#because none of the ways I wrote this were satisfactory enough for me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chocosvt · 4 years

Text

⚬ pairing: junhui x reader ⚬ word count: 8125 ⚬ warnings: none! ⚬ genres: secret relationship, some slice of life uni moments, FLUFF, very light angst, spice, roommates!wonhui.

✧✎ synopsis: you’re friends with junhui - but also, not really. it’s friends and a little bit more than that. it’s difficult keeping your relationship a secret, especially when you’ve never loved someone the way you love him.

✧✎ a/n: NOBODY MOVE! I WROTE A JUN BDAY FIC ;_; this is really just me projecting all my years of love onto a word doc. enjoy!!

It was midnight, and the apartment was dark, unmoving. No one had bothered to clean the blue cereal bowl left in the sink and there remained bread crumbs on the countertop from lunch. As you flicked through the strange glimpses of late-night television, yawning in an outrageous width, there was a hunger pang, accompanied by an immediate craving for some sort of sweet candy.

So, you did what seemed best: fit into your sneakers and a windbreaker and push open the door to Jun’s bedroom while he was curled up on his side watching his drama. Wonwoo would usually be occupying the adjacent bed, though he had stayed over at Joshua’s dorm to study for his next history summative. Yet he’d left his beat-up, decaying textbook on his pillow.

“Put on your slippers or something, we’re going to the convenience store.”

Jun didn’t say anything, rather he continued holding out his phone, the bedsheets pulled taunt to his nose. Looking at Jun’s desk that sat next to the door, you picked up the rubber band ball he’d been adding to since his twelfth-grade year and threw it at his shoulder.

“Ow!” He squeaked dramatically. His head then poked over his shoulder as he attempted to see where the ball rolled off to.

“Put on your slippers,” you reiterated, “I want strawberry tangs.”

Without much effort, Jun quickly gave up looking for the elastic ball and returned to watching his drama, establishing his comfort while somehow still persisting to ignore you. He was very much so a homebody, and if it weren’t for you guiding him out the apartment like a grandchild taking their elderly for an afternoon walk, then he might’ve never left his bedroom apart from his class schedule. Yet, you knew exactly how to persuade him, weaken his heart that was already soft and golden.

An immediate whine rumbled in his throat when you jumped on the bed, pulling at him until he finally rolled onto his back, at last pressing pause on his phone. You tossed a thigh over each side of his silhouette and gripped the boy’s wide shoulders, gazing unflinchingly past his black fringe and into those big, glistening eyes.

“Come with me to the store,” you weren’t sure if you were offering or demanding, “please?”

“I-Isn’t it a little late for that?” Jun stumbled through his laughter. “Why do you need me?”

It was a surface-level question really, but nonetheless, your heart still skipped a beat. In only a second or more the silence was bearing down too heavily and it felt like your heart was a book with all its pages out. Jun’s eyes were twinkling as he blinked up at you.

“Walking around alone at night? Hello? Do you have no concern for me?” Came your joking counter.

He tossed his head back, the black fringe bouncing from his lashes. His capitulating yelp of, “fine, fine, I’ll come” was satisfactory enough for you to remove yourself from the boy’s tiny waist, where you stepped on the floor and nearly sprained your ankle due to that dumb, elastic ball. At least you found it. While you returned the toy to his desk, Jun quickly threw a worn jean jacket over his black long sleeve and didn’t bother bending down to fix his sneakers, his heels jutting out the back.

At the convenience store, the only shoppers were you, Junhui, and this lady wearing a huge pair of sunglasses, though you figured she was far from the strangest of the midnight stragglers.

It was rather quiet, even with the fluorescent lights buzzing and the battery-powered fan keeping the cashier cool at the register. You grabbed the first package of strawberry tangs while Jun sorted through the other flavours very meticulously.

“What about blue raspberry?” He said. “You don’t want that?”

“I don’t know, I just really have a craving for strawberry.”

Jun detached a bright green package from the rack. “Sour apple? What about that?”

“Not tasty at all. Pass.”

He grabbed another package and quirked his eyebrow. “Sweet cherry? Come on. That sounds good.”

You lightly hit his arm with the strawberry candy, your laughter echoing over the shelves, “I just want strawberry! If you think the sweet cherry sounds good then you buy it!”

But Jun just shook the black fringe from his playful gaze, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Tangy zangys are the bottom tier of gummy candy. No way.”

“So shut up then.” The words were harsh, yet your smile was no more menacing than a butterfly.

Since it would be impossible for Jun to leave the store without stocking his snack collection, you shopped for longer than expected, filling a basket with spicy chips and hard candies and a few chocolate bars. Heading home down the nighttime street, beneath the moonlight, the infinite expanse of a blackness that felt like a cocoon, you had already ripped open your strawberry tangs while Jun tore the corner off a tiny pouch of bubblegum poprocks.

They crackled loudly on his tongue, in which he made sure to hover in close proximity to your ear, ensuring you could detect every small fizzle. Each time it warranted you to shove him away, muttering a cheap laugh about how it wasn’t required that he lean in so generously, though you couldn’t evade that one nervous thought ticking at the back of your head: you wanted to kiss him, wrap your palm around Jun’s neck and taste the electric bubblegum from his heart-shaped mouth.

“Aren’t you glad you came with me?” You asked, suckling the sugar off a red candy strip.

Jun swallowed his poprocks. “I guess you can word it like that.”

Standing at the living room fish tank, you opened the tab to the flake box and shook the food into the water, your pink guppy who you had so fittingly named, Princess Pebble, swimming toward the surface in order to nip at the flakes. Wonwoo observed you from his seat at the kitchen table, dragging his spoon through the remainder of his cereal, scooping out the last soggy pieces.

“I feel good about it,” Wonwoo hummed, referring to the history test he wrote yesterday, “I think I might’ve left out some information on the essay question.”

You closed the fish flakes and returned to the table, where you left your cup of tea.

“Eh, who cares,” you mumbled behind the rim, “you’re gonna get like a ninety-five anyways.”

The boy shrugged, pressing a fingertip to his glasses, moving them higher up his nose. He had always been diligent with his studying, though he often left the apartment to write notes at the library or a classmate’s dorm. It was difficult to accomplish much when Junhui would distract him, and rather than reading his textbook, Wonwoo would always end up playing computer games with the latter.

“Did you hear Jun come home last night?” You asked, gulping the rest of your tea.

Wonwoo set his bowl into the sink and filled it with water, smiling. It irked you somehow. You were only curious about whether or not he heard Jun return from his dance practice.

Joining him at the sink to clean your mug, you bumped his elbow. “What’s so cute over here?”

“Nothing,” he hummed dismissively, “I heard him crawl into bed, that’s pretty much it.”

“And that’s funny or something?”

“You ask about him quite frequently.” Wonwoo turned to you with a suspecting glance, one that made you subtly desire to dump a cup of water over his head. “You know that, right?”

The morning air was cool, yet your face felt immensely heated, almost prickling.

“I ask because we’re fri—”

“Friends. Yeah, yeah.” Wonwoo huffed, the omniscient smile creeping back toward his mouth, to which you could do nothing apart from gawk at your roommate despite his reiteration of a musing that wasn’t at all unfamiliar. “I’ve always loved you for your innate sense of comedy. It’s priceless.”

It’s what everyone assumed anyways. You and Jun fought tooth and nail to articulate your friendship, to paint with the colours that would lead everyone to believe it was true. Most often your explanations worked, yet there remained some who were particularly stubborn. Wonwoo was an evident case. But he was too close, too eagle-eyed, and he saw that you and Jun behaved in a manner completely beyond friendship. Despite the likewise feelings, something unbeknownst kept you apart.

“I know exactly what that means, idiot!” Echoed your shout as Wonwoo disappeared down the corridor, hoping to take refuge in his bedroom.

“I’m glad!” The depth of his voice reverberated into the kitchen, and you heard his door quickly shut.

No less than a few seconds later did Junhui reveal himself from around the corner, clean and freshened up after a steamy shower, one he desperately needed upon immediately passing out, sweat-soaked and exhausted in his bed the night before. Soonyoung definitely hadn’t taught their lesson with any degree of ease. Pretending you weren’t just quipping at Wonwoo, you smiled.

“Were you two fighting?” Jun asked, pulling out a frying pan from the cupboard. He usually whipped together an omelette for breakfast.

“No, not at all. We never fight, remember?”

Jun scoffed while opening the fridge, removing an egg carton and a plastic wrapping filled with vegetables. Still hungry, you started peeling open a tangerine from the fruit basket and stood next to him as he organized the produce onto a cutting board. Ever so faintly, you could smell the crisp scent to his aftershave. It was peculiar how a bit of foam could render your chest that cottony.

“In fact, when’s the last time you even remember an argument Wonwoo and I had?” You prodded.

“Two days ago,” Jun laughed, “when Wonwoo wanted to watch that exploration documentary on King Tut, but you changed the channel so you could finish the last season of Home Makeover.”

Pressing his rose lips together, Junhui casted you an innocent glance. “So there’s that.”

Separating a small slice of tangerine, you gently pushed the clove into the boy’s mouth. He smiled softly as he began to chew. With the gentle tang of citrus in the air, you set a hand on Jun’s shoulder and buried your face against his warm neck, whispering, “yeah, and it was definitely worth it.”

Quite frankly, neither you, Jun, Wonwoo, or Joshua were fairing optimally at the library. While Wonwoo sat on the opposite side of the table helping Joshua organize his economics presentation, you were neglecting your biology packet, instead choosing to sketch a tiny Princess Pebble in the paper’s upper corner. Jun had been tasked with reviewing his latest theatre script, yet he hadn’t even flicked through it. He was intrigued by one of the numerous mangas he’d saved to his phone.

“Take the last point off here,” Wonwoo said, peering over Joshua’s shoulder at his laptop, “there’s too much text, and this isn’t a major branch of your topic anyways.”

Joshua sighed as he made a few clicks on his keyboard. “Dude, I don’t think I can edit another word. This class is so boring.”

“Mr. Canning is just a boring professor,” Wonwoo sympathized, “it would be best if it were someone who weren’t so… dry. I guess is the right word.”

Slumping back in his chair, Joshua huffed, “he’s like a human chalk stick.”

Desperate to discuss something that wasn’t related to his lacklustre econ class, Joshua spared a glance at Jun’s unopened script. “Shouldn’t you be learning that?” He asked.

Jun didn’t look away from the phone in his lap. “I can’t do it here.”

“That means he’s going to open it for the first time at one in the morning, the day of his performance.” You chuckled, outlining the sketch of your guppy using Wonwoo’s pink gel pen.

Harshly, Jun’s hand smacked your knee under the table and you couldn’t help but laugh, garnering an over-the-shoulder glare from a student in the corner who’d been trying to focus on their colossal textbook. Wonwoo smiled at them apologetically while Joshua feigned as though he were typing something on his laptop. However, Jun’s hand didn’t leave your knee, and your laughter became an immediate drought, to which the sole thing you could feel was his palm creeping higher up your leg.

Attempting to be subtle, you turned your head slightly and looked at the boy with a bit of a warning expression, though Jun simply continued to scroll through his manga.

“I’m going to check the world history section,” Wonwoo announced, rising from the table, “anyone want to come with?”

Joshua pushed out his chair. “I’ll come just so I don’t have to stare at this shitty powerpoint.”

As soon as the boys walked beyond earshot, you pinched the edge of Jun’s ear. He finally tossed his phone onto the table, though he didn’t exactly appear compassionate, rather he was smirking, for he knew if you truly didn’t want his hand touching your leg then you would have bumped it away.

“You can’t do that.” Nonetheless, there surmounted a need to establish some insignificant boundary, one that neither of you were going to follow through. “Not when they’re so close.”

“But they didn’t see.” Jun replied, squeezing your inner thigh. “It shouldn’t matter.”

“It does. What if Joshua saw?” At that point, Wonwoo was fairly conditioned to your lingering fingertips, grazes and stares. He usually pretended not to notice them. However, Joshua was a risk.

Jun shrugged. “I don’t know. Don’t you worry too much? I always touch your leg.”

That was the problem. People trying to convince other people that their relationship was wholly platonic didn’t linger in such an intimate way. They didn’t creep fingertips up the other’s inner thigh beneath a tablecloth, or possess a gaze that traced the other’s lips like a delectable piece of candy when they spoke. There shouldn’t be any whispers pressed quickly against the other’s ear when no one else was looking, or the dire urge to climb into the other’s lap when their legs were wide open.

Both of you were afraid. Neither of you wanted to break the question that would thrust your relationship into the light. You kept waiting for the right time, but it always seemed one step ahead.

The movie theatre was nearly empty as the longwinded credit screen continued rolling, the last few congregations throwing their soda cups and empty packages into the garbage on their way out. Still, the floor of practically every row had been scattered with butter popcorn or melted m&m’s, shiny chocolate wrappers left crinkled in the recliners like the employees were supposed to take them home as gifts. Wonwoo put his hands on the back of his head, examining the disastrous rows.

You sensed he was feeling rather lucky about not being scheduled that night. Jun forced himself from the recliner and picked up his cup of fruit punch, jammed with way too many ice cubes.

If no one else was going to comment, you might as well. “That wasn’t the worst.”

“Agreed.” Wonwoo said, pushing up his glasses. “The murderer’s ploy was difficult to follow at times. I started getting confused when he left his car in the woods.”

“What?” Jun gawked. “That’s when you got confused? I didn’t even know what was happening after the first half hour.” His eyes gleamed in astonishment.

“Same.” You admitted. “I guess you’ll have to explain in the car.”

Reaching into the cupholder, you pulled out the package of strawberry tangs with nothing but a tiny amount of the powder-like sugar left inside.

“Thank you for picking up your trash,” Wonwoo sighed, taking the lead down the stairway while the credit music still played, “I’d hate to be working tonight.”

The wide corridor was completely vacant by the time you exited the theatre. Ever so slightly you could hear the galactic sound effects from the arcade machines. That buttery scent of popcorn seemed to waft no matter where you stood in the cinema. Wonwoo announced that he was going to check the concession counter to see who was on cash, but assured he would meet you and Jun at the back exit. Jun hurriedly downed his fruit punch in a large gulp before you emerged into the night.

You were confined to the small overhang by the doorway, for a hard rain was pelting against the concrete and turned the night air considerably cooler. Not one of you had checked the forecast beforehand, and you would undoubtedly get drenched straight through to the flesh in your thin long-sleeve.

“How are we going to make it to the car?” You groaned.

Pulling up his hood, Jun only laughed. “Now is a good time to be able to teleport.” He then stuck out his hand for a moment, the raindrops hitting his palm.

“Does it feel like bullets?”

“No. It feels kind of nice actually.” He remarked.

Curious, you rolled up your sleeve and extended your arm into the downpour. Jun was right, it felt satisfactory as each of the brisk droplets splashed your skin. However, you prematurely discovered the rain wasn’t so appealing when Jun suddenly shoved you from beneath the overhang.

“Hey— what the hell?!” You squealed upon the immediate repercussions, the cold water already leaking through your top while Junhui slapped his thigh, cackling.

Wanting to erase that luminous grin of his, you attempted wrestling the lanky boy into the weather, but no more than a few harmless drops skimmed his shoulder. Yet, with another brute shove, Jun stumbled, feeling the silver needles of rain pour down from the night sky and swirl at his dampening sneakers. He was laughing as he grabbed your wrist, pulling you hard against his chest before you were even cognisant that an immense wetness was soaking through your every article.

You wished it had been indignance drumming in your heart rather than affection, because it was taking every single fibre of your being not to kiss him. As the droplets beaded down his skin, he was like a springtime flower caught in the morning dew, and when he carded back the wet, black hairs plastered to his forehead, you thought it was possible to fall into him and never feel that concrete scrape your knees. Gently, his hand touched the small of your wet back, his breaths deepening.

He urged you in tighter as his tongue ran along his bottom lip, tasting the rain.

You were shivering, frigid, though your blood was far too warm to let yourself take note. Instead, you moved your head closer, closer, Jun’s cold palm cupping your cheek and your eyes fluttering shut and your soft mouths just brushing together— until Wonwoo appeared from inside.

Instantly, you two pushed away from each other. With his eyes widening, Wonwoo stuttered.

“I-I’m… I’m going to pretend as best I can that something weird didn’t almost happen.” He stated, swallowing thickly. “Just… Why did you two have to get soaked? You’re sitting in my car, y’know!”

At last, you felt that icy shiver trickle down your spine.

“S-Sorry.” You hummed, teeth chattering.

“I guess it’s fine,” Wonwoo sighed, “I have some towels under the passenger’s seat.”

Not long after returning to the apartment, Wonwoo gathered his laptop and slipped into his pyjamas. He proceeded to flop onto the couch to edit his research paper, though it didn’t take much for his eyelids to start weighing down, his dense paragraphs blurring together on the screen. More often than not you would take advantage of Wonwoo’s midnight crashes in the living room.

After exchanging your damp, terribly cold clothes for a warm t-shirt and sweatpants, you found yourself cozied beneath Jun’s comforter for the umpteenth night. The boy’s head rested against the crook of your neck, where his slow breaths were cool to your skin, though they occasionally became heavier when your fingertips stroked at his smooth hair. He was much like a kitten who loved a thorough scratch behind the ears. You swore that he purred whenever you rubbed the right spot.

Holding out his phone, he’d been finishing an episode of his drama before bed. You tucked some of the black locks behind his ear, noting how much it’d grown over the months. Then your gaze wandered over every detail that shaped his face, as though he were a textured oil painting.

His eyes were always glimmering, seemingly innocent and curious, yet you knew just how much that earthly shade could darken when he fell into his professions. When Jun acted on stage, his gaze lost its untainted nature. It moulded into the role of the sinister characters he preferred playing. When he danced in blazing lights, those eyes were sharp enough to consume, to cut, almost like a razorblade.

But then you studied his lips, his heart-shaped cupid’s bow, the small constellation of moles that dotted his skin like kisses from past soulmates. You thought back to the mist and the rain, his hand resting against the small of your back, how close you were to tasting the flavourful, fruity mix of his drink. In fact, you wondered why you didn’t just kiss Junhui whenever you wanted. What was stopping you, in that moment, from turning his head toward you so that your lips could press to his?

Suddenly, the boy laughed at his phone screen, to which you felt the brassy reverberation erupt in his chest, his eyes glinting and his mouth stretched into a box-like smile. You pulled a few strands of hair from his forehead as he seemed to be glowing, his cheeks rosy.

Jun mewled in surprise when your fingers threaded rather tight through his black locks, feeling you tilt his head up until his gaze was burning into yours.

You didn’t hesitate. Leaning forward, you kissed him sweet and slow.

Jun’s eyes fluttered as the pressure warmed his mouth, a small whine getting caught in his throat upon the gentle sting of your hand tugging at his tresses, his scalp tingling. His phone sunk into the bedsheets, and instead he was gripping your t-shirt, moving his head with yours as the kiss deepened. He tasted like mint, and his small whines were silky.

How on earth could you have ever shied from kissing him when it felt so relieving? Nothing else held any significance to you apart from making his pretty lips shine.

However, you needed to catch your breath. Releasing the firm grasp on his hair, you detached your mouth from his, your chest rising and falling in great lengths. The boy’s eyes couldn’t be more glazed, his lips shimmering, flushed garnet and slightly swollen. Neither of you uttered a word. The blankets fell from Jun’s shoulders as he straddled your waist eagerly. Again, his mouth slotted with yours, and your hands slid up his caramel thighs, imprinting his flesh with the curve of your fingernails.

If you kept quiet enough, then perhaps Wonwoo would remain asleep until morning.

Standing amongst the crowd in the cramped performance hall, it was inevitable that you would get bumped around like a tiny, flying pinball. After rutting into Wonwoo’s shoulder for the third time, he seemed dauntingly close to losing his indolence and snapping, though he realized it wasn’t your fault that others were pushing toward the front of the stage and bit his tongue.

It became tradition for Soonyoung and his students to rent the downtown performance hall and host a fundraiser. The event typically lasted a few hours, with a few short interludes where the dancers would retreat backstage to catch their breath. Being Jun’s roommate, you and Wonwoo were always granted access into the small dressing room, and though you never admitted it, you loved experiencing that small flash of pride whenever the moonstruck audience watched you slip away.

The next interlude was closing in. Despite the different dancers on stage, you really, truthfully, only watched Jun. Each time he captured the centre position, you couldn’t help but cup your hands around your mouth, being one of the first to cheer overtop the deafening music as he moved so fluidly, with poise. He was a completely different person when he performed. Somehow, his tender-hearted nature would peel back and he’d emerge a domineering beacon.

As soon as the stage ended, an uproar rippled from the audience and resonated deep in your ears, to which you couldn’t help but slightly bury your head against Wonwoo’s shoulder to muffle the cacophony. Nonetheless, you were clapping, smiling, staring fondly as Jun grabbed his collar and fluffed it out, welcoming a slight gust of humid air. His skin was dewy with sweat, and yet he glowed beautifully, even when he was breathing so heavily through his nose.

Soonyoung was speaking into his microphone, but you missed half his speech, and before you knew it you were being dragged by Wonwoo through the crowd toward the backstage entrance. The room was at least big enough to accommodate the dancers. Jun was in the corner, gulping down his water.

“Only three more songs,” Wonwoo smiled, “you guys really stepped the level up this year.”

It took a moment before Jun replied, the column of his neck glittering as he completely crushed the plastic bottle in his hands.

“Yeah,” he burst out, “I’m freaking dying.”

“It’s for a good cause at least.” Wonwoo reasoned, ignoring how you stepped on his foot.

After Jun rolled his eyes, he was staring at you.

The air grew much too thick, and you had to clear your throat. “S-Seriously, you’ve improved so much. I can’t believe it.”

“Thanks,” Jun replied, scratching his nape, “it’s nothing special, really.”

“Uh? Nothing special?” Wonwoo quirked an eyebrow. “Didn’t Soonyoung say you’re one of the best in the class?”

When Jun innocently flitted his gaze toward a distant spot and pressed his lips together, Wonwoo merely huffed, announcing he was going to the lobby for a drink of water. You watched him wind between the busy dancers, either wiping down their sweat or fanning themselves, until he disappeared out the door. When you faced Jun again, you looped your fingers through the satin collar of his stage outfit and kissed him quickly, knowing everyone was too occupied to take note.

He squeaked, “what happened to being careful?”

“This is your fault.” You eagerly pinned it on him. “Try being less hot.”

“That’s horrible advice. And also not possible. Which makes it worse than horrible.”

You weren’t sure whether or not you wanted to feel his mouth again or whack the side of his head with his deflated water bottle. Opting for latter, you stole another kiss, though you tensed in surprise when Jun wrapped his arm around your waist to secure your body firm against his. Hastily, you pushed at his toned stomach, your heart drilling manically as you looked over your shoulder toward the dancers. It didn’t appear as though anyone had seen and you breathed out in relief.

Suddenly, Soonyoung poked his head through the doorway.

“Ten minutes!” He shouted before disappearing.

Jun was staring at you with the most ingenious twinkle.

“That was your fault.” He purred, tapping your thigh with his water bottle. “Try being less hot.”

You did feel a small sliver of guilt. After all, Wonwoo had been waiting back at the apartment for approximately an hour, twiddling his thumbs, wondering why you and Jun required so much goddamn time just to buy some hot fudge sundaes. The molten taste of the chocolate, the vanilla ice cream, cold and sweet, was completely stolen from your lips by the boy whose lap you were occupying. Wonwoo’s sundae sat on the dashboard, dripping slowly beneath the evening sunlight.

And yet, that infinitesimal sliver was plucked straight out when Jun latched onto a sensitive patch of your neck, softly digging in his teeth and swirling his tongue. Your fingers sheathed through the black hair and pulled up at the roots, knowing how much pleasure he took from the dull sting. Button by button, Jun started to simultaneously open your shirt, to which you questioned if this was really happening, if you were really going to sort of out the complications of intercourse in his car.

The device abandoned in the passenger’s seat buzzed. You already knew the name to the text. As Jun kissed his way down to your collarbone, licking and suckling, you reached for your phone, feeling it buzz again with another impatient text. The guilt from earlier began to resurface.

[ wonwoo | 7:49pm ] This is suspicious now. WHERE ARE YOU? >:(

[ wonwoo | 7:49pm ] Actually screw that. WHERE IS MY HOT FUDGE SUNDAE?

