lovely, perpetually human by myrmidryad

20k words

not rated, does contain smut

Enjolras/Grantaire

lots of myrmidryad here too lol

two of my favourite tropes here. 1: supernatural Enjolras who's in control of his abilities except when it comes to Grantaire (see cupbearer series) and 2: nonbinary Grantaire my beloved!!! Enjolras has psychic empathy triggered by physical touch, so he refuses to touch anyone: until his touch starved ass accidentally touches Grantaire and feels what they're feeling 🥹

Witchboy by tothewillofthepeople

series, 8 works

84k words

rating: T, M

Enjolras/Grantaire

this one is a more recent recommendation that I loved, the world building and magic is so good, there's some great background eposette and patron minette which I'm always a fan of.

i'm not the moon (i'm not even a star) by serinesaccade

40k words

rating: M

Enjolras/Grantaire

amnesia fic and fake dating 👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻 this time we've got Grantaire losing his memories and waking up in a world where he has a really hot boyfriend, but apparently his 1.5 year relationship with Enjolras isn't what it seems 👀

and let's round this out with a classic

Thirty-Two Times by Ark

7k words

rating: E

Enjolras/Grantaire

the bottom R canon era bible 🙏🏻

i'm sorry i feel like my emoji use is very millennial. jsyk 👌🏻 is me clicking with my nails ok bye 😘

if you want more i'm whorejolras on ao3 go nuts 🙌🏻

#mine #omg me actually doing something i said i'd do only like four months later look at that #adhd one hell of a drug yall #fic recs #fanfic #les mis fanfic #les amis fanfic #e/r #les mis #grantaire #enjolras #les amis #e/r/c #courferre #jbm #les miserables #why is my capitalisation all over the place?? uhh look over there 👈🏃‍♂️💨#sorry not tagging ppl on tumble even though i know the authors are bc adding the links was hassle enough and also i don't wanna bother any1

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covetyou · 6 months

Text

o, christmas tree

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Dieter Bravo & gn!reader rating: M (18+ only blog!) warnings: sex toys (so many butt plugs), Dieter being a menace to his PA, no smut, pure silliness. word count: 1.2k summary: As PA to Dieter Bravo, you were used to the strange, unusual and downright weird. What you weren't used to was taking in a shipment of - what? And how many?

A/N: I've had christmas trees/butt plugs on the brain since submitting prompts for secret santas, so I stole this one back (@missredherring I literally couldn't resist, sorry). I wrote most of this while walking my dog on Wednesday, mostly while she itched her ass on the pavement.

This is the last Dieter of me for this year, I sweeeear. Pinky promise.

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

Being personal assistant to Dieter Bravo certainly had its moments. And this was one of them, as you sign for a delivery at his home of several large boxes that had clinked when the courier had brought them inside and placed them on the ground.

With a polite smile, the courier doesn't meet your eyes as hurries back out the door and into his truck, leaving you alone with the delivery slip wondering what the hell Dieter has purchased now. You cast your eyes down the paper, the company name entirely unfamiliar to you as you reach the boxes contents.

"Three hundred assorted... Dee!"

It has got to be a mistake, you think. He was unpredictable, but there was no reason for him to do something as ridiculous as this. You couldn't even imagine, didn't even want to begin to imagine, what he would do with three hundred -

Thunderous footsteps slam down the stairs, and Dieter is swinging around the last post to greet you. His hair is a mess, when isn't it, and his clothes are slung loosely around his body. You'd seen the tabloids and magazines before you started working for him, and how they often liked to call Dieter a chaotic and unprofessional, but you had to admire his dedication to loungewear and comfort chic. If you could get away with it you'd wear pyjamas all day too.

"What have I done now. You only shout like that when I've done something."

Thrusting the delivery slip into his hands you put your hands on your hips and wait, watching as his eyes quickly scan down the page and a wicked smile pulls across his face.

"Oh, amazing, they're here just in time."

"Dee, you cannot be serious." You found yourself asking him this question often, and yet he almost always was deadly, painfully serious. The look on his face tells you as much.

"Really? Three hundred assorted butt plugs? Assorted, Dee. What does that even mean."

He gives you a look that tells you you should, somehow, absolutely know what it means. When you don't respond, he sighs dramatically.

"Y'know, assorted sizes, colors, materials."

He's still not getting it, or maybe you're not getting it. You've got to be sick, you're having some fever dream inspired by the sex toys he liked to leave all around the place.

"But what are they for?"

"The party. Duh."

You told him a party would be a good idea to celebrate the end of a great year, and at first he'd reluctantly agreed. It had surprised you when his party planning picked up with gusto, and he refused your offers of help saying he had it all under control. You knew you should've been more suspicious. It was always a good idea to be more suspcisious where Dieter was concerned.

You rub your temples. Three hundred assorted butt plugs. For a Christmas party. You'd seen the guest list, some A-listers were invited, along with Dieter's co-stars from the last year and his usual crowd. Even so, it wasn't enough to warrant three hundred of anything - the guest list spanned 100 people at most.

The harsh rip of tape pulls you from your mental gymnastics, and you watch Dieter crack open the first box. The boxes had been heavy, and they'd rattled in way that, now you think about it, screamed assorted. Dieter pulls the first butt plug from the box, holding it to the light and letting the glass gleam.

"Dieter. What do you need butt plugs for, it's a Christmas party."

He shrugs his shoulders. "Decoration. Party favors. Whatever."

When you blink your eyes at him he rolls his at you.

"Figured they look like little Christmas trees, look." He places the plug on the flat of his hand and, you've got to give it to him, he's not wrong. The one he's currently holding is a deep red glass, so it's festive too, but from a glance to the box you can see just about every color thinkable. Assorted is making more and more sense.

He hands the plug to you so he can rummage through the box some more, and you hold it as if it's about to detonate in your hand. You know it's not used (yet), and by god if you hadn't held some questionable things of Dieter's in the past, but it's too early to be dealing with any of this. You just want a coffee and a sit down, and maybe some tylenol now that you were seemingly getting a headache and a pain in your ass all at once.

"What color?" he says over his shoulder, his hands still plunged into the first box.

"What color?"

"Yeah," he says, standing, holding two plugs in each hand. "Which do you think is my color?"

"Dee, I am not picking out a butt plug for you."

"Oh, come on," he whines, stomping his foot a little. "I know you like -"

"No."

He yanks the first plug from your hands, the red one, and thrusts a swirly pink one into your palm. "Fine. Here."

The question is on your lips, but before you can get it out he smirks at you.

"Pink is your color."

Your pants rip in front of him one time, and he's forever bringing up the color of your underwear. He bought you pink copies of your favorite shoes for your birthday, sent pink flowers to your apartment for eight weeks whilst he was away on a shoot without you, kept ruby chocolate in the house to snack on when you'd walk by. The man was a menace, and even though you both knew you found it funny, you keep your face steely as you brandish the pink plug at him.

"You won't be encouraging people to use these at the party, will you, Dee?"

He picks up the first box, groaning as he bends but then chuckling as the glass jingles and tinkles together lightly in the box, and walks down the hall without answering your question.

"Dieter."

You can see the devilish grin on his face from here. The asshole is ignoring you. You follow him down the hall.

"You won't be encouraging people to use them at the Christmas party, will you?"

"I think blue might be my color."

"Dee, stop ignoring me!"

He sets the box down on the kitchen island, rubbing his hands together in glee.

"Tell me you won't be encouraging people to use butt plugs at your party."

He still doesn't answer, and instead strides past you to the door, he grabs another box before lugging it down the hall to dump it next to the first.

"Dieter."

Tearing open the next box, he lets out a very pleased chuckle as he pulls out a considerably larger plug and sets it down on the countertop with a clink. It did look remarkably like a Christmas tree.

"Please."

He taps you on the nose as he fetches the last box and you cast your eyes down with a sigh, turning the pink plug around in your hands in defeat.

And then it catches your eye, a light engraving on the flat base of the plug. Flipping it, you look for a moment before your eyes adjust and register what's written on the bottom.

In beautiful looping cursive are the initials D.B.

Three hundred assorted and monogrammed butt plugs.

"God fucking damn it, Dieter."

tag list: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @youandmeand5bucks-blog @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123 @valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather @stevie75 @toxicanonymity @thesevi0lentdelights @sp00kymulderr

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo & reader #the bubble fanfiction #the bubble #pedro pascal characters #coveted fics

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 1 year

Note

Hi Fen!!! Popping in to ask what you think the moon boys’ hobbies would be (if they weren’t so busy moon knighting). (For Steven, I feel like studying ancient Egypt is more like a passion, so like what else do you think he’d be into?)

K. Love you! Byeeeee.

IDJIDHVDHFH Oh my gosh, I love this ask so much! Thank you so, so, SO much for sending it! ❤️(ILY!) Did I think about this at work for a good 1 and 30 mins instead of working on a spreadsheet? No, of course not, I would never do that… 👀

I have narrowed it down to one each to save everyone from seeing my absolute madness.

Moon Knight Boys Headcanons & Hobbies

Rating: PG Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?

Warnings: Swearing

Steven: Cooking

Okay, here me out. So, I’ve seen opposite ends of opinion on this one (both are valid) but I’m going with Steven is a very good cook, and he likes cooking.

He’s been vegan for a while and it’s only in the last couple of years that food places have really been trying with vegan and vegetarian options that aren’t salad… bread… (chips if you’re lucky) So, I think he enjoys making lots of different recipes.

It started out with him just making vegan ones and then, over time, became him changing other recipes to make them vegan and coming up with his own.

Absolute master at vegan cakes, no one can ever tell the difference, and, in fact, a lot of people compliment him on ‘the best cake they’ve ever had’, ‘so light and fluffy? How do you do it?’ “Well, that’s the secret, innit?” (whisk the aquafaba like your life depends on it and sweet potato)

Steven is absolutely horrified by the food Marc makes himself. (Plain chicken, rice, spinach)

“Where are the flavours Marc? At least some herbs? Spices for fuck’s sake? I can’t believe you’re eating plain steamed chicken?” (He doesn’t even care that it’s meat, it's just the lack of flavour.)

“It’s boiled chicken actually.”

Steven loses his goddamn mind.

“I don’t care what bloody macronutrient you are monitoring, you are not eating that.”

It’s not that Marc can’t cook, he just doesn’t see the reason to put the effort in when it’s just for himself (doesn’t feel like he deserves it.)

Steven grumbles to himself and refuses to let Marc cook his own dinner if he can help it. “If you’re going to eat meat, at least treat it with respect, yeah? Bring out the flavour?” He usually preps something for Marc, so he can cook it quickly when he’s hungry.

Makes so many cakes and pastries for Jake. Leaves them in boxes with ‘Jake :)’ written on a post stick note on the top. Jake is always so touched and surprised when he does. They have taken to playing a little game where sometimes the food is vegan and sometimes it’s not and Jake has to guess. He’s more accurate than most people, but it still only averages around 70% right. (69% if we’re being exact, and Marc is sure Jake’s messing with the correct statistics on purpose.)

Marc: Fantasy Baseball and Fantasy Football

Literally takes it so seriously. Has spreadsheets filled with information and pours over every single statistic like it holds the answers to the universe. It only got more intense when he found a forum for people with the same interest and he literally will spend hours talking online about it.

“It’s not about getting the best players, it’s about making the best team.”

Jake has joked that he puts Steven and his love for history to shame and if those spreadsheets weren’t saved on the computer Marc would have boxes and boxes and folders upon folders of printed out info and then there would be zero space in the flat.

When Marc annoys Steven, Steven tells him to “go play with your pretend american cricket and american rugby” to piss him off.

(Marc retaliates by incorrectly pronouncing UK places.

“Steven, maybe we should take a trip to Ed-in-b-row”

“It’s Ed-in-bruh.”

“How about Sus-SEX or Es-SEX?”

“It’s Sus-SIX and Es-SIX.”

“I do love Green-WITCH at this time of year.”

“IT’S GREN-ITCH! Jake, you're from New York, how is Greenwich pronounced?”

“I’m not getting involved.”

“Ha! That’s because he agrees with me!”

When things get really heated, Marc threatens to make a cup of tea in the microwave. Steven says he doesn’t care because he makes coffee in the microwave all the time and it’s fine. Jake puts an end to it by saying hot chocolate tastes best with water and then laughing when both Marc and Steven gang up on him.

“I cannot believe you think that mate.”

“You know how many different types of milk there are?”

“Absolutely disgusting.”

“Cow, goat, soya, almond, coconut, literally any of them instead.”)

Jake: Knitting

Wanted something to keep his hands busy, that he could pick up and put down, and that he could take in his cab when he was stationary and waiting for fares.

Took to it a lot quicker than he thought it would, and can just zone out and knit. It helps keep him grounded.

He feels like he has spent a lot of his time destroying and there is something so satisfying about being able to create.

Once he mastered the stitch he quickly moved onto making clothes. Before Marc and Steven knew about him he used to knit jumpers for Steven and hide them in the wardrobe.

Jake makes Marc a cartoony style baseball jumper that he also loves, and a thick cardigan for Steven that is covered in hieroglyphics (he spends months researching the language to get it to make some sense, and works in a dig at Khonshu in there and has Steven crying with laughter.)

When they know about him Steven excitedly requests the “most garish and over the top Hanukkah jumper anyone has ever seen!” Jake does his best, presenting it to Steven (and trying to hide how nervous he feels) Steven loves it and refuses to take it off all winter.

