#posting in the middle of the night again because i never learn my lesson | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

falcqns · 6 months

Text

for the first time (whats past is past)

✰ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Lucy Chen & Tim Bradford

✰ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Tim calls Lucy in the middle of the night, hoping to every god that exists that her number hadn’t changed, and to every angel that she would pick up despite how he had hurt her.

✰ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: canon divergence, angst with a happy ending obviously, Chenford. tagging @natashasera. Title is from Begin Again by my mothaaaaa

don’t forget to read and reblog, and i do not give permission for my works to be posted anywhere other than tumblr. thank you.

“Please pick up,” Tim whispered to himself. He sniffed, trying blink back the tears that were gathering in his eyes. He knew he was stupid for doing this, for calling her; if he were her, he wouldn’t pick up the phone, especially after he had done what he did. She had needed him, and he had left her, and he wouldn’t blame her for doing the same to him.

But, whatever gods that he had prayed to before hitting her contact must have heard his prayers, because just as he was about to give up, the ringing stopped, and he heard static for a brief second, before hearing a sound he thought he’d never hear again - Lucy saying his name in her beautiful, melodic voice.

“Tim?” She said quietly, and Tim choked back a sob.

“H-Hi,” he whispered. There was rustling on the other end for a brief moment before Lucy responded.

“What happened?” She asked, her previously neutral tone shifting to concerned.

Tim chuckled quietly. “Why do you assume that something happened?”

“Because you wouldn’t be calling me in the middle of the night if it hadn’t.”

Tim hung his head, sighing. “Y-You’re right.” He suddenly regretted calling her, he didn’t want her to think he’d only called her because he needed something, because that was far from the truth. He did need something, but she was the only one he wanted to call. Everyone else would look at him with pity - which he understood, because how sad is it that him, a nearly 40 year old man was broken up with and humiliated at a party? But still, he knew that if he had called Angela or Genny, they would have pitied him, but Lucy wouldn’t do that. She would feel bad for him, but he knew that she knew (better than anyone) that these things happened, and it was important to move on and not be stuck in the past. “I uhm..” He began, but stopped, unsure how to explain it without sounding like he was in high school.

“Tim?” Lucy asked again, and this time, Tim cleared his throat before speaking.

“I uh - I was at a party, with my girlfriend, and we got into a fight. It was stupid, but it caused her to freak out, and basically start bashing me in front of all of her friends.” He explained.

“Im so sorry Tim,” Lucy said. “Wait, what do you mean by ‘bashing’ you?” She asked, and Tim chuckled sadly.

“Well,” he began. “She thought it was appropriate to bring up everything from my past, more specifically the things I had told her in confidence, like what happened with Isabel and my dad, and things I was ashamed about, like how I treated you.” He confessed.

Lucy sighed on the other end, and the rustling could be heard again. “Tim, I’m so sorry that happened to you, you didn’t deserve that.”

Tim shrugged, even though he knew she couldn’t see it. “Kinda feels like I did, but right now I just want to get away from her and her friends, but I’m stranded. You were the only person I could think of to call who wouldn’t pity me.”

Lucy laughed quietly. “Of course im not going to pity you, I learned my lesson with that when I was your rookie.” Tim laughed in response. “Send me the address, and I’ll come and get you.”

Tim sighed in relief. “Thank you.” He said, and sent her a text with the location of the party.

“Okay,” Lucy said, looking at the address. “It’ll take me about 20 minutes to get to you, but I’m leaving pretty much right now,” she said. “I’ll see you when I get there, okay?”

“Yeah.” Tim replied. “Thank you again.”

“It’s no problem, Tim. I’m glad you called me.”

——

27 minutes later, Tim saw Lucy’s Gray Acura RDX pull into the driveway, and he was finally able to move off of the rock he had been sitting on. He walked over to her car, and opened the passenger door, sliding into the seat, and shut the door behind him. Lucy smiled at him, before reaching out and pausing the music she had been playing.

Tim glanced at the screen, and his brows furrowed when he saw the song “I See The Light.”

“Why are you playing Disney music?”

Lucy pointed behind her, and when Tim tuned his head around, he was shocked to see a car seat facing the back of the back seat, and a mirror on the headrest, allowing him to see the sleeping infant, no more than 6 or 7 months old, in the carseat.

“Tangled is her favourite.” She said, putting the car in reverse, and backing out of the driveway. “And she was not too happy to be taken out of her sleep sack before she was ready.” Lucy said, a smile on her face.

“Im sorry,” Tim apologized immediately. Not only did he wake her up in the middle of the night, he had her wake her sleeping baby up, to come and get him from a party in the middle of nowhere, when he could have just called an Uber.

Lucy shook her head. “Don’t be,” she said, reading his mind. “She was going to wake up soon for a feed anyways, so it’s all good.”

Tim nodded, his head turning back to face the road. “I uh,” he said, glancing down at his hands before speaking. “I didn’t know you were a mom.”

Lucy nodded with a smile. “Yeah, I am.” She said. “I love it more than I thought I would.” She explained. “I mean, I always knew I wanted to be a mom, but the second she entered the world, I knew I’d love it more than anything in this world.”

Tim smiled. “I’m happy for you, I know how much you’d wanted the whole marriage and kids thing.”

Lucy nodded, eyes on the road. “Actually, just the kids. I’m not married.” She said. She looked sideways at Tim briefly, and answered his unasked question. “I’m single.”

“Oh,” Tim responded, unsure what else to say.

“Yeah,” Lucy nodded, glancing back at her baby. “Chris wasn’t too keen on being a father.” She explained, and Tim shook his head.

“What an idi- I mean dummy head.” He said, glancing back at the baby briefly, making Lucy laugh.

“Its okay, you can swear.” She said. “I don’t care, and It helps her development, so swear it up.” She said, making Tim laugh.

“What an idiot.” Tim continued, before shaking his head. “Nope, can’t swear. Feels too weird.”

Lucy laughed, and Tim smiled looking over at her. He had missed that sound more than anything, and he knew it was all his fault that he hadn’t heard it in nearly two years.

“Anyways, Sanford is a dummy head for doing that to you.” Tim continued.

“I know, but it’s not the first time someone has left me when things have gotten hard.” She said, and Tim nodded sadly, knowing that she was referring to him now.

“I know, and I’m-“ Tim began, before Lucy cut him off.

“if you say ‘I’m sorry’ one more time, I’m pulling over and you can walk.”

They both laughed, and Tim opened his mouth once more. “Okay, okay I’m-“ he began, before him and Lucy glanced at each other, and immediately looked away as they both burst into laughter.

Their laughs were cut short by a cry from the backseat. Lucy reached out, tapping the ‘AirPlay’ button on her car display, and bringing up the Tangled soundtrack again.

“I’m sorry, Mae Mae,” Lucy said, looking into her rearview mirror, where she could see the reflection of her daughter. “Look, Mama’s playing your music.” As soon as Mandy Moore’s singing voice began to float from the car speakers, the infant calmed down, and looked out the window.

The car was quiet for a few minutes, and Tim wouldn’t admit it, but he actually enjoyed the Tangled soundtrack. He then decided to break the silence, wanting to know more about what he’d missed in the Lucyverse the past almost two years.

“What’s her name?” He asked, referring to the baby in the backseat.

Lucy swallowed nervously before she responded. “Her name is Maple.”

Tim’s heart pounded in his chest, a wave of gruelling grief, the same wave that had washed over him for months when he left Lucy that had stolen his ability to take care of himself, crashed over him once more.

Maple was the name that they’d chosen together. Tim hadn’t liked it at first, but the more he’d thought about it, the name Maple Bradford definitely had a ring to it. When they’d broken up, he knew he was still going to use the name if he ever had kids, but he didn’t think that she would, especially after he left her the way he did.

“Y-You used the name.” Tim said quietly, and Lucy nodded. She looked over at him, and his heart broke even more when he saw that she had tears in her eyes.

“Yeah,” She admitted. “It was the only name that made sense to me.” She said, and upon seeing Tim’s confused look, she elaborated. “When I was in labor, I was all alone. It was the middle of the night, and I was woken up by the worst pain I had ever felt. I knew I was in labor, and was so scared of giving birth alone that I drove myself to the hospital. Once I got there, I was so scared, and didn’t want to disturb anyone, so I gave birth alone. The entire time, the only person I wanted beside me, I knew I couldn’t call.” She said, sniffling as she spoke.

“Who?” Tim asked, a little afraid of the answer.

“You.” She said, glancing at Tim. “I wanted you by my side. I wanted you to be there, holding my hand, and encouraging me. I wanted it to be you to be her father, not someone who never wanted her in the first place. But I couldn’t call you.”

Tim turned his body to face her. “Luce, I would have absolutely came and been there for you had you called me, you know that right?”

Lucy looked at him, a serious look on her face. “Do I, though?” She asked. “How was I supposed to know if you’d come and support me, after you left me when I needed you the most after I made P2?” She asked, and Tim looked down in shame.

He had done that. She had been struggling with him not being by her side on patrol, and was having separation anxiety and jealousy with him and his new rookie, and he, instead of supporting her and understanding, got mad at her and ended things. Which he immediately regretted, but regretted even more the next day when Grey told him that she had transferred, and hated himself when he went to her apartment, only to find that she was gone.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” He said. “I hate that I did that to you. I shouldn’t have just given up on you, on us like that. I should have supported and understood you, not walked away. I regret ending things.”

“Well, its in the past now.” Lucy said. And Tim sighed sadly.

“So theres no hope for us, is there?” He asked, and Lucy looked over at him.

“Of course theres hope,” She said, pulling her car into his driveway. “I’ve always had hope that we’d find each other again.” She put the car into park and turned towards him. “I’m glad that you called me.”

“I’m glad you answered.” He said. He then glanced at his front door, then at Maple, before his eyes landed on Lucy.

“Do you want to come in?” He asked, his voice shaking at the implications of what he was asking.

Lucy smiled at him. “Of course we do.”

#natashasera #chenford #lucy chen #tim bradford #lucy x tim #tim x lucy #tim bradford x lucy chen

40 notes · View notes

xxscarletxrosexx · 3 months

Text

Addressing Watermarks on Official Merch Scans -- A Post Made to EDUCATE

I never thought this would need to be addressed, but I think to ignore this would do me injustice as someone who works in education. This message, at its core, is to educate, not attack anyone in particular.

I used to think how silly it was that people used watermarks on pictures and art, but after spending decades in multiple fandom groups, I learned that people are simply too lazy to find the source and credit accordingly and/or want the glory/validation that comes from claiming that particular art/picture as theirs.

I've had a picture stolen once, too. It was a picture of a mannequin that reminded me of Slender Man. I posted it on a public social media app just for laughs, and somehow, that picture ended up becoming a small meme. It WASN'T a huge meme, but it made its way to a niche of Slender Man memes. I haven't received credit for that picture and probably never will. The reason is that this picture was taken over a decade ago, so finding the source would be difficult for me to scroll through the app. Furthermore, I can't show proof that I have the original picture since it was from an old phone that I no longer owned. I had the picture backed up on an external hard drive, but it was deleted when the memory got wiped when I was dealing with a virus. Ultimately, I'm not here to air out my grievance for this picture, but I take it as a lesson to myself that I should be careful next time if I want to post a picture on the internet.

This now brings me to the present-day issue: why did I watermark my scans?

As you read from my previous experience, it's because people DON'T credit or share the source.

I am very much aware that this particular design of the Forgers is very rare to come by. The official art was posted by the official website, but it was never addressed again (I know because I am dying to have acrylic stands of this design). As of today, I tried to look for this specific design and the following images showed up when I spent the past 10 minutes scrolling:

If you were to click the link for the merch (middle image), you would find that the website is unavailable. So, yes, to find this design on a merch was INCREDIBLY lucky on my part. Now, I wasn't expecting to find this at Waku Waku Park, nor was it my mission to find this specific art during the duration of my trip. It just so happened to be at the shop. To my knowledge, other official SxF merch--other than the Waku Waku Park merch--supposedly changes. I compared my experience with two SxF moots who went in December (Ikebukuro/Tokyo location) and 1 week (Osaka location) before me, and they both don't recall finding this design during their visits to Waku Waku Park (I mean, justified because it's been ages ago). As a result, this makes this merch all the more difficult to find.

Technically, I wasn't allowed to take pictures of the merchandise when I was at the shop. I was approached by a store clerk after I had already completed taking pictures of every merch available at the shop. She was limited in her English but crossed her index fingers and told me: "Pictures prohibited." I have not, nor do I plan to, share merch pictures, hence why I edited to the clear file folders to show proof that I was there.

The reason why I am so hell-bent on having my watermark on MY PICTURES and MY SCANS is because of the amount of time, effort, and money I invested into getting it.

Just to give you guys an idea of how expensive it was:

$1,500 was spent on a 9-day round-trip ticket to Japan.

$180 was lost to an overnight night bus from Tokyo to Osaka that I didn't end up riding due to rushing and booking the wrong date. I was not allowed to cancel or refund.

$100 was spent on an airplane ticket from Tokyo to Osaka.

$90 was spent on a shinkansen (bullet train) from Kyoto to Tokyo (we took a fast metro ride from Osaka to Kyoto).

$100 was spent on a last-minute B&B in Osaka.

$50 was spent on Waku Waku Park tickets that came with merchandise (I paid for my friend's ticket as well as my own).

$12 (est.) was spent on purchasing this clear file folder.

Over $350 was spent on purchasing merch from Waku Waku Park alone.

$60 was invested in purchasing a scanner just to scan a high-quality image of this clear file for my friend, and anyone else who'd appreciate seeing this product.

To share how much time and effort it took to get to purchasing this:

My friend and I weren't able to book events for the trip despite purchasing our tickets 2 months in advance. Our jobs and schedules prevented us from meeting up and planning out places where we'd like to visit. As a result, many of our planned trips were booked days before we went, such was the case with Waku Waku Park. We literally bought the tickets the night before.

The flight, night bus, and shinkansen tickets from Tokyo to Osaka and from Kyoto to Tokyo were purchased the day before we bought the tickets, which was during our bus ride trip to Mount Fuji.

When purchasing tickets for Waku Waku Park, my SxF moots recommended I purchase online or at Lawson--I did the latter. For whatever reason, I just couldn't purchase the tickets online, so I went to Lawson and found a machine that sells general tickets to the public. I recall this experience being so frustrating because they did have an English translation option for the homepage ONLY. Once I clicked the platform that sold Waku Waku Park tickets, all text went back to Japanese. I couldn't read it, so I had to contact my SxF moot (who was fortunately still in Japan and went through this experience like me AND could read and speak in Japanese) explain to me what I was looking at. I also used Google Lens to help make sense of whatever I was reading. I probably spent over 10 minutes trying to figure that shit out until the shop clerk finally came over to see if he can help me complete the form and check out my purchase (poor kid didn't know English but we somehow managed).

When my friend and I arrived in Osaka, we had forgotten to book a B&B since we knew that there was a high likelihood that we'd stay overnight. I purchased a 1-day Osaka trip pass, assuming that we'd be able to go to every place offered on the list, but nope, my friend crashed after Waku Waku Park. As a result of booking so early in the morning, we were fortunate to have found a B&B that was ready by 1 PM (?) maybe 3 PM (?). I can't remember other than the fact that when I requested if we could come early, they told me we couldn't come until check-in time. So, we went to ATC Gallery (Waku Waku Park) with our luggages (fortunately, they were light but it was a nuisance to have carried it around). We were also fortunate that ATC Gallery, when arriving to the building via metro station, had a locker that could fit our luggage--so thank goodness we didn't have to carry it during the exhibit.