The screen blipped with yet another message.

[ wonwoo | 7:49pm ] I know you’re reading these… Answer me or I won’t feed Princess Pebble!!

“J-Jun,” you piped up, hearing his low, husky mumble while he continued to mark your collarbone, “I think we need to go home now.”

The boy splayed a few more open-mouthed kisses against the skin before peeking up at you, his eyes wide and glimmering, lips flushed a deep magenta. With half the buttons of your shirt hanging open and your heart blazing, you had to snip the venereal longing in its bud.

“What’s wrong?” Jun hummed, pushing his fingers through the loops on your jeans. “Who’s texting?”

“Wonwoo. He’s been waiting for almost an hour, and his sundae is gonna be a puddle at this rate.”

He blinked a bit cluelessly, though still in musing. “There’s no way to be quick about this, is there?”

Rebuttoning your shirt, you shook your head and laughed. “Let’s wait before we ruin the car. I’m sure there’ll be a better time in the future.”

Jun nodded in agreement and relaxed back into the seat, a ray of sunshine that bled golden slanting through the windshield. Somehow, Wonwoo’s sundae wasn’t a complete pool sitting in the plastic cup, but that didn’t negate the fact he was still going to start his theory on responsibility and trust the moment you stepped onto the welcome mat. As you finished clasping the last buttons, something had caught Jun’s eye out the window, for he immediately panicked and tightly gripped your waist.

“Oh my god, g-get off my lap,” he grunted, to which your head bumped against the ceiling during the hurried shuffle and your knee whacked the gearstick.

“Ow! Okay, I’m going! Jeez, could you not give me a warning?”

“No,” Jun remarked, looking quickly to the rear-view mirror to straighten out his hair, “it’s Jeonghan and Soonyoung. They just came out of the store.”

When you glanced out Jun’s window, you noted the duo making their way across the parking lot, some plastic bags filled with groceries hanging from Jeonghan’s hand while Soonyoung appeared to be texting someone. To both your dismay, Soonyoung immediately recognized Jun’s car. You watched as the blonde bumped Jeonghan’s shoulder, how they took a slight detour on their way over.

“We have to talk to them?” You whined. “Are you kidding? Lock your window.”

Jun’s brow pinched together. “How is that going to help? They already saw us so just relax.”

“You’re telling me to relax? You practically threw me off your la—”

“Shht,” Jun snapped as the two boys drew nearer, “just shhhhht okay?” And with an incredibly large gulp, he plastered a happy-go-lucky smile to his mouth and let the window slide open.

“Jun?” Soonyoung called, leaning down slightly to peer inside the vehicle. “What’re you doing out here, huh? Back from shoplifting?”

Jeonghan bent down too, grinning snidely. “You looked a little frazzled or something.”

“Me?” Jun pointed at himself. “No, I’m fine. Just – we have to leave. Wonwoo is waiting.”

“Wonwoo?” Jeonghan seemed excited. “I haven’t seen him in a while. Hey, tell him I’m still appreciative for writing my World History paper on the Persian Empire.”

You knew it was best to stay quiet, but you couldn’t help your slight choke. Wonwoo had come home one day saying that one of his classmates offered him seventy-five bucks if he’d write their history paper. He wasn’t going to oblige originally, but cracked after listening to his classmate type out their introduction in the library, that it was just so bad Wonwoo felt piteous and decided to pitch in.

Gaping at Jeonghan, you exclaimed, “that was you?”

“Yeah. I mean, I still dropped that class. And Wonwoo definitely thinks I’m a dumbass. But I didn’t have to do a spot of work, and now I’m getting smooth nineties in English. You just have to make up some shit and do a couple fancy indents and you’re set.”

Jeonghan paused, then leaned in a little further to look you up and down. “Y’know, I’ve never seen you before. How easily do you give out your numbe—”

“We really have to go,” Jun interrupted, already clicking the button to roll up the window, “see you at practice, Soonyoung. Bye Jeonghan!”

The two boys didn’t really have any other option apart from stepping back, allowing Jun to exit the parking space and turn onto the road. Not that it would help much, you turned on the air conditioning until it felt like the wind was pure ice, hoping that you’d be able to preserve Wonwoo’s melting fudge sundae. You made sure to text him on your whereabouts, that you were heading home, and churned up a white lie about how you ran into Jun’s friends who held a persistent conversation.

It wasn’t entirely false. And yet, Wonwoo still managed to see through it.

[ wonwoo | 7:54 pm ]: Just say you were making out.

[ wonwoo | 7:54 pm ]: Btw, I fed Princess Pebble.

[ wonwoo | 7:54 pm ]: I’m not a sinner. Unlike you guys.

Later that evening, after delivering Wonwoo his melted cup of chocolate ice cream, after Jun quickly threw some extra clothes into his backpack and ran to his late-night dance practice, you were standing at the fish tank with some new plants you bought for your guppy. As the bright lights of the tank reflected across your face, there was a strange feeling inside you. It seemed like turbulence, confusion, your heart experiencing one sentiment but your brain thinking another.

You hadn’t realized you were absently standing there until Wonwoo came into the dark living room, holding a crumpled tube of toothpaste and his toothbrush. Watching the pink fish swim in between her new seaweed arrangement, he asked you if there was an extra tube stored in your bedroom.

“Don’t think so. Text Jun and ask him to stop at the store when his practice ends.”

“I’ll do that…” Wonwoo sighed. “Hey, you know I already fed Princess Pebble?”

He accompanied you at the tank. For some reason, you refused to look at Wonwoo. You felt unusually vulnerable, like a fragile shell that could be cracked open even by the gentlest hands, and the more you thought into your emotions, the harder your heart started pounding.

“I-I know,” you smiled weakly, “but I got her some new plants today. I just put them in.”

Wonwoo could always tell when something was off-kilter. You almost hated how sharp his senses were, that he was able to detect with such accuracy how you were being eaten up inside. Softly, he touched your shoulder, urged you to turn toward him so he could see the honest colour in your eyes.

“What’s wrong?” He frowned, pushing up the bridge of his glasses.

You felt terrified, but there was no sense in pretending.

“How do I tell Jun that I’m in love with him? That I don’t want us to be a secret anymore?”

It was a weighted question, and you knew that. But it was also the truth. As much as it could be invigorating to maintain a secret relationship, you were beginning to feel the brittle side effects that came with keeping such love behind closed doors. You didn’t want Jun to push you from his lap just because his friends might’ve seen you, nor did you want to keep an eye out for whether or not you should knock his hand off your thigh in public. The secrecy had been fun, but it wasn’t enough.

Scratching the blue collar of his shirt, Wonwoo appeared uncertain.

“I’m not sure, honestly. I just think you shouldn’t repress this. You need to be upfront.”

“How?” It sounded like a desperate plead. “I don’t know how, Wonwoo.”

“Stop overthinking it,” the boy advised, grabbing onto your shoulders and giving your frame a small, grounding shake, “you know Jun. You know he isn’t a rash person. You know if you tell him he’ll hear every word of it. It doesn’t take a genius to see you’re all he thinks about.”

Wonwoo brushed at the side of your cheek with his thumb. “Don’t hurt yourself like this, okay? The next time you’re alone, just say how you feel. I promise it won’t be as bad as you’re hypothesizing.”

You inhaled a deep breath and nodded. Overthinking was a poison to you. It shouldn’t be that difficult to be honest, especially when you knew how attentive Jun was, the manner in which he always adapted himself to be of a comforting presence.

“Okay,” you attempted to draw together some confidence, “I’ll do that.”

“Good.” The boy grinned, still fiddling with his empty tube of toothpaste. “It really doesn’t bother me that you guys run around together. Just… please… never do anything weird in my bed.”

The next time you were alone with Jun, it was all but a desirable circumstance. Once you came home from work and heated up some leftover dinner in the microwave, you decided to feed Princess Pebble, though your jaw unhinged as you noticed something a little unorthodox about her tank: a pink blotch floating against the surface of the water. Immediately, the tears welted hot and stinging against your eyes. You had to use the small net to scoop your guppy out from the water.

Remarkably, Princess Pebble had lived a long life for a fish. You remembered walking with Jun to the pet store one summer afternoon, after you two finished your last day of eleventh grade and had just escaped a brutal chemistry exam. Rather than studying beforehand, you spent ample time researching different types of fish, and would often send Jun pictures asking him to choose which one he thought was cutest. Yet, at the end of it all, you chose a guppy with the prettiest pink scales.

“Don’t most people want a puppy? A kitten? And you choose a boring fish.”

Jun had teased, sounding awkward and a bit lisped through his braces.

Somehow, Princess Pebble had managed to live a five-year lifespan. Wonwoo told you most guppies live for two years, three years if the owner takes good care. Sitting at the kitchen table, you placed her body onto a piece of paper towel, the thick tears dripping down your cheeks while your sinuses grew wet and congested. You didn’t know if it was petulant to be your age, crying over a pet fish. In fact, you didn’t even possess the heart to rise from the table and discard her body.

It wasn’t much longer until Jun returned home after his theatre class, to which you heard his key rattling in the lock. Wonwoo was scheduled for a shift at the cinema, most likely handing out overpriced popcorn and chocolate and having to reject every person who asked for his number.

“Hey,” he called, shouldering off his backpack, “Wonwoo texted me. That weird thriller we were looking at is playing next week. We should—,”

Jun paused the moment he heard your runny sniffling. He didn’t realize that your fish was sitting on the paper towel until he took a few steps closer. You felt embarrassed Jun had to see you like this. If you were crying, it had always been over something with a little more gravity, like the time you were distraught about flunking your laboratory practical, and Wonwoo couldn’t persuade you to open your bedroom door no matter how frequently he stood outside, pleading.

Plucking at the collar of your shirt, you used the fabric to clear away the tears. Without a word, Jun grabbed another chair from the dining table and pulled it next to you, scooting in close. As soon as you felt his arm drape around your shoulders, it was like someone had pulled the plug on a bathtub filled with water, to which you pressed your face against his neck and sobbed harder.

“I’m so sorry.” Jun whispered, hugging you tight to his comfortable chest. “It’s okay to be upset. I know how much she meant to you.”

He drew soothing strokes down the back of your head, and he sat with you until those wet pearls ran dry with salt. You knew it wasn’t wise to keep her body out in the air, that you would have to discard her somehow, yet the thought of having to flush her away seemed too cruel. Jun wiped the soft glisten from your cheeks with his sleeve, his fingers then tracing up and down the side of your face.

“I-I don’t want to flush her.” You blubbered.

The boy shook his head. “We won’t do that. We’ll find a good way to handle it.” His thumb brushed tenderly below the fragile skin of your eye for a moment, and he seemed to be in musing.

“Wait here.” He announced, suddenly running into his bedroom.

You could hear Jun shuffling through his closet, moving around clothing hangers and pushing aside boxes still filled with some of his old belongings from homelife in Shenzhen. When he remerged into the living room, he was holding a particular tissue box, one that you hadn’t seen since twelfth grade biology. You, Jun, and Wonwoo had painted and decorated the box as part of an optional project, to see if you could grow any plants from the packets of radish and tomato seeds your teacher had.

Nothing ever grew. Wonwoo claimed there had been some green sprouts when it was his turn to look after the makeshift garden, but that his cat snuck into his room and ate them all. Jun always kept a multitude of random things that dated back to your adolescence. As awkward and bumpy as those times were, seeing the tissue box reminded you that there had been precious moments too.

“Why do you still have that?” You laughed, even if your chest was aching.

“Because that was the first time us three did something together.” Jun said, returning to his seat beside you. “It was one of the first memories I made after moving away from home.”

You fondly looked at Jun while pulling the tissue box toward you, slathered in old, chipping acrylic paint and obnoxious, starry glitter.

Licking the dry salt off your lips, you smiled. “Princess Pebble would love this.”

“It can be her shrine. When Wonwoo comes home, we can find a good place to bury it.” Jun explained. “I know I called her boring five years ago, but I didn’t mean it. I loved her too.”

In the pensive silence, you thought back to your conversation with Wonwoo, recalling his firm grip on your shoulders as he reiterated the importance of freeing your heart, of not bogging yourself down with too many untold truths. Then, you glanced at Jun. You thought about that fluttering feeling when you kissed him, when you ran your fingers through his hair, listening to his deep-chested laughter whenever he gleefully buckled over into your lap after telling one of his hit-or-miss jokes.

The boy tensed slightly as you pulled him into a hug, though he quickly came to ease and warmth. You thanked him, because it just felt like the right thing to do for his compassion.

And then you told him something else.

“I love you.”

Without missing a heartbeat, he murmured against your hair, “I love you too.”

It was late, unreasonably late, the past-midnight late where the entire world falls still like an unperturbed pond. Downtown was completely hushed. Every so often the wind picked up, though it inevitably withered away in between the buildings and emerged a pitiful whistle onto the street. And yet, despite the fact you should be tucked in bed while the moon protected the silence in her silver hands, you were pushing outside the convenience shop with Jun close behind.

He took the end of a straw into his mouth and slurped at the sweet, cherry-flavoured slushie that was beginning to empty. Immediately, he crinkled his forehead and his face contorted.

“How many times have I said not to do that?” You laughed as he passed you the slippery cup.

“I don’t know. Three?” Jun replied with a grimace. “I can really feel it. Wait, I need a moment.”

You stopped next to the traffic post at the end of the street. Jun grabbed at his hair and squeezed like it was some miraculous remedy for curing a brain freeze. Directing the straw into your mouth, you sucked up the cherry syrup and crushed ice until you felt the distant ache thrum inside your head.

“Okay…” Jun concluded, brushing the long, black fringe from his eyes, “I’m good now.”

Thrusting the drink back into his hands, you couldn’t help but huff: “you’re such a baby.”

As though to prove your point, Jun started whining. “My head is so, so cold. It’s freezing.”

“So put this up or something.” You teased, reaching around the back of his neck to pull the boy’s hood over his head. Giggling slightly, you grinned at him as he shot you a questionable glance.

The streets remained quiet, and the sky was remarkably clear, no more than a few ragged and thin clouds drifting over the stars. The last time you had been on this corner, you were licking the strawberry sugar off your fingertips while Jun crumpled his last packet of popping candy. You remembered tracing the rose tint that warmed his lips, each fibre in your muscle twitching because you just wanted to wrap a hand through his locks and kiss him like he was your last breath.

You didn’t understand how you could love one person so much. Why love often fused itself into your bloodstream more than functionality. Your heart knew how to beat, yet it stumbled whenever you gazed at him. Your lungs knew how to filter the air, yet they closed up whenever you caught his eye. Your tongue knew how to articulate, yet it tied itself in a knot the moment he’d touch you.

“Hey,” you mumbled, patting his arm, “can I ask you something?”

Jun looked away from the stars, sipping at his drink again. He nodded.

The moon probably wanted to crush your heart in her hands for how loudly it was thumping.

“What if I told you that I want people to know we’re together? What would you say?”

Despite your anxiousness, you weren’t as afraid as you anticipated. Maybe it was because Jun didn’t immediately sour or attempt to disparage your sentiments. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking as he blinked at you, but it didn’t matter. When it was most important, Jun picked his words carefully.

“I’d tell you that I want the same thing,” he admitted, his tone deepening and the amber in his cheeks sparked with pink, “that I want people to know how I feel about you… That I’ve always been in love with you.”

You smiled wide, like a kid who just got their braces off. Unable to contain such a rapturous energy, you stepped in close to Jun and held onto his shoulders, dotting the corners of his mouth with small kisses before you pressed your lips against his. You felt him smirk, though it seemed too devious. Jun had suddenly wrapped his arms around your lower back, pushing you in chest-to-chest. You melted as he kissed you, your fingertips ghosting along the soft hairs at his nape, the moonlight on your skin.

When you arrived back at the apartment, you could hear a few of Wonwoo’s gentle snores echo from behind the bedroom door. Just before you slipped away into your own room, Jun left a goodnight kiss to the top of your head, his hand thoughtfully squeezing your hip.

“I-Isn’t it a little late for that?” Jun stumbled through his laughter. “Why do you need me?”

You finally knew what you should have said.

“Because I love you.”

✧✎ a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY SWEET PRINCE!! never would i have imagined that someone who’s on the opposite side of the globe could mean so much to me ;_; mr. moon has been such a healing presence, and it’s bc of him that i have found so much happiness these past five years! whenever i see him smiling and laughing and have good ol times just being himself, all my worrisome thoughts somehow fade away and i feel only joy!!

anyways, i don’t want to ramble for too long (i could really fill a page with my cloying sentiments r.i.p) but i hope this was a wholesome fic!! the stars aligned and for once i was able to write a fic for a member’s birthday :_)

#svt fanfic #jun scenarios #seventeen scenarios #jun fic #seventeen fics #seventeen imagines #jun imagine #jun x reader #svt x reader #wen junhui #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #junhui scenarios #jun fluff #junhui fic

1K notes · View notes

staticscreenwriting · 4 years

Text

Skin deep - Chapter One || B.H.

Synopsis: Billy survived the battle of Starcourt but is left with a body full of scars. Scars that remind him of the pain he had to go trough and the horrible person he has become. In order to forget about all of that and move on, he wants to get them covered up. Good thing Hawkins has a brand new Tattoo studio and the girl who works there might just be the help Billy has been looking for.

A/N: I needed a TattooArtist!Reader x Billy story so I wrote one and you know me, I can’t keep it short and simple. There will be several parts to this. Don’t ask me about an updating schedule because I don’t have one. I try my best to be consistent but I make no promises. Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated.

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

Billy’s palms are clammy as he steps out of his car. His eyes wander towards the sign hanging above the door, welcoming him to “Little Bear Tattoos” as an American traditional bear face grins back at him.

This isn’t his first time getting a tattoo, by all means, he shouldn’t be as nervous as he is. But things are different now. Everything is different. Things change after you almost die because you sacrificed yourself to an otherworldly creature to save a little girl.

He had just turned 18 when he got that stupid little skull inked onto his arm. That’s now just a little over a year ago but it seems like a lifetime has passed since then. Sometimes, Billy thinks, sometimes It feels like that was another person altogether. That dumb little boy who thought he knew shit. The one that paraded his tattoo around like a complete and utter douchebag. He thought it made him look rough and cool and dangerous.

In retrospect, it just made it more obvious that he didn’t know shit about anything. Not life. Not death. And most definitely not about what it means to look rough and cool and dangerous. Sometimes he wishes he could go back to that moment and just relish in ignorant bliss. Most of the time he tries not to think of the past though because thinking of the past means thinking of all the things lost that night in July. Most of all himself.

Back then, getting a tattoo was easy. Now, it feels like the entire world is resting on his shoulders. It feels like he can barely keep it all from crashing down on him.

The bell above the door chimes as he steps inside the tattoo parlor. It’s a relatively small shop but it looks clean and the walls are covered in framed drawings of very intricate designs. If those have been drawn by this place’s artist, he’s in good hands.

A fluffy little brown dog is lazily resting on a pillow by the shop window and only raises his head as the sound of footsteps approaching fills the room.

“ Hi, welcome to little bear. “ a cheery voice calls out to him as a girl steps out from behind a curtain leading to some backroom. She has a big radiant smile on her face though it exudes a certain warmth that only genuine smiles do.

“ Hi uh — I was wondering if you have a free spot. “

“ Hmm… that depends. What are you wanting to get? “

To be quite honest, he hadn’t really thought much about it. All he wanted was something to cover up the ugly scars still streaking most of his body. When before, he felt a certain kind of pride whenever he passed a mirror, now it sends a sharp pain straight to his heart. Everything about him, from the perpetually tired look in his eyes to the scars, it’s al a reminder of the bad things he’s done. And the worst part is that he can never talk to anyone about it. Ever. No one will understand but the people who’ve been there, and though he and Max are getting along much better now, he still doesn’t fancy having long profound conversations with her about his demons.

“ I uh — I’m not sure but it needs to cover something.”

“ Old tattoo? “

Billy swallows audibly “scars.”

He’s not sure what reaction he’s expected from her but a casual “Okay, we can figure something out. “ is not it. Though he avoids wearing short sleeves these days, whenever someone manages to catch a glimpse of his damaged skin he got 1 of two reactions. Either people started regarding him with pity or disgust and he honestly wasn’t sure which was worse. At least those disgusted by him left him well enough alone and didn’t hold a million questions they expected him to answer in great detail.

“ Let’s sit down and we can talk about some things you like and see how we can incorporate those into a tattoo. Also, I would have to take a look at the area you want me to tattoo and see how bad the scarring is just so I can take that into consideration when designing the piece. Scar tissue is harder to tattoo but don’t worry, I promise I can do it. “

“ You’re gonna be tattooing me? “

It seems like a dumb question but honestly, Billy hasn’t met or seen that many female tattoo artists in his life and this girl seems to be about his age. That’s not something you see every day.

“ Yup. I’m (Y/N), this is my shop. Now, do you want something to drink while we discuss the piece? I got all kinds of sodas, I got water and I got non-alcoholic beer.

“ Dr. Pepper? “

“ Good choice. Coming right up. “

She walks behind the counter with the cash register and reaches into a small fridge taking out two cans of Dr. Pepper before leading him towards a little seating area by the window.

The fluffy little dog lifts his head once again regarding the two of them with only mild interest before plopping back down.

“ Oh, you okay with dogs? I can take him to another room if you’re uncomfortable. “

Billy shakes his head. Nah, he loves dogs. Always wanted one but Neil, being the miserable bastard he is, never allowed the kids to have any pets. Too much work, too much responsibility. What an asshole.

Though Billy is never going to admit it, the bedside drawer, that was once filled with issues of Penthouse magazine, now holds a bunch of self-help books and magazines dealing with topics of PTSD and trauma. A lot of them mention getting a support animal whether that be a specially trained dog or just a hamster to keep you company. It makes sense, it gives you someone who listens to you vent about all your problems and insecurities. If only his dad cared enough about his mental state to reconsider his stance on pets. Then again, when has Neil ever cared about him?

“Nah, it’s fine don’t worry. He’s cute.”

“Thanks. His name is Bear and he’s kind of the mascot of this store.”

There’s a twinkle of pride in her eyes while she talks about the shop and her dog. Something Billy is infinitely envious of. Everything he’s ever felt any hint of pride in is gone. His car. His looks. All of it.

“Okay so tell me a little about yourself. Is there anything you can think of that you’d like to get inked? Any interests, hobbies? Maybe you wanna tell me a little about yourself.”

Back before, when things were different, Billy would’ve packed as much ego enlarging words and compliments into it as possible. Would’ve mentioned his car and his most satisfactory performance skills in the bedroom. But now, he hardly knows who he is these days.

“ Um … my name is Billy. I’m 19, I’m from California. ‘Bout two years ago my dad packed us all up and had us move out here to the end of the world. Then … things happened.”

“You miss California?”

“Every day. The thought of going back one day is the only thing that keeps me fucking going. I miss the ocean. I miss surfing. I miss home. I miss all of it.”

She looks at him intensely for a moment, sizing him up, contemplating her next words. He can almost see the creative gears running in her head.

“Alright. I might have an idea. I’d have to see the area first though.”

He expects pity in her voice though there is none. Her words are comforting and warm and calm. Billy wonders how often she has to deal with clients like him. Those who come to her with painful and ugly reminders of their past.

His hands are shaking as he pulls off his denim jacket and reveals his left arm to her. The skin is streaked with scars. They’re the same paths that used to wind up and down his arm in inky black hues like poisonous vines. Now they’re a faded pink but that doesn’t mean he hates them any less.

Billy can feel his heart beating in a fast rhythm as anxiety floods his system. Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe -

“Okay how big would you want to go,” (Y/N) asks, her voice gentle and soothing and her eyes switching from his arm to his eyes. She doesn’t ask him what happened and that’s a relief.

“As big as you can. I know you can’t make it disappear but I’d like as much of it covered as possible.”

“ I won’t be able to do an entire sleeve today but if that’s something you want we can start with a bigger piece on your upper arm today and then work our way to a full sleeve in the future?”

“Sounds good. I just want the scars gone. I need them covered.”

“Well my guy, you’ve come to the right place. It’s my specialty. You’re in luck too, I’m free all day so depending on your pain tolerance and the trauma of your skin, we might even be able to finish the first piece today.”

Pain tolerance, he wants to scoff at that. What he’s been through, the pain and the anguish and the emotional trauma, nothing will ever compare to that. Not even close. He’d get a 100 tattoos all at once and it still wouldn’t measure up.

