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beelsnack · 3 years

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I Put A Spell On You - Obey Me Boys and A Witch MC

I may have mentioned it in an ask or something before, but I'm actually a practicing witch. (Sorry, Mammon.) So, in honor of spooky season, I bring you witch MC!

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Lucifer: "Can I ask you something?"

Lucifer looked up from the report he had been working on. In the House of Lamentation, hearing that question was very rarely followed by anything but disaster. He bit back the urge to sigh and turned to look at the human. "You may."

"Have you ever been summoned by a witch?" the human set down their pen. They had taken refuge in Lucifer's room in an attempt to actually get their homework done, and had been working diligently up until this point. "Like, successfully."

He raised an eyebrow. "No, I haven't. I doubt any mortal witch would have the power to actually summon me."

"That's what I thought," they leaned back in their chair, stretching.

"What brought this on?"

"A witch I know up in the Human Realm swore up and down that he had, quote unquote, ‘summoned Lucifer himself.’ No one believed him anyway, but I figured I would ask just to confirm my suspicions.”

“No, it is highly unlikely that a mortal witch would have the magical power to summon me,” Lucifer chuckled darkly. “Although many have tried.”

“What happens to them when they do?” they asked, completely abandoning their work at this point. Part of Lucifer wanted to reprimand them for getting distracted, but he couldn’t deny that he liked having their attention on him. “Do you curse them or something?”

“I do nothing,” he smirked as they got up to lean against his desk. Perhaps he could stand to take a break as well. “The minor demons they actually summon, however, often have their fun with those foolish enough to try.”

“Oh, I’ll bet the Little Ds have a blast with them, huh?” the human grinned.

“Ask Number Two about the time he possessed a ouija board and convinced a human they would die if they ever wore the color blue again.”

Laughing, the human moved to return to their spot at his coffee table where they had spread out all of their study materials. Lucifer, however, had different plans.

“Oof!”

In one quick, fluid motion, he had grasped the human around the waist and tugged them into his lap. The movement had mussed up their hair, and he affectionately moved a few strands out of their face to see their adorable pout.

“You know, my dear, you are the only human witch able to summon me. You should wear that fact like a badge of honor.”

Mammon: “Now that’s just playin’ dirty!”

The human had to make a concentrated effort not to laugh at Mammon. “Yeah, they really didn’t have to go that far. They already have you by the balls.”

“They do not!” Mammon growled, crossing his arms. “Nobody has control over The Great Mammon!”

“Except for the multitude of humans who you made pacts with because they promised you a few bucks.”

“Wow, okay.”

Shaking their head, they gently plucked the doll out of Mammon’s palm. It was a standard poppet, made out of cloth. “Why don’t you just have Lucifer or Satan undo the curses?”

“Because,” Mammon huffed. “Human magic is different from demon magic. None of us know the first thing about it.”

“You just don’t want to admit to anyone that the witches pulled one over on you again.”

“Can you fix it or not?”

Smothering another laugh, they brought the poppet closer to examine it. Aside from the basic filling, it felt like there were some stones in there, and they thought they smelled some herbs.

“So, basically all you need to do is remove whatever link they used to bind the doll to you,” they muttered, more to themself than anything. “Usually it’s hair, nail, a drop of blood if they’re feeling particularly nasty…”

“That’s what they were doin’?”

The human looked up, tilting their head. “What?”

“One of the witches was bein’ real nice to me,” Mammon sighed. “Patting me on the head when I dropped off some money for them. Shoulda known she was trying something fishy!”

“Okay, that answers that.” they made their way over to their desk, plopping down in the chair. “So she probably pulled out some of your hair and put it inside the doll. So all we have to do it get it out, this thing becomes a regular old doll, and voila, curse broken.”

“How do we do that?” Mammon asked, peering over their shoulder as they reached into their drawer. His blue eyes widened when they pulled out a pair of scissors. “Whaddaya plan on doin’ with those?”

“Mammon, this is going to hurt like a bitch.”

“Wha - ack!”

Mammon doubled over in pain at the same time the human cut open a slice on the doll’s belly. There, right in the center of the stuffing and stones - and there were herbs in there, they had been right! - was a little bundle of white hair, tied with a piece of twine.

“Ah-ha!” they plucked the bunch out of the doll, and Mammon just barely managed to catch himself on the corner of the desk before he went crashing to the floor.

“Holy shit, human, I’m gonna fuckin’ hurl.”

“Do it somewhere that isn’t my room, please.”

Leviathan: “Levi, I don’t know how to tell you this, but ‘witch’ and ‘magical girl’ aren’t the same thing.”

Ever since they let it slip that they practiced witchcraft, Levi had obsessively forced them to watch every magical girl anime he could think of. It was his way of relating to them, they were sure, but it was starting to get a little out of hand. There were only so many variations of the magical girl trope in existence.

Levi frowned at them. “It’s not?”

“Well, for one, I don’t own a super cute lolita dress.”

“Do you want me to make you one?”

The human laughed. “Somehow I don’t think showing up to a coven meeting wearing a pink loli dress will make the others take me very seriously.”

“What about blue?”

“Leviathan.”

“Fine, fine,” he huffed. “So if it’s not like in the anime, what is human magic like?”

“A lot more boring than demon magic, honestly.” the human shrugged, turning back to the monitor. Since they had put their foot down against watching Madoka, the two of them were rewatching Sailor Moon. “A lot of using herbs and crystals and energy. Really symbolic.”

“That is boring,” Levi scowled. “You don’t even get a transformation sequence.”

“I’m just as mad about it as you are, dude.”

Satan: “Holy shit, Satan, that is a ton of books.”

THe demon had no reason to look as proud as he did as he sat the stack of books on the table in front of him. “This isn’t even all of them. Some of them are cursed, so I let them be for now.”

“That’s...both impressive and concerning.” the human picked up a book off the top of the pile. “Whoa, it’s even handwritten!”

“I’ve collected my fair share of grimoires over the millennia.” Satan took a seat across from them, watching as they turned each page with reverence. “I believe that one is from a Scottish witch from the 16th century.”

“Should I be wearing gloves or something?” they cradled the book like it was made of glass. “This is historic, Satan.”

“I’ve cast the appropriate spells on them to prevent them from decaying, don’t worry.” Satan laughed. “Although your concern is appreciated.”

“I could learn so much about the craft from these,” their voice was barely above a whisper, eyes wide as they scanned each page like it contained the secret to eternal life. “This is...wow…”

The look of utter rapture that the human had on their face was endearing, and Satan couldn’t help but smile softly at them. “Feel free to peruse them whenever you like. They deserve to be appreciated.”

“You mean it?” they looked up with hope sparkling in their eyes. “Thank you so much, Satan!”

“Of course,” he reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind their ear. “That look on your face is worth any price.”

Asmodeus: “I have a gift for you!”

Asmo poked his head up from where he had buried it in his D.D.D. The human stood next to the couch, arms clasped behind their back and a giddy smile stretching across their face. Asmo could practically feel them vibrating from excitement.

“Ooh, for me? Darling, you shouldn’t have!” He pocketed his phone and gave them his full attention. “What is it?”

They held out their hands, revealing the treasure they had been hiding. “Ta-da!”

Asmo carefully picked up the chain from their palms. Dangling from the end of it was a small bottle, wrapped carefully in wire and turned into a pendant. Tiny, translucent pink stones sat inside, nestled in a layer of salt and herbs. The magic surrounding it was faint, as most human witchery was, but it was so uniquely them that Asmo could just about cry.

“Oh, darling, you made me a love charm!” he exclaimed, immediately slipping the necklace on. “It’s so cute! I love it, thank you so much!”

The human smiled. “I’m glad! I wasn’t sure what to do with the rose quartz, but I knew you would love them, so I figured I would make you something! Not that I really think a love charm would work on you, but I figured you would appreciate the aesthetic.”

Asmo laughed, reaching forward to cup the side of their face gently. “You don’t need to use a love charm on me, darling. I’m already captivated by you.” His other hand came up to touch the pendent resting against his collarbone. “This will just serve as a reminder of how spellbound you’ve made me.”

Beelzebub: When they had first described themself as a “kitchen witch,” Beel had thought that they meant they were a really good cook.

And while that was true, they also were literally a kitchen witch.

“Basil for protection...oregano to ward off negative magic...there, that should do it.”

To Beel, it just looked like they were making pasta. Which was never a bad thing. But they chose which herbs to season it with such intention and purpose, Beel knew it was more than that.

“Do herbs really have magic?” he asked, leaning on the counter next to the stove while the human worked on magic dinner. “I’ve never thought of them as particularly magical.”

“It’s more of a human thing,” they said, sprinkling the last of the oregano over the pot of sauce. “We don’t get the flashy sparks and all that, so we had to develop our own magic.”

“Hm…” Beel regarded the pot with curiosity. “Is that why your cooking is so good?”

“Sure, we’ll go with that.” they laughed, swatting at his hand as he slowly approached the pot. “You aren’t sneaky, Beel.”

“Can I just have a taste?”

“Your ‘taste’ is drinking the whole pot like it’s soup.” they rolled their eyes. “I haven’t even started cooking it yet! It’s cold!”

Beel pouted, looking every bit the kicked puppy. “But I want to taste your magic.”

“You can taste my magic when dinner’s ready.”

Belphegor: On nights when he couldn’t sleep, Belphie usually ended up with the human.

Sometimes it was just him wiggling his way into their bed and cuddling with them until he felt sleepy. But tonight, it looks like they were sharing a case of insomnia.

So that was how he ended up sitting on the human’s floor with his hand in their lap as they studied it like it was a textbook.

“So? What do the squiggly lines of destiny tell you about me?”

“That you’re a little bitch.” they shot back, running their thumb over the center of his palm. “You have a lot of crosses on your heart line.”

“Which means?”

“You’re emotionally fucked up.”

Belphie snorted. “I could have told you that one.”

“You’re the one who came in here and wanted to see some human magic, I don’t want to hear any complaining.” they let go of his hand. “The only reason I’m breaking out the salt and candles is to banish your demonic ass from my room.”

“You know that only works on lesser demons.”

“Anything will work as banishment if I throw it hard enough.”

Diavolo: This...felt kind of pointless, honestly.

They knew it was mainly because of Diavolo’s obsession with human culture. But doing a Tarot reading for the Crown Prince of Hell seemed like a waste of everyone’s time.

Well, regardless, a summons from Diavolo was not to be ignored, so they had dutifully gathered up their cards and made their way to the Demon Lord’s Castle.

“You know,” they began hesitantly. “If you want to know the future, you have a time-manipulating butler right there.”

Barbatos, ever watchfully, chuckled and inclined his head. “My Lord is fascinated by human methods of divination.”

“It’s true,” Diavolo nodded. “Tarot especially has always piqued my interest, but very rarely do I have time to indulge with the other witches who visit the Devildom.”

....Oh, they really couldn’t say no to the hopeful gleam in his eye. A man that large had no right to look that cute.

“Alright,” they handed him the deck of cards. It looked hilariously small in his hands. “Go ahead and shuffle them.”

“Oh, I get to do it?”

“If you want,” they shrugged. “I usually have whoever is being read for do the shuffling, so the deck can get a feel for their energy. Unless you don’t want to, of course.”

“No, this is exciting!” He really did look like he was having fun. “How many should I draw?”

“Just one, and we can go from there.”

With a focus that might have been a bit too intense, Diavolo began shuffling. He handled the deck carefully, which made them happy. So many people were rough with the cards, and they were always worried they were going to get ruined.

“Alright.” Diavolo laid a card face down on the table between them. “Would you like to do the honors?”

He was being dramatic, but they couldn’t help but play along. What was the harm in a little bit of fun? They flipped the card face up and let out a startled chuckle.

The Devil.

“Did you do that on purpose?” they asked, laughter dripping from their voice.

“No, honest!” Diavolo was laughing too. “What does the Devil card mean?”

“It means my deck has a sense of humor.”

#obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me diavolo

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beautifulterriblequeen · 3 years

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Trickster: an Ethari theory

I've had yea many Ethari headcanons, and I hope I live to have yea many more. Most of them are probably wrong, or incomplete at best. But boy are they fun.

I love to wonder what Ethari will really be like in canon when we get to know him for more than 3 minutes, but whoever he really is on his own, he will have an effect on Runaan , Rayla, and everyone who loves him, because they love him.

The first headcanon I can remember having for "Tinker" was that he could be like Leonardo da Vinci: a genius, creative, surrounded by beautiful ideas given shape by his hands, but also capable of creating deadly weapons, enchantments, and devices with equal beauty, and perhaps not really seeing where the line between them was. It was fun, but Ethari has ended up far softer than my headcanon, and I love and support him in his softness!

After a nice string of Ethari headcanons, this year I've started poking at the Trickster archetype and seeing if it applies to him. And I think it absolutely does!

Tricksters often seem like Chaos. But they're not. They're just Difference. "Chaos" is subjective. Like the "divergent" in "neurodivergent." Who says? Divergent from what, exactly? Perspective matters, and Tricksters have a very broad take on things which allows them to think outside any box people might try to invite them into.

My enjoyment of Loki has brought all kinds of ideas to my dash with the arrival of the Loki show. I've got a copy of the Edda, and I highlighted the hell out of it a couple of years ago as I searched for the roots of Loki's origin story. (It's truly fascinating reading and the symbolic language hidden inside their poetry is dazzlingly amazing and I'm super using it sometime just so you know)

Loki is a Trickster, and he's far from alone in myth and legend. Anansi, Coyote, and Sun Wukong are some you may have heard of. Aaravos is another, of course. Tricksters can be called upon to lend aid and wisdom when the rules don't have an answer for some extraordinary circumstance which the Trickster's people find themselves in. But that's not because they are truly outside the rule of order. They are actually a part of it. They are the catch-all for when the everyday ordinary rules fail people, and something "unthinkable"--in the literal sense--might just hold the answer.

This post crossed my dash today, and something finally clicked in my head, and all of this coalesced from what felt like separate places. But they're not separate, not anymore! Serotonin, baby. It's basically upped my headcanon to a full-blown theory.

What caught my eye was an answer to why Ethari's clothing is so determinedly asymmetrical, compared to Runaan's specifically, but Moonshadows in general. It's because of this:

Long protective sleeves below patterns on shoulders. A high collar paired with a bright and noticeable swoop around the neck. Fine detailing and graceful taste. Asymmetrical tunic point on the left, below broad strappy leather. Knee high boots with stylish protective gaiters.

And let's not forget the curling horns! In some comics, Loki has a broken horn. So does Ethari.

Yes, there is a lot of similarity here, but I'm not focused so much on the visuals as the reason they were chosen. Feel free to consider other aspects of Ethari's personality and how they might be similar to certain parts of Loki's. I did! But I wouldn't be me if I didn't go deeper than that.

My favorite book in the universe (so far) is Lois McMaster Bujold's The Curse of Chalion, and one of the many reasons why is because of her pantheon. It holds five gods, represented by a hand: Father, Mother, Son, Daughter, and Bastard. The first four all have their roles and places. The Bastard--the thumb--inherits everything else. He is the god of all things that do not belong to any other gods, and that includes self-sacrificing vengeance and queerness. He is a Trickster, and his influence on Cazaril's life is far deeper than at first glance. Chaos has its place. It belongs, and so do the Tricksters who engender it. God, I love this book. Please read it if you haven't. Bujold's work is amazing.

If you've seen or read any version of MDZS/Untamed, you know that Wei WuXian is a trickster. Competent and badass in battle, but playful and teasing to the point where sometimes even he isn't sure what he truly wants, he can bring a massive amount of power and focus when he wants to. It's always a matter of "but is it important to me?"

I love WWX so much. The Trickster vibe is very apparent in his character, and in a way you just don't get in Western media. We see him on his own, and we see him with family and loved ones. And he's always feeling something so intensely! He's driven by his emotions, for good or ill. He vibes with chaos, and he will create it if it doesn't exist yet. But he will also create family from nothing, and that's something you don't see enough of! WWX is a Trickster with an emotional preference for joy.

In TDP, Ethari doesn't have a lot of lore yet. It's being Moonshadowed because spoilers for future seasons, and I respect that. The longer the wait for S4, the more ideas I will just amuse myself with in the meantime--and yeah, this is one of them, so what? :))) But we do know a little about him.

He loves music. He loves to read. He leaves his mark on things in swirly form. He works very hard, even through headaches, because what he's doing is that important to him, even though he would much rather be making jewelry. He loves taking the time to polish rough stones into brilliant jewels, and he adores big pretty flowers and had them at his wedding.

Ethari has a temper, but he also loves puns. The weapons he crafts are exquisite: "light, elegant, strong, and clever." And he knew darn well that Runaan was trying to flirt with him, but why return a sentiment he may or may not feel yet when he can play with the overly earnest assassin just a little bit first?

Okay, just... A "simple craftsman" deciding that it's going to be fun to toy for a bit with a broody assassin's feelings? Would you risk that? Ethari got balls the size of the moon, and a brain to match. When he has to make weaponry, he does not half-ass it. Ethari's stabby creations nearly have a life of their own. His creations are literally called "trick weapons." This elf is a lot, okay. And it's possible that he doesn't even know how "a lot" he is. Yet.

We're meeting Ethari after he's found something that is, in fact, genuinely important to him: Runaan, and Rayla, and Laindrin too. Ethari has found a relatively stable place to settle and find a role to adopt. I say adopt, though, because making weaponry for his loved ones is not what he grew up wanting to do. It's what he had to do to keep them safe, once he found a place to bestow his heart.

But in the show, Ethari has lost his family, one by one. First Lain and Tiadrin, ghosted. Then Runaan, supposedly fallen on his mission. Then Rayla, ghosted for abandoning Runaan. He and Rayla have reconnected now, but the rest of his family is still out of his reach. If Rayla has indeed told him, by S4, what she learned at the Moonhenge in TTM, then Ethari may parallel Rayla's journey to seek answers. But even if he doesn't know yet, and gets pulled into some other story arc first, we will be seeing Ethari without his family.

Remember the ATLA episode "Zuko Alone"? Consider: "Ethari Alone."

Ethari has chosen, for love, to fit himself into a box that wasn't of his own making. And now that box has broken. His family doesn't need him to be their craftsman anymore. Perhaps others will need him to be other things to them. Or perhaps he will know that his family does need him, but to be far more than just a maker of pretty swords. A rescuer, perhaps. A healer, a guide? An avenger?

A trickster. Capable of taking many shapes, because he understands them all. Ethari works with form and function. If he needs to transform himself, he will.

That's what Tricksters do. It's delightfully queer and delightfully neurodivergent. Ancient peoples accepted and revered the different among them and actively sought their help with things they themselves struggled with.

Tricksters are Difference. Sometimes that manifests as chaos, sometimes as genius. But if you do not love and appreciate your chaos, it will absolutely turn on you. Wei Wuxian did. Loki certainly has, many times. Perhaps Aaravos is doing so as well.

I cannot wait to see what Ethari does with his difference. I have something very specific that I hope he goes and breaks.

All this from a picture of Tom Hiddleston in his Avengers 1 Loki costume? Yeah. Because Ethari was designed to wear asymmetrical clothing, in a Moonshadow culture that prides itself on balance. Sure, there are some other Moonshadows who wear this or that asymmetrical item, and I do love to see it. But Ethari has the most asymmetrical lines of them all. The meta glee I feel knowing that Moonshadow elves are designed to hold many layers of meaning in their appearances--that the writers, creators, and character designers just flexed with them--is truly a delight.

Ethari is asymmetrical. The full and practical application of that is a glass casket, and I hope it becomes a gift that keeps on giving, because boy do I want to keep receiving it. But right now, I'm genuinely seeing evidence of the Trickster archetype in him. And I really hope it gets to come out and play.

#tdp #tdp theory #ethari #trickster #tdp speculation #yes this means a whole new category for ruthari opposites #order and chaos #ethari and order are both on runaan's list of likes #but ethari is higher so #loki #wwx #wei wuxian

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septembercfawkes · 4 years

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Dos and Don'ts for Writing Your Viewpoint Character's Voice

Recently I had to introduce a new viewpoint character into one of my WIPs, and it was tricky. In the process, I was reminded of a few things that do work well, and that don't work well.

But first, let's review what character voice actually is, because for a lot of us, it feels elusive and magical--like something that just "happens" (sorta like how people view theme). Here is my voice equation:

What the character thinks about + How he or she says it = Voice

I already did an article breaking this down here, that you can read if you want to know more about this. And it should be said that one of the key components to crafting a voice, is working from the inside, out. You need to really know your character, first. You need to know his or her wants, contradictions, flaws, motives, fears--all that jazz.

But today, I want to talk about actually putting that voice onto the page. Because sometimes, even when you know the equation and character, it can still feel elusive when you go to actually write. In part, in reality, this is because--like everything in writing--we are trying to take a notion, an aesthetic, or a feeling that is somewhat abstract, and make it concrete with actual words.

And when you are doing this with a brand new character, it's hard not to fall back on other voices you've already used. Or already heard.

I have no problem if you want to grab inspiration from other characters, but since this character is a different person, he or she needs to sound like a different person.

So let's assume you already know the character rather well.

From that point, I've found there are a few things that are usually best avoided when working with a viewpoint character's voice, and things that are usually good ideas to implement when working with one.

