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m0ther-of-p3arl · 7 months

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can't start the fire without a spark

(robert aeor high au p14)

masterpost

ROB AEOR JUMPSCARE!!! probs two more chapters after this, we are drawing to a CLOSE!!! big big chapter today, lots of things happening we're jumping allllll around pov-wise :D very very fun to write i hope you like!! ohhh and also with the addition of this chapter, rob aeor is now 60,000 words in its entirety!! pretty cooool :D

Karissa watches from the upstairs window as the same white camper van pulls up outside her house, screeching to a stop under the streetlight. It’s finished making its rounds, and she can almost see from here the essences of the people pushed into the back, bound and gagged and drugged. She smiles, fake and manufactured yet still slightly psychotic, nails drumming against her thigh as she pulls on her heels and heads out the door, eyes searching for signs of life.

or, shit is Going Down. buckle in, buttercups, because we are going for a RIDE.

(6949 words)

Karissa Major stands, poised and perfect, posture impeccable as she gazes out from her balcony. The chill of very early morning digs silkily into her skin, her very bones, and a smile stretches across her face at the knowledge that everything she’s worked for could come crashing down at any moment. It’s a manic thing, desperate and rough around the edges, nothing like the polished facsimile of human emotion she displays around others.

If this goes wrong, if any mistakes are made- her game is ruined, her life’s work is all for naught. Her eyes watch nervously (or, as close to nervous as Karissa Major can be) as an inconspicuous white camper van passes through the street. This is the final moment, and if anything deviates even slightly from her plan-

But it can’t, it won’t, and Karissa knows it won’t- she’s crafted everything obsessively, meticulously- all the details gone over with her crew at least twenty times, the plan burned into all their skulls. There’s almost no way any of them could forget it now, especially considering the consequences she has laid out if someone deviates from the plan. Karissa almost can’t wait for the day she’s strapped to the chair, wires attached to her brain, her manipulative siren magic the sole thing keeping the game going.

Third Life.

It’s Karissa’s dream to have that much power, it’s been her goal ever since she was very young- ever since she watched the life drain out of a woodmouse as she crushed its windpipe with her foot. Since Karissa’s childhood years, she’s had an idea, a spark in the back of her mind that- until recently- she simply hasn’t had the time to pursue. But her cult is really coming together, it’s gained a fair amount of members recently- and with all the funds now pouring in, Karissa finally has the money to begin developing the technology that would let her great imagination become a reality.

The technology that allows a siren’s power to be amplified by ten thousand and broadcast across many multiple people through a chip in their brain, strong enough to even wipe their memories and convince them so thoroughly that the world she’s put them in is the only one they’ve ever known. She has all the rules laid out for her game, all the plans- she’s spent countless sleepless nights developing them, deciding what combination would produce the most carnage and emotion from which she can feed.

Because Karissa’s new tech, though insanely high-quality and as perfect as she can get it, is not a perpetual energy machine. It needs something to feed it, something to keep it active and working. And what she’s found, through extensive study, is that the best way to power the mind-control mechanism is the consumption of the negative emotions of those being controlled.

Therefore, Karissa has decided that it has to be death, the game she will have the teenagers she preyed upon play. She has the perfect plot of land, close enough to her compound that the people within will be susceptible to her control, but not too close that the players will be able to see it outside the borders.

Of course, there won’t actually be any borders- that would be silly. Karissa will simply make the players believe that there are, and they will be physically incapable of crossing a certain point. It’s genius, this thing she’s concocted, and if it goes well, she can try and arrange one every couple of months for her and the other Watchers’ entertainment.

However, despite Third Life being a death game, the people inside won’t actually die. That would be ridiculous, completely unneeded carnage- and the loss of good players for later games. Well, wait- that’s a false statement. The players of the game will die, but they’ll be brought back to life. Just like the person with the flamethrower who Karissa had hunted through the woods so many years earlier.

She has been the prototype throughout all of this, she’s been the test subject, Karissa’s little guinea pig kept in a cage. Zombie, Their name is. Or, that’s what Karissa has named her, obviously. Their real name was something along the lines of- Cora? Cleo?

Karissa thinks it was probably Cleo.

But she’s Zombie now, they have been ever since they joined up at sixteen- a vulnerable young person, lost and alone. Of course, she was the perfect specimen- as is the typical coming-of-age ritual of traditional gorgon families, when she turned sixteen, she was banished from the home for a year to learn of life in the real world. Afterwards, it’s the custom that the child can either return home to learn the traditional ways or continue life in the outside world.

Zombie had found safety with the Watchers- but when they’d wanted to leave, to go back to their traditional gorgon roots, to return to their family…

Well, Karissa couldn’t let that happen, now could she?

And so she hunted down the teen in the woods and murdered her. They were brought back to life, of course. It’s been many years, and Zombie’s been broken and stitched back together thrice as many times since. She is, obviously, going to be one of the players in Karissa’s new game. It’s just fitting, isn’t it, that they take part in the experiment of a lifetime after they’ve helped oh so much with it.

Karissa’s thoughts eventually lead back to where she’s still stood on the balcony, outlined in stark black against the early morning sky. She shakes her head, laughing slightly under her breath, and turns with a swish of fabric, treading back inside on two-inch stiletto heels.

Her ride will be here soon, and it’s time to get ready for the time of her life.

Scott never did get back to Jimmy’s house.

They’re on him before he can think twice, figures in white hazmat suits descending upon him from trees and rooftops all around him, roughly grabbing and throwing him into the back of camper van. He doesn’t even have time to be confused before thick, rough rope wraps around his wrists and ankles, binding him to the wall. An oily wad of fabric is stuffed into his mouth, a strip of duct tape pressed over his mouth before he can scream.

And now he’s sitting here, half-conscious of others being piled in beside him, an arm or two pressing up against him, feet touching his. A red sweater, a black headband and green shirt, a boy covered in scars- defining features jumping out at him in bright flashes before they descend back into the numbing murk that surrounds him now.

It’s so hazy here, previously well-defined images turning to nothing but colors and shapes now through the fog in his mind. The sky is so dark here, and the ground is gray, fuzzy. Where’s the grass? Where’s Jimmy?

With his limited ability of thought, Scott sluggishly thinks that it must be the shock that’s rendered him so helpless, though a sharper part of him in the back of his mind wonders if maybe he’s been drugged somehow. The rag in his mouth does have a strange taste to it beyond the oil, a sweetness he can’t quite place. Scott’s not quite sure how much time passes from one thought to the next, each realization taking eons of time to nail down.

That’s why he doesn’t quite catalogue the tapping on his shoulder until someone’s head slams roughly into his bone, and Scott starts, eyes widening. If he wasn’t gagged, he would have yelped in surprise. He turns his head, and even fighting as hard as he can through the drug-induced blurriness, he’s only able to make out two bright yellow wings, bound alongside him. A shoulder presses into his own, and Scott’s almost certain he can hear someone crying as his eyes drip shut yet again. It’s too much work to keep them open, it would be so much simpler to just drift in and out of consciousness, the figure with yellow wings the only thing keeping him grounded to reality.

He wonders, in the back of this camper van from hell, if somehow it’s an angel.

