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gothcsz · 5 months

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𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter IV.

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: The beginning of the end...

WORD COUNT: ~7.5k

RATING: 18+ Mature topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: The start of a very wicked love triangle, slowburn slowburn slowburnnnn, mentions of religion (Catholicism), porn WITH plot !!!, some characterization, other things that I'm probably forgetting.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized.

A/N: this took me longer than i anticipated solely bc i hate rereading my writing lol i'm tryin suuuuper hard to get javi's characterization down so i hope i'm doing him justice fr 🙏🏽 the plot is slowly getting started and i'm just rly hype for it bc i love the whole southern gothic vibe like it EATS!!! anyways feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or ao3. i'd really appreciate it <3

♰ read on ao3. ♰

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“You know, most guys woulda thrown in the towel by now.” Paloma tells him, legs steadily peddling her bicycle as Javier drives in his cruiser alongside her.

“Most guys are idiots, querida.” He replies cooly, one arm dangling lazily out of the driver’s side window and his aviators sitting pretty on the bridge of his nose.

Paloma’s laugh rings out beautifully and he can’t keep himself from smiling. “S’no wonder they quit on you. You’re stubborn as hell.” He grumbles, thinking of the various times that she’s rejected his offer to drive her wherever she needed.

Initially, Javier’s behavior bordered on being a downright nuisance, deliberately encroaching on her personal space with excessive proximity. It wasn’t entirely due to his duties; rather, he found amusement in witnessing her irritation. The combination of her sharp retorts and accompanying eye rolls became an addictive response he couldn’t resist provoking.

It was entertaining, to say the least.

Amidst his constant patrolling, Javier got to learn more about her little by little. Details like what her routine consists of and how she interacts with others.

It’s abundantly evident that Paloma is adored by nearly everyone she encounters. Her kindness, wit, talent… beauty. It’s thoughts like these that had him second guessing how he was approaching the sheriff’s orders.

It was making him feel like a stalker, honestly, so he decided to pull back a bit. She is grown, after all, and she’s reminded him of that fact almost daily.

So, Javier gave her the space they both need. Not following her around everywhere or posting up outside her job. During his downtime, he is able to put more analytical attention on the current homicide case. Starting with the guy that had lingered at Nina’s funeral.

He asked around, trying to get any information about a potential boyfriend or anything of that nature but came up empty handed.

Paloma grins proudly at his words. “You say stubborn I say strong-willed. I do appreciate you easing off, though.” She looks over at him and he admires how pretty she looks beneath the sunlight.

Brown hair clipped up into a messy updo and a soft, yellow sundress adorning her body. A hidden gem in this vast and obscure town.

“‘Least I could do. Helps me think, too, drivin’ around.” Javier keeps himself from reminiscing on his days in Colombia and the endless amount of stakeouts he’d been apart of. Sure, his ass would get numb and most of the time they acquired nothing but it helped him analyze any and every detail he could examine; often the copious amount of time he spent trying to piece everything together lead to a bigger break in the investigation.

He’s just applying the same technique here. Unfortunately, he hasn’t been able to make anything out of it all.

“Ah, so the car is your go to spot? Mine is the abandoned tracks over by Montrose. For some reason, I think better there… if that makes any sense.” The conversation continues easily and naturally. That is another thing he’s come to learn about her, Paloma is very amiable.

“It makes sense, muñeca. You shouldn’t go by yourself, though. Don’t know who could be followin’ you all the way out there…”

“I think it’s an officer that goes by Peña and I’m pretty sure he’s stalking me.” She teases him and he rolls his eyes, letting out a dry chuckle.

Javier really wants to urge her to let him take her to work but he knows she’ll challenge him.

Thinner strands of her hair stick to her neck and other damp areas of her face; the sweat on her thighs which he can see gleam beneath the hot sun each time she pedals. That leather seat she’s sitting on must be uncomfortable.

“I’m sure he’s just trying to make sure that you don’t run into any trouble. Which is why I think you should let me give you a ride to the library before you pass out and die of heat exhaustion tryin’ to bike there.” Javier tilts his head to the side to look at her and she stays quiet, thinking over his words before letting out a defeated sigh.

“Fine, but only because it’s hot as shit and I may or may not be jealous of the A/C in your cruiser.” He can’t help the smirk that tugs at his lips as she caves in, rolling the vehicle to a smooth stop and putting it into park so that he could mount her bicycle to the back of it.

Javier’s eyes trail over her form as her back is turned to him, grabbing her things out of the small basket. If her father knew the scandalous thoughts he had about her— he’d have him quartered and drawn. That does have a wave of guiltiness wash over him since the man is trusting him fully to look out for her and her wellbeing.

Which he is, in that regard Romeo has nothing to worry over, it’s Javier’s attraction to her that’s messing with his conscience.

It doesn’t help that Paloma plays into it, feigning innocence when she gets a reaction out of him. Maybe he shouldn’t be so reactive.

“I got it.” Javier insists, taking ahold of the metal handle and brushing up against her as he does so. He feels her body stiffen at the sudden touch yet he keeps a satisfied simper at bay.

“Thank you, officer.” She recovers smoothly with that intriguing timbre she uses when they banter flirtatiously.

It is so wrong yet so right of them to continue whatever this is. Seeing just how far they can take it before the inevitable happens. Javier will hold off as much as he can, really he will, for the sake of his job and budding friendship with Romeo… if she ever decides to be explicit in her demands, however, it’s going to take a lot of willpower to not give in.

Once the bike is secured and she’s in the cruiser, he hops back into the driver’s seat and begins the drive into town.

The ride is silent at first, Paloma shoving her face in front of the small vents on the passenger side and letting the gust of air cool her down. He catches glimpses from his peripheral as she digs through her bag to pull out a satin handkerchief, wiping her face and neck, then her thighs.

He can’t help as his stare follows the motion of her dragging the fabric along her smooth and sweaty skin. Almost jealous of the damn thing, imagining it to be his touch instead.

“I wouldn’t be in this predicament had my car been fixed…” she breaks their silence, peeking over at him as she fixes up her hair. It’s clear he understands the implication behind her words.

“I did volunteer myself to take a look at it, didn’t I?” Javier responds as she sprits some perfume onto her wrists and behind her ear, rolling on some deodorant and just like that Paloma’s freshened up. Now the cab of his cruiser smells like her and it’s going to drive him fucking insane.

“If I remember correctly, yes.” He stops at an intersection, finally being able to look at her properly.

“You free Saturday?”

“You askin’ me out on a date?” Paloma’s eyes twinkle in pure mischief.

“Your dad would kill me if I did that.”

“In front of the whole town, too. Make an example outta you.”

“I’m tryin’ to steer very clear of that, so no, baby, unfortunately I’m not askin’ you out on a date. I’ve got time to stop by and take a look at it before I go in for my shift.”

Paloma purses her lips in thought as Javier trudges forward, the terrain changing from dirt road to asphalt as they near the library.

“Yeah, you can come by at lunch. Daddy’s out all weekend on some huntin’ trip with his friends so… I’ll be home alone.” It’s tantalizing, the way she drops that tidbit of information at the end. Javier is well aware of Romeo’s absence but he hadn’t stopped to think what that meant for him and Paloma.

As if there is a him and Paloma.

She flirts and eyes him like she would let him have his way with her but she is also strong-willed and and clever enough to be leading him on.

He’s just now built some rapport with her and he doesn’t want to jeopardize it. They can continue flirting without crossing the physical threshold.

“Alright, nena, I’ll see you at lunch Saturday.” He’s in front of the main entrance to the building now.

“It’s a date, officer.”

“You must want me dead.” He huffs.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell him.” She pauses, biting down on her lower lip, “It’ll be our little secret.” Paloma whispers before opening the door.

He begins to swell in his pants as her voice drops into a whisper, words coated in seductive suggestion at the idea of them fooling around inconspicuously.

“Wait, your bike—” He’s already reaching down to unbuckle himself when she stops him, leaning in through the open window of the now closed door.

“Don’t worry about it. You can take me home later. I get off at 6.” She winks at him, pulling back and turning on her heels to walk inside.

Javier slumps in his seat, head falling back against the headrest as he reminds himself how fucked he is.

When Saturday afternoon rolls around, Javier’s heart is racing in anticipation of his alone time with Paloma at the Leighton residence.

All week he’s been plagued with profane scenarios of what could potentially unfold. Partially because he hasn’t gotten laid since returning stateside but also for his unwavering carnal desire for her.

The fact that she is irrevocably off limits only intensifies his yearning. He wants Paloma so bad because he can’t have her.

That’s lead to him finishing into his fist in the shower, images of her kneeled before him with her mouth wrapped around his cock at the forefront of his mind.

The first time it had happened, he felt like a damn teenager getting off to a crush. But then it continued to happen and at that point he just let his fantasies run amuck.

It’s not like he’d ever tell her or anyone for that matter, so his illicit imagination will continue to be just that: fleeting thoughts. Guilty pleasures only he can indulge in.

He pulls onto the property with ease, cutting the engine and sitting there for a minute to collect himself. It’s embarrassing for Javier to give himself a pep talk at his grown age, ‘keep your shit together’ his new mantra.

With his metallic toolbox in hand, he’s ready to knock against the screen door when he hears music playing faintly nearby. He follows the tune, rounding the corner of the wraparound porch to the backyard.

The music is recognizable now, a Fleetwood Mac song and his eyes fall on the girl lounging peacefully.

Paloma’s in a hammock, her long legs crossed over one another and hanging from the side. She’s reading a romance novel, he notes, from the incredibly cliché cover of a buff man with a half dressed woman in his grasp. He can faintly hear her humming along to the song, fingers tapping in rhythm against the hardcover of the book.

“Hola muñequita.” Javier greets suavely which has her peeking over her book then smiling wildly when she sees him.

“You made it!” Paloma excitedly stands from her spot, allowing him get a better look at her. She’s got on a red bikini top and a jean mini skirt. He wasn’t prepared to see this much of her bare skin and it throws him off entirely. So much for that pep talk.

It is a magnificent sight, though. Thankfully his sunglasses shield her from his wandering gaze, but with the intensity of his stare, she can probably feel it.

Javier knows her figure is divine, all the different outfits she wears both around town and on stage showcased her assets tastefully. However, seeing her in a top that’s almost too small and a skirt that’s definitely too short has those desires of his ramping up viciously.

It doesn’t help that she’s got a dainty, golden cross necklace hanging from her neck. It rests tantalizingly against the smooth skin right above the swell of her breasts. So many things he fantasizes about doing to her and none of them holy. The piece of jewelry reminds him that he needs to back off.

Amidst his leering, Javier notices a faint scar running from the left side of her hip up to below her breast and he’s curious to know how it got there.

“You had an inclination that I wouldn’t make it?” He returns to the conversation before it’s painfully obvious that he’s checking her out.

Paloma smirks, meeting him halfway as he descends the steps of the porch to approach her. Her hands cross behind her back and she stares up at him through her mascara coated lashes. “Figured you’d probably wanna spend your Saturday afternoon at home instead of playin’ mechanic.” She sways lightly and he narrows his eyes at her.

He can see right through her act, not that she’s being very subtle.

“I’m a man of my word. Already been puttin’ off this visit longer than I should have.” He can’t help himself from bringing his finger up to twirl a strand of her hair, enjoying the silkiness of it against his touch before letting it fall softly against her.

If they hold their gaze a second longer, one of them will break and while Javier is certain that it’d be blissful, it would also be a mistake.

“Here, I’ll take you to her. She’s in the shed.” It’s like she can read his mind, nudging her head in the direction of the small structure and she turns to begin leading him there, in which he follows wordlessly, not being elusive at all as he gets a better look at her from this angle. The skirt is just barely covering the curve of her ass, and a flash of red is revealed each time she takes a step.

He bites down on his tongue harshly, adverting his gaze and thinking of literally anything else to keep his erection away.

He surveys the area of the backyard, not seeing a pool or any body of water nearby and he wonders why she has the bathing suit on.

Not that it should matter to him. She’s probably just tanning, you pervert. It’s hotter than hell out today.

Paloma’s humming again as she goes to remove the wooden plank that keeps the door of the shed closed, grunting as she struggles to pull it free. The soft sounds she emits do nothing but make it harder for him to show some fucking resilience.

“Do you need help—” Javier’s cut off as she successfully slides the thick piece off, resting it against the metal wall and dusting her hands off on her skirt.

“Appreciate it, though.” She flashes him a toothy grin, the wide doors creak as she pulls them open; revealing a beautiful vintage car.

Javier lets out a low whistle, perching his sunglasses on the top of his head and placing his toolbox on the ground as he walks around the vehicle to get a better look at it.

His hands fall to his hips, circling the area slowly and shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re tellin’ me the mechanic didn’t jump at the chance to fix this thing?”

“Like you said, most men are idiots.” He can’t help but laugh, exhaling from his nose.

“S’always interestin’ to see it in practice.” He returns to the front of the car, propping open the hood and getting a better look inside. “You got the keys?”

“In the visor.” She replies, “Good luck tryin’ to get her to start. All she does is stutter before given’ out entirely.”

Javi makes a note of that, acknowledging her with a hum, already seeing a few things out of place and he’s eager to get to working on it.

Before turning to law enforcement, Javi had the inkling to become a mechanic. Plenty of his uncles worked in auto shops and he has vivid memories of spending hours there with them learning everything he could under their supervision.

Experiences he holds near and dear to his heart, it’s part of the reason why he’s so clever and dexterous.

“I’ve got some stuff I gotta get done. Try not to miss me…” Paloma’s voice rings out and Javier hadn’t noticed that he zoned out.

He glances at her over his shoulder, “I’m more interested in gettin’ to know Darla, if I’m bein’ honest with you, hermosa.”

Paloma had to excuse herself before she quite literally jumped on Javier and had him take her against the hood of her car. The way he looked with his hands on his hips, eyes focused on admiring the vehicle had left her in a trance that she was sure if she stared any longer, she would have started drooling.

Something about the promise of seeing him sweaty and greased up had her mind spiraling with different erotic fantasies that would surely send her to straight to hell.

So she properly lets him be, busying herself with a few chores she has to get done before leaving for the creek with Sloane later. It is the first time Paloma will be meeting August and she’s nervous even though she doesn’t look it.

She finished the book Slo had passed on to her in a matter of days, intrigued to learn more about August’s ideas and the concepts he’s clearly very passionate about. When she relayed this over to Slo, the middleman between the two, she wasted no time in conjuring up a plan for them to meet. Originally, it was going to be more intimate with just the two of them but Paloma stressed that she was not ready for that so Sloane was quick to make it a group affair by suggesting they hang out by the creek.

It’s why she is currently clad in a bathing suit, with the summer at full send; being down by the water seemed like the best way to spend the latter half of her afternoon.

Right now, though, she’s more focused on not trying to fuck her dad’s friend slash co-worker.

Some time passes, and when Paloma takes a look out in the direction of the shed, she sees that he’s ditched his flannel, leaving him in a white undershirt and his broad shoulders are now on full display as he leans over the hood.

That’s when she sees it. It glistens beneath the sunlight, a silver pistol tucked between his jeans at his lower back. She knows officers carry a weapon on them at all times, but the unorthodox placing of Javier’s further adds to the appeal of this alluring man. God damn him and his desirability.

Paloma’s mind now wanders to the repeated wet dream she keeps having, the one where Javier takes her on the wooden railing of the porch. Specifically, the variation where he’s kneeled in front of her, her dress covering his face as he devours her entirely.

She interlocks her fingers in his hair and tugs at it, in which he responds by wrapping his lips around her clit and sucking on it harshly. That leaves her wailing and panting his name over and over and over again…

The force in which her thighs clench together is enough to snap her out of her delusions. She’s no better than a man, really, and she huffs to herself as she reenters the house to grab the six pack of beers, her guitar and notebook before sauntering over to him.

She’s more than capable of handling just being around Javier without thinking sinfully. It’s why she’s walking like a woman with a purpose, trying to prove to herself that she can be totally normal about this… budding friendship she has with him.

“How’s it goin’ in here?” Her voice cuts through the sound of the radio that continues to play softly. She brought it in here for him to have some entertainment before she hurried off to the house.

Javier pulls back, lips twitching up into a smirk as he eyes the beers in her hand. “Goin’ fine. Whoever you took her to really fucked it up. No wonder he couldn’t figure out what the problem was. It’s everythin’.” Back of his hand wipes sweat from his brow, some of his hair matted against his damp skin. “I thought you didn’t drink.”

“Never said that. I just said on occasion.” She reminds him, popping the cap off of two beers then handing him one. He thanks her softly, wiping his hand on the already stained rag and tucking it into his back pocket.

Her knees almost go weak at the action, but she’s a woman on a mission, remember?

“So what’s the occasion today?”

“It’s hot as fuck outside.” They share a laugh and tap their bottles together before taking a long sip.

“And the guitar?”

Paloma sits on the wooden chair nearby, her spot whenever she comes in here to keep her dad company while he’s in the middle of building something. Most recently, some planter boxes she’d requested for their garden.

“I figured since I had some new company, I could play something for you. It helps move the writing process along.” She kicks her sandals off, tucking her legs beneath her and laying the guitar across her lap.

“I’m getting a peek behind the curtain of Paloma Leighton’s illustrious writing process? Well, I’m truly honored,” he remarks, dripping with sarcasm. She rolls her eyes at his jest but can’t help but chuckle, taking another sip of her beverage and downing it in one gulp.

She catches the intensity of his gaze lingering on her throat, tracing the subtle movements with each swallow. Paloma can’t help but entertain the thought: does he fantasize about her as she does about him?

“Don’t feel too special. I’m always playin’ somethin’ for someone.” She sets the finished bottle aside, thumbing through her notebook until she finds the adequate page and folds the tattered front so that it lays flat on the thick arm of the chair.

As she does this, Javier lights a cigarette and puffs out a cloud of gray smoke. “You do it all yourself?” She can hear the curiosity in his tone and for some reason, it makes her blush.

“For the most part. The band just helps bring it all together. They add the umph to it… s’not always the case, though. Sometimes I oversee the entirety of it. From the lyrics to the melody and everything in between. It’s real fun.” She begins to tune her guitar, brows pulling in concentration as her ears perk up to catch any inconsistencies until she’s thoroughly pleased with how it sounds.

Javier remains silent, his fond gaze lingering on her as he takes a drag from his cigarette. With practiced ease, he lifts the beer bottle to his lips, alternating between the two vices at a leisurely pace. As he delves deeper into understanding her, the allure intensifies, dangerously blurring the lines between flirtation and something more profound.

Something more. He’s trying real fucking hard not to see it like that.

Javi’s never been inclined to seek deeper connections with his partners. Emotions and commitments tend to complicate matters, a burden he’s well-acquainted with in his already convoluted life. He sees no need to add unnecessary strain by entering into half-hearted relationships.

This is why he exclusively pursues sex, seeking gratification without the complications of emotional entanglements. His experiences in Colombia, where he didn’t mind paying for intimacy, epitomized this mindset. There, a mutual understanding prevailed: their encounters were solely about shared pleasure, with no expectation of anything beyond.

In the short months that he’s been here, Javi has finally began finding some kind of peace in Seminary, all things considered, and while fucking the sheriff’s daughter would be a bad move— catching feelings for her would be a hundred times worse.

“It’s a little morbid, m’still workin’ on it and it’s fairly short. S’just the chorus.” Javier nods, letting her know that he’s listening as she begins to sing.

“If I die young, bury me in satin Lay me down on a bed of roses, Sink me in the river at dawn Send me away with the words of a love song. The sharp knife of a short life, Now I know there’s no such thing as enough time.”

Her voice is softer, southern accent complimenting her strums on the guitar and while he enjoys the electrifying performances she puts on stage; he loves hearing her like this.

Rich and smooth. Like miel (honey).

“You’re right, it is morbid.” He comments, truthfully, and Paloma lets out a breath.

“I tried not lettin’ what happened to Nina get into my writing. No need to keep dwellin’ on it but damn is it hard to keep it away. Figured I’d just get it out of my system and get back to workin’ on my other stuff.”

“There’s nothin’ wrong with dwelling on it…” He begins tentatively, already sensing a pang of regret for broaching the subject. Once more, he finds himself grappling with the challenge of articulating his thoughts effectively.

“I know, but for my peace of mind it’s best I just get on with it.” Her shoulders rise and fall in a shrug, fingers plucking at the guitar strings again.

