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jombocostello · 3 years

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Lost in Translation (Polnareff x Reader)

Anonymous asked: Hey! Would you mind writing a little Polnareff fic where the reader tried to learn French pick up lines to finally drop some hints, but messes up/forgets a word and gets embarrassed? 🥺

Now this is just too sweet. I changed the request up a little bit, I hope you don’t mind!! (Also if you spot any mistakes with the French, please let me know!! I’m not sure how much my high school education of French prepared me for writing Polnareff fanfiction lmao)

-----

"(Y/N), what the hell are you doing?"

You jump, tearing your eyes from the book you're scouring. You look at Joseph, who's sitting a few feet away from you on his hotel bed. He frowns. "It's three in the morning. Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"I... Well..." You laugh nervously, attempting to discreetly slide the book under your pillow as you search for the right words. "Yeah. I probably should be."

Joseph stands up and turns on the lamp that sits between you two, and you wince when the light hits your eyes. "But seriously, what have you been doing?" he asks again as he sits back down. "I've been trying to get some sleep and all I can hear is you muttering nonstop over there."

You can feel yourself start to blush, and you fix your eyes on the fascinating corner of the door behind Joseph. "Ah... I was just reading out loud. It helps me take it in better, y'know?" It's not a very good lie, and though you're not looking at Joseph, you know he's not buying it. "Half of enjoying a good book is visualization, isn't it?" You're audibly anxious.

"Fine. But what exactly are you reading?" You start to sweat; he's ruthless in his interrogation.

"Uh, it's... I mean you're probably not interested in it." Joseph's patience suddenly runs thin, and he leaps up and snatches the book out of your hand. "What the hell?" you shout, forgetting about the thin hotel walls and attempting rather aggressively to grab the book back.

Joseph, thanks to his powerful Joestar genes, is easily able to hold you off. "Hmm, what is... English-to-French dictionary...?" He looks up at you, confused, and you freeze. He rolls his eyes. "(Y/N), I'm failing to see what's so embarrassing about this. You want to learn a new language? More power to you - " Mid-sentence, he seems to come to a revelation, and you wince. You had almost made it out alive.

"...You're learning this for Polnareff, aren't you?"

"Isn't that the million dollar question?" you mumble, gluing your eyes to the floor. "Yes."

You can hear him horribly containing his laughter. "You've - you've got dedication, I'll give you that!" Little giggles are starting to escape him, and as he suddenly begins to howl with laughter, you try again to grab the paperback out of his hands.

Without breaking a sweat, he shoves you back onto your bed and starts leafing through the book. "Oh my God," Joseph wheezes, wiping a tear away with one hand and holding the book close to his face with the other. "I mean I knew you had feelings for the guy, but I had no idea you loved him like this!" The word 'love' hits you viscerally and you cover your face with your hands, trying to push down your unbearable embarrassment. "Oh God, that's so cute."

"Shut up!" you hiss, finally managing to wrestle the book back from Joseph. "I don't have to explain myself to you," you spit with as much rudeness as you can muster.

"You don't have to explain a thing, my friend," Joseph replies without missing a beat. "I can read you like a book right now."

"Oh my God," you groan, turning away and looking down at the bed. Your face is on fire, and you gingerly set the book down next to your pillow and you fold your arms on your lap. "Just... Fine. You got me, okay?"

"I guess I did get you! I really didn't mean to." Joseph's laughter seems to have finally ended, and he watches as you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. "Sorry for laughing, (Y/N). I'm not trying to make fun of you, I promise - it's just so ridiculous that you're going to all these lengths to win Polnareff over when I'm sure it shouldn't be that difficult."

"Shouldn't be that... What do you mean?" You momentarily put aside your anger when you hear Joseph's words.

"Isn't it obvious? You two are perfect for each other. I'm positive that Polnareff shares your feelings."

"That's funny," you respond, huffing out a little laugh. "He's always flirting with girls, isn't he? I know you've seen him do it."

Joseph rolls his eyes. "Of course I have. That's just the way he is. He can be a bit...familiar with the young women he meets, but I'm fully convinced that you're the person he has his eyes on." Before you can interject with another rebuttal, Joseph speaks again. "Don't argue with me on this. I've been alive far longer than you and I've seen lots of people fall in love in this lovely world!"

You don't want to admit it, but Joseph's actually giving you some confidence here. "You, well... You might be right." Joseph grins. "I'm still gonna try to figure out some of this stupid language, though. I think he'll be happy to hear it - I mean, he's been away from home for a long time." You swing your legs up onto the bed and cross them, grabbing the book and flipping it open as you do.

Joseph marvels at the sheer concentration in your eyes as you force your way through the paperback dictionary. He can't believe how in love you are; it's honestly making him a little teary-eyed. "Well, goodnight," he says as he climbs back under the covers. "Want me to leave the light on?"

"If that's okay, yeah." Joseph nods and lays his head down on his pillow. As he shuts his eyes and drifts off to sleep, he listens to you faintly mutter to yourself, "Je t'aime. Je t'aime, je t'aime, je t'aime..."

-----

The next day comes quickly, and unfortunately you haven't really slept enough to prepare for it. You'd stayed up all night after your little encounter with Joseph, so you're left with about an hour and a half of sleep to get through the day. You and Joseph quickly get ready, and you go to meet the rest of the group in the lobby.

You yawn loudly as you step out of the elevator, and Joseph takes a second to laugh at you before following. You elbow him in the arm as you walk up to Jotaro, Avdol, Iggy, and Polnareff. Kakyoin's still resting up in the hospital; you all miss him dearly.

"Good morning!" Avdol calls, watching as you shuffle into the little group. "Did you two sleep well?"

You simply shake your head, and Joseph laughs a little at your severe expression. "(Y/N) stayed up all night reading," he explains, but after you shoot a look his way he shuts his mouth.

"Oh, really?" Polnareff asks brightly, raising his eyebrows. You look up at him and feel your heart start pounding; if he asks what you were reading you think you might drop dead on the spot. "Didn't take you for the reading type."

You nearly laugh at that, looking incredulously up at Polnareff. "What the hell does that mean - are you calling me dumb?"

"No!" he says hastily, eyes wide. "I mean - maybe." You both start laughing now, and Joseph leaves to return the hotel keys and check out. "In all seriousness," Polnareff starts with a little smile on his face, "I just didn't think you could sit still long enough to enjoy a novel. You seem like a more active person, I guess."

You honestly can't - your little French study sessions have been nothing short of torture. Still, you just shrug. "Everyone enjoys a good story, don't they?"

"Yeah." Polnareff turns to Jotaro and Avdol, who have been chatting to each other. "So, what's on the agenda today?" he asks, leaning against the wall behind him.

"Well..." Avdol thinks to himself for a moment. "We're a few hours away from Cairo. I think we should stay here for a while longer and then start heading there at around midday - so we can arrive under the cover of night."

"You're a good strategist, Avdol," you comment. "I would've just had us all drive into the city and parade around to find a hotel."

Avdol huffs out a laugh. "As much as I'd like to do that, our lives are in danger. We'll have to be really careful once we get to Cairo. I'm sure Dio has eyes everywhere."

"Yeah." You turn to Jotaro, who's been silent so far. Iggy's on the ground next to him, looking as pissed off as a dog possibly can. "How did you sleep last night?"

He just shrugs. "Same old. It was nice having the room to myself, save for this little asshole." He jabs his thumb in Iggy's direction, and you snort. "But yeah, it was fine. I just wanna get this over with. I've been..." He glances down at his shoes. "I've been thinking about my mom."

You'd almost forgotten about the original reason Joseph and his grandson set out on this mission. You had heard from the Foundation a few days ago that Holly Kujo's condition was only worsening. "You're gonna see her soon, huh? When we get to Cairo we'll practically be in Dio's backyard."

Jotaro nods. "Yep. Can't wait to beat the shit out of him."

You grin and nod vigorously. "I'm with you there."

Joseph returns to your little group, and the five of you all huddle together. "So," he starts, taking a deep breath. "Are you thinking we should wait, Avdol?"

"Yes. I was just saying that we should give it a few hours before we get on the road."

Joseph seems satisfied with that answer. "Perfect. So until then... I guess we can do a bit of sightseeing! We should pair up and try to stay at least a little close by. I'll stick with Avdol, and Jotaro - would you mind going with Iggy? If anything happens, both of your stands would be more than capable of taking care of things." Jotaro rolls his eyes and hums in agreement. "Okay. That leaves you two."

The sheer glee in Joseph's shit-eating grin as he looks at you and Polnareff honestly astounds you. Polnareff doesn't seem to notice, and he looks down at you. "Well this'll be fun! I haven't gotten to spend much time with you in the past couple days, (Y/N)." There's a pure affection in Polnareff's voice as he speaks to you, and you feel yourself fall even deeper in love. "We'll see you guys here in three hours, alright?" Joseph nods, waving goodbye with a sickly sweet smile, and Polnareff takes your hand and drags you through the revolving door.

The sun feels great on your skin. You follow Polnareff out, looking at your hand clasped in his as he leads you down the street a ways. He makes you feel so, so happy, and you're overcome by the desire to tell him that. "Where are you going?" you call, laughing a little when you realize you've been following him without having a clue where he's taking you.

He halts suddenly, and you run right into his back. "Oh, shit! Sorry." He spins around and rights you, peering down at your face. "That didn't hurt, did it?"

"N-no." You wince and feel your nose, which had rammed right into one of his shoulder blades. "I'm all good." After a thumbs-up for confirmation, Polnareff is satisfied. "So we're here?"

"Yep!" Polnareff gestures to the shop you're standing in front of. It's a café by the looks of it, and it seems pretty nice. "We passed it while we were driving in yesterday."

"Oh, cool!" Polnareff heads inside and you follow him. At the counter, Polnareff orders a couple pastries and two espressos for both of you. Once he gets his order, he hands you your espresso and walks out the door. He's really intent on getting the most out of these few hours of respite, it seems.

"Now that we have some food," he says, gesturing to the little bag of desserts, "we can have a picnic!" He starts walking briskly down the street, and you nearly have to jog to keep up with him.

"Did you spot this on the way in too?" you ask. He nods. "Damn, I missed so much. I was sleeping." He laughs, and you join in. After a few more minutes, you reach your destination.

It's a little park that overlooks a small, tranquil pond. "Oh, this is neat!" you say. "It's really pretty."

"Yeah." You look up at Polnareff as he gazes out at the scenery. You haven't seen him this relaxed in a long time; he's usually being pestered by Iggy or attacked by some enemy stand user. You're really grateful that you get to share a calm, sweet moment with him before you have to head out to battle in Cairo.

You decide to take a seat on the grass a few feet away from the pond. Polnareff sits down beside you and carefully sets his espresso down on the grass, making sure it doesn't spill, and you do the same. You cross your legs as Polnareff reaches into the bag and pulls out a pastry.

"For you," he says, bowing his head as he hands you a croissant.

You laugh as you take it from him. "I'm honored," you reply, dipping your head in mock gratitude to Polnareff. He smirks a little and takes out a croissant for himself, leaning back and taking a big bite. You try yours, and it tastes amazing. "You're got a good eye," you tell Polnareff, your voice a little muffled as you eat. "This is really good."

"Well it's only natural that I would have an eye for cuisine," he replies with a smug grin. You reach over and slug him in the arm, and he lets out a startled laugh when you hit him. "Hey! It's true." You sigh and turn towards the pond, watching the little ripples in the water as the breeze gently brushes over it. Polnareff's still laughing a little beside you, and the whole scene suddenly feels completely and utterly romantic. You realize with a start that this is the perfect moment to try out your newly acquired language skills!

You pick up your espresso and take a sip; it's just as good as the food had been. Tentatively, you look over at Polnareff and find him staring out at the pond. "C'est un bon café," you say as nonchalantly as you can.

Polnareff nods and smiles faintly. "Oui, je suis d'accord," he replies, but the second the words leave his mouth he whips his head around, staring at you with wide eyes. "What did - did you just - was that French?" he sputters, starting to grin like an idiot.

You return the smile, nodding. "Oui. I'm glad you could understand me."

"Glad I could - God, (Y/N), you're so - " Polnareff suddenly reaches out and wraps you in a huge hug, knocking the wind from you as he practically pulls you into his lap.

"H-hey!" you yelp, laughing loudly as he rests his chin on your shoulder. He sighs, placing his hand at the base of your neck, and you feel a shiver run through you. After a moment, he pulls away and beams at you.

"I didn't know you knew French!" he says brightly; he looks ecstatic. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't know it until a few days ago," you tell him with a little smile. "I've been picking it up little by little. I still barely know anything."

"You've been...learning it?" he asks softly, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah! I found a little dictionary at a shop about a week ago, and that's actually what I stayed up all last night reading. Can't say that I'm grasping it very well, but I'm giving it a shot just for you!" The smile drops from your face a bit when you notice that Polnareff's expression has grown somber.

"(Y/N)..." Your eyes widen when you notice tears welling up in Polnareff's eyes. "You've been such a good friend to me. You're always there to make me smile, and well, you've saved my life a few times too. But this, I - you don't know what it means to me."

You reach out and take his hands in yours, a little clumsily. "You're the one who makes me smile. You're my best friend." You're suddenly made acutely aware of the butterflies in your stomach, and you suck in a deep breath. It feels like it's now or never. "Polnareff, there's something I want to tell you." He blinks the tears from his eyes, and you hold his hands a little tighter. "I really - "

Before you can finish, you're punched in the jaw by an impossibly powerful fist. You fly back, landing hard in the grass a few feet away. As you stumble to your feet, swearing and clutching your face, you summon your stand. It fucking figures there's a stand user here. Sometimes you wonder if you're some sort of stand magnet.

Polnareff frantically pulls himself up and dashes over to you. "(Y/N)!" he shouts, holding you by the shoulders and looking at your jaw. "Shit, are you alright?!"

You wince when Polnareff ghosts his fingers over the spot. "Probably not," you mutter, breathing in sharply through your nose. Polnareff freezes, and you shrug his other hand off of you. "We've gotta beat this guy, okay?"

"Y-yeah." Polnareff summons Silver Chariot and stands against your back, scanning the area for the stand or its user. You do the same, trying to push the pain out of your mind. "There!" Polnareff suddenly shouts, and you twist your head around.

It's a man; he's standing on the other side of the pond. He stalks up to the two of you, and as he walks, his stand slowly materializes behind him. It's extremely threatening, with a build that could rival Star Platinum and deep-set, bright red eyes. You force yourself to approach him and Polnareff follows you. Your stand is an archer, suited for long-range battle, and Polnareff's works better at a closer range, so you're usually able to cover each other's blind spots. Your stand pulls out an arrow and nocks it, aiming for the head of your enemy. "(Y/N), right?" he calls, a lax smirk on his face. "And Jean Pierre Polnareff." He and his stand take another step forward, and you tense. Polnareff's Silver Chariot is ready to strike at any moment. "Easy, easy!" he says, raising his hands on either side of his head. "I'm a fair man. Allow me to explain my stand to you."

You glance at Polnareff, and after a moment of hesitation he nods his head. Your stand lowers its bow while Silver Chariot points its rapier to the ground. The man slowly and surely approaches the two of you, and his stand waits beside him. "Thank you. Truce for now?" You grit your teeth and will yourself to nod. "I'm glad. Well, my stand is the Seven of Swords. Essentially, it's extremely powerful. I doubt you'll be able to get a single hit in, if I'm being honest." You can feel rage bubbling up inside you, and as hard as you try to fight it, you just can't kick the feeling. Your gaze flits to Polnareff; he looks just as angry as you.

Grimacing, you look back to the user. "My stand specializes in strength. Every punch it deals leaves a lasting effect - as I'm sure you've noticed, (Y/N)."

You want to scream. The smug look he's wearing and the searing pain in your face is all too much, and before he can continue, you have your stand quickly nock an arrow and fire. You hit him in his right shoulder - he had punched you with that arm - and he falls back, grasping at the wound. "Shit!" he shouts, leaning against his giant stand. With its left arm, Seven of Swords reaches out and yanks the arrow from its user's body.

You start to grin; it looks like you've knocked this guy down a notch. However, just when Polnareff moves to strike and you ready another arrow, he and his stand vanish. "What the hell?" Polnareff mutters, scanning the area. "Where could they have - "

"(Y/N), I'm disappointed!" You scream when the stand wraps its left arm around your neck, squeezing painfully but just lightly enough to let you remain conscious. The man leans in far too close and speaks. "You broke our truce. I suppose I can't be too angry... I wasn't exactly being completely truthful either." The stand's grip on you tightens, and you choke out a cough. Polnareff goes to slice through the arm around your neck, but before you even know what's happened, you're on the other side of the pond. Polnareff, now a great distance away, gapes at you before running over as quickly as he can.

