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self-shipper-snowdrop · 5 years

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Selftober Day 6; PJs

This one’s connection is also… a lil’ loose, but I had fun!

The focuses of today’s fic is…

…Lucy Maud Montgomery, Kyōka Izumi, Gin Akutagawa, Ryūnosuke Akutagawa, and Atsushi Nakajima!

Yeah I know Atsushi had some spotlight yesterday too, but I couldn’t help it! Had to have the friends, the fam, and the recently revealed bf you know?

A basic summary of this one;

Bronwen and friends are having a slumber party, and decide to play truth or dare. That’s when Lucy’s protective side kicks in, as she uses the game to question Atsushi about his new relationship with Bronwen.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

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“How about we play truth or dare? I heard it’s fun,” Kyōka asked as she braided Gin’s hair, drawing the attention of the small but chatty group of friends- well, to an extent. Two of them would tear each other apart if given the chance, but for the sake of one attendee who happened to be the host, they avoided it. Although the idea of playing truth or dare drew the attention away from keeping those two in line, and towards the rainbow of reactions from the room.

“I don’t know. I’ve never played before…” Atsushi said, watching Gin braid Bronwen’s hair while she did up Lucy’s, “But if you guys want to, then I’ll join.”

Lucy huffed as she braided Kyōka’s hair, carefully combing it before each twist of the braid to make sure it was perfect, “It’s not all that it’s hyped up to be, trust me.”

“Well, Kyōka wants to play- so what’s the harm in it?” Bronwen smiled towards her friend, who despite only being around three years younger than her, the brunette had come to care for like a mother would. So she finished Lucy’s hair, carefully tying it with a ribbon and smiling towards the young ADA member, “I’ve never played either, so it can be a fun little experience for all the newbies here. The rest of you can… I don’t know, chuckle while we stumble? No laughing at Kyōka though. Save that for me.”

“We won’t be laughing at you.” Gin insisted, finishing Bronwen’s hair and smiling at her, “It’ll be with you. But shouldn’t we all change first?”

“As if something as trivial as the clothes we’re wearing will make a difference…” Ryūnosuke ‘tsk’ed, “It isn’t even that late.”

“I think it’s a great idea! Gin and I bought everyone new outfits anyways- so we should try them on!” Bronwen chimed in, rushing over to a set of bags resting by the wall while the other girls finished styling one another’s hair. Bronwen searched between the plethora of frilly dresses, ribbons, fabrics and threads, until she eventually found what she was looking for with an ‘a-ha!’. She then pulled out a series of nightgowns- four, to be exact- and two men’s pyjama sets. She smiled as she distributed the outfits to everyone, internally praying that everyone liked the outfits she and Gin had bought. A white set for Atsushi, a black one for Ryūnosuke- easy enough to tell apart. Then she dropped off a long, feminine white nightdress to Gin, a pale pink for Lucy, a blue one for Kyōka and lastly a red one for herself. Each had their own slippers and socks to match, which considering Bronwen and Gin’s eye for clothes, was far from shocking.

“There’s two bathrooms up here, so you guys know where those are. There’s another downstairs, and the rest of us can get changed in the bedrooms,” Bronwen said, counting out the spaces on her fingers as she listed them off, “Once everyone’s ready, we can start the game! Then it’ll be a real slumber party, right?”

There was a hum of agreement through the room- some far more enthusiastic than others- before everyone rushed off to various parts of the house to change. They all trickled back into the common area upstairs one by one, starting with Lucy and ending with Bronwen- the brunette walking in with a smile still on her lips as she settled down beside Atsushi, leaning on his shoulder without even thinking. Lucy was quick to take the spot at Bronwen’s other side, the look she shot Atsushi just daring him to do something stupid and face her wrath. The others, however, didn’t really react- they were used to Lucy’s protectiveness by now. Atsushi not so much; the very obvious chill that shot through him was enough to confirm that. But as oblivious as ever, just happy to have so many people she adored all together for a game, Bronwen just began setting the game into motion.

“Okay, so a couple of us have played before… but I’m sure we all know how it works. We’ll go around the circle this way, alright?” Bronwen said, spinning her finger in a clockwise motion, “So I’ll go first, then Atsushi and so on. And we’ll keep looping until we get bored! But everyone has to go at least once so it’s fair. Now let me see… Kyōka, truth or dare?”

She paused for a second. “Truth.” Kyōka answered.

“Who’s the coolest person in this room?”

“You.” She answered, completely expressionless without a hint of hesitation. Bronwen’s entire face just lit up, and suppressing a squeal she let out a ‘thank you!’. Atsushi was up next trying to think of who to ask as Bronwen tried to wipe the grin off her face.

“…Gin, truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“I dare you to hide one of Bronwen’s lipsticks!”

“A-Atsushi, I trusted you! How could you do this to me!?”

Laughter filled the room as Gin grinned and rushed off to Bronwen’s favourite bathroom in the house the brunette scrambling after her friend to try and shop her from completing the dare. All the commotion could be heard from the common room, but from the look on their faces when the girls came back, it seemed the Gin had succeeded in her mission. From there, the laughter only continued as they went from person to person, the only person who was eerily quiet was shockingly… Lucy. Constantly trying to tug Bronwen under her arm, shooting questioning geared towards Atsushi, and generally just acting protective, like an older sister judging the brand new boyfriend of her younger sibling. In truth, it all made a Bronwen dread when Lucy’s turn came around, internally knowing it would end up as an interrogation rather than a game. She could hope that she’d end up wrong on that front.

She wasn’t.

“Atsushi. Truth or dare?” She asked, side-eyeing him from her spot next to Bronwen. Atsushi jumped a little, pointing to himself as if to confirm it before replying.

“Um… truth?” He laughed nervously, not wanting to test the waters of ‘dare’ with the look she shot him.

“Why are you with Bronwen? What makes you think you can keep her safe?” Lucy asked bluntly, and all the colour seemed to leave the weretiger’s face in his shock while Bronwen just sighed. Rolling her eyes, she looked over to Lucy with an eyebrow raised, expression screeching ‘seriously?’ at her, but she didn’t speak. Atsushi just started to blush and stutter, trying to find an answer.

“W-Well, I mean, she’s really nice… she seems to understand me, and she’s… beautiful…” Atsushi’s face was screeching red at this point, meanwhile Bronwen looked up with a surprised look in her eyes as he continued, “B-But I just like her for who she is! And even if you don’t think I can, I swear I’ll protect her always! I know her ability can be pretty dangerous for her… and I can’t nullify it like Dazai can, heal her like Akiko, or even keep her away from fights like you can. Even still, I’d never let her get hurt! She’s too important for me not to. Even if all I can do is promise, then I’ll promise! I’ll do everything in my power to keep her safe no matter what, and make her happy. If I can’t… then I’ll support her as she finds somebody better.”

The room’s air was heavy and deathly quiet, Lucy’s eyes wide, Bronwen teary-eyed, and the rest of the group looking on in surprise. A small ‘hmph’ from Ryūnosuke was the only thing to break the tense silence- drawing everyone’s gaze his way. But shockingly, he had the faintest of smiles on his face; something that was nary seen, even if Bronwen was there, and his mood was always lighter with her around. Even if he was a protective a friend as you could get with her.

“I must admit, I had my own reservations when I heard about the two of you… I was tempted to ask the same question on my own turn,” He said, looking towards Atsushi with a shocking lack of contempt or seething hate, “But with an answer like that, I can’t say I’m not a little impressed. Let us hope you live up to your words, weretiger.”

Lucy snapped out of her daze for a second, looking away from Bronwen and Atsushi, “…That’s just about what I was going to say. I guess I’m… alright with that. But hurt her, and I’ll be the first to kick you into the ground, got it?”

“You’ll have to wait your turn if that happens, Montgomery,” Ryūnosuke remarked, “Rashomon won’t be patient in seeking out his blood.”

“Can you two stop threatening my boyfriend for two seconds?” Bronwen groaned in annoyance, making Atsushi laugh a bit at her exasperated response.

The game and sleepover continued after that, with the air much lighter than before.

#self insert #self ship #self tober 2019 #selftober #familial; family always comes back #familial; gentle souls #platonic; secret shoppers #platonic; partners in crime #the dreamer’s diary of escapism #romantic; worthy of having my heart

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evanox · 2 years

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Hello! I love your stories about last legacy, and I take advantage of the fact that the requests are open I want to give one, basically some platonic headcanons of sage and tulsi with a reader who took care of them as children and was like their mother / father figure during their youth, thanks in advance and thanks!

I'M SORRYYYY I'm so sorry this took so long but I loved the req sm I def went a little overboard with it... I hope at least it is worth the wait!! Also big thanks to Zeke again for beta reading and helping brainstorm stuff <33

Also I've written the reader to be a baker bc Sage did mention in ch2 that the street bakers were some of few people who looked upon him and the other kids with a little kindness and I thought it was v sweet

m.list

'Wharf rats,' the people had called them: a group of homeless kids who made a home out of Porrima's docks, and every day they would venture deeper into the city to hunt for food and pickpocket for a living. You've been here long enough to notice when one of them bumps into a shopper, stubby yet nimble little fingers passing over their pockets in search of coin, all while the person remains none the wiser.

You also notice when they swipe a warm loaf of bread or fresh fruit from the stalls lining the shopping district, and you've never tried to stop them when they came for yours. It'd be a shame to throw away what remains of pastries and cake after you close for the night anyway, and while you'd be more than happy to offer the kids the excess yourself, there are one too many stingy customers who complain about having to pay for your goods while the kids get them for free.

Also, it's terribly adorable when a proud, satisfied smile draws over their little faces once they get their hands on a baked treat without getting noticed. You notice though; it's your fun little secret.

This one boy, however, has always seemed particularly ambitious, swiping three or more slices of whatever rather than one or two at a time. You've wondered if you should do something about it, but greed came to kick him in the ass before you could make up your mind. Unlike you, and a few other kind vendors, people do not take too kindly to petty thievery, and a misstep from that little kid leaves him curled on the ground, arms hugging the bruises blooming over his ribs.

He hisses and scratches and bites as you pull him over behind your stall. There's a bucket of water, some bandages, and a salve (meant for burns from the oven, but it's not like you've got much else to work with; this is a bakery not an apothecary), all of which you lay out before him so he knows you only mean well. Slowly his shaking subsides and he pulls the worn out rag hanging off the bucket's rim, dips it in the water, then wipes at his face and cleans out the blood from where the sharp tip of a boot had split his skin open. In the meantime, you rush to a stall that sells fish closer to the docks, and borrow a bucket of ice that you can empty into a cotton bag to press against his bruises.

You half-expect the boy to have already left when you come back, but he's right where you left him, staring wide-eyed at the racks upon racks of fluffy loaves and intricately-carved pastries. That's when you get the idea—you grab a fish-shaped pastry filled with spicy curry (it's always been his favorite, you've noticed) and offer it to the boy. He scowls at your outstretched hand, but you can clearly see the internal battle through his amber eyes. Eventually he succumbs and grabs the pastry, wolfing it down and almost choking twice. Only then does he let you get closer, but his careful gaze never leaves your hands as you place an ice-pack over a particularly nasty bruise.

You offer him another pastry, then another, and then you ask his name. "M'Thage," he manages to say between bites, crumbs flying all over the place. At some point Sage stops eating and looks over the tray of goods you put before him, seemingly guilty, then pockets a few (avoiding all deer-shaped ones) and scurries away. At least he has the decency to yell out a 'thank you!' over his shoulder as he disappears into an alley.

ii.

You think the persistent banging at your door is a customer who missed the very obvious 'CLOSED' sign outside (a far too frequent occurrence ever since you moved business indoors for the winter), but it's Sage, trembling under the weight of a small body draped over his back. Two fluffy, bunny-like ears droop over either side of her head, and snow coats her black, messy hair in a fine layer of white.

"She's sick. I don't—I don't know what to do." This is the first time Sage has spoken to you since that one time you helped him after he got kicked to a pulp in the shopping district. "Please, help her."

Though he pleads for your help, he's still too reluctant to let the little girl go, so you lead him inside where he can lay her over the carpet right by the fireplace. You decide not to say anything about the trail of wet, muddy footprints he leaves on the floors.

You pull your warmest blanket from where it was folded at the top shelf of the closet, along with two towels; one you hand to Sage and the other you dry the little girl's hair with. Her pulse is slow and her fingertips are so cold they could freeze and fall off, but her face radiates heat that rivals that of the hearth.

"Is she gonna be okay?" Sage's eyes are blown wide with fear, and he looks at you like you're the one person in Astraea who can save her. You're no doctor, but in the face of his fragile hope you can't help but smile reassuringly and pat his head. "Don't worry; she'll be alright."

You show Sage how to keep dipping a washcloth in cold water, wring it until it's no longer dripping wet ('and not too dry either,' you have to remind him when he squeezes it with all his might), then place it over her forehead, rinse and repeat—keeping him busy while you mop the muddy footprints off the floor, then prepare dinner for the three of you.

For a while, all is quiet in your house save for the fire crackling in the other room, and the soft scraping of metal against metal as you stir the savory stew bubbling before you. It feels peaceful, even as the howling winds rattle the windows, until Sage's voice rises above the storm and breaks the silence, "Tulsi! Tulsi!"

Rushing to the bedroom—stew long forgotten on the stove—you find the girl has finally woken up, delirious eyes shifting around the room until they focus on her brother, then you. You look to Sage before you carry his sister to your bed, and prop her up against the pillow. Back in the kitchen, you ladle some stew into two bowls, one you hand to Sage and the other you slowly spoon-feed to Tulsi.

With every sip she seems to regain more of her strength, until you can barely fit a spoonful of food into her mouth between all her rambling—about how good the food is, how warm your house is, how lovely your hair is, how rambunctious her brother is, so on and so forth.

So this is to whom all those extra pastries went, you realize absentmindedly.

"Say 'thank you,' Sage!" Tulsi folds her arms, trying to glare at her brother, but it's hard to feel threatened by these sweet oxen-eyes. Still, Sage relents and thanks you with a huff, before frowning at his empty bowl.

"Would you like seconds?"

"Yes!" he answers a little too quickly, and blushes when Tulsi giggles. You refill everyone's bowls, and add a third one for yourself. It isn't long before Sage is frowning again, and you think you know what pulls his eyebrows into such a worried furrow this time, so you try to put his mind at ease—

"You can stay for the night. Maybe the storm will calm tomorrow, then we'll call for a doctor."

"Don't got doctor money," Sage grumbles.

"I do."

He begins to protest, but a glance at a very sleepy Tulsi renders him voiceless even as his lips try to form the words.

"You don't owe me. Not now, not ever."

Slowly, Sage starts to relax, until his little shoulders slump like a heavy burden had fallen off of them.

Later that night, you try to make quick work of cleaning the kitchen until your attention is drawn away by a tug at your apron. You look down to find Sage, and he fixes you with a sharp gaze that looks out of place on such a young face. "I've got to go. You take good care of Tulsi."

It's a little endearing how he reminds you of a mother cat, leaving her kittens with a nice human because she decided she trusts them. However, Sage is but a child himself, and the storm rages on outside with no sign of stopping anytime before sunrise. "In this weather? Where to?"

Before he could answer, Tulsi emerges from the bedroom, wide eyes brimming with tears, "You're leaving?"

"I've got to find Balsam," he tries to sound firm, but it seems any conviction Sage might've had withers before Tulsi's gaze, the latter only looking more frazzled by the second.

"Take me with you! I want to see if Balsam is okay too! I don't wanna stay here alone!"