“Alright, let’s do it.”

“Cool awesome! Imma go over to the drawing board and you can feel free to keep yourself entertained in the meantime. We have an arcade machine in the back. There’s records in the corner if you want to listen to some music. I’ll even let you choose.”

“Is that an honor?” Billy asks, a small smirk on his face. Every once in awhile a flicker of the person he used to be shines through. But then it’s gone and he’s left as this shadow of his former self.

“Oh you have no idea.”

As (Y/N) settles behind a big wooden table and starts scribbling away, Billy wanders over towards the corner of the studio. A bright red record player is resting on a sideboard surrounded by several boxes filled with vinyl records. They’re sorted by band name then chronologically. There’s all kinds of genres too. AC/DC and Judas Priest but also Stuff like The Mamas and the Papas and the Monkees.

“Anything, in particular, you wanna listen to? Kinda hard to make out your taste with this selection. There’s … everything.” Billy calls out to her, leaving through the records.

“What can I say? I like a bit of everything. Don’t like to limit myself.”

Old Billy would’ve raised his eyebrow and asked her if that extends to her love life as well. But old Billy is gone and so he keeps his mouth shut.

“I know it seems like just your kinda music, but maybe stay away from the hard rock. Maybe something a bit more mellow.”

He hasn’t really listened to a lot of music since … well since everything. He mostly sleeps or reads and sometimes when it’s a good day he even attempts to do a bit of writing. It’s nothing spectacular but it’s - something. An outlet really. The stories vary from an autobiographical retelling of the incident to silly tales of young boys going on space adventures. It's a way to get lost in the save parts of his mind. The ones that can create make-believe worlds and happy thoughts. Not the ones tainted with gruesome images of the past.

The opening notes the Monday Morning by Fleetwood Mac fill the air and Billy doesn’t miss the smile tugging on the corner of (Y/N)’s lips.

“Nice. Didn’t really think you were a Fleetwood Mac fan.”

Billy shrugs his shoulders casually “they’re a classic.”

He sits back down in the seat by the window, watches as the clouds pass the sky and the people go about their day. That’s until a furry little ball of fluff settles down in his lap and demands to be cuddled.

“Oh hey, you.”

“Sorry about that. Bear does not understand the concept of personal boundaries. He thinks everyone is only here to pet him. If he bothers you just set him down.”

But he doesn’t mind one bit. In fact, combing his fingers through the curly brown fur fills Billy with a sense of calm and it grounds him a little. He really needs to adopt a dog for himself.

“It’s fine. No bother.”

Time passes with Billy cuddling the dog and ever so often glancing over at (Y/N) while she’s working on the sketch. She’s drawing then erasing then redrawing. Copying then throwing it away then doing it all again. All the while she’s dancing along to the music. There’s a lightness about her that Billy wishes he could possess. Even before the Stacourt situation, he never had this unbothered lightness about him. That’s just not the person you turn into when you grow up in a house with Neil Hargrove.

A light drizzle falls outside and Stevie Nicks sings along to it and life feels … almost peaceful right then. Billy lives for these small moments of normality. These glimmers of what life used to be.

“Okay, I’m ready. Wanna have a look?”

There’s a bright smile on her face as she looks at him and waves the sketch around. “I think I nailed this one. I hope you’ll like it.“

Billy can see that she actually means it. It's not just a silly phrase she’s tagged onto her sentence. She’s genuinely nervous for him to see it.

Bear follows Billy as he walks toward the counter, a smiley (Y/N) watching their every move. There’s something about how passionate she is about her work that makes Billy both happy and sad. There used to be things in life that he was passionate about. His car. His clothes. The music he loved. Now it’s all dull and trivial and he’s lost. So damn lost.

His eyes wander towards the sheet of paper. Delicate black lines run across the page, swirling and arching and creating a beautiful composition. It’s a lighthouse. A tall and sturdy one. It shines it’s light out into the distance to guide the ships safely around the sharp edges of the cliffs. It’s a beacon of safety and hope surrounded by the rough sea and crashing waves.

“I thought it was a nice symbol, you know. Light in the dark. Guiding ships to safety.” (Y/N) explains. She’s biting her lip nervously and Billy thinks it’s insanely adorable. This piece is perfect, to think she’s uncertain and nervous about his reaction …

“I tried to incorporate the ocean and the crashing waves. You know, as a reminder of your life in California.”

Billy is speechless for a moment. Everything he wanted. All the ideas swirling around in his head. She put it down on paper, made them visible. And he didn’t even have to voice them. They were all just mushy gray clouds in his head, non forming a coherent picture. Just a feeling. A feeling of peace and belonging. Of being strong when everything around you tries to push you down to your knees.

“Do you like it? I can change it if you —“

“I love it!”

Her mood immediately changes after hearing those words. As if a switch is suddenly flipped and sunshine floods her face. Her eyes light up and her smile widens.

“Okay perfect! Wanna get started?”

“Sure, let’s do it!”

The black leather chair is soft underneath him as (Y/N) puts the stencil onto his skin. She has a soft gentle touch which only matches the tone of her voice. Very calming. A complete opposite to the rest of Billy’s life.

“Okay, so it’s not gonna be pleasant since I have to tattoo over scar tissue. If you wanna tap out or take a break just let me know.”

He’s fairly sure that whatever pain he’ll have to endure, it will be nothing compared to what he’s already been through. Pain has a completely different meaning to him now.

“I’ll be fine.”

And he means it. Not just about the tattoo, about everything. It feels like this is the first step into a new life. One that won’t be determined by his past mistakes. By the trauma.

The buzzing sound of the tattoo gun fills the air and (Y/N) starts pulling the first few lines. Short strokes. As if to test his pain tolerance. Her eyes wander up to meet his, a silent question shining through them.

He grants her a nod. One of pure determination. One that says, without question: “I’ll be fine!”

For a while, they sit in comfortable silence. There’s just the humming of the machine and the raspy voice of Stevie Nicks to lull them into a soft tranquility.

“ I’m not gonna ask about the scars but can I ask about the skull on the other arm?”

Billy lets out a mix between a laugh and a scoff. “Sins of my youth really.”

“ Oh geez, that makes you sound so old. You’re what, 19?”

“ Almost 20.”

“ See. You’re still in the prime of your youth!”

Billy shrugs his shoulder as she dips the tattoo gun back into the ink. Truthfully, it doesn’t feel like he’s in the middle of his youth. He feels so damn tired. He never got to be a kid. Never got to be a teen. Always wandering in between it all, lost and disillusioned with no one there to guide or help him.

“ How old are you?”

“ Just turned 20 a few days ago.”

“And you already have your own shop. That’s impressive.”

“Yeah well, it’s all I ever wanted to be. Worked my ass off. Spent all my free time at my cousin's tattoo studio up in Carmel. He taught me everything I know. Worked after school and on the weekends and then when I graduated my cousin gave me a little loan and I had enough to open the shop. He believed in me when no one else did and it means everything to me. Hope I make him proud. I just always felt like this is what I'm meant to be. An artist. And this way my art gets immortalized on people’s skin and in some cases it can help them overcome difficult times in their lives. I hope I can make even the smallest change in people’s lives. “

It doesn’t get lost on him, that she doesn’t mention her parents. Something must be up there but it sure as hell isn’t his place to ask about it. Families, he knows quite well, can be a touchy subject.

“Well, you’re definitely making a change in mine.”

“Yeah?”

She looks almost bashful as the question tumble from her lips.

“Yup. I … I need to make those scars disappear. They — they remind me of the worst time in my life and of a version of myself I never want to be again. Having you cover them for me with this art piece that’s so fucking cool, it means everything.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“You should be proud of yourself.”

There’s a connection there, one he can neither grasp nor explain. It’s like she understands parts of him he doesn’t even put on display. And it’s both scary and exciting. And maybe, he understands parts of her she’s not aware she’s putting on display either.

“Okay. I’m done!”

There’s an infinite sense of pride exuding from her words. Billy wishes there was something in his life that he was good at. Something to let him be proud of himself.

“Wanna take a look?” (Y/N) asks with the most radiant smile playing on her face.

“Absolutely!”

His legs are stiff from sitting in the chair for so long but he can’t wait to see the finished piece. Slowly he walks towards the full-length mirror, (Y/N) hot on his heels.

His eyes fall onto the artwork now permanently inked into his skin. There are vibrant shades of blue and dark black lines. The sea is alive, it’s unforgiving and rough. But there’s the light from the lighthouse, the hope, the safety. It’s all there’s and it’s beautiful. Where there used to be ugly pink scars thick and burning, there’s now a beautiful painting. The scars are gone. The pain is gone. All that’s left is beauty and hope.

He doesn’t realize that tears are running down his cheek until she hands him a tissue. His first reaction is to wipe them away and pretend they weren’t there in the first place. A Hargrove man isn’t allowed to cry. Not in front of people anyway. Especially not in front of women. Hargrove men are bitter and numb. They’re stoic. Silent. Angry. Above all they’re sad.

But isn’t that the person he wants to leave behind?

So he lets himself feel it. Lets the tears fall as if it were nothing.

Maybe this can be the next step into becoming the person he wishes so desperately he can be.

“I take it you like it?”

“I love it.”

And he hugs her. Pulls her close and tight as if he’s known her forever. She reciprocates the hug in no time. Softly oats him on the shoulder.

She smells like flowery perfume and clean cotton. Soft. Sweet. Intoxicating

“I can not thank you enough.”

“Billy, trust me this means as much to me as it does to you.”

He doesn’t disagree with her but he’s sure that’s not true. It means everything to him.

They talk for a little longer then he pays her, way too little if you ask him. She deserves way more and he suspects that some kind of personal sympathy plays into the price. But he’s not one to argue. Not when he’s sure he’ll come back. There are more scars. More pain. He’s not fixed but he’s at least a work in progress now.

She takes a few Polaroids of his tattoo, to put on her wall. To show people she can cover scars. Can help them. Help fix them. Make them feel less broken.

“They’re burn scars.”

Billy finds himself sharing a piece of his story. One he’s kept so close to him, sometimes he almost wondered if it was true. But it is. And there are more reminders all over his body. It feels right to share it though. She helped him cover part of it, without judging. Without questions. She deserves to know.

“Huh?”

“My scars. They are burn scars. Not — not from the outside but from the inside. Like fire going through my veins. I uh don’t know how to explain but that’s what they are. You can tell that to your clients. That you covered burn scars. That you’re that talented. “

For a moment she just stares at him, a deep sense of affection shining from her eyes. It’s comforting and nerve-wracking all at once. But he lets himself feel it. He promises himself to let himself feel the good things even if they seem scary.

“That’s … hey, would you like to grab some dinner with me? I could really go for a burger at the diner round here. It’s real good. “

And with the way she smiles, how the hell is he supposed to say no to that.

“Sounds good to me. Lead the way!”

The sun hangs low above the horizon almost dips behind the line to vanish and make room for the moon but not quite yet. They step out into the dawn, Bear pattering alongside them his leash grabbed tightly in (Y/N) hand.

As hues of red and pink and orange surround them and dip the world into a golden haze, Billy feels like maybe this is the way. Maybe this is his path leading into a new future. With less pain. Fewer scars. More color and more smiles.

And maybe a beautiful and talented girl and a little dog by his side.

#billy hargrove x reader #Billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove imagines #stranger things imagine #stranger things imagines #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic

142 notes · View notes

buzzdixonwriter · 3 years

Text

I've Told You A Million Times To Avoid Cliches Like The Plague

Recently a year old re-print of a 1959 Writer’s Digest article by Donald Westlake started circulating on social media.

First off, if you don’t know who Donald Westlake is, go find out. You like rough edge crime stories, try his Parker books published under his Richard Stark pseudonym; you like funny crime, dig up the Dortmunder series under his own name; you like odd ball history, check out Under An English Heaven “being a true recital of the events leading up to and down from the British invasion of Anguilla on March 19th, 1969 in which no one was killed but many people were embarrassed.”

Second, Westlake was a serious writer in that he took the craft of writing Very Seriously indeed, no matter how light hearted and funny some of his books could be. He wrote a blistering letter (later turned into an essay) in the fanzine Xero (starts on page 97) where he excoriated the sci-fi field of the era as being neither artistically nor commercially viable.*

So who am I to challenge this master’s assertions?

Well, I take the craft of writing Very Seriously indeed myself, and to quote a late, lamented friend: “Fools rush in, and there we are…”

The Writer’s Digest article is a mixed bag, partially a quick off-the-cuff job for a few bucks, partially a valid observation on pitfalls in writing popular fiction in September of 1959.

Bear the date in mind, it’s crucial to this discussion.

This was an era when Americans read a lot. Millions of people subscribed to The Saturday Evening Post or dozens of other slick magazines (not to mention the digests, which are what the form the old genre pulps mutated into), and this meant each week dozens of new short stories or serialized novels were available to them (and that’s not counting non-fiction).

Westlake in 1959 was commenting on an over saturated market, one where too many writers and editors simply replayed old tropes over again and again because they knew a significant portion of their audience felt comfortable with them (this is particularly true in the slicks, more so than the digests).

Westlake divides his 36 plots into three groups: Mysteries, science fiction, and slicks.

My first quibble lays in what Westlake means when he says “plot”.

From the original article:

“A plot is a planned series of connected events, building through conflict to a crisis and ending in a satisfactory conclusion. A formula is a particular plot which has become stale through over-use.

“My own working definition of plot is what I call “5C.” First, a character. Anybody at all, from Hemingway’s old man to Salinger’s teenager. Second, conflict. Something for that character to get upset about, and for the reader to get upset about through the character. Third, complications. If the story runs too smoothly, without any trouble for the character, the reader isn’t going to get awfully interested in what’s going on. Fourth, climax. The opposing forces in conflict are brought together. Like the fissionable material in an H-bomb and there’s an explosion. Fifth, conclusion. The result of the explosion is known, the conflict is over, the character has either won or lost, and there are no questions left unanswered.

“5C: Character. Conflict. Complications. Climax. Conclusion.”

All well and good, but in his article Westlake provides almost no examples of same.

To me, a plot is a quick summary of a story that lays out beginning, middle, and end: G.I. Joe captures a Cobra secret weapon but doesn’t realize what it is. Cobra needs to get the weapon back without alerting the Joes to its potential, and the Joes must figure out what Cobra is after before they can get their hands on it.

(There’s a lot you can do with that plot. It can be a slam-bang action oriented story, a techno thriller, or a slapstick farce depending on your angle of attack.)

What Westlake presents are more along the lines of story springboards: ”What would happen if…”

A lot of the situations Westlake presents are rife with potential: “John Smith is sitting in the park, feeding the other squirrels, when a beautiful girl runs up, kisses him, and whispers, ‘Pretend you know me.’”

Okay, let’s list the possibilities, shall we?

She’s being stalked by a creepy guy and needs protection…

She’s been hired to set Smith up for some reason…

She’s mentally disturbed from trauma in her past…

She’s a flipping psycho intending to kill Smith…

She’s a secret agent slipping a secret code in Smith’s pocket…

She’s a silly college girl doing this on a dare, unaware Smith is a serial killer…

Six stories right off the top of my head, and each one could be played in several different ways, from deadly serious to over the top farce.

That’s a lot of potential in a single trope.

Here’s another: “John Smith, private eye, is sitting at his desk, when Marshall Bigelow, thimble tycoon, trundles in waving thousand-dollar bills and shouting, ‘My daughter has disappeared!’”

Well, d’uh, isn’t that what private eyes do? Find missing people? Or uncover who committed a crime when people don’t want the police involved? Or find out if a spouse is cheating?

Name a private eye story that doesn’t play off some variant of this. From Murder, My Sweet to Harper to Shaft, hiring a private eye to find a missing person is a perfect way to get a story started. “You find my Velma.”

Of the dozen story springboards he offers in his mystery section, none are unworkable, though two remain overly familiar to this day and probably are best avoided unless the writer can provide some incredible new spin.

The science fiction section is more problematic, and here’s where I suspect Westlake was slumming (there ought to be an article on the type of articles one shouldn’t write for Writer’s Digest that includes articles like the one Westlake wrote).

Seven of the eleven clearly reference classics of the genre, and if this wasn’t a deliberate dig at those authors on Westlake’s part, one can only argue that while they may be shopworn now due to retreads by the untalented, these ideas remain strong enough to support a good story.

The other four remain headscratchers. Two -- Adam & Eve and “atoms are tiny solar systems” -- are indeed hoary old ideas, burned off by EC comics earlier in the decade.

I can’t say there weren’t thirteen year old aspiring sci-fi writers who submitted these to publishers and editors back in the day, but they seem more likely to have been found on the pages of fanzines (i.e., what sci-fi geeks had before the Internet) than a professional slush pile.

We know Westlake was active to some degree in sci-fi fandom of that era; could those two tropes have come from seeing those stories in the pages of amateur magazines?

The remaining two ideas represent a ribald attitude I don’t recall seeing in sci-fi digests of that era.

Oh, sex was starting to rear its beautiful head in science fiction, and there were a few cutting edge stories, but these two seem more like set ups for smutty fanfic, not genuine submissions of the time.

Again, something I’d expect to see in a fanzine, not a professional market.

Like I said, I think this tips off that Westlake is having us on, that this whole article came off the top of his head in a matter of minutes instead of being carefully thought out.

On the other hand, his critique of slick magazine fiction seems pretty spot on and devastating.

While he covers several sub-genres, his primary focus seems to be on stories written for a female audience, the type found in McCall’s and Ladies Home Journal. He doesn’t come close to a dozen examples, however, as several (even those labeled as sub-examples) are just the same story springboard in different settings.

Two of his bad examples, however, stand out quite clearly as a dislike (whether personal / professional / aesthetic, I can’t tell) aimed at a specific series of stories found in The Saturday Evening Post, i.e., the Alexander Botts, tractor salesman stories of William Hazlett Upson.

One of Westlake’s verboten plots isn’t even a plot but a literary device: “Any story told in an exchange of letters”. The other one that ties into Upson’s oeuvre is “Joe Doakes, a traveling salesman for a paper clip company, gets involved in some pretty unbelievable adventures in a small town in the Midwest. The other participants are a local belle and a salesman for a rival paper clip company.”

The two combined describe Upson’s Botts stories to a T. The second one is richly ironic since Westlake eventually used the same basic premise for his Dortmunder series (the only change being Dortmunder is a thief, not a salesman; po-tay-to, po-tah-to).

Finally, Westlake left himself a huge out with “If you can take one of the 36 clichés listed above, and give it a brand new twist, so it doesn’t look like the same story any more, you may have a sale on your hands. If you search hard enough in the magazines on the stands today, you’ll find one or more of these variations currently in print.”

Look, I get it. I’ve faced deadline doom before myself, and more than once have fired off a short piece that contained all the depth of a dixie cup.

This isn’t the worst writing advice I’ve seen, but it’s far from the best, and Westlake coulda and shoulda done better.

* He wasn’t alone in his opinion, though ironically the 1960s proved to be one of the most fertile eras for the genre. Yet Westlake and other writers such as John D. MacDonald, Frederic Brown, and John Jakes left sci-fi for other genres because it couldn’t support them either as artists or professionals.

#Donald Westlake #writing #how this writer's mind works #William Hazlett Upson

2 notes · View notes

rixxy8173571m3w1p3 · 4 years

Text

The Truths Found On Petram Viridios IV (1/?)

What started out as an idea for a short one shot grew into a multichap that I'm almost done editing. I think 🤔 it'll be either 4 or 5 chapters long depending on how long each chapter will be after I'm done editing. Anyway, I hope you guys will enjoy.

In this fic you learn how easily things can change, but how it effects you isn't always a bad thing.

________________

Chapter 1: The Phenomenon

There was little difference to what was happening around you at the moment. There were no little green men, or yellow submarines, neither were there tangelos, or bags of golden rings, but there was a blue-haired man with plenty of dreams. Still, life was swell; summer was around the corner, and you were reading in the garage just to be near Zeta-7; he was working on his latest piece of tech, and you were distracted by his charming quirks and ticks. If you hadn't known any better, you'd say it was business as usual. Yet, it was because you had been acquainted with Rick that the previous blindspots of your world were made known to you; conscious of the rare events which were going to take place in another quadrant of space.

A phenomenon was going to occur; one which would not happen again for another 1000 years; the blooming of the Milleannos flower. Legends say that those who touch its pollen might live forever, and those who smell its perfume might be cured of all that ails them, but those claims were supposedly unsubstantiated. There was to be a gala to celebrate the occasion; all in attendance were respectable, distinguished guests and because of Rick, you were also invited, but there were rules; strict guidelines which were to be obeyed unless you wished to throw away your life. And although you weren't happy about them, you were willing to abide by them for Rick's sake. However, there were a few things you didn't understand. "Rick, why won't we be allowed to dance together?"

His hands paused their activity, and his body sagged a little; dreading the reminder not because he's informed you already, but because it pained him to remind himself that he couldn't spend a once in a lifetime occasion with you. "B-because according to the laws of Petram Viridios IV, you are assigned a um - a party companion which is determined according to the alignment of your spine, carbon dioxide levels, as well as daily water intake. And due to the variety of guests, everyone must stand at least six feet apart to avoid air poisoning. However, if given an a-air helmet in order to assist with breathing, then I believe that the last rule isn't as severe. It's - there is a-a lot to remember."

Currently, he was piecing together the circuits and connecting the wires which would power his reflective shield. It was going to be worn under his dress shirt and would be undetectable under their scanners; as a precaution of course. "Ricky, you know I barely drink water." You weren't a fan of water, but you enjoyed flavored beverages and if you did drink water, it was always carbonated first. "I mean, I can get past the distance thing, but what am I supposed to do if I'm assigned to someone I don't like, and have to spend hours being bored and jealous that you're next to gorgeous, realistic fembots from Westworld?"

Unlike you, Zeta-7 drank so much water, you wondered how he wasn't rushing to the bathroom every five minutes. The only other people who drank that much water were beauty gurus who wanted to keep their skin in tip-top shape; you could really try harder if you wanted to. Good naturedly, he answered. "Gosh, y-you don't have to worry about that. I know a fembot when I-I see one."

You raised a brow at this, but seeing as he meant it literally, you listened on. "No s-siree, I won't be assigned a party companion because I'm going t-t-to be assisting the king in protecting their sacred relic."

How Rick became designated to assist with such a task was beyond you, but there seemed to be a glimmer of slight pride in the fact that he'd be so lucky and privileged as to be near the legendary flower, as well as to the beings who revered it. He was determined to find out the truth behind its properties, and if his hypothesis proved true, then he had a plan. You enjoyed when he was diverted with schemes; not the kind which was evil in nature, but the ones which could end happily or inconclusively. Anyway, you two were discussing how to go about it all.

The discussion had gaps of pause where he'd need to concentrate on bits of wiring that needed to be soldered or bent. Without distraction, you were more aware that it was humid, especially with the garage door being fully open for proper ventilation; bits of your hair stuck to your face and to the back of your neck despite how you'd try to tie it. As annoying as it was, it did have its draw; every so often, you'd catch Rick staring and you'd feel a thrill for it could be a year or ten years, but his shy tendencies would never stop being endearing; why he felt the need to reign himself when you were cool with him checking you out was something you hoped he'd someday become more comfortable with, but for now you'd simply giggle and wink at him to let him know you knew. He did his best to focus on the task at hand, but it wasn't going as well as he had hoped for it happened more than once that you'd have to hand him a tool he was blindly reaching out for. "You wouldn't happen to know who my party companion is," you inquired, as you were tying your hair up for the umpteenth time. "do you? And if you do, can't you change them?"

Giving you that look which always preceded his speeches of why he couldn't do that random illegal thing, he explained with kindly patience. "I could change th-the records, and assign you to someone I know, but that wouldn't be legal."

"I know."

"However," he brightened as he paused his work to face you fully. "I do have a copy of the guest list. Give me a-a moment to pull it up on my computer. Hmm," he wondered more to himself then out loud. "that's odd."

"What is it?"

Drumming his fingertips on his workbench, he double-checked his calculations, then went over and wrote it all out on a chalkboard to be sure. Tapping the freshly used chalk tip to his chin in thought, leaving a little powder on his face, he nodded when it seemed satisfactory. "According to um - to my calculations, it's possible that it's either the Salamandrian chemist, V'gha Khadaka or the Chordatan Knight, Noathamas."

"Is there a correlation between the two?"