Jimmy is frantic, his heart beating out of control, head throbbing insanely and his mouth filled with a disgustingly smooth texture- maybe cloth of some sort? He’s not really sure- it’s been a blur most of the time he’s been in the van. The drug (he’s sure he’s been drugged in some way) doesn’t seem to have affected him as strongly as everyone else. Maybe it’s something with him being an avian- the other avian here, a parrot, is looking around in the same frantic way that he is, and their eyes meet across the camper.

His eyes are filled with tears, waffle-colored hair swinging back and forth as he shakes his head vehemently, and Jimmy’s chest fills with an aching sadness. He’s sure he’s seen this boy at school, he’s fairly certain his name’s Grian. A traditional avian name, not like his own of Jimmy. Of course, it won’t be Grian’s true name- that’s a closely guarded secret, as well as one known instinctively.

Jimmy makes a vow that if he ever gets out of the hands of his captors, he’ll tell Scott his own true name- Solidarity. He’s been meaning to for a while, of course- but it’s hard to get up the courage, to gift someone with something of that capacity. The level of trust it takes to tell someone, especially a non-avian, your secret name- well, needless to say it’s almost unfathomable.

He’s not quite sure how long he sits in the truck, watching with bated breath as the van stops every few minutes, another figure bound and gagged thrown in with them- but none further that Jimmy recognizes. They all seem to be in the same drugged stupor, staring straight ahead with half-lidded eyes and offering no resistance to their white-suited captors. Again, he and Grian seem to be the only ones aware of the true weight and direness of their current situation.

Jimmy doesn’t really take note of anyone else in the van- sure, he’ll notice a detail here and there, but mostly he watches Grian and the gentle tears that slip down his face. All he can glean from the other avian’s slumped posture is an air of absolute hopelessness, one that threatens to spill over onto Jimmy and leech all the life from his soul as well.

Suddenly, Grian goes rigid, seemingly honing in on something Jimmy can’t quite see. His head shaking becomes even more vehement, and though the gag is never removed from his mouth, Grian’s voice cascades over him.

His tone is desperate and broken, his words streaming in a parade of syllables, a different tongue that makes no sense to Jimmy. Grian’s voice only switches back into something Jimmy’s familiar with when another captive is thrown into the van, a tall elf with scars carpeting almost every inch of his skin. Grian’s borderline begging, and as hard as Jimmy strains not to hear the words, they’re too sharp in his ear and he can’t push them away.

NO! Please, no, you promised, you PROMISED- you said that if I came, you wouldn’t take him, you said he would be SAFE! Please, I’ll do anything, anything, just let him go- I can’t let him go through this, I can’t, you have to understand, please! You promised me, you promised me- Scar, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, Scar- no, no no no, let him go, LET HIM GO-

One of the people in white suits punches Grian hard in the skull, seemingly fed up with his tortured screams. Grian’s head pitches forward, his eyes dulling to their normal beady black and voice tapering out pathetically as he falls unconscious.

Jimmy’s shaken- and not just because of the disembodied voice that everyone in the van could apparently hear. He’s mostly just confused about that. No, the thing that disturbs him most is the genuine fear coating Grian’s words, the desperate begging for them not to take the other boy- Scar, Jimmy remembers- and to leave him be.

That does not bode well for whatever’s going to happen to them all, and Jimmy shivers involuntarily, closing his eyes. He doesn’t open them again for several minutes until he feels the truck stop once more, the doors swinging wide and the white-suited people shoving in a new figure, right beside him.

Jimmy catches a glimpse of cyan out of the corner of his eye, and he just knows.

Scott’s here.

He looks the same as the rest of them, glazed-over eyes, seemingly undistressed. Jimmy has to get his attention. He needs to. But he’s bound, and Scott’s in no fit state to respond to the muffled grunts that happen to be the only sound Jimmy can make. He huffs, annoyed, and pushes his head back against the wall, fighting back an onslaught of tears.

Jimmy’s just a curious little bird.

It’s been. SO LONG. Since he heard her voice, since he heard those words. But here they are, loud as anything, biting and taking and angry- no, worse than that, almost dismissive. Jimmy nearly wilts under the pressure like a wildflower when summer comes, he nearly lets it get to him, the situation he’s in. No one can blame him if he does, after all- any normal person would have broken a thousand times over by now.

But as Jimmy hears the words again, instead of hopelessness, all they spark is anger. A deep, simmering rage, unlike anything he’s ever felt before, burns through his veins like a monsoon flood. Who are these people to kidnap him, his boyfriend, and so many more presumably innocent people? Why would he even allow himself to be tied up like this, rendered so vulnerable that anything could happen to him?

Jim’s anger goes deeper than even that. He’s always balked in the face of authority, whether it be Patty, the only mother he’s ever known, or these hooded figures who stole him away in the dead of night. Jimmy has never had a shred of rebellion inside him, he’s never even entertained the possibility of doing anything other than what the present person in charge wishes him to do.

It’s one of his biggest shortcomings as a person, he realizes- and even though it’s too late to do anything to change the predicament he’s in, there is a small act of uprising that he can commit. He and Scott are bound closely enough- so close, in fact, that their bodies are pressed together, the feathers on Jimmy’s wings resting gently on Scott’s back. Obviously, Jim can’t move his arms or legs- or wings. All his limbs are out of commission, really.

But the one thing they neglected to bind was his neck, and by extension, his head.

Jimmy headbuts Scott in the shoulder as hard as he can without arousing the suspicion of the guards, which is admittedly pretty lightly. He does it again, and again, and again, but no response is received for Jimmy’s efforts and Scott stares straight ahead, eyes blank of any thought or emotion- blank of any of the things that make him quintessentially Scott. The canary almost gives up, tears of frustration and hopelessness springing to his eyes.

He headbuts Scott once more, one final time, not giving a shit about what the guards will think this time. He puts all his strength into the motion, and slowly, miraculously, Scott turns towards him.

But it’s all for naught, because when their eyes meet, Scott looks just as zombified as ever. Jimmy doesn’t even think he recognizes him.

Scott’s head drops down, back into place, and Jimmy cries.

The van moves through the night, and finally hopeless, Jimmy cries.

Martyn doesn’t know where he is.

He has no idea what’s happened to him, has no idea what anyone could ever want with him- he’s just a good-for-nothing twenty-year-old pufferfish seafolk who’s spent most of his life doing- well, doing absolutely nothing, if he’s honest.

And now, he’s been kidnapped.

Martyn Littlewood, ultimate disappointment to his parents and everyone else in his measly little life, has been kidnapped.

It still doesn’t really sink in, the absolute danger he’s sure he must be in. He just feels numb, brain muted and fuzzy. He knows that he’s tied up, he’s aware that he’s in the back of a vehicle of some sort, and he knows that there are other prisoners here with him. But that’s it. Try as he might, the drugs that must be on the rag that has been stuffed into his mouth have absolutely ruined his brain, normally sharp thoughts nothing more than clumsy, cankered fumbling.

It’s really quite frustrating.

Especially because all Martyn has got going for him, the only thing that’s saved him from being the ultimate loser, is his mind. Though, one has to understand that he’s not smart, per se- he’s not good at math or writing essays or any of the things that make someone excel in school or get a good job or create the next big instant messaging app or whatever. Nah, Martyn’s just clever.

Clever and really funny.

He wonders vaguely if his current situation has anything to do with that thing he’d signed up for last month, a flier on some lamp post somewhere advertising something called “Third Life” that was promising twenty thousand dollars to whoever participated. Martyn was the very first person to sign, to etch his name on the crisp lines- because for that kind of money, what wouldn’t he do? Even if he had no idea what this thing was (there had been no information given, not a single word that could’ve helped him to identify even remotely what this thing he’d just signed up for was.)