Avoid

"Always" Sentence Structures (ex., always talks in long sentences or short sentences)

- When looking at developing voice, it might seem like a good idea to play with sentence structure--heck, it is a good idea, to an extent. But if you are too rigid with it, there are problems. The most obvious is that trying to read a story where every sentence is about the same length is a terrible experience for the reader. But it's more than that. Sentence structure is also used to control pacing, tone, and emotional experience. If you get too locked into a specific type of sentence structure, you doom other parts of your story. Also, most people don't adhere to a specific structure, constantly, in real life either.

Dominating Emotions that Undercut the Story

- If you are writing in a voice where the viewpoint character almost always sounds calm or relaxed--guess what? Chances are it's going to minimize the tension you have in your story. Because if they are calm, the reader is calm. If they aren't worried, the reader isn't worried. The only way you can get away with this consistently, is if you are writing a story with extremely high stakes at every turn, so that the calmness is a counterpoint that adds humor or irony. Likewise, a character who is consistently sad about whatever, might start to sound melodramatic--and when you get to the really sad part later in the story, it won't be as powerful, because we've already spent so much time feeling sad. In short, frankly, some dominating emotions work better as a viewpoint character's voice than others. (And every character should have their own dominating emotions.) Avoid dominating emotions that are going to undercut the power of your story.

Relying too Heavily on Accents

- There was a time where people did not really know what a particular accent sounded like, so it was helpful to actually write how that accent sounded in the text. Today's audience is different. Most of us have heard all kinds of accents. And if we don't know one, we can look it up online. Today, it's better to sprinkle in a few regional phrases here and there to remind us of the character's accent and background, rather than write the whole thing that way. (Not to mention, that makes it more difficult to read).

Stock Voices

- Once in a while you run into a character voice that sounds like a hundred other character voices of that genre. For example, YA is known for protagonists having a snarky voice. That's not a bad thing necessarily, but if you do have a viewpoint character whose voice sounds similar to many others, find a way to individualize it. Lots of people are snarky. But they are snarky in their own ways. How is your character snarky?

Pretty Much "Always" Anything

- One of the problems I sometimes run into is when the text is trying so hard to be voicey, that it's annoying. Like almost anything in writing, if you go too extreme, for too long, the reader can't wait to close the book. The same thing can happen with voice. We sometimes hear people say things like this about books: "Every viewpoint character sounded totally different and unique!" In reality, while someone may have felt that way, I'm willing to bet there wasn't that much "total" about it. Like accents, usually the most successful voices today aren't "always" anything, but instead regularly something specific--a dash of snark here and a dash of slang there.

In this sense, it's okay to have a character who regularly talks in a particular sentence structure, has a regular line of a particular emotion, or who regularly uses regional phrases. But if you have a reoccurring viewpoint character who has a voice that is always _______--chances are it's going to get annoying and be very difficult to sustain over a whole book.

Not even viewpoints like say Lemony Snicket--whose main appeal is his character voice--is constantly going to be quirky for every sentence.

This is not to say you can't do this with minor characters--characters who aren't viewpoint characters, or characters who are viewpoint characters only very briefly, like in a teaser. But if this is a viewpoint character that needs to sustain a big part of the story, avoid "always" extremes.

Not only do they get annoying, but again, can sort of "handicap" most stories, by limiting tone, tension, and emotion.

Sure, all rules can be broken, but these are good guidelines for almost all stories.

Now that we got that all out of the way, let's talk about some tips about what to do when actually writing your viewpoint character's voice.

Regularly Use Point 4 POV Penetration

- Point of view is more than picking first, second, or third person. It's also about how deep the prose gets into that character's mind and experience. This is called point of view penetration. Years ago, I talked about this and outlined the different points on the POV penetration spectrum. For simplicity, here is that again:

Here are the four different points on the spectrum, from the most distant to the closest:

(Point 1) Out of breath, Todd wiped the sweat off his face and fanned himself. He got a glass of cold water.

(Point 2) Todd was thinking about how hot it was outside as he got a glass of cold water.

(Point 3) It's freaking hot outside, Todd thought, like the devil's oven. He got a glass of cold water, even though it wouldn't do anything to fight the heat. Better than nothing, Todd thought.

(Point 4) It was freaking hot outside. Like the devil's oven. A glass of cold water wouldn't do squat, but it was better than nothing.

Notice the first example shows that Todd thinks it's hot from the outside. In the last example, the prose takes on his thoughts and attitude and we know he thinks it's hot from the inside. Point 4 is the most effective place to be to get character voice on the page.

Note that the last example, Point 4, is "showing" and "telling" simultaneously. The writer is "showing" us the thought process in the character's head, but humans (usually) think in "telling" sentences. Don't shy away from deep penetration because you have been told it's "telling" and that "telling" is bad. This kind of "telling" is actually "showing," and if used correctly, can render emotion more raw and more powerful than just regular "showing."

* FYI, the points of the spectrum are my own labeling/making. They are real, but I'm just letting you know that since I'm the one who labeled them, if you use this terminology elsewhere, people probably won't know what you are talking about.

When switching to a new viewpoint character, it's usually best to get to Point 4 quickly. This is where the strongest voices reside.

Utilize Comparisons (Similes and Metaphors)

- What your viewpoint character chooses to compare something to will tell us a lot. If he compares the color of the sky to the white static on the television, we know he spends more time around or thinking about t.v. than he does nature. In contrast, someone who spends a lot of time in nature, might would compare the static of the t.v. to storm clouds. Consider what matters to your character and what he or she spends her time doing and thinking, and try mining that for an apt comparison. If you are introducing a new viewpoint, this is a great way to start building a sense of his or her voice.

It also works well to convey his or her mood for the scene. If she uses a comparison that is positive, we will probably assume she is in a positive mood. If he uses a comparison that is negative, we will probably assume he is in a negative mood. So also consider your character's emotions when picking comparisons. This will in turn give us a sense of his or her attitudes.

Slightly Deviate the Inner World from the Outer World

- We all think and experience things that we don't share. In fact, some of what we think and experience is in direct contrast to what we show the world. There should probably be at least a slight deviation with your viewpoint character too. And if this happens at POV Point 4, even better (usually). What the character thinks about and experiences privately and how it is rendered in the text, will tell us a lot about the person. When it is at odds with what he or she presents to the world, we want to know why, which gives you another opportunity to further define your character's viewpoint.

Add Lines that Speak to Worldview

- In a story, it can be easy to just get focused on what is happening--I mean, obviously. But watch for opportunities to slide in a worldview your character has about something that comes up. Maybe someone your viewpoint character is listening to references the police. Assuming it suits the passage, go ahead and slide in a brief line that clues us into what that character thinks about the police. Are they "pigs"? Or are they protectors? Are they crooked? Or are they unappreciated? People to avoid? Or someone your viewpoint character dreams of being? This will help bring in their perspective.

Sprinkle in Unique, Surface Specifics

- You can actually get away with not doing this and still have a successful character voice and story. But if you want the voice to feel more defined, it can be useful to sprinkle in one or two or three surface quirks. Just remember that anything taken to an extreme can become annoying. So the keyword here is "sprinkle." In some scenes, you may sprinkle more generously than others, depending on the needs and tone of the scene. But you won't be dumping the sprinkles on in every paragraph through the whole book.

The quirk might be favorite words (Jack Sparrow says "savvy" and Smeagol says "precious") or regional phrases (in Utah, we are known for having a lot of strange "swears," such as "Oh my heck!", "flip", and "Son of a biscuit!"). It can also be something related to the prose. Brandon Sanderson has a viewpoint character who is terrible at writing similes and metaphors. Another character may be prone to using sentence fragments. Or maybe another is a bit more generous with the dashes. Or maybe one occasionally gets distracted.

Just make sure what you pick makes sense for your character.

Now, as one of my followers mentioned to me several weeks ago, often what sounds like a great voice, breaks writing rules. When working on surface specifics, what writing rules are broken, can help contribute to how the voice sounds.

Viewpoint Voice at Work

Next, I would like to show how you can take a passage that seems to have very little voice, and utilize these approaches to give it a stronger sense of one.

Impatient, Jason tapped the steering wheel, thinking about how this drive always seemed to take longer than it actually was. He had another fever. Others would have found it annoying, but he thought the irony was funny.

These days he regularly felt sweaty, and he hadn't had time to do his laundry yet.

He considered how the feverish episodes were become fewer and further in between and wondered if that was a bad thing.

Jason had a belief that everyone had a secret worth knowing.

He was keeping several right now, and one was that the only other person he knew with this illness had recently died.

Finally, he arrived, parking alongside the forest, a decent distance from the A-frame cabin--in his friend's car.

He'd stolen it temporarily, but he would return it before she needed to go anywhere.

Now compare it to this:

Jason tapped the steering wheel incessantly. Ugh, this drive always took a century. Because it was boring. His body felt like firecrackers had bred with the flu--he was sure he could melt a dreamsicle in a single lick. It was kinda hilarious.

Because whatever he attempted, he ended up sweaty.

And he hadn’t touched his laundry in forty years.

The feverish episodes were becoming fewer and further in between though. He wondered if that was a bad thing.

Everyone had a secret.

And one of Jason’s, was that Peni Anderson was already dead.

Finally, Jason parked alongside the forest, a decent distance from the A-frame cabin--in Heather’s car.

She had work off today, so it’s not like she needed it.

I admit that a little bit of the context is missing in the second version, but I would plan to add it earlier in the story or soon after. But let's break down the difference.

Jason doesn't see himself as impatient, so I cut that. When life is boring to him, everything seems to take longer, so he exaggerates the time--it's one of his quirks. He loves pranks, bangs, and excitement, so using "firecrackers" fits with that. Maybe not perfectly, but enough to illustrate the point for now. "He was sure he could melt a dreamsicle in a single lick"--okay, so maybe he's a bit imaginative and likes sweets. "It was kinda hilarious"--well, that's not how most people would respond, so why is he? It seems he's one of those people who finds irony in his own bad circumstances funny.

Notice that much of the text has gone deeper, to Point 4. But not all of it. That's okay. Remember, we just need to sprinkle in enough. Notice too that this version uses more implication. Deep POV does that. We see he's hiding something about this illness from others. "Everyone had a secret" seems to touch on his worldview. Maybe not a perfectly comprehensive example, but it definitely has more voice than the first.

Now go write that viewpoint voice!

#writing tips #writing tips and tricks #writing help #writeblr #fanfiction #voice #character voice #author #editor

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heytherejulietx · 3 years

Text

Soulmates; Him (1/3)

Soulmates masterlist.

Read on AO3 here.

Notes - It’s finally out!!! I know it took me a while but I’m so happy to get the first part started I’m really happy with how this turned out. Please let me know what you think!

Warnings - None.

Word count - 2.1k.

Riverdale tag list - @bucky-j-barnes @adorably-sweet-hufflepuff @kpopgirlbtssvt @booksmusicteaandanimals @happy-puff @teenloves @cheryllclayton @jesso80 @dietbreadloaf @thebluetint @hppygmc8 @lilireinhartsimp @camiczzzz @bitchy-broken (it won’t let me tag some of your names I’m sorry, if I’m spelling your url wrong please let me know).

To join my tag list fill out this form.

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The glass felt cold underneath the pad of her finger as she drew a smiley face in the condensation that formed from the cold strawberry milkshake in it’s contents. The milkshake was the same shade as the jumper she was wearing and it made her smile slightly. Her mother had said that the jumper she was wearing was pink, so was the milkshake the same colour? Betty glanced around the diner she’d been sat in for almost five minutes and tried to pick out other items that were the same shade. Other people’s drinks, the napkins on her table, the shirt that Dilton Doiley was wearing in a booth down the row from hers. Could they all be the same colour? Hopefully, Betty thought to herself, she would find out later that day, as it was her seventeenth birthday.

Seventeen was a big age, probably the biggest birthday anybody could have. From your seventeenth birthday, you could find your soulmate. There was no missing who it was, when you laid eyes on them the usually black and white world would suddenly turn into bright colours - how things were supposed to be seen. Some people were lucky enough to meet their soulmate on their birthday, some spent years searching for theirs, and an unlucky few spent their whole life in black and white.

Betty Cooper was both excited and unhappy on her seventeenth birthday. Of course being able to find her soulmate was exciting, but the person who she thought it would be had already had their birthday, and still hadn’t found their soulmate. Which meant it wasn’t her. Jughead still saw black and white which meant it was someone else. Maybe it was wrong to have a crush on him as she knew it could never work out, but she was still a little disappointed.

Jughead had been her best friend for years, and they were practically inseparable. When Betty and Jughead were children and had to learn about soulmates for the first time, everything sounded so familiar to her. The way that a connection with a soulmate was described, sounded like what she had with Jughead. Betty could remember bouncing in her seat excitedly as she gently grabbed his arm, a huge grin painted over her lips as she told him ”we’re soulmates, Juggie!”. Looking back on their friendship, now that she was seventeen, it really did seem like Jughead was her soulmate. Maybe it was just what Betty wanted to believe, blinded by her crush on him, but it really felt like they were. Betty felt different when she was with Jughead, different like nobody else could make her. They connected so well and went together as a matching set, like their souls were crafted together. His touch sent butterflies exploding through her body and his words could send chills down her spine, in the best way possible.

But he wasn’t her soulmate. He was somebody else’s.

Just as she was thinking of her best friend, two larger hands covered her eyes so she couldn’t see, and initially she gasped in surprise, though upon realising who it was Betty smiled fondly and gently bit her bottom lip for a moment. She could feel his slightly calloused fingertips pressing into the bridge of her nose and felt the cold metal of one of his rings along her cheekbone which caused her to smile a little more. Bety had always been a fan of Jughead’s rings. He would let her sit and gently mess with his fingers sometimes if they sat together, and she always found herself gently twisting his rings around his fingers.

“Guess who?”

“Veronica?” Betty asked jokingly, and giggled quietly when she felt his huff of faux annoyance hit the back of her head, pushing forwards her - for once - loose blonde strands slightly with the breath.

“Happy birthday,” He told her and Betty smiled a little more. “I have a surprise for you, but you need to promise me you won’t freak out, okay?”

Betty frowned a little, puzzled on what he could have gotten her that would make her freak out. “Jug, if you got me another one of those fake bug tricks to scare me it’s not funny-”

“No, no I haven’t gotten you one of those.” Jughead scoffed, and she could practically hear his eyes rolling as he spoke. “I just need you to promise me you won’t freak out.”

“Okay, Jug, I promise.” Betty smiled and nodded her head a little, as much as she could with his hands still covering her eyes.

Jughead’s hands were still covering her eyes for another moment, almost like he was hesitating, before he pulled them away and she heard him step backwards on the tiled floor. Betty blinked for a moment to adjust her eyes to the light of the room now that she could see before she stood up and turned to face Jughead with a smile. Her eyes met his and she saw-

Blue.

Betty’s eyes widened as her heart started hammering in her chest, her sight almost smacking her in the face as she watched as vibrant and new colours bled into everything she could see. She watched in shock as his jacket turned into a checkered red and black that she could only have guessed about its colours before. Navy blues faded into his shirt as his skin faded from it’s usual grey into a warm olive tone that caused her to swallow harshly. Betty hadn’t even looked anywhere else in the room yet. She was just looking at him. Betty had always imagined seeing colours for the first time to be a magical moment. She had imagined turning in a circle and watching as colours blended into anything and everything around her. But Betty wasn’t focused on anything else but Jughead. He was beautiful.

As all of the colours blended into her sight and the plain black and white faded away, at first she hadn’t thought of what it meant. But after a moment she felt a burning along her waterline as her bottom lip trembled, her emotions crashing into her almost as hard as the colours had just done.

It was him.

Jughead was her soulmate.

Jughead, her best friend. The person who had been there for her more than anyone else. The boy who was there the first time she rode her bike without training wheels. The boy who had offered to be her date to her first school dance when Archie had gone with a cheerleader. The boy who she had been falling deeper and deeper in love with for what felt like forever. It had been him all along. The thought alone made her giddy, and it wouldn’t have surprised her if her legs gave out there and then.

“Betty,” Jughead visibly swallowed. Betty had never seen him so nervous in her life. “Surprise.” He smiled sheepishly, his lips curving upwards in the most beautiful smile she had ever seen.

It took Betty a moment to even just remember how to move, but once she could her lips curved upwards into a bright and emotional smile as she closed the few feet between them and flung herself at him, tears spilling down her cheeks as she held onto him. Jughead’s arms secured around her waist and kept her held close to him as she started crying, not able to control the overflow of emotions.

“Oh my god,” Betty whispered, just holding onto Jughead tighter, almost as if he would disappear if she were to let go. It was unbelievable, now that she thought about it. Jughead had told her that he hadn’t seen his soulmate before, so how could she be his? “You- you said you hadn’t- we-”

“Betty slow down,” Jughead stopped her rambling with his hands resting on either side of her face which he used to gently pull her back so he could look at her. “I didn’t tell you because I wanted you to find out yourself.” He smiled fondly as he ran his thumb along her cheekbone, causing Betty to relax slightly as she leaned into his hand. “You’d always spoken about how magical it would be to find out who your soulmate was on your birthday, and it would kind of ruin the surprise if you knew who it was.”

Betty’s smile only widened at his words, a soft expression masking her features. He had waited months to tell her so she could experience everything herself. It meant more to her than he probably thought, that he was willing to let himself wait until she knew herself. It made warmth spread through her chest to know just how much he cared about her and her happiness. Nobody had ever cared about her as much as Jughead, not even Veronica - although her best girl friend was a close contender behind him. Standing in front of him then, standing close enough to notice just how blue his eyes were and how the freckles on his nose dotted about, everything felt right. She was sure about her feelings towards Jughead, and now that she knew he had the same ones it almost made her start crying again. It was a lot to take in - but it was good.

Without even thinking about it Betty lifted her own hands up to grip the fur lining of his collar and she tugged him closer, impossibly closer, until her nose was pressed to his and she could feel his breath shake as it fanned out across her face. Her eyes fluttered closed and she could hear Jughead whisper her name, quiet enough for her to doubt whether he had actually spoken or not, before she leaned the rest of the way and closed the gap between them to press her lips against his.

Her mind spun into overdrive as soon as he had pulled her closer with a hand on the side of her neck, and in that moment her legs almost did give out. She was kissing Jughead. She was doing the one thing she had believed would never happen over the past few months, no matter how much she wanted to. Butterflies swarmed around her stomach and she could feel a blush rising to her cheeks though she didn’t care at all. She was kissing Jughead.

All of the air seemed to leave her lungs as he pulled away, as if he had stolen it from her through the kiss. Betty smiled almost giddily as her eyes fluttered open to look at him again. His expression wasn’t so different from hers as she felt his hand move back to her cheek, and she had to refrain from kissing him again as the pad of his thumb circled her pink cheek again.

“I love you, Betty.” Jughead whispered, and Betty’s heart almost stopped.

It took her a moment to even comprehend what he had said, lost in the blue eyes she couldn’t look away from, though her smile grew even wider than before as she lightly kissed him again for another moment before she pulled away to whisper four words.

“I love you too.”

Jughead’s expression lit up just as her’s had done a moment before and she couldn’t help but stare. He was so gorgeous, especially when he smiled. Just the sight of him took her breath away. Though her eyes closed as she felt his arms pull her into a hug and she relaxed into him as she hugged him back gently. Jughead had hugged her many times before, though none felt as perfect as that one. It was warm and welcoming and loving.

“You didn’t have to wait to tell me, you know.” Betty whispered into his shoulder, her eyes fluttering when he had lifted his hand to gently run his fingers through her hair.

“I know, but I wanted it to be special for you.”

Betty smiled fondly and nodded, pressing a kiss to his shoulder through his jacket as she smiled. “Is that why you were acting so weird on your birthday?” She could remember it clearly, how he was constantly zoning out in conversation and was distracted the whole time. At first she had assumed it was just because he didn’t like his birthday, but this made more sense.

“Yeah,” Jughead whispered and nodded. “It was a weird day.”

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amymel86 · 3 years

Text

Wishes

A little time travel... for a treat...

Jon doesn’t believe in fate, or signs, or serendipity or any of that bullshit. But, he will admit that something is telling him that the time is right ‘to do the thing’ now. ‘The thing’ in question being telling Sansa how he feels.

For years he’d stamp down those admirations – the desire she’d spark or the warm, glow-y feeling she’d ignite low in his belly – because she was his best friend’s sister, and Robb was (understandably) ridiculously protective of Sansa after she’d had a couple of bad experiences with guys in her teens and early twenties. When they’d all been younger, Jon had felt like if he had actually done anything about the way his best friend’s sister makes him feel, then he’d be compromising his friendship with Robb or some shit. He can sneer at his younger self now, but that possible betrayal had felt real at the time.

The current problem Jon faced was boyfriend-shaped – specifically, Sansa’s boyfriend, Harry. What kind of a douche would he be if he confessed to always having feeling for her while she’s involved with someone else?

So instead he sulked and admired from afar... or not so ‘afar’ as it were, since he and Sansa had gotten even closer in terms of friendship since Robb married Rhaenys and moved south to Dorne.