We learned that once you exit the exhibit--which means you exit the merch shop--you are NOT allowed to come back in. Even, when your companion was still inside, you couldn't go back in. My friend left the merch shop since there were no places for her to sit and wait for me. So she stepped out of the shop. Apparently, there are gates with workers preventing people from re-entering. And so, when I experienced problems with my card, I called my friend to have her lend me her credit card. That's when we experienced that problem. The officer was kind enough to allow my friend to hand me her card so that I could pay for my haul of merch. But imagine, if we both left the shop to go to a store to withdraw money? There was no Lawson store nearby so we'd have to take the metro and find one, buy a ticket, return to the venue, go through the exhibit AGAIN (I probably would have to repeat playing the minigames, collecting stamps, and having my photo taken out of courtesy rather than rushing through the exhibit), and then finally arrive at the merch shop. But considering the time we entered the park around 1:30 PM and spent 2 hours in the park, I believe that it would have ended with a very tight schedule (the park closes at 6:00 PM) and a very unhappy companion.

In conclusion, removing my watermarks means you (the watermark remover) discredit me and disrespect all of my time, effort, and money I invested just to get a high-quality scan of this clear file just for you to enjoy looking at and most likely saving it to your collection of SxF images. You are also a THIEF for not only stealing my scanned image and re-uploading my scan with a horrible cut and my watermarks removed with AI, but also for the fact that you DID NOT pay for a round-trip ticket to Japan, you DID NOT pay for your own ticket to Waku Waku Park, you DID NOT purchase this clear file yourself, and you DID NOT spend money on a scanner to get this high-quality image to post on the internet.

I know that this is MY SCANNED image of the official art because I can see ghost texts of my watermark between Loid and Yor and near Anya's finger and Bond's forehead. I can see the residual cut off of the weird light-blue scan found near Loid's head. The most obvious is that the red leaf between Yor and Loid was horribly "removed" by AI (dear, I use AI to edit out people from my photos, it doesn't take a trained and perfectionist eye to notice something looks fucked up).

Below is an example of me using AI, and this is not how it should look without people. There was a clear pathway behind the people but AI decided to cover it with grass. Keep in mind that to arrive to THIS AI edit, it took me over an hour to repeat the removal process since AI's edit is RANDOM every time. I am an extreme perfectionist, so I tend to waste hours on end to find AI edits that look convincing (I'm not gonna bother putting a watermark on this because my face is there).

Furthermore, as far as I'm aware (at this current time), I know that my scan is the only one that has resurfaced this image. The official merch image of this design is quite difficult to find and reference. I would've sourced it by now if I had already found it, but I've spent 6 hours writing this entire post as is and still couldn't find it.

The person who shared the removal of my watermark on Twitter/X was unaware of the importance for watermarking scans and had been cooperative by taking down her original post. I have provided a post to my scans on Twitter/X here, and a link to the original source found on my Ko-Fi shop. I currently have no beef with her, nor am I attacking her with this post. What she had presented to me was an opportunity to educate.

If you're looking for official merch that do not have watermarks slashed across their products, then your best bet is to find them from official merch websites and/or official merch images. Obviously, they want you to purchase their products. Second, they have the legal rights and trademark (TM) to flex that they own it, so I highly doubt anyone would go out of their way to edit an official work and claim it as their image.

My experience alone confirms that had I not put a watermark on my scan, I would have definitely gotten this scan stolen. As far as I'm aware, my scan is the ONLY ONE (at this current moment) that pops up in Google searches. It pops up via Tumblr from @yumeka-sxf Spy x Family miscellaneous collab scans - part 3 post.

I'm so grateful to have received advice from @yumeka-sxf because she encouraged me to protect my scans having experienced multiple thefts from her oldest scanned images in the past.

TLDR; Don't remove people's watermarks on scanned pictures (especially if they're put on official merch). We have the right to post watermarks on our pictures/scans because we spent ungodly time and effort to find them, spent money to purchase them, scanned/took high-quality pictures of them, and kindly shared our collection(s) FOR FREE for people to enjoy, share the experience, and/or inspire them to purchase one themselves. Unfortunately, the decision to put watermarks over purchased merch is because there are people who are willing to do whatever it takes to edit out credit and watermarks found in corners or in open spaces to claim ownership of the image. I have also seen merchants' product pictures being stolen by other sellers who just happen to have the same product (yes, I'm calling Ebay and Mercari out). That's why there are sellers who take pictures of their products next to their usernames.

If you have read everything until the very end, you have my gratitude. I hope that this post has been educational in helping everyone become aware that watermarks are used to credit people's time, effort, and money to share high-quality scans/pictures of official merch that they purchased. The reason you can see it is because of their efforts to share it.

#educational #the importance of watermarks #watermarks #watermarks on official merch #awareness post #spy x family #ai #ai removal #spy x family clear file #spy x family merchandise #merchandise #my photos #my scans

22 notes · View notes

mrs-snape5984 · 6 months

Text

“Free me from this pain, I’ve been running from…”

“I'm tired and I'm free falling. Free me! I'm lost and I am calling you…” (“Free me” by Sia)

I’ve experienced some very rough hardships in my almost 40 years lasting existence in this world…but I’ve never given up on myself. I knew, that I’d have to fight my way back out of these horrible miseries, and I kept my faith to find the path to better times…to find the path, which will lead me upwards again.

I admit, these hardships left their marks, their scars on me. They formed my heart and my mindset…they made me the person, that I am today. I learned my lessons…and I kept going.

Since I’m living struggling with this goddamn bitch of a disease, called ME/CFS, my life has only one direction: It’s going downhill…and it’s getting faster! In these past 1,5 years, I’ve lost more and more of all the things, which made my life worth living for. I lost my ability to do my job as a pedagogue and social worker. I lost my freedom, since I’m stuck in my dark room day and night. I lost a lot of social contacts, since screen time is messing with my brain and each phone call costs me too much energy. I lost my capability to be an active mother for my three children…and this is the part, that hurts the most. Damn, I lost so much more…and I feel my heart shattering in pieces every fucking day!

Everything in my life is slowly falling apart and I’m losing my grip on reality…and on myself! The newest pain in the ass is probably my habit of passing out every few days. My whole system shuts down in the middle of a simple talk or something else and I’m falling into unconsciousness! I can’t remember the things, I’ve done before…I’m just blacked out for several hours. At first, my kids were afraid in these moments…especially when they couldn’t wake me up from this state! But now, they simply accept that “quirk” of mine as their new reality…and my motherly heart is aching for them. This shouldn’t be their reality! They shouldn’t have to live with a mother, who’s always in the dark…who’s always lying in bed! They’re children!! They shouldn’t have to whisper in my presence. I should be the person, they can rely on unconditionally!! Fuck…my heart is bleeding…and I’m sorry for my pathetic venting.

I need a way out of this hell…but since there isn’t any possibility for me right now, I’ll keep on clinging on Severus. My fantasies of him and my way of coping with my misery by writing stories about him and my - oh so self-inserted - OC Julia/Jules are the only thing, that keeps me mentally stable functioning. Well…at least that’s what I’m telling myself. I mean, I know how depressed my posts might seem.

My favourite artist for my darkest ideas is my friend @madfantasy. I told Mani about my wish to be freed from my darkness…to be cured from my disease. I need a saviour…a true hero…I need Severus! Since there aren’t any promising medical treatments, I’ll need a magical miracle to get rescued. And this is exactly, what Severus is trying for me. He conjures the demons inside my soul and forces them to leave my body. Severus is the only person, who’s brave enough to face the darkness within me. He’s my knight…and the love of my life. 21 years of my life, it was Severus, who kept me going…who inspired me with his resilience and his courage! A lot of those previous hardships could be endured by me, because I had something, I believed in. I had something, that gave me confidence and strength. I had Severus. So, please…don’t let me lose my hope and my faith in his support. And don’t let me lose my faith in myself.

Mani, my precious friend, I’m stunned by your ability to understand my ideas. Every time, I’m commissioning you for another project, your art helps me to soothe my troubled heart. It is as if you’re drawing my feelings!! I can sense my own emotions in every single line of your drawing. You don’t know, how grateful I am that I was allowed to meet you here. I love our conversations and our understanding for each other. Feel hugged, Mani! I’m sending you so much love! 🫂🫂 (fly fly) 🥹🖤 Thank you for everything.

🖤Severus & Julia🖤

🖤Sevy & Jules🖤

48 notes · View notes

phillippadgettwrites · 1 year

Text

The First Time, Every Time: The Jersey Devil

Rated X / 2470 words / Posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

She asks Rob to drop her off at the Hoover building instead of her apartment, and when he pulls up to the curb she immediately unbuckles her seatbelt and tugs on the door handle to discourage him from getting out of the car. She suspects that he might try to kiss her, and the idea makes her nose wrinkle. She can already hear Ellen asking her what’s wrong with him, why she isn’t interested, and she’s not even sure what her answer will be.

On paper, he’s perfect. He’s the kind of man her father would like to see her dating, save for the fact that he already has one marriage and a child under his belt. Nothing he said or did during their date offended her or gave her reason to think that they might not be a good match, but despite all that she just found the entire evening…painfully boring. She surprised herself when her reaction to Mulder paging her in the middle of their meal was relief rather than annoyance.

She makes her way towards the basement of the Hoover, her heels ticking loudly against the linoleum and bouncing a clatter of sound through the deserted halls. The soft glow of desk lamps illuminate otherwise darkened rooms here and there—other lonely souls avoiding the reality of solitude with work—but for the most part the building is empty. The relative stillness makes her realize that the two glasses of wine she downed to make Rob’s monologue on shared custody more tolerable have left her on the edge of tipsy, which feels like an inappropriate state to be in at her workplace. She feels the distinct flutter of excitement mount as the elevator lowers her into the bowels of the building, and brushes away the nagging worry that Mulder will find her late-night arrival odd.

Her lingering crush on him is inconvenient, mostly because it makes her second guess herself and worry about what he thinks of her more than she’s comfortable with. Missy used to tease her mercilessly about her unrequited fixation on boys who would never like her back: the captain of the football team, the student body president, her chemistry T.A. Being the girl who is smart but not sexy, cute but not pretty, a great friend but not girlfriend material, is a truth she has carried with her into adulthood. And here she is again, ditching a man who is well within her league and actually interested in her in order to spend time with a man who will never see her as anything more than a colleague.

That’s not to say she wants him to, of course—she has already thoroughly learned her lesson regarding mixing work and pleasure. There’s just something primal about wanting a person you are unrelentingly attracted to to see you in the same way, even if you never intend to act on it.

She arrives before his office door, pink-cheeked and inexplicably nervous, and raps three times with her knuckle.

“It’s open,” he calls out, and she pushes the door just wide enough to poke her head through.

Mulder is hunched over his desk, head raised expectantly. When he sees her, his eyes narrow and he glances behind him at the clock on the wall.

“Scully, what are you doing here? What happened to your date?” he asks, and she feels a flush of embarrassment.

“It’s, um—we were finished. I mean, it’s over,” she stammers awkwardly as she steps the rest of the way through the door. “I just thought—I wasn’t sure if you might still be working. If you might need my help. With the case,” she finishes, turning her back to him briefly as she hangs her purse and mouths oh my god to herself at her own lack of eloquence.

When she turns to face him, she finds that he’s now sitting back in his chair, eyebrows raised and mouth slightly agape. His eyes flash down to her feet and then back up her body, and when they land on her face he looks away. Reflexively, Scully looks down at her outfit to see if she spilled something on her shirt, then touches her hair in case it’s fallen out of place. Everything appears to be in order.

Mulder clears his throat and picks up a sheet of paper from the desktop.

“Of course, I could always use your help. Take a look at this drawing based on the description from one of the eyewitnesses,” he says, and Scully walks around the desk to stand beside him.

The drawing is rudimentary, almost childlike, depicting a distinctly female form that resembles an ogre. Scully cracks a smile.

“This is a bit different than your typical fare,” she jokes, then turns to look at him.

She finds that his eyes are already on her, lingering somewhere around her waist. As before, he sees that she’s looking at him and quickly averts his eyes.

“Sorry,” he blurts out, busying himself with organizing the persistent mess on his desk. “You look—sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

Scully frowns and looks down at her outfit again. Ellen had helped her pick it out, and she felt comfortable and confident in it all evening, until now.

“Do I look silly?” she asks self-consciously, smoothing her hands over her hips.

“No!” Mulder says, too abruptly, snapping his head back over to look at her. “No, not at all. You look great. You look amazing, actually.”

Scully smiles demurely and looks back to the drawing. “Thank you.”

“Not that you don’t normally look great,” he continues, rambling nervously. “But your work suits are decidedly less…fitted.”

He stops talking and Scully slowly lifts her head to look at him. He’s cringing, the fingers of one hand resting on his temple in an attempt to shield his face. Meanwhile, she can’t keep the smile off hers.

“I made it weird, didn’t I?” he asks, stealing glances at her.

“No, you didn’t make it weird,” she assures him, turning to rest her hip against the edge of the desk, her confidence restored.

Mulder pivots his chair to face her, and while his eyes are on her face she can sense that he is still gawking at her from his periphery. She feels warm and a little scared, but also excited.

“So, how was your date?” he asks, and she pretends to examine the drawing again, using her own peripheral vision to watch him raking his eyes over her body.

“Fine,” she says, disinterested.

“You gonna go out with him again?”

She shrugs, then sets the drawing back down on the desk.

“Maybe. Maybe not. I haven’t decided.”

Mulder stands abruptly and his chair goes skittering across the floor until it knocks up against a metal filing cabinet. Scully flinches, but her reaction is cut short when he steps up behind her, so close she can feel his pectoral muscles pressing into her back.

“See?” he asks, reaching around her to trace his finger along the curved lines indicating breasts on the drawing. “It’s female.”

“Compelling,” she attempts to say dryly, but her voice catches in her throat.

His other hand comes to rest on the front of her hip, and she freezes as her heart begins to race. She should tell him to stop. She should leave. But she doesn’t want to.

Mulder stoops a little, and she feels the heat of his breath near her ear, and then the rush of a deep inhale.

“You smell good,” he says quietly, and she squeezes her thighs together.

“What are you doing?” she asks, just as quietly. Some part of her is still afraid that she’s misreading the situation.

“Do you want me to stop?”

A pause.

“No.”

His arms go around her waist, pulling her flush against him, and she feels the firm ridge of his erection press into her lower back. She’s terrified, exhilarated, in utter disbelief. She feels as though she’s outside her own body, watching from above as she covers Mulder’s hand with her own and pushes it down her belly and under the waist of her pants. She would never do this. Never. But somehow she is. Mulder makes a little sound somewhere between a moan and a sigh, then brings his other hand in to undo the clasp on her trousers. They fall to the floor, puddling around her heels, and all that covers her is the lace bodysuit that snaps between her legs. None of her panties were practical to wear beneath it.

“God, look at you,” Mulder mumbles, mostly to himself, as he leans over her shoulder to look down at her body. He leans away for a moment to get a look at the back, and she feels her cheeks warm, remembering that it’s a thong. “You’re gorgeous, Scully.”

She can feel how wet she is, just from the knowledge that he wants her. He palms her breasts, then sends his hands lower. Down and down, following the lace fabric between her legs. He hums, and she knows he feels it too. She startles as she hears three quick pops, and then feels cool air on her vulva as he unsnaps the body suit and exposes her.

“Oh,” he says, feeling her bare skin beneath his fingertips. “I thought you’d be wearing…sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she breathes out, trembling as his fingers follow the seam of her leg and slide past her vulva on one side, and then the other.

“Okay?” he repeats, inching closer to her opening.

She snakes her arm behind her back and rubs him firmly over his slacks.

“Okay,” she says confidently, and from there it unravels at a breakneck pace.