When he’d come back to the spot a week later, mainly just to check if there had been any updates or whatever, the paper was filled with signatures, cramming into every nook and cranny, not a singular unfilled spot on the paper. Twenty thousand dollars is a lot of money, after all. Most folks like him would kill for that kinda cash, and he’s been struggling enough recently that he’s not surprised in the slightest others have been as well.

Martyn wonders, if this is truly what Third Life is, if he’ll get his money at all.

Martyn wonders, marveling at the words that flit quickly in and out of his slogging brain, if it’ll even be worth it.

But it’s still and cold outside, no plausible or even remotely possible threats in sight. Karissa puffs a short sigh of relief out her lips, heels clacking along the cobbled path as she makes her way towards the van. It’s shining, gleaming brightly in the puddle of light cast down from the fluorescent street lamp, a stylized purple symbol painted on the side- a rectangle, cut off before two corners diagonal to each other, small individual squares taking up the place where the corners would have been.

If there had been any doubt before that she’d somehow mistaken the vehicle, it’s erased now as the symbol of the Watchers glares back at her from the side of her van. Her smile only grows.

Karissa swings open the door of the van and climbs into the shotgun seat, flashing a simpering smile at Zombie- who, at the current moment, is driving the car. Zombie shoots a quick, light glare back at her, and Karissa laughs, high-pitched and ringing, even in her own ears.

“Now, now, Zombie,” she admonishes, glancing back to where her other thirteen contestants (excluding Zombie, of course) are tied and drugged, white-suited cult members looking after them, “remember what happens when you don’t show the proper respect.”

Zombie flinches, and Karissa feels a jolt of twisted pride that she’s managed to make this person break so easily that they’re terrified by any mere allusion to possible punishment. She’s just disappointed that her son has gone and been so strong-willed; he would’ve been the perfect experiment- more so than he already is, of course.

It’s interesting, truly, to realize how the boy’s siren and gorgon traits have come out differently in combination with each other. Karissa wonders, was she to try the experiment again, have another kid- Karissa wonders if the results would be similar, or vastly different. She’s too old to bear a child by now, however, and there are some things that even one such as she will not force upon a person who does not want it.

“Zombie, stay en route to the compound. I’m going to go check in on the prisoners- make certain that Grian’s not having second thoughts about his task.” Zombie nods tersely, and Karissa pats their head condescendingly as she stands, moving smoothly through the vehicle until she’s standing aloof in the bare back compartment.

Thirteen different young adults, all drugged and tied and gagged, the perfect hamsters to run around Karissa’s proverbial maze. She smiles, a genuine expression for once, even if one of perverse satisfaction and power. Moving among her captives, Karissa takes in their appearances, the familiar yet unfamiliar face of one in particular catching her gaze. Karissa cocks her head to the side, confused, and sticks her hand roughly under their chin to tilt their head up so she can get a better look at them.

But instead of the drugged blankness she’s been expecting, Karissa is met with a glare full of pure venom. She startles, dropping their head in surprise, and scrutinizes the person further, eyes squinting as she stares them down. Straw-blond hair, golden canary wings… and the faint but unmistakable smell of rapport magic.

Ah. So unless she’s been poorly informed, this must be Jimmy.

Just as she’d instructed the guards a half-hour prior, Scott is hog-tied up right next to his lover, his snakes as limp and drooping as the rest of his limbs. But Jimmy seems alert, almost… aware. Karissa ruffles her eyebrows, flecks of dried foundation flaking off at the wrinkle. This shouldn’t be happening. But, no matter- if he’s awake, she might as well let him speak. The gag won’t do anything now, given how remote the area they’re traveling through is. Plus, it was only really needed for the administering of the drug.

Ripping the duct tape off his mouth, no consideration for the pain that might come afterwards, Karissa watches as he ejects the sopping wad of fabric out of his mouth and onto the floor, spitting out the last residue of the drug that had been soaked into the cloth with a look on his face that can only be known as disgust.

“Hello, Jimmy. My name is Karissa Major, and we are the Watchers. Welcome,” she spreads her arms, gesturing around the interior of the decrepit van, “to your new life.”

Two simple words spring from the young boy’s mouth, face contorted in a solid mask of hatred. Karissa’s eyes widen in delight. Oh, yes, he will be perfect.

Is that someone’s voice Scott can hear, through the daze of his own mind? It sounds like Jimmy. Scott wishes it was.

Everything’s better with Jimmy by his side.

“Fuck you,” Jimmy spits, lips curling up in a sneer. “You’re Scott’s mom, aren’t you? Why would you do this to me? To us? To your own son? What in all the world is wrong with you?!”

Jimmy hates the way that Karissa’s smile widens, as if he’s simply egging her on, playing into her little mind games and tricks. She doesn’t speak, just stands above and watches him as if he’s some haphazard experiment and she’s a twisted scientist waiting for results. So he screams it again, spit flying unbidden from his mouth, eyes squinted and angry, the rage building beneath him as he pulls at his bindings, tries to get as close to her face as he can.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” he bellows, voice breaking in half. He pretends not to notice how, next to him, Scott stirs lightly, eyes blinking slightly open to stare at Jimmy blurily.

Karissa stares down at him, nothing even slightly akin to pity on her face.

“I noticed you seemed interested in Grian,” Karissa states, a cold hand covering Jimmy’s mouth when he tries to speak. “Are you wondering if maybe he could be a friend, a little ally for you in all this? A fellow avian to share your sorrows?”

Jimmy feels his eyes betraying him, drifting to gaze upon Grian’s unconscious form. He had been hoping that, he’s never met another tropical avian before. He’s been naively wondering, in the back of his skull if maybe, once they get out of here, he and Grian could go out for coffee, maybe hang out together sometime. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Jimmy’s always been a curious little bird.

But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing that she’s correct. Karissa raises her eyebrows, as if impressed. It just makes the anger bubbling in Jimmy’s stomach increase tenfold, hatred marring his usually smooth face. Karissa keeps talking.

“Because you see, Jimmy dear- and I can tell you this because soon enough, you won’t remember anything at all and much less this conversation- Grian is not on your side. He’s on ours. He won’t have his memories, per se. I’m not stupid enough for that. He’d just throw everything away for that Scar boy.” Her head gestures to the elf slumped in the corner, and Jimmy realizes that must be Scar. A fitting name, really, when one notices the amount of long since healed over injuries covering his body.

“But, nonetheless, Grian is on our side. My side. He’ll follow our orders, keep things interesting so I can keep power. Think of it as a bit of a hazing ritual. If he succeeds, he gets to join the Watchers. If not…” Karissa lets the threat hang in midair, before presuming a cheery tone and finishing her sentence as if she was describing going to the fridge to grab a snack. “Well, if not, then we just do it all over again, don’t we?”

Jimmy feels his blood run cold. “What are you talking about? Take my memories? Grian is- he’ll be keeping what interesting? And what do you mean, do it all over again?”

Karissa hums gently, swiping a thumb over her perfectly manicured nails. “The game, darling. What you’re here for.”

“I didn’t- I’m not signed up for this, I know my rights, let me go.”