"Other than their similar water intake levels, they both enjoy their privacy. However, I'm a-a little stumped as to how it might be possible to be assigned to them both. None of your occupations are similar, neither is there a species similarity, but I'm sure I'll figure it out before the event."

Great, just great. That sort of information wasn't all that helpful, but you pressed a kiss to his cheek to ease the worry which he had been hiding. You wondered if it was too late to back out, but for the most part you were determined to be there for him, even if it meant odd company. "Alright. Um… is there something I should keep in mind before I go dress shopping?"

A quick glance at your current outfit made him smile. You were wearing an old band tee and jeans with so many patches, that they were more patch then jean. "I-I don't think so. Almost anything is fine. Though, y-you might want to avoid plant-based materials in favor of synthetics just in case."

"Okay, I think I can do that, but don't be surprised if I look like I just walked out of a 1980s prom. I'll have you know that being slightly flammable is a dream of mine."

He chuckled at that and patted your shoulder. "Hohoho, I'm sure it'll be fine. You - you always look pretty in whatever you wear."

"If you mean that I'll be so fine, that I'll light up the room with my razzle-dazzle, then you better watch out. You never know who'll be charmed without my knowing."

Now, there had been little to no weight to your phrasing just now, but he felt differently. Giving your shoulders a squeeze, there was a distant, far off look in his eyes that you could only recall from specific occasions. It was a mix of longing, sadness, and regret, but you couldn't pin it on what exactly. It was as though he were trying to convey by sight that there was something he ought to do, that he ought to say, but as quickly as it had appeared, it left and was replaced by acceptance. He pulled away and returned to his previous task while you used a spare computer to begin the search for the perfect dress. He said it'll be fine, and you certainly hoped so.

____________

Adjustments in gravity made you feel as though you could jump in and out of craters as though you were wearing moon shoes; that is until you stepped onto a ship or station, then you felt as though you had fifty pounds tied to each foot. You were grateful for the terrain stabilizers that Rick placed in your flats a few adventures ago, otherwise, you would've already been worn out.

You two arrived a few minutes apart by way of the designated ship which held a variety of guests. To explain, the ship itself was a marvel and a work of beauty as far as intergalactic travel was concerned; its mechanical parts were held together by a compound whose main ingredient was a type of scarlet amber. Piece by piece, it had been crafted by a mixture of living matter and tech so advanced, that it'd have taken 300 years of Earth-based studies to understand a fraction of how one of its panels could work; probably sooner for someone like Rick.

Your eyes trailed the conduits as you were led through hallways that seemed to spiral and spill into larger hallways with varying temperatures and design and you wondered how it was those conduits crossed over and branched off like veins, but you had no time to find out and didn't feel privileged enough to ask as you were led into a cabin. Multiple voices hushed, but resumed to their usual loudness once you had settled into what appeared to be a loveseat with the coloring and texture of a pumpkin; it was your assigned seating, but it was not as soft as you would have liked.

It wouldn't be till later that you'd find out that Rick had traveled in a cabin on level 4 while you had been on level 2. In your cabin was a being composed of pure energy, with a name not spelled in letters but in frequencies, who was one of the musicians. A few feet away, was V'gha Khaḍaka; he was tall, sure-looking, had smooth, striped skin which glistened, and a tail strong enough to break someone's spine in a blink; the good thing was that he hadn't been trained in combat, but was simply a scientist who enjoyed the pursuit of knowledge. And a few feet away from the Salamandrian chemist was the knight Noathamas; he stood at half your height, but his chest was puffed out in such a way that made him appear larger, while his round amber eyes and curly whiskers gave him a soft, cuddly appearance; you had been warned by Rick that his appearance did not reveal much about his character and to watch out for him.

It was uncommon but not unheard of to be assigned multiple party companies as you had been; you were matched up to both V'gha and Noathamas due to your odd chemical makeup. Who would've thought that drinking a La Croix before leaving home would confuse their scanners? Goodness, you were grateful that it was a quick trip, and when it was time to depart the ship, you were escorted by two guards before you were given a helmet; it was nearly invisible except for its indicator light which was shaped like a flower, and it blended in with your dress; a colorful sequin cocktail dress you found on eBay. Not far from you were both your companions, who gave off the impression that they were your entourage rather than dates for the night. You saw Rick from a distance, and you knew he was trying to play it cool, but his eyes were sparkling with affection, although he knew he was supposed to suppress it due to the strict traditions imposed by the royal family; he looked away as he was escorted by six guards, but part of you wished that he hadn't.

You took a deep breath to calm your giddiness; this wasn't the time to allow your emotions to carry you away and affect the mission which was to get through the evening. V'gha could pick up on your subtle changes in body language, and thanks to a universal translator in your helmet, you could understand him. "From what I understand," he commented with a surprisingly smooth, velvety voice. "he's the smartest man in the universe. Is that true?"

"Maybe," you replied nonchalantly, "but he's more than just a brain. I heard he's a great lover. Not really my type," you lied because Zeta-7 suggested that you keep the details of your relationship with him a secret; again for safety, but you thought boasting up his reputation wouldn't hurt. "though, to each his own."

"Do you know him personally?"

When questions like this were thrown at you, it made you wonder about the curious people who meant it to sound nice, but in actuality wanted to test the waters as to how much can they ask so soon. Glancing at your nails, you feigned disinterest. "I'm not sure if I'm allowed to give out that type of information."

"You two are the only humans here." he stated matter of factly. There were humanoid beings but he was right. "It doesn't take rocket science to figure that much out."

"How would you know," you retorted with an air of certainty. "you're not a rocket scientist."

"You're right, I'm not. However, I do dabble into it from time to time. I'm sure he does too. I can smell the exhaust from here."

Hmm, perhaps this event was going to be more interesting than you thought. You shared a look of understanding with the chemist, and thought that perhaps you wouldn't need to be so wary of him; his charisma gave him a charm you hadn't yet decided if it was welcomed or should be ignored; whether his earlier comment was out of egotism or curiosity. And before you could make a comeback, Noathamas commented. "Shall we find our assigned seating and continue from there?"

"Sounds fine. Why don't you two walk ahead," you suggested with a coolness you didn't know you had. "I'll be sure to follow."

When you were sure that they were far enough, you took out your miniature glass terrarium necklace, which held a shrunken sunflower that had an iridescent shimmer on its petals; the one Rick had given you after a memorable date; it was made to remind you of how he saw you and you were very glad it had gone undetected under the scanners you passed through. And in your mind's eye you could still see the glimmer and shine of his electric blue eyes as he had taken in your appearance this afternoon before you two departed Earth; oh how he had wanted to kiss you and hug you but had refrained from doing so in order to double-check if he had all his supplies. His compliments had been many as he drove into the inky blackness of space, but when he parked at the station which was at the midway point, and you two lined up to board the ship which took you to this strange world, his face became neutral; his job made him good at that. You kissed your lovely necklace, replaced it so that it laid underneath your dress collar, and your heart called out to him in the void which was Petram Viridios IV; hoping you wouldn't have to go the through the evening without seeing your beloved again before you made yourself appear neutral and made sure to stay at least six feet apart from everyone in your midst.

Tbc

#doofus rick #doofus rick x reader #Rick Sanchez x reader #j19ζ7 #j19z7 #rick j19z7 #Rick Sanchez #rick and morty fanfic #rick and morty fanfiction #rnm fanfic #rnm #my fanfiction #My fanfic #My writing #My works #fanfiction #rnm fanfiction

36 notes · View notes

prorevenge · 5 years

Text

I end up working for the scammer who conned my parents.

So, this tale starts twelve years ago in 2007. Both my parents had retired at the same time and had received a large cash lump sum and would have a decent pension income for the rest of their lives. Dad was ex-Army, doing his national service and staying for another 8 years before travelling the world. He served with the Royal Engineers and moved into an engineering/maintenance role when he returned to the civillian life. Mum was a teacher, and with careful savings and multiple pensions they had more money coming in individually than I did in a salary.

The first thing they did was to renovate their house. They got several quotes for new windows, some minor building work, a new kitchen and a block-paved driveway. I helped them with researching the companies involved and with all the information at hand, they settled on a local company that we'll call Bad Company. Bad Company had membership of all the relevant professional bodies, had some good feedback and importantly was not the cheapest but their sales guy explained to my parents why a cheaper quote wasn't always better. They agreed on the £35k work and paid a 10% deposit. Work started, and they weren't asked for a single penny more until it had been completed. There were a couple of minor snags which were easily corrected, and it went £500 over budget due to the bad drainage of the house (something that had been mentioned before) but it looked satisfactory.

As it turned out, the windows had massive gaps in them that leaked water when it rained and you could actually hear the wind whistling through. Heating became expensive. Within a month, weeds and grass started poking through the block paved driveway and the electical work that was done in the new kitchen caused blown fuses if both ovens and the hob were turned on together. If you touched the plate around the light switch, you'd get an electric shock. After three months, water burst through the newly laid kitchen floor and the "Secured By Design" doors could simply be lifted out of their frame even when locked. We also noticed that they keys to the new doors were not the originals, and they were extremely difficult to lock especially as both parents had arthritis. The icing on the cake was that most of the windows were supposed to be argon filled, but the seals had already blown allowing air inside and condensation on the inside was apparent.

Dad asked a friend, Bob, to estimate the extra cost of fixing it. Bob said that to correct the now evident defects would cost nearly £20k as almost everything would have to be ripped out and re-done. Dad immediately contacted Bad Company, and the guy they sent round was rude, arrogant and blamed everything on the builders who had originally constructed the house doing a bad job. He wrote a report stating that none of the defects were down to the work carried out as the work had been done according to current best practices. That evening, one of the window frames fell out.

Dad spent a month after that trying to get Bad Company back to fix the issues, then he called all the regulatory bodies to find that Bad Company wasn't a member but just used the membership logos on their documentation. Around a year after the work was originally completed, Bad Company simply vanished. Phone numbers were disconnected emails bounced back and their office was now a conservatory showroom. Dad had already paid a well estabished window company £3k to fix the immediate window and door issues, and was left to pay another (much better) company £22k to fix the issues. This time we checked everything and made sure they were registered. We even got a warranty.

Cut to 2018, and I'm looking for a new job. Dad passed away quite unexpectedly in 2015 and Mum wasn't too good either (although she's a lot better now) so I needed a job closer to her house than the 2 hour commute to the next city that I currently had. As luck would have it, a local kitchen manufacturing company (lets call them Local Kitchens) was looking to expand and wanted an IT technician/developer. The pay was about £1k more a year than I was currently making, but I didn't have to spend £500 a month travelling to and from work (busses and trains are expensive). I interviewed, liked what I heard, and was accepted for the role. All the time, I thought that I somehow knew the boss of Local Kitchens.

Having worked in factory environments before, I arrived in a hi-viz vest, toecapped boots and with my own ear defenders. No-one else wore any P.P.E. - not even masks and goggles. When all the machinery ran, the factory floor hummed and buzzed along at a noise level of 105dB, well over the required minimum for wearing ear defenders or plugs. The boss, who we'll call John, also attempted to cut corners everywhere. My workstation was barely powerful enough to run the development software let alone the CAD/CAM software required. When the CPU fan died, he said that he couldn't afford to replace the fan. A new computer keyboard took 3 weeks to arrive and although we were paid on the 28th of each month, the pay was often not in the bank until 9pm, well after he had chased people who owed him money.

There were more lies that I uncovered, and bad business practices. It was like John had read a book on running a business then did the exact opposite. I spent the first six months between designing kitchens - something that I knew nothing about but suddenly fell under the remit of IT technician - maintaining the factory machines, driving the forklift (something that requires a specialist license that I don't hold) and doing IT work on his personal home computer equipment and mobile phones of him, his trophy wife, his kids and his parents. I also wrote several small computer programs, wired up the factory network, ensured that machinery could connect to the office computers and re-wrote most of the configuration for the industry specific software he used - which was not only unlicensed but also used on five separate machines despite the single (lapsed) license.

Also working at the company was Dad's friend Bob. Bob was a decade and a half older than me and had served his time "working the tools" making and fitting kitchens, bedrooms, and had spent a good fifteen years as a shopfitter on some very prestigious contracts. Bob was hired originally to do my job but he moved back to the manufacturing side when the expansion started as it was easier to employ an IT tech than it was a shopfitter. Bob had read an eulogy at Dad's funeral and was often round helping mum with bits around the house, so I knew Bob well and he looked after me at work. We got talking one day and I found out that Bob was earning less than me, even though he had a highly skilled and experienced role, and that despite being given more responsibility, John refused to pay Bob what Bob was worth.

Honestly, if Bob wasn't there, most of the knowledge was lost. Bob and I had frequently told John better ways to do key tasks, but John refused simply because there would be a small cash outlay. I should have seen the writing on the wall at that point, but no.

Running up to Christmas, John tells us all that he's giving us all a bonus, and will pay us early for the christmas to new year shutdown period. We soon discover though that the bonus was a £5 tub of sweets - which Bob can't eat because he has type 1 diabeties, and I can't eat because I have this really strange sugar allergy. I was going to mention it to John, but Bob tells me not to as it's Christmas and it will be something for my kids to enjoy. I actually ended up with three boxes of sweets because he over-ordered.

That day, despite being an IT technician, I had to chase an order with a company, order some materials from a supplier, and supervise a fitter as he attempted to install some new showroom units. John is nowhere to be found until just as we're about to leave. He asked Bob for a moment of his time and I go home.

The next day, Bob tells me that he and John talked until 7pm (an extra 3 hours) about the business. Bob was asked to invest £10k for a quick capital injection as winter is always a bad time for people buying kitchens, so income is slow but there are a number of large orders in the pipeline. Bob told him what he thought of the shady business practices and the poor management, and he said that he could walk out of this job today and be earning double before the year is out. He refused to invest. Other things were said, and Bob dropped the first bombshell, explaining that every job they did for a new client was actually making a loss. The new client had been Local Kitchens only revenue stream since mid October. Apparently John was genuinely shocked and didn't realise that it cost him £200 per hour just to run his business, jumping to £300 if the machinery is running.

The day before we're due to finish for Christmas, I get called into the nearly complete new showroom. I thought John was going to show me what needs finishing and which units need designing, but no. He's worked out the finances and states that there's only enough money to keep me on for another couple of months. He even tries to turn it around by saying that he's sorry and that I'm a good employee but the income isn't there, and he wanted to give me enough time to find something else. I felt my entire world crumble. The rest of the day was a daze, but just before I left, I overhear him ordering some materials from a supplier. His exact words were: Yes, it's John from Local Kitchens. You might have us down as Bad Company.

That's when all the pieces fell into place. It finally clicked why I knew his face. He was the one who scammed my parents.

The last day of work before Christmas arrives, and John had taken his family away over the christmas / new year period. We had to ensure that the factory was powered down, locked off and secure. No-one else wanted the responsibility so I volunteered. With only Bob and myself still left in the factory, I set about gathering evidence and investigating his finances. I already know about the losses, but digging deeper I find that the company actually has no cash flow. Everything is done on credit. His house, his wife's Range Rover, his Jaguar and several other assets are registered as company assets but they're all on finance through Local Kitchens. He owed at least £750k in credit, loans and mortgages.

Bob advised me against doing anything rash as it would only come back to me and agreed that John needed to be taught a lesson not just for the way he treated his empolyees, but for conning my parents and several others out of their life savings. Bob had found a set of files from 2005 to 2008 with customer complaints for shoddy work in the name of Bad Company. It was far too late to legally do anything about the complaints, but we could bring down John and his smug attitude. Bob suggested I read up on health and safety over christmas, and perform some observations in the new year.

January and February I spent making notes, taking photographs and researching legislation. By the time the end of February rolled around, I had a thick folder full of breaches of health and safety, environmental issues, data protection (or lack thereof) and the lack of software licensing. John was well aware of the software issue, but he said that "as long as the software keeps running, it'll be ok". I had emals from him to back this up, and requests for purchases of software and hardware that were turned down so he could dine out at fancy restaurants or stay in 4 star hotels.

My last day rolls around. I have a much better development job lined up thanks to some recruiter contacts I have, and as the current day was a Thursday and I didn't start my new job until Monday, I planned on sleeping in on Friday. John is strangely absent all day but arrives just as we're all leaving for the day. HE SAYS NOTHING as he watches me leave. I got the impression immediately that he wanted me to stay until Friday, but he said that my last day was "the end of the month" and not "Friday". Unsuprisingly, the pay is late. It's 10pm before it appears in the account.

I went to see my mum that evening and told her who my boss was, the way he simply cast me aside when he was done with me, and that I wanted to break him as revenge for the bad work and what we have always considered as a scam. Now, my mum is the sweetest lady you could ever meet, and I was completely shocked when she actually said "bury the bastard". She even let me use her garden incinerator to destroy the personal hand-written instructions that Bob and myself had created since I started. The knowledge of how to fix issues with the specialist software now only existed in our memories.

Friday rolls around, and I have no reason to get up early. My phone is ringing constantly becuase John is trying to get hold of me and it's soon evident that things are going south, rapidly. Bob sent me a text telling me that he gave John a final invoice at 8AM and walked out. Now, had this been petty revenge then the tale would have ended here with him not being able to use his business-critical unlicensed software, and hiring new people, but this is Pro revenge and my mother did tell me to "bury the bastard" so despite feeling sorry for the one other genuine employee that I had a lot of respect for, I enacted my totally legal if not a little underhanded plan.

I reported Local Kitchens and John to the Federation against Software Theft for illegal use of licensed software, giving them information regarding which software was illegally used and how. Just to be safe, I also reported them directly to those software companies too. I supplied the emails as evidence where I had explained to John that he was breaking the law by not having the correct and valid licenses.

I then called a friend at the local government Health and Safety team, reporting no fewer than thirty rule breaches, sending him the supporting images and video. One of Local Kitchens professional memberships had lapsed, but John was still using the logo on paperwork, email signatures, website and the company van, in addition to the signage on the building. I reported that to the professional body in question. I honesly considered reporting GDPR breaches, but I don't think that he had done anything that could be considered a breach.

A week later, John sent me a message stating that If I was still looking for work, he would pay me £50 per day to do "IT work" for him. It came across as if he was trying to do me a favour. I told him that I was previously on £90 per day, but as I was now a freelance contractor, the going rate was closer to £200 per day. He didn't send me another message.

Three weeks later, and the showroom saleswoman - who we'll call Jane (the one remaining staff member I respected) called me to tell me that John had closed Local Kitchens and declared bankruptcy owing nearly a million pounds. I asked about fines, and she said that Health and Safety were behind a building closure which stopped production causing the bankruptcy. In the same week, he had legal notices for illegal software.

As this unfolded, I kept Bob in the loop and Jane kept me informed. As of the start of July, the final figure for fines was levied. £932k debts to the business, £876k fines too. On that same day, purely by chance I was helping a friend deliver pizza and John placed an order My friend was driving and doing the shop work, and I was going to the door to hand the food over, so I actually got to deliver his food. He was nice enough to me when he opened the door, and stated that if I had done the extra "IT Work" for him then I wouldn't have to deliver pizza. I told him that it was what it was, and questioned the fact that there was only enough for 1 meal - didn't his wife like pizza? He told me that she'd left him and taken the kids back to her parents, and that he wasn't OK with that but he had no choice. I agreed, an then decided to twist the knife even more.

I told him that it was a good job he got rid of me when he did, because I now had a fantastic well-paid job that I'm good at, and that if I had stayed, then I would have brought myself down as well as him. That's when he realised that I had called in all the agencies that had eventually shut him down. He demanded to know why, as he had "given me everything" and "taught me how to work in the kitchen industry". I simply replied with my parents address and the year 2007. I saw the colour drain from his face as he realised that his past had caught up with him. Then I told him how much he had to pay on his pizza, and he threw £40 at me and snatched the food out of my hands, slamming the door in my face. His food was only £21.50, so I got a nice £18.50 tip from him that night.

(source) story by (/u/tac-21a)

#prorevenge #by /u/tac-21a #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

429 notes · View notes

lydia-bell · 4 years

Text

4200 words of headcanon for Strand and Charlie, because I am not a reasonable human being

Inspired by @coffeesuperhero's great post about Strand’s timeline and raising Charlie, I decided to post this. I wrote it as background for a huge AU I’ve been working on where The Black Tapes was cancelled after Season 2 because after Coralee’s return and Strand learning of all the ways he’d been manipulated, he decided he needed to concentrate on putting his life back together and just couldn’t do the show anymore. I have no idea if that story will ever see the light of day, but I’ve developed a LOT of headcanon in the process of kinda sorta writing it, so I might as well share some of it. :)

Strand would have guessed that he'd feel relief when the podcast was over. And he did, in the sense that he would no longer be having details of his personal life put on the Internet for all to hear. He was dreading what would happen when this episode was done being edited and uploaded. He could imagine all of those paranormal charlatans getting a kick out of it; Richard Strand is so closed off to anything he doesn't understand, so arrogant to those who believe, that he drove his own wife away!

Fortunately, he'd had a great deal of practice not caring about what those people thought of him. Though he did cringe to imagine Tannis Braun making a great show of being caring and concerned. Oh, he would mean it in his way, but—well, that was his brand, wasn't it? People who are trying to sell something can easily cultivate an air of gentleness and empathy. After all, they never have to tell any hard truths.

But Tannis Braun didn't matter. None of them mattered. The only ones who mattered were Thomas Warren and the rest of his cult, who had sent him a spy as a wife and then taken her away. Who had been monitoring him his entire adult life, manipulating him into a marriage and jobs to do it.

He hadn’t intended to hurt Alex’s feelings, but yes, he was relieved to be finished with the podcast. But he had to admit that doing it had provided him with a certain structure, and, if he was very honest with himself, some forward momentum that he might have had trouble sustaining on his own. They’d learned more in the past two years than he had in the previous 15, and there was a reason for that.

He supposed he should have said something to her while she was here. Well. Perhaps they’d meet up for lunch sometime, as she’d mentioned. In his experience, these promises were typically hollow, but it was possible.

He took off his jacket and tie and cleared away their teacups. He considered having another cup but decided on a drink instead. After pouring himself a generous whiskey, he turned off the lights on the main floor and went down to the basement. He was going to have to provide all of the organization and momentum for his inquiries now, and he should get to it. And since Alex wasn't going to be coming by anymore, he had a few more items to put up on the wall.

Like the cases Coralee had brought to his attention after leading him to the Empress Hotel. The information on Thomas Warren's background, his family history tracing back to eastern Ohio. The history of the Howland family, also from eastern Ohio. The next thing he needed to do was talk to Cheryl, and he was grateful that he wouldn't have an audience for that. As it was, he was relying on Cheryl extending him some residual goodwill out of guilt for having once believed he might have killed Coralee, but that wouldn't last. He'd put out feelers with some of those genealogy services, inquiring into both sides of his own family and into Warren's, and the results were...well. He was glad he wouldn't have Alex jumping to conclusions about how just because their families founded towns 20 miles apart in the early 19th century, this must be the key to everything.

That willingness to follow what you claimed were meaningless coincidences is what got you here today, part of his brain argued, but he ignored it. He could be open to possibilities without being willing to accept anything and everything that seemed to offer an explanation.

He was also glad Alex wouldn't be around to air his eventual talk with Charlie.

He knew he needed to call her. But what could he say? "I didn't drive your mother away after all"? But in a real way, he had. "I'm sorry I wasted time with some stupid idea that I could find her with psychic abilities instead of doing something useful and taking care of you?" That might help. He had apologized, after he'd given up looking, after Charlie had left, but it was too late then; how could it matter now, 18 years later? But maybe. He could say it again, if she needed it. At least maybe she could understand a little better what had driven him.

He didn't know what time zone she was in right now, so no, he wouldn't call. Or text, even—he didn't want to wake her in the middle of the night; he didn't want to do anything to upset her at all. Email, then. She'd allowed June to give him the address and even answered as long as he didn't use it too often. He went back upstairs and opened up his laptop.

Charlie,

I didn't want to call or text because I don't know what time it is where you are, but I need to talk to you. I have news

.... what could he say? "I have news about your mother?" "about Coralee?" "Coralee's alive."

The podcast was going to air soon; there was no need to keep it a secret, even if his communications were being monitored (and Coralee was right, it was possible). The straightforward way, then. He deleted the last three words and went on:

I saw Coralee today.