Most people think Jake has a stern glare when he wants, but you can never be sure if he’s planning your destruction or trying to work out how many balls of wool it would take to make someone your size a jumper.

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @welcometostayingawake @mbakubabe @solobagginses @melodygatesauthor @romanarose @pimosworld @jake-g-lockley

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

#steven grant #moon knight #moon knight mcu #marc spector #jake lockley #headcanon #headcanons #hobbies #my writing #fanfic #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

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scimitar-and-longsword · 20 days

Text

20 Questions For Fic Writers

Tagged by @cactusdragon517 almost a month ago lol, I'm slow to get these done.

How many works do you have on ao3? 21

What's your total ao3 word count? 202,835

What fandoms do you write for? Currently? Call of Duty and I'm still hanging around the TOG fandom. But I've hardly posted anything in years lol. Someday when my toddler is a little older I'll get back into posting more.

Top five fics by kudos:

Share Your Address - Fencer!Joe/TA!Nicky College AU - Insta-love. So much texting. Everybody wants to punch Keane.

It Feels Like Flying - Joe/Pilot!Nicky AU - This is porn. Enjoy.

Brothers Fight - Joe & Booker working through their issues post movie.

Everything I Did to Get to You - Sequel to Share Your Address (my top fic by Kudos) - AU - A few years later Joe and Nicky spend the holidays with friends and family.

Collapsing Walls - Book of Nile!!!!! - Established Booker/Nile - Booker and Nile get caught in a building while trying to assist during an earthquake.

Do you respond to comments? Yes!! I try to respond to all comments for at least a few days after I post something.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I don't write a lot of angsty ENDINGS. I'll Never Love Another (Prince!Joe/Knight!Nicky) has a fuck ton of angst in it, and I know some people thought the ending was bitter sweet bordering on sad.... but idk (spoilers?) no one died and they're together sooooo that's a happy ending in my book lol.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Gees, idk lol Share Your Address?? It's so sweet you'll get cavities.

Do you get hate on fics? I never have. *knock on wood*

Do you write smut? Hardly ever. I mean I HAVE, and actually the most recent thing I posted was like straight up porn lol. But mostly if there is sex it is only hinted at/fade to black. Or buried in a 60k fic so you have to work for it!

Craziest crossover: Probably Book of Nile + Princess Bride (it's a WIP that I haven't touched in like 3 years *sweats nervously* I swear I will finish all my WIPs EVENTUALLY)

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of???

Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes!! A one shot I did was translated onto a Japanese website that I forget the name of lol. I've also had a podfic made of one of my one shots if that counts.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Ashley and I tried at one point lol it was a modern AU DinLuke fic.... it kind of fizzled out eventually. @ashleyrguillory we should look at that again someday lol

All time favorite ship? Obligatory "Just one??!!" ok but idk Charlie/Claire (LOST), Korra/Asami (Legend of Korra) and Derek/Stiles (Teen Wolf) are the most important to me??? I read the most fic for Ghost/Soap, [redacted controversial ship that you could not pay me to reveal #1], and [redacted controversial ship that you could not pay me to reveal #2] lol

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I refuse to give up on any of my WIPS!!! I have 4, and all of them are planned/outlined to the end... I even have multiple completed chapters for two of them. I'm not a quitter... I do take my time though lol

What are your writing strengths? Oh gees... idk someone else who has read my stuff needs to tell me this... I think I've gotten a lot of comments complimenting me on keeping characters true to canon?? idk guys! someone else answer this!

What are your writing weaknesses? I really struggle with action and sex scenes. Where are they? I, the person writing this fic, certainly don't know. (come to think of it this might be part of the reason that I don't write a lot of smut)

Thoughts on dialogue in another language? Whatever floats the author's boat.

But I personally have done it a few ways. My favorite to both write and read is just to write what they say and then identify what language is being used if the POV character can understand the language. something like: "Oh no," he shouted in Italian.

OR if the POV character doesn't understand the language I would write something like: Nicky shouted something in what Joe thought was Italian. OR Nicky said something in a language Joe couldn't quite place.

First fandom you wrote in? Supernatural lol

Favorite fic you've written? One????? You're getting 2!

I'll Never Love Another - Prince!Joe/Knight!Nicky AU - SO MUCH LETTER WRITING - This was my Big Bang in 2021, and I love the FUCK out of it. It's my favorite fic I've ever written and I reread it kind of often because of how much I enjoy it lol

Impelled by the Persuasion of Love - Canon verse Joe/Nicky and Andy/Quynh - Takes place in France during the 100 years war. I have an obsession with courtly love/chivalry and figured I should shove it onto our favorite immortals <3 - I wrote this for a TOG zine that came out in early 2021

=== Truly, IDK if I've got 20 people to tag but I'll give it a go!!

@innerslumber, @alloutofgoddesses, @ashleyrguillory, @stevethehairington, @sindirimba, @disregardandfelicity and anybody else who wants to do this, consider this your tag!!!

#tag games #my stuff #my fics #lolo writes #If you take one thing away from this it's that you should read I'll Never Love Another #you know.... if you feel like it....

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io-lu-art · 6 months

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just a looong ramble analysing and rethinking Rey's character and turning whatever conclusions I get to into my headcanon without changing any plot points in TFA because I don't have the energy for that....

First things first. With everything I write here and publish on my blog from now on I refuse to believe that TROS ever existed. Everyone is free to have their personal opinions as long as they don't harass or hate on anyone, and this is mine. Almost every choice in that movie has left me scarred, even up til now, 4 years after its release. I thought I can ignore it, like any other healthy human being, but - oh boy, I cannot. If you are interested in reading another ramble on that, here's the post.

Since I am writing my own take on what could happen after TLJ (you may call it a fanfiction, I'm gonna call it a fanscript since that's gonna be its format), this post serves the purpose of getting my head clear around what's the deal with Rey, analysing, and lying down a solid foundation for my WIP. The story I'm writing has barely reached the end of Act I (out of III) at the moment I am composing this commentary, and I constantly notice that I get stuck with Rey's character every time I have to think about her for different reasons I will address down below.

I will make some rewrites as I see fit and necessary along the way for her character to make sense to me. All rewrites are in Tumblr's

chat style

This post will be linked to my AO3 fancifction as a reference for people to understand how I treat her character as soon as that one will be finished... *clears her throat* ...ANYWAY-

Let's have a look at Rey, shall we?

Rey's introduction.

When we first meet Rey, there is already a lot we get to learn about her. She's a scavenger. On a pretty much deserted desert planet. Water and food are scarce. She gathers parts during the day to sell them in exchange for food rations.

She has no friends, no family. She's lonely. And has been for quite a while. And yet, though hard, it looks like a pretty peaceful and stable life. If it were significantly different, we would have gotten introduction scenes of her battling some gangs or other scavengers for parts or something. But instead we were provided with beautiful, peaceful cinematography and John Williams' incredible score.

She manages. She manages because she has to and has never known to do otherwise. This on its own is already a very solid introduction. And it becomes even more powerful as we are provided with additional context later on, as she tells BB-8 that she's waiting for her family.

We know who she is, what she does and what she wants. No more questions, right?

Well, this is where it gets confusing, at least for me: there's one shot in Rey's introduction which always leaves me puzzled about her actual wants. It's the moment she puts on the rebel pilot helmet.

Maybe I am reading too much into it, but it feels like it kinda wants to draw parallels to Luke Skywalker in ANH? What exactly is the purpose of this shot? Is she putting on the helmet just for fun? Is it to show that she is still a kid inside? She seems to enjoy herself. Is it to show us that she maybe wants to be a pilot...? The gesture on its own is too little information to imply that, let alone that she already is a very skilled one, so probably no. Then, is it, perhaps, to show us that she dreams of more? Like Luke, who wanted to get off the planet that is "farthest away from the bright center of the universe"?

The interpretations, especially when looking at it in context to the rest of the movie could go on and on and on.

Quick detour.

The reason it works so well with Luke's character is because from the very beginning, with everything he does and says, it is perfectly clear that he doesn't want to stay on Tatooine. It's his only want when we first meet him.

Luke has friends who tell him about the galaxy. He seeks adventure.

And he's very impatient about it.

Everything he says basically SCREAMS how much he hates it there.

Now back to Rey.

Am I expecting Rey to show the same interest in getting off Jakku with the same attitude and level of energy as Luke, should that have been what TFA was going for? No, of course not. They are (supposed to be) two different characters after all. But I do believe that, given the setup, that helmet scene leaves too much room for confusing and unnecessary interpretation. (More so because I am trying my best to avoid nostalgia bait wherever I can.)

I am not denying the fact that she wouldn't have heard about the wider galaxy, that she wouldn't wonder about what it would feel like, being out there. People travel. And with people traveling, so do stories. So if you want to hint at that, do it subtly, all the while keeping the focus on her biggest want.

I might really just be reading too much into it, but still, in my humble opinion, a way to solve this confusion is cutting out her interaction with the pilot helmet completely. Let me demonstrate.

Inside her home we already see this self-made rebel pilot puppet. Just like the puppet lying around, instead of having her pick it up and putting it on,

the helmet remains part of the environment, stuck in the sand. There could even be a close-up on it as Rey puts down her empty plate next to it when she has finished eating if you really want to show it. She then rests her arms on her knees and looks up into the sky, following the ship that has just departed from the far outpost into the high atmosphere until it disappears. Waiting.

What is achieved by changing the interaction with the helmet is that it keeps her wants just as clear as Luke's. Luke wants adventure. She wants her family back. Period.

...I rewatched this scene after writing these paragraphs and yes, I admit, in the end it happens so fast that one could probably just let it pass and interpret it as Rey being very bored and using it as entertainment to wait out the days. But even if it were just that, the effects this little tweak would have on the following scenes is quite interesting to look at nonetheless.

The tweak I am going with from now on: Having her not actively wonder about possible adventures at all. She doesn't believe those stories to actually be true, because she's never allowed herself to. She's never allowed herself to actually want to ever leave Jakku.

What would it mean for her characterisation? It would make her slightly more serious and grounded. And the movie (except for the helmet scene) actually already treats her that way. Notice how she, while fixing BB-8's antenna, takes a moment to look at him before asking:

She's never seen such a droid before. At least not in such good condition. So, of course, she's curious. But when BB-8 says it's classified, she only laughs about it. "Classified? Really? Me too. Big secret," as if to say, haha, yeah, right. She rejects that possibility. And she doesn't bother asking any further, because when she is confronted with the choice to go and explore, she is reminded of her promise to herself, which is that she will wait for her family until they return.

Now, here is where I insert some very subtle "rewriting". When Rey first meets Finn, she is suspicious of him...

...and should actually remain suspicious,

instead of admiring him and falling into this, let's call it, "excited, fangirly smile"...

She doesn't know him. She has no reason to trust him. Instead, the tone of this line should be one that reflects her emotions as it slowly gets to her that those stories she's been hearing about might actually have some truth to them, that there might actually be a wider world out there. So make her be gradually interested.

Huh. This man I just forcefully hit to the ground, a Resistance fighter, knows about BB-8 and his classified information. What are the odds of that?

"So you're with the Resistance?" Rey asks suspiciously, looking down at the man.

The man stands up, brushes the sand and dust off his jacket and answers, "Obviously. Yes, I am. I am with the Resistance."

Rey frowns, "I've never met a Resistance fighter before," scanning him with her eyes. Why would there be any on Jakku? Nothing ever happens here.

"Oh, this is what we look like, some of us. Others look different."

Rey cannot help a little smile at his strange attitude. She looks back to where BB-8 rolled off to. Puzzled, she tells him, "BB-8 says he's on a secret mission. He has to get back to your base..." Even hearing herself pronounce that out loud feels so surreal to her. None of this makes any sense. Why-

"Apparently he has a map that leads to Luke Skywalker and everyone's after it."

What? "Luke Skywalker?" she asks, confounded.

CUT TO ACTION.

Whether she wants it or not, the plot forces her into the stories she's been hearing of. You don't want to believe they are real? They're real, all right. She has no choice but to run and get along. And later, she does get more and more interested, specifically when she meets Han Solo, the legend himself. Her whole beliefs turn upside down. It's exciting and she embraces it. Why? She's made a promise to BB-8 that she will get him home, and those things kinda come hand in hand.

Rey's physicality.

Rey is very fast to jump into action. She doesn't think twice about what she's doing. She just acts. Because that's how she's learned to survive all this time on her own. When she but hears BB-8 struggling in the distant sand dunes the first time they meet, she immediately reacts and goes to help (which also shows how compassionate she is towards people - and droids - in need of help).

And she's incredibly stubborn about it. If I may even word it like this: it's something she carries with pride.

So she's a good fighter. And I have but one request: DO. NOT. FORGET. THAT. HER. FIGHTING. STYLE. IS. ROUGH. AND. DIRTY. AND. HAS. NO. TECHNIQUE. WHATSOEVER. WHILE. THE. STORY. PROGRESSES. OK? Ok. What else? Ah, yes. Piloting. I don't know which of the two aspects has brought more uproar in the SW community, with the addition of the Force to these 2 points making people call her a Mary Sue, her being overpowered and so on. Let's have a look at that.

Rey's piloting skills.