“Jimmy, dear! You really think you could do anything, even if you somehow manage to escape? You really are a misguided child, aren’t you. No, darling. We’re high in the Boatem Mountains by now, in an area so remote and unheard of that you’d never even be able to find out where we are, much less send for help. So, don’t worry your little head about escaping- because I’m afraid, at least for the moment, that you’re stuck with me.”

Jimmy feels all the air go out of him, replaced by a deep confusion. “How are we that far out of the city already?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, darling. But I’m afraid that a magician never spills her secrets.” Karissa’s eyes are dark and cold, not a speck of humanity left within the cyan irises. Hard lines form around her mouth, and she sneers.

Jimmy has a sinking feeling that she’s telling the truth.

He’s not getting out of here anytime soon.

Karissa is surprised that Jimmy has so much fight in him. She’s watched him from afar, of course (she’s done the same with all her contestants), and he’s always seemed almost too soft, someone who can be hurt and broken easy as that. But then she’d come to the back of the van, and Jimmy had practically screamed in her face. It was an extreme whiplash from the kind of person Karissa had been expecting, but she can adapt.

It is, after all, the thing she’s best at. So she stuffs Jimmy’s gag back into his mouth once she bores of him and returns to the front of the van, not even bothering to buckle her seatbelt. “Zombie, drive quicker,” Karissa orders, arms crossed and staring straight ahead. For once, there’s not a trace of a smile, real or fake, painted across her all-too-perfect face.

“We’re already going twice the speed limit, ma’am,” Zombie replies, not even looking at her, hands clenched too tightly around the steering wheel. “I’d actually advise slowing down- if we speed up any more, we’ll get pulled over and rest assured they will find the people in the back, and even your siren magic won’t be able to convince them that it’s a normal thing to have thirteen drugged teenagers in the back of your van.”

Karissa huffs, rolling her eyes. “Fine. Do what you want. Just don’t get me caught, or I swear to god I’m tearing out all your stitches at the next possible opportunity.”

Predictably, Zombie flinches, memories of an enraged side of Karissa that only they see probably streaming through their mind. “I don’t doubt it, ma’am. I will try to the utmost of my ability not to get us caught.”

“Good girl,” Karissa purrs, reclining like a queen in her chair, “this is all going so well, I simply cannot wait for the games to begin.”

Zombie nods, eyes still straight on the road, and Karissa can see their throat bob as they do so, can feel the nervous tension bathing the air in a wash of sickly greens.

“Are you excited?” she asks, more as a form of sadistic manipulation than anything else. Zombie, of course, of course, isn’t excited. It’s a death game, she’ll lose all her memories, and worst of all, she’ll have to kill people. But if she says as much, she knows Karissa won’t hesitate to rip her throat out (and then stitch it back up, of course. It’s been done before.)

“Yes, ma’am, very excited.” Zombie spares a glance to the back of the van, something like guilt flashing across their face, so briefly that none but Karissa (master of manipulation) would have caught it.

“You’re lying to me,” she slithers back, voice smooth as honey yet twice as sharp. “Zombie, don’t you know what happens when you lie to Karissa? It doesn’t end well, does it.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Zombie says quickly, eyes darting nervously to Karissa’s enraged face. “Please don’t hurt me.” The plea in her tone is pitiful, voice withering away until it’s next to nothing, miniscule and timid.

Karissa scoffs, a hand reaching up to stroke Zombie’s sallow cheek. “You’re like a daughter to me, Zombie. Every child does bad things sometimes, and I think at heart, you’re still a child. You’ll always be a child to me. But remember, if you like to me like that ever again…”

She leaves the threat hanging in midair as her hand drifts down from Zombie’s face, their eyes turned resolutely back to the road, teeth clenched sharply. Karissa almost laughs, because it’s just all too easy, isn’t it. It’s just so simple to take advantage of this lost person, lightly masked threats all she needs to get Zombie in line. Honestly, she’s growing bored of it- bored of the complacency. She misses the days when Zombie would fight.

Maybe that’s part of the reason Karissa created the game, she muses, as she stares ahead at the sky lighting up with dawn beyond the trees. Zombie became boring- so Karissa created an environment so hostile that none could hope to survive. Even if somehow, all her players decide to be peace-loving idiots (and they won’t, Grian will make certain of that) then they’ll die by natural causes eventually- and probably sooner rather than later, one of them will feel the red haze clawing at their mind, begging them to turn on the others. And they will.

When that point is finally reached, Karissa will feel power. She will feel it beyond anything anyone else has ever known. She relishes in the thought, smile snaking sadistically behind her facade. In the corners of her vision, Zombie flinches.

Their hands grip the wheel of the car, the feeling of teeth grating together inside their mouth the only thing keeping them sane. Why are you doing this?

Zombie- or is it Cleo? Cleo Zombie? Zombie Cleo? They’re not sure anymore. But they like Cleo better, so they decide to stick with it. Her other self is not falling for this orchestrated distraction, however, this thought of property and names- the question springs back up, unbidden, and Cleo flinches at the sound of their harsh words inside her skull.

I said, why are you doing this?

Cleo’s knuckles are white now, white with the exertion of keeping her hands on the wheel when all she wants to do, all her other self wants her to do, is jump out of this van and never stop running. They decide to refer to their other self as Zombie, because they do have two names, and best to make use of both of them.

Zombie scoffs, and Cleo doesn’t even realize that their body had made the sound until Karissa’s smile appears in their peripheral vision, teeth too sharp and flawlessly white to be natural. Cleo flinches back, muttering stuttered apologies as Zombie hums disapprovingly inside their mind, head shaking sadly back and forth.

There used to be more of them, used to be more than just Zombie and Cleo. But their time at the cult, before they tried to leave under the thinly veiled excuse of getting back to their family, had taken a toll on all of them. When she’d come clean about the others in her mind, others who had sprung up when their father died, or when they were in an awful car crash. Sometimes, she’d even get a new person just from being super interested in something.

But Karissa had told them, hand on their shoulder and venom in her words, that they weren’t real, that Cleo was wrong- and one by one by one, all the people had drifted away. They’re still there- Cleo can be sure of that, and Zombie even more so- but they’ve all hidden themselves away, away from the pain and misery and everything else.

Zombie is the only one who’s stayed. And Cleo is forever grateful for them, because they make everything so much easier with their snarky quips and comments at Karissa, they make everything so much more bearable than if it had just been Cleo on her own.

Oy, little sheep, I appreciate the sentiment and all, but keep your eyes on the fucking road! Jesus Christ!

Cleo shakes herself, blinking the thoughts out of her eyes and out of her mind. Zombie reclines angrily in the back of their mind, and Cleo can feel that it’s still not happy that she’s agreed to this.

It’s not like she had any choice- Cleo hadn’t had any more choice than the people tied and drugged in the back of the van. Or at least, that is what they tell themself, frantically fabricating a panicked reasoning for why she’s doing this.

Cleo doesn’t want to get hurt again, and she doesn’t want Zombie to leave them. She doesn’t want Zombie to be forced out of their mind by Karissa’s prying talons, and they will do whatever it takes to keep their only friend safe with them.

Cleo exhales, calming the shaking of her hands. They’re okay. They’re fine. Cleo just needs to play the game, and then she can figure out a way to escape. They just need to be a part of the game, and then they can leave.

She tell herself this even when she knows she’s lying.

It’s the only way Zombie and her could ever keep going.