She came to me. She said it was because I was in danger and she was trying to keep me safe. I don't know if you've ever listened to the Black Tapes, but this organization we've been investigating, this cult... she's part of it, or she was. She was part of it when she met me. Over time, she came to realize that they were doing things she couldn't support. So when we fought that day on the drive to Big Sur, when she walked off and we couldn't find each other, she took it as an opportunity to get away from them. To disappear. She thought she would be able to come back when she found the evidence she needed to stop them, but the more time passed, the harder it was to come back.

I know this all seems insane, and there's no particular reason you should believe me, except that you have to know I've never lied to you. Whatever my other failings as a parent were, I never lied to you, not once. And I'm not asking you for anything, but I thought you should know. She's alive, she left by her own choice, and she wanted to come back but she never felt that she could.

And she told me to tell you that she loved you. For what it's worth, I think that's true too.

Call me any time, if you'd like. I know this is a lot to take in. Believe me, I know. But at least we can stop wondering. That has to be worth something.

He struggled with signing it, as he always had. "Love," she didn't want. "Sincerely," though true, was something you'd say to a stranger. What was it that he really wanted to say to her? So many things, but this would do.

I hope you're well.

Take care,

Richard

He didn't give himself even a second to hesitate before hitting "Send" and pushing the laptop away. It was the right thing. Charlie deserved to know; she had every right to know. He was sure she'd have questions, and he doubted he'd have any satisfactory answers, but he was willing to try.

He refilled his whiskey. He wished he had someone to talk to about all this. He thought for a moment about calling Alex, but he'd been the one who ended that association. He'd just taken her show away from her. He could hardly expect to lean on her after that.

Maybe he just needed to take his mind off of everything for a while. He could watch a movie, read a book...nothing sounded satisfying, though. He thought about calling the Jacobsons, but no—they could find out from Charlie. He wasn't proud of himself--they were Coralee's parents, and they had a right to know their daughter was alive—but after all these years, when they'd never accepted him even before Coralee's disappearance, never treated him with more than a distant cordiality (and often with less), never considered him part of their family, he'd finally had enough. Their daughter was alive, they didn't need to look for her anymore, and with that, his last tie to them was gone. You'd have thought that finding her alive would make them more connected, not less, but missing her, wondering about her, had been the only thing they'd had in common. They still didn't have her, any of them. So there was nothing between them. They could find out from Charlie.

But that still left him with nothing to do. The research materials for his book were still stacked on his desk, but he could no more imagine going back to that book than he could becoming a monk. He needed to speak with Jenna about pushing the deadline back.

He also had to decide if he was going to stay in Seattle. The house still wasn't anywhere near ready to be sold, but given that he'd finished his lecturing position (it seemed only fair to the students, even if he'd never take a job there again now that he knew who was behind it) and ended the podcast, there didn't seem to be much reason to stay.

Except that it was still his father's house, and his father had worked at the university for two decades before he died, and he still had so many questions about his father's role in all of the cult nonsense that had taken over his life. He didn't like the coincidence of his family having connections to the Pacific Northwest and Alex happening, independently of that, to include him in her podcast, but as far as he could tell it had in fact been a coincidence. She'd explained how she'd ended up calling him, and they both agreed that they couldn't see any way for Warren or anyone else to have manipulated events toward that end. She and Nic had brainstormed professions one day, and Alex had been the one to bring up "ghost hunter" because she'd seen a show on TV a few nights before. And from there, it was logical that his name would come up, as he was roundly despised in the charlatan community.

No, it really had been a coincidence. He didn't actually like coincidences any more than anyone else; he was just able to accept, unlike most people, that in a world with so many possibilities, low-probability events will happen sometimes.

Of course, he'd thought meeting Coralee was a coincidence, or at least, happy chance. But he was damned if he was going to let this cult nonsense turn him into the kind of person who ascribed patterns and meanings and intent to everything he couldn't explain. That way lay madness and religion.

Still, if he meant to start his life over on his own terms, it might be best to leave this place he'd never really chosen. But not yet. There were more answers to be found here first. About his father, and about Thomas Warren.

____________________________________________________________

Charlie called him at 7 the next morning. She traveled a lot, so she always remembered to take time zones into account, but she clearly wasn't willing to wait one more second than necessary for her answers.

"Hello?"

"Yeah, It's Charlie."

There was a brief pause as neither one of them knew quite how to start before Charlie burst out, "Just.... what the hell?"

He sighed. "It's a lot to take in, I know."

"But she's really alive?"

"Yes."

"And she just...left?"

"It was more complicated than that, but, yes. Ultimately, she made the decision to remain missing."

"I don't... why? Why would she do that?" she sounded so young that he could almost imagine putting his arms around her and letting her cry into his shirt like she did when she was small. When he was still her dad. Before everything fell apart.

But he couldn't do that, so he gave her the only comfort he had to offer. He told her the truth, all of it, everything Coralee had told him, everything he had told Alex. When he finished, and she spoke again, it was with tears choking her voice. "So all of it, the marriage, her being my mom, it was all a lie."

"I don't know. I'm still trying to understand how much was the cult, and Coralee doing what she thought was her duty, and how much she genuinely felt." He almost said "I really do think she loved you" but stopped himself, because what kind of loving parent walks away from a child? But Marie had. She'd been ill, and she might well have made the right choice, but it was still a choice. And for that to have happened to Charlie not once, but twice, was so unfair that his chest burned with it. And if he was honest, it had really been three. He'd told himself that leaving had been Charlie's decision, and it had, but she'd been fifteen. He should have tried harder. He should have insisted. He should have shown her that she was wrong, that she did have a father. Instead, he'd proven her right.

"I don't know how much I really give a shit," Charlie said. She sounded drained.

"That's understandable," he agreed.

"So, what happens now? She left again? Is she coming back? Is she—are you still married?"

"Legally, yes, as far as I know we are. But I don't think she's coming back."

"Because she has to fight this cult. The one that thinks you have some kind of special gene that they need. Do I have it? I mean, whatever it is, are they going to be coming after me too? Or Aunt Cheryl?"

"Coralee didn't think so. She had some idea that it might be sex-linked in some way, but regardless, they don't seem to be after you."

"Great." She took a deep breath and sighed. "Well, I guess the good news is, this can't make the family reunions any more awkward."

He chuckled, despite everything. "How have you been?"

"I'm fine. You?"

"There's been a lot happening."

"Yeah, no shit. So is all this going to be on the podcast?"

"Yes. There's one more episode, and then it's done. I decided not to continue."

"Good. I hated that, having all those people in our business."

"I did, too. But without the podcast, I don't know if I ever would have heard from Coralee."

"I guess." She paused. "Look, I need to go. I've got a conference call in about five minutes. Maybe... I don't know. I'll try calling back later on, or emailing, or something."

"I understand," he said, because what else could he say?

____________________________________________________________

To his surprise—he hadn't let himself get his hopes up—she did email him a few days later. As with all of her emails to him, it bore no salutation. Perhaps she didn't know how to address him, or maybe it was just her style.

So I said I'd email, so here I am, but I'm not sure what else I really have to say. Thanks, I guess, for telling me personally. Finding out on Facebook or whatever would have been...well, I would have hated it. And I guess you're right, that knowing is better than not knowing.

If you're hoping that I'll stop being angry with you now that I know what really happened...I guess? It wasn't your fault, I get that. But I've been thinking about what might have been different if I had known then. And I think I still would have left. Because, I don't know, I didn't feel like we were really a family.

I don't have a lot of clear memories of back when it was just you and me. But when you met Coralee, I guess I expected us to be one of those happy TV families, you know? We'd play Monopoly and go to Disney World and whatever, I don't know. Go camping, make S'mores? Stuff families do together.

And you seemed so happy with her, but it felt like, once she was there, you kind of had permission to check out. To spend more time at work, less time talking with me or asking about what I was doing or playing silly games or any of it. You weren't bad, you made sure I had everything I needed and you met with my teachers and you did everything that was your duty, and I know that's more than a lot of people get. And I know it was hard to raise me on your own and maybe you'd just...had enough. But I felt more like your ward than your daughter. Like you loved me but in this abstract way, the way people love their country or something.

So I went to live with grandma and granddad, and at least they were happy to have me around, and having me around seemed to help them even though they were grieving too, you know? And I didn't feel that way with you. And after a while I just stayed. That was my home, I enrolled in school, and you hadn't exactly moved heaven and earth to get me back. I found out from Alex that granddad told you I'd asked to be emancipated. I didn't. I guess he figured he needed to keep me away from you because you were maybe a murderer (and definitely an atheist). But that was a shitty way to do it, and I've told him that.

Still...I listened to the last episode, and you told Alex that when Coralee disappeared, it threatened to take away everything that was good in your life. Like I didn't exist! Or just didn't really matter to your life, except that you'd gotten some woman pregnant and felt like you had to take responsibility for your mistake.

I don't know why I'm saying all this. I guess it's just that for all this time, I've let my anger over Coralee's disappearance be how I avoided thinking about the stuff I was unhappy about before then. And none of that's changed. But yeah, I can let go of being angry with you about what happened with her, about the fights and the days after she disappeared and all of that. I just don't know what that means about what comes next. If anything. I don't think you're a bad person. I really don't. I just wish things had been different when I was a kid. But I'm not 15 years old any more either, you know? So maybe I can work on it. Or we can go on the way we are. I'm fine. I'm happy. I have a good life.

Anyway. That's where I'm at. Just so you know, I'm going to be in Europe for most of the next three weeks, so there's an eight-hour time difference. Also it's a work trip, so I'm not sure how much time I'll have. I'm not bailing, just letting you know why I might not be all that communicative.

Charlie

He'd never thought that he could ever again cry as hard as he had when Coralee disappeared—or when she returned. He'd been wrong.

____________________________________________________________

Charlie,

I appreciate your honesty in your last email. I know it can't have been easy to write that. And I know that I have had my failings as a father. It's not an excuse, but I hope you'll allow me to explain some of why that is.

You mentioned that it must have been difficult raising you on my own. And it was, but not because I didn't love you. I just didn't know what I was doing, and I had very little guidance. My mother was dead, I still hated my father for not being there when she died, and certainly my friends had no more more idea than I had. Men weren't expected to be single parents then—I suppose it's unusual even now—so I never really felt comfortable with the mothers watching their children at the playground and that sort of thing. I didn't belong there. Marie's parents—well, let's just say they never softened toward you even after you were born. So it was just the two of us. And when all you needed were the basics of life, I could make that work. But as you got older and I realized I was going to have to not just keep you fed and dressed but navigate discipline, making friends, and basically raising a full-fledged human being, I didn't have confidence in my ability to do all that successfully. I loved my mother, and she was good to us, so I tried to follow her example. But so much of what she did was influenced by the times—and by my father, and he was someone I didn't want to emulate.

When I met Coralee, I was relieved because even though her own upbringing was obviously less than ideal, she was warm and patient and kind and seemed to know exactly the right thing to do or say when you had a problem. I think that even if I had felt less strongly about her, I might have considered marrying her just because you deserved to have a parent like that. And you adored her. It wasn't long before it felt like you were more her child than mine. She understood you better, she was more affectionate...and you were thriving. She was the one you turned to, more often than not, when you needed something or had something exciting to share.

When I write it out like that, it sounds as if I pulled away from you because I was jealous of your relationship with Coralee, but that wasn't it at all. I was thrilled for you. I think that I just didn't feel quite so necessary anymore. And nurturing isn't something that comes naturally to me. I took care of my mother when she was ill, and I always felt awkward and out of place and like I was doing something wrong. That ability to understand how someone is feeling, and to know what they need—I tried, I really did. And I tried with you too, but I got it wrong so often. So when you had a mother who could give you that, I reverted to doing the parts of parenting that I felt more capable of: I supported you, I helped you with school, I set rules. I though it was a partnership that worked. You seemed happy, in general.

I can't plead complete ignorance, though. I knew that you wanted more of my time (at least, until you didn't want any of it, which I thought was a normal teenage phase but perhaps not). I don't have a good excuse. I got caught up in my work. It was fascinating and I was committed to it, and in academia, devoting all your time to your work was how you showed you were committed to it. It still is. I'm sorry that I let my career get in the way of giving you what you needed. As I said, I don't have an excuse. It was wrong, and it wasn't fair to you.

I do want to clear one thing up. What I said to Alex about losing everything good in my life—I wasn't just talking about Coralee. I was talking about our family. I was afraid that without her, there would be no center. I didn't see how I could hold the two of us together. And part of it, yes, is that I felt I didn't really know you well enough anymore. I think to some extent that's a fairly common phenomenon among teenagers and parents, but certainly I contributed to it as well. It was never that you didn't matter to me, Charlie. That could never be true. I sit here trying to imagine it, and it's incomprehensible. You're my daughter. You will always matter. I'm sorry that I didn't try harder to keep you with me after Coralee left. I told myself that I was doing what you wanted, that you were happier with your grandparents. I thought maybe it was just as well that I was alone, because I'd driven away the most important people in my life. But if I let you think that I didn't want you to stay, I can only apologize, because nothing could be further from the truth. No matter what Lawrence told me, I should have tried harder to show you that.

I hope you have a safe trip. Call or email me if you'd like, but if it doesn't work out, I'll understand.

Yours, Richard

And in this way, they took the first tentative steps toward having a relationship again. Nothing could change the past 20 years, but they didn't have to be bound by them for the next 20, and remembering that allowed them to move forward.

#tbtp #the black tapes podcast #fic #sort of #I just have a lot of thoughts about Strand's history OK?

17 notes · View notes

watchoutforthefanfics · 5 years

Note

lamp fic lamp fic lamp fic—

Heyo, look who finally got a request done!!!

After the Tumblr attack of 2019, I strived for a different idea and wrote it instead.

I'm sorry this took so long, but it too me awhile to get bumping back into a groove again.

Anyway, this is a LAMP fic with heavy Analogical because it's built on an Analogical background, but it is LAMP. I swear to you.

Thanks for requesting!

TW: Light cursing, and negative povs on love

◇ ◇ ◇

"I don't think I want to fall in love," Virgil spoke one night in the quiet air of Logan's room.

Logan didn't know why he said that in the calm tone of his room, or why he felt he should tell him of all people; someone who had publicly avoided love since possibly the beginning of time.

Logan adjusted, laying back to stare up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling, "Agreed."

Virgil continued, a bitter tone in his voice, "You have to be so vulnerable, and so… emotional-"

"Ugh, the bane of my existence," Logan grumbled.

"-just for someone to love you. And even then, 9 times out of 10, you'll end up ditched in a year," Virgil spat, bitterness echoing his features and Logan felt something rise up in him as well.

"It is also-" Logan hummed, mind flashing back to his parents, "-an inadequate measure of success."

"Yeah," Virgil added, "-since when does love and dates and crap matter? Compared to what my future career is? Or my impact on the world?"

Logan hummed, bringing up a rivalling point just for the sake of it, "I suppose it could be argued that whom you are with is supposed to be your support system, in the times in which no one but them can reach you."

Virgil groaned, "You're supposed to be on my side, L."

"I am-" Logan nodded, "-it's just… arguments need to be well-rounded and prepped for criticism, I ju-"

"Logan, as much as I enjoy your voice-" Virgil grinned, but a nervous gleam flocked behind his eyes, "-I have an idea, if you're down."

Logan quirked his brow, "What’s your proposition?”

Virgil fidgeted with his fingers, “Uh, since we agree, maybe we could be like... fake boyfriends?”

Logan flushed to his ears, “Pardon?”

“Well, you know-” Virgil retreated slightly, “-we could establish boundaries and it would get our parents of our backs-- I don’t know, I just thought it was a good id-”

“I-” Logan hesitated, pursing his lips, “-I believe that would be satisfactory.”

Virgil exhaled, “Thank god, I thought I had like --I don’t know-- made you Windows shutdown?”

Logan furrowed his eyebrows, “I’m not a computer, Virgil. My emotions are limited yes- but, I believe I’m in touch with some core feelings, like happine-”

“Logan-” Virgil put a hand on his shoulder, “-spare me the defense, I really don’t care.”

~ ~ ~

It had been two years into the facade (that was planned for 3) when Logan had some doubts about his intentions with the scheme; it had been a day of joyous laughter and playful remarks, and in the midst of it all, Logan’s heart ached to hear Virgil’s giggles again.

He had frozen in his place that day, starstruck at the sudden lurch in his chest which was soft and broken, but at the same point… quite validating.

Virgil had stopped with the softest shine of concern in his eyes, and Logan knew that something had shifted inside of him for… a while, his mind must have just glazed over it.

Being with Virgil was something of a necessity to him, and holding his hand had sent a jolt through him that he couldn’t feel anywhere else.

It was concerning, as a best friend who had formally agreed to fake boyfriends, and falling in actual love wasn’t on the agenda. And for the first time, Logan hadn’t wanted it to end because these things that he felt with Virgil… They were new and exciting and exhilarating and- Logan only had one more year of that.

It took him a few months to even face the feelings, a fear bubbling up in his chest that he had tucked away so long ago; Logan felt as if he couldn’t breathe because of how afraid he was of just confessing to his best friend who would accept him no matter what.

So, he got hyped up on the confidence of an astounding presentation; and somehow had the got the adrenaline to waltz to Virgil’s door and now, here he was, standing on his doorstep.

In his left hand, he held a water drizzled flower; for no reason other than to portray that this exchange that he had planned was real, what he felt was real. Logan didn’t know if he could personally take much more of “fake” things that he silently wished were real.

So, when Virgil’s mother opened the door with a sparkle in her eyes; Logan gave her a tiny smile and a polite greeting; and quietly sprinted down to the third door on the left. It was only then that Logan realized he was soaked from the rain he had ran through to get here.

And as he waited for the door to open, Logan began to wish he had at least worn a fancier shirt; he was trying to make a positive impression on his best friend that he was desperately, desperately in love with.

Which was substantially important.

Then, the door opened and Virgil in fuzzy pajamas with tired eyes and headphones hung messily around his neck was staring at him with a mixture of shock and confusion in his eyes, “Logan?”

Logan smiled nervously, pacing slightly, as Virgil opened his door and motioned him in.

“What-” Virgil spoke in an accusatory tone, “-were you thinking, L?”

Logan frowned, ‘Oh right, the schedule. He had completely disobeyed it by coming here.’, “I apologize, I couldn’t heed to the planned timeline, this issue was quite of the urgent matt-”

Virgil blinked, disbelief crossing his eyes, “What? No, Log- You ran in the rain to get here? Do you know how sick that could get you? I thought you were smart up there, L; don’t ever do something that stupid ever a-”

Virgil’s eyes fell on the flower in his hand, the water drizzled on it’s bright purple petals, as a look crossed his eyes and Logan immediately felt incredibly nervous.

“Is that-” Virgil paused, “Is that for me?”

Logan nodded, “I came here on an urgent matter, and this flower was… supposed to help, but yes, it is. I brought it here for you.”

Virgil gently took the flower out of his hands, twisting it in his fingertips, “What did you need to tell me, Lo?”

Logan paused, mustering up the courage deep in his chest, as he just wanted to be as straight as he could with it (even though he wasn’t), “I-”

Virgil interrupted with an anxious tone, "Are you moving? Did Zeus die? Do you want to cancel this whol-"

"Virgil-" Logan chuckled, placing a timid hand on his shoulder, "-it's none of that."

"Then-" Virgil furrowed his brow, "-what is it, L?"

"I-" Logan looked into his eyes, his dark (so dark he could barely read them sometimes) brown eyes were so soft and concerned for him; he felt courage spark into him, "-I love you, in a romantic way if that wasn't clear enough."

Virgil blinked a few times in a row, disbelief evident in his lost features; "You…?"

Logan nodded, "Yes."

Virgil questioned, "Me?"

Logan with no hesitation, "Correct."

"Holy shit-" Virgil held his head in his hands, "I-I love you too."

~ ~ ~

Virgil and Logan's relationship had been going quite steadily; it was calm and quiet, Logan felt like it was all he needed for the rest of his life.

Until, two new men showed up in their favorite cafe on the corner of Walnut Drive and sat in their seat they sat in, every Thursday.

And originally Logan had wanted to politely ask them to get up, but he and his boyfriend kind of became mesmerized by the pair quite quickly.

The smaller of the two was literally a ray of sunshine with a mob of curls laying messily on his head, bright blue eyes, and thin, golden-rimmed, and rounded glasses; the other man was taller --his shoulders broader-- with perfectly styled hazelnut hair, dazzling caramel eyes, and charming grin that shone like the sun.

Logan was confused by the confrontation, and it was no doubt that, that night when they cuddled as Coraline echoed in the background; the two brought it up.

"Um-" Virgil spoke up, carefully, "-I have something to confess, Logan."

"As do I-" Logan agreed, a hint of nervousness in his tone, "-Virgil."

"Those guys-" Virgil became very careful, tedious and afraid, "-they were…"

"Attractive," Logan finished for him, like a breath of relief.

"Oh thank god, I thought it would have been weird to tell you that. I-I still love you, it's just-" Virgil smiled, leaning back into to Logan even more.

"We-" Logan paused, "-If you're comfortable we should approach them, at least gain their acquaintance?"

"Yeah-" Virgil hummed, "-with all do respect, I wouldn't mind looking at them for a little longer."

And so, the next time they saw them in the café… they did nothing.

They sat in silence and gazed, Logan was mostly trying to keep Virgil's anxieties under control; but he was also quite nervous to approach such… literal rays of sunshine.

The two hopeless boys stayed quietly watching them, and that was their plan, to admire them from afar. Without the issue of possibly getting rejected, the two men had no problem falling in love from a distance.

~ ~ ~

It was a sunny Thursday, a warm crisp fall day with the edge of shadows in every glance; Virgil and Logan had been particularly lovey that morning.

They had interlaced fingers and hadn't been farther than a breath away from each other, it was a day where they couldn't survive without the other.

And on that day they stayed focused on each other at the table, not too sickening but if the other one spoke, they'd listen with a deep sense of attention.

So, when the pair they had their eyes on for awhile had approached them, they hadn't noticed; as they focused too deeply on each other rather than anyone else.

A voice, graceful and careful, "Excuse me?"

Logan's head swiveled to the place just beside his chair and his heart skipped a beat as he focused carefully on the taller man with caramel eyes that had rang distantly familiar, "Uh, y-yes?"

Virgil had frozen, and Logan remembers distantly grabbing his hand, squeezing it when he felt him fidgeting or his pulse quicken; it helped him calm down, and he had done it often.

The taller one, oozing an overwhelming confidence, asked respectfully, "Well, my friend and I were wondering if these seats were taken?"

"Well, no-" Logan sat up straighter, "-but I'd probably be more comfortable if he sat by me, if you don't mind."

The princely man grinned, "Of course! We'd be happy to negotiate."

They sat in their respective seats, Logan and Virgil's hands laced together just under the booth table; silently holding each other together in front of such pretty faces.

"Well-" the smaller one piped up, the warmest smile peering on his lips with no hesitation, "-first things first, I'm Patton, and this is my boyfriend Roman."

Logan nodded, "Salutations, Patton. I'm Logan and this is my boyfriend, Virgil."

The conversation was easy to flow in and out of, the four of them speaking like old friends; instead of awkward strangers whom of which two had admired the others from afar.

And in the midst of words, Virgil even added in; his words portraying the sass Logan knew all too well.

Even if they spoke easily and the mood was relaxed, Logan hadn't expected the ending comment from the newly-known, incredibly arrogant, Roman.

"Would you two like to go on a date with us?"

Logan almost spat out his drink, "Pardon?"

Patton smiling brightly, watched as their faces shaded a deep tone of red, "Would you like to go on a date with us?"

Virgil squeaked, "Like a double date?"

Roman chuckled, shaking his head, "Here, we'll put into clearer terms, and if at any point you are uncomfortable, just let us know that you're answer is a strong no, and we understand."

Patton nodded, beginning, "A few weeks ago, Roman and I caught our eyes on you two in this café, and decided to try to steal your table in the hope that you would stop to speak with us."

"We-" Roman held Patton's hand carefully, "-thought you two were adorable, and became enamored with you both in the blink of an eye."

Logan and Virgil squirmed slightly, this story sounding all too familiar.

"And-" Patton began, carefully and steadily, "-we didn't realize you had come back for a few weeks, until well, now."

"We'd like to extend our invitation for a polyamorous date-" Roman spoke carefully, and with a tone of certainty, "-involving Patton, myself, you and Virgil."