She obviously knows her way around the Falcon. And it's plausible. "This ship hasn't flown in years!" It's been there for quite a while. Maybe she has had the opportunity to sneak onto it once. What about her flying skills? Well, that takeoff definitely had me worried. At this point I am even amazed this ship is still all in one piece. Which has me thinking... just a thought...

While trying to get those TIEs off their tail, Rey damages a visibly big part of the Falcon's exterior. "Ups," she comments, hastily checking the controls. Ok... The ship still flies. All good.

"What was that?" Finn calls from the gunner position, seriously worried for their lives.

"Nothing to worry about!" Rey quickly shouts back. All in all, the flight is messy as hell, and the Falcon needs some heavy repairs. But they still manage to get out.

"Nice shooting!"

"That was some flying! How did you do that?"

"Thanks! I don't know! I've flown some ships, but I've never left the planet."

(This is me reacting to their dialogue in the new context:) Yeah, guys, good work! You've almost destroyed the Falcon in the process, but you're alive, so I guess it's fiiiiiine.

What am I going for here? Adding to their level of expectations, which are... pretty low, and hopefully Rey's likability.

And then, later, Han is horrified of the state his ship is in, "Who did that?" Rey doesn't answer his question, but instead immediately offers her help, "I can fix that for you," feeling a bit ashamed of handling the ship of a legend this carelessly. And Han is... well, Han about it.

When would the Falcon get those repairs, you might ask? Eh, *hand gesture* there's plenty of time on D'Quar for that while they discuss how to blow up the third Deathst- *clears her throat* Starkiller Base. And obviously it's not gonna be Rey doing those repairs.

This addition tones down her abilities, puts more focus on her skills as a scavenger and makes her more relatable. I'd also argue that it puts more weight to her decision to eventually decline Han's offer to join the crew because of her wants. You see, once immersed into the real thing, the stories becoming true, meeting the legends, she becomes genuinely curious. She asks questions. Why did Luke leave? What fight? She gets incredibly excited when Han offers her a job. And yet, despite all, she still wants to go back.

Nevertheless, Rey displays pretty amazing piloting skills under those stressful circumstances on Jakku. After all, flying the Falcon is....

Her instincts are implacable. One might even say that she*

She just isn't aware of it yet. It is not until some scenes with Han and the rathtars later that we get the first hint.

The Force.

Now I might be wrong, but I have a theory, which is that the piloting performance under high pressure on Jakku might have been it. The Awakening.

The Force calls to Rey through Luke's lightsaber. And she listens to it, not knowing what will follow. She experiences the Force vision, and is horrified.

"That lightsaber was Luke's, and his father's before him, and now, it calls to you!"

"I have to get back to Jakku." Again.

Even when Maz tells her, "You already know the truth. Whomever your waiting for on Jakku, they are never coming back,"

she still refuses to believe that.

Tears run down her cheeks

and she shakes her head. No.

"But there's someone who still could."

Rey frowns. What is Maz implying there? "Luke?" she asks and realises what it's leading up to, and doesn't like it. Her emotions are a mess. She gulps back and keeps shaking her head as Maz speaks.

"The belonging you seek is not behind you. It is ahead. I am no Jedi, but I know the Force. [...] The light. Feel it. [...] The lightsaber. Take it."

Rey doesn't want to hear of it. Any of it.

"I am never touching that thing again!"

Rey just witnessed complete horror. She is in denial. Keep in mind her clear wants from the beginning of the movie. Ideally her want for her parents to come back should be replaced by the character fulfilling her needs at the end of her arc. But we're not nearly there yet. What Maz tells her about the Force completely contradicts Rey's experiences. She cannot just accept the truth. And how does she handle it? She runs away. She's terrified.

She wants to go back to the way things were before any of this mess started. But the plot doesn't let her run away that easily. It knows she has to face her fears, one being her fear of the Force and one the fear of perhaps never making it back to Jakku ever again.

It forces her further into these situations, making it impossible for her to get out of them. She's trapped. Literally and figuratively. And fighting her way out won't work this time, the one ability she always relied on to save herself. It's her darkest moment. And if that were not enough, Kylo Ren, this stranger, this man inside that mask, the man from her vision, shoves all her insecurities right into her face.

"And Han Solo." Rey jolts up. Either out of fear of possibly betraying Han and slipping, giving away a location, or out of rage that Kylo has gone too far into her personal space. Either way, this rage gives her some strength to oppose him. "You feel like he's the father you never had. He would have disappointed you."

"Get out of my head!" He backs away for his own reasons, not wanting to think any more of his father, but still holds onto her mind. Rey does all she can to withstand him, and the longer she does, the more time it gives her to understand what is going on.

And Kylo senses it. What he's trying to do here is not working. Concern washes over his face, which makes him lose control over the situation. The connection opens, inviting Rey to tap into his mind. She's inside his head. Now she understands. She understands she can use this power on him, too. So she does.

And there it is. She's strong with the Force.

And that's intentional. Why? For reasons we discover in TLJ and numerous other fanfictions. (TROS? w-what's that-)

She has found a way out of the situation. Now, has she ever heard of Jedi mind tricks? Maybe? But remember what she just discovered: She just tapped into Kylo's mind. So she tries that again on the stormtrooper. Because when she knows how to act, she just does. She's always been confident in her physical abilities and skills. Why would she have to treat this new power any different? And luckily it works, after 3 tries.

And that's fine. Let's move on. Kylo kills Han. Explosions.

Notice this. Even though she knows she now has these new powers, the same powers Kylo has, she still draws her blaster at him after calling him a monster. She acts on emotion and choses the quick, familiar way.

I actually like to believe that Rey really doesn't know what the Force is and how it works, at all. How would she? Yes, Maz did tell her about it, but how do Force-powers manifest in people? She's never seen anyone use it before, upon meeting Kylo Ren. So in every scene she does use it, she just copies Kylo. That's the only reference she has. Remember how proud she is of her physical abilities. And she is so naive that she just goes and tries it for herself, without thinking of whether it will work out or not. And it works out for her. Because, again, she is strong in the Force.

It's true that her flaw, her naivety, is not really addressed in TFA. It never really backlashes on her. And, to be completely honest, I have no idea how to make room for that without some heavier rewrites yet. But maybe it's not necessary. TLJ takes care of that. TFA just introduces us to Rey as a character after all.

Now, is the force-summoned lightsaber making her overpowered? If you interpret it as "Kylo couldn't get that thing out the snow but Rey could," then yes, yes it is. BUT, if you see it as "while Rey is observing the fight, she sees Kylo trying to summon it, so she copies him, the way she copied him with the mind-tapping, and reaches for it the moment Kylo conveniently gets it out of the snow for her," I don't think it is, though I do agree that in order for the second version to be true, the scene happens too fast with too little shots to explain it. *OP takes a breath* So, here is what I suggest:

Kylo reaches out for the lightsaber. SHOT of the lightsaber in the snow, fidgeting slightly. BACK TO Kylo, pulling anew. BACK TO the lightsaber. It gets free. CUT. Another shot of it flying through the air towards the camera.

SHOT on Rey witnessing that - she is already on her feet again - and immediately reaching for it as well, outstretching her arm towards it.

SHOT of Kylo as he feels the momentum of his pull shift and dodges out of the way. The lightsaber flies past him, into Rey's hand.

Rey has always been fast to react to action. So it would make sense for her to be able to do that. Ok. Now to the fight itself.

*sighs* I don't even know where to start. ...One thing's for sure. Kylo at this point is pretty much destroyed emotionally from having killed his father, but he's still big and strong and aggressive in his movements. Rey, on the other hand, kinda seamlessly knows how to handle a lightsaber, which... is definitely not believable at all.

Let's step back for a moment. Why do we have this fight? Rey needs to get Finn and herself out of there and Kylo is pretty much in the way, so she wants to eliminate the problem. And what does Kylo want? Sure, he is interested in Rey and her raw powers which eventually adds up to them being equals in the Force, so he doesn't want to kill her...

But he also wants that lightsaber, doesn't he?

(God, I am looking at this fight to find any clues and I'm just sitting here, elbows on the table, resting my head in my hands, massaging my temples, wondering, "why the hell are there so many cuts in that fight scene?") (I am no expert in fight choreography, so bare with me as I try to make this work.)

Rey is the one who draws first at him.

She has never wielded a lightsaber before, but knows how to handle a staff... so she treats the lightsaber like a staff within its limitations.

Because remember, HER. STYLE. OF. FIGHTING. IS. ROUGH. AND. DIRTY. AND. HAS. NO. TECHNIQUE. WHATSOEVER. So, pretend we have some well thought out choreography in this part.

Kylo blocks her with ease. Rey is frustrated. The lightsaber feels heavy and difficult to handle. It doesn't take long for Kylo to

get her cornered at the edge of the newly formed cliff.

"You need a teacher! I could show you the ways of the Force!" he exclaims.

Rey considers, out of breath, "The Force?" Rey takes a moment as her mind connects the dots. So that's what these new powers are? Kylo watches her, waits for her to make a move. No time for pondering about the Force any more. Rey moves. Kylo LETS her duck and free herself from his block. She runs, backs away from the crater. He follows her. He outstretches his arm. Rey is stuck. She's literally petrified. Again. Kylo draws nearer. He twirls his saber, now holding it backwards (you know, Ahsoka style). "No," she hisses through her teeth, struggling. Heavy breaths. She closes her eyes. When he almost touches her hand holding the lightsaber, "No!" she RESISTS his force-cage and GOES FREE.

Because, you see, even though Maz told her to "close her eyes" and "feel the light", Rey has never done that before, and when under stress, I do believe she would rather choose a quick, familiar way to get out of the situation. The only thing she knows how to do with the Force at this point is to copy or resist Kylo. She wouldn't know how to to draw power from the Force, yet. She'll have plenty of time to learn that from Luke later, should she survive this fight, so we better continue.

Kylo stumbles back as she draws at him. Rey goes for a swing to hit from above, which Kylo manages to block last second, bringing his lighsaber up from behind his back. As their lightsabers are crossed again he quickly reaches for her right hand, which is holding Luke's saber, with his left hand and moves it aside to his right towards the ground, using his crossguard for more momentum to force her down. He steps his left foot accordingly to keep himself stable. Rey cries out from the unexpected movement. They are kinda back to back. His left shoulder against her right one. The position is uncomfortable. He squeezes Rey's wrist. Rey cries out in pain. Then, she realises how close they are.

Time for some close combat, ladies and gentlemen.

She gives in and lets go of the lightsaber, lets it fall to the ground. Kylo releases her to reach for the fallen lightsaber. But before he can pick it up, Rey KICKS his left hand away with her right heel and PUNCHES his JAW with her right elbow from below. Kylo's head rocks back. He stumbles backwards from the harsh impact, causing him to turn his back to her in order to catch himself. Rey summons Luke's lightsaber back into her left hand, and ignites it. When Kylo turns back to his opponent, left and unprotected side first, Rey is ready to stab him in his left shoulder.

Kylo stumbles back some more, she brings her hands together for another strike leftwards, he barely blocks it, he stumbles back some more, it leaves his posture open, Rey strikes again, rightwards, lower this time, wounding his leg, he falls to his knee, leaving Rey the final blow to provide him with his scar.

The reason I started writing this entire ramble in the first place is a conversation I had with my friend which brought up the fact that Rey should be able to beat Kylo by using her rough, unpredictable moves. Shout out to my friend who, bless her, is willing to listen to and survives every one of my sw rants and who pointed this out in the first place!

Is this a good fightscene now? I have no idea. I hope so? I do have it very clear in my head now though, so I might go and have some fun storyboarding it in the nearest future.

You know the rest. The ground splits, she runs to Finn, Chewie picks them up. . . .

There are some more moments which I believe need some tweaks, like the meeting with Leia, which is just so unfair to Chewie, really, but if I go on and on about this, I would end up changing the entire movie, which I do not have the strength for atm. This ramble was supposed to be about Rey and her alone, so I am done here.

I guess in the end Rey does realise her needs and is able to let her wants aside for a bit longer and focus her hope on actually helping the Resistance and get Luke. Hope that, with finding Luke, she will get to understand these new powers. I do feel like the movie could have provided us with a more emotionally rich reactive scene to the fight and her abilities, and generally just more of those, but then, what am I expecting from a JJ Abrams film? We have Rian for that.

My conclusion? I'm bad with conclusions and summaries, so here you have it, my take on Rey by only adding to the existing dialogue, changing some attitudes here and there, adding a scene, and changing the fight sequence at the end and how she treats the Force.

I do have a clearer understanding of her character now, which was the entire purpose of this ramble, so I guess, mission accomplished. Congratulations on having made it till the end. It was a long ride. I did consider splitting this beast into 2 parts, but while writing this, at one point I just decided to fully commit to it.

You are totally free to, of course, agree with me and stay tuned for my WIP fanscript or disagree, never read through this thing ever again, ignore it and leave it to die on Tumblr's graveyard.

Before you ask, because I also considered doing that just for the sake of having fun with GIFs on Tumblr (all text gifs are taken from YARN btw), I will not do a post like this on TLJ, since I have no problems with Rey's character there at all. Props to Rian Johnson at this point, for managing to make sense of her with what TFA gave us.