Scott feels the truck pull to a stop. He hears doors sliding open, and feels his body being lifted underneath him. The air is crisp and clear on his face, and he blinks as the tape is ripped off his mouth, his gag removed.

Immediately, his mind clears, and all the pieces click into place. He looks around frantically, eyes darting this way and that. He’s been slung over the shoulder of one of the white-suited cult members (because of course it’s Mother’s cult that’s kidnapping him, obviously that had been their plan from the start, and Scott curses himself for not realizing it sooner.)

He sees some of the people he’d half-noticed earlier, but his eyes flick over them quickly, not seeing what he’s looking for until the last person is carried out of the van, bright yellow feathers bound tightly to his back, eyes immediately meeting Scott’s, large and scared and pleading.

Joel is also here, Scott notices sadly, he’s been tied to the roof of the truck (as he’s much too big to fit inside). He’s being wrangled by at least ten employees, his eyes ablaze with anger, tail raised up protectively.

“Get off of me,” Scott hears him yell, “this is not what I signed up for, get off of me-”

He finally notices Scott, and his eyebrows raise in surprise. “S-scott? What are you doing here? And Jimmy? What’s going on-”

Before Joel can finish his sentence, the white suits jump on him, subduing him with a shot of something viscous and liquid-clear directly into the soft spot of the celestial’s neck. He howls, and drops to the floor, the last emotion on his face a potent hatred before he passes out.

Jimmy’s eyes lock to Scott’s again, fear apparent on his face. He must have no idea what’s going on, Scott realizes, and he feels such intense pain in his chest for his boyfriend.

“I’m sorry,” Scott whispers, guilt raking through his body like a hurricane of doubt. “This isn’t what I thought would happen.”Jimmy just shakes his head slowly, his gaze wrenched from Scott’s as he’s carried roughly inside the building. The sky shakes, and the world shakes, and everything comes crashing down because they got Jimmy. And, not for the first time, Scott doesn’t know what to do.

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strawberrystepmom · 8 months

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ahh i just logged on for the first time in a few days and saw you are doing a fun Star Wars au thing and am here to also humbly request a thought as to what would be going on for me in your AU 🥺🥺 (I wasn’t too much of a star wars person but my last Disney trip was just as galaxy’s edge opened so I binged the movies with my dad as a Crash Course In Lore so I could drink blue milk and build a little droid without feeling like a poseur!!!)

NAT!!!! you are an outfitter for the faction of your choice. everyone looks impeccable thanks to you and a certain handsome blonde senator manages to send you comms asking for your assistance in crafting his own wardrobe, excited to have a even a single piece created by you.

the two of you forge an unlikely friendship and it only serves to grow your clientele.

#answered #jjk star wars au #omg this is so cute tho and like it’s such a thing to do with your dad to watch Star Wars it makes me laugh so hard that everyone does it

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yjwhatif · 2 years

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What are your favorite Bart/Ed fics, if you have any?

Oh there are so many great Ed/Bart fics out there and there’s probably more since I’ve only ever looked on AO3 but here’s a list of the ones that have stuck with me the most…

Mamma Mia, he’s Italiano! by Toca

The impeccable timing of everything by Toca

Keep the lights turned off by Toca

The thing I really love about these is the use of times stamps like the show - it’s so effective - it makes them feel like actually episodes of the series. Particularly with impeccable timing, there’s so much depth in the storytelling that draws you in and makes it so easy to connect with everyone and everything that happens - every character feels fleshed out and real. Also I do love a good long fic!

Invulnerable by Ailerua

(I'll Be) Fine by Ailerua

These are two really great hurt/comfort fics that masterfully explore Bart’s emotional complexities - in a way we have still yet to see explored in the actual show. Also invulnerable made me fall in love with Ed and Jaime’s friendship and that is another thing I actually wanna see depicted in the show — give me more of the best friend squad!

Honeybaby by Golden_Hearts

you’re a sunflower (I think your love would be too much) by LogicalBookThief

These are two fics that remain incomplete (😩) but honestly the writing that’s there is truly phenomenal! The character dynamics are amazing— everything about them is just SO GOOD! The relationship between Bart and Cissie in sunflower is both entertaining and endearing - it is so fun to read and reread their scenes together. Whilst honeybaby is a no powers/collage/coffee shop au which portrays Ed and Bart as completely different yet possess a connection that makes them totally perfect for one another - they see behind each other’s masks… also Traci is stellar every time she shows up!

Field Trip to Davy Jones' Locker by FrozenWaffle

Aspirin by FrozenWaffle

These are some of the earliest fics I remember reading and I honestly think they’re are what truly and absolutely established my love for this pairing in those earliest of days. I was new to fandom and fan fiction and shipping - especially for a LGBTQ+ couple (I had a very closed minded existence until Ed&Bart pulled me into this much more colourful and open minded world that I genuinely love being a part of) - these fics gave me my first taste of what this relationship could be and I have been hooked ever since - there was no going back after reading these.

Sons of a Scientist Father by hart051

While this doesn’t really have much Bart in it - only a little bit at the end - I just really enjoy seeing Ed and Vic connect over their experiences dealing with their scientist fathers. It’s simple and sweet and it is exactly what I wanted to see explored in some way… also the Ed/Bart interaction at the end is really cute!

Into the Nothing by hlwar

Now this is actually just an Ed fic set after S2 (Bart’s not in it at all) but it is my all time FAVOURITE fic that I have ever read EVER! If I’m ever in need of an Ed fix, I read this fic - everything about it is PERFECT! It’s so brilliantly crafted that I genuinely consider these events canon - they happened - no question about it! I LOVE IT SO MUCH!!

And that’s my list. I hadn’t actually been checking their tag on AO3 for a while - since whenever I did there were no updates and that made me sad - but in compiling this list I realised there’s some I actually haven’t read yet — so I’ll be checking those out next…

If anyone has any fic recommendations from other sites or that I haven’t mentioned here which are Ed/Bart focused then feel free to drop me a message and I’ll add them to the reading list!

#thanks anon!#ask box #my response #fic recs #eduardo dorado jr #bart allen #bartuardo #zetaflash #young justice #yj #fanfics

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twwpress · 2 years

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Creator Spotlight: Week 10

Welcome back to the TWW Author Spotlight! For every spotlight, we’ll ask each featured author the same ten questions (as well as questions you submitted on Twitter!). Today we are so excited to be talking with @thefinestmuffin on twitter/thefinestmuffins on AO3!

1) What are your top 5 desert island fics by other authors?