For the next hour or so, they immerse themselves in conversation, delving into a wide array of topics. While Javier meticulously tends to the car’s engine, Paloma remains by his side, offering her company. Amidst their discussions, they explore trivial details about each other’s lives: favorite movies, food preferences, and other basic facts. Through these exchanges, Javier learns of Paloma’s irrational fear of reptiles, her affinity for sleeping with her windows open, and her distinct preference for waffles over pancakes.

Javier indulges in the easy flow of their conversation, sharing with her his fondness for spy novels, his penchant for card games, and reminiscing about his favorite arepa spot in Bogotá.

The latter captivates her, drawing her focus entirely. “I can’t wrap my head around the fact that you lived there for such a long time. It’s just unimaginable to me... A completely different country... so fascinating.” She muses, her tone tinged with wistfulness.

He’s eager to shift away from this subject, recognizing her genuine curiosity and good intentions. However, he’s apprehensive about delving into discussions about his past work and experiences, topics he’s not ready to broach. With a brief, dismissive response, he seeks to subtly steer the conversation in a different direction.

“Yup, lotta crazy shit…” He returns his attention to the engine and Paloma catches the hint and doesn’t say much else after.

“Paloma!” The sudden call of her name has them both turning their heads to the opened doors of the shed where he sees a girl her age standing on the porch, searching the area until her eyes fall on the two of them and she beelines in their direction.

“I’ve been knockin’ on your front door like a crazed woman for the past five minutes! There’s a random truck parked out there, what’re you doin’—” When the girl’s gaze lands on Javier, her entire body language switches and he raises his brows at the change. “I didn’t know you had company. Who’s this handsome fella?”

Javier is accustomed to captivating the attention of women, especially the striking ones. They consistently cast him that same flirtatious glance, their gestures taking on an added want of attention. This encounter proves to be no exception. With her bottom lip captured between her teeth, she checks him out not so subtly, her gaze lingering on his toned arms before returning to meet his gaze, a playful spark dancing in her eyes.

Maybe this is exactly what he needs: a diversion to divert his attention from Paloma. Despite his intense desire for her, he knows it would only lead to complications in the future.

Pursuing women younger than himself is not the path he wishes to tread, especially since he (allegedly) left his playboy days behind in Colombia in pursuit of a fresh start.

Yet, amidst his longing for Paloma and the current lack of romantic encounters, Javier finds it difficult to view things in this new perspective.

Always thinking with the wrong head. It’s his achilles heel.

“Javi. What’s your name, gorgeous?” He smirks flirtatiously, wiping his hands clean on the rag again and reaching out to take her hand in his in a handshake.

“Sloane.” She squeezes his hand gently before letting go, sultry smile still present on her countenance.

“Sloane, pleasure to meet you sweetheart.”

Paloma doesn’t like the nasty feeling she gets as she watches the interaction. It’s clear as day that they’re flirting, and honestly what did she expect out of her best friend, and now, charming acquaintance?

She’s well aware of his rapport in Colombia and the daily flirtatious behavior towards her. Paloma’s also aware of how willing Slo is to fuck anything in her line of vision. Yet, not being on the receiving end of the former is odd and has her feeling things she doesn’t want to feel.

What really has her skin crawling is the way he calls her sweetheart and introduces himself as Javi. He’s never told her to call him that.

Honestly, she probably would have felt more green if he had called her hermosa or any of the other Spanish names of endearment he’s reserved for her.

Reserved for her? She sounds so possessive.

Sloane giggles, “You’re the one who’s been followin’ her around all over town on daddy’s orders, huh? P, you didn’t tell me he was this hot. I woulda told you to count your blessings had I known.” They exchange a look that Paloma really can’t stand catch sight of, so she interjects.

“Sorry I lost track of time. Javier’s been lookin’ at Darla tryna fix her.” His name rolls of her tongue smoothly and this has a smug smile sprouting on his face.

No cowboy or officer or Mr. Peña. Just Javier.

She gets up from her seat, sliding her sandals back on and leaving her belongings where they lay.

“There’s a part or two that’s missin’ but it shouldn’t be hard to get ‘em. Other than that, my work here is done.” He turns his back to the two girls and Sloane mouths over to her.

Oh my god?!

Paloma shoots her a look as Javier slams the hood of the car closed.

“Thank you, Javier, I really appreciate you doin’ this for me.” Her tone is genuine, despite the jealousy that had consumed her just then.

“No problem, cariño, I’ll let you know when I get my hands on those missin’ parts.”

“That sounds great! How much do I owe you for—” He cuts her off with a wave of his hand, collecting his things.

“Don’t worry about it. M’doin’ this out of the kindness of my heart. S’what you do for a friend, right?” Speaking of hearts, hers skips a beat at being considered a friend and she feels her cheeks getting hot. Get a grip!

“Yeah, I guess so.” Paloma refrains from saying thank you again, not wanting to overdo it but she really is appreciative of his hard work.

Maybe she could find another way to show just how much she appreciates him doing this for her.

“Gabriel’s waitin’ for us out front, baby. We’re already runnin’ late.” Slo’s voice snaps her back to reality and she nods. Javier clears his throat and side steps her.

“Hope y’all have fun. Be safe, hermosa. Call me if you need anythin’.” Warmth spreads within her chest at his words, which would have annoyed her had they been coming from anyone else.

There has definitely been a shift in their dynamic, but she can’t quite place what it is. The bitterness she felt just then definitely a factor.

“Sloane, darling, hopefully I’ll see you ‘round town soon.” And just like that, the warmth is gone as he addresses her best friend, a wink thrown in her direction before he’s leaving the two girls in the shed.

“Okay, you have a lot to catch me up on. Frankly, I’m pissed you haven’t sent him in my direction. I mean, look at him. That’s a whole man right there, dear lord I was about to cum just by shakin’ his hand!” Paloma cringes but she doesn’t let it show, instead pulling excitement from their afternoon plans to uplift her mood.

“How about we get goin’ before Gabriel ditches our asses and we’re left walkin’ all the way down there.”

It’s not much longer after that that they make it to their destination and Paloma rejoices in the feeling of the cool water against her hot skin. She ditched her mini skirt along the way, currently sitting in a more shallow end, head falling back against her shoulders as she soaks in the sun.

She can hear Gabriel and Sloane splashing around nearby, and she contemplates joining them when the sound of her name gets her attention.

“Paloma, yeah?”

She head snaps in the direction of the voice and her breath gets stuck in her throat once she sees the source.

He stands tall, his figure slightly lanky but gracefully lean, his golden locks tousled. His eyes, a light shade of blue and captivating, hold a magnetic charm.

With a quick glance, she takes in the intricate tapestry of tattoos adorning his skin. They seem to complement him perfectly, she muses, adding an extra layer of intrigue to his already handsome appearance.

And for the second time in such a short period of time— Paloma finds herself subtly squirming in her spot, a familiar sensation stirring within her legs.

This man, though, much more age appropriate and everything about him screams intriguing.

“Depends who’s askin’.” She can’t help but tease, one eye closed and her right hand coming up to block the sun from hitting her face directly. She’d forgotten her sunglasses at home and that annoyed the shit out of her once she realized.

“A friend of a friend. May I?” Gestures to the empty spot in the shallow water besides her and she nods, “You’re much prettier than I remember.”

Eyes follow him as she lowers himself besides her, their bodies softly brushing up against one another and she shivers slightly despite the blazing temperature, “We’ve met before? No way, I definitely would have remembered you…”

“Technically— no we haven’t met but… I was with Slo that day at the library. M’August.” He introduces himself and her stomach knots.

That’s when it hits her, a very vague recollection but a recollection of him nevertheless.

“Right, wow, that feels like forever ago.” She shakes her head, gently swaying her hand beneath the water. Suddenly, she feels much more nervous. She’d spent a good part of her week obsessing over his book and now he’s sitting right next to her while they’re both half naked.

His explicit poem comes to mind and she shakes that thought away quickly before her whole body turns into a bright shade of red.

“Time is a very tricky concept. You want these?” He conjures up a pair of shades and her brows raise at the action. “Noticed you’ve been scowlin’ ‘cause of the sunlight.”

A small smile spreads on her lips and she nods, he passes the accessory over to her and their fingers touch briefly against each other and she swears she feels fireworks.

Paloma really has to stop being such a helpless romantic. That never ends good for anyone involved.

“Thank you, August. You’re so observant.” She slips them on and lets out a small sigh, her head falling back between her shoulders.

She can feel his eyes all over her, but she doesn’t mind it. “Slo tells me you’re a fan of my work?”

She can’t help the laugh that slips from her lips and her eyes widen once she realizes that that wasn’t the most appropriate reaction for her to have. “That… came out really wrong. I’m so sorry.” She shakes her head at herself, “I did enjoy the Paragons of the Sacrificed book.” Is honest in her opinion, looking straight ahead at the glistening body of water to avoid further embarrassment by looking at him.

“Don’t apologize, I know Slo has a tendency to… over-exaggerate.” They shared an amused laugh at the expense of their friend but it’s all in good fun. She feels some of her nerves lessen.

“I am happy to hear that you enjoyed the book, though. S’the whole point why I wrote it. Sharin’ new things to new people.” He explains.

“New things, indeed. You cited a lot of notable publishings. Got me lookin’ more into the history of religion… I can’t help but feel a little ignorant, y’know? So much knowledge out there and I’m so… uneducated.” Paloma scoffs at herself, self depreciation at its finest.

“Oh, that just isn’t true, little dove.” The nickname has Paloma looking over at him; he’s gives her such a warm and charming look that sends the butterflies in her stomach into a flurry. “Is it alright if I call you that? Seems very fitting… paloma is dove in Spanish.” A fact she’s very well aware of, since her mother reminded her about it all the time growing up.

“Yeah, I quite like that. No one’s ever really called me it before.” She replies almost sheepishly and he brings his large hand down to rest on her knee which has her breath hitching in her throat.

“Doves represent peace, love and purity … your parents sure did somethin’ namin’ you that.” His squeezes his grip on her knee briefly before pulling his hand back.

Pure? That’s possibly the last word she’d ever used to describe herself.

“As I was sayin’... throughout your life, others’ opinions have shaped your perspective. Eventually, you decide to see the world through your own eyes. Do some explorin’ of your own. It might take time to reach this realization, but what’s important is your willingness to learn and challenge conventional beliefs. So much knowledge out there, s’up to you to seek it and form your own opinions. S’way better than just followin’ what other people want you to think. Bit hypocritical comin’ from me considerin’ the group I lead but that’s different.”

Unbeknownst to Paloma, she finds herself captivated by every word that escapes his lips, hanging on to each syllable as if they were precious gems. His voice carries an irresistible attractiveness, his words akin to twinkling stars scattered across the vast expanse of a darkened sky.

He’s leading her to him… towards something in the same way constellations help sailors navigate the sea.

They spend the rest of the day just… talking. He delves deeper into the intricacies of a group he belongs to—individuals adrift in the world, much like himself. Together, they’ve traveled through the majority of Texas, exchanging stories and delving into philosophical musings, united in their quest for deeper meaning and connection to something greater than themselves.

That leads Paloma to learn that he’s from Fayette, which is a few towns south, and that he, Sloane, and Gabriel all grew up in the same trailer park together. They’re the closest thing I have to a family is what August tells her and she feels sentimental as the statement tugs at her heartstrings.

She also learns that all three of them have a criminal past, which surprises her entirely and he explains to her that it was during their adolescence and it wasn’t anything major. Just stupid shit to pass the time.

She believes him without asking any further questions.

It’s not until they’re both getting bitten up by mosquitos that they decide it’s time to head back.

“It’s finally nice to put a face to the name, August. I hope I get to see you again… maybe read another one of your books?” Paloma bites her lip as they walk side by side.

“Likewise. Next time I’ll make sure to bring it to you personally. Don’t need Slo playin’ messenger and misconstruing our words.”

They make it back to Gabriel’s truck, he and Slo leaning against it and sharing a joint as they eye the duo. Paloma slips her skirt back on.

“‘Bout fuckin’ time. I need a shower, bad.” Sloane huffs, passing the joint to Paloma whom rejects it which gets an eye roll out of her friend and then handing it over to August who accepts it with no hesitation.

Paloma sees a motorcycle nearby and her curiosity gets the best of her, “S’that your ride, August?” She flips her hair over her shoulder, looking at him. He lustfully eyes the exposed skin of her neck and shoulders before nodding.

“Sure is. You ever been on one before?” Thick smoke emits from his lips and nose as he passes the joint back over to Gabriel who finishes it off wordlessly.

He’s so quiet, Paloma observes, but her attention returns to August.

“No. They look real cool, though.”

“You should let me take you home. Give you your first ride on one, little dove.” The offer is rather suggestive and she doesn’t mind it. She’s very interested in getting to know him better.

Paloma would have taken him up on it had she not been wearing the outfit that currently adorns her body. “Maybe next time.” She smiles at him softly and he nods, she looks away sheepishly as she blushes.

They share their goodbyes then she’s piling in to Gabriel’s truck after Sloane and on her way back home.

The day’s events echo through her thoughts as she gazes out of the window, Javier’s presence now intertwined with that of August’s. A sense of excitement bubbles within her, unfamiliar yet exhilarating—the attention she’s receiving is unlike anything she’s experienced before.

Two distinctly attractive and intriguing men have unexpectedly entered her life, each leaving an indelible mark. Rather than overcomplicating matters, Paloma resolves to embrace the moment and allow things to unfold naturally. It’s a thrilling prospect, injecting a sense of excitement into her life that she hasn’t felt in quite some time.

“Oh fuck.” Paloma curses as she sees her father’s vehicle parked by the front yard and him sitting out on the porch.

Looks like he’s gotten back from his hunting trip early. It is nearing ten o’clock and she knows she’s about to be interrogated on her whereabouts.

She’s relieved that she hadn’t taken August up on his offer to bring her home on his motorcycle. Now that would have sent poor Romeo over the edge.

“Oh, baby, I feel for you.” Slo pats her thigh compassionately and Paloma groans. Dread creeps up her spine making her wither uncomfortably.

“He wasn’t supposed to be back ‘til tomorrow mornin’. Ugh, he’s so not goin’ to let this go.” The truck stops and both Gabriel and Slo flash her an understanding yet somber look.

“Thanks for the ride. I’ll call you tomorrow, ‘kay Slo?” The girl nods and they both hug before she’s exiting the vehicle and preparing herself for what’s to come. Paloma tugs her skirt down, noticing that it had ridden up much higher than what was appropriate.

“Where the hell have you been, girl?” He asks once she’s close enough to survey him. He’s drinking, that’s never a good sign.

“We went out by the creek and—”

“The creek? With who? At this time of night? Paloma, how can you be so reckless. Especially with what the hell has been goin’ on around here?!”

Anger contorts her features, her expression tightening with indignation as he addresses her as though she were a wayward teenager, rather than a capable woman out in the company of her friends.

“And dressed like that.” The tone in his voice makes something within her snap and she crosses her arm with attitude, getting defensive.

“Like what? I was by the water and I’m wearin’ a bathin’ suit. S’that illegal now?” Paloma is so ready to go inside, shower, and get in her bed.

“Is this what you do when I’m not around? Sneakin’ off lookin’ for trouble in the dead of night?”

“It’s only ten and I really didn’t expect to stay out this long. I got preoccupied. Why are you makin’ such a big deal outta this?” She defends herself and it’s ridiculous, really, that she even has to.

He doesn’t say anything else and she just rolls her eyes. “I’m goin’ inside.” And that’s exactly what she does, walking right past him and indoors where she intends to take a very long, hot shower to help her forget about this spat of theirs.

Their arguments follow a familiar pattern: he erupts with emotion, then retreats into silence. Occasionally, he offers apologies, while other times, they linger unspoken. Paloma, however, is well-versed in navigating her father’s dramatic outbursts, having grown accustomed to them over time. It’s not the theatrics that trouble her; rather, it’s enduring it that proves challenging.

The shower runs while she takes a good, long look at herself in the mirror.

Paloma finds herself approaching a crucial juncture, feeling increasingly prepared to confront her father in a heart-to-heart conversation. This discussion, she knows, will culminate in her revealing her decision to leave town and prioritize her own needs for once. While the thought of causing her father pain weighs heavily on her heart, she recognizes the necessity of taking this step in order to forge her own path in her life.

The steam rises from the hot water, gradually filling the room with its thick, swirling embrace. Paloma’s reflection blurs and fades amidst the steam, prompting her to shed her clothes. With each layer discarded, she feels a sense of liberation, a moment of vulnerability before she finally steps into the welcoming cascade of the shower.

#pedro pascal fanfic #javier peña fanfic #javier pena fanfic #javier peña smut #javier pena smut #javier peña x ofc #javier pena fic #javier pena narcos #javier peña narcos #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña fic #javier pena fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic

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asscandles · 4 years

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Hello !!! I really liked ur writing (also the fandoms you do are chef's kiss) and i wanted to request for Mondo, Togami and Fuyuhiko (separately of course) with a very touchy (short 👀 I'm like 5'0") reader, who likes to squish their cheeks, hug them and give lil smoochies, sit or have the boys sit on her lap and other stuff like that? (It'd be cute if it were a mutual crush situation but I don't mind platonic either) Thank you sm in advance if you write it !!

ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ!! ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴄᴜᴛᴇ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴇᴅ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ɪᴛ. ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪᴛ ʟɪᴠᴇꜱ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ!

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ + ꜱᴜɢɢᴇꜱᴛɪᴠᴇ

Mondo Owada

Honestly, he never thought he would ever be in this position.

Him? The Ultimate Biker Gang Leader? Receiving a constant supply of affection?

Ridiculous. Improbable. Impossible.

Oh, but don’t get me wrong. It’s not like he doesn’t enjoy the attention. But after he accidentally shouted at you in embarrassment when you complimented his eyes, reflexively crushed a pencil and consequently showered you with the splintered wood when you ambushed him with a hug, and fled from the premises after you innocuously offered to massage his shoulders… the idea of you sticking around in his life seemed unfeasible.

But here you are.

It doesn’t take him long to grow accustomed to the attentiveness and devotion you always treat him with.

“So, we should close off this area and tighten our control around this neighborhood. Oh, and maybe--”

“Uh, sir? What’s… um… What’s..?” One of his men tentatively pointed to where you were clinging to Mondo’s back, legs constricted around his waist and arms looped around his neck, blinking blankly at the man standing before you.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Mondo didn’t even flinch. “Anyway, as I was saying--”

Mondo really doesn’t mind when you cling to him in public. In fact, he appreciates the warmth of your body and the unexpected sense of security that holding your hand gives him.

But, he starts to draw the line when you stand in front of him while he’s sitting, smiling sweetly as you squish his cheeks and giggle about how adorable he is. He always flushes a florid shade and averts his eyes from yours. He would never tell you, but whenever you do that, he feels so defenseless, something that the rest of his crew should never know about.

That’s why he tells you to keep such intimate actions private. When you two are alone, you can squish his cheeks and pepper his face with kisses as often as you want. You understand this, and you’re always ecstatic whenever you walk in on him somewhere he’s alone.

You’re so short he loves it omg.

He thinks that watching you struggle to reach his face with your lips is so funny. He will often poke fun at you by either pretending to not see you or lifting his chin even higher. When you finally give up and try to storm away with a huff, he captures you in his arms and lifts you off the ground while you grumble indignantly.

Okay, but when you press yourself against him and wrap yourself in the loose fabric of his jacket so that it covers both of you? BITCHHH he melts.

Due to your short stature, you often find yourself seated upon his shoulders. At first, Mondo was taunted by his friends for quote-on-quote “having his head buried between your thighs,” but Mondo easily dismissed their teasing. He knew that your intentions were nothing less than pure…

Even if he initially was nervous and sweaty at the idea of being so… so close to you.

Mondo always treated you as if you were made of glass. Since you’re so small and he’s so muscular and tall, he always feared that a single bump or scratch would absolutely eviscerate your bones and pulverize your internal organs. For a while, he had been worried that he would forget about his own strength and accidentally hurt you. So, it did take him a little longer to reciprocate your affectionate.

That being said, he nearly flipped his shit when you nonchalantly asked him to try sitting in your lap. His brain was pumping out ideas at ninety miles an hour, but his lips could only communicate half of them, leaving him stuttering and nearly choking on his saliva. He was certain that he would crush your body beyond recognition if he tried.

No way. No. No. Absolutely not.

He’s cool with having you seated on his lap, though. In fact, he even encourages it. Having such a stunning gem to show off to his men during meetings stokes the flames of confidence within him, often resulting in a shit-eating grin and a protective hand on your shoulder or around your waist.

You get unlimited access to Mondo with his hair down, you lucky bitch.

