#and I said 'I absolutely cannot make it by Thursday. if I finish instead this better thing I've already been working on--' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mcatra · 4 years

Text

AU where Catra works at burger king

Catra works minimum wage at burger king, Adora comes in every day as the world’s worst customer.

AO3

‘I am being HARASSED.’ Catra groans, sprawling on her side of the register. ‘I’m begging you, just kill me.’

It was another slow afternoon at Burger King, or as she likes to call it the absolute shithole she only got minimum wage for. Catra could be out there living her life as a youthful teenager, instead she was serving chicken nuggets to her worst enemy- Adora. It didn’t help that said blonde was currently sitting in the corner, laughing obnoxiously with her friends she had replaced her with.

‘Aw I’m sure Adora isn’t here to harass you, she probably just likes our food! I do cook these to perfection you know.’ Scorpia says conversationally from her spot in the kitchen as she flame broils another patty.

Catra scoffs, her eyes trained on her most hated customer.

‘There has to be some sort of law against coming to one’s workplace every day! No one likes Burger King that much! NOBODY!’

Suddenly she sees Adora sit up from her chair, that makes a horrific screeching noise on their unmopped floor.

‘Oh god she’s coming.’ Catra whispers, trying to duck into the kitchen. ‘Scorpia! Hide me!’

Her friend shoves her back to the counter, as Adora approaches. ‘You’re the only one on this shift who is allowed to use the register-’

‘Do not make me serve her I swear to god-’

‘Hi Catra.’ Adora smiles, and Catra’s eyes narrow.

‘Whatchu want, princess?’ She sneers, avoiding her piercing blue eyes that reminded her of still lakes. Or swirling oceans. Or the fluffy white cloud bath bombs from Lush. Wait, no.

‘Mmm, can I get a strawberry sundae?’ Adora chirps, looking above her at the menu.

‘Can’t.’ Catra drawls, looking at her black painted nails. ‘The machine’s broken.’

Adora’s face falls in disappointment, and Catra cheers inwardly at her small victory until Scorpia’s voice cuts through their conversation.

‘That’s not true, the soft serve machine is fine.’ Her traitor friend says, pulling down on the lever and swirling a perfect sundae into the cup. She adds the syrup before handing it to Adora.

‘That’ll be $1.50.’

‘Thanks Scorpia.’ Adora smiles, rummaging through her purse to collect her coins.

Catra rolls her eyes.

‘What a cheap ass. Little rich girl can only afford a dollar-fifty ice cream? No wonder we’re running out of business.’

Adora frowns at this. ‘Did you want a tip or something?’

‘What? FUCK no. I don’t take charity.’ Catra scoffs, snatching the coins from her old childhood-friend-to-enemies palm. She swiftly jabs in the total and throws the coins into the drawer. They’re forced into silence as the receipt slowly prints, and she tries to ignore the way Adora is staring at her.

Suddenly Adora leans in close, and she can hear her murmur close to her ear.

‘I’ll see you at student council.’

Catra flushes at the proximity, every hair standing on end. Before she can stutter out an insult, Adora rips the receipt from the machine and is sauntering back to Bow and Glimmer.

The brown haired girl deflates, her nails scratching on the old countertop. All that mental damage, for $1.50? Life was not fair.

Adora always had the perfect grades, the perfect family and friends, the most cushy and royal upbringing. After their falling out involving a scholarship to a private school, they hadn’t spoken until the merger.

It filled Catra with sick pleasure that the private school had lost their prestige to embezzled money, and now had to be government funded. However in consequence of this, they had decided to merge the public and private school so they could sell off the land to build skyrises or something.

This meant Catra lost her position of School Captain to Adora after a fierce election, and had been demoted to Vice Captain. Not to mention no matter how hard Catra tried, she could never beat her in the school rankings. She couldn’t work to support herself and study 6 hours a day, like rich privileged Adora.

So now here she was, forced to interact with the one person she could’ve gone her whole life without seeing on a daily basis.

Ever since Adora had discovered Catra had been working at Burger King during a late night drive-thru run, her ex best friend had made it her life’s mission to make her life hell.

Of course she had done her best to make the experience awful to drive her away. Catra knew Adora hated pickles, so she would threaten Kyle to slice up an entire pickle’s worth in the blonde’s Whopper before giving it to her with a sweet smile. She is filled with glee watching Adora picking them out one by one in disgust.

This doesn’t stop Adora from coming though. Not even when they had made it into some sort of competition to see how many pickles could physically be crammed into a bun. Or even when she had put every single condiment including the salt and pepper into an unholy liquid concoction and served it in a cola cup. Not even when she gave Adora food poisoning when they got too carried away trying to stack as many patties as they could to recreate Sky Burger.

No matter what she did, the girl never went away. Even though she had so easily disappeared from her life when she had needed her the most. But she didn’t need Adora, she had gotten this job herself, she had gotten a roof over her head with her own power. She had worked so hard to become independent from Shadow Weaver, and no matter what, Adora will not jeopardize it.

‘I’m doing, what exactly?’

Catra stares dumbly at her manager, a sinking feeling dawning on her.

‘Adora ordered a birthday party at Burger King.’ Lonnie drawls, ignoring the look of complete horror on Catra’s face.

‘No, you can’t do this to me! Roster me for any other day. I cannot psychologically take this.’ She begs.

‘Sorry dude, the deposit has already been paid for. We’re short staffed, and it seems like Kyle has gotten fryer oil burns from your last burger experiment with Adora.’ Lonnie whaps Catra with the birthday catering pamphlet.

‘Stupid Kyle.’ Catra hisses, clenching it in her fist. Curse this damn place that can only afford to hire teenagers.

‘Anyway, just set up the tables and decorations after school on Thursday. Should be a good day for business, with Adora and her posse being rich kids and all.’

‘Can I at least get time and a half?’

‘Are you gonna be paying Kyle’s medical bill?’

Catra pouts. ‘Not my fault you guys don’t provide gloves. This place is an OSHA violation haven.’

WE do the PLANNING, YOU have the FUN! The bold font emblazoned over the small child’s smiling face mocks her from the pamphlet. Catra clenches it in her fist.

‘Also why the fuck did she book a kid’s birthday party package when she is like 17, and not 6 years old?!’

Lonnie rolls her eyes. ‘Do you still want a job or not? Just read the rest of the form, counting on you to organize it.’

Catra squints at the crumpled paper in her hand.

GOLD PARTY PACKAGE

-Themed birthday cards!

-Party bags!

-Birthday gift for the celebrant!

-Jumbo birthday cake!

-Pinata!

-Special birthday songs!

-Dedicated hostess!

Catra can feel her soul physically leave her body. This was gonna be a long week.

It was terrible.

Adora had handed these obnoxious Burger King birthday invitations to all her friends, so now she had all these RSVP’s to the worst birthday of all of human history. In between working shifts until midnight, dealing with Adora at student council and not eating, Catra was on edge.

‘No, you can not write ‘Die Adora Die’ on her cake.’ Scorpia chides, slapping Catra’s hands away to pipe the icing.

‘It’s what she deserves.’ Catra seethes. If she couldn’t eat it, she could at least ruin it, right?

‘They’ll be here soon, so try to take that dying grimace off your face.’ Scorpia replies, and Catra rolls her eyes before adding the finishing touches to the cake.

Suddenly the door opens, interrupting her decorating. The once quiet establishment was now full of loud chatter as their classmates piled in one by one. All of Adora’s old private school friends were here, all unironically celebrating their school captain’s children’s birthday party at the worst fast food restaurant in their state.

She plasters her fakest customer service smile she can muster. Dignity at the door.

‘Hi, you must be here for the Birthday Girl’s party.’ Catra says, approaching the group. Just treat it like you don’t know them.

‘Aw you don’t have to be so formal with us, Vice Captain.’ Glimmer teases, and Catra almost snaps from her facade. Almost.

‘Let me show you to your table.’ Catra grits out.

She had chosen the ugliest poop brown balloons she could find, and had deliberately made the HAPPY BIRTHDAY banner lopsided on the wall.

‘Thanks Catra!’ Adora grins, bouncing past her to admire the decorations.

Catra imagines Adora’s face on the pinata and smashing it into a million pieces. She forces herself to take a deep breath. It was just the one shift, and she really needed this job. Plus after the party was over, she could probably nab some leftovers for her trouble.

All of the girls (plus Bow and Seahawk) sit around the table, and Catra marches over with the laminated menus.

‘Ooh, we all get hats!’ Perfuma says, placing her Burger King cardboard crown on top of her head.

Frosta squints at the menu. ‘I’ve never eaten fast food before. Looks disgusting.’

‘I think it’s fine! Adora wanted to eat here.’ Glimmer says in a sugarly sweet tone that just came off as passive aggressive. ‘Even though I had suggested my penthouse by the ocean and we go here nearly every day.’

‘I much rather would be at the ocean beach house thank you very much.’ Mermista retorts, swatting Sea Hawk off her shoulder.

Yeah me too, Catra thinks bitterly. She stomps off with their orders, cursing them inwardly the entire way to the kitchen.

Adora’s friends start playing with the so-called ‘entertainment’ they had haphazardly set up.

It was ridiculous, seeing grown teenagers lining up to try to smack the shit out of a glittery pinata. They squabble over who gets to hit it first, Catra feeling very much like a glorified babysitter to her most hated enemies.

After a while, she sees Scorpia emerge from the kitchen. ‘Happy Birthday to you,’ Scorpia sings with Adora’s birthday cake in her arms. ‘Happy Birthday to you~’

The others join in on the song, Catra only mouthing the words in silent rebellion. The cake is emblazoned with a crude doodle of Adora’s face with HAPPY BIRTHDAY written on her enormous forehead.

‘Oh my gosh, I love it!’ Adora’s sky blue eyes light up, and she’s practically sparkling. Catra huffs, she wasn’t supposed to like it. Didn’t she see the drawing was supposed to make fun of her five-head?

Adora catches Catra’s eye, beaming. ‘Did you draw this for me?’

‘She did!’ Scorpia tattles, and her enemy’s smile increased tenfold. Catra can feel her cheeks grow warm. Dammit.

‘Whatever.’ Catra bites out, unable to meet her gaze.

Luckily no one else seemed to be paying attention to the weird atmosphere between them, as they were split between eyeing the cake and pinata wrestling.

‘Get over here Sea Hawk, we can do the pinata later!’ Mermista chastises, watching Bow spin her blindfolded boyfriend.

‘Let me just get one good hit in, and I’ll join you!’ He crows, swinging the bat in random directions as Bow ducks the blows, laughing.

Just for anything to do, Catra takes it upon herself as hostess to snatch up the knife and start cutting. She cuts into the cake to start portioning out the slices, but as the knife touches the bottom Glimmer lets out a shriek.

‘What?’ Catra deadpans.

‘If you cut to the bottom of the cake, you have to kiss the person closest to you!’ Glimmer says, a demonic look in her eye. Adora elbows her, embarrassed.

‘Excuse me?’ Catra’s never heard of this tradition. Though to be fair, she had not been to many parties in her lifetime.

‘Oh, that’s right!’ Perfuma claps her hands together. ‘Adora’s closest right? Go ahead Catra!’

To her horror, Glimmer starts pushing Catra towards the blonde. She digs her heels into the linoleum, only to find that she was sliding from the newly mopped floors.

‘Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!’ The girls start chanting, like they were her friends and that she wasn’t their damn server.

‘What the hell- fuck no, let go of me!’ Catra finally snaps, wrenching herself from Glimmer’s grip.

The momentum sends her stumbling into Sea Hawk, who was still attempting to hit the pinata.

‘Ack!’ He squawks.

The bat goes flying straight out his hand and into their double doors. There’s a huge crash, and everybody winces at the noise.

The glass pane shatters, and so does Catra’s sanity. She was so fired.

Sea Hawk lifts the blindfold.

‘Did I get it?’

---

It was nearly closing time, and Catra was still sweeping up bits of glass from the floor. This had been one of the worst days of her life, and she had been beaten and homeless before. To make it worse, Adora was still grovelling when she should’ve gone hours ago like the rest of them.

‘I am so sorry Catra, I’ll pay for everything, I’ll take full responsibility so you don’t get fired-’

‘Stop it.’ She was too tired to even argue with Adora like she usually did, wishing Adora would just go away already so she could grovel over the phone to her regional manager without an audience. Catra always pretended to hate her job, but she couldn’t afford to lose it. She could barely make rent with her Burger King wage.

‘Please, let me help clean. It was my fault anyway.’

There was hardly any money left over to feed herself most days, that’s why she was skinny as a rake as opposed to the toned, buff, well fed Adora. She had only been functioning on a few nuggets that Scorpia snuck her yesterday. Did Catra still have those food coupons? How long until the bank charged overdraft fees?

‘Catra are you listening-’

‘I said stop it!’ Catra snaps.

Adora has the audacity to look stunned.

‘Why do you insist on harassing me at work everyday? Is it fun? Forcing me to play servant to you rich girls, to sing and dance for you? You already beat me in everything at school, you’re already School Captain, you have all the money and a loving family you need, so can you stop rubbing your privilege in my face just for one second so I can THINK?’

‘I...I just…I’m sorry.’ Adora starts and aborts a few sentences. Catra can’t even stand to look at her face.

‘This party at your work. It was the only way to get you to celebrate my birthday with me.’

‘.....’

‘Um, I-’

‘Whatever.’ Catra retorts, trying and failing to pick up the last shards with her too long fingernails. She hisses when the glass nicks her finger, cutting into skin. Drops of blood fall to the floor.

‘Are you okay?!’ Adora gasps, rushing to her side. Catra slaps her hand away, she needed to go find the cleaning supplies. Blood was a biohazard, there was some protocol for it but she was having trouble remembering.

She goes to stand up, but the fatigue rushes to her head and her legs give in underneath her. Instead of smacking her head against the floor, she feels herself land on something soft instead.

Adora hooks her around the waist, gently placing her into the booth. She grabs a napkin from the dispenser and wraps it around Catra’s hand. She can feel Adora’s warm hand squeezing her own.

‘I’m just applying pressure to the cut.’ Adora says quietly.

Catra just closes her eyes. It’s well past midnight and she should be locking up the store, but she can’t bring herself to move.

#she-ra #she ra #spop #catradora #catra #adora #burger king au

249 notes · View notes

nikki-fucking-sixx · 4 years

Photo

Together Without You: Chapter 2

You cannot help but stare. Why the fuck was he even here? It was 2:00 PM on a Thursday. What kind of alcoholic bullshit was this? The other men around the table snicker as you gawk at him.

“Nikki,” The blonde man takes off his sunglasses and scans you up and down, “Who is this?” Nikki smirks and shrugs.

“I actually do not know,” He raises an eyebrow at you and you look above his head, “She never told me her fucking name.”

“And you’re still not going to get it,” You pull the notepad up to your face, “So what the fuck do you want?”

“Woah woah woah,” Nikki stands up, pretending to be defensive over your attitude, “We’re your customers. You have to treat us a little better.” You roll your eyes.

“Well that’s just not happening,” You stare him in the eyes.

“Why not doll,” He puts a hand on your hip and you flinch, “We had a fun time last time I saw you.” His touch was infectious. You tried to prevent yourself from leaning into it and giving in to his whims. You force yourself to swat his hand away.

“That was last time and now I’m working,” You look up at the clock, “And I need a fucking break.” At that, you put your notepad in your apron and walk out the door.

You lean against the cold brick and suddenly feel tears well up. Where are these coming from? Then you remember that there is a little person inside of you messing up all of your hormones. It does not help that this person’s dad is a room away probably wondering why you’re acting insane. God, he can never know. There’s absolutely no way that he could ever know. He would want you to get rid of it.

At that thought, you put your hands on your belly. What are you going to do with this little being? This was the first thought you have had about what will happen with them. First of all, you are a college student. There is no way that you can take care of a baby and study. Second, their dad is a fucking asshole drug addict who gets his paycheck from playing music in a band you do not even know the name of. Third, do you even want to be a Mom? You never really saw it in the cards for you. You saw yourself graduating and opening the restaurant you have always dreamed of since you were a little girl. Holy shit, how have you gotten into such a low place? The tears begin to flow down your cheeks more openly now. You did not hear footsteps come up behind you.

“Are you ok?” You jerk around and there he is, looking as handsome as usual. You wipe your tears away and try to sniff in the snot starting to drizzle out of your nose.

“Yeah, completely fine.” You averted your eyes from him, knowing it would make you cry harder.

“Now that’s a lie,” He takes a step toward you and puts a hand on yours. “What’s wrong.” You quickly pull your hand away.

“It’s none of your business,” You turn away from him.

“Fuck, I’m just trying to help and you’re acting irrational,” He was not wrong.

“I’m not irrational.” Your voice begins to raise, “You just don’t know me and this thing that’s making me all “irrational” is a big deal.”

“Everything for you is a big deal,” His voice was also beginning to get louder, “All two times that I’ve fucking seen you, you’ve been crying. What the fuck is wrong with you? Is life just too fucking hard for you?” At that, you hear the sound of your flat palm slap is cheek.

“Shut up!” You scream at him. He grabs your wrists and aggressively pulls you toward him.

“You can’t fucking do that.” His voice was a low growl.

“And you can’t touch me like this but here we are.” Your voice was at his level. You both stare at each other. You were both at an impasse, both seeming to have met their match.

Nikki leans in and almost seems to whisper, “Why are you like this?” You can’t tell him.

“I don’t know.” You then wriggle free from his grip, flatten out your apron and walk back inside. You had to finish your shift. You walk back up to the table of his friends, this time getting a pretty good look at them. They were all dressed like him, in dark ripped clothing with splashes of leather. What kind of band were these guys in any way? You compose yourself and put on a smile.

“Sorry about the wait, what would you all like today?” The same blonde man from before smiles at you before leaning toward you.

“A rum and coke for me and whatever will get you to sit down with us.” You smirk to yourself. These guys were all such flirts.

“So a rum and coke for you, and you?” This one had big dark hair and goofy grin.

“Oh I have no idea,” He took a drum stick out of seemingly nowhere and scratched his head, “God, this is such a tough decision. Like a beer or something?” You scribble down ‘like a beer or something’.

“And finally you sir?” This one did not smile.

“Whiskey.” You wrote it down as briefly as he said it. You were about to turn away when you heard a whine.

“Come on beautiful,” The blonde one reached out and put his arm around your waist, “Just a minute?” You look over at the bartender; he was staring off into space.

“Fine,” You look at the door to make sure Nikki was not coming in, “Only for a minute.” You sit down beside the blonde.

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” He smirked, looking you up and down.

“So,” You try to wrack your brain for things to talk about, “You’re all in a band?” They gawk at you for a minute as you turn a light shade of pink.

“We’re in Motley Crue!” The drummer almost screamed, “The raddest band on the Sunset Strip.” You shrug.

“I’ve never heard of you guys,”

“That’s it,” The blonde throws his hands up in the air, “You’re coming to our show this weekend. Or at least the after-party.” The two young guys let out a laugh and you look uncomfortably toward the door, hoping Nikki will come back in so you have an excuse to leave. The guys seem to have noticed that there was no alcohol in front of them and wave down the bartender who excitedly runs over.

“Hey dude can we have four beers?” The drummer says.

“Oh, I can’t drink on a shift-” You begin to say before getting cut off.

“(Y/N), this is Motley Crue. Sit and have a drink.” You raise your eyebrows shock as the drummer high fives the bartender. The blonde then looks over at you.

“So you’re (Y/N).” They knew you’re first secret. “I’m Vince, that’s Tommy and that old ass vampire is Mick.” And now you knew all of them.

“Well it’s been nice meeting you all,” The drinks get placed down, “But I can’t drink.”

“Why not?” Tommy says, “Are you pregnant or something?” You don’t answer them and instead look down at your lap. That’s enough of an answer for them. You did not seem to notice the boots of the tall man outside come up to the table right at that moment.

“You’re pregnant?” Well fuck.