Anyway, tonight is THE night. He can feel it. She’d recently broken up with Harry but even Sansa has admitted to him that it was a long time coming AND he’d just gotten off the phone to her asking him to come over because she has something she wants to show him.

What it actually is that she wants to show him, he does not know. Oh, he can imagine. But then he’s been imagining a hell of a lot when it comes to Sansa Stark.

It’s probably a new craft she’s learnt. She is forever finding things to try through YouTube tutorials. Just last month she taught herself to crochet and made him a blanket. It still kind of has that Sansa smell to it which Jon totally doesn’t hold to his nose like some sort of lovesick dork. (He does.)

With nerves all a-jumble as he pulls up to her little ground-floor flat, Jon prays to the Gods that he doesn’t believe in that he’s not about to a) make an absolute fool of himself and b) completely ruin the friendship that means the most to him right now. Maybe he would completely chicken out of this if it hadn’t been the little glimmers of hope he’s seen over the years; the way she’d look at him sometimes, an invitation in her eyes, the way she’s so tactile with him... the way she’s never called him out when she’s caught him staring at her ass.

God-damn, she has a nice ass.

Alright, Seven Hells, Jon. Get a grip!

The motion detector light Sansa has above her front door turns on as he approaches and her door swings open before he has a chance to even reach for the doorbell. Jon’s kind of abashed that he startles a little. His head’s not in the game yet and there she stands in all her glory – holding the power to make him elated or miserable.

“Sorry,” Sansa winces, noticing how her quick-to-answer actions had made him jump. “It’s just that he doesn’t like a lot of the noises of the house... or outside. The doorbell would’ve really freaked him out so-”

“He?” Jon asks, stepping over her threshold and ridding himself of his coat to hang on her hooks. “You get a dog or something?”

She looks nervous. Why is she nervous? “Err... no, not a dog.”

She’s twiddling with her fingers as she glances behind herself towards the lounge and back to Jon.

“Sansa?” Jon scoops up her hands and holds them gently. He gives them a squeeze and hopes that she knows what that squeeze means – that whatever that’s got her nervous, he’ll be there, he’ll help her through whatever it is. He’d do anything for her. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Her earnest eyes glaze over a little as she blinks at him. She does that sometimes – Jon thinks it’s a reaction to the endearment and he’s ashamed to admit that he calls her ‘sweetheart’ at any opportunity he gets just to see her shiver or bite down on her lip.

She’s moving close now. Her mouth parts, drawing him in like a moth to the flame. He leans closer still, about to close his eyes and just – go for it. Maybe he doesn’t need words right now? Maybe he should just show her? Lay all the years of yearning out in one searing kiss.

What will she taste like?

Will it make her moan into his mouth?

Will she grasp at his hair? Tug a little? Pull him ever closer until there couldn’t possibly be any space left between them?

“I tossed a coin,” she whispers, eyes glued to his lips.

Jon’s brain switches tracks – slowly, and confusingly. Where is this current track going? “What?”

Jon watches Sansa shake herself out from under whatever spell they’d both cast here in her little entrance hallway.

Way to go, dumbass. She’s barely broken up from her boyfriend and you can’t step one foot over threshold without wanting to shove your tongue down her throat?

“I tossed a coin in the water,” Sansa repeats, making some space between them both. “At the hotsprings up at the old castle ruin.”

Jon was lost. “Okay?”

“And I made a wish and.... I think it came true?” Jon nods but Sansa is back to glancing behind herself, back toward her lounge.

Jon doesn’t believe in fate and wishes and all that gubbins. But Sansa does, so he’ll humour her. “What did you wish?”

Sansa’s twiddling with her fingers again. “I wished to fall in love,” she states quietly. “I wished for a good man who definitely, without question loves me back... in a romantic way, not like a friend.”

Ok, that last part was definitely aimed at him. Jon stutters, his foot jutting forward and his hand reaching out. He needs to tell her – he needs to tell her NOW. “Sansa, I-“

There’s an almighty crash in the lounge making Sansa spin and leave to go and see to the commotion. What on earth is it? Did she adopt a wild animal or something? That sounds exactly like something Sansa Stark would do. Jon follows, curious.

What he sees when he rounds the corner is not a wild animal... but a man; a man dressed very oddly and wielding a big-ass sword. “What the fuck?” Suddenly, the sword is aimed at him. Jon grabs for Sansa and yanks her behind himself. “Take what you want, man, but you can think fucking twice if you think you’re touching her.” His heart was racing.

“Unhand her!” The man orders. He’s dressed in some kind of medieval-renaissance-fayre-cosplay-get-up with leather and furs and riding boots and shit and-... apart from the scars on his face... looks... exactly like Jon?

Sansa steps out from behind him with her hands raised but Jon doesn’t really notice – he’s too busy having some sort of mental breakdown as he stares at his doppelganger, mouth agape.

“It’s ok, Jon, it’s alright,” she says, cooing at the Lord-of-the-Rings-cosplayer version of himself like he was the wounded wild animal that Jon had previously envisioned Sansa adopting. “Lower your sword,” she urges gently. “This is my friend, Jon – like I told you. The one that looks exactly like you! Do you remember?”

The medieval imposter’s shoulders seem to release their tension under that big-ass dead badger or whatever the fuck it is he’s wearing. “Aye,” he says with a chuckle. “It is good to meet you, Jon.” He sheathes his sword and steps forward, offering his hand. “I am Jon, Jon Snow.”

In part daze, part confusion and a whole heap of what the fuckity-fuck?!?!, Jon finds himself shaking the weirdo’s hand before pulling himself out of it. “Wait, what? No you’re not. I’m Jon Snow. Sansa,” he says, turning to her, “what is this? What’s going on?”

Am I tripping on something I don’t even remember taking?

“It’s like I told you, Jon. I tossed a coin into the hotspings and made a wish. I wished for someone to love me and then Jon appeared from behind the weirwood tree. At first I thought it was you pulling some weird prank,” she says, kneeling to pick up the broken pieces of her vase that medieval-boy here clearly knocked off with his admittedly cool sword. The doppelganger knelt too to help her, a bashful sort of smile on his face when their eyes met. Jon did not like it. “But then I called you,” she says, wrenching her eyes away from the other Jon to look up at him. “Do you remember? Earlier today? I called and when you’d answered, I distractedly said I’d forgotten why I’d called?”

Yeah – he remembers. He’d thought –hoped- that she had wanted to confess some deep, burning love for him only for her courage to dry up when she’d squeaked at hearing his voice. It hadn’t occurred to him that she was just verifying that there were indeed two of him now. How silly of him.

“My apologies for the breakage,” the other Jon murmurs to Sansa, “your magic tablet came alive with sound and light and began moving across the surface in a rhythmic dance. I was unsure of the entity it would conjure and so drew my sword. I hope you can forgive me?”

“My phone,” Sansa mutters to herself in realisation. She reaches for it as it laid there on her coffee table. “I’d better put this on silent and turn off the vibration alerts,” she says with a smile aimed at middle-ages-moron next to her.

Jon purses his lips and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Okay, what is this?” If this is some kind of prank, he was over it yesterday.

Fur-boy stands and sighs. “I don’t claim to be knowledgeable in things such as these,” he starts in an admittedly gruff voice that Jon kind of hates. “All I know is that in my second lifetime, I didn’t get the chance to love Sansa as I’d wanted. We thought each other to be siblings and when I died again, I thought it was to be my last time...” he turns, giving Sansa a moon-struck look. “And I died wishing I could have loved you the way my heart wanted to.” Sansa’s answering expression looks as though her insides have gone all gooey.

“Wait – wait – wait!” Jon – the real Jon – says, stepping in between the two now. “First of all, you had the hots for your sister?”

Cosplay-Jon’s eyes don’t leave Sansa’s as he nods solemnly.

“Ok... just sayin’... kinda gross.” That earns him a playful slap on the shoulder from Sansa. “What?! It is! Secondly... what’s this about a ‘second life’ and ‘died again’?”

“I have danced death’s steps twice,” the other Jon says. “The first time I was brought back I knew my purpose was to protect her,” the damn man is looking Sansa again. “And this being the second, I fully believe that it is to love her properly this time.”

This guy has really lost his fucking mind. “Hold on there, buddy,” Jon says, squaring his shoulders. “Sansa isn’t yours to love, she’s-“ He glances at her, his heart thudding painfully against his ribs at her expectant expression. “Well.... she’s – can I talk to you in private a minute?” he says, ushering Sansa out of the room and back into the hallway. “You have to get rid of him, he’s a few slices short of a pizza.”

Sansa chuckles. “What?”

“Sansa, he’s an absolute nutter!”

“No, he’s not! He’s telling the truth, Jon!”

They both turn to peer back into Sansa’s lounge to see medieval-land boy picking up her TV remote with two tentative fingers and studying it like it had just landed from outer space.

Jon shoves his fingers up under his glasses and rubs at his eyes in exasperation. “Sansa, this dude went LARPing and bumped his head or something, shit – I don’t know, but this is all insane!”

She’s not even looking at him as he talks. She’s practically drooling at his doppelganger with hearts in her eyes as the lunatic in leather armour settles on her couch with his big-ass cloak, his hands curled around one of Sansa’s mugs (black with gold writing that says ‘Boss Bitch’ and little pink hearts). He takes a tentative sip of whatever it is that Sansa had made for him while he continues to study the room he finds himself in.

This is ridiculous. He thought this was his time! He never envisioned that he’d lose her to... himself?... himself but with a big-ass-sword?

Seven-fucking-hells!

#jonsa #jon x sansa #my jonsa fic

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chickensarentcheap · 3 years

Text

Never Gonna Be Alone -Chapter 26

Title: Preparations

Warning: it’s filler. I figured we needed some cute daddy Tyler. lol

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @alievans007, @miss-smutty, @tragiclyhip

“When you met mumma, you guys were working together, right?”

Addie poses the question as she sits atop the kitchen island; legs swinging back and forth as they dangle over the edge, the heels of silver and gold glitter infused jelly sandals lightly thumping against the wood. She insisted on bringing one of her favourite pairs of shoes from home; arguing that she didn’t care that they were ‘out of season’ and that she would wear what she wants, when she wants, and no one could tell her otherwise. In the end they’d gone perfectly with the new ‘Christmas’ dress she’d picked out Bloomingdales; a vibrant yellow concoction with capped sleeves embellished with strips of lace, a sash around the waist that ties in an enormous bow at the back, and an elaborate tulle skirt several layers thick that shimmers in the light. Forgoing all the burgundy, emerald green, and red dresses that had lined the regular priced racks in favour of an outfit from the leftover and highly discounted summer section. It was a hill Esme hadn't been willing to die on; preferring that Addie showcase both her independence in choosing her own outfit, and being proud of her personal style and preferences. And it suits her; as bright and adorable as her personality with just enough ‘no fucks given’ sprinkled on for good measure.

While tiny and seemingly fragile, she can be extremely assertive and adverse to any form of compromise; tenacious to a fault and digging her heels in and sticking to her guns when she feels she’s one hundred right about her stance. Even if there’s mountains of proof to show that she is, in fact, completely wrong. Someone so stubborn and feisty lingering inside that cute, wee package; able to hold her own while out playing with her older siblings and not afraid to get a bloody nose or a fat lip or a black eye. And not deterred in the slightest when she DOES get injured; right back to what she was doing only hours after getting stitches or a cast removed. Not shying away from climbing trees or splashing in mud puddles or helping muck out the goats stalls while wearing clunky rubber boots paired with a Disney princess dress. Very much like her older sister had been at that age; enjoying being physical and active and playing sports and rough housing one minute, then showcasing her more ‘girly side’ the next. Loving trips to the salon with mummy for manis and pedis; enjoying picking her own shade of polish and then getting to sip orange juice from a champagne glass while getting a facial and her hair trimmed. Collecting dolls along with various rocks and shells and beach glass. Superhero figures taking up residence on her bedroom shelves right alongside stuffies of her favourite animals -koalas, sloths, and kangaroos currently at the top of the list- and snow globes from different parts of the world. Her closet filled with not only frilly dresses and sparkly leggings and colourful sweaters emblazoned with unicorns and french bulldogs and flamingos, but old hand me downs from her brothers; ripped and faded jeans and tattered t-shirts and board shorts.

“Right,” Tyler confirms, as he tends to running a brush through her waist length hair; damp from misting it down with a spray bottle in order to easier part it into sections.

It’s a far cry from his old life; his beaten and busted up hands with their multitude of scars and calluses once used to being soaked in blood and caked with dirt. Large and weathered with misshapen knuckles, they’d long ago gotten accustomed to hard, manual labour and the brutality that he’d had to inflict on others; fists that pummelled bodies and faces and fingers that pulled triggers and wrapped around throats and choked the life out of combatants. And while they still get caked in mud from working around the house and they’re still entrusted to load magazines and are capable of taking a gun apart in thirteen seconds flat, they’ve morphed into other uses. Beginning with diapering babies and tending to the impossibly tiny snaps on jumpers, buttons on little sweaters, and zippers on sleepers. Moving on to tying kid sized shoe laces and cleaning and patching up skinned knees and elbows. Advancing to far more difficult hair styling techniques than the simple ponytails he’d began affixing on Millie when she was a toddler; various styles of braids adorned with ribbons, and snapping barrettes and clamping clips into place.

Being a girl dad is unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. The six short years -despite the little time he’d actually been home- he’d spent with Austin had prepared him for raising boys. His son, when healthy, had been extremely active and fearless and full of curiosity and energy; getting as messy and as dirty as possible and loving every second of it. Obsessed with superheroes and sports and always clad in clothing that displayed his favourites; football jerseys and baseball caps and sweats emblazoned with Superman or Batman logos. He had been terrified twelve years ago when the news had come in that Millie was in fact going to be a girl; not only envisioning frilly dresses and a closet full of pink and those ridiculous headbands parents insist on putting on their infants, but thinking back to his own treatment of women. The days when he’d used them for nothing more than sex; random strangers picked up in bars or that he’d meet on the street in whatever city a job sent him to. A failed marriage; putting more of a priority on the military than he did on treating his wife properly. And all he could think about was how having a daughter was somehow a punishment for the bad shit he’d done. A little girl that he’d have to protect from guys like him.

It was hard to get used to; big fingers having to master putting in tiny earrings and tending to impossibly small zippers and buttons , getting comfortable with the amount of pink and purple in their rooms and closets. Eventually graduating into attending tea parties and playing with Barbies and helping make crafts; getting used to paint on his palms and between his fingers and glitter stuck under his nails and in his hair and beard. Determined to be a hands-on father even if its activities are way outside of his comfort zone; gymnastic meets and dance recitals as opposed to lacrosse matches and football games. Being a girl dad isn’t for the weak; having to worry about your little girls’ hearts being broken and if the guys they pick will treat them right and if they themselves will make smart and responsible choices as teenagers. And the hormones; the up and down emotions and the drastic switch from bitchy to overly sensitive. Having a wife go through it once a month is enough. never mind the thought of three other girls. The worry of how he’ll handle not only the emergence of puberty, but if all four female ‘clocks’ decide to sync up. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to handle THAT; all the women in his life going through the cramps and the moodiness and the demands to be coddled and babied one minute and left the fuck alone the next.

“Does that mean mummy beat up and killed bad guys too?”

“No. She never did any of that stuff. That was my job, not hers.”

“What did she do?”

“She tracked down the bad guys. And where they were doing mean things to good people. Then she told me...or guys like me...where they were so we could go and take care of things.”

“So you could go and kill them?”

“You don’t always have to kill people. Sometimes it’s enough to just rough them up a bit.”

“And other times they fight back and try to hurt you and you have to hurt them first?”

“Pretty much.”

“Have you killed a lot of people?”

“Not that many," he lies. It's actually a staggering amount; the death toll -from his hand alone- in Dhaka putting the count well over three hundred.

“How many is ‘not that many'?’”

“I don’t know, Peanut. I’ve never kept track.”

“But you’ve helped more people than you’ve hurt. That’s what mummy said when I asked if it was true. If Tyler was lying when he told me you kill people for a living.”

“That’s a while ago. That you asked mummy that.”

“I was three. That’s a whole two years ago. But sometimes I think about it. Especially when you go away. I think about you having to kill people.”

“And what do you think WHEN you think about that? About what I sometimes have to do?”

“I dunno know,” Addie shrugs, and then lifts the spray bottle clutched in both hands and holds it towards her face; giggling when she pulls the trigger and catches some of the mist in her mouth.

“Does it bother you? When you think about it? That I’ve killed people? That sometimes I still have to?”

“Why would it bother me?”

“Kind of a hard thing to hear, don’t you think? That daddy has to do stuff like that?”

“It’s your job. It’s what you do. You have to hurt people to save other people. And sometimes, if they try and hurt you first, you have to kill them. Because if you didn’t, they might kill you and then you never come home and we never get to see you again. It’s not THAT hard to hear. I’d rather you kill someone and come home than never see you again.”

“You know,” he plucks the spray bottle from her hands and dampens a section of hair. “You’re pretty smart for only five.”

“Smart like mummy.”

He leans in to press a kiss to her cheek. “Cute like her too.”

“Are you going to get in trouble? For killing people?”

“Who would I get in trouble with?”

“God. Isn’t that one of the things we’re not supposed to do? Kill people?”

“How do you know about that? We don’t talk about that stuff at home.”

“I hear things. At school. Some of the older kids talking. Are you? Going to get in trouble? For killing people?”

“Probably,” he admits. “I’m sure I’ll face some kind of judgement for it. When my time comes.”

“But wouldn’t it be okay ‘cause you only kill bad people? That were hurting good people? Wouldn’t that be allowed? And if you had to kill someone so you could come home to us, wouldn’t that be okay too?”

“I don’t know,” he snags a yellow cloth ribbon off the island and begins braiding a section of hair around it. “I’ve never thought that far ahead about things.”

“It would suck if you got in trouble for helping people. That wouldn’t be fair at all. If you got sent to hell for doing stuff like that. I mean, you were doing something GOOD. You weren’t doing something bad. You HAD to kill evil people to help good people. And to make sure you come home to mummy and us kids. I can’t see you getting in trouble for something like THAT.”

“Doesn’t make much sense to me either. But not a lot does anymore.”

“I’ll be really mad if you get in trouble and sent somewhere different than me. I don’t want us to be in two separate places. I want us to be together. All of us. You and mummy and all us kids. I don’t want us to all be separated. Well, maybe Millie could be. Because she’s mean to me. All the time.”

“Millie is going through some stuff. She’s going to be a teenager soon. A lot of drama leading up to THAT.”

“She says I’m annoying. That she used to really like me when I was a baby and couldn’t do anything. But now I can do lots of stuff and I can talk and she says that pisses her off. That I’m a bratty little sister.”

“You are NOT bratty.”

“Right? That’s what I said. She’s bratty if anything. Am I annoying, daddy? Don’t lie. You can tell me the truth.”

“You are not annoying. If anyone is annoying, it’s Millie.”

“I said THAT too! But she’s mean. She even threatened to cut my hair off. Shave it. Because I couldn’t find my brush and I borrowed hers and she didn’t like that. So you know what I did? While you were gone?”

“What did you do?”

“I took the tops off two Oreo cookies and I ate the middle and then I put in mayonnaise and I put the tops back on and gave them to Millie. I told her I was being a good little sister and bringing her a snack. And she put a whole one in her mouth! She almost puked!”

He can’t help but chuckle. “You actually did that?”

“Yup. It was awesome. I laughed so hard, I almost peed! But then she started chasing me around the house threatening to kill me. Mummy was screaming at her to lighten up, that it was just a joke. And then she told mummy to shut up and Tyler got mad. REALLY mad. He tackled Millie and grabbed her by the hair and pushed her face into the carpet. Then he put her in a figure four leg lock and made her cry.”

“Millie told your mom to shut up?”

“Oooops…” Addie tilts her head back to look at him, a sheepish smile curving her lips. “....I wasn’t supposed to tell you that part.”

“Who told you not to tell me? Millie?”

The five year old shakes her head.

“TJ?”

Another shake, followed by a tiny “No.”

“Addie…”

“It was mummy! She said not to tell you because you’d get pissed off and you didn’t need to. Because she took care of it right when it happened. Well, Tyler did. He was really, really, REALLY mad. She learned her lesson. I’m sure of it. He made her cry. Lots.”

“Did that happen a lot? Millie getting mouthy with your mom?”

“Not really.”

He stares pointedly down at her.

“A few times,” she reluctantly admits. “She said some things that were really mean. To mummy. And she said the F word once, too. Mixed with the B word.”

“She said that ? To your mom?”

Addie chews nervously on her bottom lip. “Yeah, she called her an f-ing B word.”

“What did mummy do?”

“She didn’t get a chance to do anything. Desi freaked out. And he’s really big and he can be really scary when he wants. Like you. Desi told her that she should never, ever talk to her mum like that. And that you’d be really mad if you found out. And that she’d rather deal with him than you. Which is true. Desi might be bigger than you, but you’re definitely tougher. I mean, he doesn’t kill people for a living. You do.”

“Things were pretty bad, huh? While I was gone.”

“A little. Millie went off the reservation. Big time. She’s lucky she’s even breathing. ‘Cause Tyler was ready to kill her. And I don’t blame him. You’re mad, aren’t you. Are you mad, daddy?”

“A bit.”