She watches from above as he strips off his belt and pushes his pants and boxers down to the floor. She watches him fold her in half over the side of his desk, then drop to his knees and push his face into the valley of her ass cheeks. She feels his tongue, hot and wet, prodding at everything he can reach, and just when she thinks she might come, he stands up and runs the head of his cock along the same path.

“You’re sure?” he asks through gritted teeth, and she pushes her hips back against him, taking him in halfway.

She would never do this. Not with her partner, not in his office, not with the door half open, not without a condom. She would never, and yet she is. All she can think about his how good it feels to be wanted, to be fucked with so much vigor. She steals a glance over her shoulder to see his face, to see the way he’s looking at her, and she finds him slack-jawed, his dress shirt bunched up under his armpits so he can see the place where he’s slipping in and out of her. He catches her looking and holds her eye, increasing the snap of his hips as he bumps her higher and higher with each slap of his thighs against hers. Her eyes slide closed, and a wash of pleasure spreads through her limbs, gathering in her pelvis and shattering. She bites her lip to stay quiet, and Mulder grunts when he feels her, pulling out soon after and stroking himself until she feels the hot spill of him on her lower back.

She’s panting, still floating in the middle place where she doesn’t have to think about what she’s just done. And then she hears the elevator ding.

They both freeze, waiting. There is the distinct scuff of shoes on linoleum, and Scully stands too quickly. Her head spins and Mulder grabs her elbow as she tries to steady herself on her high heels, only one of which is still on her foot. They each scramble back into their clothes, and she stuffs the tails of the body suit into her pants as Mulder shoves his shirt back into his slacks. By the time the interloper makes it to the office door, she’s already beside the coat rack, swinging her purse over her shoulder.

“You must be agent Scully,” says a friendly voice, and she turns to see an elderly man pushing a custodial cart, his bushy salt and pepper eyebrows lifting to afford him a better view. “You finally hung around late enough for me to meet you.”

The man smiles and Scully does her best to return it, though her stomach is doing adrenaline-fueled backflips.

“Scully, this is Sam,” Mulder says hoarsely, and she nods and offers her hand.

“Nice to meet you, Sam. I was actually just on my way out,” she says somewhat curtly, then hurries down the hall toward the elevator.

By the time she hails a cab and makes her way back to her apartment, there is already a message waiting for her on her answering machine. She knows it’s from him. She undresses right there in the hallway, frowning at the stain on the back of her shirt, as she hits play and listens to messages from her insurance broker and Ellen, asking how her date went.

Hi Dana, it’s Rob. I just wanted to say that I had a great time tonight, and I’d love to take you out again. You have my number, give me a call when you’re ready. Take care.

Delete.

The next message starts with an agonized sigh.

Hey, Scully, it’s me. I, um—fuck. I hope you’re okay. I’ll call you again when I get back to my apartment.

The message ends, and she plays it again, though she’s not entirely sure what she’s listening for. On her third listen, the phone rings, and she snatches it up off the cradle a little too quickly.

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

There’s a long pause. Scully looks down at her naked body, and the soiled body suit she still holds in her hand.

“It’s okay, Mulder. I’m fine,” she says, and she hears him let out a relieved sigh. “I think maybe I had a few too many glasses of wine at dinner,” she adds lightheartedly, and he chuckles.

“I think maybe I was staring at that drawing a little too long,” he jokes, and she gives him the courtesy of a laugh in response.

“Maybe just forget it ever happened, huh?” she suggests, wringing the bodysuit in her hands.

“Yeah, probably for the best,” he agrees.

Another long pause.

“Goodnight, Mulder.”

“Night, Scully.”

She’s moving the phone away from her ear when she hears him speak again.

“What was that?” she asks.

“I was just saying—I just wanted you to know. You really did look great tonight. That guy is lucky he got to take you out.”

She feels herself smiling, knowing that Mulder was certainly the lucky one of the two tonight.

“Thank you, Mulder.”

“Goodnight.”

“Bye.”

#x files fanfic #the x files #xf fic #xf fanfic #dana scully #fox mulder #smut #xfiles

99 notes · View notes

highwaytothedangerzone502 · 8 months

Text

Foxtrot Alpha Alpha - Chapter 27

Pairing: Hangman x Female OC

Word Count: 2074

Warnings: Talk of death, angst

Summary: Hangman learned his lesson a long time ago to never show his true feelings when someone's words or actions hurt him. To do so showed weakness that could be exploited, and Seresin men couldn't show weakness. Of course, there was an exception to every rule, and Jake's always came in the form of women, three in particular: his mom, Juliette Kazansky, and the girl whose name he could no longer bring himself to speak. She was the girl that got away; she was his biggest 'what if' and his biggest regret; she would forever be the ghost that haunted his dreams. Jake believed that's where she'd stay, for he would surely never see her again after what he did.

Or so he thought.

Notes: This is the sequel to India Lima Yankee; I'm using the same callsign for the Female OC as in Ghost Story because I just really like it, but they are different characters; chapters in italics are flashbacks.

Also sorry for the delay in posting this (again). I just got settled into my new place, so trying to get back into the swing of updated. Also happy belated birthday to Juliette and Ghost, who both share my bday :)

Chapter Songs: Stay Blindedsided

****

Ghost and Hangman left Texas the day after the funeral. It turned out to be a rough day for both of them because, after the ceremony, Jake had left the Blackwoods to grieve at their patriarch's headstone in private- despite knowing they would've been perfectly fine with his presence- and strolled through the cemetery until he came to a stop in front of a familiar marble stone inlaid into the soft grass. His body had reacted on its own accord as it slowly collapsed to the ground onto his knees. Hangman's eyes had stared at the engraving on the stone: Natalie Seresin.

He had talked to her, apologized for getting her killed, for cutting her beautiful life short. He told her of the fiasco he'd made of his life: how he'd pushed everyone he ever loved away, how he'd fucked things up with Ghost, how terrified he was to screw it up again, if the fallout would destroy him like it tried to last time. It'd come so close to succeeding before…

Hangman had told her of Michael Seresin's health issues and how Nick was on the lam; how he and Matt were rekindling their brotherhood and trying to be a family for once in their lives; how adorable her granddaughter Sophie was and what an asshole Jake had been to hold off meeting her for so long because of his anger at his father and brothers.

Ghost had found Hangman. She had silently knelt beside him, taken his hand in hers, and waited for him to speak the first word. He didn't remember what he said, but they ended up in his truck mindlessly driving on back roads for hours, sometimes chatting, sometimes not, but those silences never felt awkward, and only when they returned to North Island did Hangman's fear of losing her rear its ugly head again, telling him he didn't deserve her, let alone a second chance.

It was those thoughts that consumed him while he and Ghost sat on his couch with alcohol in hand. She had dreaded spending the night alone tonight, and Hangman was more than happy to oblige her request to stay with him for a bit. They were in the middle of watching the 2005 Pride and Prejudice, which she and Juliette adored. It'd even surpassed Ghost's love of The Notebook, and honestly, Hangman could kind of see why. It certainly had a happier ending!

"Okay, Mr. Darcy-" he began, pointing at the TV with his whiskey glass and nearly sloshing the liquid out- "or Noah Calhoun?"

Ghost groaned in despair. "Why would you do this to me?"

"Because I love you." The truth slipped out so casually, but Ghost would never suspect he meant it as anything more than platonic. She had never figured it out after all these years, and Hangman was content with the situation because it let him get his feelings off his chest without any risk of getting his heart well and truly broken by her inevitable rejection.

"That kind of question makes me think you hate me. If I had to choose…" Ghost bit her lip and then took a sip of her Bailey's and whiskey. "Darcy. I'm such a sucker for the brooding type."

"Is that why you fell for Rooster?" Hangman teased, bumping her knee playfully with his.

She glowered at him, but the hint of a smile tugging on her lips took the venom out of it. "We were both in shit emotional states, and he looked a lot better brooding than I did."

Hangman's face fell into one of disagreement. "I hold an informed opinion when I say you look better brooding. This may have to do with me having to watch Bradshaw pine for Juliette from the moment he saw her when we arrived for the training. Don't get me wrong; I get it with their history, but still, annoying to deal with on a daily basis. Especially because those lovesick puppy eyes were involved."

Ghost raised an eyebrow at him. "You staring at Rooster's face a lot?"

"I had to gauge my competition, both for the training detachment and romantically. Bradshaw wears his heart on his sleeve, and you can see whatever he's feeling. From the first night we arrived, he had his eyes set on her. I had history to contend with, and I figured out pretty quickly winning her heart was a lost clause."

"You really liked Juliette, didn't you?" The question came out more of a statement, and Hangman winced at the sound of it. "I knew you had a flirtationship, but I never realized you had genuine feelings for her."

Hangman shrugged to give an air of indifference. "It is what it is. My family isn't exactly lucky in love, except for Matt."

"I've seen the way girls look at you. You could have any girl you want. What gives?"

None of them are you. "Haven't found one I clicked with in a long time," he replied, eyes trained on the amber liquid in his glass before knocking the rest back. "You want more to drink?"

Ghost nodded and followed him to the bar, where he poured their glasses fuller than he should've. He probably didn't need more, considering the strong buzz he currently felt, so Ghost had to be buzzing as well, although if she was, she didn't show it outside of talking more animatedly. She'd always been able to hide her drunkenness well. Sometimes too well.

"Who was the girl you clicked with?" Ghost prodded. "Was it back at the Academy?"

"Yeah, but she didn't feel the same. We shared one drunken kiss, and that was it. I was actually doing it to save her from some creep." Jake bit his tongue, realizing he might've said too much. Ghost would figure out he spoke of her if he said anymore. He had to move past it. "It is what it is. Besides, I'm happily married to my job."

Ghost leaned against the bar on her forearms. "Did I know her?"

"Yeah, you knew her." Hangman hoped his short response would end that topic of conversation.

Ghost had other ideas. "Who was she?"

"I don't see the point in saying it since it's in the past, and telling you now won't change anything about it."

"Well-" Ghost began matter-of-factly- "she missed out, but I think you got it wrong about her not returning the feelings. All the girls at the Academy had a crush on you at some point. Hell, I'm pretty sure a few of the instructors did."

Hangman searched her eyes, and a certain amount of anxiety crept into his heart. She knows. She knows I'm talking about her. But why isn't she saying that aloud? Is Ghost trying to save me from the embarrassment? Or maybe... is she trying to save herself from it?

Hangman decided to play the game. "All the girls," he echoed, straightening and stepping closer to her. "Does that include yourself?"

Ghost stood but still leaned against the counter. He saw her breathing hitch a little, giving him his answer. "Like I said. All girls had a crush on you at some point."

He took another step toward her, so close now that one deep breath from either of them would cause their chests to touch. "And now?"

Do not start anything! This is a bad idea. Abort mission. Abort! Abort! Abort! The warning bells clanged loudly in his head, but seeing Ghost's eyes drop to his mouth wiped those thoughts from his head in one fell swoop.

"Jake-"

His name rolling off her tongue broke him. Hangman leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, soft, restrained, and questioning, giving her the opportunity to pull away in case he'd horribly misread the signs. In case he'd overstepped any boundaries.

Ghost hands found their way to his face, gentle but firm. Hangman's willpower caved at the green light she'd granted him, his arms wrapping around her torso to pull her close to him, her soft curves flush against his solid abdomen. He couldn't get enough. Couldn't get enough of the taste of his whiskey on her lips, the smell of her Jo Malone perfume enveloping him, the softness of her hair as one of his hands tangled up in it.

"Stop." Ghost's quiet voice dragged Hangman out of his euphoria. He leaned back to look at her, wondering what happened, what he had done wrong.

"What is it?" he asked, carefully brushing a stray piece of hair from her face.

Ghost disentangled herself from his arms, leaving him feeling cold and empty. She backed away while shaking her head. "I can't- I can't do this."

"I'm sorry. I- what did I do? Did I misread-" Hangman started reaching out for her but immediately stopped when she stepped back.

"It's not y- I can't do this. We just..."

"What is it?" Hangman inquired, dreading where this was going.

The pained expression on her face only deepened. She opened her mouth but closed it just as fast, searching for the words she wanted. "Why? Why did you leave me?"

He blinked, processing her question, fearing the route he knew they were heading. "What are you talking about?"

"After the accident, when I was clinging to life in sick bay, when I had just lost my best friend, where were you?" Ghost demanded, taking a challenging step toward him, fury temporarily wiping away her sadness. "I died and came back, I waited for you, I asked Coyote where you were, begged God for you to come see me, and you were nowhere to be found. For fuck's sake, even Cyclone and Warlock visited me despite the shit they were dealing with in the aftermath of the accident to see how I was holding up. Phoenix, who I barely knew at the time, came to check on me. Coyote was at my bedside every day and tried to cheer me up even though he was reeling from the loss of his girlfriend, and you-" Ghost's breath hitched- "you were nowhere to be seen. Why?"

Hangman gulped, desperately trying to gain control of his mind and block out the horrific memories and thoughts that plagued him from that time. In a strained voice, he replied, "I thought you didn't want to see me. I thought- I thought you blamed me for the accident."

"Blamed you? Jake, I know Javy told you I wanted to see you. I even asked fucking Cyclone and Warlock to send you, but nothing! Why would I ask for you if I hated you? Why would I defend you in the trial for the accident if I blamed you for it? And I know you avoided me before the trial, how you always managed to disappear before I could reach you from across the room. So, I'm not buying it. There's something else that stopped you. What was it?"

"I- I can't-" Hangman found himself at a loss for words; the images of what he'd seen, of what it reminded him of, rendered him speechless, incapable of defending himself against the barrage of valid fury and hurt Ghost hurled at him. God, he wanted to tell her, to tell her everything, but he couldn't. Hangman couldn't bring himself even to the edge of that long, dark hole of endless despair he'd spiraled into after Ghoul's death. If Hangman did, he was terrified he wouldn't be able to pull himself out again.

"I have never needed anyone in my life," Ghost said, her voice cracking. Tears brimmed her eyes, threatening to cascade down her flushed cheeks. Barely able to get the words out, she whispered hoarsely, "But I needed you then, Jake. When I needed you most, you left me alone. Why?"

I loved you. That's why I couldn't be there. The words lodged in his throat, paralyzing fear taking control of his body.

Ghost scoffed in disgust. "Even after all this time, you still can't tell me. I should've known. Goodbye, Jake."

She turned on her heel, grabbed her purse, and exited his apartment, leaving Hangman rooted to the spot and realizing that goodbye had been final. She'd given him a second chance, and he'd blown it. She handed him the perfect opportunity to explain himself, and like the coward he was, he clammed up.

The black hole of despair he'd escaped for years finally won as he tumbled back into it.

****

Tags: @lgg5989 @shanimallina87 @polikszena @summ3rlotus @icemansgirl1999 @supernaturaldawning @thedarkinmansfield @lyannaforpresident @lapilark @getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth @simpofthecentury @shadeops21 @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @double-j @bradshawsandbridgetons @catsandgeekyandnerd @peachiicherries @multifandomcnova @fandomsstolemylife00 @bookloverhorses @mak-32 @midnightmagpiemama @luckyladycreator2 @ellamae021 @kmc1989

Chapters: Chp 1 Chp 2 Chp 3 Chp 4 Chp 5 Chp 6 Chp 7 Chp 8 Chp 9 Chp 10 Chp 11 Chp 12 Chp 13 Chp 14 Chp 15 Chp 16 Chp 17 Chp 18 Chp 19 Chp 20 Chp 21 Chp 22 Chp 23 Chp 24 Chp 25 Chp 26 Chp 27

If you're not on the tag list and want to be, just let me know :)

12 notes · View notes

identitty-dickruption · 1 year

Text

recovered; present tense

I’m relearning how to be safe; how to be a person in a world where I don’t wake up in the middle of the night with a pounding heart, my hands don’t shake every time I leave the house, and my eyes don’t search for threats whenever something moves in my periphery. Nobody tells you that safety is something that requires practice. That is, nobody tells you until you end up spending the best part of your life in trauma recovery.