73 notes · View notes

magnesiaandlemonjuice · 4 years

Text

Monday 18 December 1826

6 35/60

11 1/2

In my room at 7 35/60 - at my desk at 7 40/60 - read over what I wrote to IN [Isabella Norcliffe] Friday and Saturday and was just beginning to write when the washerwoman came - settling with her and 1 thing or other took me till after 9 - unaccurately paid her 0/50 too much - some alteration made in George’s bill, so took the people’s adding up which on examination I found was 6 sols too much, and hastily seeing that I had charged (and the charge was not altered) only 12 sols instead of 16 in my bill for 4 chemises gave the woman 4 sols in addition and thus paid her 10 sols too much - I have seldom paid the washing right of late - ‘tis odd enough - I will try to manage better in future - At first on coming here, I could seldom make out my money right to a few sols - I have now got the better of this, and perhaps I shall pay the washerwoman right by and by - From 9 1/4 to 10 1/4 wrote the latter 3rd part of page 3 of my letter to IN [Isabella Norcliffe] very small and close - then read for 1/4 hour the supplement that came yesterday to Galignani of Saturday - breakfast at 10 1/2 - read the French news and advertisements of this morning - concluded what I wrote to IN [Isabella Norcliffe] on Saturday - with

‘the inconvenience occasioned me by our carriage was serious on the journey; but we have got the bushes of the wheels repaired, and shall be thoroughly prepared before we start again - we are effective for a drive to the Bois de Boulogne, and want no more at present - Monday morning 18 December what will become of us by and by, is not quite certain - I do not think Travelling suits my aunt, - I mean agrees with her complaints, tho’ she likes it, and would evidently like the thought of our going somewhere else - I shall see how she is in the spring - At this moment I know not what to say of her - If she is not better than now, I must give up dwelling up the hope of seeing you - Her nerves are too weak - she could not bear us in the room; nor could she bear the very little additional to do in the apartment that we must make - we often talk of you - she bids me give her kindest love, and say, she hopes to be better, and then she shall be delighted to see you - yet she sometimes speaks of never seeing my father and Marian, or Shibden again, and says, she will be buried here - She always much admired Père Lachaise, adding ‘How little I used to think I should come to be buried here!’ Perfect quiet seems to agree with her best - my entering at all into society, is perfectly out of the question - I have refused even one evening to Mademoiselle de Sans that was, and only see her, and Mrs Barlow, and the de Noés very occasionally in a morning - some time ago, I fancied I might manage having a little society - I now see it does not [?], and I have entirely abandoned all hope or thought of it - I never in my life associated so little - Doctor Thackeray told me, my aunt had probably a great deal to suffer - I often think of this - She cannot move herself in bed - her nerves are very weak - yet, withal, she has been a little better lately (we have had such mild beautiful weather - not a single flake of snow has fallen), and talked yesterday of going to Shibden for a summer 2 or 3 years hence! Of course, I say nothing against all this, knowing that she is too nervous to bear the despair of those around her - But her bowels have been better of late; and this is a great thing - we shall certainly change our apartment as soon as we can after the expiration of our term here (on the 7th of March) - the kitchen being 2 stories above us, and the servants unable to hear the bell, we find insufferable - Not having brought plates with us, we are supplied by the porter - Our quota of tablespoons was six, all which were stolen on Thursday morning’ -

At about 11 at my desk again wrote the last 25 lines in 1/2 hour - then sat down to finish my letter - MacDonald soon afterwards came in and wanted brown sugar - asked her to get the scales and weigh it - saw her put weight after weight into the scale - found she held the balance in such sort that it could not play - thought she did not seem to quite know what she was about - Told her she always she appeared in such a hurry and so confused it was impossible to depend upon her for doing a thing - she said she had by mistake sent all her mistress’s things to the wash she meant to have washed at home - it was very unlucky - and she looked as if not hers - on this I told her she ought not to call it unlucky - it was not bad luck but bad management. She has no good method and for want of this committed all her blunders - repeated several times I was not angry, not scolding her - not did I blame but pity her for what I supposed she could not help - it was absolutely calamitous that she was so little able to take care of things - I could not wonder at Miss Reed’s letter saying she had found things so out of order MacDonald said the castle was very damp - she had left all well done - could not tell what Miss Reed meant - it must be that the linen was not well aired - she had spoken to Miss Reed’s father - was desired to give the linen to a head man of some sort in the service and he was the worst that could be - I then mentioned the petticoat the other that she declared was not among my aunt’s things and it was found there - no! it was found among her own things and she never thought of looking there - I then to instance the foolish things she sometimes did, mentioned the rice pudding of Saturday that she told my aunt she had spoilt by fearing it would not turn out and so, after creaming the rice, she had dried it again - she wondered how her mistress could say this - it was not so - it was …. I said I cared not about the puddings - had no time to listen about them - her mistress might be mistaken, but that I told MacDonald all this for her good who always seemed to me to have no presence of mind - to be as if she knew not what she was about - at Shibden when she took a pint of our strong beer every day between dinner and tea (about 5 p.m.) it might have been better accounted for; so much would have put me under the table - she declared she did not - I said I had met Mrs Cordingley one afternoon with the mug, and inquired, and she told me she MacDonald had had it full every afternoon since she (MacDonald came that Cordingley had told her such was against the rules of the house - such a thing never done before - MacDonald declared she could never do such a thing - then said she had not had it every day after prevaricating some time upon whether the vessel was a mug or a glass or how large or how small I said long as I had known Mrs Cordingley I had never known her guilty of falsehood and I should certainly believe what she said - MacDonald declared she had never asked for beer, but Mrs Cordingley had given it her, and she thought it was very odd and very foolish in her to do so - and pray said I were you not foolish then to take it? she thought it was very odd that Mrs Cordingley should make mischief - had thought it very odd that so respectable a person as Mrs Cordingley should one day when she asked her how I liked to have my things packed - very odd that she should (I wondered in myself what was coming) say…. I liked them folded tight! why should I, and so I do - Mrs Cordingley was right - MacDonald had intended to prove that Cordingley told a falsity in making me understand that Cordingley had said I liked things bundled up as MacDonald had bundled up hers - In fact, the woman was at a loss for some accusation against Cordingley. I told her it was in vain to accuse Cordingley of falsehood or anything else and I should not forget all this. Cordingley had no interest in saying she, MacDonald, had had the beer every day if it was not so - yet what MacDonald said of it herself only made a bad worse, and the less she said the better and I bade her leave the room - I am now persuaded MacDonald does not stick to truth and I really begin to suspect she will drink too when she can - I never liked her - now I have no confidence in her - the taking the ale staggered me at first, now what she said of it staggers me still more - Told her I had not mentioned either this or Miss Reed’s letter to my aunt - Did my aunt know of these 2 things I believe she could not endure the woman, for she too, has never liked her - having written one end to IN [Isabella Norcliffe] - hastily concluded on the other and sent of my letter to the [?] post at 12 1/2 to ‘Miss Norcliffe, to the care of Mr Fisher, Petergate, York, Angleterre’ - and then went to bed room (expecting Madame Galvani every minute) to finish dressing - I have been thus particular about MacDonald that when this subject comes on the tapis again (for it will one of these days before we get rid of her) I have this journal to refer to -

for the same reason I have copied all I wrote to tib about her not coming to see us here -

Madame Galvani came at 12 3/4 just as I had done my hair - left her till I had finished dressing - she stayed till 2 3/4 - conversation as usual - Told her I was so much occupied I would rather she only came once a week till I had more leisure - after Madame Galvani went came to speak to my aunt about something - mentioned having had a long conversation about MacDonald’s carelessness (but neither named Miss Reed’s letter nor the beer - went out at 3 35/60 - to Michel’s - ate a mince-pie by way of tasting what sort of things they were (very good) ordered 4 for Xmas Day, 2 three lb. very rich plum cakes meaning to send one of them to Madame Galvani it dampened a little - returned home for my umbrella - then took 2 turns quick round the gardens in 3/4 hour and came in at 4 3/4 - settled my accounts - George brought in the beef he bought this morning to weigh it - to my surprise instead of 7 3/4 lbs it was 2 oz. less than this - I will have every thing I buy weighed - Dinner at 6 5/60 - Left the dining room at 7 50/60 just before dinner wrote from line 12 to 33 of the last page, and just after wrote from line 33 to here -

in speaking to my aunt before going out mentioned getting rid of mcd [MacDonald] and taking Mrs Potter who is going to leave Mrs Barlow on trial -

the mince pie very heavy on my stomach just before dinner - at dinner took a little pepper - perhaps the weight of a grain or 2 which I think did me good - writing to here, and the rough draft of the index took me till 9 1/4 - from then for 1/2 hour sat talking to my aunt - then till 10 1/4 finished reading the whole of the yesterday’s supplement to Saturday’s paper - Mr Brougham’s speech in support of ministers sending troops to Portugal very good - very fine frosty morning and fine till after Madame Galvani went at 2 3/4 - about 3 came in rather hazy and at 3 35/60 when I went out was just began to damp or small rain a little which continued all the time I was out tho’ not enough to wet my umbrella - came to my room at 10 1/4. O [two dots, marking discharge] - wrote the last 4 lines -

[Margin] very fine frosty morning the street dry F371/2 at 1 40/60 a.m. 36 - 4p.m. 35 - 10 1/4 -

SH:7/ML/E/10/0031 & SH:7/ML/E/10/0032

#December1826 #AnneLister #GentlemanJack #AnneListerCodeBreaker

3 notes · View notes

themisterdarcy · 4 years

Text

dear darcy,

what’s up? it’s currently thursday, april 30, 2020. we are in the middle of the covid-19 pandemic, and north carolina is on lockdown. well, technically. we are actually the worst state in the entire country in pandemic support. there are 1.06 million confirmed cases in the entire country, with 9,948 in north carolina, and 1,567 in mecklenburg county alone. the stay-at-home order is still supposed to be lifted on may 8th, though. that’s next friday. i don’t know how on earth anybody thinks that is a good idea, but the governor has the power in this situation.

school is canceled for the rest of the year, meaning that i have to finish my junior year online. i’m disappointed that i have to miss prom and seeing my friends (especially kai), but i think it’s for the best. nobody expected covid-19 to be this big of a deal, or for the quarantine to last this long. the day before schools closed, my apush teacher, mr. church, told us that he thought the situation was “blown out of proportion” and i quote: “there’s no way that school is going to be canceled.” even when schools closed, we were originally supposed to be back in school by march 30! here we are, a month later, and there’s no end in sight for this crisis.

trump is being absolutely useless, and even detrimental to the effort to contain the virus. he his early information about the virus, and didn’t bother to take precautions, leaving the country unprepared. by the time of the first case, it was hopeless. this week (or last week... time is all running together right now), he actually suggested in a press conference that a way to prevent/cure coronavirus would be to inject bleach/disinfectant into the body, or to illuminate the body from the inside with a uv light to kill the virus. both of these options as said by trump (uv light actually does have some merit to it, but it is in an entirely different context than trump suggested, and still in developmental phases) would be fatal, and aren’t even a solution to the main issue at hand: containing and controlling the spread of the virus.

in my opinion, new zealand has it down. i only know about it because amanda palmer is quarantined there, but they’re getting close to the end of 5 weeks of near complete lockdown. people are not allowed to leave their houses or visit non-immediate family members at all, and parks and public spaces are closed. while it does seem a little like an overextension of governmental power, it’s working. new zealand only has 1,476 total cases. thanks to prime minister jacinda ardern, the entire country has fewer cases than mecklenburg county. yes, new zealand only has a population of about 5 million, while mecklenburg county has 1.1 million, it’s still impressive that a population five times the size has 100 fewer cases. i honestly wouldn’t mind temporarily giving up some of my civil liberties and democratic principles if it meant that covid-19 was knocked out and controlled.

the people who are protesting the lockdowns are quite frankly narcissistic idiots who cannot see past their own ego. yes, staying at home is difficult and boring, but it’s the only way that life has any sort of chance of returning to a form of normalcy. i don’t think things will be exactly the same, nor do i think they should, but i do want to be able to hang out with friends again. i do want to go to school and have my senior year. i do want to be able to move out and go to college when the time comes. the more people disregard reality and ignore social distancing, the longer life will be like this. the protesters are only making things worse for themselves, and the saddest part is that i don’t think they realize this.

i’m writing these letters to future me (that’s you, darcy!) so that i can have a document of my life from the pandemic. also, i want to be able to remember what being 17 was like when i’m older. i do keep a journal, but that’s more for songs, poetry, and breakdowns. screaming into the void of the internet just feels more Official to me. also, i can’t lose a blog. that’s the thing about the internet: it’s forever, for better or for worse.

i think that i will open each letter with a discussion of any updates about the pandemic, focusing mainly on concrete facts and statistics. these are important to document, and i wish i had been recording this from the beginning. maybe i will go back and create a timeline, but i’m not sure yet. that might just be a task for another sleepless night. after the corona rundown, though, i’ll go into my own experiences and thoughts about the events of my life. these will probably be in bullet-point form, since my mind has the tendency to jump around as if topics were trampolines. i don’t know how often i’ll write, but i will try to everyday. every letter won’t be as long as this one, that’s for sure, but i do tend to ramble on. i hope you’re not overwhelmed, darcy.

taking a much needed break from 2020, how’s your life at the moment? i don’t know how old you are, but i’m assuming that you’re in college at the very least. are you and kai still together? i hope so. i really do love them. have you come out to the family yet? have you changed your name legally yet? i need to do that before my college graduation, because i want my degrees to be in My Name. the thing is, i’ll need to come out to change my name, and that is an issue i don’t really care to think about at the moment. how did that go? was it as bad as i expect it will be? have you started t? besides transitioning, how is your academic and career life? i hope to go to the university of texas at austin and double major in physics and music theory and composition. did that happen? if it didn’t, where did you go to school, and did you stick with the course of study i mentioned? i can’t really imagine studying anything else, to be honest. physics and music theory are two of the most intimidating and difficult subjects there are, and they also happen to be my favorite subjects. i love being challenged mentally, and i also like being seen as intimidating. imagine: a punk, non-binary, queer physicist who also writes and performs music. is there anything more intimidating than that? i aspire to be the “scary kid in your physics class.” i want to be an exception.

i’ve written so much already, but i do have quite a bit to get off my chest. yesterday was a weird day, and i couldn’t sleep at all last night, so here we are. this is what being 17 is like:

it is 6:15 am, and i have stayed up all night.

i was planning on getting a lot of work done, but instead i wasted time listening to amanda palmer and browsing the internet.

my dad thinks i took my sleeping pill, so i need to stay quiet in my room until at least 10:00 tomorrow morning so he doesn’t get suspicious.

kai called me today, but only for 15 minutes. they are a month behind in school, and will only get their phone back once they are caught up. i don’t know when that will be, but i am preparing for the worst.

i identify as androgyne, meaning in between man and woman. recently, i stopped feeling like i was faking, though. instead of worrying that i was making it all up in my head, i’ve become confident that i am Androgyne. it makes sense. it always has made sense. when i was little, i asked my father if it was possible to be “half-girl, half-boy,” and i would tell people that about myself. just because i like glitter and riot grrrl doesn’t make me a girl. i am an enby.

this is the song of the night:

i realized today that i have not left the house (excepting switching between mother’s/father’s) in an entire month. at the beginning of this lockdown, i was struggling, but i feel like i’ve adjusted more or less. this feels normal, now. i don’t feel like i’m missing something from my daily life.

10 days clean :)

my sleep schedule is fucked up. dr. kissam has put me on a mood stabilizer, an antidepressant, and a sleep medicine as well as my anxiety meds because she’s concerned by my bipolar tendencies. my manic phases have gotten more intense and happen more often now, and my down phases have gotten worse than they have in a long time. i started hurting again, but i’m trying to stop. i think i have a handle on it now. i did give myself two stick and pokes on monday night, though... does that count? i don’t think so.

i have the deathly hallows on my ankle, and the androgyne symbol on my left middle finger. it looks more like an anchor or a dandelion though. :/ i like them anyways, because they are Mine. My body. My decisions. I Am My Own Person.

during the call today, i felt like kai was distancing themself from me. i don’t know if i’m overthinking a 15 minute chat, but they didn’t seem like their usual clingy, lovey self. i’m worried that they’re going to decide they don’t want to be with me anymore during this time that they are off their phone, but i know that it’s just anxiety. overthinking is my enemy. kai loves me. i love them. we are in a healthy, stable relationship (for the first time in my life!!). they aren’t going to decide to leave me out of the blue.

the song for the kai situation:

sometimes i wonder what life would be like if i could just focus on school like a normal person. i have good grades, but i am a Very Chaotic student. if i could just sit down and complete assignments at a normal pace and with consistent motivation, what would i be able to achieve? would i be in a bunch of service organizations? would i be on student council? who knows?! i am darcy, and i am tied for valedictorian while never doing my homework. i don’t know how i do it either.

i’ve decided that i don’t like my confirmation name (octavian) as my middle name. i want to take my dad’s middle name, lamont. darcy lamont wheeler. it’s a super cool name, and it has Significance. our family is directly descended from the lamont clan in scotland. it’s also my grandmother’s maiden name, which i feel like makes sense because my dead middle name was her middle name. poetic justice. symmetry. i have come full circle.

hi! my name is darcy lamont wheeler.

darcy means “dark one.” i really, really like that. i like thinking that i am connected to the somewhat dark and eccentric. like the dresden dolls, or disturbing short stories. darkness adds complexity. nuance. background.

my favorite short story is “i have no mouth & i must scream” by harlan ellison. it is so completely terrifying, so beautifully disgusting, so brilliantly bizarre, so disturbingly ominous, and i have never read anything else that has come close to comparing. i love science fiction, especially dystopian ideas about technology advancing past the point of no return. it’s crazy to me that what could be considered mankind’s greatest achievement is so close to being our downfall.

everybody is awake now, and i hear them in the kitchen. i wonder when i stopped wanting to be awake. matthew and brianna seem to wake up as early as they can and fight bedtime until the absolute limit, as if they want to maximize the hours that they have each day. each morning is a new chance for fun. they don’t seem to resent life yet. i would rather be asleep instead of conscious most of the time. days are uniformly boring and miserable, with the rare diversion. why would i want them to be longer than they have to be? is this depression or is this just growing up? i can’t even tell anymore.

i missed amanda palmer’s birthday livestream yesterday, so i’m going to watch it today. two hours of her and her quarantine buddies sounds like heaven. this woman’s music quite honestly saved my life, and she is the epitome of badass!! i love amanda palmer. i wish i could write songs like she can.

on the topic of the dresden dolls, i asked brian viglione, the drummer, to “prom” as a pretense to ask him about his experiences as a musician, and for advice about how to develop my music. against all the odds, he accepted, so now, on may 9th at 8:00 pm, i am going to facetime with Brian Viglione, drummer for the dresden dolls and the violent femmes, among many others. life? made. i still can barely believe that this is actually happening!!

i came out to my english class, including ms. blaylock on tuesday. everybody reacted really well, and in that class at least, i get to go by my name and use my pronouns. i honestly couldn’t believe that i had the balls to tell anybody besides kai’s family, but i did, and it actually went well! the fact that there are people calling me darcy makes me so happy that i can’t even put it into words. it’s validating. i am darcy. not just when i’m by myself, but in real life. i am darcy.

is it weird that i’m not crippled by kai’s absence? i used to be an unproductive tangle of anxiety whenever mary was out of touch, even for a few hours. i was constantly worried that she was going to hurt herself, or that she was going to leave me. the thing is, even though i am in love with kai and i only thought that i loved mary because she was the first girl i was with, i don’t miss them to the point that i can’t function. i don’t think about them 24/7. i do miss them at times, and i cannot wait until we can talk again, but it’s not an all-consuming thing. i can go through my entire day without talking to them, no problem. night time is a little harder, but that’s because night is always when i go down spirals and rabbitholes. maybe this means that our relationship is healthy? co-dependency is a bad thing, i know, but i don’t know what a healthy relationship feels like since the only other experiences i’ve had (jack, mary, saanchi, rachel) have all been toxic in their own way.

one thing i have learned with kai is the importance of boundaries in a relationship. just because i love everything about them doesn’t mean that it’s healthy for us to share everything. there was a time where we were both in dark places and hurting, and when they shared what they did, it would set me off. the same went for them, i was using them as a journal too often, and the emotional burden had started to affect them. we had a conversation about this though, and established clear lines that we will not cross. it felt good to figure that out. i felt mature, looking out for my own needs and respecting kai’s. isn’t that how a relationship should work?

i love kai.

i’ve written a SHIT-TON. i think this is enough for now, but i might write another letter today. this was cathartic, and i feel like i’ve processed some shit as well as made a record for the future. i hope you weren’t bored or overwhelmed by my novel, darcy. i’m just writing what i feel is important, and i hope it’s still important to you.

signing off,

darcy lamont wheeler

#Spotify

2 notes · View notes

leigh-kelly · 5 years

Text

When the Ones You Love Are There, You Can Feel the Magic in the Air

Some 80s AU.

November passes quickly and Brittany finds herself getting incredibly excited about Christmas. She’s already finished making Santana’s gift and absolutely cannot wait to give it to her. With all of the end of the year stuff at the bank, Santana ends up working late most nights and Carl lets Brittany teach another class on Tuesday and Thursday evenings, which fills a lot of her time. Even though she and Santana are making gifts for each other this year, Brittany wants to be able to chip in for the fancy dinner Santana ordered, so the extra money at work helps immensely.

When Christmas Eve comes, Brittany spends the morning attempting to bake cookies while Santana is at work. She follows Millie’s recipes so carefully and she’s surprised with herself that she actually doesn’t do a bad job. The house smells good—even after one tray of peanut butter cookies was burnt—and Brittany puts them all on a pretty tray she bought at the Duane Reade, hoping to surprise Santana with them when she gets home. The rain has been pounding down outside the window and Brittany gets hot chocolate ready, knowing that Santana will be in a grumpy mood because of it and wanting to make her happy.

“This day.” Santana opens the front door, soaked from head to toe and shivering.

“Babe, what happened?” Brittany comes to the door, taking in the sight of her very wet girlfriend.

“I waited twenty minutes for a cab and while I was, a truck drove by me and completely soaked me. Now I’m in the worst mood and I just want to enjoy this holiday with you.”

“How about this? You go strip out of those wet clothes and I’ll run us a bath? I bet you’ll be in a way better mood when you’re warm and naked.”

“I was going to stop and get dinner on the way home before everything closed.”

“Chinese takeout is open, I just want you to relax, that’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.”