#rey #rey nobody #the force awakens #the force is strong with this one #character analysis #character rewrite #headcanon #this is my headcanon now #ramble #long ramble #long reads #have i mentioned it's long?#star wars #star wars fanfiction

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radiowallet · 1 year

Text

Eyes Open - Chapter 2

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Amy Oliver (ofc) Summary: Marcus gets to work and Amy faces some harsh realities. But could there be more to this case? And more to this friendship? WC: 3.2K Warnings: 18+ MDNI Canon-typical violence, talk of police work, slow burn, yearning, idiots friends to lovers, financial stressors, second chance romance, workplace romance (sort of), older love interest, eventually explicit.

Series Masterlist II Main Masterlist II Marcus Moreno Masterlist

Cross-Posted to AO3

Part 1 >>> Part 3

For any new writing follow @radiowallet-writes and turn on notifications.

----

The late afternoon sun is harsh where it cuts across Marcus’s desk, highlighting the clean print of black text stretching out in front of him. He squeezes his eyes closed then blinks them back open, fighting the urge to rub at the tension sitting between his shoulder blades. Across from him, a heavy sigh sounds out, and when he glances up, Miracle Guy has the same pained look creasing his brow.

“Finding anything?”

The other man sighs again, tossing his own copy of the police report Marcus had brought back the week prior onto his desk. He shakes his head, rubbing slowly at his bottom lip, elbows bent and resting on his knees.

“I think there’s definitely some kind of connection, but it would be hard to prove. It would help to have more.”

“Like?” Marcus poses the question quietly, his eyes still tracing his own copy, the words starting to blur beneath his stare.

“Fingerprints. A confirmed pattern. Witnesses,” he offers with a shrug. “A handful of police reports are hardly going to be enough to prove the existence of an overactive crime ring. Especially ones acquired under interesting circumstances.”

“I don’t know what you’re implying,” Marcus hums, forcing his face into something resembling neutral.

He can feel Miracle moving from across the room but he refuses to look up from where he’s stacking papers carefully, Amy’s looped signature staring at him from the bottom of each page. When he does finally look, the other man is towering over him, a smirk that is far too knowing stretched across his lips.

“You don’t? Nothing about lunch hours spent at a certain precinct? With a secretary who makes terrible coffee?”

“That’s the last time I go out for drinks with you,” he grumbles, moving to stand if only to end this conversation sooner rather than later. Unfortunately, Miracle is one step ahead of him, sliding around the edge of his desk to stop him in his tracks.

“Hey! I think it’s great! You get us the inside scoop and yourself a date for Saturday night. Two birds with one stone!”

“No birds. No stone. Just a friend helping another friend.”

“At the risk of losing her job?”

Marcus freezes, Miracle Guy stating outright what up until now had only been implicit.

Marcus knew they were both playing with fire. Any and every time Amy gave him even the smallest tip, the risk of her losing her job – hell, of her going to jail herself – grew higher and higher. Most of the time Marcus reasoned away this guilt, telling himself that she was the one who started it, and if she had concerns of her own she would stop.

But another part of him was worried. The very same part of him that screamed louder with every smile hidden behind the rim of a coffee mug. With each look that seemed to linger longer than the last. With every touch. Every laugh. It was getting harder and harder to deny his growing affection, and every time Amy set herself out on the precarious limb on which they founded their friendship the weight in his stomach grew that much heavier.

Miracle Guy clicks his tongue and chuckles, stepping away to finally let Marcus pass by, but he refuses to let the conversation go so easily.

“Ever think of just asking her out?”

“We’re friends,” Marcus repeats, taking the stack of papers with him as he moves toward the filing cabinet at the far end of his office.

“But you want more?”

He chews at the inside of his cheek, ignoring the question with resolute focus, taking care to file the police reports away. Miracle takes his silence in stride, following up with a second question.

“Is this about Alice?”

“No,” Marcus insists. “No. I’m ready. Have been. But Amy and I are just–”

“Friends. Yeah, you mentioned it, Moreno. But it isn’t a bad thing that your feelings have grown. It happens.”

He wants to turn around and say it again. To make Miracle Guy understand that even if he did, does, want more than friendship, that didn’t necessarily change anything. Not the status of their working relationship, the circumstances of their personal lives, or even the very possible reality that Amy was content with the way things were.

He’s saved from this very speech though, Missy’s voice drawing his attention to the door of his office.

“You ready to go, Dad?”

“Yes, mija. Just let me finish up,” he promises before turning back to Miracle Guy. “I’ll see what else I can get us.”

“Sure thing, boss,” the other man smirks, clapping Missy on the shoulder once, and shaking her until she giggles, before taking his leave.

“What were you two working on?” she asks, throwing herself into his desk chair. She tugs at the scrunchie in her hair, her brown curls falling down from where they’re piled on top of her head.

Marcus shoots a look over his shoulder and she grins sheepishly, but it doesn’t stop her eyes from rolling. “Yeah, yeah. Need to know basis, right?”

“You got it,” he answers, his grin sympathetic. For all her time with the Heroics, he knew Missy was hungry for more. There was only so much training that could satisfy her desire to prove herself. The very same urge to help and save and protect he himself was born with was stitched into his daughter’s DNA, and he knew it was only a matter of time before she insisted on a bigger role.

“How was the team today?”

She finds his eye line and makes it a point to sound out her answer. “Restless.”

Case in point.

“What do you say to enchiladas for dinner?”

“Sure thing, Dad,” she gives him, the reply drenched in that very specific flavor of teenage sarcasm that tells him she sees right through his pitiful attempt to change the subject.

Marcus bites back a sigh and looks to the ceiling, hoping that Alice can send him some of the patience she took with her. The exact kind that would have been specifically reserved for moments like this. After a few beats, he turns his eye back to his daughter and musters up a better response.

“I will keep you all in mind next time something comes along. Fair?”

Her scowl morphs almost instantly, and Marcus is acutely aware of how he was very much played, but it’s easy to forgive at this exact moment. “So, enchiladas?”

“Definitely,” she agrees, this time with sincere enthusiasm, jumping up to join him as he gathers his coat and bag.

“We’ll have to stop by the store on the way home for a few things.”

“Okay, but Abuela can never know about the store-bought tortillas.”

----

Amy double checks the list in her hand, while simultaneously patting the pocket of her coat, stuffed full of the coupons Harris had helped her cut out the night before. Satisfied, she turns to where her daughter is currently making it her mission to climb into the basket of their shopping cart.

“Wasn’t it just two weeks ago you told me you were too young to be riding around in a shopping cart?”

“But my legs are so tired,” Harris moans, her body hanging dramatically off the back of the bright red shopping cart, her amber eyes rolling up to the sky.

Amy bites inside her cheek, fighting the giggles bubbling up her throat, humming loudly and tapping her foot, making a show of considering the request. It doesn’t take long for Harris to grow impatient, a pitiful ‘Moooooom’ whining from where she still hangs, the rubber of her sneakers dragging a high-pitched squeak across the dirty linoleum of the grocery store.

“Alright, get in! But I don’t want to hear it when the frozen peas hit your tush!”

“Mommy! Don’t say tush!”

Amy can’t help but snort out a laugh as she watches the 7-year-old all but fling herself into the back of the cart, not an ounce of grace to be found between the pair of them. She waits for Harris to arrange herself comfortably, her legs crisscrossed, bony knees bouncing in excitement at the prospect of the bi-weekly grocery run. Amy wishes she could feel that same childish glee, but that joy was slowly being eaten away by impending sticker-shock induced anxiety.

It used to be that she could easily keep herself and Harris afloat with a careful budget that allowed for a splurge here and there: a trip to the movies on a Saturday afternoon or name-brand ice cream complete with all the toppings one could imagine. But between inflation pushing prices higher and higher and her landlord deciding that rent just had to go up another 50 bucks a month, that carefully calculated budget got a little bit tighter.

She pats the pocket full of coupons one more time and sends a silent plea up to the fluorescent lights that Harris will be cool with Cap’n Crunch instead of Lucky Charms without her having to explain the crippling weight of capitalism to a 7-year-old.

“Alright, jelly bean! Can you take charge of the list for me?”

“Yes!” She hands the list down to the two tiny hands grabbing at the air and then the two of them are off.

They navigate the first few aisles with ease, boxes of rice and cans of vegetables stacked neatly around where Harris kneels inside the cart. With each item, Amy moves a coupon from one pocket to the other, calculating carefully her best guess at a total. The pair of them hit a comfortable rhythm, so much so that she doesn’t notice who’s standing right in front of her until her shopping cart slams into Marcus Moreno’s hip.

“Shit! I’m so so sorry!”

“No, no it’s okay. Really! I, of all people, should have felt– Amy?”

“Hey, Marcus,” she greets him, her cheeks suddenly very warm at the sight of him outside the precinct.

She could count on one hand the number of times she’s seen him outside the little bubble that was the police station but each one was seared into her mind. He always seemed so much more at ease, the weight melted from his shoulders in a way that only the removal of one’s responsibilities could achieve.

His smile is relaxed where he stands in front of her, his tie loosened and his shirt sleeves rolled up, leaving him adorably rumpled. Amy lets her eyes carefully trace him, committing his broad frame to memory without even realizing that’s what she’s doing. She can’t help it. She really can’t. The way his smile stretches across his lips, his trademark dimple finding its home on his cheek, one arm reaching up to rub at the back of his neck.

And she can’t help but feel a surge of jealousy; how does one look this good beneath fluorescent lighting?

“Hey! Uhhh….oh!” he turns and gestures just behind him. “Missy come say hi!”

The 16-year-old looks up from where she’s making horrified faces at the jarred salsa lining the shelves beneath the hot sauce and grins, running over to her father’s side, brown curls swinging with each step.

“You remember Amy Oliver, right? She works over at the police station?”

“Yeah! She used to sneak me gummy bears while you were arguing with Baldwin.”

“I see,” Marcus hums, not an ounce of heat to be found in his tone. “That explains all those sugar crashes you used to have.”

“In my defense,” Amy reasoned, “that face is impossible to say no to. Though you’ve certainly grown a bit since the days when we’d fight over red gummy bears.”

The tips of Missy’s ears turn red, her head ducking just enough for Amy to lose her eyes.

“Hey,” she calls to her, waiting until Missy peeks back up before finishing what she has to say. “It’s a good thing.”

Missy and her share an eye roll as Marcus grumbles in the background, a sign of solidarity between daughters and mothers alike.

“Psssssssst. Mommy!”

Speaking of.

Harris is waving her hand dramatically, beckoning Amy closer. She shoots Marcus and Missy a quick wink before leaning in for her daughter to whisper loudly in her ear.

“Are they strangers?”

“Where are my manners? Harris, this is Mr. Moreno and his daughter Missy. Mommy works with Mr. Moreno.”

Harris peeks out over the edge of the shopping cart, her eyes wide and her lips formed around a silent ‘oh.’ She waves her tiny fingers before latching them back around the red plastic, the cat very suddenly finding her daughter’s tongue; a more than common occurrence around new people. Marcus and Missy take her shyness in stride, the four of them moving slowly down the aisle together.

Missy makes another angry face at the jarred salsa as they pass it by, and Marcus laughs along with her, saying something to her in Spanish that elicits a giggle from the teenager. They turn the corner as a group and head down the next aisle, and Amy internally groans when she sees the rows of brightly colored boxes. Harris’s reaction is instant.

“Cereal!”

Before Amy can stop her, Harris is climbing out of the shopping cart, the whole thing tipping precariously to one side. On instinct, she goes to steady it, but Marcus must have the same parental knee-jerk because before she knows what’s happening his hands are on top of her own, their fingers practically laced together where they both hang on to the cart. Her heartbeat races forward a mile a minute, the feeling of his hands, calloused and warm, sending a rush of something up her throat. For a minute neither of them pulls away, and she swears – hopes? – she can feel his thumb smooth across her knuckles just before he pulls away.

“Sorry,” Marcus mumbles. “Instinct.”

Amy nods and mutters out her own nonsensical reply, refusing to acknowledge how much she already misses the warmth of his touch. Up ahead the girls are very much caught up in their own little world, Missy holding Harris’s hand as they survey the different sugary sweet options available. Amy can’t help but feel a pang of sadness as she watches them together, a small part of her longing for a life where she could give Harris more than just one parent, but instead a whole family to love.

She can feel Marcus’s eyes on her and when she glances over at him, her suspicions are confirmed, that familiar crease bending between his brows.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he laughs, turning his own gaze back to the girls. “Harris has gotten so big. She’s still so tiny in the picture on your desk.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I’m in desperate need of a replacement.”

“I love that picture! The two of you look so cute in those matching dresses!”

Another rush of heat fills her cheeks, the brush of Marcus's shoulder as he nudges her leaving her reeling.

“So, this grocery store isn’t in your neighborhood,” Marcus mentions, fidgeting with the bag of tortillas in his hands, and she thinks maybe his nerves are as keyed up as her own. “Just have a hankering to drive across town?”

“Oh…well…”

“Mommy! Mommy! Do we have a coupon for berry cereal?”

Harris runs up holding the bright yellow box of Crunch Berries over her head, Missy only a step behind. Her eyes are hopeful as she stares at the grown-ups, bouncing on the soles of her unlaced Keds. Amy takes care to reach into her coat pocket and pull out the bundle of coupons, flipping through them carefully until she gets to the one labeled 75¢ off One (1) Box of Cap’n Crunch. Her daughter squeals with glee and wastes no time in heaving the box of processed sugar into the cart.

“That’s a good deal,” Marcus notes from behind her. “It’s double coupon week here.”