After all this time, “trauma” still feels like too big of a word for what happened to me and around me and through me. Trauma feels like a word reserved for veterans. For people who have returned from war, or at the very least some kind of “real” violence. It doesn’t feel quite right to describe my experiences as traumatic, when so many others have been through so much worse.

After all this time, “trauma” feels like too small of a word for how shattered I have become. It can’t even come close to describing the way that survival became my entire lifestyle. It’s such a little word for such a massive change in my world. Two syllables, six letters, and a lifetime of pressing my back against the wall so that nobody can come up behind me. It doesn’t feel quite right to describe my experiences as traumatic, when so many others have been so much more fortunate.

I’m relearning how to be safe. Now that many of the physical symptoms are gone, I almost feel a kind of post-trauma trauma. I almost need a new kind of therapist to teach me how to have a personality again. I can’t go back to being the pre-trauma version of myself. They’re long gone. It wouldn’t feel right to reimagine myself as the kind of person who never went through trauma in the first place. I’ve discarded everything from the hobbies I used to love to the music I used to listen to. They were discarded when my entire life became recovery, but even now that I’ve “recovered”, well… That skin doesn’t fit quite right anymore.

The days seem to stretch out for kilometres. Every moment feels endless when you don’t know who you are anymore. In trauma recovery, I learnt to live a values-based life. But a list of values doesn’t bring me any closer to knowing who I am. I carefully type some words into Google.

How do I know who I am?

List of personality traits

Personality quiz

None of it seems to help. Every question on the personality quizzes seems to beg for a degree of insight that would solve the very conundrum that led me to the quiz. I don’t know if I prefer being around people or being alone, because that decision was informed by trauma for so long. I don’t know if I prefer to be organised because organisation keeps me safe, or because that’s just how I am. Every question opens up a million more questions that I don’t know if I’ll ever have the answers to.

I’m back to sitting on the outside of my own body. Dissociation. I think through the list of activities I’m supposed to do when something like this happens. Deep breaths. Counting the number of things I can see of each colour of the rainbow. Squeezing my own arms to remind myself that I’m real. Nothing immediately returns my brain to my body, but everything helps a little. Maybe I’m not quite as recovered as I thought. Or maybe recovery means learning how to make my trauma a smaller piece of my mosaic. Maybe I’ll always feel it to some degree, just slightly less sharp with each passing year.

I respond to a meme one of my friends sent me.

I check my calendar to make sure there’s nothing I’m supposed to be doing right now.

I strap my dog into her harness.

We walk.

I’m relearning how to be a person again. Walking through my neighbourhood with my dog provides more lessons than I expect. The sun is bright. The wind is cold. I guess it must be just past three, because kids are hitting the streets from the direction of the local school. They smile at my dog, and I smile back. I let a small group of the kids pat my dog. They thank me, and I wish them a good afternoon. These kids have no reason to doubt that I’m a person. And maybe that’s all that matters right now.

#trauma #recovery #identity #creative non fiction #writing #writblr #trauma recovery

25 notes · View notes

ambrosialdesire · 4 months

Note

bow anon hs story time!

in my freshman year of hs a boy had a crush on me, he eventually confessed to me, and i politely turned him down. he would send me good morning and good night texts (had my number because we would send each other our school work), and i remember once he facetime called me and then hung up right away. the next day at school a bunch of his friends started saying that we were “talking” and that we were up on facetime all night 😭 (because he wanted them to think that - i think he sent a ss or sumn of the “call”) one of his friends ended up adding me to their all guys group chat and i was curious so ofc i scrolled through it 😭 his friends would take pictures of me and send it in the gc 😭😭😭 and they would make (shitty) “memes” abt me and him.

he eventually got over me and he told me that he was dating a girl that went to another school (the three of us went to middle school together.) he had an entire photo album on his phone that was full of her pictures and her contact name was sumn that you’d put for your s/o (don’t remember the exact name, but it had hearts and shit and a pet name.) she posted an instagram story (this is sophomore year now btw) abt going through a breakup and i replied to it by saying “damn did *boy’s name* fuck up” or sumn close to it and she was like “???” and i was like “weren’t you two together???” and she was like “no???” and then i told her everything that i knew and she was like “wtf???”😭😭😭

it had me questioning if he ever did that when he had a crush on me 😭 a different mutual friend of mine (friends with me and the boy) randomly started teasing me abt how he was my ex (senior year) and i was like “bro we never dated???” and she was genuinely shocked. i told her that i rejected him and that was it 😭 and then she told her/his friends and they all started making fun of him for lying 😭😭😭 it’s funny cuz he doubled down and said that we WERE together even after i said it wasn’t true LMFAO.

sorry for any typos/poor grammar i’m too lazy to speak proper english

HELP????? 😭😭 he might’ve liked you at first, but it probably developed into an ego thing idk 💀

that lore drop was literally insane though bow anon jfc cause no way he managed to trick several people into thinking that the two of you were exes 😭 AND DID IT AGAIN TO ANOTHER GIRL????? delusion can get you so far ig but thats so fucking funny that his friends started making fun of his stupid ass and his insistence that the relationship was fr omfg 🤧 hope he learned his lesson LMFAO

#love-message #🎀 anon

2 notes · View notes

foggyparadisecandy · 10 months

Text

[TW: dark shit ahead]

Ok - another venting post - disregard - go read one of my horny hypno stories or a trance instead lol

Click here for trances

We all have our stories to tell. I don't think mine is horrible tbh but ... that's probably because I survived it and learned to minimalize it - like all survivors do.

"It's ok" "It's fine" "I'm ok" "Oh it wasn't that bad"

My therapist has assured me none of those things are true lol

My child mind couldn't process it and so I just learned patterns and behaviors to accept it in as my reality.

I had a loving healthy family up until I was 8 years old.

My mom had a horrible life-altering health scare - was taken away to the hospital by paramedics in the middle of the night - one of my last few memories from my childhood. My dad stood sobbing - the last time I saw an emotion from him that wasn't anger.

My younger bro and I were shuttled between relatives for a period of time - no idea how long - weeks? months? no clue

We were taken in to the hospital to see my mom at some point - banged up - shaved head - looking creepy as hell to our young eyes.

And ... this was horrific to me ... she told us - I'm sure it was based in kindness to prepare us - that she was given a year to live.

Well ... good news ... she lived a lot longer than that.

Bad news is she was horribly damaged from the brain injury and subsequent trauma of the life-altering experience. To compound things, my dad turned to drinking heavily and escaping us all in the bottom of a bottle.

I never again felt my father's love.

And my mom was mixed at best. Up and down. I would say somewhere along the lines she developed bipolar disorder - manic and depressive.

She would love us obsessively. She would threaten to kill us. I was always the one who had to walk her off the ledge - telling her I'm sorry we were bad kids. Telling her I'm sorry we upset her. Telling her we would be good from now on. Telling her we wanted to live.

She would bend over backwards to make us feel good. She would threaten to burn the house down while we were sleeping. Well ... how the fuck do you sleep well at night with that information? Gee mom ... that sounds awful. Will you please not do that? I slept with one eye open until finally I just accepted it - I could die at any moment because my mom was a nut.

She taught me to shoplift. When I got caught, she threw me under the bus and told the security guard that I was a problem child. HAHAHA ... I was a goody two shoes child. Having my mother tell a stranger I was a problem was quite a thing to hear. She apologized after and told me to never shoplift again. Fuck that. I kept stealing shit until I was in my late teens. I WANTED TO GET CAUGHT AND PUNISHED.

So yeah ... I know other people have had it hard. And honestly ... I really never felt it was challenging. I just learned to feel bad and anxious all the time. I learned that I was never good enough and things were always uncertain. Loved ones hurt you.

I know a lot of people who have learned that lesson in different ways.

I can identify hurt people instinctively. I gravitate to them. I've always been attracted to them.

Especially hurt women. I want to nurture them, comfort them, love them, care for them, help them, fix them, support them - just like I learned to do with my fucked up mom. It's no wonder my parting with my lovely pet was so difficult.

And I learned to not express emotions. I learned to be the stoic one. The problem solver. But ... I'm not really stoic at all. I love with a burning intensity - desperate to care and take care of others - especially hurt women. I invest my emotional well-being in this activity.

I don't love ALL women. But if I love you, I FUCKING LOVE YOU. And I know that's a blend between nice and awful tbh. I can drown people in love. Uncharitable sorts might say I love bomb people but I don't do it with ill intentions. I do it because it's my damage. And it's unhealthy for me.

Ugh.

Knowing these things is only partially helpful. I need to address them, sort them, heal them as best as I can, identify when I fall into unhealthy patterns, and ... grow ... somehow.

Whatever. This is why I'm seeing a therapist. To sort through all this horrible horrible horrible shit.

I need to do it. I'm motivated to do it. I'm sick of being insecure and depressed all the time. With the darkness always at the corner of my mind telling me I'm a piece of shit no matter how much love I try to put out in the world. No matter how much I achieve.

Fuck. Parents fucking suck.

It took me decades to be ok with not loving my dad - feeling obligated to love that mother fucker. He abandoned us to alcohol. He fucking gave up on us because he was a coward and afraid to face the challenges we had. WE NEEDED THAT FUCKER AND HE RAN!

FUCK. No wonder I have abandonment issues. My ex KNEW THIS SHIT. God was she so awful in the end. She had her own shit she was dealing with. I forgive her 100% but it was still so fucking cruel of her.

Ah well. Working on it.

#catharsis #self love #self care #dark secrets

2 notes · View notes

so-litudinal · 2 months

Text

i miss it here, kinda

main two reasons i haven't been around are 1) my phone died a few weeks ago and 2) my only consistant thought these days(?) is that i wanna disappear, as in i don't wanna/can't live, and i feel bad about only posting depressing, suicidal stuff (which is ridiculous, since i created this blog over 10 years ago as an online personal diary — but i guess shame follows me anywhere i go).

my phone had been messing up for a long while, i know i should've gotten a new one at least a year ago. but it had been holding on (barely) anyway so i kept putting it off, as i do everything you know. but then one night i stupidly dropped it in the stairs. it only fell down a couple of steps and i seemed to be able to turn it back on just fine (albeit slow). but the day after it kept turning off randomly, until i couldn't turn it on anymore at all. anyway. guy at the repair shop couldn't do anything. and since i'm the worst, i hadn't backed up anything. i thought i'd lost everything, but turned out at least pictures and videos were saved to my cloud. still, i lost all my notes + audio recordings. i don't care all that much about the audios except for one i took two years ago of junko purring in my bed a few days before she died [now that i write this…i have a vague feeling i might’ve posted the audio here at the time… but i’m kinda scared to go back and look, only to be let down again]. thought/hoped i'd saved it somewhere on a hard drive with all her pictures but couldn't find it.

what i'm saddest about is losing my notes. repair shop guy said that if i’m lucky (big lol….) and if my phone was connected to a google account (??? idk, my mom told me cuz of course i didn’t go myself), i might be able to retrieve them once i got a new phone. i’m not sure if that was supposed to be about my notes being saved to a google drive or something, cuz that wasn’t the case anyway. so yeah. years and years of notes. i’m dumb, so dumb that i kinda deserved this happening to me (watch it not be a learning lesson, just like anything else). the notes i really cared about were the fanfiction drafts + artwork ideas. speaking of, sorta crazy that i’m ashamed to talk about writing fanfiction on this blog. i’ve always had this compulsory need to “split” my personality and interests across different online platforms—irl too. don’t really wanna dig into that here and now but yeah, it probably all stems from shame and deeply rooted self-contempt + fear of judgement from others, even though most of my online presence has consisted of my existing in and talking to the void. some of those notes dated all the way back to 2020. there were some that i wrote on my pc but the large majority stayed on my phone for easy access when i got random ideas in the middle of the night or in the shower. i really liked most of what i wrote, even the stuff i didn’t necessarily have the intention of finishing. took about a week to buy another phone but it’s been 2 weeks since that and i still haven’t used it. been using a tablet. i guess i get used to not having a phone cuz with the way i live, like a hermit, i don’t even have much need for a phone’s primary functionalities anyway. i don’t go out at this point and i pretty much never contact anyone anymore. but also, every time i think about those notes i’ve lost, i feel like “what’s the point?” what’s the point of a phone if i’m gonna be so dumb about it. also—and that’s even more pathetic—what’s the point of writing at all. i’ve had ideas and things i’ve wanted to write about in that time but even on the occasion that i do start (on pc), i systematically get to a point where i lose interest, or rather the motivation to continue and finish. i’m aware that this mindset is not only worryingly cynical and pessimistic but also sounds ridiculously dramatic, even to myself. but i think the reason why is because when anything even mildly inconveniencing or upsetting happens, that plays into my depression and lack of purpose/will to live, and vice versa. vicious circle and all that, you know. everything, including the positive actually, ultimately brings me back to the same point, the same conclusion—it’s not worth it, because all of it is wasted on me, whose my life isn’t worth much at all, and all of it goes away or ends up in the same dumpster of despair, nothing will last, whether i stay alive or disappear. not that i necessarily believe this way of thinking is reasonable, or even truthful—more that it doesn’t matter whether i believe in it or not, because it so strongly influences, if not dictates my perception of all things in life. so yeah, all of this over a dead phone and a bunch of lost writings, but also not really. worst thing is i haven’t even had the motivation to kick my butt and at the very least save the images and videos from my cloud onto a hard drive yet. i’m gonna regret this. …i say, as i sit back and once again consciously watch myself doing the thing that will only lead to more regret and self-hatred. heheh. queen of self-sabotage.

speaking of things that i seemingly can’t react to in an appropriate, normal human way… on the 31st of last month, the gacha i game i’ve been playing every day for the past 3.5 years was announced for eos by the end of september. i mean. there’s more than one valid reason to be upset over this, for just about any other fan. and the series it’s based on has been so, so important to me for the past 4 years (see how i intentionally don’t name it like "here is not the place for that”? yeah). but idk. the fact that i was so shell-shocked by the news and once again left with the feeling that nothing is worth getting attached to…. i know this kind of response is disproportionate. pathetic. not healthy. not normal. i’ve gotten a bit more used to the perspective since—at least for now, cuz i can very well envision going back into full woe is me mode as the date of eos gets near.

there are 2 other observations, or whatever i should call them, i can make from this reaction. 1) not being able to access something (probably even more so since it’s a form of escapism) that’s been part of my life, without missing a day since creating the account on december 31st, 2020, makes it glaringly obvious how empty and repetitive my days are and have been for an embarrassing amount of time now—the worst part being that i’ve found some sick, sick sense of comfort in it being and staying so (anything else is….terrifying and something i can’t allow myself to aim for).

