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littlemisslipbalm · 4 years

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Little Border Town

Summary: It begins with a man and a woman, as it always seems to. One lives in France and the other lives in Italy, technically, but they’re also neighbors. Various issues arise between these two and they can’t ever seem to see eye to eye on anything. Will they ever move past their petty fighting or is the little town they live in doomed to only gossip about what Harry and Y/N are fighting about today?

AKA: Harry and Y/N are neighbors that fight all the time, the whole town wants to know when they’ll just fuck.

Featuring italrry as well as mustachrry! and running italrry... I hope y’all like! this is just part one, so much more is in store so pls let me know what you think :) lots of love - first fic that’s not named from a quote said in the story I’m shook!! the growth, the range...she has it apparently! side note: i had to change the gif from italrry/mustachrry bc something is whack with the formatting and either the keep reading or the title keeps disappearing so i tried some stuff to resolve it *sobbing*

Word Count: 8.5k | Warnings: swearing, mentions of relatives death, bickering, otherwise tame for now?

Pt. 2

There’s a little town that straddles the border between Italy and France. It’s just a little ways from Nice on the French side and Ventimiglia on the Italian side. The population is rather small and the tourists who come are usually either returners or are very very lost. One street you’re in France and the next you’re in Italy. It can be confusing to newcomers, but the locals love it -- for the most part. These streets are easily delineating as French or Italian by the little country flags that hang above all the shops or in the windows.

It’s a coastal town with cobblestone everywhere and bright painted buildings. The water is a soft blue and the wind barely ever brings any waves greater than a foot high. There’s a shop for everything and it seems to be frozen in the past from the outside, thankfully if you step into the tiny bed and breakfast there is wifi. The sun almost always shines down on this sweet piece of paradise, the winter does however bring gusting winds and thunderstorms. Those storms rattle the little town and afterwards you’ll find the residents picking up the pieces that have fallen off the shops.

Now, this little border town, with its streets separated by French and Italian customs, well almost all of them, it seems imperative to mention. There, in the exact middle of the little town, is one street that is split down the middle, half in France and half in Italy. The locals from the French and the Italian sides love that street the most because it has this certain dynamic spark of change that brings them together, makes them unique. Except for two locals that seemingly hate this street. These two locals aren’t actually true locals either. They both moved there a couple years ago.

Harry, from the Italian side, owns the shoemaker and repair shop. He hailed from England and moved to the little town when his great uncle, Joe, had sent him a letter pleading for him to take over his shop so that he could retire. Harry, ever the traveler, hopped on the next flight out to Italy and then traversed by train and bus until he reached his Joe’s home. Like most of the shops, there was a living space above the shop area. Harry lived there with Joe until he passed away a few years back leaving Harry to tend the store alone. He didn’t mind too much, being left there alone. He had always loved Italy and to get to live in the countryside in a little cobblestone town and own a shop was a dream come true. After living there for two years, he had bought a sailboat that he would take out when the shop was closed. He also had bought himself a motorcycle that he would ride to the next greatest city if he was ever in dire need of more of a nightlife as a 26 year old. He loved it, his own slice of paradise… except for his thorn in his side.

Y/N, from the French side, owns the bookstore, which carries lots of vintage books and records. She had moved there after college. In school, she had studied French and taken a year abroad in Paris and had traveled down to Nice for a month. While in Nice she had made a few friends and one of them had come from the little border town. They had insisted they all go there for a weekend. When Y/N stepped foot onto the street she now lived on a few years before, she fell in love. Seeing the little Italian and French flags in the windows and potted plants with a view of the sea had been so endearing to her.

She was drawn to the bookshop and had chatted up the old French woman who ran it. The woman had reminded Y/N of someone but she couldn’t quite place her finger on it. It was strange for her because she often found these connections with older people, she felt like she had known this woman her whole life. Y/N went back into the store the next two days she was there to talk to the woman again, Marie, she had learned. Before she left the little town she left her number with Marie and kept in some contact with her. After about a year though, their communication fell off. Y/N was sad but understood that life can be busy for people and that she obviously wasn’t the most important woman in the little border town bookkeeper’s life. Or so she thought. In the middle of the summer after she graduated college, Y/N was backpacking through Iceland and got a call from who she assumed was Marie. She was ecstatic and answered the call immediately. Sadly, it wasn’t Marie, instead a friend who had been given her will to execute. In her will she had left Y/N the bookshop. Her reasoning was similar to why Y/N had liked Marie so much, she said that Y/N had reminded her of her sister who had died unexpectedly in her teenage years. Being so far from home at the time and completely consumed with love and loss, Y/N had agreed to take over the shop without any hesitation.

She got home and informed her parents of her choice and moved to the little border town as soon as she could. She lived in the little area above the shop that Marie had also gifted to her and she tended the shop downstairs. The living area hadn’t really been cleaned out and Y/N had found an old collection of vinyls in the corner of the bedroom. As much as she wanted to keep them to herself, she thought it would be a good addition to the shop and had made a section for records in memory of Marie. She loved France and the coast, she bought a little car and would drive to Nice every so often or to the more sandy beaches along the French coast. It was quiet and different from the life she had maybe expected, but taking over a bookshop because a kind stranger had gifted it to you as one of their dying wishes wasn’t something Y/N could ever turn down. Her soul was too sweet. At least it was for most people, not for her neighbor though.

Her neighbor was the shoemaker, Harry. Their shops lived against one another even though he was on the Italian side and she was on the French. They were located exactly at the split between France and Italy. With less than a foot between the buildings, they saw a lot of each other. On their first interaction, Y/N had seen too much of her neighbor, meaning she had seen all of him. Their shops were similar to track homes, meaning they were built completely the same only mirrored. This meant that the windows of their bedrooms matched up exactly, she wondered who had thought that was a good idea after her first night. When Y/N had first moved in it was August, she left her window open and without the shade down to let as much fresh cool air in as possible. With her jet lag, she had found herself wide awake at about three am. Pacing around her room in the pink silk tank dress she had decided to sleep in, her eyes froze on her window - or rather, who she saw through her window. The light from her room and the moon were strong enough to illuminate the tanned and tattooed skin of the naked man in the room next to her. He held a bowl in his large hands that he seemed to be spooning cereal into his mouth from.

His half-lidded eyes flickered to the light coming from the place next door. The bookshop had been closed all summer and no one had been living in the upper area for a little longer than that so he had gotten into the habit of leaving his window open. He was half drunk after stumbling his way home from the tiny bar down the street. He had decided a naked cereal run would be a good idea to tide over his cravings. But upon seeing the girl wearing lingerie a mere two feet away from him, separated by the screens on their open windows, he realized that wasn’t actually true. His eyes widened only slightly as he saw her, his drunkenness allowing him to keep his blushing to a minimum. His drunken confidence kept him from covering himself as he lifted a single brow and made a salute with his spoon hand before going back to his bed.

She stayed at the window for a moment after the naked man disappeared and then quickly ran back to her bed. She shut off her light and tried not to think about everything she had seen. She tried to not think about his toned arms that flexed as he moved around his food, or the tattoos that lined every part of his body (the tiger and ferns seared into her mind specifically), or his tousled chestnut hair, or his searing green eyes, or the full mustache that held a little milk from his cereal. She tried, she really did. But how was she supposed to face her neighbor ever again after that. Maybe he wasn’t her neighbor, she reasoned, maybe he was an acquaintance her neighbor had just spent the night with. That wouldn’t be better! Her hands grabbed her other pillow and shoved it over her face trying to force herself to go to bed.

The next day, she had been working out front of the bookshop, beginning to repaint the windowsills of the shop with some navy paint she had found in the back to give it an updated look. It was early and she hadn’t expected to see anyone at all. Her jet lag still ailed her and caused her to be up bright and early. This was her second run in with the shoemaker, this time though, both to her dismay and joy, he was fully clothed. He wasn’t watching where he was going and almost toppled the both of them over as he left his store front, locked the door behind him, and then set off down the street. His large body, covered in short black running shorts and a mesh grey tank top, bumped into her almost immediately. He was still fiddling with his music on his phone as he began his run. She jumped back and dropped the paintbrush from her hand. She yelped as his body collided with hers and he stopped in his tracks. His eyes scanned her and took in the light wash cuffed jeans and moss ribbed tank top she was wearing. They widened when he recognized her face, the expression of shock similar to that of last night when she had seen him in his bedroom. He smirked and took out one of his earbuds. She grabbed her paintbrush from the ground as he extended his hand to her.

“I’m Harry,” his hand is greeted with hers. He speaks to her in English and she decides it’s probably best to follow along with whatever someone else began with. She worried that she’d run into a lot of Italians who didn’t know French or English and she’d have some trouble. His eyes flicker to the bits of blue already littered on her hands and in her hair.

“Y/N.” She nods, avoiding eye contact with the man she had already seen too much of. At least he’s not your neighbor’s lover, he’s just your neighbor. She also notices how he doesn’t apologize for running into her.

“You were spying on me last night,” his hand returns to his side and his smile quirks up again as he watches her face flush. His nicely groomed mustache twitches, trying to contain his laughter.

“I was not!” She finally looks up at the taller man and takes in his tanned face that is even more attractive in the morning light and up so close. The hat he wears is funny, a blue trucker’s hat that read “If you ain’t a fisherman, you ain’t shit!”, and she would laugh if she couldn’t already tell he was going to be extremely annoying.

His smirk continues and he barks out a laugh. He removes his sunglasses to really look at her now. “It’s alright, I work hard for this,” he gestures to his body, “glad someone appreciates it. Just means I’ll need to be installing a shade now, I guess.”

“You don’t have a shade and you walk around your room naked?” She ignores his first bit of conversation. She can’t think about his body or how it had looked last night. She sets down her paintbrush and folds her arms across her chest, trying to figure the man in front of her out.

“No… but it’s not all my fault. You had your shade open too! Who’s willingly up at that time of night anyway? I was just fixing myself a snack after the pub.” He raises his brows triumphantly at her, feeling confident that he has gotten the upperhand in the conversation.

She narrows her eyes at him as she finally registers that his accent isn’t Italian or French. He’s British and she wonders what he’s done to get himself in this little border town. He also seems to own the shop beside her since he locked the door behind him. He was peculiar, but she couldn’t dwell on what she thought about him since he had just accused her of being a peeping tom.

“Someone is up at that hour because she just moved and has terrible jet lag and can’t sleep. The place has been completely closed up for months and I needed to get as much cool air in as possible before the hot day. That’s why I was up and that’s why my shade wasn’t down.” She stands up straighter and rolls her eyes at him, muttering something in French to herself about annoying men. She smiles to herself when Harry doesn’t seem to understand. He obviously can tell she said something, but he doesn’t know exactly what. He could understand a good bit of French and he could speak some, but if someone spoke quickly and quietly, like she had just done, he wouldn’t be able to make it out. He figured it was something rude, though, with the way she sounds and begins to turn from him.

“Are you here to stay?”

“Yes.”

“Well, welcome to the best place in the world. It was so nice, two countries couldn’t decide who got to keep it and decided to split it.”

His arm sweeps out around him, gesturing to the street around him. She smiles up at him before following his arms movement. His arm had more tattoos than she had realized from her eyeful last night. She noticed the intricacies of all the black ink and again she had a million questions that she had to keep to herself. He was arrogant, conceited, impatient and a little bit odd and she knew all of this after barely one conversation. At least they could agree on one thing, they loved this town.

He looked back at her after scanning the street and saw her smiling in wonderment at everything around her. This brought a fleeting genuine smile to his face, knowing she was happy to be there. He had known Marie and was sad to see her go less than a year after his great uncle. He had always thought that Marie and Joe were both secretly pining over each other. Constantly stopping into each other’s shops and waving from their windows at each other, but Joe had always shaken his head at Harry when he mentioned it.

His smile faded when her eyes came back to his fac face face. Her smile disappeared as well. “Right, so, see you around…?” He said, already forgetting her name. She scoffs when she realizes what happened and then repeats her name. He nods curtly before replacing his sunglasses and single airpod and starts running again. She calls after him, “Thanks for the apology!” and then mutters to herself, “le con” knowing she shouldn’t shout that down the street where other people speak French. He doesn’t hear any part of it, his music up high enough to drown out the sounds of the world.

Y/N settled into the bookshop fairly easily, but she never failed to mention how unhelpful Harry had been:

“Yes, well, it’s been going pretty good...except for this one man. Well, I’d hardly call him a man - a boy. My neighbor, actually, he owns the shoe shop...no, nevermind that, he practically made it his mission to make my move the hardest thing in the world...Harry -- yes, that’s his name, Mama… well I don’t know, It’s just Harry. - it doesn’t matter! He’s been in my way at every turn… yes, both physically and metaphorically...I’m not kidding! And I’m not being dramatic… Well, It was nice talking to you. Love you, talk soon.”

That was her first telephone conversation with her mother since arriving in the little town. Maybe ten days after she arrived. Naturally, she had it in the downstairs area of her home, the bookstore. And naturally, Harry had wandered in, to discuss one of their shared planters, and overheard her entire side of the conversation and gathered the rest from his own imagination. When she had laid eyes on him after setting down her phone, she rolled her eyes at the smirking Chesire cat look on his face.

“You would be the kind of man to eavesdrop, hm?” She restacked a group of books that were already in order.

“Thought I was a boy?” his smirk remained on his face. He strided closer to the counter she stood behind.

“Like I said...What can I help you with?” Her voice drips with venom as she finally turns her eyes to look at Harry. His smirk still remains on his face now that she is making eye contact with him. He’s clad in a t-shirt that has some baseball team on it with burgundy corduroy flared jeans. She notices the strain of the shirt over his chest and biceps and avoids the scoff of how vain he must be to keep himself in that good of shape for tending a shoe store in the South of France, or rather Northern Italy…

“Right, Thought I’d pop in and tell you that one of our planters is shared. So you’ll have to talk to me before replanting anything. I noticed you coming in with tulips the other day.”

“The ones on the front of the street?” He nods as her head turns to glance out the front window. “Why the hell do we share a planter?”

“Because, my late great Uncle Joe and Marie fancied each other.” Her eyes went wide at his words, trying to think of Marie having a crush on someone. “They were never together, never admitted the fancying, but they always did the planters together. They each had one of their own and then bought the third together, said it made sense to make the shops look nice...I know it was just so they had more to tend to - together.”

She hums, taking in everything that he said and how his eyes shine slightly just at the mention of his uncle. His voice had perked at the story he had just spun for her and she smiles thinking about the idea of love and loving someone so much that you’re content with simply planting flowers together. It seemed really old-fashioned to her, but it also brought even more charm to the town she now called home. Romance was still alive here, or so she hoped.

“Okay, I’ll make sure to let you know when I’ve decided what flowers I want to put in there.” She turns around, assuming the end of the conversation and getting back to work. She doesn’t really find a reason to entertain Harry anymore than necessary. Like she told her mother, he was constantly in her way or being naked in his room, something she had chosen to leave out of her conversation with her mom.

“You’ve misunderstood me. Maybe my English is getting rusty, I rarely speak it since everyone else knows Italian.” She flips around at his rude comment, eyes alight with fire once again. “If you want to replant anything, which I don’t understand why you would, the flowers I put are wonderful, we’ll have to discuss it. It’s not you just telling me you’ll be doing it. We own it equally and I won’t let you bulldoze my hard work.”

“On a planter?!”

She sticks on a sickly sweet smile as she tries to refrain from laughing. “I guess the countryside really can make some people enjoy the simpler things in life…” With that she walks to the back of the shop, leaving the stunned Harry to see himself out of it. When the little bell rings, her stifled laughter can be heard among the books.

It doesn’t matter what it is, Harry and Y/N are able to make a fuss about anything and the whole street, if not the whole town, had quickly figured that out. No one had a problem with Y/N, they welcomed her with open arms. Marie had told the entire French side and a good amount of the Italian side how wonderful and tenacious she was. How Y/N reminded Marie of her sister and upon meeting her, many agreed. But the first time Harry and Y/N had a public row, at the bakery in the center of town, on the French side, everyone was quick to realize that there was bound to be trouble between the two. It was a stark contrast to the loving comments and endearing looks the previous owners had always engaged in when they were still alive. This fight was maybe a few days after the planter business and Y/N had tried in the following days to get him to change the planters to no avail so she was in an especially pissed off mood towards Harry.

“Could you be taking any longer?” Y/N rolled her eyes as she stood behind her tall neighbor, her foot impatiently tapping a beat against the stone floor.

Harry stood hunched in front of the display case, scanning for exactly what he wanted and desperately trying to remember what he had come here for. He was a bit more dressed up that day, his mother had been coming to visit him for the first time in a while and he wanted to look nice and have a special treat for her when she arrived. His trousers were a deep navy that matched the navy of the stripes on his sweater vest, the blue pinstripes of the button down underneath was a slightly lighter shade, but blue nonetheless. He had rolled up his sleeves past his elbows, showing off his various tattoos and sinewy arms. As his eyes scanned over the case again, he ran through his mental list and bit at his lip, knowing he was forgetting something. He barely even heard her drawl out her insult, the tapping of her foot eventually getting his attention due to its faltering.

She straightened upright from her hip jutted position when he didn’t even bite at her unkind words. Her foot stopping its melody. As she was about to give another go, Harry turned around and she gave him her full look of displeasure.

“Country life requires a bit of patience. I doubt you’ve ever had to wait your turn in your life, but you’ll have to get used to it here.”

Her eyes roll instinctively. She noticed that they seemed to do it just at the mention of his name or the sound of his voice. She had always thought herself a lover of the British accent, citing Downton Abbey and various famous musicians - Freddie Mercury, George Harrison, Elton John, etc. - as members of that little island who were formative to her identity, loving them for their talents as well as their accent. Yet with Harry’s deep meandering British voice, she found herself wishing to be anywhere but in its presence. She found that he took so long to ever get out an actual full thought and when he did it was barely coherent. He also never failed to let his sarcasm or smugness drip into his tone, causing her to audibly be aware of the smirk on his face even if she couldn’t see it. The image flashing across her mind no matter what.

“You’ll have to let me know when you’ll be here again…” His eyebrows quirk at her odd response and it’s her turn to smirk up at him. She’s already satisfied with her quip even though she’s only gotten half of it out. His mouth opens to question her, but she finishes her thought. “That is, so I can plan around you. If I have to alot a whole day to the boulangerie just waiting for you… I’ll never get settled.”

Harry scoffs and a fleeting expression of actual offense flashes across his features before turning around to finish his order. The others in line and the worker are all equally wide eyed and she hears some hushed whispering behind her, but it’s in Italian so she can’t make it out. The worker eyes Y/N as she rings up the rest of Harry’s chosen items. The worker smiles softly at Harry, feeling for the man she had known long enough to know that he wasn’t as rude as he was being with Y/N. She was also taken aback at Y/N’s response, but hadn’t seen her be rude otherwise so she had to assume it simply had something to do with the man.

When Harry is all set, he turns to leave and pass Y/N again. His eyes narrow and his words once again are turned nasty. “I wouldn’t mind if you never got settled,” he said before muttering something in Italian under his breath and leaving the store. She assumed it to be nasty as she eyed the couple behind her giggling, before walking to talk with the worker.

She shook her head trying to rid herself of her cold exterior that she kept having to conjure up for Harry. Now smiling, she asks for her items in French, happy to be speaking the language that brought her so much joy rather than English which seemed to be reserved only for Harry now. She hadn’t gone to the Italian side very much yet and the people she had met over there so far had spoken French to her once she had introduced herself.

As the worker finished with Y/N’s order, she asked in a hushed tone, in French, “How do you know Mr. Styles?”

“Harry?” Y/N guessed, not actually knowing Harry’s last name until now. The girl behind the counter smiles quickly before nodding. “Mon voison” she sighs and contains the accompanying eye roll when she sees the girl blush at the idea of being neighbors with Harry. “He’s a brat,” she continues and the girl laughs lightly before saying, “I think he’s rather sweet… not bad to look at either.” She looks out the window of the shop wistfully, like Harry’s still there and Y/N whips her head around, afraid he knew that she was talking about him. Thankfully, he was gone and Y/N laughs to herself when she feels the anxiety that had gripped her for a moment dissipates. Shaking her head at the girl, she grabs her items and change from her before making a break for the door.

It was soon after that incident that Harry and Y/N’s squabbles became notorious throughout the little town. Drama wasn’t common there and any sort of excitement was the talk of the town. It made sense that this was snapped up by the gossipers from the French and Italian sides alike.

Anne, Harry’s mother, was stopped the next day, when she was out for coffee and Harry was still at the shop, and was asked why her son was so angry at the new bookshop owner. She thought it made sense for her to drop into the bookshop next to her son’s shop after hearing that. Walking into the shop, she was greeted with the smell of lavender and the sweet melody of a love song. She immediately smiled at the charm of the bookstore, feeling like there was a bit more life in it then there had been the last time she had come in. Harry had told her that Marie had passed, but not that someone new had taken over and she was eager to meet them, especially now that she had been told about the town gossip.

A messy haired, but bright eyed Y/N came trotting out of the bookshelves at the sound of the door opening. A smile beamed on her face when she saw the mature brunette woman standing just inside the doorway. “Bonjour! Bienvenue!” She greets as she smooths some of her unkempt hair. Y/N had been digging around the back shelves of the store searching for a specific book one of her other customers had asked about yesterday. And much to her dismay, she wasn’t being very successful. When the woman only says “Bonjour” and makes no inclination that she plans to speak more French, Y/N believes it’s safe to assume she’s a tourist and switches to English. “Can I help you?”

Anne laughs happily to hear English and walks over to the counter that Y/N had walked behind. “Yes, Hi! My son lives here and I’ve just come to visit him. He didn’t tell me someone had taken over Marie’s shop.” Y/N perks at the name of Marie and she smiles sincerely at the woman now. Not quite a tourist, yet not quite a local, she noted for herself.

“Yeah, I’m Y/N. I was a friend of Marie’s, so to say, and she left me the place.” Pausing, Y/N turns over the vinyl that had just finished side A, and then returns to her place at the counter. “I’m still really new, but it’s a small town. I don’t know of many other people who weren’t born here who live here, though, who’s your son?” She rests her elbows on the counter and leans on them while staring at the kind woman. She had noticed the British accent, but hadn’t connected the dots yet. It wasn’t uncommon for people to have a British accent when they spoke English so it didn’t necessarily mean she was from England. But maybe Y/N should have noticed the light eyes and brown hair, maybe that should have been an indicator as well. Or the way she had said ‘my son’ and nodded in the way of the shoe shop. But no matter what, it came as a shock when the woman with the coffee in hand said what she said next.

“My son is your neighbor! He runs the shoe repair shop. His great uncle, my ex-husband’s uncle, left it to him a couple years ago.” Y/N’s eyes widen so much so that she has to blink a few times to assure herself they haven’t popped out of her head.

“Harry...is your son?” She speaks slowly and Anne smiles at the girl. She nods and Y/N nods back, taking the news in. He has a mother...she guessed she should have expected that. It had been unlikely that her theory of him being sent straight from hell to make her life just like it was accurate.

“Here you are mum! What are you doin’ in here?” Harry rushes through the door when he sees his mother inside from the window. Y/N rolls her eyes on cue, but still notices the soft adoring look on his face while he gazes at his mother. She supposes she can concede that he isn’t the spawn of satan now. His look hardens when he turns to Y/N, who has straightened up to her full height upon his arrival.

“I was just meeting the new bookshop owner, Y/N!” She looks between Harry and Y/N. “What’s this about you being angry with her?” She asks more to Harry, but Y/N hears easily. Harry’s eyes flash at Y/N and her eyes widen once again, but shrugs to Harry, having no idea where his mother had gotten that idea.

“What did you say-”

“I didn’t say anything! I’d just realized she was your mother right before you walked in!”

“It’s true. Someone said something about it to me at the coffee shop. Of course, I didn’t even know the book shop even had a new owner, so I decided to come by.”

“It’s nothing, mum,” Harry insists.

“Harry and I...we just don’t exactly see eye to eye. But, I’m sure we’ll warm up to each other eventually,” she easily lies through her teeth, knowing she really couldn’t see herself ever being friends with this prick. “Feel free to look around the shop, it’s not exactly to my liking yet, but then again, I am just getting settled. Otherwise, you two should enjoy your time together. I’m sure it’s not often you can make the time to journey all the way out here.” She smiles sweetly at Anne, choosing to ignore Harry completely.

“Thank you, Y/N. Harry can be an acquired taste for some, but just below that exterior of his, he’s a giant softy.” Harry groans at his words, Y/N’s smile only grew.

“Au revoir! Good Day!” She calls when they leave the shop rather swiftly. It seemed to her that Harry was desperate to get his mother out of the shop as soon as possible, while Anne was happy to browse and look at what had been changed in the shop.

