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#otp: it's the same sun as here
rageserenity · 14 days
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It's 2024. Are you still thinking about movieverse!Cherik? Because I am.
For the past several months, there's only been a very slow trickle of posts/fics in the xmcu cherik tag. Let's try to breathe some life back into this incredible pairing!
With one clear winner of my poll, here's thirty prompts for the thirty days of April. (This is a super chill, laid-back event---do these in any order, interpret them as loosely as you like! Create in any medium! Fic, art, gifs, meta, incoherent screaming about the otp…all winners in my book.)
The only rule here is to cherik too close to the sun. Alright. Here are the prompts.
Mutual Pining
Doesn't really even need elaboration! Write that horrifically slow slow-burn. Gif every time McAvoy made insane fuck me eyes on screen. Make a playlist of songs about impossible love.
2. Alternate Meetings
There are endless quotes about how these two complete each other in a way no one they'd met before or after ever did. How else could they have met?
3. Erik Has A Telepathy Kink
This is basically canon. Let my boy get freaky!
4. Canon Fix-It
All the times Fox fucked it up. There are endless options.
5. Hurt/Comfort
Put them in that Situation. Put them in that Blender. Break them apart and put them back together ❤️‍🩹
6. Canon Compliant
Draw that missing scene! Gif your favourite cherik moment!
7. Beach Divorce
Make it worse. Make it better. Show it to us exactly how it was. Break it down in a 3,000 word meta. Go wild!
8. Domestics
Sometimes you just want to see them doing normal couple things. Erik put the gun down.
9. Found Family
The real heart of x-men!
10. Time Travel
There are SO many possibilities here. Stick them in a time loop. Give them a chance to change their past.
11. AU
Love a good AU!
12. There Is Only One Bed
Had to get this one in here. What better way to amp up the tension?
13. Genosha
By some miracle, cherik actually did end up together at the end of 2019s trash bag disaster Dark Phoenix. We aren’t making a big enough deal about this.
14. Declaration(s) of Love
Who says it first? How do they say it and when? Have they said it…without saying it?
15. Jealousy
Need I say more.
16. Reunion
These two have absolutely no chill.
17. Soulmates
Classic prompt, had to get this in here too.
18. The DOFP Aircraft
The TENSION here. Break it down for me. How does Charles feel about his injury? How does Erik feel about his injury?
19. Gay Mutant Road Trip
You already know.
20. Body Swap
SO fun when people have superpowers.
21. First Kiss
When? How? Who initiated it?
22. The Mansion
Mansion!content is a genre of its own.
23. Conflicting Ideology
Give me your theses. Who’s right? Can they ever reconcile completely? Write a fic where it drives them apart.
24. Sebastian Shaw
A trope unto himself.
25. Team As Matchmaker
They had to have known something was going on, didn’t they?
26. Cooking
Charles deserves a good meal. Also, imagine Erik using his powers in the kitchen. The sheer domesticity…
27. Hurt No Comfort
Plenty of scope with these two 🥲
28. Growing Old Together
Giving Sirs Ian Mckellan and Patrick Stewart their props as well!
29. Making Up
*pushes chess board across the table* sorry babe
30. Charles Xavier Did More For Mutants Than You'll Ever Know
Rising to each other’s defense. Only I can insult this man.
I will be tracking #revivecherik to reblog stuff! Here’s a fic collection for the same. Let’s get this ball rolling! Please feel free to send me an ask if you’ve got anything to say! And most importantly, let’s all have fun 😁
*I know a few of you preferred something like a gift exchange because of the commitment factor—I’m super down to organise a tiny one for the handful of us! If this promptathon doesn’t flop horribly, we can hopefully do a whole bunch of stuff :)
If you read this post all the way through, please reblog for reach! Thank you! Hoping you participate come April.
Shoutout to @inmymagnetoera for reaching out and helping with this!
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cameliawrites · 11 days
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Kanej Fic Recs: The "Figuring Out Intimacy" Trope
If you're anything like me, you're a glutton for very specific fic tropes applied to your very favorite OTPs (and we all know my OTP of OTPs is kanej). To this end, ao3 tags are your best friend. When you see that delicious combination of tags like "emotional hurt/comfort" and "healing" and "pining" with some sort of moody, vaguely poetic title, that's the good shit right there. That is a MEAL, and you are about to feast.
Anyways. I'm getting off track.
I come to you today with more than just an offering to the potluck; I am here to open up the doors to the whole damn buffet. That's right - FIC RECS. Specifically, fic recs that scratch the particular itch for "post-canon fics where Kaz and Inej figure out how to touch each other, but really the Physical Armor is always symbolic of the Emotional Armor that they have to learn to lower if they hope to ever really Be Together." Do you know what I'm talking about? If you know, you know. It's kanej figuring out intimacy. It's touch, but it's about the way they touch each other's souls. It's a fandom-classic fic trope. FEAST AWAY. (And feel free to reblog and add any of your own favorites! This is certainly not an exhaustive list, just some favorites of mine that fit the bill.)
They're all complete, they're all canon compliant (I had to set some limitations because my list was getting out of hand lol), and they're listed in order of rating (T, M, etc.), but otherwise they're in no particular order, and the summaries and/or most of the excerpts are those provided by the authors on ao3!
Can We Stop? by thegoldenkneazle (Rated G, 220 words, drabble)
Excerpt:
Kaz immediately drew back, rolling over onto his side of the creaky bed to create space between them. “Are you okay?” he asked, dark eyebrows drawing together.
Every Time We Touch by Pokemon67 (Rated G, 1k words, oneshot)
Summary: "Inej hadn't been exaggerating. It wasn’t easy for her either."
Excerpt:
She couldn’t quite recall how they’d ended up here, in Kaz’s room, on his bed. She was perched on his legs, right in front of him, and if she raised her head she could look into his eyes count the little flecks of gold the light always teased to her were there. 
Uncharted Waters by insignificant457 (Rated T, 5k words, oneshot)
Summary: "One step on the long and winding road to intimacy."
Excerpt:
Perhaps Inej should be insulted that she’s been penciled into Kaz’s schedule, fit snugly in between a Crow Club shareholders’ meeting and a parley with the Liddies, but when it comes to taking steps forward in their relationship, romantic spontaneity is not exactly something they can afford.
Council of the Tides by blacktag189 (Rated T, 15k words, multichap)
Excerpt:
With each tiny step forward they made, the urgency to be pulled out to sea still built. She couldn't ignore the brutal truth in that - that no matter how much he gave her here...one day everything would align just right and she would leave. But today wasn't that day.
Discover the Rest by Silver_89 (Rated T, 4k words, oneshot) (note: restricted to ao3 account holders)
Summary: "Post Crooked Kingdom fic where Kaz and Inej have made some progress with touch but touch is not the only progress Inej wants to see from him. She wants to know him too."
Excerpt:
Inej didn’t share much about her time at the Menagerie...And yet she had shared that she struggled with touch too. He understood why. But she didn’t know why he was the same. I will have you without armor, Kaz Brekker. Or I will not have you at all. It was time he tried taking it off.
All Flowers in Time (Bend Towards the Sun) by laurie_ipsum (Rated M, 10k words, multichap)
Summary: "Does this fandom need yet another Kaz and Inej figure out intimacy fic? Probably not, but I did it anyway."
Excerpt:
Kaz wants all his firsts. It’s written in his eyes, on his face, in every line of his body. She can tell it terrifies him. It terrifies her, too.
One Thousand and One Nights by Trogdor19 (Rated M, 11k words, multichap)
Summary: "One new touch, every night…"
Excerpt:
He dips his head, his cheekbone brushing against hers so quietly it’s like the way she moves. So silkily between shadows no one’s ever quite sure it happened. 'Wait for me,' he breathes. The letters barely given enough air to shape them.
The Trouble With Wanting by A_nonnie_mouse (Rated M, 6k words, oneshot, part of a series)
Summary: "Inej begins to reckon with her own armor so she can have what, and who, she wants."
Excerpt:
“Kaz.” She was frustrated at his self-deprecation. “Please understand. My mind wants you. My heart longs for you. My body…” She struggled for words, the shame rising again, threatening her eyes with tears. “My body isn’t entirely convinced something horrible isn’t going to happen again. This wasn’t because of you. You understand that, don’t you?” 
show me where my armor ends (show me where my skin begins) by kingsandqueensofthebarrel (Rated M, 25k words, oneshot)
Excerpt:
“You’re something I want, Wraith,” he says, his tone all business like. “And I don’t stop until I have what I want.” “That could have sounded romantic.” “It’s a fact.” She hums and squeezes his hand.
collision course by cameliawrites (Rated M, 10k words, oneshot) (shameless self-promotion)
Excerpt:
Inej adjusts to Kaz the way that winter adjusts to spring: she thaws, and thaws, and thaws—and then she utterly melts.
you're a bandit like me, eyes full of stars by sarathedreamer (Rated M, 54k words, multichap, part of a series)
Summary: "Kaz and Inej learning to be with one another after Crooked Kingdom (events in Rule of Wolves might be mentioned in later chapters but you'll be warned!) Basically a slow burn filled with angst and fluff, and little plot :)"
Excerpt:
She blushed and felt a smile tug at her lips, so she looked down at his hand, held up in front of her like an invitation. His fingers were barely shaking. Inej looked back up at his eyes, asking a silent question once more, and Kaz nodded after a short hesitation. She gently cupped his hand in hers, fascinated by the softness of it, by the way two of hers were not quite enough to hold one of his. No one but she could know how graceful Dirtyhands’ weapons were under his gloves, and that was another one of his secrets she would gladly keep close to her chest.
Things We Can Never Do by rainstormdragon (Rated E, 3k words, oneshot, part of a series)
Excerpt:
They had done this before more than once. First words, then their hands on their own bodies. Gasped encouragement and shared fantasies. “Tell me what you’d want to do,” he urged her, not moving even a hair’s breadth toward her, giving her the safety of the space between them. “Tell me what you’d want me to do.”
Closer by lilieswho (Rated E, 7k words, oneshot)
Excerpt:
There is a deep desire crawling under Inej’s skin. It’s a feeling she’s begun to grow used to by now — the feeling of wanting someone, wishing for their touch and hoping they wish for hers back. Not someone’s, no. Kaz’s.
If you've made it all the way to the end of this rec list (hi!! thanks!), you should absolutely reply to or reblog this post with your favorite "kanej figure out intimacy" fic, whether it's on this list or something else! :) Support your local organic pasture-raised fic authors, etc. etc.
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karahalloway · 4 days
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(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 18 - Diplomatica
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Fandom: TRR
Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)
Series Summary: The social season may be over, but Harper Gale’s problems are just beginning. With everyone at court a potential suspect, can she and Drake survive the engagement tour and get to the bottom of the plot against her and clear her name? An AU take of TRR2 featuring my OTP - Harper & Drake.
Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions
Chapter Summary: Harper, Olivia and the Beaumonts arrive in Rome... but not everyone is happy to see them
Word Count: 5,300
Rating/Warnings: None (for once 🤣)
Chapter theme song:
A/N1: Lots of Italian and random cultural/historical tidbits in this... but, then again, we are in Italy, so the foreign language aspect will be a bit of a running theme through the next few chapters (sorry...not sorry - I actually learnt some Italian in the process!)
A/N2: @aussiegurl1234, before you ask, yes, I HC that Vito bears a striking resemblance to Michele Morrone 😆
Chapter 18 - Diplomatica
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"How is it hotter here than in Cordonia?" I gasp as I step out onto the jet's airstairs.
"Italy is a peninsula," Olivia says from behind me, slotting on a pair of Versace cat-eye shades. "It is more exposed to the anti-cyclones that blow up from the Sahara."
My mouth drops as I make my way down onto the steaming tarmac. "This heatwave... is coming from Africa?"
No wonder it feels like the inside of a furnace!
"It certainly isn't coming from the Arctic!" bemoans Bertrand as he shields his face from the intensity of the rays with an upraised hand. "Though what a welcome change that would be!"
"Brr...!" objects Maxwell with a shiver. "No thank you! I've had my yearly fill of sub-zero temps at Olivia's!"
"You're welcome," comes the snippy response as the Duchess of Lythikos strides past us.
"That said, turning the mercury down a few notches wouldn't hurt..." I remark, squinting accusatorily up at the beating sun.
"The summer heatwaves have been growing longer and more intense over recent years," Olivia advises from up front, "leading to consequent effects on food and water security, power generation, infrastructure, not to mention the added burden on the healthcare system across Europe. It is one of the items on the agenda for Christian's roundtable with the Italian Prime Minister tomorrow."
I frown as I arrive at the passenger-side door of the first in a trio of waiting Porsche Macan GTS's. "I thought this was supposed to be an engagement tour..."
"It is," she confirms as a black-suited Italian sporting close-cropped hair and aviators opens the door for her. "But any foreign visit involving a high-ranking head of state is — by its nature — a diplomatic event as well."
"I guess that makes sense," I concede, sliding into the relative reprieve offered by the SUV's A/C system. "Though you said Christian is meeting with the Prime Minister tomorrow... I thought that was supposed to be today. Did something change?"
"No," derides Bertrand as he settles in next to me. "Today, the King is partaking in a meet-and-greet with the Italian President, followed by a private audience with the Pope while the future Queen is fitted for her wedding trousseau, capped off by dinner and a performance of Tosca at the Teatro dell'Opera in the evening. While tomorrow we have been invited to brunch at the Cordonian Consulate, after which the King has a round-table discussion with the Prime Minister, and day will be closed out by a state gala."
"Oh," I mutter sheepishly. "So, the Prime Minister isn't the same as the President...?"
"The Prime Minister is the head of government, while the President is the head of state," the elder Beaumont instructs as Maxwell squishes himself into the backseat on the other side of me. "The roles are quite distinct."
"Of course they are..." I huff under my breath.
Seems like in addition to Olivia's list of influential Cordonian nobles, I will also need to memorise a textbook on European constitutional history...
Though, now I am doubly glad of the business-like, but nevertheless stylish pale pink, high-necked pencil dress that Bertrand foisted on me this morning — it definitely would not have been great to show up underdressed to such a high-level meeting!
"But we must hurry!" the elder Beaumont proclaims. "We are due at the Presidential Palace in just under an hour, and we still need to fight our way through the notoriously infernal Roman traffic!"
"Not to worry," Olivia assures us with a sly smirk from the front passenger seat. "Vito here knows all the shortcuts."
"That sounds ominous..." I mutter, reaching for the seatbelt on instinct.
"I prefer 'expeditious'," she counters, turning to Vito, who has now taken up position behind the wheel. "Andiamo."
"Certamente, Duchessa," he nods, throwing the car forward with a violent depression of the gas pedal.
The sudden acceleration yanks an inadvertent gasp from my lips as I'm thrown back in my seat... just like on that afternoon in Ramsford when Drake pulled the same stunt on the Beaumonts' driveway.
I feel my throat tighten as I glance inadvertently out the window. God, I hope he's okay...
I know in the back of my mind that I'm probably making myself anxious for no reason. Drake is an adult, perfectly capable of taking care of himself... including in close-quarters situations. He's demonstrated that to me plenty of times.
Yet, I still can't help but worry about him. Especially when he's off in a foreign country (all by himself for all I know...), having left with basically no good-bye, and with definitely no assurance of when he expects to get back.
And while I know that he is doing this for me — so we can collar Tariq and extract whatever information he has in relation to the plot to influence the outcome of the social season... and to answer for what he did to me in Applewood — the wait is killing me. I have no idea where he is, what he is doing, and whether he even has his phone turned on, given the high-stakes nature of his self-appointed task.
Which is why I have held off trying to reach out to him (...even though the baser, needier part of me is itching to do exactly that), as I don't want to be the one to interrupt a crucial moment by setting his phone off with an ill-timed call or text, especially considering the three-hour time difference...
I heave a breath.