You’re absolutely bewitched with how soft his hair is as it slips through your fingers like rivulets of water, the opposite of how it feels when it’s gelled into his usual hairstyle. You spend a lot of time combing your fingers through his hair and lightly scratching his scalp. Mondo finds it extremely relaxing, and he often comes to you whenever he has a headache or needs an extra push that will lull him to sleep.

Byakuya Togami

Before you appeared in his life, he had never been subjected to genuine love and sentiment. In his world, it was either surpass or be surpassed. Mercy was not an option, and competition was all he knew. As a result, he views everyone around him as inferior and lesser creatures.

When you first started to show kindness to him, he thought that you were merely pitying him because he spent so much time by himself. This led to him holding you at an icy distance and shooting scathing remarks in your direction.

However, you were steadfast in your determination to make Byakuya a part of your life. It took some time, but soon enough, you had earned a place in his heart.

He wished that he didn’t know how it was possible for you to have become such an essential part of his life, but he did. No matter how many times he told you that you were annoying, a distraction, or disgusting, it was clear that you were absolutely unaffected by it. You knew that his dislike of you wasn’t personal. Your tenacity is what caused his harsh words to dissipate in his throat and him to surrender to the prospect of developing a relationship with you.

You were strong, and he understood that now.

It definitely takes him a long time to accept your clingy nature, and even then, he sometimes feels suffocated by the surplus of affection.

It doesn’t mean that he completely brushes you off. It just means that you have to be more sparing with your ministrations.

He sees nothing wrong with allowing you a quick hug or to hold his hand in public. If anyone says anything about it, he will deadass act like nothing is happening. He knows that if he acknowledges it, the chances of him becoming openly flustered will skyrocket.

He would never be able to live it down.

Anything else you would like to do to him, he prefers to keep it private.

Wow, that sounds suggestive.

Whatever, let’s proceed.

He’ll gripe and complain about you being heavy, but he never pushes you off or directly tells you to get off when you burrow your way beneath his arm and curl into his side while he reads. He’ll just sigh and settle his arm around you with the tiniest, most discreet smile.

He can’t help but chuckle to himself when you remove his glasses so that you can wear them instead. His chuckle flourishes into a genuine laugh when you promptly yank them off, your stomach churning in protest of your warped vision.

When you hold his hand in private, you pay a lot of attention to his fingers. You toy with them, marveling at how strong they are despite their slender appearance.

So, kisses are a thing.

“What was that?”

“Uh, a kiss.”

“Revolting… Do it again.”

A common thing, actually.

You plant kisses everywhere that you can: his fingertips, his cheeks, his shoulders, the back of his hand, his nose. He never fails to blush red as a rose, often pulling away and pressing the back of his hand to his mouth.

If you want him to complain in mock disgust, press a sloppy, prolonged kiss right in the center of his forehead.

If you want him to squirm, brush the softest kiss you can manage to either his collarbone or the shell of his ear. Biiiitchhhh…

ANYWAY, THAT’S NOT THE POINT--

Surprise, surprise. He loves poking fun at your height. How shocking. How absolutely unbelievable.

Like Mondo, he finds amusement in watching you balance on your tiptoes as you try to kiss him. You, however, combat his devious snickering by seizing his crossover tie and yanking him down to your height, catching him off guard. Then, all he can do is inwardly grumble about his blunder while you press a kiss to the corner of his lips

He once actually sat on you to trap you after you tried (and failed) to tickle him. He wasn’t expecting you to laugh gleefully and wrap your arms around his waist to anchor him to you. Since you were enjoying what he deemed a punishment, it was no longer pleasurable for him. He finds it embarrassing to voluntarily sit on anyone’s lap--let alone the lap of someone remarkably smaller than him. He sees it as a role of submission. Need I explain more?

He won’t complain if you sit on his, though. Well, I lied. This bitch complains about everything. It’s more like… he won’t reject you if you end up on his lap.

But about a half hour into whatever the hell this “cuddling” thing is, Byakuya discovers that the combination of your weight and body heat is an interesting catalyst for the onslaught of fatigue that he’s been procrastinating for the longest time.

You happen to doze off first. But upon awakening, you notice that Byakuya’s head is resting against yours, his arms loosely wrapped around your waist. His book is closed beside him.

Ngl, you thought he was actually going to rock your shit the first time you squished his cheeks. His frosty glare was enough to make you draw back in shock, but it soon disappeared, accompanied by a sigh from him.

“You have one more opportunity to do that. Don’t waste it.”

Oh, you definitely don’t.

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu

Someone is???? Smaller than him???

!!!!

That one inch of height makes him feel so powerful omfg.

Because of his job, he would rather keep any kind of affection hidden behind closed doors. The only people who he would let PDA slide around are those in his immediate circle, like his family, Peko, and whoever else serves directly under him.

He just wants to keep you safe, and he feels that the best way to do that is to not make it known that he has a soft spot for you.

You smile at the way his aloof, callous demeanor switches to a gentler, more amicable one when he sees you waiting for him to finish whatever job he’s been tasked with. His perpetual scowl melts away, the wrinkles of irritation blemishing his forehead smooth, and his distrusting, narrowed eyes round with an almost childlike, innocent delight.

You enjoy the latter side of him so much that it isn’t uncommon for you to cling to his waist and drop like dead weight, forcing him to drag you with him across the floor if he wants to return to work.

“Hiko… You can’t leave..!” You whine. “I’ll miss you..!”

“I’m sorry…” He huffs, taking another step while you’re dragged behind him like some ragdoll. “But I have things I need to take care of!”

You eventually sink into a heap on the floor when he reaches the door, making a half-hearted attempt to hold on to his ankles.

He chuckles and squats down in front of you. “I’ll be back later.” You sit up and sharply turn your head away with a pout. He gently yet firmly seizes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, directing you to look at him. “Promise.” His eyes are gentle, but you know he’s serious. You reluctantly release him.

“Okay,” you mumble. “Please, be safe.”

You know the, “When I was your age…” thing?

Yeah, Fuyuhiko does that shit. But, he does, “When I was your height…” instead.

A fucki.ng pO w e R trip.

He really likes the feeling of having you on his lap. It makes him feel like he’s actually capable of offering security to someone. Bonus points if you straddle his lap and hug him close in return, resting your chin on his shoulder.

Back-hugs? Back-hugs.

The first time you snuck up on him and embraced him from behind, he almost knocked you tf out. But over time, he’s gotten used to it. That doesn’t mean you don’t manage to catch him off guard from time to time. Feeling him jolt and hearing him yelp in shock when you wrap your arms around his waist never fails to make you laugh. One time, you laughed so hard that your legs gave out and you tumbled to the ground, accidentally dragging him with you.

Whenever he’s stressed, kisses always seem to be the cure. Sprinkled across his cheeks, tracing the edge of his jaw, following the shell of his ear, pressed to his fingertips--you name it. Whatever you have to offer, he’s more than happy to let you have your way and shower him with love.

You pay special attention to his freckles. Whenever he’s had a taxing day, you vow to kiss each and every freckle on his face. When you’re lulling him to sleep with his head in your lap, you smooth a feather-light fingertip over his cheeks, playing connect-the-dots with his freckles.

But there are just some days where he needs to be the baby, y’know? On those days, he likes laying with his face pressed into your stomach and his body curled into your embrace. You watch over him lovingly, tracing the designs shaved into his hair with a curious finger and slowly massaging his scalp.

He needs reassurance every now and then, verbal or otherwise. You are always more than willing to oblige, filling whatever role he needs at the moment.

He always takes necessary precautions, such as locking the doors and drawing the curtains, before he allows himself to strip his soul bare and lay all of his impurities before you. This is a side of him that no one else must know about. Otherwise, his reputation would take a massive blow.

Speaking of “baby,” it’s no secret that Fuyuhiko positively despises his baby face. You, however, adore it. You like to squish his cheeks and coo about how cute he is. He never resists you, and will even play along by puckering his lips at you if he’s in a good mood. It doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t like his face, but if you seem to be fond of it, then maybe it’s not all that bad.

But if anyone else even thinks about touching him in such a manner, then that’s it.

Their ass is grass.

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universallywriting · 3 years

Note

As the most esteemed Connieologist of our time, would you be willing to chime in on a topic with which I've been challenging myself? If not, feel free to disregard! Otherwise:

Assuming that both Connie and Steven both start off the same as canon, how much would have to change over the course of the series for Steven to propose to Connie to marry and stay as Stevonnie full time at the age he does in canon *and* for Connie to agree *and* for it not to be an objectively terrible decision for both of them? Or is there just no plausible scenario where it's anything other than a phenomenally bad idea?

I can definitely come up with a few reasons for her to agree to it at that age. I can also think of all sorts of reasons why it could be a good thing at some point in the future. However, trying to turn the teenage picnic proposal into anything other than a huge "Don't do it!" moment is pretty tough. I thought would be a good creative writing exercise, but I've kind of stumped myself.

Do you have any thoughts? It's totally fine if you don't. The extent of your awesomeness is unaffected by your interest in responding to this! Cheers!

I think the big thing that would have to change is that big blank post-finale, pre-movie space. If you take that time and during it have Connie not start focusing on school and human life and making friends but instead focus on gem stuff, I think you have a recipe for Steven and Connie feeling alienated from humanity.

However, unlike canon, in this scenario Connie wouldn't have many reasons to shut Steven down when he proposes. If she's in a place where he's the only one who could ever understand her, and humanity no longer feels like her place, I can imagine her accepting the proposal because she won't feel any social consequences from doing so. Combining that with school not holding as much interest for her when she's working on gem stuff, and I think Connie might reasonably agree to the engagement.

Personally, I can't see permafusion ever happening without massive series changes. To me, Steven and Connie are both very independent people who enjoy doing their own things. The nature of a relationship like that isn't really compatible with permafusion. I feel like they might eventually fuse a lot, or spend more time fused than unfused, but it seems like both of them crave space and alone time so I doubt that they'd ever enjoy months or years of uninterrupted fusion.

Thanks for the ask! This was fun to think about!

#su meta #suf meta #connie maheswaran

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translightyagami · 4 years

Text

Mikalight Week fic: 24-Hour Gym

a short mikalight fic for, what else, @mikalightweek. wrote it sort of quick? and its not explicit but is very sensual and there’s a lot of body talk and you can basically assume they fuck after the fic (i was TOO LAZY to write the smut). Anyway.

This fic is rated BPBB, for Bench Pressing Bodacious Babes.

Quiet and soft humid air filled the gym. From the window, Teru watched him with his standard issue NPA duffel bag slung over his shoulder, laughing at a text on his phone. When he looked up, they almost met eyes and Teru turned, facing his reflection in the wall-length mirror. His black hair hung in lank strands beside his face; his grey T-shirt collar darkened into a full-leaf of sweat over his front. The gym door bells jingled as he came in, cheeks pink from the mid-winter outside and a wary smile on his face.

Of course, Teru recognized him. Kira. Light. Above the brown trendy haircut floated his full name, the kanji confusing for a minute until – congealed and solidified – the meaning existed. While Light checked in with the sleepy front desk clerk, he talked loud and high-pitched. It was a voice unlike the one Teru heard in the warehouse, the one that told him after the police and that little white haired boy were dead, to go home. To make up an alibi. And to meet him, at this little 24-hour gym, in ten days.

Watching Light’s mirror twin walk to the back lockers, Teru lifted his dumbbells on autopilot – eleven, twelve, twelve, no wait – before setting them down, grabbing the towel he tucked into his jogger’s waistband. Nervous sweat and exertion sweat mixed together, all mopped away by a monogramed hand towel. When he glanced back up, Light was at the rowing machine.

For twenty minutes, they waltzed: Light moved to a machine, doing his reps, while Teru went to a different machine, did his own program. (An unceasing eye for detail made note that Light lifted about ten under Teru’s lowest weight.) Having shed a jacket now that he’d warmed up, Light worked in a loose white tank top that hung low in the sleeve holes. Every so often, when he reached to grasp a bar, his chest swooped in and out of view. Teru caught scar tissue, though never a long enough glimpse to know its shape. He stood from the arm extension machine and walked to the bench press. All the way he felt two sharp eyes peering at him from a leg machine.

Teru set the plates: two 10 kg., and then two 2.5 kg. plates, an unusual though not overwhelmingly larger weight than he lifted on a normal night. Foolish and near school-boylike, he wanted to show off in front of the other man. After setting the weights, he leaned back and rested his head beneath the long metal bar – and waited. The sound of God walking, a long stride with confident footfalls, was familiar in Teru’s ears. Head haloed in florescent, Light bent above the metal bar with arms outstretched.

“Do you need a spotter?” His tone suggested a joke – ha, ha, who else but me – but Teru only heard the question in serious.

“Yes,” he said, and it was then he realized these were the first words he’d spoken to Light in public. How apt, how right, that their exchange be God extending his hands to help Teru carry such a heavy burden. Light hovered his palms just around the silver length, eyes trained on Teru as he wrapped fists at either end and – oh! – lifted. Every rep, staring directly into a brown-eyed microscope, and Teru almost shook, lost his strength, when their hands nearly brushed. He managed ten reps before gently resting the bar back in place. Sweat dripped off his neck and above him, it made gems across Light’s forehead.

“Wow,” Light said. “You’re pretty strong.”

“T-thank you,” Teru cursed his stutter. He didn’t expect the compliment and it made a little flower burst inside his concrete encased heart. The flower only grew the longer Light looked at him, smile just a pink curve, eyes unnervingly genuine. It was a look that fake people in movies gave each other – Teru hated how much he liked to trust it. God had to be genuine – a kingdom of justice would never stand on false ground. Light’s stare trapped him with a weight deeper and heavier than any dumbbell, and when he glanced away, Teru gasped. His breath had flattened in his chest.

Light left first, at midnight, and when Teru went to his own locker at one thirty am, he found a note shoved into the air slits. On the note was a phone number and curt letter L for a signature. He folded it into the smallest triangle he could, having memorized the number, and set the paper beneath his tongue. As Teru packed his things, nodded to the gym employee, walked into a cold and calamitous city sidewalk, the paper poked and scraped the inner wet flesh. Pain in little bites followed him on his walk – each bright moment a moment of God beside him. Do you need a spotter? A question, a divine extended hand. Wow. You’re pretty strong. Strong, a warrior disciple, God’s most beloved. And, at the platform for his train home, he swallowed the dissolving note – communion.

Teru started working out in high school, when a gym teacher suggested a natural physical ability like his could use sculpting and recognized in him a perhaps genetic inability to play on a team. Ever since the first time, he took to the regimentation, the preplanning and trackable results of gym life. Within the walls of his usual club – the membership to which took up an embarrassing but necessary amount of his pay – Teru found ritual. A work out was an offering to the divine in his own body, and now it became religious practice, a modeling of himself into a better tool for Kira’s will.

This late night arrangement became weekly. On Tuesdays, Teru and Light worked out in the same hole-in-the-wall 24-hour gym, just them and one employee. Two owls dancing around the machines, Teru knew both their stares were gobbling each other’s body behaviors like so many tasty mice. He saw in Light a similar high-school athletics resolve, although the way his muscles smoothed rather than fit into shapes spoke more to sports than targeted workouts. Teru resisted his own snobbery in this observation – though he found a dedication to the perfecting of the body rather than to sportsmanship more pleasing. Kira had his reasons, maybe, for choosing athletic pastimes. There too was a certain leanness to Light’s body as well. Even with a layer of more authoritative muscle, he looked vulpine, foxlike in his lithe frame. His posture retained the slight slouch that many people who were slim in their young adult hood had; in fact, Teru only recognized it since he himself trained it out of his own habits a year prior.

And, yet, the flurry of observation – itself a thrill in its artificial intimacy – didn’t compare to those few minutes where Light leaned over, put his elegant hands out, and spotted Teru’s bench press. He took to doing them more often than his usual schedule. Combined with the bigger weights, an unevenness grew in his routine that Teru would never have allowed before. He couldn’t stop himself though. Anything for a few moments close enough to Light to see the split of his lips, the sweat trickling over his flushed cheeks.

On the fourth week, while Teru wiped down the leg press after he used it, Light approached him.

“Hey,” he said. “Isn’t weird how we’re always in this place together, but we’ve never learned each other’s names?”

“Mikami Teru,” Teru said. The tone was straightforward, and his volume normal – and still he imagined how imprudent he sounded. “I don’t usually go to this gym.”

Light narrowed his eyes and shook his head, just enough to say not the plan. Up his back, Teru’s spine stiffened. It was no joy to disappoint Light.

“Well,” Light said, slick voice untwisting the frustration in his gaze and presenting a smile that bordered on pretty. “I’m Yagami Light. I’ve really admired your routine. Maybe sometime we can meet up. I’m no good with workouts, not like you.”

“Oh. Yes.” Teru nodded. Meet up? Before he could ask a clarifying question, Light spoke over his concerns.

“Call me tomorrow,” he said. “I’m free after five.”

He walked away, not leaving a number except the one boiled in Teru’s stomach. No matter how heavy the weights he lifted, no matter the volume of the baby crying on his bus home, all Teru thought of was his phone and tomorrow after five. His palms itched.

He called at five twenty the next day, having rushed home after a meeting went long, and Teru never heard a worse noise than the ringing before Light picked up. On first answering, his tone was unpleasantly gruff, accusatory – a man in the drag of an older, wiser man. It clashed with the smooth youthfulness of Light’s voice in the gym, which only returned when Teru tentatively said his own greeting.

“Oh! Mikami,” Light said, a balm over the scratches left behind by his put-on masculinity. “You’re calling so late. I thought maybe you forgot.”

“No,” Teru said. “Never. I don’t forget important things.”

“Mm,” Light said. Behind his voice was a tapping sound, someone hitting paper with a pen. “I’m honored to be an important thing. Say, I didn’t catch it before, but where did you say you lived?”

Teru sat on a kitchen stool; he’d been standing, impatient, in the breakfast nook as though preparing to run to wherever Kira needed him. But the question set him down – why did Light want to know? And was it safe to say over the phone? Realizing he’d left dead air too long, Teru muttered that he lived further south – about an hour from the 24-hour gym.

“Oh, I see,” Light sounded mildly perturbed to be have been waiting. “I was just thinking, my girlfriend is making cookies and I thought I’d send you some. Do you have an address that’d be good?”

His girlfriend? Teru didn’t press but his stomach sank. However the phrase stung, he listed his apartment address in dutiful detail. In his ear were the soft scratches of Light’s pen writing everything down and, once he finished, Teru coughed. He didn’t want the phone call to end.

“Did you play sports?” His question flowed out in a proper, clear way, and Teru congratulated himself on how normal he sounded. “Maybe in high school?”

Light went quiet and when he spoke again, the words were cold.

“I played tennis,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

“I only wondered because,” Teru scrambled for something less damning to say, “you’re in such good shape but don’t like to work out. And usually that’s because of sports, I find.”

“Ah,” a low simmer melted Light’s voice. “You like to work out, don’t you, Mikami?”

“Mm,” Teru said. “I enjoy the time to work on my body. Physical fitness is a key to leading a good, worthwhile life.”

“Interesting,” Light said. He tapped his pen before popping his lips. Their wet click was at once disgusting – the body, the spit, the base physicality of it – and alluring – the body, the spit, the parts of Kira blessed by his own inner spirit. “I’ll send those cookies tonight. Expect them at your door around midnight, hm?”

“Oh.” This wasn’t about cookies. “Yes, I’ll look for them then. Thank you, Light. That’s very kind of you.”

“I’m always kind to my friends,” Light said.

At midnight, Teru heard the curt knock of the one he waited for. Standing in the hallway of his apartment building, wrapped in a coat, green sweater and black jeans, was Light. He smiled when Teru gestured for him to come inside – a good, well-raised smile. In a small childish part of himself, Teru wished to return such a pleasant smile. Instead, he nodded and raised his eyebrows as Light pressed a plastic box into his hands.

“I wasn’t lying, before on the phone,” he said, shaking off his coat. “My girlfriend was baking. She insisted I take some to meet my new friend. My recommendation?” Light swung around, coat on his finger and a wryness to his expression. “Toss them. Misa can’t bake.”

“How unfortunate,” Teru said. I’m a passable baker, he thought.

Light walked further into the one-bedroom space. He put his coat onto the black lacquered hat rack’s lower rung, ran a finger across the tight gray rectangle couch, and complimented the large entertainment center Teru built. When he let it slip that, in fact, he’d built it himself, Teru saw a curl of interest in Light’s gaze.

“I’ve always liked building too,” Light said, shrugging. “But never something so well constructed.”