Their early unhappy encounters were now months ago. But encounters of a similar caliber happened at least once a week. It’s hard to avoid a neighbor who you seem to find anything they do to be an annoyance, even their existence. They saw each other around town and at their shops and in their bedrooms. Even though they didn’t particularly like each other, hated was actually the correct word, the drawing of the shades was a near impossible task with the heat that plagued the little town between August and Mid-October.

They had fought over who could leave their shade open and who couldn’t because Harry believed only one of them had to close it to maintain privacy but then he wouldn’t settle on an agreement on taking turns closing shades. Y/N argued that they could both leave them open if he would agree to stop walking around his room naked all the time, but he refused that as well, at first. He conceded after a week of having his shade drawn that he would wear boxers. Therefore, practically every night, Y/N and Harry would see each other before bed since they actually seemed to have the same sleep habits. Sometimes she would have to yell at him to close his window if he came home with a guest and he would yell at her to turn off her light if she was reading or watching television in bed too late.

Thankfully, it was approaching the end of October and the weather would begin to change. There wouldn’t be a reason to have the window or shade open and they at least wouldn’t have to see each other right before bed.

This morning, Y/N is up early, she found it amazing to wake up early here, something she had never done before this little border town. It was teaching her new things about herself and changing her, but she liked it. In deep forest green flared pants and a long sleeved rainbow striped shirt, Y/N is watering the planters in front of her shop as well as the little ones attached below the windows. It was always a little cool in the mornings, but she had checked her weather app and seen that it was actually going to be the first cold day of the season. The first cold day since she had arrived actually. As much as she liked the sun, she also loved fall and winter, so she was excited to experience them for the first time in the little border town.

She smiles to herself as she moves around gracefully. In her back pocket, her music plays softly, Paul Simon sings lovingly to her. She hums along and moves to deal with the planter at the edge of the sidewalk. But she’s foiled by a man she seems to think about far too much for how much she says she dislikes him. Harry jogs back a half step upon realizing he has run into her yet again. One would assume that one of them would either change their routine or know to step out of the way or really just be a little bit more aware of their surroundings with how many times this has happened since Y/N’s arrival. Of course, their stubborn personalities actually require them to be unrelenting in this area of their lives as well. Much like the shade debate, the who was in the way of who debate is still majorly undecided.

“Oi!” He looks down at his shirt and it has a substantial wet spot on it. She had spilled some of the watering can’s contents.

“Excuse you!” She says simultaneously, not realizing she’d gotten water on him.

“I’m not the one who just threw water on someone.”

“Neither am I. You ran into me, it’s not my fault you never look where you’re going.”

“You’re just always in my way. This has been my route for ages, I’m not going to change it just because you moved in next door.” His hands fly around in annoyance and anger.

“You’re unbelievable!”

“Well! I can’t stand you!

“Clearly!” “Cleary.” They’re both huffing out insults that don’t seem to really be going anywhere. Harry has straightened his posture for once and she actually finds his true height slightly intimidating. They both breath for a moment, finding no other words to fill the tranquil morning silence that they had just disturbed.

“Are we ever going to have a conversation where we’re not at each other’s throats?” She sighs, feeling upset that the nice Fall day was suddenly ruined for the rest of time just because of this.The bickering with Harry was tedious and she couldn’t keep going like this. Being in a completely new place and running a small business was hard enough as it is. Something snapped in her just then, hoping to squash a part of her life that is causing her stress and exhaustion.

Harry’s expression falters, his eyes losing that glint of angered passion for a moment, he wasn’t expecting that response. It wasn’t necessarily mean, it was more like she was resigned. Simply done with the conversation. He felt his anger and annoyance slip away rather quickly at her question. She sees his mustache twitch, which she realized happened when he was either amused or confused. She didn’t think what she said was funny so she presumed he wasn’t sure what to make of what she had just said. Her head tilts to the side and waits for his response. Her watering can falls to her side now, making herself a little more comfortable and leaving only a small amount of air between her and Harry.

“Tired out already? Thought you were more of a competitor than that.” He mirrors her by tilting his head as well.

“I didn’t realize we were in any sort of competition.” She stepped forward and straightened her posture a little, feeling challenged by the tone he had taken. She may have a kind and soft exterior for most, but she was nothing if not fierce in her core. She was an Aries afterall. She wondered what Harry might be, she wasn’t super into astrology, but she was sure that he wasn’t an Aries. Aries were fiery and passionate and were very unwilling to admit defeat, so he had just hit the exact right note to keep her from squashing their now long-standing quarrel.

“We’re not. I just thought I had met my match, guess I was wrong.”

He looks off in the distance to be nonchalant, like he wasn’t trying to bait her even if that’s exactly what he was going for. Sure, he found her annoying, for whatever reason. But he had realized when she had posed the question, that he hadn’t had this much excitement in a while. Nothing and no one really challenged him in the little border town, his work was easy enough, money wasn’t tight, friends were easily made, and partners for the night were easy to find. He didn’t dislike any of those facts, truly, he counted himself lucky and was overjoyed that he lived there. But the verbal sparring he engaged in with Y/N fulfilled a need he hadn’t realized was going unsatisfied. He would never admit it, but she was often a highlight of his day. Getting into a little quarrel with her brought a smile to his face when he recalled it later. The bird she had started to flip him before bed made him genuinely laugh. He liked it, so when she seemed to want it to end, he did what he knew would make her change her mind. Tease her.

“I see...bonne journée, cul.” She decided to bid him farewell, knowing he didn’t plan on apologizing any time soon. She turned her body from him and Harry understood enough French that she had ended the conversation with a “good day”. He also knew that she had called him an “ass” as well. His brows raised for a moment at the insult before giving a flicked salute in her direction and jogging off for his morning run.

For some reason, after a moment of knowing Harry had gone she glanced up in his direction and watched his retreating figure. And for some reason she found herself looking back down at the flowers and smiling to herself. Somewhere inside her she was glad Harry hadn’t given into her veiled request to stop fighting. It was a strange sensation because as tiring it was to bicker with him, she feared if they stopped then they would stop talking at all and her heart panged at the thought. She didn’t know why and she didn’t care to know why either.

The bell of the book shop chimes and Y/N pops up from behind the counter. She had been crouched out of sight trying to organize the books of notes on customers Marie had left that Y/N had only just found. She hadn’t realized the cabinet existed in the counter so when she accidentally slid it open she was a little taken aback. Still, she was quickly distracted by the new customer. Her cream collared shirt was unbuttoned to where her collarbone and decalotage were on display, some gold medallions hanging around her neck today. Her worn light wash blue jeans were barely visible behind the counter due to her height. In her hair was a classic red bandana, pulling back her hair out of her face save for the strands that worked themselves free on their own accord.

Her smile was wide, happy to see the first customer of the day as she pinched at her shirt to make sure it was in place. Her posture slumped immediately when she realized that her first customer wasn’t a likely customer at all, instead who else but Harry. A mischievous glint in his eyes as he strolled in and right up to the counter. He leaned his large body down to rest his head in his hands and look up at her. He crossed one ankle over his other, getting comfortable as he stared wickedly up at her.

She wet her lips and took a step back. It was her first look at him today, apparently missing him on his morning run. Maybe she should have thought something of that after their encounter yesterday, but she didn’t. Like most days, his trousers were high waisted, Gucci likely - how he afforded them, she had no clue - and his usual shirt had now been accompanied with a striped red, black, and yellow open cardigan. His hair looked wet like he had just taken a shower, most of it was pushed up but a few strands fell over his large forehead. His mustache looked freshly trimmed and the rest of his facial hair had yet to leave any shadow after his obvious shave.

“Harry.” She says definitively, regarding him with even contempt.

“Ice Queen.” He levels, eyes narrowing.

She scoffs immediately. “At least give me something original...or accurate maybe. I may not like you, but ice queen? Hardly.”

He genuinely chuckles at her quick response and nods, agreeing easily with her for once. “You’re right. It was weak, I’ll admit. Feel like you need a nickname though, thought something really rude might upset you.” He smirks cheekily. His agreement doesn’t make her feel like she’s won at all, unsurprisingly.

She rolls her eyes at his comment. “Care to let me know why you’re gracing me with your presence today, Mr. Styles?” Moving around the counter, she begins to walk to the back of the shop, assuming Harry would follow her if he needed to. He apparently did and walked after her after realizing she wasn’t coming back.

He gives a half-laugh, “Yeah, I came in for a new record. I saw you decided to restock them...thought I’d pop in. It’s easier to get them here than order online...Curtain-hater.” He adds the name as an afterthought.

She glances at him from the bookcase she’s standing at, her eyes shifting to meet his. A smile fades into her features as she can’t contain the giggle at his new attempt at a nickname. She then wrinkles her nose, “That isn’t good either, but proficient try, I guess.” She gives him points for actually relating the name to her in some way, but it still doesn’t incite any anger in her which she knows is what he is going for. She probably should question herself why she’s helping Harry to nickname her something rude, but alas, she doesn’t. He nods solemnly, knowing she’s right again. He needs to find a nickname for her and he doesn’t know why, but he’s glad she seems alright with him giving her one, so long as it is fitting.

Her body shifts from the bookcase over to the boxes she had gotten to hold the vinyls. She had a small collection since the place was small overall, but Marie’s old collection had sold successfully so she had restocked afterwards, this time choosing some of her personal favorites.

“I’m not sure of your taste...I know you bought Marie’s Ella Fitzgerald album last time.” She sifts through the records, trying to find something she thought he might want. Like she said, she didn’t know what he liked, but she prided herself on knowing music and as an owner helping a customer, she wanted to please Harry. She knew he liked Ella from his previous purchase and she knew he liked Marvin Gaye in the evenings when he had guests - how very cliche she would add. “I mostly got in 70’s/80’s rock...Elton, Queen -”

“Got any Paul Simon?” Harry cuts her off and she looks at him surprised. Her fingers stopped when she looked up at him, their tips placed on the peaks of the albums covers. “Thought I heard it here the other day?”

Her face perks up at the mention, she loved Paul Simon. “That was on my phone, but I do actually. Well, it’s Simon & Garkunkel. I can order something from just Paul Simon whenever I have to order again if you want?” Their gazes are holding each other’s, her fingers still rubbing over the pointed edges of the two albums she had between her hands. Harry’s watching her and leaning against the table the boxes sit on.

He nods after a moment. “That’d be great.”

“You’ll have to tell me which records of his you already have so I can order something new for you.” She grabs the Simon & Garfunkel album and flips it to Harry so he can look it over.

He regards the Parsley, Sage, Rosemary & Thyme cover reading over the fine print with all the tracks listed on the bottom right. “Thanks,” he mutters out after another moment of silence. It was rarely this quiet between these two, so it was different. “I’ll take it, Shrimp.”

“Oh my god!” She gasps before bursting into a fit of laughter. He had actually made her laugh and his eyes widen at the sound, almost confused that she hadn’t scoffed. Her laughter was far louder now then the half-hearted chuckle she had given earlier, which really was probably just another scoff. This laugh was loud and unbridled, but melodic and fun. In the back of Harry’s mind, he noted that he liked it. The first bullet point on a list that was likely to grow. “That works, just the perfect amount of rude. I love and hate it at the same time.” She finishes before walking back to the front. Harry saunters after her, pleased with himself.

“I’d like to say I wasn’t looking for your approval, but I guess I sorta was,” he ponders out loud as she takes the record back from him to type in the correct spelling into her relatively new computerized system. She twists her mouth to the side of her face to refrain from smiling anymore and then hums. Her eyes flit back up to Harry’s triumphant smile and for once she doesn’t want to slap it off of him.

“People-pleaser…” She prods him easily. His smile falters only slightly, not out of unhappiness, but of borderline jealousy.

“How do you come up with that so easily? It just rolls off the tongue,” He asks seriously, confused by the woman before him. This time she laughs as she hands him back the record and a copy of his receipt.

“I’m well read, that usually helps, but maybe it’s just my intrinsic wit that gives me an edge,” she raises her brows slightly, before beginning to walk off now that their exchange is done. She’s surprised she doesn’t want to rip her hair out after that encounter, but she figures she should simply count her blessings. “Au revoir, trouser-boy!”

He rolls his eyes as he turns on his heel and exits the shop, amused rather than annoyed with the bookkeeper.

enjoy! lmk what you thought :) part 2

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #once the slow burn ends #harry styles angst #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #enemies to lovers!harry #enemies to lovers #slow burn #the france italy one is a fever dream au #little border town #not proofread at all

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mymarifae · 2 years

Note

i’m obsessed w giselle rn like i love how all berdly enjoyers have wildly different family hcs but we all collectively agreed that his relationship w them is Not Great (also on a more personal note i enjoy the strong motherly force bc my own family hcs involve berdlys mom being way more important and influential to her son than the dad BUT ANYWAY). but also OGH you capture the queen vibes so fuckjng well she is so good. love giselle. girlboss. but also now i’m thinking abt her forgetfulness and how that ties into how berdly fixates and values such inconsequential things. like the spelling bee!!! he was probably like ten or something when that happened, but it’s one of those things giselle Remembers so she always brings it back up. like “oh you’re doing good in english? of course you are! you won that spelling bee didn’t you?” and berdly is like “yes now i will make that my entire personality”. i also resonate w the hardworking single mom vibe SO MUCH and the awkward fucking drive home when you have Nothing to say to each other. god. berdly needs support but he knows he can’t rlly get it from his mom bc she’s So Busy so he just closes in. and by the time giselle realizes her son doesn’t tell her anything anymore it’s already too late and berdly is entirely self-sufficient and bottled up and OHHHHHHHHHH i love him so much. little guy. anyways great content hcndbvmfnfjc sorry for the rant

NO NO DON'T APOLOGIZE we love ranting in this house. this was a delight to read !! you really got what i was going for with giselle's character and that makes me happy. it's nice knowing that my full intent came through even though i didn't necessarily explain everything. like you're right on the nose with the spelling bee thing, wow??

he really does need support, and giselle recognizes this and she is trying to reach out, but the issue is she was so busy for so long that she didn't notice how much he needed her until he had already learned to close himself off. she can't figure out how to connect with him right now. results in many painfully awkward car rides (because at home he expertly avoids staying in the same room as her for more than 2 seconds)

when he was a baby she doted on him. he needed her. all the time. so of course she gave him that undivided attention, while distantly stressing about workmoneythebills-how-am-i-supposed-to-juggle-this-and-be-a-mother. and as he started to get older and could y'know like, fend for himself a bit more, she was relieved and started to withdraw, to give work more attention, so she could provide for anything he may need or just want

obviously this isn't how you do it. and berdly's never going to remember the days when giselle would kiss his cheeks and cradle him and read him bedtime stories every night. and even if he could, what good is it if that's not being expressed to him anymore? what he remembers, what matters to him, is the "in a minute, dear", the "not now i need to finish this", the "i won't be home tonight. there's leftovers in the fridge."

but i hate to leave things in such a miserable state... i didn't do this on purpose but i realized their current relationship reminded me of the relationship i had with my own mom when i was in high school so on this note.. why not let giselle and berdly reconcile the way we did . it's not perfect. a lot of the damage is irreparable, and they might not ever be particularly close, but they can come to a mutual understanding and rebuild. berdly can choose to forgive her

'course, sometimes it takes the worst case scenario for this kind of progress to be made (excerpt from the script of the comic i'm drafting [prettied up and made easier to read])

#equivalent exchange: you give me a rant and i rant right back at you ^^#IM GLAD YOU LIKE MY GIRL i like her too <3 #ALSO OBVIOUSLY!!!!she and berdly can reconcile in the pacifist route too. im just focusing on the neutral route for this because.#idk what the 'worst case scenario' that gets them to Talk would be in the pacifist route. also i already wrote this script in a dream #so i didn't even have to like. think about it #and as far as the snowgrave route goes ummmmmmmmm im not acknowledging it 😊#mailbox #giselle

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apollostears · 3 years

Text

TEENAGE LOVE AFFAIR [ BTS ]

group: BTS

pairing: BTS x daughter!reader

warning(s): swearing

request: can you do BTS reacting to their 15 year old daughter having a boyfriend/girlfriend?

requested by: @mela3340

oomfggg this was so fun to make!! thanks for requesting the first request of 2021 :) hope you enjoy love <3

➝︎ jin

he’s literally dramatic af.

#dramaking

but no really, he’ll be shook to the gods.

like huh??? his child got a partner?!!!

my kid?!!! IN THESE STREETS?!

he would faint, then wake back up and shake her til she’s dizzy.

ok but on a more serious note, i think if he saw his daughter have genuine feelings for this person they’re with, he would support a 100%

definitely wants to meet them asap

would chaperone their dates but in a way that’s soooo cliché. i mean ugly ass disguises cliché.

will definitely have a heart attack if his daughters partner used the fake ‘yawn-over-the-shoulder’ move while at the movies.

all his daughter would hear is someone choking horrendously a few rooms behind them and instantly know it’s her dad.

will call the boys up every time she asks him to go on a date with their partner or if they can come over to hang and study.

“i’m at a lost here! it’s like i’m in the war!” jin exaggerates on the group call with his friends.

“hyung, i think you’re over exaggerating.” jungkook would say sheepishly.

with the straightest face, jin would hang up and contemplate his choice in friends.

after about the sixth month mark, i do think he’d let up a tremendous amount.

like he’s no longer breathing down her neck about them and allows them to go on dates without him, so long as she tells him where they’re going.

10/10 is the dramatic dad that goes through a midlife crisis when their daughter starts dating.

➝︎ yoongi

mans does not care.

ok lemme clarify, he doesn’t care to the extent that jin does. he trusts his daughter and her decisions and understands that this is an important part of her life. he’s gonna try his hardest to not overstep.

but deep down, he definitely is having a hard time coming to grasps that his daughter is in love and starting to enter the dating world.

he understands the pressures surrounding dating too, especially at fifteen. so he’s definitely giving a nice lil lecture about sex, safe sex, consensual sex, and commitment.

and yes, yoongi knows that most of these young love relationships don’t last long, but he wants his daughter to know that her relationship is legit to him. no matter how old she is.

will look intimidating af to their daughters bf or gf. he definitely overhears them discussing if yoongi likes them or not 💀

looks like he could kill you and will but is also such a sweetheart once you actually know him.

doesn’t do no undercover brother shit but will follow his daughter on their first few dates just because he’s worried. isn’t overbearing and keeps a good distance.

honestly, if anything it brings his daughter a lot of comfort to know her dad is there to back her up 🙂

100%!is the father that seems like they’re chill on the surface but on the inside is working overtime to not be overreactive when their child starts dating.

➝︎ namjoon

is literally the 😯 emoji

when his daughter tells him that she’s got a lover, he literally looks exactly like that emoji.

he’s like “love? what you know about that?”

is extremely confused the entire time. yes, he knows that at her age, children start experimenting with dating but he never actually thought he’d have to deal with it.

was definitely worried that he’d lose out on daddy-daughter time once she started dating.

that was his biggest fear. that his daughter wouldn’t need him anymore. she would no worries.

is deathly afraid of his daughter experiencing heartbreak. their s/o could be the perfect match for his kid, he still wouldn’t care. namjoon is going to be worried regardless.

constantly asks for updates on their relationship to see if he needs to give any advice on how to keep the relationship going.

he doesn’t see their love as something immature. namjoon values it the same way he would value an adult relationship.

which meansss giving them the birds n the bees. same as yoongi, a thorough talk on sexually transmitted diseases, birth control, safe sex, you name it.

was incredibly nervous to meet the person their daughter was dating 💀 like how you supposed to be the daddy but more scared than the actual date.

chaperones his daughter’s first couple of dates. doesn’t get in their way but definitely makes his presence known when does attend.

has a strict “have her home by 9 or else” policy.

won’t ground their child if they give them a heads up on why they would be late.

is 100% the type to be the “work in progress” dad that wishes there was a book on what to do when your teenage daughter starts dating.

➝︎ hobi

mans was like “awww my wittle baby likes somebody!”

was wayyy more excited about meeting their child’s s/o then what is deemed normal.

don’t get me wrong, he’s definitely protective of his kid but hobi understands that these things happen.

it was bound to happen that one day his daughter would start dating.

doesn’t hound his child with questions but is very curious to learn more about this bf/gf that their daughter has.

when he meets them, he’s very scary looking at first. switching into serious hobi, he intimidates the kid just a bit before breaking into a grin and letting them know he was kidding.

is the type of dad that would make their daughters’ s/o fall in love with him 💀

hobi gets along with virtually anyone so it wasn’t hard for him to bond with the s/o.

however, he does make it known that he is a father and while the kid seems to be an alright choice for his daughter, he still lets them know that he will go liam neeson on a motherfucker if necessary.

doesn’t follow his daughter on dates but somehow ends up attending some of them because they both want him around.

on the times he doesn’t go, there is a curfew in place and it’s 8 o’clock 😔

hobi is 100% the dad to become friends with their daughters’ bf/gf but still be a force to be reckon with when needed.

➝︎ jimin

probably the one who meddles in their daughters love life.

sees their daughter walkout of school with a guy and is asking fifty million questions on who he is and if she likes him.

all for her to turn around and be like “dad, i’m gay.”

and he’s like 🥺🥰 “good, boys are disgusting anyways.”

so now he’s scoping out girls that could be a potential match for his kid 💀

“what about her?”

“nah, she’s a little rude to me.”

“you know what they say! she likes you!”

“no dad. just...no.”

was not expecting the girl his daughter chooses but can totally see it once he actually gets to know her.

is constantly giving his daughter cute date ideas for her to do w her gf. definitely has a pintrest board of places for them.

will happily be a chauffeur for his daughter if necessary. this can be good and bad. good bc yayay free rides. bad because she has to deal with a jimin that wants to be on time or a jimin that makes them ten minutes late to a movie showing. there is no in between.

he doesn’t follow his daughter around. mainly because he’s always driving them but if he doesn’t, she still gives him a heads up on where they’re going.

doesn’t mind them hanging sleepovers or leaving the door closed but will totally pop up at random times to be nosey.

is definitely in his daughters corner anytime someone tries to give her and her gf a hard time for being together.

a 100% the dad that’s constantly involved in his child’s love life but not to an extreme point. is totally just excited to be there and apart of her world.

➝︎ taehyung

the motherfucker is all smug and shit talking about some “ i know ” 😏 when his daughter approaches him about her new partner.

lets be real; taehyung would know his daughter like the back of his hands. he would have suspicions that she’s seeing somebody but won’t pressure her to speak until she’s ready.

acts like the fbi when he finally meets their daughter’s partner.

is stalking all social media, finding where they work, who they guardians are, and where they grandma stay 💀🤣

but it’s really because he knows how dangerous people are and the last thing he wants is for his kids’ life to be in danger.

is definitely a hard ass to whoever his daughter ends up dating regardless of gender. will go major payne on a motherfucker real quick.

does not care if he gets caught watching out for his daughter while she’s on a date. will deadass sit there and stare them down as they look at him, completely unbothered.

after meeting their partner a few times, he’ll become a bit more loose in regards to their relationship but will still eye them wearily.

his daughter is very important to him and he’s just worried about any potential heartbreak she may experience.

“have you ever killed?”

“uh, no sir. i-i’m only fifteen...sir.”

kisses teeth, “would you kill for my daughter?”

*beat of silence, two horrified teenagers*

scoffs, “pathetic. d/n choose a new partner.”

“dad!”

seems like a hard ass and is a hard ass but it’s completely out of love.

is 100% the dad that gives their daughter’s partner a hard time and will hold such a passive face that they’ll never know if he likes them or not, but overtime will start loosening up and accept them for who they are.

➝︎ jungkook

he was thoroughly surprised.

like...she might as well had told him she was pregnant.

jk needed a moment to comprehend that his daughter...his precious jewel was dating.

just the thought sent chills down his spine with his dramatic ass.

immediately demanded to meet the person who stole his daughter from him. and when he found out it was the bad kid from school??!!! mans was heated.

i mean really? the juvenile delinquent of ALL people?

he feels this way mainly because he remembers how he was as a kid and he knows how anal teenagers can be. really just wants the best for his kid.

is present for their first date. why is that? because it was at their house with him sitting on the opposite couch, watching them like a hawk as they attempted to watch a movie.

after that, his daughter had a serious talk with him about personal space and independence.

jungkook didn’t like the fact that he had to have this talk, but he understands it’s importance. him and his daughter have a sacred bond with one another that he doesn’t wanna risk breaking all because of his overprotectiveness.

that overprotectiveness does come in handy though because their daughters’ partner is always on time when it comes to getting her and dropping her off. honestly, if his daughter ever tried to convince their partner to skip curfew, their partner would text jungkook to snitch 💀

“so...you tried to skip curfew, eh?”