I just have to trust him. Like he asked me to at every turn of this increasingly bumpy road that we've been travelling since I left New York. And hope that we are finally on our way out of the woods.
Exiting the boundaries of the airport, Vito navigates the Porsche onto a highway where we are able to pick up some speed. Olivia uses the opportunity to open up her phone, throwing some questions in Italian to her associate every so often as we cruise along. Bertrand is similarly occupied, while Maxwell has slipped on some Bose headphones and is bobbing away to the beat.
Which leaves me to stare somewhat aimlessly out the window, watching the scenery roll by in a bid to keep myself distracted.
But the reprieve ends up being somewhat of a welcome one. The various warehouses and road-side auto lots surrounding the airport quickly give way to a tree-lined thoroughfare, and I find myself basking in the calming effects of the greenery, not having expected to encounter such a bucolic sight on the road to a major urban centre.
Eventually, though, the vegetation gives way to the crumbling walls of some kind of expansive estate that we end up following for a good few miles until the asphalt road changes over to cobblestones and we pass in front the gates of a red-bricked stone fortress that looks like it's been plucked straight from the set of Game of Thrones.
"Wow..." I can't help but breathe as I take in the sight of the towering structure simmering under the light of the mid-morning sun.
"Le mura aureliane," advises Vito from up front, catching my awed expression through the rear-view mirror. "Costruita dall'imperatore Aureliano per difendere Roma dai barbari."
I nod distractedly, craning my neck as we turn a corner to follow the path of the ancient structure that is somehow still standing despite the clear ravages of time and weather.
Nothing lasts like this anymore...
Making another turn, we pass beneath an arched portion of the wall, and the road before us opens up into a leafy boulevard that takes us into the city proper. And from there, it's one jaw-dropping piece of architecture after another jostling for space between more modern buildings and seemingly never-ending rows of trees.
"I didn't expect Rome to be so green..." I admit to no one in particular as I eye up the unusual-looking shrubs.
"You can thank the Ancient Romans," supplies Bertrand without glancing up from his phone. "They planted the now-iconic stone pines in scores along the major roadways in part to serve as ornamentation, and in part to provide a steady supply of pine nuts, which are an essential ingredient in many dishes, including pesto and various pies and tarts."
"It certainly was worth the effort," I agree, watching the evergreens drift past on either side of us.
Though, as Bertrand predicted, the closer we get to the centre of the ancient capital, the increasingly chaotic the traffic becomes, with cars, buses and mopeds all vying for space on the roads, requiring Vito to make recourse to his own horn as well as various offensive gestures in order to narrowly avoid a slew of accidents... and I suddenly have a slightly better appreciation for why Drake drives the way he does. Because based on my experiences first in France and now in Italy, it appears that on the Mediterranean, might equals right when it comes to priority on the road, and unless you're forceful, you ain't getting nowhere.
Managing to finally extricate ourselves from the constraints of a complicated intersection, we end up on a quieter road running parallel to a long patch of bunkered-looking grass on our left.
"What's that?" I ask, tapping Vito on his shoulder.
"Il Circo Massimo," he advises.
My eyes widen. "That's the Circus Maximus?"
"Sì," he nods. "L'antico stadio romano costruito per le corse dei carri."
"Unbelievable..." I murmur, slumping back into my seat in awe.
There is nothing comparable back home — even the oldest still-extant pre-Columbian structures date to only the first millennia A.D. Whereas here we are, casually cruising past a seminal piece of history that is still embedded into the fabric of the city nearly three thousand years after its construction. And we haven't even seen the Colosseum, or the Forum yet!
Rome really is the Eternal City...
Leaving the green fields of the Circus behind us, we enter a more urban-looking environment as we start to climb a hill. The white- and sand-coloured buildings cluster closer together, and the general architecture becomes more uniformly Baroque, until we arrive in a large plaza dominated by a massive, Neo-Classical structure that towers over everything else.
"Il Vittoriano," Vito offers without prompting.
"Is that where we're having brunch with the President?" I ask, slack-mouthed as I stare up at the imposing building.
It certainly looks impressive enough to house the head of a country!
"Of course not!" admonishes Bertrand. "The Vittoriano is a symbolic collection of monuments built to commemorate the rule of King Victor Emmanuel II and the unification of Italy. The President resides at the Quirinal Palace, which is located on a wholly different Roman hill!"
"Oh," I mutter sheepishly.
"Like she is going to know the difference," scoffs Oliva from the front. "They don't even teach The Art of War in her schools... How can you expect her to know anything about Italian history?"
"Italian history is foundational history!" insists Bertrand. "The Romans were instrumental in shaping not just the course of European, but Northern African and Middle Eastern events for millennia! How can they neglect to teach American children about this?"
"Because the focus is on US history," I tell them wearily as Vito navigates us to the other side of the square.
"Surely that is an afternoon's worth of lessons at most?" the elder Beaumont queries sceptically. "Your country was only founded in the conventional sense of the word in the mid-1600s..."
"Most Americans haven't been to Europe," I remind him, watching the rows of buildings flick past on either side of us as we begin the ascent up another hill. "They don't necessarily have a basis of comparison."
"Sounds like your curriculum is somewhat lacking in scope, then..." he surmises with pursed lips.
"Yeah, well..." I retort dryly, "I don't write the textbooks. Though, speaking of education, is there any chance for some sightseeing? It would be a shame to spend two days here and not actually see anything..."
"While I wholeheartedly approve of the sentiment," Bertrand replies, "I am afraid that you will have to make do with the cultural experiences offered by the various host venues on the official itinerary. Which — I admit — are no Pantheon, or Sistine Chapel, but are impressive and important cultural artefacts, nevertheless. The Quirinal Palace, for instance, so named for the Quirinal Hill on which it sits, is actually the sixth largest palace in the world and has served as the primary residence of such notable figures as—"
I let out a low exhale as Bertrand launches into a full-blown historical recital. And while the details are definitely interesting, I didn't come all this way to listen to a one-man rendition of a Roman guidebook.
Which makes me all the more determined to find some kind of opportunity to slip away from the official tour — even if it's just for an hour to toss a coin into the Trevi Fountain — so that I can experience something of the magic that this breathtaking city has to offer.
When, I have no idea, given the busyness of our schedule, but I managed to orchestrate an escape plan to see the capital back in Cordonia, so I'm confident I'll be able to pull something similar... albeit without Drake's help this time. But despite the set-backs, I'm not about to miss out on this kind of once-in-a-lifetime experience...
With my intention firmly set, the car rounds an uphill corner, and we are suddenly on the edge of yet another expansive plaza secured by a rim of strategically placed concrete planters and a pair of police cars.
Vito pulls to a stop and slides the window down to exchange a few quick words with the officer who has come to greet us.
"Passports," instructs Olivia, reaching into her purse.
Opening up the white, Medusa emblazoned Versace clutch sitting on my lap — which I am sure cost more than what I would've ever made in a month working as a waitress back home, but which Bertrand had insisted on as a 'necessary' Italian-themed accessory — I pull out my shiny, new Cordonian passport and pass it to the front.
Maxwell and Bertrand do the same, and there is a couple of minutes of tense silence while the stern-looking officer inspects each document to verify our identities, while another policeman does a circuit 'round the car with a convex safety mirror.
Finally, the policeman hands the passports back with a curt nod, and waves us through.
"Were they not expecting us?" I query as I slot my credentials away again.
"They were," Olivia advises. "But we are arriving separately from the royal delegation, so the State Police are obligated to run a security check."
"Why?"
The Duchess of Lythikos scoffs back at me. "To ensure that we are not terrorists trying to kill the President with a car bomb... Or did that part go over your head?"
"No..." I hit back sarcastically. "I meant why are we arriving separately?"
She looks back at me with an arched brow. "Would you have preferred to deal with the press?"
"I... No," I admit.
She turns back to the front with a smirk. "Didn't think so."
Vito pulls the car to a stop in front of a small courtyard decked out with a red carpet and intertwined streamers made out in the colours of Cordonia's and Italy's flags. Allard and Schweitzer — who had been travelling in the car behind us — appear to open the doors for us.
Bertrand scoots out of the backseat first, before turning back to offer me his hand.
"Thanks," I say with a sincere smile, grasping his fingers to help pull myself up.
"Always my pleasure," he replies with a genuine smile.
Smoothing my skirt, I gaze up at the somewhat understated-looking entranceway, suddenly nervous about the prospect of acting as a newly-minted ambassador of Cordonia. I mean... three months ago, I was bussing tables at a dive bar for less than minimum wage, and now here I am, decked out in clothes that cost more than the rent I was paying for a fifth-storey walk-up, about to have an official meeting with a foreign country's head of state.
To say that I feel like a fraud is a massive understatement.
"What are you waiting for?" asks Olivia, breezing past me with all the confidence of a woman who's done this a hundred times before... probably because she has. "For the grass to grow?"
"I—"
"I heard the President loves chocolate bomboloni," offers Maxwell enthusiastically, linking his arm through mine to tug me down the length of the red carpet.
"What's...that?" I ask, forcing myself to swallow down the sudden dryness in my throat.
Maxwell's face collapses into an aghast look of shock. "Only the best pastry-based dessert! Second only to cronuts, of course!"
"That's definitely a high bar to hit," I admit.
"Think mini doughnuts with gooey chocolate filling, dusted with powdered sugar," he explains. "They literally melt in your mouth!"
"Except we are not here to indulge infantile cravings for sugary treats," reprimands Bertrand as we pass through the arched doorway. "We are here to partake in important discussions relating to matters of state, and t—"
"Pfft," scoffs Olivia. "Speak for yourself, Beaumont. These meetings are dull as shite. I'm here for the sweets."
I can't help but snort at the unexpected riposte... as well as the resultant sight of Bertrand's jaw hitting the parquet flooring. And I unexpectedly find myself feeling better about the whole experience. Because despite whatever nerves I may be feeling, the fact that Olivia and the Beaumonts are with me means that I am not alone in this.
Passing into the coolness of the building, we are greeted by a middle-aged woman who proceeds to lead us through a veritable rabbit warren of ante-rooms and corridors before we finally arrive in an expansive room dominated by a pair of jaw-dropping crystal chandeliers suspended from a vaulted, hand-painted ceiling.
"La Salle Bronzino," informs our guide, indicating that we should step through.
"Wow..." I breathe, trying to take in the opulence with as much composure as I can.
A slew of camera shutters click to life upon our arrival.
Jerking my gaze down from the delicate, celestial fresco above me, I spot the handful of photographers aiming their lenses at me.
I stifle a groan as I plaster a demure smile onto my face. "I thought you said there wouldn't be any reporters."
"This is an official state visit," Bertrand hisses out of the corner of his mouth. "Of course, there will be reporters!
"Just not as many as there would have been outside earlier," Olivia assures me.
My shoulders slump in acquiescence. "Take the wins you can get, I guess..."
"Ah, you made it!" exclaims Christian, striding up to us with a jovial grin. "Traffic wasn't too terrible, I hope?"
"Nothing Vito couldn't handle," Olivia assures him, dipping into a chaste curtesy as the photographers snap eagerly away.
Christian turns to me with a good-natured chuckle. "And Lady Harper... First impressions haven't put you off, have they?"
"No," I assure him, bobbing down politely as well, knowing that everyone in the room now has their eyes on us. "The exact opposite, actually."
"Excellent," he beams, holding my gaze for a second longer than he did with Olivia. "I have to admit that I have a bit of a soft spot for Rome, myself."
"It really is a—"
"Darling," interjects Madeleine with a steely smile, appearing at her fiancé's shoulder. "You really should focus your attentions on the President. He has been gracious enough to open up his home for us, after all..."
Christian's nostrils flare with the briefest flash of irritation as he pulls back slightly. "Quite. Let us go make the necessary introductions."
Madeleine bristles. "That is not what I—"
Deftly ignoring her, Christian extends his arm decisively towards an elderly man wearing a sombre suit and gold-rimmed glasses. "Shall we?"
"I guess so?" I concede, already feeling myself being steered past the silently fuming countess.
"Now remember," Bertrand mutters next to me as Christian leads us down the length of the room. "In the context of a formal conversation, it is always lei — never tu — when addressing your counterpart, so for the love of all that is holy, please do not—"
"Singor Presidente," proclaims Christian as he pulls to a stop. "Permettetemi di presentarvi altri membri della nostra delegazione."
The President raises his head dutifully. "Certamente."
"Questo è Singor Bertrand Beaumont, duca di Ramsford, e suo fratello, Maxwell."
The Beaumonts bow their heads dutifully.
"Beaumont..." the President frowns. "Sai, mi suona familiare. Sei parente di Signor Bartholemy, per caso?"
"Sì," Bertrand confirms. "Egli è nostro padre."
The President is nodding in recollection. "Sì... sì... Ha accompagnato il re precedente in molte occasioni. Sei molto simile a lui."
"Sì, la somiglianza di famiglia è forte," Bertrand acknowledges.
"E questa è Singorina Olivia Nevrakis, duchessa di Lythikos, un mio carissimo amico, e fedele sostenitrice del famiglia Rys."
Olivia holds out her hand. "E' un piacere conoscerla, Signore Presidente."
The President drops a chaste kiss on the back of her hand. "Il piacere è tutto mio."
"E finalmente," concludes Christian, "questa è Singorina Harper, la nuova duchessa di Valtoria."
The President's brows arc inquisitively. "Singorina Harper... You are... American? No?"
"Sì," I affirm as I offer my hand out. "Ma ho praticato mio Italiano..."
The President's mouth cracks into a genuine smile. "And you are doing very well, Singorina! Tell me, have you visited la città eterna before?"
"No, this is my first time," I admit, also switching to English, now that the formalities are over and done with. "But even the ride from the airport was utterly magical! It's like stepping into history!"
"Sì," the President affirms with a grin. "Us Romans are unspeakably lucky to be able to call such a beautiful city our home. It is a place of many treasures."
"What is your favourite part of the city?" I ask.
The President blinks in surprise at the unexpected intimacy of the request. "That is a difficult question... But if I am forced to choose... it would have to be this little forno next to la Fontana di Trevi which makes a very unique — and very delicious — pistachio croissant. It is not for every person, but if you have a spirit of adventure, then I suggest you try it."
"Thank you," I say with a sincere smile, filing the suggestion away. "I definitely will!"
"I cannot say that I have had the pleasure of sampling this treat, either," Christian admits, with a knowing glance down at me. "But Lady Harper has excellent taste in pastries — she was actually kind enough to introduce us to an American delicacy called a cronut. It was a big hit all around."
"A cronut?" queries the President. "I cannot say I am familiar..."
"Don't worry," Maxwell assures him with a conspiratorial grin. "We'll bring you one. If you'll trade us some bomboloni in exchange?"
Bertrand's already sunburnt face reddens further. "Maxwell! You cannot entreat the President t—"
"You like bomboloni, also?" interjects the President with keen interest.
"Of course!" Maxwell affirms enthusiastically. "Anyone who doesn't like them clearly has something wrong with them!"
"Sounds like you have excellent taste in pastries as well, Signore Maxwell!" chuckles the President.
The conversation continues to revolve around our shared food interests for a few more minutes, until an aide clears his throat from behind the President.
"Accettare le mie scuse," he apologises. "But I am being advised that it is time for the photographs and the speeches."
"Of course," nods Christian graciously, indicating that the President should lead the way to the front of the room where a small podium has been set up.
As the two men peel away from the group, I cast my eyes 'round the space and spot Hana standing by one of the large windows. Giving her a wave, I use the brief break in the proceedings to make my way over to her.
"So, what's the view like from this side of the room?" I ask by way of greeting.
"Quieter than your side," she admits wryly. "You certainly seemed to be having an engaging conversation with the President!"
"We discovered a shared love for sugary treats," I admit. "You should've joined us — you could've bragged about that baking championship that you won."
"It's alright," she demurs with a blush. "It's actually been nice to take a moment to step away from the crowd."