He wandered into the sitting room and looked to his feet, a play-acted shyness. Nothing in his body language bar the glance down suggested timidity. Teru followed, although he knew his own behavior was less confident. Light flicked his eyes up and stilled Teru’s movements.

“I’m proud of your actions,” he said. “How well you served me, served the kingdom Kira hopes to build.”

A tremor worked through Teru and he sat, unable to keep his legs steady. To be acknowledged made him eager and fraught. Without thinking, he bowed his head, and a warm palm pressed over the back of his neck. Light murmured something.

“What did you say?” Teru asked, eyes going blurry the longer he stared at his own lap.

“I said,” Light slid a finger beneath his chin, tipping Teru up and into his line of vision. “Do you think you could bench press me?”

“I,” Teru frowned, his instinct to refuse presenting weakness. He fought past it. “I can try.”

The smile from before – polite, the kind a mother asked for during family pictures, toothless – warped into the brilliant split Teru recognized from the yellow warehouse. Light smiled in high volume, loud and greedy.

“Perfect,” he said. “Let me undress.”

“Undress?” Teru’s resolve wavered and he stood.

Light shrugged, already popping the button of his jeans.

“Won’t you need better traction?” He asked. “My clothes might cause your hand to slip.”

Breathless, Teru watched God strip down to a pair of black briefs. Shirtless, the two pink scars he saw glimpses of before swiped just beneath Light’s nipples, which hardened in the air-conditioning. Mental deduction took Teru up to chest surgery, although he couldn’t pinpoint the reason. As he stared, Light’s eyes took on impatience not unlike when Teru slipped up in the gym.

“Do I not please you?” Light raised his eyebrows, swinging out his hands. “Do you find God wanting in some way, Mikami?”

“No, no,” Teru covered his mouth. “I apologize for the imprudence. I only was curious.”

“Keep curiosity to the cats,” Light said. “Now, lay back and we’ll try this.”

Teru pushed his coffee table to the side and laid himself down on the sitting room rug. Flat on his back, Light leaning over him almost nude, a strange helplessness infected him. No matter what happened next, he had no real choice other than what Light chose for him. It didn’t help that Light’s gaze had an almost lepidopterist’s leer – staring at a captured butterfly and wondering what pins to use on its corpse. Teru shook himself inside; Kira didn’t think of him as a butterfly. He was a servant, a faithful one, and Kira found him strong.

Stretching up his arms, Teru cupped his hands and met Light with his own stare.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said, “slowly place your waist in my right hand and your thigh in my left.”

Light nodded, walking around to stand next Teru’s shoulder. He bent in a gentle arc and his waist was the first thing to touch against Teru’s palm. In a shift, the confidence of before didn’t echo in Light’s actions now. He was cautious, still leaving one foot on the ground as he laid himself into Teru’s grasp. A muffled groaned left Teru; even with his weight distributed away, Light was still heavy.

“Um,” Light said. “Is it okay to let go?”

The question was human, quiet, and Teru wanted to file it away suddenly. He took a deep breath, wiggled his fingers where they held Light, and nodded.

“Go ahead,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

Light gasped as he lifted his leg. Balanced between Teru’s straining arms, he hovered untouched by anything but air and the other man. Teru was in pain – not just from the difficulty of holding up an adult man but from how good Light felt. He was warm, soft, and yet at the same time hard, solid muscle beneath the skin. Gritting his teeth, Teru heaved and lowered his armload until Light’s hip was just above his mouth.

He couldn’t help himself; Teru kissed the bare skin. His lips slid just so over goosebumps, tasting hints of salt and body lotion. Even partway through, he wanted to kiss the vulnerable hip again – memorize the flavor of Kira against his mouth. Light trembled and let out his name in a rasp.

“Mikami,” Light whispered. “Fuck.”

No answer occurred to him, so Teru lifted Light back up. As charged as the moment was, a small part of him celebrated being strong enough to, in fact, perform one bench press of another human. Light squirmed in his hands, too much, and without warning, Teru’s grip loosened. God fell out of his palms and landed hard on Teru’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

“Ah,” he shouted at the same time Light yelled, “Fuck!” They sat in sore heap. Teru rubbed his hands together, over and over. He’d failed; he let Light fall, hadn’t been strong enough to keep him stable. With trepidation, he glanced toward the other man prepared to see anger in God’s eyes, but instead Light stared back at him with arousal. His eyes were hot, molten, and his movements became languid.

“You’re so strong,” Light said, and now his voice was like nothing Teru ever heard before. There was a wildness mixed in with hunger. Light looked at him, and Teru wanted to be devoured.

“I knew the moment I saw you,” Light crawled up Teru’s aching body, his words like lava poured from his mouth. “You would be my strongest one.”

“I want to be strong for you, God,” Teru let out. “I want to serve you, be your sword.”

“Oh,” Light laughed, and it was an abrupt sound. Teru couldn’t say he liked it but the brightness in Light’s cheeks was good.

“You’ll serve me very well,” Light said, brushing Teru’s hair away from his ear so he could speak into it. His voice burned into the delicate shell. “Mikami.”

“Teru,” his voice came out a little weedy, yet Teru met Light’s hot gaze with his own resolve. “Call me Teru.”

#me me me #subtextual #death note #my fic #mikalightweek #mikalight #mikami teru #light yagami #sorry if mikami is out of character or any other number of complaints a person could hv about this fic!#he's a character i rlly struggle with and i tried to write him with as much humanity as possible!#anyway! enjoy Mikami Bench Pressing a Half-Naked Light

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sepublic · 4 years

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Dana Terrace AMA (Part 2)

Lilith dyed her hair to appear more intimidating! I won’t deny her curly hair definitely is very friend-shaped, so I can see why! This does give me hope that now that Lilith is no longer in the EC, we’ll get to see her hair become frizzy again… Given how Dana went out of her way to make a contrast between the wilder appearance of younger Lilith, VS present-day, and I think it’s something she’ll return to now that Lilith is a Wild Witch like her sister!

As suspected, Lilith and Amity are rather cold and distant… Which makes sense, they parallel Luz and Eda, but they also contrast the pair! Especially when you look at their personalities, I can’t say I’m shocked… ESPECIALLY after Amity telling Lilith to ‘shut up’, and Dana confirming that Amity lost a LOT of respect for her teacher after Covention! Which makes me more scared that Lilith didn’t do anything to vouch for Amity to the Blight Parents, so YIKES… You’ve got a lot of explaining to do Lily, and I hope you and Amity can properly connect and heal in Season 2! Especially now that you’re on your way to becoming a decent role model for REAL this time!

We know that Camila (which is how Dana spells it which when combined with Enchanting Grom Fright’s credits, leads me to consider this THE official spelling) will sometimes buy Luz manga novels of her favorite series, but usually only on holidays or because of a good report card! Awww, why can’t you let Luz enjoy herself more? Like I get that you’re probably struggling a bit financially is a single, working-class mother and also have incentive of wanting Luz to not be ‘distracted’, but this hits close to home given how it reminds me of somebody else I know with ADHD…!

(Also, Luz would trace Hiromu Arakawa manga, which means that Dana has likely seen Fullmetal Alchemist, which means it’s very possible that Belos and his castle took cues from Father and that is a VERY validating revelation for me! They really do have that killer aesthetic, man…!)

Amity’s hair IS dyed and naturally brown, like her father’s… Which confirms more or less that those kids in YBOS are the Blight Parents, and also confirms Amity as a full-blooded Blight! Not to say I was right, but I was right… Mrs. Blight had Amity dye her hair green like hers to be color-coded, which is sickening as-is. Like, are Emira and Edric dressed similarly because their mother encouraged it? That’s a scary thought…

Regardless, if Amity DID rebel a little by choosing a more Azura shade, it seems Mrs. Blight doesn’t really notice or think much of it, because we know this lady will go far when it comes to getting what she wants and if she feels her kids are disobeying her! This also adds more credence to my belief of Mrs. Blight having been the one born into the family, while her husband married in as an outsider… It makes sense she’d have this kind of control in the family, more prominence given to her VA, and the ability to control their children on a visual level, especially if Green Hair is a Blight signature! I have to wonder what Mr. Blight thinks of this… Goodness, can you imagine if his wife made him dye his hair green, too?!

Dana alluded to the Blight Parents having more depth than we might suspect, which… YES, but also she says that Mr. Blight was fun and ‘interesting’ for her? I’ve speculated in the past that he seems a bit more chill and apathetic compared to his wife from the childhood flashback, and based on what we’ve seen from Understanding Willow…

I have to wonder if maybe Mr. Blight is someone who was caught underneath his partner’s abuse as well? Maybe Mrs. Blight also began controlling him, and he sort of just learned to go along with it and accept this…! I wonder if he also has ideas about needing to live up to the Blight family name, as an outsider and as his wife’s husband… And how that might be reflected in him repeating that ‘Blights only associate with the strongest of witches’ to Amity, like he speaks from experience! It’s conceited he calls himself strong in this sentence, but at the same time…

Given the implication that Mrs. Blight holds more power and was able to prioritize her looks in their children over her husband’s… I have to wonder if Mr. Blight is just someone who’s also resigned to her abuse, as a person fully-indoctrinated into her beliefs of superiority and having to set an example that pleases her! He gives me vibes as more straight-forward, like an enforcer while his wife has that more manipulative, mastermind vibes to her… Goodness, are we going to have to rescue Mr. Blight from his wife too?!

There is neither an end nor a beginning, there is just HOOTY… Nobody knows if he’s made of wood or flesh (which implies Eda didn’t make Hooty, just ‘taught him’, and not much), his true nature is deeply upsetting and a major spoiler, AND he apparently has an evil twin named Booty!

Amity is a jock! This is no shock, but Dana also alluded to her being ‘punk’ to impress others but not being comfortable, and… This GIRL, let her know she’s loved for who she is!

Dana confirmed that Bump’s imp on his head is named Frewin, and that he has a purpose…??? Maybe he’s a seeing-eye demon in the literal sense, or covers an exposed brain…?!?? I don’t know. We’ll just have to see, but for now it at least indicates that Bump IS the dude (as implied by Dana’s past art) and we’ll learn more about him, so neat! Bump is a cool and underrated character in my opinion, and I look forward to more of Frewin!

Witch Gems! Dana confirmed that they’re just a fashion thing like necklaces, and that Eda’s wasn’t originally meant to indicate anything… But then Dana realized it was a good visual indicator of her curse and went from there! It seems ‘Hearts of Stone’ is just metaphorical… I have to wonder if in-universe, Eda’s gem functions like a mood ring in that it’s a handy visual indicator of how bad her curse is getting! That alone furthers the disability metaphor, which I REALLY like!

(I have to wonder why we haven’t seen any male witches with chest-gems, is this one of the few gendered things that the Boiling Isles has? Give Edric a chest-gem, I know he’d wear a dress and rock it! Do the same for Jerbo, too!)

Dana also said that should Season 3 be approved (they’re still writing the end of Season 2 people!), we might get a birthday for a cast member! So… SHOW YOUR SUPPORT, give live ratings to this show people c’mon!

Luz is Amity’s first big crush, to nobody’s surprise… You can tell from the way she acts around Luz that this is somebody who’s shown her more unconditional love and patience for who she is than anybody else in her entire existence, that it’s an almost alien feeling to Amity… and while it’s sad she’s never had someone so accepting of her in her life before, it’s also heartwarming to see Luz provide so readily and unconditionally! No wonder Amity is smitten…

#the owl house #owl house #dana terrace #reddit ama #the owl house amity #amity blight #the owl house lilith #lilith clawthorne #the owl house frewin #principal bump #lumity

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wrenhyperfixates · 4 years

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Cafés, Croissants, and Captured Hearts

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: When Loki stumbles into your café, he is completely enamored with you, but will he be able to conquer his fears and move towards hope and happiness? Warnings: long and fluffy A/N: This is inspired by some of the headcanons from this list by @thelokiimaginechronicles

Disclaimer: Picture not mine

Loki will never forget that fateful morning when he stumbled upon your café. The intense summer sun and accompanying smell of hot garbage made him desperate for a haven away from the bustling city. Sure, he could have stayed in the Tower for breakfast, but the constant presence of the Avengers weighed heavily on him. Even now that he was accepted, relatively anyway, he was often the brunt of the jokes at the table. Thor had assured him that the teasing was just a Midgardian form of endearment, but it irked Loki to no end. And that’s how he ended up in front of a little Paris-themed café on the corner of a New York street.

He stood staring at it for a good moment, fully aware this might be one of the little gems that few knew about. That would mean the few people stopping for breakfast or morning coffee would be sure to take note of him. This is exactly why he opted to frequent larger chains and restaurants where it was easier to blend in. On the other hand, maybe it would be just empty enough that he could stand the few hateful glares sent his way. Whatever happened, it would surely be better than the stares he was getting from being stopped too long. For a city full of people so busy with going about their own tasks, everyone sure was nosy.

Hesitantly pushing open the glass door, Loki entered and was immediately hit with the delicious aroma of pastries right out of the oven and freshly ground coffee. Then his eyes locked with yours, which, he thought, were perhaps the most intelligent, kind, and radiant ones he’d ever seen. The few other patrons littering the numerous tables paid him little mind, more interested in their phones and the morning news playing on the television. He cringed slightly, thinking of how, not too long ago, they would have been looking with terror at his face on the screens. It made him even more thankful that they had indeed not cared about one more body in the room.

You, however, were an entirely different story. You had yet to look away from him and had obvious interest displayed on your face. It made sense, he supposed, as you obviously worked here. It was your job to care about the customers. There was nothing more to it, he reassured himself. As he approached the counter where you were, he held his breath, waiting for recognition to dawn on your face, and for you to yell at him to get out. Or worse still, cower in fear. A younger version of himself would have preferred the latter, but now it made him feel disgusting. Anger he could deal with, but the fact that someone feared a person as pitiful and worthless as he thought himself, only served to make him more anxious.

Your face remained unchanged as he approached, though. If anything, your smile got brighter, which was a novel thing for someone like Loki. He just chalked it up to good customer service. Desperate to avoid looking at you, lest you finally figure out who he was, Loki looked down at the glass case displaying all the baked goods. He was so nervous that he almost walked out, but the growl in his stomach kept his feet rooted where they were.

“What can I get you, sir?” you said.

Your melodic voice brought Loki’s gaze back to your face. Standing this close to you, Loki realized that it wasn’t just your eyes. No. All of you was beautiful. He felt his heart beat faster in his chest, but did his best to convince himself it was just nerves brought about by the unfamiliar setting. It was silly, he knew, that a god as powerful as himself should act like this. Sure, he put on a good act, but deep down he was ashamed of what he’d done. He thought it futile to care what others thought when he would only ever be viewed as a monster, but he couldn’t help the feeling that he was embarrassing himself in front of you. Heck, he hadn’t even answered your question yet. And he realized he was staring at you. You seemed to get nervous then and started fidgeting while waiting for his reply.

“I’m uncertain. What would you recommend?”

He internally cheered for making a coherent statement. Then curiosity captured him as he saw excitement spark behind your eyes.

“Well, if you’re interested in coffee, I peg you for a dark roast hazelnut kind of guy. And our bestseller is without a doubt the blueberry crumb donut.” You paused a moment as if weighing your chances before continuing, “But if you’re in the mood for something exciting, I suggest trying our fig and raspberry croissants.”

Loki was shocked to hear the last recommendation leave your mouth. It was as if you somehow knew what his favorite fruits were. You must have misread the look on his face, though, because you started rambling about how he, in no way, had to go with that and almost recited your whole menu before he interrupted you.

“No,” he said somewhat harshly, causing you to shut your mouth. He made sure to speak in a gentler tone as he continued, “What I mean is, I would love to try one.”

The bright smile immediately returned to your face. Though he was more of a tea person, he ordered the coffee you had recommended, too, in the hopes your grin would get even wider. You quickly made up his order and then busied yourself with something else as he sat down. You did your best to not look at him as he unwrapped the flaky pastry, but he noticed the glances you kept stealing. A most curious creature, he thought as he bit into it. His eyes immediately closed in pure bliss. It was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. Somehow, it was even better than the delicacies on Asgard. When his eyes popped open, you were no longer trying to avert your gaze but, rather, were staring at him with wide-eyes.

Before either of you could say anything, another customer came in. Loki finished eating while you prepared their order. The croissant was flaky, but not to the point where it completely fell apart in his hands. The combination of the figs and raspberries in the filling created a sweet sensation with a subtle, underlying tartness. Not to mention the light glaze on top that tasted like heaven on your tongue. In other words, it was perfect.

He was still sipping on his coffee when you finished serving the customer, only for another to walk in. The cup was nearly empty now, but for some reason Loki stayed where he was. He tried to reason it out. It was simply that he didn’t much like coffee but didn’t want to seem rude by leaving some. Thus, it was only natural that he stayed and finished the whole thing. Yes, that must still be the reason why he was still sitting there. It had nothing to do with the fact that your eyes had pulled him in and had yet to let go, despite the fact that they were no longer looking his way.

Soon, the café emptied as the early morning rush ended, leaving the god alone with you. He’d almost convinced himself it was silly to stay when you walked up to him.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“No. But there is something I simply must tell you,” he said, gesturing at the seat across from him.

You sat down, curiosity clear on all your features. He didn’t know what exactly it was about you that made him feel so weak in the knees. A book he’d read a while ago came to mind. The two characters set eyes upon each other and instantly fell in love. However, Loki wasn’t one to believe in love at first sight. But attraction? Perhaps.

“That croissant you recommended,” he said as apprehension filled your eyes, “was delicious beyond what words can describe.”

Once again, you smiled at his words. It seemed to Loki that, sometime in the past twenty minutes, it became his goal to keep that smile on your face.

“Really?” you gasped. “See, it was a recipe of my own invention, and I hadn’t gotten anyone to try it. Sorry that I used you as a guinea pig, though.”

Loki giggled at that. An honest to goodness giggle from the God of Mischief. He couldn’t help but wonder what spell you’d cast that bewitched him so.

“It’s quite alright. In fact, you used two of my favorite fruits. They’re right up there with pears.”

“You don’t say. Maybe I could convince you to try my spiced pear muffins sometime.”

After that, the two of you got to talking. And of course that led to you bringing more original recipes for Loki to try. From macarons to biscuits to pies, everything you brought him was delicious. And Loki enjoyed your company even more than eating the baked goods. When the thought finally occurred to you to introduce yourself, Loki knew he had to do the same. So, at the risk of ruining this haven he found, he gave you his name. Your eyes widened for a second in recognition, but not in horror as he expected.

“You mean, you’re the Loki of Asgard? As in, like, I’m sitting with an Avenger right now?” you asked with a shocked tone.

It was true, he supposed, that he was an Avenger. No one ever really referred to him as such, but he technically was a member of the team. He tried to tell you that, no, he wasn’t really a superhero or anything, but you insisted. You said that you saw on the news how he was protecting a group of children while the team was fighting some villain or another. It was a comforting thought to him that the producers hadn’t cut that out completely. A spark of hope ignited in his chest that maybe one day the rest of the world would notice his heroic actions, too. He felt it odd that this mortal before him could give him such a positive outlook for the future.

There were times when you had to get up and tend to the customers that wandered in and out throughout the day. You were by no means the most popular place in town, but you did well enough. Loki took the time while you were distracted to survey the rest of the café and, when you weren’t looking, you. At some point his eyes rested on a framed picture of a small child with an old lady.

“That’s me with my grand-mère when I was younger,” you suddenly said, coming up behind him.

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to stare.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you laughed. “After all, I have it out for everyone to see.”

“Well, it’s a lovely photo.”

You hummed in content for a second, obviously thinking back to when the picture was taken. “She passed away recently,” you finally said. “She lived her whole life in France—Paris, to be exact. Actually, the café is named after her. It’d be nice to open one in her home city one day. This may be stupid, but I think I’d feel closer to her. That’s not exactly in my budget right now, though. And you probably didn’t want to hear all that,” you finished with a nervous laugh.

“On the contrary, I’d like to know more.”

And so, you told Loki about anything and everything in between. And when you were done, you insisted it was his turn. He agreed to your requests, so long as he got to try some more of your food. He also admitted to you that he preferred tea and would love to try one of your blends. You obliged, seeing as you needed a second opinion on some of the recipes.

At some point, the sugar from all the sweets got to Loki, so you fetched some fresh fruit for him. Remembering that he liked raspberries, you grabbed a bowl and brought it out. As he ate and told you tales of Asgard, you felt your eyes drift toward his lips, stained red from the berries. Cheesy as it may be, you gently wiped away some juice from around his mouth. There was something magnetic between the two of you in that moment. He brought his hand to rest upon yours, which was still lightly placed on his cheek. Loki felt himself leaning closer to your lips, feeling your gaze on his own. But since life isn’t a fairytale, in the moments before you met in a kiss, a customer walked in. You hurriedly stood up to help them, almost knocking over your chair in the process.