“wha-? how do you know this?!”

smirks, “i see all d/n. besides, your partner knows not to cross that line with me.”

“i literally cannot stand either of you.”

this has definitely led the daughter to question if she has a relationship or if her dad has a relationship with her s/o.

after about three months of them dating, jungkook turns into a pretty chill dad to be real. at that point, he understands that he can’t protect her from pain. so, he might as well just try his best to support his daughter through everything she does.

is 100% that is overly dramatic at first and comes off as incredibly scary but eventually comes down to earth and becomes a big teddy bear 🥰

❧ join my taglist: @olamidey @knjkitten @pimpnameyannie @sweeneyblue1 @sunrayyellowhalo @exomama-random @simplyskz-maya @valkryienymph @supop @namjoonswifeyy @asparagusclifford

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ofmythsandmadness · 3 years

Text

touch-starved | d.h.

or...the seven times it takes diego hargreeves to realises he’s touch-starved, and the one time he actually acts on it.

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SUMMARY: diego x gn!reader. an idiot in love, told entirely from his pov as he walks back on a series of monumental moments in his life. WARNINGS: a tad bit of foul language (bc i can never contain myself, jeez). allusion to sexual acts (nothing explicit, but if you know, you know). flowery garbage writing. probably poor characterization. a weird ending. WORD COUNT: 5.7k NOTES: it’s way too late (early?) for me to be putting this out. but after literally driving myself to tears over this stupid thing, i’m forcing myself to publish it and leave it to the world, for better or for worse. it’s...yeah. i hope it’s alright. x

BUY ME A COFFEE HERE. | CHECK OUT MY OTHER WRITINGS HERE.

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THE FIRST TIME HE REALISED WAS IN THE SUMMER.

“Can I say something weird?”

There is a nervous half-giggle that came after the question, like you aren't quite sure how he’s going to take whatever slipped from your gentle, just parted lips. It hangs much longer than the five words you passed to him and he almost forgets what you asked entirely, so hung up on the breathless fashion your chuckle had come.

But when you blink at him and let your beseeching eyes hover over his, he has to let go of the sound and return to the present.

“Sure,” he says dumbly. “What?”

He loses your eyes then and he finds himself following, eager to see what could have lost your attention so fast. His frown digs heavier as you stare at the table he’s leaned over. There isn’t anything there but his harness scattered across the worn wood and a knife in one hand. He’s been idly fiddling with as some show titters in the background, but his weapon (mal??)practices have never been much interest to you before. So...

Slowly a warm smile comes to cradle your cheeks. It rests as delicate as a crashing wave colliding with the great cliffs you had painted once -- like with everything you did, your smile’s a charging force that transforms you entirely and leaves him in awe that anyone could feel something so strongly. He watches with total enthrallment and for once, he’s not ashamed to feel so.

“You have like, really nice hands.”

You drawl the statement out like it’s some kind of joke. Though, the intense look you so briefly shoot him tells him it's anything but. And suddenly he cannot do anything; the knife falls from his hands and clatters to the table and his fingers tremble under your careful stare, paralysed.

“I-I-”

“-I know, weird compliment, but,” you chuckle again, low and soft. You shrug. “I was staring at them and realised how nice your hands are.”

“Uh…” he doesn’t know what to do with that information. What does one say to that? Is thank you enough, or is he supposed to just force a laugh and pretend like he is not completely ruined by the way you look at his hands? Compliments are not a usual weapon of choice, but when they come from your lips -- Diego can die right there and go overjoyed.

“Thanks,” he mutters, folding and unfolding his hands on the table. “I...never thought about my hands like that.”

You brighten. In a flash of pastel movement you were pressing close, close, close to him and reaching for a fist. He’s again powerless, forced to just watch you pull his fingers in between your own, softly running gentle pads against his bruised knuckles. The touch is cool but he feels his body combust at the mere swish of skin-to-skin contact and he realises,

maybe he could crave someone’s touch.

“You should,” you grin, exquisite under your apartment’s shitty lighting and the flashes of whatever’s happening on the T.V across the room. “You could like, seriously be a hand model or something. Go-orgeous fingers.”

And maybe, he starts to crave yours.

━

THE SECOND TIME HAPPENS WEEKS LATER.

He’d fantasized about your touch most of the days between it, but the thoughts had been forced to be fleeting and he had avoided considering the way you looked at him like he could actually hang the moon and stars -- and it only ever caught up to him in the ebbs of night, when he couldn’t sleep and just stared at the ceiling, considering what it would be like to really feel you against his hands and not let you slip away.

He so rarely let the sun touch his skin anymore. It wasn’t intentional to adapt a vampire lifestyle -- but between the shifts that let him keep his dingy ‘home’ and the nights he spends racing around the cursed city, trying to do the right thing (or stick it to his dad, depending on the night and how bleary his head felt), Diego rarely catches himself leaving the gym early than eleven anymore.

A fact that seems to exasperate you, and fuels what you dubbed an intervention. Aka, forcing him to wander around the city just barely kissed by autumn’s chilly embrace. And though he did argue against it (profusely, because he’s still that stubborn sonofabitch), he’s grateful for you still.

“I think we need to make this a regular occurrence,” you sing, tossing a smile over your shoulder. You skip several paces ahead of him as you soak in every bit of sunshine the crisp fall air could offer you. And he flounders and watches as he wonders what it would feel like to have that much energy from merely existing.

“I think I’m gonna have to mandate this. I’ll force you to schedule this into your life, and I’ll take shifts off from work so we can appreciate the afternoon sun while we can. It won’t be long ‘til winter you know.”

He chuckles hesitantly, “the sun’ll still be there in the winter.”

“Sure, but barely. And it’ll be cold then! The sun ain’t nice when it’s cold.”

He laughs again, and you join him. And it’s easy -- because it’s you.

“Diego!”

“Huh?”

You stop then, dropping your hands to your hips and glaring at him. Even from several feet away he can make out the infuriatingly adorable pout that puckers your pretty lips and the way he wishes he could go back in time and learn to paint, so he could capture the curve of your --

“--why are you so slow?!”

“I -- I’m not slow.”

“You are too! You’re dragging your feet like I’m forcing you to go to the dentist or somethin’.” You squint at him as the sun heightens his reach in the great blue sky. “Man, are you that allergic to a good time?”

“Shut up, I’m not that bad.”

The pout gives as easily as honey dripped -- that is to say, he adores the treacly sweet and slow slip from puckered lips to the easy smile you give him. Your entire heart’s behind the look just as it always is. You trot back up the path to him and held your hand out to him, wriggling it in the air.

“What?” he asks, frowning through a slow smile.

“Take my hand.”

“I…” he hesitates again. “Why?”

“Because you’re slow, and I want to make it to the coffee place before next year. Duh,” you drawl, still shaking your hand like one would to a little kid. “Now, come on!”

You pull and he comes without a fuss, dazed as you bumble on about whatever miraculous happenings go on inside your mind. He hardly hears a thing. Every part of his body is fixated on the soft brush of your thumb against his hand, rubbing soothingly -- he isn’t even sure if you knew you’re aware you’re doing it, but he is. Hell, he can’t feel anything else but that.

Maybe your touch could be a tether.

━

HE HADN’T MEANT FOR THE THIRD TIME. Hadn’t planned to make an event out of it, anyways.

“You’re a fool, Diego. You know that?”

Obviously, he responds silently, grimacing as the cloth presses harder into his cuts. That’s why he did it. Because he is a fool. Honestly, that sums up the majority of the things he does in his life. Or doesn’t do, in the case of you.

Is it bad, if as you scold him, he’s creating a list of even more reasons to love you?

“I mean, one of these days you’re going to come here impaled on like, a pole or something and then -- what am I supposed to do with that?” Your tongue clicks like a disapproving mother’s, but your eyes still dance with childlike mischief as you work. “I am not a nurse.”

“Could’a fooled me, with those hands.”

You glare up at him over your lashes, a sight that made his breath hitch. “Quiet, you.”

Diego does as you said -- but not for any bits or for the joke, only because the way you look at him suddenly made his body tremble with the force of a thousand men and all he wants is to grab your neck and drag you up to meet his lips, finally be rid of the burning sensation in his gut that makes him want to ask the most obscene of--

“--does it hurt?”

He blinks, forcing away the images flashing in his mind so he can focus on the real you again. “Uh -- does what, hurt?”

You take that as a joke, laughing low like his horny idiocy deserved such praise. “This, asshat. Does this,” you press harder with the swab, making him cringe, “hurt?”

“Shit -- yes, it hurts! What’s that for?!”

“Had to make sure you were with me still! Sorry,” you hum, sounding everything but. But your grip softens. “You’re lucky. This could have needed stitches.”

Diego snorts. “It’s not that bad.”

“You look like the fookin’ dino from Jurassic Park felt you up.”

“Not that fookin’ bad,” he mocks back.

“Your accent is appalling.”

“So’s yours.”

You press harder; when he scowls, you giggle, pleased to have won the battle again.

The rest comes in silence. You stand between his legs, mopping at his cuts as you are often wont to do when he stumbles into your window. And he tries not to think about the way your weight so casually presses up against his torso as you reach to his temple, parted lips just out of reach. He could do it; he could just reach out and grab your chin, pull you in and kiss you with all the fucking passion that made his stomach roil.

But he doesn’t budge. There is no way you want that and he would never push past that fragile boundary without asking, no matter what the primal part of his mind fantasizes. His eyes fall instead down to his lap, staring at the folds on his pants as your fingers graze across his skin.

“There,” finally comes, along with you stepping away. Your distance leaves a cold chill running down Diego’s spine; he wonders if he asked you to come back, if you would. “Almost done.”

“Almost? What’s left?”

The next few moments move like a movie. The ones he only ever watches with you or with Klaus; the cheesy slow-mo romances, where the two main characters constantly dance around in a will-they-won’t-they that usually drives him nuts. Everything is always so slow in them and he usually hates them -- he did hate them. But when it’s his hands cradled in yours and you are smiling sweet and gentle as a honeybee, hell he’d take every single second of those crap rom-coms, if it leads to that moment more.

You lean in and, holding his hands in your own like an anchor held a boat to shore, press your lips against his temple. The slightest sting from the pressure builds but it falls with the blink of an eye. Your lips are cold, delicate, brushing twice against the cut before pulling away.

“There. Now I’m done.”

Maybe, you’re just some kind of angel.

But then, why are you bothering with him?

━

THE FOURTH HAPPENED SO FAST, he nearly misses it.

You pull him in close, examining his clothes and face for any glaring wounds. When you find nothing but dirt and a couple surface scratches, your worried expression melt into something akin with relief; a shiny-eyed, trembling lip smile that deserves its place in the greatest museums.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” you whisper, seemingly untrusting of your vocal cords. You sniffle. “I was - I was so--”

“--I’m okay.” It sounds more like a revelation than a reassurance and he repeats himself twice, just to make sure you understand. His hands still grip tight to your forearms, holding you to him in case you would disappear, too. “I’m okay. Everything’s fine.”

You nod and even as you pull away from his hold, you launch. Your arms lace around his neck and your face instantly finds a place to bury itself, right into his shoulder. Your body shakes; he realises that you’re crying into him, so relieved with him being there.

The embrace is short. Too short. He doesn’t do enough to hold your clinging form, only standing there slightly swaying and just barely grazing your back, He considers it too long and doesn’t act enough even when he wants to beg you to never let go again. And when you pull away, you refuse your tears again, sniffling through a smile and asking if he wants some food. But the embrace remained ingrained in his thoughts like a disease; it polluted everything else until everything was you, just you, holding him and wanting him.

Maybe, he was deserving. Maybe he deserved to be wanted. Was that justification enough?

━

THE FIFTH HE ALMOST DIES.

Not literally that time -- no, he’s done enough of that to you. It’s more of a metaphorical sort, making his heart stop as your fingers just graze against his stubble strewn chin, his breath catching on the lump in his throat as he realises yet again that nothing could be more beautiful than your smile.

Diego is not a formal man, nor had he ever really been. Even at the Academy his uniform was almost always somehow out of place or wrinkled or missing a detail. He hates shirts that buttoned all the way up to his throat and pants that have to be pleated that one specific way for no reason at all. If it isn’t important, he wears whatever is closest to him, or his domino-mask-and-leather getup if he’s ‘working’. Hell, the man isn’t even sure he had ever worn a suit outside of his childhood years and Allison’s wedding.

“You look...different.”

He swings fast around to see you leaning against his doorway. You’re all pink cheeks and cheeky grins. Something about the way you look him up and down makes him suddenly want to hide, slip away so you could not see how stupid he looked in this stupid monkey suit clinging to his arms and thighs like stupid plastic wrap. You probably see him as a circus animal, stuck in some stupid performance outfit and told to juggle fire.

(Honestly, juggling fire would be worlds easier than doing whatever this was, though.)

Slowly, you step into the room, eyes never leaving him. He gulps.

“You look good, Diego.”

He blinks. That is...unexpected. “Y-yeah?” Damn his voice for giving out on him; it comes out squeaky and prepubescent, sounding every bit of uncertainty he feels. “I-I mean, I--”

“--relax, hot stuff,” you wink and his face fills with heat. “You look great. But, your collar…”

Diego glances down only to scowl at the mess of buttons he left around his neck. “Shit, yeah.”

“Let me?”

But you’re already coming to him, though, hands outstretching and delicately folding themselves across his chest. He wonders if you could feel the way his heart beat like there were a thousand drums locked into his chest, or that you knew you smelled like the gods’ ambrosia, honey -sweet smoke dripping from your velvet form. Are you aware how intoxicating your mere presence is?

“Can I?”

He nods dumbly, not trusting his words.

With careful fingers, you weave the buttons together that have been left undone. You then reach up higher, pressing down his collar.

You hesitate against him, hands still folded into the sharp white fabric. Slowly, one set of fingers unfurl and lift to barely brush against his jaw. It’s a mere allusion to what it would be to have you cradle his face in your caring palms and it only leaves him craving more.

Your lips curl up too, coloured as deep as the fabric that clings to your exquisite form. Just the tip of hot pink snakes out of your mouth, pressing slyly to the top lip, riling the hotblood boiling inside him right up to the brim.

“What…” the single syllable comes out strangled and hoarse. You’re strangling the life out of him without even moving a finger. Do you know your power? “What are...what are you doing?”

In hindsight, that’s probably the stupidest question he could have asked.

You baulk and immediately pushed away from him. The fingers glide from his chest and chin and leave him cold. Gone was the confidence you had offered so easily before; he watches, stunned as your eyes fall to the floor, no longer eager to meet his.

“You look good, Diego.” You smile but that time it doesn’t look real at all. “Have fun tonight.”

“Wait, I--”

--you offer a wave and nothing more. Your figure crosses the room and leaves him alone in between the four walls that seemed to press into him without your comforting presence.

Maybe, you could care for him, too. As he wants you too. Is it selfish to think so?

━

THE SIXTH TIME, HE’S ALMOST ASLEEP.

Honestly, Diego isn’t sure how his head had ended up in your lap, or when his body had melted so effortlessly into your own. It wasn’t the alcohol; two beers isn’t enough to kill all of his conditioned issues or turn him into a total sop. It hadn’t even been intentional, nothing about making room or trying to do anything.

But there you are. Your thighs are his pillows and your hands kiss across his scalp, weaving through his hair like it’s yarn to be woven into something beautiful. Once in a while you pause and he thinks that that’s it, you would force him up -- but then you continue like nothing had happened and he continues to lay like a fish out of water across your legs.

Neither of you had talked about the incident before. It was simply avoidance until you both decide to brush it off and move on, forgetting all about the awkwardness. Or, at least, that’s what you silently promised.

But it’s late. Neither of you are thinking. Or, he isn’t at least, when his head slips from the couch to your thinly clad shoulder. And you hardly react when he relaxes even more, silently gesturing for him to use your thighs as a headrest as the movie neither of you are watching drones on. You make some sort of joke, something stupid and it usually wouldn’t be enough to convince him to act so foolishly. But he is tired, and you are you, and it’s all too easy to give in to you.

So he lays. Your hands in his hair. On your lap. Like a baby incapable of even sitting on his own. He should feel unbelievably stupid, right?

“You’ve got beautiful hair,” you mumble, eyes dragging off the television screen to your lap. He barely catches your soft, smiling gaze before it slips back up, but the memory sticks with him long minutes after. “Wish you’d let me play with it more.”

But he can’t bring himself to hate this moment.

He half-snorts, half-laughs because what a funny statement that is. In his state of lovesick, exhausted delirium, Diego hardly recognises himself telling you that ‘you can play with his hair any time you want’.

“Really?”

“Uh…” he had not meant to say that out loud. “I-I--”

“--thanks, honey.” Your hands linger against his temple before stroking down his wavy locks. Honey. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He pulls off of you after a short while -- not because he wants to, because he’s guilty to take your loving hands for his selfish needs. He claims the bathroom excuse and leaves with his head floating in the clouds. The domestic bliss you offer him wasn’t something he thought he wanted, before -- but every time he leaves your bubble, he finds himself more and more starved for your touch.

He leaves your place high on your smile and still stuck on the way you combed through his hair. Even after pulling away yet again, he’s still happy and actually hopeful.

Maybe, he could actually have this, more than just one random rainy night. Maybe he should try.

━

THE SEVENTH TIME, HE ALMOST KISSES YOU.

Almost, because he, Diego ‘number one himbo’ Hargreeves is a self-labelled idiot who loses all cognitive abilities and brain cells when he lays eyes on you, and fails to be able to use them for all the time you’re around him.

And it’s the moment when he finally fully comes to realise the extent of his overwhelming, absolute adoration for you.

He’s never been so bad with that sort of thing. Before he could throw an easy smile and wink his way into a heart he’d no doubt break the following morning and pull a quick-run attraction like it wasn’t anything. But with you? The idea of even your touch turned him bashful and running for the hills, you know...like an idiot.

It takes you pulling him along every single time for him to react and even then, it’s never enough. You’re always left with a pouting lip and that strange, far-off look in your eyes that tells him he’s screwed it up all over again. Every time you get close he’s too blind to react the right way.

Your head on his shoulder, the world’s at peace. He wants you to stay by his side forever. He’ll hold you as long as you want -- hell to his arms, you’re worth the ache or the crick in his neck from bending the wrong way. He’ll let his body waste away and his mind turn to cobwebs if it means an eternity on your balcony, wind in both of your hair and your hands interlacing between his own.

“This is nice,” you murmur. “Yeah?”

He nods. His chin bumps awkwardly against the crown of your head, but you don’t seem to mind.

“I don’t normally like the quiet. But it’s nice like this. With...with you…” you hesitate on the last syllables and the ‘you’ comes out thick and garbled. But he gets it anyways, and somehow he has the emotional strength to pull you even close to his hulking frame. You’re very close to sliding onto his lap and he’d be lying if the idea to just go all the way doesn’t spring to mind. But he doesn’t move.

“It’s nice, knowing you’re here. Safe, alive...with me.”

Diego smiles into your hair. “It is nice.”

Aaand the ‘most obvious statement of the year’ award goes to him. Yet again. Why do you put up with his thick-headed responses? And why can’t he explain the fuzzy feeling in his throat that he gets from being near you, and the desire to give up everything else just to exist by your side? A simple ‘yeah’ doesn’t cover that and he knows that, he knows he has to tell you the entire adoring truth but --

“I like being around you, Diego. You know that, right?”

If he’s being honest...he can’t really believe that. The idea that someone like you enjoys his company is a farfetched concept. But his head bobs up and down again anyways.

“I, uh...I like our friendship.”

Did you -- did you just friendzone him?!

Did he really just --

“--but sometimes…” you snort out a derisive laugh, “sometimes I wish we were a bit more. Y’know?”

He shifts his weight on the chair and stares down at you, unsure what to make out of any of it. “I - uh - whatdoyoumean?”

“I just, I think we’re good together.” You move too, so he can finally see the pretty way the moonlight bounces off your irises. You’re smiling, and he can’t help but smile too, hopeful and eager as a puppy would be. “And I want to, just...man, I wasn’t expecting this to be so hard to say.”

Vaguely, Diego hears himself respond with a grunt (it’s meant to be an ‘it’s okay’, but apparently English isn’t his strong suit).

“I just like having you around. A lot, if that’s not obvious. I know I’m, heh, kind of a lot sometimes. And I’m trying not to be so uh, affectionate because I know that’s a lot for some people and I never want to overstep, or--”

“--you’re not,” he says quickly, finally finding his voice after oceans of gaping. “I like you being affectionate. It’s nice.”

Your smile grows. “Okay, that’s good.” You hold his fingers a little closer and he’s on cloud nine, staring at you like you’re the eighth wonder of the modern world. “Because if I’m being completely honest here, I don’t want to stop. I...I like you. Generally, in the sense of, more than just friendship. D’you get what I’m saying here?”

“Uh…”

“I don’t want to read into things too much, but I can’t stop myself from feeling really strongly about you. And I don’t want to go on like this, without telling you I’m like, head over heels for you at this point.” You blink up at him, pleading for him to not let you down as you finish with, “is there any way you feel the same?”

What Diego should have done, and wanted to do, was to tell her exactly how he felt, and pull her to him and pull the most cheesy, most cliche Hollywood moment in all the world. He’d finally get the girl in the moonlight as the stars sing above him and the world sleeps below and it would be perfect.

What Diego actually does, is leave.

Cold, and alone, with no hand to hold and no head resting on his shoulder. He leaves you bewildered and probably pissed off and he leaves with no explanation at all -- just a garbled sentence or two that adds up to nothing. He drops his shattered heart at the door and wanders home shivering and hopeless, knowing he has just fucked it all up.

As he stares at the sidewalk and plods down the street like a lonely, hard down soul, Diego wonders if he’s deserving of your touch. If he was allowed to open up and feel your affection so strongly as you give it. He wants to like you would probably never believe. He wants to hold you and he doesn’t want to let go again. He’s starved for your touch and he’d trade the sun and stars to keep you by his side, no matter the costs.

But you’re worth more than him. Shouldn’t you offer your heart to a better, kinder man? To someone who knows how to hold you properly, and offer his touch right back? Not someone who shivers away or rejects your kindness like a parasite. But someone brave enough to feed you with all the adoration you’re worthy of. Shouldn’t he be who you seek?

Maybe, Diego muses, the universe is wrong, and the mistress is nothing but a cruel meddler too eager to break his heart.

But maybe, it’s his own fault, and she’s not cruel at all.

His pace quickens a beat, and he suddenly knows what he has to do.

━

DIEGO’S LIKE NINETY-NINE PERCENT CERTAIN THAT NO ONE, no one living soul, had ever said that the eighth time was the charm.

But if he had to be the first, hell he’d ring that bell a thousand times if it got him where he had to be.

He’s running like a madman. And he’s not drunk, even if at least five people have grumbled that about him -- no he’s as sober as the day he was forced into the world. He’s made a thirty-minute walk of hell into somehow a twelve-minute dash through the cold streets of their shitty city and he feels like a god, if gods were desperate sonofabitches who never knew how to acknowledge their feelings until it’s too late.

He takes the stairs, too high on adrenaline to wait for the elevator. He gasps and huffs and pants his way up but he makes it and keels down the hall to your door, falling against it with all his weight. It’s a foolish move but in his defense...his legs are about to give out, and all the energy he’s devoted to this half-baked, foolish, love-drunk plan is very quickly running out.

He pounds against the door weakly. “Hello? Hello? I--”

and then he literally crashes into your apartment.

You both tumble to the floor with a loud thud-thump and he’s so glad you have thick carpeting because he could have probably split your skull right open with the fall. He’s smart enough to roll, so he cushions your upper body with his, but you still groan as you make contact with the floor. His entire bone structure quakes at the feeling of ground hitting him and even with nary a breath in his throat, immediate guilt floods his system.

He falls back and silently screams, wishing he had more tact than this.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“I’m...I’m so sorry,” he offers with a smile. He quickly props himself up over your body and tries to look as sorry as he truly feels, though it’s hard as his breath still won’t come and he’s still absolutely exhausted from running all this way.

Why did he do all this again?

Oh, yeah.

“I-I love you,” he spurts, followed by him rolling off and promptly falling into a coughing/choking/hacking fit.

You lay beside him, silent and stunned. He can’t see you as he coughs but his mind tries to put the pieces together, and none of it looks good. You’re probably annoyed, and mad that he’s even there so late and after what happened before, and you’re probably tired, and maybe sad, or hurt, or uncomfortable because you just jumped from friends to him admitting he loves you and --

“-did you seriously run all this way and body me, just to tell me that?!”