“You know how I can tell? That you’re mad? Your neck moves. Right here,” she reaches up to press to fingertips against the side of his throat. “Where the bad guy shot you a long time ago.”

“How did you know about that?”

“Mummy told me. I asked her how you got that scar. She said that a long time ago, her and Ovi were in trouble and you had to get them out of a really bad place. And then you made sure they were safe and sound, but a bad guy shot you. In the neck. And that’s why you have the scar there.”

“Did that scare you? Hearing that?”

“A little, I guess. I mean, you could have died, right?”

“I could have, yeah.”

“And then you and mummy never would have gotten married. And had kids. Millie would be the only one to exist. None of us would. So yeah, that part scared me a bit; that the bad guy could have killed and none of us ever would have been born. Did you kill him?”

“Eventually.”

“Mummy said she stayed with you. After it happened. And that she went back to Australia with you and that’s how she ended up there. It’s where you guys got married. And had Millie and me and Kota and Brookie. That we were the ones born there. So we’re REAL Australians, like you. Everyone else is American.”

“Everyone else WAS American. You’re all Australian now.”

“How does that work?”

“A lot of papers you have to fill out. To become a citizen. But you all are. Mummy and I made sure of it.”

“Is mummy an Australian too?”

“By marriage, yeah.”

“It’s a good thing she married you. You’re a lucky guy, daddy. That someone like mummy fell in love with you.”

“I am,” he confirms. “Very lucky. She’s a pretty good mummy, huh?”

“She’s the best mummy EVER. If we could pick our mummies, I’d pick her. Because she’s nice and she gives good cuddles and kisses and she tells the best silly jokes. And she’s super smart and really cute too. And little! Like me!”

“That’s where you get from. Being so cute and wee. You’re just like your mumma.”

Her eyes sparkle as she smiles broadly up at him; the corners and the bridge of her nose crinkle. “And that’s a good thing, yeah?”

“A very good thing,” Dropping a kiss on her forehead, he brushes the tip of his nose against hers; smiling at the way she throws her head back and giggles.

He’s seen her mother do that exact movement and expression a number of times; excitement while on the rides at Disney World with the kids, when she’s had one too many glasses of wine and even his terrible ‘dad jokes’ are suddenly hilarious, when they’ve been on one of their ‘mommy and daddy’ vacations and she’s gotten up the guts to try something new and exciting; emboldened by his encouragement and forever feeling safe and secure as long as he’s by her side. So much of Esme in the tiny little girl in front of him; tenacious and ferociously intelligent and loving deeply and fearlessly. Knowing the darkness and the horrors that exist in the world but not allowing herself to be tarnished by it; always finding ways to smile and laugh and find the beauty in every day.

“What do you think mummy would have done if she didn’t do the job she did?” Addie inquires, when she finally drops her head back down and he’s able to return to tending her hair.

“I don’t know. Teach? Be a nurse? Maybe a doctor?”

“How would you have met her? If she didn’t do her old job?”

“Maybe I would have met her on the beach. In Australia. Maybe she would have come there on a vacation.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you would have gone to where she used to live. In Chicago.”

“She used to live in Colorado. That’s where she was born and where she grew up. Chicago is a totally different place.”

“She used to live by the mountains. When I was in her tummy, you guys lived on a hobby farm. And you had goats and chickens. Mummy says we still own that house.”

“Yup, we do. We rent it out.”

“Can we go there one day? I’d like to see it. I’d like to see where you guys were living when I was in mummy’s belly. Is that where I was made?”

“We’re pretty sure that’s where it happened. Not many other places it could have been.”

“Maybe we can go and visit. And I can see where I was made. That would be fun. I want to see the mountains.”

“Maybe one day.” He finishes up the first braided pigtail, securing it with an impossibly small elastic before turning his attention to the other section of hair.

“If you met mummy a different way, would you have still liked her? Would you have still fallen in love with her?”

“Yup. Why wouldn’t have I? She still would have been mummy. She still would have been the same person. Still would have been the most beautiful girl ever.”

“Do you think she still would have fallen in love with you?”

“I sure as hell hope so. Would sure suck if she didn’t. Your mumma is pretty special, Peanut. She’s the love of my life. Took me until I was thirty five to meet her.”

“You were married before, though. To Austin's mom. You didn’t love her?”

“I did. But not in the way I love your mum. Your mum? That’s who I want to spend the rest of my life with. Grow really, really, REALLY old with. It’s a whole other kind of love. And you know what? It’s not easy to explain. You just know what you feel.”

“Imagine if things were opposite? If you went to Colorado and met mummy instead of her meeting you in Australia and working with you? And then you would have stayed there; where the snow and the mountains are instead of the beach and the ocean. How come you moved? Why didn’t you guys stay? Where the mountains are?”

“Things changed. We weren’t happy there anymore. We needed to get away. Go back to the place where we were the happiest.”

“In Australia?”

“Yup.”

“That’s where I’m happiest too. I love it there. I love how warm it is; the sun and the sand and the water. I like the sound it makes; listening to it when I’m trying to fall asleep. And I like how the beach feels; between my toes and when I let it run through my fingers. And I love my room and my toys and my school and my friends and all the goats and our pigs and our chickens. And Charlie. I love him the most. I love making him peanut butter sandwiches. I’d miss him the most. If we had to leave. We won’t have to leave will we, daddy?”

“I don’t see why we would have to.”

“I don’t ever want to leave Australia. It’s perfect there. It’s where I was born. And where you were born too. We have that in common. We were BOTH born there.”

“Yeah…” he grins, and presses a kiss to the back of her head. “...we were.”

“I mean, we have other stuff in common too. Because you’re my dad and that means you helped make me so that means half of me is half of you. The other half is from mummy. And we both love surfing. And animals. And Vegemite. I LOVE Vegemite. It’s sooooo good.”

“Speaking of Vegemite, was it you that left the Vegemite and Nutella sandwich for Santa?”

Addie giggles. “Maybe…”

“Why would you ever put the two of those together?”

“Tyler made it for his school lunch once and he let me try a bit and it was really good! So I thought Santa might like to try it. Part American, part Australian.”

“You know, that’s pretty genius. And it worked. I tried a bit and it wasn’t bad.”

“Right?! You wouldn’t think it would work, but it does. Somehow. Kind of like you and mummy.”

“What’s THAT supposed to mean?”

“You and mummy are so different. You’re really tall and big and she’s really short and small. Like, you know how mummy is a morning person? She’s always really cheerful and smiley? And you’re not? You’re moody and miserable. A total grump face! And you don’t like to talk until you’ve had your first coffee. With three shots of espresso in it.”

“You notice all that stuff?”

“I notice everything. Mummy says I’m very observant. And that I have really good instincts. Like you. She says ‘cause my tummy tells me if something is right or wrong. And yours does too. You know how else you and mummy are different?”

“How?”

“Mummy talks to everyone! She’s very talky talky. A chatterbox.”

“Geez,” Tyler grins, and tugs playfully at the completed pigtail. “I wonder who ELSE is a chatterbox?”

“She’s a social butterfly. She makes friends everywhere she goes. People like her. Because she’s so bubbly and cute and she makes peoples hearts feel warm because she’s so nice to them. You’re more serious. You don’t talk a lot. At least not to people you don’t know. People are scared of you sometimes. Because how big you are and because you got all the drawings on you and the scars and stuff. They think you’re mean. ‘Cause of all that.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think you’re just daddy. I KNOW you’re not mean. I KNOW you’re a nice guy. I KNOW you give awesome hugs; your arms are big but they feel nice and they wrap all the way around me! If people really paid attention, they’d see that you’re nice. You have soft eyes. They’re blue and they’re pretty and they’re kind. Especially when you smile and they go all crinkly. If people really gave you a chance, they’d see you’re not scary at all. You’re only like that if you HAVE to be. If bad people are near mummy or us kids.”

“Are you ever scared of me?” It’s a recurring thought; if his children ever pick up on the worry and the tension and the fear that comes with his issues. It’s a feat some days; forcing himself out of bed and putting one foot in front of the other. Wanting nothing more than to stay under the covers and surrender to the exhaustion that comes with doing battle with his own mind every day. But his family is his number one priority, whether it’s a good day or a horrible one. And he’ll ‘fake it until he makes it’ as long as his children and his wife know that they’re loved; provided and cared for and made to feel safe and protected.

“Why would I be? Why would I be scared of my daddy?”

“Well, you know what I do for a living. You know what I’ve had to do to people. Does that scare you?”

“Nope. Because that’s just your job. It’s not who you are. When you come home, you’re just daddy. You take us bike riding and hiking and swimming and surfing. And you help us find rocks and shells and you let me sit on your shoulders when we walk on the beach or go into town. And we take naps. On the hammock. I love our naps on the hammock.”

He smiles. “So do I.”

“Sometimes I get a little worried. When you get upset. Or you and mummy argue. I don’t like when you guys argue. I always worry that you’ll hate each other. That you’ll get a divorce. And then you won’t live with us. It makes me sad when I think about that.”

“You don’t need to be sad, Peanut. That’s never going to happen. I’m never going to go and live somewhere else. I’m going to stay right where I am; with you guys and your mumma. And just because we argue? That doesn’t mean we’re going to hate each other. I could NEVER hate your mum. And I’m pretty sure she’d say the same thing about me. We love each other. Very much. Divorce is NOT something you need to think about. But do I ever scare you? Have I ever?”

“I don’t have a reason to be scared of you. Because you love me. You’d never hurt me. I never worry about that. Not even when you yell and your voice gets REALLY loud. I know you’d never do anything mean to me. Just to bad people. And I’m not a person. I’m a GOOD person.”

“You definitely are. You’re a VERY good person. An amazing little person.”

She smiles. “Like mummy.”

“Just like her. More than even I ever realized.”

******

“Addie…” TJ singsongs as he saunters into the kitchen, both hands tucked behind his back. “...what are you doing?”

“Tyler!” She cheerfully greets, and excitedly waves to him with both hands. Her entire face lighting up at the sight of her second favourite male in the house

She’s become extremely close to her oldest brother during her five years on earth; idolizing him and turning to him for help and comfort when daddy is either caught up with one of the other kids, tending to work related matters, or out of the house -and sometimes even the country- all together. And TJ dotes on her in return. Spoiling her and babying her ever since she was an infant and he was always more than willing to help change her diapers and give her feedings. In awe of how tiny she was and how she’d look up at him with so much adoration. He’s the quintessential older brother; patient and loving and ready to kick anyone’s ass that dares messes with her.

“Look at my dress! It’s the one I picked out when I went shopping for mommy. That I kept a secret. Isn’t it awesome?”

“Awesome just like you. It’s really pretty, Ads. Your favourite colour too!”

“Yup! Mummy bought it for me. She said it’s perfect for me. For my personality. It reminds me of Belle’s dress. From Beauty and the Beast.”

“Looks a little like it, I guess. But you know what? It’s even prettier. And you’re more beautiful than Belle. WAY more beautiful.”

“Really?” she gasps, and a noticeable blush creeps into her cheeks, spreading all the way to the tips of her ears. “You really think so?”

“I REALLY think so. Belle has nothing on you. You’re the prettiest princess EVER. Way prettier than ANY of them.”

“Oh goodness!” She clamps both hands over her mouth in embarrassment, then giggles into them. “Like mumma? Just as pretty as her? Mumma is the prettiest EVER.”

“Just a smaller version of her.” TJ leans in close and presses the tip of his nose against hers. “Guess what I have? What you forgot in my room?”

“Adeline!” she cries, when he reveals the item he’d been keeping behind his back. And she snags the doll from him and showers its head and face with kisses as she clutches it tightly to her chest. “Adeline! I’m sorry I forgot you! I didn’t mean to!”

“I kept her safe for you,” TJ says. “So Declan wouldn’t grab her. You know how he likes to get a hold of dolls and torture them. I didn’t want him getting her. She’s way too pretty and I know how much you love her.”

“He’s mean to my dolls! He’s always taking their heads off and putting their arms where their legs should be and crazy shit like that.”

“Hey,” Tyler frowns, and tugs on the half braided pigtail. “What did I say?”

“No bad language. Especially on Christmas Day. I can’t help it though; sometimes it just slips out. If you didn’t swear so much around us kids…”

“That’s it. Throw me under the bus.”

“You swear A LOT, daddy. Especially in the car. When other people don’t drive fast enough or use their blinkers. If mummy knew exactly how much you DO swear around us, she’d be mad. REALLY mad.”

“Your mum has a worse mouth than I do.”

“As if!” Addie scoffs, and he can’t help but smile; easily hearing Esme’s voice and picturing the expression on her face; the corner up her mouth and her nose scrunched up in disgust, eyes slightly narrowed. “Thank you, Tyler!” She curls an arm around her brother’s neck, squeezing as tight as she can. “You’re the best! Thank you for keeping her safe from the Ginger. You’re the best brother EVER! I only trust you with her. And daddy. That’s it. You guys are big and strong and will keep her safe no matter what.”

“What the hell are you wearing?” He addresses his son as the latter moves to the fridge, pausing in the braiding of Addie’s hair to survey TJ’s wardrobe a pair of ill fitting and impossibly baggy jeans, an enormous untucked dress shirt with its sleeves rolled to his elbows, and a loose pink, purple, and grey striped tie.

“Your pants. And one of your shirts.” TJ reaches into the fridge and grabs a carton of chocolate milk and a jug of white. Closing the door with his hip and carrying them to the counter by the sink; pouring a mix of both into a plastic tumblr retrieved from the dish rack and then snagging two straws from the cupboard. “Mum told me to. She said none of my clothes were good enough for Christmas dinner. All my jeans have holes in them and all t-shirts have to do with surfing. We’ve never had to dress up for Christmas dinner before. Why do we have to start now?”

“Your mum’s trying to make things perfect. To avoid drama. With your grandmother.”

“Too late. Grandma brings drama with her. And drops it on everyone else.” He drags a bar stool across the floor and places it in front of his little sister. “Here Ads,” he holds the cup in front of her. “A yellow straw just for you. So you don’t have to share my germs. Let me hold it; so you don’t spill anything on your dress.”

Giving a delighted squeal and a smile of appreciation, she takes a pull from the straw. “I think you look handsome, Tyler. You’re growing up. You’re going to be as big as daddy soon.”

“It’s going to be a while before I’m THAT big. But I’m going to work on it. As soon as I’m allowed, I’m going to lift heavy too and put on ALL kinds of muscle.”

“Then you can go after bad people too. And beat them up and kill them when you have to.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Tyler suggests. “Something tells me mummy might have an issue with that.”

“Why doesn’t mum just tell grandma to get lost?” TJ inquires. “It’s not like they like each other. They never have. They’ve always fought. I remember how they’d get into it at Christmas. When we were still living in Colorado. Grandma would get drunk and she’d pick fights with mum and mum would fight back and cry and then you’d go off on grandma. Is that going to happen this year? ‘Cause it’s been nice and quiet at Christmas. Do we HAVE to listen to grandma's shit?”

“What did I just tell your sister? About the language?”

“She’s five, but she’s right. It IS hard to stop and it does just come out. But do we, dad? Do we really have to put up with her?”

“It’s one night. I think you can manage. If I can grin and bear it, so can you. Suck it up.”

“If she starts in on mum about ANYTHING, I’m going to lose it. That’s my mum. No one talks to my mum like that. I almost taught Jacobi a lesson. For calling mum cute and wanting to ask her out. I’ll teach grandma a lesson too. I’m not afraid of her.”

“If anyone is going to teach her a lesson, it’s going to be me. You stay out of it. Your mum wouldn’t want you getting into it with her. You’re TEN.”

“Doesn’t matter how old I am. That’s MY mum. And no one is going to treat her bad. We’re supposed to protect her, remember? You and I.”

“You’re supposed to be a kid and stay that way as long as you can. I’M supposed to protect your mom. And I think I’ve been pretty damn good at it for the last twelve and a half years. And if your grandma starts? I’ll stop it. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Why does she hate you so much anyway? Is it still the same crap? How she’s pissed because you stole mum away from her family and moved her all the way to Australia? ‘Cause you got her pregnant before you married her?”

Addie scowls. “Who cares? Lots of people have babies and they aren’t married. And so what if mummy didn’t go back home and she stayed with daddy? She’s an adult. She can do what she wants. And she wanted to be with daddy. None of grandma’s business. I’mma tell her that too. If she starts saying mean things about daddy or mummy. I’mma tell her what for.”

“You’re not going to do a thing,” Tyler informs her. “You’re going to leave all the telling off to me, got it?”

“I don’t like her,” Addie says. “She’s not a nice person. She has a mean smile. And her eyes are empty. They don’t sparkle or anything like that. Are you sure that’s mummy’s mummy? Because when mummy smiles, her eyes sparkle. She LOOKS happy. Grandma? She just looks mean.”

“No one likes her,” TJ grumbles. “Best thing we ever did was get away from her. But IS that why, dad? Is that really why she doesn’t like you? Because she still thinks you stole mum and took her all the way to Australia?”

“It’s a few things.”

“I bet it’s the job too. I bet she really has a problem with THAT.”

“Again…” Addie huffs dramatically. “...who cares? So what if daddy kills people? They’re BAD. They deserve it. He helps good people and sometimes when he’s helping them, he has to kill the bad guys. I don’t see a problem with that. If they try and hurt him or kill him, he HAS to kill them first. So he can come home. To us. And mummy. It only makes sense.”

“If Ads can get it, ANYONE can,” TJ says. “She’s only five. What’s grandma? A hundred? If a five year old can get it…”

“Daddy makes the world a better place because he gets rid of the bad people,” Addie continues, as she takes another sip of the drink her brother offers her. “If we had less bad people, everything would be great. There’d be less wars and less people getting hurt and everyone would love one another and be happy. Daddy’s doing a good thing. By sticking up for people. Like you do. At school. You beat up the bullies when you have to. Remember the older kid that tripped me and shoved my face in the mud? Remember him? He’s in grade eight AND you kicked the crap out of me. Because he picked on me.”

“You’re my sister. It’s my job to protect you.”

“And remember that other guy? On the playground by mummy’s store? The one that pulled my hair and told me I was adopted because I’m small and I don’t look like any of you guys. You freaked out on him and made him apologize and scared him away. He’ll cross the street now if he sees you coming.”

“You can’t let bad people get away with doing bad things,” TJ reasons. “If you don’t stop them, they’ll just keep doing bad stuff.”

“Exactly! So it’s a good thing that daddy goes after the bad guys. Grandma needs to learn. And she needs to learn TODAY. You should tell her, Tyler. You should tell her off. You’re not scared of anyone.”

“Not being scared of anyone or anything is not always a good thing,” Tyler informs her. “If you’re not scared, you don’t take a situation or people seriously. That’s when you get hurt. And you know what? No matter how big of a bad ass you think you are? There’s always a bigger one out there somewhere. Believe me. I’ve learned THAT lesson the hard way.”

“The guy who shot you just got a lucky one in,” TJ reasons. “You were already hurt. You weren’t one hundred percent. Some guy had already shot you, hadn’t he? A sniper?”

“What’s a sniper?” Addie inquires. “Is it like Swipper on Dora? Something like him?”

“We don’t need to talk about that,” Tyler says. “You don’t need to know that stuff. Not until you’re older. WAY older.”

“A sniper’s a guy that hides somewhere and shoots you,” TJ replies. “Somewhere where no one sees him. It’s why they’re so dangerous. You don’t even know where they are. They just shoot you. And they kill you before you even know what happened.”

“But daddy didn’t get killed. If a sniper shot daddy, shouldn’t he be dead?”

Combing his hand through her bangs, Tyler tips his daughter’s head back. “What did I just say? About you not needing to know about this stuff?”

“I’m curious now. Tyler said they hide and shoot people and kill them. How come you didn’t die? If a sniper shot you?”

“I guess he didn’t manage to get a good shot in.”

“It was the other guy that almost killed him,” TJ says, and takes a sip of the concoction in his hand. “The one that got him in the neck. That’s when he almost died. Mum saved him.”

“How? How did mummy save daddy? Daddy…” she swivels around in her stool to face him. “...how did mummy save you? Did she shoot the bad guy back?”

“Mum stuck her fingers in his neck,” TJ says. “To stop the bleeding. Or he would have bled to death.”

Addie’s eyes widen. “She DID?”

“When you’re older, MAYBE I’ll tell you more more about it. But for now…” Tyler places his hands on her shoulders and gently turns her back around. “...you don’t need to know this stuff. And you…” he stares pointedly at his son. “...don’t talk about this around her. She doesn’t need to know about this. She’s a baby still.”

“I’m not a baby!” Addie objects. “I’m five! I can almost ride my bike without training wheels. Babies can’t do that.”

“Just don’t, alright?” He addresses TJ. “Don’t talk about this stuff around her. Because she’s going to repeat all of this and she’s going to repeat it to your mum and that won’t end well. For you OR me.”

“It happened though. I mean, it’s part of how you guys met and got together and ended up getting married and stuff. It’s your history. I don’t see why…”

“I said ENOUGH. No more. Not around her. Got it?” He’s on edge; the mere mention of Dhaka and the incidents on the bridge playing straight into the anxiety and the panic he’d felt the night before; when he’d woken up from the nightmare and been on the verge of losing control and had turned to the fentanyl for relief. And it scares him; how easy it had been to not only access the powerful med, but actually take it. He’d encountered no resistance or hesitation; remorse and guilt not setting in until the following morning when he’d woken up and it had been the first thing on his mind. It’s alarming how quick things can return; an addict’s mind and behaviour.