By the time you returned to Loki again, he’d realized how late it had gotten. He’d spent the whole day in your company. And, for the first time in a long time, he’d enjoyed himself. Glancing at his phone, he saw countless texts from the Avengers demanding to know where he was since he was still on probation, so to speak. At least his brother’s messages had a hint of concern to them.

“I’m afraid, my dear, that I must take my leave.”

“Oh, yeah. Of course. It was really nice meeting you.”

You looked as if you wanted to say something else but, in the end, decided better of it. He, too, had more words he wished to say, but didn’t know how to properly express them.

Back at the Tower, Loki indulged in Midgardian wine. Frustratingly, he never could get drunk off it, but it helped take the edge off. And right now his mind was a tornado of thoughts. Thoughts of you. Your hair. Your smile. Your voice. Your eyes. Oh god, your eyes. Never again would he see something as beautiful as you. In that moment, he made up his mind; he had to see you again.

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

The next morning, Loki prepared to visit your café once more. He put even more effort than normal into his appearance. It had occurred to Loki sometime last night that he had feelings for you. Somehow, in the short amount of time that he knew you, you had captured his heart. A weakness, he knew, but now that he’d admitted it, he couldn’t let you go. That meant he’d have to figure out the Midgardian way of courting. A question for his brother, he supposed. Luckily, he ran into said person on his way to the elevator.

“Greetings, brother,” Thor’s voice boomed as they stepped in. “Joining us this morning for breakfast, I see.”

“Actually no, I’m not.”

“Listen, if it were up to me, you could go out. You’ve more than proven yourself,” he said, thinking back to the times when Loki had saved his life on missions. “It’s just that the others aren’t as convinced.”

“Well, quite frankly, I don’t care. I want scones,” he lied, “so I’m going to have some. I don’t suppose you’ll be serving scones at this breakfast, now will you?”

“Well, no. But rest assured, Bruce’s frittata is delicious.”

“Did I say I wanted a frittata? No, no, I did not. I’m craving scones, so scones I will have.”

“But-”

“Scones, you idiot!” Loki snapped, losing his cool demeanor.

Of course, it was at that moment the elevator doors opened, so that the rest of the team could hear his outburst. Loki sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He grabbed Thor by the arm and pulled him aside, where he begrudgingly told him the truth. Thor was ecstatic and let Loki go, assuring him that he’d cover for him. Before they parted, he offered Loki the most typical advice of “be yourself”. It made Loki want to gag.

Soon enough, he found himself back in front of the little corner of heaven that is your café. He paced back and forth while running a hand through his hair. Maybe it was presumptuous of him to think you’d want to see him again. What if he’d read the signs wrong? What if you were already seeing someone else? What if he was about to make a fool of himself? He wanted to run away. Loki was no coward, though, so he stepped into the warm dining room, looking a lot more confident than he felt.

The second your eyes locked on his, you broke out into that smile he loved so much. You greeted him like an old friend as a warmth spread through his usually cold body. Without him asking you to, you presented him with another croissant, this time with a pear and honey tea instead of coffee. You shyly looked away as a smile of his own graced his face. This was his chance. All he had to do was ask you out. Simple.

“(Y/n), I just wanted to say,” he began but trailed off, the words stuck in his throat.

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For the tea. I’m surprised you remembered.”

“Oh, sure. It was no problem. Just let me know if you need anything else. But don’t go expecting free samples every day.”

You laughed then, drawing his eyes to your lips. He remembered yesterday and how you’d almost kissed. Still, he couldn’t muster the courage to say what he truly wanted to. Once he finished eating, he contemplated spending the day with you again but didn’t think he could stand to keep failing at asking you out. He waved goodbye to you and walked to the door, when suddenly your voice called out to him from across the room, stopping him in his tracks.

“Loki?” you said. “Do you maybe want to go get a drink or something?”

“That, my dear,” he replied, “would be the best treat of all.”

You two shared another warm smile and made arrangements before he left. As he made his way back to the Tower, he was elated and couldn’t believe his good fortune. Maybe life was a fairytale, after all.

#loki x reader #loki x y/n #loki x you #loki oneshot #loki fluff #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #thor #thor odinson #fluff #marvel #mcu #mcu au #reader insert #gender netural reader #loki pov #second person

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shadowturtlesstuff · 4 years

Text

Dress part 2

so this is dress from Audrey rose’s perspective. i loved writing this. i finished it a few weeks back and its been slowly edited. i am working on other things, but i can feel my brain slolwy stop working, and i’m failing miserably.

This party is dreadful. Beautiful, but dreadful. The only things that are interesting to me is looking at the gowns being worn and the intricate details I discovered when observing them. And Thomas. But I refuse to acknowledge the latter and fix my gaze on a pale pink dress, little gems of dark pink lining the neckline flowed down the bottom of the dress. My own was of a pale green and blue, the top being blue and slowly turning green, with gems in little pockets so that if I were to dance, to spin, there would just be a flash of colour. It is a shame I will not be dancing tonight. Originally my dress was going to be a deep purple with white pearls around the neckline but I may have overheard Thomas talking to his carriage driver about his own outfit for tonight and may have decided against the purple.

My eyes move away from the gown and find Thomas who is conversing with an old man that I assume is his father. From the scowl on Thomas's face one can assume his father must be a pleasant conversationalist. Then Thomas's gaze slides away from his father and meets mine almost immediately, as if he was waiting for my eyes to find his, or that he could feel my gaze. A smirk replaces his scowl and I try to ignore the blush creeping onto my cheeks as I look away quickly; to find my cousin’s face fixed on mine, and eyebrows raised as she took in my expresion. She took her own gaze at Thomas, then winks at me and I scowl slightly. All night I had been stealing looks at Thomas, to try and notice all the details in his suit. He looked incredibly handsome in his midnight blue and black clothing, his hair brushed back and a permanent look of boredom and contemptment on his face. Apart from when he caught me looking. Then his lips quirked up in a smirk that I wanted to smack off.

It takes all my common sense to stay rooted in my seat and not walk over and ask Thomas to dance. Yet all of this silence and patience, pining and anticipating our next encounter was starting to weigh on my chest, hoarding control over my senses. It was infuriating. My mind was still convinced I did not ever need a husband, yet my mind also wondered about a life where Thomas was by my side. Every time I did the weight would increase slightly and I had no idea how to fix this. We were not even meant to be friends, uncle had warned me a few times when I had gone to investigate something on his behalf, that Thomas was trouble. Yet it always seemed he disliked Mr.Douglas more, and was miserable about the fact we did not have Thomas's particular skill sets on our side.

“It is most important for you young girls to attend not just tea parties, but parties.” Aunt Amilia was saying to us. Liza looked exceptional tonight, her dress was golden yellow with lilac accents. She had been very excited about tonight, about the prospects of romance and the fact she did not attend such things when trapped in the countryside; even though I hadn't been looking forward to tonight, her excitement was invigorating.

I let my aunt and cousin talk as I mess with the bottom of my glass. Attending tonight meant that there was another chance for our murderer to strike, another victim to add to his growing list. I shuddered at the thought of seeing another horrific scene; a woman cut open and dispatched as though she was worth nothing. Uncle and I had conducted post mortems on all the unfortunate women, they all seemed to have similar inflicting wounds yet they were worse each time. Uncle claims our murder is getting more confident as he is taunting the Scotland Yard. As much as I enjoy the magical atmosphere the ball produced; I couldn't help but think it a waste of time. There must be more we could do to find who our perpetrator was. Thomas and I had been discussing theories over the course of the last month whenever we found ourselves together, and even with our skills combined we were no closer than when we started. It certainly didn't help that we kept getting distracted. Thomas is an excellent flirt and seems to want to do just that all the time. It did not help that my mind kept drifting back to our kiss either. I had to keep convincing myself it was the adrenaline that caused me to kiss him, not the fact I had grown to like him very much.

I kept thinking about how his hands burnt my skin, electrifying me and it made me drunk on his touch. I kept wondering what would happen to me if we were to kiss again and if I would be able to control myself. To not drown in his touch.

I caught another glance of him, but his eyes were already upon mine. I looked away just as Mr.Douglas appeared at his side. I slid my eyes back to him as he begrudgingly spoke to his boss. Thomas scowled at something he said.

“Audrey Rose, would you like another glass of champagne brought to you?” Liza asks, capturing my attention away from Thomas. I had only had one and it couldn't hurt to nurse another tonight. So I nodded and watched Aunt Amila gesture to the waiters to bring a glass for me as well as some food for Liza. My glass is replaced and I try to ignore the growing boredom I have.

“May I borrow your daughter for a dance, sir?” The smooth voice of Mr. Thomas Cresswell appears to my left. Slowly I look at him, trying to hide my confusion. And longing. I would very much like to dance with Thomas. I would like to know how it feels to dance with him, whether he can dance. Yet we were not meant to be friends, surely Uncle will notice the fact we are, and perhaps scold me for it. My father looks over at him, surly registering who he is, who his father is and the title he holds. He gives a tight smile. Father is still slowly recovering from his opium addiction. Aunt Amilia arrived so she can keep an eye on him and it makes me happier to see him be less tired. Yet it does cause problems if I need to visit my Uncle. Nathaniel narrows his eyes at Thomas, surly bemused at why his apparent robotic friend would want to dance with me. However he gives a more genuine smile than my father does. Then Uncle scowls. I would much rather face the killer's knife than be in Thomas's position right now. I look towards where Liza is trying stilfe her giggles and can't help but smile too.

“Cert-” My father begins, but does not get far before my Uncle cuts in. Of course he would. Normally he would not care. I am still shocked my Aunt managed to convince him to leave his laboratory for this.

“No.”

“What do you mean no? She's my daughter I suggest you-”

“No. Mr. Cresswell, what are you doing? You do not wish to seek out my niece for the case do you? If so, leave now.” I see Thomas wince slightly, but smile before quickly looking at me and answering:

“No sir, I can see why you'd think that but I truly wish to dance. Your daughter is captivating.” His smooth words wash over me, the honesty in his tone fills my bones, making me more light headed than the champagne ever could.

“I shall dance with you Mr. Cresswell.” I interject before anyone else can speak on my behalf. Thomas is the only one I had wanted to dance with. I make my way to the dance floor, giddy with excitement. My hands shake slightly from the need to hold him.

“I'm glad you saved me. I've been dreadfully bored.” I tell him as he places his hands on my waist, my own finding his shoulder. I forget how tall he is sometimes. I would have to go on my tiptoes if I were to kiss him and he would need to bend to find my lips. He laughs at my words and everything about him relaxes slightly as we begin to dance. Each step is filled with confidence. Of course he'd be perfect at dancing.

“I'll always be the one to save you Wadsworth. I am your Dark Prince. Be sure to think about me and my heroic nature whenever you're alone.” Once again I ignore the blush making my cheeks it’s home and focus on his smirk. His ridiculously arrogant smirk.

“Please; I have more important things to consider than you.”

“You look beautiful, Audrey Rose.The dress is magnificent, compliments you perfectly,” he must be making the connection to his own outfit and contemplating the implications behind it; “although completely unnecessary, I'm sure you are perfectly capable of rendering me speechless without a dress on at all.” Or not. The fiend just wanted to shamelessly flirt with me. To make my skin turn hot and cold all at once while I consider his implications. His eyes hold promise and he no longer wears his impenetrable mask with force. It makes him look younger, more like the man I have grown to know and not the cruel beast society believes him to be.

“You claim I render you speechless yet you still speak? Are you lying or just horribly bad at compliments? Or, you hate the dress but need to charm me nonetheless?” Despite his vaulnrability I must not allow him to have the upper hand in this conversation or I shall never live it down.

“Wadsworth, darling, please; do you really think that little of me? I'm merely stating the obvious, it's what I do best. And I don't need to charm you when you are already infatuated with me. If I were you I would be. And as much as you truly render me speechless with your brilliant mind, I adore your body too, an added bonus, but I will always be able to tell you how astonishing you look.” He looks ready to kiss me, and I know if he did I would let him. It would be quite the scandal but I do not care at this point. We flirt, tease and taunt each other endlessly but it pains me that we do not get to do it as often as we wish. That I do not get to learn each side of Thomas, like this charming man who holds me tightly, as though if he let go of me I'd disappear. I feel as though I might if he did. I search for any lie, anything but the same pain I must be showing on my face. Instead of a kiss, unfortunately, he pinches my sides lightly, as if conveying his words to me. I pinch him back and we smile, content in our own little world.

“It is a good job you are not me then isn't it?” My voice is barely above a whisper and we both know my words hold little bite. People were fools to think Thomas was anything other than lovable. He may be in pain most of the time but that was a part of his charm.

He clears his throat, attempting to control himself, “I've enjoyed the game tonight, our secret moments in this crowded room no one knows about. Each little glance at me gives my heart a rush. Makes it worth being at this blastidly boring event. I've missed you.”

‘I’ve missed you.’

The three words repeat over and over in mind. We spoke this week yet in my bones I understand what he means. We haven't truly discussed our kiss; or our feelings. We are both too wrapped up in our individual fears. Yet even with the confession we dance in comfortable silence.

“When does this get easier?” My voice is quiet for a completely different reason than before. Our eyes meet and I find myself captivated by him, the fact my best friend is not perceived as my friend. A secret that neither of us ever wanted to keep. “I want to stay with you all night, but after this we must return to our lives, I go back to being judged for my curiosity and you will go back to the animatronic villain the world thinks you are. When does it get easier Thomas?”

He contemplates for a moment, his eyes flashing all sorts of emotion before turning to that calculated gaze that feels somehow more intimate than before. If he has an idea on how to make this all better then I have no intention of stopping him.

“Wadsworth, how much does your Uncle hate me?”

“He doesn't hate you, at least I don’t think he does. He- he isn't a person who gives positive opinions on anyone. Even me. But no, I do not think he hates you, just Mr. Douglas. Oh but he doesn't like that you are working against us. For him no less.'' I have believed for some time my Uncle would like Thomas to work with us and attend his school. He never technically speaks ill of him, but of who he works for. I’m half convinced Uncle is upset Thomas did not go to him first.

“It's not ideal, I despise him, he doesn't care about the cases, but of the fame; it makes me near vomit whenever he speaks about the women- or any woman for that matter.” Uncle had said the same thing a few times to me.

“Audrey Rose, if I were to quit would your uncle offer me an apprenticeship?”

“I think so but why?”

“There are more benefits in working with your Uncle than that egotistical man. The main one being right in front of me.'' I gasp slightly and stop for a second. Once again Thomas has left me speechless at how vulnerable he is for me, at how his words caress me and hold such promises that make us both slightly afraid. There was so much wrongness in the world, so much that confused me and left me stranded. Perhaps that is why I relish science so much, in finding out facts from the deceased because they could never lie to me, never hold my brain in such misery that I feel ill. Maybe the familiar feeling of carving open a body meant that it was the only sure thing I knew. That was before Thomas.

Now I know two things for sure. For the most part. Thomas would always baffle me but in the most delightful ways.

Finally I mustered the courage to speak. “You could talk to my uncle tonight, I'm sure he'd much rather discuss the case or anything remotely close to work rather than listening to my Aunt.”

“Would you want me to work alongside you Wadsworth because if not I can-” he would always allow me a choice, but he would always doubt himself too. So I snapped my head up from where I was staring at his chest. His eyes flash as he misunderstands my movements.

“Do not finish that sentence Thomas. Of course I want you to work with me and my Uncle.”

“My brilliance is desperately needed isn't it? I mean you cannot resist my charm.” He adds a wink, lightning the tone and making me roll my eyes in the process.

“No, I'm merely the one saving you from that- that man before he rots the only decent part of your brain.” Half truth, half a lie. I relish in our easy banter.

“If you are the one saving me, will you be like the heroes in the books, because I do recall that they always give their saved maidans a kiss once they are saved?” I blush again at his words, but more so the memory of his lips on mine.

We had been investigating when two ruffians attacked, so we fled to safety in an alleyway. With one look we were both upon each other, clinging desperately as our lips met, the feeling of being lost in him, the feeling of his hair beneath my gloves. Of the sweetest kiss he added after we broke apart. Even after then Thomas had doubted his actions slightly and apologized but in that moment I didn't care about anything but him. I'd seen a new side to him that night, one I wished to witness again.

We were coming to the end of our second dance, any more would be considered improper. Thomas seemed to stumble onto that fact too as his grip tightened ever so slightly. Just enough for me to notice. I doubt even his impressive deduction skills noticed his own movement as he was too fixated on my face. It made me smile slightly. Even as I knew I'd have to break apart and return to my table. To Liza's knowing smile and teases, to the males scowling and whatever my Aunt thought.

Slowly I let go of him, the music coming back into my head, as though I had stopped paying attention to it. We walk back to my table and I take my seat, hand going onto my glass as I calm my heart. Thomas stands there awkwardly by the empty chair, so I kick it slightly with a smile playing at my lips. He scowled but sat down. I tried desperately to ignore my cousin, I knew she watched me dance and would inform me of her opinions on it and on Thomas.

Everyone at the table is silent, watching and waiting. My father orders a glass of champagne for Thomas, which indicates either he likes Thomas or the title he holds. I watch as Thomas messes with the rim of the glass. My friend has never been exactly good at social interactions and becomes restless faster than a toddler. Uncle is glaring at Thomas so my father elbows him and it seems so unlike them I smile. They are no longer close due to my mother’s death, but perhaps my Aunt can change that for the better, at least a little bit whilst she is here.

“So Mr. Cresswell, my son has been telling me a bit about you, what is it you do again?”

I've not spoken to Nathaniel about Thomas. In fact I haven't spoken to him in quite a number of days. I make a mental note to fix that.

“I'm a scientist sir.” My fathers face drops, either having that information made true or knowing Nathaniel had missed it out deliberately.

“Surely a man of your title would pursue something other than that?”

“Science isn't about titles sir, it's just the pursuit of knowledge. You must want to know how things work, how things are made. I enjoy learning about the body, the world and how it works.” My father narrows his eyes at him. He used to enjoy that sentiment before my mother died. He loved making things. It was his form of science. Perhaps if mother had not died he would be more open to my love of science. I'm filled with silence that floods my head until Thomas taps the table slightly. My attention turns to his warm smile, one that tells me everything I need.

I am not morally corrupt for liking science. I return the smile, a silent thank you.

Silence falls on our table and I find Liza watching me and Thomas with something like wonder on her face. When she notices me she smiles, then raises her eyebrows up and down and we both nearly snort with laughter. But we control ourselves as Uncle takes a seat next to Thomas. His gaze makes Thomas bounce his knee in the annoying way he does when he is nervous.

“Would it be okay for me to attend your school sir?” Thomas askes suddenly

“Yes, on one condition; you must stop working for Mr. Douglas.”

Neither of us were surprised by the condition, although I am miserable that Thomas was accepted so quickly. I had to beg my Uncle to let me join and I've only ever been once. His stipulation for me was to remain quiet. Quite a task when the ‘men’ partaking in his lesson squirmed more than I did.

“Of course.”

After a few minutes Thomas returns to his table and my Uncle stays in the seat he's in, instead of going back to the seat beside my father. My father returns to his conversation with Nathaniel, Liza and Aunt Amelia being talking again. I look to uncle in hopes he will talk to me, but he is looking at his plate of food miserably. So I sit alone silently.

“Mr. Wadsworth? May I join you this fine evening?” The voice of Mr. Blackburn pierces my thoughts. He takes the seat that was my Uncles and smiles brightly at me. “It is lovely to see you, Miss. Wadsworth. You look beautiful.”

I force a smile as my mind wanders to the words Thomas uttered to me earlier. They felt real. It leaped at me and held me tightly. Blackburns’ felt much like my smile. Forced. Polite. I had no idea what he was doing here. If he wanted to talk about the case I'm sure he'd drag Uncle somewhere.

“Thank you.” I say, turning to look at Liza and begging her to help me out. But Aunt Amelia cuts in instead.

“She looks delightful doesn't she? You must dance together.”

I try to hide my wince but it clearly doesnt work as Liza smirks at me.

“Before you do that there is something we must discuss Audrey Rose,” Blackburn states, his tone makes me squirm in my seat like a child, Uncle looks up from his food finally and they look at each other carefully, “We need you both tomorrow at the station, the Ripper has sent another letter.”