“Lucky,” Amy hums, shoving the stack of unused coupons back into her pocket with a little too much force.

“Mommy said that’s why we came to this store. The drive was so long! It took 5 whole ABBA songs!”

Now she finds her voice.

“I remember Alice doing that, especially right after we had Missy.”

The little confession catches her a bit by surprise. “Heroics not paying their superheroes much back then?”

“That about sums it up,” Marcus laughs, falling in step beside Amy as she starts pushing the cart forward. “And Alice’s ability to budget really saved our asses when we first started out.”

He falls silent, seemingly lost in the memory of the wife he lost and her own carefully clipped pile of coupons. Most would expect to see a sadness in the shadow of his eyes but Amy can see something else mixed in with the remaining grief her friend carries; a love that remains for all that Alice Moreno gave him in their time together. She can’t help but admire the way his features bend to form around the memories, and, if possible, her affections grow.

“I…um,” Marcus starts, still fiddling with the plastic-wrapped tortillas.

The guilt laced beneath his tone is suddenly so loud and Amy hates the way she bristles, the desire lingering in her cheeks now suddenly replaced with hot embarrassment. She grips the handles of the cart as hard as she can, eyes pinned to what must look like a meager amount of groceries to someone like Marcus. She takes a deep breath and shakes her head, cheating her eyes in his direction.

He’s curled in on himself, brow pinched beneath the black plastic of his glasses, and she prays he isn’t about to offer sympathy she doesn’t want or need. But before she can form some sort of dismissal, his features smooth, a sheepish smile creeping up his lips.

“I still owe you that lunch.”

“Marcus,” she shakes her head, but he keeps talking, and eyes still pointed at the end of the aisle where the girls are looking over the different boxes of pop-tarts.

“No, seriously I have to stop by anyway. I think I left my glasses on your desk. And these spares are starting to give me a headache.”

Slowly, realization begins to dawn on her. She had mistaken Marcus’s tone for guilt, but mixed between was anxious nerves so rarely heard in her friend’s words. He didn’t forget his glasses. The man wouldn’t have made it two steps past her desk without slamming into something without his glasses. No. The thing he forgot has nothing to do with eyewear and everything to do with the box of files sitting by her desk, waiting to be carried down to evidence.

Amy watches Harris a minute longer, her small hand gripping tight to Missy’s as the older girl points out a box of chocolate-covered granola bars, her daughter’s favorite princess plastered across the pastel-colored box. Something sweet and safe unfurls inside her chest as she watches them, Marcus standing quietly by her side, their shoulders barely brushing, a pile of coupons still crushed inside her coat pocket.

“How does Monday sound?”

She feels him bump into her, the gentlest of taps from him to her, his voice like honey in her ear.

“Monday sounds perfect.”

----

A/N: Hi friends! Just a heads up, the actual "crime" and "police work" of it all is very much happening in the background. This is very much just a place where I can come and write a love story for Marcus. Thank you to everyone who's read so far!

And a big thank you to my beloved @jazzelsaur who continues to encourage all of my shenanigans with this silly superhero man. I love you, bish.

#Marcus Moreno #Marcus Moreno fic #Marcus Moreno fanfic #Marcus Moreno x ofc #we can be heroes fic #we can be heroes #pedro pascal characters

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hebuiltfive · 8 months

Text

Thundertober Day Seven: Alive

Please, please check the warnings for this one.

I've tried to cover enough to be on the safe side but it does delve into some darker thoughts, so please be mindful of that. I hadn't planned on this getting quite so... depressing. It was supposed to have an uplifting end. Fair warning: it doesn't.

AO3 here

Days: One ~ Two ~ Three ~ Four ~ Five ~ Six

Warnings for: Suicidal Thoughts; Depression; Major Character Injury. This is set post-Hydrofoil. Gordon is having to come to terms with the cost of surviving an accident that should have left him dead. Tagging: @thunder-tober @skymaiden32 @idontknowreallywhy (just going to put it out there that if you want to be tagged in any future Thundertober pieces, or future pieces in general, let me know and I'll tag you too!)

What was the point of being alive if it meant you could no longer live?

The mirror was his enemy. He refused to even take a glance because who exactly would be staring back at him? What had he become? Life or death and he had chosen to live because he was strong and his human survival instincts had kicked in, but what was the cost?

His legs were currently immobile, his arms cocooned in casts. Most of his body was either bandaged or strapped up in some way, metal rods and plating fixed inside him as though he were a bionic man. There was probably some sort of joke in there somewhere, but Gordon failed to see the funny side. He failed to make a joke about anything as of late, and for good reason.

He had survived, but now he was facing a life of… this.

Apparently, there was still a chance he might have been able to return to his old life, but the odds were against him. According to some of the doctors, there was a slim possibility of Gordon being able to walk again. It was a tiny glimmer of hope, but he chose to not think of it. To think of it, to hope for it, only for it to likely be ripped away from him all over again? He’d rather remain solemn and bed-ridden without the dream, thanks.

Because that’s all it was now.

A dream of a past life and a possible future that was no longer within his grasp.

Whenever his brothers came by to visit, usually once a day, they’d reassure him, or try to, but none of them had ever been good liars, at least not to Gordon’s face. He could tell instantly when Scott blinked excessively and barely offered him a simple glance in his direction; when Virgil took great interest in the way his booted feet twisted and moved across the shaggy carpeted rug beside his hospital bed; when John’s fingers would not stop fidgeting with the zipper on his hoodie and would give only an uncharacteristic shrug as an answer whenever Gordon asked him a question.

Late at night, when the wing had fallen asleep and the only sounds that filled the area was the soft humming of machines and the padded feet of nurses doing their routinely hourly checks, Gordon would allow his mind to wander away on whims and what-ifs.

What if he’d never joined that stupid test programme?

What if he had instead followed his dreams?

What if he had never got in that damned accident and still had a body that worked?

Never again would he be able to join his family on their hikes through the canyons near home. Never again would he be able to swim laps through the foaming waves on the West Coast. He had once considered taking up surfing more seriously, to add to his list of water hobbies, but now Gordon knew he’d never have the chance.

Wrapped up in cotton strips and constantly having to warn airport security of the additions to his body… This wasn’t living. At times he even question whether striving had been worth it.

Gordon eventually found the strength to confide in Virgil those thoughts which constantly ate away at him. His empathetic nature made Gordon feel like he would be the only brother who could understand, and who wouldn’t bat away his concerns with a simple don’t even think like that, you’re going to be fine, even with the odds stacked against him.

“What will make the surviving worth it, then?” Virgil had asked him, cradling a plastic cup that had once held the contents of a coffee vending machine. He’d slowly sipped his way through the warm, comforting drink as Gordon had bared his soul.

To his credit, Gordon hadn’t allowed a single tear to stain his cheeks. In his eyes, that was a win. He managed to open up to his brother without breaking down. It wasn’t that he thought Virgil wouldn’t have been able to take Gordon’s meltdown. He just didn’t want his brother having to witness it.

“I don’t know.” He replied honestly after a moment of quick, silent reflection. “I don’t think anything will.”

He couldn’t look Virgil in the eyes because he knew how it sounded. As a family, they never gave up. After everything they’d been through, they always found a way to continue fighting through the dark until the light appeared at the end of the tunnel again, but this time, Gordon felt exhausted. To him, the tunnel had caved in and there was no escape from the endless gloom.

“Walking again.” Virgil answered for him. “That would make it worth it. Running again. Standing again. Swimming again.”

The word made Gordon tense. It also made him lock eyes with his brother. For the first time in that conversation, there was a glossy sheen to those orbs as tears threatened to fall regardless of what Gordon wanted. “Don’t.” He warned carefully. “Don’t use that as a—”

“Gordon, the chances aren’t zero.”

And there it was. So much for believing Virgil wouldn’t try and reassure him with those ridiculous odds again.

“They’re as good as, Virg!” Gordon hadn’t meant to raise his voice. He knew his brother was only trying to help in the best way he could, but the pain was still raw and Gordon didn’t want to think about possibilities. “Don’t give me hope only to take it away again.”

“I’m giving you facts.”

“The fact is,” Gordon shuffled himself a little higher in his bed, ignoring the protest from his lower spine, “that no-one knows what the fuck is going to happen because I shouldn’t even be here! I should have died in that wreck, but for some unknown, Godforsaken reason, I’m still here and I wish I wasn’t!”

Gordon had never once regretted speaking to any of his brothers. He’d never once regretted choosing to open up to them, least of all Virgil, but as he sat there, taking in his brother’s horrified expression at his claim, Gordon regretted ever opening his mouth at all.

He didn’t let up. He couldn’t. To apologise or to backtrack would only offer two choices: Virgil would either accept his outburst as a mistake and not take any action, or he wouldn’t buy the act and would begin to put an action plan in place to tackle Gordon’s supposed way of thinking. Gordon wasn’t sure which option was worse.

So he continued.

“If it was you, Virgil… if you suddenly lost the ability to use your hands, your fingers, and now your painting and your piano playing was just a distant memory of what you could once do, how the fuck would you feel?”

He wasn’t sure what Virgil was thinking as he just stared at his younger brother. He wasn’t sure if any answer was going to be given, let alone an honest one. All of those doubts dissipated when Virgil leant forward. His elbows rested on the sheets of the bed, his hands holding as best he could onto one of Gordon’s casts.

“I would fight because the alternative isn’t better than this. That is never better than having some sort of life, Gordon. Death is death, but life… No matter how bad it seems now, life has variables and possibilities, and you should never wish for anything else.”

Gordon didn’t bother trying to hold back the tears any longer. He knew Virgil was right, but accepting that meant accepting a whole lot more pain.

“I’m too tired, Virg.” He whispered, head hanging lowly in defeat and shame.

“Don’t say that. Don’t say that when you’ve still got fight left in you, Gordon. I know you have.” Virgil tilted Gordon’s chin upwards with two gentle fingers. “You’re a Tracy. We don’t give up. So long as you are alive, there is hope, whether you think it’s worth believing in or not. So long as you are alive, you can fight, even if you believe you’re too tired to keep going. So long as you are alive, I will help you as much as I can because you are my brother and I’d much rather have to wait on you hand and foot than attend another gravestone, okay?”

It wasn’t a question to ask whether Gordon understood.

It was a question to ask whether Gordon would accept that unspoken promise.

“We take each day as it comes, but we never give up. So long as you are alive, Gordon, promise me that you will never give up.”

“I’m not great at promises, Virg, but…”

He trailed off his sentence, hoping his brother understood that he would try.

Trying was all he had left to give.

#thundertober 2023 #thunderbirds fanfiction #five fics #gordon tracy #virgil tracy #thunderbirds are go #tw: sucidal thoughts #tw: injury #tw: depressive thoughts

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olderthannetfic · 10 months

Note

The whole bookmarks conversation reminds me of the authors of massive crossover fic With Pearl And Ruby Glowing, who have been known to lash out at anyone and everyone who criticize them, even if you did it in a private server where it was never intended to get back to them, even if you only mildly disliked one chapter, even if you were a massive fan but wished they'd used intersexism instead of going "what's the word for this? interphobia?" and then deleting all comments stating "it's intersexism". Mention them on a locked Dreamwidth entry that duckduckgo search results will show them part of? They're going to contact you and they're going to be furious.

Sometimes, not everyone is going to love your work. You cannot try to ban them from expressing that opinion in private to others. Yes, even if you're "famous" author who has a whole TV Tropes page for your work. You are within your rights to not want to be insulted to your face outright in vitriolic ways unrelated to your work, such as people who slam them for being queer writers. But not wanting that being a relatable, reasonable thing to feel does not mean that everyone has to say your work is good even in private, that people who comment on the fact that there's been more blonde black people than Arab people in your work even though you say you care about representation are haters who shouldn't be allowed to speak, or that if you ask what a word is and get told what the word is then that's hate that needs to be deleted and just for that we're going to screen all comments you meanies.

I've gotten some really nasty intersexist, antisemitic and outright violent comments on my work in the past. I delete the garbage and report the comments that threaten physical violence against me. The result is that people who like my work feel like they can approach me and say hi and chat in my comments or to others. Meanwhile, despite having a ton of hits, almost no one comments on With Pearl and Ruby Glowing and hardly any discussion of it off of AO3 because no one is in the mood to be yelled at for answering a question the author asked or for saying you didn't think a particular chapter was as well done as the others. When even "I loved the first 150 chapters except for number 44, I didn't get that completely" can be met with backlash, the readers start going, "I'll just not say anything and hopefully they won't get mad at me", a fandom dynamic that has resulted in less and less hits and less and less engagement as the story has gone along.

The best thing to do about angry bookmarks is to ignore it. People hate being treated as if they don't matter, thus it is your best possible revenge, because long after you've forgotten their annoying bookmark, you live rent-free in their head. Snapping back at even the lightest of criticism does not make for a fun experience for the reader. It makes me glad I didn't recommend the fic to anyone or comment and it likely to make me stop reading.

One of my fandoms is stubbornly refusing to move to AO3 and is still posting on FFN, for reasons I don't know and cannot explain. The result is that hate comments are still common. The standard response is to just ignore it. I feel much better about talking to those authors because I don't have to walk on eggshells around them in order to make sure I don't make them mad at me. As a result, I am much more likely to recommend their fic to others, because I don't have to worry I'm putting someone in the line of fire by doing so.

