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themaribatpit · 3 years

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Jasonette July Day 9: Pixie

Written by: The Maribat Pit @jasonette-july-event

Prompt: Pixie

Rated: T

(By popular demand, a slight continuation of Game On @aespades, @certainmuffinbagelcalzone.)

A/n: Edits have been made because I noticed the paragraph errors AFTER posting this.

Marinette was really starting to miss the days of working with Chat Noir at that moment, and that was saying something. “Bugaboo” and “My Lady” were starting to feel more tolerable when she wasn’t being called that every second of the day. Being called “Pixie” regardless if she was Ladybug or Marinette, was really starting to get old, fast. For reasons that she could not understand, that’s what Jason insisted on calling her. Sure, she was a lot smaller compared to him, but that coupled with needing to hang back and let Red Hood and Arsenal deal out the heavier hits was starting to get on her nerves. She was just as experienced as them, she had a mentor just like they did, and had been saving lives for just as long as they had. Ever since she had joined them, she thought that she would be fighting alongside a team again. Now she was either supporting them or using her sewing skills to add improvements to their suits. She was in good hands, some might say hands that were a little too good. All this frustrated her to no end because she liked Jason, she would have thought that someone who had been a vigilante from a young age would understand what it felt like to be constantly underestimated.

“Unbelievable,” she snapped one night as she came home from another mission. She pulled off her pink flats and threw them across the room as she entered her apartment. She didn’t even get the chance to use her Miraculous, she was effectively closely guarded bait on that last mission. She slumped on the bed in frustration and Tikki hovered over to her, her antenna drooping in concern. “Some days I want to wipe that smile off of that stupid face, just to prove I can.” Marinette grumbled into her pillow. She didn’t hate Jason, she knew that there was some good in him. Roy was the more optimistic and cheerful of the duo, like Jason, he had also been mentored by a more experienced hero. Jason was a lot more reserved and cynical by comparison, though he wasn’t a complete Ice Prince like his brother Damian.

“Maybe it’s because they’ve been doing this for a little bit longer.” Tikki suggested, after Marinette complained about it for the umpteenth time.

“Batgirl and Black Bat are only a few years younger than me,” she reminded her, “and there’s no doubt that they could hold their own in a fight. No one gives them stupid nicknames, just shortened versions of their real names out of costume.” Tikki awkwardly scratched the back of her head. “I bet you that he barely remembers what my real name is.” Marinette was getting increasingly furious at the thought “it’s always ‘Pixie this’ and ‘Pixie that’. I know I’m shorter than him, but I have taken on giant robot dolls, literal monsters, and I once rode a dragon!” Marinette yelled.

Marinette throws a pillow at Tikki, only for it to phase through her. “What does he think I do as Ladybug? Create Christmas presents with my Lucky Charm?!”

At this very unfortunate moment Jason happened to return back to their apartment with Roy in tow. “What’s got you riled up, Pixie Pop?” Jason quipped after seeing the frustrated look on her face. This was the last straw for Marinette, “Stop calling me that! Does it please you to demean me? Does it bring you joy to fucking bully me day in and day out?” Jason and Roy take a step back from Marinette’s outburst. Marinette continues “I have kept Paris safe ever since I was 13, I didn’t have the World's Greatest Detective or a Robin Hood cosplayer helping me. It’s always you two off saving the day while I’m the distraction. Do I have to remind you that I’ve beaten Robin and Red Robin?”

“So have we, right Roy?” Jason says look backwards to Roy. Roy meanwhile was slowly walking backwards with his arms up in surrender.

“Don’t drag me into this please.” Roy pleaded.

Marinette continued her rant, “So why do you keep calling me Pixie Pop like I'm some pet or stuffed animal?” She storms up to Jason and pulls him down to her height by the collar.

Roy sensed the tension and wanted absolutely no part in making it worse, “You know what? I’m gonna go get us some shawarma.”

Jason looked over at Roy “Really, Roy?” A slight scowl made it clear he knew Roy was essentially leaving him to face Marinette’s wrath.

“All I know is that they are open at four in the morning and I’m hungry, so I’ll be right back.” Roy said, and he left the room. Just as he thought Roy was out of earshot, Jason heard sprinting down the hallway. Roy had abandoned him to face the burning blue fire in Marinette’s eyes.

Marinette let go of him, she didn’t need them, she had made that absolutely clear.

“I’m done, I don’t expect you to understand what it’s like to be underestimated all of the time.” she muttered harshly, “to always be kept at arm's length, because no one trusts you to do anything right.”

Marinette had no idea just how deep her words cut him, and Jason couldn’t really blame her. As far as she knew, compared to his brothers, he might as well just be ‘the one with the guns and leather jackets’. He hadn’t really told her about what had happened all those years ago, he didn’t even like to think about it himself. Roy was one of the few people who understood what he’d been through. It was true that both of them started out as sidekicks, maybe the red in their costumes helped them stand out from their mentor’s shadows. Their time as young crime fighters had left their scars. They were blindsided when they found someone who had been a heroine since she was 13, and took to it with the same determination they had when they were younger, more innocent, more naïve.

As Marinette flitted around the room, gathering her things, every nerve in Jason’s body was screaming at him to stop her. He reached out and grabbed her by the arm, trying not to think about just how small it felt around his hand. “Look, I’m sorry,” he began. What could he say to her? That he knew exactly what that felt like? That the last thing they wanted was for her to end up like them? That every hit they took in a fight was one that she wouldn’t have to, so that she wouldn’t turn out broken like they were? The problem was she didn’t see them as broken, she saw them treating her like glass. If she was put through the same ordeal, Jason had no idea what he would do. If she shattered just like they did, then in a way, they would have failed her. If she came out still whole, still brimming with light, then what did that say about them?

Marinette pulled her arm away, “I’ll show you, then you’ll be sorry” she told him bitterly. With her backpack in hand and shoes on her feet, she pushed past him and walked out the door.

Jason remains staring at the open door, regretting how he had treated her. He grew fond of her during their time together as ‘Red Arse Bug’. She had a cute face, cute voice and she wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. “Stupid, stupid” he says to himself, facepalm at each syllable. Even with the now hostile relationship with Marinette, he knew he had to follow her. He had to stop her from making the same mistakes he did, so that she would not become like him. He put on his helmet and left to search for clues as to where Marinette would go and what she would do.

Marinette wandered through Gotham city, unsure what to do now that she stormed out of the apartment she shared with Jason and Roy. She felt like everyone belittled her, Selena did, and now so did Jason. She needed to do something eye-catching, to prove to everyone that she didn’t need their help.

As she wanders past the Iceberg Lounge, she gets a spark of inspiration. If she could take down the Penguin single-handedly, nobody in Gotham would doubt her ever again. With unyielding determination she calls out “Spots On” and turns to Ladybug, ready to take on one of the cruelest crime lords in all of Gotham. Ladybug walks up to the front door and kicks it down, sending the door flying and knocking any unfortunate goons behind it. Penguin’s gang whipped out their guns, tire irons, pipes and anything that could count as a weapon and were now charging in to stop the intruder.

Marinette swings her yo-yo to wrap around one of the goon’s ankles, before swinging him around crashing him into several others. A guard points his rifle behind Ladybug, she spins around, sending her yo-yo towards the gun and pulling it from his hands. As the guards begin to group up together in an attempt to minimise the effectiveness of her yo-yo, Marinette looks up and begins to smirk. She flings her yo-yo upwards and hooks it onto a chandelier. She yanks it down, sending the chandelier crashing onto the unsuspecting guards.

Marinette dusts her hands and proceeds to walk through into the main hall. She proceeds to kick down that door too, she is then greeted by The Penguin surrounded by his gang. “I’m taking you down Cobblepot.” She shouts, swinging her yo-yo as if it was a lasso, preparing for a fight.

The Penguin stands up from the seat of his large chair. “What are all you idiots waiting for?” He shouts all around him. He points his umbrella at Ladybug, and begins shooting his umbrella gun. “Get her!” The penguin roars, at this cue every gangster charges at Ladybug.

Marinette gracefully dodges and weaves around Penguin’s army, knocking each one out one by one. Until only The Penguin remains, she wraps her yo-yo around his umbrella, easily disarming one of Gotham’s most wanted. She walks towards The Penguin, slowly unravelling her yo-yo in anticipation of tying him up and sending him to Arkham Asylum.

The Penguin takes out a little remote control from his suit pocket, “It's not over yet.” he snarls and pushes a button. At that moment the entire building shakes.

“Born on a Monday” a voice groaned, followed by another loud thud. “Christened on a Tuesday.” the same voice groaned. Then a giant hand shoots up from beneath the floor, “SOLOMON GRUNDY” roared the giant as it emerged from the floor.

Red Hood and Arsenal had been watching the fight from a careful distance outside the Iceberg Lounge. “Well, she’s managed to take on Penguins goons just fine,” Arsenal observed through the small pair of binoculars, “she’s certainly had plenty of time to get very creative with that yo-yo”.

Red Hood’s hand was still itching to reach for one of his pistols, ready to jump in at the first sign of trouble. “By the way, how was your shawarma?” he asked sarcastically.

Arsenal looked over at him, raising an eyebrow “Hey, I’m not the one who said the one thing that just made her angrier, you were on your own there.”

“Nice to know you had my back.” he grumbled.

“Oh I do in a fight, you just decided to be an ass and poke the angry girl with a stick.” Arsenal pointed out.

Their banter was interrupted by an earth shattering thud, following a loud groan “Born on a Monday.” At that moment their blood ran cold. Red Hood and Arsenal rushed towards the Iceberg Lounge. Both worried for Ladybug and aware of what comes after that dreadful nursery rhyme.

“What are you two doing here? I can handle this.” growled Ladybug as Red Hood and Arsenal arrived.

Before either Red Hood or Arsenal could answer, they were interrupted by Solomon Grundy smashing the ground where Ladybug was standing. Ladybug gracefully dodged the punch, grappling onto a ceiling lamp to swing towards Grundy with a kick.

The giant grabbed Ladybug while she was mid-air and threw her towards her partners. Red Hood catches her, holding her tightly as the two fly across the room. He shields her from the shock, taking the brunt of the impact as they crash into the wall.

Red Hood groans “You okay?” Ladybug looks up to see she was relatively unharmed, but Red Hood had taken the brunt of the throw. Concern visible on her face as she sees Red Hood’s damaged helmet, and the bruised and bloodied face beneath.

Their quiet moment together was interrupted by Arsenal's cries for help. Every arrow he had in his quiver wasn’t making a dent in Solomon Grundy. Ladybug decides to cast Lucky Charm in desperation, and swings her yo-yo up. The ladybugs converge to form...a polka-dotted stick of dynamite.

“Arsenal!” She called. “Tie this to the end of an arrow, Red Hood and I will keep it busy.” She tosses the dynamite to Arsenal and tells Red Hood to tie Grundy down.

Ladybug using her yo-yo grabs on to Solomon Grundy’s left arm while Red Hood uses his grappling hook to hold on to his right arm. Leaving Grundy exposed and immobile, giving Arsenal the opportunity for a clear unobstructed target.

Arsenal draws and aims the special Lucky Charm Explosive Arrow. The giant zombie growls “Arrow Boy no hurt Grundy.”

“Arrow Boy yes hurt Grundy” quipped Arsenal, before releasing the arrow causing a thunderous explosion into Solomon Grundy’s face. The giant slumps, Ladybug and Red Hood quickly release their hold and watch its body fall back into the hole in which it came from.

Solomon Grundy’s body lays motionless in the basement of the Iceberg Lounge as the three peer over the hole in the ground, “Let’s get outta here before the GCPD or worse, Batman arrive” Red Hood points to the front door, and the three of them leave the lounge to head back to their apartment.

As the three arrive home, they each find a nice comfortable spot to collapse onto. Jason claimed the sofa, slumped down Roy in the middle of the living room floor and Marinette sat at the dining table. “I vote for a week off.” groaned Roy.

“I second that motion” agreed Jason.

“I still have design work to do.” Marinette told them, not really looking at either of them at that moment. She was torn between appreciating their help, and frustrated that she hadn’t been able to handle the situation herself like she thought.

“Still that was one hell of a fight, and hey, you still managed to take on a squad of goons by yourself.” Roy said, “I’m so proud” he said dramatically pretending to wipe away a happy tear.

He nudged Jason in the leg, “um, yeah, good work” he said awkwardly, slightly lost in thought. Marinette smiled slightly, before turning her attention back to her little fairy friend perched on the table.

“So does this mean Red Arse Bug is back together?” Roy asked enthusiastically, Marinette wasn’t really paying attention.

The name still needed work, for one thing. For once Marinette felt like her powers were being used in harmony with their abilities, but she wasn’t sure if it was a feeling that she should get used to. Marinette could still vividly remember seeing Jason’s bruised and bloodied face beneath his helmet. Jason stood up and walked over to the fridge, looking for ice to dull the swelling on his face.

“Not with that name,” Jason grumbled, not entirely sure if Marinette was willing to stay after their argument. Someday, somehow, he would tell her the full story of what happened to him. Right now, that was a whole Pandora’s Box that he just wasn’t prepared to open. Nestled at the bottom of that box was hope, a hope that no one else would meet that same fate.

“...Lucky Shot?” Marinette suggested as she carried Tikki over to the sofa and sat down. Both Jason and Roy looked up, it made some sense, seeing as they both used projectiles and she had her lucky charms. Jason tentatively made his way back to the sofa, ice pack in hand.

“Sounds better than ‘Red Arse Bug’.” Jason remarked, as he sat back down.

“Well, let’s see if our little adventure made the news” Roy said, as he reached for the TV remote. Jason tuned out Vicki Vale’s voice as she reported on the fight that took place at the Iceberg Lounge.

As Roy slept at their feet, Jason knew if they were going to continue working together as a team, they couldn’t keep her in the dark any longer.

“Hey Marinette.” Jason speaks softly. Marinette's ears perk in surprise, hearing speak her name for the first time. “I’m sorry, for what I said and how we treated you. You’re right.” He gestures to the sleeping Roy on the floor, “Both of us started out as sidekicks, we both grew up in the shadows of Batman and Green Arrow. Both old men with impossibly high standards, everything we did was never enough.” Marinette listened intently as she shuffled closer to him on the sofa. “We’ve both been to hell and back, Marinette. Literally in my case.” he explained, Marinette glanced down at Tikki for a moment, as if silently asking if her magic was somehow involved in this. “But always remember, we have each other’s backs, just like The Three Musketeers.” Jason told her, Marinette giggles at his literary reference.

“Roy’s Porthos, you’re Aramis, I guess that makes me D’Artagnan.” Marinette chimes. Jason loved to see that hopeful smile on her face. What scared him the most was the idea that something or someone would try and take that away from her. They couldn’t keep treating her like glass, and they couldn’t keep treating her like a sidekick if they wanted to keep her from making their mistakes. They were all going to fight like hell to make sure this world didn’t break her the way it broke them. Marinette leaned in close and rested her head on his shoulder. He felt her calm even breathing, fanning his neck as she slept peacefully at his side.

#jasonette #jasonettejuly2021 #maribat #ml x dc

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moeyy-writes · 3 years

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Slow Your Roll

Zak Bagans x Reader

Word Count: 666 (oops)

Warnings: some flirting, otherwise just fluff. No real plot, and poorly edited (as usual).

My Master List

You pressed the record button on your camera, then nodded to Zak. He smiled, then started his newest intro to the location the team was investigating. When he did his introductions, he slowly walked as he talked, always keeping in mind that the person or people filming him were walking backwards. But, today, he was extra amped. That being said, this was his fifth take because he kept practically running you over.

“This location is one of the darkest we’ve encountered in a long time,” Zak boomed as he rushed his way down the hallway. His voice was stern, and his movements were fluid. He was back in the zone.

And walking way too fast again.

You tried to catch up with his pace, and keep your camera balanced on your shoulder, but he was doing it again. He got this way at locations where the activity started early. He was over six feet tall, and you were quite a bit shorter. Your legs couldn’t keep up with him.

And, like every other time today, your camera leaned backwards, and you lost your balance.

“Shit!” you screamed as you finally lost your footing.

“Geez, Y/N!” Zak huffed as he reached out for you, grabbing your wrist. Your camera fell onto the carpet behind you, most likely a little damaged from the impact. But, unlike the last few times, you never hit the floor. Zak’s grip on your wrist held.

He pulled you against him, chuckling lightly. “I’m so sorry, babe. At least I caught you this time.” You nodded, offering a slightly shaky smile.

“Yeah, I know. You’re just excited about this location. But maybe Jay should film this part. I don’t need to break another camera.” You pulled back a little and grounded yourself. “I don’t want to dull your enthusiasm.” You leaned up and kissed his cheek, making him smile.

“You only add to it, babe. I can guarantee that.” Zak winked, then stole a kiss from your lips. “But, you’re right. I don’t want to run you over again. You can film the interviews after this.” You nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, Jay has longer legs than me,” you teased, peering down the hall at your friend. “And he’ll hold up better if he gets run over.” The two of you laughed, and he pulled you close again.

“Just try not to distract me during the interviews, alright gorgeous?” He held your chin up with his index finger and cocked an eyebrow. You grinned.

“No promises,” you whispered. Zak pulled you closer and kissed you again. This time, he lingered, capturing your bottom lip between his before gently pulling away.

You smiled up and him, then turned toward your camera, which lay in two pieces on the floor. You sighed, then turned back to Zak.

“Well, at least it was just the external mic that came off. That’s easily fixed,” you muttered hopefully. Zak chuckled behind you, before calling for Jay to come over. Jay stared down at the camera in your hands, then at you, quickly asking if you were okay.

“Don’t worry, Zak at least caught me this time.” Jay stared at his friend and rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I’ll tag you out. We don’t need to add to the ghosts in this place.” He peered over at Zak. “Plus, she’d haunt your ass forever, Z.” You cackled and hugged Jay’s shoulders, then hauled the remnants of your camera toward the set up area. You hoped Aaron and Billy would help you piece everything back together before the interviews started.

Before meeting the guys back at the RV, you peered down the hall at Zak and Jay. Jay was filming Zak as he rushed his way down the hall, just like before. Jay stumbled a few times, but kept his balance.

You smiled, admiring Zak’s wide grin and rapid hand movements. You loved his passion for what you all did. You just hoped he saved some of that enthusiasm for the lockdown.

#zak bagans x reader #zak bagans #zak bagans and reader #zak bagans reader insert #jay wasley #ghost adventures

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infinitum-imaginaerum · 4 years

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Secrets | Joshua

Joshua | Secrets

Words | 9,180

Notes | Bodyguard!Joshua, mentions of alcohol, mild cursing. Angst/Fluff;

I’m back-ish with a very rough (I think) piece, mildly edited. I’m excited but nervous to be posting here again and I don’t know how often it will be that I will be posting but.... here’s this; my first svt piece in 8 months. This is a repost since... the tagging system on this site... yeah...

The fake smiles and peach Bellinis, the overdone cologne and extravagant attire, the crystal chandeliers and table decorations all brought a sneer to your face when you assumed nobody was paying close enough attention. The solitude didn’t bother you so much, it was nice to not feel like you were being suffocated for at least ten minutes; ten minutes of breathing to yourself was all you ever asked for. Always being tugged this way and that for photo ops got exhausting. The photo ops weren’t even the most taxing part, it was the fake relationship you had to keep up with one of the most prominent up and coming jewelry designer’s son, who you had happily dated at one point.

Big chunky bracelets, rings that looked too heavy for fingers, necklaces layered to the hills, and earrings that may have ripped anyone’s earlobes open was the type of gaudy jewelry you always had to put on display with a disgusting fake smile while your now-ex-boyfriend dripped with confidence, somehow, that made your skin crawl. Being in his direct vicinity all the time to keep up the image of this perfect shining couple for the sake of jewelry promotions quite frankly made your stomach turn, but the perks may have made it worth it—occasionally.

Some of the more elegant jewelry picks, a lump sum of money, some days wiping that egotistical smirk off his face were a few things that made it all worthwhile since you were frequently the one being interviewed at events about the jewelry line while still not being the heir. That boiled his blood in a way that genuinely turned your lips up in an almost unnoticeable smile. The couth you had to sit there in front of him and take all the questions with such grace—you could feel the way his fingers dug into your hip when he sat with you a bit friendly, but it was all for show. The two of you were business partners now, and that’s really all it boiled down to.

But you’d had your run-in with his less than stellar attitudes, at galas and showcases when he lost his temper with you being a show-stealer, and often forcefully kept you around to keep the cameras on him. That’s when you found Joshua. You’d found him and his specific skillset in a newspaper ad—it was unlike you to read the newspaper but you perused the ad section for job listings, animal adoptions, and all kinds of other things when you came across his blurb:

Full or Part Time Bodyguard. Trained in hand to hand and weapons combat, CPR certified, available for any/all events. To Inquire, call Joshua Hong.

While you had entertained the idea of a bodyguard for a while, it never really became a necessity until the business partnership you had was getting a bit more aggressive. There was little you could do to complain, because leaving was always a viable option, albeit they begged you to stay for publicity purposes—they being the family after hearing of your falling out. But Joshua became a harsher reality as the partnership became most hostile.

When you first saw Joshua at a consultation, he was the last type you’d ever suspect. You wouldn’t say he was far from intimidating looking, but he didn’t radiate a whole ass-kicking like you had expected. He was quieter with soft eyes but very professional. He spoke to you matter-of-factly, laying out all your options and drafting contract ideas in case you wanted to go through with hiring him. You figured it couldn’t hurt to have him around, particularly at events where anything could have gone unnoticed in such a large crowd, especially with the way you were treated.

Bringing Joshua to the table for a showcase rocked the boat a bit. It turned into an escalation by your ‘business partner’ about how it was unnecessary to have a bodyguard and that it would only bring suspicions about your relationship, to which you retaliated, “As if you harshly pulling me around isn’t enough.” His parents could do little to object. You had Joshua there with you, or you were out of the deal, which would bring their publicity and the whole story of a budding couple getting into jewelry design together to a screeching halt and they would undoubtedly lose the following and media support they’d gained because of it.