Ahhhhh, I need a top 20, because there are so many AMAZING fics in this fandom! At the end of the day I went with the completed fics that I reread the most and my top, fuzzy-feeling comfort fics:

When A Woman Loves A Man (Who Loves A Woman) by BeneathAnOrangeSky I remain in absolute awe at Lucy’s craft and prose. All of her fics are just so gorgeously written (honestly I had such a hard time choosing - go read all 4 of them post-haste), and this one is simply perfection. I love the alternating points of view and the way the story stays canon-compliant while absolutely deepening the impact of canon in very believable and resonant ways. This depiction of the Minsk Candles Debacle makes me laugh out loud every single time, the diary scene has SO MUCH EXQUISITE TENSION, and the Holy Night-related scene makes me want to fling myself into the freaking sun even though I’ve read it at least a dozen times.

turns the flicker to a flame by fairwinds09 Fairwinds09’s writing is so delicious and evocative, and I feel really captures the nuance of the Josh/Donna relationship in the most simultaneously real-feeling and sensual way possible. I absolutely salivate for a War Crimes arc AU, and this fic just truly delivers on that process so beautifully. There’s so much tenderness! I also am a devotee of the Josh Lyman Is Into Feet But Not In A Weird Way school of thought (the canon evidence for this is STRONG), and this story highlights that with so much subtlety and sweetness.

where the lovelight gleams by JessBakesCakes This one was written specifically for me, and so I feel a little selfish for including this one on this list when Jess has so many other incredible, next-level fics on offer (Almost Honest and i like shiny things (but i’d marry you with paper rings) are also both definitely up there for me!), but I just love it so, so much and the comfort it brings me is hard to overstate. There’s so much Josh/Donna boyfriend-girlfriend era deliciousness here, and Donna being unrepentantly horny for Josh in a goofy Christmas sweater (AND HOLDING A BABY, RIP ALL OF US) is so funny and sweet and soft (and also SEXY, let’s be clear) to me. I have reread this one million times (will reread one million more), and it always makes my heart feel so full. Jess’s fics have impeccable vibes and always make me smile so big and feel SO GOOD!! Plus, a Wisconsin fic always does my midwestern heart right! Elite Christmas fluff, do not miss it.

wherever is your heart (i call home) by mikaylawrites WISCONSIN FIC MY BELOVED!! MIkayla is such a wonderful writer and this story just had me by the heartstrings from moment one. Come for the Moss-family-brings-Josh-custard-when-they-meet-him vibes, stay for the childhood bedroom scenes (including ONLY ONE BED, most prized of tropes!). Honestly it’s all just so sweet and tender and poignant, and these over the years glimpses of Josh and Donna in Wisconsin absolutely do me in (meant as the highest of compliments). Also I went to school in Wisconsin so all of the little local touches fill me with joy!

The Professor Josh series by hufflepuffhermione Ope, am I cheating if I include these as a series? Alli’s Professor Josh fics cheer me up so much, and I just absolutely adore them. Present Day Josh/Donna makes me SO HAPPY, and Alli’s vision for it here feels so perfect to me. There’s something about the pandemic being included in the setting that just really… helps all of the sweetness land for me in a resonant way, and I can’t even tell you how much I’ve smiled and cried my way through these since they came out. These fics are so sweet, so funny, and so capture where I feel like the Moss-Lyman family would be! These might be the stories I’ve reread the most in fandom - truly my bad day recovery go-to!

2) Do you have a favorite character to write? Favorite ship(s) to write? Are there characters or ships you'd like to write more of? (shout out to @sam_writes_fics for asking a similar question!)

I think I write Josh the most naturally (and I love writing him), but I really adore writing CJ, which I don’t do enough of and would love to do more of. Josh/Donna are definitely my favorite ship to write, and are the closest thing I have to a TWW OTP, but I’ve also written a tiny bit of Josh/Sam and CJ/Toby and am definitely open to writing other pairings. I would love to write something more CJ-centric, and I’d love to write some CJ/Kate Harper some day!!

3) Tell us about your writing process (setup/location? Night or day? Snacks/beverages? Computer/phone/notebook? Music or silence? Anything else you want to share is welcome!)

I’m chronically ill and I do most of my writing from bed on my laptop with a lap desk. Inspiration hits me whenever the heck it wants to and is wildly unpredictable (plus I have a pretty classic case of inattentive ADHD, ahaha), and my migraines limit how much I can read or write, so I have to strike when I can. I need to daydream on a concept a lot before I can actually write: vibe with friends, think while driving, mull on it in the bath, listen to a song or playlist on repeat while staring at my ceiling. I need music to generate vibes, but I can’t actually write while listening to most music. To write, I need silence or white noise. I motivate myself with caffeine or a treat. I sprint to keep myself focused but don’t really care about the word count. I try to just get scenes down as I’m inspired to write them, which means I often hit an annoying point where I have to go in and make myself write all the filler and connecting parts I struggle the most with. I’m a recovering perfectionist and I have a pretty thorough editing process, and I usually spend a lot of time messing with wording.

There was a period of time where I tried to get more disciplined about my writing process, but I realized quickly that I need to just embrace it: I type 100wpm but I think/write slow, I need to reread it/read it aloud/think about it/rewrite chunks A LOT to be happy with it, I am allergic to writing in order, and if I have ANY limitations placed on me I tend to freeze up and get stuck. I do best when I let myself write whatever I feel inspired about and don’t worry too much about finishing things in a particular order. And all of that has to be okay, because that’s how I can 1) actually write and 2) enjoy it!

4) What writing advice do you have for others who may be reading this?

The most important advice, and I realize the Fight Club-esque irony of this, is to take writing advice with a grain of salt/don’t interpret it as the letter of the law. There’s no one correct way to write so you should embrace the style/process that works best for you and using adverbs (or whatever dogmatic rule you might find on tumblr or writing blogs) doesn’t mean you’re a bad writer. Lookout for dogma and only adopt what genuinely helps and feels good to you. Also, listening to podcast interviews with professional novelists I admire has helped me internalize that there are SO MANY ways to write and helped me embrace my fiddly, slow-writing, out of order, touch-and-go writing process. The one concrete piece of advice that has actively helped me the most is reading my story out loud during the editing process for flow. It helps me catch parts that are clunky or don’t flow well or don’t make sense, and I cannot recommend it enough!

5) From where do you usually draw your inspiration? (Other forms of media, music, tropes, etc?) (Shout out to @unpennied for a similar question!)

A lot of ideas just come to me unbidden - I’m a big daydreamer - but I’m definitely super inspired by music and sometimes poetry, and just vibes (images, aesthetics, feelings, etc.). all i ever wanted (was a life in your shape) was partially inspired by seeing a picture of Brad with his son and Janel with her niece on the same day, and those images combined with the song prompt just kind of mutated into their whole own thing. I also love tropes and in general I have a lot of fun with I guess what I’d call creative games like, “What would the characters be like in this AU?” or “How would this trope work with this pairing?” Also, honestly, in TWW I’ve got a real “but MAAHM, I can fix them!” mentality about Josh and Donna, like any episode with a missed romantic opportunity is liable to inspire me to write a canon-divergent or fix-it fic.

6) What is the fic you've written that you're most proud of and why?

I think it’s gotta be Oversight. I’ve gotta be honest, I initially felt really daunted writing an exchange gift fic for beneathanorangesky, who is both one of my closest fandom friends and one of the TWW writers I admire the most. I’d always wanted to write a Season 3 War Crimes arc AU (there’s so much potential there, IMO!) but it also felt really hard to get right or at least like something that it could be easy to get wrong. And I was SO SCARED about including Donna’s diary entries, both because it felt really critical to get the voice right and also because I know generally fandom doesn’t love first person POV. Structurally and scope-wise, the story felt pretty ambitious to me, and that was before I knew I would be whipping out 13k of smut at the end that covered the murky and hard-to-nail terrain of Jealous Josh (oooops, LOL). At the end of the day I worked really hard and very carefully to craft this one into what I hoped it could be and I am proud of how it turned out!!

7) What's the fic trope/concept/AU you'd read 1000 of? What's the fic trope/concept/AU you'd write 1000 of? (shout out to @donnamossburner for asking a similar question!)