"Oh?" I ask, laying a concerned hand on her arm. "Is something wrong?"
She heaves a breath, as if debating whether to tell me. Finally, she says, "I have been fending off suitors."
My brow shoots skywards. "How many proposals have you had?"
"Since I arrived...? Probably twelve..."
My eyes bulge. "Twelve! That's like two a day!"
"Yes," she concedes with a weary exhale. "Lady Madeleine has been extremely gracious in personally introducing me to numerous eligible bachelors—"
"—but none of them are Maxwell," I surmise.
Her eyes flick up to mine before dropping back down sorrowfully. "No. But for the sake of my parents, I must entertain every available option in an honest manner."
"That definitely sounds exhausting..." I concede. "But hopefully now that we're out of the country, you can catch a bit of a break."
"I am not so sure..." she admits. "I have been advised that a number of well-connected Italians will be in attendance at the opera tonight..."
"Pfft...!" I scoff. "Just take the night off... Pretend to be sick... Run off with Maxwell to get some gelato... Actually enjoy being in Italy!"
Hana blushes. "I—"
The chime of a bell rings out across the room, interrupting our conversation.
Looking up, I see that all heads have turned dutifully towards the twin forms standing on the dais as they prepare to address the congregation.
"Vostra Altezza Reale, colleghi delegati, Signore e Signori," greets the President, "È un onore, per me, ospitare la delegazione reale di Cordonia, nostro vicino e stretto alleato per centinaia di anni. È passato troppo tempo da—"
As the speech winds on, I find myself tuning out, given that I am only able to understand every third or fourth word. But, not wanting to come across as rude by continuing my catch-up with Hana, I instead try to occupy myself by examining the two large tapestries suspended on the walls.
A round of applause draws me out of my reverie, and I join in on auto-pilot as the President hands off to Christian. Several more minutes of lilting Italian fills the room, during which time I move my attentions to the Roman-looking busts, wondering which emperors they depict.
Finally, the speeches come to a close, and I heave a sigh of relief.
"Did you understand any of that?" I ask Hana as the President presents Christian with some kind of medal, and the two men pose for photos.
"Of course," she nods. "My parents—"
"—have been giving you Italian lessons since before you could talk?" I finish dryly.
Hana's cheeks dimple. "Not quite that young, but yes. I am what they consider 'proficient'."
"Meaning, you speak it better than I speak English," I joke.
She snorts in response. "I wouldn't say that..."
"But it's true," I say with a smirk, happy to see that Hana's time back at court has not completely crushed her sense of humour.
"Ah, I've missed talking to you, Harper," she says with genuine feeling. "The last few days have felt so busy that I feel like we haven't spoken in months!"
"Yeah, tell me about it..." I agree with a huff. "In the space of a week, I've become a Cordonian citizen, been granted a duchy, gone from number five to number one on Madeleine's shit list, and—"
Hana's eyes widen. "It's not that bad, surely...!"
"It's probably worse," I admit. "And being on the front page of the Cordonian Sun — again — is probably not helping matters either..."
"Yes, I saw that article..." she commiserates with feeling. "I'm sorry that the press are treating you in that manner again."
"Hey, it's not your fault," I assure her. "But the press aren't all bad — I managed to convince Ana de Luca to help us track down the photographer who took those pictures of me and Tariq, and she actually came through yesterday."
"That's great!" she enthuses. "I have to admit that I have not had much success on my side... Madeleine does not permit her ladies-in-waiting to handle any of her private correspondence, including her mobile phones and laptop. And she has only talked to us about the upcoming events on the tour..."
"Well, it was a bit of a long-shot, anyway," I concede with a shrug. "But who knows? We might get—"
"Pardon," interrupts Kiara with a pointed cough. "But the Queen requests your presence."
I roll my eyes with a scoff. "She's not married to Christian yet..."
"But she will be soon," she reminds me pointedly. "So, it is actuellement in your interest to remain on her good side, given that you are now a duchess."
I feel the corner of my mouth scrunch into a mou of dissent, but I force myself not to pick apart the many things that are wrong with her statement. "Fine. Where is Her Majesty?"
"Bidding adieu to the President," she advises. "She has asked that in the meantime I gather the ladies who are to accompany her to the wedding boutique."
"Does she really need an entourage to go shopping?" I ask as we start making our way back to the double doors at the far end of the room.
"It is tradition for the suitors who were not picked at the end of the social season to assist the queen-to-be in the preparations for the wedding, including selecting her bridal gown and trousseau."
"Wonder how many times that's gone wrong before..." I mutter under my breath.
"It is a ritual de beaucoup d'importance," Kiara insists seriously. "The former suitors — and their families — demonstrate their public support for the union via the personal assistance they provide the bride and groom in the lead-up to the big day, as well as in the act of taking on key roles during the ceremony itself."
"Let me guess..." I grumble. "We're all going to be maids of honour, too..."
"In Cordonia, the correct term is 'witness'," she corrects. "They are the ones chosen by the couple to countersign the marriage certificate. Mais oui — it is likely that one or two of us will be called upon in such a manner."
"Great..." I sigh, arriving at the entranceway where Penelope and Olivia are already waiting. "All the things we get to look forward to..."
"Oh, Lady Harper!" squeals Penelope in excitement. "I love your dress! How do you always manage to find such super chic pieces?"
"Uhh..." I say, genuinely taken aback by her enthusiasm. "Bertrand picked this, actually..."
Olivia snorts derisively. "You mean Lord Tweedle-Dee? Please... That man has worse fashion sense than Jared Leto."
"Actually, he—"
"If you lot are quite finished with your asinine chit-chit," snaps Madeline as she strides imperiously past us, "you can pick up your feet. We are already running late for my appointment... Which took months to schedule, so don't you dare make me miss it!"
I meet Hana's gaze with a fish-eyed look. "Ever heard the term 'bridezilla' before?"
"No," she admits with a frown. "But it sounds scary..."
"Oh, trust me!" I assure her as we bring up the rear. "It is! Especially since it sounds like Madeleine is planning to take the concept to a whole 'nother level..."
The story continues in Chapter 19: Field Day (coming soon!)
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A/N: Translations for the Italian below:
At the airport: Andiamo - Let's go
Certamente, Duchessa - Certainly, Duchess
En route Lemura aureliane. Costruitadall'imperatore Aureliano per difendere Roma dai barbari. - The Aurelian Wall. It was constructed by the Emperor Aurelian to defend Rome against barbarians.
Il Circo Massimo - The Circus Maximus
Sì. L'antico stadio romano costruito per le corsedei carri. - Yes. The ancient Roman stadium constructed for chariot racing.
Il Vittoriano - This is a colloquial nickname for the Monument to Victor Emmanuel II
At the Presidential Palace Singor Presidente. Permettetemi di presentarvi altri membri della nostra delegazione. - Mr President. Allow me to introduce some additional members of our delegation.
Certamente - Certainly
Questo è Singor Bertrand Beaumont, duca di Ramsford, e suo fratello, Maxwell. - This is Lord Bertrand Beaumont, Duke of Ramsford, and his brother, Maxwell.
Beaumont... Sai, mi suona familiare. Sei parente di Signor Bartholemy, per caso? - Beaumont... You know, that sounds familiar. Are you related to Lord Bartholemy, by chance?
Sì. Egli è nostro padre. - Yes. He is our father.
Sì...sì... Ha accompagnato il re precedente in molte occasioni. Sei molto simile a lui. - Yes... Yes... He accompanied the former king on many occasions. You look a lot like him.
Sì, la somiglianza di famiglia è forte. - Yes, there is a notable family resemblance.
E questaè Singorina Olivia Nevrakis, duchessa di Lythikos,un mio carissimo amico, e fedele sostenitrice del famiglia Rys. - And this is Lady Olivia Nevrakis, Duchess of Lythikos, a dear friend of mine, and loyal supporter of the Rys family.
E' un piacere conoscerla, Signore Presidente. - My sincere pleasure, Mr President.
Il piacere è tutto mio. - The pleasure is all mine.
E finalmente, questa è Singorina Harper, la nuova duchessa di Valtoria. - And finally, this is Lady Harper, the new Duchess of Valtoria.
Sì. Ma hopraticato mio Italiano.* - Yes. But I am practising my Italian. *Italian speakers will note that there is a grammatical mistake here (the correct phrasing is 'Ho praticato il mio italiano'). However, the mistake is deliberate because Harper learnt Italian literally an hour ago, so she's not going to be perfect at it!
La città eterna - the Eternal City (nickname for Rome)
Accettare le mie scuse - [Please] Accept my apologies.
Vostra Altezza Reale, colleghi delegati, Signore e Signori. È un onore, per me, ospitare la delegazionereale di Cordonia, nostro vicino e stretto alleato per centinaia di anni. Èpassato troppo tempo da— Your Royal Highness, fellow delegates, ladies and gentlemen. It is my honour to host the royal delegation of Cordonia, our neighbour and ally for many centuries. It has been far too long since—
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lexsssu · 1 year
Text
OTP (Monkey King | Sun Wukong)
Flufftober Day 2
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TAGS: Wukong/F!reader
“Pinch me, Mei. I think I’m dreaming if I’m finally seeing this and not just in my fanart.”
“Either we’re sharing the same dream, or our OTP finally came true.”
“Shhhhh! Don’t be too loud or they’ll hear us and ruin the moment!”
“...You’re the loudest one here, Tang.”
“After 3 seasons of pining, we’re finally here…I have to take pictures for my scrapbook!”
As the five plus a cat huddled together and argued behind a bush, not too far from them were the objects of their interest.
There you sat upon a blanket laid down on the grass, reading a book as the famed Monkey King himself idly snoozed with his head on your lap. His seemingly sentient tail having hooked itself around your waist as if afraid you’d suddenly disappear while he slept. The hand that wasn’t holding your book ran through the fur at the top of his head, scratching and caressing him absent-mindedly.
“They do know that we can hear them clearly, right?”
Without missing a beat, Sun Wukong slowly opened an eye before he yawned in agreement. “Let them have their fun. S’not like we’re hiding anything from them,” sitting up from his current position, the simian’s equally powerful tail that had lovingly been clutching your waist lifted you up in the air only to deposit you on his lap.
“Be sure to take a good picture and send a copy to me right after, ‘kay?”
The excited squeals of your audience only made you huff and bury your face in your lover’s strong chest, ears reddening as your friends’ jeering and squealing got louder.
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kyouka-supremacy · 7 days
Note
Ask game can you do kyouka
Yay Kyouka!!!
Favorite thing about them: HER EXISTING. The fact that she's one (1) fleshed out female character and for one I will love her for that. I also generally really like the trope of little girls facing unimaginable horrors and defeating them, it gives me hope. The fact that she was able to get out of an abusive environment by her own forces is very inspiring, too. More Kyouka love words here.
Least favorite thing about them: I feel I'm cheating at this with always mentioning things that are really not about the character but rather about the way they fit in the story but... I'm very disappointed when the author flat out forgets about her. 55 Minutes and the whole airport arc. I've said it before but I really wish she would have intervened during the Atsushi / Akutagawa airport fight because what were she and Yosano and Lucy doing the entire time. In general, I wish we'd see her more outside of her relationship with Atsushi which I LOVE but that is starting to feel quite limiting of her right now.
Favorite line:
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Eheh. It's been this blog title since day one. It's just that crepes is one of my favourite desserts too but most of all I really appreciate the feeling of carrying on living even if it's just for the small nice things in life. I may be worthless, and with no right to breathe; but crepes still make life worth living. I appreciate the sentiment. Ss/kk should learn from her it'd spare them a lot of trouble lol
brOTP: I LOVE LOVE LOVE HER RELATIONSHIP WITH ATSUSHI. It's really one of my favourite things. I think Kyouka is about the only person Atsushi truly cares about beyond his own selfishness and it's really heartwarming. They make each other's lives better every day and comfort each other that they're good people capable of doing good. I also think Kyouka really helps Atsushi in the way she's so blunt and straightforward, she helps him overcome his insecurities and second-guessing everything; she's a reassuring presence for him because he knows she wouldn't lie to him. And Atsushi allows her to be a child, and it's so sweet!!! They need each other in a lot of ways and they're so perfect for each other. Platonic soulmates fr. I also really like her relationship with Kenji, that too is so wholesome, I'm happy she has someone her same age she can do 14 y/os things with!!! Oh and I LOVE her relationship with Lucy, they're so much fun in their low-key animosity but I like to think they truly care about each other and that Lucy fully took Kyouka on as her annoying little sister she wouldn't hesitate to die for. AND the potential of Kyouka and Yosano, AND Fukuzawa. AND Akutagawa and Kouyou (more as like, relationships to explore rather than think they'd actually get along). I think about Kyouka's relationships with other characters a lot lol.
OTP: You know I'm fully convinced I would have been a full flagged Kyouka/Kenji supporter if only they were a little older, but the way I can really only think of them as children kinda makes it hard for me to say I ship them just because personally I don't really like to imagine them in a romantic picture in general (个_个) It's a shame because again I know what I like and this kind of sun/moon coded het ship is something I would have been really into ;;
nOTP: Likely Kyouka and Kenji for the reasons mentioned above :// It's just something I noticed I'm not very into when it's brought up in ss/kk fics. That said, it's not like I have any strong feeling against it either.
Random headcanon: About that, I really like to think she and Kenji are going to be partners when they're older.
Unpopular opinion: Not sure this goes here but right now I can't think of anything else– I do think that in the early chapters of the manga there was some level of writing Kyouka like she was Atsushi's love interest. Overall I think the manga verges way less in the “siblings” direction than the “eventually couple to-be living together” direction than the fandom makes it to be (I don't think they were ever directly associated to siblings in the manga, like, ever? I don't remember Atsushi ever saying he sees Kyouka as a little sister or something in those lines). Which I personally do not like, but in my reading interpretation that's the direction the manga was going for. That's why the chapter 15 opening is extremely distasteful to me, it really feels like pushing forward the stereotype of little dainty young house wife waking up early to prepare breackfast for her husband... And the way we know she's so young makes it downright disturbing. (But again, that's only as far as my understanding of the manga goes, feel free to disagree with me on this).
Song i associate with them: Shinkai Shoujo by Yuuyu-P!!!! It's just so her, both in the girly j-pop vibes and lyrics. It literally talks about a girl sinking in the darkness but managing to find the light in the end :')
Favorite picture of them:
Favourite panel from the manga:
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Favourite illustration:
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Favourite illustration in the anime art style:
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Favourite Mayoi card:
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Send me a character?
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hanbbin · 6 months
Text
otp: its true im using you because im a desperate bastard but you can use me too
otp: it's true i know nothing about you but im willing to learn everything. tell me everything. slowly.
otp: don't want you to waste your precious time on some guy. but it makes you smile and i love it when you smile.
otp: holds your trembling hands and comforts you before your match because you're scared and it's all i can do.
otp: if you want to run away ill make it that you can. ill run away with you
otp: you eat what i say but ill buy you donuts 🍩 if it makes you happy
otp: i know you're trash but im a piece of shit too
otp: what do you wanna experience? kissing! (awkward silence) can't sleep later because your crush is so cute and you can't help but smile thinking about them
otp: walks in and you're kissing your boyfriend. who's not me. leaves
otp: i fixed your phone (you fixed my life)
otp: jealous of your ex girlfriend but ill call her and ask her to help if it helps you
otp: i would really hate going to the us but i hate staying away from you even more
otp: if you're sad and you cry. im sad and i cry
otp: you promised to help me in the rain and i will do the same
otp: wake up the sun is shining and we need to box (talk)
otp: tell me everything ill listen to it all
otp: if we run together it's fun exciting but if i run alone it's like a mandatory homework
otp: i can't be with you but ill make your father cook for you and your ex boyfriend run with you
otp: i miss you but i can't say that so i watch you from afar while pretending i don't
otp: i promised to be with you on your birthday and even though im acting like i don't care about you rn and this is the exact opposite of what im trying to do, ill still run as fast as i can so i can be with you.
otp: beats up any bastards that come near you 🦇
otp: i like you, even if you don't like me the same way. it's how i feel.
otp: "are you okay? do you feel sick? are you hurt? " YES. "where????" MY HEART.
otp: i like you too because you're my athlete. i do adore her, she's my genius athlete. i do like her, ofc, im her agent. "do you like her that way tho!?" long meaningful silence "no"
otp: are you seeing anyone? long meaningful silence. phone rings and learns that his crush is hurt. runs as fast as he can to make sure she's fine.
otp: i feel most comfortable in the gym because you were always with me here. "then i'll stay with you here." "sets alarm after 15 minutes" resets alarm for 30 minutes.....
otp: you have to comfort me like you did that day. "hugs her immediately afterwards"
otp: im sorry i approached you that day. "whatever, im thankful you did. because i got to know you."
otp: i trust you, even if nobody does, ill still trust you.
otp: tells you i can't make it to where you are when im 10 meters away looking longingly at you
otp: rushes to you and hold you as im dying and you're all the air i need to breathe.
otp: just kill me already because my athlete (girlfriend) would never lose
otp: offers 🍭 "but she wants a kiss 💋" they kiss
otp: where do you want to go? i'll take you there. "HERE. here is the best place."