Joshua became even less favorable by the end of the first confrontation between him and the egomaniac. He was demanding you around at a photo-op, even sternly in front of the photographers—most of which by now were suspicious of the condition of your relationship because really how dare he talk to you like that much less in public—and often grabbed you by the arm and placed you exactly where he wanted you when he wanted you to be there. It was in Joshua’s contract to tolerate minor things like that, but he ground his teeth at just the sight but kept his mouth shut for the duration of the shoot. But when it was finally time to go home, he sure gave a piece of his unsolicited mind.

“Next time, how about you try keeping your hands off,” Joshua commented a bit harshly in the direction of the man who quickly became an enemy.

“Joshua,” you pleaded with him as you were packing your things, but your ex had already turned face to chest Joshua up. He ignored you for a moment, knowing you weren’t in any danger because the only danger to you was currently right in his face.

“I’ll put her where I want, when I want,” was the confident reply.

“Actually, you won’t,” Joshua spat back, eye to eye with the slightly shorter male in front of him. “You will keep your hands to yourself.”

“Mister Hong,” you almost barked, his full name flowing from your lips like a command to a soldier, which was in essence what he was. He choked off the growl in his throat as he turned face to return to you while you finished gathering your things, but not without giving the other man—who looked as if that was a battle he’d won instead of a battle he’d just been saved from—a glare that would make his mother pale. You picked up your bag after Joshua helped your jacket on and you left the building.

He did his best to bite his tongue in situations he knew he should just be quiet and wait for your cue or follow the contract to a T. The first gala was an absolute trip—there were hundreds of people, too many asking too many questions, flashing cameras in your face, people crowding left and right and that same smile on your face even he could tell was fake. But he played the part well—he donned a pressed black suit with a lovely fuchsia carnation pinned on his lapel. The only thing that made him out of place was the clear earpiece he had tapped to the microphone in the clip of your hair. If he was too far to see you, he could at least hear you if there was a problem.

It was obvious enough that it deterred people from asking him questions, or even talking to him really, but he wasn’t the only guard on duty so he spent most of his time playing wallflower, lined up with the others as they observed the gala. It was clear that it was strictly forbidden to interact with you under circumstances not outlined in the contract, by direct request of the family of honor. You figured it was fair, as the whole reason you were there was to portray an image and Joshua wasn’t part of it.

Most gala’s he spent gritting his teeth as he stood tall against the wall, watching the way your partner manhandled you just within the boundaries of the contract until it was finally over when he would follow you close out of the venue and take your hand to step you off the curb to let you fall into the passenger’s seat of his car brought around by valet just to get in and grip the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grasp and silently take you home, and be paid out on your doorstep—what soon became the routine.

But the routine changed when you grew a little fonder of Joshua when you lingered to leave when you were no longer in need of his services, when sometimes you sat in the passenger’s seat of his car to just sit and process, or to vent, or to just enjoy being in the company of another without the stress of a business agenda. When you finally talked freely about interests outside of this partnership you had with him. When he walked you to your door and had a little more to say, irrelevant to being paid—things as simple as sleep well, or stay safe, or until next time, things other than thank you for your business. When it seemed as though he was growing fonder of you, too.

And then, the door once cracked opened a bit more when a late conversation turned into a disagreement turned into something else.

You knew he’d been disgruntled with the inability to do anything about the situation, with the way the boundaries were teased and tested and Joshua’s investment in you continued to grow beyond the confines of said contract. It brought on a lot of tension between the two of you, as if there hadn’t been tension on car rides home after parties or showcases or reveals or fundraisers—it didn’t really matter, he took you to and from almost every event.

He was quieter than usual, something you tried to ignore as you tended the bruise against your arm from where you’d been grabbed multiple times throughout the night, mostly minding your own business and exchanged your attention between that and the passing of the city outside the car window. The air conditioning was cool on your skin, soothing on your feet from being pressed in heels all night that you’d slightly kicked off in a bit of relief before he finally broke the silence.

“When are you going to let me give him what’s coming?” Joshua asked you, his tone a little urgent, and startled you a little bit in the deep leather bucket seat of his car. “It’s been five months and time and time again you let him tug you around like a rag-doll and only half the time can I see the discomfort on your face, but a hundred percent of the time I can hear it when you grunt or wince or yelp.”

You sighed heavily—this wasn’t particularly a conversation you wanted to have.

“He’s within the contract,” you replied.

“Any malicious touch should be outside the contract,” he growled.

“Well then it’s a good thing you didn’t write it,” you replied as he pulled up to your place, shutting the car off after throwing it into park to walk you up to your door like he always did. You had a bottom floor apartment, which made slipping your heels back on and stepping out of the car less of a battle since you wouldn’t have to climb any stairs. Even though he was a bit put off with you, he still rounded the car to gently take your hand to pull you up from the seat, double-checking to make sure you had everything, and walked you up to your door.

“I wish I had,” he finally replied as you turned the key in the handle to tumble the look to unlock your door. “I wish I had because he would have stopped testing the both of us months ago.”

“That’s not your call to make,” you replied, grabbing the envelope that sat on the table just inside your doorway which already had a predetermined amount enclosed with his name written in fine script across it the same way that it always did. “I hired you to do a specific job, you agreed to adhere to the contract; if you don’t like the contract, we can discontinue this partnership at any time,” you finished.

Part of you couldn’t decide if he hadn’t heard anything you said, or if he was just taking his time to reply, because his gaze was effectively all over your face, refusing to reach up for the envelope. You could see the look in his eyes that generally meant he was thinking, but what came next you almost couldn’t prepare for.

Both his warm hands cupped your cheeks, tilting your head up towards his just enough for him to gracefully take your lips with his. Your back softly hit the frame of your door as his envelope crumpled in your hand, and you found yourself instinctively leaning up into his mouth while your free hand momentarily cupped the back of his neck before you came to and nudged him away.

“Joshua…” you muttered a tad breathlessly, breaking the kiss. There were a million things that should have been going through your mind at that point, starting with how unprofessional all of this was, continuing with the image you had to maintain and how this whole thing would interfere with that, and finishing with grappling with your feelings that were turning your stomach over like a fish on deck.

One of his hands had slipped away from your face to hold you steady, warm and wide on your hip, but the other continued to tenderly stroke against your cheek while you looked at each other. His envelope was still clutched in your hand against his side, your other hand sliding away from the back of his neck and down his lapel—you could push him away, you should push him away. You wanted to tell him how many problems this would cause, how complicated this just made everything, but somehow all you could think about was the glitter in his eyes, the mint tones of his breath, and the taste of his pomegranate chapstick.

He must have known it wasn’t a good move because he collected the envelope from your hand without much more delay for thought—your door was already open so he didn’t have to wait any longer as he bid you goodnight, reminded you to sleep well, and turned to be on his way. You found his name stuck in the back of your throat, dying to come out, but also dying to stay in. The implications of the situation swirled in your head, and you gave a rickety exhale before finding your feet enough to retreat through your door.

Business continued as usual, Joshua attended with you as usual, but the only difference was that you were getting progressively more infuriated with the way you were being treated as another month passed. The jig had to have been up, the publicity you were gaining from keeping up the relationship lie had to have faded by now, but the numbers didn’t lie. Joshua was still at your side, in the background, observing, wherever he needed to be to ensure his job was done correctly.

You had taken a nasty fall on one of the sets of a photo-op because of an impatient and tugging hand of the typical problem male. Joshua lurched from against the wall as you cursed, the floor hard against your knees, and you stayed on the ground for a moment while your nails clawed against the tile, pushing away the sting. A sweet voice whispered your name, and you knew who it belonged to, along with the hand that was extended in front of you. You stared at it for a moment before sitting up enough to dust your hands against each other, and daintily place one in Joshua’s large and warm one. He slowly lifted you to your feet, wanting to check your knees which were hidden behind a floral maxi-dress.

“Pathetic, can’t even get up on your own,” your ex-boyfriend spat in your direction, and the sigh that left your lips could have been a call from hell itself.

Your gaze turned up slowly, away from the ground, and up to his face like the inferno was ready to take him through the earth’s crust. There was a snarl turning at the corners of your nose, and it was clear as day you’d had it up to your eyeballs. Your hand gripped Joshua’s with all the strength you had, and he could only look at you, waiting for your cue, waiting for you to cut him loose before you brought your free hand up and clapped it against the side of the face of your unruly business partner. It was a sound that rang through the room, and by the sound of the cry that exited just a moment after, you caught him upwards on the jaw and probably snapped his teeth together.

He yelled profanities at you, but the exhaustion of his antics were clear in your eyes. Joshua snarled at him when he attempted to approach, but you almost begged for it.

“Do you want another?” you asked him, a tinge in your voice that startled even Joshua. The blood from your split knee was trickling down your leg at this point, you could feel it go, but your one hand clutched the hand it held unwaveringly.

The way your voice softened when you turned your head to speak to Joshua was like night and day. “My knees are bleeding,” you informed him, feeling them quiver as you continued to stand, bruising imminent. He didn’t hesitate to place your hand against his shoulder to slide around his neck and lift your legs out from under you. Your wicked ex-boyfriend took a step, but Joshua was quick and turned to check.

“Try me,” he growled and waited for an advance that never came before he turned to take you out of the room. One of the photography hands followed the two of you out with a first aid kit but stood aside to let Joshua take care of you. You pulled the dress up past your knees—it was worse than you thought. He requested some water to begin to clean your leg before cleaning the split that was already black and purple and swollen to the hills.

“You must have gone down pretty hard,” he commented, gingerly tending to said wound, but diligently nonetheless to get it cleared away enough to assess. At that point, all you cared about was the bloodstain on the knee of your pretty white dress. The pain was ignorable, your ex was ignorable, Joshua was mostly ignorable, but the pain you felt in your pride from letting him treat you like that which manifested in the stain on your dress was not. You looked at the stain with such disdain as you held it in your hands.

“I’ll get you a new dress,” he muttered after noting the look on your face.

“That’s not the point!” you yelled back harshly. He looked at you calmly, knowing your outburst wasn’t directed at him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied quietly and turned his gaze back down to bandage your knee, at least well enough to complete the shoot because he knew you weren’t going to leave without finishing it.

And so you did; the blood on your dress could be edited out, so that posed little concern. What did concern you, however, was the attitudes in the room and how they would shift. From then on, every move was checked with Joshua, both your eyes and your ex-boyfriend’s eyes meeting him if he ever even reached for you. Something in the way you’d whole-hand clapped him and the look on Joshua’s face after the fact—he had to have known at that point that he wasn’t ‘safe’ anymore. It was as if he could see that Joshua had been unclipped from the figurative leash.

You finished the shoot with no further altercations but definitely needed help with some of the positions as your knee was unable to bend certain ways anymore, for the time being. When the shoot was finally over, you stayed on the set couch for a lingering moment as Joshua gathered your things and brought them over to you, but not without clipping shoulders with the trouble-maker himself.

He had your duffel over his shoulder, creasing the jacket of his suit but refused to let you take it when he was able to get you on your feet again. You looked up at him with a scowl, almost as if to say that you could carry it yourself, but he gave you a skeptical look, not skeptical that you could carry it but that you were injured and he would just as well carry it for you.

You paid the photography crew your respects before beginning to hobble out of the set and eventually out of the building. Joshua offered you his arm as a crutch multiple times that you refused, stubbornly, until he’d finally had enough.

“Please take my arm, or I’ll carry you out of here,” he almost threatened as a gave a smile to the man at the security desk while you passed him, who gave you a curious look as you limped. You wanted to growl, but begrudgingly took his arm anyway; admittedly, it relieved some pain. He put your duffel in the back seat once finally arriving at the car and then opened the passenger’s door for you. Gingerly you lifted your damaged leg into the car first before all but falling in after it and let him close the door behind you.

As usual, he turned on the air conditioner a bit high—you needed to cool off after every interaction you had with your ex on any business excursion you needed to attend. You kept your rage entirely inside which boiled your blood and made your face hot and the cool air was quite helpful to bring it all back. Joshua delayed in starting the car for a moment as he looked over to you to make sure you were okay, but you ignored the pain in your knee and looked out the window, waiting for the car to start moving. He sighed, noting the bloodstains on the knee of your dress before finally bringing the car to life to take you home. It was already late into the afternoon, and he knew you’d want time to prepare dinner and shower and other things to relax for the evening, so he didn’t waste any more time.

He took you and your bag up to your front door the way he normally did, only this time with one of your hands wrapped around his arm to steady yourself as you hobbled slowly with your heels in your other hand before you were digging for your keys. Once your door opened, you threw your shoes in and took the duffel bag from him to toss that inside the doorway as well and reached for his envelope on the table, and turned back to him.

Joshua stood tall and respectfully the way he always did, alert with his shoulders square, hands clasps behind his back. Somehow his hair was always immaculate, his suit always pressed with zero hints of wrinkles, too professional; but his eyes looked at you softly, eyes you were looking into deeper and deeper every time you got the chance, eyes that captivated you like nothing else. You clutched the envelope in both your hands, a thought stirring in the back of your throat as you looked up at him.

“Joshua…” you started, trying to get the thought out as the envelope crumpled in your fingers.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied respectfully, only for you to remind him of your name even though you knew he hadn’t forgotten.

“I don’t pay you for this…” you started, crumpling the envelope a little more as you looked down at it, “but I would, if you wanted; I just don’t have any near family and I don’t want to be alone after all that and—”

“I’ll stay, for a bit, if that’s what you need. I’m here to serve you,” he replied, the tenseness in his shoulders dropping a little bit as his hands came forward to cup over yours, stopping you from nervously crinkling his envelope, “And don’t worry about compensating me.”

You weren’t sure how to reply as he finessed the envelope from your hands, setting it back down on the table you always retrieved it from as he walked you slowly back through the doorway of your apartment and kicked his shoes by the door. “Do you mind if I take my coat off?” he asked you, and you were a bit taken aback by the question—he was always dressed professionally, and this was the first time he would be taking his jacket off in front of you. All you could do was nod as you peeled yours off, too, a sweet dark washed cropped jean jacket.

At some point you remember getting him a glass of water, you remember excusing yourself to change so that you could spot treat your dress and assess the damage on your knee yourself as Joshua made himself at home on your couch. It was the first time Joshua would see you in more casual clothes instead of dolled up for some event, but it was fair because you were seeing him cut a little loose too. You remember flipping on the TV to drown out the somewhat awkward silence that loomed between the two of you for a bit, before agreeing on what to order for food. It was still a bit early for dinner, so some mindless TV was in order for a little bit. A part of Joshua had expected something else; maybe some feelings dumping or something similar, but he didn’t mind the fact that you just wanted to relish his company.

That didn’t stop him from consistently looking at you, consistently noting the way your eyes would get a bit glassy before being controlled—you refused to cry in front of him. He wasn’t there to comfort you, that wasn’t his job, and you didn’t want to make it seem like it was. But when you could feel him looking at the side of your face a little too hard, you turned to look at him with the intention of asking if he wanted to order food, but ended up getting trapped in his eyes again.

You could feel your breath hitch in your throat, meeting his gaze, but he didn’t seem surprised. His eyebrows rose for a split second, hardly even noticed as he looked back at you—your eyes were still a bit glassy from the forced back tears. He wouldn’t dare ask you to speak, much less speak about what was on your mind; he had unclear instructions of what he was there for, but it took everything in him to just sit there and say nothing, do nothing.

He took a leap, and reached over to retrieve your hand closest to him, which happened to be your left hand, and cupped it in both of his.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through; I can’t even begin to imagine how hard and taxing it is, how unbreakable your resolve has been, how strong you have been, but I know that you are. I know that you are gracious and kind and patient. I know that you are so much than I get to see, so much more than anything he’d ever deserve.”

It was meant to be comforting, to be encouraging, and it was. Somehow, your fingers threaded between his and squeezed, trying to stave the tears that he had inadvertently pushed up to your waterline, and to avoid having him see them fall, you finally turned your face away from his.

“I’m going to order dinner, what would you like?” you asked, voice cracking a little as you quickly stood from the couch to the dismay of your injured knee as your hand left his. You quickly made your way to the kitchen, grabbing a paper towel to dab under your eyes, trying to save the makeup you had left. Vaguely, you heard him say something about getting whatever—he would eat whatever you ordered for him—and pulled out the small book of menus from nearby places.

Joshua sat on the couch, the lack of your hand between his somehow more intense when he knew you needed some comfort as he listened to you flip through some pages and eventually dial a number to place an order. He didn’t expect you to return immediately, or even within a reasonable amount of time, which was good because you didn’t. You continued to stand in the kitchen and grip the counter, pushing your tears back and back and back while trying not to agitate your leg too much; the burn was real from your rush to get up, so you stood on the leg that was still good and bent the other to give it a rest.

Eventually, he was going to have to check on you. He spent plenty of time glancing over to the kitchen to see if you were emerging yet, but it didn’t happen to be the case, so before too long he pushed himself up from the couch as he quietly cooed your name. You had just been rounding the corner out of the kitchen and he’d caught you by surprise, causing you to stumble over your own feet and crash right into him. His anticipatory hands were able to catch you, for the most part, one able to catch your elbow while the other controlled your fall into his body. Your hands were a little more unceremonious, one furling in the fabric of his white dress shirt and the other grabbing onto his bicep while you crash-landed into his chest, staggering him a bit.

It was the first time you were really getting a lungful of his fragrance, swirling around you like phantom chains. The first time you were really feeling the solidity of his body and how protective it was capable of being. The first time you were really feeling the largeness of his hands as he steadied your balance by hulling you up against him to set you fully back on your own feet, the second time his wide palm was placed against your hip, which brought back many memories of the first time just outside your front door. He could have been able to hear the way you swallowed, looking right at his throat, adorned with a perfectly knotted tie and a finely pressed shirt collar.

And for a moment, you stood there with complete silence looming between the two of you while your hands found a more comfortable place to rest which happened to be right on the curve of his chest while the other continued to hold his bicep. It was always hard to see under his immaculate jackets, but now that it was just his dress shirt and an undershirt, you could see the way your hands curved against him.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he finally spoke, throat shifting particularly with how low he was trying to keep his voice, his bicep flexing under your hand as his hands slid a little further around you.

“Thank you for catching me,” you replied, “so I didn’t have to fall in front of you, again.”

For some reason, that hit him painfully. He couldn’t decide if it was because he felt guilty for making you feel embarrassed about what had happened in front of him, or because he felt guilty for not being able to prevent it in the first place. Although it felt like a sting, he was fully aware that you were making no effort to move from his grasp which was still settled somewhat around your waist until you had decided it was long enough and shuffled out of his grasp.

Joshua never dared pry about what was on your mind, even as he continued to watch you push tears away. At one point, you did close the gap between the two of you on the couch and sat with him, hip to hip, at least until your food arrived. You ate quietly, really just relishing each other’s presence outside of business hours, and sometimes caught him looking at you a little too long which he would dismiss with a soft smile. But dinner was quick, and you were cleaning up almost as soon as you sat down, it felt. And the sooner you were done with dinner, you feared, the sooner he would leave and that just wasn’t a thought you were ready to deal with yet. You had been grappling with saying something, giving him anything about what was going on with you—he already had a pretty good idea and made that very apparent, but you got nervous and pulled away.

You cleaned up in the kitchen quickly and grabbed Joshua’s empty glass to refresh it after he insisted the water was perfectly fine, before joining him on the couch again. This time you’d switched over the TV to just play music which was also perfectly fine because it seemed to ease the tension that was bubbling between the two of you.

“You know, I know we’re not that close, and I know you hired me, but if there’s anything you want to say, or if there’s anything you want me to do—”

“Does that anything include hauling a body away?” you joked, trying to lighten the mood since it had been a little dark since you first invited him in. He seemed to find amusement in your joke because he chuckled.

“I just want you to feel comfortable with me, like you don’t have to tiptoe around me or like you can’t experience emotions in front of me—I couldn’t even detect a semblance of pain on your face earlier although I know it hurt,” he reminded you.

“I do feel comfortable with you,” you replied, driving the point home by subconsciously leaning over to cozy up to him, resting your head against his shoulder as you were already sitting hip to him. He seemed a bit shocked, jarring for only a moment before relaxing into the way you pressed against him. “If I didn’t, I would have gotten rid of you a long time ago.”

“Ouch, so expendable,” he jested, resisting settling an arm around your shoulder. He knew from the last time that there were lines that shouldn’t be crossed, even if you were crossing one right now. It was on you what to do, but he couldn’t just take a moment of physical contact as the go-ahead, especially as you pulled away.

“You’re off the clock; you don’t have to be so alert,” you finally added.

“It’s in my nature,” he replied quietly, his gaze casting from your lap and back up to your face. “I can’t help wanting to jump to your defense, even from the threat that’s in your head.”

“At least that tells me that you take your job very seriously,” you replied just as quietly, your voice fading off a bit at the end as his face neared yours a bit more.

“You asked me to come in because you didn’t want to be alone; I think that warrants attention,” he answered. He had a point, but somewhere in the feeling of his warm breath against your cheeks, that point was lost. You knew what was coming, but somehow didn’t have the mind to stop it, or the want to stop it from happening. Your fingers furled into the upholstery of your couch as he came into your space.

“Joshu—” you tried, but the tender way his lips touched against yours cut that off. There was a familiar touch of his fingertips against the cut of your jaw while his mouth gently slanted against yours. The sigh that exhaled through his nose was exacerbated as one of your somewhat panicked hands took a grip of his tie and tugged, encouraging him to tilt your jaw to his will as he readjusted the kiss.