So Uncle was right when he spoke about the killer's confidence another letter surely meant he was ready to strike again. I must speak to Thomas, get him to be at the station with us, he will likely notice things we would normally miss.

“Certainly.” Was all Uncle responded with. Especially since we both noticed my father’s glare at us all.

“Both? Both? When I told you to court my daughter I didn't expect you to let her see such horrors. You were to stop her madness not help it prevail.” He snaps at Blackburn. Anger rose as I understood what my father was saying. He had graciously allowed Blackburn to court me, to marry me, without even mentioning it once to me. I was clearly too much to handle and must be doused before I dare have a life of my own choosing.

“You have been secretly courting me?” I snapped at him, rising from my seat. “Father, why on earth would you allow this? I have a right to know, to choose for myself.”

“Audrey Rose, sit down and be quiet, you're making a scene.” My Aunt snaps back. Of course, our reputation is in such jeopardy if I stand up for myself.

How had I missed Blackburns’ advances, my fathers scheme? What else were they hiding from me? My father was enraged with me, Blackburn had the guts to look sorry for me. It was utterly ridiculous. I hated him, hated my father, hated society. Myself. I'd missed it because I had convinced myself he was a friend. I was so desperate I had ignored my intuition. I was pathetic.

Instead of sitting down I pushed my chair far back and began walking out of the ballroom. I needed air. Needed control. Needed Thomas. A thought I refused to linger.

The cold air bit at my skin, seeped inside me as I walked to the edge of the garden. The darkness comforted me as tears freely slipped down my face. I was a fool. I didn't want to marry Blackburn. I wasn't sure I wanted to ever marry. I just wanted to be a scientist. I wanted-

“Miss. Wadsworth, is everything okay?” Thomas appears behind me and I find it so utterly cruel that he gets to see me so vulnerable. Not an hour ago had we danced, had we been happy and now I was apparently being courted so I spun around and let out a joyless laugh.

“Perfect, Mr. Cresswell. I am a woman in this absurd society so I must not dare think about anything remotely masculine. I must not be able to pick who I love but have my father arrange it without informing me.” I spit at the words at him, knowing he was not to blame but knowing he was the only one willing to listen to me.

“Audrey Ro-”

“Blackburn. He chose Blackburn. He was never nice to me to be my friend, but because of him and my fathers scheming. If he hadn't been he would not have been this nice to me. I know I am not exactly the nicest person and that my interests disgust society but it was nice to have a friend.” I whisper the last part as though I voice how pathetic I am.

“Am I not your friend Audrey Rose?” His voice is an attempt at a joke, I think, but it is also tinged with pain. I consider Thomas my best friend, and it hurts me he thinks otherwise.

“You are but you're different, you; I don't need to try with you Thomas. I have to try with everyone but you.” He dares a step towards our eyes finally meeting. We needn't say a thing for us to understand each other.

“Wadsworth, I find it easy with you too. More than I even understand. This world is cruel and I wish more than anything to make it better for you, for it to be better in general. I- my father long ago gave up trying to marry me off, deeming me worthless and unable to love, and I still cannot figure out which is worse.” This was another side of Thomas he was showing me, to tell me that we may not fit into society but it doesn't matter too much. The fact will always hurt us slightly but we learn to live with it. Eventually.

He takes my gloved hands and rubs small circles over my palm sending shivers over my body. “You are worth more to society than they realise, so please keep fighting for your freedom. I will forever remain your friend if that is what you wish to happen, to help you figure this world out.” His confession replaces the darkness clinging to me. I wasn't sure if I wanted to be a wife, but Thomas always made me doubt that. He would always give me my freedom because he understood how important it was to me. I tighten my grip and he catches his breath as I take another step closer.

“Thomas,” My voice is somewhat breathless, my own breathing failing me, “you are not unlovable, your father is a fool. An utter fool. I want you by my side always, I fear I couldn't do this without you.” I go closer, impossibly so, “What if, what if it was more than friends though?” I may have overstepped with my question, we were in such uncertain territory to what we felt and I wished I could take back the words. What if Thomas wanted nothing more than friendship? The kiss we had could have just been adrenaline for him. His flirts may be out of boredom or something else I couldn't understand.

“I- I’m sorry.” I stutter when he doesn't respond to me. I take a step back, ready to return to the line placed between us. Where I would forever remain it seems.

That is until his hand tightened on mine and brought me back forward. My face widens in shock.

“Wadsworth I'd like that too.”

There is a second of silence as it sinks in. “You would?”

“More than anything. I care deeply about you. I shall court you like a proper gentleman if that is what you wish.” We return to standing apart and I can't help but snort at his insane statement.

“You are anything but a gentleman Cresswell.” I smile brightly as we both laugh. “It may be my favourite thing about you.” He flashes me a devilish smile.

“I am fully aware, love, that you love the scandalousness of my words. Would you like to go back inside or return home, I am sure I can get us a carriage to share.”

“Us? Thomas you do not live with me.”

“Yet,” he adds. I roll my eyes at his dramatic nature despite picturing how lovely it would be to live with him. “It would be ungentlemanly to let you return home alone; and purly scandalous to be in close quarters with you.'' Once again I ignore his words and begin to walk to where the carriages await. I couldn't care less if father got mad at me for going home. I knew I had to be lectured anyway.

“Very well, you may escort me home. From a distance.” I emphasise this to make sure he understands. He merely laughs at me.

When I make nearly a quarter of the distance and do not find Thomas with me I spin around and find him watching me with a weird expression on his face. He is captivating as he stares at me, his eyes full of wonder. His perfect hair has fallen in his face slightly, disheveling him slightly. My brows burrow in confusion at what could make him look like this, but I relish the look he gives me anyway. He really is a dark prince; standing tall in his dashing suit. He blinks when he releases I've stopped then begins to follow me.

“Are you alright?” I ask as he falls into step with me.

“Yes of course, I get to leave with the most dazzling woman at the party.”

We link arms, pay for a carriage and start to head towards my home. We sit across from each other, but the carriage is small and Thomas obnoxiously spreads his legs out so they brush against me and it takes all my willpower not to just place my hand on his knee, slowly stand then lean over him and kiss him. He nudges me and I raise my gaze, he tells me something but I've no clue what.

I blink and feel the heat of my blush form on my face. Which Thomas notices and smirks wickedly at me whilst raising his eyebrows in amusement.

“Wadsworth?” He asks and I hum a response and try to snap out of my indecent thoughts.

“Cresswell?” I attempt words, not sure that I can manage more than his name.

“My kiss? I am still waiting for it.”

When did I promise him a kiss? Not that I do not want to kiss him. He leans closer, knee hitting mine. I feel the heat of him envelop my senses even as I remember our dance and the words he teased me with. For a moment I see him doubt and so I lean in to make sure he doesn't regret being in here with me, regret asking to kiss me.

His lips are soft as they meet mine. I feel his hand rest on my knee as I deepen the kiss. My night has been abysmal and I do not think I would have made it if Thomas was here. I adore the feeling of his lips on me and find my hands wandering on his knees. This is so vastly different from the first kiss and it makes me wonder if our kisses will always be different. Thomas pulls back, resting his head on my forehead and searches my face. I am a complete mess as he looks me over and he smiles at the result of our kiss. He presses a lingering kiss then sits back. I return to being pressed against the back of the carriage as we regain our composure. But I feel his legs still against mine so I brush my own against him and his warm smile against his flushed face made my heart nearly burst.

“I should save you from boring events more often if it means kissing you like that.” The words hold the same promise as the kiss and I smile brightly at him. I didn't think I wanted a husband but perhaps being with Thomas my feelings would change. Even in my worst time Thomas would stand by me, and I'd stand by him. We would make mistakes, argue; but I felt the truth sink in that we would always see the truth in each other. He was my one and only lifeline and I do not think I could ever truly explain the feelings as they raced around in my body faster than I could comprehend.

@fangirling-again @goatahoan @city-of-fae @the-hoofflepooff @purplecreatorhorsewagon @kittycat2187 @padfoot-sirius-black @boredbookwormgirl @goddess-of-writing @lovecakeandmore @loveyatopluto @yikesitsmaddie

#sjtr #hpd #efh #ctd #cressworth #cresswell #thomas cresswell #audrey rose wadsworth #stalking jack the ripper #hunting prince dracula #escaping from houdini #capturing the devil #thomas and audrey rose

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amphtaminedreams · 5 years

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Paris Haute Couture Week S/S 2020 Plus a Little Jacquemus: Okay, Dior DID Suck (Part 1/2)

Hi to anyone reading,

Oh my god. I completely forgot there was also 2 haute couture weeks. I FEEL SO OVERWHELMED. Here I was getting all geared up for the F/W 2020 shows and suddenly it’s Jean Paul Gaultier’s last show and everybody’s (predictably) buzzing about the Jacquemus collection. I can’t keep up. But Haute Couture week is a lot less intense than the RTW shows so I suppose I should be enjoying this relative peace whilst I can.

I remember my last post about Haute Couture week opened with me defending Maria Grazia from the wrath of the internet; if Jacquemus is social media’s Lord and Saviour, this woman is the Antichrist. She’s Michael Langdon minus the dramatic flair. But the thing is, I genuinely really liked the Dior collection last time. Maybe because I was newer to the discipline of scouring Vogue Runway, but the lack of originality didn’t bother me; it was still something I’d die to wear, gothic yet delicate and relevant for 2019.

That being said, this time round, I have to open by doing the exact opposite and concurring: this time round, Dior was in fact, utter shit.

I feel mean saying it but...really? These were the slightly more salvageable outfits and my favourite of the bunch, and to be honest they don’t really capture the full extent of how outdated this collection was to me. I know that the concept behind the show was this idea of the divine feminine but Greek Goddess has been done SO many times. If you’re gonna go down that route, you have to bring something new, elevate it in some way. It can’t be THIS generic.

I can’t believe that in 2020 we’re really seeing plaited hairbands. The individual dresses are basic, but not so much the problem as the styling; they look like outfits I would’ve put together back in 2012. That’s not an exaggeration. I think even 2013 me would appreciate that you need to make things a little twisty.

The colour scheme is pretty, don’t get me wrong, and I like the cowl necks-the white dresses are the highlights. I think the concept of this collection was conceived with all the best intentions. But as a designer you need to take risks and I don’t see one single risk here; there isn’t anything that wouldn’t already be sold in your local H&M. Dior is such an established brand, Maria Grazia has room to do whatever she wants. And yet it just comes across like she’s out of ideas.

You’ve got to look at a designer like Ulyana Sergeenko:

When I say elevated (but still in the vein of wearable), I mean something like this. To be completely honest, I hadn’t heard of Ulyana Sergeenko until I saw shots of this show on Twitter. But what a perfect mix of kitsch and glamour. The influences are clear: Priscilla Presley, Barbie, Jackie O, Valley of the Dolls, the rich stay-at-home wife of the 60s, the Alessandra Rich/Scream Queens-esque sorority girl, Paris fucking Hilton. It’s exaggerated and it’s tongue in cheek with total grounds to call it trashy-there’s a corset resembling a Benjamin Franklin, ffs-but it’s all done with a wink and a nudge. And in all honesty, I just think it’s beautiful. Can you imagine Frances O’Sullivan (@Beautyspock on IG) in one of these looks? It would be worthy of the Rose McGowan cultural reset meme ten times over.

Everything is feline, from the very literal cat silhouettes and cat headed boa, to the makeup and the hair clips. It reminds me of the last RTW Ralph and Russo show but with even more attention to detail. And look at the STAGE. If this collection were a song, it’d be Disco Tits by Tove Lo. And no, I’m not just saying that because one of the dresses actually does feature a (cat shaped) disco tit. Like these are the clothes I dreamed of putting my Bratz dolls, and for null I’m sure, myself in. Absolute perfection. Plus, I’ve loved Coco Rocha since she was on The Face with Naomi Campbell; she is, after all, to thank for the iconic “check your lipstick before you come for me” line. Girl is really the martyr for all purple lipstick lovers, cut down in her prime by a pissed-off Naomi.

Onto Alexandre Vauthier, which I also really liked. An interesting yet effortless blend of the old and the new, the masculine and the feminine, if I could sum this collection up in one word, it would be cool. I know, it’s not the most descriptive, but it pretty much sums up how I feel; I’m not AS gassed about it as I am about Ulyana Sergeenko or this season’s Elie Saab (wait for it), but it’s a fresh offering, even if the styles aren’t the most groundbreaking. Stand outs for me are the almost petticoat like, debutante dresses which have Elle Fanning’s name written all over them.

I was hard pressed to find favourites in the Armani Privé collection if I’m honest. I’m not saying it was awful, all I know is that it just isn’t my style. It’s all a bit TOO tailored for my liking, and kinda reminds me of the Zara pantsuits my Spanish teacher used to wear. In other words, I find it to be a bit dowdy. On a positive note, the colours, fabrics, and beading are all stunning, so I see that a lot of craftsmanship clearly went into it; I think my biggest issue is the styling and the shapes (or lack of) on show. I’m very much getting a 20s, flapper vibe and whilst that’s an era that fascinates me and that I appreciate was cutting-edge at the time, I’ve yet to see it be bought into the 21st century in a way that doesn’t look stiff or costume-y.

Then there’s Azzaro. At the complete opposite end of the scale to Armani, it doesn’t look expensive, which I’m sure isn’t something any designer previewing their collection at haute couture week is striving for. BUT that being said, I’d be much more likely to wear something from this collection than I would from Armani Privé. I mean, I have no shot at ever wearing either but ya get me.

Whilst I’m sure it or something similar has been done before, the mesh diamanté dress is exquisite and I’m a huge fan of the stacked gem chokers and belts. The whole collection looks like something a London socialite who parties by night but (deep breath in) plays in a shitty band so fancies herself a bit of a rockstar by day would wear (exhale) and as much as that doesn’t sound like a compliment, I mean it as one. I’m talking about the kind of person you’d see smoking outside a bar and think “I wish I was them but I am potato lol”. I mean, as far as faux fur and fedoras are concerned, I’m gonna find it hard to completely slate a collection so this is pretty up my alley.

Chanel was a huge step up from their last RTW collection, imo, and probably on par with their last haute couture offering. It’s that same blend of preppy Chanel detailing (i.e the exaggerated collars, the checks and the lace) and practicality, only even more austere this time round.

It’s funny because when I looked back on original notes on this collection, before I’d even done any research into the context, I saw that one of the things I’d written was “giving me Victorian orphanage madame” as well as “something something Amish” and I wasn’t THAT far off base. The collection is, after all, supposed to be a tribute to the nuns who raised Coco Chanel at the beginning of the century in an Abbey-cum-orphanage. This makes me really happy; I know not everyone’s a fan of Virginie Viard’s nods back to the past and the brand’s origins but as a history nerd, I definitely am.

There’s also definitely a lot of things that can be translated into high street trends here: the combination of decorative white socks and black shoes is something I’ve seen making a comeback already, tulle is always a winner (I actually don’t mind it as an overlay, I think it’s pretty, sue me) and I have no doubt we’ll be seeing these dramatic collars creeping back onto tops and jumpers throughout the year. It’s been a while since they were a thing anyway and we all know how cyclical fashion is.

Another high note for Elie Saab this haute couture season; if I was an expressive person, I probably would’ve audibly gasped as I looked through this collection. It is SO FUCKING MAGNIFICENT. The colour scheme, the baroque prints, the floral sequinned embroidery, these are Cinderella style ballgowns taken to the next level. Elie Saab really is the definition of opulence and I’m not at all mad about it. Please, somebody put Lana Del Rey in one of these, PLEASE. Remind her how much of a princess she is and get her out of those “soccer mom” looks.

I’m so stuck between this collection and Ulyana Sergeenko as my favourite, and the latter might just pip the other to the post, purely because of the staging and extravagance of the presentation itself.

Georges Hobeika was predictably phenomenal. Like, I’m not going to lie, I am easily won over by some sequins and tulle, I’ve never claimed any different, and if you can expect that from anyone, it’s this guy (ignore that phrasing making me sound like his proud mother). The colour scheme is very spring appropriate and so is the 3D flower detailing, and if there’s anything good to take from Ascot and English royal weddings, Georges Hobeika knows it’s the hats.

It was another strong year for Givenchy too:

Though Claire Waight Keller is also fond of the extravagant details along the lines of feather and tulle, it’s always done in a more organic way; the details are always more reminiscent of nature, something created by accident, than they are suggestive of painstaking attention to detail, the image of someone hunched over a dress beading for hours on end à la Georges Hobeika or Elie Saab. That is not a bad thing at all; if anything, it makes Givenchy more interesting to study and gives you more to think about. Sometimes a dress takes you a bit longer to fully appreciate, but I’d say that only lends to its memorability. This year’s willowy, billowing, and at times coral-esque structures remind me of something I can see being worn down an Iris Van Herpen runway, set apart by that delicate Givenchy finesse. And side not: I know this post is to talk about the clothes, not the models, but I got super excited over seeing Sora Choi and Adut Akech walk too.

Guo Pei is always fun to look at. I mean, this collection is giving me half Matryoshka dolls, half It’s A Small World Christmas edition and I can’t hate on that.

And then there’s Iris Van Herpen, who knocked it out of the park once again. At this point, I wouldn’t expect anything less. Every outfit looks like something that could be exhibited in the Tate Modern (I know, it’s a basic opinion, but it’s true: TATE MODERN IS THE BEST MUSEUM IN LONDON), or honestly, the Design Museum, just for the genius that must go into the way these dresses move. Honestly, if I can see a goddess wearing anything, it’s more one of these looks than anything in the Dior collection. Like wife of Poseidon or something; I know it’s not very feminist of me to not know the Greek Goddess of the sea’s name but I only know who Poseidon is because I was a Percy Jackson fan back in the day so let me live.

It’s not like the whole under-the-sea theme is particularly new, Zimmerman did something similar last RTW (I think? Correct me if I’m wrong), but these constructions could’ve grown out of the sea bed themselves, which is more of an original take than “oo, blue and white and frothy hemlines!”. Additionally, we’ve got these dresses with the overlapping almost plaited fabric that are-we’re sticking with the goddess references here-fit for Persephone ruling over hell. As for the Grudge-looking dress (fourth down, far left), I could be reaching, but is anyone else seeing that as a nod to the oil spills polluting our oceans? Because that would just add yet another layer to this collection.

Regardless, it’s all impeccable and I’m in love. Iris Van Herpen as a MET Gala theme. Make it happen.

Anyway, to end on a high note, that’s it for this post!

Sorry it’s such a sudden cut-off but Jean Paul Gaultier was due to be my second to last to review and due to it being the final show, there’s an onslaught of photos that would not fit with what’s already in this post. Plus, I’d rather start a post with Jacquemus then end it as I feel like there’s a lot of hype around his collections online right now so 1). it’s clickbait (for what, I do not know, as I’m not exactly making any money off this blog, just losing my sanity as it transpires when Tumblr accidentally terminated it earlier today and I had a minor breakdown) and 2). this Steve Buscemi meme is the most accurate representation of only 21 year old me to grace the internet:

I will aim to post part 2/2 in the next week, including JPG, as I just mentioned, the Jacquemus co-ed show, Margiela, Valentino and more, and as always, thank you for anyone who read until the end! You are an angel:-)

Lauren x

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thebirdandhersong · 3 years

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Fairy tale retellings! because I couldn’t help myself (under the cut because I got carried away and remembered my fairy tale retelling phase from middle school........ oh boy)

Cinderella

Cinderella (2015 Disney live action): beautiful beautiful BEAUTIFUL (the music! the script!! the Hope! the costumes! the dress! the gentleness at its heart! the overall design and the colours!) (I still believe it’s the best live action re-adaptation they’ve come up with so far) (then again they DID have one of the Rogue One writers and Kenneth Branagh--both of whom understand story AND fairy tales--on the team, and possibly the best combination of actors and costume designers)

Cinderella (Disney animated movie): like a dream. Can’t remember it that well because I haven’t watched it in over ten years, but I remember that I loved it

Cinderella, the Rodgers & Hammerstein musical featuring Laura Osnes and Santino Fontana: Laura’s Cinderella is so lively and hopeful and bright and affectionate and I Love Her!!! The script is also surprisingly funny, and the little changes they made (like the fairy godmother being an old beggar woman in the village, the subplot with her stepsister, the scene at the ball where she suggests that they should all be kind to one another, the fact that the prince is called His Royal Highness Christopher Rupert Windemere Vladimir Karl Alexander Francois Reginald Lancelot Herman (HERMAN!) Gregory James....... iconic) added rather than detracted from the themes they chose to emphasize

A Cinderella Story: possibly one of my favourite films. I loved the fact that they knew each other before the ‘ball’. Loved the way the fairy tale was ‘translated’ into the 2000s. The friendship was strong with this one. I had the best time watching this movie. (Dress-wise, Hilary Duff’s dress is my least favourite, but that’s a minor quibble, and is also due to the fact that it has Lily and Laura’s gorgeous fluffy ballgowns to contend with, and that’s not fair competition)

Persuasion, by Jane Austen: does it count?? The way I see it, Persuasion is like Cinderella gone wrong (we discussed this in class, and my prof called Lady Russell a fairy godmother who means well but fails her protege before the story even begins. We talked about Anne’s ‘Cinderella’/makeover moment taking place over a longer period of time, about the ‘evil’ stepsisters, etc. etc. I’m not entirely sure I agree with every single comparison he made, but he made some Very interesting points).... at least the first time :)

Cinder, by Marissa Meyer. Oh, the images!!!!! Marissa Meyer is WONDERFUL at them. You wouldn’t think they’d translate well into a futuristic sci-fi (almost steampunk) world, but she did it SO brilliantly (the slipper! the ‘dress’! the whole family situation!)