He pulls himself together long enough to breathe and then turn so he can stare at you. You’re still beside him, body still pressed against the floor (possibly broken after having a much larger man knock you over, who knows) and you’re…

“You’re smiling,” he responds, like it’s the most shocking thing in the world. “You’re - why-”

“Last time I saw you, you were running out of my place like your ass was on fire. And now you come here, knock me on my ass, and tell me you love me?! Diego...uh...wow.”

Diego just stares back at her. He’s still struggling to breathe and if he’s being honest, he’s not sure if he can function after any of this. He just wasted so much of his courage (something he’s never been good at keeping stock of) on just getting here, how is he supposed to collect himself and head out the door with any sense of dignity? Or answer you in any way, shape or form? How is he supposed to even move when you’re looking at him like that?

Wait, you’re...you’re looking at him like that. Smiling, doe-eyed, honey-sweet and beautiful even after being violently collided with and forced to your shitty carpet…

“I love you,” he breaths, soft but still sure. He grins back at you and he feels like an idiot but he holds strong. “And I’m really sorry about before. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m just, all this stuff is stuff I’ve never done before, and I--”

And without another word or even the chance to think, your lips are on his.

Well, they probably were meant to be. What really happens is with a grunt and a swift push, you shift over to him and move to kiss him, only you’re both still smiling and absolute idiots who then just bang teeth against teeth. And you’re left groaning and keeling back, both gripping your mouths while still smiling and,

Ohmygodthisisamessbutohmygodishesohappyandinlovewithyou.

“I’m so sorry,” you groan, muffled behind your hand.

“Me too -- for knocking you over, too!”

“Yeah, that’s gonna leave a bruise.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you chuckle, and lift up again. You hover above him. His nose just barely brushes against yours and he’s straight back into heaven again, even as the embarrassment floods and his teeth ache. “I mean, I would have preferred a bit more warning, but...at least you don’t hate me.”

Diego grins and lifts his hand to push a tendril of hair behind your ear. “I could never hate you.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Mm-hmm. I’m glad you don’t hate me.”

“Please,” you roll your eyes and shove at his chest. His heart beats even faster. “Like I could ever hate you.”

He lifts his head, trying to pull himself up to meet your lips, but you dart away just enough so he can’t. “Can - can we try this again?”

“Mm…” you pretend to consider his request like one would a business proposal. Your thighs tighten their grip around his stomach and a part of him just wants to pull you in and act as his heart pleads. But, given the last time he did that...and the last time you did...he’ll take this slow.

Instead of answering, you lean down and press your lips to his. It’s gentle and leisurely, but he takes every motion in stride. You’re everything he expected and more. Soft petals of reddened flesh against his, your hips just barely grazing against his own, making him want to pull you into his body and never let you leave his side. He’s jubilant and exhilarated and he almost laughs like a baby as your tongue swipes against his bottom lip.

“If it isn’t obvious,” you breathe as you pull away, “from the way I let you tackle me to my floor,”

“I’m really sorry about that,”

You pull his hand up and intertwine your fingers, shaking your ‘head’ no. “I love your touch-starved ass too, Diego.”

“Good, cause this would have been--”

“--no more talking, chatterbox. Just kiss me and shut up.”

And he lets go of the maybes, and just loves you.

SECOND A/N...this ending is just ackwa!?!hiwogh. very annoyed with how it went, but if you know me, you know i suck at conclusions in every sense of the world and i also always leave them to the very last minute, meaning i’m typing this note as i read over the ending and hate it even more. and i’m sorry for the vague messiness of this! I had an idea, failed to deliver it the way i wanted, and a cool thought turned into a half-baked fic. thank you to those who read this, sorry’s also extended your ways because i know this isn’t fantastic. lmao.

- xx

#diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves x reader #tua x reader #umbrella academy x reader #diego hargreeves imagine #hargreeves x reader #hargreeves oneshot

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utterlyinevitable · 4 years

Note

After seeing ur explanation for that anon i really want to see a fic or a hc of ethan as a dad and becca as mom can u please do it??

omg okay ahhh my babys having babies. this is gonna be long and idk if it’ll make sense bc imma jot down everything i know about domestic e&b.

[just finished and... this is long and broken down into 6 categories........... enjoy!]

Ethan & Becca as Parents

The Pregnancy

They didn’t plan on having children, it just kind of happened. Becca and Ethan took a day for the news to settle before they jumped into excited, expecting parents mode.

The most exciting part was renovating the condo to make the most perfect nursery and shopping for decorations and mentally planning all the traditions and things they’d love to give to their little family.

All of the happiness couldn’t mask the struggles of pregnancy.

Becca hated being pregnant. She was sick and nauseous constantly, and her back and feet always ached.

Throughout the whole thing Ethan doted on her; holding her hair back and learning how to tie it up in the way she likes, rubbing her back, running out to get whatever she was craving.

He even made copious amounts of notes about her eating patterns. Enough to keep two of everything in the condo.

If she was having a restless night, he would too; even if she was restless for non-human-growing reasons.

They were in this together.

And even when she was huddled over a garbage pail, dribble running down her chin, she never looked more beautiful to him.

There was just something about all this that made him feel all weird and fuzzy inside.

When her symptoms barely settled throughout the second trimester she overhauled her entire birthing plan. There was no way she was making it to 42 weeks. She was absolutely miserable. So she made a c-section appointment for 40 weeks.

She had an entire argument with Ethan one evening (she really was only yelling while he nodded his head). Her main points were: “It’s my body and the baby will be fine. I was born 6 weeks early and I turned out fantastic!” and “Once the baby’s out of me I’m still going to have to pee. Omg what if she rips me open!? How am I supposed to use the bathroom without worrying about my stitches?”

All he kept reiterating was: “I love you. I trust you and your instincts.”

Becca felt better as he held her face in his large hands, his calming azure eyes boring into hers and letting her know everything will be alight.

But deep down she spent the next few weeks since making the appointment wondering if she should have given vaginal birth a try. She didn’t want Ethan to resent her for chickening out of her body’s natural function.

The Birth

Becca made it to her c-section appointment. Happily rubbing her large belly and glowing: “I can’t wait to not be pregnant anymore! Never do this to me again.”

All Ethan did was chuckle.

He was happy she was getting color back and that her symptoms finally settled enough for her to spend the last few weeks enjoying their daughters kicks. But oh my god was Ethan Ramsey terrified of being a father.

He wouldn’t tell Becca though. She was emotional and worried enough as is. Any and all his concerns were saved for the short conversations he had with his father. “Don’t overthink it, son. The moment you lay eyes on your daughter you’ll know what to do. It’s instinct. Biology. That was your best subject in school, wasn’t it?” Alan would joke.

The surgery went off without a hitch.

All of Becca’s hatred for the phenomenon of pregnancy vanished the second the nurse placed their daughter on her chest.

Rebecca was in awe. She made that! This little person came out of her! This little pink person that looks like a plucked chicken with a tiny tuft of brown hair was here and she was beautiful. The perfect combination of her and Ethan.

The embodiment of their love.

Dakota Dolores Ramsey was completely unplanned. Unplanned but not unwanted.

The first time Ethan Ramsey held his daughter time froze. The universe needed a minute to process the broad grin and full heart thumping rapidly from this stoic and reserved man.

The earth was about to spin the wrong way but then Dakota opened her eyes.

Everything was the way divinity had planned it.

At Home

Although Ethan and Becca lived a 10 minutes drive from Edenbrook, nearly a straight run, Becca forced him to drive as slow as possible.

Dakota was asleep and she needed to keep it that way.

Due to her stitches, Becca was forced to take things easy. No matter how many times she argued with Ethan that she was capable of menial tasks around the house.

Ethan would not let her lift a finger.

If Dakota needed a change he’d happily do it. if Becca was hungry he’d make her favorite.

“You had her to yourself for nine months. Let me take the next few days.” Becca went to retort, all she wanted was to hold her baby for the rest of eternity. She’d never tire of looking at her scrunched up potato face and watching as her features changed every moment of every day. “I promise to share.” “You better,” she kissed him as he tucked her into bed for a much needed nap.

The only thing he was forced to share with his partner was feeding duty - Becca was adamant on breast feeding. A bottle would not touch their daughters lips for months to come.

That in itself brought its own challenges.

Most nights Ethan laid in bed with Becca curled up at his side in one arm and Dakota resting on his bare chest.

Parenting was weird, but an exhilarating change.

Ethan couldn’t diagnose what he could have possibly have done right in his life to be this wholly happy.

The Second

Once Ethan and Becca had one child they were both itching for a second.

“You know what say: ‘if you have one you have to have two’.” “Is that so?” “You don’t want Dakota to have a sibling?” “I was an only child and look how I turned out.” “Emotionally stunted and certified loner?” she teased.

Truth be told, Ethan wanted another. He’s been thinking of giving his pride and joy a few siblings for weeks now. He just didn’t know how to tell Becca.

Becca complained frequently about how happy she was to not be pregnant, and often about how her scar healed funnily.

All of the signs pointed to her not wanting another. And Ethan was okay with that. He never expected to have one child. He’d cherish every moment of what’s been placed right in his fingertips.

He’ll let his soon-to-be wife choose their path. She’s dictated everything else thus far. Ethan was elated she chose him to be along for the ride.

After Dakota’s first birthday, when they made the decision to have another, they tried desperately to conceive.

“I really don’t want to have to deal with diapers for five years,” was Becca’s main reason for keeping the kids close in age. “We can try surrogacy.” Ethan offered, knowing how much she hated pregnancy. He didn’t want to push her into anything. “No. I have to do it. I’ll do it for our kids. But you owe me big time.”

And 14 months later Caroline Marie Ramsey made her grand appearance.

And Becca got her first push present.

The Last

It’s fitting that four years later Ethan and Becca were blessed with another surprise.

Her pregnancy with James Jonah was the smoothest of them all.

Of course that meant something had to go wrong.

At 34 weeks Becca went into premature vaginal labor.

Within six hours their baby boy arrived. 5lbs 2oz and looking like an alien.

Ethan almost lost them both after the fact.

Becca lost too much blood with the placenta and JJ was so tiny.

But the Lao’s were fighters and they pulled through. Ethan cried at her bedside once the harrowing 24 hours were up.

Becca stayed at the hospital for a week, Ethan and Alan bringing the girls to visit every single day.

JJ had to stay a few days longer and Becca refused to leave until she could bring her son home.

She went through her first experience with postpartum depression. Becca didn’t think anything could be worse than the mental toll her abortion had on her years earlier. But she was wrong.

She was so wrong.

All their friends chipped in to help take care of the kids while Ethan devoted his time to helping his wife. The couple went to therapy, sometimes together, other times Ethan sat in the waiting room as Becca worked through her emotions.

Months later, the parents were sitting at home. Ethan held their son and their daughters were curled on their laps: He muttered into his wife’s hair, “I’d like to have one more.” “Not with me you’re not,” she scoffed. “We’re outnumbered as is.”

JJ began to cry and the girls stirred. Dakota mumbling, “Tell the baby to shut up, I’m sleeping here.”

They couldn’t help but laugh and pull apart to put their whole world to bed.

Old and graying and spending more time at home with his kids, Ethan wanted just one more baby. Four was a strong, even number. He could have a whole daycare full of them - each one the best variations of him and Becca.

Becca had spent a large portion of her 30s childrearing and she’s done. Done with diapers and formula, especially. She loves her children more than anything but they’re exhausting. She can’t wait for them to be in school full time and she can have some more alone time with her husband. It’s been so long since it’s been just them too.

“Don’t hate me...” “I could never hate you,” Ethan said as he brushed a few strands of hair from his wife’s face. She swallowed and confidently said, “I want you to get a vasectomy.”

He agreed without further consideration. She made a very compelling argument.

Parenting

Ethan is the doting helicopter dad and Becca is doctor drill sergeant. The kids get away with nothing under their mother’s watch.

Ethan is very soft and adores his children. The grumpy attending could have a whole gaggle of them. He spoils his daughters rotten, picking up the newest doll and toy they’re obsessed with, and making them promise not to tell mommy.

The women in Ethan’s life get away with everything and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

When the girls were born, Ethan stepped back at work letting the better Dr. Ramsey have her career defining moments.

He took half days to pick the girls up from preschool and would bring them to the park or museums. He’d even try to teach them to cook their favorite recipes on cold, rainy days. He’d tire them out so that he and mom could tuck them in after dinner.

Ethan’s afraid of his son. He’s afraid the tot is going to turn out exactly like him - he’s the spitting image, except that his hair curls like his mother’s.

Instead of putting JJ in fulltime daycare, Ethan chose part time preschool. The girls were in primary school now and he’s taken a bigger step back from the hospital after the baby was born.

He devotes all his free time to teaching his son about all he knows and learning all he doesn’t.

Becca complains about the state of her vagina and stomach all the time. Never in front of the children but often enough Ethan knows the look on her face right before she says the same two lines.

Her favorite activity is building forts and taking the kids to the beach.

The holidays have never felt more alive with the full house. Ethan even became a Christmas and Valentines Day lover.

Becca loved watching him change over the years. Every new first they celebrated with each child, every one of their kids passions, Ethan would adopt them all and make it his mission to be a connoisseur of every facet.

Dakota sat her parents down one day with a serious topic of conversation: “Mommy, Daddy. I’m going to be a fashion designer.” “Will you?” “Yes. And I need to dress myself.” “As long as it’s weather appropriate, consider it done.” “And we need to get supplies.”

The conversation went on for 15 minutes with Ethan and Becca asking questions and Dakota making demands. Once they’ve settled on an agreement on how to make their daughter’s dream happen, Ethan retired to his office. He taught himself the basics of sewing.

Even with all the struggles of raising three children in a suburb of Boston while balancing very demanding medical careers, Ethan and Becca wouldn’t have it any other way. The life they carved out of all their complications was worth it.

All of this was inevitable.

And they wouldn’t take a moment for granted.

________________________________________

Um... this became bigger than intended... If you made it this far, thank you ♥

Masterlist

Perma:

@rookiemarsswiftie @lucy-268 @binny1985 @thegreentwin @queencarb @danijimenezv @starrystarrytrouble e @terrm9 @interobanginyourmom @adrex04 @maurine07 @mercury84choices @schnitzelbutterfingers @theeccentricbibliophile @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @kaavyaethanramsey @mvalentine @rookie-ramsey @drariellevalentine @lifeaskim @otherworldlypresents @therookie @aylaramseycarrera @angela8754 @fireycookie @stateofgracious

Ethan:

@udishaman @honeyandsunfl0wers @hutchereverlark23 @ohchoices @dulceghernandez @blossomanarchy @claredal424 @caseyvalentineramsey @rookieoh @openheartthot @senseofduties @lilyvalentine @tsrookie @kalogh @aworldoffandoms @takemyopenheart t @casey-v @ramseyandrys @peaceinmidstofchaos

#Anonymous #asked #this was a lot of word vomit #did not edit at all #don't let this flop #reblog for the 3 kids ethan and becca need to support #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #open heart fanfic

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wienerbarnes · 3 years

Text

The Escape

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Cheek to Cheek)

Word Count: 2,717

Warnings: mind control ooooo, general violence, description of stealing a car that is wildly inaccurate bc ive.... never stolen a car, dues ex machina

A/N: some background about the reader! this one takes place before the last chapter of the original series, way before anything with bucky. this oneshot kinda recounts her prison escape 👀 not a lot of bucky in this one, but kind how the reader got to where she is and stufffff i love a good origin story

MAIN MASTERLIST | CHEEK TO CHEEK MASTERLIST

You didn’t sleep the entire night. How could you? How were you supposed to sleep when you know you’re waking up to your inevitable death?

You refused a last meal a few hours ago. What was the point? You didn’t have an appetite anyway.

All you could do was count the hours, the minutes, the seconds, until the footsteps would sound down the hall, arriving at your cell, the guards would stare at you through the bullet-proof glass wall, the only wall of four that wasn’t made of thick concrete.

They’d take you down to the observation room, they’d strap you down in the chair before asking for your final words. You’d stare out into the window of the observation room, unable to see through to the otherside, but knowing there’d be witnesses there. Maybe the families of people you killed. Maybe government officials, the ones who worked as hard as possible to get you this ending.

First, the sodium thiopental would be injected into your veins to sedate you. Then, the vecuronium bromide will be given that will send your body into paralysis. Finally, the potassium chloride will stop your heart. And your life will be over.

What a shame.

Too soon, your life was wasted. And too soon did the guards feet sound down the hall. And too soon did he arrive in front of your cell, ordering you to get up from your bed to shackle you.

He’s alone, you notice. Perhaps they don’t expect you to put up much of a fight.

Something snaps in your brain and before you realize you’re even doing it, you’re tapping into the young guard’s poor brain. He was a cop. A cop turned prison guard to spend more time at home, less time out in the world trying to catch bad guys. Never really bad guys, though, always just some unlucky soul caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Open the cell.” You tell him, finally through to his head. The keys jingle as he unlocks the three complicated locks attached to the side of the door.

You’re suddenly grateful for the hundreds of times they called you crazy, they called you a psycho, they told you you didn’t have powers, that that was your sad and sorry excuse of the reason for your crimes.

“Take off your clothes.” You order next. The young man begins to strip, taking off his clothes until he’s down to his underwear. White briefs with a blue waistband.

Once his uniform is on your body, you take everything he has, leaving his pistol with him.

“Shoot at everybody that comes in here.” You tell him, and he stares at you blankly, no longer in control of his actions as you take over.

You take a moment, closing your eyes and trying to concentrate on what the prison looks like, where the exits are, and where the guards are. You peek an eye open to glance at the man’s watch that now sits on your wrist, eight minutes until the shift changes.

Eight minutes for you to not fuck this up.

You close the cell door behind you, locking it, and making your way down the hall. You need to time this perfectly so that you’re slipping out as the other guards are leaving.

Just keep your head down, and get out as quickly as possible. Don’t talk to anyone. Just get out and start walking. You’ll get to the city eventually and you’ll hide out until you can keep making your way through New York. Maybe you’ll go to Jersey. Or up to New Hampshire.

Yeah, you’re just going to walk to New Hampshire, aren’t you?

Not a priority right now. Focus on getting out. A deep breath until you unlock the gate at the end of the hall, making your way out into another hallway. You visualize the map in your head once more and keep making your way down. You walk with confidence, head still slightly tilted down, but steps quick and light. Another guard turns the corner at the end of the hall and you make sure your steps don’t falter, and he walks right by you without a second thought.

You’re still unsure about the whole mind control thing. You don’t want to question it, because it seems to be pretty useful right now, but you don’t want to abuse it either, knowing your luck will eventually fail you.

It’s not long before you hear a gunshot ring out in the distance and you glance at a clock on the wall to see the shift change happening now.

You need to get out of here, now. Soon the guards will realize it’s you who’s missing from your cell and the search will begin. They’ll start with the entire grounds of the prison, which will hopefully buy you some time to make it to the city, if you sprint.

You finally make it to a more open area, exit signs now posted at the tops of doorways. You finally find a group of other men, some with bags or coats and you slip into the crowd, hoping that these are the guys leaving from their shift.

“Hey, have a good one, man. Tell the family I said hello.” A rough hand pats your shoulder before brushing past you.

Your stomach drops at the fact that these men are so unaware. So unaware that their real friend is in your cell, probably having a shootout with the new guards who just began their shift. The fact that these guards showed up to work today and the first thing they encounter is another guard in his underwear shooting at them.

Push it back. Push it back. Push it back.

As you’re huddled in between bodies, a bright light suddenly washes over your face. Sunlight. Your eyes burn at the feeling, a feeling so foreign having not felt it in months. You force them open though. You need to separate quickly, because not only do you not know where the parking lot is, you don't know which car is yours, you don’t have keys, and even if you did, you don’t know how to fucking drive.

Why did you never learn this! You never thought you’d need to since you decided you were going to join the military at sixteen, but you still should’ve fucking looked into it!

You don’t think you’ll make it walking. It’ll draw too much attention. The prison is in the middle of fucking nowhere and you’re just going to walk home? What would be worse is if someone offers you a ride.

New plan: find your car and hope it’s unlocked so you can sit inside until everyone leaves.

You know Hydra made you break into things before; houses, cars, etc. But you’ve tried to repress so much of that time that you can’t remember if you ever hot wired a car before.

You hope your luck doesn’t run out anytime soon.

Men arrive at their cars and the options quickly narrow down between an orange SUV and a black, fancy-looking car. You take your chances on the SUV.

It’s unlocked. It’s fucking unlocked. You shut the door and heave, feeling so hard to breath in the small space, but feeling relieved at the chance to finally make some noise and express your stress outside of that group of people you were stuck around.

“C’mon. C’mon! Fight or flight, c’mon, just make me know how to hot wire this.” You close your eyes, as though that will suddenly make the knowledge appear in your head. It doesn’t, surprisingly.

Until you look in the cupholder to see a dozen bobby pins. He probably has a daughter. “It’s going to have to do.” You mumble to yourself.

You quickly straighten them out and shove them into the small spot where the key goes. You twist and turn, holding a bunch of pins together to simulate an odd shape of the key, until finally you hear a click.

That’s gotta be good! Right? You go with it, continuing to twist until you hear a sputtering and crunchy sound of the engine starting.

This guy drives a piece of shit car. But it’s fucking on! You waste no time in putting the car into the drive before pulling out the lot. You make yourself extremely nauseous at your own driving, or rather, attempt at driving. You see in the rearview mirror the lights on the prison flashing, the bright red signaling that they’ve realized you escaped. You give yourself twenty minutes before they ditch the search of the prison grounds and look for you in the city.

Down the road you alternate between driving fifteen miles an hour to sixty, finding it so difficult to get a steady control of the car. But you’re doing it! You only need to make it to the city. That’s it.

“How the fuck do they make sixteen-year-olds do this shit?”

Eventually you get the hang of it. Still a terrible driver, but you at least don’t feel as scared driving among other cars.

The longer you drive, the more it catches up to you what you’ve done. Soon enough, the tears come and so do the sobs. Until you stop a red light and let out a yell of agony, the stress and sadness washing through your body.

It’s hard, wanting to break down completely but having to keep your eyes open for the light to change, and having to pay attention to your surroundings. You find a small alleyway to pull into and you put the car in park before ditching it.

No time to cry, you can cry later. You peek around at the name of restaurants and stores around you, not recognizing any of them. You look at the street signs not recognizing those, either. You haven’t been around society in almost ten years, and you feel hopelessly and utterly lost.

You look around the alleyway and see a big dumpster. Just for a little while, you think. You lift the lid and climb inside, shutting the lid above you.

It’s dark, greasy, and the worst thing you’ve ever smelled, but it’s somehow better than where you were. You don’t know how much time has passed, but the noise outside the dumpster grows, and you make a guess that it’s around six or seven in the morning.

If you want to blend in with the crowd, you need to change your clothes. A prison guard outfit will most definitely make you stand out to people, especially when news breaks that there's a prison escapee on the loose.

When you finally lift the lid to stand up, you look to your left to see a teenager, probably not older than seventeen, staring at you, frozen, key in hand, seemingly to open up some store that you’re in back of.

He’s tall and lanky, and what makes him stand out to you the most is the spiky black hair he sports on his head and the thick black eyeliner around the rims of his eyes.

“You… okay?” He asks, clearly confused as to why a random woman in a prison guard outfit is hanging out in the dumpster behind her place of work. But you’re frozen. You don’t know what to say. You can’t imagine the last twelve hours I’ve been through, it won’t make much sense.

“Are you… hungry?” He asks when you don’t answer. “I’m, uh, opening now, but no one will be here for another hour or two when we actually open. I can make you something if you like?” He offers.

He thinks you’re homeless. Which, you are, technically. But he doesn’t recognize you. Perhaps you haven’t made the news yet, but it’ll only be a matter of time.

You finally nod, climbing out of the dumpster bin and walking over to where he holds the door open for you.

You devour the sandwich he makes you, a simple ham and cheese on white bread, but it’s the best thing you’ve eaten in, well, a decade.

“How long have you been homeless for?”

“Are you from New York?”

“What’s your zodiac sign?”

“What’s your favorite band?”

So many questions come from the curious kid, kindness radiating from him. Casual conversation ensues, and you’re careful not to give too much away.

“Can I ask you something?” You ask, wiping your mouth with a napkin as you swallow the last bit of sandwich.

“How do I get to Brooklyn from here?”

“You’re in Brooklyn, silly.” He responds and your eyes widen a bit, not thinking you’d get this lucky.

“Sorry, that came out kinda insensitive,” He apologizes, picking up your plate, “It’s not like you have a GPS or anything. Anywhere you’re trying to go in particular?”