Nodding, TJ holds his hands up in surrender.

“You’re both going to be nice tonight,” he says, and finishes Addie’s final braid. “To grandma. Because your mum is already stressed out enough and we don’t need to make it worse for her. So if the best you can do is smile and nod, just do that. I’m not asking you to kiss her ass. I’m just asking you to be civil. Can you handle that?”

TJ nods.

“You?” He tugs on one of Addie’s pigtails. “Can you do that? Be civil?”

“Do I have to be near her? Or sit on her lap? ‘Cause I draw the line there.”

“You don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. Just don’t be a little asshole, alright?”

“Me? I’m Mary Freaking Sunshine, remember? That’s what Grandpa Koen calls me.”

“Well then live up to it and be nice to your grandmother. Smile until your face hurts, got it?”

“What do I get out of it?”

He smirks.

“Mummy says to always negotiate. Never settle for the first offer. Can I sleep in the big bed tonight? For being nice to grandma?”

“No.” Wrapping an arm around her waist, he lifts her off the stool; pressing a kiss to her cheek before setting her on the ground.

She turns to face him. Head cocked to the side and one hand clutching her doll, the other planted firmly on her hip. “Can I have ice cream for my bedtime snack?”

"Maybe."

“Maybe isn’t good enough.”

“You ARE just like your mom, aren’t you.”

“I’ll be nice if I can have ice cream for my bedtime snack and you snuggle with me and draw on my back for half an hour. And that’s after FOUR stories.”

“You're bossy, you know that? Two stories.”

“Three. That’s as low as I’ll go.”

“I will give you two stories, ice cream for your snack, and forty five minutes of snuggling and drawing on your back. Instead of half an hour. We got a deal?”

Her eyes narrow as she considers it; nibbling on her bottom lip and swishing her hips back and forth. “You’re good at this.”

“This isn’t my first rodeo, Peanut. I’ve dealt with tougher than you. What do you say?” He offers a hand. “Deal?”

“Deal!” she agrees, his hand easily swallowing hers as they shake on it.

Grinning, he runs a hand over the top of her head and then drops a kiss on her hair. “You really DO have a lot of your mum in you.”

“Great things come in small packages,” Addie reasons, standing on her tiptoes as he leans down and pecks her lips. “Thank you, daddy!” she chirps. “My hair looks beautiful. You always do it perfect.”

“Pretty hard not to when my subject is so cute. Good thing I married your mum, huh? So I could have a kid as cute as you?”

“You really are a lucky man!” she declares and then cheerfully skips out of the room.

“I hope grandma is on her best behaviour,” TJ says, as he finishes the drink in his hand and then slides off the stool and returns it to its place at the island. “Because if she DOES start on mum, it’s going to be a wild night. I really hope she watches her step.”

“My too, kiddo,” Tyler sighs, and reaches out to tousle his son’s hair. “Me too.”

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction

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meltwonu · 4 years

Text

s n a k e | e y e s [chapter 2]

pairing; snakehybrid!woozi x female!reader

this chapter’s notes; seokmin is a quokka hybrid in this and i know and if you dont know, quokkas actually spit out their food and eat it again but for the sake of seokmin not being gross in this, he doesn’t do that ok kjdhfks and also for those who dont know snakes smell by using their tongue so…. Very mild touching in this one( masturbation at the end hehe oops)!! I’ve also kinda changed some stuff around, not a big deal, but made it so it’d make more sense in this au!! hehe thank u for taking interest in snakehybrid!woozi 🥺💕

chapters; 1 - 2 - x - x - x

It’s a warm Sunday morning when Jihoon lugs his keyboard out into the sunroom. Mingyu’s already waiting there with the new hybrid at the adoption home, Seokmin. The smiley quokka-hybrid sleeps in the bedroom next to the snake hybrid and has a saccharine voice much like Jihoon himself. And despite Jihoon’s timid nature, he quite likes the company of the two younger hybrids.

“Hey Jihoon-hyung over here!”

There’s a clang when the keyboard accidentally taps the door frame to the sunroom and Jihoon has to pause to check for any scratches on the gift Seungcheol gave him.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, hold on. I need to plug it in.”

Jihoon shrugs off his jacket, tossing it into a corner while he goes to set up the keyboard by the other two lounging in the sun.

“I was wondering if we could try working on that song from last time, hyung?” Seokmin’s head tilts cutely to the side as he makes space for Jihoon on the floor. “Um, sure. I can try to remember how to play it.” Seokmin and Jihoon work together to craft a song while Mingyu watches in awe, scrambling to find the camera Seungcheol gave him so that he can snap some pictures of the two.

The three hybrids lounge in the sunroom for a few hours, basking in the warmth as they sing together, urging Mingyu to take part in it as well.

“You have a great singing voice, Mingyu! You should show it off sometimes too!!” The husky hybrid blushes, tail wagging furiously behind him. “Oh my god, shut up you’re embarrassing me!” Jihoon snickers as Seokmin and Mingyu really get into it, his fingers dancing delicately over the keys.

“Alright, time for lunch!”

The sudden voice breaks them out of their little tussle; eyes traveling to the figure standing in the doorway with a cart filled with food. “Seungcheol-hyung brought food!!” By nature, it’s Mingyu who gets up first, barreling into Seungcheol. He sheepishly apologizes, helping Seungcheol distribute the food between the three hybrids.

“Okay, I want you guys to enjoy your lunch because we have a special visitor afterwards! She’s actually a friend of mine and she’s kind of been wanting to adopt a hybrid so I asked her to come by. I know it’s really last minute but I figured she’d just come meet you guys. How’s that sound?”

“Yay, new people!” Seokmin replies cheerily with a mouth full of salad. Mingyu nods, he liked meeting new people, especially if they were friends of Seungcheol. Jihoon on the other hand feels his appetite leave him almost immediately. He hated it when people came to tour the adoption home. He knew the three of them weren’t the only occupants of Seungcheol’s adoption home but he still disliked the inevitable stares and questions he got.

“Um, yeah, that’d be...great.”

Jihoon tries to finish his food for the sake of not being hungry later but he can barely get it all down before Jeonghan pops his head into the room. “Hey ‘Cheol, your friend is here.” The two leave together, leaving the three hybrids alone once again.

“Hey, do you think hyung’s friend is gonna adopt anyone?” Seokmin stretches out onto the floor by the piano, Mingyu in tow. “Dunno, but hyung said that she was looking to adopt so maybe?” The two delve into mindless chatter as Jihoon sits alone with his thoughts. He was thankful most of the time that they didn’t have many visitors because all it brought him was unneeded stress.

There’s a knock on the door, Mingyu yelling “come in!” from his place on the floor before a female laugh can be heard, Seungcheol’s voice accompanying it.

“And these are the three muskateers. Come say hi, everyone!” They all get up from their positions, each of them introducing themselves to you as Jihoon lags behind. “This shy one is Jihoon, he’s a snake hybrid.” Jihoon’s lips press into a firm line as he stares off to the side; mildly uninterested and a little bit anxious.

“Oh, interesting, a snake hybrid!”

Jihoon mentally grimaces. Usually when people came hoping to adopt, there were two typical reactions they had towards him. The first one was confusion; mainly because Jihoon didn’t have any physical features that a snake hybrid normally had. The second one was usually fascination with him being a snake hybrid. Jihoon almost preferred the former because it usually meant he’d stay at the adoption home and wouldn’t have to do or change anything. The latter typically meant he’d potentially get adopted and whoever his owner was would find out he was too much maintenance for a hybrid that didn’t even look like one.

“If you don’t mind, do you think we can have a little chat together?” Your voice breaks him out of his thoughts as he finally looks you in the eye for the first time since you’d walked in. He’s hesitant, shooting Seungcheol a quick glance. “Um, Jihoon’s a little shy…”

“Oh, that’s okay then! I completely unders---”

“It’s fine. We can… talk.”

Jihoon’s palms feel clammy and his throat feels dry when Seungcheol escorts the other two hybrids out of the sunroom so that you can talk to him properly. The air feels awkward and somewhat tense when he turns his back towards you; settling down in front of the keyboard still placed on the floor.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to come off as harsh but what do you want? I’m sure Seungcheol told you about me or my history so...” You twiddle your thumbs, walking over to the windowsill to lean up against it as you watch him run his fingers along the keys.

“What do you mean?”

“You probably have a ton of questions right? Why don’t I have any hybrid features? Why do I look like a normal human? Do I have any weird appendages? How many times people have returned me here?” The room is quiet; only the sounds of the birds outside chirping filling in the awkward air.

“Not really. I didn’t come here looking to adopt a hybrid for the sake of their appearance or their rarity, I guess. I just… I don’t know, I guess I wanted a companion. I work at home a lot since I’m a writer and it gets lonely. Thought someone could keep me company. Or maybe someone wanted company.” Jihoon lets your words sink in, his fingers trembling as he presses down on a random key.

“Oh.”

A few days passed since meeting Jihoon and he had carefully agreed to you adopting him. The two of you had talked a little bit longer; Jihoon feeling more at ease with you than most of the people he’d met in the past. Seokmin had been sad that his new friend was leaving and Mingyu had been wary about the entire thing. But Jihoon had soothed them both; telling them that they’d probably see him soon anyway.

Seungcheol drives him to your apartment, Jihoon’s things in boxes in the trunk as he sits nervously in the front seat.

“Jihoon, I know you’re… this is a lot. It’s okay to feel anxious and nervous and.. I mean with everything in the past, I--”

“I know. You don’t have to feel sorry for me. It feels bad. Just… don’t be surprised when you see me back at the adoption place in like a week, okay?” He chuckles sadly, eyes focused on the scenery outside the window. Seungcheol sighs, hands gripping the wheel.

There’s three knocks on the door before you’re rushing to open it, vacuum still buzzing in the background as you all but rip the door open.

“Hey!” You shoot both the males a smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Sorry I was in the middle of cleaning but come in!” You give them space to enter, Jihoon toeing off his shoes and setting them by yours at the entrance as he balances his prized keyboard in his arms. Seungcheol sets one of the boxes of Jihoon’s things down on the dinner table, wiping the sweat off his brow.

“Sadly the elevator was broken so we had to take the stairs. Who would’ve thought carrying one box of things up the stairs would be the death of me. Can I have some water?” Jihoon snorts, taking in the features of his new home as he sets the keyboard down by the sofa.

“‘Cheol, you’ve got the stamina of a 90 year old man.”

“Hey, it’s not easy being old okay!” You pass him a glass of water, trapezing around the vacuum cord to turn it off. “I wanted to be done cleaning up before you got here, Jihoon. Sorry, I’m a little slow, I’m used to it just being me here and just living in my filth I guess.” He shrugs, “S’okay, Mingyu usually leaves a mess around the place anyway. Guess you can say I’m used to living in filth.” Seungcheol sputters, wiping the water off of his chin. You can’t help but laugh, patting Seungcheol on the shoulder as you gesture Jihoon further into your place.

“Let me show you around!”

Seungcheol decides to get more of Jihoon’s stuff out of his car as Jihoon walks behind you cautiously down the hallway, only stopping when you get to the door at the end of the hall. “Um, This place has three bedrooms and mine is on the opposite side but I wasn’t sure if you’d want the room that was next to mine or if you wanted space? I’m using the other room as a workspace right now, so you can put your stuff in here for now while you get used to the place… And then if you change your mind, we can switch some stuff around!” Giving him a small smile, you tug the door open, letting him enter first and for once, Jihoon is shocked. The room is much larger than any room he’s ever had and he takes notice of all the fancy heaters and humidifiers already placed around the room.

“Wow…”

“Sorry, is it, like, too much? ‘Cheol said you had some heaters and stuff in your old room but I thought I’d get you some new ones… Kind of like a housewarming gift?”

“This is… nice. It’s, um, very kind of you.” He can feel a soft blush wash over his skin as he tugs his sleeves down over his hands. “I… like it a lot. Thank you.”

When Seungcheol finally leaves after bringing up all of Jihoon’s things, it’s finally time for the two of you to settle in.

Jihoon’s safety net is gone and the reality of being in a new space has his anxiety spiking back up tenfold. “Hey, Jihoon?”

“Huh?”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you or anything but I thought we’d order out for dinner if that’s okay? I’d usually cook but I think we’ve both had a long day. What do you think?”

“O-okay…” You can basically feel the nervousness radiating off of him as he awkwardly stands in the middle of the living room. “Jihoon, do you want to, um, I mean, you don’t have to stay out here if you don’t want to? You’re free to roam around if you’d like.” He shuffles closer to the sofa, biting his lip as he stares out the window.

“It’s… okay, I should m-maybe, um, spend some time with you? If that’s okay?” By now, his past owners would send him off to his shoebox of a room, only calling him out when it was necessary. Usually, he’d immediately plug in his keyboard by now, tuning out everything until he was just focused on composing something until he was needed.

Instead, he inches closer to the sofa, sitting down on the plush material as you put the last bit of cleaning supplies away and plop down onto the other side. “Hey, Jihoon? Can I be honest with you for a second?” He turns to you, nodding curiously. “I’m gonna be real, I did some research on snake hybrids but I couldn’t find much… I’m kind of inexperienced with the whole hybrid thing and even more uneducated when it comes to snake hybrids so… is there anything I should know? Like, snakes smell with their tongue, right? So, is it the same for you? Sorry if that’s offensive or something!” You watch the blonde haired male lick his lips, his leg bouncing slightly.

“Um, technically that’s correct. But snake hybrids still can use their human noses, it’s just… more intense when we use our tongues. Uh…” A blush settles on his cheeks, his mind no doubt going in a different direction than he intended. “Just, yeah, m-more intense, that’s all. Some foods might be more off-putting for us because of that. And, to be fair, I don’t… have many features that most snake hybrids have anyway. It’s just my surroundings and I guess some of my mannerisms? I basically exist normally other than that.”

You nod appreciatively; glad that Jihoon was willing to open up to you, even if it was only a little at a time. It would take a lot of getting used to on your part and his, but he seemed okay for now, albeit still timid. “I just want you to know that even though I adopted you as a hybrid, I don’t want you to think that I think less of you. I think of us as equals!” You turn to him smiling; ecstatic when he turns to face you as well.

“You have the freedom to do whatever you want here as long as it’s not destroying stuff, I guess. And if you need anything, you’re more than welcome to ask me! I’m home a lot since I’m a writer but I do have to pop into my editor’s office every now and then. But if you want to go out and eat or… um, I dunno, maybe go for a walk in the park? I’m always down to go!” Now it’s your turn to blush as he watches you, his fingers interlocked in his lap as he sits there quietly processing what you’ve said.

“I… thank you, you’re a lot kinder than any of my previous owners.”

Jihoon is on cloud nine when you tell him that he can pick what dinner he wants to have, eyes scanning over all the options on the food delivery app on your phone.

“I mean, as long as you don’t run up a $100 bill on food, you can pick whatever you want!” He chuckles quietly, clicking on various items and adding it to the cart. “Thank you for letting me pick dinner.”

“Yeah, it’s no problem! It’s your first night here, I want you to feel comfortable. This also reminds me that I need to get you a phone, just in case and also so you don’t get bored.”

The pretty flush doesn’t leave Jihoon’s face the rest of the night, even as the two of you sit at the dinner table eating the fried chicken and soda combination Jihoon picked out. The cute snake hybrid apparently had an obsession with the sweet drink, downing cups of it as you took mental notes to buy some for him later. And for the first time, you see him genuinely smile as he eats, cute lips curving up as he polishes off the rest of the food.

A crumb sits at the corner of his lips, and by instinct you lean over, thumb already next to his mouth before you can even stop yourself. There’s a pause, Jihoon’s eyes wide as you swipe at the crumb, ready to settle back into your seat when Jihoon’s hand comes up, wrapping around your wrist and holding you there.

“I, oops, I should’ve just told you there was a crumb! Sorry!”

You laugh awkwardly, hoping he doesn’t accidentally snap your wrist because you just invaded his personal space. Instead, you watch as he brings your hand closer to his mouth, pink tongue peeking out as he swipes at your thumb. You try to not question it, convincing yourself it might just be a snake thing, so you let him do whatever it is he’s doing as he begins to nose at your palm. It feels ticklish; your hand wanting to close at the feeling, but you can’t deny the way your body heats up on instinct, the innocent gesture riling up your thoughts about the snake hybrid for some reason. There was no denying how handsome he was; blonde hair falling into his sharp eyes and a lean but slightly muscular form.

Trying to shake off your thoughts, your eyes flit to the hand currently wrapped around your wrist and you can’t help but admire how delicate and pretty his hands were. Again, your mind conjures up situations that you probably shouldn’t be thinking about right now and you really hope Jihoon can’t tell.

When he decides he’s done, he lets go of your wrist, quietly taking a sip of his drink before setting it down on the tabletop again. “Um, sorry. I don’t… I just wanted to, um, s-smell you? I guess, um, snake thing, probably. Just wanted to get to know my, uh, owner.” You nod at his explanation, settling back into your seat as you try to push out all the inappropriate thoughts you just had.

“You’re very warm.”

That night when you split off for bed, you wish him a good night's rest; making sure the snake hybrid has everything he needs before you make a beeline for your bedroom, hastily locking the door behind you as you get ready for bed. There really was no denying how attractive Jihoon was, but damn, he had literally just moved in today and your mind and heart were already racing. You try to think of everything but Jihoon when you slip under your covers for bed and hope that you can get a good night’s rest yourself.

But you feel bad. Really really bad. You’re almost certain satan has a special seat in hell for people like you.

But you can’t help the way your hands roam all over your body as you lay under the bed sheets, fingers deep inside your pussy as you imagine them to be Jihoon’s instead. It was questionably an innocent gesture earlier, but your mind can’t help but conjure images of his tongue all over your skin and his delicate fingers fucking you nice and hard. The contrast of his colder skin on your warm skin has your toes curling imagining him playing with your nipples and wrapped around your throat. Damn, you think, I really need to get laid soon or this’ll get bad.

You’re almost certain your lip is bleeding from how hard you’re trying to keep your moans in when you cum around your fingers; the image of a particular snake hybrid dancing behind your eyelids even when the bliss starts to ebb away.

Muttering curses underneath your breath, you get up, wiping your wet fingers onto your shirt as you tug it off and throw it into the hamper, sliding off your wet panties and chucking them in as well. Sighing, you really hope Jihoon’s sense of smell isn’t as strong as other hybrids as you step into your closet to get a change of clothes.

Realization hits you like a brick when the back of your head slams against the pillow once you lay back down.

This was going to be harder than you expected.

#woozi smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #svt scenarios #snakehybrid!woozi #woozi scenarios #woozi imagines

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preciousthingsareprecious · 3 years

Text

Finding Us Chapter 21

Alright! Here I am at last with another Tim chapter! I hope you guys enjoy it.

AO3 Link

Tim couldn’t deny the excitement bubbling up in his chest at the idea of progress in the stalker case. It fueled his desire to keep moving in other directions, while he waited on Damian to finish his sketch he dove back into work on the Alkali case.

Currently, he was trying once again not to backseat hack as Barbara was finally digging through the Alkali’s files. After their trip to the physical location, Babs had used the access gained through Stephanie to create her own back door and they’d sat on that for a little while to make sure no one found it.

It was early the morning after Damian’s encounter with the creepy man and Tim was in the belfry standing over Barbara’s shoulder because there was nothing to currently do on the stalker case. Tim hadn’t recognized Damian’s sketch of the guy he’d seen, and so they were waiting on facial recognition to grab his identity. The kid’s sketch was definitely good enough for the system to pick something up, they just had to wait.

“Have you found anything interesting yet?” he asked, trying not to bounce on his toes.

“Lots. Nothing we’re looking for. Though, there is a guy here who’s last name is Bandersnatch, which is pretty cool.”

She was teasing, but Tim could also hear the note of warning in her voice. When she found what they were looking for she’d tell him, and he shouldn’t keep pushing. He sighed, and turned to step across the room, over to a mini fridge installed for snacks.

“Want a soda?” he called.

She shook her head, “It’s too early for that, toss me a tea.” she answered.

He grabbed a bottle of tea out for Babs and a can of orange soda for himself and moved back over to the computer.

“Thanks for helping on this.” he said, handing her the tea, then cracking open his soda.

“Of course, the sooner we get these guys the better.”

Tim agreed, and sipped at his soda while he played a matching game on his phone in an attempt to both distract and stop himself from tossing advice Barbara’s way. He got stuck on a particularly difficult level and found himself totally lost in it for a while, trying again and again to win. It made the waiting a lot easier, even if he also kind of wanted to toss his phone out the window and watch it crash at the bottom of the building.

“Got something.” Babs said at last.

Tim looked up bleary eyed, blinking away red diamonds and orange squares. It took his brain a moment to register what she’d said before he stood up, the chair shaking.

“Great!” he hurried over to look at the screen again, “What’d you find?”

“Well, under the private files I found some that were locked with a password, after cracking that I found these.”