"My Seven of Swords is a master of teleportation," the man announces. "Everything else is just a plus." His stand abruptly releases you, and as you gasp for air, the man grins. "I'm surprised by how easy it was to take care of you, (Y/N). Lord Dio had made you sound a lot tougher." You try to swear at him, but your voice is hoarse and barely understandable.

"(Y/N)!" You turn your head when Polnareff cries your name, and suddenly you're punched hard in the abdomen. You're knocked to the ground and your head smacks into the dirt, and the last thing you see before you lose consciousness is Polnareff's face, equal parts anguished and enraged.

-----

The first thing you note when you fade back into consciousness is a strong pain in your midsection. You groan, forcing your eyes open; looks like you were rescued. You're in your hotel room, and it seems like you're alone. You glance over at the window, gritting your teeth as you shift your aching neck, and you nearly laugh out loud when you see that stupid little dictionary sitting on your bed.

You hear the door open, and you turn to find Polnareff stepping through the doorway. "Hey," you say, your voice quieter than you'd intended.

He looks down at the sound of your voice and grins. "Glad to have you back," he replies softly. "I'm so relieved that you're alright." He carefully sits down beside you on the bed.

"Of course I'm alright." You crack a smile. "I wasn't gonna let that asshole kill me."

Polnareff laughs a little and nods. "Yeah, he was a real piece of shit. After he - after he knocked you out, I held him off for a little while until reinforcements arrived in the forms of Star Platinum and The Fool. The three of us had him crying like a baby."

"Thank God," you sigh. "He deserved it." You both fall into a little silence, neither of you quite sure of what to say. You remember exactly what you had been about to tell Polnareff when you were attacked, but you can't muster up the courage to try again now. "Even if it got fucked up at the end, thank you for the lovely afternoon," you finally say. "I really enjoyed our little picnic."

"So did I." Polnareff starts to speak more, but something catches his eye. You watch as he reaches over you and grabs something; it's the French dictionary. He peers down at it and starts flipping through the pages. Almost instantly he looks completely affronted, and you feel a laugh rise in your chest.

"What is it?" you ask him as he scoffs, shutting the book definitively and setting it back down.

"They made that thing so difficult to understand! It's so much simpler than that makes it out to be, really!" He shakes his head, clearly disappointed with the publication, and you let a little laughter escape. "How about this." He leans in towards you. "Instead of learning out of that stupid book, I can teach you! It'll be a lot more fun."

He's just so...charming. He's always so sincere, especially with you, and the pure kindness in his eyes as he speaks nearly takes your breath away. "That - that would be fun," you reply, too taken with him to think of anything else to say.

He grins. "Good. We can have your first lesson right now."

You laugh at that, making Polnareff jump a bit. "Already? What, am I gonna get homework too?"

He joins in on your laughter and shakes his head. "No, no, it'll be quick." Something in his expression softens, and you blink as he reaches out and places his hand gently over yours. He suddenly looks a lot more serious. "Tell me what I'm saying. Je suis amoureux de toi."

You open your mouth, softly whispering the words. Your mind's nearly a total blank; it seems you really didn't learn much from that dictionary. You're at least determined to get the beginning. "Ah... Je is 'I', so je suis would be 'I am', right?"

Polnareff nods. He wraps his hand around yours and holds it, just as he had earlier today. "Yes. Je is 'I', suis is 'am'..." He lifts his other hand and entwines it with yours. You're not sure what he's saying but you allow yourself to hope, just a little.

Polnareff's voice is hardly above a whisper as he says, "Je suis amoureux de toi - I'm in love with you."

A huge smile breaks across your face and you feel like you're floating. When Polnareff sees your reaction, his smile widens as well, and he leans down and wraps you up in a careful hug. "I love you too," you murmur in his ear; you think you might burst into tears if you try to speak any louder. "I have for a while now. I'm so happy you - " Despite your best efforts, you feel yourself start to cry. Polnareff leans back a bit, and you're almost amused to see that he's crying too. You probably look like a couple of lovesick fools, and you're so, so, happy.

"I'll never be able to show you how much you mean to me, (Y/N)," Polnareff murmurs before pressing a tender kiss to your cheek. "How much it means to me that you care."

"Of course I care," you whisper back, reaching up and running your fingers through his hair. "I care because you mean the world to me."

Polnareff looks down into your eyes, and you both take in each other's expressions. "You know, I think we're perfect for each other," he breathes, and as you start to agree, he moves forward and captures your lips in a kiss.

Nothing has ever felt more right than Polnareff's lips on yours. You wrap your arms around his back, pulling him as close as you possibly can. He parts from you for just a moment to help you sit up a bit, so that he doesn't cause the injury to your midsection any pain. You wince when a particularly sharp pang of pain hits you, and Polnareff softly runs his hand over your hair. After a moment, the feeling dissipates, and you kiss him again.

"Je t'aime," you breathe against his lips, and he smiles. You gently kiss the corner of his mouth and then rest your head on his shoulder. As he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, you whisper, "Je t'aime, je t'aime, je t'aime..."

-----

It's pitch black out as Joseph drives the group's large car down the winding roads to Cairo, with only the faint radio and Avdol's occasional snores to keep him company. He isn't exactly happy about driving in these conditions, but you had needed a few extra hours of bedrest before you could start this little road trip. Every once in a while, he glances at the back seat, and he finds you, Jotaro, and Polnareff all fast asleep.

After a couple hours of driving, Joseph hears someone stir behind him. He glances up at the rearview mirror and watches as Polnareff rubs his eyes and groggily looks to his left. You're sleeping against him, with your head on his shoulder and one arm loosely wrapped around his midsection. Polnareff's mouth turns up in a little smile, and he carefully wraps his arm around your shoulder.

"So I see everything worked out for (Y/N)," Joseph comments. Polnareff looks up at him, surprised and a little embarrassed to find he was being watched, and Joseph just laughs shortly. "I've always known you two were going to end up together. You really are a perfect fit."

Polnareff's face goes red and he looks back at you. "...Yeah. I'm really lucky."

"Oh, I know!" Joseph laughs again, startling Polnareff. "You should've seen (Y/N) last night, pouring over the French language like their life depended on it. They wanted so badly to make you happy after this hell we've been through."

Polnareff almost feels like crying again. He can't believe how truly lucky he is to have found you. "Still," Joseph says, "it's not quite over yet." Polnareff watches Joseph's expression turn somber through the rear-view mirror. "We've still got to kill Dio."

"Yeah." As he gazes down at you, so peaceful in sleep, he feels a fire light in his mind. He'd do anything to keep you alive, and while killing Dio will surely be extremely difficult, he knows he's going to do it - for Joseph, for Jotaro, for Holly Kujo, and for you. "We'll do it. We'll kill him and we'll all be fine."

"You're quite the optimist," Joseph mutters, sighing. "I try to be as well, but I'm worried that our luck so far will finally catch up to us in this final battle."

Polnareff isn't quite sure what to say, but now there's no doubt in his mind that they'll succeed in the fight against Dio. He just sighs, careful not to disturb you, and rests his head against the car window. "Do you want me to stay awake with you?" he asks Joseph.

"No, I'm fine. We'll be there pretty soon." Polnareff nods and shuts his eyes, and Joseph quickly turns his eyes back to the road.

As Polnareff begins to doze off, he gently clasps your hand in his. He hasn't had a home for a long time; ever since he lost his sister, he hasn't known that feeling of having somewhere - or someone - you truly belong with. Now, next to you, he dares to hope he's feeling it again. He's always loved you, he's realizing - you've always made him feel this way, whenever you joked around together or fought side-by-side in battle. Knowing that you feel the same was the best thing that's ever happened to him.

Just before he falls asleep, he whispers a gentle, "I love you." He holds your hand a little tighter and finally drifts off.

Joseph casts one final glance at the two of you in the back seat. Unlike Polnareff, he's a little more worried about the potential outcome of the face-off with Dio. Maybe, though, just maybe - the endless love you two possess for one another will be what wins the fight.

#my writing #jean pierre polnareff #polnareff x reader #polnareff imagine #jojo x reader #jjba imagine #jjba x reader #jojo's bizarre adventure #seven of swords guy was basically steely dan with a cooler stand #also thank you to madame sofia coppola for the title sorry for stealing it

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earlgreytea68 · 3 years

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Tagged by @setting-in-a-honeymoon!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

An even 200!

2. What’s your total AO3 wordcount?

Um. 3,328,002

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Six:

Inception in the lead with 67 fics

Sherlock with 56

Fall Out Boy with 36

Doctor Who with 14 (this number is incorrect, I have written waaaaay more than that, they just live on LJ and DW)

and then one each for Sports Night and The Office (UK)

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Nature and Nurture

Saving Sherlock Holmes

Working on the Edges

The Radovljica Apicultural Museum

John Watson’s Twelve Days of Christmas

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

I try to! Sometimes I get busy or depressed or sick, etc., and I fall behind, but I try to respond, for a number of reasons - they give me so much joy that I want to acknowledge that they have brought my joy; it is so wonderful to see what people to respond to and love and laugh at and cry over, it definitely makes me a better writer, and so I want to acknowledge that, too; and comments when I’m in the middle of posting a fic are especially helpful to me because they often result in me tweaking what’s coming next in response to questions I see people have that indicate I’m not being clear enough, or maybe I’m not hitting the tone I want, etc. And so I like to respond to be like, “Thank you! You have no idea how important and wonderful this is to me!”

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Oh, wow. While I actually think I can write good angst, when I do it I try to have it in the middle of the fic, so that it gets properly resolved to give you a nice, happy ending. I’m sure someone’s going to be like, YOU ARE FORGETTING THIS HEART-WRENCHING THING YOU WROTE, but all I’m coming up with right now is that, in my long Doctor Who ‘verse I wrote, I did a fic in which their family dog died. That was pretty angsty. (omg I just scrolled down to see how I ended this story and OH MY GOD ahahah I forgot that I wrote this after I’d broken up with the Tenth Doctor and so it ends with Brem being like, “Plus, my father is useless so I have to hold the entire family together all the time” hahahaha what an extra-angsty ending, Brem, my love lol)

7. Do you write crossovers? If so what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I do sometimes! I feel like most of my crossovers make some amount of sense. Like, okay, maybe you wouldn’t think to cross Inception with Fall Out Boy (this was a special request) but I think the premise of the fic makes total sense. And I once crossed Oliver with Brem, but those were my first two beloved precocious fic songs, so that made some sense, too. And I still think Inception and Sherlock crossed together made SO much more sense than actual seasons of Sherlock lol. So I guess if I had to choose the craziest I would go with the Doctor Who/Gossip Girl crossover I wrote lol. But wait, that one actually also made sense as I wrote it, I think, so I’ll go with the Sherlock/Fall Out Boy crossover because that was just bonkers.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yes. I wrote a fic that was really horrible to Mary in “Sherlock.” I hate Mary. I feel like I can say that now. I haaaaaated Mary. But in those days “Sherlock” was an incredibly tense fandom to be part of and if you didn’t say that you loved Mary all the time forever and always then people were like !7@((!*(@(!& at you. I have a million massive warnings in all caps all over the fic, like, DON’T READ THIS IF YOU LIKE MARY, and people still would leave rude comments on it lololol. And then we wonder why I left that fandom lol. (I mean, many people in the fandom were wonderful, and I don’t always have REASONS why I leave fandoms, it’s not like anything is that logical or rational. But it wasn’t a very fun time to be in Sherlock fandom. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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

I do. My smut almost always has to be advancing some kind of emotional beat in the characters’ relationship. I’m never super-explicit because usually the whole point of the scene to me is what the characters are thinking and feeling, not really what they’re *doing.*

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Sometimes my fics show up somewhere without my knowledge. People are really good about letting me know when that happens.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yup!

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

Yes!

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

This is like asking who my all-time favorite child is.

14. What’s a wip that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I have this high school Peterick AU that I started at the beginning of the pandemic. For some reason, when schools shut down, all I could think about was all these bands that wouldn’t get formed because the kids couldn’t go to each other’s houses, like Pete Wentz couldn’t just show up at Patrick Stump’s to hear him play. So I started this story where Pete and Patrick meet right before the pandemic hits, and then everything locks down and they’re stuck Facetiming each other and coming to the realization that their soulmate is on the other side of the screen.

Anyway, I actually think this fic is super-hot?? And I never think I write hot things, but it’s got a hot phone sex scene and I’m really happy with it and I would love to finish the story...except that the pandemic turned out to be...this. And in my head, Idk, I thought there’d be this triumphant moment where everyone would be like, “Yay! We can see each other now!” and Pete and Patrick would reunite, and instead everything petered out into, “Can we see each other now........????? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ “ and I didn’t know what to do with that in my fic, it made it not as neat as I was wanting it to be.

But I hate to lose that hot phone sex scene hahaha. And also after the hot phone sex scene Patrick adds “Hotline Bling” to his and Pete’s shared Spotify playlist they’ve been working on and I’M SORRY, I FOUND THAT SO CHARMING, PATRICK STOLE MY HEART WITH THAT MOVE, anyway, as you can see, I love so much about the fic and I really want to find a way to make it work and maybe someday I will the end.

15. What are your writing strengths?

My dialogue.

Also I think I write the same story over and over (person realizes that they’re deserving of being loved for exactly who they are), but I think I’m REALLY GOOD at that one story lol

Also I like to think that I write family relationship stuff fairly well, like, Idk, I love doing that stuff, whether found family or biological.

Oh, and I think I usually get the ratio of angst::happy ending pretty good (in my view for my personal preference lol).

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

I don’t think I’m especially good at smut. I’m terrible at paying attention to things like setting, what the characters are wearing, what the characters even look like, etc. As mentioned above, I tell the same story over and over and over, and I’m okay with that, but yeah, I’d be bad at telling a story where people aren’t, like, nice people who you’re rooting for.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I think I couldn’t do it, because I don’t speak any other language, but I’m always happy when people translate my fics!

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Doctor Who. Although maybe, like, New Kids on the Block self-insert stuff counts from junior high??? But Doctor Who was first published.

19. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Please see above re: favorite child lol

I tag every writer who wants to do this and I hope every writer does this because I always think these are fascinating!!

31 notes · View notes

royallyprincesslilly · 3 years

Text

Title: Crown For Two {1}

Henry Cavill AU x OFC Xari Thornton AU

Warning: Plot, Mild Cursing, Cheesy Christmas Themes,

Words: 6.1k

Summary: Xari Thornton is a travel photographer with a blog and social media that garners some heavy-duty traffic. People tune in to see where she is and what she’s doing there, all in hopes of either living vicariously through her or to plan their next vacation.

Her slogan; “Traveling the path to the most off-beaten places, so you don’t have to.”

Her next stop on her four destination travel itinerary of “Places You May Never Have Heard Of” is Sandvell, a small European country. When her plane makes an impromptu stop due to bad weather, she has no idea where she is. It feels like she’s stepped inside of a snow globe and back in time in a modern way. It leaves her fascinated.

This bad weather forces her to stay at an Inn, The Beaux, for the night. Rather than letting the hours tick by in her room, she explores and meets the friendly locals. While taking photographs, one local in particular captures her lens with eyes as blue as the ocean and a jaw that was chiseled from stone. They strike up conversation during their time drinking at one of the local bars, Ickles. Once they separate, she gets herself into a harrowing situation.

As soon as she awakens, she realizes she’s not in some fever dream, but a palace and the owner of the palace is none other than the local she met before with the piercing blue eyes, His Royal Highness Henry Wellington Leopold Danglishton, First of his name, Crown Prince of Brexendor.

Note: All right, all right people, the ride begins. I really, really hope you enjoy this. As a note, it’s going to be fast-paced a bit, and I am gonna overload you with pictures because why the hell not, it’s a Christmas Fic. 😁 Feel free to come by and tell me what you guys think.

As always, thank you all for reading, I appreciate each and every one of you.

If you enjoyed this, please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!!! ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive***

***Picture Heavy***

Chapter One

“You were supposed to be on your way home.”

You rolled your eyes as you scoffed. You’d mentioned nights ago that you thought you should just go home, but then you went to your next destination. It was a moment of weakness or it could have been loneliness. Your schedule took a lot out of you. No one saw it because it was all behind the scenes. All anyone ever saw were the incredible places you went to, the fun things you experienced, and the culture you soaked up. What they grasped was whatever you posted in your pictures.

“You know I can’t. I started this series, and it’s gotten the eye of a lot of sponsors, and one of them is even talking about some really big ideas at the end of it if it goes really well. that could be incredible for my brand,” you explained.

Anika sighed loudly. You knew she was annoyed with you right now, especially it being December.

“I know you’re disappointed. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Whatever.”