You have a flash of a vision, Bucky sleeping soundly in his apartment, as the sun shines through in orange cracks in his blinds. Your mind envisions the building, where it is, what it looks like, and how you can get there. Why is your mind and body wanting to lead you to where Bucky is? If you’re trying to lay low, why does your vision want you to go to what’s the third most recognizable government figure in the country, after the President and Captain America?

“Uhm… to see a friend. I guess I wasn’t trying to go, but I have a lot of… free time now, so. Just don’t know what I’d say to him.” You tell the boy, rubbing your eyes in exhaustion. You’re not looking forward to the rest of the day, or week, or month, or life.

“Why don’t you write a note? That’s what I do; when I don’t think I can say the right thing, I write it instead. I can give you some paper and an envelope.” He offers.

This kid has got to be my guardian angel personified, you think. What are the fucking odds?

“You should take it with you, though. I gotta open up soon, and I’m sure you don’t want to experience the morning rush of this place.” You read my mind.

“I’ll give you a change of clothes, too. Where’d you get that, anyway? Do you hang around dumpsters often? Is that one from a Halloween store?”

“Okay, that’s too much. You’ve already been so kind.” You refuse, ignoring the curious questions that shoot out of his mouth.

“Then don’t take it as me being kind, take it as me being mean. You smell like shit from that dumpster.”

You can’t help but laugh, and oh how good it feels. You never thought you’d laugh again, and here you are, giggling at being told you smell bad by some goth teenager.

Soon enough, you’re walking through the backways of buildings, in a crisp white t-shirt that smells of the cologne of a teenage boy, and note and envelope in hand. It takes you about forty five minutes to make it to Bucky’s apartment building, and it was only slightly less stressful that your walk out of that prison.

Through the glass door, you don’t see anyone at the front desk, so you open the door and step inside.

To your left you see a wall of mailboxes, and one large one at the bottom overflowing with letters and gifts. You take a wild guess and say that that one belongs to Bucky. You’ve heard he’s a pretty popular guy, along with the company he keeps.

You take the stairs to the eighth floor and the fourteenth room, hoping the 814 on that mailbox wasn’t random. You scribble out on your piece of paper, tearing it off and keeping the rest in case you need for another note in the future, or a snack. You bite at the blue bracelet on your wrist before it breaks and stick it in the envelope, tucking in the flap to close it.

You place it on the ground and silently press your ear to the door. You don’t hear him, but you hear the sound of the television, announcing your missing presence and the manhunt around the city. You take that as a cue to leave quickly.

Why you feel such a draw towards Bucky, you’re not sure, but for some reason, you have a feeling that leaving him this gift of sorts won’t come back to haunt you.

Perhaps it’ll even lead to the opposite.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel #badass queen who can't drive

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verfound · 3 years

Note

It Ain’t Made of Kevlar, Our FirstFirstFirst Date, and One More Time With You (even though I think this one might hurt), please.

I hope things improve for you, sorry everything has been so rough lately!

Thank you - it is getting better! Or at the least I'm learning to adjust to the not-better. Idek anymore - my outlook on things changes by the hour anymore. 😂

"It Ain't Made of Kevlar" - @mintaka14 asked about this one, too! And...I have absolutely nothing in the doc beyond a summary and five pages of screenshots from when the LBSC crew spitballed the idea. I wish I was joking. 😂 And I honestly completely forgot what this one was about until I opened the doc. And it's about Luka having a problem ripping Marinette's underwear bc he gets a little...excited. It started with Marinette just outright refusing to make lingerie anymore if he can't stop destroying it ("Jfc, Couffaine, it's not worth it!"), but then someone suggested Kevlar panties, or Marinette figuring out how to make velcro snaps that don't completely kill the mood, or...yeah there's a few directions this one can take still. 😂

"Our First-First-First Date" ties into WM2019: Hope and Peachy. There's a bit in Hope towards the end that goes, "If you ask Marinette, their first date was [x]. If you ask Juleka, it was [x]. If you ask Luka, it was [x]." This one explores those three scenarios/what those 'first dates' look like. And should be one of the first ones I work on wow it's getting old...

"One More Time with You" won't hurt as much as you're thinking! Or at least it shouldn't? 😂 See, All Time Low is one of my Raeg Bands, and on bad days I just throw their playlist on and crank it. I was driving home from work, windows down and ATL blaring, when "Don't You Go" came on and Plunnies Bit Hard: "Don't you go carry on with your life / It as a one night stand til I woke up next to you / Don't you go saying all your goodbyes / I want a one night stand just one more time with you / So give me one more night with you." (..."You say I push my luck / But I can't get enough / If it was just a one-time thing, why are you still here with me? / Don't want a single thing to change / We can mess around two more days / If it was just a one-time thing, why are you still here with me? / I don't want you to leave...")

The idea is for whatever reason (still kicking around the how, but pretty sure alcohol might end up being involved), Luka and Marinette end up sleeping together (this is set when they're older, still friends, but never actually got together). And it was supposed to be a one-night thing, except Luka wakes up the next morning and realizes he's a fucking idiot he never should have promised that...

Over the years, Luka had imagined – fantasized about – this moment many times. What it would be like – what it would feel like – if he was ever lucky enough to wake up next to Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

[FANTASY HERE]

..it wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Luka Couffaine had fucked up, and he had fucked up big time.

[...]

“Tell you what, though,” she said with an adorably sleepy little smile, humming as she snuggled against his chest. And God, could she possibly make this any harder? “This is nice. Girl could get used to this, Luka.”

“I fucked up, Marinette,” he finally said, his fingers pressing almost painfully hard into the skin of her shoulder. She looked up, blinking in sleep and confusion, as he forced his hand to relax. As he drummed his fingers against her shoulder, light little taps to keep himself present. “We fucked up.”

“…what are you talking about, Luka?” she asked, her voice suddenly sounding not very relaxed at all. She almost sounded…scared. He hated that, too. “Hey. Look at me. What do you mean?”

He opened his eyes, but he didn’t – couldn’t – look at her. He stared at the ceiling, unable or unwilling to see the growing dread in her eyes. He couldn’t look at her when he said what he needed to say. When he confessed how badly…

“Last night was a mistake,” he said thickly, swallowing against the lump forming in his throat. Her thumb pressed against his Adam’s apple, her fingers reaching up to caress his cheek, and his eyes almost closed again. He almost let himself enjoy it. To pretend… “I’m so sorry, Marinette. Last night never should have happened.”

“Luka, stop,” she said, twisting and pushing herself up on her elbow. She was still half on top of him, and that wasn’t making any of this any easier. He still wanted her. He wanted to stop, to shut up, and pull her closer and lose himself in her all over again. He wanted last night to happen again and again and…but it couldn’t. She didn’t want that. Not like he did. Not in the same way. “What are you…you said nothing would change. You promised me we wouldn’t change.”

“…I lied, ok?” he grit out, reaching up to press the heels of his palms against his eyes. “God, Marinette. I fucking lied, ok? And you believed me – how could you believe me? Of course we were gonna change. I can’t…you can’t…”

“Luka, we don’t have to – we –” she started, but he yanked her down to him and kissed her harshly. Her hands found his face in gentle little touches, seemingly perfectly content to pick up where they had left off the night before. But he pulled away, gasping, and pressed his forehead against hers. She was still touching his face like they were…like she…he needed her to stop. Last night made them fuck buddies at best, and he couldn’t be that for her. He never could, and he had no idea why Last Night Him had thought he could.

“I’m still in love with you, Marinette,” he breathed, his thumb brushing against her temple as his fingers twisted in her hair. She said nothing, but he could hear the way her breathing stuttered at his confession. “I never stopped. And I can’t do this anymore – I can barely look at you now that I know…I can’t…”

#miraculous ladybug #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #wip wednesday #wip wednesday: festering folder edition #bluehairedangie #mintaka14 #two shots of sin and a chaser of fluff #ain't made of kevlar #first first first date #one more time with you #DON'T YOU GO #CARRY ON WITH YOUR LIFE #IT WAS A ONE-NIGHT STAND TIL I...fuck #y'all ain't one-night stand people why did you think that would work

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tteokggukk · 4 years

Text

coffee rings → kth

✳ pairing: kim taehyung x deceased reader

✳ genre: angst, triggering themes, post-split au

✳ warnings: taehyung is grieving, major character death, mentions of a car accident and someone passing away

✳ summary: it’s been a year since you and taehyung went your separate ways, but today’s your birthday and he misses you more than ever. though he never really liked coffee, he drinks them now because it reminds him of you. to pass the time, he heads over to your favorite coffee shop at one in the morning. what he did not expect, however, was to see you walking in, smiling at him.

✳ words: 1.7k

✳ a/n: it’s sad but this idea just popped up in my head so i wanted to write about it because!! i miss writing HAHAHA pls enjoy (or don’t, bc it’s supposed to be sad so it’s okay not to enjoy it).

It’s one in the morning and Taehyung couldn’t sleep. Ironically, he was supposed to be in bed trying to doze off but he now found himself sitting inside an empty 24-hour coffee shop—your favorite coffee shop, sipping on an Iced Americano he was forcing himself to drink. He never really liked coffee, but nowadays it brought him a feeling of comfort and nostalgia that he began relying on it to keep him sane.

It’s been a year since you two went your separate ways, yet here he was, staring at the entrance of the shop and hoping you’d walk in and talk to him.

You were always the type of person to leave the apartment at any given time of the night to grab a quick snack from this café. When you and Taehyung were living together, you’d often go out and buy pastries while Taehyung waited outside because he used to hate the smell of coffee. Though he never acquired a taste for it, he learned to love the scent because it reminded him so much of you.

Maybe, just maybe, you’d walk in right now at this time like you used to.

Even if he knew it was impossible for you to walk in right now, he waited. He held onto the small chance of seeing you once again. He wanted so badly to talk to you, to feel safe through your touch, and to find a peace of mind. You were his happy pill, the only person capable of making him feel better, and right now not having you around gave him the worst withdrawal from you. He hasn’t been the same since you separated.

All he wanted was to see you.

Imagine his surprise when the café’s entrance opened and you walked in.

Your eyes immediately met and all he could think of was how you looked exactly the same as the last time he saw you. You were just as beautiful and just as glowing. Your eyes looked so bright and alive even at one in the morning, and your lips, god, how he missed the feeling of your soft lips on his. His eyes scanned your whole body before he landed on your hands—the hands that always made him feel at ease.

He watched as you walked over to his table and sat in front of him, a warm smile on your face. He wanted to wrap himself around you right now, but he was too shocked to move from his seat.

“Can’t sleep?” You asked. Taehyung only shakes his head.

“Don’t you think it’s a bad idea to hang out in a coffee shop, then?” You laughed. His chest began to hurt at how much he missed your laugh. It was like hearing an old favorite song he hadn’t heard in so long because it brought back too much memories.

“I guess,” Taehyung had to choke out his words just to start talking, “But the place is oddly comforting.”

A small, sympathetic smile forms on your face. Taehyung looked… different. His eyes that were once enchanting and welcoming now looked tired and puffy, the brightness in them gone. His mouth, which always used to be upturned into a friendly smile were now straight and expressionless. He looked worn-out, but despite everything he still looked beautiful in your eyes.

“Since when did you start drinking Iced Americanos?” You asked.

“Since you left,” He admits.

“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t like it, Tae...”

“I do, because it reminds me of you.”

“Isn’t it best to start moving on?” You asked.

“If you were in my place, do you think you could move on that easily?” He asks, turning his hands into fists to prevent the tears from falling on his face. You watched as he held himself back.

“I’m sorry,” You apologized. There was a brief silence between you two before Taehyung continued. He turns his head down, immediately recognizing this habit of his that he always did before he started crying.

“I miss you, ___. Not a day goes by where I don’t think of you,” The hurt was evident in his voice now. You didn’t say anything, you thought it best to let him clear his head.

“I don’t even like coffee, but you always smelled like coffee so now I’m used to drinking it just to remind myself of when you were with me,” He continued, “I wanted to live my life with you… I imagined my future with you…”

Tears began dripping on your face, but your expression remained calm. Taehyung’s breathing gradually turned heavy, it was long before his eyes turned red as his tears soaked his face. He wished you would wipe them dry, but he knew you couldn’t do that.

“It’s been a year, ___,” He sniffed, “It’s been a year since the car accident, and I thought I was beginning to forget you.”

“But earlier today, I was with your parents,” He continued, “I still keep in contact with them every month, just to see how they’re doing. They asked me to celebrate your birthday with them.”

“How are they?” You asked.

“They’re healthy and they’re doing fine, but I don’t think they’re feeling any better than I am,” He sobbed, “And I told them everything.”

“Told them what?”

“I told them about what my plans were with you, how I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you…” Taehyung was sobbing uncontrollably now. The cashier stared at him in concern.

“I miss you, ___. I miss you so much, I don’t know if I’ll ever get over you. Sometimes I see you in the apartment, sitting on the couch. Other times I see you at the library you used to visit often, and you’re just there reading all your favorite books. Sometimes, you’re in the faces of strangers I see every day, always just a few inches away but I can never bring myself to get close. And I know you’re not really there, but I can’t stop picturing you everywhere.”

“Taehyung,” he watched as you leaned forward to place your hand on his, “You have to let me go.”

“How can I let you go when I still love you?” He wanted to grip your hand tight. He wanted to keep you here with him, but he couldn’t.

“And I’m always going to love you, but you need to accept that I’m not here anymore. I love you too much to see you suffering like this, you have to let me go,” you pleaded.

“___…”

“You can start by taking that out of your pocket,” Your eyes glide over the inner pocket of his jacket, and Taehyung’s breath hitches for a moment. You smile at him, letting him know that you’re aware of what he’s been carrying with him all this time. An item he’s always kept so close to his chest— to his heart.

He takes out the box, the box he’s been preparing for more than over a year now, the box that he waited for so long to kneel down on one knee with to present to you. Now all he could do was take it out without doing all those things and saying all those words he imagined he’d do when he proposed to you. His heart aches as he opens the box, the diamonds on the engagement ring shining right before him. There’s a weight that leaves his chest the moment he sets the ring on the table.

“Carrying that forever will only make it impossible to move on,” You told him.

You were right, he thought. Though it pained him to know he had to let you go for real now, he also couldn’t help but think of how this was what you wanted for him.

Memories of you and him together began playing in his head. The first time you met, all the ups and downs you two shared, him picking out an engagement ring and realizing the ring on the table in front of him was “the one”—to the night he got a call about your accident.

“I’ll never stop loving you, ___,” He whispered.

“I’ll always be watching over you. I want you to be happy, Taehyung, and if that means finding someone new, then it’s all right with me,” You smiled at him. His eyes were still full of tears, but he felt much calmer. Taehyung looks down and nods, wiping the tears off his face.

The ice in the Iced Americano has melted, diluting the drink. One of the café’s staff member approaches Taehyung and hands him water, courtesy of the cashier who noticed Taehyung crying. Taehyung thanks the staff and sips on the water before asking them to dispose of the iced Americano he could no longer drink.

“You never liked Iced Americanos anyway,” You breathed a laugh, and Taehyung just smiles.

“Namjoon will be here any minute,” You tell him, making Taehyung look back at you. How did you know?

“I just figured,” You grinned.

Sure enough, you were right. A few minutes later, Taehyung noticed Namjoon walking outside the café, trying to find where he was seated inside. When Taehyung meets his eyes, Namjoon starts making his way inside with a concerned look on his face.

“I’d better go,” You told Taehyung.

“What?” Taehyung’s eyes shifted from Namjoon to you.

“Take care, Taehyung. Please be healthy, and be happy,” you smiled at him one last time.

“Taehyung!” Namjoon called, catching Taehyung’s attention. When he looked back at where you were seated, you already disappeared. You were really gone.

“Who were you talking to?” Namjoon asks.

“I… no one,” Taehyung mutters, “How’d you know I was here?”

Namjoon gives him an understanding look, “It was her birthday.”

“Oh,” Taehyung nods and looks down.

“Come on, let’s get you home, alright?” Namjoon takes Taehyung’s arm and helps him up. He offers to drive Taehyung and already asked the others to come over to help him feel better. Taehyung just smiles, feeling thankful to have his friends with him.

Once they exit the café, Taehyung looks back one last time to see if you would be right there watching him leave. All he saw was an empty café.

“Goodbye, ___, and thank you,” He whispers.

He was going to be okay, he thought, everything was going to be okay. He might not be okay soon, but in time he’ll allow himself to heal. The previous heaviness he used to feel was no longer there and was replaced by a lighter feeling of relief and acceptance. Namjoon and Taehyung both drive away in silence, and Taehyung doesn’t look back once.

The engagement ring sits left behind on the café’s table, finally freeing Taehyung.

check out my other works here!

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mickstart · 4 years

Note

what do you think are some iconic/memorable schumi moments? i just got into f1 and would like to know more about him bc somehow i can’t really find anything like that about him.... just stats which are incredibly impressive but i can’t find anything about how he behaved or just anything about his personality..... thanks <3

:) Hi anon, thank you for unleashing the beast.

Ok I love you for asking me this thank you SO MUCH. Welcome to the circus I’m glad you’re here! Also yeah, Schumi is often talked about in terms of statistics and not as a human, Which is a shame bc like! Schumi is fascinating and the dynamics on the grid in late 90s F1 is so much fun! Also, this is mainly going to be late 90s -> early 2010s stuff bc I was born in 98 so uhhh I didn’t properly witness ANY 90s stuff and had to learn about it.

OK so I got super carried away but I’ve divided this into 3 sections: Drives/races that I think showcase some of his talents, human moments we need to talk about more, and Chaotic Little Bitch moments. The key thing to remember w/ Schumi is that he personally tends to be nice but as soon as you put him in a competition, Bastard Mode activates like a cat’s pupils going wide.

I am so sorry for the following short essay. Also some crashes are briefly mentioned but only ones with absolutely no injuries and there’s no details.

Chaotic Little Bitch Moments

Schumi debuted as a SUBSTITUTE driver for Jordan when one of their drivers was in police custody (yes. really.) The highest a Jordan had qualified all year was 10th and in his DEBUT at SPA, one of the toughest tracks, in the middle of the season, Schumi qualified that Jordan 7th! THEN his clutch failed before the first lap was even complete, but Benetton and Jordan WENT TO COURT to fight each other to sign him for their team before the next race in Monza. He couldn’t debut normally he HAD to cause a scene and set the tone.

The Red Strings of Fate: He qualified 7th, his iconic 7 starred helmet, his first victory next year was ALSO at Spa - his first complete race would be at Monza, Ferrari Holy Ground, and he finished 5th which 👀 1) he was immediately racing with The Greats. 2) Mr 5 Championships With Ferrari.

Winning a race by taking a stop and go penalty on the last lap, crossing the finish line in the pits, and making such a complicated argument about said penalty that in a hearing that was SUPPOSED to be Mclaren protesting the race result the stewards scrapped the entire penalty and the 3 who awarded it handed in their licenses??? Iconic.

Austria 2002 where Rubens was ordered to give the win to Michael. And then Michael fucking made him stand on the top step on the podium like “oh no no no RUBENS deserves this” and made a big SHOW out of it and its like “Michael stop you’re not making it heartwarming you’re making it WORSE Michael STOP” The Tension of germany 2010 podium VS the theatricality of THIS podium.

Team orders were banned because of this which also makes this indirectly responsible for Fernando Is Faster Than You having to be a coded message. You can’t escape him,

Blocking Alonso in Monaco qualifying and then, years later in 2010, overtaking Alonso technically illegally at Monaco (the race was ending under safety car, but the safety car doesn’t lead them over the line it pits and they’d crossed the safety car line and the regulations were NOT specific about the rules) and getting a 20 second penalty bc Damon Hill was a steward. Haunting FERNANDO specifically at Monaco like the ghost of christmas past? Getting a harsh penalty because ANOTHER driver he’d fucked over was a steward? Forcing the FIA to rewrite the rulebook to account for his nonsense when he was in his FOURTIES? I don’t know another chaos king.

Winning the 1995 championship by crashing into Damon Hill, getting AWAY with it for some reason, and then trying to do the same thing in 1997 to Villeneuve, failing to do so and simply rebounding off of him harmlessly, almost COMICALLY, and beaching his own car in a gravel trap at which point the FIA said “I have had ENOUGH of you Wacky Races Man!” and disqualified him from the entire championship

Forcing Mika off the track so bad at Spa 2000 that Mika realized the only way he was gonna be able to get past him was to re-invent the overtake and go for it whilst they were passing a backmarker. (The overtake itself is at 2:05 in the video but the build up to it is Important bc the key part it’s not just badass, it only happened bc Mika knew who he was dealing with.)

Spa 1998 was a Ridiculously Chaotic race it truly was the Mugello 2020 of its year, and after a crash at the start that took out almost the entire grid Schumi accidentally collided with Coulthard later in the race. (The teams used to have a spare car at every race then, so the race was able to continue after a restart.) This wasn’t a racing thing, Coulthard was getting lapped. So something in Schumi SNAPS, and he storms down the pitlane and tries to fight Coulthard while the mclaren and ferrari mechanics both hold him back and finally drag him away. He projected into the future, saw Coulthard was gonna talk non-stop shit about Seb, and acted accordingly.

Monaco 2012 Pole don’t talk to me about this I still can’t believe the audacity of this man to get the only pole of his comeback, at MONACO, at the ONE RACE where he had a 5 place grid penalty to take!!

In general, I know Cheating Bad but. I HAVE to admire the brainpower it must take to have the rulebook so memorized that whilst driving an F1 car Schumi could spot a loophole the size of the eye of a needle and then dance through it, forcing the FIA to add ANOTHER page to the rule book specially for him bc nobody else even REALISED that loophole existed.

Human Moments

A quick rant about Mika and Schumi’s entire friendship. After Spa 2000 Mika goes up to Michael, says something like “Don’t ever do that again” then they’re friends again. They had this mutual understanding that Racing was not Reality. This goes all the way back to their F3 days they were rivals AND friends for their entire career. They truly were the Sewis of the era if Sebastian was like 50% more evil. Their entire dynamic is “You’re the only motherfucker in this pit lane who can handle me”. Schumi would do some bullshit and every other driver would throw up their hands in frustration and Mika would just go “Okay” and drive better to put him in his place bc he was the only one who could keep up, and Schumi very visibly LOVED that he’s grinning after Mika owns his entire ass with that overtake at Spa. They were unstoppable force meets immovable object and I’m so sad their rivalry isn’t more talked about bc the way Mika is the only driver who can get him to behave like a normal human being is SO entertaining.

This is a sad one so I won’t link it but he started crying in the 2000 Monza press-conference with his brother and Mika when he equaled one of Senna’s records. The press kept trying to ask questions about it and Mika just has this death grip on his shoulder and tries to get them to stop or let them take a break and it’s so sad but also important to know about.

Once said he didn’t want Mick to race in F1 bc the pressure of his name would put Mick under so much stress and he wanted his son to be happy. (He fully supported Mick in his endeavors! But only after making absolutely sure it was what Mick wanted, and making sure he knew he could just race for fun if he wanted and it didn’t have to be F1)

This whole interview just after Mick was born with the Schumacher family. Special shout out to Gina on his head the entire video and also Corinna talking to the press while Michael is captivated by Mick. Me too Michael.

Once allegedly pleaded to take a stray kitten home from the track?

I reblogged this yesterday but. Sticking like glue to Sebastian at an F1 test and immediately being like “This is my new son he’s gonna go far”. There’s a lot of pictures out there also of Michael being a guest at the karting races Seb went to as a kid and baby Seb visibly losing his fucking mind at being given a trophy by his idol. Every day of my life I think about him trying to ruffle Seb’s hair through his helmet at Brazil 2012

WInning the championship in 2000. Him thanking the entire team individually and pausing mid-celebration to kiss his wife Corinna so tenderly it’s in the F1 opening. Also, the way it literally cuts from the rest of McLaren looking like they’re attending a funeral to Mika grinning at him and hugging him fucking SENDSSSSS me.

Schumi was a little shit in all the 2010-12 press conferences like, lowering Lewis’ chair, playing with a microphone wire, but ESPECIALLY corrupting baby Seb and getting him to mess with Nico Rosberg.

He’s just GOOFY! Like I refuse to let him be remembered as a terrifying force of nature he was so goofy kind of similarly to Seb. PLEASE watch this incredibly awkward interview he did with Coulthard on a golf buggy where they both had to pretend they hadn’t thought about murdering each other at least once. I think Sky F1 should force Brocedes to do this when covid’s over. “Do you mind if I drive?” “Yes.”