"We can look for him tomorrow, and you can tell him you had to stay with Tulsi. He knows you went to find help, no?" You reassure Sage, who nods, then you turn to Tulsi, "This isn't his first winter here, is it? Your friend must've found a place to hide. I'm sure he'll be fine."

Or at least you hope so. You have to believe it for their sake.

After reminding Sage to leave his shoes at the front door, you tuck the siblings into your bed, wish them goodnight, then head for the couch with a spare blanket and pillow. Hours later, sleep still refuses to grace your heavy eyelids, not because the couch is uncomfortable, but you can't stop thinking about Sage and Tulsi, their friend, and how many other kids are out on these streets, weathering the raging storm all on their own. How many aren't going to make it through the night, and who will remember them?

The doctor who answers your call next morning prescribes some medicine for Tulsi before reassuring you that she'll be just fine. You look over her frail body lying in your bed, clinging to Sage to leech at his warmth, and your heart aches at the thought of sending them back to the unforgiving cold, so you fix a warm breakfast of assorted pastries and tea for the three of you. In the afternoon you run a warm bath for Tulsi and only go in when she asks for help with her hair, then in the evening you make dinner for the four of you after Sage brings Balsam in. Later that night, Tulsi sleeps in your bed again.

And that's the story of how you accidentally adopted one (two? three?) little wharf rat(s).

Tulsi lives with you now. You read her bedtime stories every night, even after she learns to read them herself. You find out she has a knack for historical fiction, so that's what fills your bookshelves (which Sage refuses to touch—'I've heard better stories from the sailors by the docks,' he'd gloat). As the days pass, Tulsi becomes more comfortable sleeping without Sage watching over her. One night she slips out of bed and curls up next to you on the couch, so you carry her back to your bed where you sleep side by side.

Sage, on the other hand, comes and goes as he pleases. Some nights he sleeps huddled with all the other kids by the docks; other nights he crawls in through the bedroom window to make sure Tulsi's sleeping well. Sometimes he'll stay over for dinner after bringing you a large bucket of fish he proudly claims he caught by himself (if you couldn't tell by the stench of fish and rotten seaweed clinging to his clothes—he fights tooth and nail before he succumbs to a bath), and sometimes he'll stay well past dinner, so you teach him how you make the fish pastries he loves so much.

Every so often he hands his sister a meager allowance though she very much does not need it now that she lives with you, and he refuses to tell you how he makes the money. You're starting to worry that pick-pocketing isn't his only source of income, if the scars and bruises are anything to go by, and every time you try to express your concern he snaps that you're not his parent and it's none of your business. He's right, of course, yet you find your heart hurting when he says it.

You think it's pride that keeps this little boy from settling down with you and Tulsi, but really, Sage has learned early on that you can never rely on someone for too long. Should the rug be pulled from under their feet—should you decide you no longer want them in your house—he'll always be ready to catch Tulsi before she takes the fall.

iii.

Try as you might, this wood bends to neither your will nor your hands, the latter now covered in splinters. The blacksmith from next door raps his knuckles against your windowsill to wish you a good morning, and when you invite him in for tea and scones, you pray he knows his way with wood just as he does with metal.

After coming back with some tools from his shop, your neighbor sets to work, putting together a new bed for Tulsi, who watches him with awe. You don't think you've seen her blink at all. One too many times you've had to pull the hammer from her little fist before she could hurt herself.

Eventually, the blacksmith shuffles on his knees to make space for Tulsi, and wraps his fist over hers as they tap a nail into place with the hammer together.

"Look at you! You're a natural!" he exclaims, and Tulsi beams. "How'd you like being an apprentice at the smithy? Maybe once you get a lil' taller... These bones are too old to keep hammering at swords for much longer anyway."

"You talk like you've got one foot in the grave," you tut at him. "And how do you know she doesn't want to be my apprentice? I've been teaching her how to separate the egg whites from the yolk, you know, and she's taking to it very quickly!"

That's a lie... mostly. Tulsi's only successful dish so far has been grilled cheese; even Sage has better luck in the kitchen.

"You're just mad she doesn't like waiting for things to bake in the oven. I tell you kid, you're gonna love working the forge."

Tulsi pays no mind to your banter, still starry-eyed ever since your neighbor complimented her hammer skills.

Sure enough, she becomes the blacksmith's apprentice only a year later, much to your dismay; you end up paying for his drinks for the next month now that you've lost the bet. At least you know it's worth it when every night she comes back from work beaming brighter than a firefly on a summer night despite the soot covering her face. You've bought a new towel that you hang on a chair in the kitchen so Tulsi can clean up her face first thing when she's back home. You still have to do it for her since she always forgets to do it herself.

She gifts the first sword she makes under the blacksmith's mentorship to Sage, and the first dagger to you, and the second one to Balsam.

You swear time runs by too fast; next thing you know, you're celebrating the opening of Tulsi's very own smithy. It hasn't been a day since she declared being open for business but long lines are already forming at her door.

"She did build up quite the reputation as an apprentice," your heart swells with pride every time you repeat the story to one of your fellow vendors, killing time with small talk before the streets fill with shoppers. "Now she's the youngest blacksmith of Porrima, and one of its best, if not the best."

Though Tulsi had moved out, and crowds of mercenaries and knights keep her busy all day, she'll always make time to visit you in the evening, and you'll prepare the oolong tea she loves while you catch up. She still wears the headband you gave her years ago to keep her hair out of her face; far too often had she come back from your neighbor's workshop with burnt tips. The towel you used to wipe her face with still hangs off of the same chair in the kitchen.

"Do I have to move in with you just to remind you to get that grease off of your face?" you huff as she laughs. Perhaps some things are never meant to change.

Meanwhile, Sage doubles up in height seemingly overnight and his body has yet to catch up, so he looks more like a lanky, awkward dandelion stalk struggling to readjust to his new sword (also made by Tulsi, though this one was hammered into shape over her very own anvil). You take him out for his first drink at the tavern to celebrate his birthday; it feels like it was just yesterday he was a mangy little kitten sneaking in and out of your shop.

You try to nudge Tulsi towards getting outside her workshop a little more often, make some friends, but she insists she prefers the heat of the forge, unless Sage drags her out for an impromptu fishing and grilling trip with Balsam or another drink at the tavern. She always complains to you about how, more often than not, he's just trying to send her off on a blind date she didn't ask for.

Sage, on the other hand, seems to have grown into quite the party animal. He disappears for longer amounts of time, comes back looking more beat up than before (yet his grin never leaves his face), crashes on your floor (or Tulsi's couch) blackout-drunk more often, and speaks of a certain Lucan like he's the best thing to exist ever since fish-shaped pastries were invented.

"They're good people," he tells you about Lucan and the Griefers. "You don't have to worry so much."

iv.

You think the persistent banging at your door is a customer who missed the very obvious 'CLOSED' sign outside (a somewhat frequent occurrence ever since you moved business indoors after the Lord of Shadows' undead soldiers infiltrated the city), but it's Tulsi, shaking like a leaf in a storm though the skies are clear tonight. You don't remember the last time you've seen her crying, let alone wailing so desperately.

"Sage, he's gone." She shows you a broken, bloodied sword—Zenith, the magical Relic that chose Sage upon joining the Starsworn. You distantly remember how smug he looked the day he was chosen, because apparently it pissed off some guy called Rime.

You gently pull the sword away from her trembling hands and put it aside, before holding her firmly by the shoulders. "What do you mean he's gone?"

"He came to my place and he— and he— oh, he looked terrible," Tulsi hiccups into the crook of her elbow. "There was so much blood and a big wound in his chest! And he— he dropped this," she sniffles, and points at the sword, "then he disappeared. I looked for him everywhere."

You can clearly tell she ran around the town at least twice by the way her windswept hair stands every which way and her legs shake from the strain. Every morbid possibility runs through your mind all at once; you've heard this story before—people who disappear for a while before coming back and quietly blending back in with the crowds, seemingly unharmed; a miracle, they called it. It isn't too long before they start maiming people left and right; these are the undead soldiers of the evil necromancer—innocent civilians killed at his hands then brought back to do his bidding.

Fear swells in your heart until it tries to break out of your chest but fuck, someone has got to keep it together, so you hold Tulsi tightly and run your hand through her unruly hair until she can catch her breath. "He'll be fine. Sage always bounces back; you said it yourself!"

"This time... I don't know."

The best gossip and juiciest rumors are found amongst the vendors still populating the shopping district, going out to sell their wares despite the approaching war. That's where you start looking, and that's where you first hear it: whispers about the Griefers hunting down the traitor who killed their leader in cold blood. Those who were once beacons of safety in Porrima, holding down the fort when the knights got too busy with war efforts, are now more like rabid dogs terrorizing the streets in the name of the Lord of Shadows. Sage is nowhere amongst their ranks—that's what Balsam says when he finds you before you could find him.

He'd accosted Tulsi like a raging boar just as she was leaving your place, eyes bloodshot and hair clinging to his face with sweat, looking nothing like the loud but sweet boy you'd always see following Sage around town. There's a mild tremor in his hands as he digs his fingers into Tulsi's arms, and it takes her breaking down into tears for Balsam to believe that you're not secretly hiding Sage nor do you know where he ran off to; she swears up and down that Sage didn't tell her anything about what happened before he left Zenith.

All falls silent when Balsam lets you know Sage is indeed the traitor they've been hunting down. As if it's any consolation, he reassures you that he won't let the other Griefers come after you, and spares Tulsi one last apologetic glance before disappearing into the night.

You've assumed Sage would leave the Griefers once he joined the Starsworn, conflict of interest and all, but to straight up kill their leader in cold blood? Perhaps Sage has a shady past; perhaps he'd done unsavory things he wouldn't dare speak of, but you've always known, deep down, he's a good kid. He's your kid. Everything he does, he does to protect the people he loves. In what realm of possibility could he kill the one man he practically idolized?

You and Tulsi stand there in silence; for how long, you do not know. A cold breeze sends a shiver down your spine before you remember to shut the door Balsam left open. A thousand unspoken questions weigh down the air between you, but as you meet Tulsi's eyes, you realize one thing's for sure, there has to be a good explanation.

Only Sage can provide that explanation... or perhaps the people he pledged loyalty to. You turn to the Starsworn, who had declared they are marching to Mournfall for the final showdown against the Lord of Shadows. Sage is nowhere amongst their ranks—that's what Anisa confirms cold and curt before marching off, her grip painfully tight on her sword's hilt.

Once upon a time you'd hoped joining the Starsworn would straighten Sage out, or at least encourage him to spend less time getting into pointless fights and passing out drunk in the sewers. Now he's accused of murdering the one man whose praises Sage sang at every chance, considered a traitor by both parties he once claimed loyalty to, and is nowhere to be found—dead or on the run, nobody knows.

What games have you been playing, Sage? What did you get yourself into? You silently call out to the stars as you walk the line between sea and shore, but no one answers. You go out to the beach more often these days, especially after the sun sets and night drapes the city in a dark speckled blanket. Sage loved hanging around here at this time. In a rare, quiet moment of vulnerability, he once confessed to you how the loneliness of an abandoned beach always brought him peace whenever the world became too overwhelming. There's no worries here, only himself, the relentless crashing waves, and the moon and stars above

You find yourself hoping that in this time of turmoil, the beach will draw Sage back in again, and you'll catch a glimpse of him laid out on the sand for a moment's peace before he runs off again. Every time your excursion lets you down, you soothe yourself with the thought that maybe he's watching over you from where you can't see him. 'I'm staying away to protect you,' you can imagine Sage saying. You can't wait to find him so you can give his ear one big painful tug and a piece of your mind.

Tulsi always complains about how you shouldn't go out alone in the dark, let alone as far as the beach—your search is futile and it's not worth risking your life over. As far as she's concerned, her brother has already died. She says it's fine, really, she's getting over it, but she almost never parts with the forge, throwing herself into her work and visiting you less often.

You still bake the fish-shaped pastries Sage so loved; you count how many you've made in the morning, and you keep count of how many you sell throughout the day. You still wait for the day one or two pastries will go missing, maybe three or more if a certain mangy cat is feeling particularly greedy.

#last legacy #sage lesath #fictif #fictif last legacy #last legacy sage #tulsi ain #last legacy tulsi #fictif sage #fictif tulsi #last legacy headcanons

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soclonely · 3 years

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My present for @coconutmaul for the secret santa gift exchange thanks to @starwarsfandomfests . @lilhawkeye3 you are amazing for putting this together for us! It was so much fun and I hope the little added humor brings a little brightness to your holidays

Paring: Ahsoka and Anakin(platonic)

Prompt: Gift Giving on Life Day

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Here you go, Snips.” Skywalker chuckles, passing the scissors to his padwan. “Hurry up and finish wrapping Obi Wan’s present. Everyone will be here soon for the party.” He sticks a bow on her forehead and leans back into his chair, sighing. "The sooner it's over with, the better."

Ahsoka rolls her eyes."Aw come on master don't be like that." She smiles, removing the ribbon. "The men are so excited to have this Life Day party. You should have seen them making their gifts earlier." Ahsoka laughs and sets the small box she had been working on aside. "Besides, I heard a few of them went with Master Kenobi to pick something out for you. And they think its something you are really going to like." She teases, placing another box on the table to wrap.

"Oh I'm sure." Anakin scoffs, adding the newly wrapped present to the pile."Have you ever received a gift fr- Oh that's Captain Rex's Ahsoka, be sure to tag- But have you ever received a gift from Obi-Wan?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. "They are always the worst gifts you could possibly imagine."

"Oh it can't be that bad, Master." She laughs, continuing. "I think you are just too picky. I'm sure Master Kenobi gives the most thoughtful gifts. Yours are probably lame."

"What? My gifts? Lame?" Anakin snorts."Why do you say that? I happen to think I am a great shopper you know. I can pick out the most perfect gift for anyone, ya know. Even Master Windu has complimented my gifts, and everyone at the temple knows how hard he is to shop for." he crosses his arms smuggly. "So what do you have to say about that?"

She hands him the second gift, rolling her eyes once more. "The only reason you can pick out the perfect present is because you always have Senator Amidala helping you, Master. If it weren't for her you'd be lost. Everyone knows that."

"Watch it Snips."

"Sorry Sky-guy. Just callin' it like I see it." She shrugs.

"Yeah, Yeah." Anakin responds, looking around. "Well it looks like we finished up here, and still have a few minutes to spare." he quickly changes the subject. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small wrapped present. "This is for you.And I picked this out all by myself, thank you very much." he adds.

"Master I thought we agreed we wouldn't get each other anything!" Ahsoka says, taking the box slowly. "You really didn't have too." She removes the top of the box and her eyes light up. "New silka beads? For me?" She takes one out, examining it slowly. "Its so beautiful! The designs!"

"Yeah well, I heard you complaining to Master Luminara's padawan a few weeks ago about missing some so I figured I'd get you a few different ones. So you can place them on yourself and all." He smiles proudly at his padawan, continuing. "I even carved a few of the designs in myself at the shop. Maybe we can stop in when we go back to Coruscant again and you can do a few of your own- if you don't like these ones I could-"

"I love them!" Ahsoka interrupts, putting the bead back into the box. "And good thing I didn't follow our agreement too!" She sets her own present down and jumps up from the table, returning moments later with a small gift bag. "Happy Life Day Master!" She cheerfully tosses the bag into his lap. "Its not much, but I think its very you."

"Ahsoka you shouldn't have." Anakin protests lightly, digging into the bag. "Oh wow." He laughs, pulling out a decorated pair of socks. "These are great. The pattern.. Are these-"

"Pod racers." She nods her head, smiling. "I saw them and immediately knew I just had to get them for you."

Anakin tugs his boots off, stretching his toes. “And you know what? I am going to put them on now.” He says proudly, sliding them onto his feet.”What do you think?” He asks, holding his feet up. “They look pretty good, huh?”