2) i’ve had this vague feeling for a while but never really bothered to put it into words until recently but the more my interest about a certain thing grows, the more i’m susceptible to become unsatisfied, not with the thing itself, but with myself and the way i engage with it. very passively—like i effectively let it pass me by like i do anything else in life. i don’t usually want to admit it cuz it’s a bad character trait of mine, but i’ve kind of accepted that i find no real joy in sharing an interest with other people, engaging with them over this thing we presumably have in common. i’m the worst, so ugly for that, because it’s obviously an envy/jealousy thing. but also i tend to wanna cut myself some slack (self-indulgent?) regarding that specific thing cuz i’m pretty sure it also comes from my overall lack of social skills—which, at its root, is not my fault (severe bullying at a young, crucial age + prolonged and repeated child neglect). i know that it has now, in my adult age, become my responsibility to address and grow past those traumas and their consequences, especially assuming i still have hope for a life worth living (not taking the “do i?” factor in consideration here for the sake of this argument). my generation wasn’t exactly born with the internet but we did, at least partially, grow up with it, and it’s now such a(n unnecessarily?) huge part of our daily life, just like younger generations. i mean, talking about generations is probably pointless—what matters is that this was effectively my experience with the internet. so yeah, all that to say that i’ve had an “online presence” (not just as an occasional user of computers/the internet as mere practical, communication, sometimes educational, even more rarely entertainment tools) from my early teens, if not earlier, via blogs and now ancient forms of social media lol (msn, i’ll always have nostalgia for you—but please don’t come back). anyway. my point being… i’ve been using the internet as a hyper-social shared space for a long time, and there’s something that i’ve come to realise has been true, if not from the start, at least more and more over time, and that i’ve had, still have a hard time recognising and accepting: i can’t connect with people online any more than i can in real life. i think i wished myself to be one of those people who, however socially awkward in real life, or even downright social outcasts, managed to find a place online. i never truly could. it’s gotten worse over this past decade (the worst these past 4 to 6 years), as i progressively lost touch with the outside world and became more and more isolated. all these factors, dating long back or recent, are reflected in my ongoing online experience. with social media, “online communities” (niches, fandoms, circles, etc.) as a concept are so prevalent, and it’s hard cuz never in my life have i had the feeling that i could belong to one in real life. i grew to even regard the idea of a community as something i had no desire to partake in (i don’t know if i still feel that way but thinking so is self-preservation). i remember for example, the lgbt community is one i never quite felt i wanted to identify with, beyond my orientation being what it is, even in my adolescence, and sure, that might’ve had something to do with my own internal struggles with my identity, but in a way, it also circled back to my aversion to social groups (which is very much based in trauma and not just me being an introvert). that naturally, and unfortunately, extended into my experience with online communities of all sorts. that being said… i think that as long as i accept this as a fact about myself, even a little, it’s tolerable and not that big of a deal. if it changes over time (that would require my irl circumstances to change first and, well…), fine, i guess. but if it doesn’t… idk. It’s still a bit sad. cuz the internet is a big part of my life, one that supposedly brings me joy in various forms (the most prevalent being escapism—and i refuse to let that go, why would i hurt myself in that way).

all that to say that this gacha game closing is just one of the instances that have brought me to think more about how to engage with the things i like in a more fulfilling manner. since connecting with others is not a viable option at this point (or maybe ever), i think the only way would be to be more proactive. make or acquire something—something of my own—out of those interests. like putting more effort into writing. learning how to draw/make art. become normal and earn money to collect more merch (tie-ins) so i can be physically surrounded by things that make me happy. create the space i could never find outside, inside. i don’t care if it’s not fully enough to make up for everything i feel like i’m missing out on, because it would still be better than the loneliness and bitterness i’ve been stuck with for the longest time.

i don’t really have any definite conclusion i draw from those observations, much less a plan of action, but i just kind of went off and wrote about them anyway, i guess. there’s that.

so yeah… well, you know.

aah it’s gonna be such a chore to read over this before posting…..probably won’t (or else i might just give up on posting entirely)......nevermind, i'm doing it now lol.

rare good news is that paimon seems to be on the tail end of a very long and intense moult. last time it was that bad was when i got her and she immediately underwent the very first moult of her life. at the worst of it, last month, maybe even the month before, she was so down. so quiet and skittish. i never even had an opportunity to touch her. and as always, i was scared it might be something else, like an illness, or even a stressed-induced moult. i’ve been scared that my own irregular, unhealthy lifestyle might start to impact her. i know i don’t deserve her. at the same time, i was hesitant to take her to the vet. she can be a pretty fearful bird to begin with, so i feared that having to go through that kind of stress (the trip itself, being in an unknown place, handled by a stranger) would only make her worse. in the end, the risk of that didn’t seem worth taking cuz there was a good chance the vet would’ve just said that it was indeed just a moult and it would’ve been all that anxiety for nothing. during the time it got really bad and she was completely distant, i started to wonder if this was a glimpse into what it would be like without her here anymore. i’d already been thinking before that i would probably not want to go on after her death and this… well. it feels very real. but she’s better now. i cried when she sat on my shoulder for the first time again, and when we started playing and she tried biting my fingers or my ear. the absolute best was getting to sniff her (there is not one better smell in the world than that of a bird) + petting her until she falls asleep in my hand. I love her very much.

going back to the whole notes and writing thing… i don’t easily let myself admit to positive thoughts and feelings (fear and defeatism, i guess). still, i wanna put out there, somewhere—here being as good a place as any—that i really like writing. it’s fun (especially when it “works” lol). and it’s one of the rare things i genuinely like doing for myself, regardless of the purpose, the quality, the destination. not even talking about what comes afterwards…

it’s one of the “better,” as in tangible, ways to distract myself i can think of (goes back to what i was saying about engaging with interests in a more productive way).

at least when i’m in the middle of writing, i’m having fun.

now that i’ve started, i don’t even wanna finish this right now. i could write more, too. but then it’ll get late and i’ll be frustrated for different reasons. and if i “leave it and come back later”... well, i know there’s a good chance it’ll end up in my drafts never to see the light of day again lol. and i did want to post something on this blog specifically cuz it’s a place dear to me on the internet.

closing remarks: i’m thankful for cloud servers and birds always.

#24.8 #t

1 note · View note

astraves · 1 year

Text

Sessions in Ink - Postscript

A letter came to me, by post.

youtube

I had abandoned Ouvedhe’s office when he brandished the blade at me, and made his request.

His approach and candor were uncharacteristic, and his sudden turn to show the mended hand scythe and explain the state of its make admittedly staggered me. Ten thousand some-odd years after the fact and my first reaction is anger before reason.

He’s capable of his own dirty work. That entire attempt at our discussion was... odd, like he was trying to carry on the talks until someone hounded into his ear that it was time to play his hand.

Bear in mind, our discussions were his idea. I’ve never been under the impression that he’d abandon them or fuck it up, and yet here he was, doing both.

He requested to see me in Suramar again. I told him to come to Dazar’alor instead.

Valente and I have made a vacation of it. He plays with the other children here, sits in for lessons on old legends and all the rest. I’ve had to bribe more than one instructor, but times are changing.

Suramar, Dazar’alor, the Horde... They acknowledge that he’s an elf. He acknowledges that they’re trolls. The children don’t care until we tell them to.

So I don’t tell them to. He seems to like their culture just fine, and they like him.

These people are well aware of history. They’re living embodiments of it, not unlike us, but the trade-off for shorter lifespans is the capacity to always be current. In the moment.

Zandalar’s tribe, and really the others that would have us at least, are like exercises in mindfulness.

For my part and his, we’re trying not to be the sorcerous bogeymen and godless, baby-eating night monsters their legends claim. I’ve already had a man throw bones at me and claim that I’m weaker in the day, powerless without the moon.

I explained that it’s because I’m nocturnal, and that noon is still the middle of my night in comparison.

I was offered coffee and asked, very kindly at that, not to curse him and his children, which I didn’t. So he asked if I could bless him and his instead, or curse a rival angler with my “elfin witchcraft.”

When he learned I couldn’t (or wouldn’t), I was deigned useless and left alone.

The coffee was good though.

I’m left to sit by the harbor, waiting. Nursing this brew in the sun with the golden glare of the temple behind me and the ocean breeze howling between the ziggurats.

“Volseth,” a voice called out amid the bustle of the docks. Ouvedhe’s, by any measure.

Astraves sat on his crossed legs like a gull taking roost atop the lamp posts leading up in their procession to the higher tiers behind him.

Clutched between his hands is a clay cup, simply made without a handle and just enough of a glaze to seal the earthenware. He nursed the dark, bitter brew within and watched the tide.

“You got my letter,” he says quietly.

“Which only went to prove that you received mine,” the elder offered as he folded his hands behind his back. “We need to speak.”

Volseth took a drink of his coffee and kept to his silence.

“What was that, at our last discussion?”

“Certain entities wanted proof,” the director started. “I was hoping to make it an easier process, smoother. More readily transitioning, but...”

“They rushed your hand and told you it was now or never, right there. You couldn’t get me into position, got flustered. Threw your hand on the table and lost the game.”

“On the contrary,” Ouvedhe began, “I won. Consequently,” he added as he settled in on the wall beside Volseth, “so did you.”

“The original argument when Geillais presented her evidence was that you were either psychologically broken, beyond all repair and remediation, or that you were some kind of psychotic fiend - that you yourself would’ve easily been another one of your victims, were it not for your justifications.” “They thought you were sick,” he went on, “and that there was no cause or effect for you. That you killed animals as a boy, hurt girls in your adolescence and took your stifled frustrations and powerlessness out on society as a man. But they wanted to corner you, isolate you, and have you dead to rights before disturbing the social fabric of things.” Volseth sighed through his nostrils and took another drink. “They wanted you, the alienist, to substantiate her report.”

“Yes. And I could, in some ways. Largely, though, I could not, when it was coupled with our conversations. By your own confession, you did have a spell of powerlessness. Frustration. Your father’s death was the breaking point of that, but it was well into a century before you started taking lives for it.”

Astraves nodded and straightened his back out with a grimace.

“And as you’re quick to point out, deserving ones... The man I told you about last time, he’d been quietly arrested and resolved while you were away from the world. You wouldn’t have known, I suppose.”

“Elsewise, you... Love animals in the way that you decidedly don’t keep them, preferring to let them be in their natural element... You’ve never expressed violence toward the disenfranchised or impoverished, never... flexed your muscles as it were upon any you deign beneath you...”

Volseth raised a hand and waved it on.

Ouvedhe went quiet and cleared his throat.

“It’s as close to an exoneration as you can get for killing at least five hundred people. Documented cases, at that. You are as cleared as I can make you, Lord Astraves. I know, though. They know. Some shadow of that will always loom over you, and no small degree of threat. What’s to stop you from snapping and cleaning house again, hm?”

“The presence of air in my lungs,” he answered quietly. “Maybe if our peers and superiors can keep their fucking noses clean, they won’t have that problem.”

“Ah... That’s the Interior Ministry’s problem,” Ouvedhe mused with a grin. “Not ours.”

“It’s my problem if we falter again. We built Suramar. I’m not perfect, but I occupy the history and position that I do because I have standards, Temeril. Standards keep the towers aloft. People fed and educated. Lives and livelihoods in order.”

“As a predator, then, you’ll know that you’ll starve,” Ouvedhe remarked, “unless you’ve resolved best practice for eating elephants.”

“Protecting territory to one is another’s stewardship. Both have the same outcome. I’d like to think you want to help me see to these outcomes though. You have a stake in it as well, and we can do this legitimately.”

“Or you can take that tool you had recast and do what you need to. I’m done.”

“Truly?”

Volseth shook his head. “I can simply leave. If Suramar falls, I live somewhere else. If Azeroth falls, there are other worlds... Being married to something and unable to walk away doesn’t work so well with me, Ouvedhe. Staying for it, fighting for it... That’s just going to get me killed, and almost has in the past. I have things now that I’d rather live for.”

Temeril Ouvedhe took in the din of the shipyard as Volseth went quiet and emptied his cup with a grunt. Both men watched the seabirds, the ships trundling in and away. Crewmen barking at one another, priests blessing ships, children playing chase... “I’d say this is worth killing for,” the elder thought aloud. “So is home.”

He stood and plodded a weathered hand on Volseth’s shoulder before turning to walk away.

“One man to another, you could use an anchor. I mean it in the best possible way... You’ve got a new assignment as well, on the Isles.”

“What is it?” Volseth asked tiredly.

“Time,” Temeril said as he walked away. “Namely, its disruption... Fel won’t help you. Call your lightspark and get out there, Volseth.”

1 note · View note

iamthemain-character · 2 years

Text

every time i think i’m over Thorin Oakenshield he just comes swinging on back, I will be hyperfixiating on The Hobbit for the next week thank you 😌💅 Anywho, hope you enjoy! :)

Husband Thorin Oakenshield Headcanons

husband! thorin oakenshield x reader

she/her pronouns

TW: pregnancy, a child

set in a much happier, post BotFA AU

requested by @writing-whats-that (big mood)

Middle Earth Masterlist

Husband Oakenshield

Thorin had been in love with you for a long time, so when he finally had a home again, he wanted to propose

Despite facing orcs, dragons, and who knows what else, he was terrified to ask for your hand

despite being friends and lovers for years, he was afraid of rejection and he didn’t want to lose you

it got so bad to the point that he had the entire company on his back about it, trying to push him to do it

it wasn’t until Bilbo himself came up to the mountain for a visit and had a long talk with Thorin that he finally had enough courage

so finally he got to work creating a home for you and a bead for your hair

Kili nearly spilled the secret a million times, and he soon grew tired of how many times Fili would cover his mouth/kick him/ talk over him/etc.

once finished, the wedding bead was beautiful, hand crafted by him with the finest metals and inset with teenie tiny jewels

he 100% said something along the lines of “i could find no jewels that compare to your beauty” because he’s a big softy with a spot for romance

You had no hesitation in saying yes, and soon the mountain was filled with energy for the wedding

it was a beautiful and remarkable occasion, and not a single eye was dry at the ceremony

all he could keep calling you for the rest of the night was Queen Oakenshield

so we all know that Thorin is Big Rough Tough Guy™️, but with you he just m e l t s

like this man will literally become a class A simp for you once you’re alone

He’s a little possessive (not in the creepy kinda way, like in the holy cow she’s mine and i love her and i never want to let her go type of way)

still gets butterflies when he sees his bead in your hair

loves, loves, LOVES, being able to point you out to people and be like, “oh yeah that’s my gorgeous wife, my queen”

will call you “my queen” 24/7

PDA is a no no for Thorin, but in private man is CLINGY

like constant snuggles, kisses, just loves touching in some kind of way

100% complains when you both have to get up in the morning, snakes his arms around you so you can’t get up

has and will use the “I’m the king i make the rules” card

in public though, two words: HAND. KISSES.

will kiss your knuckles, your fingertips, etc. while he is holding your hand.

it’s his way of reassuring both you and himself that he is forever yours.

Also he learned his lesson about his anger once, and now whenever you both fight he is always the first to apologize

he just hates seeing you unhappy, so he will do anything to make it right.