Rapunzel

Tangled (Disney animated movie): an absolute joy. Rapunzel is an Ariel-like character who has hopes and dreams of her own, and I love how warm and vivacious and endearingly transparent she is. The dance scene is so, so lovely. (I stand by my opinion that very few little went right with Disney’s fairy tale retellings after Tangled.)

Cress, by Marissa Meyer: once again. Images. I can’t believe she managed to pull Rapunzel-in-space off so well. (Plus she’s a hacker, and such a sweetheart!!)

Beauty and the Beast

Beauty and the Beast (Disney animated movie): Amazing. Gorgeous. Brilliant. The buildings and the music and Belle (Belle, my darling!!) and the darker, more Gothic feel to the art and the design...... Yes

Beauty, by Robin McKinley: knocked it right out of the ball park, right through the atmosphere, right into outer space... The language is so lush and atmospheric, and even though I knew roughly what was going to happen, I loved every moment of it. She puts a special emphasis on family and on human connection and I Loved that so much.

Rose Daughter, by Robin McKinley: also gorgeous!!!!! Beauty is still my favourite of the two, but this one was also a gem. (Again: the emphasis on family and sisterhood!!!)

Beauty and the Beast (the Broadway musical): Susan Egan’s voice is SO lovely. And Home deserved more than just an instrumental reference in the 2017 version.

The Twelve Dancing Princesses

Princess of the Midnight Ball, by Jessica Day George: the Best. The sisters are easier to distinguish, the changes/things she added (the war, the queen’s past, etc.) make the story even more interesting, and Galen is fantastic (courteous, kind, brave, AND likes to knit?? NICE)

The Barbie movie: I loved it when I was a little girl (it is also Muffin-approved!)

The Princess and the Pea

@fictionadventurer‘s Wodehousian one :) which is an absolute delight. Every once in a while I remember it and then can’t stop smiling

The Goose Girl

The Goose Girl, by Shannon Hale: the Best. And by the Best, I mean the absolute Best. Her writing is so beautiful and her characters are so real and distinctive. The worldbuilding is fascinating. It’s so simple and so beautiful, and is near-perfect as a retelling and as a novel. The rest of the Bayern series is also wonderful!!

The Little Mermaid

The Little Mermaid (Disney movie): can’t remember it very well, except for the chef who wanted to cook Sebastian and also Ariel’s very cool sisters.... the music and Ariel’s character are lovely :)

The Little Android, by Marissa Meyer: genius. The first time I read it, I cried furiously. What does it mean to be human?? Marissa Meyer loves to talk about this in her other books (through malfunctioning robots, androids, werewolves, etc.). And the conclusion she comes to is always the same (and always done so beautifully): it’s about love and sacrifice (and tbh even though she’s talking about this through robots and werewolves, she’s got a point!!! When you act with love and self-sacrifice, you reflect the character of the Maker and His love and self-sacrifice, which is what makes us in that moment the most human--or at least human in the sense that that’s what we were made to be and to do towards our neighbours and enemies)

Ponyo (Studio Ghibli movie): this counts, doesn’t it?? A film that is an absolute joy through and through. It doesn’t completely stick to the original fairy tale but it also talks about compassion, kindness, and love as a choice

The Princess and the Frog

The Princess and the Frog (Disney animated movie): can’t remember it very well, but Anika Noni Rose has a fantastic voice, and I loved Tiana’s practicality, optimism, and kindness

The Prince of the Pond, by Donna Jo Napoli: can’t remember it either (read it in third grade) but basically it’s about how the prince turns into a frog and starts a family with another frog (the story is told from her perspective). I do remember that the ending made me so sad, though

Sleeping Beauty

Sleeping Beauty (Disney movie): can’t remember it at all either, except for: 1) Once Upon a Dream (a brilliant song) and 2) forget pink or blue. I liked her grey dress the most

Spindle’s End, by Robin McKinley: the story was told in such an interesting way (the animals! the way she wrote about love and protecting the people you love and self-sacrifice in familial and platonic relationships!) with Robin McKinley’s beautiful style

East of the Sun, West of the Moon

East, by Edith Pattou: I was obsessed with this book in elementary school. Obsessed. I kept rereading it over and over again because I just loved it so much. It’s been a few years since I’ve read it, but I can remember certain scenes (Rose entering the ballroom for the first time, the white bear’s hulking figure in the doorway, the architecture of the hall where she washes the shirt, her fingers running over the wax, the reunion scene) so vividly as if it had been a movie instead of a book, or if I’d actually been there, experiencing what Rose was experiencing

Orpheus and Eurydice (which kind of counts)

Hadestown (the Broadway musical, the original cast, AND Anais Mitchell’s original concept album): I’ve talked about it so much I probably shouldn’t even start slkfjsdl;kfjlk; I just wanted an excuse to mention it again

Tam Lin

Fire and Hemlock, by Diana Wynne Jones: I loved it when I first read it but I was so confused and so fascinated by it.

The Snow Queen

Frozen (Disney animated movie): no (insert heart emoji)

And contemporary(?) books that are considered modern classics, if not modern fairy tales (depends on how you look at it, really):

Peter Pan

Peter Pan (Disney animated movie): a childhood favourite!!!

Peter and the Starcatchers, by Dave Barry: the whole series is so much fun (and they’re among some of the funniest books I’ve read). This one serves as a sort of prequel to Peter Pan, but it’s safer to say that Dave Barry reimagined the whole story.

Peter and the Starcatcher (Broadway play adaptation of the book, which is a reimagining of the original Peter Pan..... yeah): the source material is incredibly funny, so naturally the play adaptation makes you laugh until your sides feel ready to split (I mean!! You have Christian Borle as Black Stache, Adam Chanler Berat as Peter, Celia Keenan-Bolger as Molly..... they’re all brilliant) The script, the way the cast makes use of the set and props, the perfect comic delivery....... love it

Finding Neverland, a musical adaptation of the movie (the A.R.T. production with Jeremy Jordan as James Barrie): the music is so good, and the way they write about the value of looking at the world through the eyes of a child?? of seeing the beauty in everything?? of hope and imagination and wonder?? If it weren’t for the way it handles adultery (even emotionally cheating!) and divorce :( but Laura Michelle Kelly is absolutely enchanting, and the script is also incredibly funny and heartwarming

Tiger Lily, by Jodi Lynn Anderson: a twisted fairy tale... it was quite disturbing at times, but it was also beautiful and heartbreaking. It’s a darker take on the story, which I tend not to like (at all), but the way it explored Tiger Lily and Peter was quite interestng

The Wizard of Oz

WIcked, the Stephen Schwartz musical--I haven’t read the book: as far as retellings-about-the-villain-of-the-original-story goes this one is my favourite. It is another twisted fairy tale, though, and there’s a constant undercurrent of doom and dread, even in the motifs Stephen Schwartz uses... the ending is not completely happy, but the music is FANTASTIC (Mr. Schwartz also did The Hunchback of Notre Dame and Prince of Egypt!!)

Alice in Wonderland

Alice in Wonderland (Disney movie): another childhood favourite... I also haven’t seen this one in over ten years, but I can still remember specific scenes very clearly in my head

Alice by Heart: a musical about a girl called Alice Spencer whose coping mechanism (quite literally) is Alice in Wonderland. She knows it by heart (again. Literally) and she dives into the world as a form of escapism (LITERALLY. There’s even a song at the end where the characters acknowledge how unhealthy this is). There’s a lot about growing up, losing a loved one, learning to let go... about self-deception and grief and the control one has over one’s life (unfortunately it IS subtly antagonistic towards Christianity at times)..... i do wish that writers didn’t have to treat sexual maturity as the most prominent/interesting part of coming-of-age stories, though. The characters, the set and lighting and costume design (BRILLIANT, by the way!!!!)... all wonderful. But the strangely sexual references can be a bit uncomfortable. (Really!! You can tell a coming-of-age story WITHOUT that stuff, you know!!!!!)

That Disney Movie directed by Tim Burton: wouldn’t recommend. Alice doesn’t need to be a warrior. (At ALL.)

Would also like to mention: Princess Tutu :)

#i am sorry but i am very emphatically not a frozen fan #especially since we read snow queen at jellicoe lodge?? it's such a beautiful story #and the IMAGES #but hollywood is more into self-actualisation/self-discovery/self-acceptance/self-centric stories these days #i guess they just didn't want to tell a story about self-sacrifice and selfless acts of love ? i don't know #anyway i get irrationally worked up about frozen sorry #the second one nearly made steam pour out of my ears #i GET they want to focus on the Self (and all the selfishness and self-importance that comes with our world's idea of self love)#but ELSA as an oldest sister HOW could you make all these decisions #fairy tales #i need to finish princess tutu sometime (sigh)#songbird again #my posts

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eriisaam · 3 years

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Old scrapped concept of Eclair, the forma summoner.

There’s not a lot of changes of his design so much as just redrawing him in a pose I think could do him better justice than this. While I’ve been kinda off about consistency of his body patches, his wings, and clumsily took a while to learn to draw his hair properly, he’s among the half who is more finalized in design overall.

Character details under the cut.

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Originally born as an incomplete forma modelled after The First Summoner, Kiran, he was later fully realized with a forma soul due to the combined efforts of the Order of Heroes. He was created specifically by Thorr and Loki (moreso Thorr than Loki) as a means to harness and exploit the power of summoners. It was decided to model him after The First Summoner when the existing summoners proved too unruly and unpredictable to clone otherwise. However, forma creation is normally Alfador’s role rather than Thorr’s or Loki’s, and Kiran’s appearance in totality remained lost to history, leading to major faults and disfigurements in his creation in trying to fill in the blanks so to speak. Some of these issues lingered even after Kamui and Kyo helped fully realize him as his own living entity. Among his more unusual features being his hollow, glass-eyed/soulless eyes, patches of discolored skin, a gem-like crest on his upper chest, and what can only be described as “magic hair”, all of which contributed to his earlier insecurities to hide his appearance in his hood and robes, especially early on, and makes him the only one of my summoner OCs who retains the signature OG clothes, consequently also making many threats immediately focus on him for being a very obvious summoner..

Initially, he completely lacked any abilities, even standard ones such as contracts, and his Breidablik proved completely useless in his time spent with Thorr and Loki, ruling him initially as a failure expected to fade when his uniquely-opened realm in the Hall of Forms expires. However, over time, his unusual creation, as well as further realization he seemed heavily capable of imprinting on the abilities of others, led to him to develop into his own genuine threat far too late for Loki or Thorr to stop. In attempts to exploit his naive nature and wishes of a familial bond with either gods (despite knowing this isn’t healthy for him or his found family), Thorr and Loki constantly compare him as Thorr’s “son” and (sometimes) Loki’s “nephew”, all while completely disregarding Kamui’s name for him in favor of calling him “Magni” instead.

His power is heavily reflective on how he presents. The more power he draws in himself, the more his body drastically changes in build and height, and thus, he fluctuates constantly on how he presents, with his fully realized state as “Magni” being unexpectedly tall and beefy. Consequently, in his weakest and frail state, he completely loses his ability to remain human, instead, taking the form of a tiny, harmless-looking winged snake creature as hints to the shapeshifting powers he inherited (but didn’t fully grasp for a long time) from Thorr and Loki.

Another power he eventually realized is related to the power that led to his existence in the first place, forma-creation and stone crafting. Like Thorr and Alfador, he is able to create fully-realized formas, but due to his passive nature and limited focus, his formas all tend to focus - not on fully-realized heroes or clones thereof - but on small critters akin to pokemon, especially pokemon spoken of in old, lost mythos whom Kyo and Teru tell him of, yet no longer seemingly exist in the present. He is also able to craft gemstones, yet over time and practice, the gemstones later held the properties of proper dragon stones and beast stones, that he later uses to help ground beast and dragon units who struggle with their forms or need their original stones repaired or recharged otherwise. One key example, Cronos, was able to control his phoenix form directly due to Eclair’s stone for him, albeit the stones Eclair makes has a side-effect of appearing to fuse in some place on the resulting beast form when used. Thus far, the only exception to this side effect had been Spectabilis, Ephrel’s suppressed dokkalfarian form, but it isn’t known where the exception came from between Lyon’s experimentations to the stone, Ephrel being a dokkalfar and not entirely beast or dragon esque, or perhaps Eclair’s will resonating with Lyon’s to help give Ephrel some sense of quality of life to become human with the stone (or the reverse use compared to other dragon and beast stones being used to transform otherwise).

#Summoner OC #FEH OC #Summoner OC Eclair #Fire Emblem Heroes #FEH #My kiransona things #my art

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mcwriting · 4 years

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The Marriage Project (1)

Omg I can’t believe it’s taken me THIS long to post this. I wrote this chapter probably in like April or May and it freaks me out to finally post but here it is!

My slow burn (American) High School AU with Tom Holland!

All the general info for this series is on the story masterlist, but I’ll list warnings and word counts on every chapter. Chapters will be much longer than my typical 2000 or less babies

Warnings: This will become a mature story in the future (no smut; more info on masterlist). Some profanity in this chapter

Word Count: 4140 (I told you!)

% approximately the 2nd week of August %

Ah, senior year. One last year of high school, one last year of seeing the people you’ve grown up with every day.

You’ve been told it’s easy. The best year ever. And yeah, maybe it will be. It’s not like you’re taking too many hard classes or overloading yourself with extracurriculars, aside from volleyball, soccer, the National Honors Society, and quiz bowl.

(Okay maybe it was a little much, but you loved it anyways)

The only real problem was the certified thorn in your side, Tom Holland.

He’d essentially been your mortal enemy since the sixth grade when he beat your mile time by only a few seconds.

Now, it’s not that he was a bully or anything, he was just so insufferable to be around. And yes, everyone always says boys pick on girls when they like them, but rest assured that wasn’t the case. You’d both always hated each other, nothing more.

You were always competing, and because of that ended up in the same place a lot.

He was in all your honors classes, in NHS, played boys soccer, and did quiz bowl. The only thing you had to yourself was volleyball except, oh wait, his younger brother’s girlfriend was on the team and Tom was his ride home every day.

All these thoughts raced through your head as you walked in on the first day, sitting down in AP calculus as soon as you finished up at your locker.

Everyone did the “how was your summer?” and “long time no see!” as students filed in. Eventually walked in Tom, and you shot each other a glare as he sat down right next to you.

“Holland.”

“Y/l/n.”

Everyone around you groaned. They all knew you two were forces to be reckoned with and probably dreaded spending another year listening to the two of you bicker everyday.

Though you were often in close proximity, you never really talked much, except to argue. Rarely did you agree unless it was on basic facts, and even then was it hard to admit sometimes.

Because of this, you typically resigned yourselves to only speaking when it came to grades so you could keep a mental tally of who was in the lead. You were both in the running for valedictorian at the end of the year, and you were not about to let Tom win.

The week was almost over and things had gone smoothly for the most part.

Sure, you and Tom had had a couple of spats, but nothing that wasn’t handled quickly.

He’d been to all of your volleyball games so far, even the summer ones, which meant he was forced to watch you dominate the court as both a setter and right side hitter.

It was a nice little satisfaction.

Especially because you’d watched him throw some horrendous passes in the preseason football game last week that led to a loss by one touchdown. (Okay, he’d had some good passes too, but they were lucky shots).

You settled into your seat in senior home economics Friday before lunch. The class was your school’s attempt at teaching some life skills for rising adults. For the most part however, it was a glorified cooking and sewing class. You didn’t mind per say, since you could cook up a pre-snack lunch sometimes.

Most of your friends were in there, including your best friend Alexis, whom you hadn’t seen all morning.

You, Alexis, and two other girls stood around a mixing bowl with the ingredients to make chocolate chip cookies since it was a Friday, which Mrs. Flynn called “dessert day.”

“Oh! Before I forget,” your teacher, Mrs. Flynn, started getting everyone’s attention. “This year we’re doing something new for this class! Next week I’ll have you all split into pairs for a semester long marriage project! I will be drawing names out of a hat, so don’t get too comfortable yet. Anyways, be thinking on what kinds of careers you might want and things of that nature! Okay, now get back to your desserts!”

The whole room broke out into chatter the last part of the hour-and-a-half class, people speculating who might end up with who and what jobs they’ll get.

“Oh my God, wouldn’t it be funny if y/n got Tom?” Alexis stated as you stirred chocolate chips into the dough. The other girls laughed as you just snorted.

“Yeah, I’d rather lick the inside of the microwave than be paired up with him for a semester,” you replied, earning more laughter from your friends.

You assumed Tom’s friends were saying the same however, because when you looked over to see how bad their dough looked, he was rolling his eyes as his group pointed in your direction.

The next week came and went, and it was once again Friday. Or, as Mrs. Flynn was calling it, Wedding Day.

Every time she’d pull a couple’s name, she was going to make you both come to the front of the class and exchange plastic wedding rings and sign a fake marriage license.

Yay.

Everyone chattered excitedly as she tore up the strips with your names and mixed them around. Finally the time came for her to start the drawing.

“Okay, friends. First up we have...” she drew the first name. “Katherine and... drumroll please?”

The class drummed their hands over their thighs.

“Chris! Come on down folks, let’s get this marriage on!”

She “married” the first couple, and then continued to draw. You had to admit that you were a little nervous, but still eager to see who you’d get.

Two couples later, she pulled Tom’s name.

You shot him an eyebrow raise to which he returned a discreet middle finger. You rolled your eyes as you prepared a drumroll for Mrs. Flynn.

“And his lucky partner is... y/n!”

“What!” you both exclaimed simultaneously.

Almost the entire class burst into laughter.

“Mrs. Flynn, this has to be a mistake,” you said.

“Yeah, can’t we have a redraw?” Tom asked.

You hated that he was agreeing with you.

“Nope! You get who you get and you don’t throw a fit! And if it doesn’t work out in a few weeks we can discuss divorce plans.”

“How about annulments,” you stated dryly, earning a chuckle from her.

“That… kinda depends on if you have kids,” she trailed awkwardly before perking back up. “Now come on down! They always say your first marriage is the most memorable!”

“Who has ever said that?” Tom asked.

“You know. They. Now just get up here and do the ring thing!” she commanded.

You both sulked up to the front of the room.

“Okay, now stand here facing each other and hold hands.”

“Do we have to?” Tom whined.

“Yes, now do it and it’ll be over with faster.”

He groaned, rolled his eyes, and grabbed your hands, holding them loosely.

“May I have the rings please!” Mrs. Flynn asked Caroline, the girl whose desk was closest that she’d asked to be designated ring bearer. She handed over the basket to let you both choose from the mix.

You took a silver colored ring with a faux white diamond in the shape of a star. Tom chose one with an oval “ruby.” You couldn’t help but notice how every single person was on edge watching the two of you.

“Okay now Tom, repeat after me. I, Tom Holland, take thee, y/n y/l/n, to be my wedded wife to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”

He mumbled through the vow, avoiding eye contact, and slipped your star ring onto your finger. You were surprised at how gentle he was, carefully caressing your hand and making sure the ring faced straight up once it was on your finger.

You, too, said the lines and placed the ring onto his left hand.

“Alright. It is with the power vested in me by this very school that I am proud to now pronounce you husband and wife! You may now air kiss!”

You took a deep sigh and pretended to kiss each other's cheeks.

“Class, I’d like to introduce you all to Mr. and Mrs. Holland!”

They began to cheer and clap and laugh when you interjected.

“Uh, no. It’s Mr. and Mrs. y/l/n.”

Tom began to argue with you when Mrs. Flynn stopped you both.