“You’re cute.” Santana laughs a little as she strips out of her wet coat. “And exactly what I need right now.”

While Santana goes in the bedroom to get her clothes off, Brittany runs the hottest, most bubbly bath she can possibly make. She doesn’t even wait for Santana to come into the bathroom, she just slips out of her clothes and slides into the tub, knowing that Santana likes to sit between her legs. By the time Santana gets into the bathroom—after presumably bagging up her clothes because they’re wet and muddy and need to go to the dry cleaner without contaminating anything else—the tub is almost full and Brittany takes in her naked form in the split second before she climbs in with her.

“You don’t even know how much better this is than being at my parents’ house right now.” Santana sighs, leaning back into Brittany. “She didn’t even call to invite me.”

“Has she...at all?”

“No. The first rule of the Lopez house is that you don’t question authority. I broke that rule and until I apologize, I imagine she won’t speak to me.”

“Are you going to?”

“I know it’s Christmas and I should wish them a merry one, but honestly, no. She disrespected you in our home and I’m not going to apologize for being upset with that. This has been a long time coming, Britt. I can’t put up with how she behaves anymore. I’m trying to be more comfortable with myself, I really am, but I can’t do that with her around.”

“So you’re really writing her off?”

“I...I don’t know.”

“It’s okay if you don’t, I don’t want you to feel like you have to do that for me.”

“I just really have so much guilt instilled in me from my whole childhood, it’s hard.”

“Listen, babe, I really support you, whatever you do. I’m not gonna keep you away from your family, I hope you know that.”

“I do. And thank you. I’ll figure it out, but as of right now, I’m not going to go running back to my mother.”

They spend a long time in the bathtub and after they get out, Brittany calls for takeout. Maybe it’s not a traditional Christmas Eve dinner but they’ve ordered a roast from Zabar’s for Christmas Day that is sitting in the refrigerator and Brittany thinks that lounging at the kitchen table in their pajamas while they eat is kind of perfect. She loves that she actually gets to be with Santana on Christmas Eve, unlike last year, and she smiles at her over her plate of noodles and Kung pao chicken.

“Can I give you your gift tonight?” Santana asks. “It’s a little time sensitive.”

“Time sensitive? You did make your gift, right?”

“So full disclosure, I made half of it. But the half I made is connected to the other half and I didn’t spend any money on it, so that’s fair, right?”

“I think so.” Brittany laughs. “I mostly just didn’t want you buying me something really fancy, so if you didn’t spend any money...”

“I promise, I didn’t.”

After dinner is finished, they wash the dishes and Santana goes up to the office for a little while to get her gift ready while Brittany takes hers out from the bottom drawer of her dresser. She really hopes that Santana appreciates the scrapbook she made, especially because it took her so long to find enough pictures of the two of them—and was insistent on taking a lot of them from the time they decided to do homemade gifts in October until when she got her last roll of film back two days ago. All she really wants is for Santana to see how perfect they look together and that no matter what the world sees, they fit together.

Santana finally comes back downstairs with two perfectly wrapped boxes and Brittany sits cross-legged under the Christmas tree. With the biggest smile, Santana sits down across from her and puts the boxes down and Brittany is pretty sure that she can hear a faint scratching sound coming from one of them. Santana just shrugs her shoulders and pushes the smaller box toward her and Brittany unwraps the paper, revealing a quilted pillow.

“I learned how to quilt.” Santana smiles sheepishly. “But if you ask Hummel, he’ll tell you I’m a terrible student.”

“It’s beautiful, Santana.” Brittany beams.

“It makes more sense if you open the other box. It’s not...exactly for you.”

“My Christmas gift isn’t for me?”

“I mean...it is, but also it’s not.”

Intrigued, Brittany begins to undo the ribbon on the other box. The scratching is not mistakable and when she gets the lid off, she sees a very tiny, but very fat kitten. She can’t even hold in her squeal when she sees him and she’s torn between hugging the kitten immediately to her chest and kissing Santana all over. Opting instead for a quick kiss to Santana and then lifting the little guy out of the box and into her arms, she feels like she’s going to explode with joy.

“I didn’t know what to make you and then Hummel suggested I make a bed for your cat. I hope it’s...okay.”

“Santana, oh my God, this is a billion times more than okay. You got me the perfect fat kitten and I don’t think I could love you any more than I do right now.”

“I was just thinking about how you said your parents never let you have a pet because they didn’t want the responsibility and how I can’t give you a traditional family, but I can give you this.”

“I’ve wanted a cat since the first time I could even say the word. He’s perfect. He’s...a he, right?”

“He’s a he.”

“Does he have a name?”

“They were calling him Aragon at the shelter, but I figured you could name him whatever you wanted.”

“You don’t want to help name him?”

“He’s your gift, whatever you decide, I’ll love.”

“Then I’m going to call him Lord Tubbington. Look how chubby he is, he’s like a huge ball of fluff.”

“Lord Tubbington.” Santana laughs. “That sounds so perfect.”

“I got you a gift too, but I seriously can’t top this.”

“Brittany, you know I wouldn’t care if you got me nothing. Seeing you so happy is my Christmas gift.”

“Well I made you this.” Brittany thrusts the wrapped scrapbook toward Santana, still cradling Lord Tubbington. “I didn’t even get help.”

Santana carefully unwraps the gift and Brittany watches as her eyes go soft, seeing the first picture of them, one she’d put the camera on the mantle to take. Carefully, Santana flips through the pages and Brittany can see a range of emotions pass over her features. Before she knows it, Santana is crying and leaving Lord Tubbington in her lap, she reaches over to grab one of her hands.

“This all just makes it feel so real.” Santana murmurs through tears. “I never even thought about the pictures...”

“I hope is okay...”

“I’m not ashamed of you, Britt. Of course it’s okay. I thought your anniversary gift was the best thing anyone has ever given to me...but this...”

“I know we don’t have framed pictures of us in the house or anything, but I just...”

“I never thought to frame the pictures. I don’t even have them. If you want to get doubles of these...”

“This is just for you, we’ll take more pictures if you want to frame them, but I want you to have this.”

“Babe. This means more than I even know how to say.”

“I love you, Santana, like, so much, and I just want you to always know that what we have is real.”

“I do know it, but thank you for reminding me.”

Because Santana is tired from her long day at work, they don’t stay up much longer. They bring the litter box and the food that Santana had stashed in her office down to the first floor and then they end up taking a bath, with Lord Tubbington peering into the tub, and they take the kitten to bed with them. He curls up right on Brittany’s pillow as she holds Santana from behind and she feels like nothing could be more perfect. Santana gave her this little guy and Brittany just feels like he completes their family. Maybe they don’t have something traditional, like Santana has said, but Brittany thinks this is better, two women who love each other and a fat little cat.

The next morning, Brittany wakes up with an excitement that it’s Christmas Day. Even though they’d done gifts last night, she loves that they have a whole day to spend together, just lounging around in their pajamas until they get dressed to have dinner and then Mercedes comes by for dessert. Even though Santana is still sleeping, Brittany gets out of bed and puts the coffee on and feeds Lord Tubbington. She looks at the instructions on the pancake box, furrows her brow and sets to work making her amazing girlfriend a Christmas breakfast. She just has the first pancakes in the pan when Santana comes out and wraps her arms around Brittany’s waist.

“Merry Christmas.” She husks, kissing behind Brittany’s ear.

“Merry Christmas to you too.” Brittany turns around and grins. “I’m making breakfast.”

“I see that. What can I do to help?”

“You can sit down and drink your coffee. I’ve got this under control.”

“I’m impressed.”

“We’ll see how they turn out, you might not be.”

“You made me breakfast.” Santana smiles. “Even if you burn it, I’ll still be impressed.”

“Let me pay attention so that doesn’t happen.”

Brittany only burns one pancake. The rest of her efforts are a success and she brings the big stack over to the table so she and Santana can eat together. It’s still too early to call Arizona so she feels like she has all the time in the world to sit with Santana both at the breakfast table and on the living room floor where they eventually settle to play with Lord Tubbington under the Christmas tree. She thinks that it’s probably the most perfect Christmas morning she’s ever had and she’s really hoping that Santana is truly okay with not spending it with her family.

Eventually, they have to get up and get dressed in order to heat up dinner and then get ready to have Mercedes over afterward. They go into the bedroom and Brittany sits on the bed, watching as Santana takes off her pajama top. She’s wholly impressed that her girlfriend actually stayed in pajamas this long, since she’s usually quick to get dressed in the morning. Santana stands in front of the mirror exposed as she gets ready to get in the shower and Brittany gets off the bed and comes up behind her, snaking her arms around her waist and eventually bringing her hands up to cup Santana’s breasts.

“Think we have a little more time?” Brittany breathes into her ear, making Santana shiver.

“I...yeah.”

“Come to bed with me.”

Santana complies immediately, letting Brittany lay her back on the bed. Brittany presses her knee between Santana’s clothed legs and she tilts her head down to take a nipple into her mouth. Santana’s hands weave through her long blonde locks and Brittany spends a long time on Santana’s breasts, knowing that it gets her really turned on. She wants to have her writhing, she wants to be able to push her legs apart and crawl down her body to find her at her wettest when she gets there. Brittany thinks that if she had to choose one activity to do for the rest of her life, it would be going down on Santana, because bringing her to ecstasy makes Brittany happier than anything else.

“My nipples are so sensitive.” Santana murmurs, though she doesn’t push Brittany away.

“Think I can make you come just from doing this tonight?”

“It’s so embarrassing when that happens.”

“I think it’s sexy as hell.”

Brittany looks up at Santana’s face, flushed from both her ministrations and the knowledge that she absolutely will come from Brittany playing with her nipples. With a satisfied grunt, Brittany continues what she’s doing, only occasionally tensing her thigh between Santana’s legs to give her a little something extra. Santana’s first orgasm is small, a squeak and the tightening of her fingers in Brittany’s hair, but Brittany knows that she can do better than that and kisses down her body, pressing Santana’s knees flat on the bed.

Just as she’d wanted, Santana is so wet and Brittany laps it up, not even kissing her thighs, just wanting to get to the destination. Santana’s hands are still woven tightly through Brittany’s hair and she moans as Brittany’s tongue proves her entrance. It doesn’t take long before Santana comes again, this time, her legs shaking and profanities escaping her lips. Brittany keeps going though, until Santana finally pushes her away, breathing heavily as she lays sprawled out on the bed. She moves to touch Brittany, but Brittany stills her hand, having gotten enough just out of pleasuring Santana and knowing that her wonderful girlfriend needs time to recover after such an intense series of orgasms. Because it’s a little cold in the bedroom, even with the heat on, Brittany moves to cover Santana with the blanket on the end of the bed and she curls up beside her.

“I have no strength to get in the shower.” Santana laughs, cradling Brittany’s face.

“We have time.”

“I’m really happy right now.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah. Being with you makes me happier than anything else. I wish we could run away to Greece or Hawaii or something and just be in bed together all the time.”

“You’d get bored. You love to work.”

“Not as much as I love you.”

Santana gets quiet and contemplative and Brittany just leaves her be, stroking her hair, the scar on her abdomen, her face, just being with her. Finally, they both know that it’s time to get out of bed and they get in the shower together. Santana’s hair doesn’t need to be washed, but she washes Brittany’s and Brittany relaxes under her intimate touch. Once they’re done and dressed—and Santana looks so sexy in jeans and a sweater, Brittany thinks—they go into the kitchen and heat up the ham and side dishes that they’d ordered.

“You don’t mind that Mercedes is coming over, do you?” Santana asks as Brittany sneaks Lord Tubbington a tiny piece of ham under the table.

“It’s your Christmas tradition with her.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“No.” Brittany shakes her head. “I don’t mind. I wasn’t sure we’d ever stop being so wary of each other, but now I think we’re in a good place. We both love you and would kill someone if they hurt you.”

“She means a lot to me.”

“I know. You don’t open up to many people and you’re open with her. I’m glad that I think we’re becoming friends.”

“I am too.” Santana nods and leans across the table to kiss Brittany. “Now stop feeding the cat all of your dinner and enjoy it.”

They finish up their dinner and then clean the kitchen together. Santana starts a fire in the fireplace while Brittany takes the Yule log cake they ordered out of the refrigerator for when Mercedes gets there. She also fills up both of their wine glasses while she’s in the kitchen, then goes into the living room where Santana has her legs pulled up beneath her on the couch. She curls up at Santana’s side and Lord Tubbington hops up onto her lap. She just can’t help but cuddle the kitten, still finding it hard to believe that Santana not only got this little guy for her, but also made him his own bed. Her heart is just swollen with love and she looks down at Santana’s face.

“What?”

“I just think this is my best Christmas.” Brittany beams.

“Even away from your family?”

“Santana, you are my family. And I know we’re going to go out and party with my friends for New Year’s Eve, but right now, this is the only place I want to be.”

“I’m glad, I was worried it would be a disappointment.”

“Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know, it’s just not much. Christmas is supposed to be big and exciting or whatever but we’re just...home.”

“Do you really think I’d have a better time eating one of my parents’ friends quinoa loaf instead of being with you? Just because there’s not a lot of people around doesn’t mean it’s not special. I like Christmas like this, I want to spend every year like this. Are you...crying?”

“It’s just that I’m really happy. I’m thinking about how lonely I was all of those years with my parents and how everyone kept asking when I was going to find a husband and I knew I could never live up to what they expected of me. With you, I don’t feel like there are any expectations.”

“I wish I could have been in your life all the years you felt like that. It must have been really hard.”

“I just felt like a freak, you know? I was little when I realized I looked a little too long at my female teachers and I didn’t have crushes on the boys like the other girls did. It was lonely and being around my family made me feel even lonelier because they kept telling me how I should feel. I remember my grandmother used to talk about my wedding and ask what guy I was going to marry. I would just pick the name of whatever boy in my class that the other girls had a crush on and pretend I did too. It got harder when I was in college...sorry, I’m talking too much.”

“Keep talking, I want to hear.”

“My mom just always was calling Barnard ‘that dyke school’ and my aunts picked it up too. They would laugh about it right in front of me and ask me why I didn’t have a boyfriend yet. I would always make up the name of some guy I was seeing from NYU or Columbia or Fordham to keep them from suspecting anything. I would leave every holiday feeling exhausted and cry myself to sleep. All I wanted was to be normal, now all I want is you.”

“You have me, you know. You’re always going to have me. Look. We have a family now. Lord Tubbington, go cuddle with Mama.”

“Mama?”

“Yeah, tough luck, I already called dibs on Mommy.”

“I—“ The doorbell interrupts Santana before she can say anything else and since Lord Tubbington has nestled himself into her lap, Brittany gets up to get it, opening the door to Mercedes and snow.

“Girl, it’s freezing out here.” She laughs, bustling past Brittany and into the warm house. “Merry Christmas! Santana, do you have a cat on your lap?”

“Meet Lord Tubbington.” Santana waves his little paw and Brittany thinks she fits right in as his mama.

“Sweet Jesus, I never thought I’d see the day.”

“She got me him for Christmas.” Brittany chirps. “Isn’t he like, totally the cutest?”

“I’ve gotta admit, he is pretty cute.”

“I’ll go get the cake and the wine.” Brittany offers. “This is a great end to a great Christmas.”

#brittana #80s au

54 notes · View notes

sarakuper · 4 years

Text

Filandia; a gem in the coffee region

Stop #12, February 19-22

Oh Filandia, we came to love you so fast!

Filandia is a beautiful and quaint coffee town smack in the middle of the coffee region. The buildings are colorful and kept in wonderful condition. The town is surrounded by rolling lush green hills with magnificent mountains in the distance! We’ve enjoyed so much coffee here and are starting to understand that the coffee we drink at home is not as great as we thought! Even though the best coffee in Colombia gets exported, and we definitely drink it in the states, its not even just about the beans, it’s also about how it’s prepared! Many local coffee shops are starting to sell the best stuff right here in town, and they offer several ways to prepared your coffee. Sean and I have stuck with the traditional way and have yet to get so fancy with it, but we will soon :)

We arrived on Wednesday and walked around the quaint town. It immediately reminded us of Jardin, except smaller and with fewer people and tourists. On our way to the hostel we walked through a bunch of elementary and middle school students leaving school in their uniforms. It was so cute and made me a bit nostalgic! We enjoyed coffee and a snack at the edge of town overlooking the mountains. We walked around the town some more, wandered into their very many and very cute shops, and finished the night with dinner and a very, very highly rated restaurant that is mentioned every single time someone talks of Filandia. The hype got me very excited for this place, especially because a vegan blogger raved about it too (suggesting its vegan!). I was so disappointed in this restaurant :(. The yucca croquettes with their spicy jam was delish, and Sean said he loved the Colombian hot dog he ordered (which looked more like sushi). But when my falafel dish arrived and I want to put some on my fork, the falafel ball was so hard that my fork didn’t pierce it, and it went flying onto my lap with the thick layer of hummus. I’ve surprisingly eaten so much falafel in Colombia that has been the best I’ve ever had, and at this famous restaurant it was so over fried, it was difficult to get on your fork.

(did you know bananas grew upwards!?)

On Thursday we went Barbas Bremen Natural Reserve to see the howler monkeys. We got picked up in a Willy’s Jeep from our hostel to head to the finca. After a brief introduction of the area and some coffee, our guide Alejandro led us into the jungle. We heard the monkeys from afar, and before we knew it we spotted 5 of them. If fact, we even saw two of them mating! These monkeys howl so loudly, its unbelievable! We were able to stand and watch them for quite some time before continuing the beautiful hike.

The rest of the day was spent at Cafe Cultivar, a cafe that quickly became our favorite hangout in Colombia. The views on their patio overlooked the lush fincas and hills surrounding town, and the few foods we tasted were absolutely delicious. I brought my laptop, and Sean and I spent a few hours there eating, sipping coffee, and working. I spend a lot of time on job applications and getting other stuff in order while Sean worked on stuff for the business he’s starting when he returns to the states! At night we went out for tacos, but within 30 minutes after eating the taco I had a very strong craving for pasta, and so we went out for a second dinner. To be fair, the tacos we had were small and more like appetizers…. :)

On Friday we planned on hiking to a double water fall that many people speak of, sharing that the walk there is very beautiful. But honestly, we loved our time just sitting at coffee shops, walking around, and enjoying the view. It rained most of the day, so instead of the hike we just hung out. Just before sunset we walked to The Mirador for a 360 degree view of town and all the fincas, and at night we went to TukTuk, a Vietnamese restaurant. I essentially ordered a plate of veggies, but they were seasoned to perfection! Also it was an absolute HUGE portion, I’m surprised I even finished half. I love when restaurants have delish veg options!!

Our last day in Filandia was one for the books. After yet another delicious and healthy breakfast we sipped our coffee and took in the beautiful dining room in this hostel. It feels like you’re outside in a very lush garden. Then we packed up our bags (which always takes me 3x longer than Sean) and began our 10k (5 mile) walk to the well-known Aprisco La Espanola. I had read about this place in a few blogs, the few that explored Filandia, and the reviews of this place sounded amazing. It’s a goat farm in the foothills outside town, and they cook up a huge meal (upon request/reservation) with everything fresh from their farm. A priest lives there and cooks there, but I don’t know how or why that’s relevant. We walked for almost 2 hours, but then hopped into a jeep driving by to help us get there a little quicker. The driver was Colombian but actually grew up and graduated from high school in New York! Anyway, he dropped us off 2k from the finca and we continued to walk.

Upon arrival we walked around the finca and enjoyed the absolutely beautiful surroundings. Not only were the views gorgeous, but everything about the farm was too- the architecture in the buildings, the kitchen, the dogs-chickens-goats-peacocks-and birds, just everything! Of course Sean went straight to all the puppers to give them love and head scratches. The male peacock was running around with the goats and shortly after opened up his feathers. We were confused as to why, because the males only do this when trying to impress a female, but we eventually saw the female he was after in the distance.. and she was clearly not interested!

Another group showed up and we were seated for lunch by 3pm. WOW, the food, just wow. The soup, which reminded me of the soup my mom makes on thanksgiving, was absolutely out of this world! It was the best soup I’ve ever had (sorry mamma!). I later learned it was made of pumpkin, carrots, celery.. and other fresh ingredients I cannot remember. Everything was truly delish.

We rode back in another Willy’s Jeep with the people we shared lunch with. An American guy from Michigan just married his wife who is from Colombia, and they live together in Bogota. They married only a week ago, and so they were traveling around with their parents (who where also there) and a friend. They were super lovely people and we enjoyed our time with them.

Next we are headed to Salento to visit the famous Cocora Valley!

Thanks for reading fam! I think my posts have gotten pretty boring because I haven’t kept them up to date like I’d like to- please don’t feel pressured to read. But definitely check out the photos :)

Love you all!

2 notes · View notes

benisasoftboi · 4 years

Text

Tales From A Christmas Carol(s)

I work props at a local amateur theatre, and we just finished our run of A Christmas Carol - 19 shows in just under two weeks, massive cast of both adults and children. I was there for 15 of the performances, plus rehearsals. I’ll miss the cast and crew very much - wonderful people, the lot of them - but I never want to hear a word about ghosts and making merry and Tiny-bloody-Tim ever again.