The file she’d opened was filled with unreadable text.

“It’s encrypted?” Tim asked.

“I think it’s some kind of cypher. See it follows a sort of pattern. Nothing too overt or easy like a caesar cipher. It’s got to have a key.”

Tim hummed, she was right, the text was filled with letters and numbers and broken up in a way that looked like lines of real text, if they’d been in any kind of legible order.

“Well then we’d better get to cracking it.”

They worked for a couple hours trying to figure out what cypher had been used, and testing various codes to no avail. Eventually they decided to give it some time to breathe, and their brains time to think of new ideas. Babs forwarded him the files so he could keep looking over them later and Tim left her to work on other projects.

As he was leaving, he found Cassandra waiting for him down at the base of the Belfry. She was eating a cinnamon roll like it was a doughnut.

“Hey.” she said, handing him a cup of coffee, and shaking her wrist and the plastic bag hanging off it.

Tim took the offered cup, then tugged the bag off her free hand checking inside. A second cinnamon roll sat tucked into a nest of napkins. He fished it out, careful not to spill his drink then copied Cass, taking a huge bite out of the side.

It was still warm, and the taste of cinnamon and sugar danced across his tongue in a way that made him think of home. Of early Saturday mornings with Alfred, stirring together a bowl of butter, sugar, and cinnamon so the man could carefully spread it across dough. Or of Bruce dropping off a few in his room, ruffling his hair, and telling him he should probably finish his homework before working on another case.

“Ready to head back?” she asked.

He washed down the bite of bread with some coffee and nodded, “Yeah, I think Babs and I have done all we can. How’re things back at the manor?”

Cass shrugged, “Everyone is still waiting on the results of the search, so they all split up to work on other things.”

They moved to the car Cass had brought to pick him up in, it was one of Bruce's many cars, black and not too fancy. Tim held a hand out for the keys and after an eye roll Cass dropped them in his palm.

“I drove here.” she argued.

“You drive too fast for me and my coffee.” he replied.

“Fair.” she shrugged.

As Tim pulled away from the clocktower, still munching on his cinnamon roll Cass pipped back up.

“Can we stop at the craft store?”

He glanced at her, “Sure, but why?”

“Damian wanted some more colored pencils. He sent a list and asked me to stop if I had time.” She tugged a crumpled piece of paper out of her pocket and opened it to show him.

A detailed list of colors, brands, and what not to buy’s filled the page in Damian’s neat, tight, handwriting. Tim was surprised to find a little picture of a dog at the bottom of the page, it wasn’t as detailed as Damian usually did, and smiling for some reason.

“He drew it as a thank you, and promised to make me a better one with the pencils.” Cass said, catching where Tim’s eye had fallen, then she added, “Eyes on the road.”

Tim flicked the turn signal on the car to indicate he needed to go left, towards the craft store Damian frequented, “Why didn’t he come if he wanted to restock?”

Cass shrugged again, and folded the paper instead of crumpling it back up. She set it in her lap, fingers tapping on the paper with gentle tip taps.

Damian rarely missed a chance to get his own art supplies. He was as picky about them as Tim was over film or lenses for his cameras. Sure it was just a few replacement pencils, but even those Tim knew Damian would linger over for an hour if he was left to it. He wondered briefly if his mild concussion had anything to do with staying home. Maybe Alfred had told him he couldn’t leave? But no, it had been days at this point, he was probably cleared at last for most activities.

Maybe it was because he knew Cass was headed to pick up Tim.

He tried not to think too hard on that thought. They hadn’t really talked much lately. Both had been busy with their own things, and besides that, they didn’t really talk a lot to begin with. He’d thought they were doing better, but at the same time Tim knew they weren’t.

Tim reached out to snatch his coffee and take a sip from it. Now that he thought about it, maybe they were doing better after all. Damian had called him by his first name the night before. And he’d gone looking for clues as to Tim’s stalker. A queasy feeling bubbled up in Tim’s stomach. He’d been quick to dismiss Damian’s attempted apology back when they’d been at the mall, and now he was starting to wonder if he'd been really trying to mend that bridge. T im loved the idea of having a little brother, and way back when he'd first met Damian he'd been happy to have one, for all of two seconds. Still, sometimes he thought they had found that perfect spot of being siblings, and other times it felt like there was a gaping hole between them. Especially lately.

He pulled into the store’s parking lot not even realizing they’d made it there, his body on autopilot. Cass cheered as she climbed out of the car, and Tim stayed quiet.

When he looked up at the storefront he figured it out.

He might be jealous. Of the squirt.

Maybe it wasn't their past that was bothering him so much lately, but their present. Tim thought he'd shaken off those feelings in regards to Jason and Damian, but maybe he hadn't. Even in the wake of the family’s eyes turning on him Tim still couldn’t stop thinking about how Damian seemed to draw everyone in all the time. Dick, then Jason, Bruce with his fretting after they’d gotten hurt. It was--it was like he fit in a way Tim couldn’t quite imagine himself fitting again. Like they were both the same piece, and there was only one spot left on the puzzle, and Damian had swooped in just in time to fill it. Even now, he felt odd about the attention. Like the moment everything was done his family would stop looking at him again. Stop seeing Tim, because he’d messed up. He’d failed to be the one to fix everything and he no longer deserved to be seen.

“Tim?”

“Coming!” he said, locking the car door.

Inside he was hit with the smell of paint and paper. The whole place was a kaleidoscope of colors and supplies crammed together in a space that should have felt cluttered, but instead actually seemed homely. He followed Cass to the pencils and held each as she selected them, reading Damian’s list carefully, then making Tim double check “ just in case” .

He thought they’d be in and out, but once they’d found Damian’s stuff Cass insisted on browsing. Tim followed her, feeling a bit like Titus pattering after Damian as he instructed the dog on something very un-dog-like and soon his arms were full.

Cass had added extra packs of less high quality colored pencils, crayons, thin markers --not thick, because apparently those didn’t trace well-- and made him pick out a coloring book. She selected one full of animals, and Tim picked one that was more abstract. Like black and white stained glass. He and Cass locked eyes on an adult swear word coloring book and both grinned.

“For Jason?” Tim asked.

“And one for Dick.” Cass grinned.

Soon they’d selected adult coloring books for the whole family. Some simply because they knew they’d get a laugh out of them, and others from the knowledge of the recipient getting genuine delight from it.

By the time they left, Tim was feeling better. His day brightened even more when Cass hooked an arm through his at home, and dragged him into the living room.

“We are going to color and watch She-Ra.” she declared.

He could have argued and said he had work to do. But he knew Cass would tell him a break was good. And wasn’t that what he’d just told Babs? He could have fallen into other cases or dug out his 3Ds to play some Animal Crossing. But the best idea in the whole world right then was sitting on the floor and coloring with his sister, and he wasn’t going to pass it up.

He filled in two whole pages, first lined with marker --Cass had been right about the thin ones-- then colored in as dark as he could with his own box of colored pencils. At some point the sounds of She-Ra had been turned down as he and Cass chatted about everything.

She told stories of an adventure with Steph. He talked about Mindbender and how weird it was to have Jason in the house again. Then about how cool it was to have Jason in the house. Cass told him about a ballet she’d seen. All of it, whether it was little nothings or big changes, ebbed and flowed to the scritch scritch of pencil on paper, and legs folded up or kicked into the air.

At some point, Alfred brought in cocoa and water. Then sandwiches. Dick breezed through and gasped over his book, stopping to color in all of an F before getting bored and breezing back out. Jason cackled over his book, and then genuinely thanked them for thinking of him. Damian collected his pencils, didn’t complain about a single one, and stared at his own book of animals to color like it was made of gold before tucking it under an arm and scurrying away.

Bruce stayed the longest, lounging on a couch to add his own commentary between theirs, infrequent, but enough to say “I’m here, I’m listening, I love you.” before he too was called away. He planted a kiss on each of their heads before leaving.

It was Stephanie who broke up the peace. Showing up like a tornado, and stirring them from settled spaces into laughter. They traded pencils for controllers and fired up Smash Brothers for a wholly different, but still perfect, adventure.

There, surrounded in waves by his family Tim wondered if he’d been wrong earlier. If maybe the puzzle had room for all of them. And every time someone new came in, it just expanded and made room for them. He certainly felt like he fit in, and it was really nice.

#finding us #tim drake #cassandra cain #barbara gordon #other batfam are scattered in this one #fanfiction #precious posts #chapter 21 #I am flabbergasted every time I see how many chapters this fic has #it's so many #past me wrote a lot

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ikeromantic · 4 years

Text

Curiosity

Mitsuhide finally gets his answers and it’s more than he bargained for!

@yukina-otome who’s comment inspired this continuation of the scene from

Mitsuhide and the Mystery (of a Woman’s Purse)

Mitsuhide Akechi main route start of Chapter 5, fluff, around 1500 words. This ended up longer than I intended but it was a lot of fun to write.

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Mitsuhide and the Mystery of a Woman’s Purse

Mitsuhide felt ashamed of himself. The little mouse had bested him at his own game, and worse, seen right through his carefully crafted mask. Despite her flushed cheeks and galloping heartbeat, she’d told him she wanted nothing from him. That she would answer all his questions without any persuasion.

The hollow victory was deflating, but at least he would have the answers he sought. And her cooperation. That was the most important thing. His little mouse would be safe, and Mitsuhide would be able to continue his carefully laid plans without her interference.

They sat across from each other. Teacups steamed in front of them, lending a sense of comfort to the uncomfortable conversation. The items from her strange bag were laid out across the desk. His little one looked at him intently. “Please understand that everything I’m about to tell you is true.”

And then she launched into the most ridiculous, convoluted fable Mitsuhide ever heard. It was like nothing he’d ever heard. Worm holes in the sky. A world where buildings and lights blotted out the stars. Where metal carts rolled horseless through smoothly paved streets . . . But she seemed to mean every word. He contemplated the objects between them, wondering where they fit in her narrative.

“You still haven’t explained these -” Mitsuhide gestured to the desk.

The chatelaine yawned. “Oh, I forgot. So that -” she pointed at the strange sack, “is a purse. Women in my time carry their personal things in it.”

“What is it made of?”

“A poly-blend.”

Mitsuhide looked at her blankly.

“Ah, like plastic? You don’t have it yet but -” she struggled for the best way to explain it. “It’s cheaper than wood or leather, and keeps water out. In the future, we use it for a lot of things. Probably too many things. My purse is a blend of plastic fibers and cloth - that’s why it keeps its shape.”

Mitsuhide picked up the bag and squeezed it experimentally. “And it keeps what is in it dry?”

“Yes . . .”

The warlord set her purse down and picked up the smartphone. “And this dark mirror? What is it for?”

“It’s for -” she paused, chewing at her lip thoughtfully - “for talking to people far away and looking at pictures and playing music. It does a lot, actually.”

Mitsuhide held the plain rectangle to his ear and listened. He shut his eyes, trying to focus but he heard nothing in it.

“That’s not how it works,” his little mouse giggled.

He set the thing down, blushing. “Then show me.”

“Like this.” She squeezed the side of it whispering, “Please be charged. Please be charged. Come on.”

The mirror lit up with an array of colors and then glowed a steady blue. She slid her fingers across it in patterns, and the colors changed, resolving to a picture of her with two fingers up, the ocean behind her.

“It is magic,” Mitsuhide whispered. Kyubei had been right to suspect. Here was proof.

“No,” she laughed again, “It’s a smartphone. All I did was turn it on, but there’s not much battery left.” She handed it to him carefully.

The warlord looked closely at the image. It was a near perfect replica of his little one. “So this was painted on your . . . smartphone? Who painted you?”

“It isn’t a painting, it’s - let me show you.” She scooted around to his side of the desk and put her cheek against his. “Smile!”

Mitsuhide did not smile. The clicking sound surprised him and he would have dropped the device if the chatelaine had not also held onto it. She touched the front of it a few more times, and then he saw himself. And her. Just as they were a moment ago.

“This is . . . amazing. You said it talks to people as well? Far away?”

She nodded. “Yes but, well, there’s no one else around with one for me to call. So I can’t show you that. But I can play you some music from my time!”

Mitsuhide gave a nod of assent. He was curious what music would sound like in 500 years’ time, though it would have been more interesting to see how the communication with it worked. He could think of a lot of uses for a magic that was faster than horses or boats.

His little mouse tapped away at the thing again, and more colors shifted. Then a strange, discordant sound began. The beat was fast, and the singers’ voices were high pitched and cheery, yet he couldn’t pick out the instruments in the melody, or identify many of the words they sang. “What - what is this called?”

“It’s a pop song. Very popular right - well, 500 years from right now.”

Mitsuhide listened to it until the song came to an end. He couldn’t decide how he felt about it. He considered himself well versed in music and poetry, but this was outside his knowledge completely. “How is it played?”

“Ummm, probably a keyboard, a guitar . . . I’m not very good with music. I just like listening to it.” She slid her fingers along the glass again. “I should probably turn this off. The battery is almost dead.”

“It is broken?”

“No, it just needs to be charged. I can’t really do that though.” She squeezed the sides of the smartphone again, and it went dark.

Mitsuhide picked up the thin rope with metal ends. “Then let’s move on. What is this? Is it some kind of weapon women in your time carry?” He held it up to show how he thought it could be wrapped around a throat and felt very clever about figuring it out. At least, he felt clever until his little mouse laughed again.

“No, oh - most women - we don’t carry weapons. That’s my - my charger cable.” She got the words out between giggles.

“For the, ah, the smartphone?”

She took the rope from him and showed him how one end fit into it. “The other plugs in, but there aren’t plugs I can use here.” She shrugged and set it down. She picked up the other small case from the purse, one that looked like leather but wasn’t. “And before you ask, this is my wallet. These are bank cards - they have money, in the future. Or they would if I had a good job. And this is my ID.” She held up a shiny rectangle with writing on it, and her image painted to one side. Another excellent likeness.

“Not a painting either. A photograph.” Mitsuhide took it from her, still in wonder over how the images were made.

“Yes, exactly.” She beamed.

It was awkward to be the student, Mitushide reflected. Yet he was getting the answers he asked for, even if they were so far beyond his expectations as to be fantasy.

“And this - this is my makeup kit.” She popped open a slim container. In it were a variety of powders in several colors.

This was something Mitsuhide recognized, though the case was odd. “Ah, for a stage performer or an entertainer.” His eyebrows went up, considering his little mouse working as such.

She must have seen his thoughts on his face because she flushed pink to the tips of her ears. “No, no, no. Most girls in my time wear make up. Not like that - not like . . . anyway -” she set the case down and reached for the painted scroll.

“Ah, now this object. This gave me many questions. Some of which you answered in your story. But why are all these men . . . hot? Is it summer painting - ah, photographs?”

If she was pink before now she went crimson. “Y-yes! Summer! Hot summer!” She rolled the scroll up and shoved it into her purse. “There are lots of umm, scrolls like this. We call them magazines. They have pictures and stories. This one . . . it’s a tourist guide. About the warlords from this era.”

“And I am in it.”

“Mhmmm.” His little mouse looked like she would rather talk about anything else. Curious.

“And it is about me, in the summer?” Mitsuhide raised an eyebrow. Something was not adding up in her explanation. “The . . . guide . . . didn’t mention summer. It did mention my ‘silver white hair and golden eyes’. And the term heartbreaker?”

“D-did it?”

“Yes. Along with the physical attributes of the other Oda warlords.”

She was still sitting on his side of the desk, and now she inched away from him with every word.

Mitushide gently took the purse from her and opened up the magazine. The first page was about his lord. He held it up and read the first line. “Nobunaga is a hottie? Do explain, little mouse.”

She actually squeaked. “It - it means attractive. Good looking.” The chatelaine wouldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s about all - all the most attractive . . . historical . . .”

Mitsuhide leaned forward and tipped her chin up with a finger. “And I am one of them?”

“Yes?”

“You consider me a . . . hottie?”

His little mouse scurried over to the other side of the desk, not afraid but - embarrassed? Yes, that was definitely it.

She stared down at the other items still on the desk. “You shouldn’t ask a girl things like that. Now . . . what else are you curious about?”

Many things, the kitsune thought, but he kept them to himself for now.

Next: One Kind of Temptation

#ikesen mitsuhide #ikemen sengoku #otome guys #otome #mitsuhide akechi #fanfic #fanfiction

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 4 years

Text

Won’t You Stay (Part 6)

Summary: After a fun first date, the reader and Jensen make plans to go out again. By the end of the day Jensen isn’t feeling well though so the reader takes him home and learns a little more about how much Jensen is a fan of Lyle Sullivan...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x Director!reader

Word Count: 1,900ish

Warnings: language

A/N: Please enjoy!

______

Monday Morning

“Y/N,” said Jensen as you wandered away from craft services. “Hey, got a sec?”

“For my number one fan always,” you teased, taking a sip of your coffee. “What’s up?”

“I had fun Saturday. I know you’re super busy and all right now but would you maybe want to go out Friday night? We only have a half day,” he said.

“Yeah. Sounds fun,” you said.

“Oh and The Dark Night? You kicked it in the ass. I loved it,” he said, a huge grin on his face. “I can’t wait to be a part of that too.”

“Really?” you asked with a smile.

“Really. This is one of the best sets I’ve ever been on too,” he said. “It’s great.”

“Awesome. Um, when I get a free minute I’d love to pick your brain on some stuff,” you said.

“Sure,” he said. “Yeah, I’d love that.”

“Y/N! We got a problem with the crane camera,” shouted someone from down the lot.

“Duty calls,” you said. “I’ll see you in an hour.”

“Hey,” you said at the end of the day, everyone looking run down after a day of stunts, one person in particular. “Jensen, hold up.”

“Yeah?” he mumbled.

“Are you feeling okay?” you asked.

“Actually not really,” he said.

“Why don’t you pop over to medical?” you asked.

“Y/N-“

“Do we have to do this again? My set, my rules,” you said.

“Fine,” he said. “I don’t want to keep anyone late.”

“Ten minutes and I’ll head over with you.”

“Do I really-“

“Whoa,” said your dad as he came around the corner. “Jay, you do not look good.”

“I’ve heard,” he said. “I’ll take some cough syrup when I get home.”

“Come on, kid. Let’s go,” said your dad as he grabbed his arm.

“Ethan-“

“Want me to call your mother?” he shot back.

“Alright. Dad, I will take Jensen to medical and you go home,” you said. “I promise.”

Ten minutes later Jensen was wincing and frowning as a thermometer was pulled from his ear.

“102. You have the flu, Jensen,” said the on-site nurse.

“I’m fine,” he said. “I feel fine.”

“Bed rest and liquids. If you get warmer or the fever hasn’t broken by morning, go to the hospital,” she said.

“I’m fine,” he said. The nurse stared him down but Jensen gave it right back.

“You got a roommate to keep an eye on that fever of yours just in case?” asked the nurse.

“Is everyone around here my mother?” mumbled Jensen.

“Thank you, Kelsey,” you said, grabbing Jensen by the arm.

You led him outside and he didn’t complain when you got him sat in your car.

“I’m going to drive you home, okay? I’ll come check on you before work tomorrow, see that you’re alright to come in or if we need to delay,” you said.

“I’ll be fine, Y/L/N. You worry too much.”

“Jensen, I really don’t think you should be alone tonight,” you said, carrying his backpack along with some goodies from the pharmacy into his apartment half an hour later.

“I am fine,” he said, sniffling and closing his eyes. “Okay, maybe not fine.”

You frowned and he dug out the thermometer, sticking it under his arm. You grabbed it as soon as it beeped off, flipping it around to him.

“102.2. Oh yes, you are clearly the epitome of health, Jay,” you said.

“Well it’s not like I can get my mom to come over,” he said, wearily closing his eyes.

“Ackles. I’m starting to see you’re very grumpy when you’re sick,” you said.

“Am not,” he said, going to his couch and laying down. You stood by the edge of it, Jensen letting out a small shake. “Can you make me soup?”

“Soup I can do,” you said. You went to his kitchen and started to poke around, heating up a can on the stove after a few minutes. “How you feeling, buddy?”

“Crappy,” he said. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Well I’m still gonna make you soup and you can have the leftovers tomorrow,” you said. He mumbled and you finished cooking, storing the rest in a few thermos’ he could toss in the microwave. You hummed and carried over a mug of it, setting it down on the coffee table. He looked worse than before, a shiver leaving him. “Come on. Get in some pajamas, Ackles.”

He sighed and got to his feet, trudging into his bedroom. Fifteen minutes later you knocked on the door, Jensen laying down on the bed in a pair of boxers.

“Trying to see me naked?” he teased. “I’m kidding. What’s up?”

“Here’s your soup and this is for later,” you said, setting the medicine down.

“Thanks,” he said.

“If you’re too sick to come in-“

“I’ll be there. Just give me a few extra breaks,” he said.

“No problem. Feel better Jensen,” you said.

“Hey, Y/N. Uh, not that I’m not already embarrassed enough but would you mind hanging out for a minute?” he asked.

“Not at all,” you said. You stepped into his room and took a seat at his desk, smirking at the figure on top. “A Lyle funko pop? You really are a fan.”

“Shut up,” he laughed before he started to cough.

“I have like fifty in my closet if you ever want more,” you said. “Your apartment is...cozy.”