EDIT: I CANNOT BELIEVE I forgot the 1999 Canada press conference where Eddie Irvine and Mika Hakkinen get into a water fight and Schumi immediately grabs a towel and hides behind it and is like “I had NOTHING to do with it” 🥺 adorable, actually

A lot of people at Ferrari, including Rob Smedley (who was on the other side of the garage with Felipe Massa so not in his inner circle) have said that a lot of the success of the team came from Schumi’s LEADERSHIP more than anything, that he’d make the team get together to bond all the time. When Schumi moved to Ferrari in 1996 they were NOT dominant. He did the same thing Lewis did - went to a team that everybody said would be a huge mistake and helped build them up behind the scenes.

THIS bit of the Canada 2011 Rewind where his engineer gives him the strategy and he’s like “... OkaAaAaAay?” and then when it turns out to be the wrong strategy he cheerfully tells them it’s too late. Little shit.

Speaking of Mercedes I also wanna say that like. They were a MESS in 2012 and his car DNF’d because of a failing on their part MULTIPLE times. (In Canada qualifying his DRS was stuck open and they couldn’t close it.) He did not say a single bad word about them EVER even though the press used this to attack him non-stop as washed-up and bad without Ferrari to cheat for him. At Ferrari he was the exact same with the team, any bastard antics Schumi had for his rivals did not extend to the engineers and crew.

OK this one is soured bc Top Gear is trash BUT if you were like, a kid in England who followed motorsports? Schumi’s fake reveal as The Stig on Top Gear was like the coolest, sickest thing,

Please view this image of Schumi and Mika when they were young and stupid

Iconic Races

ok so I have limited myself to a few races that show off some of his key strengths!

Hungary 1998 / France 2004 - STRATEGY/SPEED - Schumi switched to a 3 stop strategy in 98 and a FOUR STOP strategy in 04 and won both races. In order for the strategy call to work he’d have to basically make every single lap a qualifying style ‘flying lap’ and you best fucking believe he DID THAT. God I fucking miss when Ferrari was the king of strategy.

Argentina 1998 - has it all. Talent, battling Mika, pit lane mind games with mclaren, and bullying coulthard xxx

Spain 1996 / a majority of the wet races - RAIN - One of Schumi’s nicknames was Rain Master bc he was so fucking good in the wet. If it started raining and you were a Schumi stan you were cackling evilly before the red lights even went out. I single out 1996 bc it was his first win for Ferrari and it was unexpected but in most wet races, even Canada 2011 post comeback, you can see Schumi thriving.

Malaysia 1999 - Schumi missed pretty much the entire second half of the season with a broken leg, came back for the last 2 races with everybody murmuring about whether he would struggle, and immediately put the Ferrari on pole. Also worth noting is that he was the number 2 driver for these 2 races bc his teammate Irvine was fighting Mika for the championship and he went along with that without complaint, allowing Ferrari to win the constructor’s championship if not the driver’s.

Monza 2002, 03, 04, or 06 just because it has the energy of the tifosi kneeling at the feet of an idol to their red god.

Brazil 2006 - Fuck All Y’all - Schumi’s last race for Ferrari. He got a puncture and ended up almost lapped, and then drove his way back from that to 4th bc he couldn’t go out without reminding us he’s a bad bitch.

Monza 2012 - Defending - Don’t tell F1 Twitter that there’s actual footage of Lewis and Michael having a genuine lengthy battle on track but DO watch Michael defending like a motherfucker and Lewis breathing down his neck for half the race we need to talk about this more.

Valencia 2012 - This isn’t necessarily anything special but I cried in my living room over the only podium of his comeback so it goes on here. It doesn’t have the same impact if you haven’t been watching him struggle with the car for years, DNF-ing from car failure most of 2012, and having BBC F1 telling you he’s washed up every single weekend, but you can just enjoy one of the best drives of FERNANDO’S entire career as he DRAGS that Ferrari by its hair to a home grand prix win and then watch the crowds embrace him like jesus and also Schumi being happy on the podium. Also, the very start of this clip from the press conference: him forgetting what language he’s supposed to be speaking

Basically, Schumi was a hyper-competitive ambitious bitch who turned into a goofball as soon as he switched the engine off. This is by NO MEANS everything if I was making an exhaustive best races guide I’d do more research and another post but I hope this is what you were looking for?? THANK YOU SO MUCH for letting me go MAXIMUM SPECIAL INTEREST and I apologize.

#asks #Schumi #Mika #Alonso #long post #god I'm so fucking sorry #Anonymous #This is not comprehensive bc I didn't want to accidentally turn this into a whole research project especially if you're new to it!

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galaxyofmyown · 4 years

Note

could u do a fic where reader is scared that hotch is cheating on them and hotch learns that its bc their past partners had cheated?

anon, i think i may scream. not because of your request (it is lovely and original and i like it). but i think my brain is bye-bye GONE. this took me like four days to write for literally no reason. so i’m writing this note to apologize in advance for errors or literally just bad writing. brain-machine say no. but PLEASE! feel free to send another request and i promise i will craft it as the gods crafted man (well, i’ll try). AHHHHHH. i hope you enjoy anyways!! :))))))

NOTE: I FINALLY MADE IT GENDER-NEUTRAL THOUGH AHAHAHA

aaron hotchner x reader - i know not

“Hey, baby,” Hotch says over the phone. It’s almost midnight and you’re alone in your bed once again.

“Hey, Aaron. How’s the case going?” You ask. You’re curled up under your clean sheets, freshly showered and in your favorite sleep clothes. But for some reason, you don’t feel comfortable at all.

“It’s… coming along. I should be home in a day or two.” He says. He sounds genuinely tired, and you trust this man with all of you, or at least you try to. Sometimes, though, you can’t help but get paranoid, the darker memories creeping in, clouding your vision.

“Okay. I love you.” You say softly.

“I love you more. And I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. I understand.”

“You are extraordinary, (Y/N).”

“Ditto, Agent. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight. Love you.” He says again, easing your worry.

“Love you too. Stay safe.”

You plug in your phone and set it on your bedside table. Your room is lit only by one small lamp, and you stare at your ceiling. Your mind wanders even though you did not give it permission to do that. Usually, Hotch asks you to watch Jack part-time when he’s on a case, but in the last couple instances he assured you that Jessica could take care of him. It was probably nothing, but you couldn’t help but jump to a worst-case scenario. Were you getting cheated on again? Or was he about to break up with you?

No. Bad (Y/N). Stop.

But he was always so annoyingly vague about his cases. What if, and we’re just spitballing here, what if he isn’t even on a case when he says he is? What if he finishes the case, and rather than going home to you, he goes to some other person’s house?

You sit up in bed, suddenly wide awake. You know you’re being ridiculous, but you can’t help it. Aaron is a great guy. He loves you. He wouldn’t even cheat if he didn’t love you. He wouldn’t do that to anyone. You’re reaching for your phone before you can convince yourself not too.

“Hello?”

Just hearing Hotch’s voice makes you feel better.

“Hi. Sorry. I didn’t mean to call you.” You say.

“Are you sure? Is something wrong?” He asks, and his concern makes you want to laugh and cry at the same time.

“No, everything’s fine. Sorry again. Goodnight.” You hang up before he can probe more.

You sigh and walk to the kitchen to get a snack. You don’t think you’ll be getting much sleep tonight.

---

You wake up at 7:30 the next morning for work, your eyelids drooping and feet dragging. You make coffee in your biggest travel mug before heading out. Your day at the publishing house is slow and you think it’s a miracle it ends at all. You check your phone as you’re leaving the building and you see a text from Hotch.

Agent: Hey (Y/N). I’ll be home tonight around 8. Want to come over? Jack will be home and I know he misses you as much as I do.

You smile like an idiot and quickly respond that you’ll be there on the dot. You’re walking to your parking space when a familiar silver sedan passes you.

“I know not.” You say, your suspicions confirmed by the familiar license plate. You rush to your car before you start crying in the middle of the parking lot.

Why else would he lie to you and pretend he wasn’t back yet? Was he going to his place to meet someone right now? You start your car and pull out of the lot before you lose your nerve. You don’t know what you’ll say, but you have to confront him. You had your suspicions in your last relationship, but you ignored them. The only good that did was give you four more months of ignorant bliss before you realized you were being cheated on yet again.

You’re shaking by the time you pull up to his apartment building. You climb the stairs with the nervous anticipation you used to get as a kid when you had to get a shot. You have a moment's pause before you reach the door, your knock strong despite the weakness in your knees.

Hotch is still in his suit when he opens the door, but his tie is loose and his jacket is wrinkled.

“(Y/N). Wh-what are you doing here?” He asks, looking more confused than anything else.

“What are you doing here? You said you wouldn’t be back for hours. What am I supposed to think when you drive by me in your car when you’re meant to be four states over?”

Hotch still hasn’t opened the door enough for you to see inside, which all but confirms your worst fears.

“(Y/N), I can explain what-”

“Hotch,” You can’t call him Aaron right now, “Just tell me. Is there someone else?” You say, voice breaking. Aaron’s face can’t hide his emotions. His eyebrows furrow and he tilts his head up at you in that condescending way you hate.

“(Y/N). No. Why would you think that?” He says, but his voice isn’t reassuring. If anything, it’s angry.

“Can you blame me for feeling a little insecure, Hotch? You’ve been home three days out of the last two weeks. You don’t want me watching Jack in your apartment all of a sudden. You lie about whether or not you’re home? Is this the first time you came home without telling me, or is this something you’ve been doing. Do you laugh when I believe you?” You’re lashing out and you know it, but you can’t help the way your voice rises as you let out all of your pent-up feelings.

Hotch is silent, staring intently at your face. You know his profiling look, and this isn’t it. This is his boyfriend look. He’s concerned, but guarded, analyzing his best move. The amazing thing about Hotch, the thing you love about Hotch, is that he’s always determining the best move that will make you happy.

After a moment of tense quiet, he sighs in resignation and opens the door all the way.

His apartment is a mess. Clothes everywhere, dishes stacked in and around his sink, overflowing trash bags strewn about.

“Oh,” you say, tilting your head and willing yourself not to pass judgment, “hmm.”

Hotch looks sheepish.

“I, I’ve been having a tough couple of weeks. That’s why I lied about when I was getting back. I wanted some time to clean.” He says.

“You could’ve just told me.” You point out, and he nods.

“I know, I know, and I should have. I don’t know what I’m so afraid of. It’s just the thought of you thinking of me as weak…” He trails off, and your anger dissipates.

“Aaron, baby,” You say, taking his face in your hands, “I love you. I know who you are. You’re the strongest man I know. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t come to me for help. I would do anything for you.” You whisper your last statement, and yet it still carries the most force. Hotch leans into your touch.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). I love you,” He pauses, at a loss for words, “I love you.”

You huff out a laugh.

“You already said that.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

You hug him, and he melts into your arms.

“I could’ve watched Jack at my place, you know. It doesn’t bother me at all.” You say, leading him over to the couch (and clearing off some clothes as you do so.). He rests his head in your lap.

“I didn’t want to ask that of you. You work a full-time job, and I know you didn’t sign up for being his babysitter-”

“Hey. No. When I started seeing you Jack became just as important part of my life as you are. I would drop everything for both of you.”

You notice Hotch’s eyes are getting red, and you stroke your hand through his hair.

“I adore you, (Y/N). You are absolutely amazing. And sometimes the thought of you leaving is so scary that I shut down.” He says.

“I get it. I just want you to know I’m all in.”

“I know you are. I am too.”

Both of you just sit there for a moment, basking in one another’s company.

“Speaking of scared,” you begin to say, and Hotch sits up to look at you, “I’m sorry I accused you of… you know, cheating.” You’re ashamed.

“I’m not mad. I’m sorry I was rude to you. I don’t blame you for not trusting me with how I’ve been acting lately.” He says, and you sigh in relief.

“Thank you. I’ve just had bad experiences, so it’s hard sometimes to not get worried.”

“Bad experiences? What do you mean?” Hotch asks, protective mode activated.

“My last three boyfriends all cheated on me.” You say quietly. Hotch stands up and paces back and forth past the coffee table a few times.

“Aaron?” You ask carefully. He stops when he hears your voice and the tenseness of his shoulders seems to melt away.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, returning to the couch, “how could anyone do that to you?” He asks, taking your hands in his. You don’t know how to respond, so he kisses your forehead.

“Listen to me,” he murmurs, “I would never, ever, in a million years do anything to hurt you like that. Never. You are my world.” He says. You nod, fighting back tears.

“I love you so much.” You say because it’s never enough.

“I love you more.” He responds. You shake your head. Impossible.

“Get up, then.” You say, hopping off the couch.

“Why?” He asks but gets up anyway.

“We’re cleaning. Both of us. And then we’re picking Jack up. Both of us. And then we’re making dinner. Both of us. Got it?”

Hotch smiles and picks up a trash bag.

“Got it.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #ssa hotchner #hotch #hotch x reader #hotch imagine

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hahanoiwont · 3 years

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@bluerose2017 replied to this post: I feel that Frisk would get along so well with the more murder type sanses. Like Dust Sans from Dusttale, Nightmare, Killer, and Error. Frisk would understand their motives for being the bad guys.

Yes!!! oh boy, yes. ok ok let's go down a really self-indulgent path with this, alright? we're about to have good fun. which i will put under a cut bc it may get long. (EDIT: haha yeah it got long. multiverse shenanigans ahoy)

so let's say Frisk follows the path from Fall Into Grace. They go straight to Horrortale, and they stay there for a bit--sure, Ht!Sans starts out hostile, but the both of them slowly learn to trust each other. By inches, they try to come to understand each other. They both have in common that they were lurched from a deeply violent society into Regular Undertale (but spooky); they both clearly broadcast their trust issues, and therefore can work on them together. At the end of Horrortale, they're planning on sticking it out together on the Surface.

Then Frisk disappears. In Horrortale, their disappearance is while Sans is looking elsewhere--it's just like HT!Frisk's disappearance originally, except this time, they got everyone to the Surface first.

So now, Horror is having his triggers stomped on. Not a fan. He wonders at first if this is just what happens--maybe Frisk is meant to disappear, and HT!Frisk didn't mean to abandon the Underground to its fate. Maybe Frisk isn't a human at all, but some sort of apparition that appears periodically and vanishes just as quick. Maybe he's still starving and it's all a delusion his mind made for him as he's dying.

Or maybe Red crashes through, absolutely ready to shoot first and ask questions later. And suddenly Horror has his answers. Alternate universes. Obviously. Very stabby alternate universes.

Frisk, meanwhile, lands in Dusttale.

Dusttale, to my knowledge, is the AU where the human (whether it's Frisk, Chara, or the player is unclear to me) does genocide after genocide, resetting dozens or hundreds of times until not only does Sans remember, he also goes insane. Given the inevitability of all his friends dying, and how his low stats prevent him from fighting the human until they've killed enough people that his karma effect becomes useful, he decides he's going to kill everyone, gain the LV for it, and then kill the human as soon as they come around.

This is not a great situation for Frisk to be wandering into. Given that they're nearly identical (clothing aside) to their Dusttale counterpart, and Sans is insane anyway, they're not likely to see mercy in this world. Frisk walks in, sees that Sans is crazy, dies, walks in, sees that Sans is crazy, dies, walks in...

Eventually, a la WT!Swapfell, Frisk figures out the right ways to dodge as much as possible of the initial ambush; but they can survive for minutes at a time, if that. This Sans's stats are hopelessly inflated, and he doesn't play fair. It comes down to their DETERMINATION versus his, in a mirror of the same struggle that drove him crazy in the first place. This time, Sans is inevitably killing every monster, and Frisk is the one who can't save them. But, in a conflict of interests like this, Frisk is always going to win--they have an unfair advantage, straight out. They're simply more DETERMINED.

Eventually, Sans is stumbling bleakly through his genocide, disassociated to the point of hardly understanding what he's doing and why. He kills people because he kills people. He has a vague certainty that he's keeping them safe, but he doesn't understand how. He knows that he used to be different. He knows this is somehow Frisk's fault. But his ability to remember across RESETs is being buried under his inability to think straight under the massive trauma. He doesn't understand why he's killing his brother. He knows he doesn't want to. He knows that Frisk can probably tell him, but he also needs to kill Frisk very quickly, before they can gain EXP from...the piles of dust?...because there are no surviving monsters to kill.

He finally stops before killing Frisk and asks them why. Why are they making him do this over and over again? Why are they looking at him like that? Why is everyone dead? Why, when he's felt so numb for so long, does it still feel like it hurts?

Frisk has no idea why this Sans has killed everyone. Months have passed in increments of a day or less, as Sans swiftly and efficiently executes all of his neighbors. He's learned every place that people will go, and he shows up where the most people are congregated at a given point in time, leaving nothing but dust by the time Frisk gets through the Ruins. They've never gotten out in time to save a single monster. They're pretty sure Sans is possessed, or something, because this isn't something he would ever do (insert irony with Red's desire to kill literally everyone in Underfell).

When Sans doesn't kill them right out the gate, as it were, they begin to hope that whatever has been forcing him to do this has let go, or at least worn out enough that he's beginning to fight through it. They're not totally wrong--whatever is left of Sans is waking up, a little bit, as he leaves behind his scripted execution.

Frisk goes to Dust and tries to hold him, rocking back and forth like Red would do for them when they woke up out of a nightmare. He almost kills them for it, but what's the point? They'd just come back, and Dust would have to kill everyone one more time. He's tired. He lets them do what they want. It mostly makes him feel worse, but he doesn't stop them.

There's a strong parallel here to Going Big; Going Home. In that story, Red went into a deep depression spiral for months following his realization that he couldn't bring himself to kill every monster in existence even if it would save his brother; in this story, Dust has killed everyone already and no longer sees any point in much of anything, struggling to understand what has happened to him and why he did what he did. He wants to Fall Down quietly, but his newfound stats and his desire to survive until he's sure Frisk is dead won't let him. Also, Frisk is standing in his way.

Seeing as Dust is apparently going to be docile and passive for the time being, Frisk takes his hand and walks him through Snowdin.

They see a vision of a massacre.

Piles of dust, items lying around as if people just dropped dead in the middle of whatever they were doing. Doors are hanging open from where people went to greet their friendly neighborhood skeleton and ask what he was knocking for, only to die in seconds. The Underground was only somewhat prepared for a human to go through and get violent, and they weren't prepared at all for one of their own to kill them. Frisk sees every evidence of a very efficient, merciless slaughter. Dust is looking blankly at it all, like he can't quite put together what it means.

Frisk gets a strong feeling that they shouldn't visit their brothers' home.

Instead, they bring him to a cabin far removed from town, visible only from Glyde's ledge, and push him to sit in a wooden armchair. They pat his hand to tell him to stay there while they look through the cabin for dust. They don't find any. Dust could have told them they wouldn't, except that he's having trouble finding his voice right now. He waits where they put him until they give him the all clear.

He's supposed to watch the human. They're supposed to be doing something for him to watch them for. But the kid in front of him seems mostly interested in holding his hand and trying to smile for him. He sits in stasis, with his drive all run out but without anything else to turn to.

The first week is mostly silent. Frisk doesn't speak, and doesn't really communicate anything that Dust would need a response for. Dust chats with his hallucination of Papyrus sometimes, but since Frisk can't see him, the conversations end there.

On a given day, Frisk will set Dust up in the chair with a book that they've decided he'd like, sometimes with a blanket or a glass of milk to go with it, and they'll venture out to the Underground. Dust will shadow them from a distance as they investigate for survivors. There aren't any. They'll come home with some supplies and fill up the cupboards. Dust will already be there, right where they left him, with the book opened up to a random different page than before. If it's towards the end of the book, Frisk will decide that he liked it and try to find more books of that kind.

They'll go to the kitchen and try to put something together for dinner, and Dust will take all the cooking implements from them and actually make the thing they're trying at. He silently revokes their cooking privileges when they try to shatter a bottle of vinegar into a salad. Papyrus says he should have just eaten it. He also says that Dust is infecting Frisk with his horrible tastes in food, just like he's probably infecting them with the dust on his hands. How long until they're a killer like him? Dust tries to argue that they were the killer in the first place, but the words ironically die in his mouth. The truth is bitter, and he's not even sure what it is anymore.

After that, Frisk is allowed to taste test and get ingredients, and otherwise they're watching with their eyes and not their hands.

Once the food is eaten and cleaned up, Frisk will bring out something for the two of them to do together. Board games, card games, hangman, puzzles. Frisk always deals for two. Dust doesn't see a point in fighting them on it, which Frisk decides is a very hopeful sign. Sometimes he breaks the rules and just sort of moves one thing to another spot blindly, but he is moving!

Frisk usually wins these games on account of being the only one paying attention, but since they let him keep his illegal moves, he wins Sorry by sorta pushing his pawns into his safety zone on the fourth turn. After the game, Frisk always decides it's bedtime, gives Dust another book, and leads him to a bedroom, where they leave him to take it from there. Rinse and repeat the next morning.

The second week, Dust starts glancing at the titles of the books he's given, and maybe the summary if it seems interesting. He tells them not to bring him encyclopedias anymore. They bring him a dictionary instead. It takes him four minutes to decide whether killing them is an appropriate response.

(Verdict: no. It wouldn't make a difference, anyway.)

The third week, he walks with them on an outing. Frisk steers away from population centers and takes a back way through Waterfall to look at the lights. They sit there in silence--even Papyrus is quiet. The echo flowers have each had their messages replaced with a single, loud clap. Nobody says, "Why are you doing this? What--Sans, wait, wait--!"

The fourth week, Dust starts reading the books he's supposedly been reading all day during the night. It's weird to feel bored in the ashes of civilization. He tells Frisk short, single-sentence descriptions of the more interesting ones. They seem happy. Dust is pretty sure there's some sort of Stockholm syndrome going on here, but he's not sure which way it goes.

One universe over, Red and Horror are searching through a universe that seems like it's had some extradimensional interference, but it can't possibly be the one Frisk is in, because it's a dead Underground. As far as they can tell, there are no survivors. Still, they keep coming back to it--it's the only potential positive they've found. And even though the universe seems to be a dead end, things keep moving in it--a book vanished here, a cupboard rearranged there. It's like someone is very stealthily looting the place.

After seven weeks of quiet, routine days with quiet, routine ups and downs, Dust is taking charge of a few things. He tells Frisk what groceries to get, and decides what to make for meals. He's attempting his first joke in a long time when he dryly bans Monopoly forever, but somewhat to his surprise, Frisk listens. The Monopoly board doesn't come out again. He's not sure what to make of this--that the person who drove him crazy is the person who's trying to make him sane. Most of the time, he chooses to forget that there's anything but this. Two people exist in the world, and one of them is an unstoppable killer and the other is a patient, even-tempered pacifist. He can't even tell which one is which anymore. It's whatever.

Left to his own devices, Dust may have spent years or longer like that. The Underground may not have the resources to sustain all of its inhabitants without things like farmers or energy, but it's got plenty for two people. But Frisk writes a very short letter for him, saying, can we try again? Can you not kill Papyrus? I miss him and I want him to be alive.

Well, with an argument like that.

Dust doesn't really want to see a RESET. It feels like it isn't worth it, having everyone alive again just to watch them die. Even if Frisk doesn't kill them, who's to say Dust won't? Even if he doesn't kill them, who's to say that Frisk won't, either? Maybe the Underground will just cave in. Dust is sure he can't have that life again, surrounded by living people when even Frisk and his hallucinations seem like a crowd sometimes. He's pretty sure his LV stopped going down a few RESETs ago. He doesn't think he can be Sans again.

Eventually, he decides it doesn't really matter what he wants. Frisk will do whatever they want and there's nothing he can do to stop them.

After the RESET, Dust wakes up to his brother's voice, telling him it's time to start the day, and also his brother's ghost, already with him as always. He goes to the square just to see if he's gonna lose it and kill everyone, and now that he's looking, he notices the split-second flinches when people recognize him. Most of them don't even notice it in themselves, but they know he's something dangerous. He heads to the Ruins door and waits.

It's easier once Frisk comes out. No one in the Ruins is dead. Dust and Frisk both didn't kill them, this time around. If he sticks really close to Frisk, he can pretend everyone's apprehension is just for the human in their midst. After all, Frisk is just as much a killer as he is. It's not his fault his LV's stuck at 20.

Frisk has a tough time making friends. The people of the Underground seem to expect them to be some terrifying killer, and everyone seems to want to protect each other by killing Frisk. It doesn't help that Dust doesn't like people in his space much, and flashes his spooky-eye look at anyone who gets within about three feet of the two of them. They're not quite sure who he thinks he's protecting, but they trust him to have good reasons to do what he does.