Here’s some stories that the audience didn’t get to see:

So the first thing I have to talk about is the Cursed Prop. Here he is, at first dress rehearsal:

Someone in the cast named him Dead Tom. He stayed on stage right, where I worked, and played the role of Scrooge’s corpse during a Christmas Yet To Come scene (hidden under a blanket, luckily for the audience). We all hated Dead Tom for being the scariest part of the whole production - except the kids, who were oddly entranced by him. I once watched one reverently stare at him, and then reach forward to gently caress his face. Spooky as hell. As the show went on, and he had to be dragged about every night, he got a bit worse for wear, and by the final performance looked like this:

Someone (*cough* me) accidentally kicked him in the face during the final rehearsal, which is why that dent is there. Surprisingly, doing this didn’t doom the show by unleashing an ancient evil. I suspect it instead explains the UK general election result. Sorry, everyone

Working props can be really fun because unlike a lot of other backstage jobs, you get to spend a lot of time with the actors - you come to personally rely on each other, which leads to a weird, but special bond. Like the girl who played Belle (Scrooge’s ex-girlfriend), who relied on me to help her with a quick change at the end of Act 1 - I had to button a cape around her neck, which is really difficult to do under pressure (I’ve always admired quick changes, but now I am in absolute reverence of some famous ones having experienced the pressure of it first hand). I am very grateful she trusted me with the task - and also quite surprised I never accidentally groped her, considering how often my hands were frantically moving about in that area

However - actors are also useless and cannot ever be trusted with anything, it must be said. We had this plate of (real!) jellies that went on stage for a party scene, it looked like this:

(They look better on stage). I would cover them with a sheet of foil, and a note reading ‘DO NOT TOUCH’, as they were fairly delicate. The first night, the note went missing. I later found it on the other side of the stage, meaning some one must have carried it across. And it also means that some smart-arse touched the DO NOT TOUCH sign. Never found out who it was

On the last night, I figured they knew the rules by now. I didn’t have to cover up the jellies, they’d seen the sign for two weeks, I’d be throwing them away in an hour anyway - I could trust them to leave them alone for one more act. I leave them out, turn around for five seconds, and turn back to discover the actors taking it in turns to SLAP the jellies

Actors are despicable creatures and I hate them (I don’t <3)

There’s always one prop the actors consistently forget to return. In this show, there was a set of pocket watches that people would constantly leave in costume pockets. At one point we had three shows in a row where a different person forgot each time. This was perhaps my punishment for getting bored in rehearsals and setting all the clock hands to 6 and 9

We had a few props that were spares, in case something went missing or got broken. One was a bowler hat. On the last night, as it clearly wouldn’t be needed, I wore it the whole show, just for fun. Someone told me I looked ‘effortlessly cool’, which is the only time that has ever been said about me

There were a lot of kids in this show, and they were really sweet, and often more well-behaved than the grown-ups. I had to skip both sets of performances on the Thursdays for other commitments, and one of them told me he missed me while I was gone, and my soul ascended

Another time, we were doing a matinee for a school group, who were being very rowdy. One of the kids came over to me, gestured in the direction of the audience, and said ‘I hate children’. I nodded and handed him his prop, while internally losing it because sweetheart, you are children

That same day, the actor playing Christmas Past lost his wig - he had to walk through a curtain, and it got pulled off. Cue laughter from audience. He handled it very well, though. The wig wasn’t used again in any performance after that, which I think was actually for the best, with the costume and make-up he actually kind of looked spookier without it

Another school group wolf-whistled Scrooge at the end - kids are wild

I had to spend a lot of time coming back and forth from the theatre’s props room due to those jellies I mentioned earlier needing to stay in the fridge when not in use. Props rooms are where all the most recently or soon to be used props are kept (we’ve got like five other rooms and a whole basement for stuff that’s not in use), and they’re the best. You never know what you’re going to find, and you spot something new every time. It can range from weird:

To creepy:

To very funny if you’re on your tenth performance of A Christmas-goddamn-Carol and you barely slept last night and you have a highly immature sense of humour:

I would watch the absolute hell out of a Night At The Museum spin-off set in a theatre props storage

Being an amateur theatre, everyone involved with these shows is, well, an amateur. A lot of people still like to jokingly call themselves professionals, though, usually under one of two circumstances - the first is when no one really feels like being there, but we’ve got to do it, we’re professionals, *self-deprecating laughter*, and the second when someone gets caught doing something silly

For me, the latter happened a few times during my favourite part of my role in this show - decorating the scooter. For some reason, this version of A Christmas Carol featured a boy on a scooter who would ride through various scenes. The scooter was then gifted to Tiny Tim at the end (I don’t get it, but whatever). Throughout most of the show, it was just a scooter, but before the last time it came on, I would decorate it like this:

Now, it had to be ridden across the stage, so it was very important that the decorations didn’t all come off. So of course, I would be required to make certain of that, surely? And what better way to do so than by riding it around the back corridors while everyone’s on stage? Right? It’s a very professional thing to do, is how I explained it every time someone caught me

Scooters are fun and more adults should have them

At the end of the show, the whole cast is on stage and ‘snow’ falls from the ‘sky’, and everyone cheers as the curtain falls. One matinee, the snow failed, and we spent the wait until the evening show unsure whether they’d be able to fix it. When it did fall at the end of the performance, the cheers the actors let out were, unbeknownst to the audience that night, actually 100% genuine - I could hear the difference, having listened to it every night for a week. Which was why I spent the entirety of bows that evening silently laughing my absolute arse off

To be a little cheesy - these past few weeks have been some of the best of my life. If anyone out there has just moved, or is moving to a new city, and is looking to socialise a bit, you could do worse than joining up with a local theatre. Best case scenario, you end up like me, and have a great (if repetitive) time with a group of lovely people. And worst case? You at least get really good at quoting long sections of plays. Who wouldn’t want to be friends with someone who can do that?

#long post #theatre #theater #a christmas carol #christmas #misc #storytime #cursed #personal #happy christmas if you celebrate it #happy day anyway if you don't

5 notes · View notes

sportsnightnut · 5 years

Text

double chocolate muffins and cigarettes

My Valentine’s Day Fic Exchange entry for Charnette (ScullyLovesQueequeg on AO3). A little angst, a little unrequited love, and not a lot of fluff, per her request. :)

Nicole ( @gaycrouton), thank you so much for setting up these fic exchanges. They are delightful and fun and I love this so much. <3

the you I miss does not exist, but I’ve never wanted anybody more than this -john mayer

It’s 5:53 on Thursday morning, and Dana Scully’s first thought is that she really, really, really wants a cigarette.

Her alarm isn’t supposed to go off for another seven minutes. She could’ve had seven more glorious, unconscious minutes where she wasn’t awake and she wasn’t thinking about him or it or anything . But her internal clock decided that wasn’t necessary, so now she’s here, awake, staring at the ceiling and contemplating which expletives best fit her mood this morning.

Scully throws the covers off, sliding off the bed and right into her slippers. She pads out to the living room and turns on the television, which is still on The Weather Channel from yesterday morning. She throws the remote unceremoniously on the couch and makes her way to the kitchen.

While she starts the coffee, she listens for the infamous “Local on the 8s” segment to advise her on what to wear today. For the end of February in Washington, it’s been unseasonably, and somewhat obnoxiously, warm. As she suspected, high of 51 today, which is practically balmy after last week’s snow showers and highs in the low 20s. Her sinuses are furious.

Scully’s shower this morning is quick, partially because she doesn’t care that much today, and partially because there’s been a lack of hot water in the building lately. She’s not about to risk an extra five minutes just in case it turns to ice

Black suit, white shirt, black heels, a swipe of lipstick, and she’s out the door at 7:06.

She doesn’t feel like driving today, so she takes the Metro, Yellow line to the Archives station. There’s a bakery she likes about a block in the opposite direction of work, and since it’s the kind of morning that calls for a muffin the size of her face, Scully stops there first before ducking into the pharmacy next door to grab a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

She smokes two on the walk back. At first, it burns her throat and her lungs, but then she decides she kind of likes the feeling, so she finishes the first and shakes out a second. Scully finds an odd sense of pleasure in grinding a cigarette butt into the concrete sidewalk, something she would normally find repulsive.

When she steps off the elevator and into the office (their office? his office?), she’s surprised to find that Mulder is already there, digging through a file cabinet. He turns around when he hears her open the door.

“Eight o’clock on the dot, Agent Scully,” Mulder remarks with a smile, the kind Scully can’t decide if she loves or hates because she can’t decide if it’s endearing or annoying. This morning, in particular, it feels annoying.

“Mmm,” she replies as she hangs her coat. Since he isn’t currently at the desk, Scully decides it’s hers for the moment and takes a seat, tearing open the paper bag to reveal the double chocolate muffin inside. She takes a bite, wiping the crumbs off her skirt onto the floor, before she reaches for her travel mug of coffee and takes a drink.

“Are you okay?” Mulder asks, and it’s this, this question, this seemingly innocent yet not so innocent question that causes Dana Scully to snap.

And she’s not sure if it’s because he asked it or if it’s how he asked it or why he asked it, but if she were asked to detail everything leading up to this moment that led her to react the way she did, here is what she would tell you:

One: she’s been surrounded by alpha male figures her entire life, the most notable being her father. Captain William Scully. Sometimes she wonders what it might’ve been like to grow up away from the military, away from the structure, the rigidity, the “you’ll do what you’re ordered to do” culture that dictated their family. What would it’ve been like to have a more benevolent father? Would it have made any difference? For her? For her brothers? For Maggie?

When she’d asked Maggie whether or not he was proud of her, all Maggie had said was: “He was your father.”

What was that supposed to mean? Was it just assumed that he was proud of her? As much as Scully doesn’t want to admit it, she was desperate for his approval, and she really needed to hear it from him. But now he’s gone, and she can’t ask that of a dead man.

Two : Sometimes it is really fucking exhausting to be a woman in a male-dominated field in a male-dominated organization in a male-dominated government in a male-dominated society. Could Dana Scully run circles around half the men in the FBI? Absolutely. Is she a better shot than half the men in the FBI? Absolutely. But does she also have to prove herself every day, far more than any of the men she works with ever have?

Absolutely.

Three: Maggie cannot seem to stop pestering her about “settling down,” especially now that she’s gasp turned thirty.

They had dinner for her birthday last Sunday; a nice, quiet, mother and daughter meal. Scully ordered a fancy salad with grilled salmon and an expensive glass of pinot grigio, and almost as soon as her fork pierced those first bites of lettuce, Maggie said “So, Dana…” and Scully tried so desperately not to roll her eyes because she knew exactly where Maggie was headed.

Maggie means well. Scully knows that she means well. It’s just that if Scully hadn’t already been slightly self-conscious about celebrating her thirtieth birthday by having dinner with her mother, she was as soon as those two words left Maggie’s lips.

Scully is a doctor. A board-certified physician who is also a badass, gun-wielding Special Agent for the FB-fucking-I and all she can think about right now is the fact that she isn’t married and she’s having her thirtieth birthday dinner with her mother.

Four: Speaking of that whole doctor thing.

Scully knew early on in life that she wanted to be a doctor. Heavily influenced by her parents, of course, though she felt she’d come to the decision on her own. She loved science and logic, and she also felt called to serve others; practicing medicine was the perfect blend of two things she truly loved.

And sometimes Scully would daydream about becoming a doctor; getting that white coat, making rounds in the hospital. Maybe specializing in surgery, maybe pediatrics, maybe pediatric surgery. And she’d meet a handsome fellow physician, and they’d be an absolutely adorable couple, eating lunch together in the cafeteria and consulting on each other’s cases.

Now she’s found herself in the basement of the Hoover building, daydreaming instead about the man sitting just feet from her. He’s not a doctor, no, but he’s incredibly well-educated in his own right, having attended Oxford and graduated with honors from the academy.

But that’s just it: all she’s done so far is daydream.

Five : Speaking of Mulder.

Sometimes he’s irritating. Really irritating. For a few different reasons, of course, one being the fact that he is obnoxiously tall. All six feet of him towering over her five-foot-three frame. Mulder likes to stand behind her, often when she’s performing autopsies. He’d tell you it’s because he finds it--and her--fascinating. Scully doesn’t know that, so it feels alot like he’s watching her every move, waiting for something that’ll prove he’s right and she’s wrong.

And Mulder can also be a bit of a condescending asshole.

But here’s the thing: he’s also really, really attractive. And really, really smart. And did she mention attractive?

Six: Scully finds herself coming to Mulder’s defense more often than not.

They’re not dating or in any kind of relationship other than “work partners,” yet Scully finds herself defending him and/or having to defend him. Regularly. To their colleagues, to Skinner, to random strangers who don’t know him. And having to do this all the damn time is starting to get irritating.

It’s not only because she’s tired of defending him. She’s also tired of other people not understanding Mulder; not knowing her partner well enough to see how intelligent he is and that really, he doesn’t need her to defend him. Sometimes people will listen to her more than they’ll listen to Mulder because she’s the logical, rational one, without stopping to consider that Mulder might actually have a point. Playing the role of defender is, quite honestly, wearing on her.

Seven: Scully has made some hints, both subtle and not-so-subtle, that she likes Mulder as more than a work partner.

But he’s either an idiot or he’s missed every single one of them.

Does she really need to stand so close to him? No.

Does she need to purposely touch his hand every time he passes over a file or gives her a pen? No.

Does she need to sit on the bed in his hotel room and pass takeout containers back and forth while they compare notes and work on their reports? No.

Does she need to linger even after they’ve finished their work and talk with him late into the night? Definitely not.

Does she need to wear that one suit she knows he really likes because she’s seen him look at her appreciatively in it several times? No.

Although she’d be lying if she said she didn’t do it on purpose and that she didn’t enjoy the butterflies-in-her-stomach feeling that accompanied Mulder’s appreciative (but not creepy) gaze.

Eight: Scully got stood up last night. On her birthday.

She shouldn’t have planned a date on her birthday. She knows better. It’s just that she was supposed to go on a date with this guy named Peter and he said he was available on Wednesday, so she agreed, deciding not to tell him it was her birthday.

He’d chosen an Irish pub for their date, which was a little out of Scully’s first date (and overall) comfort zone, but she decided to give it a go anyway. Why the hell not. Except, of course, for the part where Peter never showed up and never called to explain why.

So Scully sat at the bar, alone, with a few pints of beer and something called Irish Nachos to keep her company. She decided that if she was going to be stood up, she may as well make the most of it with a plate of waffle fries covered in cheese.

Along with the fact that she was stood up last night, she’s also thinking about the fact that yet another Valentine’s day has passed without a man. Without a partner, a significant other, someone to buy her a cheesy card and a box of chocolate and maybe some flowers.

She hates that she wants these things.

Eight point one : Cheap beer and cigarettes.

The cheap Irish beer was good last night. It was appropriate for the situation. It wasn’t a glass of “I’m on a date” red wine. It was three or so pints of “I don’t give a fuck” beer.

And something about this cheap beer made her crave cigarettes for the first time in over a decade. She knows they’re terrible for her and she shouldn’t want them, but she’s been frustrated out of her goddamn mind and they just sounded good.

She used to sneak cigarettes as a teenager, simultaneously exhilarated that she was breaking the rules while being terrified that her father was going to find out. It was rebellious, and it was wrong. It’s still wrong, both because smoking is terrible for you and because Dana Katherine Scully is a rule follower.

But she’s tired of following the rules. Tired of worrying about what’s good for her or bad for her. She just wants to do something without considering the consequences.

Which leads her to buy that giant double chocolate muffin, that pack of cigarettes, and that lighter.

Nine: Scully wishes, more than she would ever admit, that Mulder would just ask her out already.

She sees the way he looks at her. She knows the way she looks at him.

She’s mad about this, too, though. It’s adhering to these typical gender roles and procedures of “guy asks girl out.”

It’s 1994, damn it. She could ask him out if she wanted to, you know? Just walk into the office and say “Mulder, would you like to go to dinner with me?” And he’d say yes, and that would be the end of that. The end of that frustration and tension and that “will they won’t they” dance they keep doing around each other.

Ten: Scully doesn’t say that last part.

Instead, she says this: “Fuck off, Mulder.”

Mulder blinks several times, very slowly, as if he can’t process the words that have just come out of his partner’s mouth.

“I…” he starts, but doesn’t know what to say. Because he doesn’t know what he’s done. Because all he’s really guilty of is being hot and brilliant and really fucking distracting . Because he has nothing and everything to do with the nine other reasons she’s exhausted and frustrated and smells faintly of cigarette smoke.

Scully thinks maybe she should apologize, except she wouldn’t know where to begin. She’d have to go through all ten point one steps of everything leading up to her telling Mulder to fuck off. So she doesn’t. She takes a bite of her muffin and says nothing.

“I’m sorry,” Mulder says. “I didn’t...I didn’t mean…” he trails off. He’s apologizing and doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for.

Scully sighs. “Yeah. Me too. It’s fine. Let’s get to work, okay?”

It’ll be a long, long while--years, in fact--before Mulder finally understands what all of this was about.

#xf fic #my fic #early seasons unrequited love #sportsnightnut

84 notes · View notes

oldshrewsburyian · 5 years

Note

“Are you drunk?” for Garcy?

Well, mysterious anon, I’m sure this prompt is supposed to elicit Lighthearted Hijinks. But 1) I am not sure that I could not write Lighthearted Hijinks if I tried 2) I think these characters might bestow thousand-yard stares on anyone attempting to bring them anywhere near things that could be thus described. I don’t think Garcia Flynn ever really has to ask Lucy if she’s drunk. She’s a petite 5′5″; she will always be tipsy far before he is. So I asked myself about the circumstances under which she might have to ask an extremely self-controlled ex-soldier if he were drunk, and I came up with no remotely lighthearted answers.

So. This became somewhat angsty (which should surprise no one) and perhaps painfully domestic, and um, mildly smutty? which mildly surprises even me. Compatible with, though not dependent on, and history immeasurably is wealthier.

Lucy Preston is very glad to be home. Another week of the quarter down, not that she’s counting (she’s counting.) And ditto, just about, to another week of her second trimester. She’s definitely counting; even if she weren’t, she thinks, her body would keep track for her. Each week, almost, seems to bring new symptoms. At least she’s only lost her balance and stumbled into the blackboard once so far. And at least that’s almost something she might have done anyway.

She deposits her briefcase, kicks off her shoes, and shuffles her slippers on. “Home!” It’s long since become a ritual. Still, it gives her a thrill that surprises her a little, a slight fluttering under the breastbone, to know that it matters to someone else — to him — that she’s home and safe. That Flynn doesn’t answer is no cause for alarm. He’s probably upstairs, translating Russian, or Arabic, or French. Lucy puts on the tea kettle. If he’s not translating for the cabal, he’ll be testing paint swatches for the room she’s trying to think of as the nursery.

Lucy pours the water over her teabag, inhales the aroma of the ginger. She’s glad they’re having a girl; she’s glad it can still be Amy’s bedroom. It still almost chokes her sometimes, the giddy knowledge that they’re doing this, she and Flynn, building a future on all the pieces of their pasts. It takes Lucy several minutes to realize what she’s staring at, oddly abandoned on the kitchen island. For one thing, Flynn defaults to a soldier’s tidiness. For another, he’s been very sweet about joining her in enforced temperance. So the corkscrew — still open, still with a slightly torn cork impaled — is odd. Lucy tries not to let it frighten her. She consciously deepens her breaths (out, and in, and out) as she finishes preparing her tea. The wine bottle is nowhere to be seen.

She finds it and Flynn both in the living room. “Hey.” It comes out more breathless than she expects it to.

“Hi.” He is absolutely motionless; he does not even turn his head.

Lucy swallows. She assesses the level of wine in the bottle. “Are you…” No, okay would be a mockery. “Are you… drunk?” Lucy winces. That might be even worse than okay.

“No.” His voice is low and dangerous, anger in it like a current under ice. “English has many good words for…” With one hand he gestures towards the wine bottle, the near-empty glass. “And I am not yet drunk.” His tongue curls around the word, contemptuous.

Lucy puts her hand on the back of the sofa — his first warning, his first intimation — and carefully settles herself into it. “Okay.” She leans her head back, settles deliberately against his arm (rigid, corded with tension.) “Colonial and Revolutionary America went well today.” He makes a noise in his throat. Lucy finds herself wishing he’d curse in five languages instead.

“Hey,” says Lucy softly. “We’re fine. I’m fine.”

With his free left hand he takes hers, raises it to his lips. He doesn’t kiss it. He breathes against her knuckles, her fingertips. He rests his forehead against her palm, and Lucy blinks back tears, intensely aware of the feverish heat of his skin, the rapid pulse of the vein at his temple.

“We’re fine,” says Lucy again, a little helplessly. “You saw, on the scan yesterday: she’s healthy, it’s — oh.” She’s filled with the sudden and incandescent desire to murder the ultrasound technician. Lucy Preston reflects dispassionately that she should, perhaps, be alarmed by this homicidal capacity. But she left nice behind a long time ago, and she doesn’t really miss it. She’d barely registered the remark. (We’ll have to hope she’s not big-boned like her father, right?) It was so unimportant. It was background noise, chit-chat; they saw hundreds of couples, thousands in a year, and they said trite things and stupid things and Lucy didn’t care. Not with her hand gripping Flynn’s and a strange, almost surreal image filling the screen, filling their world.

“Garcia.”