“Attention, ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. It looks like we’re headed right into a storm. We’ll be experiencing a little turbulence as we veer off course a little bit as we try to evade this thing. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts.”

You sighed while buckling your seatbelt, preparing for what was coming.

“What’s happening?”

“Going through some turbulence. It should be fine,” you assured your sister.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to hang up.”

You nodded to the flight attendant and promptly ended the call promising your sister that you’d call her back when you landed in Sandvell. As soon as you hung up, the turbulence began. It started out with slight bumps, that you could sip your drink through. Then graduated to bigger bumps that had you gripping the elbow rests. When the entire plane started to shake, your heart leaped into your throat. One minute passed, then two, and after five minutes or so, the speaker came back on.

“Ladies and gentleman, your captain again. We’re going to be landing shortly. This storm is not one to be messed with. I apologize for the inconvenience, folks, but on this airline, we choose safety above all else.”

You weren’t going to argue with him. You definitely didn’t want to risk your life over getting to your next destination. What was a one or two day delay? Once the pilot got to a lower altitude, the majority of the turbulence subsided. It was another ten minutes before the plane landed, but when it did, all you could see from the window was white overcast with darkness.

When you had your belongings gathered and began walking off the plane along with the other fifty or so passengers, you tried to find cell service, but you had zero bars.

“Excuse me, where are we?”

“Uh—I’m actually not sure, ma’am. Patricia, where are we?”

The two flight attendants looked puzzled. The second asked a third, and that third asked another. None of them seemed to know. That was not a good sign, you thought. Once you’d walked down the long corridor that served as the connection between the airport and the plane, you found yourself in one of the classiest airports you’d ever been in, and you’d been inside quite a few as a travel blogger. As far as the eye could see, it was class, with the exception of the floor.

You looked around you and marveled at the detail in the design that was around you. Where most airports were mainly logically designed without lavishness. This one looked like lavishness was the first priority. The floors looked to be made from the finest paonazzetto marble. You remembered the name because of the substantial time you’d spent in Italy trying to capture architecture through your camera lens. Reaching for your camera around your neck, you began snapping a few frames of the floor. Getting lost in picture taking, you found yourself at one of the many glass windows snapping pictures of the airplanes on the tarmac.

Hearing the commotion of raised voices behind you, you looked back and saw the passengers of the plane you’d just disembarked from gathered in a huddle. You walked back toward them in time to catch a question from a concerned passenger.

“How long are we delayed? When will we get back in the air? I have to get to Sandvell.”

A man wearing a mixture of royal blue and white colors cleared his throat then spoke. “I apologize, ladies and gentlemen, for the delay. There is a storm heading right for us on the path to Sandvell. Continuing through it would be lunacy. Our only viable option is to wait it out.”

No one seemed to like that answer. All the questions flew out at once. All their voices overlapped, and you could tell that the gentleman was overwhelmed by not only the volume of questions but also their voices.

“According to our team here, we’re expecting possibly a twenty-four to thirty-six-hour delay.”

Everyone groaned in unison, everyone but you. You’d traveled enough to always expect the unexpected. Things like this didn’t bother you so much now, three years into your career. The only thing that bothered you now was that you’d have to rearrange your hotel plans as well as finding somewhere to sleep tonight.

“You said here,” you began with all eyes trained to you. “Where exactly is here?”

The gentleman cleared his throat again. “Brexendor.”

The crowd murmured as they looked at each other. Clearly, no one had ever heard of Brexendor. Some even pulled out their travel map to scour it for the country.

“So what are we supposed to do now? Where do we stay?”

“We are in the process of arranging accommodations at one of the inns within the capital. If you all would work with us so we have your names to get your luggage to you in a timely fashion so you can be shuttled over to the Inn, that would be appreciated.”

Everyone filed into a line in front of one of the four airport staff, hoping to hurry matters along while you searched your phone for any information on where you were. When you typed in Brexendor into the search engine, the first thing that popped up was a map of the country. Apparently, it was next door to Sandvell. They were considered sister countries.

“Population three million, run as a monarchy, considered one of the wealthiest countries in the world. Average life expectancy one hundred and ten years. Well, damn.”

Someone clearing their throat brought your attention up in front of you. You were next in line.

“Sorry.”

The woman with brown eyes and blonde hair smiled warmly. “It’s all right, Ms--.”

“Uh, Thornton, Xari Thornton.” You handed her your passport and boarding pass and waited as she scrolled through her tablet.

“Ah yes, Ms. Thornton. Here is your paperwork. On it, you will find where you can retrieve your luggage and the shuttle number that will be taking you to the Inn. Once at the Inn, just provide your name, and you will find everything has been taken care of. On behalf of Brexendor Aviation, we humbly apologize for this snafu.”

Her customer service training was on point, you thought. Her smile was warm, as if she really meant the words she’d just said. Finding it refreshing, you took the paperwork and proceeded to where she was motioning. Everyone you passed as you walked the fancy halls had a warm smile plastered to their face and even warmer words of welcome. You felt as if you’d stepped through into some alternate universe. You made a voice note about everything you encountered. You wanted to make sure you captured your authentic feelings and reactions in real-time. It made writing about your experience on the blog page easier. You’d even found that readers and supporters liked the play by play with your added thoughts. They commented it added personality.

Once you’d made it to the baggage claim area, your jaw dropped at the change in décor. There were Christmas trees that sparsely decorated the space, and they were all lit with the same blue, silver, and white theme. It contrasted with the latte color of the leather seats and the cream offset tables. The design gave the space an elegant but also comfortable vibe. When you slipped into one of the chairs, you released an audible moan. It was like sitting on a cloud.

After gathering your luggage, you followed instructions through a hall lined with Christmas trees, stopping every so often to take a few pictures before you made it to the front of the airport. As you stepped outside, your eyebrows shot up seeing the fresh snow cascading from the sky. The bite in the air had you bundling your jacket tighter, but it did not stop you from snapping a few pictures. One turned to ten and ten to fifteen until another person clearing their throat brought you back to reality and to the waiting bus ahead of you.

You took a break from pictures and called the hotel in Sandvell, hoping to alter the dates of your stay. What you expected to be a hassle and a long drawn out process ending in them saying they were booked and nothing could be done, turned out to be quick, easy, and painless. The Luxembourg Hotel assured you that your room would still be available and there would be no charge for the altered dates. You made another note on your phone, a point you had to stress when you wrote your piece.

You continued snapping pictures from the window of the bus with an easy mind. Everything you passed seemed like it didn’t belong. It all looked so old fashioned but so modern all at the same time. The buildings looked to have been standing since the beginning of time in the materials they’d been built in, but the displays were from the twenty-first century. It was the most exciting contradiction. The only word you could think to describe it was—quaint.

When the bus drove over a bridge, you got a semi-bird’s eye view of the town across the water, and your jaw nearly dropped.

“Brexendor? What the hell?”

The entire drive had you widening your eyes like a child seeing an insane amount of presents on Christmas morning. Buildings were decked out in Christmas lights, and every door had a wreath with blue and silver Christmas ornaments. Almost every few feet, the sidewalks were decorated with poinsettia trees that were half the average human’s height, and the way the freshly fallen snow-dusted their tops only made it even more perfect.

By the time the bus stopped, you’d taken so many pictures, and part of you was dreading having to go through them to choose the ones that would make the cut. You knew it was going to be a next to impossible decision. As you stepped off the bus, you felt like you’d walked right into a snow globe.

“Holy shit!”

You spun, taking in a full three-sixty view of your surroundings. all the glistening lights and the falling snow only made it feel even more magical. You didn’t know where the hell Brexendor was or why the hell they rolled like this, but you were excited to see more. When you stopped spinning, you realized several other people were snapping pictures and looking just as marveled as you were. After gathering your luggage, you followed instructions and walked across the street to the building that a friendly looking man with slightly greying hair was standing before beckoning you inside.

For the second time that night, you felt as if you’d stepped into a Christmas movie set. The interior was set so cozy. It felt like a Christmas cottage, and you loved it. Instinct had you reaching for your camera and taking a few shots of the Christmas tree in the corner by the fireplace and the plaid decorations on the leather couch. Even the pictures on the walls got a snap.

“Miss?”

Looking back to the owner, you smiled and approached the desk.

“Hi, I’m so sorry. This place is so gorgeous.”

“Thank you. I wish I could take the credit, but it is all my wife.”

Just then, a beautiful brunette came out wearing a bright red sweater and one of those spoof reindeer antler headbands that bounced with every move.

“Hi, there darling. Welcome to The Beaux. I’m Anita, and this is my husband, Borik. I heard all about your ordeal. I’m so sorry.”

You shrugged but kept your smile plastered on your face.

“It’s all right. Can’t control the weather, right?”

Anita smiled and nodded. “Definitely not in Brexendor.”

“I have never heard of this place before, and I am lost how. Everything is gorgeous and so quaint. How have you stayed under the radar?”

Anita and Borik looked at each other with an all-knowing look that you wanted in on.

“Guess it’s just happened,” Anita cheerfully said.

You knew they knew something. Staying this under the radar, including from America, didn’t just happen. This took work. You wondered who in charge in their right mind would make a stupid decision like that.

“Okay, what’s your name, darling?”

“Uh, Xari Thornton.”

“Ah-ha, I told you, Borik. Once we were contacted with a list of names that would be checking in, and I saw your name, I told him I just know she’s gorgeous and look. You are a vision.”

You couldn’t help but smile widely while trying to keep your head under proper proportions.

“Thank you.”

“You must have quite the many suitors where you’re from,” Anita continued.

You snorted and shook your head. The reality was you were as single as the number one with no prospects.

“No suitors here.”

Both Borik and Anita looked shocked, as if you’d said the most appalling thing.

“That can’t be true. Borik. She’s single and at twenty-eight. Even our Kennedy was at least engaged by the time she turned twenty-seven. Here that is unheard of. A woman is usually married by twenty-four, especially if she’s a looker.”

You pinched your lips, trying to keep your laughter in. this was not the first time you’d been called an old maid. Hell, your mother said it often, especially since you flat out turned down Maurice’s proposal three months ago. She was livid.

Anita must have sensed the awkwardness of the moment because she cleared her throat and brought all her attention back to the reservation.

“Well, your room is prepared. I took the liberty of giving you one of our prettiest rooms. Would you like Borik to carry your bags up?”

“Uh—no, I’m sure I can manage,” you began.

Borik stood, shook his head, and came around to you.

“I won’t hear a thing about it. I’ll happily carry your luggage up. Follow me.”

“That’s my Borik, ever the gentleman,” Anita filled in with an enamored smile before Borik walked off, leaving her to check in a few of the other passengers from the plane.

You listened to Borik tell the story of the Inn and how it got its name. You kept one ear on his story while you took in every detail around you. The wood looked so rustic, and you guessed that was what gave the place such a warm and welcoming feeling. The higher you climbed, the more you saw, and the more you saw, the more you liked. You followed Borik down a hall, noticing that all the doors you passed had mini wreaths decked out in the same blue and silver ornaments like at the airport and throughout the streets.

“Ah-ha, here we are,” Borik said before he put the key into the lock and pushed the door open. Once he did, the scent of cinnamon and pine hit you in the face. It was like the hand of Christmas came out and smacked you.

“My wife loves the smell,” Borik explained as you stepped inside. You smiled and thanked him for his help.

“If you get hungry, you have a few options. There are plenty of places nearby you can eat some authentic Brexendorian food, but also my wife cooks every night, and dinner usually is at eight o’clock, but tonight Anette has agreed to keep some heated for anyone who would like some. It’s stew, rabbit.”

“Oh, thumper. Wonderful.”

Borik laughed loudly with that one. “I know that one, Bambi, the children’s cartoon. Good one Ms. Thornton.”

You smiled. “You can call me Xari, Borik.”

“Well, have a good night,” he said before he walked out.

Finally alone, the first thing you did was text your sister to let her know not to worry and give her an update on what was happening. After you let Anika know what was happening, it didn’t take long for your phone to ring. The next ten or so minutes were spent talking to Anika and telling her how amazing the things you’d seen so far were. You could not shut up about the decorations, the way the snow looked to have been groomed to lay on things perfectly. It was that damn picturesque. Since you couldn’t stop talking about it, Anika was the one to suggest you go out and enjoy it before you got back on the plane. It was a suggestion you fully intended on listening to.

Fifteen minutes later, you were back downstairs bundled with your camera and your purse, ready to explore. When you told Anita your intention, she gave you a map of the city and highlighted places to look at but cautioned you to hurry because stores would be closing soon, and nights during Brexendor winters could be brutal. You promised you’d be quick and careful, then stepped out, ready to explore like Dora.

Your first stop was a block down, a children’s toy store. It was decked out with all the latest toys along with some traditional things that Santa would have brought specially made from his workshop. While you were snapping pictures outside the window, a kid ran up to the window and pressed his nose to it. His eyes were wide, and his mouth matched their size. You asked the adult with him if you could take a picture. When they approved, you got one or two from a few different angles before they walked off.

As you walked through the city, enjoying the scenery, you took pictures of everything that caught your eye, ornaments, trees, people, stores, even pets. Christmas wasn’t your favorite holiday, but it was your second favorite, and being here really as inching it higher on the list.

When you felt a strong wind hit you, it stopped you in your tracks. It was strong enough to have you stagger backward a little, allowing a chill to sweep through you. You looked around and saw a few feet away was some sort of bar, and behind it was swirling snow that looked like a tornado. You hurried toward the building, being careful not to slip on any ice that may be hiding underneath the snow. Once to the door, you walked inside, and the sound of Christmas carols filled your ears.

“Jesus.”

If the scent of the Inn felt like Christmas slapped you in the face, the look and sound of this place was the one two-hitter that settled that you were in a whole nother world here. You looked around and found a coat rack along the left wall. After placing your jacket and scarf on the hook, you walked to the bar and slid onto a stool. As you waited for the bartender to come over, you looked around. Here it didn’t smell like cinnamon, but the pine was present, along with the smell of alcohol and licorice.

There were several small dark wooden tables around the bar with chairs and even booths that decorated the walls. The floors matched the tables, and those matched the walls. This place looked like somewhere you’d find in the middle of nowhere. The window to the back of the establishment showed the dark woods with tall snow-covered trees and that howling snow tornado.

When you turned back to the back, the huge elk head above the wall lined with alcohol bottles had you gasping.

“Jeez,” you said as you snapped two of three pictures of the creepy looking thing.

“That is Hogan’s prized possession.”

You looked beside you where the voice came from to see a very attractive man there. When you’d sat down, you didn’t notice anyone beside you, so to see his piercing blue eyes boring holes into you. Your eyes traveled lower to his awkwardly shaped nose. It looked like it had been broken once or twice and never quite went back to normal. You didn’t mind it, though. Who liked a perfect face, especially when looking at him, seemed like that was about the only thing that was not absolutely perfect. His jaw was carved to precision like he was specially crafted and not born. When your eyes fell to his lips, you purposely forced yourself to look away.

“Is—is that right?”

“Yes. I bet you cannot guess why,” the stranger said in a crisp European accent that was very close to British. You weren’t one hundred percent sure if it was or not, he just sounded proper as hell, and it was actually a bit of a turn on.

You shrugged while looking at the bottles that lined the back of the bar. “Enlighten me.”

Just then, a large man with blond hair in a man bun walked over. He had to have been over six feet tall, and if this were America, he’d definitely be a shopper at the store Big & Tall. The man looked to the one seated beside you, ready to speak but suddenly closed his mouth.

“Hogan, Ms--,” the stranger began waiting for you to fill in your name.

He thought he was so smooth; you thought as you smiled to yourself.

“Xari.”

His eyebrow shot up, and he smiled sweetly. “Wow, what a beautiful name.”

You smiled, and as you felt it widening, you bit onto your bottom lip to stop it. “Thanks.”

“Ms. Xari would like to know why Shandoe is your most prized possession.”

“Shandoe?”

Hogan looked behind him at the Elk’s head then smiled. “It’s been in my family for generations. It was the first thing my great-great-great-great-great grandfather ever killed for himself to feed his family. They ate everything but the head and decided to keep it as a reminder of where we came from.”

You were expecting some weird manly story but what you got was a wholesome and heartwarming tale. You smiled, raised your camera, and snapped Hogan, and as he stared at the Elk’s head with such a loving look on his face that was such a contradiction for his large frame.

“Are you a reporter?”

“No, no. Not at all. I’m a travel influencer and blogger. I go around and soak up what the world has to offer while taking pictures and writing about it on my blog for others to read about.”

The man beside you nodded, then raised his glass to his head.

“What can I get you?”

“Uh—what is he drinking?”

“The Mistletoe Bomb.”

You snorted, unable to contain yourself any longer. “What in the world is that?”