Most of the time you two just communicate and make amends

Overall Thorin would just try his best to be a good husband

Father Oakenshield

Telling Thorin you were pregnant was…… a journey

He felt every single emotion within the span of like 30 seconds

You had to snap your fingers in front of his face because he had spaced out for so long

When he did come back to, however, oh how joyous his was

peppered you with kisses, asked a million questions, but especially became Over Protective Thorin™️

He had watched his sister go through 2 pregnancies with his nephews, but nothing could prepare him for his own wife carrying his child

do not expect to travel, work, or do anything other than relax and be loved by your husband for the next few months

Thorin will (gently) lose it if he sees you doing anything strenuous, and he will promptly stop you while rambling on and on about how you shouldn’t be doing stuff like that

after a while, you get tired of doing nothing and so you sit your husband down to explain that you will be careful but you cannot just sit around for the entirety of your pregnancy

he’s a little reluctant to agree, but your happiness is key, so he instead opts to just constantly be by your side to ensure you’re okay

if there is an emergency that desperately needs him, Fili and Kili are in charge of watching you

really they just offer you bad name ideas for the baby and keep you company

when it’s time for the baby to be born, Thorin does freak out a little bit

You’re in pain, his child is about to be born, he has no idea what he’s doing, and man’s is panicking a little bit

but when he holds your hand and watches you work to bring your child into this world, he is determined to be the best father he can be

your beautiful little child is healthy, and Thorin thought his face was going to break from how much he was smiling

The child is like his crowning jewel, and both of you love them with all your hearts

Fili and Kili are thrilled to have a cousin, and even Gandalf and Bilbo come to see the baby Oakenshield

The child will be so very spoiled growing up, with so many people loving on them and caring about them, but in all honesty you are grateful for such a large loving family

And Thorin claims he will be strong and will set rules and whatnot as the child gets older, but in reality the child has him wrapped around their finger

The child plays on his throne, has their favorite foods at all mealtimes, and has too many clothes and toys for anyone to count

You end up having to be the one to lay down the law in your household, but you take one look at your husband and child’s sweet eyes and you feel yourself melt

overall just a very happy and lovely family

#thorin #thorin oakenshield #thorin x reader #thorin x you #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin oakenshield x you #thorin headcanons #thorin oakenshield headcanons #the hobbit

697 notes · View notes

sitp-recs · 2 years

Note

Hello please do you have a list of drarry canon rewrite fic recommendations ? Not necessarily from year 1 just i really want to find new reading materials like Leo inter Serpentes series for example

Hi there! I do know a few fics but I haven’t read all of them because canon rewrite is not really my jam. I can vouch for the ones I’ve read and the other ones are all quite popular and well recommended too, I’m sure they’ll be fantastic reads! Enjoy :)

Dwelling by aideomai (2017, T, 83k)

Curses, James and Lily Potter ride again, several Ministry balls, a teenage Summer of Love, a grim young adult dystopian winter, a few different Draco Malfoys, secrets and the problems re: not having any, alternate lives, impossible lives, real lives, allusions to Dirty Dancing, and just because it's not called the Mirror of Erised doesn't mean you shouldn't know better.

Chaos Theory by Tessa Crowley (2017, E, 102k)

Chaos: when the present determines the future, but the approximate present does not approximately determine the future. One gene varies, one neuron fires, one butterfly flaps its wings, and Draco Malfoy's life is completely different. Draco has always found a certain comfort in chaos. Perhaps he shouldn't.

Changing Tides by carpemermaid (2018, E, 109k)

Draco has spent half of his life spouting the things his father has taught him without much thought about how he feels about what he says. When he unexpectedly comes face to face with the Dark Lord, he grapples with the harsh realities of the world and struggles with his changing views on life.

Evitative by Vichan (2019, T, 222k)

In the summer before his fifth year at Hogwarts, Harry is drawn to a room in Grimmauld Place. Like the Gryffindor he is, he enters the room without fear. The room is a library, and Harry is surprised to find that he’s eager to learn.

Twist of Fate by Oakstone730 (2012, T, 315k)

Draco asks Harry to help him beat the Imperius curse during 4th year. The lessons turn into more than either expected. A story of redemption and forgiveness. Pairings: HP/DM (Slash) Timeframe: 1994-2002 Goblet to 4 yrs post-DH EWE Rating T for language, high angst, content.

The secret language of plants by Endrina (2017, M, 373k) - Lupin/Snape, eventual Drarry

“Just… tell me. Tell me what is going on, Snape.” What was going on was that Severus Snape had no trouble tracking down one Petunia Evans, now Dursley, to a little town in Surrey where he saw how exactly she was treating her nephew. Which somehow led to last night and Severus knocking on Lupin’s door with a toddler half-asleep in his arms.

survival is a talent by ShanaStoryteller (T, WIP)

In the middle of their second year, Draco and Harry discover they're soulmates and do their best to keep it a secret from everyone. Their best isn't perfect.

The Mirror of Ecidyrue by starbrigid (T, WIP)

All it takes is one look in a mirror and an ill-advised attempt to shatter it, before an embittered Draco Malfoy fresh out of Azkaban is sent back into his body on the day he gets his Hogwarts letter.

Muggle Harry AU

Hermione Granger's Hogwarts Crammer for Delinquents on the Run by waspabi (2016, T, 93k)

You're a wizard, Harry' is easier to hear from a half-giant when you're eleven, rather than from some kids on a tube platform when you're seventeen and late for work.

The Secret Keeper by @the-fools-errand (2021, M, 225k)

On Halloween 1981, Albus Dumbledore made a decision that would change the course of history, concealing Harry Potter’s survival at the hands of Lord Voldemort underneath a Fidelius Charm. But when Harry comes of age in the Muggle world, Dumbledore realises too late that the fate of the world may depend on a boy who has never held a wand.

Thanks @thegreatzeldini for reccing this one:

The Sacrifices Arc by Lightning on the Wave (2005)

AU, eventual HP/DM slash, (very) Slytherin!Harry. Harry's brother Connor is the Boy-Who-Lived, and Harry has devoted himself to protecting him—by being ordinary. But certain people aren't content to let Harry hide in the shadows.

#asks #anon #drarry reclist #canon rewrite AUs

146 notes · View notes

jaeminlore · 4 years

Text

Landslide | Mark Lee

summary: time makes you bolder. even children get older, and i’m getting older too.

words: 7.1k+

category: teacher!mark, single parent!reader, fem!presenting!reader, graham is the sweetest kid, mark is that teacher that lets kids pick earthworms during recess, friends to lovers, mark’s apartment is flooded so now he has to live in domestic bliss with his secret crush oh nooooo

warnings: talk of absent fathers

author note: it’s my birthday tomorrow so i wanted to give u all a present for supporting me for so long!! here’s to you <3 (cross-posted on /honklore)

Mark helps one of his kids press their palms onto the wall. When they release their palm, pink paint remains, making a sort of leaf to the tree branches painted onto the wall.

“Now write your name,” Mark advises another kid, whose orange paint had already dried.

“G-R-A-H-A-M,” the boy writes out with a large permanent marker. “Can I take a picture? For my mom?”

All the rest of the children begin to shout their agreements, also wanting to bring home a picture for their parents. Mark grabs his yellow Polaroid camera and takes a picture of each handprint.

He keeps all of the pictures in the chest pocket of his denim jacket. “Okay, guys— to the sink! Whoever has the cleanest hands gets to help me pass out snacks!”

“Why are we having snack time so early?” It’s Graham that asks, the little one always eager to be around Mark.

Mark ignores the boy’s paint covered hands poking at his clean jacket, and answers him as politely as he can. “Mr. Lee forgot his lesson plans today, so we’re going to watch a movie instead.”

“A movie?” Graham’s eyes widen.

“Yep,” Mark giggles. He crouches down to Graham’s level and whispers, “You wanna pick it?”

“Nature Nut!” Graham cheers almost immediately, causing Mark to wince.

Ah, yes, the wonderful little DVDs of a lonesome man teaching the watcher about bugs and weird types of slugs. Mark actually has the entire collection, and Graham happens to adore them just as much as Mark did when he was a kid.

“Alright, go wash your hands and I’ll get it started.”

It’s a little girl named Hana who cleans her hands the best, so she passes out organic fruit gummies to everyone while Mark puts in the DVD.

While they watch the video, Mark checks his text messages.

There’s one from Taeyong: “I’ve already got Haechan on the couch. Sorry, man. You can have the floor, but it’s not gonna be comfy :(“

Right. Mark forgot that Haechan lives in the same complex as him. His apartment is probably just as flooded as Mark’s is. Now if the landlord would just answer his calls and help him... maybe this situation wouldn’t be so stressful.

Mark didn’t forget his lesson plans; they’re just submerged in his bedroom with everything else Mark has left lying on his carpet. And maybe it’s his fault for not buying more storage bins, but a studio apartment can only hold so much stuff.

Serves Mark right for doing his lesson plans at home instead of at the school like most of his fellow kindergarten teachers.

He lets out a quiet sigh, careful not to disturb the children. He only has a short list of friends left to ask, and while he doesn’t think they’ll mind him asking, he really hates to put anyone in that position.

Besides, most of his friends have roommates or significant others and Mark doesn’t want to ruin their routine. He’d hate to intrude. And he could always sleep in his car for a few days, but the amount of stuff he had to pack because of the flooding has barred any chance of a good night’s sleep.

The video ends, and Mark gets the kids seated with coloring pages until their parents arrive.

One by one, he I.Ds the parents and tells the kids goodbye, helping them put on their coats and take home whatever library book they picked out earlier.

Finally, there’s only one kid left, and Mark is a bit embarrassed of his hyper-awareness to Graham. It’s not even his fault, really. Graham just has a beautiful mom, who happens to be Mark’s beautiful friend, and sometimes Mark gets eager to see you during pickup time.

Whatever. It’s no big deal.

The kindergartener already has his coat on. His curly brown hair is almost unruly as he continues to work on his coloring sheet.

Mark pulls at the hem of his sage sweater sleeves and wonders if his hair looks okay. Maybe he should invest in a little desk mirror; or maybe that’s vain.

“Hey, Mark! Sorry I’m late!” You rush in, holding on to your leather messenger bag. You fix your glasses before they fall off the bridge of your nose, and Mark is so focused on the movement that he almost forgets about your child.

Until said child is scolding his mother. “Mom! You have to call him Mr. Lee! It’s rude to call him Mark!”

“Your mom is an adult,” Mark reminds Graham (as soon as he finds his voice.) “Since she isn’t a student, it’s okay for her to call me Mark.”

Graham pinches his lips together, and then shrugs. “Fine. Mom, we watched Nature Nut today.” He runs up to you and wraps his arm around your middle. “Can we go to the park and look for slugs?”

“Sure,” you giggle. “But we need to get home soon, okay, Bud? I have to make dinner and then we have to clean up the mess we made last night.”

Graham turns to Mark and smiles naughtily, like the trickster he often is. “Mom said I could tear up her papers last night. She said it’s There-pee.”

“Ther-a-py,” you emphasize for the five-year-old.

Mark studies your face, and he can tell that you seem a little more stressed than usual. “Therapy, huh?”

You smile sheepishly. “Well, when your son catches you tearing up old love notes, you have to let him in on the fun, right?”

“You are a team,” Mark acknowledges. He wants to ask more; wants to dig into your heart and extract whatever is hurting you, but your son is standing between the two of you, waiting for him to say goodbye. Mark clears his throat and picks at his sweater again. “Anyways, uh, text me tonight? Let me know you two got home safe. And, I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. You smile at him and then take Graham’s hand. “Thanks, Mark. I’ll text you.”

Mark spends the night at a motel down the road. He texts a few of his friends and hopes for good news in the morning, or at least a confirmation from his landlord.

When you text him, a little selfie of you and Graham, holding up what looks like microwaved s’mores, his heart grows fond, and he forgets about his own problems for a moment.

Life has never been very easy for you. From the get-go, you have always been destined to fail, growing up with an absent father and an overworked mother. With a dead-end dream like yours (writing, of all things), it’s no wonder you clung to what little breaths of freedom you had.

He was handsome and bold, with a carefree smile and brown eyes that mirrored the sun. The lead singer of a band, with a voice like chimes. And you fell just as hard as one of your many protagonists. Perhaps the mistake always lay in the fact that you put too much fantasy into reality. You have always romanticized the littlest things, and that comes back to bite you more often than not.

You never expected one: to get pregnant your senior year of high school, and two: have to go through it alone.

Of course, most people you come to love leave eventually. It’s something you have always remembered; something that sticks in the back of your brain like gum to the bottom of your child’s Spider-man skechers.

Graham is the only constant in your life. Though you’ve been blessed with a decent job editing for a webazine company, and you can work from home more often than not, Graham is the real thing that keeps you alive.

He’s the most precious boy, with brown curls and big brown eyes. He favors his father, and though that should deter you, it reminds you of innocent days, and it gives a new meaning to brown eyes. Graham is not his father, and he never was.

Graham certainly got his love of learning from you. Though he likes science more than writing, you adore how eager he is to always get to school. It helps that Mark is his teacher.

Mark’s been your friend since freshman year of highschool, when the two of you both took the same creative writing class the local university offered. Though the two of you had differing end goals, you often studied together and encouraged each other. He was there when you found out you were pregnant, and he was there when you found out you’d be raising your child alone.

Now life comes full circle, and you see him twice a day. You could go out on a limb and say he brightens up most mornings, but you would still give that slot to your son.

Mark is standing at the doorway now, greeting all of his students and helping them take off their book bags and coats. He’s wearing monochrome today: red pants, a red sweater, and red shoes.

Graham lights up almost immediately, and you are thankful today that you decided to dress Graham in his red t-shirt. “Mom! We match!”

“I know,” you grin, squeezing his hand.

Mark glances at Graham, and then you. His cheeks showcase that same pink hue they always do, and while it should clash with his red garments, it doesn’t. “Hey, Mark.”

“Hey,” he grins, cheeks full at the sight of you two.

Graham spreads his arms and waits for Mark to help him take off his jacket. “Do you see that we match, Mr. Lee?”

“Yo, that’s awesome, Little Man!” Mark gives Graham a fist bump that seems to appease him, and you wait for Graham to run to his friends before addressing Mark.

“How have you been?”

Mark sighs. He brushes his hair away from his eyes. “Okay. My- uh- my studio apartment flooded so I’m staying at a motel until my landlord can get me estimates on when I can come back home.”

“That sucks,” you frown. “You know, if you need a place to stay, I have a pullout couch in my office. And obviously, Graham wouldn’t mind.”

Mark pales. “Are you serious? I didn’t mean to suggest anything, Like I know you work from home and you need your office.”

“And you’ll be at school until three,” you say. “I’ll work then. C’mon, Mark. I don’t like knowing one of my friends has no place to stay.”

Mark bites his bottom lip and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll drive over after I check out of the motel.”

“Great!” You smile. “I’ll order pizza.”

"Graham, clean your room," you say, struggling to push your desk against your office wall. "We're going to have a guest for a few weeks."

"Mom," Graham whines, "They aren't going to look in my room."

You begin to take the cushions out of the spare couch to start setting up the pull-out bed. "Mr. Lee is coming over, Graham. Don't you want to show him your collections?"

Graham's brown eyes grow wide. "Mr. Lee? You didn't tell me he was coming!"

"He's going to be staying with us for a little bit, okay? So I need you to be on your best behavior."

“Can I show him my worms?” Graham asks, alluding to the compost bin in the small backyard of your townhouse.

“Yes,” you say, thankful that he isn’t putting up much of a fight toward cleaning. You’re also thankful he isn’t asking any questions, as Graham always seems to have a few at the top of his tongue.

Graham cleans up his room quickly. You know for a fact that he’s just shoved all of his toys under his bed, but it’s enough until the weekend, when you’ll have more time to help him organize.

The little guy hoards rocks like no one’s business. You curse the day Mark decided to teach the kids about geodes.

“Wanna help me make up Mr. Lee’s room?” You half-yell, while grabbing spare bedding out of your linen closet.

Graham’s little footsteps are heard before he answers, and soon he’s at your hip with a quick, “He can have my Frozen pillowcase!”

You hesitate to tell Graham that his Frozen pillowcase is currently on one of your pillows, and you can’t give your guest a dirty pillowcase. “That one is in the wash, Buddy. Why don’t we give him your Spider-Man one?”

“So he matches my pajamas!” Graham is easily pleased, and he even takes one of his stuffed bears to add to Mark’s made-up bed. (“So he doesn’t get scared at night.”)

By the time the pizza arrives, Mark is just behind, so you keep Graham busy with a slice of cheese and a glass of diet pepsi (only half of a can, and only because it’s a special occasion) while the two of you bring in Mark’s stuff.

He surprisingly didn’t bring much, and when you ask about it, he grimaces. “My studio is pretty small so a lot of my stuff was on the ground and got mildewed. Other stuff was in bins so I just left it there. I only need clothes and my lesson plans, anyway.”

“Well, here’s the desk and bed. It’s not much, but there’s a lock on the door in case Graham ever gets too inquisitive — bless him — and curtains so the stupidly bright sun won’t wake you too early.”