“Yes.”

“I love you.”

She watches his jaw work; she watches him swallow. He releases her hand. “And I you.”

“Mm. Move over.” His shoulder under her hand is still stiff, but she settles herself in his lap, pulls his arms around her. “There.” Wordlessly he draws her closer, changes his position so that she can lie in his arms. “Mm,” says Lucy, burying her head against his chest. “That’s nice.”

“Lucy,” he says, and stops. She wonders sometimes if he grew unused to words, during those two bleak years when he was chasing hers in a journal.

“I love this,” she says softly, and she means it. Even with his heartbeat too fast underneath her, even with unshed tears in his voice. “I love this. Intellectual history on Mondays, queer history in the US Tuesday-Thursday, colonial America Wednesday-Friday.” She tilts her head up to kiss his chin. “And you.” Again she becomes conscious of the pricking of tears behind her eyes; from where she is lying, she can see the wall that they painted together last year, the matching bookcases that she came home from a conference to find flanking the fireplace.

“This,” says Lucy Preston, “is more than I ever thought was possible. I — I tried to believe I could be a good historian in my own right, and I told myself that I could have kids someday, that it might happen, but…” She guides his hand under the hem of her tunic. She feels him shudder. “I never dared to want this,” she whispers. “Not really. Wishing… wishing for more than I ever knew. That’s all it was. And now…”

“Lucy.” She can feel his quickened breath. “Lucy, you have given me — ” another pause, a kiss pressed to the top of her head — “my life. Several times. As you know.” She laughs, at that; a few tears fall, are absorbed into his shirt. “I know,” he says, “that we cannot live a life without danger. But I cannot — I cannot — ”

Lucy reaches behind her, gets a hand firmly anchored in his hair. “Shh.”

He swallows. “I hate,” he says, “the knowledge that I am endangering you.”

“You’re not endangering me,” she counters quickly. “Garcia, you’re not. You are, at my request, snuggling me on the couch.”

“Snuggling.”

“An excellent English word, I’ll have you know. You are snuggling me on the couch,” repeats Lucy Preston, with emphasis, “and we, together, are doing something dangerous and a little bit terrifying and absolutely amazing. But that… that just counts as normal in our relationship, right?”

Flynn presses another kiss to the top of her head, inhales deeply. “Moja najdražo. I don’t deserve you.”

“Pots,” says Lucy firmly. “Kettles.” She stretches, rolling her hips, arching her back. “I could… give you things to do.”

“Mm?”

“Mmhmm.” She takes his hand in hers, guides it lower. There are, she has been discovering, many advantages to elastic waistbands. “You could — ah — make passionate love to me and then — yes — you could make that broccoli-anchovy thing again.” He sits up, pulling her against him. Lucy wonders briefly if it would be indelicate to observe, at her next sonogram appointment, that there are distinct advantages to being considerably smaller than one’s lover.

“Lucy,” says Garcia Flynn. “Lucy, my love, my heart.” Her shirt lands on top of the wine glass. “You have very, ah, specific ideas.”

“I do,” she says happily, and hooks her feet around his calves, leans back to kiss along the line of his jaw. “’S what happens when you have more than you’ve ever wanted. Anchovies on pasta become the height of your worldly desires.”

“Mm.” He raises his mouth from the base of her nape. “I see.” Lucy gasps a little as he brings his hands to cup her breasts. “But this first?”

Lucy leans back into her lover’s arms, where she has always been safe. “Oh yes,” she says. “This first.”

#garcy ff #i love them #electricbluebutterflies #you wanted to be tagged when i wrote for these two #why am i so emotionally invested? the answer is probably complicated #asks and answers #ficlets of consolation

51 notes · View notes

pengiesama · 5 years

Text

Celestial Confluence/Cultivation Cross (Fic, TGCF, HC/XL)

Title: Celestial Confluence/Cultivation Cross Series: Heavenly Official’s Blessing (Tian Guan Ci Fu) Pairing: Hua Cheng/Xie Lian

Summary:

All of Heaven has been brought to its knees by the hot new gatcha game, Celestial Confluence/Cultivation Cross. The gods are at each other's throats, and are at the brink of civil war, in pursuit of the rarest of .pngs.

Chaos reigns. And it is most emphatically Hua Cheng's fault.

Link: AO3

Check out my commission info here.

Read on Tumblr!

“...so you see, profits are up from last quarter, and attendance at the gambling halls is at an all-time high,” said the bird demon at the front of the conference room. “Our Lord’s bold strategic moves in this fiscal year have broken previous records into such dust.”

“Master’s business acumen is unmatched,” stated the hog demon to the horned woman seated next to him at the polished wood table. The horned woman nodded at this sage assessment, and the rest of the room murmured in agreement.

“Unmatched.”

“Unparalleled.”

“Who other than a Supreme could wield such horrible power?”

Suddenly, the demon business consultants found their voices silenced. They could not utter a peep -- it was as though an invisible hand had reached down their gullets to pluck out their tongues. But there was little mystery to who had performed such a feat. A perceptible dark aura had descended upon the room, and at the center of it all was the object of their praise and adulation: their Lord himself, Hua Cheng. Despite their acclaim, despite the numbers from last quarter’s gross profits displayed prominently on the overhead projector in a neat, color-coordinated bar graph, Hua Cheng’s expression was grave. He swirled red wine in a goblet of fine, translucently white porcelain.

After a long and deliberate silence to build up an appropriate sense of dread, Hua Cheng spoke.

“Not good enough.”

He hurled the porcelain goblet against the wall, splattering its contents -- looking to all the world as red blood and white bone, a scene of spectacular violence. Hua Cheng snapped his fingers and a nearby handmaiden handed him an identical goblet. Hua Cheng swirled it again, once, twice, before he spoke once more.

“Profits are up,” Hua Cheng repeated, mockingly. “An all-time high. Meaningless. I need more than that.”

His consultants said nothing, out of terror. And also out of still not being able to speak because Hua Cheng stole their voices. Hua Cheng seemed to remember this part only belatedly, as he waited a little bit too long for a response. He rolled his good eye, sighed in frustration, and gave the bird consultant his voice back.

The bird consultant knew he had a role to play in this scene, and wasted no time embracing it. “M-my lord!” he coughed, trying to get his tongue back in the right place in his throat. “Whatever do you mean?”

Hua Cheng threw another goblet against the wall, and accepted its replacement in his waiting hand.

“I have built an empire on cards and dice. However, there remains the need to attract more clientele. New clientele. Clientele that think themselves too good, too noble to enter my gambling halls. Tempt them, ensnare them, enslave them -- only then will I approach the profits needed for my ultimate goal.”

Their Lord’s riches were unparalleled -- truly, the stuff of legends. Mountains of gold, oceans of jewels. Jurisdiction over the nether realm, command over an army of souls and a bottomless abyss of power. Wealth that even the richest of kingdoms could only ever dream of. To lust for more and more was the nature of demons, to be certain. But their Lord’s aspirations seemed to be approaching the limits of reality itself.

“Such devious and lofty ambition is surely within my lord’s reach,” said the bird consultant, with utter sincerity -- for it was a simple truth that everything was within reach for their lord, the king of the ghosts, the lord of the demons, the terror of the heavens. “But does my lord already have something specific in mind?”

Hua Cheng was idly throwing goblet after goblet at the wall, clearly bored of the meeting. “I do. I don’t care about your input, and I don’t know why I pay you or why I have these meetings. You’re all dismissed. Bye.”

The demon consultants found their tongues forcibly returned to their mouths, and they quietly filed out of the room, trying to reattach them properly. It was no use, and was entirely unwise, to inquire any further into their lord’s plans.

After all, surely, they would find out soon enough.

Xie Lian was used to being out of the loop on the latest trends in Heaven. It didn’t really bother him -- he was just too old to keep up with this gossip or that fashion trend or that new joke, especially when it was sure to be old hat in a week or less. What’s more, it was always so awkward trying to fit in. He distinctly remembered the pain on Shi Qing Xuan’s face as he tried to explain to Xie Lian why that picture of a frog puppet on fire was relevant to the current conversation in the heavenly array. Xie Lian still didn’t understand. Why would someone want to set a puppet on fire? It seemed like a perfectly good puppet. He probably could have put on a street performance with it.

“It’s just like -- an expression! It’s you! You’re all excited and on fire and you’re the frog puppet!” Shi Qing Xuan explained, in increasingly desperate tones.

“I’m not a frog puppet,” Xie Lian said. “And I don’t want to be on fire. It hurts, trust me.”

Shi Qing Xuan lowered his head to the table and buried himself under his voluminous silken sleeves. “You are the least cash money person I have ever met.”

“Sorry,” Xie Lian said. “I am the trash god, you know.”

In any case, Xie Lian’s willful ignorance of popular trends allowed him to live a peaceful -- if uncool -- life. But as he was soon to discover, one cannot escape from the cold, clammy grasp of popular culture entirely.

Xie Lian didn’t remember why he’d needed to visit Heaven, that day. Perhaps he’d needed to get some holy water from the celestial stream, perhaps he’d needed to gather herbs to make medicine, perhaps he was just feeling masochistic and wanted to go to a place where everyone deliberately ignored him. Whatever the reason, it was as though he had stepped into the realm of the damned.

Gods stumbled down the streets, mumbling to themselves as they tapped away at glowing screens that floated in the palms of their hands. Cries of joy and cries of despair echoed from the palaces and alleyways. All around him, Xie Lian saw faces twisted by anguish, by ecstasy, by madness -- still more with eyes that were utterly dead to the world. Xie Lian almost thought that he had made a wrong turn, and had landed in the entertainment district of the Ghost City by mistake. But no. This was Heaven, but somehow, it had become overrun with the unmistakable aura of hell.

Surely no one would have blamed Xie Lian if he had simply turned around and left. But alas, he never did know how to leave well enough alone. Xie Lian hastened to the Windmaster’s mansion, hoping against hope that Shi Qing Xuan was still in possession of his full faculties...or as full faculties as could be expected from such a devoted follower of hot trends. It took a few knocks, but eventually, Shi Qing Xuan answered the door. Xie Lian was disheartened to see that he (well, currently she, for the present moment) had that same glowing screen in the palm of her perfectly manicured hand; however, Shi Qing Xuan’s expression was still bright and cheery, her eyes still clear. With any luck, she still had enough strength of will left to answer questions.

“Just in time!” Shi Qing Xuan said cheerily, dragging Xie Lian in by his wrist. “I’m about to stream my next few dozen ten-rolls. You can be my guest commentator! Ming-Xiong and I have a channel, you know, and we can always use guest commentators, because Ming-Xiong doesn’t really talk, he just eats into his microphone even though we’re not a mukbang stream except when it’s Thursday and we’re a mukbang stream. We have a podcast, too, did you know that?”

“No,” Xie Lian said. “I didn’t.”

“Well, if you stick around, you can be a guest on that too!” Shi Qing Xuan said cheerfully. “Come come, sit here so the cameras can see you.”

Xie Lian settled down awkwardly, watching as Shi Qing Xuan attached her glowing screen to a strange setup. Ming Yi didn’t seem to acknowledge his presence at all, and continued to engage in the activity that he had been partaking in since they entered the room, which was slurping noodles extremely loudly into a microphone. A large screen displayed on one of the walls, showing the camera footage of the three of them in the room, and showing a scrolling feed of the conversation taking place in the heavenly array -- as well as a running tally of the merits that were being tossed their way. Xie Lian was extremely puzzled as to what they were doing that merited...merits. Every time Ming Yi made an especially loud slurp or finished another bowl of noodles, a new wave of donations pinged onto the screen. Pictures of that frog puppet kept popping up in the chat, in new and strange situations.

Frog puppets. Noodles. Podcasts. Heaven transforming into hell. And Xie Lian could do nothing but watch.

“Hey everyone! We’ve got a special guest today; he’ll be chatting with us while I whale for my new outfit card in Celestial Confluence/Cultivation Cross!”

“You’re doing what to a whale?” Xie Lian asked, regretting the question when it wasn’t even fully out of his mouth.

Shi Qing Xuan laughed uproariously, then stopped, seeming to realize from previous experience that Xie Lian wasn’t joking. However, instead of having a swooning fit over Xie Lian’s uncoolness as she usually did, she seemed to have the scent of something interesting. She scooted in close, closer, closer. Xie Lian fought the urge to bolt.

“Xie Lian. Your highness. Lemme ask you this. Do you know what Celestial Confluence/Cultivation Cross is?”

“Absolutely not,” Xie Lian said.

“He doesn’t know!” Shi Qing Xuan crowed with glee, clapping her hands in delight. “He doesn’t know at all! Your highness, it’s only the most popular game in the Heavens right now. Or like, ever. You seriously haven’t heard of it?”

“Not at all,” Xie Lian said. He looked around for anything that resembled a game board. “It’s a game? Where are the game pieces?”

Shi Qing Xuan gestured with a flourish to the screen display, her sleeves fluttering like leaves in the wind with the motion. “You’re looking right at them, your highness.”

On the screen, there was...a series of pictures of Shi Qing Xuan, in a dizzying variety of different outfits. Shi Qing Xuan pointed to each one, proudly.

“This is me in my travelling robes, and this is me when I’m feeling a little sassy and want to go out incognito dressed as a simple but also beautiful mortal cultivator, and this is me except I’m a schoolgirl, and oh, there’s me when I’m a schoolboy too, and this is me on a day out at the beach in a cute polka-dot bikini and couture sunglasses and kicky little high heels, and this is me as a Santa Claus -- watch out or else you’ll be on my naughty list, Ming-Xiong!”

Ming Yi had nothing to say to that except another loud slurp. Another torrent of merits pinged on the screen.

“And this is me as a sexy cat burglar, and this is me as a famous idol singer, and this is me as a dazzling bride, and this is me as a star athlete, if you’ll notice the diamond-studded booty shorts, and this is me as a pastry chef, and--”

“Windmaster,” Xie Lian interrupted, seeing that Shi Qing Xuan was not about to stop any time soon. “Would you be so patient as to explain to me how one plays with...such game pieces as these?”

Shi Qing Xuan squinted at the screen, frowning. “...I dunno, I just pick whatever outfits I’m in the mood for and then let the auto-battle option do the rest. Anyway, this is another idol outfit, but it’s from a different collab and in THIS one you can see that I’m wearing striped panties--”

“Is there an aim to the game?” Xie Lian prodded gently, trying to keep Shi Qing Xuan on...some sort of track that didn’t just involve her showing off her pretend closet for the next hour. “Does one battle against any sort of opponents?”

“Ugh, you martial gods and your one-track minds,” Shi Qing Xuan sighed and shook her head. “Yes, I guess you fight monsters and stuff. And like, you can join a team with people on your friend list and take on raid battles with them -- those are like, battles with really strong opponents. And once you kill ‘em you get prizes.”

Xie Lian gave a polite “hm.” He supposed he could see the appeal of practicing strategy with such a...low-impact method, but he wasn’t convinced it would impart any real-world benefits when it came to actual combat. He didn’t become a martial god by sitting inside playing xiangqi, after all.

“There’s a story.” Ming Yi had finally diverted his attention from his noodles. He cleared his throat, and squared his jaw, clearly itching to say more. “In the game.”

Shi Qing Xuan gestured wildly with her fan. “Yeah, that too! In the idol collab there was a WHOLE story about me and Ming-Xiong and I forget who else teaming up with a bunch of mortal girls who were desperate to save their school from closing, so they offered up a prayer and--”

“The MAIN story,” Ming Yi cut in. “Is about a sect of cultivators out to save humanity from a prophecy of destruction. They summon the aid of the gods to help in their battle, and along the way, they encounter many twists and turns and eventually they discover that the prophecy came from a mysterious race of aliens from beyond the stars who wish to sacrifice humanity in a crucible to split off the timeline, but in actuality this already happened millennia ago, or maybe millennia in the future if you think about it laterally, or maybe it happens in a cycle or all at once, but whatever the case may be the heroes must find a way to unite the True Timeline with the Dark Timeline, but which timeline is real? What will become of our heroes when the timelines are merged? Also the main character cultivator who’s kind of a blank slate but not really if you play the sub-scenarios has an evil twin or possibly an alternate-reality clone who can summon the power of the demon kings and it’s not clear if he’s working with the aliens or a rival cultivation sect or if he’s just a rogue agent out to sow chaos and destruction--”

Shi Qing Xuan started slurping noodles as loud as she possibly could, and the noise combined with the rush of pinging merits drowned out Ming Yi as he continued to confuse and vex everyone who heard him. Fuming, Ming Yi returned to his task of eating his feelings.

“Anyway,” Shi Qing Xuan said, daintily wiping her mouth, careful not to smear her lip rouge. “You get it now, your highness?”

“A bit,” Xie Lian said, lying through his teeth to avoid having it explained further.

“Great! Now, you get all these cute little cards by drawing for them in a lottery, and you can either grind for free game currency by toiling away on tasks...or you can just buy currency and draw until you get everything you want!”

Shi Qing Xuan’s tone clearly showed which method of cultivation she preferred. Still, when it came to matters of luck and lottery, it was best for Xie Lian to not get involved at all.

“You’ll have to excuse me, Windmaster, but I wouldn’t want to upset your fortune by staying here. I wish you and your whale the best of luck in…” He gestured vaguely. “...cultivation?”

“Nononono, stay! C’mon, did you think I didn’t remember about your Thing when I invited you in?” Shi Qing Xuan lunged forward and dragged Xie Lian back down to sit on the colorful silk cushions. “It’s so BORING doing this with just Ming-Xiong to keep me company -- it’ll totally be a hoot to see how bad our rolls are with you in the room! I’ll just draw for my new outfit later. It’s for the ballet event, by the way.”

“Oh,” said Xie Lian.

“I’m a swan princess,” Shi Qing Xuan elaborated. “Cursed by a dark wizard to force me to be his bride. Bird by day, fair maiden by moonlight. And only a kiss from a prince can save me!”

“I see,” said Xie Lian.

“Odette dies at the end of that ballet,” Ming Yi noted.

“Nuh-uh!” Shi Qing Xuan shot back. “The wizard turns into a big ugly monster and the prince shoots him and then the prince cries on her body and stuff and she’s alive somehow! And she’s a human again but she can still turn into a swan for all the sequels. There was a turtle and a penguin or something too.”

Ming Yi stared at Shi Qing Xuan with a mouthful of noodles, and Shi Qing Xuan took this as a victory, somehow. With a flourish, she presented her glowing screen to Xie Lian. There was so much going on that Xie Lian didn’t even know what he was looking at. Beautiful fairies with petal wings, with butterfly wings, fluttered here and there, glowing orbs and blooming flowers decorated banners encouraging players to “draw now!” And surely players had a glut of choices to draw from. There was a banner with Shi Qing Xuan pouting and winking at the camera, there was a banner with Feng Xin and Mu Qing facing each other down with bow and spear in hand, there was even a banner with the Rain Master’s loyal ox assistant...wearing a black blindfold, white wig, and a short, frilly black dress. (“Geez, is that Nier collab still going on?” asked Shi Qing Xuan.)

Shi Qing Xuan tapped on one of the banners, and pointed to a glowing button on the bottom of the screen. A set of eight fairies fluttered their wings, just waiting for their cue to pull back the curtain and reveal what awaited behind it.

“Press the button,” beseeched Shi Qing Xuan, wriggling in place. “Press it, press it, c’mon, your highness!”

“It’s your money on the line,” Xie Lian said, simply, and tapped the screen.

A lavishly-animated cinematic played on the screen. The fairies swirled around the white-clad cultivator character, who raised their sword to the sky -- causing the clouds to split with a crack of thunder. Rainbow light filled the screen, and energetic strings and drums added to the assault on the senses.

“Oooh!” Shi Qing Xuan clapped her hands in excitement. “Rainbow clouds! You got me at least one ultra-rare card out of that, your highness! I think your luck’s finally turning around!”

“Maybe it’s just that his luck’s so bad that it got confused and looped around,” Ming Yi said.

Shi Qing Xuan nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, honestly, that’s more likely.”

“I won’t exactly argue,” Xie Lian said. “But I must protest.”

The cinematic finally ended, and the results of the draw displayed on the screen. Xie Lian squinted, a bit confused at what he was seeing. Shi Qing Xuan and Ming Yi’s jaws had both dropped to the floor; struck into speechlessness by the outcome. But the silence was quite brief. Shi Qing Xuan let out a shriek that rattled the windows and had the microphones panging with horrible feedback.

“THEY DO EXIST! YOU DO EXIST!” Shi Qing Xuan leapt onto Xie Lian, shaking him by the shoulders. “NO ONE’S EVER MANAGED TO FIND YOU BUT YOU JUST FOUND YOU! FOR ME! LIVE! ON MY STREAM!”

Xie Lian briefly glanced at the array chat, which was absolutely exploding with expressions of excitement, of disbelief, of frog puppets. All over -- him? Xie Lian didn’t understand. Least of all because Shi Qing Xuan was making no sense at all and was no longer able to control the pitch of her voice. It was rapidly approaching levels that only dogs could hear.