“It’s small and older than both of us combined but it’s clean and quiet,” he said.

“How long have you been living on your own?” you asked.

“About three years. I’ve had a girlfriend move in for about six months before but that’s it. You said you moved out of your parents place not too long ago?” he asked.

“Two years. I went to my boyfriend’s place. I’ve only been on my own for one. It’s lonelier than I thought it’d be to be honest,” you said.

“Yeah, I get that. I’m thinking about getting a dog. I’d like company to come home to,” he said, snuggling down into his sheets. “So what’d this ex boyfriend do? So I don’t make the same mistake potentially.”

“I would be amazed if you did,” you said, leaning your elbow against his desk, putting your head in your hand. He rolled over in bed and looked at you, sniffling for a moment. “When your ex-girlfriend talked about the sex stuff, did you feel violated?”

“Yeah. He talk to your friends about that stuff?” he asked.

“No. I don’t really want to talk about it, Jensen,” you said. “You won’t make that mistake. I promise.”

“Are we dating?” he said.

“I think so.”

“I think so too,” he said, closing his eyes.

“I think it’s time for bed,” you said with a smile.

“Mhm,” he mumbled.

“Do you want me to call someone to stay over with you just in case you get worse?” you asked.

“You?” he said quietly.

“Alright, I’ll be on the couch if you need me,” you said. You shut off his light for him, Jensen fast asleep before you even left the room. You cleaned up a little in the kitchen before you sprayed his couch with some lysol, letting it sink in for a moment before you laid down. You sat up and looked for a blanket, spotting one in the corner. You hummed as you went to the basket and grabbed it, smiling when you saw a copy of The Dark Woods on his bookshelf. You looked at the other books, some thrillers, some mysteries, some reference and cookbooks. There were a few YA books along with some general fiction.

You tilted your head when you saw one called “Sullivan” with no author. You pulled it out and realized it wasn’t a published book, just a print copy of a story. You flipped through it some, getting to the end and recognizing the name.

“You read Lyle Sullivan fanfic,” you said, glancing back at his bedroom door. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

You took the copy and smiled as you sat down, skimming through it for a few minutes.

“If you have a copy of this then that means...you follow me on Tumblr. For fuck’s sake,” you groaned. “I made it for fun, to write the prequel stuff I couldn’t put in the books. Apparently you were a winner in the follower giveaway too.”

You set the book down and grabbed your phone, checking your blog for the first time in months. You’d gone on a temporary hiatus and you wouldn’t call it overly popular. It was mostly short stories here and there aside from “Sullivan,” the backstory of Lyle Sullivan and his life before he met Hale.

Shit, you hadn’t even told him that Sullivan was being turned into a proper book. You grabbed the book and put it back on his bookcase, putting your phone away before you sat back down. He was a fan so it made sense and he loved talking about the story with you.

You lay down and sighed, hoping when you brought it up things didn’t get weird.

“Good morning,” you said, Jensen looking rough as he wandered out of his room in a pair of jeans and an oversized hoodie. “How are you feeling?”

“Sucky but better,” he said. “Down to 100 now.”

“Good,” you said, grabbing a glass of water for him. “Take some morning medicine and then I’ll drive us to work if you’re up for it.”

“For sure,” he said. He wandered around the apartment and chuckled. “Did you clean for me?”

“A little. Mostly sprayed lysol,” you said. He nodded and opened his curtains, turning for a moment before he stared at the bookcase, probably seeing something off about it.

“Did you read last night?” he asked. “Not that I have a problem with that.”

You sighed and he walked over, taking his medicine as you poured his soup in a thermos to bring with him.

“I may have spotted that Sullivan book when I got a blanket. It peaked my interest,” you said.

“So how much more of a loser do you think I am than before,” he laughed nervously.

“I don’t think...I have no problem with fanfiction of my stuff. It’s super cool actually. But...I sort of wrote that story,” you said. He raised an eyebrow and shook his head.

“No you didn’t. It’s not a real book. I got it from a blog which again, super embarrassing but-”

“Jensen. It’s my blog,” I said.

“Oh. You’re...oh,” he said.

“Yeah. I wanted to get that out in the open,” you said, pursing your lips.

“Cool. Um, we should get going. You have to get in early I’m sure,” he said as he grabbed the thermos.

“Yeah,” you said, Jensen already walking away and putting on his shoes. “Uh, let’s head out then.”

_____

A/N: Read Part 7 here!

#supernatural #spn #jensen x reader #jensen ackles #supernatural series #supernatural reader insert #jensen ackles x reader #spn reader insert #jensen reader insert #jensen x #jensen ackles x you

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coeurdastronaute · 4 years

Text

Essays in Existentialism: Stud 9

Previously on Stud

“It’s been awhile.”

“Near a decade?”

“Well there was that convention in Prague. Maybe six, seven years ago?”

“And the reunion at the Hargrove Estate.”

“The presentations in Oslo?”

“I think… I think that was right around when m mom--” Lexa furrowed as she tried to place the time that seemed to slip away from them. “I guess Prague was the last time.”

“Five years then,” her old friend from college nodded thoughtfully. “Time is a dangerous thing. I hate it.”

The lounge was intimate, dimly lit and clean, freshly modeled despite being an ancient and ritzy institution in its own right. Dark woods were illuminated by soft lights, large paintings covered the walls in dark gold frames. The chairs were velvet and the drinks were perfectly crafted from the best labels. The clamor of the familiar crowd in suits and ties and diamonds and dresses was just a murmur behind their secluded table

Maggie James hadn’t changed a bit, just matured into a fulfilled version of herself, or so Lexa liked to imagine. She still had deep brown eyes and a heart-shaped face. Still had a soft smile. Her hair was cut shorter now, above the shoulders and wavy. Her demeanor was more assured, more herself, than the unsure girl in college, or even the graduate assistant at a presentation in Prague.

“I have to say, I hadn’t expected to hear from the CFO of one of the largest companies on the planet after reading my lowly article and research.”

“I don’t know about lowly,” Lexa smiled after sipping her drink. “I thought it was a good article. And your research was thorough.”

“I just observe and postulate. Those other companies were the ones doing the hard part.”

She was naturally demure. Maggie was not someone who had to work for a living. Her family owned an ancient merchant conglomerate and she was vaguely related to a Kennedy and a Duke or something. And though she had her phases, Lexa remembered her from school as someone who wanted to do her own thing. She didn’t cut up her black card, but she sure didn’t care to rely simply by biding her time. Lexa always liked that.

They hadn’t been especially close, just gravitated to similar circles and were in the same degree program, naturally leading to an affiliation that boarded somewhere between acquaintances who knew too much and friends with no actual ties.

The real surprise had been when Maggie actually returned the phone call Lexa gave after a few weeks of obsessing over the research and generally annoying her girlfriend with facts and tidbits, filling up a notebook with her own questions, ideas, and things she’d read. She’d garnered a lot of attention with her article and research. It almost wasn’t worth it for her to return the call of a somewhat acquaintances, somewhat friend that she hadn’t seen or heard from in upwards of six years. But Lexa’s last name was on buildings in almost ever major city, and regardless, she got a return call.

“I did call you about the article, but also to catch up,” Lexa promised.

“And remember those good times in college?”

“We did have a few of those, didn’t we?” she grinned, looking over her glass, earning a shaking head and heavy sigh and smile.

“Much to my girlfriend’s chagrin.”

“You actually told her some stories?” Maggie raised her eyebrows and chuckled. “And she let you come tonight?”

“Encouraged it actually. She’s sick of hearing me rave about your work and research. I’m allowed to have an intellectual crush on you, and that’s it.”

“She’s a saint.”

“You have no idea,” Lexa agreed and signaled for another round. “Last I heard, you were engaged to some Lockeridge. Didn’t work out?”

Maggie held up her hand and wiggled an empty ring finger.

“He didn’t particularly care that I was interested in anything other than the usual marriage retirement activities like kids and needlepoint or whatever.”

“A shame.”

“I heard you decided to go outside of the pool or acceptables,” Maggie shrugged. “I only have a few questions: How, and how did your father take it?”

“You know my dad. He wouldn’t know acceptable if it shook his hand. He actually adores Clarke. And it was sheer luck. She just happened to be best friends with a mechanic I use to fix up old cars.”

“Kismet.”

“How did your parent’s take the loss of a Lockeridge hyphenation?”

“Mom went into full mourning, black outfits for a week and three weeks in Italy,” Maggie recited as Lexa laughed. “Dad complained about his lost deposits on venues.”

“And now?”

“Now, I research sustainable and ethical management in corporations.”

“I meant--”

“I don’t even own a car, so I haven’t run into any mechanics, and I was almost hoping you’d broken up with your saint and that’s why you’d called.”

“It actually our three year anniversary next month.”

“Disgusting. You’re buying the drinks.”

They both shared a smile and shook their heads, amused at themselves and the situation of their lives, both wondering how they hadn’t taken the time to be better friends, although a few drunken make outs had certainly ended any hopes of that back then.

“I’m assuming you want to talk to me about the article and your company?”

“I was having fun catching up, but I take sex off the table and now you’re all business.”

“I know your time is valuable, and I don’t want you to think you have to waste it catching up,” she explained, leaving Lexa slightly baffled.

“Your time is valuable too, and honestly, I am kind of having fun catching up. I kind of fell out with the old gang after Mom.”

“I heard you did the falling.”

“Probably,” Lexa nodded in agreement as she swapped out her empty glass for a new one. “I worked myself raw for three years straight.”

“But you still hear some of the rumblings from the old guard?”

“Some. Care to fill me in on more before I proposition you?”

“Intellectually?”

“Strictly.”

Maggie took a large sip from her drink and eyed the girl across from her, at ease and amused at their conversation, ever charming and wildly sexy without even meaning to do it, Lexa was someone who made her attention feel like nothing else mattered, and anyone would want to be within her company to experience it. All were welcome, but it was a blessing to hold her focus for an extended period of time, in any capacity. Maggie remembered making out with her in the bathroom of a club. She remembered making out with her at a party on the Lower East Side. She remembered Lexa’s messy waves, leather jacket, and fiery eyes that remained, even a decade later. But they weren’t for her anymore, and she was alright with the disappointment if it meant working with her.

“Did you know Emma Hunton-Blather?”

“Not biblically.”

“I wouldn’t imagine so. She’s an ultra-religious mommy blogger now.”

“Yikes,” Lexa winced.

“And Francine Christenson already divorced twice.”

“I think I saw one of those.”

The evening was easy. The drinks flowed and the two caught up with their previous acquaintances. Lexa was grateful that it was going well considering how nervous she was about approaching an almost stranger.

The drinks kept coming and before she could talk shop, Lexa was drunk and just enjoyed having fun.

XXXXXXXXX

“I love her.”

“Oh god, not this again,” Clarke groaned, rolled over, and tugged the pillow with her over her head.

“Not like I love you. I just am fascinated by her research.”

“Is that what you call her boobs?”

“Oh no,” Lexa shook her head, wobbling slightly as she plunked down on the edge of the bed and began awkwardly tugging off her shoes. “I can’t even seen boobs that aren’t yours boobs. I am boob-blind now.”

Despite herself, Clarke smiled at her drunken girlfriend. It wasn’t often that she came out, and when Drunk Lexa did, she often enjoyed it. There wasn’t any jealousy against Maggie James, just that Clarke liked a little more attention than she was getting with this new project. She also wished this old project hadn’t made out with her girlfriend, but that was neither here nor there. She’d feel the same way if Lexa was obsessed with recycling. She’d hate it and vote for global warming to make her stop fixating.

Before she could finish with her shoes, Lexa flopped backwards, fully clothed and half on the bed.

“Clarke. Hey, are you sleeping?”

“No, darling. I’m up.”

“I wish I’d never made out with Maggie, because I think we could have been have friends.”

“Good. Keep not making out with her and you can be.”

“Ahhhh,” Lexa pointed at Clarke and laughed before letting her arm fall back down.

“Plus, you could use more friends.”

“Nah. I don’t.”

“You do.”

Clarke moved, putting the book she’d fallen asleep reading on the night stand and moving her way around the bed to help the pitiful thing that couldn’t get undressed. She stayed at Lexa’s strictly because it meant sloppy drunk needy Lexa. She also expected her about two hours earlier.

“You need more friends. It’s good to have them.”

“I have Gus,” Lexa listed, counting on her fingers as her girlfriend tugged off her shoes for her. “And Aden, and Anya, and Dad, and Indra, and um. And Maggie. And, um… uh…”

“Only one of those are age appropriate, not related to you, and not salaried.”

“And you! You’re my best friend. Who needs more than that?”

She didn’t mean to, but Clarke smiled at that as she moved to unbutton Lexa’s shirt, earning a smile and laugh despite already closed eyes.

“Oh, are you getting me naked, Ms. Griffin? Naughty naughty.”

“How much did you drink?”

“A little bit.”

Clarke just shook her head and pulled Lexa up so she could pull off the shirt. She moves to the pants next, instructing her to lift her butt so she could tug them off. Lexa remained fairly still as Clarke searched for a spare shirt for her to sleep in.

“Hey, hey, Clarke. Hey,” Lexa called in a whisper.

“Hm?”

“You really are my best friend.”

Clarke smiled, her cheeks growing warm as she slid the shirt over the drunk’s arms and head, careful not to poke an eye or pull hair. Tenderly, she got a rag from the bathroom and wiped her face as best she could, earning almost purrs of contentment with the treatment.

“Are you ready for me to fuck you?” Lexa ventured, wiggling her eyebrows. “I’ve been thinking about it all night.”

“You’re drunk.”

“And you’re beautiful.” Clarke pushed her girlfriend’s shoulders so that she fell back in bed easily. “Perfect. You can be on top.”

“Get under the covers. It’s time for bed.”

“Fine, but you should know that I am a good lay.”

“I’m aware,” Clarke grinned as Lexa climbed in obediently.

“I’m like really good at giving you orgasms. And you seem to like them.”

“Oh, I do. But I’m tired and you’re drunk.”

“Those are two true facts,” Lexa nodded and yawned, rolling into her usual spot. Her arm was held open until Clarke joined her in bed.

The lights off and the pair finally ready for bed, Clarke snuggled into her spot and felt Lexa’s warmth, enjoying the feeling of having her back.

“Hey Lex?” Clarke whispered as arms held her tightly.

“Change your mind about sex?” Lexa returned. “I’m still down.”

“No. I just wanted to tell you that you’re my best friend, too.”

“Good.”

Her arms pulled tighter and Lexa kissed Clarke’s shoulder before falling into a very contented drunken slumber.

XXXXXXXXX

Lexa loved her office. She loved that it was quiet and that even though she had taken a smaller role in th day to day operations, it was still there for her to work, uninterrupted and unimpeded. She loved her desk. She loved her view. She loved the certainty that came behind sitting her name plate, as if it told her who she was. There was a certain power that she took from it all.

“Thanks for coming down,” Lexa offered as Maggie took a seat across from her desk. “I think i forgot to explain what interested me most about your research at drinks the other night.”

“Yeah I think the fourth round of whisky made it a little difficult to keep track of complex ideas.”

“I had a good time.”

“Me too.”

“My girlfriend let me know that I need more friends. The problem being that I don’t particularly like or trust most people.”

“Or you’re too busy to put the effort into it. I get it. Trust me,” Maggie nodded, relaxing slightly as Anya brought in some coffee and placed it between them. “Thank you.”

“I was told that all my friends work for me or are related to me,” Lexa explained as she sipped her coffee. “And even though I would consider us friends, or potentially friends. I want to hire you.”

“I already have a job.”

“Yes, but I have lots of money.”

Maggie snorted at that, smiling, amused at Lexa’s candor.

“I have lots of money too.”

“I knew you would say that. I also knew that there wasn’t much I could offer you to sway you away from a fun research and doctoral position at a great university. I’m sure you find teaching rewarding.”

Lexa stood from her desk and grabbed a folder from the corner, carefully looking it over in her hands.

“The interesting thing I found in your report was that you were advocating for a system that not one single major corporation would even contemplate putting into existence.”

“I’m sure some--”

“Free housing? College tuition? Four day work weeks? Work from home? Private insurance? Officer salary cuts? Who in there right mind is going to do that?”

“I thought you were interested in my research.”

“I am. Because my job was killing me. And I have a hypothesis for you.”

“I think that’s my job.”

“You haven’t accepted yet,” Lexa reminded her as she leaned against the front of her desk. “If I implement your suggestions, will I not hate my job anymore?”

“There’s no way for me to measure that.”

“True. Will I feel better if we are a more ethical and knowledgeable company?”

“Yes.”

“Will we turn a profit?”

“According to my data, yes. Although the scale of your business,” Maggie shook her head. “I wouldn’t even know where to start hypothesizing on when.”

“Hypothetically,” Lexa continued, smiling at how easy it was to get her interested. “What would you need to start testing your hypothesis? In real time. At this company.”

There was a quiet that settled as Maggie stared at the CFO. Long and tall, Lexa crossed her arms over her chest, the mystery folder tucked under her arm. Her shirt was folded precisely up to her elbow, her collar pressed and pointy, her glasses perched perfectly and her hair coiffed with enough effort to look like it wasn’t trying at all. She didn’t betray a thought though.

“Off the top of my head, I’d need access to everything. I’d need months of internal research and auditing, plus at least a handful of accountants and assistants. I don’t think you understand what you’re asking.”

“I do.”

“You can’t.”

“In this folder,” Lexa grinned, and held it in front of her friend. “Is one of our middling branches based in London. I want to give it to you.”

“A company?”

“Kind of. I want you to hire your team. I want you to help me implement your changes. I want to create a better world. I had to think of something that no one else could give you, to entice you. Is it working?”

“Consider me enticed,” Maggie nodded, slowly accepting the folder and flipping it open, her mouth slightly agape.

The buzzer on Lexa’s desk sounded and she pushed off, walking back to her chair.

Ms. Woods, the car is here to take you to the airport.

“Thanks, Anya. Give me a few more minutes.”

“Going somewhere?”

“Three year anniversary weekend,” Lexa smiled. “I had a bit of a rough year last year, but it’s all coming back around.”

“You are incredibly good at multitasking. You’re pitching me while planning an epic event and doing how many other things.”

“Take the week to think about it. Everything you need is in that folder.”

“I’m going to need more than a fifteen minute meeting with yout see if this is even for real.”

“It’s real,” Lexa promised. “We can figure everything else out together, when you accept.”

“If.”

“I’ve been told I’m very persuasive. Take the week. I’ll be back next Tuesday and we can talk more then, if you’d like.”

“I thought maybe a consultation, but this is…” Maggie shook her head and stared at the folder before shutting it quickly. “Hell of a friend.”

“Come on, I’ll walk with you out,” Lexa offered as she grabbed her bag.

XXXXXXXXXX

The ranch was still slightly visible in the sunset, the timing only slightly off with their arrival for the romantic weekend escape. Tall pines and cedars eclipsed it while the mountains stood tall and purple in the distance against a firestorm of clouds in the fading summer light. The cabin was one of her favorite places on the planet, and she couldn’t think of anywhere more secluded and perfect to hide away from the world with her beautiful girlfriend to celebrate three absolutely life-changing years.

“I would have been happy with just a hotel room downtown,” Clarke chided as she entered the giant house. “This is too much.”

“I figured it was a good excuse to use this place. It’s been years since I’ve been out,” Lexa explained as she dropped their bags in the foyer.

She made sure everything was stocked and prepared and the staff wouldn’t be around. The caretakers didn’t mind a week off, and she was just excited to be away from the city and back somewhere quiet.

“Is this the ranch your mom liked?”

“Yeah, she’d make us spend a lot of spare time out here.”

“I can see why. It’s beautiful.”

“She designed it. Found an old hunting lodge and decided to convert it to a modern home. It was her labor of love.”

“Thank ou,” Clarke smiled and hugged her girlfriend before kissing her cheek. “Show me around.”

Lexa wasn’t particularly good at feeling so good, but she’d been excited and planned everything for the past month. So she took Clarke by the hand and showed her the grand room, the high ceiling and giant windows that looked out at the trees and the mountains as far as the eye could see. The fireplace was already roaring and inviting, but she took her toward the pool and hot tub area that went from outside to inside. She excitedly told her stories about being a kid, and all the stuff her and Aden would do.

By the time they made it to the bedroom she wanted, Clarke flopped onto the bed and gave up trying to figure out where she was in the maze of a house.

“So we get this whole place to ourselves for the next few days?” Clarke asked as Lexa gracefully slid beside her in the giant bed.

“Mhm, so go ahead and just take your clothes off now. I actually should have told you that at the door.”

“But I brought very cute lacy things you like me to wear.”

“Oh, wait, yeah,” Lexa nodded eagerly. “That’s all you can wear.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m yours.”

“And sappy.”

“Incredibly.”

But it was perfect, and Lexa didn’t care that her girlfriend was mocking her. She leaned forward and kissed her. She pressed Clarke into the bed and went about the task of celebrating.

XXXXXXXXXX

“I need you to carb up because I have a few more things planned for you,” Lexa explained as she reached forward and took another slice of pizza.

“Shut up.”

“I mean it. Dad keeps the W stored in the garage and I have waited three years to--”

“You can’t be serious,” Clarke laughed and shook her head, pressing her palm over her chest with how amusing she found it.