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sichore · 1 month
Note
Also 23 for the otp prompts!
tagging @nightklok because they asked for this prompt too! it got away from me a bit... like 2K words a bit.
23. Write about your ship supporting each other through a hard time.
MagJam | mention of MagCharles | 2271 words | post s2. ep. 19 Black Fire Upon Us | non-explicit sex
Mordhaus is attacked and the first thing Magnus feels is worry, sick and gnawing in his gut as he tries to go about the shop as usual. Are they okay? Did they make it out? And the anchorman goes on to say no, they did not. 
All the money and fame in the world didn’t stop them from being infiltrated, invaded like the micronation of shit that they are, and now Charles is dead.
Charles is dead.
Time passes in a haze, swirled and blurred images of life moving on regardless. Nairi notices and asks what’s wrong and he can’t bring himself to tell his daughter the truth. “Nothing. I’m fine. How was class?” And Nairi’s furrowed brow is a mirror of his own, but eventually she stops asking, her hands no longer hesitating as she tells him about her day.
Charles is dead and the hate and resentment that’s built up over the past decade is numbed by a wave of grief so deep that Magnus finds himself visiting the liquor store more and more because he can’t bring himself to touch the bottle of arak in his cabinet. He’s far from sober, but he usually doesn’t let beer bottles collect in his recycling bin this fast. They gather like his regrets and dreams, empty and dusty and sometimes broken before he tosses them out, and then the pile grows all over again.
Two weeks go by. Maybe a month. And then Jimi comes back.
“Oh, hey!” She greets him in a scene like an echo of a time past and it takes his breath away. Jimi, standing in his kitchen with Nairi as they put away groceries, smiling as brightly as she did the first time they did this so many years ago when Nairi was much smaller.
“We were gonna make dinner, but we got a bit carried away at the store,” Jimi apologizes, shrugging, and holds up a takeout container. “How’s Italian sound?”
“Good.” Magnus swallows down the lump in his throat and hopes that eases in the hoarseness in his voice. “I didn’t know you were back.”
“Some stuff came up at work, so…” Jimi shrugs, doesn’t exactly meet his eye. “Here I am!”
Dinner comes from a local Italian spot that Magnus and Jimi had gone to once, together, the evening they decided that no, this probably shouldn’t be a thing. The bread is still soft, the pasta exquisite, and the sun-dried tomatoes far, far sweeter than Magnus remembers.
“There were some changes,” Jimi says, once Nairi retreated to her room for the evening to leave the two of them to polish off the bottle of white wine Jimi had picked up ‘for fun’. Her gaze stays focused on her stemless glass, swirling around her drink. “So I’m finally back here for the time being.”
“For how long?” Magnus ventures, trying not to think about how much his world has shrunk since Jimi started spending more time away at this mystery job than her apartment. Since he was left behind, three times now.
“Mmh, not sure.” And Jimi sets her glass down on the coffee table, curls a leg up onto the couch so she can face Magnus. “How ‘bout you? How have you been?”
Terrible. “Fine.” Spiraling. “Same as usual.”
“You look tired, Magnus.”
He doesn’t have an answer for her.
Jimi is home a lot now. His home, which could have been hers, too. Magnus doesn’t realize how much he’s been slacking on groceries until he starts coming home to the fridge constantly being stocked with more than takeout, leftovers, and beer. Nairi is bright and cheery the following weeks after Jimi takes her on a shopping spree, and frequently sports a colorful jacket from one of her shows.
One evening, Magnus comes home after closing shop to find Jimi asleep on his couch, having been in the middle of folding laundry. She’s not even that good about putting away her own clothes from what he recalls.
He reaches down to brush an errant curl, stops himself, and instead moves her glasses to the side table. It’s enough to wake up the artist.
“Oh, shit, sorry,” she says hastily, rubbing her eyes and sitting up. “I was just –”
“Jimi, what are you doing?”
The way she pauses and her eyes widen in embarrassment makes Magnus kick himself for his lack of tact, but he can’t bring himself to stop. “I mean, you’ve been –”
“Weird, ah, I know. It’s weird. Sorry. I’ll just go–”
“No. Shit, I’m sorry, don’t –” Don’t go, please. She starts to rise and he places his hand on her shoulder and the way Jimi looks up at Magnus makes him jolt. A dormant urge sparks to life and he’s not so quick to snuff it out. “I’m sorry. I appreciate everything you’ve done, really. I know I’m not great at showing it.”
And he pauses, the words sending him down a completely different train of thought. He redirects. “And Nairi’s been really happy to see you again.”
Ignoring the protest in his knees, Magnus kneels down to be more at Jimi’s level, and he sees the way she sucks in a breath, hands clasped in her lap. He tosses his hair over his shoulder with a jerk of his head. “You’ve just got me worried, is all.”
The way Jimi presses her lips together and her eyes harden, he expects her to challenge him right back, because he knows the bags under his eyes haven’t gotten much better since she first asked about them. That the recession is hitting everyone hard, the shop hasn’t been doing its best, and Jimi just seems to be biding her time while making sure Nairi has everything she needs.
And Magnus is grateful, even if his pride is wounded a bit. It’s really not a talk either of them wants to have. “Listen, if you need to come back to the shop for a bit, it’s not a problem–”
“It’s not that,” Jimi interrupts, then sighs, looking away. Her hands twist in her lap and this time Magnus doesn’t hesitate to take one. He watches Jimi’s shoulders sag, and the fight leaves her body, replaced with an emotion he can’t identify that’s gone as fast as a ripple. “I’ve just got a lot of time on my hands. Maybe I should go back to school. Actually finish this time.”
“That’s not a bad idea.”
“Mmh.”
He forgot how small her hands were compared to his, long and knobby and weathered as they are. Jimi holds his hand much more carefully than he handled all those bottles he knocked back. She looks at him now and her eyes are dark as midnight in the summer. He can see the glitter of stars, feel the warm breeze in his hair, the blades of grass on his skin.
“... hey, Magnus…”
“Yeah?”
Jimi squeezes his hand, worries her lower lip with her teeth. Soft, plush lips that he remembers should be treated delicately. “... Lemme finish up here.”
He’s not sure what he was expecting. He should be used to disappointment. “Right, yeah. Okay.”
Weeks and months pass and Magnus remembers feelings other than grief and monotony and apathy. Even tragedy can’t stop Dethklok from flaunting their wealth before the world and that familiar sneer of disgust curls Magnus’ lip, before he changes the channel away from news of that damn statue.
Charles is dead and Jimi’s back and the need for revenge still burns in his chest and Nairi is healthy and well. It’s not exactly his normal, because he’s missing more than he usually is, and maybe some part of him really did believe that negotiating his royalties wouldn’t be the last time he spoke to Charles. It was the band, the rest of those selfish assholes who cast him out, and Charles wasn’t much better than himself, casting away his heart in favor of reaching his goals.
Magnus feels like he’s on the verge of waking from a dream, like maybe he’s getting to the acceptance phase, when Jimi turns to him and says Nairi’s gone for the weekend.
And he snaps out of whatever haze he was in. “Oh?”
“Yep,” Jimi chirps, shrugging. She’s more relaxed as of late, did actually take up classes again. Went to see her family. Said work had slowed down, but it was fine, apparently. “Told her and Haséyá to go have some fun.”
That would explain the text he got from his daughter. “I see.”
“She won’t be back until Sunday afternoon.”
Jimi smells really nice today. “Uh huh.”
“So… I thought we could watch movies, or something.”
“... Oh.”
She does not want to watch no damn movies.
It’s Friday night and Magnus is not alone and he doesn’t really need to concern himself with opening the shop tomorrow. Or for the whole weekend. Jimi is dressed simply in a shirt and sweats and what seems to be little else, now that he takes a good look at the dips of her chest. Jimi is turned towards him on the couch, same as the first night she returned, only this time she’s not asking how he’s doing.
The offer has stayed open all these years and now she gives him an answer. Yes, now, because if not, when? Magnus’ breath catches, and her fingers brush his knee, and the walls he had started building up again atop his mound of grief come crumbling down.
Jimi’s hand is small against him. Her skull, too, feels tiny cradled in his hands as he threads long fingers into her thick hair to draw her face near. Magnus only sees half as well as he used to, yet he plainly sees that beneath the care and sweetness that is Jimi is a pain he can’t identify. He asks if she’s sure and she nods her consent. The last time they kissed outside of the holiday season was on that doomed date. Kissing her feels like tasting the rain after a long drought, only it pours, and pours, and pours.
Magnus pulls back from the deluge and the whimper Jimi lets out takes the rest of the air from him. He takes her hands in his own, kissing her palms and fingertips, unsure if they are promises or apologies. Jimi accepts them all the same. She accepts his touch everywhere; rough calluses over smooth skin, a vice grip on her soft hip, and his longing into the aching core of her.
For her, he tries to be a gentle lover, but Jimi doesn’t let him. She doesn’t look at him much, but they both have a lot of hair in the way, and with him having only one eye, Magnus isn’t sure if he wants to glimpse anything other than whatever pain drove her back here. This, at least, is familiar territory to him, so when she claws at him and holds him tighter, closer, he ducks his head down, and gives it back tenfold.
He buries himself in her and with it he tries to bury that grief, that guilt, the ‘what-ifs’ and ‘could be’s’ that haunt him every time he looks into the mirror and sees that pale ghost staring back at him. It’s far less than she deserves, but Jimi takes it all the same, and in turn does not allow him to ride the bliss that follows release. No, she drags more from him with biting nails and pleading cries, with a voracity that shatters any illusion of innocence he may have still held towards her.
Jimi’s arduous cries turn to shouts, turn to sobs, and eventually, their mingled, labored breaths. In the wake of the storm there is stillness, and silence, and for a while, there is no loneliness.
It’s been twenty years or more since Magnus has shared a bed with anyone through the night. He never did with Mari, and the last person he remembers doing so with is dead. But Jimi stays with him until morning and it’s not as strange as it could be when he wakes up and she’s smiling at him. Wearing his shirt. Pushing his hair from his face and chiding him for not tying it up.
He doesn’t ask if she was thinking of someone else, too, in the dark. In the morning light, she’s looking at him, kissing him, swinging her legs over his hips and sinking down onto him. Jimi moves like the waves and Magnus lets her pull him under.
Afterwards, once she’s cleaned up and he finally manages to rouse himself from bed and do the same, he finds Jimi in the kitchen. The tea she claimed she’d make is unbrewed. Instead, she stands at the sink, the water running over her fingers as she stares with an unreadable expression.
It’s the crack in the otherwise perfect image of her standing in his kitchen, in his shirt, still wearing his scent. Maybe this will only last the weekend. Maybe this is all he’ll ever have. But he had nothing before, has nothing with Charles dead, so he’ll hold onto what little he has, however long he has.
“Hey,” Magnus says softly, jolting Jimi out of her trance.
“Oh, hey.” Her smile is weary. “Sorry, I guess I just kinda zoned out there.”
Magnus says nothing at first. Just closes their distance and wraps his arms around her. With their height difference, her face presses to the center of his abdomen. “It’s okay.”
Jimi’s arms wind around him, too. For a moment, he feels the gravity of a collapsed star, and his raspy voice fills the void. “It’s okay.”
[Soft OTP Prompts]
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gryffindorkxdraws · 1 month
Note
Hello, thank you for drawing jackunzel <3
I've got a question: do you have any jackunzel fanfic recommendations?
I'd love to read more about Jack and Rapunzel together <3 I trust your taste 👀😄
Oh and in what app/program did you edit your recent jackunzel videos? They are fun to watch, haha
I wish you great day/night 💕
hi anon!! hehe you're welcome 💙 i'm always game to draw my OTP 💙 for my jackunzel videos, i use capcut! its free to download. and i'm gonna be honest, i haven't read fics in a while 🫠 but i was able to gather a few for you!! hopefully, you'll enjoy them 😭💙
firstly, here are the oneshots
The Sun & Moon Children (oneshot): When the daughter of the sun fell in love with the son of the moon, the earth watched in anticipation for what would undoubtedly be a tragedy.
READ HERE: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9616560/1/The-Sun-Moon-Children
2. Murals of Winter (oneshot): After all, she is a girl locked in a tower with hair more than twice the length of her room. Why wouldn’t there be a boy who wears winter on his sleeves and stirs up snowstorms in her heart?
READ HERE: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20289766
3. January Wedding (oneshot): Jack Frost and Rapunzel Corona get married in January. Or, The story of how Rapunzel Corona became Rapunzel Frost.
READ HERE: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22325986
4. We're Not Good, We're Super (oneshot) (this is my work!): Jack likes to think of himself as the one guy who might just uncover who exactly Spider-Woman is. What he fails to realize is that she might just be closer to him than he thinks.
READ HERE: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41070603
5. This Night Is Sparkling, Don't You Let It Go (oneshot) (this is also my work hehe): Rapunzel feels distant. Like she’s there, but at the same time she’s not. Something about having a disconnection with herself in the party. That is until her eyes landed on him. or an AU where they decide to see where the night would take them
READ HERE: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46529908
6. Jackunzel Coming Of Age Prompt (oneshot)
READ HERE: https://www.tumblr.com/hiccanna-tidbits/735307559599292416/okay-can-i-look-now-not-yet-the-kitchen-is?source=share
7. Are We Out Of The Woods? (oneshot): Ever the dutiful daughter, Rapunzel agrees to make a delivery to someone her parents owe an old favor. But she knows she must beware, for many dangerous creatures roam the heart of the forest. Perhaps even the ones that once claimed her best friend.
READ HERE: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42718821
8. Bloody Valentine (oneshot + extra chapter): Superhero AU It's easy to become cynical when you see the darkest side of humanity every night. It's easy to lose sight of what truly matters, and let it go in a moment of fear. For Jack, the hard part is either coming to grips with the fact he let Rapunzel go, or figuring out a way to get her back.
READ HERE: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5220320/chapters/12037064
now these below are a series if ever you're up for longer stories
9. An Essay of Love (series): Jackson Overland moves to a new city and gets the job of teaching history to a bunch of annoying teens every day. The one thing keeping him from handing in his two-week notice as soon as he arrives is the sunshiney, optimistic art teacher who unlocks not only his classroom but his heart.
READ HERE: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25597147/chapters/62125681
10. Dusk Till Dawn (series): Jackson Overland travels far and wide to find the lost people of Corona to seek vengeance for his fallen home, Luna. Fiercely driven by the memories of his family, he meets a mysterious feral young woman named Rapunzel Flores. Two opposites, forge an unlikely alliance that is destined to change the course of the future.