Patton added, fidgeting with his curls lightly "If that is something you would like?"

Logan paused, looking over to Virgil as a fear rose into his skin, something new, something exhilarating. He'd only agree if Virgil had as well, because they had a careful, gentle love that Logan just couldn't pass up on.

And when in those dark eyes he saw a flash of excitement and eagerness, as the lightest nod repeated his point; Logan understood.

"We-" Logan began, "-we'd love to."

~ ~ ~

Dates flew by as the four men fell into a routine and kisses and hearts left full, before he could even blink, they had fallen in love.

He had fallen in love just as easy as he had with Virgil.

It was a quiet morning, Logan believed he was the only one in the house awake, or at least when he left the bed, he was.

He was settled on the beige couch, cuddled in a light robe as he puzzled over a crossword and nibbled on the end of the pencil.

It wasn't a surprise that Roman had come tumbling out first with the cutest bedhead and the lightest smile, because Patton and Virgil being the smallest, they tended to wrap around each other and Roman, on the other hand, took what Logan gave him.

Roman groaned, his feet echoing as they dragged across the wooden floors; yet, he spoke no words.

Logan watched with a teasing grin, as he carefully placed the crossword to the side, and readied himself for the sleepy catastrophe of a Roman.

And just as he thought, Roman fell into him --his perfect hair and fragile face placed gently into his lap-- as if he was speaking without words, Logan shook his head and began gently threading his fingers through his hair.

Just as Logan began to relax into Roman, more footsteps echoed in the empty space and a quiet voice pouted out, "Prince and Lo-Lo? Where did you g-"

Logan laughed somewhere deep in his chest, as Patton carefully took his place, leaning slightly on Logan's side with a fluffy blanket wrapped around him. He watched as Patton sleepily kissed Roman's forehead and interlaced their fingers, resting on Logan's knee; and for Logan, he drowsily pressed a kiss to his cheek, adjusting himself flush against him.

The three fit just perfectly into each other; yet, Logan didn't let himself get comfortable. He knew he would have to adjust again, just in a few minutes when a sleepy Virgil would come tumbling down the stairs.

And as predicted, the silent footsteps Virgil had echoed just a tad in his head; as he vaulted the couch, and laid just beside Roman.

Virgil had lazily pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, kissing Patton's temple quietly, and pulling Logan's arm down onto his chest as he fit snug beside Roman.

He watched as Roman smiled, laying a loose arm across Virgil's waist, as all them quietly soaked in the presence of each other; just as they did in the bed before, but somehow, Logan felt this was better.

Maybe, with the right people, love wasn't that useless after all.

50 notes · View notes

considergoldenkamuy · 5 years

Note

so sorry to bother you but i absolutely fell in love with the way you wrote the whole Ogata, Sugimoto, and reader love triangle in ‘dying, but still alive’ and the first part. 😩 I’d love to see more of it if you ever get the chance or desire! Thank you, have a wonderful day!

AAHHHH I’M SO GLAD TO HEAR IT!! have this, i hope it’s satisfactory!!

His eyes were wide when he saw a familiar figure standing there, at the sniper’s side. Their brown eyes met with his for a moment, something in them changing from warm to uncertain and guarded. Saichi felt his chest throb in an inscrutable pain, seeing how nervous the other was, being near him. God, him pushing them away like that had haunted him endlessly for years, remembering how confused and lost they had looked, staring up at him with teary eyes. And now karma was coming back to bite him hard in the ass, the one he once and still loved inching a little closer to his most hated enemy.

”…” They said nothing, turning away from him within seconds, as if they didn’t hear him call their name. Saichi could have doubled over from the black hole that was forming inside of him, consuming him slowly and painfully.

”Do you know them, Sugimoto?” Asirpa looked up at him, seeing his tense shoulders.

”I…yes, I know them, but we’re…not on the best terms at the moment.” His reply was slow, knowing they were listening to him. He just knew. All those times they’d laughed and smiled, kissed, held each other’s barren bodies - it had crumbled and slipped away from his fingers the moment he turned his back on them. Saichi had said so many things he didn’t mean, so many things he now wished he hadn’t uttered. He hated how he could understand why they didn’t want to be near him anymore.

The way their fingers used to grace his skin, soft and kind, their eyes gentle and warm…it was all gone now. Without a doubt, Hyakunosuke was now on the receiving end of that genuine and untainted affection. And if the way that the sniper didn’t mind holding their hand so openly despite never trusting anyone told Saichi anything, that love was wholly reciprocated. He’d lost. And yet, they didn’t try to avoid him physically, merely treat him as if he were a stranger they weren’t sure they could trust. And he hated it, he hated how they didn’t even look that despaired, how they didn’t even glare at him, give him all the pain he deserved for this.

”Sugimoto? Are you okay? The others already went back inside.”

Hearing them say his surname rather than his given name felt like a punch in the gut, biting his cheek briefly. Their concerned gaze hadn’t changed, not at all.

”…yes, I-I’m fine…”

A tense silence settled on their shoulders, this time Saichi avoiding their gaze, undoubtedly feeling guilty. He opened his mouth to speak, but he hated what he heard next.

”I’m sorry for back then.”

Why was it that they were the one who spoke first? Why was it that they were apologizing? For something that was entirely his fault?

”I wasn’t good enough.”

Saichi’s eyes widened, stare snapping straight to theirs in shock. What? Why? Why did they - ?

”If I was, you wouldn’t have to hate me so much.”

God, the aching was unbearable. That smile on their face was bitter but good-natured, kind like they were. He didn’t deserve it, not at all.

”I…shit…” His hand had begun to reach out as he weakly called their name, but he stopped himself. He didn’t deserve to as much as touch them. “…you have no reason to believe anything I say, so I guess I should just stay silent.”

”Sugimoto, I don’t hate you.” The man blinked owlishly. “I could never bring myself to. I tried so long to hold out, because you still told me before that, that you would always come back. It was hard, but none of that matters to you, probably.”

A small tear slipped down their cheek, but their smile remained.

”It took a few years…but I’m happy now. It seems you’re happy too, with little Asirpa. She’s a sweet girl, anyone would be happy to be around someone like her. I’m glad you could find it, since I could never really hope to give you happiness in the first place.” Saichi bit his lip this time, seeing how they had begun to silently cry, but wiped the tears away the best they could. “I shouldn’t…not over this, no…this is probably just another annoyance. You should probably head back inside, I’ll stay out here to calm down before I follow.”

”I - I lied…” The words came out of his mouth before he knew it. They froze, confusion painted across their face. “I didn’t…I…I never hated you. You never annoyed me, you were never just a pain in my side…you have absolutely no reason to believe me, but I…I still love you, even now. I’m such a sorry case, loving you still, even after all I did. Making you suffer like this, over some stupid thought that it would make my leaving easier for the both of us when in all reality it just haunted us. But you love someone else now, and I’m happy for you. You found someone who deserves you infinitely more than I ever did. And you’re happy with him. So, I…I won’t get in the way of that. It’s perfectly justified if you hate me, if you want to hurt me - it would make sense. I just hope you’ll keep being happy, and you’ll lead a good life.”

Both of them were shedding tears at this point, but one was shocked while the other was wallowing in regret and self-hatred.

”Sugimoto…” They murmured softly, before stepping forward. They wrapped their arms around him, offering a comforting embrace. They held him as if they were a kind parent consoling a child, in that way that he had missed for so long. So badly did Saichi want to push them away because they were touching filth, so badly did he want to tell them to go back to the man they loved, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to. He merely cried into their shirt, feeling more guilty in that moment than he had all these past years put together.

#Golden Kamui #golden kamuy #golden kamui imagine #golden kamuy imagine #golden kamuy scenario #golden kamui scenario #sugimoto saichi #sugimoto saichi imagines #sugimoto saichi scenarios #ogata hyakunosuke #ogata hyakunosuke scenario #ogata hyakunosuke imagine

25 notes · View notes

loopy777 · 5 years

Note

What is your thoughts on the strenghts and weaknesses of Brandon Snderson as a writer?

Ooh, fun question.

I’ll get the weaknesses out of the way first (yes, just one): Brandon Sanderson’s writing is merely adequate. I never read a description from him that took my breath away, or wording that revealed some new insight about the world. His writing does its job, and nothing more. Perhaps related, Sanderson’s action sequences tend to be overly long and detailed; he goes into so much detail about all the various actions and movements that I lose track of what I’m supposed to be picturing, and none of it really matters- expect maybe to people keeping score about whether he’s playing fair with all the metal his Coinshots bounce off of.

This weakness doesn’t hold Sanderson back at all, though, because there are two axes of creating a novel, and Sanderson is a genius at the one that matters. One axis is Writing, which he’s just good enough at, and the other axis Storytelling, which is what has the real impact on the audience.

To illustrate how good Sanderson is at storytelling, I’ll summarize my experience reading the original Mistborn trilogy. I finished the first book and really enjoyed it; it had good characters and a plot that really came together and twists and a romance that didn’t make me roll my eyes and really interesting worldbuilding and wild ideas and a good climax. It also had plenty of mysteries that were left dangling at the end. And then I read the second book, and enjoyed that as well for the same reasons, but I noticed that a bunch of mysteries from the first book had still been left hanging, and a whole slate of new mysteries had been introduced, more than had been solved. So I expected the third book to hit the ground running and start serving up reveals right away.

Well, it didn’t. It started piling on new mysteries.

“Dude,” I said to an imaginary Brandon Sanderson, “you are *not* going to be able to bring this all together unless you start working overtime right now.”

And I continued reading, and the mysteries kept accumulating, and I was seriously waiting for everything to either completely collapse or the story duck out at the end on providing satisfactory answers.

But I got to the middle of the book, and suddenly the answers started popping up. They made sense. They fed into each other. They fueled the plot as it accelerated towards the climax. It turned out that everything was a complex array of dominoes that, when tipped in sequence, created a sound like a Bach composition and then when completely fallen over revealed Monet’s Water Lilies.

So yeah, Sanderson has the Storytelling chops to skate by on his adequate writing and still wind up being one of the novelists in the business right now.

The strength he’s probably most well known for is his worldbuilding. The guy is great at coming up with a High Concept or a Magic System he wants to play with, and then spinning out a fully-fleshed world that makes sense down to the most nitpicky details. Usually, I don’t see this level of worldbuilding combined with adequate attention to character or plot, but Sanderson is the exception that proves the rule. Only Tolkien, who wrote down every poem composed by an elf in his LotR universe, exceeds Sanderson.

On the subject of characters, Sanderson nails this. They’re interesting, diverse, funny, wise, pitiable, etc. They make me laugh and get me invested. Wayne, in the Mistborn sequel series, might actually be one of the best characters of all time. (Seriously. And he’s the Comic Relief Sidekick.) And then there’s-

Well, going into another great character of Sanderson’s might be a spoiler, for those who haven’t read the Mistborn sequel series. I’ll just say that the subplot surrounding this character, is one of my favorite romances of all time.

The last big strength of Sanderson’s is that he is, apparently, a writing machine. Look at the amount of stuff he’s written in 15 years! Yeesh! Way to make everyone feel inadequate.

That all said, I’m not sure I’ve read enough Sanderson to provide a complete rundown. I’m mainly writing this based on the Mistborn series (currently up to six novels, two short stories, and a novella), which is amazing and probably stands at the top of the fantasy genre, IMO. I also read the Elantris stand-alone novel, and while that had a lot of the same good points, it didn’t make much of an impact on me; it had good characters and interesting ideas and a twisty plot and a cool new magic system and a series of dominoes that tipped over at the end, but it was a much simpler array of dominoes and some of them didn’t connect in a satisfying way. It’s still a good novel I’d recommend to anyone who wants to read something fun, but that’s it.

(However, I have seen people describe it as their favorite novel, so perhaps I just wasn’t on the same wavelength as the book for whatever reason.)

So a possible weakness is that Sanderson can’t always coordinate all the twists he has in play in his complex plot-filled novels.

But jeez, I’d take a weakness like that any day.

#thekingofwinterblog

4 notes · View notes

ravens-rambling · 6 years

Text

Conclusion: Jumping in Leaves is quite...satisfactory

A/N: I literally just wrote this and I have no idea where it came from but let's just say this ship is slowly starting to grow on me. I seem to have a hard time writing Roman’s character so he may not be in character sorry about that. But hey its some monster au!!! I frickin adore writing this au so much you have no idea!

Based off of this post from @yourhappypappypatton

Also inspired by @sanderssidesspook prompt challenge

summary: Roman finds a way to baffle and confuse his boyfriend from time to time and its those times where he often wonders why he fell in love with this wolf-like man in the first place. That is until he looks at those red eyes and his manufactured heart beats out of control once again.

WC: 1,370

ships: Romantic Logince

warnings: None that I can think of?

Tag List: @punsterterry @frostedlover @fandydandyfanders @221b-quote (Since you two wanted to be tagged in this au!)

Logan has to admit that since being with Roman, a werewolf, he has never felt more alive.

Which was ironic to his eyes since he was made out of limbs and wasn't technically alive. But it was scary in a way with all the emotions that went through him whenever he was with the man.

After all just a few years ago he didn't feel..much of anything. Though when he looks back at it he supposes he felt a few emotions, sadness and loneliness, to name a few. But ever since Patton found him. Ever since he met Roman that fateful night, he's been feeling so many more emotions that sometimes it could be overwhelming. And honestly, he wasn't sure if any of these emotions were good or not.

True when he read up on romance and what humans experience when they are in love was very similar to what he feels like when he's with Roman he just wasn't sure.

One thing though that irritates him about the strange man was his hyperness. Sure Patton is always gitty and full with emotions but this man is always bouncing on his toes. Is always singing or dancing. Is always so full of himself it drives him up a wall some days. He was so full of unexpectedness that he wasn't sure how to handle it.

When he was alone he stuck to a schedule and never broke it. Even Patton understood his need for a schedule and let him be when he needed it.

But Roman on the other hand...wasn't like that. He let the wind take him. He didn't follow any rules or schedule. And it..baffled him on how somebody can live their life like that.

And that is how he was nearly dragged out of Patton's place and somehow ended up in a park on the verge of a headache and just about had enough of today already.

"Roman, can we go back now? I need to check up on some experiments and I would prefer them to not explode."

"Oh don't be dramatic! I'm sure none of them will explode. Come on I know you haven't been outside in a while learn to breathe and take in the scenery sometimes nerd!"

Logan huffed, "Fine whatever if it'll make this go by quicker I'll follow along..."

"I will take that! Now...where is that Starbucks you have to try the pumpkin spice lattes they have it is to die for."

Logan's eyebrow raised up, "I don't believe they would be to die for as that would cause panic and I don't want to be like Virgil any-"

"It's a metaphor, Logan. It means they are really good."

"Oh... Well, in that case, I don't need food of any kind so I don't know if I would really enjoy it.."

The look that Roman gave him could really only be described as puppy eyes causing him to fall under pressure, "But I'm sure it must be good if you think so. I'll try it."

Roman gave a smile and leaned over to kiss his cheek, "Thank you, Mi Amor!"

Logan's cheeks slowly started to burn as his breath was stolen from his lungs. As he stood there unable to process through those intense emotions he heard a loud gleeful laugh.

Shaking himself from his trance he looked up to find a very familiar brown wolf-like dog emerging from a pile of leaves. His eyes went wide as he whipped around them seeing if there was anybody around. Luckily they were up rather early in the morning and in the back of the park so nobody was here.

Running up to the dog he hissed, "What were you thinking Roman! You could have exposed yourself!"

Roman only laughed even louder and tossed some leaves at him, "Your starting to sound like Virgil. It's fine nobody's around right? And if somebody did see me they probably would have thought they were crazy or something."

When he was in his dog form his voice had a very bark-like quality to it, one that Logan could never take seriously. And right at this moment, he couldn't fathom what he was hearing, "Are... Are you kidding me?"

He groaned and rolled his eyes putting his face in his hands, "How have you not been exposed by now I have no idea..."

"It's fine Stitch A Lots now come on let's jump in that pile!" He pointed with his paw to another pile a few footsteps away.

Logan blinked at it then at him, "And why would I do that?"

"Because it's fun!"

"...fun? How is jumping into leaves any fun?"

"Because it just is okay! Jez why is painting any fun? I don't know it just is alright!" He huffed crossing his front paws.

Logan was hopelessly confused at this point and honestly even more done with this whole day then he was before. He sighed loudly standing up to his full height and rolled his eyes, "Listen if you want to have some pointless fun have at it, I'm going to my lab."

"Wait what no! You promised me you were gonna try the latte! Okay fine I'll change back and we could start heading there okay?"

Logan smiled faintly as he looked down to the distressed look on the wolf-like face. He really wasn't going to leave but it's fun to torment Roman every once in a while.

He looked up before seemingly thinking about it and shrugging, "I suppose so only if you promise not to transform then."

Roman looked at him like he just said no Disney for a full week.

"That's no fair!"

Logan smirked as he crossed his arms moving as if he was going to leave, "Okay then have fun by yourself."

He heard shuffling and looked over his shoulder to find a human Roman huffing and growling under his breath, "Fine are you happy now!"

The other walked up to him and kissed his cheek faintly, "Yes I am." He... He did that right, right?

He heard a low growl from the other then a snicker as he felt Roman's arms wrap around him, "I bet I can make you even happier."

"Oh, how so?"

"By doing this!"

He pulled him over to the other pile while Logan didn't even have a moment to gather what was happening they both were sent falling towards the leaves Roman's laughter once again going through the trees. Logan fell down with a yelp caught by surprise.

Logan blinked as the leaves scattered around them and getting into his clothes, a certain unexpected feeling going through him. Plus looking at the others red eyes glittering with happiness it sent more heat going through his face. All he could do was simply stare at Roman as his laughter died down and he looked back at him. As the silence grew Logan could see the slight worry in his eyes.

"Uh...Logan are you okay?"

"I...um.." He straightened his glasses slowly sitting up from the pile and Roman's arms coughing a bit to hide his what must be an awestruck and blushy face and to fix his glasses. "That was...more than satisfactory... I..think?"

He wasn't sure if this feeling was pleasant or not but it felt...good at least.

Roman sat up next to him and from the corner of his eye, he could see he was grinning ear from ear. "See I told you it was fun! There's another pile over there let's go!" He grabbed Logan's hand as he pulled him up to his feet and dragged him to another one.

His face was a bright red as he felt Roman's soft hand in his. As he looked at the joyful expression on Roman's face. As this feeling surged through him yet again.

And as he jumped in another pile a laugh escaped from him before he could pull it back earning a wide look from Roman. He's only laughed a few times in his life, none of them around the werewolf.

And he knew that it didn't make any sense but he could have sworn he saw literal hearts in the other's eyes as he tried to hide his face from shame.

33 notes · View notes

beaubcxton · 6 years

Text

Unexpected problems. Part 3

Lily Evans stared at herself happily in the mirror. The grin on her face nearly blinded her but she continued the act, sometimes letting a giggle burst through.

How very insane, how maddening, how palpitating.

She was getting married.

Married.

Would you believe it?

She, Lily Evans, was getting married to James Potter at exactly seven thirty today and was three seconds close to screaming.

It wasn’t so much that she never thought she would get married. Well, it was partly that if she was being honest. Petunia’s constant cheers of encouragement-note the sarcasm- helped her self-esteem. In a very negative way.

Moreover, she was a romantic at heart. Late at night, she had read dozens of cliché romances by the flicker of the torch and to the sound of crickets while her parents snored upstairs, blissfully unaware that their perfect daughter heart swooped when Mr. Darcy held his lover’s gaze.

And it wasn’t like she held a pillow behind her head and pretended it was a veil- she did do this, for the record but she likes to imagine technicalities could go to hell- but it was more the fact that she had found the man of her dreams.

James Potter was technically a boy since he was only nineteen as she merrily liked to rub it into his face. He was her bloody nightmare just a few springs ago but now, she couldn’t stop blushing every time his hazel eyes grinned at her and his smirk kissed her lips as he murmured, “Alright, Evans?”

She shivered at the memory and willed the butterflies to settle down. Most brides got cold feet on their wedding day and many of them climbed out of the window, perhaps, slid down the pipe she was looking at now after they wrote a note, stained with tears and consisting of either only two words, I’m sorry or some heartfelt speech that would most definitely not translate into a vow.

But Lily?

If cold feet were the phrase, she thought she might have warm feet. Paradox, indeed. The only way she would ever jump out of the window and ruin her beautiful dress would be to marry James sooner. She was scared, of course, of the war. Of what it might entail and what she might lose. Several of her friends got married, recently and quite a few of them had lost their spouses rather soon. Lily was adamant that they’d both survive this war together.

And Merlin, she wanted to marry him. She really bloody wanted to marry him.

Memories flood her mind but a one sticks out. The first time they said, ‘I love you,’ funnily enough.

They were on rounds and Lily was frustrated with school and how it hardly allowed her to spend time eating. James kept pestering her about it and eventually, he decided to take matters into his own hands. That night, they snuck to the kitchen and he forced her to eat a satisfying burger. (It was her mother’s specialty and she was feeling homesick with all the terrible news going around.) While they were eating dessert, a sizzling brownie with ice cream on its top, he just took one look at her, chewing happily and blurted it out. ‘I-Merlin, Lily, I love you.’

Not very poetic, sadly but so James. She nodded and resumed her consumption. He stopped though and slid his pink (not that she noticed how his tongue looked like because that would be ridiculous) tongue over is front teeth.

“What?” She had said, finally. “Are you waiting for a response?”

His eyes rolled. “If you’d be willing, yeah.”

“I effing kissed you in front of the whole tower, Potter. If that doesn’t say I love you, I don’t know what will.”

He grinned so hard, she worried his cheeks would hurt. They didn’t say anything else but before they went to sleep, they kissed for a few seconds longer.

They had been so childish then and hid their feelings, their joy from the other. Lily didn’t know that James had whooped and woken up his friends. None of the Marauders were happy to be woken up at an ‘ungodly hour’ and shoved James with many pillows.

And something James didn’t know? Lily had screamed into her pillow for five minutes straight.

Almost nostalgic, she searches for a mirror and once located, stares at it for a second before she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

Clearing her throat, she calls out, “James?”

The mirror shimmers for a second, almost like a ripple in a lake and for a second, she takes note of the silence in her room and then, a flurry of noise clangs through her ears.

“You’re not supposed to see her, James!” Sirius is saying loudly. Lily rolls her eyes at the so und.

“It’s bad luck!” Remus agrees, somewhere behind.

James protests. “It-but you guys, she called me. What if she needs something?”

The trio collectively scoffs. Lily can almost hear the scowl in Sirius’s face when he draws out his words, “Lily only wants to see your pretty face, don’t you, flower?”

“Hey! I resent that! I do not have a pretty face. More like, a handsome-“

“I do!” She calls out ironically. She hears James’s warm laughs and a fond smile overcomes her face. Could it be possible that she was marrying this man? “Give me the mirror, Padfoot.”

“I shall not! Superstations be ringing true.”

She nearly misses the familiar ebony messy hair flashing into view when Sirius pushes her fiancé behind and raises the mirror.

James curses. “-you for being taller.” Directing his words to Lily, he calls out, “You’re not thinking about backing out, are you Lily?”

Lily mocks a sigh. “It’s rather late for that.”

“Wait-Lils,”

“Merlin, James. I’m kidding.”

Lily almost smirks at the breath of relief James emitted.

“You’ll see her soon, James. Say goodbye like a good boy. Can’t tempt fate, now can we?”

She knows James is rolling his eyes. Neither of them were superstitious. That title belonged to the eldest Potter. “I love you, Lils.”

“Love you too, sweetheart. Hey1” Lily abruptly cuts off her sentence. “Reckon we should get married, yeah?”

“Took you long enough. Hey, say we elope right now?”

“I find the idea brilliant.”

“Well, I rather am brilliant.”

“Don’t forget arrogant!” And before he can continue with some protest or worse, a self-compliment, she continues, “Oh! Our ship name is Jily, by the way.”

“Wait, what?”

“What’s a ship name?” Peter articulates.

“It’s basically when someone ships- “Moony, the all knower, begins.

“Ships? You mean, they’re pirates?”

“Well, not exactly.”

“Disconnecting in three, two- “Sirius cries. “Also, Red, I need to know more about this later but your ship name is Lames but it doesn’t include me so we’ll have to change it later. Two-one”

They both call out a quick I love you before the light and noises fade away.