TL;DR can we all please learn some sense of proportion and that negative comments aren't worth burning the world to the ground over? Because in the process of burning things to the ground, you burn a good chunk of your audience in the process.

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myheartalivewrites · 8 months

Text

20 questions for fic writers

Thanks for tagging me @bitbybitwrites @kiwiana-writes @cha-melodius I continue to be emotionally withholding from my WIPs so this was a fun little distraction.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

15 and I realised tomorrow is the anniversary of the first fic I ever posted! Might do a little celebration post about it.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

259,263!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Red, White & Royal Blue ❤️🤍💙

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Confirming the mad recency bias in RWRB fics, they are all my most recent fics, all published from August onwards with the exception of the last one, hospital cupboard hook-up fic my beloved:

Deep Blue

In His Wildest Dreams

Just Like That.

Oxford Days

Tumbled Down and Tangled Up

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! Comments are the best thing about ao3 and pretty much the only reason to post my stuff online! I feel boring sometimes, like I'm replying the same thing over and over, but it is SO true that every single comment means so much to me and I hope commenters know that

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't do unhappy endings. The closest I've come to not a HEA is Don't Wanna Be A Fool For You which is still a happy ending lol, but I didn't go into the future and left them only JUST beginning to recover from all the angst

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Oh, tricky to decide this. I'm gonna go with Down By The Water, simply because I go deep, DEEP into their happily ever after in the epilogue (it is 12k of a 63k fic which should give you an idea of just HOW deep), even though it’s still quite… yearn-y.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No, though I did get some intense emotional responses to a few chapters of Deep Blue, which... well, they were supposed to hurt, but it was A LOT. Never have I used the 😬 emoji that much.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Hah, yes. A lot of it. All but one of my fics are E and even that one has got a smutty end scene I didn't publish and might post around the holidays. A Christmas treat for a Christmas fic! I'm not sure what 'what kind' is really supposed to mean here, so: very explicit but always emotionally relevant to the story, and particular in long fics I like to use the, ahem, smut progression to show how their feelings and the relationship is deepening.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I know 😬 Only tumblr posts 🙄

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Oooh, someone asked me if they could translate Deep Blue to Spanish, so I'm excited to see that (but it is 76k so it might be a while)! That would be my first though.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Oh, firstprince, no doubt. Alex and Henry have my heart.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I absolutely REFUSE to say I won't finish something. I plan to finish all my WIPs.

16. What are your writing strengths?

This is hard to answer, but I think I'm good at building tension, both in the overall story developments, but also within paragraphs and scenes, playing with sentence length etc. At the very least I like how I do that!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Yikes, pulling no punches. Sometimes I get bored of writing all the 'getting to know you' dialogue, and get fed up of writing banter. It’s the kind of thing that tends to get me blocked on a WIP. I find it quite hard, possibly because Alex and Henry banter so much it feels like it's all been done before. Oh, here’s Star Wars! Oh, your dog’s name is stupid! Etc etc.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Love it. I have one WIP currently which has some French dialogue, and my French is middling at best, so I'm going to have to ask for help with it, but I'm not there yet.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

RWRB ❤️

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

IMPOSSIBLE QUESTION. I reserve the right to change this answer, but right now it's Down By The Water, I literally fell asleep last night wishing I had time to go reread it.

Phew, that was a lot! No pressure tagging a few friends who might want to play: @indomitable-love @historicallysam @14carrotghoul @cultofsappho @celaestis1 @suseagull04 @heybuddy-drabbles but open tag if you too wan to join!

#my writing #about me #rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrb fanfic

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apoptoses · 3 months

Note

DANIEL -

3. What first drew you to this character? 12. If you could write effortlessly and as much as you wanted, what story (s) would you write for this character? 26. If you look for this character’s name on AO3, what tags are you including or excluding? 34. Does this character inspire you with little things in your daily life? 50. Link your fav song, playlist, aesthetic board, fan-fiction, reference pile, personal artwork, analysis post, meme, headcanon, or quote for this character. Whichever one (s) you are most comfortable with!

okay you also asked for Armand with the same questions so for the sake of organization i'm gonna do both in one post!!!

What first drew you to this character?

Daniel: I just really like what a great stand-in for the reader he can be because yeah, I'm sure EVERYONE who read these books at some point had the same thought- that they would want to be turned and they'd see immortality as a gift. I like his shameless love of these monsters, the line about liking kissing and snuggling with dead things? Made me absolutely insane. I like that he's not afraid to mouth off to something so dangerous while he's still mortal. I like his drinking issues, his weird craft fixations. Basically everything we got in the text was incredible imo, he's a fave!!

Armand: Honestly Armand didn't really click with me until QotD. In my mind he was a Louis-simp in interview, and then an angry bitchy little Jesus freak in tvl, but then he shows up in QotD and he's putting cigarettes down the garbage disposal and throwing money at Daniel to make him teach him about international calls and I was like- damn, this one is a FREAK deep down. So seeing him be erratic and out of place and curious about the world made me view him in a new light, and the moments of gentleness he shows later in the book really pulled the pieces together for me.

If you could write effortlessly and as much as you wanted, what story (s) would you write for this character?

Fuck, I really want some newly turned Daniel at Night Island for both of them. Like what went wrong? What kind of maker was Armand with all these ghosts from his past around? How long did it take for things to fall apart and what were the ups and downs of that period like? I really, really wanna work through that but I don't have even the slightest inkling of where I want to begin yet.

If you look for this character’s name on AO3, what tags are you including or excluding?

So generally I start with fic rated Explicit or Mature, not just for pervert reasons lmao But I feel like if a writer can write some smut that really gets the characters and explores something interesting about them then most likely their fics with lower ratings are gonna be interesting and not pure woobification. (also if they're writing the kind of smut I like? Then we're likely similar flavors of freak and I know anything else they do is gonna be safe)

Also while I wanna write some vampire on vampire stuff, I generally prefer Daniel to be mortal for bodily exploitation purposes 😂

Does this character inspire you with little things in your daily life?

Kacy pls you know what things have been like for me lately, every two weeks something is going on that has me feeling like I'm living the Full Molloy lmao I'll never live down the experience of sitting in my car at 10pm and having that liquor store owner come outside and wave to me while Lixx runs around inside with an armful of bottles of wine for my shot nerves.

Anyways in all seriousness I think about Daniel's speech to Armand when he's dying a lot:

“But don’t you see,” Daniel said, “all human decisions are made like this. Do you think the mother knows what will happen to the child in her womb? Dear God, we are lost, I tell you. What does it matter if you give it to me and it’s wrong! There is no wrong! There is only desperation, and I would have it! I want to live forever with you.”

The refusal to ruminate or get sucked into thinking of all the possible wrong outcomes, that at the end of the day there is no wrong decision there's only action- I think there's something poignant there and I would do better to not be like Armand, convinced everything will turn out poorly in the end.

Link your fav song, playlist, aesthetic board, fan-fiction, reference pile, personal artwork, analysis post, meme, headcanon, or quote for this character. Whichever one (s) you are most comfortable with!

The fanart of Daniel that will always live rent free in my head is @nightislandofficial's art of him in tank top and cut off shorts bitching about 'give me what I want' lmao (though honestly all of their comics featuring Armand and Daniel send me, what a fandom gift)

Your series the Usher will forever have me in a chokehold like. Fic of all time!!! Also the thing you wrote for my wedding 🥹

God, for headcanons- anything stupid. Any headcanon that is really just a shitpost.

And my favorite quote for the two of them, just off the top of my head, would be Daniel saying "let me be a lover in the savage garden with you". He really had some killer lines, despite what little he got lol

#apoptoses answers #armand/daniel

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letstalkwhump · 1 year

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Let's Talk Whump

Welcome to Let’s Talk Whump, a series of interviews that spotlight the amazing people in our whump community! I’m Malice and I’ll be your host today.

Here with us today is the one and only @redd956!

Good to have you here! How about we start off with a fact or three about yourself?

I got by two other names online, as my aliases are many, such as Dezert and Usarin. My blog itself isn’t fully a whump blog, but also writing/worldbuilding, it’s just quite well known in the whump community and I do see myself as a avant participant. Worldbuilding is my true passion, but it’s notable I also play tons of video games. My blog, and other online names are all after randomly chosen OCs of mine.

Let’s get straight to the point! What does whump mean to you?

Whump as a kid meant to me something strangely dark or violent to fall asleep to, now a days character arcs are expected in that. I realised I wasn’t alone upon joining finding the community. So now I guess it just means storyline violence/conflict in hopes to show a character arc unique to characters who go through a lot.

And how did you find the whump community? What made you want to join?

I found it while searching for writing tips & tricks stuff for a pinterest board. I realised when out of night ideas to sleep to I could use this, and lurked around the tumblr side of the community for half a year. Finally I noticed a lot of my favourite tropes weren’t as prevalent or there at all, and couldn’t take it anymore. Sometimes you just need to do something yourself.

Do you think your view on whump changed since you joined?

My view hasn’t really changed at all, but I do have some new favourites, primarily the whole Hero contrasting with Villain character dynamics in whump.

What do you consider to be your favourite whump trope?

Oh boy… I guess my favourite whump trope would be taking down a powerful stoic character. The power itself is meant to be vague, as I feel it changes depending on whatever I’m feeling, whether it be physically, magically, role, whatever. I primarily love this because it forces the powerful character to show vulnerability they are not used to, and I absolutely love that.

Do you mind sharing a favourite piece you've written?

My favourite piece I’ve written isn’t on my blog, and probably never will be, as I write a lot. And I mean…a lot. It changes every year, so right now I’d give it to a 7 page piece of mine dedicated to my OCs from my worldbuilding universe, labelled Apocalyptic for obvious reasons. For my blog… I’d say my favourite piece is Prompt 8. I did once attempt to post a sequel because of requests but I absolutely hate it and refuse to acknowledge it’s existence.

I love a good hero/villain story! Do you have a regular writing routine?

I only write whump via striking sudden inspiration. I do have a major overwriting problem, that I’m still trying to fix. I write a lot! I am a studying creative writing major, and will likely be working as a writing tutor next school semester. I usually play lo-fi, hopefully themed to whatever I’m writing, and write any time of day or night.

And do you find that some things are easier to write than others?

I excel in military and nonhuman whump in my eyes, as well as a lot of cold whump. I’m great at the first two, because a lot of my personal creations include them. I’m bad at writing long form captivity/torture stuff. I just don’t exactly like most of it anyway, for no reason in particular. But I find it very difficult to describe.

Is there anything you're working on at the moment?

I’m currently working on starting and continuing the beginning of two whump series on Ao3. Other than that I’m always continuing my personal work.

Do you have a joke or pun you would like to share to spread some smiles today?

foap

Give us some writing advice. Bless us with your wisdom, oh awesome one!!!!!

Write whatever you want, practice in whatever way works for you, and keep doing that!

Shout out to your favourite writing/whump blogs, bffs or people who've inspired you. We're hyping everyone one up here!!!

Oh dear, there’s so many! Uh @mottinthemainpot, @theres-whump-in-that-nebula, @whumpsday, @leyswhumpdump, @painful-pooch, @starlit-hopes-and-dreams, @wither-wander-whump , @whump-me @thebewingedjewelcat @i-eat-worlds and so many more

Also for good measure, the non-whump blog, @heckcareoxytwit

Anything you'd like to add?

You’ll probably notice me and my partner being occasionally unashamed madly in love on my blog, and especially on theirs.

Thanks for joining us today, @redd956! Great to have you here!

And to all you wonderful folks at home, have a whump-derful day!