READ HERE: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25257757/chapters/61231741
11. Among The Stars (series): SCI-FI AU The crew of the Night Fury - Hiccup Haddock (captain), Merida Haddock (first mate), and Jack Frost (Pilot) - have a habit of getting into trouble. Accidentally rescuing Princess Rapunzel of the planet Corona puts them in more trouble than they can deal with... unless Jack can admit he was wrong.
READ HERE: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5149355/chapters/11854694
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wraithsoutlaws · 2 months
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From the soft otp prompts & for the bbs ☺️ 3 & 4!
3) Write about your ship holding hands in a tense moment / 4) Write about your ship holding hands in a happy moment.
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Blood exploded from Dagger’s mouth and he saw stars for the second time as Dum Dum knocked him on his ass. The constellations mocked him in a dim flicker above. For a moment he couldn’t move. That chrome fist shattered a tooth–not for the first time, though depending on the outcome of the night, it could be the last. He didn’t think Dum Dum would kill him. He may have underestimated him until now.
Before his vision had time to clear, he felt himself ripped upward, heaved into another punch that left him coughing, choking on his own blood.
“I trusted you–” Dum Dum spat. His voice sounded like a car crash, and he hit just as hard. Dagger’s skin split open above the eye, and his left optic turned suddenly to static. The seven red lenses staring down at him overtook what was left of his blurry vision. He could barely make them out in detail, just the bleeding glow around him like watching the world through a rain soaked windshield. “You never gave a shit about any of it!”
His tone shifted. There was a human crack in the words that sounded foreign on the otherwise mechanical growl of his voice. Dagger felt it like a knife in his chest, wedging him open. Something else he wasn’t used to.
His lungs heaved with heavy breath. Voice wet and ragged. 
“You ever hear about the scorpion and the frog–”
Blood sparkled on chrome knuckles and Dagger’s hand came up on instinct to stop the incoming blow. The impact radiated down his arm but his fingers tightened and he held true. It might be the last time he’d ever feel that touch. Part of him wanted to remember. A fingertip brushed across the scarred metal of his hand and Dum Dum went still, like for a moment the rage fell way to something softer.
They were never very good at softer.
Dagger’s grip tightened suddenly, savoring the feel of him one more time before he sent his free hand flying into Dum Dum’s face and knocking him sideways.
He forced a smile tight over dripping red teeth. Wild as a dog. 
“Is that the best you got, tin man?”
*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*
Dagger scanned over the horizon, flat land dusted with the setting sun. He’d purchased the lot on a deal. Holding a man at knifepoint makes negotiations smoother–something he’d learned long ago. Twenty miles out and you’d hit Vegas, but it was quiet here and empty. Nothing but sun-bleached barren road, forgotten and neglected by anyone who wasn’t Raffen. He had no problem dealing with Raffen. They’d learn soon enough where they sat on the food chain. 
His eyes dimmed automatically against the golden light as he tried to picture the sprawling carnival set so clearly inside his head. It’d take time, years maybe, but it was doable.
He heard the dirt crunch behind him and turned. Even those blaring red eyes paled in comparison to the sun. 
“You ever imagine I’d go legit?” He asked as Dum Dum stood beside him, stretching out the cramps in his legs. The truck sat on a ridge a few feet away, a veil of dust filling scratches in the paint. It was a long drive out, but they were home.
He shook his head, tone flat. “I never imagined you’d live past thirty-five.”
“Well, I am a man of surprises.”
“Hard to figure, though.” Dum Dum took a step forward. “You finally choose to spend a fortune and it’s five miles of fucking sand. ” 
He knew Dum Dum didn’t share the same longing for the wide open. He watched him scratch at the vents of his cyberware, brushing out the dirt trapped inside. 
“You just ain’t picturing it,” Dagger said, determined. He threw an arm over his shoulder and pointed him toward the west. “That right there’s where we’ll have the stage. Good music, not that fucking laser pop electric shit.”
He heard a laugh at his ear, and turned to the right, pointing out an especially flat section of desert. “That’s where the haunted house will go. Behind it will be the coaster. Biggest one on this side of the continent.” He was grinning now. The structures were clear in his vision. It finally felt real.
“You sound like some shitty salesman.” Dum Dum quipped.
“Bite your fuckin’ tongue,” Dagger shot back with a playful grin. He walked a few steps over, leading Dum Dum with him, where he drew a line in the sand with the tip of his boot. 
“And this will be our door.”
“Our door?”
“Our trailer.” There was an innocence in his voice he couldn’t quell. 
Dum Dum looked at him, smile creeping over his lips. 
“I figure you’d prefer solid walls to a tent.” 
He examined it again quietly. The image in Dagger’s mind was so vivid, had been for a long time. Longer than he realized now that he was here, and it wasn’t the stage or the haunted house that made the bats in his gut fly wild. It was him. And it wouldn’t be the same if he was gone. Dum Dum stepped through the imaginary threshold and looked around, gazing at the promise of what might be. 
“Place is a fucking mess,” he joked, as if standing in the middle of a crowded room.
The bats fluttered through him gentle.
“Some things never change.” He joined him inside, surrounded by the shared daydream. His hand inched toward him, glancing off the edge of his fingers before a pinkie linked gently around his own. The rest followed like dominoes. It was the only time Dagger’s chrome hand felt like flesh again. Dum Dum’s grip tightened around it.
Some things never change.
Some things do.
“C’mon,” Dagger said, hardly more than a breath. “I’ll show you where the bed goes.”
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itsanidiom · 1 month
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SHIPPER TAG GAME
LET'S GOOOOO~ tagged by @negrowhat
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1. What ship were you completely obsessed with when you were a teenager, but now you don't care anymore?
Glorestor or Glorfindel / Erestor of Middle Earth Fanon Fame. Not that I don't CARE about it anymore, mind you. There's just not enough new content (for obvious reasons god it's old and there's like one conversation of original source material). I don't think about them as much anymore. Like I used to be reading fanfic EVERY NIGHT and we're talking like novel length fanfics (as you can imagine people in the LOTR fandom write lol). Anyway here's some super old fan art... (>u<)
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2. Which ship would you consider your first one?
Oh god...something Dynasty Warriors related for sure...
Probably like Sun Ce / Zhao Yu or Gan Ning / Lu Xun. (GO WU! lol) I feel like there were other couples I'm totally forgetting right now...but yeah god I love Dynasty Warriors...
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Also...daaamn Gan Ning looks good there I should go buy the latest game. (>w<)
3. Your first fanfic belonged to which couple?
Like the first one I wrote or read?? I went into my oldest of old "old writing" folders and found this list of docs that I haven't been touched in over ten years. SO I'm gonna saaaay it was a Dynasty Warriors fanfic...one of these pairings. (^ ^;)
Also kind of hilarious to see that I literally still organize my fanfic files in the same way for over half my fucking life ago...nice...
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4. Do you remember the first couple you saw a fanart over?
I feel like it would have been something Inuyasha related. That or something Final Fantasy X. I do not remember, but it was probably some version of these scene.
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5. Did you ever get into ship discourse?
Not that I can remember...do not need this in my life...lol but maybe I've reblogged some RPF like discourse? Like the "should or shouldn't you ship" type discussions. I'm on the side of "do whatever you want but don't send it to the famous people" [ex. like ATEEZ fanfic/fanart] or "if they are literally doing it as part of their promo go ahead, it's for fun/they literally requested it as part of their promo" [ex. BillyBabe]. (^ ^;)
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6. Did you used to have any no-otp or have it currently?
It honestly always depends on the quality of the fanart or the fanfic because even a notp can turn into a OH!tp if it's good enough. [Exhibit a: my Phaya/Tharn/Chalothorn fanfic]
7. Who were the couple in the last fanfic you read?
Weirdly the one new Chalothon/Singh fic from The Sign. But I really need AO3 to fix the spelling of his name in the tag...
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8. Currently, do you have any OTPs?
PhayaTharn are the current obsession~
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Look at them...adorable...
9. Is there any couple that, to this day, you are extremely mad about not getting together?
Still wish John Wick / Santino fucked...also like James Bond / Q and The Protagonist / Neil and Arthur / Eames...bromance is SUCH a waste but considering the genres of these movies it is never gonna happen...I have to wait for the Thai BL versions lol (^ ^;)
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10. Is there any ship you used to dislike but now you think they are kind of interesting?
OH I haven't been traumatized by watched it yet, but Dead Friends Forever has made me get onboard with Macau/Chay of KinnPorsche fame because OMG LOOK AT THESE CUTIES!!!!
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11. Do you have any ship that, in the past, was considered normal but now you would be cancelled over?
GOD I remember there was a LOT of Sesshomaru x Inuyasha yaoi when I was a kid LMFAO like...straight up cancelled...I dunno if it was normal back then but no yaoi was normal back then so like it sadly all got lumped together or something...then again looking at some of the comics that are coming out these days...
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12. What was your favorite crack ship?
All the McFassy ships from back in the day like OMG REMEMBER JUNGKOV?? STELIOS AND LETO??? ARCHIE AND ROBBIE? SO MANY CROSSOVERS!!
LOL Sorry that just brought me back LOL
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13. Who is the couple you read more fanfics of?
Ahhhh I don't know...I usually either write a lot or read a lot...I literally have a fic rec list for Glorestor lol and then when I look in my AO3 bookmarks the top ship is Hannigram sooooo let's say Hannigram even though I haven't read one for a while.
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14. What most of your ships usually have in common?
toll and smol...i like me a toll and a smoll...lol or big and small...i dunno something something contrast something something just crush him and/or be uncharacteristically gentle or somehow incapacitate the larger man with your wiles...that is all...
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15. What do you absolutely hate in a ship?
Miscommunication < seconding @negrowhat's response. Cannot stand it. Such a boring trope. Very annoying for me (the audience).
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baronessblixen · 10 months
Text
A Day In May
Year of the OTP May prompts: sunshine, pet acquisition, “who are you”?
Set in the revival, wc: 1,057, more on the fluffy side
tagging @today-in-fic
A regular day in May, but things are changing for Mulder and Scully.
The late May sun is relentless on the skin of his neck, right where his shirt ends and his hair no longer reaches. Both he and Scully got haircuts before they came here. After all, this has been a long time coming. They’re waiting for their turn, Mulder with his hand on his neck, trying to prevent the inevitable sunburn. He used sunscreen – or rather Scully used it on him. How could he say no when she offered to apply it for him? The ghost of her small, but strong hands and nimble fingers is still dancing over his skin.
Another couple leaves, holding their official papers, looking joyful. They pass them and that’s when he catches Scully smiling. It’s one of his favorites. All of her smiles are his favorite, of course. But this one holds a special place in his heart. It’s the one she wears when her thoughts and seemingly all her troubles are miles away. It’s an absent-minded smile that only pops up every once in a while. Lately, he’s seen it more often. He cherishes each one of them, never knowing when he’ll get to see it again. Except things will change now. Isn’t that why they’re standing here? He glances over at Scully. As much as he doesn’t want to disturb her moment of happiness, he needs to make sure.
“Hey, Scully?”
“Hm?”
“Is this really what you want?” She turns to him, her eyes wide.
“Have you changed your mind?” she asks.
“No,” he says hastily. “I haven’t, I just- you never wanted… I mean. This is… it’s a big deal for us.” It's been 25 years and now...
“Mulder,” she says softly, taking his hand into hers. He realizes how sweaty his hand is. Hers is, too. It’s either nervousness or the early bout of summer.
“I want this. I asked you, remember?” He nods, slowly. Of course, he remembers. The first time he asked her to marry him was shortly after they went on the run. She said no. The same thing happened after they got their house. Another firm no. He asked her again after their vacation, their last attempt to ditch the darkness that was threatening to swallow them whole. When she said no that time he was almost relieved. And that was the beginning of the end. Or, as he likes to think of it now: the interlude. Because here they are, about to make it official. Well, sort of.
They’re next in line, finally. His skin is scorching and he knows that Scully will have to apply aloe vera later tonight. At least there’s a silver lining to his pain.
“Who are you?” The man behind the desk adjusts his glasses and his base cap. It reads ‘what a good boy’ and Mulder averts his eyes, looking everywhere but at the hat.
“Mulder and Scully,” Scully says, taking charge. “We have an appointment.”
“Do you?” The man asks lowering his head and going through his list. Several names are already crossed out. Panic grips Mulder’s stomach. What if something went wrong? What if their names aren’t on the list and they’re-
“There they are,” the guy says, beaming at Scully. “Dr. Scully and Mr. Mulder.”
“That is correct,” Scully says, squeezing Mulder’s hand. “Is everything in order? Can we go in and…,” she trails off, and this time Mulder tightens his hold on her. She’s probably just as nervous as he is. This was her idea, after all. And she’s always been better at hiding. He? He wears his heart on a sleeve. Hers, to be exact. Almost three decades together, and enough trauma for just as many lifetimes, they’re wary. When was the last time anything went exactly as they’d planned it?
“Everything is in order. You can go right in.”
“Thank you,” Scully says and Mulder hears the relief in her voice. They walk towards the entrance, but before they go inside, Mulder stops her.
“Last chance to change your mind, Scully.”
“I don’t want to change my mind. This is what I want. Are you sure it’s what you want? You look hot.” He grins at her. “You know what I mean.”
“I want this, too. All of this.” The house, the woman, and yes, the dog. The commitment. The whole package. It’s what he’s wanted for years. Now all he has to do is reach out and grab it. "Ready?" he asks and they walk through the door.
It’s much cooler inside and Mulder takes a deep breath, thankful for the air conditioning. A few dogs watch them walk past them and Mulder knows he can’t look because if he does, they will go home with a dozen instead of one dog.
“Dr. Scully?” A young volunteer walks towards them, smiling. “Someone’s been waiting for you.” The volunteer opens a door and there's Daggoo. His tail waggles as soon as he spots Scully, and then Mulder, too.
“There you are.” Scully is on her knees greeting her dog. Their dog, as of today. As soon as they hand in the paperwork, that is. After today, it’s going to be official. Mulder, Scully, and Daggoo. Registered at the same address.
“Do you have the paperwork?” the volunteer asks Mulder and he hands it to her. He, too, gets down to pet Daggoo behind his ear. The dog seems to grin at him, happy about all the attention. Two days without him and he’d started to miss the little bugger, who, if he’s honest, has helped him and Scully find their way back to each other much quicker with his antics.
“It all looks good. You can take him home.”
“So he’s ours now?” Scully asks, her voice trembling, her eyes traveling to Mulder’s face. All they’ve lost. All that’s been taken from them. This is their moment. It’s a new beginning. He doesn’t want to go as far and hope their luck is changing – but of course, he wants to believe. In five minutes, they’re going home. With their dog, who is registered at their address, who they’re paying taxes for. They’re going to file for taxes next year. Together. And who knows who else will wander back into their lives. He won’t ever give up hope on their son.
“He’s ours,” Mulder confirms. “Let’s go home.”
And so they do.
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hardly-an-escape · 6 months
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20 questions for fic writers!
thanks for the tag @signiorbenedickofpadua! gonna put this under a cut since it's a little long :)
1. How many works do you have on AO3?
22.
2. What’s your total AO3 word count?
Just under 77,500.
3. What fandoms do you write for?
Right now, just Sandman – but I do have an unfinished MCU story that I'd like to get back to, and there are definitely other fandoms I'd like to play around in at some point. I'm pretty unfocused, it just depends on whatever tickles my fancy.
4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?
Kind of Blue, a kind of fire (443) In the February Sun (437) let your heart be light (381) Headache (356) First Time (322)
5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?
I try to respond to every comment! (Although I'm super behind right now. Sometime soon I'll have a nice long self-indulgent afternoon of re-reading comments and finally responding.) I like to respond mostly because, as someone who reads a lot of fic, I get really excited when an author responds to my comments, and I want people who read my work and take the time to leave a comment to have the same feeling :) Also, I just feel like it's polite to say thank you when people say nice things!