“You laugh now, but it is a blend he makes special for me. It is not for the faint of heart,” the man beside you informed.

“Oh no, well looks like I’ll be having one of those.”

Hogan looked to him, then back to you. “It is all right, Hogan. Give the lady what she wants. I am assuming fell strength is also what you require?”

“Yes, full strength. I want all the mistletoe and all the bomb.”

Hogan went to work, making the drink while you continued looking around.

“Em, I’m Henry.”

You looked to him to find his hand outstretched to you, waiting for you to place yours in it. When you did, you repeated your name as you noted how soft his hands were. It felt like he’d never done a day’s work with them. Henry rose your hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss on the back of your hand. It was one small action, but that action had butterflies flitting in your belly and your cheeks heating as if a heater was aimed directly at your face.

“I am delighted to make your acquaintance,” Henry uttered while looking into your eyes.

“Same,” you whispered.

Henry released your hand and turned back to his drink at the same time Hogan placed a mug before you.

“One Mistletoe Bomb for the lady.”

You looked at the large mug then to Hogan, who waited expectantly. When your eyes drifted to Henry beside you, he too was watching and waiting. No matter how much you felt like this was a setup, you persisted, not wanting to back down. When you took your first full mouthful of the drink, your eyes immediately bugged. Your tongue was on fire in seconds, and it seemed the longer you held the liquid in your mouth, the worse the burn was. You gulped it down and instantly knew the mistake. Not only was your mouth on fire, but now your throat and chest as it burned a fiery path to your belly.

“Holy fucking shit!”

The two men boisterously laughed, the sounds booming off the wooden walls before filling the entire room. You looked around, noticing for the first time it was completely empty.

“What the hell is that?”

“Something that will put hair on your chest,” Hogan teased.

“No, shit.”

Henry seemed to like that response; he laughed again then finished his mug.

“How can you drink this?”

He shrugged, then turned his body to you. You gave him a well-paced once over, taking in his furry winter boots, dark pants, and dark sweater to match the pants. Underneath the sweater, though, you saw peeks of a crisp white shirt. He dressed like he had money, you thought.

“I have done it for half my life. I do not even feel the burn anymore. Do you know why he calls it Mistletoe Bomb now?”

You giggled and nodded, pushing the mug away. If you drank that, you’d need to be carried out of here. As Hogan appeared to take the mug away, Henry reached for it, insisting he’d finish it while Hogan placed a beer bottle in front of you.

“Would you like a straw?”

You looked at Hogan as if he were crazy. Who drank beer with a straw? You shook your head and raised the bottle to your lips to take a swig. This was more your speed, not pure petrol.

“So you are new in town,” Henry began.”

“Kind of. My plane had to detour because of the storm, so here I am in a place I’ve never heard of and cannot figure out why.”

“Is it strange to never have heard of every place in the world?”

You thought about it for a moment as you took another mouthful of beer then nodded.

“Yes. I’m from America,” you began.

“Ah, American. Let me guess. Everything has to be discovered, and if it is not, then either it doe not exist, or it is being hidden.”

You snapped your mouth shut. He’d guessed American thinking in one try. “Well, that’s not fun,” you added. Henry laughed and took his mouthful of fire.

“I am sorry. I know America well,” Henry informed.

“Oh, so you’ve been?”

“No. I do not need to. I have spent my entire life learning it.”

You looked back at him, confused by what he meant.

“Every country gives lessons on other countries of the word, especially powerhouse countries,” he explained.

“Well, your studies have paid off.”

“Do you really believe that everything has to be discovered?”

“No. where is the fun in that? I believe that the world has to have some mystery.”

“Then welcome to Brexendor,” Henry said with a smile.

“Brexendor. What’s it’s deal?”

You leaned closer, resting your elbow on the wood of the bar as you watched him.

“Deal? I am afraid I do not understand.”

“What I mean is, the people are nice. Everyone I have encountered, including at the airport, is nice. You know airport staff can be so mean, but not here. The people who own the Inn I am staying at are so sweet. Even strangers I bump into don’t;’ seem to mind. Not to mention, this place has the whole snow globe effect down. It’s incredible. What is the deal? Is the president some fantastic guy who pays everyone well and gives them ample vacation time for them to be so happy?”

Henry smiled, dipped his head lower, then rubbed the back of his neck.

“Would that be unusual?”

“Yes. Compared to what America has going on—highly unusual.”

“Well, the first thing to know about Brexendor is, a president does not run it,” Henry clarified.

“Ah right, it is a monarchy. So does that mean there is a king, and queen, lords, dukes,” you began, then gasped, remembering more. “Princesses?”

Henry smirked, gulped his drink, then nodded. “Yes.” He continued to take another swig from his mug.

His words slowly resonated. “What!? You’re serious?”

He nodded, then placed the glass onto the bar.

“Wow. How interesting. So this King and Queen are they the good kind?”

Henry’s smile turned somber before it disappeared altogether.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No, no. Yes, the King and Queen are the best kind,” he filled in before he took the last mouthful of his drink. “They would like you.”

You laughed loudly and shook your head. “Me? I doubt that. While all the mothers of my boyfriends have loved me, I don’t think the King and Queen would care for me.”

“Boyfriend, so uh—you’re involved,” Henry said as he avoided your eyes.

His words sounded like a statement rather than a question, so you remained quiet. After a few moments, he looked at you expectantly. You pinched your lips before you finished your beer.

“Are you involved?”

Henry took a deep breath looked forward to the bottles at the bar as a pained and confused expression washed over his features.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you replied.

“I am not—involved,” he answered.

“You said it like you weren’t sure.”

“It is complicated.”

“Well, I am a stranger in a bar—an empty bar. You’ll most likely never see me again, and I’ve been told I’m a great listener.”

Henry smiled then turned back to you, resting his elbow on the bar mimicking your stance.

“You have not answered my inquiry.”

“Inquiry?”

Henry smiled again, then bit his bottom lip. That is where your eyes went to. He had nice lips, you thought.

“On if you are involved,” he clarified.

“I am not involved with anyone. If you ask my mother, she will tell you I’m an old maid with no prospects.”

“I do not believe that. You are funny, intelligent, fun to be around, and quite beautiful. There is no way you have no admirers.”

You smiled and began toying with your necklace.

“I’m sure you say that to all the girls you meet in deserted bars during a snow storm.”

He snorted, and you felt his breath across your cheek. It was then you realized how close the two of you were to each other.

“To be honest, I have never found myself alone with a woman in a bar. You are my first.”

You bit your bottom lip feeling more flirtatious than usual as you gazed into his hypnotizing eyes. He was gorgeous and becoming even more so with every passing minute. The two of you ordered more drinks, then drifted off to one of the booths on the wall that was more hidden and even more comfortable. You talked about nearly everything and nothing at the same time. He spoke a lot about philosophy and astronomy and the sciences that motivated a lot of the earlier theories. It was fascinating just listening to him speak. There was something about his mouth and the properness of the words he used. Never once did he use slang or even a contraction. You’d never met anyone who didn’t use contractions. The longer you sat there, the more you felt like never getting up.

“There is something about you that is so comfortable and easy,” Henry began.

“You too.”

“I feel like I can talk to you about anything. I even want to.”

You smiled, “You too.”

Your eyes lingered, and you saw him sway forward, but then he stopped only to do it again and again. With your faces were centimeters from one another, it was then you noticed the slight speck of brown in his left eye. You felt Henry’s hand gently cup your cheek; then, his thumb slowly stroked your skin. The heat from his palm seared your cheek, and every stroke of his thumb send heat tendrils down your jaw to your lips, making them tingle and yearn for his.

This had never happened to you in your entire life. You’d known this man a few hours and were ready to possibly bring him back to the Inn with you. Henry didn’t move. It was like he was giving you the last few centimeters to make a decision, but you didn’t make it. A phone went off, but you both ignored it until the sound went off. You raised your hand to rest on top of his. Once your skin touched his, Henry lightly sighed out. Before either of you could make another move, a phone rang again. This time Henry groaned before he looked away just as you did.

You cleared your throat and slid from his body as he checked his phone.

“I have to go,” he announced.

Frozen, you sat there trying to understand if you’d read this entire thing wrong.

“I am sorry, something—urgent has come up.”

You snapped out of it, then nodded. “It’s fine. I should probably get back to the Inn anyway. They say a storm is brewing.”

Both of you stood from the booth while straightening your clothes.

“I really enjoyed tonight,” Henry added.

You smiled and nodded. “Me too. It was—nice.”

Your eyes lingered again, and your bodies drifted closer. It was you who looked away first and stepped back. You reached for your purse, but Henry stopped you.

“It has been taken care of. Let us call it a tourist special, right Hogan.”

“Right your--,” Hogan began before Henry looked at him, cutting him off.

Henry ushered you to the coat rack on the wall by the door then helped you into your jacket.

“Can I drive you back to the Inn?”

“No, please. I am more than capable of getting back,” you assured.”

“Are you sure?”

You nodded then turned to walk out, but Henry pulled you to him. “I want to see you again.”

“I don’t see how. I leave tomorrow as soon as the storm passes.”

Henry looked to be thinking before he sighed. “I guess it was not meant to be,” you whispered, a tinge of sadness filling you as reality set in.

“In another life,” Henry softly said.

He came closer then placed a slow, chaste kiss on your cheek before he released you. The two of you stared at each other for a few moments, and in those moments, anything felt possible. When you faced that anything could have been possible but not for you, you sighed. A few seconds later, you turned and walked out of the bar.

Once outside, the rough wind caught you off guard. You took a few moments to bundle yourself, then continued walking back to the Inn. The swirling snow in the air made it a little challenging to see, but you tried the best you could. Several times, the wind picked up and shoved you where it wanted, forcing you to grab on to something to hold until it passed.

Suddenly a big gust of wind blew you to the right and knocking you off your feet to roll for several feet. When the wind slowed, you rolled over onto your back to spit out the mouthful of snow that you’d managed to ingest. It took you several tries to stand, but when you did, you tried to see where you were and what direction you needed to walk in. That was when the wind picked up again, making you scream. When you turned, you saw two headlights coming right at you, then all you felt was pain before you were out cold.

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

***If you want to be tagged/untagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!***

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

TagList:

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#crown for two fic #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x black reader #black fanfiction #royalty au #slow burn fanfic #christmas fanfiction #henry cavill x black ofc #cheesy christmas fic

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thistlecatfics · 2 years

Note

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💖

ps; yes i know you already got one, tough luck, post more self-recs >:D 💜💜 (only if you want ofc!!!)

Awww thank you! <3 <3 <3

Ok here are five more:

Acting Out (2k, Narcissa/Molly)

16 year old Narcissa is SO MUCH FUN to write. She’s the absolute worst, and this bit of dub-con was the most fun. (Also, I need to write more fat characters having hot sex not through the POV of an absolute nightmare of a grieving, vain teenage girl.)

Two Quaffles Pub (9k, Cho/Ginny)

My heart was poured into this fic. It’s the second one shot I ever wrote, and I just love the vibe of two queer women meeting in a gay bar, comparing ex’s, comparing traumas, drunkenly making out in the bathroom, and then maybe setting healthy boundaries and potentially setting themselves up for a healthy (??) relationship. Cho/Ginny has become one of my favorite EWE ships.

Blood Is Rare and Sweet (7k, Bellatrix/Andromeda)

My first ever one shot! I was SO nervous writing incest (what if the meanies on the internet go after me? lol), but I love how this vaguely Hannibal-inspired (and canon compliant) first war era fic turned out. The reception to this fic inspired me to create @blackcestfest :)

A Farewell Letter (500 words, Remus/Sirius)

A little absurdist Quick Quotes Quill porn :) (thanks @broomsticks for the push to include this one)

School Discipline (200 words, Daphne/Theo)

One of my least kudos'd fic (side characters!), but I love this double drabble because I have read so little about how Slytherins at Hogwarts managed during the Carrows but I’m fascinated by the traumatic impact of perpetrating violence against others. This 200 word drabble gave me about a million Daphne and Theo headcanons, and they both might start showing up in other fics when I find my way back to lightening gen :)

#thistlecat fics #little ask games

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simplybakugou · 4 years

Text

Runaways

↝ After being forced into a wedding, Bakugou whisks you away from having to partake in the ceremony.

BINGO SPACE: Wedding

⋆ PAIRING: prohero!bakugou x fem!reader ⋆ WARNINGS/TAGS: fluff; swearing ⋆ WORD COUNT: 1736

A/N: yes this is a @bnhabookclub bingo piece lol. when i got this prompt for bakugou (thank to the anon who requested bakugou btw) i was originally going to write out a whole wedding ceremony before i thought that would be boring imo lmao. so i decided to go with this concept! imo i don’t really like weddings so you can sort of see that through this fic lol.

credits to @bnhahcs for the beautiful colored bakugou cap!

FULL BINGO MASTERLIST

✐posted 08.23.2020✐

Suffocation. It was like your air was being cut right from you, like you were fighting just to breathe. All you could do was inhale and exhale big deep breaths as you tried to calm yourself, attempting to slow down your racing heart beating against your chest. But it was no use; you still were as overwhelmed as you were since the day started.

“Are you ready?” Yaoyorozu asked, her tone laced with excitement as she was overjoyed for one of her closest friends on her big day.

You mustered up a smile, the corners of your lips quivering as you attempted to seem merry. But Yaoyorozu saw right through you as she frowned at your expression. “What’s wrong? You don’t look so happy?”

“It’s nothing, I’m good.” A lie; there was nothing exciting about this day for you.

Mina creeped up from the other corner, fully dressed as she was more than ready to head out into the ceremony. “Are you scared about getting married?”

You shook your head. “No, it’s nothing like that.” The girls decided to not pry any further as they did their best to help you get fully dressed as well as help your other friends.

For most people, a wedding is one of the most exciting and exhilarating days that could happen in one’s life. Although each culture does their ceremonies differently, there is still something to celebrate as a couple vows to spend the rest of their lives with one another.

But you had other views on weddings.

You met your husband to be when you were both in high school in U.A. While Bakugou was in the hero course, you were in the support course and your paths would cross as each respective course would often mingle with one another. The minute you laid eyes on Bakugou, you were immediately fascinated. His quirk was impressive and you wanted to ask him a million and one questions just to understand how his quirk worked and the repercussions his body faces as a result of overusing his quirk.

With this fascination, you would pester him as you thought you were interested in his quirk until you slowly realized you were actually interested in him. Being as bold as you were, you decided to ask him on a date. You surprised him with your dauntless proposal so he shocked you by agreeing. Even more surprising, Bakugou actually enjoyed your company outside of the classroom and the rest was history as you had been dating ever since.

After graduating from U.A., you both broke off into your respective professions, Bakugou with pursuing professional heroism and you deciding to become an engineer and create support items for heroes. You were both idolized as the perfect duo by the media, your professions working hand in hand perfectly. And six years into your relationship, Bakugou proposed to you which you practically screamed out ‘yes.’

Like a majority of young women in committed relationships, you were ecstatic to be able to spend the rest of your life with the man you loved. But on the other hand, you and Bakugou both had mutual feelings toward wedding ceremonies: they were just a waste of time and money. Something about hosting a grand occasion to show off how in love you were just seemed like overkill and you had no intention of hosting one. You and Bakugou agreed to be registered as a married couple in Japan through the usual paperwork until both of your parents were strictly against this decision.

Your parents and Bakugou’s parents, especially his mother in particular, wanted you to have a traditional wedding. Leading up to the ceremony, you fought with your mother, voicing how you had no interest in partaking in the wedding but it was like you were speaking to a brick wall. Bakugou tried reasoning with Mitsuki as well, at least his version of reasoning, but this resulted in Mitsuki nearly bringing the house down from her rage.

So here you were, forced against your will to be officially married in front of your family and friends.

“Are you all set?” Uraraka asked as she entered the room. She gasped at the sight of you. “You look so beautiful, Y/N!”

You smiled gratefully at her. If there was one thing that came out of this whole thing, it was that you at least got to dress up for once instead of being covered in grease and sweat from slaving away at your day job. “Thanks, Ochako.”

The door opened and your mother entered, making you want to groan internally. “Ladies, please wait outside.”

The girls nodded, waving at you as they expressed their words of encouragement as they left. Your mother’s fake smile lifted from her face the minute you were alone with her. She proceeded towards you, smoothing out a crease in the front of your uchikake. “So you’re still acting like a child about this whole thing?”

You had to prevent yourself from rolling your eyes, not wanting to hear her start complaining about that, too. “You would be acting like a kid, too, if you had to do something you didn’t want to.”

Your mother snickered, grabbing your hand to practically drag you out of the room as the ceremony was about to begin. You froze in your footsteps, coming to a halt. “Could you give me five minutes? I need a breather.”