He broke the kiss for a moment to gauge you, a little too in the moment to remember the first time this happened and what a mistake it was; somewhere in the back of his mind he knew the implications, he knew the conditions of your contract with the jewelry gig, he knew the media was keeping watch on your fake relationship, and he knew how much this was forbidden, but that only made him want it more. And you must have felt somewhat the same, because you leaned in to tease his bottom lip with your teeth, feeling the exhilaration of the fleeting freedom from that fake relationship against Joshua’s lips; the way the stress of all of that melted away at the taste of that familiar pomegranate chapstick. His breath was warm against your mouth, anticipating your next move but you made it clear you were waiting for him as you hesitated while his lip slipped from the gentle grip of your teeth and, tentatively, he took your bottom lip to swipe his tongue against it to delve into another forbidden lip lock.

Breathless, you gave a deep exhale against his mouth as you’d finally come to your senses. Somewhere in your subconscious, you knew the two of you were dancing around this chemistry because you knew it would have to be a secret. You’d had all the forethought in the world after the last time about any time you could catch him away from the crowd how badly you wanted to take the lapel of his coat in your hands and melt into him. The last thing you needed was for rumors to start going around about you and him, but in this very moment, as your lips trailed away from his to kiss against the line of his jaw, you seemed to care not. And you knew you would have continued to kiss down his neck the way you’d thought about more times than you’d like to admit out loud if you didn’t know better. But the way his breath hit the air and the way his head tilted back just a bit just begged for a little more.

“Joshua,” you whispered against the slender column of his neck, or what you could reach that wasn’t covered by his completely buttoned shirt as your lips slid up to his ear, “If you don’t knock it off, next time I might not stop.”

A shiver shot down his spine at just the implications of your words. He knew it was wrong, he knew it was complicated, but now he knew that you felt the same way he did, that you knew he just couldn’t help it. His breath hit the air in a huff, a semblance of a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips but it faded just as quickly as his head came back down to meet gaze with you.

“Maybe I don’t want you to,” he replied, the glimmer in his eyes like the entire galaxy condensed. You agreed on the conditions of your current situation from a simple look, but you could also tell in each other’s eyes how much that didn’t matter. All that mattered was not getting caught. All that mattered was that it was a secret. Even still, something ate at you about the riskiness.

You stood from the couch for the sole purpose of creating some distance before you completely lost your resolve, although it was still breaking the more you looked at his eyes, the features of his face, the curves and sharpness of his jaw, and his mouth which you were already so acquainted with.

It would be tough, but you knew already quitting Joshua would be harder already, so you both vowed to keep it as down low as possible, and that meant entirely in the ground in public of any kind.

That meant you attended galas and fundraisers with even more disinterest than you had before, and the tugging persisted but now you were being bombarded with questions about your fake relationship—you did your best to remain quiet and let the star of the show answer. You continued to work on designing pieces in the comfort of your apartment and develop them into fine pieces of jewelry and you were still raking in design rights left and right from a company you wanted to break from entirely. It was slowly becoming apparent that no matter what happened between you and Joshua, that company would owe you royalties for your designs, and undoubtedly would ask you to continue designing since you were the top contributor much to your partner’s dismay.

To do your best to avoid suspicion, Joshua often stayed behind at times he would have typically accompanied you. He spent more time playing wallflower than he was used to, especially as you were being bombarded left and right by people who wanted nothing more than your attention than to pick your brain about your designs, but despite the new dynamic of his investment, he was still your bodyguard. And the more he got invested, the more he hated seeing you put in that fake smile in the arms of a man he already detested; but he vowed to keep his word, and keep his word he did.

Some galas, you just couldn’t take it. Joshua always had a watchful eye on you when you were seated even while Mr. Self-Important was wandering about and entertaining guests, trying to butter them up for a sale or investment of some kind. Occasionally, you’d meet eyes with him before finding your way to your feet and began to weave through the crowd. It wasn’t unusual for him to follow you, as it was agreed he would be keeping eyes on you at all costs. You made your way through many hot bodies crammed in a too-small room as he tried to keep track of your head bobbing through the crowd before making it into a back room. Still, he followed the sound of your heels against the ornate tile. He followed you quite some time before leading him onto the balcony of a backroom you doubted anyone would be finding even if they were adventuring on their own.

“What do you think you’re doing, taking off like that?” he asked you a little roughly, trying to figure out exactly what was going through your mind to just get up and storm off as if that wouldn’t gather some attention.

“I can’t take it anymore,” you replied desperately, looking back at him as you exhaled sharply. The look in your eyes was enough, an inextinguishable fire burned in your very soul. He almost melted under that gaze, daring to shuffle towards you. You let the fresh air wash against the skin exposed by your evening gown—it was refreshing, to say the least; but the way Joshua was looking back at you made it hard to distinguish the cool air from the fire in your veins.

You begged to step passed him and return to the gala—being out here with him alone spelled bad news for the secrecy of your intermingling lives because you could tell the more that you looked at him, the more you couldn’t stop the way your gaze flittered down to his lips for only a moment before trying to recompose yourself. But you went to step anyway, not quick enough for his wide hands which strongly took your hips and backed you up against the railing of the balcony.

“Is that why you lead me out here? You had to have known I would follow you,” he asked, a ghost of a whisper in the slight breeze as he leaned down to capture your gaze again, bringing your eyes up to his and you could feel your breath caught in your throat, hands anticipatorily on his forearms through his suit coat.

You wanted to protest, you wanted to tell him this couldn’t happen—not here, not now. The way he continued to step closer to you made the lump bigger and bigger, making it even more difficult to get words out before he was leaned in too close, and only then were you able to squeak anything out.

“It’s dangerous,” you muttered against his mouth, the familiar taste of his pomegranate chapstick and the plush warmth of his lips against yours broke any semblance of control and your hands ruffled through the hair on the back of his head. It was feverish at first, as if you’d been deprived of him for so long before the actuality of his lips against yours, of his hands on your body tugging you into him finally set in and you calmed down; as did your hands which combed his hair back into place before sitting daintily across his broad shoulders until he broke the kiss off, hypocritically trying to remind you that you were still in public but it didn’t stop the way he placed gentle kisses against your forehead as you leaned into him.

His scent, which you had grown so accustomed to, seemed to be amplified in the quiet wind as you took a deep breath through your nose while his forehead found yours—your eyes remained closed, and it was the most serene moment you’d experienced at a gala to that day. Everything felt at ease, everything felt simple, everything felt right.

But in the following days, a different kind of panic was settling into you when your boss’s son showed up on your doorstep with the front page of a magazine with a photo of you and Joshua out on that balcony that night. He was red in the face, demanding an explanation from you about how you could be so careless, essentially informing you that he had already had ideas about you and Joshua but trusted that you wouldn’t blow the work you had going. The thought of being caught had crossed your mind on so many occasions, but late-night talks after late-night talk when he stayed over to calm your nerves, to rub your shoulders and shower you with kisses, you concluded—what were they going to do? What did you care about that fake relationship? What did you care about the publicity of a company you had no investment in other than design rights? Regardless of popularity, you would continue to get royalties from every sale of your designs.

“This is simply absurd; this is the last thing I had anticipated waking up to. This ruins so many things, in fact, it ruins everything! All the publicity we had going for this startup, you so selfishly ruined!” he screamed at you while you stood in the doorway of your apartment. For a moment, you didn’t care. He had screamed at you many times in the past, so you looked at him unfazed.

“I’m sorry, I’m the selfish one? I’m the one who demanded we keep up a fake relationship for a publicity stunt to… what… keep the jewelry line directly in the media at all times? I’m the selfish one?”

“You have gotten every last bit out of my family and this business and then you go and blow it, getting caught like a fool!”

Your knuckles were turning white with the way you were gripping them under your crossed arms as you looked at him. Your blood was boiling.

“I worked my ass off to provide your family with very successful designs for their line! Remind me again who’s the selfish one!” you spat back in his face, the burn on your tongue feeling like actual flames with how irate you were at this point. “And remind me, what have you done, at all? Have you made any contributions to this business other than providing the media a pretty face to look at?”

He pushed his hand against the door of your apartment and stepped towards you, enough for you to take a few steps back and unfold your arms in the case you had to defend yourself. And you would have, but the rumble behind you that was deep enough, menacing enough to open a rift in the earth’s crust came from behind you.

“Get out,” Joshua threatened, having been standing just behind the door to listen to the exchange. He wanted you to give you your space to deal with it on your own—you deserved to deal with it on your own; it was your position, your designs, your royalties, your contributions to defend. He was there, however, to defend your being.

“You! You are at least half the—”

“Get out!” Joshua repeated, taking a step forward before ripping the magazine from shaking fingers. “I don’t think I have to tell you again. Your little charade is done, and the only one who will suffer is you and you alone. Now get out, or I’ll escort you out.”

“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer about this—”

“I don’t think that’s the route you want to go,” you interjected. “I own those designs; I am owed royalties on every sale of those designs; whether you like it or not, I have a legal cut of this company which is not contingent on how successful our media façade is. So, if I’ll be hearing from your lawyer about Joshua who has a legal and contracted right to remove you from my property, then you’ll be hearing from mine, who will bury you.”

There was a shakiness in your voice, indistinguishable between anger and nerves, as Joshua escorted him out of your home and slammed the door behind him. You stood just beyond the entryway, safe distance within your house to avoid any conflict, but your shoulders heaved. You could hear the heavy deadbolt flip, locking the door tight before Joshua turned around to face you. He gave you some space for just a moment, but he wasn’t too keen on leaving you standing there looking like the very life had been sucked from your bones for too long.

“It’s over,” he cooed to you, “you don’t have to hide anymore.”

Your gaze crossed the flooring to his feet and ran up his legs, up his body to his face. His mouth housed a tender smile, eyes soft as he looked over you, and somewhere deep in there he could see the relief, the surfacing of tension to let it all go, and for a fleeting moment, you granted him a soft smile as well before he wistfully crossed the floor to take you against his chest.

“I’m proud of the way you stood your ground. You’ll never have to stand it alone again.”

It seemed like a slightly inclined battle for the first month or so. You did hear from his lawyer, and he heard from yours, and it was a winning battle in court to discuss your role within the business. You came to an agreement to keep a position, much to the dismay of your now ex-business partner, and continue working on designs with minimal pressure, and that, the final marker of the decisions, was the nail in the coffin for all the tension to finally free from your body. You stood in a mostly empty courtroom in a fine skirt-suit as you awaited the verdict—you were too relieved to cry, but Joshua’s hand squeezing yours almost elicited those tears.

It wasn’t long before you moved in together to settle down.

You spent long nights sometimes in the studio working on big sketchbooks loosely doodling designs across the entire page. A lone lamp that illuminated a desk behind your easel was hardly enough to sustain healthy eyesight, but it never seemed to stop you especially when you were struggling to push sleep away from those eyes. Often, Joshua slipped out of bed to come find you, well into some hours after he’d retired for the night just to sneak into the studio behind you.

He watched the way your hand effortlessly moved across the page, flicking lines down on the paper to craft those rough sketches he knew would eventually turn into fine pieces of jewelry. You had a knack for it, serious vision for jewelry only the elite could afford.

“It’s not light enough in here for your eyes,” he whispered to you, rubbing his hands along your shoulders and upper arms before he’d dig his thumbs in.

“You tell me that every time,” you reminded him quietly, eyes closing to relish the way he pushed some knots away from your shoulders.

His chuckle was smooth in your ears, dripping down your spine like refined syrup before he pulled up a stool behind you and nestle his arms around your waist, leaving you free enough to continue to work on some sketches, but not without some attempts at wooing you to leave them.

“Come to bed with me,” he whispered just behind your ear, only to place a couple of kisses against your neck and nuzzle against your jaw.

“Five more minutes,” you replied, only to feel his arms tighten around you.

“I fell for that too many times; I’m not so naïve anymore,” he reminded you. “They’ll be here for you another day.”

“And so will you,” you answered.

“Ouch, so expendable,” he teased, knowing that you were teasing, too.

“Joshua,” you whined as he kissed down your neck and across your shoulder, only lightly clothed by a loose-fitting tee that was slouching off to the side anyway. But he wouldn’t stop. Especially not as he got up to flick the lamp off, the only light remaining for vision was the hallway light outside the door, which was enough for him to scoop you from your stool to bring both your legs up around his waist and your arms to dangle over his shoulders. He could feel the sleepiness in your body, but your stubbornness persisted as you protested some more. He carried you from the small studio room and down the hallway to flick the light off with his elbow before he was gently laying you in the cool sheets of the bed you shared with him, sealing off any further words with a couple of sweet kisses against your unsuspecting lips.

Despite all your hawing a few moments prior, the soothing sheets underneath you coupled with the warm body that was settling in next to you settled you quite a bit when he turned you into him and you settled into his shoulder, the same way you did every night.

#joshua hong #seventeen joshua #joshua scenarios #joshua fluff #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fluff #joshua angst #seventeen angst #joshua imagines #seventeen imagines #joshua oneshot #seventeen oneshot

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marjansmarwani · 3 years

Text

I want ours to be an endless song

5.9k || ao3

“You can’t die on Christmas” + hurt for Day 5 of @911christmasweek2020

——

TK figures that working on Christmas Eve will be nice, he’ll get to spend the day with his team and maybe even get to see his boyfriend on a call. It starts out like that too - until an incident in the field forces him to confront one of his biggest fears and threatens to change everything for good. Despite everything: all his training and years of experience, all he can do is wait and hope for a Christmas miracle; for anything that will save him from losing the best thing he has ever had.

Thanks as always go to @officerrxyes for both creative input (get yourself a friend who will discus the technicalities of a scene at length with you) and editing. There were multiple times during the writing when I said that I shouldn’t be allowed to write Christmas things (it gets pretty sad/angsty) but it has a happy ending, I swear!

------

TK didn’t mind working on Christmas, really.

Working the Christmas Eve shift meant that he was guaranteed to spend the holiday with his dad and his team. They were his family and he wouldn’t have liked to spend the holiday any other way. The only one missing was Carlos, but he knew his boyfriend was also working today. Which left him being torn between hoping for a nice, calm shift or for a small non—life threatening emergency just so he could see Carlos.

It was a dilemma he kept to himself. He loved his team, but there was no way they would let that particular thought pass by without comment.

The decision was made for him just as they were settling in for the night. The others groaned when the alarms went off but TK couldn’t quite contain his grin at the possibility of seeing Carlos.

Unfortunately for him, it didn’t go unnoticed.

“You’re unbearable,” Judd groaned as they piled into the rig.

“What?”

“You know what. Could we have one call without you two not making heart eyes at each other?”

“I think it’s cute,” Marjan interjected, but there was an edge of teasing in her tone.

TK rolled his eyes, “It’s not like I know if he is going to be there. I have no control over which calls the police end up on.”

As he spoke, the dispatcher’s voice crackled over their radios, “126, be advised that Austin PD has been called in for support.”

The others gave TK an unimpressed look. He shrugged, “Guess I’m just lucky that way.”

There was a collective groan and Owen reminded them all to get their heads in the game. They rode in silence until they arrived at the accident scene. It was a single vehicle accident with the driver — a sheepish looking teen — standing awkwardly outside of the car, looking no worse for wear. In fact, the only victim in the accident seemed to be the traffic light which did not take its pole getting hit well.

The moment they all descended from the truck Owen began to dole out assignments: “Paul, Marjan — let’s get this pole stabilized. TK check on the driver, see if he is really okay. Everyone else, direct traffic.”

With a chorus of “yes Cap,” they were all off to attend to their assigned task. TK grabbed the first aid kit and headed over to the unfortunate driver, “Hey there, my name’s TK. Do you mind if I give you a quick once over, just to make sure you’re okay?”

The teen nodded, still stealing glances at the pole as Paul and Marjan worked to brace it to keep it from falling into traffic, “I’m fine, but my parents are going to kill me.”

“Hey,” TK said reassuringly, “this isn’t ideal but you’re not hurt and neither is anyone else so if I had to guess I’d say they’ll be pretty happy about that.”

The driver took a deep breath and nodded before giving TK a nervous smile, “it’s only my second day with my license.”

“What better time to learn then?”

“Do you have a positive spin for everything?”

“I’m a glass half-full kind of guy.”

The kid laughed and TK gave him another grin before stepping back with a nod, “it looks like you walked away without even a bruise as far as I can tell — you’re very lucky. You may be a little sore tomorrow from the seatbelt, but all in all it did its job and you’re fine. Your parents will be happy about that, at least. Plus,” he looked over at where the car was stopped haphazardly on the curb, “it doesn’t even look like the car is too damaged. As far as first accidents go, this isn’t a bad one.”

The smile he got in return was a little more certain this time, “Thanks.”

TK returned the smile but his attention was quickly diverted by the sound of approaching sirens. He looked over to see the arrival of both the ambulance and a very familiar police cruiser. He would be lying if he said his heart didn’t skip a beat as Carlos climbed out of the passenger side and walked towards them. When he drew even with TK and the teen, he gave TK a warm smile, “Hey, you.”

“Hey yourself.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a groan from behind Carlos. TK looked past him to see his partner Mya approaching, eyes rolled. “Could we get through one accident scene without all the flirting? Is that too much to ask?”

“Hello to you too, Mya.”

“Hi TK, you two are nauseating.”

“Rude.”

“But accurate.”

The teen was watching their conversation, amusement edging out the panic that had been in his expression before. There was that, at least.

Carlos, on the other hand, shook his head at the pair of them, “I hate to interrupt, but Officer Esquilin and I need to take this young man’s statement if you are done with him.”

TK nodded and closed up the first aid kit, “He has a clean bill of health and is all yours. I’ll head over and tell Michelle her services won’t be needed.” He finished gathering his supplies and paused before heading to the ambulance, “I’ll catch up with you before we leave?”

The smile Carlos gave him this time was warm and sincere, like a promise, “Of course.”

TK returned the smile and with a wave to Mya headed off to the ambulance, a grin still on his face.

“You wouldn’t be flirting with your boy on the clock now, would you TK?” Michelle asked as he approached.

TK didn’t even bother to deny it, “What can I say? It’s a Christmas miracle.”

He updated Michelle and the rest of the paramedic team on the status of their singular accident victim and was heading back to the engine to replace the first aid kit when the sound of shouting and the horrible sound of metal on metal cut through the calm afternoon. TK was already turning to see what had happened when another sound ripped through the air, freezing him on the spot.

“Carlos!”

The fear in Mya’s voice sent a chill down TK’s spine. He turned slowly, dread building with every heartbeat. His eyes scanned the scene desperately until he spotted him, and his heart sank. Carlos was sprawled on the pavement, the pole of the traffic light covering him. He wasn’t moving.

TK’s heart thudded in his chest for a few frantic seconds, and then he was running before his mind had even processed the movement. He skidded to a stop and after only taking a moment to glance for immediate threats crashed to his knees beside his boyfriend. He reached out a shaking hand to check for a pulse, the sound of his own heartbeat filling his ears. He let out the breath he had been holding when he found it, sagging in relief even as Michelle arrived at Carlos’s other side.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” TK said helplessly, “I just heard Mya yelling and looked over to see him down with the pole on top of him.”

He glanced around, trying to piece it all together. There was another car now; it had slammed right into the already precarious pole. Marjan and Paul had been working on stabilizing it. He looked for them, praying that they were okay, that they hadn’t been hurt too and was able to breathe a sigh of relief when he spotted them at the edge of the chaos, gathering equipment to help the driver currently trapped in the car that had brought down the pole.

A pained groan drew his attention back to Carlos. His eyes were open, but they were shrouded in a haze of pain.

“Hey, it’s okay,” TK said soothingly, running a hand through his hair, “we’re going to get you out of this.”

“Carlos, can you tell me what hurts?” Michelle asked softly from beside him.

“What doesn’t hurt would be a shorter list,” Carlos replied, voice strained but still strong. TK took that as a good sign. He was still talking and aware, he would be fine. They just needed to free him. He looked down at the offending pole and felt his stomach twist. He didn’t know the exact dimensions of traffic lights, but he knew that there was likely well over 200 pounds resting on Carlos’s body right now, and unfortunately most of that seemed to be centered on his chest. His mind was racing with all the implications: a blow to the chest of this magnitude could cause ribs to fracture or break, organs to be damaged, internal bleeding...the list went on and on.

“Hey, stay with me Ty.”

Carlos’s voice, strained with pain pulled him back to the present. TK swallowed — the last thing Carlos needed now was to be worrying about him, but he wasn’t surprised. It was just like him, really.

“Isn’t that my line?” he asked instead.

“Maybe, but I could see you spiraling. Going there won’t help anything.”

“You’re right,” TK agreed, “but you don’t need to be worried about me. Just focus on breathing, let us handle the rest. We’ve got this.”

He heard his dad calling for the team and after a quick assurance from Michelle that she wouldn’t leave Carlos, got up to join them. The rest of the team looked grim as he approached and his dad wasted no time getting into it, “How is he?”

“He’s in pain, but stable as far as I can tell.”

He wanted to ask what happened, he wanted to know what had happened in those few seconds he had had his back turned but he didn’t want to drag this on any longer than necessary. Every moment he was here was a moment he wasn’t by Carlos’s side and that was the only place he belonged right now.

His dad, thankfully, seemed to agree. He quickly gave instructions to the rest of the team, directing them to grab the equipment and splitting them into teams to deal with the various tasks that would need to be handled. When he was done he lowered his voice, turning back to TK.

“TK, stay with him. Keep him calm and still; this is going to be rough enough as it is, the last thing he needs is to accidentally shift and get hurt even more.”

His worried gaze never left Carlos, who was still looking dazed and trying his best to track the flurry of movement around him. TK followed his dad’s gaze, swallowed, and nodded. Without a word he returned to Carlos’s side, reaching out a gentle hand to turn his face away from where Paul and Judd were getting the equipment set up.

“Hey, look at me, okay?” he instructed softly, “just stay with me. You’re going to be alright, the team’s got this. We’re going to get you out of here.”