6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
I... don't really write angst. Like, at all. I am all about fluff and disgustingly happy endings. I have a WIP that has a fairly angsty beginning/middle (the shellshocked WWI veterans one which I swear to God I will finish), but even that will still have a happy ending (maybe a little bittersweet, but not angsty).
7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?
Ummm all of them?? Like I am genuinely not sure that one rises above the others in terms of its happiness.
8. Do you get hate on fics?
I never have! I'm grateful to be active in a fandom that is almost universally kind and supportive! Also I don't really write the kinds of pairings or subjects that might draw the ire of the general public, tbh, so that's probably part of it.
9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?
I do! At the moment mostly M/M since I'm still very Dreamling obsessed, but also F/M. I don't generally get too kinky or monsterfuckery with it, though. Pretty much just regular-degular sexy times around here.
10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?
Not really! Nothing against them, just haven't gotten a spark from that kind of idea. Wait, I take that back. A while back I started a Clintasha fic set in the Station Eleven universe. I never finished it, because I feel like I need to re-read the book in order to do so, and I haven't done that yet. But I'd definitely like to.
11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?
Not that I know of!
12. Have you ever had a fic translated?
Nope. I would love it if that happens someday! I've considered translating my own fic (I speak fluent German, so it's not outside the realm of possibility), but I'm not sure I'm up to that kind of project at the moment.
13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?
No, I've had some fun brainstorming sessions and just back-and-forth reblogging with mutuals and trading ideas, but never actual co-writing. I'm open to the idea, but I would hesitate to inflict my writing process on anyone because it is extremely slow and piecemeal. I feel like a lot of co-writing relationships these days are developed on Discord, and try as I might I just cannot become an active Discord user.
14. What’s your all time favorite ship?
Oh, lordy. Genuinely not sure how to answer this. If you go back to like... my very first childhood OTP, it'd have to be something like Han/Leia. But I've never been active in online SW fandom and never written that ship. I mean, Dreamling is obviously a contender. I do also love Stucky and Clintasha, although I'm not really into the MCU these days. I've recently been jumping on the Steddie train, but it remains to be seen if that will last or not. Going back a little farther, I'll never not be a Spuffy shipper. And I'll admit to Nine/Rose and Ten/Rose, and (wince) some JohnLock tendencies. But I really don't think I can point to a single all-time fave!
15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?
I don't think I have anything that's published (or at least begun publicly) that won't ever be finished – hope springs eternal – but I certainly have things I've started and abandoned in my personal WIP files. I've got several Dreamling-related bits and bobs that may or may not ever come to something, and maybe 2300 words of a Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries fic that will probably never see the light of day.
16. What are your writing strengths?
I think I have a good ear for dialogue, and I'd like to think I come up with some nice metaphors/similes and descriptive language.
17. What are your writing weaknesses?
Actually writing lmao. No seriously though, just sitting down and getting a first draft done is the most challenging part of the whole deal for me.
18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?
I think it's fine and can add some interesting color! Just make sure there's a way for people who don't speak the language (or who are using a screen reader) to understand what's being said.
19. First fandom you wrote for?
First I ever wrote was Star Wars Expanded Universe (now Star Wars Legends) fic in elementary school. First I posted on AO3 was a Lizzie Bennet Diaries 5+1 – which, looking at it for the first time in many years, is actually pretty okay! I did something kind of interesting with the form, I think. I think I must have had a fanfiction.com account at some point but I truly cannot remember if I ever posted anything there... I can't remember my username and I don't even think I have access to the email I used to sign up with.
20. Favorite fic you’ve written?
Among the Stars We are Reborn, for sure. I'm really proud of what I accomplished with that story, and to be honest I wish it had gotten as much attention as some of my other fics.
this was fun, thank you! I know this tag game has been going around and I'm not sure who's done it already and who hasn't, but I'll tag @valeriianz @landwriter @teejaystumbles @tryan-a-bex @cuubism and @tj-dragonblade (and as always, no pressure, just for fun!)
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epickiya722 · 10 months
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Character Ask: Ippan Josei
1: Sexuality headcanon
Hm... unlabeled, I think Ippan wouldn't really have herself a label. She just knows she's not straight.
2: OTP
I just think her with Miruko would be so cute together!! Just imagining Miruko hopping up to hug her and kiss her cheek is just... 😭💜!
3: BROTP
Her and Midoriya. Their scenes together is just so wholesome. I like to imagine they have crossed paths a couple of times after that and say hi to each other.
4: NOTP
Placing her and Midoriya here, too. Nope, don't like them romantically. *insert a salty comment here*
5: First headcanon that pops into my head
I bet she enjoys warmer seasons and spends her time outside to feel the sun. She looks like she would enjoy the sun. (She is sunshine.)
6: Favorite line from this character
Her whole exchange with Midoriya where she, him and Kota are crying and they're comforting him. Gets me in my feels every time and I cried when it got animated.
When she called him "crybaby hero" it was the only and first time I haven't actually hated someone calling him a crybaby because it didn't come off as malicious but more so "you have feelings". Can't say the same for the fandom though.
7: One way in which I relate to this character
She's just so shy and I'm just the same. I like socializing, but I'm quick to be timid around people, too.
8: Thing that gives me second hand embarrassment about this character
Oooh, I can't think of anything for her!
9: Cinnamon roll or problematic fave?
Cinnamon roll that I just want to hug forever and protect, she is absolute sunshine!!
Send Me a Character...
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simon-x-billy · 5 months
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Simon x Billy
Year of the OTP: October
Chapter 10: Attack of the tiny flying human
Prompt: Text messaging
AN: While Billy is sleeping off his drowned sorrows in his time zone, Simon has time traveled back 6 hours, to Brooklyn. He gets to live the same 6 hours twice. That’s just how it works. So sci-fi. He has been summoned (peer pressured) back to Brooklyn by his agent for a terribly important meeting requiring a suit. That’s all he knows about it: Wear a suit. Done. He’s wearing a suit. He’s never even seen Johnny in a suit, let alone wearing one with him. It’s this morning all over again, and it’s official. Italians do coffee better. NSFW TW: Finally back to the sexytimes! But first, lots of talking and saying stuff and things. Fair warning: There’s no Clary irl, but there is a Chase. Masterlist || ao3 || start || prev || next
————/Simon/————
“Simon, I don’t like that Johnny.”
“I know, Ma.”
“He looks like a sheister, that boy. He does not have a trustworthy face. No. He does not.”
“I know, Ma.”
“Well if you know, Simon, why don’t you go find a more trustworthy-looking agent?”
“Ok, Ma. Where are the Eggos?”
“Pish. Why am I stocking Eggos when you’re not living here anymore? Go stock ‘em for yourself over at that schmancy apartment of yours.”
“Ok, Ma. You’re right.”
She’s turned her ‘you don’t have a trustworthy face’ face on me.
“What, Ma. What? Please stop giving me the stink eye. It’s scary looking and definitely unfriendly.”
“You want I should be your friend now.”
I search madly for the right answer to that question.
“You want I should go to Katz’s? Yonah Schimmel? No! Wait! Ma, I will buy you an island if you make your matzoh ball soup.”
I am a genius.
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Katz’s. Yonah Schimmel is next door. Pic mine.
That should keep her busy for well over 24 hours. It takes time to boil a chicken down to nothing but golden goodness. As Grandma used to say, “It took a day to build Rome, it takes more than that to make chicken soup.”
That should keep her happy and friendly for at least as many days as the soup lasts, and then some. And it’ll give me some fat to run off. Sometimes I don’t eat enough to sate the running addiction. It is what it is.
From the kitchen I hear Ma shout “But I do like his red hair!”
————/-/————
“Simon!!!” It’s practically a screech. The next thing I know, I’ve been attacked by a tiny flying human. I don’t know if there’s such a thing as a flying hug. Kind of like a cannonball into a pool, but aimed at me and not at a pool. Whatever it is, there are limbs everywhere, long hair in my mouth, and not a fraction of an inch of her touching the ground. I figure I’ll just leave the untangling up to her, for fear of touching places it would not be good to touch. This is all on her to unravel. She slides easily to the ground outside Java Jones.
Lily. That’s who.
“Look at you! Why are you all handsome and fresh-looking?” She looks at me suspiciously. Because apparently this is suspicious. And I now worry that I’ve never been handsome and fresh before.
“Nevermind,” she immediately interrupts herself, holding me at arm’s length. “Look at you! You’re all tanned and weirdly healthy. I’m dazzled by the sun dripping off you.” She sniffs. “Why do you smell so good? Are you wearing cologne?! I’m concerned.” Her eyes narrow. “Who are you and what have you done with my sweet vampire Simon? Why are you like this and what are we doing tonight?”
All of this delivered with coquettish little grins and winks sprinkled here and there.
“Stop flirting with me, vile creature.”
She growls and mock-punches me in the arm. “What the fuck, Simon! Where have you been? Clearly somewhere sunnier than Brooklyn. And this is not a tan you get in the Hamptons.”
I can’t help it, I just can’t be mad at this compact little flying ball of limbs. The girl three years younger than I am, that I think of as my little sister, yeah, her. I can’t be mad. She’s just too excited to see me. Genuinely happy to see me. Ugh, now I’m genuinely happy to see her, too.
“So? Are you going to tell me anything? Why do you look like a golden god, sitting here in this dingy hole of the pallid and caffeine-deprived?”
“Italy.” Am I grinning? I think I might be grinning.
“Grinning like the Cheshire Cat.”
“Did you hear the part about Italy?”
“Italy?!?!” She says with overly dramatized shock
Now this one definitely went to theatre school.
I know this to be true, not only because she’s dramatic — convincingly dramatic — but also because it’s where I met her. So I know from firsthand experience that she has a finely tuned host of expressions, reactions, etc to draw from. It’s called sense-memory. Dude, we’re from NY. Theatre camp might just have been with the Actors Studio, or it might not. We might have been mini Method Actors, we might not.
And this face? This face is pure goofball, all the way. She comes by it naturally.
“No, but seriously, Italy?” she asks.
“Yeah, I’m thinking about moving there.”
Lily spews cappuccino froth everywhere.
“Hang on, I got it.” I'm instantly springing for the counter in search of a cloth. Or even a stack of mini napkins? Please? I leave Lily holding her shirt away from her skin. The cappuccino is still hot enough that her shirt is now steaming. Ow.
It’s only as we’re dealing — successfully — with the aftermath, that I finally have a moment to recall what I said, just moments before The Great Cappuccino Incident of 2015.
I’m thinking about moving there.
I didn’t even know that’s how I felt until it flew out of my mouth.
I think I want to move to Italy.
I think I want to move to Italy.
Yep, still true, even after repetition.
“You want to what?” she asks, attention fully on me and not her shirt.
“I think I’m going to move to Italy.” Hm. My mouth just made up my mind for me.
When I’ve had something fly out of my mouth in the past, my mouth has turned out to be trustworthy and wise about 90% of the time. It’s not a perfect science. But what I will say is that my mouth speaking from my gut is not as gross as it sounds. I’ve learned to trust my gut-mouth. It tells me what I don’t realize I already know. And suddenly I have complete clarity. I’m moving to Italy.
!fuckyeahmovingtoitaly!!!!sddssaasblergjkl!
“Why???” she asks. I can hear all the question marks.
“I’m feeling…………things there.”
“You’re feeling things there,” she parrots back at me. “Like what?” she asks with mirth. She’s feeling mirthy.
“Well, for one, I feel more creative than I have since the day I started flogging myself with a blinking cursor on a blank white page, entitled Book 4 pg 1.”
“Writer’s blo-“
“Don’t say it! You’ll jinx me!” Look, Jewish mysticism is alive and kicking in Brooklyn. “Quick, spit on the evil eye!” I order her. It’s the least she could do!
“Don’t worry, Si. You’ll conqu-“
“Stop jinxing me! What, are you trying to ruin my life? Seriously! Anyway, I think Italy might help with that thing we’re not allowed to say out loud, knock on wood.”
Lily is staring at me. Well, no, not staring so much as assessing. “You’re different, Si. And it’s not just the tan. Your eyes are brighter. Sparklier.”
“Ew.”
She smacks my arm.
I look at her and my insides turn to mush. “You, Lily, are a mensch.” Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
“What have I done to deserve your highest praise?”
“You haven’t done anything specific, and that’s part of the point. You, Lily, are a good human being. If it was just a one-time thing, I’d find a different compliment. But this is just an observation. You are a good human person.”
To my surprise, her eyes well up. “Hey, you ok?” I take her hand in mine and give it a warm squeeze. “Hey,” I squeeze again.
“Oh, nothing,” she says, rolling her eyes, but I can tell it’s not even remotely ‘nothing’ by the simple fact that she’s sniffling and her eyes look even more watery.
“Nothing’s wrong, Simon, I promise.”
“Happy tears, then? Did you get into Juilliard?”
“I wish! And anyways, I’m at Tisch.”
“Not too shabby!”
“You bet your frickin ass! There is no shab!”
“Mazel tov, Lily. Stand up and hug me,” I order her. And she does. But she’s sniffling and watery again. I have acquired a cappuccino shirt of my own. At least we’ll both smell alike, and cancel each other out.
I look at her appraisingly. (It’s her turn to be appraised.) “Something’s happened.”
She can’t stop the smile from exploding across her face. “Yes, something’s happened. But Chase made me promise that he’d be there when I told you.”
“Oh.”
Look, I know it’s a shitty thing that my monosyllabic response fell like a lead weight at her feet. But seriously, it’s Chase who needs to know what he’s walking into. Lily can either warn him or not. She’s not his babysitter nor his gatekeeper. “Keymaster,” I sigh.
The only reason I’m pissed at him is that he blew me off for a year. He wasn’t there for me. A stranger from Italy is the only person who was there for me. Not Lily. Not even Ma, who decided being jealous of her son’s vacation was top of mind, rather than her son’s mental and emotional state. The more book sales you have, the less support from humans you need? Is that the logic?
Poor little rich boy. Broken by privilege. Ok, the self-loathing has started, and at this moment, it’s not all about me. It’s supposed to be about some big surprise and I need to respect that.
“Where is that melonfucker anyway?” I raise my voice a little louder, as a poetry slam has just begun. At least it’s not as bad as the one in the book.
“Melonfucker?” The way she says it, I can’t tell if she thinks I’m funny or a loser. You’d think those two expressions couldn’t mate on one face.
I probably could have worded that a little better. Anyways, “Don’t ask. It’s a thing now. Soon everyone will be saying it.”
“I like it. Better than motherfucker. I don’t want to think about fuckers of mothers,” she says with a squicked-out expression.
“But fucking melons is ok,” I laugh.
“Fuck melons, not mothers! T-shirt? Mug?” she suggests.
“I fucked melons way before melonfucking was a thing,” I declare.
“You did what now?” It’s that voice with that pretentious accent that I’ve known since we were 10. He moved here from London. Posh London, apparently, cuz I guess that’s a thing that exists. It wasn’t til he met me that he started not-hating living anywhere else. And not only was this not London, it was America of all places. Insults and injuries and all that.
I thought he was cool. He thought I was a dork. But a friendly dork.
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I first laid eyes on him as he wrestled with the door of his locker, just a few down from mine. Then he showed up in my English class, and everybody laughed when he pointed out that English class should really be about learning to be English.
It’s a miracle and a mystery why the student body chose to think that was funny. If it’d been me pulling that gag, I’d have been bullied mercilessly. But not Chase. He has something in him that has always drawn people in. I’ve never been able to put my finger on it.
He discovered that I’m the bomb later that day in the lunchroom. (‘Hi, I’m Simon and you will shortly discover that I am the bomb, deal with it.’ That’s how my brain has chosen to remember it.)
I’d been behind him in the lunch line, and watched with fascination as every single thing about the situation confused him. He was bewildered from beginning to end. Only to be spat out the other side into a busy lunchroom social scene. The moment of destiny, when the new kid stands there holding his tray, blinking at the reality of not knowing a single person in an already well established social hierarchy he knew nothing about.