“Phew Master! Your feet stink!” Ahsoka exclaims, covering her nose. “Were you not wearing socks?”

“Nope!” He replies, sliding his boots back on. “Never do.”

“May I ask why?”

“One, Obi Wan hates it when I don’t. He has this ultra sensitive nose and can always have the faintest whiff when I’m around. It’s payback for all of those times he made me iron my socks during weekly laundry as a padawan.”He chuckles. ” And two, sand.”

“Sand?”

“Sand. You see Snips, if I have sand in my boot all I have to do is take it off and dump it out.” He explains, gesturing toward his foot. “But if I have a sock in the way, then the sand is trapped, stuck between my toes. I have to remove not only my boot but the sock as well.No sock, no coarse and rough sand stuck to my feet.” He crosses his arms, proudly. “It’s all logical”

Ahsoka laughs, shaking her head. “You are something else, Master. ” She grabs an armful of presents, heading for the door. “We should get the rest of these out and under the tree before the men get here.”

“Sure thing.” He says, stretching. “Oh and Snips. Remember to keep Captain Rex and Commander Cody away from the eggnog. No more than two glasses each.Remember last year?”

“I try not to, Master.”

"Don't we all." Anakin laughs, putting a hand on her shoulder as they step back, admiring the tree. "Happy Life Day, Snips."

"Right back at ya, Skyguy."

#star wars #star wars fandom fest #star wars secret santa gift exchange #the clone wars #starwarsfandomfests #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #star wars fan fic #sw fanfic #star wars fan fiction #my writing

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coldshrugs · 3 years

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this side of paradise, part 3: mayfly

characters: alma greene & tina poname (platonic)

word count: ~750

rating: general

part 1: r.i.p. me | part 2: time dilation

"If you could live forever, would you want to?" Alma slaps at a mayfly circling the straw sticking out of her lemonade.

Tina laughs through a mouthful of watermelon. "Wouldn't everyone?"

No, not my mom. Not a lot of people.

"You'd think so," she sighs.

They both have the day off – a rare occurrence – so Tina suggested a picnic. It's not much of a picnic, honestly; they only brought lemonade and watermelon, but it feels decadent on such a hot day. Nestled between a shady tree and a few flowering bushes by the small pond, they eat and gossip and swat lazily at the mayflies buzzing around the sliced fruit.

Even from where they sit on the far side of the green, the scent of coffee and cinnamon reaches them from Haley's bakery, its doors thrown wide to let in the breeze. The square bustles with Saturday shoppers, meandering from shop to shop with brightly colored bags and relaxed smiles. The sweltering heat is hardly a deterrent; if anything, it’s the perfect excuse to be out, be seen, and participate in whatever the latest town drama may be. Wayhaven feels like Wayhaven for a moment.

"But seriously, someone walks up to you and says 'Tina Poname, if you say the word, I can make it so you have eternal life.' Do you take them up on it?"

Tina's brows knit as she thinks on the question more seriously this time, and a thick bead of sweat rolls down her temple. "I'd ask what the catch is. Anything like that has to have a catch, right?"

Oh, you bet your ass there's a catch. Only an unfathomably painful transformation and an eternity of overstimulation that may mean forfeiting many of her favorite things. But she wouldn’t be hunted, and that’s worth more.

"There's no catch."

"There's always a catch." Tina groans, but her good-natured smile remains. Their friendship is built on a series of blind indulgences, cycling from one to the other at any given time. Today it’s Alma’s turn to serve up the nonsense and Tina's turn to roll with it. "But in this catch-less scenario, there's no reason not to. I mean, endless time to travel, or learn things, or just experience how the world changes before everything goes to shit. Sign me up, babe."

"Outliving everyone you know, though? And when everything goes to shit, you have to be there to see it."

"Alma, are you trying to talk me into or out of this hypothetical immortality?" Tina tilts her head and her curls bounce over her shoulder. "I liked it better when you tried to convince me aliens are real."

"You’re fucking crazy if you still don’t believe in aliens, Tina.”

Alma feels Tina’s glare before she even turns her head. A smirk creeps across her lips as she turns to her friend and she’s not disappointed: Tina’s face twists into a shiny, annoyed scrunch. A laugh bubbles out of Alma with so much force she rocks back on the blanket, knees tucked into her sweat-slicked chest.

“Are you done?” Tina asks flatly. Alma can see her lips twitch, trying not to smile. “Are you finished? Can we talk about anything else? Like Douglas’s terrible haircut, for example. Or which firefighter I should ask to the fireworks show next week.”

Tina swats a fly.

Asking Tina’s thoughts on her pending immortality, however vaguely, was helpful in a way. A reminder that she’s already partially removed from this part of her life. One foot’s been out the door since she learned the truth so long ago and kept the secret tucked safe and close to her chest. Of course, she’ll stay in Wayhaven. At least for a time. Until the town and its faces change around her. Until she’s been exactly the same for a bit too long to shrug off suspicious glances.

“Fine, fine. I’m sorry.” Alma wipes at a stray tear, trying to regain some control. She reaches for a fresh piece of melon and licks the rivulet of juice that runs down her arm. “I guess I’ve just had a lot on my mind. But what’s on yours?”

Tina rambles on about her crushes, her family, her hobby of the week as she nibbles a slice of watermelon down to the rind, and Alma listens with delighted attention. This moment seems to drag on into infinity, a familiar pocket of blistering warmth and sticky smiles that she can save forever. Something about it feels almost like a farewell.

Summer draws to a close and with it, Alma’s time as a human.

#azia writes #twc #alma greene #twc detective #tina poname #idk it just feels right to have alma try to reach for a 'normal' perspective at the last minute #only to realize normal is never going to work for her #ANYWAY no one is asking for this besides me but here i am holding it up to your eyes #one more to gooooo

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meepmorpperaltiago · 4 years

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The Christmas Party(s)

Heyyyy @b99peraltiago, I’m your secret santa! I hope you like this fic, some of the things I included that you mentioned were parallels, slow dances and the colour yellow :) Also idk where the timeline for the first part is and the title was grammatically impossible to figure out, but it does have baby Mac so...

The halls were decked, the trees were up and the 2015 99 Christmas party was in full swing.

Charles was handing out possibly hundreds of Christmas cards of him and Jason posing together, Terry and Rosa were rocking out while Gina was doing god knows what on the dancefloor, Hitchcock and Scully were being relatively not-gross, even Holt seemed to be relatively cheerful.

But one detective simply couldn’t get into the spirit of the season.

Whilst his colleagues danced wildly around him to the tune of the band, Jake unenthusiastically attempted to maintain a somewhat happy composure in spite of his misery in that moment.

All he could do was sit and watch as the woman he liked (maybe even loved), swayed in the arms of another man.

He didn’t want to sound whiny by saying it aloud, but it’d been so hard since he’d come back from being undercover to realise that Amy and Teddy were still together, especially as she’d essentially rejected his romantic-stylzes confession before he left. Really, the word “rejected” wasn’t fair – she’d been incredibly kind given the circumstances and honestly he just blamed himself for ruining the pretty decent frenemy-ship they’d had going.

Although Rosa had comforted him earlier, being the friend who knew the most about his predicament (yeah he knew fancy words), even she had eventually gone off to have fun at his insistence.

Wild fantasies of abruptly shoving Teddy aside and taking Amy in his arms (and then saving the city while the rest of the 99/the entire population of New York cheered and played the Die Hard theme followed by What A Man and lit off Christmas/Hannukah fireworks in his honour) drifted through his mind. Ok, even if that was insane, could at least have gone up to her and asked for a platonic dance. But seeing her there, with him, so happy, he felt rooted to his chair. He couldn’t complicate things for her by doing that.

Instead, he sat tapped out a rhythm onto the cold, slightly sticky floor, desperate to do anything having been sat down for almost half an hour. All he could do was fidget, whilst he daydreamed about a time far in the future where he’d be there with her.

But at the same time that would mean her and Teddy breaking up and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he liked her so much that he didn’t want her to go through the crappiness that was a break up.

But still, he couldn’t help but think…someday…

The moment Amy and Teddy came up to him arm in arm to wish him a merry Christmas together, like a real life freakin’ greeting card, his heart shattered.

After he said goodbye to them, he left early that night and drank far too much while trying to watch Die Hard to cheer himself up, in the vague hope that he might forget the whole horrible evening.

Amy couldn’t help but watch as he left. She’d kept up a happy smile for Teddy’s sake, but she felt like she was going to lose it if she had to endure this party for much longer. It wasn’t just that she was so incredibly bored of hearing Teddy talk about the pilsners he was going to brew to bring to her parent’s house, or that she hated the song that the band were currently playing (Santa Baby – flirting with Santa? Really?). It was when she realised where Jake was that the evening really started to go downhill.

All night she’d tried to push down the ache she’d felt when she saw him sat all alone. But she knew that if she went over and comforted him, she wouldn’t want to leave his side. And how would that look to Teddy? Not that there was anything to hide from her boyfriend of course. Whatever she had felt for Jake in the past, she was definitely over it. But still… she couldn��t help but wonder…

5 years later

Much time had passed and a lot had changed but it was a similar scene: all across New York, Christmas lights were switching on, weary shoppers stood in long lines waiting to get to perfect gifts and the 99’s 2020 Christmas party was only half an hour away.

A slow Taylor Swift song drifted from the radio into every corner of Jake and Amy’s apartment, from the album Jake had made Amy listen to until 2am. Not that she really minded, the joy on his face at the new music from his favourite artist being her main motive to stay awake.

Now, stood near to their front door, her yellow dress seemed to shimmer even as she stood with her hands on her hips.

“Jake, he can’t come with us – your mom is already coming over and a fancy party isn’t a place for a baby.”

“But look how cute he is!”, Jake protested, holding up their son, dressed up in an admittedly adorable suit and tiny bow tie.

Just then, the song switches and an expression comes onto Jake’s face that Amy knows all too well.

“Come on Ames, I know you love this one.”

Without saying a word, she rolled her eyes affectionately before taking his hand and they began to twirl around the kitchen, with Mac watching on in as much amusement as a 6 month old could express.

They soon swept their son up into the dance too, twirling him around as a more upbeat song came on. Then Jake came up with an idea he was pretty proud of as they slowed down.

“How about we ditch the party and just watch some Christmas movies? It’s never too early to introduce Mac to some of the classics…”

“We’re not showing our baby Die Hard, Jake.” Amy had lost track of how many times she’d said this since before Mac was even born.

“He’s too young to even understand the violence, it’ll fly right over his head!”

In the end, Jake won the party argument while Amy won the movie one. Instead of going out (and instead of traumatising their baby with Die Hard), they cosied up to watch Elf, whilst eating Christmas cookies that Karen brought the last time she came over and they both agreed it was better than any “dumb fancy Christmas party” (Jake’s words, not Amy’s).

#b99 #brooklyn nine nine fanfic #brooklyn nine nine #christmas #fanfic #jake peralta #amy santiago #jake x amy

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earlysunsetsoverambrose · 4 years

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Operation Sweet Surprise (2/3)

Lester Sinclair x f!Reader (Romantic or Platonic)

Warnings: Cursing

Inside the store, you began hunting down the items you needed with Lester in tow. He offered to hold the basket for you so you could focus on making sure you got exactly what you were after.

“Okay, Lester. We need: milk, pie crust, vanilla extract, cinnamon, brown sugar, baking powder, and eight apples. So, if you see anything and I don’t just toss it in the basket!” you told him as your eyes started scanning the shelves.

“Yes, ma’am!” Lester said with a playful salute.

One by one, you found each ingredient, checking them off your mental list as you went. Throughout your expedition, you couldn’t help but notice other shoppers keeping their distance from you two. Of course, you knew exactly why they were acting this way. The smell of roadkill lingering on Lester’s raggedy exterior offended their delicate senses. The way some made a show of holding their breath or how their side eyes were more like dead on stares was not lost on you. It certainly wasn’t lost on Lester. With every murmur and scoff, he would offer an apologetic smile and a wave, but you could see his head sink lower and lower each time. This sort of thing didn’t always bother him, but sometimes it was hard to ignore. People always assumed he was oblivious to how his presence affected them, but he was more than aware. Frankly, he wished they would quit reminding him. Though every part of you wanted to snap at each shopper that passed you by, you elected to focus on lifting Lester’s spirits to distract him,

“Alright, all that’s left is to pick out some apples! C’mon and help me out!” you said with the biggest smile you could muster. You’d rather be glaring daggers, but you knew the other shoppers were hardly worth it. You took Lester’s hand and pulled him toward the small produce section “Which kind of apples do you think Bo would like best?”

“Not sure…” Lester said looking back and forth, checking to make sure no one was staring again, “Maybe I oughta wait in the truck. Don’t wanna bother no one else from their shopping.”

“No, don’t go! I need you!” you begged, “Besides, who cares what they think?”

“Well, I’m used to it. Just don’t want ‘em thinkin’ bad of ya, is all.” He said shyly

“Oh, please, don’t worry about that. I like spending time with you, Lester. I don’t give a shit about any of them. Who needs them?” You said, waving off his concern with a laugh “Now, help me pick out some apples.” The smile reached Lester’s eyes this time as he helped you pick out the best apples out of the bunch.

Once you had your apples picked, something caught your glance over Lester’s shoulder. It was an elderly woman, reaching for a box of cereal that was clearly too high on the shelf for her to get. Lester followed your eyes and immediately handed the basket over to you. He quickly made his way over to the lady. You followed close behind, catching the interaction,

“I can get that for ya, if ya like.” Lester offered sweetly with his signature grin. The woman staggered back, affronted at his proximity. She put a hand over her nose and mouth, her sour expression still apparent. Though she scowled at him, Lester kept smiling back at her. When she remained silent, he pointed to the box he thought she wanted, “This one? Good choice! Ya know, I hear this one’s good for the heart. Supposed to keep ya young and spry.” She didn’t reply, tapping her foot impatiently. He pulled the box down from the shelf and held it out to her, “There ya go. Need help with anythin’ else?”

“No.” she said shortly, as she ripped the box from his hands and turned away.

“Alright…have a nice day, I guess.” Lester said, frustration showing through, “Just tryin’ to help ya.”

“Excuse me!” You piped in, “My friend just helped you, and I think you’re being incredibly rude to him.”

“Y/N, it’s alright-”

“No, it isn’t. You helped her and she treated you like garbage.” You said angrily. You were tired of watching people walk all over him. He might’ve been good enough to let it go, but you weren’t, “Who raised you? Didn’t anyone teach you anything about kindness?”

“How dare you speak to me like that? You should learn to respect your elders, young lady.” the old woman finally responded, “In my day, helping older folks was expected. Our generation didn’t need a pat on the back every time we did the bare minimum. What do you want? A reward?”

“Well, I grew up at least saying a ‘thank you’ when someone helped me. I don’t think that’s asking a lot. Just want you to treat my friend with a bit of decency.” You snapped, your knuckles turning white as you tightened your grip on your basket.

“Decency? I’ve shown plenty of decency by not demanding you both be thrown out of the store. I don’t usually tolerate uncivilized spoiled brats, like you two.” The woman stuck up her nose and pinched it, “You reek of squalor, so it seems to me you were the ones who are lacking an upbringing.”

“Uncivilized? Lady, you’re the one who doesn’t have any god damn manners! If anyone’s acting uncivilized here, it’s you!” you hissed venomously, taking a step toward the woman. Lester stopped you in your tracks, allowing the woman to turn and shamble away cursing you under her breath, both offended and threatened by you.

“Hey, hey, don’t pay any attention to her. She ain’t worth it.” Lester said, patting your shoulder.