Your mother sighed, already fed up with your antics and the day had barely begun. “Fine. I’ll be back here in exactly five minutes.”

You nodded, letting out a sigh in relief as she finally left the room. You made your way to the large mirror in the room, frowning at the sight of your perfectly painted face. You readjusted your headdress on your head, poking your cheeks as you dragged your lips upward into a smile. It was so hard to make it seem like you were happy.

As you were about to make your way out the door and join your mother, the window slammed open. You whipped your head towards the source of the sound, confused to see Bakugou casually propped onto the ledge of the windowsill as he was latched onto the outside of the wall.

“Katsuki?!” You exclaimed, rushing over to the window without tripping over your feet. “What’re you doing? You can’t be here!”

Bakugou scoffed. “You think I was gonna let our dumbass folks make us do shit we don’t even wanna do?”

He leaned over, grabbing your arm and hoisting you up on the windowsill. “We’re getting outta here.”

Before you could express your disapproval for this idea, as not only were you going to be carried around in your boyfriend’s arms as he attempted to maneuver around with his quirk keeping you both afloat, your mothers were going to murder you once they realized the bride and the groom had left their own wedding.

“Hold on to me,” he commanded as he dropped down into the air. Your voice was caught in your throat as you gripped your arms around his neck, only his right arm around your back holding you as his left arm blasted you both through the air.

“You’re insane!” You screamed against the wind.

Bakugou smirked as he blasted through building after building. “Not as insane as you are for agreeing to marry me.”

***

The flight you were forced into taking was one you never wanted to experience ever again. Somewhere along the way your headdress had flown away and your perfectly pinned hair had been tousled and became a mess. You nearly puked at the thought of being lifted hundreds of feet in the air with only your fiance’s arm keeping you from falling.

“Y/N, open your eyes,” Bakugou chided.

You shook your head vigorously as your eyes were still screwed shut and your fists held onto Bakugou’s black kimono. “You’re trying to trick me, I know you are!”

“You idiot, we’re not even in the air anymore.”

You opened one eye slowly, peeking as Bakugou had landed atop of a building, both his arms now carrying you. You gasped as you released your grip from Bakugou’s clothes and you settled down onto the ground.

The sight of the sky painted in purple and orange hues as a result of the setting sun was dazzling to see. The buildings from afar were starting to light up, showing how long you and Bakugou had been basically flying through the air, not to mention your wedding was supposed to take place later in the evening.

“It’s so pretty!” You squealed, leaning against the railing of the building’s rooftop.

Bakugou walked beside you, looking out at the sight along with you. “Do you even know where we are?”

You turned to him. “I thought we were at some random place? Didn’t you land at the first building you found?”

Bakugou rolled his eyes playfully. “How are you the smartest woman I know but also the most fucking dense one, too.”

You narrowed your brows at him. “You don’t have to be rude about it.”

Bakugou smiled, wrapping his arm around your waist as he brought your body closer to his. “Think a little harder.”

You turned to face the view once more, your eyes roaming around to find something that could help indicate where you were. Finally you located the arch with your alma mater’s name on it and you gasped. “We’re at U.A.?!”

“It’s about damn time.” Bakugou looked down below him. “A lot of shit went down at this place but at least I met you.”

You grinned, nuzzling your face into his chest as your makeup stained the fabric of his kimono. “You’re so cute, Katsuki.”

“I’m not fucking cute. I wanted to get as far as I could from that fucking place,” Bakugou said, taking back his previous statement as he spoke about the religious center your ceremony was supposed to take place. “I’m not gonna let our old hags tell us how we’re gonna live our lives, especially when we’re finally starting a new one together.”

You nodded in agreement, chuckling a little. “Guess we’re starting out our new life together as runaways?”

Bakugou smirked, looking down at you as he planted a kiss on your forehead. “I don’t give a fuck where we go from here, as long as I’m with you.”

If you’d like to be added to my taglist, please join here!

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#bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #bnha bakugou #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia imagines #boku no hero imagines #my hero academia #my hero academia imagines

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contraststudies · 3 years

Text

Thank you for tagging me, @tawnyontumblr! I’m very bad at doing these writer meme things, so here goes nothing.

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

45 and counting!

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

376,429. Holy moly that is a fuck ton of words (I only properly started posting on AO3 last May iirc).

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Four: Critical Role, Good Omens, Hades, and Kill La Kill.

4) What are your top five fics by kudos?

This list is bookended by two PWPs, which I find hilarious given that I seem to have misplaced my smut brain cell sometime in the last couple of months.

On The Matter of Traffic Violations (Good Omens, E)

“Officer Fell,” Crowley says, and leans forward, enough to give Fell a good view of his décolletage. He tilts his head in the way he knows people find deliciously coquettish, glad that he’d had the foresight to apply some mascara before heading out. “I’m so very sorry about this,” he says, looking up at the officer through his lashes. “It’s late, you know, no cars around… Didn’t notice how fast I was going, that’s all.”

[Or: Crowley flirts his way out of a traffic violation.]

Unbinding (Critical Role, T)

This is a great honor, Essek reminds himself, trying not to recoil as fingers run through his hair, working through the tangles. A braid is made of three strands, symbolizing the inextricable bond between the soul, the den, and the Luxon. A recognition of an achievement by the drow who bears it. With each braid, the soul is bound ever closer to its den and to the Luxon.

It is a lesson Essek learned long ago, but one he is never permitted to forget.

[Or: the story of why the Shadowhand wears his hair cropped short.]

No Church In The Wild (Good Omens, E)

The stem of the wineglass in Aziraphale’s hand snaps cleanly in two, but no one seems to hear it—every eye in the room is trained on the redheaded dancer sashaying to the gleaming silver pole, centre stage for all to see.

Oh, Aziraphale thinks faintly. Good lord.

[Or: the one where Aziraphale gets assigned to the red light district.]

abide gold with me (Critical Role, T)

“Okay, Cay-leb,” Jester says, stretching out the syllables affectionately. “You sit right here so we can watch you and Essek try an orange for the first time.”

The Primal Scene (Good Omens, E - a collab with @lookitsstevie!)

Harriet notices that there’s a crack of light at the end of the hallway coming from the door to the library, and her mood brightens considerably. Perhaps the tutors are still here, putting together their lessons for the next day before they leave for the night. She leans down to pick up a piece of cloth that’s fallen on the rug. Her breath catches in her throat when she realizes what it is – a necktie with a familiar tartan pattern.

She nearly drops the tie in shock at the unmistakable sound coming from the closed door of the library. A sharp, quickly stifled moan.

[Or: Harriet Dowling accidentally bears witness to divine ecstasy.]

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I try. I really do. My friends (and maybe some of my readers) know that this is difficult for me, mainly because any sort of recognition reduces me to a gibbering pile of tears. I’m working on it though, even if it does take me a million years to respond to anything on AO3.

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

God, which one do I choose. I have been referred to as an angst gremlin for a very good reason. I’m gonna go with The Remains of the Day, a Good Omens fairy tale AU I wrote loosely based on Bluebeard.

7) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I HAVE. I wrote philtatos, a crossover of Good Omens and The Iliad/The Song of Achilles. It’s the only crossover I’ve ever written, unless we’re counting Variations of an Arrangement, which could loosely count as a crossover of the book/radio/TV versions of Good Omens.

8) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I have not. And hopefully never will.

9) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I do, and it’s usually of the angst with a happy ending variety.

10) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Hm. How do we define stealing? Just kidding. The short answer is no.

11) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope!

12) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Got one in the works for Critical Role!

13) What’s your all time favourite ship?

Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes was actually the first ship I ever really got into, and they’ll always have a special place in my heart even if I never wrote anything for that fandom. Crowley/Aziraphale from Good Omens of course, and more recently Caleb Widogast/Essek Thelyss from Critical Role.

14) What’s a WIP you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Variations of an Arrangement. I loved writing it, and I still want to finish it one day, but it took a lot of brainpower to write and keep track of the plot and I feel like it’s beyond me, at least right now.

15) What are your writing strengths?

I… hmm. Judging by the way people are always yelling at me in their comments, I guess it’s that I can write stories that make people feel things very deeply.

16) What are your writing weaknesses?

I repeat words so often, it’s embarrassing. I use too many “-ly” adverbs. Also, I find myself using the same turns of phrase across several fics lmao.

17) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Language is a tricky thing. I don’t want to bore you with discourse. I try not to write dialogue in a different language (especially if it’s not one I speak myself) unless it’s absolutely called for, or if they’re just basic phrases and I’m 100% certain I won’t be getting it wrong. I have read fics where this was done very well though, and I’ve found that it really adds to the atmosphere in those cases.

18) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

It was for this old anime called Princess Tutu. I danced ballet when I was younger and loved it so much – I believe I was only twelve at the time?? But I think the fic may still be floating around on FF.net somewhere.

19) What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

I wrote philtatos in a four-day fever dream. It’s not the most technically perfect fic I’ve ever written or anything like that, but I think it’s the one that reveals the most about who I am as a person. That is an incredibly cheesy thing to say, I know. I always joke that posting that fic felt like offering my still-beating heart on a silver platter to the void, but there you are.

For Critical Role, surprisingly enough it’s this ficlet I wrote called sinners, a small bite of Shadowdrei where I was parsing my ideas on Astrid and Eadwulf’s dynamic and where they stood when it came to Bren/Caleb and Essek. I didn’t realize how fully formed my thoughts were until I wrote that. Fascinating what your own writing will show you about the things that are in your mind.

Tagging with no pressure whatsoever: @naromoreau @jenanigans1207 @saretton @theseedsofdoom @musegnome!

#about me #writing meme

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northernscruffycat · 3 years

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Tagged by @101flavoursofweird

I’ll tag @pandirpus @krokonoko @my-artblog-is-ssjumi @yallemagne @amberrgalaxy @swamp-y and anyone else who wants to do this. But this is a pretty long one, so don’t feel like you have to :3 (On that note, I’ll be putting most of this under a cut for exactly that reason)

How many works do you have on AO3?

131 at the moment. But some of those are different oneshots from FFN that I posted into one fic when porting over to AO3, so I’d be fascinated by what the actual amount of fanfics I’ve written is.

What’s your total AO3 word count?

1242922 words

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Just counting what’s on AO3, so far I’ve written for 17 fandoms. They are: Free!, Professor Layton, Hades Game, Steven Universe, Pokemon, Ace Attorney, Yu-Gi-Oh DM, Yu-Gi-Oh GX, Yu-Gi-Oh 5d’s, Sonic the Hedgehog, Super Mario, Dr. Stone, Tintin, Night in the Woods, GetBackers, Good Omens and Cooking Mama What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

‘just wanted to write a fic where senku says ‘get excited’ during sex’ (My SenGen oneshot that gets a wave of attention whenever a new chapter or episode of Dr. Stone comes out)

‘laughable’ (An Ares/Hypnos oneshot I wrote purely as a sample for a zine app and underestimated how popular that ship is lol)

‘the prince with specific tastes; the king with specific regrets’ (THAT Theseus fic. My absolute fave thing I’ve ever written)

‘Shallow Grave, Shallow Bae’ (A Reigisa fic based on Octopimp’s 50% Off! abridged series of Free!; I honestly do think this fic slaps and I’m glad folks like it)

‘Barrel of Monkeys’ (The AsaIku & KisuHiyo collab fic I wrote with Amber that was a lotta fun and I’d love to do something like this with them again one day for a different fandom. Also, I feel like we captained the small KisuHiyo fandom with this fic back in the day)

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I generally respond to comments. Almost always, unless I really can’t think of anything to say in reply, which is pretty rare. Comments make me so happy and I just want to let people who do comment know that I appreciate them.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I think the angstiest fic I wrote was a Free! fic called ‘Moves Across the Land’ - the premise of which is that Makoto died as a young adult of an illness and each chapter is a different person in his life receiving a letter that he wrote for them before he died. But that one had an optimistic ending, with Haru and Kisumi unexpectedly finding a newly strengthened friendship in sharing the grief of Makoto’s death. So I guess technically the angstiest ending I wrote was a short Archie/Maxie oneshot where Maxie gets killed by Kyogre lol

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yes, but I ended up agreeing with it! Waaay back (probably more that 10 years ago at this point), I wrote a bunch of Layton/Rosetta oneshots that I now don’t stand by. One of them, in my naivety, I went too far with and breached uncomfortable territory. I got a couple of comments about how uncomfortable it was, so I ended up deleting that particular fic and felt better after it was gone.

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I am a fledgling at writing smut, which is probably obvious to anyone who’s read my smut haha. When I do write it, I prefer to focus on the dialogue between the characters - I like a banterous smut scene. Also, they’re usually pretty tame. I like writing about handjobs, blowjobs and wanking the most when I do write smut.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Again, not that I know of, but that would be awesome! A few years ago, a kind person messaged me about potentially translating my Layton fic ‘Grasping Liquid’ into French, but I don’t think they went through with it in the end. Though honestly, the dialogue and slang in that fic is pretty much illegible in English, so I reckon it’d be a tough fic to translate.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, the aforementioned ‘Barrel of Monkeys’ that I co-wrote with @amberrgalaxy It was a lot of fun and I love it :D

What’s your all time favorite ship?

Hmm... I don’t think I have a single all time favourite. I jump through a lot of OTPs and they always mean a lot to me, but it wouldn’t seem fair to pick out a single one that’s always shined brighter than the others, because that’s not really how my hyperfixations work. But my current favourite ships are Momus/Heracles (to be narcissistic) and TheseZag from Hades Game. While my oldest ship that I’m still invested in is Yami/Seto from Yu-Gi-Oh DM.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Shockingly, I don’t have any right now. A few years ago (I think 2018?), I made a point of going back and finishing ALL my old WIPs that I’d left hanging but intended to finish, even for fandoms I didn’t plan on going back to. So that freed my conscience of them and felt pretty good. At the moment, my only WIP is ‘if found please return to the underworld’ - an AU where Zagreus does make it to Olympus, so Hades sends Theseus, Asterius and Meg to try to get him back. But I’ve only just started writing that one, so I do hope to stick with it until it’s finished.

What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue. Definitely dialogue. I’m told that I capture the canon voices of characters pretty well and that’s always what I’m trying the hardest to get right, so it means a lot to me. I also feel like I’m good at keeping a fic flowing, without being bogged down by too much detail. But the downside of that is that I often sacrifice description, so I still hope to find the balance. Since Hades Game has more flowery prose than I’m used to, I think getting into that series actually helped me with this.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I do not think I am experienced enough to be able to pull this off well and would worry too much about making mistakes.

What was the first fandom you ever wrote for?

It was Pokemon, but those fics aren’t online anymore. The oldest fics you can still find buried somewhere with my name attached to them are Sonic fics.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve ever written?

‘the prince with specific tastes; the king with specific regrets’ - Sometimes I look back at that fic and wonder if I actually wrote it, since I avoided falling into all of my usual traps: I researched it properly and frequently, I kept the focus on the five main characters instead of getting distracted by introducing a million other character like I usually do, I plotted the fucker out from start to finish instead of winging it, and I worked the flashbacks into it in a way that balanced the present-day out instead of distracting from it. Also, I got the whole thing written in about two months, instead of staling for years. ...Whatever possessed me when I wrote that fic, please come back. (It was the first time I’d had two weeks off together in about three years, so I think that had a lot to do with it) OH YEAH and that same kinda villain OC who I recycle in every fandom I’m in actually landed this time. It brought me so much joy to see how much people loved to hate Momus. Those two months when I was posting that fic are easily a highlight of my life. :D

#*Talking #*About Me #*Writing #*Hades Game #*Dr. Stone #*Free Iwatobi Swim Club #*Professor Layton

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juyeoniemyhoney · 4 years

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can this morning never end

Namjoon is the most beautiful human being to ever walk the earth. It is natural that you have a crush on him. You expect that eventually, your feelings will die out but then, you find yourself squealing uncontrollably outside of the library that you and Namjoon had agreed to meet at for your pair-work assignment. You have always watched Namjoon from afar. It surprises you when you find out that Namjoon has been observing you too. Well, there’s a first for everything.

-pairing: Kim Namjoon x reader

-genre: FLUFF, a lil bit of angst, high school/secondary school au (where i live high school is called secondary school;-;)

-warnings: vulgarities, pretty self-depreciating writing if im gonna be honest so be weary, Namjoon is a little bit of a simp for oc in this one, the ending is lowkey shit rip im sorry

-word count: 3208 words

-A/N: hi hi im back, this time with a Namjoon fic. i havent been writing a lot because im so preoccupied with my exams. in all honesty, i shouldnt be writing at all but i have absolutely no sense of self control, so i wrote this. it’s not my best but i really like how joon’s so soft in this so i decided to post it anyway. don’t be afraid to tell me how you liked (or didnt like) this imagine! and requests are open! hope you enjoy this one:)

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As you approach the entrance of the library, your heart starts beating a mile a minute.