The only time Dust leaves their side for any significant period is when they're with the real, alive Papyrus, who frets about his brother. Sans has gone missing, he explains, but no one will believe him because they've all seen him around. But he hasn't come home. People who don't come home are missing. So Sans is missing. He's certainly missing dinner, and Papyrus needs to get him to come home before he eats nothing but ketchup and grease for his meals. Frisk knows their own Papyrus well enough to see what he isn't saying--that Papyrus needs to get him to come home before anything bad can happen to him. That Sans disappearing when he seems so listless and blank can't be a good thing. That Papyrus is scared for his brother.

Dust can't stand to see his living brother. The idea puts him in a cold sweat. If Papyrus is living, then Papyrus can die. He prefers the phantom--cruel as he is, at least he'll never leave Dust alone. Dust can never hurt him and never kill him. Frisk can't even see him. As long as Dust is alive to see him, Papyrus's ghost is safe.

When Frisk breaks the Barrier, Dust disappears quickly afterwards. They find him standing alone a little farther down the cliffside, isolating himself; and they grab his hand again like they always do, to bring him back home. They're surprised when they fall out of the world--they almost forgot. They'd almost hoped it wouldn't happen.

Dust doesn't try to stop them. Just like always, he follows them through. He kind of hopes for oblivion, for an end to choices that he always makes into mistakes, but he's not so lucky. He wakes up to Frisk's frantic shaking in a patch of flowers far Underground. This is Underswap, and Dust is about to have a horrible day.

I think in this AU, I'm going to leave Killer's story--mostly because I don't know his backstory very well, just that he's Nightmare's right hand man and assorted other factoids. And since Nightmare isn't technically a Sans, just the embodiment of negative emotions, his universe wouldn't even be in the running for Frisk to land in--similarly, I am too charmed by Error's story to change it. So here's where I think this goes from here.

Nightmare arrives in Horrortale, intending to recruit Horror. The guy's life is miserable, there's no reason for him not to hop out of his universe to cause mayhem as long as it's better than starving. But the universe isn't the same anymore. Nightmare considers wrecking stuff in order to snack off of negative emotions, but Horror and Red are scanning the hell out of the universe, so Horror is able to pick up on a hole being punched in it and appear in a matter of minutes. He asks why Nightmare is here, and Nightmare says honestly that he was here to recruit him as part of a small team to complete certain missions, embodiment of negativity, eternal struggle in the multiverse between Nightmare and Dream, food and five-star lodging provided, etc. But it seems like he's got something going here, so...?

Nightmare is honestly fairly impressed that someone noticed him entering the universe so quickly, and he's hoping Horror may still be interested. It's too bad that Nightmare can't get Horror's lifelong trust and allegiance by rescuing him from a bad situation, but he's certain he can make it work. He only has one minion as of right now, that being Killer, and he'd like to have at least one more (if only so Killer will stop bothering him when he's trying to Plot Evilly. Also, Dream has two friends to Nightmare's one minion, and Nightmare can't be lagging behind, that's just unacceptable).

Horror may not need immediate rescue himself, but he sure knows someone who does. He asks a few careful questions about the multiverse--would i be able to visit other universes on my own? Yes. am i allowed to interfere with other universes? Encouraged, even. Especially where spreading misery is concerned. can i take someone out of a universe if they don't belong in it? What an oddly specific question. Nightmare is beginning to think he'll have a way to endear himself to Horror, after all.

Horror dismisses his questions as mostly being about the job he'll be doing--after all, if he's fighting people who travel between universes, of course he'd want to know if there are ways to track people across universes, or to tell if there's someone in a universe that doesn't belong there. Nightmare lets it pass without comment for the time being, but decides to keep an eye on the situation, to try to figure out what exactly Horror is looking for. If he's willing to leave his whole life behind and set himself up for a lifetime of fighting just for a chance to find it, then Nightmare has an easy way to earn his eternal loyalty. Muahaha.

Now of course, this is all for Evil reasons and not because Nightmare isn't sure how to make people like him if he doesn't provide some service or do some great favor for them. He certainly hasn't seen people love his brother for the happiness he provides, and said "I could do that >:( I could do Good Things for people and then they would Like Me and not hate me >:( and in fact I would do it while being Very Evil so I know they'll like me for me and not just because I'm, for example, a paragon of light and hope in the multiverse >>:( and then I would have better friends than Dream. and he will be super jealous. because i will have friends who like me. so there >>>:( this is what WINNING looks like, brother >:("

Now this would leave Red in the awkward position of being in the wrong universe and also missing in his own universe. I am not sure what I want to do with him here--he could come with Horror, and just sorta hang out as a Bad Sans. I know he's not normally one, but he comes from Edgy Universe so I could see it? But also, I know canonically Error steals from Red's chocolate supply, so I think it would be kind of hilarious if Error's been pissed bc his stock isn't being replenished, being as Red isn't around to buy more. And Nightmare could just. dump Red back in Underfell. Both as a favor to Error, to try to secure his loyalties at least a little, and as a show of how Powerful and Evil he is for his brand new recruit. Both options are tempting...I am undecided. But uh, something happens with Red. He is somewhere. Horror probably wouldn't just ditch him in Horrortale on his lonesome.

Now, Horror and Killer get along alright. Killer's got the sarcastic fast-talker charm, and Horror is getting used to being able to hold conversations at a normal speed again. And both of them get along with Nightmare. Killer is witty and challenging, and Horror is loyal and hardworking and (VERY important) knows how to cook great meals. No more mediocre fried rice. Scrambled eggs are no longer mysteriously watery. It is shocking how much home life improves with good food, and Horror is a big fan of having a seemingly endless pantry. His stipulation that a portion of everything gets sent home to Papyrus is a pain at first, but it's not so bad once it gets ingrained as a normal part of mealtimes. Sometimes his Papyrus visits, and that goes about as well as meeting family members of a dear friend for the first time can go. A bit awkward, but it settles into something positive.

The only weird thing is, with every new universe, Horror insists on making sure there's no one there who isn't native to that universe before havoc can begin. It's not a huge pain or anything, and it is a good move strategically, but it's a very specific request. Once it happens enough for Killer to get curious, it isn't long until the cat's out of the bag--a story of a sibling accidentally cast aside, a world that was cruel and unfair to them, a misunderstanding that made their brother think they were horrible and abandoned him to an awful fate when actually they'd done nothing wrong, and an endless journey that never seems to point home. And Horror was willing to put aside everything to try to bring them back--if not home, then at least to somewhere safe. To build new common ground together, after the old grounds went up in flames. To understand their side of it and see that they weren't wrong even if things looked kinda bad on their end, actually everything they did was completely justified, Dream--

Suffice to say that Nightmare is sympathetic. That is, he can see the strategic advantage to helping Horror find this sibling of his, and reunite them. Because then he'll have an endlessly loyal minion, and probably also an endlessly loyal minion-in-training. Obviously. He doesn't even believe in brotherly love, so obviously it's not out of some imagined desire to see his friend family underling scrape a happy ending out of what seems like an unrecoverable falling-out (complete with literal falling, in this case) with his sibling. It's just a matter of spending a tiny amount of effort searching for a months-old trace of a magical trail that's interrupted by not existing in some parts on account of time travel.

Killer iirc can't feel much of anything but hate, but he doesn't hate Horror, and it's not like he's forgotten what emotions are entirely. He does want the guy to be happy. They're kinda buds and Horror watches obscure competition shows at 3am with him when they both can't sleep. It'd be a little awkward to have a Frisk around, but at least it's not Chara. Most people he meets on a day-to-day basis are technically versions of him, anyway, and it's not like he can't differentiate them. He'd put up with it for Horror's sake. He'll only stab them if they're possessed, probably.

Thing is, when they do find Frisk (eventually Nightmare thinks to call in a favor from Error), Frisk is traveling universe to universe with some apathetic LV 20 Sans who is still trying to figure out when murder is and isn't the way he wants to solve his problems. Namely with other Sanses, since he has enough self-hatred that he can't imagine it's much of a loss. Thing is, he fcking hates it when Frisk time-travels, and it makes Frisk miserable, too, so he can't just murder every Sans who annoys him even slightly...but most Sanses don't take kindly to some LV 20 stranger wandering through...which means everything would just be easier if they were to go missing...not like more dust on his hands is gonna make a difference, right?

But no, Frisk always insists on going back to when the local Sans was alive, and it's just a waste of time and energy. So Dust mostly doesn't kill anyone who isn't a real jerk first. Mostly.

This is the scene that Nightmare & Co come upon when they finally catch up. They have to take a moment to regroup, because who even is this guy? He never leaves Frisk's side for long (local Sanses have a tendency to ambush and kill him for being a violent lunatic if they can get him alone, and then at least one party dies, and then time travel, etc.), he talks to thin air, he's generally Kinda Creepy.

Their initial thought is to try to get Frisk alone, but Dust in this time has noticed that they're being followed by a group of very suspicious characters, and tells Frisk to go on ahead while he lurks. It comes to a pretty devastating battle, between Dust's combat prowess and the gang's equally impressive abilities (Killer having done his own geno run, Nightmare having an impressive body count and also massive raw power on account of being kind of a demigod, and Horror himself being no slouch in combat). Frisk sits over in the next room like they're in the waiting room for a dentist's office, poking at echo flowers and waiting for their brother to be done with Mysterious Errands while ignoring three separate variations of Megalovania in the background.

Then Frisk figures, wait, there are a maximum of two Sanses...but three Megalovanias...that ain't right. Also, Dust said he wasn't gonna kill the local Sans this time. He didn't promise, but he said he would try, so he really shouldn't be sneaking off to pick fights. This is the conclusion Frisk comes to about six seconds before the wall is destroyed by stray blaster fire.

What they see through the wall is Dust, teleporting right out of combat to make sure they didn't get hurt or vaporized, and out of the rubble they can make out a goopy octopus Sans, a Target Sans (which makes other Sanses...walmart brand? food for thought), and a Sans that takes a second to place, because they really weren't expecting to see Horror here. And fighting Dust. Frisk is disappointed in him.

When the dust (magical and otherwise) settles, everyone ends up having a civilized conversation by the combined forces of Frisk and Nightmare. Killer and Dust were having fun, but not much was getting accomplished with massive property damage. It comes out that Nightmare's crew was coming by to get Frisk and rescue them from their endless tumble through the multiverse (which Error claims is giving him a headache anyway), and Frisk is very happy to agree to that part, and also to go live in a cool castle "for the time being." Allegedly, they will find somewhere else to stay soon, because Nightmare is not running a daycare for wayward interdimensional youth.

Frisk's condition is that Dust has to come with them, since he's been hopping through dimensions following them for so long now that they don't know what they'd do without him. Literally, every time the Barrier comes down, he waits for the hole in the world to open, takes a couple warm-up steps, and dives through after Frisk--he hasn't found a universe he could stand to stay in, yet. He hates the idea of living among people he remembers killing over and over again. At least if he follows Frisk around, he's with someone who seems to care about him for mystery reasons, and he might some day find an AU he'd be okay with. Maybe whichever one they settle with, if they find a way to stop falling. Which, it seems like they've got an opportunity here.

Nightmare is a-okay with gathering another unhinged duckling to take under his wing and occasionally let loose on unsuspecting universes (it's enrichment!!). He's seen that Dust is a great fighter, not too broken up about collateral, and having him around will make Frisk happy and therefore Horror will also be happy, therefore eternal loyalty, profit, etc.

(It has been a long time since Nightmare has been able to make someone he loves happy. It's been even longer since it's been so easy--what's one more mouth to feed? What's one more person who thinks Nightmare is capable of good without changing who he is?)

So Dust and Frisk end up moving in and Dust takes his place with the Bad Sanses.

Now there are a million things that could happen from here--well-meaning intervention from someone who discovers these psychopaths have kidnapped an innocent person for Clearly Nefarious Reasons, an intro scene between Frisk and Error (Error mentions that he's stolen their SOUL in uncountable universes and Frisk has no notable reaction to this, which really sucks the fun out of it for Error, so they end up watching trash TV together until Horror comes in to get Frisk for supper), Red's reunion with Frisk is gonna be great in any WT spinoff and especially in this, and general family sitcom shenanigans would be fantastic (can. can Dream babysit Frisk while everyone else is out. Nightmare absolutely forbids it bc Dream is a bad influence he doesn't like his people meeting Dream bc what if they like Dream more than they like Nightmare but what if it happens anyway. Ink wanders through while Error is babysitting and decides to Help, leading to an awkward day out with the Star Sanses, most of whom do not know Frisk at all. Ink forgets exactly who he's babysitting for and assumes they'll just come by and pick Frisk up eventually, which does happen, but there are a lot more accusations of kidnapping going around than is really necessary. Frisk and Blue are happy to see each other again at least).

Anyway this is,, a fantastic idea. rife with opportunity. I love it so much thank you for proposing it. wow,,

#whither then fic #writing tag #bluerose2017 #you're entirely correct and i am so glad you said something #sorry this took a while i got inspired #then it got uhh long #lol anyway i am not familiar with all of the multiverse but i think i did okay with this one!#i know horror and dust from general osmosis and dream and nightmare are interesting to me #in the sense that i throw out their canon and then have a great time #br. oth er s... ..#n e way idk if this was meant to be a prompt but thank you for it!!#im not sure it's enough of a story to post on ao3 but here is this thing

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okaybutlikeimagine · 4 years

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Hi first of I spend last night reading through so many of your asks they’re AMAZING. It got me thinking about Billy’s first birthday at the cabin. I feel like he wouldn’t tell anyone about his birthday because they were never a big deal for him and they’d discover it was his birthday a few weeks later and they’d feel really bad about it. So they pick a day in the next week and treat it like his birthday as a surprise and Billy is completely overwhelmed by the all love. Thoughts?

First off: you’re so damn sweet, @kingsandsaints, goodness me thanks hun ♥ (also this was so long ago but I legit started writing this right after you asked it god i’m so sorry it’s taken this long to finish)

Second OHMYGOD i love this idea so much!!!

Okay, legit the only person who knows the exact day of Billy’s birthday is Max. Like, not even Steve knows.

Billy just never talks about it. And I mean never. For as much of a ham as this boy is, he doesn’t actually like all that much attention from most people. Especially the people at school. He’s so sick of them- he’s so sick of everyone hanging off of him and touching him like he’s there to be touched. Like he’s there as their toy to play with. Like he’s there for their entertainment.

He gets so fed up.

Bc Billy is no open book. He’s real good at keeping his emotions pushed down and hidden away. He’s a private person and he’s very adamant about that because, as far as he’s concerned, no one needs to know any of his business. And his birthday is very much his business. It’s his day, his life, his choice on whether he wants to tell people and his choice is… nope.

He debated telling Steve this year just to hold it over his head bc Steve was being a bitch and Billy just wanted to hang out and smoke and suck the boy’s dick or something. But he decided against it. bc if he tells one person, he runs the risk of way more people knowing and then they fuss and they coddle and they pay way too much attention to him and he doesn’t need that.

So his birthday comes and goes and no one is the wiser. Hop picks a small fight with him that morning about drinking out of the milk carton, El accidentally scuffs a pair of his favorite boots as she was stomping around the house, and he got a C on his math test even though he finally felt fucking good about it. His teacher gives him so much attitude and he wants to pull someone’s teeth out.

But it’s a normal day. And he’d rather take the comfort of a normal day over the extravagance of some day people decide they’re obligated to be ‘nice’ to him. He doesn’t need that shit. He doesn’t need fake pity or kindness.

But, y’know… he still goes out with Max.

Bc she’d be pissed if he didn’t at least see her on his birthday. She’s gotten bratty about it. When his birthday comes around she likes to cross her arms and scowl and pout and stand in his way until he gives in and drives them down to the nearest ice cream place so she can buy him an ice cream cone or something. It’s really stupid. He thinks it’s stupid. No he doesn’t smile at all on their little adventure, thank you. And if his chest feels warm when she hands the ice cream over with that smug look on her face that Billy can’t help but think she learned from him… well he’d never ever admit to it.

This year is no different. After school he forgoes hanging out with Steve or heading home to cart El around to wherever she wants to go in favor of driving Max to the nearest ice cream place, which happens to be the next town over.

They’re bantering and bickering with each other, Max asking if she’s still the only one he keeps in his life who knows about his birthday.

“Yup.” He says, fixing the cuffs on his jean jacket. She rolls her eyes.

“Seriously? It’s still a secret?”

“Yeah, and you better keep it, you brat.

“Shut up, what flavor do you want?”

He puts his hands on his hips. “You know what I always get, Roc-”

“Yeah, yeah.” She turns to the person at the counter. “One… two scoops of Rocky Road please.”

Billy eyes her suspiciously.

“In a dipped cone.”

“Alright, what’d you do.” Billy asks, fixing the cuff on his other sleeve.

“Nothing.” Max sounds tired.

“… you break one of my records?”

“No!”

“Scratch my car?”

“Oh my god, no.” She’s rolling her eyes.

He gets down to her level, eyeing her curiously, lifting an eyebrow and then the other before asking:

“You kill someone?”

“Shut up, Billy! Oh my god.”

He straightens out with a dark chuckle. “How am i supposed to know? You’re not exactly the generous type.”

“You’re so full of shit.” She grabs the cone and shoves it his way (as if that was easier than him getting it himself, which it definitely wasn’t) before ordering her own scoop of strawberry.

They sit and enjoy the kind of humorously comfortable silence that only they have with each other before Max breaks it.

“You need to tell someone.”

Billy hits her with a look.

“I’m serious, Billy.”

“Yeah, so am I, brat. Who gives a fuck about my birthday?”

“Well no one if you don’t tell them.”

“Exactly.” Billy stares at his cone as he takes a large lick. “Looking to keep it that way.”

Max rolls her eyes. “You’re so damn stubborn.”

And billy goes about the rest of the day and then the rest of the week, more than happy to be stubborn as fuck until…

Well until one day in the next week where everyone’s acting… strange. Really strange. All antsy and secretive around him, quiet about the way they speak to each other and giving him these weird glances that make him think he’s out of the loop. Make him know he is and this is the shit he tries to avoid. He doesn’t like the whole “not knowing” thing. He likes to be in the know.

And that’s all what makes him dread coming home that day from school. Steve said he was too busy to let him come over but wouldn’t say why (Steve is the worst liar Billy’s ever known. He wonders if he’s just a bad liar to Billy or if he’s this way with everyone) so he has nowhere to go but home. And it’s not even fear in his body, it’s just nerves because there’s something going on and he doesn’t know about it.

So he walks up to the house quietly and slowly, eyes shifting over to the window before he reaches the door to see if he can see anything but the curtains are closed.

And then he’s opening the door slowly, trying to prepare himself for whatever’s going on, probably overpreparing himself if he thinks about it too much, and-

“Surprise!”

Billy flinches.

Bc while he was definitely prepared for something, some kind of surprise, potentially for his birthday (which he wasn’t actually dreading. Not that he would admit to it), he wasn’t prepared for confetti being thrown in his face.

Billy covers his eyes, wiping the little pieces of paper off.

“Oh, honey!” comes Joyce’s voice. Billy begins rubbing at his eyes and sees a blurry vision of Joyce gently taking hold of El’s arm. “Try to avoid his face.”

Billy groans a bit. He tries to make it sound like he’s not irritated.

“What’s going on?”

“Happy Birthday, Billy!” comes a chorus of voices that sounds like Max, El, and 2 quiet Byers brothers.

Billy shakes his head, scanning the people that are there, trying his goddamn best not to let his face split into a smile because… because… well what the fuck.

Everyone’s here. El, Max, Jim, Will, Jonathan, Joyce…

And Billy is absolutely beside himself. He never quite understood that phrase until exactly this moment. He feels like he’s viewing this from a spot slightly to the left of where he is, watching himself watch in awe at these people that are… that are his, aren’t they? That went out of their way… stopped their day, honestly, just to do this. To celebrate him and his existence and this is a little ridiculous. For a second he remembers why he finds birthdays a little silly. They’re all looking at him with smiles on their faces like they’re just happy he’s here and it’s… it’s just ridiculous. Why?

He scans his surroundings in a second, though it feels like slow motion. He sees the streamers along the ceiling that were probably placed there by El (with the help of Hop), a banner in the back with ‘Happy Birthday Billy!’ written on it that was definitely painted by Will, blue balloons floating around everywhere with curly ribbons hanging off of a few of them, a couple of gift-wrapped presents on the coffee table, and then his… his family, standing right in front of him, beaming like he did something right.

He shakes his head again, the words still floating through the air.

“It’s not my birthday.” Billy says in vain, because he knows that’s not the point here. A couple of chuckles hit the air, but Billy’s still eyeing the decorations around him.

“We’re making it your birthday.” Comes Will’s voice, and Billy turns to see him smiling wide. Billy rolls his eyes, biting the inside of his bottom lip to stop the smile forming.

“You guys are-”

There’s a knock at the door behind him.

He takes a second to turn, still dealing with the slight shock flooding through his system that only deepens when he finds Steve on the other side.

Steve’s smile widens quickly.

“Happy Birthday.” He says like he’s saying ‘I love you’ and it makes Billy’s chest burn.

“I-”

“I got you something.” Steve says, pushing a (poorly) wrapped present into Billy’s chest, forcing him to take it. It’s heavy.

“You guys are ridiculous.” Billy mumbles down to the present he’s now holding close to his chest, fully aware of his face turning pink. And it only gets pinker because Steve decides to lean over and kiss Billy’s cheek and he’s gonna riot. He’s gonna fight someone for making him feel so seen.

Billy’s still standing in the doorway when Steve yells out “I brought the cake!” To the rest of the room and moves around Billy to walk into the cabin.

Billy stands there for a minute, willing his blush to go down before he closes the door and ventures into prey.

And it’s… quite the evening. Hop puts on one of Billy’s favorite records and helps Joyce make burgers and homemade french fries (that are either very crispy or very soft) for them all to eat. As they’re getting the food ready, El pulls Billy to dance with her and Will and Max as Jonathan shows Steve where to put the birthday cake and Billy is…

Billy is kind of floating in place, being pulled around by El to the beat of the music and he kind of just wants to sit. El notices Max drag Billy over to the sofa, so she grabs onto Will instead, spinning around with him.

“Happy birthday, jerk.” Max sits on the sofa.

Billy flops next to her onto the couch in response, looking at the decorations around him before absent-mindedly pulling on the ribbon of one of the balloons.

“Do you like your party?” Max asks, leaning forward to look the boy in the eye. He just kind of scoffs a bit.

“I… I dunno what to do.” Billy says, pulling the balloon down to eye level before letting it float back up and doing it all over again. It’s an oddly nervous gesture that he doesn’t feel he has very much control of. “This is so… awkward. This is why I didn’t want anyone knowing. Birthday parties are so dumb.”

“It’s just because you’ve never had one.” Max says, punching Billy’s shoulder lightly. He pulls the balloon back down again so he can bat it into Max’s face.

“Hey!” She shrieks a bit, swiping it away.

Billy notices Jonathan walk up to them then, and he looks up to find Steve has gotten swept up in the dancing.

“You good?” Jonathan asks, settling himself next to Billy to watch his brother and El spin poor Steve around like crazy. He hands Billy an opened beer bottle. “Courtesy of Hop, by the way. He said the birthday boy deserves one.”

Billy chuckles as he accepts it. “Thanks. And yeah, I guess.” he mumbles up against the lip of the bottle before taking a swig. “S’just weird.”

“Don’t like parties?” Jonathan asks with a smirk on his face.

“Not really.” Billy swats at Max’s hand as she reaches for his bottle.

“Hm… I don’t believe you.”

His grin is smarmy. Billy glares weakly at it. “I don’t. Not parties about me. What’s that thing about big parties having more privacy?”

Jonathan laughs. “Are you quoting The Great Gatsby?”

Billy shoves his shoulder into Jonthan’s. “I don’t fucking know! I guess? There’s something… different about people looking at me when I don’t really know them. It’s easier that way.” He takes a nervous swig of his beer.

“Well, if you want, we can all ignore you for the rest of the night.” Jonathan offers with a smirk, leaning back on the sofa. Billy grabs a pillow from the couch to shove into Jonathan’s face.

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious. I’d be more than happy to ignore you. Easiest birthday gift I’ll ever give.”

“You’re so nice to me, Byers.”

“I know, my generosity is endless.”

The two are near laughing with each other when Max makes a confused noise next to them.

“You guys are weird.” She says with a scrunched up look on her face. She’s going to get up to join the dancing when Joyce and Hop call everyone to dinner.

And it’s… it’s nice. The food is good and the conversation is fairly easy. Hop and Joyce ask Billy a few questions about how his day was and how he feels now that he’s 18 and how he’s a really “handsome and confident young man” (Joyce’s words) that may or may not make Billy tear up and have to hide it in his burger. He’s thankful that Jonathan notices something’s up (maybe even gives him pity, though Billy doesn’t want to think about that) and changes the subject while Steve puts a comforting and warm hand on Billy’s thigh.