“She shouldn’t be allowed to treat you like that.” You said still a bit heated.

“It’s like ya said, ‘Who needs ‘em?’” Lester said surprisingly relaxed about the whole situation, “But let’s get goin’ ‘fore she gets us kicked out like she said.”

You started toward the register and got in line. There were quite a few people ahead of you as everyone was out getting their groceries for the week, no doubt. Lester took the basket back as you waited together. You were about to ask him about cleaning animal bones to lighten the mood before he chimed in first,

“Thanks, Y/N.”

“For what?” you asked with a tilt of your head.

“Stickin’ up for me ‘n all. It sure was somethin’.” He said with a hint of a blush dusting his cheeks, “I know I don’t smell too great, so bein’ with me ain’t always fun. But ya never treat me any worse for it, and it means a lot.”

“Aw, Lester, you don’t have to thank me for that. I enjoy spending time with you, it’s hardly a chore.” You said as you rubbed his shoulder reassuringly.

“Still…I know I yammer on and I don’t know when to shut up. Most people can’t stand me, it ain’t a secret. Didn’t make too many friends growin’ up ‘cuz of it and it didn’t get any easier once I started workin’…” Lester explained, “I tried to keep the smell off, but it’s harder than it looks, ya know. And after a while, I figured if people don’t want anythin’ to do with me anyway, I might as well just leave it be.”

“Lester…” you said sympathetically, trying not to knock the basket out of his hands and wrap him up in a hug and protect him from the world.

“’Sides, I love my job. I really do. And if I smell, I can make like that’s the reason people don’t like me.” He added with a half-hearted laugh to take the edge off the truth of it all “Anyway, just wanted to thank ya for bein’ nice to me.”

Before you could respond, it was your turn to check out. Lester instantly starting chatting away with the cashier, going on about knives and the small items for sale at the register. You smiled to yourself, watching him. Even if others continued to put him down, Lester always got right back to it. You had no idea how he kept going sometimes. You attention was drawn away from him as the total came up on the screen.

“Shit.” You cursed quietly to yourself. You counted your money back, hoping maybe you had more than you thought, to no avail. You were five dollars short. You looked over your items trying decide what you could part with. All of them were necessary to the recipe so you not only could you not decide, you were embarrassed that you had underestimated how much you’d need to spend.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” Lester whispered as he leaned in, also looking at the groceries, “Missin’ somethin’?”

“I don’t have enough…” you trailed off, trying to work through a solution in the next two minutes, trying not to keep others waiting whilst also not drawing attention to your crisis

“Apples?” Lester suggested, “I’ll run on back and get some more, if ya need!”

“Money…I don’t have enough for everything.” You said, unable to stop your voice from shaking from the sudden tears that brimmed in your eyes. Lester snapped to attention at the tremble in your voice.

“Aw, please don’t cry! How much do ya need?” he asked as he scrambled to comfort you. He rubbed awkward circles into your back, moving you back and forth with his clumsy motions. Even in distress, you found his gesture to be sweet.

“Five dollars.” You confessed as your face went hot with anxiety.

“That ain’t so bad! I got it!” Lester said happily, reaching into his pocket and fishing out a crumpled bill. He might have said it like wasn’t a big deal, but you knew money was always tight for the Sinclairs. While Lester did make the most steady income out of all of them, he didn’t have a whole lot of money to throw around, “See, don’t need to panic!”

“You don’t have to do this! You work hard for your money, I can ditch something, I think. Don’t waste it on me.” You said in a panic. You’d already asked so much of him already; you couldn’t let him do this too.

“Well, I do work hard. So, I suppose that means I can spend my money how I want.” Lester said cheekily. He gathered up your money with his and handed it over, “And I wanna give it to ya. ‘Sides, I oughta pitch somethin’ in. It’s for my brothers after all.”

“Thank you, Lester…I really owe you.” you said as your apprehension drained from your posture and voice. You almost cried from his generosity, rather than humiliation.

“Ain’t nothin’ to worry ‘bout.” Lester said sweetly, nudging your shoulder to help you shake off the sadness that had almost overtaken you. He carried your groceries toward the door and back to the truck, “C’mon we gotta lotta bakin’ to do!”

You were a bit distracted on the ride back. Lester was chattering on about skulls again, but your mind wandered back to what he said while you waited in line. You wouldn’t say you’d done anything extraordinary for him. All you did was talk to him and treat him like any human should be treated. Still, that was more than he’d ever received from anyone. You couldn’t help but stare at him. Beside you was a man who has always been treated like he wasn’t worth the time. No one cared about what he had to say or how he felt, and they told him so to his face. Despite all that, he still turned out to be incredibly generous, kind, helpful, and by far the most warmhearted person you knew.

And it wasn’t because the insults and the neglect went over his head. You knew he felt the sting of it all. It was because he kept moving along. You had no idea how he was able to let it all roll off his back, but you simply attributed it to Lester being remarkable. Sure, he got disappointed when others didn’t want to talk to him, but he never got too hung up on it for long. He was always able to find joy in other parts of his life. Not only that, he was capable of sharing that joy with others; at least, he was always willing. Lester had a heart of gold and it left a bitter taste knowing that if life had been fairer – or society more kind – he’d might have become something truly special. Not that you didn’t like him just as he was; you thought he was wonderful. It was just such a shame that he had so many wonderful things to offer and you were the only one who could see that. All because his chances were spoiled before he ever really got to living.

“Do you ever get mad, Lester?” you asked, accidentally cutting him off from his rant about knives.

“Sure, I do. Sometimes.” Lester said with a goofy grin still pulling as his face. His smile turned into curiosity and a bit of confusion as he thought over your question a second time, “Wait, mad ‘bout what?”

“I don’t know. Do you ever wish things were different?”

“Different how?”

“Like, do you ever think about what it might’ve been like if you were born somewhere else or into a different life entirely? Like all the what ifs and maybes? Just for fun?” you added

“Hmmm…” Lester thought out loud, “Nope.”

“Really? Never?” you asked in disbelief.

“Naw, I like what I got.” He said smiling once again, never more content, “And ‘sides, I got you now. Wouldn’t know ya if I was born someplace else. Don’t wanna go riskin’ that, do I?” you felt your heart skip a beat and blood rush to your cheeks.

“And they say Bo’s the one with all the charm.” You mumbled to yourself, catching a glimpse of Lester, oblivious and carefree as ever. He really had no clue how incredible he was.

#lester sinclair #lester sinclair x reader #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair #house of wax #house of wax 2005 #slasher x reader #slasher imagine #my writing #operation sweet surprise #tw: cursing #female reader

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rachelkaser · 3 years

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Stay Golden Sunday: Take Him, He’s Mine

Dorothy foists a needy Stan off onto Blanche, only for it to backfire. Sophia and Rose try to start a sandwich business.

Picture It...

Sophia tries to convince Rose to join her in a new business venture: A sandwich stand on the beach. Rose seems open to the idea, even if Sophia is very pushy about it. Dorothy enters, excited and dressed for a date with her new squeeze, Jeffrey the naval commodore. Blanche enters and tells Dorothy that Stan’s unexpectedly arrives. He asks to speak to Dorothy, and she tells him she’ll give him a minute.

BLANCHE: Dorothy, guess who’s here? DOROTHY: My date! BLANCHE: Your husband. DOROTHY: I don’t have a husband. Call the police. STAN: *appearing in the doorway* Your ex-husband. DOROTHY: I’ll call the police.

In the living room, Stan breaks down crying and tells Dorothy he lost his business. Dorothy is sympathetic, but tells Stan she doesn’t have time for him right now. He begs Dorothy to keep him company for the night, and Dorothy goes into the kitchen to ask the Girls a favor: For one of them to do it instead. She hones in on Blanche and bribes her with a promise to introduce her to Jeffrey’s sailor friends. Blanche tells Stan to wait while she gets dressed.

Rose and Sophia are making sandwiches in the kitchen, substituting potatoes for tomatoes in their BLTs. Dorothy comes home from her date with Jeffrey, which was a huge success, and laments that she stuck Stan with Blanche. As if on cue, Blanche comes home from a, to use her word, “bizarre” date. Dorothy expertly guesses what Stan’s odd idea of a night out was, including a meal he ordered for Blanche at a cheap Indian restaurant. Blanche says it actually wasn’t so bad, and they’re going out again the next night. Dorothy’s a bit uncomfortable, but doesn’t object to it.

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Sophia hustles Rose out of the house at 5:30 am, waking Dorothy in the process. They’re trying to beat a rival sandwich vendor named Johnny No-Thumbs, who Dorothy accurately pegs is mob-connected. However, she has other worries: Jeffrey dumped her under the guise of shipping out on a top-secret mission. Blanche unexpectedly comes home from a date with Stan to a now-pissed off Dorothy.

The next day, they’re shopping in a grocery store, and Dorothy is giving Blanche the silent treatment. She believes Blanche slept with Stan the previous night, which Blanche denies. Blanche protests that Dorothy was the one who asked her to go out with Stan, and that it’s unfair for Dorothy to be angry at her just because she didn’t have a terrible time. Dorothy realizes that she’s not acting right and apologizes to Blanche . . . at least until Blanche says she’s going out with Stan again that night.

*Blanche’s grocery cart taps Sophia’s* SOPHIA: Ah! I hurt my back, I’m paralyzed! BLANCHE: Sophia? SOPHIA: Oh, it’s you. Look where you’re going.

They cross paths with Sophia and Rose, who’re getting supplies for their sandwich business. Blanche is worried because Johnny No-Thumbs leaned on them, but Sophia says she’s going to call in her own connections. Meanwhile, Dorothy continues to rage at Blanche for going out with Stan, making a scene such that other shoppers get involved. Finally Blanche gets exasperated at protesting her innocence and storms off.

Later that night, Sophia is trying to school Rose on proper business practices, including the valuable lesson to “Quit being an idiot.” Dorothy is coming in and out of the kitchen, seething that Blanche is still out. Sophia tells a “Picture It” story about coming to America, only to prove Rose forgot the aforementioned lesson. Dorothy grabs her coat to go to Stan’s hotel room and confront him and Blanche. Right after she leaves, there’s a ring at the bell: Two thugs walk in, saying Johnny No-Thumbs sent them.

ROSE: Sophia, it’s for you!

In Stan’s hotel room, he’s got company and tells her to hide under the covers when Dorothy knocks. Dorothy tells him she’s just there to talk to “her,” pointing at the bed. She goes on a long monologue about how hurt she is that the woman under the covers would put dating Stan ahead of their friendship and is mad at her for not being honest about sleeping with him. The person in the bed throws the covers back: It’s a 20-something blonde who laughs in Dorothy’s horrified face.

Dorothy returns home to see Sophia and Rose with flowers. Sophia’s own mob connections came through and got Johnny No-Thumbs to back off. The two are also getting out of the sandwich business. They tell Dorothy that Blanche is in the living room. Dorothy goes out there and sincerely apologizes, saying her emotions were very confusing and she shouldn’t have taken it out on Blanche. Blanche accepts her apology and says her word for those weird feelings is “magenta.” They make up, and Blanche asks Dorothy why she ever married a man like Stan. Dorothy says Stan used to be handsome, charming, and there’s one other reason:

DOROTHY: And, of course, I was four months pregnant.

“Stanley, you truly are one chromosome away from being a potato.”

Stan makes his second season debut in an episode where he really only appears at the beginning and the end, despite him being the source of conflict. We get another instance of Blanche and Dorothy getting into conflict over a man, as well as a B-plot of Sophia’s get-rich-quick schemes, the latter of which Rose is also drawn into. Each of the Girls has something to do this episode, and the handling of some fairly complex and incendiary emotions elevates it above a simple love triangle episode -- though not by much, if I’m being honest.

Bea Arthur gets to put on a masterclass of conflicting emotions. Even before Jeffrey dumps her, she’s still uncomfortable with her ex-husband and her best friend getting close, but it really reaches a fever pitch afterwards. She’s upset, can’t really articulate why, and even admits that she doesn’t fully understand what she’s feeling. I really appreciate it when a show doesn’t hold my hand and spell out what a character’s feeling, letting me figure out why Dorothy might be bent out of shape without having her say it outright.

ROSE: *about selling English muffins disguised as Belgian waffles* I was cute then, so I could get away with it. SOPHIA: Don’t worry, you get cute again when you hit 80. How do you think I’m gonna peddle this slop?

The “magenta” scene is probably the best of the episode, and the most quoteable in day-to-day life. If there were ever a single word that describes feeling a mess of emotions all at once, it would probably be “magenta.” I don’t even hate magenta, like Blanche does, but I still use it sometimes.

Stan is a . . . tricky character. On the one hand, Herb Edelman’s charm and chemistry with the actresses, Bea Arthur especially, makes him fun to watch and he makes sympathetic a character who might otherwise be pretty unlikeable. But on the other hand, his actions are pretty unlikeable here. Sure, he’s going through a personal crisis, but he imposes himself on his ex-wife (whom he left after 38 years of marriage for a younger woman with nary a goodbye, let us not forget) and refuses to take no for an answer when she refuses to spend her evening comforting him.

It’s a bit odd that, other than a couple of lines exchanged at the very beginning of the episode, we don’t see Stan and Blanche actually interact. Considering their burgeoning friendship is the conflict of the episode, I think it would have added something to the episode -- not to mention I feel we missed something by not having Rue McClanahan and Herb Edelman do any scenes together. Also, where is Stan, who just lost his business, getting the money to take Blanche on the dates that he is?

STAN: I lost it, Dorothy! DOROTHY: *looking off to the side* You never had it, Stanley!

Then again, it’s probably a good thing that we don’t see too much, because the lack of information is what gives Dorothy’s suspicions their impact. I wish she trusted Blanche a bit more and didn’t immediately jump to thinking the worst of her, but I can also see why it’s hard for her to believe Blanche can have a platonic relationship with a man -- any man. And I also appreciate Blanche standing up for herself, even reaching a point where she’s not going to humor Dorothy anymore.

The B-plot marks the second get-rich-quick scheme the Girls have partaken in in three episodes. It’ll be a recurring secondary plot on this show, mostly instigated by Sophia, and this is the first time she’s roped someone else into it. She and Rose make an hilarious pair, especially with her constantly taking advantage of Rose’s naivete and dimness. The ministory about Johnny No-Thumbs attempting to lean on them and Uncle Vito from Palermo leaning right back with a threat to “Johnny No-Knees” is the most amusing part of the episode.

Still, I do have some logistical questions. Rose has apparently got her job as a grief counselor back and is no longer a waitress at the Fountain Rock -- no explanation for that, but whatever, I can suspend my disbelief. Presumably that means she has to work normal hours, so how does she have time to man a sandwich stand with Sophia?

SOPHIA: Lesson number one: Quit being an idiot! ROSE: Okay! SOPHIA: Lesson number two: The law of supply and demand. Before you supply the sandwiches, you demand the money. Lesson number three: Quit being an idiot. [...] ROSE: That’s a really moving story, Sophia. But what exactly is the point? SOPHIA: The point is, you already forgot lessons one and three: Quit being an idiot!

Also, this marks, I think, the second time in the series that Sophia tells a “Picture It...” story. It’s a blatant lie, of course, but Estelle Getty makes every one of these enjoyable.

Episode rating: 🍰🍰🍰 (three cheesecake slices out of five)

Favorite Part of the Episode:

ROSE: Where are you going? DOROTHY: To either get ice cream or commit a felony. I’ll decide in the car.

#golden girls #picture it #stay golden #stay golden sunday #dorothy zbornak #sophia petrillo #blanche devereaux #rose nylund #take him he's mine #s02e03 #stan zbornak

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pynkhues · 5 years

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I dunno in my opinion it seemed like Bill is not big on Brio to me. Plus he kinda rubbed me the wrong way with that article interview with Jenna.