Carlos nodded weakly, eyes glazed over with pain and TK’s heart clenched. He slipped off one of his gloves and ran a gentle hand through Carlos’s hair, “Just stay with me,” he repeated, hoping his voice sounded stronger out loud than it did in his own ears, “it’s going to be okay.”

Carlos gave him a weak, tired smile and TK returned it. Despite everything—all the pain and fear—Carlos was still smiling at him. He loved him so much it hurt sometimes.

[continue reading on ao3]

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tarlos #tk strand #carlos reyes #911christmasweek2020 #my writing

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weeklyfangirl · 4 years

Text

Frat Boy Pt. 21

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 (1), part 7 (2), part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13 , part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17, part 18, part 19 , part 20

HI LOVIES. Please enjoy a Friday update on the Frat Boy universe. This one is a bit of a breather after the TUMULTUOUS ANGST of the last chappie. Shorter than my usual, but it’s all the chapter needed. Tons more y/n and Harry interaction on the way in the next! Have a safe and happy day loves xx

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Things I want:

Live a life that helps others

Financial freedom

Experience a great love

Visit the the Pincio Gardens in Italy

To have more dreams and fewer nightmares

Doodle more

Acquire a first edition book, either because an old friendly man who owns an antique bookshop decides to give it to me in a bonding moment, or because I have accomplished #2 and I am celebrating being a Boss Bitch

To be happy

Please note: not necessarily in that order

It was taped above my desk, waiting for me to bring it in to the next session. I hesitated to write number 6. It was a dream I hardly entertained after committing my scholarly life to pursue medicine. I used to love to doodle. All the time. Since elementary school. I doodled so much my mom dedicated a wall in the house to my illustrations. She hung a sign above it that affectionately said “Y/N’s Doodles.” Seriously, you couldn’t get me to stop. Even if it was gross sappy sketches of my crush Billy who I would NEVER show on the playground at recess.

My doodling stopped how these things normally do. Because life grew busier than anything else, and the sketchpad and easel my dad had bought for me at a garage sale became ignored, collecting dust in the corner of my room. At some point, it’d become a year since I’d drawn anything, and then it was two, and three, and by this point I’d realized I was the one who’d need to create her own stability in life and medicine was the more logical fit. It wasn’t that I didn’t see the value in drawing anymore, I just had other things take up my time. It became a comfort just knowing I used to draw. Paul had paved his way, and now I was on my way to do the same. At least with medicine, my soul felt fed. It was almost comfort enough.

“oH WE GOT A ROGUE ONE.”

A flying toenail hit my eye.

“WHAT THE-” I flailed my arms, as though there were a thousand more coming. Renny’s mouth opened in shock, her guilty body hunched over her bent leg. Clippers in hand.

“Sorry!!” Renny burst up laughing.

“oH MY GOSH CAN YOU DO THAT OVER A TRASH CAN OR SOMETHING?!”

“IT HAD A MIND OF ITS OWN!!” she screamed back.

I blinked rapidly, my left eye watering up and spilling painless tears. “Well I’m going to have conjunctivitis at the studio later. Or I’ll be stumbling in blind.” I wiped it away.

I heard another clip and she put up her hands with another giggle.

“All done. And you won’t stumble, I’m going to be there.” Renny extended her leg, her perfectly trimmed foot nearly touching the ceiling.

“You’re just going to solicit Zayn to be his next subject.”

“Maybe,” her grin grew devious. “But also because I want to see if he captured the angelic beauty and complex nymph nuances of my best friend.”

I put a hand to my chest, still aching from uncertainty. “Honored.”

“Want to watch another episode until it’s time to go?”

This whole lazy morning had been an OC Housewives bingefest. She’d seen it on my homepage and had a complete spazz, twitching whilst proclaiming but i’ve been trying to get you to watch this show for YEARS!! When she saw the old season I was on, though, she didn’t have to question why her pestering had miraculously worked. She didn’t mention him aloud besides giving me a pointed look. And so, we watched it, even though I wasn’t really in the mood to see anything about Harry right now. It’d hurt more than I thought to walk away from him last night, and to see how sad he looked when I did.

After last night, he hadn’t posted anything to social media. He’d called, twice, but I knew he was drunk, or worse, and I was tired, and whatever he would say he could tell me in the morning. Even though I knew he wouldn’t.

And he didn’t.

And therein lay the problem.

It hurt to see his family on my little box of a computer screen, weird to see his life and get glimpses of his childhood. I felt like a hacker spying on home videos. But then I reminded myself that thousands of people had already done the same. At this point, it was just… morbid curiosity.

“Nah, I don’t know if I can handle any more of that right now. Dr. Rhinecuff is going to yell at me if I don’t return these scanned copies to him by Monday.”

“Ew, he smells like meat.”

“RENNY!!”

“I’m just saying. That one time I went with you it smelled like pastrami in his office. He has a PhD, but isn’t with-it enough to buy air freshener.”

“He likes pastrami sandwiches, let him live.”

She scrolled on her phone, not bothering to respond, and my gaze turned to the window.

“Hey Renny?”

“Hm.”

A bird flew close to the glass, halting just before it hit it, then zooming off in the opposite direction. “What’d you do when your parents were fighting?”

“Ummm…” I knew the question registered in her mind when she stopped scrolling, suddenly concerned. “Are your parents okay?”

“Yeah. I mean, kind of.” I glossed over it, not caring to get into the bitter details. “I was just curious.”

“Uhh..” She plucked at the soft cotton of her cotton candy pajamas that were fraying at the knees. “I lost my virginity to Zach,” she half-laughed.

“Zach? Neighbor boy Zach?”

Renny nodded. She always sounded a little sad when she talked about him. Zach was the hot college boy who shared a backyard fence with Renny, the girl who may or may not have used her kitchen stool to peak over and see him workout on the grass every summer he came home. I’d known they’d slept together. I just didn’t think he was her first.

“I just tried to be out of the house as much as I could,” she said. “Found my true love Mary J.”

“Oh.”

“It was shitty, but I’m glad I got it over with.”

“The divorce or your virginity.”

“Both,” she chortled. “Why what’s up? Are you sad or something? I have a j in my drawer.”

“No, no, I’m fine.” Mostly I was just wondering what it must be like to feel so sexually liberated. In my house sex wasn’t talked about. At all. The inevitable sex scene in every other movie would result in my dad blaring out “WHAT KIND OF MOVIE IS THIS!” in an attempt to make it less awwkard, but having it backfire and only make it horrendously more awkward. I wasn’t saving my virginity for anyone in particular, but after all those romance novels, I wanted it to be… something. I wanted to feel something towards the person where it would justify something I’ve kept to myself for so long. I wanted it to be intense. I wanted it to be like the books. Like a Frank Sinatra song that swept up your heart and transported you back to a time of gentlemen and cigars and women in long evening gowns with fur coats and martinis.

“I wish I could just get it over with,” I confessed. One half of me screamed YOU’RE IN YOUR TWENTIES HAVE ALL THE SEX while the other half said YOU’VE WAITED THIS LONG DAMN IT HOLD OUT A LITTLE LONGER. I didn’t know which part of me was compromising more.

Renny leaned in, quick. “Would you do it with Harry?”

Like the flip of a switch, I remembered the sensuous heat of his body against mine, wrapping me up and pressing me against him where we just fit. And I couldn’t imagine how much better it’d feel to be even more connected to him.

“Maybeeee…?”

But then there was last night.

I cringed. No matter how with me he’d seemed… he couldn’t have been present after mixing whatever the hell he took and a handle of alcohol. Did I really want someone like that? Someone who could only give a shell of themselves?

“No, I wouldn’t. Or- ugh, I don’t know. I don’t know if it could ever mean as much to him.”

Renny nodded. “I mean, don’t let him pressure you, obviously. If he does, I’ll kick his baby maker smack into his prostate. Prostate. See, anatomy. You taught me that.”

“Haha, no, he’s not like that.” My brows stitched. I was confused why he wasn’t more like that, actually. We’d known each other for several months now and he hadn’t even put a finger in me. When I thought about it, it actually frustrated me. Don’t pressure me to do anything, but I wanted to be pushed to do something. I was never the bold one in areas like this.

Not that I should be so willing to do anything with him anymore anyways. Something shifted in me when I’d seen him last night. It wasn’t a shift I could easily describe, but it’d set me a foot apart from my heart. A bit of me was shocked that it had happened so suddenly.

But this shift was new, and my heart still wanted what it wanted. I knew that if I watched any more OC Housewives with Harry’s toddler curls and surfer tan, I’d be sucked right back into speculating about what our future kids could look like. And if I saw him?

You were right, Harry. You are fucked.

I cringed again. That was harsh. That was very very harsh.

I didn’t know if I’d have the courage to apologize. What if my pheromones went berserk and magnetized me to his side??

Renny was right.

I needed therapy.

The clippers were tossed back on my desk.

“Thanks,” she said. “Have you started on your DG Double P yet?”

DG Double P = Renny Speak for DG Pretty Please.

I groaned. “No. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, honestly. I have to-”

“NO!!! Don’t tell me. We’re not supposed to tell each other.” Her hand extended in panic.

“Fine. I can keep a secret.”

I was getting a little too good at that lately.

She moved onto her belly, splaying her arms out in a dramatic fashion, face squished against the comforter. “Isn’t it just killing you inside.” She was dead serious.

“Yeah, more than you know.”

And I was serious, too.

--------------------------------------

I wasn’t expecting people to dress up as much as they did. Donned in my only pair of yoga pants and a chunky white sweater, I walked arm-in-arm with Renny past girls in cocktail dresses and guys in button-downs.

Something that sounded like a baby’s cry filled my ears, but it was gone as soon as we walked through the doors to the on-campus gallery. .

“Woah did you hear that?”

Renny nodded, tossing her head back. “There’s a baby somewhere.”

It reminded me of the bodiless screams in my nightmare. In my chunky sweater, I shivered undetectably.

The on-campus gallery rotated exhibits throughout the year, but this time, student sculptures were on pedestals, nightmarish portraits hung on the walls, and red and orange tapestries swooped down and across the ceiling in a cirque-du-soleil moment as if to secure us beneath fire. Some students had separate booths, but other pieces of work trailed seamlessly into the next.

A tree made from photographs and newspaper took up the center of the space. Zayn had been so adamant about his muse having life, I wondered if that was the focus of this exhibit - to capture natural life. But I suppose all art did.

“It’s the circle of life exhibit,” Renny stated, as if reading my thoughts.

“How’d you know that?”

She held up a pamphlet she must’ve grabbed from the entrance.

I quickly scanned the room, hoping to find Zayn quickly so I could skip out just as quick.

Several of my professors were here, including Dr. Rhinecuff. When he saw me, I raised my hand, but he raised his cup of red wine awkwardly and looked away.

My hand wavered.

Odd.

Zayn was standing by the tree, speaking with an older woman. Her skin was a rich brown, short hair hidden beneath a chic scarf. The man beside her looked around the same age with graying facial hair, a pocket hanky, and beaded bracelets. Art professors.

I caught his gaze, and he gestured me over.

“Y/N, these are my instructors. David and Ebony.”

Their eyes lit up in recognition. “He did you a great justice,” David said, gray moustache twitching with the words.

Ebony beamed. “Oh yes, a piece was already sold. He’s going to be the next big wig before he graduates,” she gushed. “Zayn, I’m sure you’ll be splitting the profits with the heart of the piece.”

She gestured to me and his smile widened, but my stomach sank faster.

“I didn’t know these pieces were going to be sold.”

Ebony sensed my concern. The wine in her glass swirled. “We thought allowing the pieces to be shown and auctioned was a good way to replicate what many of them should be doing once they graduate. The whole department gets involved, and these kids put in a lot of work, and the reputation of starving artists isn’t something we want to buy into here.”

I nodded. “I mean, that’s great. That’s… really amazing.”

Zayn couldn’t meet my eyes. He knew. He could sense my hesitance, too.

“Now he can finally afford a nice dinner to take you out!” David proclaimed.

We were all quiet for a minute. “You know, for a thank you dinner,” David covered up. Zayn’s brows scrunched and he shook his head a bit, not knowing where David’s comment came from.

“Do you do this regularly?” Ebony asked, steering the conversation away from an awkward moment.

My ears pricked up when I realized she was looking at me. “Excuse me?”

“Well I was just thinking…” a light laugh lifted as if her idea would be outrageous. “Would you mind sitting in for one of my classes on Monday? Our model had a sudden death-”

“My God,” David proclaimed.

Ebony waved her hand. “-in his family. I haven’t called to replace him yet.”

It quieted as they looked at me, waiting for a response. “Oh, I don’t… I don’t usually do this. At all. It was a chance thing.”

“Luck be the artist.” David raised his glass.

Ebony followed suit, looking at my empty hand. “You just going to let her stand there without a drink?”

“Yeah, Zayn. What kind of treatment is this?” I teased.

He did a slight bow. “Apologies. We’ll walk to drinks, immediately.” He pulled us away, leading us further into the showroom as his head dipped low to my ear. “Renny just passed us to meet Felix and them. They’re through here.”

We stepped under an archway that led into a darker-lit room, but his hand stopped me beneath the nook. “Did yeh notice anything?”

Yeah. I was noticing how close we were in this archway. He saw my eyes start to squint in thought and he turned me around to face the room we’d just left.

“Look closer.”

My eyes roamed the crowd, trying to find some sort of person, or pattern he could be referring to. With a brief seize of my heart, I expected to see somebody from the gang.

“Look at the artwork, Y/N.” His breath warmed my skin.

The paintings all seemed to be bright, though sticking to red, orange, blacks, and grays. Wait, forget a pallette pattern. The next painting had blue and purple, too. One sculpture looked like a writhing ghost, twisting and reaching for something above. Or maybe it was an unearthed tree root. Despite all the bold colors, there was something off-putting about how bright they all were. It wasn’t a soothing brightness. It was almost violent. The orange and red writhing tapestries warped the ceiling into something hot.

“Is it hell?” I chortled, but quickly quieted. I expected him to take offense, but his hand went lightly around my waist with a small smile.

“Could be. See-” his arm extended out to scan the perimeter “-all this art is supposed to represent death, but challenge the notion of it through color.”

“How so?”

“Yeh know it’s usually your blacks, and your grays, s’depressing shit. But we’re born from death. Before life, there was nothing, but something. It’s bold and necessary and there, and no one really knows whatever comes before. Or after.” He looked at the room, taking a sip of wine. I watched as he swallowed, and I imagined the wine running down. “What is death but an uncertain existence.” He said the thought almost happily, looking at me with a slight smirk. “Could be anythin’.”

He took a deep breath, letting his hand touch the top of the archway. It was then that I noticed it wasn’t just plain drywall. A collage of photographs ran all along the inside.

He wasn’t as tall as Harry, but his hand still reached the top, scuffing across a picture of an African landscape taped over a toddler eating fruity pebbles.

“They’re pictures. Everyone donated one,” he said.

A strand of words were painted over the collage, running from one end of the archway to the other, and I tilted my head back to read it. “Things... that…. make... m..e …...feel alive.”

“Everyone was able to design their space in order to control, to some extent, how their art was perceived. Everyone was a part of the transition space.”

“Very nice,” I noted, slightly put-off. I hadn’t been expecting this art show to be so… professional. “Zayn, this is amazing. Like, really, truly, professional-grade stuff is happening. The presentation, the pieces, everything.”

His smile grew wider, putting cool hands over my eyes. I flinched, but let him.

I felt him come closer.

“Listen now,” he urged.

I listened, but I wasn’t sure for what. There was the familiar busy rumble of people mingling, parents visiting their kids, and professors droning on about the talent of their students. But it was chatter. I couldn’t make out one conversation over another. I shrugged up against his other hand that was atop my shoulder.

“Sometimes you need to change where you’re planted to understand.”

I hoped he could see my cross expression because I couldn’t tell if he was bullshitting me right now. It’d been a day. It’d been a night. And I wasn’t in the mood for more philosophical ramblings - especially about death. “I don’t know what you mean,” I sighed.

“Meaning I have to move you closer to the speakers.” He let out a breathy laugh. “Jus’ keep your eyes closed, okay?”

I nodded. His hand moved, tilting my head to its side. Eyes still closed, I became self-conscious imagining people trying to move past me, and here I was, planted, eyes closed in the middle of the archway. My cheeks heated. It was unnerving knowing people could see me when I couldn’t see them. And anyway, I must’ve looked ridiculous.

“What do you hear?” he urged.

“I hear a lot of people talking,” I griped.

But right when I was about to open my eyes-

I heard a familiar chirping through the chatter.

“Birds?” I opened my eyes.

“Observance can be taught, sometimes.” Zayn leant back, looking mighty proud of himself.

“Why are there birds?”

“We’re entering life,” he smiled, backing into the space. I tipped my wine back, several long gulps lightening my step as I followed him. Immediately, I noticed much more natural, earthier tones. For being a room of life, it was surprisingly darker than the prior room.

Renny, Felix, and Andre were huddled in the center where a makeshift wall-on-wheels covered in vines divided the room in half.

My eyes widened, trying to adjust to the dimness. “It’s a lot darker in here.”

“All intentional. They decided to play with light in here. People usually think of life being bright ‘n that, but it’s also when we experience varying degrees of darkness. There’s a balance to things and the trouble is finding it.” Understanding laced his voice as his dark eyes bore into mine, almost completely black. One look from Zayn and I was reminded of all the weight I’d been carrying. I fidgeted, uncomfortable seeing myself in his eyes.

“Y/N, get over here!” Renny called. My shoulders visibly relaxed. My saving grace. “You didn’t tell me you did this,” she said lowly as soon as I got close enough, shocked excitement barely contained. Her giddy smile gave it away though. “Miss sexy secret keeper over here.”

“What do you mean?”

She playfully poked my sides, but Andre and Felix avoided my gaze. Something wasn’t right. And it stirred my stomach, my body already knowing, somehow.

I turned in slow motion, the charcoal drawings in my peripherals stopping me in place. Framed amidst the vines, my face was etched onto paper, scrunching and twisting in various expressions. But my body was attached and twisting, too. And it was bare, bent over, spread out, laying down… My eyes scanned over them a dozen times in a second.

I was naked.

In all of them.

One was titled “21st Century Love.” In this one, I faced the viewer, but looked past them, sorrowful eyes, brows furrowed, breasts I’d never shown on full display. A hickey or two on my neck. A painful sting gripped my chest. I looked sad. I looked so sad.

Tunnel vision, a blurred Renny rushed down to the floor, and a distant part of me registered something wet splatter on my feet.

The wine had dropped.

I’d dropped it.

I was trapped in a shell. My body was numb.

“Babes, you okay?” Renny asked, her voice somewhere far away. Somewhere outside the shell, her voice drowned in the busy rumbling, with the birds, with the watchers. People were watching me now. I was being watched. “Felix, grab some towels!” she barked.

I looked horrified, towards Zayn, but changed my mind just as fast. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t even breathe.

He didn’t know me at all. He could stare at me for a thousand sessions and paint every crevice, sunspot, blemish, and mole and still not see me. How was an artist this blind? How could he not know that this was the last thing I could ever want? How could he picture me so… intimately?

The paintings seemed to swirl into one before bouncing back out into their separate exposees.

Because that’s what it was.

An exposure.

A stranger could pay to have me in their home.

The floor spun, vision spotting.

My lungs tightened, tearing me away from Renny, from Felix, from Andre. From Zayn, the artist who painted a confused girl so unashamed. So honestly. Savagely and Unabashedly.

“I didn’t want this.”

And it was when I was halfway out the door that I realized the voice had come from me, a mantra pushing my shell all the way home.

part 22

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missusk · 4 years

Photo

[an excerpt from a raihanxleon high school AU i may never finish]

Only fifteen minutes to go.

Leon’s face was starting to hurt from the persistent puckering and from the ceaseless class-president smiles he offered all the girls that came up. At least his lips weren’t dry, thanks to the Cheri berry chapstick Nessa bought for him, but he felt guilty whenever it left a waxy sheen on someone’s cheek. The girls didn’t seem to mind, and he even heard one mutter ‘I’m never washing my face again.’

He waved another goodbye to a group of giggling freshmen, checked his phone again, and sighed.

Fourteen minutes.

The girl’s kissing booth beside him had a lull in the action (as Sonia predicted), but it wasn’t like Leon didn’t notice how much shorter their shifts were compared to his… it even seemed Milo hardly sat down before getting back up for Leon’s turn. Sonia didn’t explicitly say starting quarterback and class president Leon would be the main attraction of the Fall Fair kissing booth, but the quickly-filling donation jar and snaking line said it for her.

Fourteen minutes and probably like, twenty seconds. At least yawning helped stretch his pinching face muscles. Leon had never given anyone a wedgie before, but if Gordie was a single second late to taking over his shift then he’d consider it.

Some of the girls were cute (whether that be pinch her cheeks cute or pinch her cheeks cute), and some of them were funny, so Leon at least didn’t mind when the people who came up were entertaining. Half the football team waltzed into line, only to briskly scuttle out when Vice Principal Oleana walked by and shot them a warning glare. They got their fair share of blackmail and recordings on their social media stories first, though.

After another girl left, Leon looked down the line. It hadn’t gotten any shorter, as people kept filling in at the back. Was the entire school in line? Yeesh. He bit back a mournful sigh and checked his phone again.

Under ten minutes now, he could do this. It was for charity.

He gave another cheek kiss and leaned back to stretch, and again forgot to not lick his lips and avoid eating the makeup residue from some of the girls. Sonia and Nessa had brought a washcloth for him a while ago to help, then Nessa brought him the chapstick. Those things helped a little, but maybe if Leon shot a desperate text to Gordie, he’d be willing to come a little early for his shift. After the next girl in line left, he reached for his phone, only to freeze when an orange headband sauntered into his periphery.