They were tangled in the sheets. They were tired and sated and happy and now nearly full from the dinner of pizza and beer.

“That’s the real reason I decided to come here,” Lexa grinned. “The romantic, candlelight bath and fireplaces, and privacy were all a ruse. You’ve been ruse-d.”

“I can’t believe I’ve kept you around for three years.”

“Me neither.”

“I should get a medal.”

“I agree completely,” Lexa decided as she hopped up from the bed. “Wait right there.”

Nearly tripping over herself, the CFO took the corner out of the room so quickly, Clarke was certain she hit the wall. The sound of padding bare feet could be heard in the bed, and for the life of her, Clarke wasn’t sure why it made her fall a little more in love, if that were even possible.

In a flash, Lexa returned, hopping into the bed, quick to hide whatever was in her hands.

“This was supposed to be a year of no gifts,” Clarke chided.

“I’m terrible at following directions. I don’t know if you knew that or not yet, but it’s a harsh truth you should start to understand.”

“You should listen to me.”

“I should,” she nodded and held out a velvet box. “I’ll start tomorrow.”

Clarke eyed her girlfriend warily and frowned at the blatant lie. But Lexa shrugged and smiled, nudging her to open the box.

“Oh, Lex, this is…”

The keychain was a tiny logo of Lexa’s company. It was plain and simple and cost exactly $2.95, and now it was dangling from Clarke’s finger as she furrowed and smiled at it despite all else because it was certainly not what she was expecting.

“It’s too much. You shouldn’t have.”

“You deserve the best,” Lexa explained, scooting closer. “Last time we did this, I wasn’t read. You weren’t ready. It wasn’t right. But now...I think it’s right. I think I want to be with you all of the time. I want to come home from business trips and see you. I want to cook dinner together. I want to sleep with you every night. I want to live together.”

Her hair was a mess, and when she was nervous, she talked with her hands. Clarke watched the entire thing without moving a muscle, because she might scare Lexa if she did. Instead, she looked at the key chain in her palm and listened.

“You’ve been making a lot of moves lately, Woods.”

“Well, the girl I love keeps pushing me to do better.”

“What if you get sick of me?”

“I won’t.”

“What if I get sick of you?”

“We’ll get a big place, so you can ignore me when I bug you,” Lexa promised.

“You’re ready for this?” Clarke asked, giving her a hard look.

“Very. Are you?”

“Very.”

Before she could say anything else, Lexa launched herself at her, and Clarke was tackled and kissed happily.

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grapecinnamon · 3 years

Text

Two Gay Dogs: A Ruff Ruffman Story | Chapter 6: Valentines and Voicemails

"Blossom, you're not going to believe it!" Ruff exclaimed as he walked into the dog house. "Guess what? I asked out Mason, and he said yes!"

"That's awesome! Did you use a card?"

"No, I'm saving that for Valentine's Day in a few days. We're going to make plans for our date later on. Ooh! I hope we can go to the Chinese place!" Chet then came in with a wagon full of wooden crates.

"Ah, Chet. I see you got me my supplies in these boxes." He looked in one of the boxes, only to find it empty. "Uh, okay?" Then he looked in another, only to find nothing again. Then he opened another. And another. And another until he realized that Chet was being Chet.

"Chet, are you kidding me!? I said crafting materials, not crating materials! Craft isn't even close to crate! What am I going to do?" He sighed and put his paws on his face, but then he remembered three important people.

"Wait? Alma, Chester, and Lance can help me out. I just hope none of them tell Mason."

The first dog he visited was lance, the crafty black-lab. He knocked on the door, and entered at the sound of a voice saying, "It's open!" He walked into the living room to see the black lab playing a video game on the switch. It was an 8-bit game where the lab seemed to be controlling a small, red heart, and was avoiding the attacks of a tall goat-like king. Ruff didn't know what this game was, but he seemed to connect with the king for some reason. A fireball hit the heart and it broke into a million pieces.

"Aw, I died again!" He threw the controller next to him on the couch and looked behind to see the orange mutt.

"Oh, hey Ruff. What are you doing here?"

"I need your help making a card for Mason."

"Ooh? For Mason? For Valentine's Day?" Ruff nodded. "Yeah, I heard from Mason about you asking them out. Congratulations, Dude!" He playfully pushed Ruff on the shoulder and Ruff playfully pushed him back. But he pushed him so hard, the labrador fell backwards and onto a table full of trash and crafting stuff.

"Oh, sorry about that."

"That's alright. I was looking for that glue bottle anyway." He nonchalantly held up his elbow, which had a white, glue bottle stuck to it. "So, dude, what do you want?"

"I need a big, red card for Mason. It needs to be in the shape of a heart, lined with pink lace, and big enough to fit about twenty dog treats inside. I think Mason said they liked green-apple treats."

"Alright, I can do that. That'll be $30, please." Ruff was caught off guard, as the dog held out his paw for the upfront payment. He looked around and saw a sign on the table that said $15/ flat card | $30/ 3-D card. Ruff didn't have 30 dollars. He didn't even have enough for a flat card. He already gave Chet the $20 for those crates, leaving him with $10. He was about to call off the commission and getting a cheep card at a store, but he knew he couldn't settle. No, no, Mason Jaye deserved something with a heart and soul poured into it.

"Okay, I only have $10. Is there anything I can get for that?"

"No, but I'll make a deal with you. I have this thing where if my clients can make their ideal card themselves, they can get it for $5, but since you're my friend, and Mason really likes you, I'll let you do it for free."

"Lance, you got yourself one heck of a deal!" Ruff sat at the crafting table and got to work at the card. It took him about 30 minutes to get it done, but once finished... it looked like absolute garbage.

Ruff tried his best, but the card looked horrible; the heart looked more like a brain, especially since the lace was glued on lopsided, and there wasn't enough space for the treats. Lance looked at it and cringed. He didn't want to hurt Ruff's feelings, but...

"I can't let you give this to Mason. This looks horrible. Look, I'll just do it for you, okay?" Lance then got to work and created Ruff's idea card in perfect detail. It even put the treats inside. Ruff looked inside to get a good look at them; they were green and in the shape of apples. Ruff wanted one so badly, but these were for his enbyfriend, not him. The box had a message engraved on it in cursive; it read To Mason: The Love of my Life. Ruff didn't exactly request that message, but

Up next was Chester. He arrived at his house to seem him and Alma hanging out in the backyard.

"Hey, Ruff," Chester said, as he dug a hole with his paws.

"Hi, Ruff," Alma said, waving. "Good to see you. What are you doing here?"

"I came by to ask if Chester could help me write a poem to Mason."

"Oh, yeah," Alma said. "You asked xer out the other day, right?"

"Yeah, and Lance helped me make this heart box filled with treats. I thought this would be enough, but now I feel like it needs something else. Could you help me write a love poem?"

"Sure." Chester and Alma lead the orange dog into the house to a desk that had writing material and a quill dipped in a glass jar of ink.

"Do you know anything about writing poetry?"

"Of course. Hold on, I think I have some poems for my ex crush right here." He pulled out the poems addressed to Charlene and showed them to the dalmatian. Wow, never thought I'd be calling Charlene my ex. The orange dog thought. It's kind of exhilarating. The poem read as follows:

Charlene

My Washing Machine

Is Green

And Keen

The dalmatian and the schnauzer looked up at the prideful orange dog, realizing they had a lot of work to do.

After a while, bouncing back and forth from one another with ideas, they finally finished the new and improved poem, which read as:

Paws that hold mine perfectly, like they were crafted for each other.

Arms that embrace me tightly with never-ending comfort.

Ribs that touch mine when you lay on top of me.

Tails that wag in unison as we share each other's love.

Ojos that look into mine, not wanting to focus on anything else.

Fingers that touch my soul like no one else has.

Minds that think alike, and spend all their time thinking of each other.

Everything about you is perfect. I'll never meet anyone else like you for as long as I live.

The poem was perfect, and it was nothing like what Ruff would actually write. Which was why Ruff thought it was perfect. He blushed brightly as he reread certain lines. He could barely have Mason's arm around him without going nuts. Just the thought of Mason laying on top of him... Ruff, get a hold of yourself. He thought. Mason probably doesn't think about you like that yet. I think.

Chester took the poem and folded it into fourths, as he put it inside the heart.

"It's missing something," Alma said. "I think what would really put it all together is a bouquet of roses."

"Ah, good idea," Ruff said.

"I can't give them to you today because they could die by then. But for now, what colors do you want the roses to be? I have every color you can think of in roses."

"Well, how about we use roses in the colors of the pan and enby flag."

"That sounds great. Do you want me to add the colors of the gay flag as well?"

"Actually, I don't think I..." Ruff thought about how he had been crushing on Charlene for a while, but then he remembered, she's a thing of the past. He never felt the things with her that he felt for Mason. But maybe he just has a preference?

"...I'm fine with that."

"Great!"

It was Valentine's Day. Couples all over the city were showing each other their love in their own special ways. Ruff and Mason would've met each other today at the arcade (another favorite of Mason's despite being made fun of for that due to their age) around 12:00 p.m. but just when Ruff was about to walk out the door with his gifts, he got a text message:

Mason: Hey, sorry, but I don't think I'm ready for a relationship. I think we should cancel that date.

Just when his heart was mended, it gets broken all over again. How could Mason do this to him? They made such a good connection, one that Ruff never thought he'd get from anyone else, so why did he flake out on him? The orange dog felt like crying. Scratch that, he was crying. He sunk to the bottom of the wall and held his face in his paws as he sobbed away the pain, the same words circling in his head: fat. Idiot. Slob. Creep. Fat. Idiot. Slob. Creep... And then he noticed the answering machine had a message left on it. Could it be Mason explaining their self? Or perhaps Blossom and Chet left him a message. No, no, if Blossom and Chet needed to tell him something, they would've said it to his face or texted him. And wouldn't Mason text him an explanation? Who was messaging him? He pressed the button and listened:

You have one new message from: Charlene

*Beep!*

Hi, it's Charlene. I heard your little enbyfriend cancelled your date today. Such a shame. I thought you two would be so happy together. Anyway, I'm just sitting at home, in my jacuzzi. Wink, wink. I know you've probably fantasized about this for years and I just wanna give you what you've wanted. I'm so sorry I sent you those mean text messages. That was meant for, um, someone else. Now, come over here as soon as you get this. I'd hate for you to spend Valentine's Day alone... again.

*Beep!*

Ruff was confused. But a little excited. And also a little suspicious. Looking back at the text message, he noticed that Mason texted in perfect grammar, which was something he never did. He must've been serious about this. Feeling absolutely bummed out from his second break up, he decided that maybe giving Charlene a second chance wouldn't be so bad. After all, she was finally interested in him, and with perfect timing as well. He wiped off his tears, threw his gift to Mason in the trash, and made his way to the poodle-next-door's house.

[Stay tuned for another chapter of Two Gay Dogs. Boy, it's getting wild]

#ruff ruffman #fetch! with ruff ruffman #fetch with ruff ruffman #fetch with ruff ruffman au #au #fanfic #fanfiction #twogaydogs #gay #pan #enby #lgbtq+#lgbtqia+#valentinesday #valentinesdayinjulylol #just wait till chapter 7 im very excited #im acting like such a dork holy f #guys it got good the story finally got good

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greasers-stole-my-social-life · 4 years

Text

The Gang’s Superpowers - HCs

I had a lot of fun with these and hope y’all enjoy!!

Darry

Power: Hyper-Awareness/Spidey Senses

Ok so his nickname is literally Superman, so I feel like he’d have it all - x-ray vision, flight, super strength, etc. - but, if he could only have one power, it would be ultra-awareness(aka spidey senses(also, i know that this isn’t one of Superman’s powers, but I still imagined it’s a power he would have 😊)).

He became aware of his senses when he prevented a young Ponyboy from burning his hands on the stove while trying to climb to the top of the cabinets for a cookie

He would be aware of everything going on around him, and he knows exactly when danger approaches.

If someone dropped a glass, he would be there to catch it before it hits the ground and shatters

the gang would be rough housing before a rumble and Darry would run into the living room to catch Sodapop before he hits his head on the coffee table

He goes out of his way to make sure the gang stays out of trouble, and he only uses his powers for good!

One time, he sensed danger while on a break from work, and saved a child from getting hit by a car. If it weren’t for him, the child would’ve died chasing after his balloon.

when strangers ask abt the incident, he always lies and says that it was a fluke, but we know the truth!

Weakness: Ponyboy. Just like Superman, having heightened senses can be atrocious and make it difficult to carry out normally simple tasks. He struggled a lot with his powers as a child and couldn’t calm down easily, but luckily Soda was able to help him out a lot by teaching him how to focus(which is kinda funny since Soda can’t concentrate for shit lol).

BONUS: Darry would most certainly have super strength, and it would actually be hilarious bc he wouldn’t want to draw attention to his superhuman strength so he would hold himself back all of the time and act like some things were far too heavy for him! Even when he would set down a glass, he had to focus a lot to make sure he didn’t smash it by mistake

Sodapop

Power: The ability to heal others/take pain away

I feel like Soda’s really empathetic and would be a strong healer.

When someone close to him gets hurt, he can’t help but heal them bc he cares so much about them

Once he learned about his powers and how it could be dangerous if someone found out that he could miraculously heal people with serious injuries, he decided to take pain away from people instead

If an injury is too severe or he doesn’t get to someone in time, the only thing he can do is remove the pain the person is feeling

when Pony was playing hide and seek with Curly when he was little, he climbed a tree to hide but ended up falling out of it instead, ultimately breaking his arm. Soda ran over and healed his arm before he could even cry. It was their little secret

He felt tremendous guilt when his parents died bc he felt as though he could’ve saved them if he had been there

he tried his best to heal his brothers’ pains after their parent’s deaths, but he was too hurt himself to be able to help others

The reason why Darry loves Soda’s massages so much is bc Soda secretly removes Darry’s pain

Darry doesn’t like Soda using his powers all willy nilly, so Soda just pretends that he’s good at giving massages naturally when in reality, he’s using his powers lol

Eventually, Darry catches on, but doesn’t say anything...the man deserves to be healed after a long day of roofing!

Weakness: When he’s hurt, emotionally or physically, he can’t help anyone. He can actually cause them more pain and inflict the pain that he feels onto others. He doesn’t mean to, but he simply can’t help it!

Ponyboy

Power: Mimic other’s powers

unlike the rest of the gang, who automatically knew exactly what their powers were and how to use them, Pony had trouble deciphering what his ability was

it wasn’t until Soda healed his broken arm that he realized his unique ability

he copied Soda’s exact actions and ended up healing a butterfly’s torn wing

everyone thought he was a healer like Soda, but then, when Steve was able to fix a car without having to look at the manual, Pony fixed his stereo that he thought was long gone without any knowledge of radios, and his power was revealed

He often times fails to see how his powers could help others, and never aids other people unless prompted to

this also stems from the fact that he gets overwhelmed easily and has trouble creating a plan on the spot

he’s still in the process of learning how to be an effective hero, but luckily he has the rest of the gang to help him harness his craft

his favorite power changes day to day, but when he mimics someone’s power and really loves it, he goes on a streak using that power for weeks!

the main reason that he doesn’t use his powers much is bc hes low key disappointed that he doesn’t have his own specific power, and feels like he steals them from everyone else

little does he know that he is probably one of the most powerful superheroes out there!!

Weakness: Just like how he can take other people’s powers, he also adopts their weaknesses. So, if he’s using Soda’s power to heal someone else, he can’t do it if he’s hurt as well.

Steve

Power: Understanding the inner-workings of machines and technology

While it may seem like a boring power, Steve actually has one of the most useful powers there is

His mom thought he was just really smart at first, but when their TV broke, he was able to fix it within minutes at age 4 and they knew it was more than just being insanely smart!

suddenly, he was able to fix everything, from toasters to radios to motorcycles

Soda cheered him on and Steve kept improving his repair times

part of the reason Steve got a job with Soda at the DX was bc he wanted someone to keep track of how fast he was able to complete jobs...and bc he loves Soda

he has to be careful that he doesn’t repair a car too quickly too often bc he’s worried that people may discover his power and try to take advantage of him

He always tries to help his friends when he can, and has fixed Darry’s truck on multiple occasions

sometimes he worries that people use him just for repairs, but he knows that he can always count on the gang to make sure that he knows his power is valued

he’s relieved that he has friends to lean on that know the struggle of having superpowers and having to be so secretive

When technology started advancing more, he couldn’t help but take the new tech apart and piece it back together again for fun

he keeps this to himself bc he thinks that it’s a bit nerdy to do something like that, but he thoroughly enjoys it

Weakness: He can’t explain the inner workings of things to other people. This seems fine on the surface, but in crises, the pressure is all on him. This also means that when he repairs something, he has trouble discussing what the problem was, which can rub customers at the DX the wrong way.

Two-Bit

Power: Hallucinations

He found out he could cause people to hallucinate when he was in preschool

his teacher was bothering him bc she kept telling him to “stop distracting his classmates” so he imagined that a snake, his teacher’s biggest fear, was in the room, and sure enough, his teacher and classmates jumped out of their seats screaming

when the custodian came in to put the snake outside, it was just gone

he mainly uses his powers for pranking purposes

BUT he still uses his powers to help others when possible!!

He uses it in school when teachers confront him about not turning in assignments

“Mr. Mathews, where is your homework?” “Uh, it’s right in front of you?” and he would have a smug smile while they fumbled and apologized profusely. Ofc, when he would leave, so would the homework, but teachers were embarrassed to ask him about it again

If a soc was about to jump a greaser, Two would make them hallucinate that the rest of the gang was with him and could outnumber the socs

he’s not very subtle about who sees his powers, and anytime a stranger points it out, her tries to make them believe that they’re wrong or that they’ve hit their head

Darry tries to make him better about hiding/disguising his power, but Two often times gets flustered and gives himself away.

he’s the only one in the gang, besides Dallas, that has to wear a disguise if he wants to use his power bc otherwise he exposes himself

Weakness: His hallucinations are only temporary and require focus, so he has to be careful when and where he causes hallucinations. When fighting a villain, his power is good for distractions, but the hallucinations can’t do anything physical to anyone. ex, If he caused a hallucination of a snake, the snake can not actually cause harm to others.

Johnny

Power: Siren/Compulsion

Johnny found out about his power when he was little by begging his dad to “stop” when he was yelling at his mom and him

his dad just stopped. No movement, it was just a halt in his movements. He realized that he had the power to command people around

He dislikes his power because he doesn’t like being able to have that much control over anyone, even people as terrible as his parents

the reason he’s so quiet is because he never wants to accidentally boss someone around or cause them to do something bad

he’s overly cautious with his word choice so that he doesn’t mistakenly tell someone to do something

when he sings/hums to himself without thinking, no matter how quiet he is, he accidentally draws people to him

most of the time it’s Dally or Pony lol

he kinda resents his power because it’s harder to have control over than the rest of the gangs’ powers

the gang always tries to lift him up about his power tho!

they know that he has no ill will and they know that he’s capable of controlling his power

He feels best when he can use his power for good, and always tries to be as helpful as possible while causing the least damage possible

this boy doesn’t have a bad bone in his body, so there’s really no reason for him to worry about abusing his power

Weakness: Much like the sirens in most fairy tales, he can not control people that are hard of hearing or deaf, or if they are covering/blocking their ears with headphones or earbuds. In a way, he is also his own weakness because he sometimes thinks he’s not capable of using his power! But he is!! He’s the most responsible with his power!

Dallas

Power: Teleportation

He first discovered his power when he was about 8

he was in the process of stealing candy with his NY gang, but he was cornered by the store owner

he panicked and closed his eyes, then poof! He was outside the store behind his friends, running away with all of the stolen candy in his hands

He uses his powers all of the time for crimes...and to show off

Darry warns him all of the time not to abuse his power, but as much as Dally respects Darry, he still uses his power far too often and carelessly

one of the reasons he had to leave NY is bc people began to catch on to the fact that something about him was superhuman

if he doesn’t want to deal with someone, he just vanishes and goes to anywhere else.

one time he accidentally ended up in Russia, but that’s a story for another time lol

he doesn’t wear a disguise even tho he really should with how much he uses his power

he’s used his power to get away from girls that he lost interest in instead of actually confronting his feelings

when no one’s paying attention, he does actually use his power for good

one time a guy kept pursuing a woman outside of Buck’s after she said no multiple times, so Dallas teleported in between them and knocked him out cold

he hates when people thank him for saving them so he usually gtfo’s before they get the chance to say anything to him

his heroism is discrete in his mind, but everyone knows that he’s a hero in the dark

Weakness: If he doesn’t have enough time to plan where he’s going to teleport to, drinks too much, or doesn’t focus enough on the destination, he can end up somewhere completely random. One time he accidentally teleported himself into a holding cell at the police station after drinking too much at one of Buck’s parties and was too tired to teleport out until the morning.

I hope you enjoyed reading my hcs as much as I enjoyed writing them!! Let me know if there’s anything else you’d like for me to write about!! Stay safe!

#the outsiders #the outsiders hcs #dallas winston #darry curtis #sodapop curtis #ponyboy curtis #johnny cade #Two-Bit Mathews #steve randle #darrel curtis #dally

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