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imnotpayingforurtherapy · 26 days

Text

I don't think i've ever done an introduction before so here's a messy one (I'll fix/add to it later)

Hey, I'm Snilk (It's a nickname my friend gave me that's short for snail milk)

I draw and write occasionally (My ao3 is the same as my username and is at the bottom of this post under the cut)

I'm only fluent in english but i also know some Spanish, French, Russian, Portuguese, Japanese, Korean, Arabic, Turkish, Slovenian, Gaelic (in order of how much I know the language) Also working on learning Kumeyaay, Cherokee and Chiwere (The native languages of the places I've lived and love visiting)

This is mainly a bsd account because ✨autism & hyperfixations✨ but all the fandoms i'm in/shows/book/manga i've seen or read is under cut (feel free to recommend things to my read/watch list through asks or dms)

General personality info also under cut

Socials under cut

Fandom list

Fandoms (General)

- Bungo stray dogs

- Hazbin Hotel/Helluva boss

- The Amazing Digital Circus

- Ramshackle

- No.6

- My little pony friendship is magic (gen 4)

~ Jkk

- Junji ito

[Past Fandoms: Miraculous ladybug, Bnha, Danganronpa, harry potter, demon slayer, hunter x hunter, bloom into you, whisper me a love song, ways of the household husband, tokyo ghoul, Tbhk, spy family, chainsaw man, yuri on ice, sk8, idk if these are considered fandoms but i was also obsessed with yt animators for a while; jaidenanimations, odd1sout, let me explain studios, jelly jess, SO MANY MORE]

Manga/Light Novels

- Bungou stray dogs light novels (1-8; Kafka Asagiri... still haven't read tdipud)

- BSD Gaiden/Another Story (Kafka Asagiri, LOVED THE ART OF THIS ONE)

- No.6 (Atsuko Asano, UGH LOVE THIS ONE)

- Bloom into you (Nio Nakatani, THE AROACE REP 🔛🔝)

Books

Recent/Fav reads

- Fahrenheit 451 (Ray Bradbury)

- Flower of Buffoonery (Dazai Osamu)

- No longer Human (Dazai Osamu)

- Setting Sun (Dazai Osamu)

- School Girl (Dazai Osamu)

- Time Machine (HG Wells)

(There's more i'm just lazy)

Currently reading/read list

- Crime and Punishment (Fyodor Dostoevsty)

- 1984 (George Orwell)

so much more (again i'm lazy)

Music

I pretty much listen to anything and everything (Except super popular artists who only got popular because they're celebrities and not because they make actually good music, I can't stand them)

Artists

- Ado

- AJJ

- The Alan Parsons Project

- Alex G

- Alexander Vertinsky

- Alpay

- Conan Gray

- Chappell Roan

- Sufjan Stevens

- Mustafa Ozkent

- Psychedelic Porn Crumpets

(I'll finish this later, i'm eepy and this is too hard to pick my fav artists)

Songs

Personality

ENTP/INTP (It changes between those two every time I take the stupid test)

I'm technically Aroace and bisexual (Romantic relationships feel suffocating and cause me to have constant panic attacks and I'm fine with sex but I have to be on top and in control and refuse to take off any of my clothes so pretty much me giving cunnilingus or blowjobs👍 anything else👎 The reason being I have horrid sa trauma from when I was 8... lemme know if y'all want the story)

I've been told by everyone I know I am Dazai, no elaboration, I just simply am him

Masochist yet scared of pain, constantly paranoid and anxiety ridden lil creature (I have horrid insomnia that causes me to hallucinate), I love driving, I have horrid misophonia and will often skip meals cause i can't stand the sound if my own chewing, automatic flight response when alone, fight response with someone weaker than me, i'm an extreme people pleaser and over thinker so as much as i wanna make jokes about something i wont because im scared of it going wrong and then will proceed to overthink my screw ups for the rest of my days :D, would deal with panic attacks through self-harm/self-sabotage and would purposely embarrass myself (Haven't done that in a while tho so it's all good) uhhhh this is too long so that's it lmao

Ao3 writer curse (I've never broken a bone but pretty much every week it's something new from giving myself a concussion and missing school for days without my knowledge cause i was in a coma that my family thought was just me being lazy to a random excruciating pain in a place i didn't even know could hurt)

WHERE MY CRONIC PAIN BESTIES AT?!? YALL GET IT 🗣️🗣️‼️‼️🥰🥰

I make jokes when i'm in pain cause i hate having people worry about me or feeling bad because of me, I am entertainment for you, i'm not real so just laugh at me like a sad movie

I go to an art school (unfortunately) and have class from 8:30am-5pm on a normal day; I'm in production & design conservatory which is basically just running everything behind the scenes of live theater, everything you see and hear in a show that's not the actors themselves I work to control and make as good as possible, my fav positions are A2 (putting mics on people and setting up speakers) Wardrobe (designing costumes and performing/helping with quick changes) and Deck/props (Make stuff and put it on stage)

Outside if that my favorite subjects are Science and History (I love memorizing things that make sense and work together, i love understanding facts about the world and using it to express and understand things through literature)

I used to love math as i was a child prodigy but lost my spark as instead of my teachers noticing my skill and helping me, they poured water on my flame and now i can barely solve 13 time 3 without a calculator (its 39)

When I was in kindergarten, I was bored with my lessons and my sister (who was in 3rd grade at the time) loved playing school with me so by the time I started first grade I had memorized multiplication tables, could solve any equation in my head within minutes (like 2 digit multiplied by 2 digit equations) and had a concept of negative numbers, my first grade teacher loved this about me and would give me harder equations separate from the rest of the class, then in second grade my teacher would lie to me any time i said something above second grade math, like one time i brought up an equation like 2-5 and she was like "oh you can't do that" and I tried to explain it and she just kept denying it until I finally got so fed up with her bs I shouted "YES YOU CAN ITS NEGATIVE 3 JUST LIKE YOUR IQ FOR NOT UNDERSTANDING THAT!" ... I got sent to the office. Third grade was the worst because instead of just letting me be my teacher made me write down everything on paper... I don't think in numbers when i do mental math, I think in concepts, so by the time i convert the concepts to numbers and but it on paper i've lost the entire equation and have to start over again and get super confused because i forget how i got that number and why that numbers there so i end up just breaking down and getting the question wrong. AND INSTEAD IF SEEING WHAT THE ISSUE WAS SHE JUST BRUSHED IT OFF AS OH YAY IM DOING THE WORK so i became stupid as a result (I also was in math olympians for a few years and would always get pissed off cause it was a group competition and i would look at the problem, solve it instantly and tell them the answer, they wouldn't believe me, take forever to solve it and low and behold i was right and because it was a timed competition i never got higher than second place...)

OH GOD THAT WAS A HORRID RANT- MY BAD GUESS YALL GOT SOME SNILK LORE🗣️🗣️‼️‼️

Socials

(I'm not really active on Twitter/X)

#inp4ut introduction

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astupidweeb69 · 2 years

Text

Unrequited (Yandere! Ticci Toby x Reader) Part 4

Next Chapters: Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Links to Previous Chapters: Part 1, Part 2, & Part 3

Author's Note: I feel like this chapter sucks lol. My summer courses just ended and I had to pull a couple of all-nighters to write a 10-page research paper. So I'm VERY sleep-deprived and still recovering. But I wanted to post another chapter now since I had it planned out with a rough draft for days.

After editing it’s actually about 1,000 words longer than originally. So, damnit, I’m posting it. Cross-posted on my Ao3 account which I update quicker.

Warnings: Swearing. Non-consensual touching/groping/kissing (Technically sexual assault. But I tried not to make anything too graphic. I’m not super comfortable writing things like that, but it’s important to the plot for this specific chapter). Descriptions of gore? Also, some minor spoilers for the movie Hellraiser if you haven't seen it. (4,450 words)

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

“You invited that guy over?”

Anne immediately snapped her head from the TV, shocked at the news. Giving you a look that could only mean ‘are you crazy?’.

Just like the two of you had agreed a couple of days ago, she had been staying over at your place to keep you company. You were feeling especially vulnerable now, so you’d only allow the presence of someone you were really close to.

That’s why when you told her about your recent development with the “weird guy” from the bookstore, it didn’t make any sense to her.

“Well, yeah… I thought maybe I’d been overly sensitive about how he was acting. Or remembering things wrong? You know I’ve been in a rough spot lately.” You sighed, cringing at the memory. “Plus, you should’ve seen how sad he looked when I tried to leave. For a second, I thought he was going to cry.”

Anne rolled her eyes. You could tell she was trying to hold back giving you a lecture.

“Don’t just hand over your phone number because you feel bad.”

A fair point.

Normally you could tell someone off if they were making you feel unsafe, hell, even throw a punch if it came to it. But if someone looked at you the way Toby had… there was something in you that had a hard time saying no.

At your lack of response, Anne continued. “And you didn’t have to give him your address too. Why didn’t you just meet him in a public place?”

Logic never failed her, you thought bitterly. Eyes drifting down to your feet, embarrassed, you prepared your stupid reasoning for putting yourself in this situation.

“I just… still don’t feel comfortable going out yet. And I wanted to show him some movies. I know it was dumb, but I’d feel more at ease doing something I enjoy in a place I’m familiar with. And remember, I said that my mind had probably been exaggerating things.”

Your friend frowned at the explanation. Sure, she’d been helping you get out a bit more, but whenever you found yourself in a rut it took more than a few days to get back to normal. You could see it pained her whenever you still refused to leave the house.

“Fine. It’s your call. Just… promise me you’ll text me the entire time, so I know you’re okay.” Anne got up from the couch and made her way to the front door. She smoothed out her short brown hair and grabbed her keys and purse.

“You’re leaving?” You asked, unclear on what her plans were for the day.

She nodded. “Yeah, my boss texted me this morning asking me if I could work the late shift. I would have told you earlier, but I didn’t realize you would be inviting Tony over. It kills me I can’t be here to make sure he doesn’t try anything.”

“Toby.” You corrected, “And don’t worry…” Flashing her a stupid grin, you lifted your arms up and jokingly flexed your muscles. “He wouldn’t stand a chance. I’ll just kick his ass to the curb if something happens.”

“Of course you will.” Anne scoffed. “Seriously though, be careful.”

With one last worried smile, she left.

After hearing her car pull out of the driveway, you started thinking about what you had just agreed to.

This was just two people getting to know each other…. right?

Hanging out as… potential friends.

That’s all.

But you couldn’t shake your doubts.

The fear beginning to resurface.

Was this a date?

Hopefully not.

You were honestly just excited you’d found someone with a similar interest, who wouldn’t flinch at excessive gore. You didn’t want to start dating now. Especially while you were still trying to recover. Walking up the stairs towards your room you thought more about Toby.

He wasn’t… ugly?

That was the nicest thing you could bring yourself to say. Any attractiveness that might’ve been felt was suppressed by how uncomfortable he made you feel. Plus, the whole time he was around you’d been avoiding looking directly at him.

The mirror in your bathroom reflected your tired face.

Date or not, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to put some effort into how you looked.

Doing your standard routine, you finally put on a cozy sweater and your favorite pair of jeans. Nothing that would make it seem like you put too much thought into it. Again, wanting to avoid sending any messages to Toby that this was going to be a romantic thing.

When you finished fixing yourself, you hurried back down to the kitchen to make your last-minute preparations.

There was a frozen pizza set out, a pile of movies to select from, and now all you had to do was wait.

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

It was getting dark.

That was normal this time of year, and it gave the perfect ambiance for watching films. The house was cold, so you had made sure to get plenty of blankets for the couch, trying to do anything to keep your mind occupied.

To say you felt nervous was an understatement.

As the hours crept closer to 6, your stomach began doing flips. Regretting everything leading up to this moment.

You sat on the couch flipping through channels on the TV, not paying attention. Leg bouncing up and down, you glanced at the clock on the wall for probably the 100th time in the last minute.

‘5:59’

The doorbell rang.

The remote flew out of your hand.

He was here.

You smoothed out your sweater and hesitantly walked over to greet him.

As your hand grabbed the doorknob, you took a deep breath. Before getting the chance to say hello, your senses were overwhelmed by some kind of musky fragrance.

Sandalwood and lavender?

You stifled a cough.

“Huh-hey.”

Toby stood in front of you, his hands in his pockets, hunched over, giving you an awkward smile. He wore the same black turtleneck you saw him in before and his unruly brown hair was combed in a half-ass attempt to tame it.

Apparently, he had also decided to bathe in cologne.

Okay, this guy was trying a little too hard. Shit. He probably did think this was a date then.

Trying not to panic, you smiled politely. “Nice to see you again.”

You turned to the side to let him in.

But he didn’t move.

He just kept staring.

“Uh… Do you plan on staying outside the whole time or….?”

Toby blinked, realizing he’d been spacing out. He looked like he was in a bit of a daze.

“Suh-sorry.”

He came inside and you shut the door behind him.

Both of his arms reached forwards. Baffled by the unexpected gesture, you found yourself wrapped in a vice-like grip. A bone-crushing hug that made it hard to breathe. You awkwardly patted his back, feeling his body shake all over, and warm breath fanning through your hair. You pulled away slightly to signal to him it was time to let go.

He released you slowly with a disappointed pout.

“Umm… okay… that was… nice?” You swallowed.

He tilted his head beaming with affection.

This was already off to a weird start, but you were trying to stay optimistic.

Getting a better look at him now, you noticed his face had quite a few scars on the left side. Especially leading up to the bandage covering his cheek.

You wondered what the story was there, but you weren’t going to ask. Toby was probably self-conscious about it, since the more you glanced at it, the more he started to twitch.

But now it was time to maintain the role of a considerate host. Offering drinks and food. The standard crap you always did when having guests over. Even more so when you didn’t know the person well.

You motioned your head towards the kitchen. “Follow me.”

“Have you had dinner yet? I have some frozen pizza if you want.” You grabbed the cardboard box containing the gourmet meal you planned to have that evening.

He shook his head, face grimacing involuntarily. “Nuh-no, I haven’t had any food today. I fuh-forgot to eat.”

“Damn… Well, I’ll pop this in the oven right now then. I have some snacks too you can have while we wait.” How the hell did a tall guy like Toby forget to eat for an entire day?

You couldn’t help the look of concern on your face. More so when you became aware of just how pale he was. There was almost a gray complexion to his skin that was borderline unnatural. His body wasn’t getting enough nourishment, that’s for sure.

“Here, I’ll get you some stuff to eat. Skipping meals is never good.”

With a sly grin on his face, Toby lifted an eyebrow when you began handing him bags of food from your pantry. “You’re wuh-worried about me? That’s ssss-so sweet.” He teased.

You stopped and looked over your shoulder. The man was already cornering you in the small storeroom, proving he had no grasp on the concept of personal space. Toby leaned down a bit getting closer to your face, a playful smirk crinkling the tape on his skin. Eyes drifting south for a second before snapping back up again. He wasn’t subtle.

Something you were noticing more and more with each passing moment.

It was making you grow weary, and you sure as hell didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting you cared about his wellbeing. “I just don’t want you to pass out during the movie. It’s not as fun if I don’t get to see you scared.”