Leon tried to peer around the line of long hair and rosy cheeks that had been monopolizing his vision for so long, and his heart kicked when that orange headband stepped into line. Immediately his blood went cold, yet his stomach flipped in giddy anticipation. He wouldn’t, would he? No, he was just talking with a group of friends, Leon was pretty sure they were all from yearbook class. He tried to determine if any of them were holding hands or standing too close to each other. One guy with a group of girls often meant one of two things: he was a girlfriend’s emotional support, or those girls were his emotional support. He hoped it was the former just as much as he hoped it was the latter.

Leon’s focus was trained at the end of the line, and not on the girl in front of him. He offered a quick and distracted apology when he kissed her ear, then her hair, then finally made the mark of her cheek. The donation jar had been sitting calmly his entire shift, yet now it seemed like it was everywhere Leon’s clammy hands were. Thankfully the next girl in line picked it up off the ground for him, but it took him a few tries to get the money back in. Was the jar opening smaller? Leon finally looked away from the end of the line to properly aim.

No one had complained yet, but suddenly Leon was very aware of how chapped his lips were or what his breath smelled like. Did he have any gum? Did Sonia put any under the tabletop when she set up the booth? Leon felt around, only to poke his hand on an ill-hammered nail. When he brought his hand to his mouth with a hiss, he took a moment for a breath-check. It seemed neutral enough, but what if he was just imagining that? What if it got terrible within the next two minutes? That orange headband was suddenly halfway through the line.

“Alright Leon, we can switch,” came a voice from beside him, and Leon nearly jumped out of his skin. Gordie set his bag down and was ready to hip-check Leon out of the chair.

“Thanks but I’ve still got a few minutes left,” Leon said as he peeked at that orange headband again. “Do you have any gum?”

“I figured you’ve done your time,” Gordie chuckled. “And no, but the guys are going to get you some snacks if you want, their treat. They said to meet them at the fried cookie cart.”

“I’ll, um, I’ll finish my time here,” Leon said as he peeked around the girl in front of him. She smiled and bashfully flipped her hair, only to pout when she realized Leon was looking behind her.

“I already said you could go,” Gordie said as his brow furrowed. “You’ve been here forever, aren’t you tired of it? Doesn’t your face hurt from kissing people?”

“Just wait a little longer,” Leon muttered, and he offered a kiss on the cheek to the girl who was so patiently waiting through their conversation. That seemed to satiate her pout.

“Dude, no, I’m already here,” Gordie huffed. “I missed out on an elephant ear to save you from this.”

“I’ll buy you one,” Leon hissed out of the corner of his mouth. When Leon’s eyes scanned the line for that orange headband, Gordie’s eyes followed. A sly smirk inched onto his face and he stood back with crossed arms.

“Do my math homework for me.”

“What?” Leon huffed.

“For the next two weeks, and I’ll come back after that girl in the blue sweater.”

That girl in the blue sweater was exactly one person behind the guy in the orange headband.

“Fine, whatever,” Leon hissed. “Get out of here, come back later.”

“You’re such a giver,” Gordie teased as he clapped Leon on the shoulder. “Happy to see that the kissing booth is such a charitable idea, with such a charitable man at the helm.”

“Okay, ha ha, I get it, go away,” Leon muttered. That orange headband was getting within hearing range. Gordie thought he was funny, so he needed to scram before trying to make a joke that revealed way too much to this line of girls and one guy.

Gordie finally left after trying to make a group of girls laugh, and Leon readjusted himself in his chair. Had he been slouching this whole time? Had his hoodie collar always been this tight? He should have asked Gordie if he had anything in his teeth. He cleared his throat a few times and offered an awkward smile to the next girl in line. After a cheek kiss to her and her friends, some small talk, it was then that the yearbook group was close enough to hear over the bustling fair around them.

Nothing unusual, they were just talking about carnival games and editing software.

Had his tongue always felt so weird in his mouth? Was he sitting too straight? Leon adjusted himself to try and look as calm and casual as possible, but when he leaned back, the chair pushed into the dirt and he nearly toppled backwards.

“Are you okay?” the girl in line asked.

She was pouting her lips in worry, but Leon didn’t take the time to admire the perfect pink sheen when his eyes darted a few people behind her. He was still talking with the yearbook girls about editing software, and didn’t seem to notice. Leon tucked his hair behind his ear and let out an awkward chuckle.

“Yeah, sorry,” he said with a breathy laugh. “So many beautiful girls around makes it hard to focus.”

The girl batted her lashes and put a few extra dollars into the donation jar, and Leon gave her a kiss on the cheek, then one to her friend after her. They left with pink-tinged faces and giggles, and the yearbook group came up. As Leon offered friendly small talk, he wondered how his smile looked, how his laugh sounded, when one of them made a joke. He didn’t actually hear what she said, though, because of how hard his heart was pounding in his ears and how his focus was trained on keeping his eyes from straying up to the electric blue that was boring into him.

He gave a kiss on the cheek to one, then the rest, and Leon wondered how young the youngest person to have a heart attack was.

He finally forced himself to glance up when the girls left and the person next in line didn’t follow. He didn’t think about his heart anymore (though it certainly kicked once, then twice), because it was then that the next in line ducked under the banner of the kissing booth, set his elbows on the tabletop, and Leon’s only focus was on how Raihan was now only a nose bump away.

“Hey,” Raihan said with that crooked grin.

That was the smile Leon was hoping wouldn’t show up, because that smile meant danger and an even faster heart rate. He was hoping that he could give a friendly, maybe even goofy, kiss on the cheek, and Raihan would be on his merry way with his yearbook friends. And yet, here he was, watching Raihan watch him with that devilish glint in his eyes.

“Hi,” Leon said nonchalantly. He didn’t want to risk fumbling, so he didn’t dare move his hands from his lap. “Not leaving with your friends?”

“I waited in line too, I want a kiss from Leon,” Raihan said quietly. Leon’s stomach flipped at how that sentence sounded coming out of Raihan’s mouth. “What do I get for ten dollars?”

Leon ignored how his toes curled and tried to offer his most indifferent scoff.

“You’re going to waste ten dollars on a stupid kissing booth?”

And Raihan leaned closer, even tilted his head, as his eyes fluttered to Leon’s lips.

“If it’s got you in it.”

Leon’s face was flaring red, he knew it, and he glanced to the side and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. His clammy hands snagged on a few hairs by his ear, and he hoped Raihan didn’t notice when he didn’t bother untangling them and just tugged them out when he set his hand in his lap again.

“It’s all the same,” Leon muttered. “One kiss.”

With all the charm of a devil, Raihan leaned closer, those hooded eyes dark and murky as he stared at Leon’s lips. Heat flared deep in Leon’s stomach at the look on Raihan’s face, since seeing it in person was unfortunately much more effective than fantasizing about it in his bed at night. He squirmed backward in his chair as if that would ease the intensity of the pull low in his gut. Unfortunately, that pull was full throttle when a flash of pink slid over Raihan’s bottom lip when he wet it, then a flash of a canine as he stared at Leon’s lips.

“On the cheek,” Leon clarified through a mumble.

“How about twenty dollars, then?” Raihan whispered, his gaze still latched to Leon’s lips.

“Raihan,” Leon muttered, and he had to force his own eyes to stay opened, even though Raihan’s were closing every inch closer he leaned.

“I’m willing to go the extra mile for charity,” Raihan purred. “It’s for a good cause.”

“One cheek kiss.”

“Twenty-five dollars?”

“One cheek kiss,” Leon repeated.

He turned his head, as that was the only way to get himself to stop staring at Raihan’s canine biting his lower lip. That was the perfect color, soft and full, and the back of Leon’s mind wondered how it would taste, what it would feel like on his tongue, between his teeth. How would Raihan sound if he playfully nipped that soft lower lip? Leon wondered if Raihan was thinking the same when he leaned closer.

“Thirty dollars?” he breathed.

Their trance was broken when the girl behind Raihan huffed.

“Can you hurry it up?” she whined. It didn’t seem to faze Raihan, because his eyes flit up to meet Leon’s. Leon wasn’t sure which was worse: Raihan staring at his lips, or staring into his eyes when they were so hooded and hungry.

“C’mon Leon, I need to get my money’s worth,” Raihan whispered. “The line is getting impatient.”

If Raihan was trying to get Leon to squirm, then he was unfortunately doing an incredibly good job, and Leon pursed his lips and looked to the wood of the tabletop. He could still feel Raihan’s gaze zig-zagging over his face. In his periphery he saw Raihan’s eyes drag down his frame, stare at how he squirmed in his chair. He wondered if Raihan’s gaze would have continued downward if there wasn’t this tabletop to block the view.

“I’m not…” Leon whispered as he adjusted himself in his chair. Raihan needed to stop looking at him like that and risk forcing Leon into needing to sit behind this table for a little longer, albeit for different reasons. “I’m not kissing you in front of all of these people.”

“I’m a big guy,” Raihan purred. He dared to inch closer, dared to block out everyone’s view when his finger ghosted under Leon’s chin. “They can’t see.”

Leon’s eyelids fluttered despite himself as that pull deep in his stomach became unbearable. This smug attitude was driving him insane, and concurrently driving forward every secret desire and craving Leon had been trying so hard to shove away. The heat of Raihan’s breath was grazing over his lips, and those electric blue eyes were closing. When the girl behind Raihan sighed again, Leon jerked his head back.

When Leon couldn’t manage more than a incoherent grumble out of his throat, Raihan finally took pity and leaned back. He tucked a ten-dollar bill into the jar and gave an apologetic smile.

“Fine,” he said as he playfully rolled his eyes. “Guess I’ll play by the rules. One cheek kiss please.”

Leon heaved out a deep sigh, and he hoped it sounded as sarcastic as possible and not as flustered as he felt. He cupped Raihan’s face, brushed his thumb over his cheekbone, and was pleasantly surprised to see a shift in Raihan’s eyes. He pulled Raihan closer, and as softly and with as much care as he could manage, he pressed his lips to the corner of Raihan’s mouth.

His own lips tingled, and he wondered if Raihan’s did too when they both pulled back, though Leon’s formed into a cheeky smirk when Raihan’s face darkened with a blush. That smug smile was long gone and replaced with something sweet, as if Raihan couldn’t force his own smile back, though he was obviously trying.

“I guess for another ten I’ll let you do stupid carnival games with me,” Leon hummed as he watched with a bemused satisfaction at how Raihan was now fumbling with his collar, with his hands, with the string of his hoodie. He nodded vigorously, and Leon let out a laugh when Raihan stood so quickly that he bumped his head on the banner. He tucked another ten into the donation jar and untangled himself from the banner with Leon’s help.

As he left with Raihan, both their shoulders bumping and their fingers awkwardly tangling together, just to quickly untangle again, Gordie passed by, discreetly gave a wink, and Leon returned with a grateful nod. Two weeks of extra math homework shouldn’t be so bad, and when Raihan’s hand brushed his again, Leon decided that perhaps the kissing booth wasn’t such a terrible idea after all.

[other, actually finished & in progress stories can be found on my AO3]

#art #writing #high school au #pokemon #pokemon swsh #kbdn #raihan #leon #raihanxleon #leonxraihan #comic #fanfiction #fanfic #sword and shield #dande #kibana #kissing booth #mutual pining

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mareliini · 4 years

Text

of Tangled and Corona and fictional maps

lads i just got up with pure spite bc my morning eyes fell into this post and to yet another “official” map and I want to talk about this. Listen. A couple of friends and I are going semi-feral over maps plastered in tts so it’s time to share that small collection and also yell. Presented below

1. Strategy room map

(ignore the fact the screencap is from rapunzeltopia. It doesn’t matter, only the rock placement is different and also nonexistent in the real map. I couldn’t bother my ass to go find a pic of the real map from s1 bc Fred always stands on the way and it doesn’t matter)

Immediate notes: Corona is positioned on a peninsula. There’s no way to tell the scale of the map but it appears to be rough topography map (argument point: mountains are drawn and not showed like they usually would but I’m a bitch and will ignore than in favour of ranting about that weird worm formation on north). (Seriously what’s up with that weird formation what could it be)

North of the country appears to be quite flat and near the ocean level while south of the country is higher ground (this at least pairs up with the “official” map which i will talk about later).

Wall... sure exists, but its placement in relation to sunflower spot and corona main city baffles me.

Sea monster status: hiding behind too fancy north arrow

2. Varian’s map

(screencapped and very fervently edited in ms paint by your’s truly. It’s missing some bits and pieces but also I’m not redoing it)

Immediate notes: starts the long line of “Varian appearing with some funky perspective map please learn to draw them like a sane person would” nightmare maps, yet somehow still the most accurate description of the country.

The peninsula shape is WILDY different from the strategy room map and they each have different river and lake formations. Peninsula here appears a lot smaller and shorter, and while we see some resemblance for scaling in the border, there’s no explanation for it still. Waterfall visible in some other maps is further south here and whole country seems to be more or less mountain/hill area.

Corona might have some map tradition of drawing maps only relevant for certain areas (Old Corona has given lots of detail here down to the field placements compared to other villages or to the capital which leads me to think other places might do the same). By style it tries to emulate old timey maps which is fine, bc they were all more or less mind maps.

Wall: has towers now

Sea monster status: it apparently exists but I cut it out (friend pointed out)

3. Movie map and book map

(Book map pic credit at the link at the very start of this hellshow of a post) I’m putting these two together bc from the bunch, they resemble each others the most (and are also only maps not shown in the series). Movie credit map seems to be almost identical for book map, just zoomed in.

Immediate notes: this is? drawn by Eugene? (I said and rewatched s2e3 which revealed man can’t draw shit but still) We have a scale now but un-fUCKING-FORTUNATELY it tells us shit. We can always assume that 0 ---- Kilometres means ---- is 1km, but there’s really no way telling that and thus I sadly have to ignore it. It’s also a mind map yet again, does corona...... does corona have any real geographers? no?

Capital placement differs from show maps and so does the peninsula shape, again. Unlike previous maps where landmass kept growing north, here it caps off, indicating even longer peninsula Corona is only a part of. South part of the country appears to be high cliffs while north part has fields and villages, which pairs with strategy room topography map, but could also just be weird perspective. Nothing’s so far explaining the worm formation.

Waterfall I pointed out in previous map actually factoid error, it is here in the same mountain area too. The out-of-the-country bridge is further south compared to varian’s map, but Old corona has still weirdly got lots of focus (ya telling me this bitch ass country got only two bigger towns??). Movie&book map has other, mostly movie related details not relevant and thus not visible in show maps, which saddens me a bit bc hey........ maps.... should be equal..... show us the dam in other maps too you cowards...

Wall: doesnt run from sea to sea, has towers

Sea monster status: definitely there

4. Spire map

Lord forgive me from ever trying to screencap this monster. Whoever did this should be both publicly shamed and fired from making any more maps, I have no words. Friend yelled in chat when I showed this. It’s a spawn of satan and not in a wholesome blue exorcist way.

Immediate notes: Burn it. There’s no north arrow, but based on Capital’s position north is either up or up-left corner (depending on which maps we go by). Neither of those position saves this map from the fact that thERE IS NO LANDMASS IN SOUTH OF CORONA THAT COULD FIT ALL OF THIS. IT’S A PENINSULA. THE WHOLE TIP OF PENINSULA IS CORONA. FUCK OFF-

Wall: Schrödinger's wall at this point

Sea monster status: finally defeated, like my sanity

5. Strategy map vol2

for some reason they had time to place down individual trees yet there’s no fields and also the river is all wrong when compared to reality.

Immediate notes: a clear example of really zoomed in map, the whole portion of the country between capital and old corona is skipped and that’s fine. North arrow comparable with previous show maps but not with movie&book map so it feels like they exist in entirely different universe where whole continent is slightly sifted to north-east.

I’d want to believe this maps gives more accurate reading to Old corona than Varian’s map, giving it’s nature, but it also does.... have the river all wrong and it drives me so mad.

Wall: is there

Sea monster status: left

- Bonus map for the geologists *blows kiss*

I am so sorry but they just bullshitted that particular group project there is no way, listen. I appreciate the effort clearly done here in cataloguing rock placements in what appears to be Old corona but a) they are facing south (Capital is always to the west and can be seen in the bg here) and you’re making pure assumptions based on how they are behaving on the very edges of your east border there and b) thAT PARTICULAR PIECE OF PAPER, LISTEN, that particular piece of paper is positioned smack under Old corona and it’s tunnel system yet you nuckleheads somehow think it’s comparable for the island’s tunnel system oN THE OTHER SIDE OF YOUR COUNTRY CAN YOU EVER STOP TO THINK-

I do have the map of s2 places but given how shitass of a map it is I chose not to include it here. It makes me so angry. Not quite as angry as the Spire map but it’s up there and I do not want to think about it. Also I don’t think it was even meant to be accurate or show any real continents so looking at it would give u nothing.

#tangled the series #tts #rta #omat paskat #I will keep you posted on new map discoveries but seeing how we're in s2 I'm not holding my breath #tangled #for friend's blocklist ur welcome also keep liveblogging it to me #i know you wont see that tag but still i enjoy it

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Taking Advantage of The Moment (Max-centric; Max/Jaidynn if you squint) - Puppy

A/N: Hello, folks. I have posted things for writethehousedown, but this is my first time on AQ. After seeing/posting the Groundhog Day prompt, I wanted to take on the challenge. I’ve always been fascinated with time loops, so heck. Here we go. Max and Jaidynn’s relationship here can be seen as either platonic or romantic.

TW: Panic/anxiety attack

Summary: Max Malanphy finds herself reliving her elimination day over and over and over and over again.

Max solemnly rolled her bags out of the workroom for the- who knows how many times it was at this point. She understood completely what the universe was trying to tell her.

Was her runway not up to standards as other times? Yes. Was her Snatch Game performance questionable at best and terrible at worst? Well, she was literally near her last possible choice since producers disapproved of her first few choices. If only this stretched to yesterday, the grey lady thought to herself, I could’ve thrown in a line about Party City or something like that… She had already accepted that she lost the lip-sync against Jaidynn too. She was a damn good performer and 80s’ R&B wasn’t generally in Max’s repertoire. So why the hell was this still happening?

Perhaps she’d sleep on it, but that was useless. She’d wake back up on the same day. It seems she had lost count of the many things she had tried to do to finally fly back home. 

~~~

“This seems a little familiar… repetitive even…” Max approached Violet with some caution.

“You’re the one getting read about your wigs, and you talk to me about repetitive?” The one-of-a-kind collectable joked, or at least attempted to. She was still getting used to the whole ‘bring a warmer person’ thing.

“Shouldn’t I have gone home already?”

Violet tilted her head in slight confusion. “What do you mean? I think it was Kandy’s time and…” she beckoned Max to lean down so she could whisper into her ear. “You didn’t hear it from me, but your Merle Ginsberg… wasn’t that bad last week.”

Max’s fears were assuaged until she got on the runway. The brightness of the lights and the tightness of the corset creeped back into play. She once found herself asking to loosen her outfit and sitting at the edge of the stage. Yep, she was reliving the moment that sent her home.

~~~

Around the fourth or seventh time she had been eliminated, Max had practically memorized the backstage conversations. “Well, now we know what she really sounds like!” Ginger joked, prompting a fit of laughter and a punch to the arm. Max hoped to have hit her face, but she wasn’t that far gone yet.

She once attempted to shed her purported prudish nature in another loop. She started conversations about what she once deemed vulgar, but all she had got was strange looks and reminders she was sharing too much information. She didn’t speak again until critiques. 

Immediately after (or was it two times after?), she had tried her best to be the friend that everyone needed. She’d help with outfits and accompanied Fame and Katya as extra moral support. Among the sewing and helping others with makeup, she barely had time for herself. The moment she stepped onto the runway, she barely put on a face of makeup and nearly fainted from lack of energy. Thankfully, she woke back up in her hotel room and last night’s pajamas.

The most recent loop was just spent in utter silence. Max had just… broke. She dared not speak or respond to anyone. She had choked back inaudible tears everywhere she went that day until the runway. As she was sweating under the lights, she prayed that she would pass out again. The voices in her head overpowered anything that she wanted to come out of her mouth. The ones constantly nagged at her for every decision she made on that show.

In an attempt to direct her attention away from those voices, her focus shifted elsewhere. This elsewhere unfortunately was drilled on the various sets of eyes staring at her, and the thousands more who would see it once it was edited and aired to the public. How many people would consider this some stunt? They’d probably think she was crazy or delusional.

She’d whisk herself back to Oz in times like this to cope, but it didn’t work. Any time she’d try, she would be trapped in the Witch’s castle near the crystal ball. “Auntie Em, I’m frightened…” Max whispered to herself as she slowly got back up. Hopefully the tear stains would have dried out of the corset by the time.

Max remained silent backstage. She knew what the judges’ verdicts were going to be; why bother discussing them? The outcome was the same yet again. She’d pack, she’d sleep, she’d wake up to walk the runway yet again.