The roll he’d made was impressive, evidently, by the game’s standards. He’d figured out that much. But...all the cards were just...him. Him in various outfits. There he was in his plain white robes and straw hat, dangling his bare feet in a stream while animated flower petals drifted around him and Ruoye twirled about his ankles. There he was as the flower-crowned martial god, wielding Fang Xin and flinging his golden mask aside as he reached into the air as if to catch something. There he was, holding his hat to his head and smiling over his shoulder at the camera, reaching out his hand as if to beseech the viewer to take it. There he was, in light and colorful summer robes, dancing under lantern light to the beat of the festival drums. There he was, face half-hidden behind the hood of a voluminous wool-lined cloak, warming his hands on a mug of tea as snow swirled around him. There he was, as -- as a bride, gazing demurely up at the camera with blushing cheeks and parted lips as his mystery groom drew back his veil…

“Um,” Xie Lian said. “You...you don’t have to use any of these. As game pieces. In fact, please don’t.”

Shi Qing Xuan briefly stopped screaming directly in Ming Yi’s ear long enough to whirl around, wild-eyed. She flashed a terrifying grin at him.

“I am the only person ever to have gotten even one card of you, let alone ten,” Shi Qing Xuan said. “I am going to show off so much.”

“These cards have amazing stats,” Ming Yi was murmuring to himself. Excitement was coloring his normally-expressionless face. “They’re just broken. They’ll revolutionize the meta. I’ll have to update the wiki; all the literature gods are going to be SO pissed that I got to it first…okay, the game crashes when you try to equip the Chef card, I’ll list that as a bug...”

Shi Qing Xuan snapped her fingers at Ming Yi, and Ming Yi wordlessly handed the glowing screen back to her. They were both staring at Xie Lian with expressions of determination, of hunger. Xie Lian’s eyes scanned the room, looking for the best escape route.

“Your highness,” Shi Qing Xuan said, voice dripping with sweetness. She offered the screen with both hands, and inched closer, closer. “Won’t you roll for us again? Once, twice more, maybe?”

Which would turn into thrice more, which would turn into him being locked in the mansion’s basement for the next month. Xie Lian had no talent for fortune-telling, but he wasn’t blind to where this was going. Those windows looked extremely breakable, surely it would only take a single kick. They were up rather high, however, and Xie Lian couldn’t afford to land wrong and be hobbled with the Windmaster in hot pursuit -- and, from the array’s continuing reaction, perhaps all of Heaven would be only steps behind as well --

Suddenly, there was an announcement on the screen, heralded by the rumble of drums. Shi Qing Xuan and Ming Yi were distracted enough for Xie Lian to start creeping towards the door to make a stealthier escape.

“It’s…a flash event! A limited-edition raid!” Shi Qing Xuan read off the screen, with growing excitement. “‘A Raid for the Strongest and the Prettiest Only’ -- Ming-Xiong, that’s us, that’s us, it’s only us, right?”

“Obviously,” Ming Yi said, rolling his eyes. He summoned his own glowing screen.

“Tell the rest of the guild to get online! Right now!”

“No need. We’ve got ten secret weapons in our deck. Lead off with the one of him in the teahouse waitress outfit, that’s a buffing card, then swoop in with the pincer of the orchestra card and the one of him in the bunny ears, then mop up whatever’s left with that overly-horny one of him in the river flashing his ankles…”

The raid had apparently begun, and to Xie Lian’s surprise, his cards really did seem like they were useful...or as far as he could tell, they were useful. They were easily cutting through the little green goblin sprites that advanced across the screen, and there were a lot of loud noises and flashing colors. It covered his escape quite nicely, and Xie Lian was able to creep out of the mansion and back onto the heavenly avenues without being stuffed into a sack and imprisoned in a locked room, to tap a screen until his finger fell off.

The rest of Heaven was under the same thrall that had swept Shi Qing Xuan and Ming Yi away -- they stood motionless in place, or paced in circles, furiously tapping and swiping away at their screens. The raid had apparently interrupted a real-life brawl between Feng Xin and Mu Qing, and they lay slumped against each other for support, bruised and bloodied and clutching their screens, as they battled for the title of Strongest and Prettiest.

It was truly outstanding. Whoever was behind this game now held control over Heaven -- surely, an entire army could leisurely stroll down the streets and not be confronted by a single god, so engrossed they were in their virtual world. Xie Lian briefly wondered if Jun Wu was a fan, too. He imagined a horde of demons sauntering into the hall that housed the throne of Heaven, and pushing Jun Wu off of it with a single finger as he poked away at his screen. Xie Lian shuddered. Those thoughts were probably some form of blasphemy.

Who could manage this kind of feat? Who was cunning enough? Skilled enough? Audacious enough?

There was only one possible answer, and luckily, Xie Lian had a standing invitation to dinner with him any time he pleased.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian said, bowing at the entrance to Hua Cheng’s study. “Please forgive the intrusion.”

Hua Cheng’s expression was warm and welcoming as he rose from his desk to greet Xie Lian at the door.

“My home is always open to you. But to what do I owe the pleasure of a surprise visit? I haven’t had the time to prepare any treats for us, nor the time to prepare my heart for seeing gege’s face and hearing his voice.”

“Oh, stop,” Xie Lian said, waving off Hua Cheng’s teasing. “I just wanted to...lay low here, for a little while. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not at all.” Hua Cheng’s eye was shining, and his expression was warm as he regarded Xie Lian. He was certainly in a pleasant mood today; Xie Lian hoped his unannounced visit wouldn’t dampen things. “I’ll have a guest room prepared, and we’ll have a feast tonight -- I can have a bath drawn for you while you wait, and I have many fragrant oils I can comb into gege’s hair while he relaxes--”

“Have you heard of a game called Celestial Cultivation Conference?” asked Xie Lian.

“I could rename it to that if gege finds Celestial Confluence/Cultivation Cross too unappealing,” Hua Cheng said. “We could discuss it after we settle on which oil you prefer.”

“Ah,” Xie Lian said. “So you are the mind behind that game. It’s causing quite the crisis in Heaven right now.”

“Oh yes,” Hua Cheng said, his eye crinkling as he smiled. “I know. Almond oil?”

“And you’re responsible for all those strange outfit cards.”

“I outsource some of the art to trusted assistants,” Hua Cheng said. “Though I take care of the most important art personally. Coconut oil?”

Xie Lian eyed him warily. “...and you’re responsible for the game’s, ah, story?”

Hua Cheng made a face. “Ah, your highness, please don’t remind me. No, I outsourced that nonsense too, but I fear I should have paid more attention when the ghostwriter submitted it for approval. No one plays this thing for the story but one has to have standards.”

Xie Lian turned this thought over in his mind. The corner of his mouth twitched. “...ghostwriter?”

Hua Cheng bared his teeth in a wide grin, and Xie Lian snorted before smacking him on the arm lightly. In truth, he didn’t blame Hua Cheng for the...situation in Heaven, nor could he really blame the game itself. No one was ever forced to participate in any of Hua Cheng’s various business ventures. There never any trickery, any unfairness -- Hua Cheng clearly found it far more entertaining to watch as people leapt into his stewpot of their own free will; motivated by greed and pride and vanity and jealousy and other such dark drivers of the human condition. And this new game of his seemed to bring out all of said emotions in spades.

“Rose oil,” Hua Cheng declared with an air of finality. “Its fragrance will suit you. I’ll ring for bath water--”

“Ah!” Xie Lian clapped his hands together. “There were workers here digging a hot spring the last time I visited, yes? I asked them what they were working on. Have they finished?”

Hua Cheng’s eyebrows rose, and he pouted briefly. “...yes. That was supposed to be a special surprise. I haven’t finished arranging it to receive gege yet.”

Xie Lian’s shoulders drooped. “Ah...I understand, I’m sorry for being so forward. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had a nice soak. And you mentioning oils reminded me how lovely it is to soothe sore muscles with a massage after a long dip in the springs...”

A pulse of energy palpably resonated through the manor’s structure, nearly knocking Xie Lian off his feet.

“Actually, I forgot, it’s arranged right now,” Hua Cheng said hastily. He rubbed at his arm where Xie Lian had swatted him earlier. “Did I happen to mention that my arm has been very sore lately?”

Xie Lian tutted and shuffled in to take Hua Cheng’s wrist in one hand, and his elbow in the other, flexing the arm carefully to check for stiffness. The floodgates had been opened, and now Xie Lian would talk about health and wellness until physically restrained. “Now, San Lang, you can’t ignore your body like that. If you’re sore or stiff, then you should visit a doctor.”

Driven on by an earnest and entirely innocent passion for Hua Cheng’s well-being, Xie Lian felt his way up Hua Cheng’s bicep with one hand, checking for muscle knots and tender spots.

“I don’t feel anything particularly off, but that doesn’t mean that you’re not hurting. It does mean that I’ll have to give you a more general workup instead of just targeting your arm, though, since I’m not sure of the source of the problem. Will it bother you if I massage your neck and back? Perhaps your thighs and calves, too. Are there any sensitive spots I should avoid?”

Hua Cheng’s expression was blank, and he had a faraway look in his eye. “...his highness may...workup wherever pleases him…”

Xie Lian smiled. “You’re a model patient, San Lang. Fetch that rose oil you mentioned? It’ll suit you, too.”

And so, profits that year broke all previous records, especially after the surprise release of the Hot Springs Set; the most overly horny collection yet in the hottest app on the market. From the creator that brought you My Sword Boyfriend and Rabbit Turf War, download Celestial Confluence/Cultivation Cross today!

“Hey. Hey. Crimson Rain Seeks Flower.”

“...”

“I’m way too cute and way too annoying to ignore so I know you heard me! So, Crimson Rain Seeks Flower. As my third-best friend--”

“That is an exceedingly unfortunate sentiment if true, Windmaster.”

“--as my third-best friend, I think you owe me the full scoop on what you’re doing with all this dough you’ve been raking in. C’mon, c’mon. I just wanna make sure you’re investing it wisely!”

Hua Cheng mulled things over for a moment, then pulled a small, elegant notebook from his pocket.

“Investments for the future. Savings accounts to ensure our children receive the best education. Retirement funds -- I wish to be able to eventually devote myself entirely to serving at Qiandeng Temple, you see, and to pass off the reins of the business to one of the children who proves to have a head for it. And before any of that,” Hua Cheng continued. “Wedding planning is quite expensive and tiring indeed. Choosing gowns, choosing flowers, choosing menus for dinner and lunch and brunch and tea and dessert. Bringing together all the guests on my guest list has proven to be quite the headache in and of itself.”

Shi Qing Xuan peeked at the list. “...what’s a ‘Hatsune Miku’? And a ‘Beyonce’?”

Hua Cheng rolled his eye and sighed at Shi Qing Xuan’s lack of culture. “The artists performing at the reception will hail from dimensions far and wide. Which brings us to another item proving to be quite expensive; researching interdimensional travel. Once that’s settled, we’ll be able to finalize the guest list and start looking for a patissier capable of bringing my cake design into reality.”

Hua Cheng smiled at Shi Qing Xuan warmly, and Shi Qing Xuan hesitantly smiled back, unsure of how to react to this sudden outpouring of Crimson Rain’s most secret desires. Hua Cheng snapped his fingers in Shi Qing Xuan’s face, and after a split-second, the Windmaster sighed and slumped over.

“And you won’t remember a word of that when you wake up, because I know you’ll run that mouth of yours and spoil the surprise for gege,” Hua Cheng finished. “I just know he’ll love Miku.”

#天官赐福 #tgcf #heavenly official's blessing #tian guan ci fu #hualian #a tenderly crafted fanfiction

5 notes · View notes

goochi-bandanna-blog · 5 years

Text

Vol. 1

July 11, 2019

Good morning everyone or should I say afternoon since it is 12:25pm and I just woke up. Yep, it is a Thursday and I slept in way past my 9am alarm. Reason being you ask, well I am sick. Yep, sick with a cold in the middle of July in Florida. Who gets sick in the middle of summer? Especially in the hot state of Florida. Me of course. Just my luck. I am going to blame it on going to 10 different restaurants in one day and filling out 10 applications, that screams germs. I met with 10 different people to get those 10 applications then next thing I know, I am sick. Runny nose, sore throat, chest congestion, blah blah blah. Can you tell, I hate being sick. Well anyways I moved to Florida June 22nd so approximately 19 days ago. I told myself before I left Indiana that I would start a blog. I would eventually like it to be a vlog so I can get on here and speak my mind instead of writing my crazy sporadic thoughts down but everyone starts somewhere, so here I am. The title of my blog is “Outlier Unplugged.” An outlier is, a person or thing differing from all other members of a particular group or set. I am the outlier and I am unplugged because I am down here in Florida (where I was born), away from my Indiana roots. My roots including my friends, my family, my pops, my old life, my old job, my social connections, my network I built, pretty much everything except my mom. I am the most unplugged I have ever been and it is very bittersweet. I am still looking for a job. (The first job I found down here was not for me.) I am currently on the hunt for a bartending/serving job because even after my bachelors degree from Ball State and my Dental Assistant Certification, I still choose the restaurant industry. I have been doing restaurant work off and on for 13 years! Yes, I am only 28 years old so yes I started at a Restaurant when I was 15 years old which is crazy to wrap my head around. So here I am. Super qualified, super excited to find a beach front restaurant with a seafood menu, exotic drinks, a fun atmosphere, so much money to be made because I live in the Vacation Capital of the world, yet I can’t seem to find what I want. It is what the Floridians calls “off season” down here aka no one is hiring until “snowbird season” so October- May. So what am I supposed to do until then??? It is July! I need money. I cannot live off of my mom forever. She has been absolutely amazing through all of this. She loves me, she supports me, she encourages me. But in the end it is up to me to find a job that will make me happy. That is the whole reason I am here, to rediscover myself. To be happy again. Indiana was home but it wasn’t my end all, be all. It was toxic for me. It kept me distracted. It allowed me to become who I am today which is a person who has completely lost herself in the world. I am overweight (yep, I said it. I will have a whole different volume dedicated to that). I am unemployed. I am broke. I am lonely (by choice, it is part of the process). I am in my own head. All of these things are normal and ok to feel when you completely up-root your whole life in 3 months. This plan to move here was literally made on April 19th which was exactly 3 months ago! The irony of me starting my blog today just kills me. Anyways, here I am. Moved in to the new condo July 4th, all boxes are unpacked, room is all set up and super organized, bathroom is set up, very spacious and organized as well. But here I sit, on my bed, a complete and utter mess. It is period week, I am trying to start and stick to working out. I went to the gym tuesday, rode bikes with mom yesterday and plan to go to the gym as soon as I finish up this first post. Pretty much I want this blog to help me and you as the reader, understand that life is messy.

1 note · View note

timelock97 · 5 years

Text

Out of Order Love

Chapter Ten: An Evening In

tomhollandxreader

Summary: It was meant to be a fun time in Vegas. Spending time with the best friend and celebrate getting done with college to turn the page to a new chapter in life. If only (Y/N) realized she would be turning a few extra pages by accidentally marrying her favorite actor.

Word Count: 2903

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

I've been working for almost three weeks; a month of marriage gone and passed. Tom spends his days when I am not home studying his script, spending time with Harrison at the gym, and keeping himself busy in ways he won't tell me. Since I work long hours, him and I have come up with a system. When I come home, I make dinner Monday through Thursday, after we eat, Tom cleans up as I get ready to go to bed. The two of us then sit on the couch watching t.v. or talking until I can barely keep my eyes open, eventually heading to bed to repeat the process the next day. On Friday, we order in, it just makes life a little easier and then we can plan what to do for the weekend.

Tonight, however, I am just so done. All I want to do is sit on the couch and sleep, going home to make dinner is the last thing I want to do. When I open the door, I see Tom sitting on the couch with Tessa next to him. She lifts her head when I let myself in and comes to greet me at the door. "Hey, Tessa, baby. How was your day?" I coo at her as I slip off my tennis shoes. Tom doesn't look up from his script, to engrossed in whatever his upcoming character is doing to even notice the absence of Tessa next to him, which usually alerts him to my arrival. So instead of just yelling out a "Hello?" to pull him from his script, I walk over and plop down directly next to him and lay my legs across his lap over the iPad that he is reading this script from, causing him to jump.

Tom relaxes, realizing that I am home, and lets out a low chuckle before looking at me softly, pulling his arms out from under my legs, setting them on top. "Long day?"

"The longest, and I have one more tomorrow!" I sing the last bit before laying my head on the back of the couch. "Can I ask a favor?" He nods, watching me with amused eyes. "Can we do take-out tonight? I really don't feel like cooking."

"Yeah, we can do that. What are you thinking?" He shifts slightly and pulls his phone out from under him.

"I really want Mexican." I reach out for his phone and he passes it to me so I can google the place I had passed on the way home. "I heard this place has really good wet burritos."

Tom smiles and looks through the menu after I do. He nods after a few minutes and puts his hand out. I lean over to grab my bag from besides the couch and dig for my phone. I then hand it to him so he can use mine to call and his to look at the menu. After he orders and gives them our address he hands back my phone. "They said it'll be here in twenty minutes. What can I do for you to help you feel better?"

"Such the gentleman." I go to swing my legs off of him, but he wraps his arm around them and holds me in place. "I wanna go change," I whine, giggling and wiggling a little.

He just keeps looking at me with a dopey smile that makes me want nothing more to stay and let him take care of me. "C'mon, (Y/N), what can I do to help?"

"As much as I know I shouldn't drink, can we crack open a bottle of wine? Then I can tell you about some of the funny things that happened today. They involve you." I say.

"Oh god, is it bad?" He cocks an eyebrow.

"Not awful, kind of comical in some regards, but-" I pat his hand and he lets go of my legs- "I want out of my scrubs." I slip my legs off his lap and head back to our bedroom. I change into a t-shirt and shorts before walking back out into the living room, fluffing my hair out of the tight ponytail. Tom has two glasses of wine and is sitting down when I come back. Once I sit, he moves my legs back across his lap before handing me my glass. "Thank you, Tom."

"Now, I am absolutely curious on what happened today."

"Well, firstly, I had paparazzi follow me into work-"

"Oh no." Tom chuckles

"Oh yes, so basically he came in and sat in the waiting room for a while, then slowly started to slip into the clinic. It wasn't until I saw him attempting to hide behind a plant that I realized who he was and alerted security."

"(Y/N), I am so sorry-"

"Tom," I place my hand over his, "It honestly wasn't bad, and it's the first time it's happened. They are going to make a few precautions so that doesn't happen again. The next two stories are funnier, both because they are fans of yours but on total opposite ends of the spectrum." I take a small sip of the wine in my glass and then look at it in surprise. "This is new, when did you get this?"

"I was saving it for tomorrow, since we really didn't celebrate making it a month together, but since we are doing take-out tonight, I thought it was appropriate."

"I really like it, thank you." I say placing a hand over my mouth making him smile at me.

"You're welcome, now, please continue you have me on the edge of my seat-"

"Lies, I'd be falling off the couch if you were-"

"It's a figure of speech, you twat." He laughs throwing his head back.

"I know, I know. Actually, my first encounter is from last week, but they go perfect together so it's fine." I pause and swat his hand that is running up and down my leg, "Stop, you're distracting me, you dope."

"Div," he chuckles, continuing to brush his fingers up and down my calf. "And I just noticed, is that my shirt, love?"

I look at him confused before looking down at the shirt. It's a plain blue t-shirt and now that I am looking at it, I know that I don't have a shirt this color. "So, what if it is?" I raise an eyebrow at him, but end up giggling, "I honestly was so keen on getting out of my scrubs to notice that this wasn't mine. You're not getting it back, by the way." He laughs and smacks my leg playfully, "It's really comfy! You cannot deny me the right, I am your wife."

He nods still laughing. "I never said that I didn't like it on you," he looks down bashfully, "you look good in my clothes." I blush and take more notice of the wine in my hand and take a long sip. Tom clears his throat, "So, my fans?"

"Right," I giggle leaning over and setting my glass on the coffee table. "I get this girl, she's about our age and I start working with her. I begin to notice as I work with her, she is listening but gives me these looks that I can't shake are-" I wave my hands, trying to find the right word- "nerve wracking? No, but I can tell she doesn't like me. Anyways-" I flail my hand again and fold my arm across my stomach- "I work with her and she mutters something under her breath, I let out a little 'Did you say something?' but she just shakes her head. The second or third time she does it I realize she is doing it on purpose. Finally, she says it loud enough for me to hear, 'stupid bitch stole my husband.'"

Tom's eyes go wide eyed at me. "No," Tom says almost laughing, covering his eyes with the hand that isn't resting on my legs.

"Yes, so I go over and talk to my supervisor and let her know what I think I've heard. She knew that something like that might happen eventually, so she told me to tell her if I hear anything. This girl ends up getting switched to another girl in the clinic and I find out this week that she has been talking to her about the whole situation." Tom peaks an eye between his fingers to look at me, "I'm not going to bother repeating it, but they are looking at her switching clinics since this one is a little further from her home. She literally had a hissy fit, I think she thinks one day you'll just show up to my work so she can tell you that you were wrong to marry me."

"I find it unnerving to know that some of them do that." He pulls his hand from his face and sets it back in my lap, shaking his head. "Like, I love them, don't get me wrong, and most of them seem to really like you." He tries to reassure me.

"Oh, I know, I met one of those fans earlier this week." Before I can continue, the doorbell rings. Tom moves me from off his lap and I watch him as he runs to the door and grab the food. I see him smile at the guy behind the door and say goodbye before shutting the door and locking it.