This was it. Do or die time. It’ll make or break a kid.
And this was where I got awesome.
I walked up and stood there next to him, both of us looking out at the room. It was just as he was about to ask what I was doing that I said, “Sit with me.” And then walked up the center aisle without checking to see if he’d followed. Because even at 10 I was painfully cool. I stopped at the usual table, next to the usual cast of characters, and asked Kevin to scooch down so both of us would fit.
Chase had, indeed, followed. So he sat down. I think I said something like, “Hey everybody this is…” and let him fill in the blank. “This is Chase. Chase, this is everybody.”
I always remember that day whenever I’m pissed at him. It sucks cuz then it gets hard to stay pissed at him.
Chase looks at me warily before he grabs my fist and pulls me into a tentative bro hug. “Hey, man.”
”I’m mad at you.”
“Yeah. I kinda got that,” he replies. “Babe, did you tell him yet?”
“Of course not Simon will you be my Man of Honor?” All of this comes out on a single breath and obviously without punctuation.
I can feel myself standing here blinking at them. Everything gets a little slo-mo. I swallow.
Lily flashes her ring, wiggling her fingers at me in excitement.
“Married?”
They both nod yes.
“I do! I mean, yes! I will!” I sweep the tiny human up into my arms and twirl her around once before holding her at arm’s length. “Mazel tov!” I hug her again, and then look to Chase. “I knew this day would come, but a father’s never prepared for the flood of emotions, is he.”
“Father?” asks Lily with an “Ew gross,” following shortly behind.
“You better treat my little girl right,” I adopt a Texan accent, “Or I’mma come after you, son.” I give him a nostril flare, because it feels right. “You hear me, son? That’s my little girl you’re marrying. And Daddy’s got a shotgun, son. Daddy’s got a shotgun alright.” All we’re missing is a spittoon.
“Simon, what are you doing?” Lily asks.
“You know very well what I’m doing.”
Both Chase and I speak at once. “Monologuing.” It’s a thing we do. We went to theatre school.
“I can’t believe you’re monologuing at a time like this!” She practically shouts at me.
“It’s what he does when he’s nervous,” says Chase. The man who’s known me better than anyone else since we were 10.
Ugh, I guess I better man up and give him a real hug. “Mazel tov, man.”
————/-/————
She can’t be serious. “You want me to what now?” She wants me to cosplay Book Simon for Comic Con. I feel sick.
“I just threw up a little in my mouth.”
“No, seriously, hear me out. ‘Simon is Simon!’” she says with finger quotes. “It’s your thing! It’s synergy,” she says with ever more enthusiasm.
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Lily, picturing synergy
“You’re joking, right?” It’s Chase.
“Oh thank God,” I blow out a breath of relief. “I was literally about to die a thousand horrified deaths hearing you agree with her. Oh my God. I feel dizzy.”
“Shut up,” Lily grouses. She sticks her tongue out at us because adulting is hard.
“I can’t cosplay my own books, and you know this! That is the- I mean, why would you even-“ She’s shaking her head, indicating that she is stubbornly holding tight to her position. “OK, look,” I say, committed to explaining all the ways she is an insane person. “What would you be thinking if you went to a show, only to find the frontman wearing his own band’s t-shirt, from this year’s merch tables.”
Chase sucks in his breath and pulls back, as if I have particularly noxious farts. Big, juicy, gross ones.
And then Lily busts out with, “I’d think he was wearing an ironic t-shirt.”
Ooooo, well played, Lily. Nice save. But I’m still embarrassed for her. “I wouldn’t be able to look myself in the eye for years after cosplaying myself. I think I might literally throw up. So much.”
“What about the scene when you crawl out of the grave - that Simon,” she persists. “You could be all muddy and unrecognizable.”
“But I AM VAMPIRE HUNTER D! And anyway, I’m on a panel tomorrow. So I can’t show up unrecognizable from being covered in mud from my grave.”
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Simon, picturing D
“On a panel?!” Chase exclaims. “You, Simon Lewis, on a panel. Facts? You’re on a panel?”
I nod.
“On a panel,” he reiterates for the purpose of clarity. “Why didn’t you lead with that?!”
“Yes, yes, and yes to however many questions - I lost count.”
“And he’s my Man of Honor. And,” she gets serious, “he’s moving to Italy.”
“What? Simon, what the fuck?” Chase is now pie-eyed.
“And he’s talking to someone.” She finally stops dropping bombs.
I groan, “Lily, I was trying to get to all of that. Just one at a time.”
“Stop right there. Both of you.” Chase is suddenly serious. “Simon?”
“Yes, Chase?”
“Talk. About Comic Con.”
Lily is unimpressed. “That’s where you landed? Of all those options. You want to hear about Comic Con.”
“Ok, Comic Con,” I acquiesce. “I’m on tomorrow at 11am, 1A18. They want me to talk about getting started at a young age. But after this morning’s meeting with Johnny, I’m beginning to think maybe that’s not what they’ll want to hear about at all.” I am internally happy dancing.
“Why - what’s that about?” Chase wants to know.
“Come to the panel and find out,” I challenge, barely concealing my glee.
They both look pained. Chase breaks the awkward with, “It’s a little late for tickets. We didn’t know if you’d want to go.”
“Why wouldn’t I have wanted to go?”
“For exactly the reason we were worried about you being mad at how long it’s been. Simon,” he raises an eyebrow. “You ‘later-bro’d me.”
I can’t decide if I’m feeling guilty for that. At all. Nope. Not feeling guilty.
“Kelly can get VIP Passes. Will you come?”
They look to each other for some silent communication. It appears to go a little like this:
“What do you think?” asks Lily’s raised eyebrows.
Chase’s squint answers, “I dunno.” He’s always had a hard time agreeing to do things without several days notice. It’s one of the things I changed about his character in the book. You can’t be a half-angel warrior without spontaneity.
Lily’s hopeful eyes and dimples scream back, “Please, please, please?”
Chase’s sigh is total capitulation. The tension in his shoulders lets go, telling me he’s in.
“Thanks, guys. I hadn’t realized how much I need you there for the announcement. It’s big, and I’m freaking out.”
Chase goes to speak but I cut him off. “Nope, not telling til tomorrow. Cuz for now, I have even bigger news. You tell him, Lily.”
“Which thing am I telling him? It’s all juicy. Like how you met someone and now you’re moving to Italy. Is that the part you mean?”
Chase is still communicating wordlessly. His eye roll says, “As if.”
“Dude, bro I-“ I begin, but Lily cuts me off.
“Did he just dude-bro you?” she asks Chase in alarm.
“Yes, Lily. Yes he did,” answers Chase, looking askance at me.
“Shut up. Whatever.” I wave the dude-bro away. Just tell them, Lewis. “So, I kinda met someone. Someone in Italy. Which is only partly responsible for me moving there.”
Chase finally seems to get it.
“You’re moving?” he asks, voice losing its bombast.
“To Italy,” Lily confirms.
“Uh, I guess, yeah, kind of? Yes, I’m moving to Italy,” I say with greater conviction and vehemence.
“Name, please.” Lily puts out her hand as if I’m expected to have a pocket full of gold to deposit there. But what she’s actually demanding is a different kind of currency. A name.
“Um, I don’t know. I can’t really- I mean I don’t really know what ‘we’ are, so-“
“Give us a bloody name, you wanker,” Chase pulls out the Britishisms. “Clearly it’s serious.”
Si, certo. “Billy.” It flows out of my mouth so naturally that I know I’m not wrong.
“Where did y-“ Chase begins.
“Sorrento. A hotel. Maybe you guys can come visit sometime?”
Again with the unspoken language of eyebrows and dimples.
“OK, sure, yeah. If we can.” He’s being noncommittal. Maybe they don’t get that I’d be buying the tickets. They’re pretty expensive and Lily and Chase are a few off-Broadway shows away from their big breaks, so they can’t exactly be buying airfare just because I tell them to.
“Good. Let me know when, so I can have Kelly do all the ticket stuff,” I clarify, but I can see Chase is already squirming. “She’s the only one who knows how life actually works. Like I guess that frequent flier miles are an actual thing that exists. Hypothetically speaking.”
“Oh!” Lily exclaims. “Frequent flyer miles? Cuz if that’s the case, I’m saying yes right now. Just to be clear.”
“Yeah, of course! Just let Kelly figure it out, once you know when would work, ok?” Suddenly I’m feeling brilliant. Their honeymoon. Oh my god I am so awesome. “Or, y’know, you could always do your honeymoon-“
“Done! Yes! Our honeymoon! Yes, please. Yes. Exactly! That’s exactly when we’re coming whether Chase likes it or not.” Lily is practically vibrating, and trying hard to keep herself tethered to the earth. She fails. She jumps up and down, clapping and giggling. I might have gotten that from her.
This kind of thing always makes Chase uncomfortable — the money talk. It always seems to make him itch. As if money talk gives him hives.
“Soooo, Billie? Who’s she?” he asks with renewed interest.
“Yeah! I want to know about Billie, Simon, spill,” she echoes.
Well, shit. This is awkward.
I take a deep breath, and wing it. “Um, yeah, so Billy’s a chef at the best hotel I’ve ever seen in my life. And you guys know what a book tour is like. So when I say I’m in love with a hotel…”
“Yeah, yeah, we get it, you love the hotel. Next?” Lily dispenses with the superfluous information. “More about Billie. Feed us.”
“Reminds me — let me know as soon as you pick a date, so I can get you a reservation. As much advance notice as y-“
“Blah blah blah restaurant, hotel, blah blah Billie! More Billie!” she demands.
“Are you moving to Italy because of a girl?” Chase isn’t excited about this notion.
“A girl?” I suppose that the following is not technically a lie: “Nope. Not for a girl. And anyway, even if it was partly because I like somebody, it’s just as much about loving Italy. The Mediterranean.” (I don’t misspell it, cuz I don’t want to confuse them.) “The speed of life there. The priorities are different there. And anyway, I already bought a car there. That’s like one step away from applying for citizenship. I like to finish what I’ve started, y’know?”
“Funny,” says Chase without even a hint of a smile.
“Wait. Are you getting-“ I pull back, eyes theatrically squinty. “Lily? What is happening on Chase’s face? This is a new one, and I’m not embarrassed to admit it scares me. A little.”
“I’m not sure, actually,” she says, studying him. “It’s almost the way he looks when some guy is hitting on me.”
“Chase, are you jealous? Please say yes, please say yes,” I tease.
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“I am not jealous! Why would I be jealous!” He’s beginning to shut down. Lily and I both know the signs, so we let it go.
“Billy is a chef from Ireland,” I begin, and Lily is already swooning. The accent. Guaranteed. “And I will not deny that the Irish thing does it for me.”
“Is she a redhead?” asks Lily.
“Not a fan of the gingers, me,” Chase reminds us. It was one of the things I enjoyed most about writing up his dream girl — giving her red hair. His face looked pinched from sucking lemons when he first read it.
“Moving on. So I haven’t made any calls or done anything about moving, yet. So I don’t know about timing or anything. But I’ll let you know when I do.”
“Billie, please. Less Italy, more Billie. We’re frickin hungry, so feed us already!” she demands.
“What’s her best quality?” Chase wants to know.
“Beauty, yeah of course, and specifically the insanely green eyes. But really? Billy thinks I’m funny. Like, actual laughing and not just laughing to be nice.”
Their faces tell me everything I need to know.
“You’re making her up,” Chase claims.
“Agreed, she doesn’t exist,” says Lily. “How could you lie to us — right to our faces?!”
“Facts! And actually kinda seems to care about me. Like for real and not just for imagination.”
“Why do you think she’s worth dropping everything to shack up with her?” Lily asks.
“Billy is a lot of things, Lily. And ‘worth it’ is definitely one of them. I’m actually kind of fucked up about it. It’s a connection. A weird and unexpected one. But it’s a connection and it might be the first real one I’ve had since I met you guys. Damn. That’s kinda heavy. Right?”
They both vigorously nod in agreement.
Did I just ask them to come visit me and my very masculine, male ‘friend’ Billy? I might be regretting that already. A lot. This represents the 10% success rate I mentioned earlier that differs from the 90% success rate of my gut-mouth.
————/-/————
“Simon?!” I hear pots and pans clang to the floor in the background.
“Billy? Are you ok?”
“Just-“ His voice sounds strained, like he’s stretching — likely because of the falling objects he’s trying to rescue. “One-“
I hear Italian in the background.
Was that Billy? Holy shit, I thought his Irish accent was hot. Wait. Now an older man’s voice in Italian is doing some kind of scolding.
“Si, normale, normale,” I hear Billy say, and I almost get chills. Then I do get chills cuz he’s saying, “Grazie, Vittorio. Grazie mille.” I want him to say that, but with my name in the middle, and directly into my ear. Low and private, so only I can hear.
At least I know enough to catch that he’s speaking with one of the owners of the hotel. The one who runs the kitchen. Head chef. Michelin stars and all that.
I’ve only gotten a handful of words, but god it’s good to hear Billy’s voice.
What the fuck is up with me? I am so completely beyond my comfort zone. Because only things that I know how to do are in my comfort zone. If I don’t know how to do something, how am I supposed to be comfortable? Whatever. Point is, I miss his-
“Simon? You still on? Simon?”
“Yeah! Yes. Hi. Yeah, here. Hi.”
Billy chuckles on the other end. God what a glorious sound.
“It’s so fuckin good to hear your voice, mate,” rushes out of him. “I can’t even pretend it isn’t.”
“Fuckin hell, I know!” I can’t even pretend either.
“Lord, I think I need to sit my arse down a minute.”
I think he might miss me.
It feels like my digestive system has jazz hands, and I am grinning. I know this because I've just raised my fingertips to my lips to find out. And they are indeed grinning. If I had a mirror I’d be able to tell if it’s a dopey grin. I’ve never tried that kind of grin so I’m ill-prepared for encountering one in the wild.
“Hmmm,” Billy intones, then giggles. Recall how awesome those are. Giggles from Billy are musical, up and down the scale.
Billy tells me, “I love that you have no problem with thinking out loud — especially since, in the moment, you have no idea you’re doing it.” He’s teasing me. I’m feeling teased.
It’s simple. “I gave up caring. It wasn’t worth the energy. And anyone who can’t handle it won’t be able to handle me. So, it’s like a sieve for humans.”
“Weird metaphor, but ok,” he grants me.
It just occurred to me, “She Who Shall Not Be Named never commented on it. Not once. I kinda figured it wasn’t happening anymore. But I guess it is.”
“Simon?”
“Billy?”
“Did you ever feel like she took advantage of knowin what you were thinkin?”
Well, that was dark as one can get. I’ll admit my pride doesn’t love the implication.
“Probably,” I admit with an acrid taste in my mouth.
“Fuck her,” he says, simply. But there’s a vehemence underneath it all that makes my pulse go all irregular. He’s jealous. And protective. Of me! I feel like I just got asked to the prom by the hot exchange student.
“Why do I have to like you so much?” I accuse. “It’s really annoying.”
He doesn’t answer. “Billy? You still there?”
“Yeah.” His voice is weird and rough. “I’m here. I’m glad you called.”
“Me too.”
“No,” he says. “I’m really glad you called. I think I might be ah, em, a little fucked up over this whole thing.”
My heart plummets to my shoes. “Oh.” I don’t know what to do with this new information. I didn’t realize he thought this was fucked up. Ow. My…something hurts. Ow.
“Simon, that’s not even what I said, mate. I said that I’m fucked up, not that the situation is bad. You get the difference, right?” He sounds all wrong.
“Billy, are you ok? I’m a little lost, but I don’t want to be. So tell me, are you ok? Are…are we ok?”
“God yes,” rushes out of him all at once. “Tell me we’re ok, Simon. Are we?”