The wedding was a warm one and quite magical, if things went to plan. She’d walk under an arch coated with pressed flowers and petite birds would fly down and hand them their rings. James and she had wanted some muggle aspect to their otherwise wizarding wedding and the symbolism for rings was one way to achieve that.

Lily plucks a chocolate dressed strawberry from the plate and chews it thoughtfully. She’d invited Petunia but highly doubted that her sister would show up. After her sister sent back a letter in the post saying, ‘I’ve got other plans.’ Just the five words, Lily thought about it in great length (thought being sobbing on James’s shoulder miserably for several nights and him convincing her that she was not a freak, she really wasn’t and pressing a million kisses on her hair) She decided that she wouldn’t invite her parents.

“It wouldn’t be safe for them. You know, how it’s like with Death Eaters.” James had reasoned multiple times when she started to bite her nails in worry. “-they killed Andrew’s, you remember him, right? Big blue eyes and curly blonde hair? Yes-that guy who charmed McGonagall to puff up cats. Still can’t believe he had the guts to do that. They killed his parents, Lily solely for the reason he’s a muggleborn. I-Merlin, their house looked like a bloody murder sight. It was but you get the point. Bloody nightmare.”

“Poor guy,” she only murmured. And she didn’t-not even for the love of Merlin- want to be regarded as a ‘poor guy.’

Still, her guilt remained. It was hard not to invite her parents, the two people who had seen her bloom into the woman she was today. Her mother was immediately in tears when Lily told them about the wedding. And now? She wasn’t even inviting them. It would have been good too for them, some celebration. Times were dark and rough, not only in the wizarding world but in the Evans household too. Had been ever since Mr. Evans coughed up blood before he fainted last winter.

Decisions were set in stone, however and it was too late to do anything. (Did she really want to?) James had been wonderful to ease her plight.

If asked, Lily wouldn’t tell you the first time she realized she loved James Potter. She’ll say, “I reckon I always did, now don’t give me that cynical look. It’s a funny thing, I realize since it’s known fact I hated Potter. Believe me, that wasn’t a lie but when we did become friends and he brought me hot chocolate when I was sick, made me laugh like a loon while we did rounds, it wasn’t surprising that I loved Potter. He was my friend and obviously, it was a platonic love but then, he’d ask this girl out and my stomach just burned, you know? So, when he asked me out, I just-I had to say yes to understand why. Guess the love I felt for James Potter wasn’t platonic, after all.”

A rather long speech for an introvert but love makes you a poet or in Lily’s case, a bloody satisfactory rambler.

Someone knocks at the door and she’s interrupted from her musings of conjuring up how her fiancé would look like a suit. (Scoff you might but Lily had never seen James in a muggle suit and it send shivers down her spine, imagining it. How the rays of light would fall on his messed-up hair and the way his abs would be seen with the light sheen of sweat. Merlin, he’d make a fantastic and hot Olympian.)

Marlene enters, her rustic brown dress twinkling in the room. She was a fine beauty and Lily’s best friend. They’d been stuck to the hip ever since Lily introduced the former to ‘nail polish.’ Being a pureblood, Marlene had been awestruck. “It makes your nails looked all dolled up, ain’t it?”

With a beautiful brown bob that bounced with each step and star kissed eyes, Marlene had no problem finding a suitor if need be. Adding to her appearance, she had an eccentric personality. She was constantly so kind to her friends, so warm to strangers and so bloody callous to assholes. Honestly, she was one of the few people who didn’t find all Slytherins wicked and it was refreshing to be friends with someone who wasn’t predisposed. It wasn’t shocking when Lily appointed her maid of honor.

She blubbers at the sight of her best friend and Lily beckons her over and they sit on the cozy and luxurious bed.

“You look stunning.”

“Look who’s talking. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were the bride with the way you’re glowing.” Lily teases and bumps her best friend’s shoulder playfully.

Marlene shakes her head but she’s grinning. “You know I shipped you and Potter since day one. It was like some bloody romance that you found in books and movies, you know. Tags: Sexual tension, mutual stupid pining, enemies to friends to lover’s trope.”

Lily snorts and Marlene scrunches up her brow. “Ratings: Some teenage fluff.”

“Oh hush, Marls. You’re ruining my makeup with your hilarious rubbish.”

“I can’t believe you’re getting married.”

Lily smiles fondly and hugs her friend as she rubs her nose.

“Me neither. I don’t reckon I’ve told you but do you know the groom is Potter?”

Marlene gasps.

“You’re kidding me!”

Frowning, Lily nods as she sighs wearily. “I can’t imagine it either.”

Mirth bubbles from the duo. Abruptly, Marlene seizes her friend in a hug. “I love you, alright?”

“I love you the most.”

“You’ve got the wedding we’ve dreamed of as children. A posh wedding, albeit cheap which I do not approve of in an art bleeding history museum.”

“The wedding band looks strange, though.”

Marlene makes a noise of agreement. “True. Someday, The Weird Cauldron will get famous.” (Spoiler Alert: It didn’t.)

“Maybe.”

“Potter’s going to pale when he says you. I’ll bet a galleon on it.”

Lily really did look beautiful. A blushing and glowing bride, sentimental ones would tearfully sniffle. While she did look the role, several of her friends would praise her on owning a badass gown. Certainly, not very easy to pull off. Her hair was in ringlets, all ruby embers twirled down and her eyes were coated with a thin black mascara. Her v- neck dress was ankle length and hugged her curves in all the right places as she spun around. Lace decorated the borders of her cleavage and concluded at her toes.

Someone’s fingers dance on a piano, playing some long and forgotten melody that made people hum and ponder their own weddings or wonder at the posterity.

“Ready?”

With a smile biting at her lips, Lily says, “Marauder Ready.”

And her maid of honor rolls her eyes and murmurs about a perfect pair.

A FEW METRES AWAY:

The trio huddle around James like he’s a rugby player about to be mauled. (Well, he envisages it so. He never understood the damned game. A frustration that Mr. Evans shared. Lily’s dad had tried to make him understand the rules and other shits ‘bout the game but judging by his skill and intelligence, you can assume it did not end well.)

“-so typical of James to dream about something else than his wedding day. “Sirius is saying as he shakes off his reverie of things he can’t do. (James assures you that it is the only thing he cannot do, if you know what he means.)

The lot of them were rather attractive in their own sense and they looked identical. A muggle might have looked at them and assumed them to be in a boy band. Despite his heritage, James finds himself wanting to hum a muggle tune. (Tell me why, ohh)

“Shut up, Padfoot. I was thinking about Lily.”

“Mate,” Remus says as he adjusts James’s Gryffindor tie, “-we know you better than that and the face you were sporting was most definitely not your, uh Lily face.”

“I have a Lily face?”

Peter pipes, “You have a lot of faces.” and shuts up promptly, almost like he can’t believe he had the gall to speak.

“Like what?!”

“Well,” Sirius says lazily as he sips his complimentary champagne, “Your Lily face is soft eyes, like a doe, mate. And you have this weird grin on your face like you don’t know whether you want to laugh or cry and your nose gets pink.”

Testing it out, James thinks about the last time he had seen Lily. They were in bed together and she was reading a book. Just the sight of her, emerald orbs completely hooked on the poetic words, her plump and pink lips as she murmured, “Oh, Nasuda” and the crease on her forehead and the blush on her cheek as she pronounced, “Murtgah.” (James had kissed her then, overcome with adoration for his fiancée. How happy he was that they adored each other and partly jealous of a fictional character.)

Laughter cuts his out of his thoughts. Remus barely restraining his chuckles says, “That’s your Lily face.”

Only Peter seemed to fake his laughter. James squints his eyes at him and studies his friend. The boy is looking rather pale, almost clammy with sweat beading on his ears. A telltale that something is not alright.

“Mate,” James says, “You good?”

The three of them all stare at Peter who is furiously biting his nails. With a jerk, he looks up when the room falls silent as if he’s forgotten there’s a crowd. “Oh-um, yeah.”

James knows not to push it but he can’t seem to help himself as Peter’s eyes look downcast. “You know you can tell us everything, right? I know you’re not- “

“I’m fine.”

Sirius cocks his head at the boy. “Well, if you’re su- “

“I have a girlfriend!” Peter blurts out, seeming it out of his non- volition as his hands tremble soon afterwards and he shuts his eyes in a remarkable display of acting. His friends are speechless but before they can interrupt, he continues, almost whispering the words like he’s afraid his ex is going to apparate, “I-well, I had one. I’m sorry I never told you guys. I really did want to but Samantha, that was her name said it was too much of a big deal and stuff.” Peter stops his monologue to groan. “And-And I know it’s wrong but you and Lily are getting married and you guys are so happy and I don’t know if I’ll ever get that again.”

The room is enveloped by silence like fire being iced by a thick blanket, so very heavy and you feel like choking.

“I-Merlin, Peter.” Sirius begins, standing up quickly and lending a hug to Wormtail who now has tears running down his face.

Moony doesn’t say anything but instead, stares at Peter with confusion. James blinks and he misses the look Peter sends to Remus. Please, the rat seemed to implore.

“Peter, I wish-no, that doesn’t matter. Look Pete, you of all people should know that it was terribly hard for Evans to like me. Wait, that came out wrong. She’s not obligated to like me or anything but urgh. I never thought I had a chance with her, remember? It might take years but have hope! Everyone deserves love, Pete and you deserve it more than others.”

Orator, he is not. It’s not really a great speech but the topic was sprung up on him and half of his thoughts are Lily related, but it’ll have to do and gathering by the wince Peter barely manages to hide, his immediate thought was to start again but with better vocabulary and more depth. Peter nods and then, James nods. And then, Remus and Sirius nods. That’s how it goes amongst them. If one does something, the others follow immediately.

“We need to go.” Remus says, glancing at his watch. Peter looks relieved. They can’t really blame him. They’ve had conversations with Peter like this. He was always the helper; the motivator and it threw them off course when the intelligent boy came to them with a problem.

The trio stampede over to the door and Remus calls out a good luck before the door shuts. A second later, Sirius throws it open and launches himself onto his brother.

“Merlin left saggy- “Sirius mumbles onto James’s shoulder. “I can’t bloody believe you’re leaving me.”

Prongs rolls his eyes and reciprocates the hug and they clutch each other tightly like men that have just won the bloody war. “I can’t bloody believe Lily is marrying me.”

Sirius laughs through his tears. “Yeah, me neither.”

“Oh, shove off.” James admonishes but the tone is soft as he punches his brother’s arm.

Sirius raises a hand and for a moment, James has a weird premonition that Sirius is about to lean in but then he ruffles up James’s hair and runs out a moment before the poor groom can even groan.

The bespectacled boy stares at himself in the mirror.

It’d be alright, he told himself, Lily would show up and they’d go off in the sunset wide grins. Merlin, the woman of his dreams would be saying I do to him in a few minutes. They’d have the rest of their lives together and it would be jovial with their dogs, cats and children. Hardly human and more angel-like, Lily Evans would soon become Lily Potter and he’d wake up to her scarlet lips and emerald jewels of eyes every day.

He groans.

Now was not the time to be fantasizing.

It was hard not to when your fiancée looked like she belonged in the bloody museum.

He was wearing a fine suit which looked almost crisp against his skin. The white shirt was almost transparent because of the thin layer of sweat but it contrasted well with his tanned, lean and muscular body. Against his will, he smirked as he thought of Lily. (When does he not, really?)

“I knew you were vain, Potter but I never guessed how much.”

James spins around at the voice and a grimace forms as he locates Severus Snape sitting idly on the sofa, wand rolling around his palm. Although annoyance surged through him, he was hardly to see the man. He was bound to make an entrance on his ex-best-friend’s wedding.

Despite the anger, some intelligent subconscious urged to call Sirius but he decided that it wouldn’t bode well with his character and instead retorts, “Here to stop the wedding, Snivellus or lost your way to the dumps?”

The man grits his teeth at the nickname but makes a great show of rolling his eyes. “Now, why would I want that?”

James shrugs and plucks out his wand, almost casually and points it at the Death Eater. “I can think of many reasons why. None of which I want to bother myself with but I’m afraid, oh wait, I’m not afraid but actually happy you’re too late.”

“I wouldn’t bet my money on it.”

“Well,” James smirks. “You don’t have any money in the first place to begin with so I recommend not betting anything.”

Almost growling, Snape makes a noise of dissatisfaction. “You’ve always been a fool, Potter.”

It was strange that there was no retort but James let it slide and mocks. “I suppose you hope to stop the wedding with your greasy hair. I hardly think the priest would consider that as an objection but we all know Lily would prefer mine.”

James is stalling. They both know it. Despite him being a Gryffindor, he knew not to underestimate Snape. Coming here was a huge risk after all and surely, the man had some sense not to break up a light wedding. So, why did he come?

The man winces at the mention of the bride.

“It’s not just me, Potter, this once.”

James curses internally. “Look Snape, it’s my wedding day and I really really don’t want to hex you today. Contrary to popular belief, I’m actually a pacifist.”

“Lily was right when she called you an arrogant toe rag.”

“Funny,” James bites out. “That’s not the only nickname y ’all used that day. At least toe rag sounds better than Extraordinary Death Eater.”

Scoffing, Snape shakes his head as if he’s almost reproaching James. “I, fortunately, do not have time for this insolence, Potter. I hope you rot.”

“Well, you had time for yourself.”

“CRUCIO!”

He’s expecting it. “PROTEGO!”

Time for pleasantries were over, James guesses. The room is immediately basked in a blue glow and both men are blasted with jet beams of light and are thrown feet backward, neither spell marring their skin. James rolls over to a chair and arching his neck, calls out a body binding spell.

Snape roars. “Sectumsempra! You shall pay, Potter!”

“EXPELLIARMUS! Need a loan?”

“Imperio!”

James almost gets hit with the spell in shock. This wasn’t some retribution. Snivellus-and perhaps the Death Eaters- were out for something. Oh bugger, Lily. She wouldn’t be safe here. He had to warn her somehow.

“Imperio!”

Where was that blasted two-way mirror?

Answer: Sirius had taken it. James had thought it’d be sensible, in case there were any wedding fiascos.

He was a fool. A stupid-stupid- fool.

Crying out a jinx almost instinctively, he jumps out of the way as a table hurls at him. (Couldn’t furniture be at his side, at least? Really bloody unfair.)

The spell hits his target and James is rewarded by the sight of blood dripping down the shins of Snape’s knee. Amazingly, it doesn’t seem to bother him. The only sign he showed of pain was a slight wince.

Where was everybody? Dead and deaf? The question has an answer.

“You cast a silence charm.” He thinks out loud.

Really ass-effing unfair.

The room was in ruins but James was positive that it he was captured; the room would return to being spotless. He supposes they want him to join the Death Eaters. The very thought makes him barks a laugh. As if he’d ever agree to that. He’d rather die. Rather live and marry but he thinks he might have to cut his losses.

It’s like he appears in thin air for Snape stands in front of him, arm poised for attack. James kicks his leg in a defense that Lily and Mr. Evans had taught him and pushes away. (Muggle techniques were brilliant, weren’t they?) Severus-the bugger-is also fast though James did not know how. (You’d think his grease would weigh him down, right?) The positions are awkward enough for James to suddenly lose control of his wand as the expelliarmus is called out.

Satisfaction or regret flashes on Snape’s face for a second but James’s doesn’t bother deciphering it. If he can’t get away, he needs to save Lily at least. Jumping up, he runs like his life is dependent on it, ducking behind furniture when the need calls for it.

Suddenly, the cold dims a little as the door opens. “Got him?” A voice calls out from the doorway and he’s so surprised to see Pettigrew that he stumbles. “Wormtail?” The boy looks at him and shifts his glance away.

Got him? Got whom? Oh. Oh no. No, no, no.

“You’re-you’re with him-them?” He manages to splutter. It had to be impossible, surely. Maybe he was imperio-d. Or maybe, they wanted to take him out for another stag party and got Snape involved?

He dismisses either of his suspicions. They boy’s eyes are clear. James almost slaps himself. Of course, Peter wouldn’t have a girlfriend. He didn’t even have one in Hogwarts.

“IMPERIO!” Snivellus calls again, almost booming the curse.

James falls on the ground and stares at his friend in shock who’s standing up casually. “Peter?” He calls out in a pained voice. His sadness evolves into anger.

“I hope both of you rot in hell.” He knows he’s lost but he tries to take on Peter and both brawl. James tucks his shoulder into Peter’s armpit and jabs and the boy falls and his escape is right there and so clear. He’d see Lily again. And he’s running and he’s hollering. Then:

“This has gone on for far too long.” Snape bites. “Imperio!”

There’s nowhere to duck and he goes down but Snape’s anticipated that and he’s full on hit by the incantation. And James is submerged. It’s like his thoughts are befuddled and time stands still or the seconds tick past in honey. He’s in his own bubble. It’s like being in the ocean, he manages to tell his friends later, but when someone wants you to drown, you can’t push up, you’re sinking instead.

“Go somewhere no one will find you.” Snape murmurs, velvety and caressing.

Several steps forward, James hacks onto their plan. They’re monsters, worse than that. At least, monsters are born cruel. These, these people want to be terrible. He tries to wrangle his way out of the spell, tries to make a move for his wand but it’s so painful that he’s desperately tired and run out of energy after the first time he tries to break free.

They overpower him in no time and then he seemingly walks out the door out of his own will and he walks on the empty corridor in silence except for a steady ticking voice at the back of his mind saying, Leave.

James listens.

#jily fanfiction #james potter #lily evans #jily

32 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 6 years

Text

Here I Go Again! (Group Fic) - Epilogue - pureCAMP

A/N - important notice!! there is some smutty smutty smut smut in this, but i didnt write it!! plz send ur love to citrus aka @pianowired bc she wrote it and its absolutely excellent. plz enjoy! (and let me know if a part 2 is needed! <3)

Raja had seen a lot of action, in her time, both for her friends and for herself. She remembered her first was skinny and scrawny as most fifteen year olds are, and he hadn’t impressed her. He was too excited to actually be inside a girl, and barely lasted two minutes. Of course, she’d told her girls all about it, how it wasn’t really worth the hype, but still worth trying.

Then was her second, around her sixteenth birthday, and if she remembered correctly, Jinkx had gotten laid that night too. Her ginger friend had admitted that she could barely look the nameless girl in the eye when she awoke, but had enjoyed it nevertheless. In the meantime, they teased Sharon about her chastity, despite it not being her choice. The poor girl was convinced her religious mother had eyes everywhere, and she wasn’t too far from the truth. Whenever the three got up to no good, there always seemed to be someone to report back to Sharon’s mother and get her into trouble.

For the next two years, Raja lived her life as a hoe and was thoroughly enjoying it. Her experiences ranged from poor to… satisfactory, at best, and she detailed each one to her girls, occasionally expressing her sympathy for Sharon. It wasn’t from lack of interest or trying, bless her, but her mother’s insistence on wearing that damn cross around her neck every day tended to keep boys away. Which was, of course, what the religious old trout wanted it to do.

Both herself and Jinkx applauded Sharon when she dropped out of high school, all three of them knowing she’d fail regardless, and started to rebel a little more. Their music group was the perfect opportunity to do that - to dress up fashionably, ditch all religious memorabilia and dance away from her mother’s prying eyes. The island a little way off the mainland was their solace, and a great place to pick up boys.

Around the summer, things changed. Their performances began to bring in more customers to the little tavern, resulting in more ‘fans’ and more guys and girls for Raja and Jinkx to have fun with. One night, she remembered seeing a young guy in the crowd, around their age, watching the show. Normally, Raja would’ve jumped him as soon as the set was over, but his eyes were on Sharon, and Sharon’s eyes were on him, and if this was her friend’s chance to get laid before she turned eighteen, then she’d have to let it happen.

It was so much more than that in the end. Sharon, now glowing with this new life, detailed all of her experiences to them with her eyes shining. She didn’t retell the stories like Raja did, mentioning the rough movements and emotional detachment from the whole thing. It seemed as though she loved him. Of course, she told them all about going rough and hard and fast, but it always seemed to end with cuddling, with kisses, with romantic walks on the beach as the sun set around them.

So now all three of them were living the hoe life. It was fun, but it didn’t last.

After Justin left, Sharon became solitary. She was never around in the daytime like she normally would be, to laugh with Raja and Jinkx and listen to stories and just have fun. Raja shared with Jinkx and Jinkx shared with Raja, and they only saw her when they were performing and a few times in between. She seemed distant.

Looking back, Raja knew now that it was because her sly dog of a once religious virgin friend had in fact been sneaking off to have rebound flings with two other guys in order to cope with her heartbreak. Back then, they’d just assumed she wanted to be alone.

So, to cut a long story short, the last of their group to lose her virginity, and the first of the group to ever be in love with someone she’d had sex with, had fallen pregnant. For a good year after the news was revealed to them - through a skin-tight costume that wouldn’t zip up and a tummy that seemed just a little too round to be puppy fat - the hoe life died down. Raja didn’t feel like she could just run off to find a guy and fuck him when her best friend was miserable, heartbroken, hormonal and alone. Call her selfish, but she also didn’t want to be caught in the same predicament.

With one of her best friends then busy with a newborn, Raja got back out into the dating pool, so to speak. At twenty one, she met her first husband. He was okay-looking, really, tanned with black hair and piercing eyes. Her father paid for the wedding, and he paid for Raja’s surgeries to enhance her bust, and he didn’t fuck too badly, but his lips were larger and faker than her own, and it started to put her off a little. One and a half years later, she divorced him.

“You paying him back for those?” Sharon had joked, tickling her then-five-year-old Trixie with one hand as she gestured at Raja’s chest with the other.

“Oh, please.” Raja had responded. “He paid for these and they’re still not as big as yours.”

Husband number two was a little better, but not much. He owned an international cruise line, so combining Raja’s family wealth with his was pretty luxurious. For a couple of years, she hardly saw her friends, communicating mostly through letters from wherever the cruise ship took them. It was a time of expensive face creams that contained flakes of gold, designer shoes, and world tours to places she’d never even dreamed of seeing.

But he was boring. Rich, handsome, and oh-so-boring. His every word was a drag, he was a complete drip, and he had the personality of wet toilet paper. He had to go, and two years later he was gone.

“Gold flakes…” Jinkx had mocked. “And what else? Donkey testicles? Mashed up goats liver? None of my girlfriends have ever cared if I look a little strange.”

Raja had shrugged and laughed. “If I want to day drink all year round, it’s the price I have to pay.”

“God, I haven’t day drank in forever. I haven’t night drank in forever. I’m busy being an adult whilst you guys go off and single-handedly date the entire planet.”

Husband three had taken a while to propose, which was getting on Raja’s nerves, but other than that minor flaw he was perfect. Handsome, well-off, and just the right amount of emotionally involved. He wouldn’t cling, he wouldn’t ignore her, it was just as close to perfect as she could get. That was her happiest wedding day, even if her father had drawn the line and refused to pay for it.

It really seemed like this one would stand the tests of time and Raja’s ever-changing nature.

“So you’ve finally found the one?” Sharon had asked, flipping through Raja’s years of wedding photos. In each picture from each wedding, Raja had a different husband and Jinkx had a different lady-friend (she wasn’t very into commitment), but Sharon had the same plus one - her daughter. It was no secret that her days of dating and sex seemed to be over already. She never expressed the feeling, but Raja could tell that it hurt her a little.

“I hope so. You think your man is waiting for you somewhere?” Raja had replied.

Sharon laughed mirthlessly. “Yeah, he’s out there.” She’d said bitterly. “With someone else, telling her she’s his soulmate.”

It really did last. Eleven years they were married, and Raja was pretty content. But it seemed that all good things came to an end, whether she wanted them to or not.

Truthfully, it was her fault. He was kind and sweet and he wanted to be a father. Raja, having intimately witnessed a pregnancy, the birth and watched the child grow up, didn’t want to be a mother. Of course it was magical for Sharon, and she’d never bash her friend for her decision - not after so fiercely defending her to people, even all these years later. Besides, she knew it would be different for her than it had been for Sharon, considering she was thirty six, twice the age that Sharon had been, but she was still put off. She’d never wanted children anyway, and the whole process freaked her out. For others, she was supportive. For herself, she was an inch away from disgusted.

It was just one of those differences that tears people apart. Their arrangement was no longer working, not really.