I go to stand and help him, but Tom points at me with his free hand. "Don't move, I'll get them ready and come back and join you." I go to move again, but he throws a plastic cup at me making me squeal. "I said stay, missy!"

"I'm staying, I'm staying," I raise my hands in surrender, "Damn, Holland."

He laughs as he grabs knives and forks from the silverware drawer and brings the food over. The two of us settle back on the couch and he puts on a movie while we eat, both of us stealing bites from one another. When we finish I help him clean up, against his attempts of keeping me on the couch, which were half-assed. After we had everything cleaned, Tom drags me back to the couch and turns down the volume and looks at me. "Are you going to continue your story or..."

"Right," I smile setting my legs back on his lap, only to be pushed back off again. I open my mouth to say something but he gives me a look while quickly grabbing our wine glasses and goes back into the kitchen. "I don't need a lot, I still have to be up at five tomorrow."

He lets out a hum from the kitchen before returning, pulling my legs back into his lap. "Okay, sorry, you were saying?"

"I got a new patient, after two days of seeing her she goes 'can I ask you a question?' and I go 'sure, ask away' thinking that it's therapy related. However, she looks down, all nervous like, and then goes 'what's it like being married to Tom?'" Tom groans in front of me, "It was honestly the cutest thing ever, Tom. You should have seen how sweet she was about it! So, anyways, I talk to her a little bit about it, nothing big, just like how we have our routines and all that jazz. Then she goes, 'can I ask a personal question?' so again I tell her to 'go right ahead'. She asks, 'what is the best thing about being married to Tom, if you don't mind me asking' and she starts to ramble since she is nervous."

"Now you have me curious, what did you say?"

"I told her I really couldn't decide," I swirl the wine in my glass, "Eventually, I told her that I liked that I could talk to you about most anything, and that I enjoyed evenings when we can just do-" I motion between us- "this." Tom smiles and takes my hand and holds it as I continue, "Then I proceeded to ask her if she was going to use it for a fanfiction." I let out a little laugh, "I felt so bad 'cause her face got so red! So, I proceeded to tell her not to feel bad cause hey it's a form of writing and I honestly love fanfictions-"

"My wife enjoys reading fanfictions, huh?" Tom raises an eyebrow and looks at me with that dopey grin again.

"Well, when a girl needs a little more love in her life she goes for fanfiction, or because we are just obsessed over a character or actor-"

"Did you ever read fanfics about me-"

"I'm not answering that-"

"Oh, love," he tugs me toward him playfully, "you just did."

"Shut up," I tease back before trying to push away from him.

"Make me," Tom challenges. We look at each other, I feel my face heat up and watch as his does the same. He clears his throat and leans back away from me, letting me lean away from him as well. He lets out a little cough and awkward laugh.

"I, uh, used to read a lot of fanfiction because I didn't really have a relationship to, ya know, do cute things with." I laugh awkwardly with him.

"What kind of things did you look for," I look up at him and see that he is looking at his hands. "In a guy, I mean. What really made you fall for someone?"

"Well," I run my fingers through my hair, causing some of it to fall around my face, "I don't really know what to say to that. I like being able to relate to him, being able to talk about things is another thing. Um," I begin to play with my fingers letting out a breathy laugh. "I'm such a hopeless romantic at heart. I like stay at home dates and cuddling. I like being able to be completely comfortable around the guy, and that he feels that he can do the same with me." I shift round slightly, moving my legs from off his lap and bringing them close to me. "I have never been good at expressing when I am having a problem with something, I hate conflict. It causes so much anxiety in me that I hold it in until the last second and I lose it. Maybe that's why I didn't look for anyone while I was in school, too worried to show off the stress I was already enduring." I feel my hands shake and I pull them a little closer. "That was a little more than what I like in a guy, sorry-"

"No, no, don't ever be sorry about being open with me." Tom moves so he is moves to kneel in front of me still on the couch, taking my hands from where I was attempting to hide them. "It actually makes me really happy that you are even willing to open up to me like this. Please, never feel like you have to hide anything from me. Okay?"

I nod, not meeting his eyes. His hand catches my chin and rubs a thumb under my eye catching a tear I didn't realized had slipped. I smile and meet his eyes. They were slightly glossed, but full of truth and something else I couldn't put a finger on. "Okay," I reply, placing my hand over his. "What about you, Underoos?"

He chuckles under his breath as he pulls me into a hug. "What about me?"

"What would cause you to fall head over heels for a girl?"

Tom pulls away and smiles at me, "Let's see." He hums, and in one swift moment he scoops me up into his arms bridal style causing me to squeal and laugh. "She has to be amazing."

"That's an overstatement" I giggle, wrapping my arms around his neck.

"Hush," he bumps the bedroom door with his hip and tosses me on the bed. He crawls on and lays next to me. "Where was I, oh yes. I agree with you on a lot of things you said, but also, she would have to remember that when I am gone, I am still hers. That she supports me, and knows that even if we go through hell, I'd do anything to make a heaven for her." He lays his head back into the pillows. "I didn't know what I was looking for a long time. I looked for girls, but with my career I couldn't pursue anything. I figured someone would just come along and it would all work out, you know?"

I nod, my eyes growing heavy now that I was laying in bed. He smiles at me and helps me under the covers. "Tom-"

"Shhh," He hushes, pulling the covers around me softly. "I'm going to clean up a bit, take Tessa out, then I will be back. Okay?"

I let out a soft hum as I begin to drift. I fade in and out until I feel him pull me to him.

"Sleep well, love." He presses a soft kiss to my shoulder. That's the last thing I remember before I drifted off.

Part 11

#tom holland #tomholland2013 #fakedating!tomholland #husband!tomholland #tomhollandxreader #accidentalmarriage!tomholland #CG writes

10 notes · View notes

neotericbitch · 5 years

Text

a sequel to DarqAnon

part the first

It’s quite abusive, there I said it, how you’re allowed to force a ritual onto a child, whether it be reciting an anthem or staring at the sun, before their brain has developed enough to comprehend the significance. In fact, doing so makes it more likely that as the child grows up, they will never truly find meaning in the action! How sad is that? I’d never force anything on my son.

Growing up, staring into the sun was something I never understood. For a long time I didn’t, I couldn’t conceive of the satisfaction or happiness my family derived from it. It meant something to them, so they tried to teach it to me, but it never meant anything to me. I understood that the sun was their god, but because I never truly believed, I couldn’t grasp how or why it would be important to them to stare up at it, burning their eyeballs out of their sockets. Their god was sending a clear message, do not look at me. Why would they do it anyway?

Oh, but - do keep in mind that that’s all in the past. I understand now. I understand perfectly.

Valkyrie Cain has the most brilliant black eyes. Truly, her every feature is marvellous, her sharp nose, her expressive mouth - but I always go back to the eyes. For Crandall, it’s her hands. They’ve shared many times over many meetings, to the point where I find it very annoying, that they want nothing more than to feel her hands on the sides of their head before she crushes it. I think it’s a nice little fantasy to have, just stop telling us about it. I have only ever shared what I wanted two, maybe three times. That’s an acceptable amount of times! Any more is overdoing it, Crandall! Crandall, I know you’re listening. I’ve been able to feel it even when a very good Sensitive is in my head, Crandall, and you are not a very good Sensitive.

Beside me they turn their head away. Why would they want to listen to my thoughts, anyway, when Valkyrie is here? I suppose I understand their hesitance. Darquesse, goodness - Darquesse wouldn’t stand for anyone hearing her thoughts, absolutely not! To attempt it on her would be a high offence. But Crandall, if you’re still listening, I’d say go ahead for the time being. Darquesse isn’t here. Not yet.

Looking at her, it all makes sense. I want to call up my mother and tell her I understand, I understand wanting - needing! - to look at something, even if it does not want you to. The sun may try to blind you. Valkyrie may glare and scream and curse. But you simply cannot look away.

I cannot call up my mother, of course. She has been dead for a hundred years, and I’m busy right now - and I don’t think there’s mobile phone reception here anyway.

For this week’s Thursday meeting, 6 to 7:30, we have made a temporary move from the community hall to the vault, generously donated for DA’s use by Nicki, who we had to murder. Dear girl, she didn’t want to let me hold the meeting here this week. I suggested it at the end of last week’s meeting and everyone was very excited. A hundred meters beneath the spot where Darquesse opened her portal to another dimension and disappeared - we’re so lucky to have this place! Of course everyone wants to come here whenever we have the opportunity! But Nicki said no. Nicki said to me, “Isserley, these meetings have been really great, you are a good organiser and I’m very happy to have met everyone, but I think what you’re planning is wrong. Please return the vault key to me.” So we had to kill her.

And here we are tonight, and I almost wish Nicki were here so I could say, to think you didn’t want this! The meeting is going very well, I think it’s our best one yet. 6:40 and we’re just about to finish setting up, we’re a neat little group of people. We won’t go over time at all! I’d like to say that I, being an incredibly organised person, have been a good influence on my fellow DA-goers.

Salma finishes painting the symbol on the ground. Her designs are ugly, but she has a steady hand and knows how best to use the petrol paste, a very special concoction. No one else could have done this job - though I must admit, I am a bit envious. Easy, Isserley! Remember, your job is the most important. Without you, this wouldn’t work. Without you, Valkyrie would not even be here.

Salma reaches for Valkyrie. She thrashes wildly - and I can’t say I blame her! I wouldn’t want Salma to touch me, either! Haha. But it really won’t do for her to behave this way, we really need her complete cooperation, so I motion to Respite at the wall and he turns the crank, tightening the chains attached to the bound cuffs at her every limb. She is pulled tight, and by the sounds of it it’s not a very comfortable experience, but now she is tense and mostly still - perfect for Salma to draw the symbol on her wrists and stomach.

She puts up a hell of a fight when Respite disconnects the chains from the wall and reconnects them to the floor, at each corner of where the symbol has been painted so she is now seated in the centre. I can’t help but smile! She reminds me of one of those beautiful shrine maidens. If only I’d thought of that earlier. I would have put this off one more week and gotten an outfit made. But the clothes she put on herself this morning are more than lovely. Darquesse will like them. Darquesse will like being back.

Valkyrie keeps straining and trying to get up, the poor dear! I wish I could go over there and pat her face, like I used to pat my son’s when he was resisting me - I wish I could tell her everything will be alright. But I know, even chained and without magic, she could certainly find a way to kill me if I were within reach. And I don’t want her to kill me until the ritual is complete, of course! Otherwise what would be the point?

“I don’t even know,” Valkyrie growls - what a good word for it! Indeed, she is doing her very best to sound deep, dark and scary. Soon it will come naturally. “I don’t even know what you think this will do. It’s not a full moon, or a blood moon, or any kind of moon. It’s not a magical day, it’s not a holiday, it’s not even a day that means anything to me.”

It’s my birthday, but don’t tell anyone that. It’s my special little secret, my gift to myself.

“This sigil is totally made-up. It’s not going to do anything.” She tries to raise her hand to her face to wipe off some sweat, but the chain is too short. “Let me go and I’ll make it quick - because when Skulduggery gets here, he certainly fucking won’t.”

I crouch down to be on her level, and I’m filled with such...reverence. I understand. I understand. This is what I was supposed to feel kneeling in the sweltering heat for hours on end. I’m glad I feel it here instead.

“You will kill us,” I say. “But we’re not going to uncuff you, you’ll do that yourself.”

“What are you talking about?” She is so exasperated and so irritated and so wonderful. “These cuffs are bound. It doesn’t matter how great you think I am, I’m not that strong.”

“You will be! You will be.” In the corner of my vision I see Salma fidgeting. Salma!!! You’re ruining this!! To make her stop, I gesture at her so she can speak and stop annoying everyone with her movements.

“The sigil you’re sitting on,” she fires off in her horrible, grating voice, “and the sigils that are on you are my own designs. Just because you haven’t seen them before doesn’t mean they won’t work. They’ll work.” Her lip trembles and she bows her head. “I’m sorry you don’t...believe in me.”

Valkyrie stares for a moment. “You’re completely nuts.” Nuts! Aah! That’s the word I use to describe her! How exciting!

“They’ll work, I swear. I promise. We only need to activate them, and...” Salma looks to me. Unfortunately, I have to stand up now and go back to looking down on Valkyrie. It’s okay, though. It’s okay. Soon she’ll be looking down on me.

For now, she doesn’t look at me at all. She looks down at where she’s put her arms on her knees, wrists facing out. Perhaps Supreme Mage Sorrows once gave her a lesson on what certain strokes can mean, perhaps she’s trying to work out how to counteract our symbol.

She’s fabulous and smart, yes, but she won’t be able to work it out. I am confident. I snap my fingers, summoning a bright, orange flame into my hand. She lifts her head, looks me directly in the eye, and I smile widely. Very widely. Not widely enough. I hope, before Darquesse kills me, she at least takes the time to appreciate what I’m doing for her. I hope she recognises how much I love her. No - I don’t hope. I know. She will. She must.

I take a step forward and crouch again, reaching my hand out to the edge of the symbol on the ground. My flame will catch onto the petrol paste and spread immediately. Valkyrie will be burned, but only a little bit! Just a little bit. Long enough for the fire to catch the symbols on her skin, and she will be protected - and Darquesse will be summoned back into her. She will be complete again.

Before my flame touches the paste, Valkyrie shoots her hand out and smudges the line, which gives me just about the fright of my life! Thank goodness I have such incredible reflexes, otherwise I wouldn’t have jerked my hand away in time. The paste would have caught on fire and surely burned her to death! She rubs her wrists together, wiping away the symbols written there, then kicks her legs out from under her so she’s in a more traditional butt-to-ground position, but that means she’s made the ground symbol worse and displaced dirt into my face.

It’s hard to love her when she has literally blinded me. That whole thing about the sun and everything, it was more of a metaphor. I still love her of course! I’m only taken aback. Anything I may say as I fall backwards isn’t really my fault, since she’s the one who kicked dirt in my eyes. It's more of my reflexes. I never would say anything of the sort to her under normal circumstances. Never.

“You bitch!”

What an inconvenience. I don’t get to see any of what happens next! I only hear the door flying open and gunshots, the sounds of my people yelling and trying to fight. Punches, kicks, bodies falling to the ground. When I hear Salma scream and feel her blood land on my face, I can’t help it! I can’t help it but think, serves you right for putting a cent in the collection tray every week!

“Skulduggery, the-”

“Valkyrie. Are you alright?” Is that him getting on his knees? Maybe he understands after all. “Are you hurt?”

“My skin’s burning, let me loose so I can get this shit off me. The crank on the wall, I think that controls the cuffs.”

I roll onto my side and wipe the dirt from my eyes. I hear Pleasant at the wall, turning the crank back and hitting the release. It’s terribly uncomfortable, but I can open my eyes and see well enough - and what I see is Crandall dead next to me! It’s such a shock, my heart skips at least three beats. That rotten Pleasant. What a barbarian. I lift my head as carefully as I can, so I won’t be noticed. Valkyrie has lifted her shirt to get the symbol off her stomach and cannot see me.

This is so unfair. I put so much work into this plan. It was so hard to trap her! I was going to bring Darquesse back. Me. Not Crandall, not Salma. Not Nicki. Her black eyes would have bored into my skull and killed me and I would have been good and happy. Huh! Maybe I'm not too different to those Faceless worshippers who go blowing themselves up in public places.

“Isserley. I thought that was you.” Pleasant. Pleasant is talking to me. “How have you been?”

Valkyrie snaps her head up at him. “You know her?”

“We’ve seen her in the High Sanctuary.”

“Jesus. Is there anyone you don’t remember.”

“No.” He reaches out and wipes the rest of the symbol off her stomach in one motion. I have dirt in my eyes but I see how her tummy kind of curls in a bit as she drops her shirt down.

That should be me. That should be me. I love her more than anyone. I burst into tears.

“She tried to set me on fire.”

“I think a list of people who haven’t tried to set you on fire would be shorter than a list of those who have.” I hear the clink of handcuffs. “Come on, now, Isserley.”

I let my head drop back onto the ground and stare up at the ceiling. I do not take one more look at Valkyrie. I’m not worthy. I’m not worthy. I failed. “Why don’t you just kill me.” I’m not even aware of myself saying it, to be honest! Just one of those things that...slips out...

“She makes a good point, Skulduggery.”

“Can’t be done. We should leave at least one cultist alive to arrest, so why not take the woman in charge?”

“How do you know she’s the one in charge?”

His terrible skull fills my vision as he looks down at me. You know, hearing him talk this much at one time has jogged my memory. And he does happen to wear very beautiful suits. My mouth falls open. “You’re-”

Valkyrie was startled for a moment by the sudden gunshot. Shoulders tensed, she looked over to Skulduggery standing over the woman, gun still pointed into a face that didn’t really exist anymore.

“What made you change your mind?” she asked as he put the revolver away. Skulduggery came over to her and brushed some hair out of her face, went back to fussing over the injuries she sustained on her way here.

“Too talkative,” he said, and she laughed and teased him about being a hypocrite.

#skulduggery pleasant #thanks for subscribing

12 notes · View notes

jercythesiscrying · 5 years

Text

Tsukki <3 is calling... | KuroTsukki, Slash, G, 1.7k

NaNoWriMo Day 28: Fic-ception (aka fic about a fic)

Summary: A continuation of The Last Red Scribble by @doggonneit. Definitely necessary to read that before reading this~!

Read on Ao3

A/N: Couldn't help but write about doggoneit's adorable single parent au for this prompt. Please do read that before reading this one because it’s so worth it /)w(\ Unbeta’d because I’m tired. Mistakes galore especially since I'm not used to formatting chat fics like this /o\

Italics is Tsukishima. Bold is Kuroo. Regular text is Kageyama.

Tuesday PM

(5:11) Akiteru is bringing Tobio for class tomorrow because I have to work a late shift, but I’ll be able to pick him up afterwards. (5:12) Please do not teach my son anything violent.

(5:13) tsukki!! so mean!!! (5:13) i would never!!

(5:14) Surprisingly, you’ve yet to prove otherwise so please keep that up.

(5:14) see! (5:15) can akiteru stay and watch? i could gossip with him about you more

(5:16) Do that and they’ll never find your bodies.

(5:17) do what? whose bodies?

(5:18) Glad you catch on quick.

(5:18) only for u babe <3

(5:20) Also I don’t think nii-san can stay tomorrow. He has something with a friend apparently?

(5:21) aw (5:21) oh well (5:22) see you and tobio tomorrow!

(5:24) See you.

Wednesday PM

Kuroo is calling...

“Hello?”

“Hey, so! I forgot to tell you when you came by to pick up Tobio earlier, but a little bird told me an embarrassing secret of yours...”

(muffled laughter)

“Who do I have to kill?”

“So violent!”

“I asked a question: Who do I have to kill?”

“Really, Tsukki? You’re gonna murder your own son? Your only offspring? The apple—I mean—blueberry of your eye? The –”

“Okay, I get your point, please stop talking.”

(sigh)

“What did Tobio say now?”

“Oh, nothing much... just that you reeeally liked me before we started dating.”

“I can hear you grinning over a verbal conversation. How is that possible?”

“Aw, baaabe! You didn’t deny it! You had a crush on me!”

“We’re already dating.”

“Still!”

“Dad, why is Kuroo-san making weird noises?”

“Because he’s weird.”

“Oh, Tobio’s there? Hi, Tobio!”

“Hi, Kuroo-san.”

“He just finished his glass of milk before bed so he came to say good night.

“Yeah.”

“That’s good, kid! Keep drinking milk and maybe you’ll be as tall as me one day! Anyway, Tsukki, don’t change the subject—you’re very cute and totally had a crush on me.”

“He really did.”

“Tobio!”

“See!”

“I think that’s enough from both of you now. Good night, Kuroo.”

“‘Night, babe! You too, Tobio! Have sweet dreams about me!”

(grumbling)

“I said good night!”

“Muah!”

“Good night, Kuroo-san.”

Saturday AM

(11:15) Was Tobio good today at volleyball this morning?

(11:16) hes a fuckin champ he watched kenma like a hawk the entire time he was teaching everyone how to set (11:16) freaked kenma out tbh lol

(11:17) I meant if he behaved well.

(11:17) of course he did babe (11:18) Tobios always well behaved for vball

(11:18) Thank goodness for that.

(11:18) why (11:19) is he acting up in school again?

(11:19) No...?

(11:20) then whats up?

(11:20) Nothing. (11:21) just looking out for my son, that’s all.

(11:22) omg thats so cute

(11:22) What? Caring for my child? (11:23) That’s called being a parent, Kuroo.

(11:23) lol i know (11:24) i mean how you worry for him (11:24) make sure hes doing well and stuff

(11:25) That’s called being a *parent*, Kuroo.

(11:26) its called being a very sweet father who loves his son a lot

(11:28) Feeling sentimental, aren’t we.

(11:28) im just (11:30) so glad im with a guy that really cares for his loved ones the way you do (11:31) :)

(11:33) I (11:35) I don’t know what to say to that.

(11:35) babe (11:36) ur supposed to say something nice back to me now

(11:36) ...

(11:37) im waiting :3 (11:38) here all night if i have to be

(11:40) You are the most annoying person on the planet.