As she woke up yet again, a thought crossed her mind. All of her attempts to actively change the situation ended up making things worse. The day kept repeating. Max got up out of bed and stared at her reflection. Had she been too much in her head? She chuckled; if she was that far in her, Fame probably would have gotten the joke by now. The queen took a deep breath in and vowed this. Go through the day as it was any other. Don’t make any drastic changes, Maxie. If you do, just… have them be small and insignificant. Try to make someone happy. The grey lady sighed and officially got ready for yet another loop of the same day. If this was the last, that would make her one extremely happy person. If it wasn’t, she would go back to trying… maybe ask Violet for a cincher this time.

~~~

“You’re done early,” Ginger noticed Max from her peripherals.

“Well, I’ve basically worn the same face since I’ve been here, so I guess practice amounts to shaving off a few minutes.” Max retorted as she admired herself a little longer. Her red contacts stared back at her: the leather-bound black widow. She laughed at her own little joke. The other girls couldn’t possibly know what that little comment also meant. The queen hummed a show tune to herself as she waited until filming started.

Being done this early felt so surreal, almost voyeuristic. The now black-haired lady stared among the workroom, eyeing her little corner of the room in particular: the various wigs and looks she wasn’t going to bring to the public. Perhap she could use this time to start packing again; there was no need to delay the inevitable. She let out a sigh as she stared at her belongings.

“Hey, girl. You seem a bit out of it today.” Max was shaken out of her reverie and looked down at the shorter queen.

“It’s nothing, really,” Max lied, but saw that there was no use doing so. For all she knew Jaidynn was going to forget it the next time this happened; telling her wouldn’t hurt. In fact, it was cathartic for the tall one. “Never mind.. It has felt a little strange. Ever since I’ve been here, it’s been as if I was in a dream and I still haven’t quite woken up yet. Speaking of… I’ve probably already asked you this, but can you pinch me?”

“Did you get enough sleep last night?” Ever concerned, Jaidynn leaned against the wall and attempted to hold her friend’s hand.”I think this may have been the first time we saw each other today.”

“I’ve been reliving this day for gods know how long. Sleep is the least of my worries.”

“Have you actually done so or is this just ‘Max language’ for something else? I get that filming has been repetitive and it’s all routine, but I doubt that you’re going through some Bill Murray shit.” Max had a tendency to speak entirely in metaphor; Jaidynn and others on set knew that first hand. When she spoke, she often spoke in terms of Oz and werewolves when she wasn’t giving sage advice. When she wasn’t inside of her head, she was off in another world where magic is real and nothing can go wrong. Thank goodness she had folks who could snap her back to reality.

Max nodded her head as she then eyed Fame and Katya in another corner of the room, silently mumbling along to their conversation to prove her point.

“Damn, girl. That sounds pretty cool. It would definitely come in handy. You could improve on your looks and save yourself if you were ever on the bottom.”

Max widened her eyes, not wanting to say too much. She already violated her mission by confiding in Jaidynn. “I’ve already done so much. What else is there to do?” Before she could say anything more, a PA had come in telling them to line up. “Shall we continue this later?”

Before they knew it, the arduous hours of judging had passed yet again and the critiqued queens headed backstage. “Did.. did that happen every time? You sounded good” Jaidynn asked about the corset mishap. All Max could do was nod her head and laugh.

“Sometimes, I’d switch up the song,” she whispered back and giggled. “I remember I did ‘Over the Rainbow’ one night… ‘The Man That Got Away’ another… One night, I think I-”

“The accent…”

“What about it?”

“You lost it for a second there.”

“I- I did?” Max shouldn’t have been surprised, but she just stopped for a second. It felt strange, having slipped out of this persona she had made for herself after having maintained it for filming and then some, but also freeing too. It was as if a giant weight had been lifted off her shoulders. “Didn’t even realize.” She laughed a little louder than she normally did, garnering more attention that she usually got. Max and Jaidynn joined the other girls with smiles on their faces and an underlying sense of uncertainty.

Sitting with her fellow castmates wasn’t the best thing in the world. There was no doubt that Max Malanaphy was an introverted figure. When they were normally congregated backstage, she would be among them, but barely contribute. Her comfort zone could only extend so far. She’d often flock where Violet or Pearl were, so she could talk about her day and how the other queens acted towards her, but that was the longest she’d have a conversation. The constant loops had certainly made things easier for the young lady. The only time she broke away from the conversation was to practice the song with Jaidynn.

“You really don’t have to do this, Max. I mean… you have the song down better than me at this point.” The Nashville queen remarked, taking a headphone out of one ear.

Max blushed a little at the remark and bounced the curls of her wig with one hand. “Don’t puff me up too much, dear; I wouldn’t want to send you home tonight,” She awkwardly laughed afterwards. “I’d still very much want it to be an even playing field… or as even as possible considering circumstances.” Jaidynn popped the earbud back in and they continued to listen together, mostly in peace and quiet. The song looped on repeat until the five minute warning came around once again.

“You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“What happens after this?” Jaidynn started as she was lining back up. “I’m gonna forget all this ever happened, I guess…”

Max was shaken by the suddenness of the statement. She had never really considered the implications of Jaidynn’s situation. This whole day would be meaningless “I mean it depends… I might go through the wringer again.” Her cadence suddenly began to speed back up to an alarming pace. “The outcomes of the lip sync might change but it does not seem likely at the moment because I’m pretty sure Michelle hates me and they’d want me out as soon as possible but who knows, it might be a double sashay or a double shantay or I might win or no one wins or-” She stopped herself yet again, but her breathing became much more erratic. Now wasn’t the time for yet another breakdown.

Jaidynn attempted to cup her tall fishy friend’s face, but settled for squeezing her hand. It would have looked ridiculous due to their sizes. “Look at me,” she started as Max crouched to her height. “No matter what happens, you’re gonna kick ass. I’ve seen you, girl, and you’re a badass performer. You’ll turn it out.”

“The Shakespeare challenge…” Max’s eyes widened as she realized what Jaidynn had just said.

“What about it?”

“You used my own encouragement against me!”

“Y-yeah.. I figured it’d help.”

“And it did.” Max curtsied and kissed the back of the hand Jaidynn was still holding before throwing herself into a hug. “It’s just… I- I’ll make sure you won’t forget me.”

“Do you promise?”

“I swear.” That was the last thing Max had said before the final lip sync.

Like most go-rounds, the outcome was the same. Jaidynn had lived to see another week while Max was sent packing yet again. This time was different; she didn’t feel as defeated as she had previously been. She had said a speech, blown a kiss, then left the stage with as much dignity and grace as she had entered.

It was melancholic seeing the looks that she wouldn’t be able to show the judges, but it wasn’t too bad. She’d probably see them the next day. That was the least of her troubles at that moment. The only thought occupying Max’s mind was Jaidynn. If this was her last tomorrow, how was she going to let her friend know she was safe and that she made it out with a little bit of sanity intact? Before she left the workroom yet again, Max tied the handkerchief that was paired with her final runway look to the end of the table where her friend’s stuff was. She took one hopefully final glance at the workroom and didn’t look back. All she could do was pray that she’d wake up with a phone the next day.

~~~

The next time Max walked into the werk room, she wasn’t alone.

She followed behind the eliminated queens. It was nice seeing everyone again. She apologized to Trixie for saying she’d win it for her, but her college friend laughed it off, saying it wasn’t that big of a deal. It was also quite lovely seeing Sasha and Kasha and Kandy again, as well as Tempest and Jasmine, but something felt missing.

Although she was ultimately paired up with Violet (something she was happy about), she still couldn’t get her mind off of Jaidynn. She was the only person she had trusted with probably the most valuable information of her life. Just seeing her had to have been enough evidence she was back. For all she knew, it could have been a couple more loops since she returned from Jaidynn’s perspective. Memory was a funny thing. For now, she just had to pretend as if her first yesterday was the only time the elimination had happened. There was a possibility of returning to the competition tonight.

“I think you might have forgot this.” Max put part of her corset down and looked up at a familiar face. There Jaidynn was with the little black shawl in her hand. She maintained herself the best that she could, but it didn’t last much longer. The tall queen hugged Jaidynn as hard as she could.

“Thank you…” Max whispered as a few tears started to form. “Thank you, darling, for everything.”

#rpdr fanfiction #max malanaphy #jaidynn diore fierce #ginger minj #jaidynn x max #angst #hurt/comfort #fluff #canon compliant #on set fic #groundhog day au #s7 #taking advantage of the moment #puppy #tw panic attack #rare pair

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nblesbianbenhanscom · 4 years

Note

Will you get mad at me if I ask you to answer ALL of the fanfic Day questions because I just really enjoy your writing and I want to know everything I can. ♡.♡

OMGosh Lock, lol. Nah, I’ll answer them all. Lol.

It got long, surprise surprise, so I put it all under the cut.

What is your favorite fic you have under your belt?

I mean, the all time favorite one I’ve written is It Was Only a Kiss from my Teen Wolf days because of all the emotional hurt/comfort.

For It, I think, other than Death Is Just So Full, it has to be I Want to Hold Your Hand. It’s a preslash reddie fic that’s just so fucking soft.

What is your favorite snippet of dialogue?

I... Have such a hard time remembering what I wrote once it’s up. Lol. I’m looking over my fics rn like..? I wrote this?

The only thing that’s coming to mind is from my unfinished steddie fic, Leaning Out for Love-

It will be a cold day in hell before I fuck someone in a public bathroom, Eddie told the voice.

What inspired Fresh Raviolis?

You! Lol. Um. If I’m not mistaken, I think that was another @dysregulardyke helped fic. I was going to try and write some angst, and it was like. I don’t wanna write angst. I also think I just really liked the idea of Stan being the needy one. Usually it’s the other two, but like Stan always seems so solid, or at least the way I write/interpret him.

Do you prefer writing long or short fics?

So. Dijsf is actually the longest fic I’ve finished. When Leaning Out for Love is done, it will probably be longer. Historically, I have written much shorter fics, the longest coming in around 40k. It just depends on my mood. I’ve been writing a lot of short fics/drabbles lately because I don’t have the emotional energy for the bigger ones and I get bored easily. I do need to get back to that steddie though. It’s so good.

What’s your favorite headcanon you use in fics?

I’m just gonna say it. It’s. It’s unpopular. I’ve been avoiding saying it out loud to anyone but Lou. I’ve vague posted about it A LOT, but like. It is a common theme in my writing...

Richie’s parents don’t like him. They don’t get him, they think he’s weird and a freak. They don’t like that he’s queer. They just want him to be Normal.

Do I appreciate fics where Richie’s parents are loving and caring and so forth? Yes. I’ve read lots of drabbles and short fics where Went and Maggie are great parents, love him, and support him, but like. That’s not what I saw. That’s not how I took it.

Richie’s parents aren’t in the movies/miniseries. We have absolutely no idea what they are like. In the book, from what I remember, they have zero idea as to how to handle him. I know, I know that just because a parent doesn’t know how to handle their kid doesn’t mean they don’t like him, but. *shrug*

I don’t know if it’s even a favorite headcanon, it’s just one that seems to come up a lot.

What’s the detail you wait on bated breath for readers to notice?

The stuff I want people to notice is almost always stuff my first readers don’t get, so it usually gets cut. Like in dijsf, I had a part where Richie was going over stuff in his head and was like “A happened, and 2 was wrong, and c none of the above,” type something and both Lou and my other friend were like THIS MUST BE CORRECTED, and I did a sad.

How much do you like symbolism in your fics?

I don’t? I am a chaotic writer. I do not use outlines. I just write. The closest I come to outlines is making a calendar but that’s filled in as I go so I can have some idea when things happened.

How often do people catch onto your little details?

I honestly have no idea? No one mentions anything. I think sometimes I ask Lou about stuff, but like my brain is so not remembering shit right now about little details that I may have wanted people to notice.

What’s the fic you like the least?

... My most popular It fic Not Gonna Lose Me. Like I have no idea why. It’s good, it’s really good. But... I don’t like it. I almost didn’t even publish it, but both Lou and my other friend were like, it’s a solid fic, so... ??? I have no idea.

What would you change if you had it all to do again?

... i killed stan in dijsf and i felt so guilty about it i started writing Leaning Out for Love.

Like, my friend was over halfway done editing when I was like, I should- I should rewrite this. I should rewrite this so Stan lives, because I love Stan and he deserves to live.

Lou had to tell me very firmly that the fic would not have been the same if I kept Stan alive, and let me tell you, Leaning Out for Love is SOOOOOO different. It’s like literal polar opposite.

What’s a fanfic idea you haven’t done yet?

Any of the Losers as trans, nonbinary, asexual, or aromantic. There’s... thoughts that swirl around, but I hesitate. I wrote a lot of stuff like that in my Teen Wolf days, and they were good and I know helped people, but like. I don’t know. I don’t know why I can’t quite do that here. I probably will someday though.

What’s the hardest thing to write for you?

Describing what things/people look like. I have no ideas. Also sex positions?? And often emotions.

Do you have a favorite character to write for?

Eddie. Eddie spaghetti. I love Eddie so much. He’s fucking everything. Stan and Richie are close seconds though.

What’s your favorite shipping fic you’ve written? Favorite gen fic?

If we focus on It and push dijsf aside, my favorite shipping fic is probably my streddie fic We Won’t Settle for Less. The proposal scene is just... pure delight, lol. My favorite gen fic is I Want to Hold Your Hand. It’s just... So Good. So pure. Like. Just Richie and Eddie going on their first (not) date when they both only kind of know it’s a date? I don’t know. It just warm fuzzies.

Give us a snippet of something from your WiPs!

Have something from Leaning Out for Love-

Eddie smiled a little as he leaned up against a tree. He bit his lip as he looked around. He still couldn’t believe how much had and hadn’t changed in the Barrens. Stan leaned close to Eddie but didn’t touch him. Eddie grabbed his sleeve to pull him close, but Stan pulled away, shaking his head.

“No, talk to me,” Stan said.

Eddie shrugged a little. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Clearly.”

“What? What do you want me to say? That I’m fucking terrified that I’m a disappointment? That I’m scared that you don’t actually like me? That I’ll never be good enough for this? For- For-” Eddie yelled, his voice raising with each word. He wrapped his arms around himself as he stared down at his feet. Stan didn’t say anything, just stood there watching him. “For you,” he whispered. He took a deep breath and chanced a look up at Stan who was just watching him, clearly lost for words. “Well are you going to say something?” Eddie snapped despite himself.

Stan opened his mouth and closed it. He started to reach for Eddie but stopped.

“Eddie, you’re- You don’t need to put so much pressure on yourself,” Stan said. “You’re one of the best people I know.”

Eddie huffed. “Yeah, I’m really fucking great.” He shook his head. “I live with my fucking- with fucking Sonia. I don’t even have a fucking job or savings! I’m a twenty-four year old gay man who’s most serious relationship was with a woman just like my mom!” He laughed again. “Real fucking catch.” Breathing hard, he looked down at his feet again.

“Hey!” Stan growled. He grabbed Eddie’s face roughly, his fingers digging into Eddie’s cheeks so Eddie would look up at him. “You are great. You are a catch. You are so fucking caring, and sweet, and hot. And strong.” Eddie tried to pull away, but Stan shifted, pushing him back. “You’re so fucking strong. You’re one of the strongest people I know. Yeah, life sucks right now. I get it. Mine does too. But it’s not going to suck forever.” A tear trickled down Eddie’s cheek. “It’s not going to suck forever.”

Eddie sucked in a deep breath. “I just- I don’t even know what I’m really doing here.”

“You’re doing your best,” Stan said gently. “And your best is good enough.” Eddie sighed, all the fight leaving his body, and he brought his hands up to Stan’s wrists.

#i'm not going to tag this #because reasons #but tysm #<3 #i really should get back to writing that steddie #it's so soft #thelxckblog

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bettsfic · 5 years

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hey betts! can you give us any insight into your new drafting process (the one you mentioned on Twitter?) those results have me green with envy

sure! this is going to be a fairly quick run-down because i have to start planning my classes here soon.

(anon is referring to this tweet)

required reading

shitty first drafts by anne lamott, which is where i modified my process from

on fear by mary ruefle, which talks about procedure and i may have taken the wrong meaning from the essay but basically, my entire process is about mitigating the fear innate in writers’ block by having a procedure in place to counteract it

tools

google docs (or some other word processor)

google calendar (or some other calendar app; i wrote about my scheduling process here)

toggl (or some other timekeeping app)

airtable (i’ve also used trello, but i like airtable better. ps big thanks to @electricalice for introducing me to it! it’s a lifesaver)

pre-writing

so first you need an idea. whenever i have an idea, even if there’s 0 chance i’ll end up writing it, i add it to my airtable, plus any notes or details i come up with. i also copy and paste any text convos i have about the fic, like if i headcanon something with a friend. (i used trello for this until recently; it works just fine and is a bit easier to use. airtable also has a kanban function though, along with other formats, so it’s a bit more flexible)

airtable is a project management spreadsheet software. i’m sure there are others out there, but i started fiddling with this one and haven’t looked back. it takes a little while to figure out, and you might have to google some things you want it to do that aren’t terribly intuitive.

my fanfic table, filtered by ideas, looks like this:

(you may have to expand to look at it, also note that the pretty colors are a Pro feature of the app and i’m still on my trial)

the idea here is to have space to store my ideas. let’s say i hang out with a friend and we started talking about fic, and i bring up i have an idea for a endgame coda but i’m not really sure where to take it, so we start headcanoning back and forth, and now i have a few scene ideas. i made my endgame coda card already right after i saw the movie, so all i have to do is open the app and jot down the main points of my headcanoning. now when i go home and start working on it, i can easily pull up our brainstorming session.

narrative outlining

i have never been an outliner or a planner. i’ve always been a pantser. i have a premise and i run with it, and that worked for me for a long time. pantsing has a lot of benefits: your story always surprises you! you can get really immersed! it’s certainly the more whimsical writing process.

but what i found was that i would often write myself into a corner, or lose steam once i realized what should have been a 10k fic was actually going to be 80k and i didn’t like the story enough to sit with it for 80k. i also spent a long time thinking about future scenes and writing them down but losing them later, or forgetting about them.

so i started doing narrative outlines, which are just me going “and then THIS happens” repeatedly and sometimes inputting “and something causes this other thing” until eventually i have the whole story written out. the goal of the narrative outline is pacing. all you have to do is get the major beats down. it doesn’t have to be good. no one is going to see it (unless you want them to).

ideally my paragraphs will be all around the same size. those are going to become my chapters. if a paragraph is significantly shorter than another, it’s likely that i don’t have that beat fleshed out yet. i call chapters “beats” because to me, each one should have its own arc, and end at a high or low point in the story.

in my fanfic airtable, i have a table for chapters. all chapters of all multi-chap wips go here, and i can filter out ones that are complete later.

the beauty of the chapters table is that it can connect to your ideas/wip table and vice versa so everything is kept together. i had 7 paragraphs in my narrative outline so i made 7 rows.

notice i also gave myself a due date. i don’t really like due dates, but i’m trying them on for now and seeing how it goes.

i copy and paste the chapter paragraph as i go into the “summary” field. then, as scene or line ideas come to me, i toss them in the “scenes/lines” field. I was in a car for 8 hours and coming up with scenes all over the place, and i needed somewhere to put them. if i didn’t know where they went, i put them in my idea table instead, and filed them later.

you’re still idea-ing, you’re still outlining, but now it’s time to write.

gauge

i make a folder for the fic and open a doc and label it ch1. then i copy and paste the narrative outline paragraph into the doc and separate it out by scene with an asterisk between each one.

here’s where the timesheet and calendar come in. i have a reminder on my calendar to schedule the following day, and on that schedule i put my writing time. when it’s time to write, i start the toggl clock. at the end of each week, i put in my time in my personal timesheet.

the first chapter or 10% of anything i’m writing tends to take longer than the rest, because i need to get into the story, and choose the voice and tense and tone and things like that. so i take however long i take to make what i call a gauge. in knitting, a gauge is the thing that determines the size of the piece. if you’re knitting a sweater, you knit a little square to make sure the sweater comes out the size you need it to be.

so i write the gauge and it takes however long it takes. sometimes i rewrite it a few times, test out POVs and tenses and description and whatever else. what i like best, what seems the most sustainable, is what i choose. i wrote 3 chapters of a novel in present tense and a childish tone before i decided it needed to be first person reflective and i rewrote the whole thing.

don’t get frustrated with yourself if your gauge doesn’t work. that’s what the gauge is for. you’ll know you’ve chosen the right voice if, by the end of your gauge, you’re really eager to keep writing.

down draft & punch list

so now you’ve got a pretty gauge to follow, and the rest is going to be an absolute mess. the down draft is exactly what it sounds like – you get the idea down. i personally believe you need to tell the story to yourself a few times in order to get good at telling the story, or to know what the story is. you’ve told yourself the story once in outline form, and now you’re just breaking out the scenes a little bit more.

the key to the down draft is not to self-edit. i’m not talking about going back and tweaking typos and shit, that’s fine, whatever. i mean doubting yourself structurally. like, oh shit, you forgot to mention that they took off their clothes and now they’re naked.

here’s where the punch list comes in, which is yet another table. (i’ve also used google tasks for this, because it pops up in a side window. either works!) a punch list is a to do list. instead of fixing things, you put the thing on your punch list and save it for the next draft. a down draft is all about speed and figuring out where all the pieces go. revising during the down draft only slows you down.

the punch list is my solution to the contrived advice “you can fix it later!” to which i always say, “BUT I WON’T REMEMBER TO FIX IT LATER I HAVE TO FIX IT NOW.” as soon as you think of something to fix, put it on the table. it may seem like it’s faster to fix things as you go. it is not. i promise.

this is all my punch list notes for all fics, which i then connect to my other tables/filter as needed. put everything in your punch list. it’s better to make a punch list item that you don’t end up implementing than forget an important revision note. if you end up putting the project down for a while, you’ll want to know what you’d intended.

up draft

in the up draft, you clean up the down draft. here, i take each document in a new window, put it on the right half of the screen, and open a new document to put on the left.

then i rewrite the whole fucking thing. i pull up my punch list and fix all the things as i go, to the best of my ability. here’s where the writing gets pretty and fleshed out. but still, it doesn’t need to be perfect. you have more revisions to go. it’s important to remember during this entire process that everything can be changed. nothing is permanent. you’re not writing in stone. there’s no cost to words or documents, so you can revise as much as you want.

it’s also worth noting that the longer your project, the more sectioned out your story will be. sometimes you’ll have a chapter on a down draft and another chapter on an up draft. sometimes you might down draft out of order just to make sure you get your ideas down when they occur. whatever works for you. the idea is that you’re constantly building spaces in which to put your stuff that can be easily found and implemented. the creative process is messy, so you need to make clean spaces to put the mess in.

while you’re up-drafting, you’re still idea-ing and outlining and down-drafting and punch-listing. maybe you don’t have the answer to a problem yet, but you might later. decision fatigue in the creative process is real. this process is designed to mitigate decision fatigue. there are only ever so many decisions to make at once when you expand out your process like this one.

and sometimes, sadly, the solution to a problem never happen. that’s okay. what you write might be flawed. in fact it should be flawed. flaws are what make things beautiful. all you can do is the best you can do, and if it’s not good enough for your tastes, you can learn from your mistakes and try again.

beta

sometimes i have a beta and sometimes i don’t, depending on how confident i am about the work. when i have a beta, this is the stage i send them my stuff. sometimes i tell them specific things i’m looking for, like just line edits, or cheerleading, or whatever else. sometimes i have questions about whether or not something is working. i tell them what date i intend to post and when i would like edits to be done by, and if they don’t get around to it, that’s okay. i can just hustle a little harder in the next revision.

dental draft

here’s where, per anne lamott, you check every tooth. i implement my remaining punch list items and beta feedback, fix pacing issues, typos, unclear sentences, etc. sometimes i do the side-by-side window thing for chapters that are particularly messy, and sometimes i just fix the existing doc. by now your story should be looking pretty good, or the best you can get it.

final read-through :) or additional revisions :(

for fic, this is the point where i hit it and hope. i copy and paste the chapter/fic into an ao3 shell with the tags and summary i’ve kept in my airtable, and do a final readthrough. i don’t do it in the original doc because seeing it in a new font and format usually makes me notice things i’d missed before.

for ofic, here’s where you might need more feedback and more revising if your piece isn’t working yet, or if you’ve submitted it a couple dozen places and haven’t had it accepted. while this process is thorough, sometimes pieces still aren’t working for whatever reason. don’t throw anything away, though. keep it, file it, log it in your airtable, and maybe one day while you’re driving an idea will pop into your head and you’ll be able to come back to it.

this was a really really quick run-down of an extremely long and complicated process, but it works for me! i probably wouldn’t have been able to do this even a year ago. it’s taken me a long time to cultivate this kind of discipline, and i’m still a work in progress. so if it’s too much or too structured for you, that’s fine. maybe you can take one or two things for yourself and try them out.