I totally understand why you’d think that after 2.13, but that episode was pretty messy on a lot of fronts. I think it was trying to wrap things up too quickly and as a result lost the nuances of many of the relationships that the show usually handles far better than it did in the episode - particularly Beth and Rio, but also I think Beth and Turner.

But Bill has also written some of my favourite Beth x Rio scenes and has previously seemed to underline their connection, not ignore it. I mean, he wrote 1.07 - Special Sauce, which had that scene that practically crackled with Rio confronting Beth about the necklace, unwashed cash and then about the secret shoppers, as well as the scene where Beth tells him never to hold a gun to her again. He also wrote their incredibly not-platonic break-up in 1.09 - Summer of the Shark, their confrontation and that first ever face caress, as well as the Marcus reveal (which I’ve talked about a lot on here before as being about connecting Beth and Rio) in 2.01, and he wrote 2.07, which aside from 2.09, I think is by far the most romantic Beth x Rio episode - between Beth defending Rio to Dean, turning to Rio for help, Rio and her’s fight, Rio getting the dubby back for her despite it all.

I don’t know though, of course! I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

#gg 3.01 #gg season 3 #bill krebs #welcome to my ama #gg season 2 #gg 1.07 #gg 1.09 #gg 2.01 #gg 2.07 #gg 2.13 #gg season 1 #behind the scenes

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jamlally · 5 years

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Making a list and checking it twice

This was written for the 25 days of Christmas Challenge that is hosted by @panicfob . The Day 5 Challenge prompt was Gift Shopping

Warnings: Fluff

Pairing: OFC x Clint Barton (Platonic)

Summary: Belle gets a visitor, helps a team mate with his gift list and learns a little more about what family can mean

“You can’t just buy them all gift cards!” Belle struggled to hide her annoyance with Clint. The man had family so he should know that gift cards were not going to be a good gift

“Well what do you think I should get them?” Clint was spinning around on the spare chair in her office still managing to throw a ball of paper into the trash can on every revolution. It was actually kind of distracting watching and waiting to see if he would miss. Spoiler - he didn’t

“I don’t know something personal, that showed you had actually thought of them”

“Well yeah I know that but I hate shopping and what the fuck do you get the man who had everything?”

Tony was tricky that much she could acknowledge - it had taken her a few days to come up with something that would work for him. The first few gifts that she had selected and wrapped had been nice, but not all that personal. Not gift card impersonal, but at the time she hadn’t felt that she knew people well enough to get them anything else. A second batch of shopping had been undertaken and now each member of the team had an extra gift under her tree.

“Ok so Tony is hard to pick for - I’ll give you that, but you must be able to think of something better for the others - Start with Nat”

“Well yeah I mean Nat is easy, there are loads of things she likes. There was some fancy underwear she mentioned I could get her that - what size do you think I would need to get?”

Belle blushed and turned back to her screen “Well um… I don’t know”

“You wear underwear, how come you don’t know? Maybe I you stood and I looked at you then I could work out whether I need to size up or down or….”

Belle was shaking her head before he even finished his sentence “No! No I ….I don’t want to do… that’s maybe not…um”

Clint sighed again “Fine I’ll think of something else - there was a knife that she liked”

“YES! Yes that sounds like something Natasha would like - Maybe you could get it engraved for her or something” anything had to be better than talking about underwear and Clint trying to work out sizes by comparing her body to the trained Russian Assassins

Warm hands grabbed her shoulders and spun her round away from her monitor. “That is genius, grab your coat, you can come and help me pick”. Clint was pushing her along still in her office chair. “You’re the best Belle!”

Shopping with Clint was something Belle was putting on her not to be repeated list. On a day to day basis he could sit in his nest with total focus, unmoving until he was ready to strike, going around the stores it was like dealing with a toddler who had issues focusing. He touched and picked up everything that caught his eye, and then he would put it down when ever something else caught his eye. So far Belle felt that she had spent almost all of her time putting things back where they belonged.

“What about this for Steve ?” Clint brandished some awful looking socks that may or may not have had Steve’s picture on them.

“Um maybe as a gag gift, or secret Santa. I’m not sure that Steve really wants to wear socks with his own face on them.”

Clint looked crest fallen he had obviously found the socks hilarious. “I mean you could get them as something a little extra. Why don’t we look and see if they have others for the rest of the team and you could add them to the other items”

Clint grinned in a way that let her know she had managed to bolster his spirits and they worked to see what other pairs they could find.

“They don’t have any for Bucky or Nat - they do see to have some underpants though - what size should we get?”

Belle was starting to worry about Clint’s obsession with underwear but she did her best to make an educated guess about sizes “ Um let a small for Nat and I guess what ever size you wear for Bucky?”

“Spend a lot of time comparing the asses of the Avengers do you” Clint wiggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner

“No …I ….I just wanted to help its a guess. You should maybe ask Natasha about what size to get Bucky.” Head down cheeks on fire Belle pushed the socks he had been carrying for Clint into his arms before turning on her heal and heading elsewhere. She was sure he was joking but she didn’t want him going back and saying things like that to the others. What if they were offended thinking that she spent all her time ogling them.

Pushing through the crowds Belle could feel her hands starting to shake. What would Clint to say to the others? She was only just feeling like she knew them all, and while Clint and Sam liked to tease she didn’t know how to take their teasing. It made her feel panicked and anxious. Blindly walking, apologizing to people she bumped into, Belle eventually found herself in the Christmas decoration department. There was little more space to move here, probably because most folks had their decorations up already. Belle brushed her fingers over the delicate ornaments and soft tinsel, trying to work out how she should deal with the teasing that she would face back at the compound.

“Wow they’re beautiful” Clint’s voice pulled Belle back to the here and now and Belle found that she was stood staring at a collection of snow globes

“I’m not sure that I’ve seen anything as pretty as these. Look this one had the city scape in it.” Clint reached out for a globe that was on a higher shelf bringing it down to show Belle

“It’s beautifully made” Belle agreed

“I think Steve would love this. It’s like a mixture of old and new. What do you think?”

Belle nodded - it seemed like a good choice “I think it would be perfect for Steve”

Clint gently placed it in the basket he had picked up which seemed to be full of socks and underwear. He stayed crouched down looking up at Belle “You know that I was joking Belle. I’m sorry that my teasing made you sad”.

Belle gave him a sad smile “No, I’m sorry. It’s just… I still don’t really understand when people are joking or …not. In the past it was usually a case of not.” She sighed “ You’re all coming to mean a lot to me and I don’t want to upset any of you”

Clint stood and wrapped an arm around her shoulders “I’ll let you into a secret. You know families argue and they disagree and sometimes they even fall out and don’t see each other for a while. It’s just the way things are. You can’t spend all your time worrying about whether you will make a misstep. You just have to live in the now, accept you might make a mistake and be ready to apologize if you do”

Clint guided her away from the Globes and towards a cash register “Now lets check out and head to get that knife - they might even have something there for Bucky”

By the time they got back to the compound Belle was laughing at another story of Clint’s. She was kind of amazed that he had managed to not kill himself with some of the antics he had gotten into. She headed up to the common area with Clint carrying some of the bags for him.

“Well well, and where have you two been all day?” Tony was stood by the coffee pot waiting for a new batch to finish brewing

“Ah Tony - if only you knew. The lovely Belle was helping me buy underwear” Clint through her a wink and Belle grinned in response

“Underwear ?” Tony glanced down at the large number of bags the two carried

“Yep” Clint nodded and Belle giggled

“And underwear required all these bags?”

Again Clint nodded “Yep”

Tiny frowned trying to work out just what the joke was, with a quick glance at Clint Belle stepped forward a little to mock whisper “He’s getting to that age where he needs a little extra cover”

Tony laughed and Clint huffed in pretend annoyance “You promised not to tell!”

“Well it looks like you all had a good time though and even if it is underwear and its not all for the bird man - it will make a change from gift cards”

Clint looked a little abashed and turning took the bags from Belle before heading back towards his room “Just for that you’re getting a voucher for Cracker Barrel Stark!”

Belle watched Tony grin at his grumpy archers back as he headed out. It was clear that for all the teasing there were no hard feelings.

“So you and Clint huh?”

Belle wasn’t sure how to read the Tony’s tone and she felt her nerves rise. “Yeah he…. He needed help with his errands….. his choices were going to be interesting”

“Well I am sure I can speak for the rest of the team when I say we would all be happy if you managed to get Barton step out of his comfort zone when it comes to gift giving” he paused taking a sip “I’m glad you were able to go with him”

“It was - hard, but it was fun getting to know him a little more. He’s a funny guy - but it takes a lot of energy to deal with him”

Tony raised an eyebrow “That’s an interesting way to look at it. People forget he’s a man of action, he just likes to bide his time” Reaching into a cupboard Tony pulled out another mug filling it with coffee and milk from the side before handing it to Belle who nodded her thanks

“I’m was worried that I would upset him but we talked a little about how family can be. I think I understand a little more now”. Belle glanced up at Tony over the edge of her mug

“You’re fine Snowflake, Now I have this” he raised his coffee “and I have projects waiting for me in the lab. You my dear should enjoy your coffee”

“Have a good evening Tony. Those reports will be with you first thing”

Tony waved his hand over his shoulder as he headed out “Excellent - I might get round to reading them, or not.” He paused in the door way “So are you offering to be the Christmas Shopper for the whole team - because I’ve got a big list and ….” He trailed off

Belle choked a little on her coffee “ ummm. I mean I could but ……yeah I think I’ll pass on that thanks”. She waited until he was just out of the door before calling out “I’d rather Barnes and Noble than Cracker Barrel for my gift card”

Tony’s laugh dried back up the hall. She was getting the hang of this family thing. He mentally added a gift card onto her gift list.

#panic's 25 days of christmas #gift #oneshot #fluff

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hjertetssunnegalskap1 · 5 years

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My Fanwork

Do you want stuff to read or art to look at? Here are the fandom things I have made these last two years, maybe you can find something?

It’s a lot. I can’t believe it’s this much, to be honest. Anyway. It’s presented more or less chronological. If you find something tempting, I hope you enjoy!

This is a long post. So. It’s all under the cut. :)

SKAM FANFICTION

Multichaptered fics

Don't leave me (alone): Isak/Even, 106 674 words, 6/6 chapters. Explicit. Slightly magical AU where Even never transferred to Hartvig Nissen, but Even and Isak meet as adults.

The Very Personal Shopper: Isak/Even, 21 986 words. 2/2 chapters. Explicit. Part of the Apps of Love series. A shopping service AU (an alternative first meeting for #SkamFicWeek). Isak is too lazy to shop his groceries, and too fed up with Eskild’s complaints, and finds that a shopping service would be perfect. But what can he do when his personal shopper turns out to be the most gorgeous guy he has ever seen?

Different, but same: Isak/Even, 31 615 words, 2/2 chapters. Explicit. Post break up fic. Even goes on a ski holiday with Yousef and Elias to get over it. At the cabin he meets a guy who looks like Isak, except his dark, buzz cut hair, well trained body and rough, charismatic personality. The fact that he calls himself Markus Simensen is even more confusing. Translated to russian here.

Drunk on Your Colours: Isak/ Even, 71 500 words, 4/4 chapters + bonus info. Mature. When Isak starts at Hartwig Nissen, he is confused by all the eyes with bright colours he can see. He has a strange gift that makes him see colours in certain people’s eyes, and the colours reflect who they are and how they feel. Now there are kids with colours in their eyes everywhere, and one tall, gorgeous guy has the colours of the whole rainbow. Friends to lovers AU where Even is in third year at Hartvig Nissen when Isak starts in his first year.

My Very Personal Ski Trainer: Isak/ Even, 28 181 words, 5/5 chapters. Explicit. This is part of the Skam Stories Christmas Challenge and part of the Apps of Love series. Even has just broken up with Sonja and is recovering from a manic and depressive episode. Sana has invited Even and her other friends to a Holiday cabin trip, and Even needs to get in shape so that he can beat his buddies in Sana’s planned ski race. He tries out a personal ski trainer app and meets the hot ski trainer Isak Valtersen. A different meeting AU.

The Secret Santa App: Isak/Even, 25 591 words, 5/5 chapters. Mature. Part of the Skam Secret Santa. Part of the Apps of Love series. In this world, Isak and Even met at Nissen, but they were never brave enough to do anything. Isak (25) is a stressed-out salesman for playground equipment. Even (27) is a freshly educated, burned out and lonely children’s psychologist. They meet again when Sana, Eva and Vilde arrange a Secret Santa party. Without knowing it, Isak and Even end up as Secret Santas for each other and they chat with each other on the Secret Santa App. Things happen.

A Fucking Bet: Isak/Even, 32 793 words, 7/7 chapters. Explicit. SKAM Big Bang 2018 collection. A fuck buddies AU/ Canon Divergence in Isak’s POV (and one chapter in Even's POV). Isak and Even are just friends. They make a bet and decide to fuck only five times and then go back to being friends again. Isak hopes that he might be able to fuck his crush out of his system, once and for all. Who knows what Even’s motives are.

Around the Corner (My Very Personal Christmas Shopper): Even/Isak, 51000 words, 4/4 chapters. Explicit. Evakteket Christmas Challenge 2017 collection. Isak (22) works in a record shop for Jonas. Isak’s best friend Eva works in the shop, too. Even (24) comes and asks for a job. The two get off on the wrong foot, although Isak finds Even irritatingly attractive. To complicate things, Isak has just gotten a personal Christmas gift shopper, who turns out to be very flirty.This is a Holiday movie AU (inspired by “The Shop around the corner”, 1950), and it's part of the Evakteket Christmas Challenge. The two other prompts were “Bah, humbug!» and Snowglobe.

To Write a Good Ending: Sara/ Ingrid, 13205 words, 2/2 chapters. Explicit. Evakteket Birthday Challenge. This story starts the summer before Sara starts at Nissen. Sara is ambitious, but struggles to feel like everybody else. This is a 5+1. Five times Sara kisses someone for the wrong reason, or one time she kisses for the right, or five times Sara is a part of someone else’s story ending, and one time she writes her own ending.

The Cuddle Snuggle App: Isak/Even,124934 words, 10/10 chapters. Explicit. Part of the Apps of Love series. Halfway through Even's third year, he is diagnosed with bipolar disorder. When Isak is 16, he moves away from his troubled mother. Both boys have turned their lives upside down, and their new lives are more or less lonely and touch deprived. They meet when Even downloads a cuddler app (mostly for his film project, but also because he needs the touch) and Isak becomes his professional cuddler. They are both determined to keep the cuddling friendly and platonic, but it proves to be difficult.

Mine egne meninger: Eva/Vilde. Norwegian. 16,871 words. 6/6 chapters. Explicit. Eva kunne allerede kjenne hjertet banke raskere. Hun visste det var tullete, men med ett bare visste hun at hun kom til å slite med å dele rom med Vilde. Hun kom til å bli gående rundt en feberhet tåke og tenke på Vilde hele helga. Til ingen nytte. Fy faen. Dette kom jo til å bli en helt strålende romjulsferie.

The Origin and the Fulfillment: Isak/ Even. 81,026 words. 14/14 chapters (13 + epilogue). Explicit. Collab with @evakuality. Isak, an alpha, and Even, an omega, meet on the tram on their way to school. From there, they deal with first heats, pining, miscommunication and lots and lots of tension. They both have issues with their own, and other people’s, assumptions about being alpha and omega.