You stall outside the automatic sliding doors, mind racing with a million scenarios. You freak out a little and silently squeal, earning you disapproving frowns and judging eyes from passers-by. But you don't care. You've waited a whole week for today.

A week ago, during English class, you were busy writing instead of paying attention, as usual, when your teacher had given the class the assignment to write a scenario, of any genre but it had to contain the writer's techniques she had taught in class. And she made the whole class pair up. You, too lost in the world of fanfiction, had not been listening and frankly, you didn't really care, passing her words off as just more homework.

The next thing you knew, Kim Namjoon had turned around in his chair, calling your name in that deep, gravelly voice. At the sound of his voice, your head immediately shot up, eyes wide in surprise.

"Do you want to partner up?" he had asked, lips slinging into an easy grin, eyes curling up and that goddamned dimple making itself made known on his left cheek. He patiently waited for your answer, eyes periodically glancing down to your desk that was in disarray, pieces of paper containing your words messily covering every corner of your desk. You pray that he didn't catch a peep of your (admittedly) cringeworthy fanfic as you tried to subtly gather the papers before he could read too much.

"Um, partner up for what?" you questioned, confused, head tilting ever so slightly to the right in question, brows furrowed in misunderstanding. He mirrored your actions and your heart had unwontedly skipped a beat. A beat of silence passed, "For the assignment?"

Before you could ask what assignment?, your teacher had interrupted your conversation with a satisfied clap and a smile. "Alright, I assume you have all found your partners. I'll give you time to work on your assignment right now. Remember that planning is the most important stage of writing. Do approach me if you have any questions."

Namjoon had turned back to you with a wry grin that looked a tad bit awkward, saying, "Well, I guess we're partners now."

Which is how you find yourself freaking the fuck out in front of a library on a Saturday morning, mind racing with different, absurd scenarios and outcomes of this meeting. You decide to take another minute to compose yourself.

You wouldn't say that you like Namjoon per se. You just think he is the most handsome man to walk on this godforsaken planet. But seriously, that man is far too beautiful to be real. From the first time you met him til now, you have no doubt that that man is a celestial being, gifted to the world from the gods, purely to cleanse the eyes of us, mere mortals. To make matters worse, he is smart too; of a wisdom thousands of years beyond his age. You still can't believe you've had the god-given opportunity to meet someone like him.

Okay so, maybe you kind of like him a lot, more than you let on, but you're not really sure if you like him because he's Namjoon or if it's because you are lovelorn, touch deprived, or both.

You reckon it has taken more than a minute to compose yourself because by the time you snap out of your daze, you are five minutes late when you had actually arrived five minutes earlier than the agreed timing. You sigh and finally walk through the doors that welcome you into the cooling library, cold blasts from the air conditioning cooling down the fierce blush that had taken refuge on your cheeks.

You immediately proceed to find a seat but Namjoon texts you, telling you that he's already a step ahead of you, having secured a seat in a room with tables on the second floor.

When you reach the second floor, and make your way towards the rooms, you can see Namjoon through the glass walls, sitting down and silently reading a book as he waits for you. The closer you draw to the room, the faster your heart pounds in your chest. The sound is deafening and distracting and you don't even realise how fast you had walked until you are finally knocking on the glass door, sending Namjoon a small smile when he looks up at you.

"Hi, Y/N," he greets, smile widening into a grin so wide that it hides his eyes. Your heart stops but you hide it with a small smile as you settle down your things and yourself opposite him.

"So, what genre did you want to write about," he asks as you take a pen and a piece of paper out from your bag. You freeze when your brain registers his sentence. "The assignment is to write a story?"

Namjoon stares at you wordlessly for a while, speechless that it's been a week and you still don't know what the fucking assignment is. You, however, have no idea that he is thinking about how stupid you are and happily stare back at him, taking in his mono lidded, almond-shaped eyes and the dark brown of his irises. His nose bridge is straight and the tip of his nose is a little flat, like a koala. You have never wanted to boop a nose so bad in your entire life.

"Yeah, that's the assignment," he responds patiently, giving you a gentle smile. You can't help but feel that it seems a little tight and forced, like he is regretting asking you be his partner, and regretting that he didn't have enough time to reconsider. You ignore the feeling of dejection that slowly bubbles up inside of you.

"I thought that it'd be easiest to write romance since you're so well versed in that.". You freeze. Time seems to have stopped and your ears refuse to register the rest of what Namjoon is saying, tuning everything out but your deafening thoughts. You have to remind yourself to breathe.

"You know that I write?" you interrupt Namjoon. He stops and fixes you a look of confusion, like it is so obvious that you write. It's not that you've been trying to keep it a secret. The thing is, for most of your stories, Namjoon is the main male character. In most of your stories, you have described every single part of him in excruciating detail, his eyes and lips especially. When your friends had first read your stories with Namjoon as the male protagonist, they had caught on quickly, almost immediately asking you if you were describing Namjoon because of how well you had described him. A bad feeling washes over you.

"Yeah, you're always scribbling away during English so I got curious and asked a few of your classmates," he responds, flashing you another lopsided smile. If this were any other situation, your heart would have been absolutely eliminated because of that smile but in this situation, all you can think about is if he's read any of your work. Because if he has, you're done for.

"What did my classmates say?" you question hesitantly, still deciding if you want to know his answer.

"Well they said that you've been writing since forever. They also said that a lot of people know that you write. Oh, and they also said that you had some published works so I went to check them out—" Namjoon's voice fades out as he continues to talk.

This is it.

It's the end of your social life. Namjoon is going to tell his loud ass group of friends that you write stalker-esque stories about him and then one of his friends is going to accidentally tell their girlfriend and then the girlfriend is going to spread it across the school and you'll be known as the loser who writes creepy stalker stories about Namjoon—

"It was amazing," you hear Namjoon say in between your mild quarter-life crisis. You pause and look him square in the eye. You want to come off as serious but you falter slightly when Namjoon stares back at you, irises a whirlpool of dark brown and glittering fascination, a swirling vortex that draws you in with a vicious intent of drowning.

"Yes?" Namjoon questions you after a beat of silence passes. You want to ask him if he knows that he is reading about himself but you stop yourself. "You like my stories?" you ask instead, feeling a tad bit shy now that you've realised that Namjoon likes what you write about him.

He lets out a small laugh, "Is it that hard to believe that I like what you write?"

"I was just surprised." He flashes you another wide grin and there it is, those cursed dimples show themselves again, grinning tauntingly at you and your heart commits the highest act of treason when it starts to beat faster. You gulp.

"You shouldn't be surprised. It was really good. I really liked it when you described the male character. It felt like I was looking at him myself. That's why I asked you to be my partner. I'm sure with your talents, we can get a really good mark on this assignment."

Your heart thuds a little faster when Namjoon tells you that his favourite part was reading about how you described him. But it falls to your stomach when he tells you that he picked you solely for your supposed talents. You don't know why, but a part of you had thought that maybe Namjoon wanted to get to know you better, and was using this assignment as an excuse. You thought that it was finally happening, someone you like has finally noticed you. But it looks like you thought wrong.

"Thank you," you say meekly, flashing him a half-hearted smile that you're sure he notices from the way he stiffens. "So, you said that you thought that romance would be a good genre, but what do you want to write about?"

Namjoon is silent for a while, lips pursed in ponder. You wait patiently for his answer.

"Well, I thought that I'd wanted to write romance too," he answers flashing you an awkward smile. The silence that follows is palpable and suddenly, you feel so very exhausted. "Well then, that's settled. Now we just have to think of a situation."

"How about this one?" Namjoon asks immediately after you finish your sentence. He says it rather suddenly and it startles you a little. You can't help but hear a certain extent of desperation in this voice. He wants to get this over with, you tell yourself.

"How do you mean?"

"Kinda like us now," he starts but stops to think about what to say next. You remain silent. "We should just write about us but make it a love story. For example, the two main characters are supposed to do a project together so they meet at a library," he pauses to gesture to the shelves surrounding the both of you.

"Then they start working on the project and they start talking. Then, somehow, the boy confesses to her. And the girl tells him she's always felt the same way. We can come up with how he confesses since I myself haven't come up with that yet," he continues, softening the last part of his sentence into a mumble that you barely hear, but still do. You pause. What the fuck?

"What did you say? I didn't hear you," you ask against your better judgement, curiosity getting the best of you. "Huh? Oh, it was nothing."

A furious blush begins to spread on the apples of Namjoon's cheeks, and for some reason, your body begins to mirror him, heart pumping hot blood to the blood vessels that lay beneath the skin of your cheeks. Namjoon shyly directs his gaze to his lap, dark brown bangs, the colour of his eyes, coming down in luxurious curls and waves to hide his eyes. You can't help but think that you like to see Namjoon like this; soft and shy and vulnerable because he is usually so confident and suave. It feels like he is showing a new side of himself to you, like he is peeling back the layers of masks and personas he has built until he is left raw and natural, allowing you to see everything that he is. The thought of that leaves you feeling winded because it is exactly what you want. And suddenly, you don't feel bashful or shy because of his words. Instead, you are determined, hellbent on making something out of this and you hope with your whole being that it is a relationship.

You are about to say something, to question him, bombard him until he is spilling his feelings in fumbled words and sentences of desperation and want, clawing at you until you too, are raw and vulnerable. But he beats you to it, speaking in a soft, hushed tone, as if you are a stern silence that he is afraid of interrupting.

"I think you're amazing, Y/N. What do you think of me?"

He stares meekly at his lap, too afraid to even spare you a glance. You remain silent, building his desperation like you are some professional flirt. In all honesty, you really just want to tell him you like him too but you're just so scared. The evidence that he at least feels something for you is right in front of you and yet your brain rejects it like a vending machine rejects a bill, walls built far too high and thick that words are no longer enough to convince you. He has to show you. And you think he knows that too.

Namjoon's head shoots up to stare you in the eyes, a new found determination and confidence burning in his eyes. The way the light finds his dark brown irises makes your heart do a million somersaults. They light up and turn into a golden brown you can't help but compare to a sweet, caramel syrup that coats your tongue in golden, sugary gratification. You swallow so hard, you feel the sides of your throat rub together painfully.

"I think you're freaking amazing, Y/N. Every time I look at you, I always want to make myself better. For you. I want to become the best version of myself in hopes that it'll satisfy you and garner your attention. And I really like that you do what makes you happy. I absolutely love it when you write in English because you're always so focused and serious, plus, you make that really cute face when you're concentrating and it always makes my heart beat a little faster and it makes me hate that I sit in front of you because I have to keep finding stupid reasons to turn around just to look at you and I just think you're the most amazing, admirable, lovable person ever," Namjoon lets out. His words are rushed and desperate and you melt like goddamn candle wax.

"I'm— Wow, I'm— thank you, Namjoon. That really means a lot to me," you stutter, not really knowing what to say at first but finding your words soon enough. "Oh, and I feel the same way," you add, somehow missing the main point of your response. It doesn't matter anyway. He knows now. That's all that matters.

"Wait, really?"

You let out a laugh. "Yeah, Namjoon. Is it that hard to believe that I like you too?" you reply, a homage to your previous conversation.

Namjoon smiles a small smile, then it widens, and widens, and widens, until he is flashing you a blinding grin that could outright beat the glare of sunlight. "You said that you like me," he points out, eyes shining.

It is your turn to blush in embarrassment, cheeks feeling hot as you begin to sink into yourself, hair falling from behind your shoulders to hopefully make itself useful as a curtain to shield your red face from Namjoon. Something in Namjoon's chest begins to splinter at the sight. He is so very tempted to pull out his phone and snap a picture of you but he holds himself back at the thought that he is positive he has many more chances to do so. His ribs nearly break in half because of how hard his heart beats.

"It's a good thing that I like you too," he says gently, smile now gentle instead of blinding. "Also, we have a plot now!" he exclaims in excitement as he slides the pen and paper closer to himself, ready to start on your assignment.

"Wait."

"Yeah?"

"So, we're, are we? You know... Um, dating now?"

Namjoon's eyes widen in horror and he deflates himself, a disappointed frown pulling his eyebrows together at the centre and turning the corners of his lips down. "Shit, I'm sorry I didn't ask— I just assumed—" he cuts himself off, clearing his throat dramatically.

"Y/N, will you be my girlfriend?" he asks. Somehow, he still feels nervous even though he knows that you answer is a resounding, "Yes, I would love to be your girlfriend."

Namjoon lets out the breath he didn't even know he was holding and it comes out in a relieved sigh. "Thank God because if not our story would have a horrible ending," Namjoon comments, picking the pen back up and clicking it open.

"Let's write that," you cut in before he can say anything else. "Write a sad love story?"

Namjoon is going to tell you no, to completely disapprove of your idea because writing a sad love story is one thing but writing a sad love story that will be handed up to your teacher for her to grade is another thing. But then, he sees your eyes glisten in determination and he dispels his thoughts immediately, folding into himself like a goddamn lawn chair. He can't believe he was just about to say no to you. What the fuck is wrong with him?

"Please? I'm better at writing angst. Plus, we have a happy ending and that's all that matters," you press, trying to convince him. You don't have a real reason other than the fact that you write angst better. You also don't really know why you want to write angst right now when you feel as if you could fly. But it doesn't matter. None of it matters anymore. Namjoon is your's now.

Namjoon flashes you a dimpled smile, eyes curling up and glittering with mirth and unadulterated belief in you. You can't help but think that you want him to never stop smiling like that, looking at you like you are some sort of celestial being, hailed from the sky solely to bring him every sort of merriment known to mankind and the heavens. The thought of him thinking of you like that scares you, because you are always afraid of not being enough. But Namjoon diminishes all of your worries with a short sentence, manhandling them by the throat and shoving them off a cliff.

"Okay, I believe in you."

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cxmetery-gates · 3 years

Text

OBSESSIVE TEACHINGS - DARK!TOM HIDDLESTON

CHAPTER THREE: A GOOD SCARY STORY

SUMMARY: With teases and friendly banter, Lynn can’t help but fall under Mr. Hiddleston’s charming spell. WORD COUNT: 2.1k NOTES: Thank you to everyone reading! Dark!fics get a lot of criticism and though the story has not turned into one ((yet)), I’m very humbled by all the likes and reblogs :) WARNINGS: dark!tom hiddleston, teacher!tom hiddleston

OBSESSIVE TEACHINGS MASTERLIST

"I'M NOT ONE FOR COMPLAINING," I pant– while simultaneously lying with a straight face– dragging my feet up another flight. "But can I ask which floor your room is on?"

Only a step ahead of my slow pace, the male teacher smirks. "Not fond of stairs?"

I shrug. "Not really fond of anything involving exercise."

"I would agree," he glances back, a grin marking his face. He makes a huff, more than likely on my same page, but perhaps better off. He appears to be fit so I'm doubting three flights of stairs is killing him like it's slaughtering me. "But, a morning run isn't the worst way to start the day."

My nose wrinkles. "So you're one of those guys? Gotta make those gains, hm?" I'm not sure where my overly confident attitude is coming from. It's not like me to make comments like these to my teachers, Mrs. Gibbons being the exception but even then I am reserved. Something about being close to Mr. Hiddleston has completely altered my professionalism around people of a higher authority. Hopefully it doesn't last long and I don't run into the principle any time soon.

Finally, after what seemed like climbing Mount Doom, we reach the last step. Pausing, Mr. Hiddleston looks down to me. "You've got quite the nerve talking to your superior like a classmate."

It's obvious he's teasing, so I go along. "My superior? What, because you're a hundred thousand dollars in debt thanks to a fancy piece of paper and you've got a couple more decades on your shoulders?"

"'A couple decades?'" He repeats, quite amused.

I shrug with sass coating my entire being. "Give or take. What are you, forty? Nearing fifty?"

His gives a chuckle. "Try thirty-three."

"Really?" I ask doing a small run down while he looks away. I don't find myself in the company of thirty-somethings all that often but I can't lie; he's looking really good, especially from the backside. Mr. Hiddleston hums, and I'm not sure if that was a positive or negative sound. "You sure? Because I could have sworn I saw some grays up there."

"Oh, ha ha, you're so clever," he mocks, voice suddenly raising just a couple octaves. It causes me to jump but I giggle, feeling a strange girly feeling arise from my stomach. All I can do is tell myself not to throw up from nerves, over and over in my head.

Feeling just as confident, I reply with a whisper. "Shh! There are classes in session! You're going to get detention!"