#writing advice #process #Anonymous

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tiaragqueen · 5 years

Note

Can i request a yandere!tarzan! Jungkook? I've been thinking about it a lot lately but nobody seems to done it :""))

Champing At The Bit

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Tarzan! Jeon Jeongguk x Reader

✂ Word Count: 3,6k+

✂ Trigger Warning: Animal attack, blood, death, obsessiveness, possessiveness, sadism

✂ This story is fictional and for amusement only. I don’t believe any of the members would do this in real life. As always, thank you for reading and I hope you have a good day!

Donot re-upload my writing to another website or use it without mypermission.

[Edited]

***

Okay, so… I might have gone a bit overboard on this one. This is probably the longest one-shot I’ve ever written, but I don’t know. The edited version might be shorter, tho. Why, you look at that. It’s longer than the unedited one.

If you like mywriting, please support me on ko-fi!

“One way or another, I’m going to find ya. I’m gonna get ya. One way or another, I’m going to win ya.” – One Way Or Another [Blondie]

You didn’t know what to expect from this scene.

No, scratch that. You hadn’t expected this to happen at all.

You had always known that your baby brother was more sociable than you. It was a trait you had been long secretly envious of. There was something from him that easily attracted people to him, either from his smile or overall mannerisms. While you were approaching your early twenties, your social skills remained undeveloped. It didn’t help that you had a tendency to overanalyze things, too.

However, you would later learn that your introversion wasn’t a curse as you had initially thought. In fact, it could save you from the doom that would soon befall you.

“[Brother’s name], what… what are you doing? Who is he?” you asked, brows furrowed deeply and eyes widened in an overwhelming mixture of confusion, shock, relief, fear, and wariness.

“Ah, Noona!” your brother beamed once he spotted you and enthusiastically pointed to the stranger in question. “Look, I’ve got a new friend! His name is Jungkook, but he likes to be called ‘Kookie’.”

Your mouth slackened as you glanced at the pair back and forth, trying to make sense of their relationship. Well, it wasn’t like you misheard what your brother said just now. In fact, you heard it a little bit too clearly for your liking. But of course, what kind of a normal human being would immediately accept the fact that their sibling had befriended a fucking Tarzan in the middle of a forest?!

‘Kookie’ shrunk a little and bowed his head when you averted your attention to him, displaying his shyness towards strangers. At least, he wasn’t aggressive. That was a plus. You didn’t know what to do if there was a young man, wearing nothing but a dark ripped cloth to cover his lower part, were to attack your brother. You cleared your throat to distract yourself from the disturbing image.

“Well, that was nice and all but can we please go back to the camp? Mama has been waiting for you, you know?”

[Brother’s name] bit his bottom lip, and it didn’t take a genius to know that he hesitated to leave this ‘Kookie’. Was it possible to create such a close relationship with someone you just met? Was he really that interesting to your brother until he felt reluctant to go?

“Can we bring him too? He looks so lonely…”

You didn’t bat an eye on rejecting his ridiculous suggestion, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, [Brother’s name].”

There was no way in hell you would bring that guy to your parents. They might not panic much, but you didn’t want to deal with the consequences should something bad happened. He might get a panic attack – or worse, go on a rampage – if you forced him to meet other people.

“But can you at least introduce yourself first, Noona? Kookie might be shy, but he’s very curious about you.”

How the hell did he know that that guy was curious about you? Did he suddenly possess a sixth sense or something? And besides, that guy refused to look at you in the eye!

“Oh, um, I…” Fuck this shit. If you wanted to leave, then you better deal with this quickly. “Uh… Hi, Kookie. I’m [Name], [Brother’s name]’s older sister.”

Was that friendly enough? Could he even comprehend what you just said? Judging from the way [Brother’s name] grinned when he glanced at the said man, you assumed that he indeed understood. To some extent, probably.

“Kookie said you’re pretty, Noona.”

How did one accept a compliment from a Tarzan? You didn’t know, you never bothered to know, and you definitely didn’t expect to know how. And that was why your reaction was painfully awkward, even cringy if someone were to watch this whole interaction.

“Oh, thank you. He’s… he’s handsome too.”

That wasn’t a lie. He did look handsome. And cute too. With long eyelashes that framed his doe eyes, chubby cheeks, healthy pink and plump lips, down to the tiny mole that you almost missed. You had no doubt that he would gain a lot of admirers had he was more… normal. But what was normal for you, might not be normal to others. And with his fidgety mannerisms that just screamed bashfulness and awkwardness throughout, he might end up as one of those wallflowers or an antisocial that avoided people altogether.

No, actually, the latter seemed much more likely to happen. It was a miracle that your brother even managed to befriend him in a span of twenty minutes.

Another reason for you to be insecure about.

“Okay, introduction’s over. Let’s go back, shall we?”

[Brother’s name] nodded, satisfied with what he thought was a successful conversation. Linking his fingers with yours, he skipped down the trodden path that led to the campsite whilst smiling happily. With your back turned, you were able to sense Jungkook’s penetrating gaze as opposed to the occasional timid glances earlier.

A shiver slithered down your spine.

It had been days since your first encounter with Jungkook. And ever since that, your brother had been secretly meeting him under the pretense of ‘exploring the area’. Of course, you being you, refused to accept his excuse at face value, unlike your parents who had shown a positive reaction over his so-called adventure. They even made another comment on how you should ‘be more active like him’ instead of ‘spending your time doing useless things such as constantly playing your phone’, although they didn’t know what you truly did with it. Just because you often play your phone, didn’t mean you always searched meaningless things. Sometimes, you liked to explore stuff and looked up some facts.

Obviously, they didn’t understand that. Not that you wanted to. There was no reason why you should convince someone who was too stubborn to change their mind.

The latter was also why they decided to make this spontaneous camping in the first place, much to your dismay. You had initially planned to spend your whole summer working on that story you had been procrastinating for so long, but your parents thought that it was time for some ‘family moment’.

And because you cared about your brother, despite your envy, you’d decided to ‘join’ him. Your parents were excited and thought that you finally ‘opened up’ to the world. You had ignored their gushing and accompanied your sibling in meeting his new friend.

Jungkook, although shy, was very talkative once a close bond was established. You didn’t find this very surprising, to be honest, since you yourself weren’t much different than him in this aspect. But what astounded you was the fact that he seemed to take more interest in you, more than he did to your brother. [Brother’s name], being a naïve boy he was, felt happy with this development. Thus, he took it upon himself to act as the ‘accommodating guide’ by answering Jungkook’s silent questions that – frankly speaking – sounded more like hushed whispers and occasional hoots. You didn’t know that it was possible for someone to gain a skill in communicating with Tarzan within such a short time, but that was what set him apart from you anyway.

Slowly, but surely, Jungkook started to open up more and more with you. From light, albeit hesitant, touching to bashful smiles; he did everything he could do to ensure that your attention remained on him alone. He even tried to speak to you once, but your overt inability to comprehend his words prevented you from fully understanding what he said. It wasn’t as if you wanted to know, either.

Honestly, you didn’t know what to feel from this so-called development. On one hand, you were creeped out at the fact that Tarzan had taken an interest in you. But on the other hand, you were flattered that someone actually found you desirable for once. That someone would make an effort to get to know you, or by the very least, including you in their conversations and not neglecting you as most people did.

The last day of camping came at the blink of an eye. [Brother’s name] kept sobbing that he wouldn’t be able to visit Jungkook again, while you awkwardly patted his small back. Comforting people wasn’t your forte, but for the sake of people you loved, you were willing to do anything for them. Even if it meant handling their emotional outbursts.

“Come on, [Brother’s name]. We need to go home.” you murmured, yet he merely cried harder. Before you, Jungkook didn’t provide any assistance whatsoever except watching him for the past five minutes.

“B-but, I can’t see him again.” [Brother’s name] blubbered.

You wished to say that he would be able to meet Jungkook once he was a bit older, but you couldn’t exactly promise such a thing to him. Life sometimes got in the way of achieving what you wanted, and that was why you refused to go around spreading empty words unless the odds were favorable.

“Okay, well…” you glanced around, racking your brain to come up with a perfect solution that wouldn’t leave [Brother’s name] even sadder than he already was. “Why don’t you say goodbye to Kookie now? Who knows, you might feel a bit better.”

[Brother’s name] sniffled, but luckily, he obliged to your suggestion. Approaching the quiet Jungkook, he threw his small arms around his neck and sobbed into his bare shoulders.

“Kookie, I’m leaving now.” he croaked with a voice that broke your heart a little. You’d never expected to get teared up from witnessing such an emotional scene, even though Jungkook was nowhere near emotional. His face remained blank as he blinked repeatedly, as though unaware of a child weeping in his embrace.

Damn him. He could’ve at least made an effort to appear affected.

Sniffling once more, [Brother’s name] withdrew from the one-sided hug and smiled bitterly. “I’ll see you again, Kookie. Please don’t forget me.”

Jungkook stared at him for a moment before turned to you. His dark eyes were hollow yet piercing as if trying to gauge your reaction through your ‘friendly-sister-of-a-friend’ façade. Maybe he did, then that would explain why he kept watching you lately. If you could even call that ‘watching’ because it looked more like observing than mere watching. Still, it didn’t make the experience felt any less unnerving.

You simpered at him, nonetheless. Couldn’t show him your discomfort, could you? For all you knew, he could be planning something and a glimpse of your true feelings might be something he’d deeply anticipated. “Well, Jung– I mean, Kookie. I think it’s time for us to go. It’s been an interesting week, and I can’t say that I regretted meeting you.”

Just a little, though. You had always doubted that Tarzan existed, especially in such a modern world like this, but his existence proved otherwise.

Jungkook stepped forward and suddenly brought you into a deep hug. Stunned, you let him buried his head into your stomach. You could’ve sworn that you heard him purring too, yet that was the least of your worries. Jungkook had never been this bold before – he always retained some degree of shyness in expressing his affection – so perhaps he finally felt comfortable with you? Enough to embrace you without a warning like this?

“[Name]…” he mumbled against your shirt. Your eyes instinctively widened, while [Brother’s name] gasped in astonishment.

“He spoke!” [Brother’s name] squealed, clapping vigorously as if he had witnessed first-hand something extraordinary. That would be understandable considering that Jungkook never seemed to speak before. “He finally spoke!”

You didn’t know what to do in this situation. No, scratch that, you knew exactly what you wanted to do. You wanted to run – away from this forest and its nonsense – and never looked back. Being observed was enough to put you on the edge, and now he decided to call you by your name too? This should’ve turned on the warning bell in your head. And as much as you wished to shove him on to the ground, you still had the decency to gently push him away.

“Oh, did you hear that? Mama is calling us. Let’s go, [Brother’s name]!” On the spur of the moment, you came up with a not-so-believable lie and grabbed his hand.

[Brother’s name] sputtered in shock. “B-but, Noona, I didn’t–”

“Goodbye, Kookie!” you exclaimed with more vigor than necessary, or what would one expect from a farewell.

You dashed through the trees which homogeneity seemed to confuse you in each minute, determined to make it into the campsite before it was too late. Why did you feel this way when the forest looked safe? Honestly, you weren’t sure yourself. You just had this hunch that something was wrong the moment Jungkook averted his gaze to you.

Or maybe the darkness and desire in his eyes gave it away.

Either way, you couldn’t afford to rest even if [Brother’s name] had been panting since earlier. You wanted to prove to yourself that your hunch was incorrect; that it was merely a suspicion or a secret fear that Jungkook would try to harm you and your family. Maybe it was somewhat unfair to place the blame on him when he hadn’t done anything wrong than just being his shy, creepy self. But it wasn’t like you could trust someone you met a week ago. You weren’t that careless.

During your rushed journey, you’d prayed and prayed that your hunch didn’t come true. That it all just happened in your head. But nothing, absolutely nothing, could prepare you for the massacre that greeted you at your destination.

Bodies laid on top of each other, eyes glassy yet profound with the unfairness of being the innocent victims. Some of their limbs looked like they had been forcibly ripped out from their sockets, leaving bloody bones that protruded through the rugged flesh. Their clothes were torn, mouths opened in a silent scream that fell on deaf ears, and they were looking up the sky as though it could lend a lifeline to save them from their untimely dooms.

Bile climbed from the pit of your stomach as you covered [Brother’s name]’s eyes, afraid that he would be traumatized by the horrible sight. He was still young and pure; he didn’t need to see what his parents had become. Charred and torn beyond belief and recognition. Sure, you weren’t really fond of them due to their tendency to compare you with [Brother’s name], but they didn’t deserve to die. Nobody at this campsite did, honestly.

“Noona!”

You gasped when someone – or rather, something – snatched him from your grasp. A black chimpanzee stood in one of the branches and held him against its chest, shouting incoherent things to you. Despite your disinterest towards monkey and ape species, there was a hidden fear deep inside your heart that was reserved for the chimpanzees. Especially when they were cornering you right now, a helpless and panicked human. You didn’t know if chimpanzees could eat humans, but you did know about their cannibalistic habits.

And now, your beloved baby brother was held as a captive.

What kind of a shitty movie was this?!

“Do you still… want to leave, [Name]?” a breathy voice asked in a broken sentence, showing their slight inexperience of speaking human language.

Your expression went cold as you slowly turned around, wishing that the speaker was nothing like what you thought them to be. However, your hunch was proven correct once again.

“Jungkook,” you hissed, gritting your teeth in a refrained anger. As much as you wanted to lash out to him, you knew that the chimpanzees wouldn’t take too kindly of it. You just knew it. “What the fuck is this, huh? Explain this!”

“Calm… down.”

“Don’t tell me how to calm down, you piece of shit!”

As expected, the chimpanzees started to get hostile over your equally offensive approach. Some were already approaching you, ready to tear you to bits had Jungkook didn’t raise his hand. The clamor stopped as soon as it arose, but the aura they emanated was still murderous. Peering to Jungkook, you concluded that he must be a leader or some sort.

Would it be weird if you say that you weren’t surprised in the slightest?

“[Name], you have to… know that you can’t… leave this forest… as you please,” he explained without looking at you. Oh, so now he was acting haughty, huh? Where was the shy boy who couldn’t even see you without blushing?

“So what? People come here all the time, yet they’re free to go anytime they want. Why the fuck should I be any different, huh?” You pointed a finger in his direction and glowered, trying to display an aggressive body language despite your huge difference in power. Maybe those chimpanzees would back down somewhat?

Well, no. Because you could hear them growling in the background.

“Because… you’re special.”

You narrowed your eyes, clearly not amused with his half-assed excuse. If he thought that he could convince you with that, then he would be dead wrong. “The fuck–?”

As if on cue, the chimpanzee who held [Brother’s name] captive suddenly took a chunk out of his left shoulder. You froze in shock, watching the blood spurted from the wound like in slow motion. The sound of his agonized scream echoed in the forest, when not even a single cricket dare to chirp. All witnessed the chimpanzee brutally lacerated his flesh until the bone and tendons were visible to the naked eye.

“Stop! Stop!” you finally shouted after a moment of stupefaction, the aggressive facade shattered when tears started to trickle little by little. “Stop this, please! I… I’ll do anything! Just… just, please. Don’t hurt him. Please. I’ll do anything, I swear to God.”

Jungkook’s face lit up almost instantly. However, you were too busy worrying about [Brother’s name]’s state and dread over his looming death to notice it.

If only you saw his joyous face right now, or the smug smirk that closed your and [Brother’s name] fates…

But it wasn’t as though you could compromise his safety for the sake of your selfishness, right? No matter how much you envied him, no matter how much you wanted to be like him for just a little – a moment – he was, and would always be, your little brother. Your younger sibling.

Your beloved baby brother whose existence you’d been anticipating ever since your mother announced her pregnancy.

Your beloved baby brother who saw you for the first time with those sparkling doe eyes and pouty lips.

Your beloved baby brother who held your pinky finger and beamed that cute smile of his.

And most of all, your beloved baby who always made you smile and laugh when the world seemed to turn its back against you.

It was funny how easy it was to say ‘I love you’ to your exes, any time and any day when you had never said it to your own sibling.

What kind of a big sister was you?

“Really…? Then, I guess… you don’t mind if you become mine, right? I’ve been waiting… for this moment.” Jungkook inclined his head and smiled softly as if reminiscing something. “That kid… has been irritating me to no end.”

There was only regret and anger left in your constricting chest when Jungkook moved to hug you from behind. Regret for not being able to help your brother, and anger for being so fucking useless.

But what were you, compare to a horde of chimpanzees waiting for the right moment to strike?

What were you, compare to his authority and power?

And what were you, to resist your own fate?

You let those sturdy arms wrapped themselves around your chest like a straitjacket and sobbed. Resting his chin on your shoulder, Jungkook sighed contentedly.

“I’ve been waiting… to hold you like this… ever since… you appeared. It feels… nice.” He peered towards the damned chimpanzee as though he barely remembered that they were here in the first place, and their presence ruined his ‘peaceful’ moment. Never mind the fact that he was probably the one who had ordered them to ambush you.

“Everyone,” you stopped sobbing for a moment and waited with bated breath his next demand. What was he going to say? What was he going to do? Hopefully, he would release [Brother’s name] and allow him to live. After all, you had willingly give yourself to him. Surely Jungkook wasn’t that evil, right? There must be some humanity deep inside him, however small it might be.

… Right?

“Eat him.”

The chimpanzees immediately charged at [Brother’s name] from every direction without any hesitation whatsoever. You watched in horror their sharp teeth sunk into his skin and ripped it like a starved animal. He wailed and writhed in their hold, wishing anyone to help him.

To save him.

To rescue him.

“No, no, no!” At this point, you actively struggled against Jungkook’s much stronger grip as you kicked and screamed for them to stop. For him to stop. For everything to stop. “Why are you doing this?! Stop!”

“As I said earlier… you’re special. And I can’t… let that kid… get in the way of our happiness.” Jungkook buried his face into your sweaty neck and smiled, ignoring your resistance and cries of help. “Now, we can finally be together.”

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voices-ringing-out · 4 years

Text

MUSE INTRODUCTION: Beck

I wasn’t going to put this up because it will inevitably have many spoilers from my novel, but on the one hand, I rarely finish any novel I start, and on the other hand, I highly doubt anyone is actually gonna want to read it, so I’m not really spoiling anyone here. And besides, Beck is basically the only muse I have energy for right now because apparently he’s a comfort character for me, so I figure it’d probably be a good idea to get an intro for him out there, even if I haven’t figured that aspect of my muse page out yet. Here we go.

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of severe bigotry, su*cide, scars, and betrayal.

EDIT: this got way too long lmao but it was nice to kind of map out Beck’s life before the novel starts, so feel free to ignore this post if you don’t wanna read a short biography lmao, this was almost entirely more character development for me than anything.

~ * ~

full name: Leslie Bryant Faulkner nicknames: Beck (his chosen name after he lost all memories and identity), Les. age: He was 30 when he died, so unless he puts energy into changing his appearance, that’s the age he presents as. gender: Cis male. sexual orientation: Pansexual with a leaning toward men. hair: Long, it falls against his shoulders. In life he was a very light blond, and still is, though there are now silvery strands interwoven, as well as the faintest green tinge; effects that happen the longer you’re in the afterlife - it’s sort of their form of aging. eyes: Grey. Though they go a cloudy white when he’s expending high amounts of energy. build: Average weight, slightly shorter than average height. birth place: London, England, though his family moved to a small eastern town in North America when he was young. ethnicity: English, scottish, welsh, irish, danish, and romanian; as far as he is aware. He’s quite the mutt. scars/body markings: The most noticeable are the scars that form a ring around his neck from how he died. He has various other scars on his arms, legs, and face, some from his own volition but most from the hard life he led before he died. He has a few small tattoos, one of a cat’s silhouette and one of a crescent moon to match the sun tattoo his brother had. zodiac sign: Sagittarius. alignment: Chaotic neutral. positive traits/strengths and skills: Passionate, fun-loving, clever; he once had a love for journaling, can throw a mean punch, and beat almost anyone at a drinking contest. He once played the violin, and enjoyed it immensely. negative traits/flaws: Growing cynicism, an addictive personality, mischievous; has a habit of pushing people away then clinging to them then repeating the process.