Toby suddenly laughed, loud enough to make you flinch.

“I don’t scuh-scare so easily.”

The way he spoke was hard to describe. It was like there was an inside joke you weren’t a part of.

Moving away from you, he stood to his full height, cracking one of his shoulders in the process.

God, he was tall.

“What muh-movie are we watchin’ anyway?” Toby tilted his head, smiling down at you with an uncharacteristically boyish charm.

Your heart fluttered for a split second. “I – uh – picked out some we can choose from.”

You gritted your teeth, annoyed you let yourself be charmed. If only for a moment.

When you finished placing the pizza in the preheated oven, you lazily waved your hand for Toby to follow you to the living room.

The man was constantly at your heels, occasionally bumping into your body and muttering a quick “sorry” under his breath. You would’ve assumed it was an accident if it hadn’t been for the few times his hand lightly grazed your ass. Even when he wasn’t putting on his little “clumsy” façade, you could still feel him raking in your entire shape.

It was terrible.

On the coffee table, there were four movies you had laid out as options. ‘Alien’, ‘The Shining’, ‘The Evil Dead’, and ‘Hellraiser’.

“Any pique your interest? We can always watch something else; I’ve got plenty more options. I just figured we could start with some classics.”

Toby scanned the cover art of each case, twitching fingers turning them over, pausing on some of the more disturbing pictures on them.

“Hmmm… Huh-how about Hellraiser?” He glanced over at you with uncertainty.

You grabbed the movie beaming, “Great choice! The special effects are incredible in this one, Bob Keen is an amazing designer.” Putting on your best Pinhead impression, you added “We'll tear your soul apart!”

He looked at you confused but seemed entertained by your cartoonish attempt to sound intimidating.

“Pinhead? From the movie?” You felt your cheeks warm up.

He snorted. “I duh-don’t know what that is. But it sounds cool.”

Rubbing the back of your head, you shrugged. “Well, you’re in luck I guess… you’ll get to see the guy soon enough. I don’t exactly do the character any justice.”

“Suh-sooo… How bloody is this movie?” Toby asked.

You raised a brow, the way he said the question was weird. “I mean… there’s a lot, and it can be unnerving for most people…”

He put a hand on your shoulder, squeezing slightly. You flinched.

“Wuh-well… if I get scared, promise you’ll comfort me?”

Okay… gross.

You were going to pretend it was a joke, even though you knew it wasn’t.

You looked up at him with a fake overly enthusiastic grin, “Nope!”

Quickly opening the DVD player, you place the movie in the slot. Sitting on the couch with a bag of chips, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, the weight of the couch shifted as Toby joined you.

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

He was too close.

It was fifteen minutes into the movie, and the whole time Toby had slowly inched closer.

His breath was heavy, shoulder pressing into yours. It was obvious his face was completely flushed; the sickly gray paleness of his skin wasn’t hiding it.

Every time he made contact with your skin his body reacted like he had run a marathon, with loud panting and red cheeks.

Under the blanket you shared, you could feel his clammy hand twitching for a touch. Once in a while he’d graze a finger on your thigh, knee, or hand.

He was always moving like he couldn’t sit still. You had a couple guesses as to why. It’s not like you were born yesterday. But it still made you nauseous to think about.

All you wanted was to watch this damn movie in peace and Toby clearly had other things on his mind.

Plus, the many attempts you made to create some distance between the two of you proved pointless. Toby would instantly ‘adjust’ his position to close the gap again. It was like fighting a losing battle.

You didn’t even know what was happening in the plot right now. The only reason you could piece things together was that you’ve seen the movie before.

His hand started making another daring journey for a part of your body. Toby once again ‘adjusting’, you could feel the tips of his fingers make their way slowly towards your ass. Of course. At this point nothing surprised you.

Ding!

The timer in the kitchen went off.

The pizza was done.

Thank God.

“Dinner’s ready!” You shot up from your seat, pausing the moving, feeling grateful to finally have room to breathe. To not have Toby’s hands swarming all over you.

As you almost sprinted to the oven, the man of the hour didn’t hesitate to trail behind. Like he was attached to your hip.

Cutting the pizza, you could feel him observing you with every movement. Looking over your shoulder and taking a step closer whenever he felt like you wouldn’t notice. You always did.

You set two slices on plates and turned around to give him his food.

He immediately tried to grab it, but his arm unexpectedly jerked to the side, instead knocking it out of your hands, ceramic scattering all over.

“FUCK!”

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I’m suh-sorry!”

Toby yelled in frustration.

You jumped, trying to move away as you witnessed his outburst. What the fuck was happening?

He pulled painfully tight on the ends of his hair. Completely freaking out with a disturbing amount of anger.

It wasn’t directed at you, but it was still frightening. You were alone with a 6-foot-something man that was flipping the hell out. Over something so trivial too.

“I-it’s okay Toby! Really!” You tried to calm him down.

But it was like he couldn’t hear you. Toby continued to glare down at the mess, tearing at his scalp.

What was someone supposed to do in a situation like this?

You knew you had to do something.

Carefully, you placed your hands over his.

God, you hoped this would work. It felt weird to touch him, but you’d try anything to not have to watch someone hurt themselves.

Feeling your fingers delicately wrap around his, Toby stopped. His gaze met yours, and you were taken aback by the dreamy expression he looked at you with. It was like his emotions did a complete 180. It concerned you, realizing that at any moment he could have another intense reaction to something that was normal.

And did he misinterpret your intentions? All you were trying to do was make him stop pulling out his hair. But he looked at you with such passion now. It almost felt predatory if you were being completely honest.

With his body now relaxing, he let out a shaky sigh. “I guh-guess I overreacted, huh?”

Understatement of the year.

“Yeah, I guess. I thought you were going to make yourself bald.” Maybe if you made light of the situation, you could just get this evening over with.

You prepared him a new slice, this time grabbing both plates, and walked back to the living room.

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

Every time he took a bite his bandage moved, the greasy food loosening the adhesive that kept it in place. It started to slide up, a visible redness underneath.

You couldn’t help but stare.

Thank God he didn’t notice.

Toby was fully focused on the movie now that the plot had begun picking up the pace. Especially when the Cenobites appeared. But his reactions were disappointing. He never jumped or looked afraid the entire time. Hell, you would even settle for a small look of disgust when a body got ripped to shreds.

In fact, he had the complete opposite response. He laughed or snickered when someone was hurt. It was kind of off-putting. Sure, it wasn’t uncommon for you and your friends to joke around while watching scary movies, but this was different. What he was doing didn’t feel like a joke.

Saying things like “Take that fucker!” When one of Julia’s victims she lured into her house with the promise of sex got their head caved in with a hammer. Then making a joke about how she “nailed” him.

Or grinning and laughing like a maniac when the Cenobite’s hooks tore through a person. He even chuckled when the final girl Kristy cried over the death of her father.

It wasn’t in good fun.

Luckily, the movie was down to the last 20 minutes. Even if you ignored the content of Toby’s words, the fact that he kept interrupting and talking through the whole movie made it hard to enjoy. It was like he was totally unsympathetic.

This had been one big mistake on your part, and now you just wanted to go to bed.

Toby shifted in his seat, arm slowly slithering its way around the back of your neck.

Your breath hitched. Not again.

This was way more forward than he had been before.

Was he seriously making a move on you?

You felt paralyzed as his arm settled around your shoulders. His hand gripped your side tightly, bringing you closer.

This was bad.

Maybe if you waited a little longer, he would stop once the movie finished. So, your plan was to concentrate hard on the TV and refuse to acknowledge the situation. Stupid, but it might work.

Toby twisted his head fully in your direction.

He wanted you to look at him. This wasn’t a side glance hoping you wouldn’t notice like he had been doing the whole night. No, he was intentionally letting you know his focus was now on you and you alone.

You weren’t falling for his little trap. Absolutely not.

However, when you still didn’t face him, his fingers glided up more on your waist, grip settling on the side of your chest.

Before getting time to process the change, his hand started massaging your breast.

Your eyes widened.

Oh shit.

You swiftly turned, at last getting a full look at how red the man was. His eyes lidded and mouth parted slightly.

“Toby, please sto-“

He lunged forward.

No warning.

Mouth crashing into yours in desperation.

On your back, arms pinned above your head, you tried to wriggle out of his grasp.

But he didn’t notice. Or didn’t care. He was too preoccupied trying to shove his tongue down your throat.

The warm muscle twisting and exploring every surface of your mouth. His saliva mixed with yours. It tasted like blood.

You felt sick.

The cotton texture of his bandage rubbed against your skin as he continued assaulting your lips. The adhesive having no hold left on his skin, it finally slipped off.

Skin textured and flaky, scabs and blood-encrusted tissue. All leading to the gaping tear on his face, you could see the back of his molars and his tongue lapping against the side of his mouth.

You let out a muffled scream.

In a frenzy, you bit down on his tongue as hard as you could. He didn’t flinch, instead, he furrowed his brows and slowly released his lips from yours. Shit, he must have one hell of a high pain tolerance.

You gasped for air. Visibly shaking, tears starting to form in the corners of your eyes.

Toby’s body hovered over yours, perplexed by your current state. As if he was oblivious to what he just subjected you to.

It brought back too many memories. That feeling of powerlessness. Knowing that you had been physically incapable of stopping him. Anger raged through your system. All you could think about was decking him.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

You shouted, despite knowing how unpredictable the man in front of you was. But you couldn’t help it. This wasn’t just about Toby anymore. Or even his horrifying scar, although that had certainly not helped.

At the reminder, your eyes flickered back to that hole in Toby’s cheek. No amount of scary movies or practical effects could ever prepare you for something like this.

That was his face.

This was all real.

A part of you was disgusted by it, another part morbidly curious.

Were you a little desensitized? Probably. But your current outburst wasn’t about that, if anything seeing a person with a wound like that just made you want to take them to a hospital. Or at the bare minimum ask if they were okay.

At this point, it must have dawned on him that his mouth was completely exposed. You’d been glaring at it for a while as you tried to regain your composure.

Toby smacked his hand over the gash mortified. He jumped to his feet and backed away from the couch, shamefully hiding his face.

“FUH-FUCK! I-I….”

He couldn’t get a clear sentence out. His body shook and cracked; it was like every one of his muscles started to spasm at once.

You almost felt pity.

Almost.

This was the last straw. You couldn’t take it. You had been going through enough as it was in your personal life and with all of tonight’s events piling on top of everything, it was too damn much.

Through gritted teeth, you cut off his ramble, “Listen! I don’t give a flying fuck about your face! Sure, is it concerning? Yes! Do I think you should seek medical treatment? Most definitely! But right now I’m fucking livid that you just pounced on me without asking!”

You rose from your seat. You might have been shorter than him, but you didn’t care. You walked right up to the man, looking him dead in the eyes. A reckless move on your part, having far more courage than sense.

“I’ve been really patient with you tonight, Toby. I’ve ignored your outbursts. I tried to ignore your unwanted touches. But I won’t just sit here and pretend that it’s fine for you to pin me down and have your way with me. Fuck that.”

Toby’s body went still. Looking down at you in shock. Probably not expecting a full-on confrontation from you. You had put on an understanding, almost to the point of being a pushover, attitude the entire night. But everyone has their limits.

Toby’s initial surprise didn’t last long before you could see things were about to take a dark turn.

Now his eyes were narrowed, his expression forming into a scowl.

He removed his hand from his face and tilted his chin up, glaring down. Reminding you how much bigger he was in comparison.

Your body screamed at you to back away. A primal instinct letting you know that the thing in front of you was dangerous. A predator. Your senses being proved right all along.

But you didn’t listen now. You refused. You’d let people like him get their way so much in your life, and you had promised to yourself you wouldn’t let that happen again.

Instead, you took a step forward. Challenging him.

If he could act scary, so could you. You may have been smaller, but what the hell did he know about you? You’ve stood up to people his size before, and you’d do it again.

He smirked at this. Finding your act of bravery amusing. But his eyes still held their threatening aura.

“Suh-so… let me get this straight. You’ve just been tolerating me the whole time? Then why were you acting all coy when I tuh-touched you? Why did you hold my hands earlier? And why are you always too shy to look at muh-me? Hmmm?” He batted his lashes, bringing his face towards you condescendingly.

Did he really think he just won the argument?

What a jackass.

This was some grade-A manipulative bullshit, and you weren’t going to stand for it.

“You’re such a fucking prick! Have you ever thought I was just trying to be nice because I was afraid?! No! Of course you wouldn’t! And if I tell you I didn’t want to touch you, you can’t just disagree with me! It’s not up for debate, asshole!” You fumed, hands forming into fists.

Toby raised a brow, opening his mouth to say something.

“No.” You hissed. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

He blinked, seeing you point towards the door. If he stayed any longer, you’d take a swing at him. You hadn’t been this pissed in years.

But it was nothing compared to how Toby’s face contorted in wrath. A glimpse of madness in his eyes you hadn’t seen before.

“Make me.”

It was a growl. Utterly inhuman.

Neither one of you moved.

A beam of light suddenly glared through the windows.

Anne was back.

Toby noticed too and was the first to back away. “All ruh-right. You want me to go? I’ll go.”

He stomped over to the front door, opening it to leave.

But not before turning around one last time.

“You’ll be seeing me again soon, (Y/N).”

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