Oneshots

The Fake Boyfriend App: Isak/Even, 7 239 words, 1/1 chapter. Mature rating. Part of the Apps of Love series. AU where Isak is desperately pining for his flatmate Even, and downloads a fake boyfriend app to get over him. When he discovers that the Fake boyfriend is a human, and not a bot, he is sceptical.

An Early Friday Morning: Eva/Jonas, 2 115 words, 1/1 chapters. Explicit. This is a future fic/ ficlet. Eva and Jonas wake up and take the chance of a quickie while the kids are busy. That's it. It's a pwp, basically.

Trollbundet/Spellbound: Isak/Even, 16 425 words, 1/1 chapters. Explicit. Evakteket Summer Challenge. A summer fling soulmate AU. Isak has graduated from Nissen and he’s attending Trolsk (Enchanting), an alternative Fair/music festival with his friends. When he meets a guy called Even, they bond. However, Even is reluctant about bonding. Is a summer fling all they will have? Prompts: Camping, summer fling you can’t forget, bare feet.

The Rule of Reciprocation: Noora/Eva, 9952 words, 1/1 chapters. Teen and up. SKAM Reverse Bang 2018. Noora knew too well that she had fallen in love with Eva. She didn't know exactly when it had happened. It was something that snuck up on her gradually, and one day she realized she was gone for Eva, for her laughter, her sense of humour, her bright eyes and the way she always was so open to so many things. Noora had most likely fallen a long time before things ended with William, she just hadn’t known it yet. She hadn’t allowed herself to know.

My Tie Is Blue: Even/Isak, 1 185 words, 1/1 chapters. Teen and up. Ficlet based on Julie Andem’s New year’s gift and this anonymous prompt: «Has anyone ever written a backstory for "my tie is blue and i love you"? I imagine them bickering, Isak says the tie is blue and Even insists it's black and it goes on for over half an hour of light insults and playful shoves and at some point Even realizes he's wrong but he won't admit it and in the end Isak settles the argument by saying I love you»

Not an aberration, but rather a truth: Even pov. Collab with @evakuality. 2780 words, 1/1 chapters. General Audiences. Skam Chill Christmas Challenge. It takes Even a little while to figure out who he is, and it's not as clear cut as he might once have thought.

Den lengste natta: Isak/Even. Norwegian. 22101 words, 1/1 chapters. Explicit. Skam Chill Christmas Challenge. Det er fredag den 21. desember 2018 og vintersolverv. Fruktbarhetsguden Frøy, i Evens skikkelse, må for første gang gjøre seg fortjent til den gaven han ønsker seg aller mest; kjærlighet. 18 år gamle Isak syns kjærligheten virker uoppnåelig, helt til han kommer hjem til Oslo på juleferie og besøker Jonas og Eva på kafeen Eldrimni.

All Good Things Life Has to Offer: Vilde/ Eva. 10,721 words. 1/1 chapter. Explicit. She hadn’t really had butterflies in her stomach since she went out with Magnus, half a lifetime ago. Magnus was sweet. But the butterflies today were for Eva.

Don’t you let me go tonight. Isak/ Even. 2 209 words. 1/1 chapter. Written for the smut prompt making love.The first time Even and Isak make love, it’s not particularly slow and tender, at least not at first. Some would maybe not even call it making love, they would call it getting off, or fucking. Not that Even cares about that. But the point is, the first time they make love, it’s not really planned.

Just A Summer Dream: Isak/Even. 9,105 words. 1/1 chapter. Explicit. Even knows that this thing is temporary. And yeah, he knows that to do this, here, probably is a stupid thing to do. He knows that it’s just a summer fling and that he’s too invested and a quick fuck in this bathroom will do nothing to help that, but the thing is… he doesn’t have the energy to care. He wants Isak so much, and he wants him now.

Touch yourself: Isak/Even. 924 words. 1/1 chapter. Explicit. “Touch yourself for me,” he commands, voice still a whisper, but determined.

Hvis senga hans kunne snakke: Isak/Even. Norwegian. 3,662 words. 9/9 chapters. Explicit. Hvis senga hans kunne snakke, / ville den fortelle om / drømmene han drømmer. / Om alt som truer med å / flomme inn / gjennom sprekkene i veggen / og ta pusten fra han. / Drukne han.

A Mouthful: Isak/Even. 5,157 words. 1/1 chapter. Explicit. “What do you want?” Isak says, looking tired, although there’s a hint of recognition in his face as he watches them.Even grins. "Meeting the love of my life."

DRUCK FANFICTION

My Poison of Choice: 2456 words, 1/1 chapter. Mature. Part of the Temptations series. Matteo has an intoxicating crush on his best friend, Jonas. They have a smoke. Jonas wants to try shotgunning. This fic is translated in Russian here.

My Sweetest Elixir: 2,539 words, 1/1 chapter. Mature. Part of the Temptations series, more or less free standing sequel to My Poisin of Choice. Written before we knew David’s name. – Good? Matteo asks casually, and the guy nods. His cheeks are slightly pink. Matteo’s face is burning. Damn. He wants to lick into those lips. He wants to bury his hands into that thick, dark hair. He desperately hopes that he doesn’t imagine that there’s something heated in the guy’s eyes, as well.

LOVLEG FANFICTION

Draumekvila: Gunnhild/ Luna. 5,112 words, 1/1 chapter. Norwegian. Mature. Det er noko der imellom dei, er det ikkje? Ein tone som strekkjer seg mellom dei og skjelv. Ein melodi som summar under huden. Det er vel ikkje berre noko Luna innbiller seg? Luna trur ho kan sjå noko i auga til Gunnhild, men ho er ikkje sikker.

Blue Moon: Gunnhild/ Luna. 1,134 words, 1/1 chapter. General audiences. Gunnhild is pining for Luna.

SKAM FANART

Even and Isak Fanart

In Eden’s Garden

Ingrid and Sara Fanart

Isak and Even Pride Kiss

Isak blowing Even (explicit)

Isak and Even good times (slightly explicit)

Isak and Even kissing in bed

Sculpturer Even and Isak (explicit)

Young Even in Winter (Skam Chill Christmas Challenge )

Aurora and Steve (Isak and Even kissing, Evakteket SKAMenger Hunt)

Eva and Chris doing Holiday Chores - Fanart (Explicit, Skam Chill Christmas Challenge)

Trans Even and his Isak

Isak and Even (Explicit)

Isak ready for a fight

LOVLEG FANART

Ukulele

DRUCK FANART

Matteo and David

Beautiful Minds

David and Matteo Smitten (Michelangelo's David and Michelangelo's San Matteo)

Birds

Davenzi

#my fanwork #my fanart #my fanfics #skam #skam fanwork #druck #druck fanwork #lovleg #lovleg fanwork #fanfics #fanart #fanwork

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hope-for-olicity · 6 years

Text

Fabulous Olicity Fanfic Friday - January 11th, 2019

Happy Friday! So this is my attempt to both thank awesome fanfic writers for their amazing work and offer my recommendations to anyone who is interested. Here are the fantastic fanfic stories I read this week! They are posted in the order I read them. This and all previous Fabulous Olicity Fanfic posts can be found on my blog.

Someone to Watch Over Me - Olicity Secret Santa by @effie214 - soulmate fic, so I tried to do that. It’s less Christmassy than I’d intended, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. https://olicitysecretsanta.tumblr.com/post/181387731860/someone-to-watch-over-me-pg-4664-words

Holiday Cheer - Olicity Secret Santa by @crazycrystal10 - Felicity has been hired to organize the engagement party for Thea and Roy https://olicitysecretsanta.tumblr.com/post/181384869143/happy-holidays-magda1102-hope-you-have-a

On the Road to Gretna Green - Olicity Secret Santa by @emeraldoliverqueen - It’s a regency romance AU with a little… um… fake relationship on the side. https://olicitysecretsanta.tumblr.com/post/181384432471/on-the-road-to-gretna-green

Set Me Free and Take Me Higher, Higher, Higher (7x08) - Olicity Secret Santa by @katanaxqueen - smut and canon divergence/fix-it fic so I decided to do a little 7x08 missing scene. https://olicitysecretsanta.tumblr.com/post/181382704587/set-me-free-and-take-me-higher-higher-higher

A Queen Family Celebration - Olicity Secret Santa by @vaelisamaza - A little snapshot of a Queen Family Celebration. https://olicitysecretsanta.tumblr.com/post/181383146006/olicity-secret-santa-a-queen-family-celebration

The Personal Shopper - Olicity Secret Santa by @quiveringbunny - A romantic little story for the holiday! https://olicitysecretsanta.tumblr.com/post/181382700761/the-personal-shopper-olicity-holiday

Christmas Doll - Olicity Secret Santa by @lunellafandoms - Holiday shopping turns bitter for Felicity Smoak as an old foe of Oliver’s resurfaces. https://lunellafandoms.tumblr.com/post/181388581124/olicity-secret-santa-gift

Christmas Spirit multi-chapter Complete by @mindramblingsfics - After his latest brush with the law, Oliver Queen is sentenced to probation. He’s sent to volunteer at the Starling Mall ChristmasVillage where he meets the cheerful Santa’s helper, Felicity Smoak. Felicity Smoak, decided to work during the holidays to make extra money for school. Her love for the holidays led her to the Christmas Village. On the first day, Felicity is immediately turned off by Oliver’s childish don’t care attitude. As the days go by, Oliver begins to see the purpose and joy in the holiday season and shows a different side of himself to Felicity. https://archiveofourown.org/works/16917147/chapters/39745821

seemingly impossible (but not untrue) multi-chapter WIP by @alexiablackbriar13 - Young genius historian Dr Felicity Smoak unknowingly and accidentally calls up a bewitched alchemical manuscript within the Oxford Bodleian Libraries - a book that has been lost for centuries. Descended from an old and distinguished line of witches, Felicity wants nothing to do with magic, despite her unruly and powerful abilities. But her discovery of Ashmole 782 sets the world of creatures stirring; with a mystery afoot and new, dangerous magical abilities manifesting for her to navigate, she is approached by the enigmatic vampire biochemist Professor Oliver Queen, who seems to have a deep interest in both the manuscript… and her. Based on A Discovery of Witches by Deborah Harkness. https://archiveofourown.org/works/16224353/chapters/37923743

The Life Between multi-chapter Complete by @leuska - Post S6 finale fic. Oliver is at Slabside, trying to survive, while Felicity is outside, trying to do the same. "It took him the whole of his first night spent in his cell to figure it out, tossing and turning on his bunk in the dark while shutting out the cat-calls and hisses of the other inmates, passing on messages between each other and taunting the new arrivals, to realize how very mentally and emotionally unprepared he was for this when he took agent Watson’s deal." A MUST READ!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/14731784/chapters/34053599

With the Speed of an Arrow multi-chapter WIP by @academyofshipping - Oliver Queen’s elite and silver-spoon life has taken some blows in the past few years, but he is still the carefree billionaire everyone knows of and loves. When his role in the family business is in jeopardy and he is introduced to a motley of new people, his status quo is threatened. With a changed perspective, Oliver realizes his feeling for his best friend and anchor-in-life, Felicity Smoak, may be more than just platonic. OR A modern adaption of Jane Austen’s Emma with a gender swap* and no island. *Knowing that gender is not binary https://archiveofourown.org/works/16559846/chapters/38799857

The Queen's Mage multi-chapter Complete by @the-shy-and-anxious-fangirl - Words have power, and mages, those with the aptitude to draw on that power, are few in number. Thus, their services are highly sought after by anyone who has exhausted all mundane means of solving whatever problem is plaguing them. Felicity is reminded of this fact the hard way when she is hired by Moira Queen, the Lady Starling, to find and return to her son Oliver, who fled his family home five years ago following the death of his father. With a threat hanging over her should she return without Robert Queen's heir, Felicity begins her search. When she finds Oliver, and ends up joining his vigilante crusade while she waits for him to decide whether to return home, the last thing she expects to do is fall in love with him. https://archiveofourown.org/works/14617068/chapters/33781269

Mine at Midnight - Oneshot: The Silence Breaking by @smoaking-greenarrow - After breaking up Oliver and Felicity see each other again when Caitlin goes into labour. https://archiveofourown.org/works/13131783/chapters/40237505

Above All Else multi-chapter Complete by shesimperfect_butshetries - A different take on episode 6x14: Rene shoots but Oliver jumps in front of Felicity. https://archiveofourown.org/works/14101470/chapters/32490537

Shades multi-chapter WIP by @geneshaven - Felicity is preparing to spend the holidays with her guys Chapter 1: https://geneshaven.tumblr.com/post/181215821029/shades Chapter 2: https://geneshaven.tumblr.com/post/181291236319/shades Chapter 3: https://geneshaven.tumblr.com/post/181398973624/shades Chapter 4: https://geneshaven.tumblr.com/post/181513399444/shades Chapter 5: https://geneshaven.tumblr.com/post/181607993734/shades

Mine at Midnight - Oneshot: The Wedding Whirlwind by @smoaking-greenarrow - Felicity and Oliver meet for a second time during their break-up https://archiveofourown.org/works/13131783/chapters/40280114

Safe by @faegal04 - Oliver has a nightmare and Felicity is there for him https://faegal04.tumblr.com/post/181523344599/safe

It Happened One Las Vegas Night multi-chapter Complete by @olicitysmoaky - Felicity and Oliver meet in Vegas and get fake married, but was it really fake? Fast forward seven years later, and we'll all find out. https://archiveofourown.org/works/8322805/chapters/19060963

Time for a Story multi-chapter WIP by @smkkbert - This fic shows Olicity and their life as a (married) couple with family. Although Olicity (and their kids) are the protagonists, other characters of Arrow and Flash make appearances. YOU NEED THIS STORY IN YOUR LIFE. https://archiveofourown.org/works/3912157/chapters/8757172

Damn It, Why Won't the Eagle Just Land Already? multi-chapter WIP by @smewhereelse -President John Diggle would really appreciate it if everyone would stop gossiping about his security detail and his science advisor and get back to work. He’d appreciate it even more if his best friends would pull their heads out of their asses and get together already. A White House romantic comedy AU. https://archiveofourown.org/works/13132602/chapters/30040788

Mine at Midnight - Oneshot: The Step in the Right Direction by @smoaking-greenarrow - Oliver and Felicity continue to be "friends." https://archiveofourown.org/works/13131783/chapters/40420874

// @emmaamelia95 // @mel-loves-all // @oliverfel4 // @green-arrows-of-karamel // @coal000 // @miriam1779 // @memcjo// @captainolicitysbedroom // @tdgal1 // @spaztronautwriter // @lalawo1// @quiveringbunny // @wrongshipper // @thebookjumper // @vaelisamaza // @myhauntedblacksoul // @lovelycssefan // @laurabelle2930 //

#FabulousOlicityFanficFriday #olicity fanfiction #fic recs

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self-shipper-snowdrop · 5 years

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A Very Shippy Christmas - Day 10 ; Games

I may be way behind on my own event, but is that going to stop me? Of course not lmao. So please take this over a week late fic uwu, featuring…

…Chūya and Ryūnosuke, with a lil’ bit of Gin! (It’s a port mafia day lol-)

——————

“We’re dead, Aku.” Bronwen sighed, blocking up the entrance to their little snow fort, so they had time to plan, “They’re out there while we’re stuck in this snow hut- there’s a decent chance we’re going to end up pelted by snow, especially with his ability and her insane speed.”

“We aren’t going to lose. Failure isn’t an option.” Ryūnosuke shot back, voice firm but still notably gentler than it would be for others, “We’re going to win this fight one way or another. I’ll use Rashomon if I have to- but we aren’t going to lose to anyone.”