I can never get enough of fake dating and only one bed! Also Joshua “Praise Kink!” Lyman until the day I die, please. And I guess I’d write 1000 canon divergence AUs, but I’d also love to write more fake dating!

8) Is there anything you'd like to try writing-wise that you haven't yet?

I’d really like to write original fiction, but fanfiction is so comforting and community-filled that it’s hard for me to make myself pull resources away from it towards original work. But since my disability has made it difficult to work and all I seem to be able to do reliably lately is write smut, I have been strongly considering starting an original erotica Patreon… 👀

In terms of fic, I would love to write more CJ-centered fic! Just in general, I love epistolary stories (fic and otherwise) and would love to try one someday!

9) What's your go-to Starbucks/coffee shop/other drink order?

I have to confess that I was briefly a barista and also lived for over a decade in the PNW, aka I’m kind of a coffee snob. I’m a sucker for independent roasters and housemade syrups, LOL, and I have a lot of fun trying new things. My current summer fave from my local coffee shop is cold brew with maple syrup and oat milk, and in colder weather I love an oat milk latte with cardamom syrup or a dirty chai. There was a little roaster in the town I used to live that had an amazing latte with housemade almond cashew milk and sometimes I just think about it longingly. When I’m having a “treat yourself!” moment at Target in the middle of errands, I will definitely get an Iced Toasted Vanilla Shaken Oatmilk Espresso (a Starbucks order with so many adjectives that it’s impossible to place it without feeling shame) or a PSL with coconut milk or oat milk.

10) Do you have any current projects you'd like to promote or anything upcoming you'd like to tell us about?

@jessbakescakes and I are co-hosting Trope Soup fest, which just revealed! People can continue to claim prompts and post fics for it after the reveal date, so feel free to jump in! If I DO get it together to start an original erotica Patreon, I’ll be posting a google form in the near future and would love all of your opinions on what you’re looking for/whether or not you’d be interested! And I’m working on a combo of fics and original stories for NaNoWriMo, so hopefully I’ll have stuff to post soon! On the horizon:

The next (red dress!) chapter of between the shadow and the soul, which I swear I haven’t abandoned

A follow-up AU to all i ever wanted (was a life in your shape) where J and D get it together post-Strawberry Farm (~5k done so far)

My present day Josh/Donna (~8k and counting) which I’ve been plodding away at for over a year but have been really inspired about lately.

Submitted questions (some questions have been edited to avoid repetition!):

From @sam_writes_fics: what’s a fic that’s been sitting in the back of your mind forever and you hope one day you can finally write it?

SAM when I tell you there are SO MANY of these and honestly a lot of them ARE partially written.

There’s one in particular called Horseshoes and Hand Grenades that is SO CLEAR in my mind (and I have like 8k written) and it’s about all of the times something almost happened between Josh and Donna through the lens of a small transgression getting press attention and CJ interrogating them in an AU season 6. My brain has also been absolutely commandeered by a fluffy and funny Totally Platonic Sperm Donor J/D plunny so hard (and Jess has encouraged me so enthusiastically, lol) that I somehow have a full outline and a pregnancy calendar for Donna so … I can’t make any promises, but we’ll see!

From @sam_writes_fics: favorite character to read??

Joshua No Middle Name Lyman. I both kind of am him and I also want to bone him, so I simply cannot get enough. But also, and maybe this is a cheat of a second answer, it’s hard to find but I LOVE when fics have the whole ensemble banter and it’s so on pitch that I can just hear and see it in my head!

From @sinistercherubs: you get to talk to (1) tww character irl for 5 minutes, who is the character and what would you say to them?

Oh my gosh, this is such a good question and so hard!! There’s a temptation here to meddle with shit: like tell Simon Donovan not to go into that convenience store, or tell Josh to get it the heck together at one of :spins wheel: at least ten times, but I imagine that just like time travel that bit probably gets messy. At the end of the day I am a simple disaster bisexual, so I’d probably just want to flirt with CJ. Though if I had to pick a Josh Lyman intervention moment, I would go to him during Donna’s recovery and tell him that Colin is NOT in the picture, morning shows are the ones sending her flowers (not that it’s any of his business), and that our poor girl needs a longer medical leave from work and for a certain best friend/boss/crush (you, you absolute ding dong) to dig deep and show up for her.

From @donnamossburner: If you could rewrite an episode of tww which episode would it be? And what would you write to occur?

If I could rewrite a whole arc it would be the Toby thing in s7. He was done dirty, it had a long -erm impact on the show’s post-canon relationships, and IMO it betrayed a deep misunderstanding of the character on behalf of the writers. If I could rewrite it, if I were keeping a leak at all I would not have Toby be the one leaking, but rather have there be some misunderstanding/miscommunication/falling on swords going on between him and CJ and it ultimately comes out that he didn’t fucking do it because of course he didn’t. My shippy answer is: I would either rewrite the end of Inauguration: Over There so that we get a Josh/Donna kiss OR rewrite another ep later in s4 to tie up that arc and get them together under Sorkin, as they ought to have been. Although I guess I kind of DID already rewrite this in often a sweetness, ahahaha, albeit in angsty fashion.

From @donnamossburner: Is there a trope you haven’t written / read a lot of that you’d like to see more of in the fandom?

I’d love to see more Bisexual! Josh actively explored. And actually, I’d love to write more Bisexual Josh, ahahaha. And more present day JD always, please, in all ways. Also, I’m just saying, if there were more JD pegging fics I would definitely read them (and also have one vaguely in the works!).

From @mlea7675: What’s your favorite post-series HC?

I don’t really have set headcanons across all story universes, but I’m a huge believer in the Congressional Representative Donna Moss-Lyman and Professor Josh agenda!

From @unpennied: How and when did you get into the ww?

I am… old, so I first watched TWW on tv with my best friend’s family while I was in high school. They got the DVDs as they came out, so we’d have marathons together, and they’d have me over to watch new eps together too, and let me borrow the whole set for comfort rewatches when I had mono in college. The last episode of TWW aired, no lie, on the day I graduated college (with a poli sci minor)! I was a huge fan, but I wasn’t active in fandom culture back then.

I’d rewatched a bunch over the years (esp the first four seasons), but my rewatch in early 2021 is what pulled me into active stan culture for TWW. I didn’t have the heart for it during the Trump years, tbh, but once Biden was safely inaugurated I hit play out of curiosity to see how my old fave held up. I started listening to TWWW along with my watch and then (because I was active in other fandoms by now) started looking at fics out of curiosity. And welp, here we are!

From @JessBakesCakes: Do you have any headcanons about fics you've written that didn't make it into the fic itself? If so, which is your favorite?

This was in the fic but never spelled out: I gave Donna’s siblings in all i ever wanted (was a life in your shape) ascending alphabetical names in age order (like the Bridgerton siblings, iykyk lol) and also had the hc that her parents traded Irish and Italian names (Adam, Ben[volio], Connor, Donna[tella]) because we know from The Supremes how they go about compromise, ahaha. Also, this is so tiny and silly, but in by the chimney with care I headcanon that Donna and Josh have a kind of running gag about the bougie grocery store (you know how things sometimes start out ironic but then just become… absorbed into your Couple Landscape?) because there’s no way in hell Josh would ever just randomly call that on his own, LOL.

From @S4MWILSON: fave season?