The divorce was a painful one. As she sobbed into Sharon’s chest, Jinkx awkwardly rubbing her back, it seemed to hit her at once that her friend was something of a superhero. Now that she was experiencing heartbreak, she finally understood what Sharon had been through and how hard it must’ve been to carry on. Yet the way she so expertly comforted her showed just how incredible of a mother she’d been, and how she’d relaxed into the role and learned exactly what to do.

Last time Raja had checked, even though she swore she wasn’t going to, his new wife - blonde, pretty, the works - was six months pregnant. Fine, that was fine. He’d moved on. Raja moved on too.

Her tricks were getting younger, truth be told. In recent years, the younger men had become even more open about their admiration for older ladies, and whilst Raja was in no way old, she appreciated the attention. With a little bit of Botox, she was pretty much the young man’s dream.

Still, hooking up with one of Sharon’s hotel slaves, as she so affectionately had nicknamed them, felt a little strange. Karl had told her that he was twenty one, so at the very least he was older than Trixie.

Admittedly, he was one of the better ones. He wasn’t disgustingly hairy, like some men who tried to approach her, but he also wasn’t pre-pubescent and hairless. Clean shaven, the way she liked it. He was fairly muscular, Filipino, and had a strange streak of blonde in his dark hair. Whether that was a fashion of the youth or not, she didn’t care. Raja still tugged on it in bed with him after the hen party had been infiltrated by the stag do.

He was skilled enough that, the next morning when Raja crept away so that she didn’t have to sleep besides him any longer, she simply went to beach and lay out in the sun to relax. Her energy was somewhat spent and she needed the ache to subside before she got ready for the wedding.

“Hey, babe.”

Raja didn’t even bother opening her eyes. “Babe?”

Karl lay down next to her, getting sand on the beach towel. “You heard me. I called you babe.”

“Oh, lord.” Raja scoffed. “Babe indeed. I could be your mother, near enough. Speaking of, where is she? Does she know you’re out?”

Karl rolled his eyes. “You can’t ignore the chemistry between us, Raj. I know you feel it. I know you felt it last night.”

He smiled, blindingly white teeth flashing in her direction. Raja hadn’t seen teeth that white since she’d flown out to the clinic to pay for a whitening herself.

“You’re so cute,” She teased, watching how he tried and failed to compose himself. “I know what you want, sweetcheeks. But you’re playing with fire, and your fingers are gonna get burnt.”

Karl seemed unfazed. “What if I’d walk through fire for you? What if I’m fireproof?”

Raja laughed, surprised at his persistence. “I like your style, kid. Just make sure you let your mother know that you’re out, honey.”

In one smooth motion, Karl rolled over so he was positioned above Raja, kissing along the marked spots on her neck and collarbone. He might’ve been young, but he smelled like sea-salt and he tasted like honey and he sent waves of fire rolling through her body. In all honesty, he was the first to actually make Raja feel young again. Like any minute now she’d be caught, messing around in the sand with a guy she knew almost nothing about. It was thrilling, but she couldn’t exactly let him win.

“Nice try,” Raja breathed, flipping him over. “Take it easy, slow down. That’s no way to go, now is it?”

Pinned underneath her, Karl smiled wickedly. “I don’t suppose you wanna show me how it should be done, then?”

Raja considered it. She could teach him a few new tricks, that would be fun. Combining the young man’s stamina with the older woman’s expertise would definitely, definitely be fun. But on the other hand, they had all the time in the world. It wasn’t like Raja had a stuffy old husband to go home to anymore - she didn’t have anyone waiting for her. Right now, the only person who wanted her attention was Karl, and he seemed happy to wait.

Besides; she had a wedding to get ready for. She’d wasted enough precious time fooling around in the sand. If she was going to look suitable for this wedding, she needed to start getting ready early. Plus, Sharon would throw an absolute fit if she knew that Raja was distracting one of her hotel slaves.

“Meet me after the wedding reception.” Raja told him, extending a long, tan leg close to his face. “Maybe then I’ll dance with you.”

—

Night had fallen by the time Trixie was changed, packed, and down at the docks ready to leave. Sharon had been rushing around in a flurry to ensure her daughter had everything she’d need, and then some. Call her over-protective and paranoid, but her little girl was leaving home for the first time, going out into the world to find adventures and experiences. It would be nerve-wracking for any mother.

Around the four of them, a chilly sea breeze blew. The sky was inky, the sea like molten silver as the moonlight glittered off the surface. Everything was still and silent, besides the bobbing of the little boat that would be taking Trixie and Brian to the mainland. Stars twinkled high above.

“You sure you’ve got everything?” Sharon worried, shivering on the deck. She rubbed her arms to try and warm them, and only moments later, Justin’s suit jacket had been placed over her shoulders.

Trixie smiled, humouring her. “Yes, mom. I was sure the first time, long before you triple-checked it all.”

Brian and Justin shared a laugh, their matching grins widening as Sharon playfully shoved them both.

“Alright, alright. Sorry. It’s a mom thing, I guess. Worrying so much.”

Shaking his head, Brian smiled. “Sharon, I’ll take good care of her, not that she needs it.”

Justin chuckled. “I’m sure after being raised by you, she could take on anything.”

“You’re probably right.” Sharon grinned. “Well. Don’t let me keep you waiting.”

Her tone changed; quieter, a little more forlorn. It had been the most perfect day ever, and there was no denying that, but goodbyes were always difficult. Sharon’s last goodbye had been tinged with heartbreak, and this one just felt like letting go. She’d always known, really, that the tiny baby who was lulled to sleep by her heartbeat and the gentle rocking of the chair would one day have to leave home. She herself had done it, albeit under different circumstances. Even so, as a mom, she wanted to keep Trixie wrapped up in swaddling blankets forever.

Trixie threw her arms around her in a hug, squeezing tight the way she always did. Sharon blinked back her tears when she pulled away, offering a weak smile and leaning forwards to hug Brian, too. Her heart skipped a few beats when she noticed Trixie hugging Justin, planting a kiss on his cheek and whispering her goodbyes.

It was like they were a real family.

“Go, go on already!” Sharon half-joked, pushing the two lovers towards their boat and trying to ignore how choked up she felt. “God, you kids… Driving me crazy, I tell you. Go on, go and see the world.”

Justin kissed the top of Sharon’s head and began to help Trixie and Brian loading their bags onto the boat. Before long they were waving goodbye, growing smaller and smaller in the horizon. Sharon didn’t stop waving until they were a mere dot in the distance, not visible against the night sky nor with Sharon’s rapidly-blurring vision.

“Hey, hey… It’s okay. I’m here.” Justin’s voice was gentle, calming. He pulled Sharon against his chest, sparing her the embarrassment of crying in front of him, and soothingly rubbed her back.

“My daughter just left home.” Sharon sniffed, muffled against his shirt. “I feel like the definition of not okay.”

He leant down and kissed the tip of her nose, making her giggle. “I know. But she said she’ll write, and she’s so excited for this. She’s like how we used to be.”

Justin began to walk away from the docks, one hand in Sharon’s, heading towards the taverna. “Remember? Life was so exciting. The world was this brand new place and we’d get to discover it all.”

Sharon snorted in spite of herself. “Of course I do. But don’t you think we’re a little old for that now?”

“Old? You make us sound like pensioners.” Justin laughed. “Babe, we’re both thirty eight. Not even forty yet. That’s not old. Some people call it the prime years.”

He nudged his wife suggestively, to which she burst out laughing. “Uh huh, sure. You really think we’re better now than we were twenty years ago? I’m saggier, fatter, wrinklier… the list goes on.”

“You’re so stupid. I don’t see any of that.” Justin defended her, squeezing her hand. “You’re curvy, you’re beautiful… you still have those slutty lips that I love.”

Sharon gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, acting scandalized. “Slutty lips?! And you call yourself a gentleman?!”

Justin shrugged. “So you’re saying that when we fuck, it won’t be as good as it used to be? You’re not slutty anymore?”

“No! I’m not saying that!”

“You sure?”

“Yes!”

“I don’t know, it sounds like that’s what you’re saying.”

“It won’t be worse! It’ll be better!”

“Prove it.”

The challenging gleam in Justin’s eyes sent waves of heat rolling through Sharon’s body. Fuck, she’d missed him. The taunts, the teasing, the dirty talk and the mischievous behaviour. It was ridiculous that she could still feel like she was eighteen even now, just being in his presence. He hadn’t changed a bit, and he was making her run wild.

“We’re not going to make it to my house, are we?” Sharon asked, half-joking, half-sultry and narrow-eyed.

Justin’s face was a picture of bliss. “Mmm… I don’t think so. But hey, I see our cabin is still standing. Maybe we should re-acquaint ourselves.”

Sharon shook her head, laughing. “You… you’re the reason I’m so bad. Cabin it is, before I fucking explode.”

The two of them all but ran to the cabin, Justin’s arms flying to Sharon’s waist as she kicked the door closed. As soon as they were alone he kissed her, and it was everything and nothing like she remembered. It was the same passion, the same fire, but his soft lips were accompanied by scratchy stubble and his arms were stronger and more defined than they’d been twenty years ago.

“Bed,” Sharon demanded as she broke the kiss, pulling Justin across the cabin and into the small, doorless bedroom. The bed was decently sized, fitted with clean white sheets that told Justin that Sharon had been taking care of the cabin even after all this time. He kissed her again, laying her down on the bed and slotting a leg between her thighs as her tongue dipped into his mouth.

“Told you I love these slutty lips,” he mumbled against her mouth, hands pushing her skirt up her hips. Sharon chuckled, unbuttoning Justin’s shirt and shoving it off his shoulders before trailing a hand down his chest. He was softer than he’d been before, no longer skinny and gangly, and he shivered under her touch after twenty years of deprivation.

“You’ve certainly aged better than I have,” Sharon grinned as he tossed his hair in mock vanity.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, babe, you don’t look a day over twenty-five.”

Sharon scoffed. “Sure.”

“I mean it,” he insisted, moving the top of her dress down too so that the garment was bunched around her waist. “You’re gorgeous no matter how you look. Also, no bra? Really? It’s like you planned this.”

Sharon laughed and shrugged, her giggle turning into a low moan as Justin rolled her nipples between his thumb and forefinger. “You’ll be happy to know I decided against going commando while we sent our daughter and her boyfriend off to travel the world.”

Justin smiled, snapping the elastic of her underwear against her hip and grinning wider when she yelped in surprise. “You’re so beautiful.”

Sharon rolled her eyes, pulling him in for another kiss.

“Can you cut the crap and fuck me already?” she mumbled against his lips, pulling his hands down to rest on her thighs and placing her own hands on his hips. He laughed as she cupped his growing erection through his trousers, squeezing lightly and making him groan.

“So needy, always so needy,” he teased, shucking off his trousers while Sharon freed herself completely from her dress. She let out a low moan as his long, slender fingers teased her through the fabric of her panties, feeling her beginning to get wet from his touch. “Shh, patience, love. I’m gonna make you feel so good. Just like old times, eh?”

“I’d say a bit different. I’m not the skinny little slip of a thing I used to be.”

“Sharon Needles, can you stop putting yourself down for a moment and let me worship you the way you deserve? God, you’re still so stubborn.” Sharon nearly protested, but then Justin’s fingers were pushing her underwear aside and grazing over her folds, and she could only let out a soft moan. “That shut you up, huh?”

“Shut up and fuck me,” Sharon demanded, pushing his hand away and her panties down with it. Justin shot her one of those stupidly adorable grins of his as he slid out of his own underwear and kissed at her jaw and neck again. “Jesus, babe, age made you slow.”

“If you want to get fucked, you’ll stop complaining,” Justin growled softly, one hand squeezing lightly at the sides of her throat. Sharon felt another rush of heat pass through her body; she’d always been a sucker for Justin showing dominance, and it seemed as though nothing much had changed in the two decades they’d been apart. His hand moved to rest at the base of her throat, barely even touching her, and she raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve still got it,” she said appreciatively. “Thought you might.”

“Course I do,” Justin replied, sliding his hand down her body to spread her open and press a finger into her, making her whine. “You drive me crazy, Sharon.”

“More, Justin,” she complained, arching up into his touch as he added a second finger and his thumb found her sensitive bud. “Christ, fuck me. I’ve waited long enough.”

“We both have,” Justin agreed as he drew his fingers out of her and lined up with her entrance. “You sure you don’t wanna change positions?”

“It’s not gonna do my back any favors,” she answered. “Told you I wasn’t the kid I used to be.”

“Shush,” Justin bade her, running his thumb across her lower lip and gazing into her eyes with so much love she thought she might melt. She hadn’t seen him look at her like that in all their years apart, and if she was telling the truth, no one could ever fill the gap Justin had left in her life. But he was here now, his hands on her thighs, his lips on her lips, and oh, how Sharon had missed him. He was hot and hard against her, and when he pressed just past her entrance she sighed.

“More, baby,” she encouraged, pulling him down by the shoulders to kiss the corner of his mouth.

“You sure, love? It’s been a long time and I-”

“I’m sure,” Sharon promised, all but a whisper against his skin. He pushed a little further, and Sharon’s back arched to take him deeper into her warmth, kissing him deep and hard. She didn’t stop until his hips were flush against hers and he was buried inside her completely, and he panted against her neck as they both adjusted to the sensations wracking their bodies.

“You… oh, Sharon, you feel so good,” Justin groaned, gasping when she clenched around him with a smirk. When he rolled his hips, she whimpered loudly, kissing him desperately.

“I’ve been desperate to have your cock inside me for the last twenty years,” she mumbled roughly, “Memories are never as good as the real thing. I’ve never- fuck– I’ve never been this full.”

“No one else,” Justin promised as he withdrew a few inches before pushing back in, making Sharon gasp. “No one else can do it like you, babe. No one else can take it like you.”

“Please, baby,” she begged as he began to increase the pace and depth of his thrusts, his grip on her hips so tight she was sure there would be bruises later. “Fuck, J-Justin…” Justin was perfection, he always had been; he filled her so completely and took her apart effortlessly, making her feel like she was coming apart at the seams and melting into the mattress. She didn’t know his history after he’d left the island– there would be time for that later –but there was no doubt that he’d only grown more skilled with age. It was like he could see right through her and into the place where she kept her deepest desires; every single thrust was perfect, his steady rhythm sending waves of pleasure through her body unlike anything she’d experienced since their last time together. He knew exactly what she wanted, what she needed, and he kissed her with all the passion and sweetness of a first love that had never really faded.

Desire coursed through Sharon like a wildfire, igniting every nerve in her body and setting her alight with pleasure. She could tell Justin was nearing the edge from the way that his hips began to stutter slightly, but he was doing an astounding job of keeping his steady pace. Sharon pulled her legs to her chest, changing the angle and allowing him to move even deeper inside her, speeding up and fucking her harder and faster. The bed rocked against the wall of the cabin as Justin lost his controlled rhythm and gave into his body, letting Sharon pull him down for a kiss as his hips slammed against her soft thighs.

Sharon came first, a hoarse shout of ecstasy leaving her lips as every single thrust of Justin’s hips allowed him to ram against the spot deep inside her that made her see stars. Her nails raked down his back as she threw her head back and sobbed with the sheer pleasure of it all, drawing a hiss from Justin and resulting in him planting sloppy kisses all over her mouth like a teenager with poor aim. He finished with a rough cry of “Sharon,” and a final snap of his hips, coming deep and hard inside her and all but collapsing on her chest. The two of them lay like that for several moments, completely spent and trying to catch their breath, and Sharon’s lips lingered against Justin’s cheek, her fingers running over the angry red marks she’d created on his skin.

“I’m sorry about that,” she chuckled, “I guess you really do make me feel young again.” Justin let out a breathless laugh at that, carefully pulling out of her and moving to collapse on the bed beside her. She nestled herself into his arms, slotting her thigh between his legs.

“Just like old times, mm?”

“Just like the good old days,” Sharon agreed teasingly. “I have to admit, I didn’t think you’d be able to do better than we used to. I’m impressed.”

Justin smiled lazily, shifting slightly and kissing Sharon’s cheek. “Wanna know what pushed me over the edge?”

“Sure,” she laughed, “But proceed with caution.”

“I was thinking about how beautiful you looked under me, and then I just had the thought pop into my head that wow, that’s my wife. You’re my wife.”

Sharon let out an airy laugh, snuggling into his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. “Mhmm,” she hummed contentedly, “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“…Sharon?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.”

—

Justin wasn’t an idiot.

For his first move after the wedding, he’d told Sharon in no uncertain terms that she needed a break. After all, he’d witnessed how frantic she was for the few days that he’d been on the island. He could’ve sworn that she didn’t sleep, eat or relax at any point, just work work work. She needed a break, some time off.

Of course, time had slightly altered his memories of just how stubborn she was. There was no way she was going to be leaving her hotel, not a chance in Heaven or Hell. She’d put her foot down and that was it, decision made.

Only Justin wasn’t that much of a pushover, and so began their at-home honeymoon. The young men, guided by Raja and Jinkx, were in charge of the hotel for a while, whilst Sharon and Justin roamed around the island, enjoying their time together.

It was nice to watch her relax, really. In the sunlight, with her hair cascading down her back rather than tied up, and her face smooth rather than pinched with stress, she could’ve passed for eighteen again. He’d forgotten just how captivating her eyes were, a deeper blue than any expanse of ocean they could see. He’d forgotten how funny her laugh was, the utter cackle that came out of her. He’d forgotten the beauty in her smile.

Really, he could spend all day listing off the beautiful things that he started to remember during their at-home honeymoon, but Sharon wouldn’t give him the chance. She was as needy and desperate as the day they’d met, and he certainly wasn’t complaining.

It wasn’t all sex, though. Sometimes they both needed a break, and they had twenty one years of talking to do.

“Jinkx took this, about two hours after I gave birth. Look at her tiny little fist around my finger.” Sharon held up the photo so Justin could see. Heart squeezing, he wrapped his arms around his wife even tighter.

“I can’t believe I never knew about all this.” He replied, refusing to take his eyes off his then-newborn daughter. “She looks so much like you.”

Sharon chuckled. “She always did. I miss her so much.”

That day, Sharon had taken Justin on her proper tour of her tiny home. He already knew what the rooms looked like, having stayed there since the wedding, but she took him around to the lumps and bumps and chips and cracks, naming each one as incidents that had happened when Trixie was little - all the parts of their lives that he’d missed. Now, he saw the house in a whole new light, full of life and memories and little remnants of the past.

“This one is sweet.” Justin picked up another of the photos spread across Sharon’s - their - bed. “How old is she here?”

The photo showed Trixie, cheesing at the camera from her perch on Sharon’s shoulders. Her blonde hair was in two plaits, with a pink cowboy hat on her head and a blue princess dress. Sharon was giggling up at her daughter, seemingly unaware that the photo was being taken, in a summer dress that matched Trixie’s.

Sharon studied it, smiling faintly, then flipped it over. On the back, almost illegible writing read ‘Princess Trixabelle Parton (3) and Mama Sharon (21) go on an adventure to the marketplace to find some lunch (MS) and defeat some evil (PTP).’

“Those were the days.” She murmured, biting her lip. “I used to wonder how different my life would be without having Trixie, but she made everything better. I’m sure drinking at twenty one is fun, but playing with Princess Trixabelle Parton was fun too. There’s no comparison.”

Justin kissed her forehead. “God, you’re fucking magical, you know that?”

Sharon’s eyes were bright with unshed tears, which she dabbed at in an unsuccessful attempt to prevent them from falling. In spite of herself, she giggled a little.

“I can’t believe she’s all gr-grown up, I still worry about her so much. She better send me another letter soon.” She paused. “I really miss these days.”

Unable to stand the sight of her tears, Justin pulled Sharon closer and closer until her face was buried in his chest yet again. Once he could feel her sobs gently deteriorating into laughter, he pulled her away and tucked the photo into his pocket.

“I’ll tell you what. We should go on our own market adventure today. Let’s buy something weird and make a day of it. We could even take a boat to the mainland and see if Trixie’s sent anything for us. I asked the guy on the boat when he gave you the letter last week, and he said that he’s happy to pass on letters but we’ll have to collect any parcels for ourselves.”

Sharon considered him. “You know what… that sounds nice! I’ll get dressed, hold on.”

In a matter of moments, she’d removed her pyjama top with an extravagant flourish, causing Justin to burst into laughter.

“I swear I’ve put weight on, this is your fault.” She balled the shirt up and threw it at Justin’s head, childishly blowing raspberries at him when he ducked and missed it. “Look at me!”

She poked her stomach, puffing her cheeks out. Rolling his eyes, Justin threw her shirt back.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Put some clothes on, nympho.”

Sharon laughed appreciatively. “Fair, fair. Do you think we could skip the market, though? Recently the smell of all the fish has been making me really nauseous, and I don’t wanna throw up on you in that shirt. You look good in that shirt.”

It wasn’t long after their day out that Justin started to suspect. Of course, he’d never blindly say a thing out loud, for fear of castration via kitchen knives, but he was definitely beginning to notice a few telling changes, even if Sharon wasn’t. The nausea, for example. The breath-taking way she’d started to fill her clothes.

In fact, he tried to mention it to her once. She was having none of it.

“Nope. Where did you get that from?”

“I just thought maybe-”

“You’re crazy, Justin. I love you, but you’re crazy.”

“I mean, we have been-”

“It’s just not realistic, babe!”

“It’s possible, I guess I just-”

“Possible? At my age?”

“You’re not old! In fact, you’re perfectly-”

“You’re off your head, babe. I think the sea salt is getting to your brain.”

“But don’t you think-”

“Nah, it can’t be. Justin, I’m not pregnant.”

So they dropped the subject. She wasn’t, because Justin was clearly crazy and seeing things that weren’t there. She continued to deny it even when he hadn’t brought it up, which made him laugh. Justin knew Sharon wasn’t exactly… bright. Eventually she’d catch on.

‘Eventually’ turned out to be a week from their debate. Justin was sprawled across the bed, half-asleep in sweatpants and a face-mask that she’d insisted they both try. He was forced awake as the bathroom door slammed open, revealing a distressed Sharon with a mouthful of toothpaste foam, a toothbrush in one hand and a pregnancy test in the other.

“‘Ow did thi’ ‘appen?” She managed to say, leaning into the sink to spit and then returning. “How?!”

Justin shrugged. “I guess someone decided that the best way to clean your teeth is with a little brush on the end of a stick, so you can really get in there and scrub.”

Sharon dropped the toothbrush. “Not that, doofus. This!”

“Did… Did you forget that we’ve been having like… a lot of sex?” Justin tried.

She shook her head. “Well, of course not.”

“And the fact that we ran out of condoms within a week?”

“No.”

“And that when I told you, you said it didn’t matter and we didn’t need any more?”

“No.”

“Well… that’ll be why.”

Justin watched Sharon’s face, trying to gauge her feelings. She was almost impossible to read sometimes, what with years of hiding her feelings under her belt. He decided to tread carefully, pushing down the rising excitement that he felt inside him.

“But… we’re old!” She protested. “I really didn’t think this could happen, if I’m honest.”

Smiling gently, Justin beckoned her to come and lay on the bed with him. The sun was just starting to set, and as she nestled into his arms, golden sunlight filtered through the window and made patterns on the wall. Sharon kept staring at the test in her hand, encompassed by Justin’s warmth.

“How do you feel about this?” He whispered.

Sharon swallowed. “It’s… unexpected. How… how do you feel?”

“I feel amazing.” He admitted quietly, his heart softening as Sharon smiled. “I can be here for you this time, every step of the way.”

He placed his hand on top of Sharon’s, both of them on her stomach. For a few, peaceful moments, they lay there in silence.

Sharon was first to break it. “God, I can’t believe those bitches were right. It’s like Raja and Jinkx can predict the fucking future.”

Justin laughed. “Well. As I’m sure you’ll remember, I’m in if you’re in.”

The nostalgia registered on Sharon’s face instantly. The first time they’d met - all those years ago - the two of them said it a lot. When faced with a freezing cold plunge pool and no clothes, Justin simply shrugged “I’m in if you’re in.” When coming up with a plan to cause some minor havoc, the two of them in pain from laughing so hard, Sharon managed “I’m in if you’re in!”

It had been years since either of them had said or even heard those words.

“I’m in.”

#purecamp #here i go again #trixya #shalaska #rajila #smut #sharon needles #alaska thunderfuck #raja gemini #manila luzon #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #rpdr fanfiction #submission #m/f au #mamma mia au

50 notes · View notes