“Alright fine, we’ll do a combined name. How’s the y/l/n-Holland family sound?” she asked, writing your names on the fake marriage certificate.

With reluctance, Tom agreed to having your name first and you both signed the paper.

Finally you were able to sit back down where your friends were waiting.

“So what was that about licking the microwave?” Alexis asked.

“Oh shut up.”

After your volleyball game (another win!), you and Alexis conversed over cheese fries at your favorite diner.

“Still not ready to talk about today?” she asked. You shook your head.

Alexis had been paired up with Caroline. They were both straight, but you had both been friends with her since freshman year and they got along well.

Today had just been the marriages, and next week you’d be learning more about your family dynamics.

“I’m just so pissed at him. This afternoon in senior art he told all the guys in there that he was going to make it as hard as possible for me. I mean jokes on him, he’s going to want to get an A too, but he was just so smug about it. He also strung his stupid ring on that necklace he’s always wearing. What’s that all about?”

“I mean you’re still wearing your ring. But yeah, that is a little weird.”

“I’m wearing mine because compared to some of the others, the star is actually cute.”

“True. I got unlucky with the selection,” Alexis admitted, digging hers out of her purse to show you a big square blue gem.

“I just wish there was a way to get back at him after all these years. I mean, we’ve been at each other’s throats for almost six years but nothing has ever seemed to really hit hard. This is the last year I’ve got to really make it count.”

Alexis gave you a look, one you knew to be quite mischievous.

“You know what’s the best way to get revenge on a guy?” Alexis asked.

“Uh, no, but by the look you’re giving me it seems to fall under Carrie Underwood ’before he cheats’ directive.”

“No, dumbass. You make his family fall in love with you.”

It took a second to process what she said before you could give a decent reply.

“You’re kidding right? His family already knows who I am because of all the stuff we’re in together. They probably also know about our rivalry. I mean, he’s told his brothers to never become friends with me.”

“And you know that, how?”

“The libero is Sam’s girlfriend. She’s been spilling tea for me for the past year.”

There was a break in the conversation as the waiter brought your meals out. Once he was gone, you spoke up again.

“Look, do you really think that would work? I mean sure I’d get under his skin, but it doesn’t really constitute revenge, does it?”

“Look at it this way,” Alexis put down her burger so she could splay her hands out in front of her. “If you can get on everyone else's good side, they’ll all talk about how much they love you and he’ll be forced to listen. If he really hates you, it’ll drive him crazy.”

You thought on it for a minute as you chomped on a chicken tender.

“Alright, I’m in. If it doesn’t end up working, I still have all of next semester to mess with him anyways. Now if I can just figure out how to really get to know his family…”

By the time Monday rolled around, you and Alexis had done some more scheming, but your plan wouldn’t even begin to be put in action until your volleyball games Wednesday and Friday, when you’d try to talk to Sam.

You sat down in home ec, where today you’d be picking careers. The catch, however, was that your family unit would have a set income, so each couple had to decide how it would be split up.

“Y/l/n-Holland family, you’ll be making $200k a year,” Mrs. Flynn announced, handing you the slip of paper. “Get together and decide who’s getting what jobs.”

“At least we’ll be rich,” you thought as Tom plopped into the seat next to you unhappily.

“So I’ll be the doctor and you’ll be the trophy wife, right?” he asked immediately.

“Hah, good one. I think we all know that I’m the smarter one here and wayyyy more likely to get into med school than you. And don’t call me trophy wife. I mean, what, you think I’m hot now? Can’t wait to tell everyone that little number.”

His ears turned beet red and he balled a fist.

“I don’t think you’re hot, except maybe hot shit. It’s a figure of speech.” he spat.

“Oh get over yourself. I know I’m hot anyways. Let’s just both pick jobs that earn $100k so we can be equal. How’s that sound?”

“Fine.”

He played with the plastic ring on his necklace as you looked up jobs on the computer. After a half hour of searching, Tom and you decided that to be fully equal, you’d both take the same job as physician’s assistants.

“Just so you know, I’ll never actually be anyone’s assistant,” he said.

“Oh yeah? Ten years time if you’re lucky I’ll hire you as mine.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Hey everyone, since class is almost over, we’re gonna wait to draw how many kids you’ll have and other financial things Wednesday. See you then!” Mrs. Flynn called out as students packed their things.

“We have to have kids, too?” Tom asked incredulously.

“Good thing it’s fake. I’d hate to see you as a parent,” you shot smugly, earning another middle finger from him that left you laughing.

Wednesday came kids, and thankfully all you got were twin girls, age 9. The project didn’t make you carry around flour babies or anything like that, you just had to account for them in your weekly budgets.

There goes the annulment plan, though.

Each week, Mrs. Flynn would be drawing something new for you all that would either be good or bad for your budgets, and it was up to you to figure out what to with the funding, or lack thereof. You also had to come up with a story each week that explained why money was put somewhere or what your “family” did that week.

She would also be doing progress checks, so you couldn’t wait until the end of the semester to do all the work. By the end, each couple would have to give a presentation over what they did and learned.

“Okay, so we each get to name one. That’s pretty equal,” you stated, thinking up baby names.

“Well I like Elizabeth,” he almost immediately replied, writing it down on one of the “birth certificates” you’d been handed by Mrs. Flynn.

“That’s… surprisingly good. I’ll go with Francesca. What about middle names? I like Rose.”

“Hm. How about Opal? Then they’ll have the same number of letters in their names.”

You were surprised at how much though he put into this, but let it go as you wrote your child’s name down.

“By the way, we need to plan time to get together and write a budget and find a house this weekend. I have a volleyball game Friday so how about Saturday?”

“I have football practice Saturday.”

“Well yeah but only until like 10 right? We could just meet at like 1. We’re doing construction at my house right now so could we do it at yours?”

You spoke sweetly in an attempt to receive a yes and put your plan into motion. Tom sighed and thought about it.

“I mean I guess. But you’re only going to be there to work on the project and then leave right?”

“Uh, duh. The less time with you the better.”

“Likewise.”

Tom and Sam weren’t at the volleyball game Wednesday, so you had to wait until Friday’s.

Friday was muffin day in home ec, so you thankfully didn’t have to talk to Tom. Instead, you and Alexis discussed the plan of getting Tom’s family on your side as you mixed up batter.

Later that afternoon, you watched from afar as Sam and his girlfriend, Julia, sat on the bleachers speaking. It was still an hour until game time and coach had asked you to round up the girls for stretching.

“Hey, Jules!” you called, jogging over to where she was. “Oh, hey Sam!” He looked at you like you were crazy before responding.

“Uh, hey y/n.” He gave a slight head nod.

“Anyways, coach wants us to start warming up. Wanna be my partner today?”

“Um yeah. Sure. See ya later babe,” she said, giving Sam a quick peck on the cheek before standing up to follow you.

After another win, you were helping take down the net and noticed Julia once again talking to Sam while Tom stood a few feet away looking bored.

“Hey, could you wrap up the net? I need to do something real quick,” you said to another teammate as you headed over.

“Hey, Jules! Solid digs today! You were making my job way too easy,” you joked.

You could see from the corner of your eye Tom look up at you in annoyance.

“Ahaha thanks girl. But I can’t take all the credit. You were on fire tonight. What was that like 15 aces? And your hits? Incredible,” she replied.

“Yeah, you were amazing tonight,” Sam added.

“Ohhhkay we can stop the compliment parade on y/n now. We need to go anyways, Sam, mom wants us home,” Tom interjected, putting an arm out in front of his brother, who was rolling his eyes.

“Alright fine. We still on for dinner tomorrow?” Sam asked his girlfriend. She nodded and they exchanged a quick hug and kiss.

“I’ll see you tomorrow too, Tom,” you said. “I’ll bring my laptop.”

Sam looked at him in confusion.

“Yeah whatever,” was all Tom could say to you as you strutted off to the locker room.

You stood nervously on the front porch of Tom’s suburban home. You had texted him when you parked but now dreaded actually going inside.

After shifting back and forth for a minute, you finally rang the doorbell.

It was only a few seconds later that the door opened, revealing Sam’s twin Harry. He looked confused.

“Y/n? What are you doing here?”

“Hey Harry. Tom and I are supposed to be working on a school project today and he said to come over at this time so...” You awkwardly shifted your backpack straps and looked down.

“Tom! Someone’s here to see you!” he yelled out, making you snort.

He appeared shirtless in the doorway and looked at you blankly.

“Oh. It’s just you.”

“Just me? What did you just forget that we have to work on our project today,” you replied, holding up your left hand to point to the plastic ring on it.

“You’re still wearing that? Why?”

“Firstly, the little star is cute. And secondly, you don’t have a lot of room to speak, Tom. Yours is still on your necklace,” you pointed to the chain around his neck, to which he instinctively reached up and grabbed the ring, twisting it between his fingers.

“Touche. Now come on, let’s just get this over with.” He opened the door wider and let you in, locking it behind you.

As he led you down a hall covered in photos towards the stairs, his mom stepped out, almost running into her son.

“Oh, sorry.” she looked at you, “Y/n? What are you doing here? It’s nice to see you.”

“Nice to see you too, Mrs. Holland. Tom and I have to work on our home ec project and we couldn’t do it at my house.”

“Oh dear just call me Nikki. And I do remember him mentioning something about a project. Are you the one he’s married to? I never thought I’d see the day.”

Tom tensed up and clenched his jaw while you gave a light chuckle, holding up your left hand again.

“I hate to say it, but yeah. You’ll probably be seeing a lot more of me throughout the semester.”

“Well you kids have fun. And Tom, honey, would it kill you to put on a shirt?”

He went red again and you had to stifle your laughter.

“I was just on my way to do that, mom. Come on y/n,” he mumbled, grabbing your wrist and dragging you up the stairs.

You turned and waved at Nikki one last time as she called up behind him,

“And make sure to keep the door open!”

He was totally embarrassed by that, and made it a point to shut the door behind him once you made it to his room. Finally you could let out a hearty laugh at his expense as he dug through his drawers and pulled out a simple black t-shirt.

“Finally. I was getting tired of looking at your man boobs,” you quipped, looking around the room.

“Ha ha. Good one,” he shot back dryly.

You were surprised at what his room looked like, though you didn’t know what you’d expected. It was very neat with sleek grey walls. His blue and grey bedding was made up with decorative pillows laid out. On his desk were a few random school papers and a computer, and one shelf held some Spider-Man paraphernalia while another contained medals and ribbons and trophies.

You dropped your backpack to the ground and pointed up at one figurine.

“Hey, that’s pretty cool,” you said sincerely.

“Yeah, I’m sure you think so,” he replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

“Uh, no. I’m serious. It’s actually really dope.”

He looked taken aback at your compliment, and even to you it felt weird to be saying that out loud about Tom of all people.

“Oh. Well uh. Thanks. Spider-Man was my favorite growing up. But let’s just get to work.”

After an hour of sitting on his carpet searching for a house and arguing over general money allocations,

“Yes Tom, tampons actually cost like $7 for 30 of them and most girls need at least one box a month. And that’s just one factor of personal hygiene. Do you even condition your hair?”

“I’ll have you know my hair is well moisturized. I just don’t ever have to pay for it.”

You finally came to an agreement on the week’s budget.

Packing up your things, you looked up at Tom who was now sitting on the side of his bed scrolling through social media.

“So next week. Your first game of the season, yeah?” you said, remembering that September was already almost here.

“Oh yeah. You coming? I’d hate for you to see just how incredible I am.”

“Psh whatever. I saw your throws at preseason. But yeah, I’ll probably just rinse off after my volleyball game and head to the field. Gotta see what cuties they’ve got on the other team.”

“Ugh gross. You know you’ll regret saying that when half the school is swooning over me in the stands.”

“The only thing you’d ever see me swoon from is dehydration. And that’s a pretty weak excuse already.”

You stood and Tom got up to lead you back out.

“Oh, I think I know the way. You don’t have to take me.”

“Yeah I do. Gotta keep my eyes on those grubby little fingers of yours. Who knows what you’d do unsupervised.”

Before you reached the door, Nikki spotted you from the living room.

“Done so soon? Wow, good job guys. Come back any time y/n!”

“Thanks, Nikki,” you called back to her, then turned to Tom. “So same time next week? We can do it at my place if you want.”

“Nah let’s just do it here. I’m always exhausted the day after a game and I don’t really want to get up.”

Okay then

“Well, see ya Monday then. Bye.”

You were halfway down the sidewalk when Tom called out, “Be safe,” before shutting the door. You stopped in your tracks in shock, but eventually got into your car.

What really mattered, though, was that you were already on Nikki’s good side.

1 down, 4 to go.

Yay! It’s finished! I really hope you guys enjoy this new series because I’m so excited to share it with you all! Once again, future chapters will have some mature content (s*xual harassment and mentions of assault; underaged alcohol consumption) but those chapters will be explicitly labeled with warnings.

Anyways, thanks for reading and please send an ask or message if you’d like to join my story or permanent tag list!

Tag List: @jackiehollanderr, @one-big-fangirl,

#The Marriage Project #tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #enemies to lovers #slow burn #Harry Holland #sam holland #tom holland au #high school!au #high school!tom holland

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catboymingi · 4 years

Text

birthday boy

navi/masterlist

pairing: hongjoong x reader

genre: fluff

word count: 1.7k

warnings: just a little language + threats of kicks to the kneecaps

a/n: inspired by me finishing an assignment i had a week for in like two hours because i wanted to write for this gem’s birthday

sadly, responsibilities don’t stop just because it’s your boyfriend’s birthday. but maybe your boyfriend’s birthday can aid as a motivation to get your work done and over with so you can finally smother him in love

it was your boyfriend’s birthday, but sadly, it was also exam season, and even more sadly did your boyfriend care about your grades more than you did. so you were banned from going out with him, even though you wanted nothing more than that, because he knew you were far from finished with an essay that for some reason unbeknownst to everyone in the course made up more than half of your grade. he told you that you’d have a lot more chances to celebrate with him, but you most definitely did not have a lot more chances to do this essay, and while you hated to admit it he had a point. hongjoong had offered to stay home with you, spending a chill birthday with his head in your lap while you were happily - or not so happily - typing away on your laptop, but this time it had been you who banned him from doing that. it was his birthday and he was going to have fun, and if you had to make his group of rowdies drag him out of your shared apartment by the ears then you would.

“but i want to spend my birthday with you!”, he’d whined out, but you remained hard. no way would you let him stay home with you on his birthday.

“too bad, the boys are already on their way and they have orders to not let you leave until you’ve had the time of your life.”

he was convinced it was impossible to have the time of his life without you there, but you were unrelenting, and when mingi did almost drag him by the hair he finally gave in, sending you a last pouty glance before he left with his friends.

while your love was (hopefully - if not you’d beat all seven boys’ asses) having a good time you found yourself staring at the damned screen that kept you from spending his birthday with him, cursing the hell machine and especially cursing the course and the teacher, but then your attitude shifted towards one of determined concentration, because if you managed to get the basics done today you’d maybe get to spend at least a little time with the birthday boy. your fingers tapped away high-speed, most likely faster than you’d ever typed before. now you had something that was actually worth finishing the essay for, and it surprised you how great of a motivation a badly sung karaoke duet with your darling and mocktails that very much tasted like mocktails rather than a decent drink but that you’d still get at least three of could be.

when you managed to get the entire thirteen pages first draft done in the span of roughly twelve hours you realised just how much of a motivation your boyfriend was, because when you’d started for the day your essay pretty much looked like that one spongebob episode where all that was written on the paper was ‘the’ in a fancy font. you’d already read a lot of literature (spent way more time on it than you’d like to admit), so it was just to put your thoughts into words, and the complete lack of distraction along with being so absolutely in love with your boy and wanting to spend his birthday with him had suddenly turned you into some kind of super genius writing machine. not that you’d complain, though, because it was now nine thirty in the evening and you knew that if you hurried to get ready you’d be able to join the boys for at least a little fun. so you messaged seonghwa, threatening him with a kick to the kneecaps if he told hongjoong that you were coming, and asked him where they were so you could come join them. he told you and promised to keep the boys there until you arrived, “and if i have to chain them to the chairs”, which you knew he actually would if push came to shove because he knew how much his friend had wanted you there for his birthday and he wasn’t going to ruin that opportunity just because they’d already left the lousy karaoke bar.

seonghwa had kept his promise, much to his kneecaps’ pleasure, and it was easy to spot the group of loud boys as soon as you entered the karaoke bar. currently mingi and jongho were dueting, a combination you’d only ever see on nights like these where all shame was discarded and mingi no longer worried about being a bad singer. not that he was, but compared to his friends he barely sang, so he seemed a little shy about doing it when it was serious environments where people would judge. now, however, he was happily singing along to some rock song you probably knew but couldn’t name, with the rest of the boys taking the role of unofficial groupies. they hadn’t spotted you yet, but when you let out a loud cheer at some high note that jongho hit flawlessly and that mingi decided to turn into a low note the youngest noticed that someone new had entered, a smile spreading when he saw it was you. mingi was the next to realise, most likely because of his height and the advantage of being on the stage, reacting less calmly than his friend and letting out a cheer himself. that got the other boys’ attention, and you couldn’t wait to kiss your boyfriend when you saw the surprised smile on his face. you were glad you hadn’t worn heels, because the floor was somewhat slippery and you walked faster than would have been responsible if your shoes hadn’t been flat.

“happy birthday, my favourite”, kiss, “best”, kiss, “most amazing”, kiss, “perfect”, kiss, “absolutely adorable”, kiss, “boyfriend.”

you could tell your actions embarrassed him just a little, increasing when yunho groaned out that he felt so incredibly single right now. he quickly recovered, though, asking the question that you knew would come sooner or later, considering the reason why you hadn’t been able to spend the entire day with him.

“but your essay?” you could see that your love hoped you hadn’t neglected studying just to spend time with him, but even though you loved him to no end you’d never do that, if only for the fact that he’d never let you.

“i got the first draft done today, so i’ll beta read and touch up on it the next few days.”

his eyes were wide in surprise again, because you’d been working on the first draft for so long now that he didn’t even remember when you first started (though you’d admittedly mainly read the literature and procrastinated), and now you’d finished it in a single day.

“you know how i can be when i want to spend time with you. especially on your birthday”, you laughed at his expression, and he grinned at you because he certainly did know. the first birthday you’d spent with him you had coerced him to wear a suit through what could only be described as loving blackmail, and you’d put on your prom dress, because even though you were only going to a lousy karaoke bar with his friends - much like today - you’d told him that the day had to be special and you had to look special and he just hadn’t been able to say no to you, especially not when you’d threatened him with kiss withdrawal. then, the second birthday he’d spent with you, you’d baked him a several storey cake, refusing to let him help you even though you were hopeless at baking, instead coercing his friends into helping you with much less loving blackmail and threats of kicks to the kneecaps - your favourite threat, he’d noticed. seonghwa had been the main one to help because he was the only one patient enough to stay in the kitchen with you through all four storeys - a number you’d chosen because hongjoong liked the number four and was also turning 24 so naturally, the cake had to have four storeys. now he was turning 25 and you’d finished a task you’d been working on for about two weeks now in a single day because you wanted to see him. really, he adored you and how much you obviously loved him.

“i know”, he confirmed before leaning in to kiss you, doing so for longer than his friends appreciated, “and i love you for that.”

“i love you more.” dare to disagree, your eyes told him, and he knew that today he would definitely be the loser of “i love you most, no take backs”, so he didn’t even try.

“love me enough for a duet?”, he asked instead, though he already knew the answer would be yes. of course the answer would be yes.

his - both of your - friends cheered for you when you sang the cheesiest love song one could think of, because hongjoong had wanted to make you flustered with the choice of song, only to get flustered himself when you sang it at him in total sincerity. mingi was his choice of shelter once the song was over, and both you and the boys laughed at that, though without any malice. it was a perfect night, it really was, from the moment you’d gotten to the bar to the moment you said goodbye to the others and went home with him, hands intertwined the entire way.

it was still perfect when you changed into your pyjamas - or what you decided to call such, sweatpants for him and one of his shirts for you - and laid down together, his head on your chest because he was the birthday boy and the birthday boy was the one to get held, pressing gentle kisses to the top of his head and being repaid with somewhat awkwardly placed kisses to your chest over his shirt. and it couldn’t get more perfect when you told him you loved him and he told you he loved you, too, and that he was so happy he’d gotten to spend at least part of his birthday with you, because without you it didn’t feel like a real one. and it deserved an oscar for the cheesiest scene when you fell asleep completely intertwined, heartbeats in sync and the moon casting a soft light onto both of your sleeping forms.

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