“Those both sound like personal experiences, Y/n,” Mark teases. He takes off his jacket and throws it on the bed. “Yo! Spider-Man?”

“Graham picked it out,” you say. “He also relinquished one of his bears to keep you safe in the middle of the night. His words, not mine.”

“He’s so cute,” Mark mentions offhandedly. The fondness in his tone takes you back a bit. Not because the phrase isn’t true, it’s just that most people find your son annoying before they find him endearing. The change of tone is nice.

“He is,” you say. “And he’s dying to show you his room after we eat dinner.”

Mark gives you that same lopsided smile he often had in high school. Part of your brain shifts to his personal life, and you wonder why Mark himself isn’t in a romantic relationship. Not that he has to be, but the both of you are getting older, and Mark has always been one to express a fondness for having his own family one day. Maybe he just hasn’t found the right person.

It isn’t until Graham is peacefully in bed — after a very chaotic reading of Goodnight Moon by yours truly, and an argument that Mr. Lee cannot, in fact, sleep in the same room as him — that you actually have a chance to show Mark around the house.

“Here’s the guest bathroom. Graham almost always uses the bathroom in my room because he likes looking at the big tub. He will beg you to play with him, but if you’re busy don’t feel guilty telling him no. He knows what no means and he’s good about playing by himself.”

Mark giggles. “Okay. I don’t mind playing with him, though.“

You show him around the kitchen, where you left little spaces for him in the pantry. You show him the garbage bags and the T.V. settings and the list of compostable ingredients. “And also, please come and go as you please. Like, I completely understand that you’re here temporarily and you aren’t a babysitter or anything like that. I don’t expect you to be in charge of Graham any time outside of school.”

Mark blinks. “But if you ever need time away, you can ask me. I don’t mind babysitting.”

“I know,” you smile. “But Graham is my kid. I don’t need time away from him.”

You’re lying. Mark knows it. You’ve been in this single parenting thing for five years and you aren’t about to reach out for help now.

“Anyways, if you have any questions just ring me or ask me,” you say. “I’ve got to get to bed. Goodnight.”

“Thanks, Y/n.”

Mark thinks it’s sweet the way Graham insists on making his own breakfast.

You’re already up when Mark gets out of his (temporary) bedroom with his clothes tucked under his arm. You’re busy arguing with Graham. “You can’t fry your own omelette for the last time.”

Mark quirks an eyebrow at your exasperated face. You look stressed beyond belief, even though the day has just begun.

Mark tosses his clothes back in his room and walks into the kitchen. “Hey, Graham! Do you want to show me your rock collection?”

Graham spins on his sock-clad heels, eyes bright at the thought of seeing his teacher. “Mr. Lee! Yes! Let’s go!”

He grabs Mark’s hand with ease, leaving you room to finish making breakfast.

Graham’s room is fairly simple. The small wooden bed is covered in a green quilt, and beneath that, frozen-printed sheets that certainly don’t match. He has a tub of stuffed animals shoved against a small dresser.

Mark gets distracted by the framed picture on top of the dresser. It’s a picture of you and Graham’s father, a few months before you got pregnant. He’s smiling, and you’re holding up a peace sign. It makes Mark feel a bit sad, knowing that Graham’s dad never stayed around to see how wonderful he turned out to be. Then again, a lot of people in your life left as soon as they found out. In high school, no one wants to be friends with a teenage mother.

Mark reckons that if he had a family like this, he’d never take them for granted.

Graham pulls out a gemstone. It’s a murky green one that Mark has let him take home from class. “Do you remember this, Mr. Lee?”

Mark grins. “Yeah, bud. Thanks for keeping it so safe for me.”

Graham beams. He grabs Mark’s hand and pulls him towards his dresser. “Can we match? I want to look like you.”

Mark feels his heart swell. He wants to smother the young boy in affection, but he doesn’t want to cross a line. He’s your friend, sure, but he’s also Graham’s teacher. He can’t coddle Graham more than the other children. He already has a godchild to coddle. “I’m wearing yellow today. Do you have any yellow clothes?”

“Let’s look!” Graham yanks open one of the drawers and begins pulling out the articles of clothing one by one. “No, no, no... Here!” He finds a pair of yellow overalls, folded amongst the mess he made. “I’ll wear these!”

“Let’s clean up first, okay?” Mark grabs the overalls. “So it’s clean when you come home from school.”

Graham, looking like the last thing he’d ever want to do is disappoint Mark, begins to pick up each shirt with obvious intent. He tries to fold them, and does a somewhat decent job, so much so that Mark leaves it, thinking you’ll find it endearing rather than annoying.

He really loves that about you. He likes your patience with Graham. You’re so young, and in reality, he squashed so many early dreams of yours. No matter your lot in life, you never blamed your child. Mark thinks that’s why Graham is so open, so adaptable, so endearing.

He helps Graham get dressed and leaves him in his room so that he, himself, can get ready.

When he emerges from his shower, hair wet and clothed in yellow, he smells something amazing.

He doesn’t want to intrude on your morning with Graham. He already feels too indebted to you already.

“Have an omelet,” you say. Wisps of hair cover your face. You place a plate down in front of him.

Graham is already eating his omelet, slowly, while flipping through a picture book. He sounds out words he recognizes, but stays silent the rest of the time.

Mark takes out his phone and scrolls through his instagram feed just as your own phone begins to ring.

“Shit,” you curse, and then immediately apologize to Graham. You press the red button and tap anxiously on the tabletop.

“Everything okay?” Mark asks.

You run your hands over your hair and let them rest on the back of your neck. “Yeah is just—“

The phone rings again, and this time you pick it up. “What do you want? ... Why would you tell me that? ... Why should I care? ... Please stop contacting me, okay? Goodbye.”

You slam the phone down and leave the room. Mark watches you disappear down the hallway, sniffling.

“Mommy is upset,” Graham says. He looks at Mark, lip quivering. “At me?”

“No, Buddy! Of course not!” Mark reaches over the table to ruffle Graham’s curls. “Never at you.”

“When we tore up paper, she was crying.” Graham fiddles with his book page.

Mark wonders why your ex’s actions are being brought up five years later. Last he heard, you had fully healed from the breakup long before Graham’s first birthday. But now he’s about to be six, and you're suddenly upset?

He’ll have to ask you about it soon.

“Are you ready to go to school, Buddy?”

“Yeah!”

You cradle your face in your hands and try to ease the tears back in. You’ll never get this article proofread and sent if you can’t see the keys.

The door opens, and Graham runs in just in time for you to finish wiping your eyes. “Hey, kiddo! How was school?”

“Mr. Lee let us finger paint!” Graham holds up his palm, covered in dried paint, and grins brightly. “Can I have gogurt?”

“Yeah bud. Why don’t you put something on the T.V.? You can have your snack in the living room today.”

“Yes!” Graham takes blueberry gogurt out of the fridge and — after getting you to tear it open — runs into the living room. Sneakers and backpack still on.

Mark trails behind, clutching a messenger bag to his chest. “What’s going on?”

You sigh and close the laptop. The manuscript will have to wait. “Ben called. About a week ago. His girlfriend is pregnant. Called me to tell me he wasn’t going to leave her— like that would heal what he did to me. Then he called this morning to tell me they’re engaged.” You burst into tears then, and you feel so pathetic for doing this in front of your old schoolmate, that you hide your face behind your palms and allow your shoulders to shake. “Why weren’t we enough? Why wasn’t I enough?”

Mark scoots one of the chairs in front of you and sits, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Hey. Look at me.” With gentle hands, he grabs your wrists and pulls them away from your face. “It is not your fault he left.”

“But it has to be me in some way,” you retort. “He must not have loved me. Something, because now he’s going to raise her child after he left mine. Graham deserves a dad.”

Mark places his forehead against yours. The two of you used to do it all the time in school, mostly with immature giggles in the spaces between, but now it’s heavy with intention. “Graham has not felt even a little bit unloved in your care. You are all he needs, okay? You’re amazing.”

You nod, head still pressed to Mark’s. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry for getting too emotional, there.”

“Be as emotional as you want,” Mark says. “I’ll be here to balance you out.”

Your heart stutters at the words, like maybe they mean something more than he’s letting on. Of course it’s stupid to think Mark Lee would ever even consider you, but just the knowledge that he cares makes your soul feel a little lighter.

“I’m a mess,” you stutter, bringing your fist up to wipe at your nose.

“Nah,” Mark grins. He runs the pad of his thumb across your cheek and grins. “You’re alright.”

“It’s snowing!” Graham wakes Mark up by jumping on his chest.

Mark sucks in a breath, winded at the sudden weight, and grabs the boy, lifting him off of his chest and onto the mattress. “Hey, Buddy. Let’s not jump on sleeping people, okay?”

“Okay,” Graham says. He’s already lost interest in Mark, now crawling off of the bed to open the blinds. “Come look at the snow!”

“I see!” Mark rubs his tired eyes and checks his watch. “We might have a snow day, Graham.”

“Yes!” Graham pumps his fist into the air. “Let’s go tell mom!”

You’re sitting on your bed, chewing on a red licorice rope and flipping through a fashion magazine. You look up when Mark and Graham enter.

Mark likes seeing you like this: the domesticity of you in the morning, lazy and true. His chest sparks when he thinks this may be one of the only moments he can capture you like this, so he intends to commit the sight to memory.

“Did I hear snow day?” You grin at Mark, childlike wit in your own eyes — the same as your son’s.

“Looks like it.” Mark rolls up the sleeves of the sweater he slept in. “You want pancakes? I make some mean chocolate chip pancakes.”

You shift your gaze away from his arms and clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. Just let me get dressed and I’ll help—“

“No need,” Mark insists. “Enjoy your quiet time. Graham and I will make the most delicious pancakes you’ve ever tasted.”

“With lots of chocolate chips!” Graham shouts.

You give him a pointed look. “But not too many.”

Graham huffs. “But not too many,” he repeats.

Momentary splashes sound from your bathroom, followed by Graham screaming “It’s a dragon! Run for cover!”

Mark giggles from his place on the couch. He’s got mushroom-patterned socks on, and he’s tucked up into the cushions, nursing a can of Monster. “How does he still have so much energy?”

You sigh and pull your beanie down over your forehead. “You’d think a snow day would tire him out. Thanks for constantly carrying him up the hill, by the way. I know you’re a teacher, but sometimes I forget how good you are with kids.”

“I do have a godson,” Mark reminds you.

“But Mikey is a baby,” you say. You only know the baby’s name because of Mark’s constant snap stories about him.

“Most babies and kids want the same thing. Affection and attention.” Mark scoots over to the edge of the couch and pats the cushion.

You sit next to him. “I guess that’s true. You’re really good with Graham. He’s not this open to other adults.”

Mark is clearly blushing now; you can see his pink cheeks even in the light of the television. “He’s great in class, always helping the other kids.”

“He wants to impress you,” you say. You pop open a can of orange soda and take a sip. “He thinks you’re just the coolest guy.”

Mark laughs and shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear, Y/n? I’m handsome and cool.”

“Oh, of course,” you nudge his shin with our own sock-clad foot. “How could I forget? Mr. Ladies Man in high school.”

This makes Mark blush even harder, because he most certainly was not a ladies man in high school. In fact, he was a nerd in all senses of the word, part of the debate club with a few other boys. He had a few dates here and there, but nothing ever stuck.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “My time is gonna come.”

“Hasn’t it already?” you ask before you can really process your own words. But of course he knows that he’s grown into his face, right?

Mark is positively handsome, eyes bright and lashes long. He’s so warm and comforting to you. He must be just as comforting to everyone else.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re handsome, Mark,” you say plainly.

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “Why would I lie?”

Mark opens his mouth, perhaps to call you out. To tell you you’ve been too honest, but he’s interrupted by your son.

“Mom! I’m ready to get out now!”

“I should go,” you say, still looking at his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. His sweater has small spots on the shoulders where snow has fallen and since melted. He shivers.

“You should take a shower. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Haechan comes over the following Saturday night to hang out with Mark, and you’re surprised at how much he truly hasn’t changed since high school.

He’s still got infamously perfect eyebrows, and his voice is still high despite its blunt sarcasm. “Nice place.” He raises his brows as he looks around.

“Who are you?” Graham is sitting at the kitchen table, watching Minecraft playthroughs (kid-friendly ones you’ve watched through yourself) on your phone to entertain himself while you clean.

“I’m Haechan, Mark’s friend.”

“This is Mr. Lee’s friend from school,” you say, detailing your words so they’re easier for your son to digest.

Graham stares at him for a moment, not quite judging but not quite accepting either. “Okay. Do you want to see my rock collection?”

Haechan looks genuinely excited, and accepts before you can come up with an excuse for him. Graham tells Haechan to stay in the kitchen while he grabs all of his rocks.

“How have you been?” you ask the taller man. “Like, with the flooding and everything?”

“Well, I’m on a couch at Taeyong’s, which is good since he doesn’t charge rent. But that means I’m near Mikey, and that baby has some lungs.”

You laugh. “I remember when Graham was a baby. I was so young, and my mom told me it was my responsibility to wake up and take care of him whenever he cried in the middle of the night. I was so pissed at her for making me do that, but those were some of the best nights to bond with him.” You realize you’re rambling and shake your head. “Whatever. Baby screams are loud as hell.”

“You can say that again. I’ve been talking to my friend Johnny about taking his spare room and paying rent. I dunno how many more sleepless nights I can take.”

“Why would you need to pay rent if you’re just crashing?” You wipe down the kitchen table to keep yourself busy.

“Didn’t Mark tell you? Our landlord is in heaps of trouble because the pipes weren’t up to code and that’s why they busted. The damage is basically too expensive to fix, so we’ve got to find new places.”

You stop cleaning. “Mark didn’t tell me that.”

“Oh.” Haechan scratches his brow. “He probably didn’t want to worry you. He feels really bad that he’s stayed with you this long.”

“It’s only been a month or so,” you counter. “Besides, Mark’s a great housemate. He cleans and keeps Graham occupied. Plus, now I have someone to watch corny game shows with.”

Haechan grins. “Oh. Okay, I get it.”

“Get what?” Mark, finally out of the shower, steps into the kitchen and immediately tackles Haechan in an energized hug.

“Nothing!” Haechan’s voice cracks

You shoot Haechan a weird look, and change the subject. “Where are you guys going?”

“To play video games at Johnny’s.” Mark says, and the thrill in his voice makes you think of high school. Of the debate team bus rounding the corner. Of you standing there, waiting to congratulate him with a big hug and a frosty from Wendy’s.

You miss it. “Have fun, okay? I’m probably going to tuck in as soon as Graham does, so just let yourself in.”

“You’re leaving?” Graham comes in, and his arms are filled with smooth and rough stones and gems he’s both found by himself and bought at random general stores while traveling.

“Not before I see your rocks!” Haechan says with so much enthusiasm, you think he’s telling the truth.

Graham giggles and drops the rocks onto the ground. Of course, he wants your guest to sit on the floor and count rocks. You’re almost embarrassed.

“ ‘ Okay, Y/n?” Mark laughs at your expression. Then he places his arm on your shoulder, thumbs the skin of your upper arm.

And once again, it’s high school. It’s senior year graduation and Mark is the only one who congratulates you. It’s his comforting touch, him coming over in the middle of the night after you texted him a picture of your first sonogram. It’s that same comforting touch. That little “I’m here,” and it melts you on the inside, leaves you in the shell of an eighteen girl again. Scared, and worried, and a little less alone.

“Yeah,” you manage. “I’m okay.”

The television plays Cartoon Network reruns on a low hum. Mark is curled up in a blanket, nursing a bottle of water and thinking over Haechan’s words.