Bronwen sighed, adjusting her red, fluffy and frilly winter coat and her matching gloves, “Then what are we supposed to do? I can’t think of a strategy right now. They’ve got us pinned down, we’re bound to get shot. My ability, Dreaming on a Midsummer’s Night, isn’t going to be too helpful either. I have to get too close to place the flower and and thusly induce sleep. Rashomon and help stop us from getting shot, but… they’re strong. It’s not going to be so simple.”

“The more you think like that, the more likely you are to lose. I know you aren’t a Port Mafia member, but for now, you’ll have to act like one.” He remarked, before walking a bit closer to her, “Now, that flower just has to connect with their skin, doesn’t it?”

“Technically, yes. It has to hit around their head so the stem can attach.” She confirmed, “But what does that have to do with anything?”

Picking up some snow off the ground below them, Ryūnosuke started to form a snowball in his white gloved hands.

“Start making flowers. We’re going to knock them out.”

Chūya was crouched behind a wall of snow, a pile of snowballs at the ready beside him while Gin waited behind another snow structure nearby. Bronwen and Ryūnosuke had kept themselves locked in that pseudo-igloo for awhile now… what could they be planning? Or were they just hiding, trying to find a way out of their little corner? They were in an undeniably sticky situation… and the day Ryūnosuke gives up on anything would be the day the world comes to an end. Well, unless it was a game against Bronwen. Then he seemed to be more okay with it, but not much.

“What’s taking them so damn long…?” Chūya questioned, blue eyes narrowing at the exit to the duo’s little fort, “Gin! I’m going to break in- we can’t let them have any more planning time. Get ready to fire!”

But right as the redhead was going to charge forward, the front of the fortress exploded open- and a flurry of snowballs came flying out in every which way. Standing up from behind her blockade, Gin was quick to take a hit, and with a surprised shout fell to the floor- unconscious. Chūya was quick to look over, at first wondering if she was hurt, but then he saw it; that distinct, violet flower. One that he’d know anywhere- it belonged to his girlfriend, after all. So catching on to their plan, the Port Mafia executive kept himself huddled behind the blockade, waiting for the barrage of snow to end.

“So they’ve stuffed flowers in those things to knock us out, eh?” Chūya chuckled, running his hand across the pile of snowballs beside him, “Then two can play at this game, babe…”

The very second that he endless rain of snowballs from Bronwen’s side ended, Chūya struck. The snow rose up behind him, and with a simple wave of his hand, was sent flying towards Bronwen and Ryūnosuke- who shouted in surprise at first. Meanwhile, he was making a run for his teammate; but Bronwen wasn’t going to have it. Shouting for cover, Ryūnosuke used Rashomon to give Bronwen a clear path- and with a snowball in hand, she jumped on her boyfriend, knocking them both to the ground with her on top.

“Ha, I got you!” Bronwen cheered, finishing the game by lightly tossing the snow at his shoulder, “Victory is ours, wine boy!”

“Wine boy?” Chūya chuckled, “Thats a new one… but fine. I guess you beat us.”

But as Bronwen smiled triumphantly, Chūya quickly developed a smirk and used the chance to flip their positions- now Bronwen lying in the snow, with Chūya pinning her down. Bronwen’s cheeks flushed bright, screaming red in response, but if anything that only seemed to egg him on. With a soft chuckle, the mafioso kissed the top of her head gently, despite Bronwen’s desperate attempts to make a sentence destroyed by flustered stutters.

“But, since I have you, I win at the end of the day.”

“Can you spend five minutes without being all over her?” Ryūnosuke rolled his eyes, waking up Gin by plucking the flower from behind her ear, “We’re right here.”

Chūya just picked Bronwen up, carrying her like a princess with a shake of the head, “Nah, I’d rather not. Now how about Bronwen and I team up for round two?”

#self insert #self ship #a very shippy christmas #romantic; anti gravity heartbeat #platonic; partners in crime #platonic; secret shoppers #the dreamer’s diary of escapism

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fakingitfanfiction · 7 years

Text

Her Latest Flame Chapter 20: Fifty-Two

Previous Chapters

The first time the phone rings, Sophie ignores it.

OK, so she doesn’t actually ignore it. That would suggest she doesn’t pay any attention to it at all and that would be something of a… well…

A lie. It would be something of an outright, bald faced, not even Amy would try spinning that bit of bullshit, honest to God lie.

The phone is on the desk and the desk is across the room from her, from her bed, the same bed she’s been sprawled out on for hours, through her first two classes - skipped ‘em both - through a lunch meeting with her advisor (a woman in the Art department who she’s met once and who tried to advise her into, of all things, film) (she’s a fucking dance major), and now, through the ring ring ringing (cause still going) of her phone.

It’s the first time she’s heard it in days and she’d almost - almost - forgot the fucking thing could actually ring.

So, here she is, on her bed, alone, just staring at her ceiling and - ironically enough given who she is sure is on the other end of the line - remembering the time she innocently suggested to Amy that they put glow in the dark stars up there. An entire pack of them, or maybe even two, like an entire universe that would come to life just at night.

“It’d be like camping,” she said, and no, the whole lesbians and camping thing never crossed her mind, not even once. “Kinda. Except, you know, with beds instead of sleeping bags and indoor plumbing instead of bushes that make you itch in your… you know… bush… and, no s'mores and oooooh, can we have s'mores?”

Amy had laughed (and Sophie had smiled cause, not that she would have admitted it then and she sure as fuck wouldn’t cop to it now, she loves the sound of Amy’s laugh) (and yes, that is the correct tense) and thrown a pillow at her and told her, in no uncertain terms, that there would be no stars.

“No stars,” she said. Those were her exact words. “No stars, ever.” Those were her more exact words and when Sophie asked - innocently, again - if they needed to make that a rule, Amy had answered with a groan and another pillow bomb and boy, it was a good thing she always slept with like five of those, what with the number of them she was lobbing in Sophie’s direction.

“OK, OK,” Sophie said. No stars was fine, not a big deal at all. It had been just a thought, a spur of the moment kinda thing that sort of just popcorn-popped into her head (she really had junk food on the brain that night) and those were the sorts of things that tended to pop out just as fast, which is how Sophie’s always been able to tell when something really matters to her. It doesn’t pop off and away. It lingers.

Like Amy. Like Reagan. Like whether or not Jon Snow was really dead cause it wasn’t like she obsessed on that for months or anything and Amy still owed her five bucks since, in the end,Jon was, you know, dead, until the old woman who she totally shouldn’t think was hot (but come on) saved him and yes, she’s digressing here, but it’s her memory so, you know…

Fuck you.

So Amy never popped out (and yes, never does mean still, unfortunately) and neither did, or has, Reagan - even after she bailed on her and never came back - but the stars… yeah, they didn’t last all that long.

“No stars,” Sophie said, perfect agreeable. “But about the s'mores…”

Another pillow - the My Little Pony one (Rainbow Dash, natch) that she won for Amy at the 1st Weekend College Fair - landed on her with thud and an over dramatic 'oh, I’ve been slain!’ that set off a round of giggles from Amy’s bed that warmed areas of Sophie’s heart she hadn’t quite known were cold.

And the next evening, when Sophie got home from her two hour lab session for a class she was sure she didn't need and was even more sure she wasn’t going to pass?

There was a plate of melted just right, still warm, and ooooh… the marshmallow oozed out in perfect little globs when she took a bite… s'mores waiting on her desk.

That was the day when Sophie decided she loved Amy Raudenfeld. Totally, 100% platonic love, of course. Sophie’s not the type to fall in love with just anyone and she’s got more than enough smarts - lab grades, notwithstanding - to ever let that 'anyone’ be the person she lived with.

You don’t shit where you eat, that’s what her Nana always said.

Especially not where you eat s'mores.

At least, you know, not till she was older and actually living with someone and not just sharing a fairly small room - with no stars and far too many pillows - and no options for escape for like the next four years because, no way, no fucking how, was she gonna try and find a new roomie, not after all the work she’d done breaking Amy in and getting her just right.

So, no. No stars on the ceiling and no new roomies in the… room. And no, absolutely no falling in love.

But… s'mores.

So, yeah, there was no way she was falling in love with Amy, but she loves her. Sophie loves the fuck out of that girl and, even now, even as the phone rungs (for the first time) across the room and she knows damn well who it is (cause she’s right on time), Sophie can’t quite bring herself to change the ’s’ to an 'ed’ on the end of that, but she knows - oh, she knows - if she answers that phone?

The past tense is gonna crash headlong into the present and then there’s gonna be stars - and probably Amy seeing them, again - and there will be new roomies cause there’s just gotta be a college rule against living with someone you’ve punched out and there will be no more s'mores and that is just one more 'and’ than Sophie can take right about now.

So she ignores it.

She ignores it, after. As in after she tries - far too quickly - to leap from her bed to answer it and gets her feet tangled in the duvet and ends up doing a Captain America dive halfway across the room, her fingers just catching the edge of the desk as she lands, the phone teasing her with its little vibrating self (and she usually enjoys a little vibrating tease) as it scoots further on the desk and by the time she actually does reach it, she may as well have ignored it, so that is exactly what she does.

Cause it’s gone silent. Again. And all Sophie can do is flop back onto the floor and wonder.

Where are all the pillows now?

The second time the phone rings, Sophie tries for patience.

Cause, well, you saw how well hurrying worked for her.

Though, this time, she’s not on the bed and there’s no duvet to tangle her feet all up in and she could make it across the room safely (probably) (she is still her, after all) and scoop it up off the desk and answer it.

And she will. In, you know, a minute. Or, really, just less than.

Because that is how long it takes her phone to go to voicemail. Just under one minute. Exactly. She timed it once, one time when some girl whose name she didn’t quite remember (Sam) kept calling and calling and calling and oh, did she mention calling?

That girl, whose name she didn’t remember (Sam) (It was Sam, short for Samantha, and she had long brown hair, braided like halfway down her back and no, Sophie didn’t know anything, not anything at all about what it was like to use that braid like a steering wheel) had been, well, something of a… um…

“Rule twelve,” Amy said, not even looking over as the phone rang and rang and, really, she had to have mentioned rang. “So twelve.”

Rule #12: We will never call any girl a mistake, for they are all learning experiences in one way or another and we would not be the women we are without them. So, never a mistake. But, maybe, you know… a really really really poor fucking choice.

Sam short for Samantha should have been short for same as in same call, same time, every fucking day, always hanging up in exactly the same (see?) fifty-two seconds and that was just weird enough to drive Sophie batshit.

Or, you know, more batshit.

“Why? Why fifty-two seconds? Why fifty-two seconds every fucking time?”

They were on the floor, sprawled out on a pair of body pillows Amy had gleefully snagged from the college bookstore (on clearance) (such a good shopper) (Lauren would be proud), watching a movie Amy had been assigned to write a paper about for her CRW 111: Intro to Screenwriting course. It was something about time travel and Bruce Willis and that kid from Third Rock from the Sun who was so not a kid anymore - and if Sophie had ever entertained ideas about guys, Bruce and Mr. Not a Kid would’ve been #’s 1 and 2 on her list - so, either of those alone might have been enough to convince Sophie to watch.

But the female lead was Emily Blunt and that was enough to convince her to watch it twice and to take notes and to vow that if John Krasinski ever turned out to be a complete secret asshole (come on, you know he is) she would find a way to be the one to soothe and mend Emily’s poor broken heart.

(And any other hopefully not as broken and still fully functional and oh, dat ass doe, parts.)

“I’m not sure which scares me more,” Amy said, popping another bite of popcorn (extra butter) into her mouth. They’d had to pop a second bowl after Sophie had gotten a bit overwrought at the end of the movie the first time and cried a whole bunch of tears in it. “That every time she calls for fifty-three -”

“Fifty-two.”

“Right,” Amy said with a nod and her most perfect 'no, you not cray cray at all’ smile (you try being friends with Karma for like your whole life and see if you don’t have one of those). “For fifty-two seconds. Or that you know she does.”

Sophie ignored the smile (you try being her and not learn to do that) and sat up, pausing the movie and no, that had nothing to do with the camera lingering on Emily's… um… face, nope, nothing at all. “Call me,” she said, inspiration suddenly striking (thanks, Em.) “Right now, call me.”

For whatever reason (like, you know, maybe, it being way more entertaining than watching the movie again) Amy obliged and called and, wouldn’t you know, at fifty-three seconds exactly…

S'up. This is Sophie. You know what to do. Of course, if you really knew what to do, I probably would have answered, so maybe that ought to be a hint to work on your skills, um… unless this is Amy, in which case why the hell aren’t you just texting me, you know the rules -

Rule #18: Always text, never call.

Rule #19: If you have to ask why for Rule #18, then obviously, you’ve never had your phone ring at a most… inopportune time… and since we both know that isn’t true, Amy (see: Elsie) (see: Elsie while you were making out with her sorority sister) (see: Woot!).

And that was why fifty-two seconds, every time. Just long enough to be annoying (so, kinda like Sam-short-for-Samantha had been in real life), but not long enough to leave a real message, an actual recording, any verifiable proof that she’d been there.

So, again, kinda like her in real life.

But now, Sophie knows how long it takes - at least for her voicemail to pick up - cause when it comes to other things, complicated things, forgiving and wanting to talk to or, really, wanting to talk to and admitting it kinda things, she’s not so sure just yet.

Which is why she’s waiting.

That, and she doesn’t feel like getting any more bruises on account of Amy even though she’s pretty sure the small bump on her knee and the light grazes on her palms ain’t much of a thing compared to the shiner her roomie’s gotta still be sporting. But that, she thinks, is only fair.

Amy did her damage too. You just can't see hers.

Unless you count looking in the mirror and seeing the red circles under the eyes and the look like she hasn’t slept in like days and the way she visibly flinches every time she even thinks of Reagan or Amy or the phone rings and so, yeah, that’s why Sophie’s avoided the mirror since the moment she’s gotten back and why, again, she’s counting down the seconds in her head.

Forty. Forty-one. Forty-two. Forty-three.

At forty-five, she takes a step toward the desk. At forty-six, her hand comes out, reaching for the phone. At forty-seven, she sees it - her arm, her hand, her fingers starting to close over the tiny little thing in the tiny gold and blue (school colors) case - and at forty-eight, she starts to pull back.

She’s not ready.

What, exactly, she isn’t ready for, she’s not quite sure. She imagines there’s likely gonna be an apology cause, well, have you met Amy? And she imagines there will be tears, probably Amy’s, almost definitely hers. And those (the tears) she can deal with and that (the apology) she’ll kind of have to decide on and she’s OK with that too cause, really, what choice does she have? But then, after the apology and the tears and the other apology (cause Amy, again) and then more tears (cause them) and a whole lot of 'I don’t know’s and more than a few 'so… what do we do now’s and a whole mess of 'I never meant to’s and 'you know I would never want to hurt you’s, it’s still gonna be there, out there, the other thing.

And at forty-nine, she thinks of that other thing - it… she… has a name, but there’s that whole flinching thing, remember - and her hand tenses and Sophie legit doesn’t even know what to do cause if she answers, they’re gonna have to deal with that (her) and if she doesn’t answer, well, it isn’t like it (she) is just gonna fade away and disappear and neither of them will ever even so much as think of her again, right?

Again: have you met Amy?

Or Sophie?

So she’s damned if she does and she’s damned if she doesn’t and there’s no rule, not a single fucking one about what to do in this situation and now, like right now, like at fifty seconds on the damn nose, Sophie’s really wishing there was, she’s really regretting that they never came up with a rule for how to handle a situation like this and how to make the choice and like what you should base your decision on, cause something like that would totes come in handy right about now.

Something that might give her a clue, something like a lightbulb blinking its blinding way to life over her head to tell her what to do, something like… oh, she doesn’t know…

Something like s'mores.