The conversation shifts away from him and he’s thankful for it. They joke around and laugh and smile and then Hop’s putting on a different record as they sit Billy down to open up his presents.

And this is where he feels every bit of awkwardness, because everyone’s sitting around waiting for him to open the presents that they specifically bought for him. Waiting for his reactions to these things that are being given to him with the implication of putting a smile on his face and it’s just… the weirdest sort of pressure?

And he likes these people. They’re like… they’re his family now. So he can’t even just not care about how they feel about his reactions. He wants to make them feel good about what they gave him.

But it’s really not that hard, bc, lo and behold, these people actually know him pretty well. It’s a… weird feeling. He can’t remember the last time he got a present from someone who actually cared this much. Max hasn’t bought him a present ever bc he makes such a big deal about hating his birthday. But here he is, a little bundle of presents in front of him and he… he feels spoiled. It’s a first that’s been happening for a few months now. Every day that he gets that spoiled feeling feels like the first time bc it’s so alien. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to it.

So he opens them up slowly. There’s a little gray box from Will, with a cool as hell charm on a chain inside. It’s a little skull, delicately painted in various metallic colors. It almost looks mosaic from the paint.

“It’s an earring.” Will explains in a nervous, bouncy kind of excitement. “I found the charm and then painted it.”

Billy’s amazed at the detail. He musses up Will’s hair with a smile and gives his thanks, taking his own earring out to put his new one in.

There’s a very poorly wrapped present leaning up against the table, labeled “From El and Max ♥”. From the shape of the crinkly, potentially used wrapping paper, Billy thinks he has an inkling of what it is. He still acts shocked when he opens it, if only just for El.

“Skateboard!”

And my lovely friend @okayshitbird helped me out w/ ideas for presents for Billy and had this WONDERFUL idea of 1. Max yearning to skate w/ Billy again bc we both agree that Billy 120% used to be a skater back in Cali before he got a car AND taught Max how to skate. And also 2. El wanting to learn to skate bc she thinks Max is so cool and i think we can ALL agree that we were ROBBED of Max and El skating w/ each other. SO.

Billy opens it up to find a skateboard. And it’s like… a nice one. It’s clearly not brand new, it’s got a little bit of use on it’s wheels and a couple scratches already, but it’s obviously close to new. The deck itself is pretty sweet, too. The pattern is neon and psychedelic looking, and it takes a couple of seconds for Billy to make out a picture of a frog with large eyes, hidden in the chaos of the pattern. It looks… familiar.

Bc @okayshitbird ALSO had the wonderful idea of El and Max maybe possibly asking Heather for help in lifting a skateboard they may or may not have seen in the Lost and Found at the pool. And Heather definitely rolled her eyes, but she thinks Billy’s kid sister is funny so she did it for them for the low low price of a package of her favorite bubblegum. She’s nothing if not kind and generous.

But Billy remembers when he had to confiscate this. He shoots a skeptical look at the girls.

“Looks kinda… familiar. Where’d ya get it?”

“Oh uh… we may have had some help-” Max begins before-

“Heather!” El cuts in.

Max covers El’s mouth. “It doesn’t really matter where we got it, does it? But it’s yours now!” Max hurriedly grabs the board and places it down under the coffee table. “Alright, next gift.”

The next gift is in a paper bag with a little bow placed on the front. Billy pulls out the gift.

“A sweater?” Billy asks, looking to Hop and Joyce, who he assumes this is from.

“You need warm clothes.” Hop says flatly.

“Fine-”

“For the love of god, please don’t rip holes in it.”

“Fine.” Billy says with more attitude this time, putting the bag down and seeing something at the bottom of it. He looks in curiously to see a $20 bill folded up neatly. (keep in mind, back in0 1985 that’s like… $50 bucks by today’s standards.)

Billy shoots Hop a knowing look and Hop gives a nod and a little smile.

“Thanks pops.” Billy says with a little smile of his own, shoving the sweater back in the bag. He feels a little weird about pulling money out in front of everyone, so he doesn’t, but he wants him to know he appreciates it.

“Yeah yeah.” Hop nods and mumbles into the lip of his beer bottle.

The last gift on the table is the one Steve shoved at Billy.

“Best for last?” Billy mumbles a snarky little thing in Steve’s direction, revelling in the embarrassed look Steve gives.

“No no, it’s nothing.” Steve says nervously.

Except obviously that’s wrong. Bc obviously Steve 1. Is very rich and 2. Spoils Billy absolutely rotten (or at least…. As much as Billy allows for). And hell- the present is HEAVY. Like…… there’s definitely something in that box.

And Billy’s honestly irritated when he opens it. Bc goddamn it Steve…

“Do you like it?” Steve is wringing his hands.

It’s a portable stereo. Like… a brand new one. An expensive one. Billy doesn’t have one- he left his old stereo back in his old house, not wanting to carry anything he didn’t need in the move. When he listens to music he either forces Jonathan to let him use his player or he listens to records on the record player out in the living room or he just… sits in his car.

“Woah.” Jonathan mumbles, leaning in a little closer from his spot on the side chair to look at it.

Billy’s heart is fluttering.

“Billy?” Steve asks, voice obviously nervous but Billy’s a little caught up bc goddamnit. He’s… he hates being spoiled but this thing is sick and then Steve’s hand is reaching out for his knee and Billy kisses Steve’s cheek quickly and knocks his shoulder into him.

“Thanks, pretty boy.”

And Steve is blushing and so is Billy and Max is smirking and Jonathan notices Joyce is about to start cooing like she always does so he decides to save Billy from the embarrassment. Someone give him that “brother of the year” award already.

“Well open it, I wanna see.”

So Billy tears into the box, taking the stereo out and shit it’s nice. All metallic blue and steel and buttons and dials and shit it’s gonna sound so nice.

They cut into the cake (Billy refuses to let them all sing happy birthday to him, even though Max and El still do, as loud as possible, as Joyce cuts everyone a slice)(Billy tries to tickle them to get them to stop, but they just dodge him) and if Billy is feeling warmth in his chest, he’ll blame it on… heartburn or something.

It’s not too long after everyone is done with their cake that Joyce yawns, claiming herself tired. Jim nods, giving Billy the biggest bear hug possible- y’know, to really embarrass him- before heading to get ready for bed. He throws in a “Happy birthday son.” for good measure as well, to which Billy, with a strained voice as he’s being squished, says “S’not my birthday.”

El attacks Billy with a hug, Max right behind her and joining in.

“Happy birthday, you idiot.” Max mumbles. Billy pulls at her hair. Max swats at his arm before getting dragged off to El’s room to probably listen to music or read comic books or something before they crash for the night.

Billy’s the one who initiates a hug from Will, bc the sweet boy, bless him, is standing there so awkwardly, feet moving nervously with each other, mumbling a quiet “Happy birthday, Billy.” Billy doesn’t let that slide though, grabbing roughly onto his shoulder and pulling him into a tight hug, giving a gruff “Thanks, pipsqueak.” bc Billy doesn’t even try to hide it: Will is his favorite of the kids.

Joyce is still moving around the kitchen, putting plates away and refusing help from Steve, moving even after the plates are all put away, wiping at the counter like it needs to be cleaned even though it doesn’t, when Billy catches Jonathan’s eye.

Jonathan brings a hand up to his mouth, pretending to bite at his nail before his fingers move to look like he’s smoking. Billy nods, and Jonathan gives a little smile, turning to Steve and nodding at him. Steve, however, is oblivious. Bc Steve doesn’t know their weird little ~signals~ they give each other bc Billy and Jonathan always seem to be talking in some kind of code. They’re so weird w/ each other. No one understands them.

So Steve is confused.

“What?”

Jonathan rolls his eyes. Smoke. Jonathan mouths, but Steve’s eyebrows furrow.

“Smo-?”

Billy grabs Steve’s hand. “Get outside, moron.” Billy mumbles, pulling him towards the back of the house, where Jonathan is already lazily walking to.

“Oh, Billy! Can I uhm…” Joyce begins, obviously nervous. “Can I talk to you?”

Billy’s nervous now, too.

By the time she’s done digging through the drawer for whatever it is she’s looking for, Jonathan and Steve are already out on the back porch. She’s holding an envelope with a ribbon tied around it.

“I uhm… I know it doesn’t really matter as much… now that you’re 18 and all. But here’s my present to you.”

Billy eyes it curiously, taking gentle hold of the envelope, untying the ribbon, opening it up.

And thanks AGAIN to @okayshitbird for the idea bc-

“It’s the adoption papers. For my side. If you want!”

She’s so nervous but Billy’s only vaguely aware now bc… Bc his heart is dropping. She wants him to be her son. Like… for real.

She’s still rambling a bit, talking about how she doesn’t wanna force him and “you don’t have to” and “I just wanted to give you the option” and-

Billy throws the papers onto the counter to hug her. Bc goddamnit this comes with a lot of emotions. too many emotions but the good outweigh the bad and he’s a little overwhelmed and-

“Thank you.”

Joyce gives a strong hug back.

“No need to thank me, honey.”

And so she sends him a warm smile and a quiet “happy birthday” before heading to bed. Billy goes to tuck the papers back into the envelope. He places them in a safe spot in one of his drawers in his room.

When he gets outside, still a little shocked, Jonathan’s finished rolling the joint and is laughing easily with Steve.

“Finally.” Steve says, pouting a bit and reaching for Billy. “Jonathan’s been ribbing me this whole time.”

Jonathan shrugs lazily. “Somebody has to.”

“I get enough from him.” Steve says, pointing to Billy. “I get all I need from him.”

There’s some kind of insinuation in it that makes Jonathan gag.

“Please stop now. He’s my brother.” Jonathan pulls a face.

Billy’s mind is a little busy. Gets even busier at the word brother. The other boys notice.

“You alright, babe?” Steve asks quietly. Billy turns to Jonathan.

“You’re… you’re actually gonna be my brother, now.”

“Huh?”

“Joyce is adopting me.”

Jonathan’s silent, eyes getting wide. “Really?”

Billy nods. Steve breathes out a bit. Everyone understands the implication. Bc they know Billy now. They know how important this is for him. They know this is big.

They’re quiet for a second.

“Damn, does this mean I have to be nice to you?” Jonathan asks before the placing the joint in his mouth and lighting it. Billy laughs.

“If you are, I’ll send you to the psych ward.”

“No need.” Jonathan says, exhaling smoke and handing the joint to Billy. “They’d send me away for being too crazy.”

“That sure?” Billy asks before he inhales.

“Once I get to talking about the monsters that abducted my brother, yeah.”

Billy and Jonathan laugh. Steve has a bit of a harder time keeping up with how the tone shifted so quickly. He’s not sure he’ll ever understand these two.

They each take a couple of puffs on the joint in silence before Jonathan jumps to life again.

“Oh, go grab your fancy new stereo and put this in.”

He tosses a cassette in Billy’s direction. Billy has to unwrap his arm from around Steve’s shoulders quickly to catch it.

“Oh shit, Motley Crue’s new album? Sweet. I didn’t know you like them?” Billy’s in awe and Steve leans in to look at the track list.

“I don’t.” Jonathan chuckles a bit. “It’s for you, genius.”

Billy looks up in confusion. Jonathan rolls his eyes.

“Happy birthday.”

“Serious?”

“What? God forbid I buy you something?” Jonathan asks, standing up a bit to accept the joint from Steve. “Just get your stereo.”

Billy chuckles back a thanks.

And so they listen to the tape. Jonathan admits he was deciding between a few (Ratt, AC/DC, or this) but picked this tape bc he doesn’t hate the song “Smokin’ In The Boys Room”. Steve admits he thinks every song sounds like the last and gets a slap on the thigh from Billy, who huffs harshly on the joint at the words. Jonathan makes eye contact w/ Steve to let him know he agrees. Then Billy decides that the heavy guitar of “Save Our Souls” is too seductive and hot not to start making out with Steve, to which Jonathan makes a gagging noise and gets up.

“Gross.” He groans, standing up and burning the last of the joint out. “I’m heading to bed.”

Billy waves at Jonathan from where he’s locked onto Steve’s lips, but Steve pulls away to give a proper goodbye, his face red.

“Uh, g’night Jonathan!”

“Yeah, goodnight.” Billy mumbles into the skin of Steve’s neck.

Jonathan rolls his eyes, but Billy doesn’t see it.

“Just don’t fuck on the porch.” Jonathan says flatly before heading into the house and being careful to close the door quietly.

“You’re so embarrassing.” Steve chastises before pulling Billy back up to kiss him soundly.

They make out a little more, sitting just like that, listening to the music nice and clear on his new stereo.

“Did you have a nice birthday?” Steve asks quietly, rubbing Billy’s sides.

“Yeah… but I still think you’re all ridiculous.”

Steve laughs, leaning back in for another kiss.

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cultofbeatles · 4 years

Text

beginners guide to the beatles

made one of these a long time ago but i'm surprised by how short it was. so here we go again. doing it right this time lol.

pov: you told a bad joke and now the beatles are judging you.

john winston lennon. later in his life known as john winston ono lennon.

born on october 9, 1940

i believe in astrology bc how does john just happen to be a libra

when john was four he started living with his aunt mimi who acted more as his mother figure

his mother, julia, remarried and would visit him quite a bit.

it was julia who taught john how to play banjo and piano. and she bought his first guitar.

they both had a deep love for music and rock n roll

he never really thought of her as his mother but more as a cool friend i suppose

aunt mimi was more rough on him and did the disciplining

his father was never really present growing up and his uncle passed away when he was young

he thought he was a curse for the men in his family

he had five half siblings. two of them, julia and jacqueline, he was pretty close to. the other three he barely knew.

fashion icon.

hated school but loved art

very early on he was insecure with himself

teachers always shit on him and said he would go nowhere in life

he met paul at a church fete on july 6, 1957

paul taught him how to play guitar properly.

once told paul that he didnt know how paul carried on after his mother died bc he just didn't think he could do it

john’s mother died from being hit by an off duty policemen. john was seventeen at the time.

he took her death really hard and became a bit of a recluse.

first serious relationship was with cynthia (we stan her)

once cynthia cut her hair short and he didn't talk to her for two days.

hate men. kill all men.

when he asked her to dance at a party she turned him down saying that she was engaged, and so he said “well i didn't ask you to fucking marry me, did i?”

slapped her once bc he was drunk and another boy was talking to her.

only time her hit her.

read cynthia’s books about john pls. i beg.

once a psychic told him that he would be shot in the states.

founder of the beatles and also came up with the name.

instruments he could play: guitar, harmonica, rhythm guitar, banjo, keyboard, piano, saxophone, bass guitar, and a little drums.

main songwriter in the beatles along with paul.

was more open minded to change in the beatles music.

was insecure in his relationship with paul after a while bc he thought he only needed him for songwriting.

would bitch about paul all day long but the second anyone else said something about him he’d be on their ass.

had a lot of issues and needed a good hug.

suffered from eating disorders, drug addictions, depression, insecurities, and questioned his sexuality bc of the time.

was super open minded and ahead of his time in many instances.

once he was called “the fat beatle” and after that he stopped eating as much.

truly loved his first son, julian lennon, and would buy him presents all the time bc he was excited to see him play with them.

“your famous ex husband”

he enjoyed playing monopoly.

he once claimed that he saw a ufo.

he had written three books but he always wanted to write a children's book.

the last song he ever performed in front of a live audience was “i saw her standing there.” with elton john.

he was afraid of the dark.

found out later in his life that he was dyslexic.

was also legally blind without glasses.

never could catch a break huh.

said that his best lyric ever was “all you need is love” i agree.

the first time yoko and john met was not at her art exhibit but actually when she approached him about giving away songs for free.

wanted to write a musical with paul.

once a friend dared him to masturbate ten times in one day and he managed to do it nine times.

would hold circle jerks with paul and a few other friends.

just dudes being dudes.

went on a holiday with brian epstein, who was gay, and told some people afterward that they did certain sexual things. but we will never know for sure.

yoko says that john was bisexual.

once in an interview he said that he would of married a rich man or woman if he wasn't in the beatles.

hated his voice on records. would always ask for effects on his voice for final recordings.

made a film with yoko where it was just his penis going from flaccid to erect for fifteen minutes in slow motion.

only beatle not to of become a vegetarian while he was alive.

murdered on december 8, 1980.

gave his autograph earlier in the day to the man who would murder him.

died at the age of 40.

“all my loving” was played while he was at the hospital.

and its spooky bc a lot of times in interviews he would say “when i'm 40..”

and it’s sad bc he was finally becoming who he truly wanted to be.

honorable john moments that i love:

“thanks for the purpler hearts” he says while receiving the silver heart

“you are the first person from liverpool that i've ever seen” “great”

eric lennon on my mind today

this come together performance where he messed up the lyrics lol

that interview where paul was sick and john keep checking on him

john lennon speaking nothing but facts

when he said that he could see the beatles going separate ways but that they'd always come back together.

SHUT UP

“shut up while he’s talking..”

this interview breaks my heart sometimes

and this interview is great as well

sir james paul mccartney

born on june 18, 1942

if you ever have spare time just check out this man’s natal chart.

idk how he’s still alive with his chart tbh.

he has a younger brother named mike and a step sister named ruth.

his dad thought he was the ugliest baby he’d ever seen when he was born.

when he was young paul would kill frogs in a way to prepare himself for the war if he ever was drafted.

the first instrument he ever learned to play was the trumpet.

I don't even want to list every instrument this man can play but trust me when I say it’s a lot.

but for the beatles he mainly did bass, vocals, and piano. sometimes playing the guitar and the drums.

the beatles was just paul moving really, really fast.

he lost his mother when he was 14 due to surgery for breast cancer.

never really learned how to cope well with loss of a loved one tbh.

had the cutest chubby cheeks as a kid tbh

met john and was accepted into his band

sometimes they'd ditch school together and either work on music or would visit art galleries.

went to paris with john and john bought him all the banana milkshakes that he wanted.

connected over their love and admiration for music, and bc they had both lost their mothers.

had a girlfriend’s mom who he would make comb his leg hairs.

was an ass to his first girlfriend.

kill all men again.

almost had to marry his girlfriend dot bc she was pregnant, but she ended up losing the baby.

was the one who introduced george harrison to john.

practically despised pete best and stuart stutcliffe bc they were bringing the group down.

got arrested along with pete best bc they lit a condom on fire in hamburg.

still felt awful and a little guilty when stuart died suddenly.

main force behind the beatles imo.

without him we’d have not as much beatles music as we do.

was dating jane asher throughout majority of the sixties.

when they first met they talked about syrup and paul fell in love.

they broke things off after she walked in on him sleeping with another woman though.

directed magical mystery tour and it was amazing and I don't care what anyone says ok?

when john divorced cynthia he was the only one not scared of john and went against his wishes of not speaking to cynthia.

was a little controlling at times.

has a good heart though.

mal evans had to drive him home once after a beatles sessions bc he was crying so hard.

was talking about getting the band back to touring when john said he was leaving the group.

everyone kind of turned against him when the beatles were breaking up and i hate it.

he just wanted what was best for the band.

married linda and had a nice little farm.

we love that story.

linda i'm free thursday if you want to hang out pls.

started up the whole “no meat monday” thing where you don't eat monday on mondays

food meat. not the other kind of meat.

children: james mccartney, stella mccartney, heather mccartney, mary mccartney, and beatrice mccartney.

rip martha.

WINGS!!

he lost linda in 1998 due to cancer.

cried for a whole year bc of it.

still has dreams about john and says they're nice.

wrote a sad song about john called “here today.”

really loved john. like..he truly, genuinely did.

want someone to love me like paul does john.

“think of me every now and then old friend.”

honorable paul moments:

his story about george’s dad

“john? he was beautiful. very beautiful.”

humpty dumpty rap

another story about him and george.

his google search video that I watch every week

this

george harrison

born: February 24, 1943

or at least we think

bc he use to say that his birthday was february 25, but later started saying it february 24.

why can't we change our birthdays its not like we picked it

he was the youngest child.

baby of the family and of the beatles awwww

two older brothers named harry and peter. one older sister named louise.

when george’s mom was pregnant with him she’d play sitar music.

his mom was super supportive of his career choice

when he was 16 he worked as an electricians apprentice.

his dad kind of hoped he would start a family business out of it.

george said nah

would ride the bus opposite way of his house just to spend time with paul

headbutted a kid bc he didn't think they were worthy of paul’s friendship

was brought into the band bc of paul insisting to john

would follow john around like a lost puppy when he first met him

once had an eight hour erection. don't ask me how idk he said it.

was 17 when he lost his virginity and the other band members were in the room watching and cheered him when he finished

most sex craved beatle tbh

once walked into a girls dressing room and asked if they could stand there so he could masturbate

he was the first beatle to go to america

got a black eye for defending ringo once

would make john and paul take turns sharing rooms with ringo when he first joined the band so that he felt more welcomed

when ringo left during the white album and then came back george decorated the studio with flowers for him

during the beatles first recording session he told george martin that he didn't like his tie

became a vegetarian at 22

favorite candy was jelly beans and purple was his favorite color

used the phrase “grotty” in the hard days night movie, hated it, but everyone else picked up on the slang

met his first wife, pattie boyd, on the set of a hard days night

was turned down by her at first

they married in 1966

wouldn't let her do modeling stuff and was kind of an ass

a stylish couple but not the best image for a healthy relationship

got into eastern religion around 1965

during the Hamburg days he would eat chicken on stage

had an affair with ringo’s first wife maureen

got a divorce from pattie in 1977

in 1978 he married olivia who he stayed with until his death and had one son with. dhani.

was the first beatle to hit a number one single and album.

was buddies with led zeppelin

inspired their “rain song”

smashed a piece of cake on john bonham’s head and then was thrown into the pool by him

he financed and produced films. had a production company.

tom petty said that george never shut up once you started talking to him

but he was often referred to as “the quiet beatle”

formed another band called the traveling wilburys

he’d answer questions online in the 2000′s and it’s the cutest thing ever and his answers break my heart too.

“what do you miss most about john lennon?” “john lennon.”

in 1999 a schizophrenic person broke into his house and stabbed him 40 times

thank god olivia was there bc she was the only braincell in the room

had to get a part of his lung taken out

died november 29, 2001 from lung cancer

ashes were scattered into the ganges river

honorable george moments:

this interview he did with ringo

“i'm sad bc i can't play guitars with john anymore. but i did that...i know we’ll meet again some day.”

when he invented reaction videos

“the wind was blowing.” “..blowing my girl?”

“what kind of girl do you like?” “john’s wife.”

sir richard starkey aka ringo starr

born on july 7, 1940

oldest member in the group

has no siblings

naturally was left handed but his grandma thought it was bad luck so he writes right handed, and plays drums with a right handed kit

but does everything else left handed

when he was 6 he fell into a two month coma

was a very sick child

when he was 13 he was in the hosiptal for tuberculosis and formed a hospital band

grew up poor

loves and looked up to his stepfather a lot

his step father bought him his first drum kit in 1957

wasn't that great in school bc he missed so much of it from being so sick

he worked for a britain railway for a while

also served drinks on a day boat for a job

loves dancing

Rory storm and the hurricanes

got his nickname from all the rings he would wear

replaced pete best as the beatles drummer

dealt with people hating him for a bit bc they liked pete more

had to style his hair in a bowl cut to be in the band and i'm still mad at them for making him do that shit

ringo i'm so sorry

george martin didn't really like his drumming and had a session drummer come in for the first album

in 1964 he had tonsillitis, pharyngitis, and high fever all at once and had to be in the hospital for a bit.

was worried the beatles would replace him for good

he’s a cancer don't worry

was the first beatle to try weed

drummers always go first huh

married his first wife, maureen, in 1965

she kissed paul, ringo, and george.

what a champ

honeymoon was ruined by reporters

was really insecure in his relationship and needed a lot of reassurance

had a great relationship with pretty much all the beatles

but a great one with john

john felt his most relaxed when he was with ringo

was once in a movie with roger daltrey

divorced maureen in 1975

his wife now is barbara bach who he married in 1981

had alcohol problems

once gotten so drunk that he beat barbara so badly that he thought he killed her

put himself into rehab after that

barbara lowkey looks like jan from the office

children: zak, lee, and jason

zak is the drummer for the band the who

peace and love

but don't send me fan mail anymore

peace and love

ringo starr and the allstar band (starting 1981)

was the narrator for thomas the tank engine

will play at paul’s concerts sometimes now for fun

mad bc he came on stage during paul’s last concert show and it was on my birthday and I couldn't go to it

honorable ringo moments:

“do you want me to come with you?”

stupid barbara walters

talking about paul

giving us a little dance

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