(11:40) :3c

(11:41) *rolling eyes emoji* (11:41) Fine. (11:45) I like how you can keep up with my humour, and how you treat Tobio. (11:47) You’re very patient and considerate with the both of us.

(11:47) TSUKKI (11:48) THATS THE NICEST THING YOUVE EVER SAID TO ME

(11:50) Ah, yes the good old “you’re a decent human being” compliment. (11:51) Absolutely groundbreaking in societal niceties.

(11:52) YOU MAY AS WELL HAVE CONFESSED UR LOVE FOR ME

(11:52) ...

(11:52) !!!!!!!

(11:53) I’m not dignifying that with a response.

(11:54) LOVE U TOO BABE (11:54) BRODOOOKUTOT (11:55) TSUKKI TORLD ME HE ELOVED ME TODAY

(11:56) Do you always gossip like a middle schooler with Bokuto-san?

(11:57) IDEC THAT I TEXTEFD U BYA CCIDENT (11:58) LOVE YOU!!

(11:59) *rolling eyes emoji* (12:00) Love you too.

(12:00) !!!! (12:01) <3

(12:03) <3

Thursday PM

(2:32) Kuroo?

(2:34) shimizu! whats up

(2:35) Tsukishima told me the news. (2:36) Thank you *so* much.

(2:39) ... ur welcome? (2:40) not sure for what exactly lol

(2:41) He told me you said you loved him.

(2:41) oh

(2:42) He also told me he said it back.

(2:44) um yeah (2:46) its really easy to, u know? (2:46) i fell very quickly :)

(2:47) And I thank you for that.

(2:48) why?

(2:51) I don’t remember if I told you this, but I was worried my decision to keep Tobio would affect Tsukishima’s future relationships.

(2:52) o ya you did say that (2:53) i mean, tsukkis one of the most hardworking and caring people i know (2:54) and its obvious he loves tobio a lot (2:54) cant help but love him

(2:55) I’m glad you think so too. (2:56) I may not love Tsukishima the same way but I’m sure you already know how much he and Tobio mean to me.

(2:57) i do (2:58) thank you for letting me love them

(2:59) It’s not my place to be thanked.

(3:00) then its not mine either :)

(3:05) :) (3:06) Please take good care of them.

(3:06) i promise (3:09) take care in america!!

(3:10) Thank you.

Sunday AM

Tsukki <3 is calling...

“Hello? Tsukki?”

“Kuroo-san?”

“... Tobio? Is that you?”

“Yes.”

“Hey, buddy! What’s up? Why are you on your dad’s phone?”

“Dad’s sick.”

“Oh no! Is he in bed right now?”

“Yes. He’s asleep.”

“That’s good. He needs plenty of rest.”

“...”

“Hey, uh, Tobio, how did you call me? Are you learning how to read in school now?”

“Yeah, but also your picture is on Dad’s phone.”

“Really, huh! Do you remember which one? Can you check for me?”

(rustling)

“Uhhh, the one where you’re showing off your arm.”

(muffled)

“That just made my entire day, oh my god.”

“Kuroo-san? I can’t hear you because you’re talking too fast.”

“Oh, sorry, Tobio! Just got distracted. Anyway, was there a reason you called me?”

“Dad’s sick.”

“Yes, you told me, kiddo. Is Akiteru-san taking care of him?”

“Nuh-uh. Aki-jiichan had work. He said he was gonna get someone but since no one’s here yet I took Dad’s phone and called you.”

“Oh. OH! You need me to come over, Tobio?”

“Yes, please. I don’t know how to heat up my lunch.”

“I’m on my way, kiddo. I’ll check on your dad too, okay?”

“Okay. See you, Kuroo-san!”

“Bye, Tobio!”

Click.

Sunday AM

(11:49) tobio just called me bc tsukkis sick (11:50) why didnt you tell me? i would be omw in a heartbeat

(11:51) I thought I did???! (11:52) CRAP MY MESSAGE DIDNT SEND (11:53) PLEASE LOOK AFTER KEI AND TOBIO, OH GOD

(11:54) already on it, akiteru-san (11:57) send me their address please!

(11:59) Gotcha! (12:01) Thank you Kuroo-kun!!

Sunday PM

Tsukki <3 is calling...

“Hello? Tsukki, already calling me? I just left your place –”

“Kuroo-san?”

“Oh, Tobio! Hey, kid, what’s up?”

“Thank you for coming.”

“Oh, it was no problem! I’m glad I could help!”

“Dad forgot to say thank you earlier so I’m calling to tell you.”

“Tobio!”

(rustling)

“Tobio? You still there?”

“Sorry about that. Tobio took my phone.”

“It’s fine. You got a smart kid there.”

“I’ve got a kid who’s out to make my life hell is what I got.”

“You love him though!”

“Wouldn’t trade him for the world. Still, I did not tell him to tell you I said ‘thank you’.”

“Great! So that means you can tell me yourself now!”

“Seriously, I cannot believe I can hear you grinning on a phone conversation. How are you doing that?”

“Doesn’t matter! Now tell me ‘thank you’!”

“No.”

“Please, Tsukki!”

“Dad, you should tell him ‘thank you’.”

“Listen to Tobio!”

“Quit it, both of you.”

(sigh)

“Um... thanks, I guess, Kuroo.”

“Laying it real thick there, Tsukki. It almost sounded like you weren’t having your teeth pulled.”

“You’re the one who asked!”

“You did, Kuroo-san.”

(muffled)

“Tobio, can you play in your room please? Dad’s gotta have a conversation with Kuroo-san.”

“Okay.”

(rustling)

“A ‘conversation’, huh? You’re voice still sounds too rough to be talking, you know.”

“I have tea with me right now, I’ll be fine.”

“Good! And you’re welcome, by the way, I was happy to help. You can call me next time too, you know? Instead of asking Akiteru to do it.”

“I told you I thought Yamaguchi was coming over. I didn’t know nii-san asked for you instead.”

“But he did and now you can too! So just, you know, ask.”

“... I don’t like depending on people.”

“I know, Tsukki, but I swear you and Tobio can count on me, okay?”

“You can’t promise that.”

“I can: I promise I’ll be there for you and Tobio. There, just did it.”

“You can’t guarantee that.”

“Maybe not, but I’m gonna try my hardest anyway.”

“... I couldn’t stop you even if I wanted, huh?”

“No.”

“Please stop grinning—I can still hear you.”

“Wanna see it?”

(8:01) *image attached*

“That is the derpiest look I’ve ever seen, oh my god.”

“Glad you like it!”

“...”

(sigh)

“I. I guess I’ll count on you... sometimes... or whatever.”

“TSUKKIIIII!”

“Don’t yell when you’re on the phone, jeez.”

“I love you!! You can totally count on me!! Tobio too!!”

“Oh god, what have I done? Whatever, it’s late and I have to put Tobio to bed still. Good night, Kuroo-san.”

“‘Night, babe!”

“‘Night... I love you too.”

“TSUUUUKKIIIIIIIII – !!!”

Click.

#kurotsukki #Kuroo Tetsurou #tsukishima kei #kageyama tobio #Shimizu Kiyoko #tsukishima akiteru #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #hq!!#nanowrimo 2018 #week 5 #tropes #au #slash #jercy's fic tag

1 note · View note

antomec · 6 years

Text

you’re like the summer without the overbearing heat

i can’t believe it, i’ve finally finished it. as some of you may know, the past couple of months have been very rough for me, and the last two weeks have been chaos as my hometown has been completely flooded. please please consider donating or if you can’t please reblog these posts here and here! thank you so much!

this is for you @akiko-natsuko + @writer-appreciation ! also i highly recommend listening to this on repeat.

[title taken from Oh My! by SEVENTEEN]

THERE IS ART FOR THIS FIC DRAWN BY THE LOVELY @kaatseye WHICH YOU CAN FIND HERE!!

you can also find this on AO3 and FF.net!

words: 2755

pairing: gratsu

summary: while it is technically not his first time seeing this particular figure, gray’s also got no business being this concerned over it. but he’s always been good at lying to himself, so he will absolutely not admit to himself that the reason why he’s so worked up about this particular person is the fact that he is impossibly cute. coffeeshop AU, fluff, oneshot.

the first time gray sees him, it’s with a faint sense of recognition. and then he realises, that no, he isn’t going insane, it’s because he’s seen him around the campus. it is slightly hard to camouflage a head of bright pink hair, especially in a sea of dark colours.

so, yes, while it is technically not his first time seeing this particular figure, he’s also got no business being this concerned over it. but he’s always been good at lying to himself, so he will absolutely not admit to himself that the reason why he’s so worked up about this particular person is the fact that he is impossibly cute.

right now, gray stands in line at the campus coffee shop, a bag slung over his shoulder. it is late september, and the air is slightly chillier than usual. the segue into october and the winter months is slow but easily noticeable. however, gray is better than most people at handling the cold, so while he does notice the slight chill in the air, it’s not enough for him to lose his head.

the line moves forward.

it’s late afternoon, and a thursday, so while the coffee shop could be crowded, it isn’t, but gray supposes it’s probably because the last classes of the day aren’t quite done yet.

the line moves forward again.

gray focuses on his phone in the meantime, and he gets lost in the lives of his friends for a while, choosing to ignore the distinctive (read: cute) barista. until very quickly, he is the next customer. he looks up and the barista immediately locks eyes with him.

it’s obvious that he’s tired but his eyes still light up for some unfathomable reason (who in their right mind would be happy after working for so long? certainly not gray, that’s for sure) and he speaks up, “what can i get for you today?”

gray isn’t so mesmerised that he forgets his usual order, but instead rattles it off as usual. what he does slip up on, is his name (for some goddamn reason) but he somehow chokes it out, and because gray is a believer in fair play, he sneaks a look at the (cute, the voice at the back of his mind supplies unhelpfully. gray tells it to fuck right off) barista’s nametag. it’s clearly made of metal, but for some reason there’s a piece of paper stuck on it with clear tape, and it reads harry potter.

gray doesn’t really care for j.k. rowling, but he can definitely say that the barista in front of him is most definitely not named harry potter.

and it seems that he forgot that he was only supposed to be glancing, because he’s fully staring, and the barista calls him out on it. “it was a bet and i lost,” he clarifies and gray immediately wonders if the pink hair is part of the bet as well, and his eyes must have either strayed to his head, or the boy is very good at gauging expressions, because the barista follows it up with, “the hair is a personal choice. the fact that it pisses off a lot of the professors here is just a plus.”

gray snorts – he can’t help himself.

“you can take a seat,” the barista adds. “i’ll call you in five minutes, tops.”

gray nods, and walks off to the closest armchair he sees. he loses himself in the lives of his friends again on his phone again. and this time when the barista calls his name, he is prepared, and collects his drink as quickly as possible.

it’s the last day of september, and gray wants something sugary, something that’s sure to give him a sugar rush. it’s been a couple of days since he’s gone to the campus coffee shop, and try as he might, he can’t quite get the peculiar barista out of his mind. so he decides to indulge himself.

this time, he’s determined to find out the boy’s name.

however, it’s a bright-eyed, chipper girl who takes his order instead, and gray feels – disappointed, his mind says, but gray shoves the thought down as far as he can – like he’s failed in his small personal quest. but after he pays and finds a seat, the voice that calls his name is the familiar deep voice of that particular barista.

“did you miss me?” the barista asks with a sly grin.

he’s right, but gray doesn’t spend too much time thinking on it. instead, his first act of business is figuring out his barista’s name. his eyes stray to the nametag, and he’s more than confused when it just says arthur dent.

“uhhhh,” gray begins, eloquently. “did you lose another bet?”

the barista grins and shakes his head, pink hair falling into his eyes rather adorably. he blows on it, and answers, “it’s a...personal choice.”

for a second, gray feels shocked. is he actually flirting, or has gray.exe stopped working?

he decides to take the plunge. “you already know my name, so i feel like it’s only fair that i know yours too,” he says, smoothly.

“and where’s the fun in that?” the barista answers, winking at him.

sirens go off in gray’s head. mayday, mayday, houston? houston, are you there?

“uhhh, yeah, sure,” gray stumbles through his words. “sure,” he repeats, for added measure.

the barista merely grins at him, and hands him his drink. without further ado, gray promptly whirls on his feet and starts walking.

john watson. that’s what his nametag reads today, and it prompts gray to ask, "why not sherlock?"

the barista's wearing a short sleeved shirt underneath his apron today, and it has him slightly in awe because the boy has tattoos running up and down his right arm. not as many as that it would look like a sleeve but enough to look pretty. from this angle, all he can see are small moons and suns and stars and something with a tail curling around his elbow. “john is underappreciated,” is all he offers, and gray leaves, even more confused.

gray makes it a habit to stop by after his classes for the day is done, and some days he’ll see the barista – “i’m your favourite barista, right?” he asks gray one day, and gray answers, “sure, why not?” – and some days he won’t, and eventually they talk of their classes, and schedules, and gray is pleasantly surprised to know that his new friend is an environmental sciences major.

it’s a new name every time he comes in, and gray is only slightly disappointed that he has yet to know the cute (he’ll admit it this time) barista’s name. he and gray are similar in height and build, with the only glaring difference being their hair.

one day, his nametag reads lisbeth salander, and when gray looks up in confusion, the barista shrugs and says, pointing to his blonde co-worker, “lucy told me to do it.” lucy looks at them, unimpressed.

another time, it’s primrose everdeen, and all the barista says, “she deserved better.” gray nods in agreement.

the next day, it says frodo baggins, and gray asks him who he was supposed to be. however, he gets an affronted look, and the barista softly utters, “are you telling me you don’t know who frodo is?”

gray shakes his head. the barista sighs, and adds, “i had more faith in you.”

“you cannot spend the whole of your second year cooped up inside this room,” cana says. she’s his oldest friend, and while they aren’t roommates, she spends most of her time in gray’s room. gray wonders if it’s because she knows he doesn’t exactly like spending time outside.

“you know i didn’t exactly have the best grades in first year,” gray puts his pen down and closes his laptop. he swivels on his chair and turns to face cana, who’s currently lying face down on his bed. “i gotta work hard to make up for it, cana.”

“that doesn’t mean you have to waste away inside this stuffy room,” cana says, gesturing wildly around the room. “let loose once in a while, what’s the harm?”

“last time you said that, i had to carry you back on foot, all the way from the other side of campus. i’m pretty sure i threw out my back that day.”

“nonsense! so it happened once, what are the odds of it happening again?”

“considering it’s you we’re talking – highly likely.” gray gets up from his chair and starts to push cana off the couch. “now if you want me to go out with you to this very awful party, i would suggest you leave me alone so i can finish my workload.”

cana tumbles over, and gets up smoothly as though it hadn’t happened. she walks backward to the door, saluting gray as she passes him. “yes sir, mr. gray!”

“cana, watch out, you’ll cra-”

cana crashes into the wall, and gray looks on in exasperation.

“do i really have to?”

“don’t you dare back out now, you coward.”

gray groans, and lets cana pull him out of his apartment. the breeze is cool enough to fully wake him up, and the rabid manner in which cana keeps jostling him makes him want to pull his hair in frustration. “you know, i am not above whining to get my way,” he informs her.

“and i’m not above dragging you by your hair. keep moving, hotshot.”

all too soon, they’re knocking at the door of the party. gray sees a blonde girl jump out of a window, with a blue-haired girl hot on her trails. belatedly, he realises that the blonde is lucy from the coffee shop.

“this is gray,” cana suddenly speaks, startling him. “he’s my friend. don’t bite him,” she adds, winking at the man by the door.

“sure,” the man drawls. “i’ll try my best.”

gray looks on, eyes wide. he glances questioningly at cana, as if to ask what the fuck cana, and cana merely smiles toothily at him. he wonders, not for the first time that night, whether cana is already drunk.

she probably is.

they make their way inside, and the smell of sweat and cheap beer and perfume is strong even to make him gag, but thankfully, cana pulls him into the kitchen and pushes a solo cup (cliche, but gray isn’t going to mention it) into his hands, and gray says, “fuck it,” and tries to down the whole cup in one go. he tries but he chokes halfway, and cana whoops from beside him.

he somehow sputters through his drink, and when he looks around, he sees cana already chatting with people she knows. he feels like an abandoned koala, waiting for something to emerge so that he can attach himself to it.

maybe the alcohol is kicking in already.

gray is definitely tipsy when he catches sight of pink hair. and since he’s tipsy, he thinks it’s just his imagination. and it isn’t proved wrong until the pink hair actually bobs up to him. he puts out a hand to catch it, because it looks so soft and bubblegum-like that he must absolutely know if it feels the same. and it does. it feels super-soft.

he still thinks its his imagination, because who in the fuck would have actual pink hair?

he pulls on the hair, and he’s startled when there’s a face suddenly in his personal bubble. the face is cute, boyish even. “gray, please let go of my hair,” the boy pleads. gray reluctantly lets go, pouting.

“oh wow, you are super drunk, aren’t you?” the boy asks.

gray doesn’t answer, just stumbles a bit, and shoots him a look, as if to ask, does this answer your question?

the boy laughs, and holds gray’s wrist as he pulls him into the kitchen again. the boy looks familiar, and gray can’t shake the feeling that he’s seen him before.

the boy pushes a glass (a glass!) into his hands, full of clear liquid, saying, “drink, you’ll feel better.”

gray narrows his eyes – or at least, he tries to. he has absolutely no clue if it’s working – and asks, “are you trying to get me drunk?”

the boy laughs loudly, and grins at him brightly. “oh trust me,” he says, “you’re plenty drunk as it is. it’s just water, now drink up.”

gray frowns, and decides to trust him. and just like before, he chokes halfway.

unlike cana though, his new friend yelps and starts frantically rubbing his back all the while squealing, “are you okay? you should have gone slower! it’s not a shot, for fuck’s sake!”

gray giggles, and waves his around in an attempt to calm him down. “im…fine!”

the boy looks at him with wide eyes, and gray pinches his cheeks. his eyes grow impossibly wider.

“alright, who did you come with,” he asks, gently pulling gray’s hands off his face. “let me go find them.”

“cana,” gray chokes out, and promptly starts to gag. his new friend grabs him by the shoulder, seemingly knowing what was coming, and shoves him toward the kitchen sink. gray throws up in a matter of minutes.

cana’s face comes into view, along with her cackling. he’s sure the cackling is directed towards him. and unfortunately, it’s the last thing he experiences before he passes out.

cana is the one who tells him exactly what he was upto the night before, and she does it exactly two minutes after he’s just woken up. he mouth still feels stale, and cana nearly loses her shit recalling his misadventures. who would have known, she says, that you were actually a party animal underneath all that?

gray escapes the instant cana has her back turned, and hurries quickly into his room. he brushes his teeth and slips on a comfy sweater and his sneakers before he rushes out of his room.

“you’re lucky you had natsu with y-”

“natsu?”

“yeah, nats– holy shit don’t tell me you forgot about him! tall, pink hair, tattoos? i’m actually low-key disappointed in you right now.”

“his name’s natsu? that’s...cool.”

cana looks at him with an unamused stare.”you know what? i don’t even wanna know.” she turns around to the sink and starts rinsing her cup. “you do you, my dumbass friend. you do you.”

gray slams the door open to the coffee shop. lucky for him, there’s absolutely no one in there. not even natsu.

a small blonde head suddenly pops out from under the counter and waves cheerily at him. gray weakly waves back and slowly exits the coffee shop. and promptly walks into someone.

books clatter to the ground, and gray drops to the ground immediately, muttering apologies as he hurriedly picks up each book. “i’m so sorry, i wasn’t paying attent-”

he’s interrupted by a tan hand coming into his view. he knows that hand. it has little constellations over the wrists. there’s no way he’s ever going to forget those.

“hi,” natsu says. “how’s your hangover?”

gray shakes his head. “i don’t really get hangovers.”

natsu chuckles. “cana must be really envious of you, then,” he answers, and it causes gray to groan loudly. “i know, she never shuts up about it!”

they stand up straight, and gray blurts out, “it’s natsu, right?”

the pink-haired boy laughs. “natsu dragneel, at your service,” he says, and does a little bow. “i was going to be gandalf today anyway,” he adds. his arm goes up above his head and he scratches his neck rather adorably. “so, uh,” he begins. “what would you say to getting coffee? i mean you’re already here, and i need to go in – i mean,you don’t have to, but i would love to keep talking to you, which is why–”

“sure,” gray interrupts, deciding to save natsu from further embarrassment. “i’d love that, actually.”

he beams at gray, and gray feels himself returning it, when a loud bang catches them both off-guard. “natsu! come help me already!” lucy’s head appears in the doorway, and disappears as quickly as it had appeared.

they look at each other, and gray walks forward into the shop, still carrying natsu’s books. natsu follows him, and leaves to go into the back of the shop. he comes back out quickly, wrapping a dark brown apron around himself. “the usual?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

“the usual,” gray confirms, and smiles softly.

#verasficexchange #ficwritersummerexchange #gratsu #fairy tail #fanfiction #gray fullbuster #natsu dragneel #ft fanfiction #gratsu fanfiction #ft fanfics #fairy tail fanfiction #gray x natsu #ft #you're like the summer without the overbearing heat [gratsu]#TTTF writes #gawd i was so soft while i was writing this y'all have no idea #also the art made by kaat for this is just superb im speechless she knocked me for a fuckin loop

32 notes · View notes