You’ve liked her since high school, dude.

Which is a complete lie. Seriously, Mark didn’t have a crush on you in high school. He would know if he had a crush on his best friend. You’ve been his friend since freshman year, and that’s all you’ve ever been.

Now in college, it was different. In college, Mark was alone in a dorm with Taeyong, and you were one of the only people from high school he stayed in contact with. In college, he would bring you your favorite snacks and drinks, and other things you would forget to buy because you were a part-time student and a full-time mom. In college, you would pull all-nighters with him, working on your exams while Graham was asleep, then using energy drinks to get through the next day.

Mark even remembers the time your mom caught the three of you fast asleep on your rug, with unopened monster cans and an empty milk bottle beside you.

Throughout your entire pregnancy he was warned not to stay friends with the pregnant girl — it’d be too much for him, he wouldn’t want to become the new father, and all kinds of other stuff people would mumble to him when you weren’t around.

But you never expected him to be anything other than your friend. You never asked him for the help he gave — though you thanked him always — and you never once assumed he’d take the role of Graham’s dad.

And now… now he finds himself wishing you would.

“Mr. Lee?” Graham creeps up without him even realizing.

Mark jumps, sets his water — and thoughts — aside. “Hey, Bud. It’s really late. What are you doing up?”

Graham sniffs, and Mark realizes that the boy is crying. “I had a nightmare.”

Mark holds out his arms before he can think, and lets the five-year-old crawl into his lap. He wraps them both in his blanket and turns the television up just a little more. “Was it scary?”

“You left.” Graham says, voice less watery, like he doesn’t know the weight of his words. He’s focused on the rerun of Adventure Time that’s playing. He’s not even remotely interested in his nightmare now, with his tears dried up, and his eyes drooping back towards slumber.

“I’m going to leave one day,” Mark says, because he thinks it’s important that Graham knows.

“You should stay with me and Mom,” Graham says. He yawns. “We like you so much!”

Mark’s heart stutters. He tries not to think about it.

When Graham’s bed is empty the next morning, you freak out. He’s always in his room in the morning. Even if he wakes up before you, he stays in and plays with his toys.

You’ve already got your phone out, and your mother’s number called, when you walk into the living room.

Relief floods your system. Mark and Graham are asleep on the couch, snuggled up serenely like they didn’t just cause you to have a premature heart attack.

You hang up before the call to your mom can go through and stand there, watching the two boys sleep. Graham has both his arms wrapped around Mark’s forearm. It’s such a sweet picture that you take out your phone and snap one.

The flash is on.

Mark scrunches his nose and winces. “What the–”

“Sorry!” You whisper. “You both looked so cute, I couldn’t help it.”

Mark smiles, still sleepy, and finally opens his eyes. He peers at you, copper brown under fluttering lashes and you’re almost intimidated into looking away. “He had a nightmare.”

“Oh?”

“About me leaving.”

“Oh.” You frown. “I’m really sorry about that. I keep telling him that you’re moving out soon, but I don’t think he fully understands.”

Graham stirs. You reach down and pick him up. Your knuckles brush across Mark’s warm, sweater-clad chest and you suddenly wish you could cuddle with him, too. You shake the thoughts away and focus on your drowsy son. “You’re staying at Grandma's for a few days, remember?”

Graham rubs his eyes and perks up. “And I’ll see her cat?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “But we’ve got to get you dressed because she’s coming in a few minutes.”

“Mark Lee!” Your mom’s voice embarrassingly rings through the apartment, and you realize Mark has taken it upon himself to open the door. “Y/n told me she had a temporary roommate but I never thought she would finally ask you!”

“Oh my gosh…” you mumble, buckling Graham’s overalls and hauling him up into your arms. “Mom! His apartment flooded so he’s staying here. Don’t be weird about it.”

“But he’s so handsome,” your mom coos. You’re concerned she might reach forward and pinch Mark’s already ruddy cheeks.

“Thanks,” Mark laughs. “But she’s right, I’m just squatting until I can find a new place.”

Your mom harrumphs. “Well, I don’t see why you can’t stay here forever. Y/n doesn’t even use that office room. And even if she did, the two of you could just share a room.”

“Mom!” You plunk Graham into her hands and grab his overnight bag. “You have to leave.”

“Did I say something wrong?” She sounds worried, but there’s an undisclosed mirth in her eyes that makes you think of your freshman year, when you did have a crush on Mark.

“You said everything wrong,” you say, kindly pushing her out. “Have a good time, Graham. I love you! As always, Mom, call if you need me to come get him.”

“Yeah, right!” She yells over her shoulder. Graham is already giggling, so you close the door with confidence.

You turn back to your roommate. “I’m sorry about that, Mark.”

“It’s fine.” He smiles, but it’s reserved. “But speaking of me finding a place… I know Haechan told you that I can’t go back to my own apartment. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You want to say “You can stay here as long as you want, and long as you’ll let me keep you,” but that would reveal too much, and you don’t want to lose the one good friend you have.

“And I was thinking I should move out soon anyway.” Mark pulls his sweater sleeves until they cover his hands. He’s hiding. He’s shielding himself the same way he did in junior year, when he got turned down by his crush to go to the prom. “I don’t think it’s good for Graham to get this attached to me if I’m just going to leave.”

“Oh,” Your sleeves are too short, but you want to shield yourself too. “Yeah, that’s… that’s probably a good idea.”

Mark stands there for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to say something more. Like he hasn’t just taken your heart and pushed it aside. Like this hurts a lot less than it actually does.

But any word out of your mouth would be tearful. It would be honest. It would ruin everything. “I’m going to go on a run.”

There’s a cricket outside that won’t stop chirping against your window. You blame it for your insomnia, choosing to ignore the anxiety of eventually losing Mark. It feels so horribly childish, since you’ll see him when you drop Graham off at school. And you’ll see him whenever the two of you go out for coffee on weekends.

But you won’t see him in the kitchen, reaching for the pancake mix so his shirt rises up and you can see the dimples in his back. You won’t see him humming along to the radio while he works on his lesson plans. You won’t feel his warmth when the two of you stay awake, nursing spiked lemonade and giggling at the commentary videos you find on YouTube.

He’ll just be Mark again. He won’t be home anymore.

Startled by the realization, you get out of your covers and rush to your door.

It opens before you can even reach for the doorknob, and there’s Mark in his pajamas, biting his lip and avoiding your eyes.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you say.

Mark confesses, “I love you.”

You open your arms and he dives in, face pressed into the space where your neck meets your shoulder. Warmth envelopes you and the scent of pine fills your nose.

Mark is timeless. Youthful glory and childish pride. He’s a pinch on the side and a push on the swings. Like a rock that actually skips on the first try. Like shoes that you can slip on when they’re still tied. And he’s here, in your arms, squeezing you like you’re something valuable enough to lose. He’s confessing love like you aren’t the worst possible candidate for his heart.

“I can’t offer you much,” you start, but Mark bumps his forehead against yours, boyish and playful — football fields and bright red lockers and secret notes on bathroom walls.

“I’ve known you for years, Y/n,” Mark’s voice is a low rumble. Copper eyes blinking at you like you’re something to second glance at. “I know what I’m getting into. I want you. I want Graham. I want everything this is, and everything we’ve been for the past month. I don’t want this to end.”

You close your eyes, because his are too honest. He’s open and vulnerable and gentle — a child on the first day of school, ready to make friends. You take a deep breath, try to remember what you were like on your first day. Rosy cheeks and shy glances. Knobby knees and a trusting heart. You reach out for whoever you once were — the Y/n with a heart open and willing to be loved. “I don’t want this to end either. I’m in love with you, Mark.”

His grin lights up your world in its entirety. Gold flecks in onyx black disappear as he smiles, too thrilled to keep his eyes open. And when he kisses you, warm lips against cold ones, you feel like a puzzle has just slotted into place.

It would only make sense that you would grow to love the boy you grew up with.

#Nct fluff #nct fanfiction #Nct angst #Nct scenarios #mark lee fluff #mark lee imagines #mark lee angst #mark lee fanfic #mark lee scenarios #mark lee x reader #nct x reader #destwrites

844 notes · View notes

theramenbandit · 4 years

Note

20 and 59 for the mashup au prompts. Any pairing that strikes your fancy :)

From this post here

Describe how I’ll combine them: Co-teachers to lovers via secret admirer shenanigans.

“And don’t forget, project drafts are due next Thursday.”

So far, so good, Lena thinks as she gathers up her belongings and heads out the door of her first class of the day. She likes it here in Midvale. It’s a lot slower, a lot quieter, a lot--

Force, mass, velocity, something bumps into her hard.

“Oh shoot! I am so sorry. Here…”

The woman who apparently was the thing that bumped into her bends down and picks her things up off the floor.

Lena is, of course, properly miffed and halfway to a firm scolding until the woman straightens up again and Lena forgets how talking works for a moment.

Her hair is flowing in golden locks and the bluest eyes she had ever seen are looking at her from behind dark-rimmed glasses.

“Wait, you’re the new girl, right? Lena from Metropolis?”

“Yes,” Lena clears her throat. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Sorry about that,” the woman says nervously. “Let me make it up to you. Lunch in the hall at lunchtime?”

Lena should say no. She’s not here to make friends. But the blonde is cute and her shoulders are...nice. So…

“Okay.”

The blonde gives her a thumbs up and turns to leave, but quickly turns around and jogs back to where Lena is standing mutely.

“It’s Kara, by the way.” She extends a hand towards Lena in introduction. “Kara Danvers. I teach English.”

Ao3

Kara Danvers takes it upon herself to be Lena from Metropolis’ first ever official work friend.

Lena loses a fight with the coffee maker. She’d been having a bad day already, see. Her mother had called this morning, so naturally, by the time the damn machine stopped working, she was on the brink of tears.

“Hey there, is everything alright?” Kara asks cautiously as she walks into the break area.

“Everything is fucking dandy, thanks.” Lena growls, angrily swiping a hand at her eyes.

“Whoa, okay… You know, Noonan’s is right over there and your next class isn’t til 3, we could--”

“How did you know that?”

Kara casually points to the schedule on the board behind her.

Lena only growls again.

“Okay, you’re really wound up. Come on, a walk could do you some good.”

Kara learns that Lena is here as a middle school science teacher because she wants to prove something to her mother. And the pressure is getting to her.

“Sometimes you don't have to do amazing, just have to do your best.” Kara says reasonably. “Look, you're great and your students love you. So don't worry about what your mother says. Judge your work by the proper standard or... something.”

Lena chuckles at that. Kara was probably right.

"Thank you. I… I really needed that."

Kara nods sagely and continues to sip at her iced coffee. "What are friends for?"

The note is simple and plain and handwritten and she has absolutely no idea what it means. Or who it’s from, for that matter.

It’s, well... It’s notes. The note contains notes. That much she can suppose from the five lines and the G-clef and the black dots staring back at her. She looks around for anyone who might have left it there by accident, but she’s alone in the faculty room. What’s more, the note is wedged between the pages of her lesson plan for today, the only thing currently lying on her desk. Frowning, she looks back down at the small piece of paper and shoves it into one of her drawers. She’ll decide what to do with it later.

The note notes are piling up now and she thinks this might be something worth investigating. She'd gotten three more over the last week, each with the same handwriting and the same paper, but the notes on the staff (she does know some things) seemed to be different every time. She lines them up in order of the dates she got them and squints intensely at them, daring the offending dots to tell her what the hell is going on.

Kara's eyes widen in horror when she walks into the faculty room and sees Lena glaring at the notes.

Her notes.

She quickly makes to get out again but Lena's already seen her.

"Kara, hey!"

Shit.

"Hi, what's up?" the blonde responds, her voice suddenly pitchy.

"Can you help me figure this out?" She scoots over as Kara leans into her space and over her desk.

"Oh, they're notes," Kara tries nonchalantly.

"I can see that," Lena deadpans. "Notes to what?"

"Ehm, well this is a G, and this is a D… That's an E minor… It's a song."

Lena fights the urge to dramatically roll her eyes. "Do you know what song it is?"

Dammit, this is wonderful.

"It could be any song, Lena."

She's still trying to dodge it but Lena is adamant. And Kara doesn't want to lie, but she doesn't want to be found out, either.

"Uh... I could play it and maybe we can figure it out?"

"Okay, let's try that."

The music room is empty, much to Kara's eternal chagrin, so she and Lena walk up to the piano and she starts to play the notes that Lena holds up in front of her.

"It's Elvis," Kara says simply.

Lena soon recognizes the tune and starts to hum along with the keys. Just then, Kara slowly looks up from her seat and is mesmerized by the sight: the light is hitting Lena's face just so, illuminating the lines of her jaw, the curve of her lips, the dark red of her hair. She wishes she could stay in this moment forever. And if Lena were paying attention, she would notice that Kara wasn't even looking at the notes anymore. She was playing by heart.

"Oh, that's sweet," Lena whispers when the tune is done. "And you never told me you could play."

"My dad taught me the basics. The rest I figured out myself," Kara says quietly.

"Aren't you full of surprises?"

"It might be Mike, you know, that guy from the marching band? He is objectively good looking."

"He chews with his mouth open."

"Ooh, could it be Jack from phys ed?" He walks around with a guitar most Fridays."

"Lena, Jack is so gay for the bar owner and you know it."

"Well, who could it be?"

Me, Kara wants to say. But she doesn't. She doesn't want to make things weird.

They're sitting on the bleachers during the afternoon break, Lena leaning into her side munching on the donuts Kara had gotten for them. It wasn't hard for them to fall into this sort of easy companionship. Kara was open and friendly, and Lena, once her walls had gone down, was sharp and fascinating. And Kara fears that the feelings she's developed might ruin whatever this was that they had. So instead of being honest with herself, she just shrugs and bites sullenly into her own donut.

"It could be anyone."

People are starting to notice how often they are together, start talking about how cute they look next to each other. And so people waste no time in throwing them into each other's paths, especially since prom is three days away.

“Come ON, Lena!” Kara yells as she grabs Lena’s hand and drags her to the dance floor. Lena tries her best until she isn’t so much trying as she is struggling to keep up with Kara, who seems to have only got more hyper as the night wore on. But the joy on her face is infectious, and honestly, if she got to see this every day, Lena wouldn’t mind.

The song ends and the band’s vocalist approaches the mic.

"Hey, hey, everybody, y’all having a good time?”

The crowd whoops in affirmation.

“Alright! Well I think it’s about the proper hour, so we’re gonna slow things down a bit starting with a classic.”

The opening strains of a piano-driven ballad fill the air, and Kara politely extends a hand towards Lena.

Lena accepts.

Wise men say only fools rush in / But I can’t help falling in love with you

The world around them dissolves as they sway together, Kara’s hand gentle against the small of Lena’s back, Lena’s arm reaching up behind Kara’s shoulder.

“It’s Elvis,” Kara whispers against her hair.

“It was you,” Lena chuckles in response.

“You knew?” Kara says as she draws back to look at her.

“No. But I was kinda hoping.” She smiles warmly and Kara has never seen anything more beautiful in her life.

“You’re not mad?”

“Darling, why would I be mad?” Lena lifts her hand to brush it across Kara’s cheek. “You had me at Oh Shoot."

Kara laughs as she ducks her head in embarrassment and Lena cannot help but join her.

"I'd really like to kiss you right now."

"Please do."

#Full disclosure i have zero experience with teacher AUs #Like i was legit scared when this landed in my inbox #But i had fun doing this and it was a good brain stretch #so thank you spicycheeser for the challenge and i hope this was to your liking #i went with sc bcs why not #20 teacher au #59 interrupted declaration of love #RBmicrofics #writing tag #word count #1476 #supercorp #kara danvers #lena luthor #supergirl

395 notes · View notes