He shakes his head. Mr. Hiddleston attempts to be serious but there's humor and teases filled between each word. "Funny you mention that: I happen to be the teacher in change of detention this week. And don't think I won't put you there because you're helping me: any other teacher would have landed you a weeks worth just from your comment on my age."

My eyes roll. "As if. You're too nice."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Positive," I reply, a smirk hanging on my lips.

He looks down, given my lack of height, and I move my face towards him comically. There's a smirk playing on his thin lips, the corners desperately trying to form a smile. Eye contact remains steady, but I see it more as a funny, friendly game of domination. A moment passes before he looks away, a small sigh parting his lips. "We'll see about that," Mr. Hiddleston retorts, causing me to chuckle.

From his belt, he wears one of those mini extendable cables that can hold all sorts of keys and chains. I'm honestly not quite sure what they're called. Fumbling with the keys, Mr. Hiddleston flips through several before find the the right one and pulling it towards the door, a thin wire keeping a hold on the instrument. When I was much younger, my mother would wear one clipped to the pocket of her scrubs, but hers was smaller, only allowing another clip for her RN tag. Each night consisted of me as a toddler pulling on the name tag and watching the cord return to the circular piece of plastic, unable to see the thin cable coil within. The small piece of nostalgia sets a comforting warmth in my chest.

Despite the insignificant memory, I snicker at his device. The sight of such a young and handsome man keeping his keys together with such an instrument is dorky, and definitely cute.

"Welcome to my humble abode," he sighs, flipping the fluorescent lights on. I follow him in while getting a look around his classroom.

It's relatively simple and mundane, surprisingly enough. Not like I was expecting red velvet walls or a jacuzzi, but maybe something with a bit more personality. The walls are neatly littered with the typical English teacher posters, from "Best Shakespeare Quotes" to the differences between "to," "too," and "two." There's a blank white board in front of rows of desks and a projection screen pulled down over it. Across the room are a few book shelves consisting of dictionaries, thesauruses, and books worth reading. From the distance I can easily spot several of my own favorite books, instantly earring couple brownie points from me.

I follow Mr. Hiddleston who takes a left, as a wall with a pencil sharpener blocks the right. We walk parallel to a wall which is entirely ceiling high cabinets, all closed to the curious eye. His desk sits catty corner and is much like his classroom: mess free and boring. I consider making a comment but stop myself when I notice a few photos on the filing cabinet. One is him with a graduation cap and gown, his hands bearing a diploma. The next looks like a guys night out with Mr. Hiddleston wearing a (distractingly tight) black shirt and two other men accompanying him. And last, and the one that is set before the others, is a picture of the teacher with an older woman. I can only assume it's his mother. This causes a heart warmed smile to etch across my face. It's always lovely and precious to see older men respecting and appreciating their mothers. My own tells me "mama's boys" are the worst type of man to date because in her mind, they are still children who cling to their mothers for support, emotion and financially. I have to remind her that it's not the case for every man, just for the guy she chose to marry.

"Please, set the books wherever you like." My random tangent gets interrupted by a voice, causing me to jump six feet. Mr. Hiddleston places his stack of books on his desk. I would follow suit but looking at the small space, I decide to give his personal bubble some room and I move to the nearest student desk.

Brushing my hands over my black jeans, I turn around. While the teacher shuffled through stacks of papers, I awkwardly and silently stand close to his desk. Only a few second pass do I actually realize my situation: me with the hottest teacher, all alone. I can only imagine all the jealous teenagers clawing at this chance. However, I have a job downstairs waiting for me. "Is there anything else I can help you with, Mr. Hiddleston?"

His eyes quickly shoot up. "Oh, uh no. No, thank you." Mr. Hiddleston pauses a moment to set his papers down. "I'm sorry for keeping you. I was looking to see what hour of the day I have you, but it appears there isn't one."

My eyebrows knit together at his comment. "Well, you'd have to look for a "Carolyn" if that were the case." I pause for a moment, confusion riddling my face. "Wait, whaddya mean?" Almost instantly, I'm repulsed by my southern slang, despite myself not having any drawl to my words. My voice is basically that of an incoherent cave woman compared to his smooth, charming accent. Aside from this, I feel myself floating; he's looking for a time to see me again. I have to contain a girlish squeal just as reality sets in. He's probably just curious if he actually has me or is considering making a "see you at this time" comment. Nonetheless, my heart skips a beat or two.

"Most seniors take my course as their final English requirement. Are you not a senior?"

I feel myself dimming at his comment. Unfortunately, it would appear reality strikes again. But it was honestly quite ridiculous for me to even consider the reason why he was looking for my name was for something other than educational. However, I simultaneously feel my body lighting up. "Oh, no, I definitely am a senior. I chose the writing class for my English elective. I, uh, want to be a writer so I figured it would help in the long run."

Mr. Hiddleston seems interested in what I have to say. Most tell me writing isn't a career or I have a one in a million chance in making it big. Well, if George Lucas can write the three prequels all alone and still make bank, I think I've got a pretty good shot. "Fascinating! What is your preferred genre?"

With some hesitation, I blurt out, "Fantasy, but also some horror and thrillers. I've tried sci-fi once; didn't work out too well."

"I love a good scary story," he comments, giving me a wink. I take this as a small gesture, but my insides are literally screaming. Never has a friendly wink turned me into a flustering mess. Part of me say he knows what he can do, and if that's the case, he's quite the cocky bastard.

Playing along, I give my shoulder a shrug and coolly reply, "Perhaps I can run a rough or final draft by you."

"I wouldn't mind that at all."

How does such a small statement cause all my organs and two hundred and six bones to turn into jelly?

Brushing my long hair from my face, I peek over at the clock. It's been a bit longer than I expected, the hands informing me I have five minutes left of my first class period. "Well, I ought to get going if there isn't anything else I can do for you?" I make sure to say this in the form of a question. I wouldn't mind being late to my next class just to see a gorgeous face a while longer.

Mr. Hiddleston's lips part for a moment just before clamming shut. The look in his blue eyes tell me he wants to say something, but doesn't. I'm not sure what would constitute such a hesitation; initially, I thought he would have asked me to help shelve the twenty-or-so books. The look is intense, or appears to be, just for a flash, less than a second. My own anxieties begin to shake just as a kind smile grows along his lips. "No, but I do appreciate the offer. Thank you, Carolyn."

I visibly cringe at my legal name, this look not going by the teacher so easily. He bursts a small laugh. "Not a fan or your name, are we?"

Shaking my head, I say, "No particularly. It's a bit vintage. Well, not terribly so, but I'm not over the moon about it." I pause awkwardly, my flustered nerves getting the better of me. I croak out some sounds before finishing my tangent. "I go by Lynn, though."

"Lynn it is then," Mr. Hiddleston announces. "I'll let you get going then. The bell will ring soon and I don't want you to be late on your first day back because of me."

I smirk while crossing over to the door. "Nah, I don't mind." Instantly I want to smack the back of my head. To anyone listening it would sound like I had been flirting with a teacher. Well, to be fair it would have sounded like it not matter what time someone were to jump in at. Even so, this comment I naturally came up with put me in a case of "oh fuck." With reddened cheeks, I take a look over my shoulder so see Mr. Hiddleston unfazed by my comment, thank the holy lord, except a ever growing smile. He takes his eyes off the paper in front of him, meeting me with his pretty blues.

"I'll see you around, Lynn."

"Likewise." And with that, I part down the hall, this time invested in taking the elevator.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

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etherealwaifgoddess · 4 years

Text

One In A Million - Chpt.2

Summary: Rose navigates her first few hours in 1941 and makes an unexpected discovery in an alley way.

Word Count: 3.6k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! We’re back in 1941 now and the plot set up is rolling! I did a lot of research on the 1940′s when I was writing this fic because I wanted it to be as authentic as possible. So I hope that comes through as the fic progresses. Also, can anyone guess who Rose stumbles across in an alley? Hehe... I just can’t image who... XOXO - Ash

Chapter Two

Your eyes struggle to adjust in darkness after the blinding light and you hope for a minute that you didn’t blow the electricity in the lab. The faint smell of dampness and dust gives you hope though. You take a tentative step forward and collide with a piece of furniture, a desk you realize as you run your hands along it. You fumble around finding a lamp and switching it on, thankful for the gentle illumination. The basement is filled with shelves of boxes and two desks. The manila envelope on the desk bears the SSR logo and you realize you’ve actually done it. You check the watch in your pocket and mark down the time on your notepad, subtracting ten seconds for your fumbling around. The devices to set up are barely visible tacks which you quickly place in spots not easily seen. Now you just need the date and to find Agent Wilson.

The first floor of the SSR office is buzzing with people. It’s four thirty and everyone is scrambling to finish their work before the office closes at five. The late day sun shines through the large glass windows that line the far side of the room and you feel like you’ve stepped onto a movie set. The room around you feels surreal, even as it dawns on you that you’ve done it. You actually time traveled.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” a young man in a pale blue suit asks you.

“Yes, have you seen Agent Wilson around?” you ask, hoping your search for him doesn’t take too long. You have a few bills in your pocket just in case you don’t find him right away but not enough to get by for more than a week on.

The man nods and points back to a closed wooden office door, “He just got back this morning, should still be in his office.”

You thank the man and weave your way through the room to the office. Knocking twice firmly, you wait until a gruff voice calls out, “Come in.” You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and open the door.

Agent Wilson is a tall older gentleman with salt and pepper hair and a lithe build accentuated by his neatly tailored suit. He’s hunched behind his desk, squinting at a file and only looks up once you’re right in front of his desk. “How can I help you, Ms….?”

You extend your hand politely but shake your head, “I was told to give you this.” you tell him and hand over the card.

Wilson appraises you for a moment with a quirked brow, “I haven’t had any Sparrows show up here in quite some time.”

You nod but don’t give him any further information.

“We’ll get you set up then. I’m assuming you need a permanent placement?”

You nod again, “Yes, please.”

“Give me a few minutes and I’ll be right back.”

“Thank you.” you call after him. The heavy door swings shut and you’re left sitting in the quiet office.

True to his word, Wilson returns less than five minutes later with a file in hand. It had been just enough time for you to locate his day calendar and write down the date, November 6th, 1941. You’ll have to make a few adjustments to narrow down the window of time for jumps when you get back. You’re about eighteen months off of the intended target date. “You’re all set Miss Miller.”

You look down to the file and see your new name for the first time. “Please, Agent Wilson, call me Rose.”

Wilson chuckles and returns your cheeky smile. “Your apartment is four blocks from here. You’ll have all weekend to settle in and then you’re due in at 8am on Monday for work. I trust you have some skills that we can utilize here at SSR?”

“I’m great with data entry.” you offer, knowing a lifetime of using computers will put you at a distinct advantage.

“Excellent. Talk to Marge when you get in and we’ll find something for you.”

“Thank you.” you say earnestly, so grateful that the plans you laid in place are going smoothly.

“Of course, Rose.” He gives you a kind, sympathetic smile, “We’ll see you Monday.”

You nod and bid him goodbye, leaving the SSR office and heading out into the brisk November air. The streets are busy with people heading home for the weekend and you find it easy to lose yourself in the crowd. The accents around you sound thicker, more authentically Brooklyn if that’s possible, and the clothes people are wearing in varying pastels and neutrals are fascinating in how different they are from what you expected. You’ll have to go shopping over the weekend and get a few things. First things first though, you need a winter coat and to find your bank to withdraw some money.

You trade a dime for a cup of hot coffee and a Hershey’s bar from a news stand and realize the twenty dollars in your pocket will go a bit further than you had expected. You’re strolling down a block of shops looking in the windows trying to find one that sells coats when you hear a scuffle coming from an alleyway. You hurry over to see a broad shouldered man looming over what looks like a boy, pummeling him and tearing at the worn leather bag he’s clinging to. You know you should keep moving, it’s not a lady’s place in this time and you don’t want to risk causing a scene or getting yourself seriously injured. But you never did follow rules very well. “Hey!” you yell down the alley as you stalk towards the man with more confidence than you feel. “Knock it off you asshole!”

The man whips around, fury plain on his face, “You got quite a mouth on you, girlie.”

“Yeah and I got quite a fist too. You wanna stop beating up kids and try your luck with a woman instead?” you glare, challenging him.

“How about I teach you some manners instead?” The man comes towards you with a slow predatory gait and you breathe through the fear rising up in your throat, remembering your self defense training. The man’s hand reaches out to grab your hair and you use your speed and momentum to twist his hand back sharply and force him down to his knees, howling in pain.

“What the fuck lady?” the man screams, clutching his wrist. He stares at you for a moment before hurrying out of the alley, still holding his injured hand close.

“You okay?” you ask, turning around to check on the boy who was being attacked. He pushes his flop of golden blonde hair back from his face and you realize he’s not a boy at all. “Oh shit.” you murmur.

“I had him on the ropes.” Steve Rogers tells you as he pulls himself up from the dirty asphalt.

“Well, I apologize for intervening then. I’ll just leave you be.”

He’s bleeding and unsteady on his feet and you want to help him but you can’t risk altering timelines. Of all the alleys in Brooklyn, you had to stumble across Steve freaking Rogers himself. You curse yourself mentally as you go to leave, stopping only when you hear Steve call out “Wait!”

You turn back, unable to refuse the plea in his deep, smooth voice.

“I should be the one apologizing, not you. I appreciate you stopping. No one else ever does.” he tells you while wiping the blood off his hand onto his threadbare jacket. He extends the cleaned hand towards you, “Steve Rogers.”

“Rose Miller.” you tell him and shake his hand briefly.

“Thank you, Rose. That was quite the trick you pulled on Jimmy.”

“Oh it was nothing, really. I should be going.” you force yourself to turn away from those piercing blue eyes and head towards the opening of the alley. You’re less than a dozen steps away from freedom when a dark haired man comes barreling into the alley almost knocking you over. He looks terrified and runs over to Steve, assessing his cuts and bruises while tutting like a mother hen. “Jesus, Stevie. I saw Jimmy going past and I thought he’d finally done you in. He was furious.”

“I’m fine, Buck.” Steve says pushing him off, “There was an angel nearby who intervened.”

Bucky looks over at you, studying you for the first time and you’re frozen in place. You should be running away as fast as your legs can carry you, going back to following through on your mission and not making any more waves in the past than you already have. But Bucky gives you the most charming smile you’ve ever been on the receiving end of and you know you’re a goner.

“I didn’t know we had any angels left in Brooklyn.” he says smoothly, taking a few steps forward to shake your hand. “James Barnes, but you can call me Bucky.” he winks at the last bit and you are pretty sure your ovaries have exploded. You had seen footage of the illustrious super soldiers before but nothing could ever compare to being on the receiving end of Bucky Barnes’ flirtations.

“Rose Miller” you tell him, shaking his hand firmly. The new name flows with ease the more you use it and you find you actually like it.

“Thanks for saving my buddy here. He forgets he’s all bark and no bite sometimes.”

Steve huffs and shoves at Bucky, “I’ll bite you, jerk.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m real afraid.” Bucky shoves him back but then tucks him under his arm affectionately. They share a long look and you wonder for a second if there really was any truth to the speculation that the pair were more than just best friends. “So what can I do to thank you for saving my friend?” Bucky asks you.

You shake your head, you need to stop this before it gets out of hand. “Nothing, really. I’ll just be on my way.” your shiver despite yourself and both men pick up on it immediately.

“Well least I can do is lend you a warm coat.” Bucky shucks off his dark wool coat and drapes it over your shoulders. It smells like man and sea, an oddly exhilarating mix. “Now, what do you say to dinner? Our place is only a block over and I’m sure Stevie has something delicious planned.”

“I put ham, potatoes, and green beans on the stove this morning to simmer. It should be done about now.” Steve tells you quietly.

“What do you say, doll? That’s one of Steve’s specialties; best dinner in the city by a mile.”

They both look so hopeful it tugs on your heart strings. You are a modern, twenty first century woman, you remind yourself. You have a masters degree and are halfway to a doctorate. You don’t fawn over men like a teenage girl. You have more self restraint than this. “Sounds great.” you find yourself saying.

Both men break into blindingly bright smiles and Bucky throws his free arm around your shoulders, leading you down the street with them. So much for self restraint.

Bucky and Steve’s home is a quaint two bedroom apartment over top of a garage. It’s chilly but Bucky is quick to throw on the heat once you’re inside. “Make yourself at home.” he tells you and Steve retreats quietly to the kitchen to check on dinner. Bucky reemerges a few minutes later having changed out of his worn work clothes into a simple button up shirt and slacks. His hair is shiny and slicked back and you’re once again stunned by how much more attractive he is in person. You set down the sketch you were looking at, a little embarrassed to have been caught looking around. “This is beautiful.” you say, motioning to the rough outline of a city skyline.