“Of course! Why would you- No, you know what? Never mind all that. I’m just gonna say it plain. I miss you, Billy Delaney. I miss you and Italy. I plan to see both of you by the end of the week.”
I hear a huge exhalation on the other end, and then I hear movement, as if he’s just slid down the wall to the floor, and landed with a grunt.
“Does that sound ok?” I ask.
“Y-“ He has to clear his throat, and it still sounds gruff. “Yes. Good. Yeah, yes. That- That sounds good.”
“Everything ok, Delaney?”
“Yes, Lewis. All is, as you say, ok.”
“Thank God.”
“Right?” he asks on another gust of breath.
“Why do I miss you so much? It’s weird, right?” I mean, it is. Right?
“Not to my eyes. Not to my ears. Or any other part of me,” he says. “I feel like I haven’t been able to breathe since you left the car. Vittorio is convinced I’ve lost a relation or something. I almost cut myself dicing, Simon. I almost cut myself, dicing!!! That’s beyond the pale, mate. Beyond the pale!”
“Be more careful, Billy, but don’t stop missing me, ok?”
“Ok. Say it back.”
“I promise, Billy. I won’t stop missing you.”
“God! I am so completely shite. Needin to hear that from you. Embarrassing.”
“But-“ One word into my response, Ma busts into my bedroom. It’s after lights-out time, and she’s brandishing her matriarchy at me.
“Simon! What are you doing up so late?” she demands.
I feel just like I did when I was 13 and got caught with my hand in my jammies. “Knock, Ma! I’m on the phone!”
“You are not. You’re on the computer. Don’t lie to me.” Despite the fact that it’s the future, where computers are also phones.
I can do nothing but roll my eyes.
Billy chuckles. “Keep it down, Simon. They’ll be hearin your eyes in Italy.” How can he tell?
“Shh!” I hiss.
“Don’t you shush me, Simon Ira Lewis.”
“She just triple named me,” I whisper to Billy.
“Who are you talking to, young man?”
“‘Young man?’” Billy laughs. “So your mum’s the one as keeps threatening to turn the car round, then.”
“You’re being very rude to your mother. Don’t carry on another conversation while we’re having a conversation.”
“The irony,” observes Billy.
I shoot him a “Pshht!” under my breath, and growl with an actual “grrr.”
“You’re all up in my space, Ma. That’s not ok.”
Ma looks taken aback.
“Who are you to decide what’s ok? Respect your elders, young man.”
“Ma. Stop. And go away. Or I will. I’m serious.”
“Excuse me?!”
“I love you, Ma, but you’re killin me here.”
“Boundaries,” Billy sagely observes.
“Boundaries, Ma. We have some.” Then to Billy, “Shh! I’ll handle this.”
“You’ll handle what? You’ll handle me?! What has gotten into you?!”
“Nothing, yet.”
Billy has just snarfed water out his nose.
I can hear him choking in the background.
“Look, Ma. We’ll talk in the morning, k? But I gotta go give a talk first thing, so it’ll have to be breakfast, not brunch.” And seeing as feeding loved ones is plainly still her kryptonite, I decide to take the food route to her happy place. “Will you make the coffee how I like it? And some of your coffee cake?” Oh my god, the coffee cake. I just made myself salivate. I’m not ashamed.
I see her giving me a thoughtful side-eye. “Alright. I love you, honey.”
“Love you too, Ma. G’night.”
“You want her to leave the door open a crack, and the hall light on?” Billy teases.
“How do you know about that?! I mean, why would you say that?”
“No reason,” Billy answers. “I think I might love your mother,” he says, with that twinkling voice he gets when he’s delighted. Are all Irish people so twinkly everywhere all the time? I gotta find a better word than twinkly.
“Promise me she’s short,” he commands. “In my mind she is a mighty woman, but short.”
“Your mind is right. Jewish mothers are required to be short,” I report. “It’s the law.”
“I knew it,” he laughs. Again, with the twinkling. “Her accent is amazing. Why don’t you sound like her?”
“You mean like this? Soymun. You’re pretty close with your Soim’n, actually. Who knew? Brooklyn and Ireland. Two countries so far apart should not sound so close.”
He chuckles. Such a nice sound. “More. Do the voice, do the voice,” he demands.
“Really? Ok.”
“Ha HA! Yes!” I can hear him grinning maniacally. He should consider happy clapping. When words fail, it’s really the only thing left to do.
“OK. So here’s what she tells me this morning at 6am over coffee:
“Soymun,” I exaggerate her accent. “Did you hear we have new neighbors next door? You remember, where Mrs. Levy died.” (Mrs. Levy died?) “Such a nice young couple. Two men, you know. They get married these days. Such nice Jewish boys.” (Always with the NJBs.) “They got the most beautiful baby girl.” (Got? What, did they go shopping?) “I babysit from time to time, you know. Oy, so spoiled already. A strong head on her, that one. She’ll make a fine Jewish mother someday.” (God help her future sons.)
He stops applauding to inquire, “NJBs?”
“Nice Jewish Boys. Like me. It’s a thing. Just roll with it.”
————/Billy/————
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Billy: send me a dick pic
Grumpy: adfsdadfslkjsdjf
Grumpy: you want a what
Billy: ☝️printed right there
Grumpy: rhetorical q
Grumpy: back to the dick pic
Billy: yes please back to that
Grumpy: are you kidding
Grumpy: no dick pic til i know if you’re kidding
Billy: have you ever taken one
Grumpy: NO!
Grumpy: i mean yeah of course
Billy: you’ve never taken one
Grumpy: no
Billy: send me one
Grumpy: why???
Billy: are you feckin jokin me?
Billy: if your hand was doing what mine is
Grumpy:
Billy: just a little somethin to inspire
Grumpy:
Billy: refresh my memory
Grumpy: so how’s Lola?
He’s attempting to distract me with his car.
Billy: send one
Grumpy: you’re bossy
Billy: do you like that
Grumpy: jesus billy!!!
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————/-/————
Ten minutes of banter later, I have the dick pic, a full bath, candles in the window, lights off, and almost an entire bottle of Bushmills 12. I swirl the whiskey round the ice til it starts meltin, then let myself into the water, relaxin against a towel folded behind my head.
I like making Simon feel wanted. Desired. But I was also wanting the dick pic currently glowin in my hand.
The hand that’s not currently cupping my balls, giving them some much appreciated attention. I prop the phone up against the window, so both hands are free.
I compare the pic to my own cock. Despite being the same size, they really are quite different. He’s cut — that’s the obvious difference. But he’s also veinier. Different color, too. Mine’s more, I’m not sure, maybe darker? But his looks sort of peachy, with a rosy head. I recall it looking angry red when it’s hard.
Grumpy: I’m waiting
Billy: ?
Grumpy: for yours, you cheat!
Billy: ok
I hold mine in my hand, stroke it and take a couple shots. The second one is best (why? dunno), so I hit send.
Grumpy: glargh *swallows tongue*
Grumpy: no swallowing jokes
Grumpy: unless they’re good jokes
Billy: you don’t want me thinking bout swallowin
Billy: but you’re fine with me thinkin bout your tongue, tonguing?
Billy: that’d be alright then would it?
Billy: i’m so turned on that even textin can’t make my cock go soft
Grumpy: you don’t play fair
Billy: you got no idea
Grumpy: merp
Billy: goodnight simon
Grumpy: no! billy wait!
Billy: my hands are busy
Slippery under water, my cock is almost painfully hard, but the slip and slide is everything good in the world.
Because of a dick pic. That is mental.
But look at it!
I think I just- Did I really just salivate?
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Now all I can think about is picturing Simon slipping and sliding in and out of a mouth. Not my mouth, specifically. Sort of a gender neutral mouth. And just thinkin bout Simon gettin sucked off, my brain stutters, my pulse, my stroke, everything stutters as the bright light of pleasure glows throughout me and I’m groaning.
I twist as I pass the head on every stroke. God yes. My breathing picks up.
The imaginary mouth sucks on the crown of his cock. The image sends a lance of pleasure through me. I imagine my hand doin the same to his balls as I’m doin to mine.
In my mind, I’m picturing Simon feelin everything I do to myself, as if I’m doing it to him. I use it to create the fantasy. The fantasy expands to include my cock gettin sucked off. And it’s a pair of lips I’ve never kissed. I can’t believe the strength of wantin Simon’s lips on my cock, and wantin Simon to feel it as if it’s my lips on him. Mmmmmfff.
Oh shit, what’s- Text notification. Simon’s just sent another text.
His cock. Long, thick, rock hard and red. The angle is mmmmf his thighs in the background, and ungh his ssssac against his course shorthairssss.
I get two flashes of pleasure in quick succession. Oh fuck yes. Hhhhhhhhhhmmmyes.
My cock jumps underwater, sending out ripples as electricity courses down my length.
Unnnnhhh, my imagination is still hard at work. I can no longer tell what part belongs to who, where sensation and imagination meld. In my hand. In his mouth.
Mmmmmm in his mouth.
I can see it with such clarity. That mental image makes my balls draw up high and tight, and all they want is release. Oh Jaysus, the image is so clear. His mouth, red and puffy from bein used. Spit-shine on his lips, running to his chin. The vision makes me moan, like a glow from a thousand miles away. And I keep on moanin, as a thrilling feeling of urgency swamps me. I arch my back, the pleasure drawing from every part of me, until I uncontrollably gasp “Fffffffffffffuh!” And suddenly I’m pulsing come into a cloth.
My cock in his mmmmouth. I convulse again, pulsing out even more, and my moan turns into a whine as I encourage one last strained pulse from the head.
My chest is heaving from holdin my breath. Sometimes I forget to breathe when I come. And if I can manage to keep control of my cock long enough to time my climax right, some of my most powerful orgasms have come from holdin my breath longer than a reasonable man would. The gasp of air when I tip over the edge is an orgasm that comes on a head rush and a sudden infusion of oxygen.
I’m not one for choking, though. Even the thought of it makes my cock shrink.
I step out of the bath and rest against the window frame, appreciating the view of the boats in the harbor all lit up like sparks on the water. I let myself air dry in the night breezes, luxuriating nude by the open window lettin in the floral scents of the gardens and the salt off the sea.
It’s a beautiful night, and I am sated.
————/-/————
Masterlist || ao3 || start || prev || next
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gizkasparadise · 1 year
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What are your favorite love stories from dramas? Chinese or Korean. The OTPs that slayed you?
yay! i love love!! SPOILERS below!
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li zi wei / huang yu xuan, someday or one day. taiwanese drama.
boy meets girl. boy dies. girl time travels about 20 years into the past and meets boy's doppelganger, except he's older than he should be in 1998. turns out boy is ALSO a time traveler, and he waited years to be reunited with the girl in her original timeline after meeting her in 1998 😭. boy still dies. girl goes to correct the timeline again. in order for the boy and the girl's friends to survive, they have to erase the timeline where they meet, and all their memories together, and they choose to do so. it's implied the boy will still meet the girl someday, one day 😭😭😭. a follow up movie (with the same cast!) is going to be released soon, but the original drama is perfect on its own and their story hits all the best bittersweet notes.
also their theme song kills me/watch for a highlight reel:
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dongfang qingcang and xiao lanhua, love between fairy and devil. chinese drama
this story is like someone took all my favorite fanfics from when i was 14 and injected it straight into my veins!! xiao lanhua is an unimportant orchid fairy who accidentally frees the leader of the moon tribe (the fairies' #1 enemy), certified big bad and girlboss dongfang qingcang, who has sealed away his emotions for a power boost. over time, the two of them grow closer and understand one another better and if you're someone who likes "i'll burn the world down for 1 person" with notes of devil/jesus or hades/persephone this is 100% absolutely your ship.
like, the way we all went absolutely feral during this scene:
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do hyun soo/cha ji won, flower of evil. korean drama
idek where to begin with these two, but ugh. ugh!! ugh!!!! the way they killed me over 16 episodes! definitely an unconventional couple, do hyun soo is a suspected serial killer who's been on the run for over 15 years, and cha ji won is his wife and also a detective recently assigned to hunt him down. their story is just such a raw and lovely look at trauma's effects on people and they're so ride or die for one another and their daughter. it's wonderful to see a love story about a long-term couple, as well.
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yu sifeng/chu xuanji, love and redemption. chinese drama
THE ship for you if you like inverted gender dynamics, masochism tangos, and 10 lifetimes' worth of pining and star-crossed lovers. thousands of years ago, there was a god of war who was punished to live 10 lifetimes on earth so she could unlearn her hatred at heaven. chu xuanji is her 10th and final mortal incarnation, a girl who can't understand the 6 senses and lives with her father's martial arts sect, although she can't practice martial arts or cultivation herself. sifeng is a member of a rival sect, a sect that forbids love, marriage, or children from its members. it's revealed that sifeng has loved and followed xuanji through 9 previous lifetimes that all ended violently for him, and this is their last chance to break the cycle/get their happily ever after /;3;/
what i love most about this one is that it flips the script on gender dynamics-- sifeng is a martyr for love and xuanji is the overpowered one who struggles to understand her feelings. here's one of my favorite scenes where xuanji reveals her hidden powers to save sifeng from being whipped to death
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sung deok sun/choi taek, reply 1988. korean drama.
the other love stories on this list are all fantasy-based or have extraordinary circumstances, so i figured for this last one i would pick a love story that's just so wonderfully normal and grounded. a lot of people got second-lead syndrome from this series, but i am empathetically not one of them!!
deok sun and taek are childhood friends and neighbors who grew up together. it's evident early on in the series that taek loves deok sun, and he's always honest about his feelings, but it takes deok sun a little longer to realize she's in love with taek. what i love about this ship is that it's really quiet-- we see them fall in love with small moments and through their actions/behaviors vs. large, grand confessions (although we get a great confessional moment near the end of the drama too!!). there's also such a great balance between birds of a feather and being complimentary toward one another.
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some other favorites:
lan tian ye/su can can, wait my youth (chinese drama)
dan oh/haru, extraordinary you (korean drama)
lee jung in/yoo ji ho, one spring night (korean drama)
yoon sae boem/jung yi hyun, happiness (korean drama)
ha moon so/lee kang do, just between lovers (korean drama)
sung shi won/yoon yoon jae, reply 1997 (korean drama)
kang dong gu/han yoon nah ft. sol, welcome to waikiki (korean drama)
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princesssarisa · 11 months
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OTP ask: Ariel & Eric (The Little Mermaid)
When did I ship them: From the first time I saw the complete movie at age 10.
Ship dynamic: Two free-spirited, fun-loving teenagers, with a shared zest for life that makes them fit perfectly together. Their instant starry-eyed attraction is the classic stuff of fairy tales, yet there's no question that their temperaments are just right for each other. He offers her the freedom she craves and the gentleness and respect she doesn't get from her strict father, while she brings new joy and adventure into his life. And both are courageous and willing to sacrifice everything or fight supernatural evil for each other.
Theme song: "Part of Your World" (Reprise)
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Type of date: Carriage rides through the countryside; dancing in the town square; rowing on a blue lagoon at sunset.
Married or dating: Ultimately married.
Sexuality: Heterosexual.
Genders: Male and female.
Romantic quotes:
*"What would I give to live where you are What would I pay to stay here beside you What would I do to see you smiling at me
Where would we walk Where would we run If we could stay all day in the sun Just you and me And I could be Part of your world"
*"I lost her once. I'm not gonna lose her again!"
Any headcanon powers: After her father turns her human, unlike when Ursula did it, Ariel keeps her mermaid amphibiousness. She'll still be able to breathe underwater as well as on land.
Healthy or unhealthy relationship: Healthy. Yes, it moves with classic fairy tale speed, but it's healthy all the same.
Who is the flirty partner: Ariel, in her awkward and inexperienced yet adorable way.
Who is the silly one: Also Ariel – not intentionally, but from her sheer exuberance to explore the human world – though they can both be silly now and then.
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