Someday, she’s going to have to figure out why she thinks of that right then (and why she so often thinks of Amy and food, together) but for right now, all she’s really got is this.

Well… fuck.

Cause… yeah.

And at fifty-one seconds exactly, Sophie answers the phone, only to find that fifty-two seconds exactly?

Well, that's not at all what she expected.

The first time Sophie met Farrah was the second week of school when Amy insisted she come with her for a Saturday night dinner at the used to be Raudenfeld-Cooper residence which was now just back to being chez Raudenfeld and Sophie wondered, out loud, why Farrah had never gone back to her maiden name.

“I’m not entirely sure she remembers it,” Amy said on the car ride over and Sophie wasn’t sure if she was kidding or not - it had only been a couple weeks and yeah,,they had some of their rules already and kiss #1 was out of the way (Sophie didn’t think about that) (much) but she still didn't know Amy, like know know her - so she just laughed, politely, and then again, with just a bit less polite, after Amy rolled her eyes and joined in on it and then they were there and Sophie put her game face on.

She was going to be prim and proper. And so, you know, as much like the step-sister Amy had told her all about (though, usually leaving out the step) and as much not like the best friend Amy had also told her all about (though, it was what Amy didn’t say about Karma that told Sophie so much more) because she’d gotten the definite impression that, of the two, the not so step was far more popular with Farrah than best friend ever was.

She wasn’t wrong.

But what she was - also - was underestimating Farrah who, after two full years of watching Amy and Sabrina be together yet somehow apart at the same time, and then having to watch as her daughter slowly faded into the background of her own life (again) as first Shane and then after him, Lauren, and then, finally, even after it seemed like she never would, Karma left, which left Amy, well… alone… was already incredibly grateful for this girl who had brought a bounce back to her baby’s step and a smile back to her face and enough confidence that she - Amy - had actually been the one to suggest bringing Sophie for dinner.

And as… well… as Farrah as Farrah could be, she was, at heart, a good mother devoted to her daughter and only wanting the best for her and, if the last few years had taught her anything at all about Amy, it was that she had no earthly idea where or what or who that best was going to be, so whenever and wherever and whoever it popped up as?

Farrah wasn’t going to do anything to mess it up.

And so dinner went well, so well, in fact, that that first time Sophie met Farrah, she established a new rule, on the way back to the dorm with Amy.

Rule #13: Dinners at the Raudenfeld house will be held a minimum of twice a month on the condition that Farrah be allowed to cook said dinners a maximum of nonce a month.

Amy told Farrah about it the next day and - not surprisingly - she was totes agreeable.

And so the second and third and on and on through the ninth or tenth times Sophie met Farrah, all went swimmingly and all had fun and all had good eats - especially the night they convinced Farrah and a home on-break Lauren to go with them to noodle night and even they couldn’t help but notice Becky of the good, no great, no, fucking spectacular in those pants, ass - and Sophie found that she genuinely liked Amy’s mom.

(And no, she never spoke of that dream she had that one night and she never would.)

And, she found, that Amy’s mom seemed to genuinely like her and that was something of a first, cause Sophie’s friends moms - the ones she met - had never seemed too fond of her.

“It’s like they thought I was going to corrupt their daughters,” she said and nope, she didn’t miss the way Amy rolled her eyes at that. “Like I was going to take them all behind the bleachers and teach them all the finer points of pleasing a woman.” Sophie sighed, a sigh of the totes unjustly accused. “I only did that with the cute ones. Or the desperate ones. Or, you know, Rachel Ann Southworth cause, well, let’s face it. With a name like that and a family like that, she needed to come down… or, you know, go down, a peg or two.”

So, given that Farrah seemed less than even a little concerned about how Sophie might corrupt Amy - the opposite was true, if anything - really, if Sophie had thought about it - maybe once or twice in those fifty-one seconds, she might have been just a bit less surprised that it wasn't her roomie’s voice on the other end of the line, but that of her mother.

“Sophie? Is that you? It’s Farrah. Amy’s mom?”

Sophie wasn’t sure if the clarification was for her - cause maybe Farrah thought she knew (or knew) some other Farrah - or what, but she nodded anyway, before remembering that the older woman couldn’t actually see.

“I was hoping we could talk,” Farrah said, either assuming Sophie was nodding or, more likely, not really caring cause, you know, not the point. “About Amy. And you.”

There was a pause in there, just a small one, just enough of one, that Sophie couldn’t miss it. Amy. And you. Not 'Amy and you’, not like it would have been, you know, like three days ago. She didn’t know what Amy had told Farrah or what Farrah was just guessing about, but, again, not really the point. The point?

“Could you come by the house? Later this afternoon?”

Oh, there was the point.

“I promise,” Farrah said. “You won’t have to see her if you don’t want to.”

And there was the other point. The bigger point, the key point, the point of all points. The point Sophie didn’t know how to address cause she didn’t know if she didn’t want to or did want to or wanted to but just couldn’t and, in the end, it didn’t matter anyway.

Cause she went. Knowing or not knowing, Sophie went and that’s how she’s managed to find herself here, in the just-Raudenfeld driveway, leaning against the hood of Farrah’s car, staring up at the windows lining the second floor of the house. She can’t see Amy’s from the front and, maybe, she thinks, that’s better.

She’ll let you know. Once she actually decides.

So, you know, a week or two. A month. Tops.

Farrah’s sitting on the front steps, her legs crossed in a very lady like manner and that is how Sophie knows she means business. Farrah hasn’t gone lady like since that first night, not really, and she’s gone even less lady like since noodle night.

It’s hard to maintain professional parental distance once you’ve led a serious discussion on how chopsticks have good depth but not girth, after all.

So, now, faced not with friend Farrah but with mom Mrs. Raudenfeld, Sophie’s having a moment or two of reconsideration, a second or two of doubt as to whether coming here was such a good idea cause, really, the last thing she needs or wants is a motherly lecture.

Farrah interrupts her moment of doubt. “I’m just guessing,” she says, “but Amy fucked up, right?”

OK. So maybe less lecture. And less lady like. And 100% more she can see where Amy gets her sometimes unfortunate, sometimes needed, always on fucking point habit of being blunt.

“And, just another guess, but it probably had something to do with a girl,” Farrah continues, not giving Sophie a chance to interrupt or disagree - not that she would - and it’s almost enough to make her wonder what, exactly, Amy did say. “I hate to admit it,” Farrah says with a sigh, a sad tired, resigned bit of a thing. “But that was the one plus of her friendship with Karma. No jealous drama.”

There’s a moment, right then, a tiny one… and oh, fuck that, it’s like a distance from the Earth to the Sun of a moment… when Sophie wonders if Amy’s Princess Sarcasm routine came from her mother too. But the look on Farrah’s face tells her that, no, she is 100% serious.

And there’s just nothing to be done with that.

Farrah pats the step next to her and it takes Sophie a beat to figure out she’s asking her to sit. She scoots over, slowly (cause come on, this is a bit weird) but then settles onto the step and, you know, it’s actually… well… kinda nice. It’s odd, a bit, sitting here with Amy's mom, but it’s got a certain charm. It’s not really that weird -

“There was no… thruple going on though, right?”

And cue the weird. The out of nowhere, where in God’s name did Farrah learn that word and why in the blue fucking hell did she have to say it out loud weird.

Even if she isn't entirely off base cause there was something of a… thruple. Maybe it wasn’t a physical one and oh, now Sophie’s thinking about that and thanking God that they’re both sitting in the shade cause she’s pretty sure her cheeks can be seen from space now. But it was sort of a thruple kinda… mess, when you think about it.

And now she can't stop thinking about it.

“That was what I meant before,” Farrah says. She’s staring straight ahead and if Sophie didn’t know better - and she really doesn’t - she might think Farrah was blushing too. “About Karma and the jealousy. I mean, I know there was that one time with the two of them and that Booker boy…”

She trails off and that moment Sophie was having? The Earth to the Sun one?

Yeah. Earth to the next galaxy. Earth to non-Booker-boy-fucking Andromeda.

“I know Karma got jealous,” Farrah says and oh, how big is that shovel she’s digging this hole with? “Any fool with eyes could see that. Even when she pushed Amy and Sabrina together, and any fool with eyes could see that was… well… don’t get me started…”

Don’t get her started? Sophie’s far more concerned with making her stop.

Which, apparently, she hasn’t.

“Even when she arranged that whole big romantic scene and reunited them and then started up with Felix…” Farrah shakes her head and there’s this look on her face, like the look Sophie and Amy get when they’re watching their favorite shows and the writers do something just so damn stupid and yet, they keep watching cause, really, as stupid as it is, at least it’s still on the air. “I knew Karma hated it,” Farrah says. “She hated every second of every day Amy and Sabrina were together. It might have been the only thing she and I ever agreed on.”

There’s awkward and then there's this, but, hey, at least she isn’t saying 'thruple’ anymore, right?

“You never met Sabrina, did you?” Farrah asks and Sophie shakes her head. She’s met Lauren and Karma and she's heard Shane, on the phone - though she’s not sure she really need the phone to hear him - and she’s heard about Liam and she’s seen Felix’s Facebook friend requests.

The ones he sends weekly. Sometimes with a note. Sometimes not. Sometimes with a profile pic of him and Amy and no, that’s not weird at all.

“You didn’t miss much,” Farrah says and Sophie has to bite back a laugh. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, she was nice enough, once you got past the lying about being gay and all.” She shakes her head. “Not that Amy had any room to talk there. But Sabrina was just…”

Bland? Blah? Amy with a bit less existential angst? Not Karma?

“A knock off Reagan,” Farrah says. “That’s what she was. A knock off, not as stylish and not as cool and not as hot version of Reagan.”

Andromeda? Did Sophie say Andromeda? She meant Triangulum. So fucking Triangulum.

And no, don’t ask how she knows what the absolute fuck Triangulum is.

“Do you know about Reagan?” Farrah asks and if there was ever a question that was just too loaded… “I mean, I know you and Amy have your rules and all and, besides, I don’t think she ever talks about her. I don’t think she really ever did. Not even with Karma.”

This is that point where Sophie knows she should say nothing. This is that point where Sophie knows she should - really - get up and shake Farrah’s hand (cause it’s 1950) and thank her for the talk and then walk, not run (at least not until she’s out of sight) to the nearest bus stop and never, ever look back.

“Maybe that means Reagan didn’t mean that much to her.”

So, knowing and actually doing… yeah, different things.

Farrah nods, but it slows and then turns to a shake and yeah, no, Sophie didn’t really think so either. “As much as she talked about it and stressed about it and made everyone around her miserable about it,” she says, “Amy was never really worried she was going to actually lose Karma, not for good anyway. It would have taken more than the Jaws of Life to pry those two apart forever and Amy knew it. And I don’t think she much minded the idea of someday not really having Shane around. And, as for Felix…”

Request Denied.

“But Reagan…”

Sophie wonders how funny it would be if Farrah knew how many times she’d said those words to herself the last few days.

It could be so simple. Just forgive Amy and move on.

But Reagan…

Amy saw her first and no, there’s no rule about that, but there should be and you know it.

But Reagan…

Even if you never spoke to Amy again and dazzled Reagan every single night with your skillz, she’s never just gonna forget Amy and you’ll end up with a broken heart, a sore tongue, and no best friend.

But Reagan…

“But Reagan was different,” Farrah says and Sophie tries to catch up, hoping she didn’t miss too much while she was… um… thinking. “When they broke up…” She sighs, staring downward at the sidewalk, this look on her face that Sophie can’t quite place. It reminds her of the look that her mother got, right after she came out.

Loss.

“Amy shut down,” Farrah says. “For weeks. She curled into this cocoon and even Karma… I mean, she was there, right there with her, the whole time.” It’s the first time Sophie can recall hearing anything approaching warmth in Farrah’s voice when she talks about Karma. “But not even she could reach her. I always thought it was just first love, you know? That’s the hardest of all the heartbreaks to come back from.”

Sophie thinks, for a moment - an Earth to the Moon, at best, moment - about the pain in her own chest the last few days. And then she glances up at the window she can’t see and no, she isn’t overwhelmed by the urge to charge up the stairs and hug Amy until they both stop crying and they need to make a rule about the duration of hugs, a rule they will forever ignore.

She isn't overwhelmed and she doesn’t move.

But it’s close.

“So you don’t think that’s it now?” Sophie asks. “You don’t think it was just the whole first love thing? Wouldn’t that explain it though? Why Amy doesn’t talk about her, or share things about her or…”

Or keep pictures buried on her phone of her. Or sneak off to meet her. Or do things to and with and on her that Sophie doesn't want to imagine but does anyway.

Farrah shrugs. “It might, I suppose. But… I didn’t bring you here to talk about Reagan. I’m sorry, i just got… well…” She turns, pivoting on the step so she can look at Sophie and, for a second, Sophie’s worried there’s gonna be a punch involved and this time she’s gonna be on the wrong end. “I didn’t think of it until now,” Farrah says, “but this? It reminds me so much of Amy and Reagan.”

Sophie knows the feeling.

“I don’t know what happened with you two,” Farrah says and yes, her hand does move, but not to punch, but to hold. As in hold Sophie’s hand, which Farrah plucks from the younger girl’s lap and tugs into her own. “And I don’t know, really, who’s to blame. But I do know this.” She gives Sophie’s hand a squeeze and oh, that… it’s new. Someone doing that somewhere other than in bed. Someone doing that to reassure or to care or to show that she matters.

Someone doing that who isn’t Amy.

“I know I haven’t seen my daughter this lost in forever,” Farrah says. “And from the look on your face, she’s not alone in that.”

Sophie’s quite sure Amy’s not alone in it at all. But she’s quite sure they’re not alone in it, even together. And that’s kinda (more than kinda) the whole problem.

Farrah stands, smoothing out her skirt. “I’m going to be late for work if I don’t go, but I just hope whatever’s the problem, it’s something you two can work out.” She brushes a few stray strands of hair out of Sophie’s face, her eyes shifting slightly, as if she’s noticed the purple just now, for the first time and… maybe… something’s dawning on her about just how hard working it out might be. “I don’t think Amy will be quite the same without you.”

Farrah offers Sophie a ride back to campus and smiles when the used to be a blonde shakes her head and says 'no, thanks.’ She probably thinks Sophie’s going to go inside, gonna head up the stairs and down the hall and knock once - to be polite - and then it’ll be nothing but hugs and kisses (cheek only and purely of the non thruple variety) and apologies and then in the end, all will be right with the world.

And, maybe, if Sophie had more time, like maybe more than, say, the fifty-two seconds between the moment Farrah pulls out of the drive and the moment her phone stops buzzing, deep in her pocket, to think about it, maybe that's exactly how it would have gone.

Or maybe if she hadn’t glanced at the screen and seen Reagan’s smiling face staring up at her after fifty-two seconds.

So, yeah, Amy’s up there, alone and crying (probably) or asleep (more likely) and surrounded by empty doughnut boxes and she probably can’t bring herself to look in a mirror, for the pain and shame of that shiner. And Sophie’s not much better off and she knows it and she could, so very easily, walk up those stairs and make it all so much better.

But Reagan…

She catches the bus just in time and the ride back to campus takes all of twenty-two minutes, or, really, twenty-two minutes and thirty-eight seconds, to be exact. Sophie spends twenty of those minutes staring at her screen, at those three little words.

One Missed Call

And if she doesn’t call back, not right away at least? Well… that might have a little something to do with that nagging feeling growing inside her. The one that keeps poking at her and jabbing at her and reminding her.

But Amy…

#faking it #faking it fanfiction #reamy #oc #update #submission #secretmonkey #Her Latest Flame

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