Bucky crosses the room to see what you were looking at, “Oh yeah, Stevie did this one last week. He’s talented, that’s for sure.”

“Talking about me?” Steve asks, poking his head out of the kitchen.

“Rose here was just admiring one of your drawings. I was telling her how you’re gonna be a famous artist pretty soon and we’ll be living all the way uptown and going to fancy parties at the MET.”

Steve rolls his eyes and retreats back into the kitchen.

“He really is brilliant.” Bucky insists, “He just needs to catch a break instead of a cold for once.”

“You’re a good friend.” you say with a warm smile. It’s hard not to get swept up in his charm.

Steve pokes his head out again announcing it’s time for dinner and Bucky leads you to their table which is sitting at the far end of the kitchen with two chairs and a stack of crates around it. “We don’t have company much.” Steve explains motioning at the stack of crates.

“It’s okay.” you assure him, “Dinner smells wonderful.”

“You two take a chair. I’m fine on the crates and I can serve.” Bucky busies himself dishing out the food and setting tall thin glasses of water by each place.

You settle into your seat facing Steve across the table and take a moment to really study him. He’s all angles and pale skin with bright blue eyes shining out from beneath his mop of blonde hair. You knew he was short before the serum and had seen the pictures, but seeing him up close he isn’t quite as frail as they made him out to be. Sure, he looks like a strong wind could knock him over, but there is a quiet strength beneath his exterior. It’s no wonder that Erskine chose him for Project Rebirth.

“Rose?” Steve prompts, breaking you from your thoughts.

You realize you’ve been caught staring, Steve is looking at you curiously while Bucky just smirks from his makeshift seat.

“Sorry, don’t know where my mind went for a minute.” you demure.

Bucky huffs a suppressed chuckle and moves on, asking Steve how his day was.

You learn Steve has been looking for work as an illustrator at various papers and magazines around the city. He works a few days a week at the neighborhood grocery store stocking shelves but they just don’t have enough hours for him anymore. He’d been out for a month with the flu last spring and the owner had hired more help to cover while he was sick. They let him come back but with half the hours he had before. Bucky caught a lucky break down at the docks around that time and picked up extra shifts, eventually earning himself a promotion over the summer. He wants Steve to pursue his art more and is willing to work 24/7 to make that happen if need be. His fierce devotion to Steve pursuing his dream is sweet but he brushes it off as nothing when you call him on. You give the guys vague details about your life when they ask. You try to stick to as much truth as you can but it’s difficult. You share that your parents died shortly after your eighteenth birthday and that you’re new to the city. You tell them you have a new apartment nearby and that you are starting a job on Monday at the SSR as a typist.

The night wears on and you move from the dining room to the living room so you can listen to the radio with Steve. Bucky insists on cleaning up after dinner since Steve had cooked, brushing off his kindness as “only fair” when you compliment him. It’s blissfully easy spending time with the guys. They are obviously close but make an effort to make you feel included in whatever they’re talking about. There are also little signs that you would have missed if you hadn’t been studying them so intently. A shared knowing smile, the “accidental” brush of a hand, the way they orbit around each other closer than most people would be comfortable with. When you wander down the hall looking for the bathroom you notice only one of the bedrooms looks lived in and it doesn’t surprise you in the least. Oh, what the historians would say if they knew.

You’re headed back down the hall when you hear fierce whispering. You pause a few feet from the end of the hall, wanting to give them their privacy. The apartment is small though and you can hear everything.

“Ask her out, Stevie.” Bucky demands in a hushed voice.

“She’s more your speed, Buck. She’s stunning.” Steve whispers back.

“And she’s been makin’ eyes at you all night.”

“Come on, you know I don’t need anybody but you.”

“I know but one day you’re gonna have to settle down with somebody. Somebody you can take out to a movie without getting arrested. Do the whole wife, kids, and a desk job thing. You deserve a good life, Stevie.”

“I have a good life now. And what about you, huh? What happens when I go off and settle down?”

“Then I’ll settle down too. Probably with one of your wife’s friends. We’ll still spend all the holidays together, get houses next door, vacation with each other every summer at the beach, our kids will grow up together.” Bucky says this with all the confidence he can muster. In reality, he thinks, Steve will go settle down with some wonderful woman and pop out a brood of perfect little blonde babies to whom he will be Uncle Bucky; eternally single and hanging around on holidays because he’s got nowhere else to go. Steve Rogers is it for him, he’s known that since he was fourteen and he doubts anything will ever change it.

“You paint a nice picture, Buck. You left out a few things though.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“How I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night without the sound of you snoring away next to me. How it would never really feel like Christmas without getting to watch you unwrap presents in your stupid ratty robe. How vacations would be unbearable having to do all the cheesy romantic tourist things with someone that isn’t you.”

Bucky swallows past the lump in his throat. “You always were a maudlin little punk.”

Steve knows he’s won and gives Bucky’s hand a quick squeeze. It’s an old argument but it doesn’t stop them from rehashing it from time to time. They both just want what’s best for each other.

You take that moment to rejoin them in the living room, making sure your clicking heels on the hardwood announces your arrival. The tips of Steve’s ears are tinged pink and both his and Bucky’s hands are stuffed into their pockets. They had jolted apart quickly when they heard you coming.

“Well boys,” you tell them, “You sure know how to show a girl a good time but I’ve got to get going.”

“We appreciate you joining us. Maybe you can stop by another time if you’re free?” Steve asks.

You know it’s a bad idea but your mouth is saying yes before your brain catches up.

Steve smiles broadly at your agreement, “Great. I know you’re close but it’s late. Let Bucky walk you home, okay?”

Bucky nods, on board with the suggestion. “I can get my coat back once you’re home then. You don’t want my work coat stinkin’ up your nice apartment.”

“Alright, thank you Bucky.” you agree, knowing it’s only proper in this time period.

Bucky collects his coat and wraps it around your shoulders with practiced ease.

Steve takes your hand for a moment before thinking better of it and dropping it. “Thank you.” he says softly, “For stopping today.”

“I’m glad I could help.” you shoot him a small smile.

Bucky motions to the door and you follow him out into the early November chill.

You give Bucky your address and he leads the way. You’re thankful to not have to pretend to be familiar with the area. You’re only one block down and one block over from their place but the cold night air has you shivering even under Bucky’s coat. You mentally add a hat, gloves, and a scarf to the list of things you’ll need. “Thank you for walking me home.” you say from your apartment stoop.

“Any time, doll. I’m real glad you helped Steve out today.” he drawls.

“Of course. I couldn’t just walk past and do nothing.”

“Most people do. You share that with him though.”

“Share what?” you asked, confused.

“Not being able to stay out of it when you see something wrong going on.” he explains.

You smile at him, blushing a little despite yourself. “Guilty as charged.” you admit.

“Come over and see us again sometime, okay doll? I know Stevie would appreciate the company. He’s a great guy and I think you two would really get along.”

It’s blatant what he’s trying to do and your heart melts a little at the devotion he has for his friend, even at his own expense. “I’ll come over again soon.” you assure him.

You shrug off Bucky’s jacket, handing it back to him, and he bids you a goodnight as you close the apartment door behind you. Resting on the inside of the door for a moment you can’t decide if you want your words to him to be the truth or a lie. One thing is certain though; whether or not you go see them again you’re never going to forget those sweet Brooklyn boys.

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #reader insert #captain america #steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #stucky #stucky x reader #fanfiction #stucky fanfic #captain america fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #time travel #1940s setting #named reader

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a-stitch-in-time-and-space · 4 years

Note

Headcanon: Julian Bashir is autistic and has frequent sensory overload, and the only two people who can help him are Garek and O’ Brien. Me? Projecting? It’s more likely than you think!!!

Ha, moooood. Which on that note I have a somewhat intense fic here in which Julian has a meltdown. It’s not related to sensory issues so much as “oh boy a lot of shit’s happened to him” but if you want more O'Brien helping him out after this – so because we gave that fic to O'Brien, let’s give this one to Garak.

Also can we talk about the fact that it’s canon that Julian and the other augments can hear sounds at decibels that non-augments can’t and that it causes them pain, but Julian just taught himself to not react, like fuck, how did someone write this and not follow through on Julian-Bashir-is-autistic-and-or-otherwise-nd!

sorry for taking so long, a. this got a bit longish so it’s under a cut and b. I got distracted by the fact that I always want to see everyone’s notes on reblogs in case of interesting discussion points and i have just now learnt that that cannot be done easily if a lot of people reblog at once… oh hyper-fixation how you get me time and again

this takes place post-Doctor Bashir I Presume and alludes to the fact that during this time Garak and Bashir’s interactions were gradually stripped away in the show (because it too gay) - Andy Robinson ran with that in A Stitch In Time and had Garak write about how much he regretted the two of them not remaining close/hinted that he was in love with him… so take that background as you will.

—— More Space ——-

Thank goodness, he thought after an indeterminate amount of time. O'Brien was here. He would be able to calm him down, he would know how to come up with some soothing description of exactly which of DS9’s pistons or pipes or programs was currently making that noise and he’d either fix it or stay with him until it sorted itself out. Or maybe the noise was gone and the residual whining was just himself recreating it perfectly in his head, or maybe he was just too far gone by now for it to matter, but O'Brien would help. Since the two of them had become friends and some of Julian’s old ticks had returned after his augmentation had come to light, Miles had been a surprisingly steady presence in his life.

“Doctor?”

No, not Miles.

Garak.

He couldn’t make himself respond. His body felt like it was compressing him into a vice, with all his ability to focus somehow splintered into a million shards, each of them painful to the touch. Oh no, what if Garak touched him? If Garak touched him right now he might shatter or scream or something else entirely outside of his control, but talking was also impossible right now, so he couldn’t ask him not to touch, please don’t touch-

Garak sat down in front of him, far enough away that it didn’t feel like too… much.

“Doctor. You don’t need to say or do anything.”

He could manage that.

“I was wondering why you’d missed our lunch date. Very pleased to find you didn’t simply opt not to come without telling me, although I find the alternative to be distressing.” He stopped talking for a moment then. “Apologies for breaking into your room. Again.”

While Garak simply sat and occasionally spoke Julian was dimly aware of the fact that he could feel his edges hardening again. The shards were being pulled back together.

He also noticed now that he was freezing. It usually happened like that, having sat sedentary for however long or coming down from some emotional extreme. He shivered.

“This station is cold,” said Garak.“The temperature, the lights, the people… all too cold.”

Julian managed a smile and it was like his mouth was freed from a curse. “It is, isn’t it.”

“Not to mention loud,” Garak added.

“All that machinery,” Julian nodded and spoke slowly. His mouth still needed to unstick. “Every time an alarm goes it’s like a sharp pain… I used to be… much better at this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I used to… I used to get these all the time as a child. Meltdowns, shutdowns, I think. But then my parents told me later that it was a side-effect of the augmentations and I tried to… to will myself to stop them, to bypass my natural instincts in order to not be found out and it worked, in a way, or at least nobody found out. I familiarised myself with and categorised any sights, sounds, smells, feelings I came across on earth during my Starfleet training and ordered them into lists and sublists: What I could handle mostly, what I could handle sometimes, what I needed to avoid at all costs. I managed to… to pretend. And then I came to Deep Space Nine and for awhile it was all too much again, I had to make new lists, but I managed, I really… I really did, I really did, I really-” he was talking himself into hyperventilating again, he knew this, but he couldn’t stop now, “- and then I got captured and it was like everything just stopped. I barely- I don’t even remember most of it, but when I got back it was so much worse -”

“Julian,” said Garak and the sound of his first name coming from Garak’s mouth surprised him back to the now. “Julian,” said Garak again. “You’re here. With me. On a floor that is quite cold, I might add.”

Julian breathed out and mumbled under the exhale. “One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.”

“What is that,” asked Garak.

“Counting my fingers. It… helps.”

“Noted,” and the easy way in which Garak seemed to have just accepted that he would be helping Julian again in future was another shock to his system, but then why wouldn’t he? Even if they hadn’t met up as often as they used to. Even if he was untrustworthy at heart and Julian could never figure out why Garak wanted his company at all. He found he missed Garak’s simple and complicated nature. It grounded him, somehow.

He got up off the floor, reaching out for Garak when he stumbled. He held him just tight enough to make sure that he wouldn’t fall. Not overcrowding – Julian suddenly remembered that Garak was claustrophobic. He must know how easily sensory inputs could become too much.

At Garak’s questioningly soft hold on his arm, Julian nodded and he helped him to the sofa. “Would you like some water?”

Julian nodded. As Garak went to fetch it, he began to talk again. Somehow… he just needed to get it out now, like an excision. “After the truth came out my mother told me that they’d been lying. I mean, they’ve been lying about so much, but specifically about this. I’ve always been like this. Or. Some of it. The meltdowns. I thought… those memories weren’t real. But now they are? Some of them. I’m having trouble sorting them.”

Garak handed him the water.

“I developed a theory,” said Julian, forgetting to sip.

“Tell me your theory doctor,” said Garak, his tone of voice tender as he sat down beside him, again, close enough if he needed him, but not too close.

“I was wondering why a heightened inability to process inputs was a side-effect of the vast majority of augments, when I had this inability before my augmentation. I started to suspect that it was less to do with the augmentations and was simply… who we were. The augmentations gone wrong could throw that into extremes, but that may have more to do with medical trauma responses than… anyway, I can’t confirm until I have more data. I did research into my own developmental delays, the medical history – it’s fascinating how we repeat cycles actually, first it was considered a form of possession or changelings, then it began to be classed under a broad form of what would be known as schizophrenia, then divided into narrow and still somewhat inaccurate categories of autism, aspergers, adhd, add, high and low functioning etcera, and then was gradually broadened again under general brain-differences known as neuroatypicals or neurodiverse,” he took a breath and continued: “- I’m not too interested in 21st century history honestly, but I know the government upheavals affected medical classifications and concepts of what was known broadly as “disabilities” at the time, and that it fundamentally shifted again once we formed the federation. But then -” and here he started gesticulating widely in excitement or outrage - “it all becomes the same just repackaged, doesn’t? Stigma against augments who are overwhelmingly people like me is stigma against neurodiversity is stigma against the “possessed,” it’s…” he trailed off. “It’s all the same,” he finished lamely.

He’d become very aware suddenly that he’d done that thing that annoyed most of the people he ever conversed with, running his mouth while forgetting the other person. But Garak didn’t seem annoyed. He was listening intently, in fact. At the pause he even nodded and offered: “The history of such matters is different on Cardassia. Or rather, mental and developmental differences don’t get acknowledged on Cardassia.”

“Eugenics?” said Julian with a frown.

“Not as such. We don’t mind in theory, as long as everyone can perform the tasks they’re assigned to. It’s a… class thing. If you belong to a powerful family and are expected to do great things in the army or politics or the sciences, being unable to do so for any reason is usually – what is the term humans use? - “Swept under the rug.” But then someone like you, dear doctor, if you had been Cardassian it might surprisingly have been easier for you.”

Julian shook his head. “My abilities are due to my augmentations. I’d have been… I don’t know. Not me,” he said softly.

At that, Garak gave him a look that he couldn’t pin down. Something… surprised for a moment, almost? Then smoothed out into an enigmatic smile. “Perhaps. From what you tell me you’ve always processed like you do, you’ve just been given better tools to translate and more…” he searched for the word for a second, before landing on: “space.”

At that Julian burst out into an unexpected laugh. “I certainly have enough space out here. More than enough, I’d say.”

Garak’s smile deepened. “But it doesn’t matter. Either you were always going to be able to pursue medicine and the stigmas of your parents and surrounding society were preventing you from discovering that on your own, or your augmentations made you unlock new abilities. But on Cardassia someone with the kind of passion you possess would have done well, with or without them.”

“If I were born into the right class. And if I didn’t get arrested for being fundamentally against the militaristic state.”

“Naturally,” acceded Garak. “And I must say I’m quite relieved to find the incorruptible, perfect federation comes with its own flaws. One wouldn’t have expected it with the way humans constantly go on about it.”

“Oh, we go on about the federation? According to you Cardassia is superior in culture -”

“- oh, definitely -”

“- politics -”

“- without a doubt, my dear -”

“- criminal justice system?”

“- well, we’ve never brought a wrong case before the court-”

“- I know you’re just saying that to rile me up-”

“- my dear doctor, when have I ever been anything but sincere?”

“- when have you ever said anything you meant?”

“- I am offended, truly-” said Garak with a big grin on his face.

Julian found it the easiest thing in the galaxy to return.

“Remember to drink your water,” he was reminded, gently, before they continued their lunch discussion. It was a moment in which they both forgot that they had ever begun to drift apart in the first place.

—— The End ——-

#Julian Bashir #Elim Garak #ds9 #st: ds9 #star trek #fanfic #writing

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