~ * ~

Beck was born in the year of 1882, in London, England, to a poor family; unable to continue making a living there, his family moved to a small town on the eastern coast of North America with the hope that many had of finding a better life across the sea. Beck was nine years old when they moved. Life was fairly uneventful for a while; his father worked as a coal miner while his mother worked at home trying to teach Beck, as well as his older sister - and his baby brother, born a little less than a year after they moved to America.

He was a difficult child, constantly curious and mischievous to a fault; any waking moment he had was spent exploring the town and the surrounding fields, trying to befriend any living thing he came across. He found it hard to make friends, if only because he was unable to go to the school with the other children, his family unable to afford it. More often than not, Beck found himself on the receiving end of mockery; the many reasons included his family’s financial status, his love for books, and the care he had for small animals - after getting into numerous scuffles with other boys in town to keep them from hurting the local wildlife, or the stray cats, he grew a ‘reputation’ for being a pansy, a girl, and other more vicous names. Physical fights were common, despite how much his mother fretted over him.

So while he still loved to explore and get into mischief, as Beck grew older, he spent most of his time at home helping to take care of his younger brother, and taking care of a small runt of a black cat that he had saved from a dog. He had become attached to the cat immediately and his parents had reluctantly agreed to let him keep it, as long as he took full responsibility.

After reaching adulthood, Beck had to leave home and find lodging in the city; his father had been injured in the mines, and couldn’t work anymore, leaving himself and his elder sister the primary breadwinners. His brother was still young by then; only just turned ten, and couldn’t work properly, though he tried to help by catching fish in the river near the town.

Beck managed to snag a job working for a newspaper office, helping with the printing press and selling papers. Every penny he managed to make he tried to send back home, oftentimes sleeping underneath awnings or roof outcrops on the street instead of paying for lodging elsewhere, just to make sure his family managed to get by.

He would visit home on the holidays, and had a close relationship with his brother; while Beck would send letters back home when he lived in the city, he would oftentimes write a separate letter, specially for his brother.

After an altercation with one of the higher ups in the business he worked for - a drunken dispute caused over a disagreement on wages - Beck moved back home for a time, at the age of 26, taking a temporary job at the mines his father had once worked for. He hated the work, hated the feeling of being smothered deep inside the earth, but he couldn’t afford to be picky.

A cave in happened at the mines, and while Beck made it out alive, he was injured, and several of the miners had died. After extensive pleading from his parents and siblings, Beck left the mining business and once again moved back to the city.

From there, he mostly worked odd jobs, including but not limited to bartending, being a stable hand, and a chimney sweep. His brother was old enough now to work, so Beck was able to save more money than before, eventually getting a place of his own - a tiny flat in downtown, but a place of his own.

And then it all began to go downhill. But for Beck, it seemed to be uphill - while working across the street from a theatre, he began to see one person in particular quite often: a man around his age, called Thomas, a middle class citizen with a love for theatre. The two of them hit it off, often going for drinks at a nearby pub as Beck got off work right around the time the final show of the night ended.

(MOST OF THE TRIGGERING CONTENT TAKES PLACE BELOW, SO READ ON WITH CAUTION.)

They became close friends, but Beck soon realised a complication: he thought of Thomas as more than friends, he thought of him romantically. He had had these feelings before in his life, but kept them secret for the sake of his family’s pride, and for his own benefit - he had come to terms with the feelings long ago but still kept them to himself.

After spending months writing journal entries about Thomas as a way to vent his feelings, he finally made a fateful decision: on his own birthday, December 13th, he would make a move. It seemed to him that Thomas felt as close to him as he did, and after all, this was the city, was it not? Surely he wasn’t misreading the signs, that maybe Thomas was like him, maybe they could have some sort of future together, outside of drinking buddies.

So, the night of December 13th, after leaving the pub where he and Thomas had made a toast to his birthday, they went for a walk as they often did, lingering for a while on the bridge near the center of the city, over the river. Beck was a tangle of nerves and butterflies in his stomach, but noticed that Thomas was watching him... that was a sign, right?

Beck tried to say something, but couldn’t get much more than the other’s name and a bit of stammering out so he took a chance and leaned in to attempt pecking the other on the cheek.

And that was when all hell broke loose. Thomas reacted violently, with disgust, and attempted to throw a punch. Beck panicked and ran, not stopping until he had run a good distance, unable to make it all the way back to his flat. He collapsed near a stable in an attempt to catch his breath and stave off the only worsening panic attack.

Before long, he heard a commotion, and hoisted himself up and onto the roof of the stable for a better look, only to see that Thomas and a mob of other men were coming down the street in his direction.

What followed was a frenzied chase, ending with Beck throwing himself into his flat and barricading the door, feeling as though his heart would explode, from both pain and exertion. The men were soon outside, beating at his door, and he could hear Thomas’ voice amongst the din, shouting the same threats and fury that the others were, all the noise blending into a blur of God’s so-called rage and wishes for death.

It seemed that there would be no escaping this. There was only one other exit out of his home, besides the front door, and it was a window already nearly shattering as the mob tried to gain entry.

So in a haze of terror and sorrow and grief and wishing so hard that he was with his family, Beck made one last decision: he would not allow the men outside to have the satisfaction of killing him and patting themselves on the back for it, as if they had done anything close to God’s will.

At first, in his daze, Beck crouched in the corner, drinking all the liquor he could find in his cabinets at a breakneck pace, before finally realising that that would take too long. He had hoped that it would kick in faster, hoped that if he were to go, then he could go in a way that seemed less violent, but no.

He managed to drag a rope out from his storage closet, throwing it over one of the rafters above his table, and well, one can imagine what happened next. Thomas and the men finally broke down the door only to find that they would not get the blood they had been thirsting for, because it was too late.

Beck has spent his life in the afterlife ever since; time doesn’t exist there so he wasn’t sure how long it took before he realised that he could haunt earth, before he realised that he had special powers, before he found out that he was a category of ghost known as a poltergeist. The only trick was... he had no memories. He had no memory of who he was, of who his family was, of how he died or of any of the past life he had lived. Outside of the scars on his body giving hints as toward how he died, and the clothes he had died in, Beck had nothing except the nickname he eventually gave himself.

Then the rumours are spread of a boy who can see ghosts, can talk to them, where almost no other living person can. And, well, the curiosity got the better of him, and that’s where our story starts.

#beck > character study #beck > headcanons #beck > biography

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downspiral-dreamer · 4 years

Text

CHARACTER INTRODUCTION: Beck - Six Feet Under The Stars

I wasn’t going to put this up because it will inevitably have many spoilers from my novel, but on the one hand, I rarely finish any novel I start, and on the other hand, I highly doubt anyone is actually gonna want to read it, so I’m not really spoiling anyone here. And besides, Beck and specifically JUST Beck is basically the only character I have energy for right now I have energy for right now because apparently he’s a comfort character for me, so I figure it’d probably be a good idea to get an intro for him out there. I might try to work on the novel some more later, we’ll see.

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of severe bigotry, su*cide, scars, and betrayal.

~ * ~

(MOST OF THE TRIGGERING CONTENT TAKES PLACE BELOW, SO READ ON WITH CAUTION.)

Beck tried to say something, but couldn’t get much more than the other’s name and a bit of stammering out so he took a chance and leaned in to attempt pecking the other on the cheek.

It seemed that there would be no escaping this. There was only one other exit out of his home, besides the front door, and it was a window already nearly shattering as the mob tried to gain entry.

Beck has spent his life in the afterlife ever since; time doesn’t exist there so he wasn’t sure how long it took before he realised that he could haunt earth, before he realised that he had special powers, before he found out that he was a category of ghost known as a poltergeist. The only trick was… he had no memories. He had no memory of who he was, of who his family was, of how he died or of any of the past life he had lived. Outside of the scars on his body giving hints as toward how he died, and the clothes he had died in, Beck had nothing except the nickname he eventually gave himself.

#oc: beck #wip: six feet under the stars #writeblr #writeblr community #new writeblr

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angelofrainfrogs · 5 years

Text

Serendipity (Part 1/3)

Fandom: Good Omens

Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley (but not the main focus)

Other Characters: Warlock Dowling

Description: Seven years after Armageddidn't, a boy wanders into A.Z. Fell and Co. and finds something more priceless than a first-edition novel- a reunion he (and his childhood caretakers) never thought possible.

Rating: G

Genre: General/Family/Mild Hurt/Comfort

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20432192/chapters/48473378

Part 1

Aziraphale raised his head from his book as the bell over the shop door jingled merrily. The angel carefully set the book and his glasses on a nearby table, standing up with a small sigh. Today had been blessedly quiet and he’d hoped that it would remain as such- this was only his third customer and it was already mid-afternoon. Still, he knew that if he let whoever had just walked in wander aimlessly, they might feel the urge to buy something; it was best to check on the visitor and see what their mission was before they tried anything rash.

“Hello!” Aziraphale said warmly, rounding the corner of an overstuffed bookshelf to find a boy examining a section of Italian poetry. The boy was in his late teens, with a lanky build just a smidge taller than Aziraphale. He wore dark jeans and a V-neck t-shirt bearing the logo of some pop band the angel would never understand. His hair, a cross between dirty blonde and light, light brown, was cut short, save for the unruly swathe of bangs that fell in front of his bright blue eyes.

“Hey,” the boy replied, pushing his bangs out of the way to get a better look at Aziraphale.

The angel blinked as he was hit with a wave of strange familiarity. A slight crease between his eyes was the only thing that alluded to this; otherwise, he kept himself composed. Aziraphale had seen so many humans over the years, he got the occasional twinge of feeling that he knew someone passing by in the street, but it always turned out to be a double of someone he’d met long ago. This boy, surely, was no different.

“Is there anything in particular you’re looking for, young man?” Aziraphale asked, clasping his hands behind his back.

“No, I just… kinda wandered in to look around, honestly.” The boy laughed and Aziraphale couldn’t stop his smile from widening. The laugh, coupled with the boy’s American accent, triggered something deep within his memory, though he couldn’t quite reach it. “The Yelp reviews of this place are wild; I wanted to see what it’s like for myself.”

“Yelp reviews?” Aziraphale questioned, tilting his head. He’d heard of this before from some of the other customers. From what he gathered, Yelp was a platform where people could post reviews of places they’ve visited. Based on what Aziraphale had been told, his bookshop would be classified as having a “mixed rating.”

“Yeah, people have said all kinds of shi- er, stuff about this shop,” the boy replied, correcting his near-curse as he guiltily met Aziraphale’s gaze. Something told the boy that the shop owner wouldn’t appreciate that sort of language. Remembering a particularly interesting review, the boy’s face lit up. “Is it true there’s a giant snake in here?!”

“Ah, well… sometimes,” Aziraphale admitted, a bemused light in his eyes. “He tends to wander, though; he’s out at the moment.”

The boy’s face shifted into an expression of mingled confusion and curiosity. Aziraphale’s unneeded breath caught in his throat. The strange sensation pulsed in the back of the angel’s mind, the feeling that he definitely knew this boy. He wanted more information on his origins, but it wouldn’t do to push too hard, lest he scare the boy off- Aziraphale had been told on more than one occasion that he could be rather “ruthless” (according to a certain demon, though the phrase made the angel scrunch his nose up in disgust) when it came to gathering information he desperately wanted to know.

“We don’t usually get many visitors from out of the area; are you on holiday?” Aziraphale asked, busying himself with reorganizing a shelf of books that had been shifted out of alphabetical order. There had to be some connection- he’d probably met the boy’s family or long-distant relative on a trip to America many years ago.

“No, I’m going to college here- university, whatever you want to call it,” the boy replied with a shrug. “Well, I mean, I don’t have class today- I’m not skipping or anything.” Again, there was that guilty look, as if the boy was afraid of disappointing the man in front of him- which was odd, since the boy had certainly never met the elusive Mr. Fell before. “I’ve got a day off, so I figured I’d check out Soho. I never really got to just, like… explore England when I was a kid.”

The angel froze mid-task. His slowly turned, focusing on the boy’s face and really looking. Time seemed to fade before his eyes, the boy’s defined features softening into the lanky face of a pre-teen, then melting further into the chubby visage of a child with a smudge of dirt on his cheek from where he’d rubbed his face while planting flowers-

“You okay, Mr. Fell?” the boy asked, noting the slight tremor in Aziraphale’s hands. The angel blinked, quickly composing himself.

“Yes, I-I’m fine, young W-… dear boy.” Aziraphale caught himself as his voice slipped into an accent he hadn’t used for over seven years. He shook his head; there was absolutely no way this could be the same child whose bruises he’d healed with a loving kiss and a touch of divine miracle.

“…Okay.” The boy didn’t sound convinced but decided to let the matter drop. He’d heard that the owner of the bookshop was eccentric and figured that the hyper-focused attention he was receiving was part of the package. Although, the boy had to admit that, just for a second, the man had sounded terribly familiar.

An awkward silence followed, neither of the two knowing how to continue the conversation. Aziraphale’s mind was racing, trying to figure out if this really was the boy from his memory and, if this was true, why in the world he had chosen to visit the bookshop. Aziraphale and Crowley had a discussion many years ago about whether they should try to reconnect with Warlock Dowling and had concluded that they’d already interfered in the boy’s life enough. His personality had seemed fairly balanced when they’d left, save for a tendency to be extremely blunt when speaking his mind. They had no idea what they'd really done to the poor mortal boy’s psyche and decided it best to leave him be and hope that he grew up as normal as he could from his eleventh birthday onward.

So, Crowley and Aziraphale stayed far away from the Dowlings for nearly a decade. They were so strong in their conviction of never going to see Warlock again that they hadn’t even entertained the possibility that the boy might find them.

No, it’s too much of a coincidence, Aziraphale thought, watching the teenager as he started looking through the poetry books in front of him. The angel glanced towards the ceiling, his lips pursed. Unless this is another part of Your ineffable plan…

“Hey, Mr. Fell?” The boy’s questioning tone brought Aziraphale back to Earth instantly. “I know you don’t, like… actually like to sell stuff, so the internet says, but maybe you could help me find a book for my mom’s birthday? I honestly don’t think she’d notice if I bought her a first edition Shakespeare collection or whatever, but… I dunno.” The boy shrugged. “I thought I could try something different and see what she thinks.”

The look in the boy’s eyes is what ultimately convinced the angel that his instinct was true. Aziraphale had seen that look much too often for his liking- it was a look of sad resignation that Warlock's parents, ever-distant and too wrapped up in the political world to raise their own child, didn’t care about him nearly as much as they should. A twinge of ice shot through the angel’s heart. He’d hated seeing that expression on a child’s face, but he utterly despised it now, knowing that things didn’t seem to have changed nearly a decade later.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” the boy asked, seeing Aziraphale’s face slip into a strange expression. “You look-” He was about to say “weird,” but it was at that exact moment that the nagging familiarity that had also been gnawing away at his own mind came to the surface. He saw the face in front of him sporting a shining collection of bad teeth framed within a cloud of fluffy hair, though the mental image was skewed as if he had to look up from a much shorter height than he was now.

But, as with Aziraphale’s own recognition, it was the eyes that ultimately broke through the fog of childhood memories- the eyes currently gazing at Warlock full of more love than anyone should be able to comprehend. Without warning, Warlock felt tears prick at the edges of his vision.

“…Brother Francis?” he choked out in a small voice. Aziraphale smiled, and if Warlock had any remaining doubts about the man's identity, they were blown away like the shadows of night banished by the rising sun.

“Oh, my dear, dear boy,” Aziraphale said warmly, opening his arms, and Warlock fell into the hug without hesitation. They gripped each other tightly, and the angel realized what a fool he’d been for leaving the boy without a word. He and Crowley should have gone back after the apocalypse was thwarted, or at the very least written a letter explaining why they’d left; judging by the way Warlock held onto Aziraphale as if he were a lifeboat in the midst of a stormy sea, the angel realized that the boy must have missed them just as much as they’d missed him.

Aziraphale and Warlock stayed in the embrace for a while longer, and then the boy gently, almost reluctantly, unwrapped his arms and took a step back to give Aziraphale a proper once-over.

“What happened to you?!” Warlock asked, astonishment dripping from every word. Then, suddenly, a fierce frown twisted his face. “And why the hell did you and Nanny leave without saying anything?! Er, sorry, I mean why the heaven- ugh, you get my point!”

Aziraphale smiled again; this was the boy he used to know, attitude and all. Warlock always had a penchant for speaking his mind, a fact that was encouraged wholeheartedly by his Nanny. While Aziraphale didn’t want Warlock to stop expressing his feelings and asking questions either, he had been bothered by the boy’s increasing vocabulary of unsavory expressions, which the angel had tried to remedy by correcting him with more docile phrasing. Apparently, the instinct to do so still was still present.

“Hellooo?” Warlock said, waving a hand in front of Aziraphale’s face. “Brother Francis- Mr. Fell… whoever you are! This is really weird, and I need you to explain a lot of things!”

“Oh, I do apologize, my dear; I get a bit lost in my thoughts, sometimes,” Aziraphale admitted with a guilty chuckle. He hesitated for a second and then gestured towards the back of the shop, where a comfortable couch and coffee table resided. “Yes, we… we really should have a little chat. Please, have a seat and I’ll put on a pot of tea and join you.”

Warlock didn’t move, instead narrowing his eyes. Aziraphale blinked at him.

“…Would you prefer coffee instead?” the angel ventured. Warlock rolled his eyes and crossed his arms in front of him, slouching to the side in a pose uncannily similar to someone else Aziraphale knew.

“You literally just up and left me when I was eleven years old,” the boy explained, a scathing bite to his words that made Aziraphale wince. “According to the internet, you’re some weird cryptid- which I can now confirm, knowing who you really are, because you and Nanny were definitely not normal. How do I know you won’t just-”

And here the boy cut himself off, realizing how vulnerable finishing that sentence would make him seem. He knew that Brother Francis had seen all sides of him, weak ones and all, but that was many years ago. He’d still been a kid then; now he was older and much more practiced at hiding his true emotions, since the only people who’d had time for them disappeared after his eleventh birthday. Just because he’d found his beloved gardener and confidant again through some divine- or hellish, he never knew which to believe- turn of events, it didn’t mean that things would instantly go back to the way they were before.

Warlock didn’t think it was possible for Brother Francis’ expression to soften even more, but apparently it could. Slowly, as if afraid of spooking him, the angel reached out and gently brushed Warlock’s bangs out of his face, tucking them behind his ear before cupping the boy’s cheek in his hand.

“I’m not going to leave you again, dear boy, please believe that,” Aziraphale said, injecting as much truth into his words as he possibly could. “It was a rash decision and your Nanny and I should never have disappeared without a word. I’m just going to flip the Closed sign on the door and put the kettle on, and then we can talk, alright?”

Warlock nodded almost imperceptibly, but Aziraphale saw the gesture. He gave the boy’s cheek a light pinch and winked, earning a cry of embarrassment. With a laugh, the angel disappeared around a bookshelf, moving towards the front door. Rubbing his cheek and pouting, Warlock shuffled to the couch in the back of the shop. He’d forgotten how endearingly annoying his old gardener could be.

Aziraphale flipped the “Open” sign to “Closed” and leaned back against the old wooden door, shutting his eyes. He was overjoyed to see Warlock again, certainly, but he was completely unprepared for this situation. What was he supposed to tell the boy? What excuse could he possibly give for Warlock’s closest companions abandoning him without so much as a “goodbye?”

Aziraphale and Crowley always regretted the way they’d handled that situation, but they had bigger concerns at the time- namely, the impending apocalypse and the fact that Warlock was not the antichrist they thought he was. Aziraphale grimaced, running a stressed hand through his hair; what should they tell Warlock about that? Should they expose him to the supernatural world he’d unintentionally been apart of for the first half of his life?

“…Probably best not to bring that part up,” the angel murmured to himself. He adjusted his waistcoat and steeled himself for the afternoon ahead. He would make Warlock a nice cup of tea, call Crowley to give him a warning on who awaited him back at the bookshop, and then bide his time until the demon showed up and they could have a proper conversation about what to do now that the boy was back in their lives. Yes, that seemed like a perfectly reasonable plan.

So, of course, it was guaranteed that things would not turn out the way Aziraphale hoped. As the angel busied himself in the tiny kitchenette area in the back of the shop, the bell over the front door rang again.

“Angel!” a voice called, and Aziraphale let out a strangled yelp. He rushed out of the back room and was greeted with the sight of Warlock, standing by the couch slack-jawed and staring straight ahead. Trapped at the end of Warlock’s gaze stood Crowley, wearing an eerily similar expression of shock. The two of them gazed at each other questioningly for an agonizing few seconds, before Warlock asked, in a trembling voice:

“N… Nanny Ash?”

“…Ah,” Aziraphale said when Crowley turned his helpless expression upon him. Though the demon’s eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, Aziraphale knew they were giving him a look of utter confusion. “Crowley, we… we have a very special visitor.”

“Ngk,” the demon replied.

And then, suddenly, Warlock was in Crowley’s arms, holding him tight, and Crowley returned the gesture without a second thought, overwhelmed with a great sense of relief. The boy was shaking, obviously trying very hard not to cry, and the demon instinctively gripped him closer and grinned into his hair.

“Hey, little hellspawn. Good to see you again.”

***

Read Part 1. (You are here.)

Read Part 2.

Read Part 3.

#good omens #fanfic #fanfiction #warlock dowling #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #found family #reunions #serendipity #ao3 #phantomhivemast3r #midna3452

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