Season 2 really said all bangers and it cannot be denied - that’s probably my favorite. But I also love the campaign arc in seasons 6-7!

fave ep?

17 People is a work of art, and not just for JD reasons. 20 Hours in America and Dead Irish Writers are also up there for me, and (I almost count the post-Sorkin years as their own thing, LOL) The Supremes is one of my favorite later season eps!

cast member you’d most like to hang out with?

So hard to choose, they’d all be a delight! I think I would have a lot of fun with BWhit and Amy at a dinner party, like I feel like it would be fun, easy, and interesting to talk to them both!

character you’d most like to hang out with?

CJ, be my Gal Pal™, if you are reading this I am free on Thursday night, please come hang out with me on Thursday night when I am free.

underrated duo (ship or platonic)?

Kate/CJ for underrated ship, Donna & Toby for friendship

long fic or short fic ?

Honestly it’s easier for me to read and finish short fics because I have chronic migraine and can’t read the way I used to. But I love all of them, oneshots and epics!

easiest character to write?

Josh Joshua Josh Josh.

fave fic tropes?

Only one bed, fake dating, mutual pining, slow burn, coworkers to lovers, BANTER (and Professor Josh)

fave thing abt Fanon tww?

Gotta be the Harvard sweatshirt

and funniest scene ?

Some of the cold opens omfg, like there are a handful I put on when I need to laugh: the cold open for The Midterms, also the cold open for The Leadership Breakfast. And that moment in Privateers never fails to SEND me.

Thanks again for chatting with us!!

If you’re interested in being featured for a future spotlight, please drop us a line here on tumblr, on twitter, or email [email protected].

xx, What’s next?

#Creator Spotlight #creator q & a #TWW creator #the west wing #the west wing fanfic #josh x donna #cj x kate #cj x toby #josh lyman #donna moss #toby ziegler #tww fic rec

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beyondspaceandstars · 3 years

Text

While You Sleep

Chapter 7

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: fluff, mentions of violence Summary: Soulmate!AU - Throughout life, you’re given glimpses of your soulmate through dreams. As you sleep, memories flash in your mind showing you the life your soulmate has lived. Everyone around you raves about how their soulmate reads great books or volunteers in their spare time. But you can’t relate as your dreams end up being more like nightmares. Through initial images of death and violence, you come to learn your soulmate is the Winter Soldier.

(a/n: i know the ending is ehh but i promise more will be explored in the next chapter <3

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Your giddiness from the morning carried into the afternoon. You felt like you were floating half the time. The orders flying in flew out too as you moved flawless and happily through your work. Even when some customers would come up insisting their drink wasn’t correct, you accepted the complaint and happily presented a fresh cup. It was impeccable. A combination of feeling rested and feeling like you had someone.

You were at the tail-end of a rush when Steve came into the shop. He didn’t get in line, though, and instead took the last seat at the counter, watching you float about cheerfully.

You glanced up from the espresso machine. “Good morning, Steve.”

“Good morning,” he greeted back, watching you froth some milk for the newly brewed espresso.

You started pouring the milk into the cup, moving your hand delicately attempting to create some kind of pattern. “No coffee today?”

Steve shook his head as you placed the order under the pick-up sign and called out the name on the cup. You had a second to breathe and placed yourself back in front of Steve.

“I actually came to see how everything was going.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, a little smirk tugging at your lips. “I may be new to the whole soulmate thing but I am not clueless when it comes to friends. I’m sure Bucky is sharing everything.” You turned to start wiping down your workspace.

Steve frowned, “Bucky hasn’t told me anything.”

Your movements stopped. Brows furrowed in confusion, you asked, “He hasn’t said anything about me?”

Steve shook his head. “I just think he’s nervous. Probably wants to keep you for himself right now. I hear some soulmates can get like that at first.”

“Oh,” you hummed. “Well I can try to fill you in but there’s not much to discuss really. It's only been like a day. Dinner was lovely, though. Thank you for that, by the way.” Steve smiled. You continued, “He walked me home that night which was very kind, and then this morning he surprised me. He was waiting outside my apartment building to walk me to work.”

Steve’s jaw went slack. “Bucky walked you to work? Here?”

You nodded, maybe a bit too enthusiastically but you couldn’t help yourself. “We had a lovely walk and chatted along the way.” He stared at you as if waiting. “Steve, I’m not going to tell you what we talked about.”

Steve let out a light chuckle, throwing his hands up dramatically in defeat. “Alright, alright,” he said, “I won’t pry but can you blame a man for trying? My best friend is finally learning about his soulmate. That’s big for anyone but for Bucky in particular...”

You couldn’t help the blush creeping up on your face for what felt like the millionth time today. It was one thing to hear stuff from Bucky but to get an outsider's perspective, well, that was a rush. You held a little bit of pride from it as well.

“Well, thanks for getting us together,” you smiled, turning to wipe down a coffee machine.

“You’re not mad at me for the ambush?”

“Oh, no, I’m very mad about that.” You said, pointedly, as you glanced over back at Steve. He still had a shit-eating grin on his lips, not even an ounce of sorriness came off him.

“Well, once again, can you blame me? How else was I supposed to get you two to actually talk? Besides, I’m not actually hearing any complaints from you about it.”

Darn. He got you there. You sighed with a small nod and faced Steve once more. “No, of course, I’m not complaining,” you admitted, “you’re just lucky it turned out well.”

“It was always going to turn out well,” Steve said, matter-of-factly. “You two are soulmates.”

You frowned, “I could’ve moved on.”

Steve chuckled, absolutely dismissing the idea. “That doesn’t actually happen now does it?”

No, it doesn’t, but you didn’t want to admit it out loud. Once you actually stood in the same room as Bucky, you knew there was no turning back. However it may have ended up, you were always to feel that pull towards him. You think you were hooked the second you saw him on the television, despite that initial onslaught of fear.

When a few seconds had passed and Steve was still met with no answer, he gave you a smile. “Have a good rest of your day.”

As he turned his back to you, you called out, “I gave him my number.” Once the words left your lips you felt a bit unsure of why you were telling him this. “That’s another thing that happened this morning. I just really wanted to…” What did you want to do?

“Open that connection?” Steve guessed but you realized quickly that was correct. You wanted a more direct line to him, to maybe establish more happenings and dates. It sounded so fucking childish in your head but this all was so new to you.

Once you nodded, confirming his assumptions. Steve said, “He’s probably very thankful for that.”

Now he was really done speaking. Steve promptly left after that without any more goodbyes or chances for you to blurt out ridiculous updates. Why, anyways, were you actually updating Steve? Maybe because part of you felt you owed him. He sort of deserved to know a little about the couple he aided along in bringing together. Or maybe he was living vicariously through you two seeing as his own soulmate was gone. Perhaps, though, at the end of the day, he was a friend and from your previous observations, this kind of chatter over soulmates and first glances was what other people did. It felt good to finally sort of be in on it all with everyone else.

***

It was late in the afternoon when your phone buzzed. You were just starting to make your way to your apartment. Slightly confused, you turned on the screen to see a text message written more in the form of a formal letter.

Good afternoon. Did this send? Xo, Bucky

Despite the silliness and him clearly dating himself (not like it was a secret, though), you were practically wooed by the little hugs and kisses at the end. It really reminded you of some old-timey letter. You swore, it was always the simplest things with this man that just pulled you in.

Quickly, you crafted your message back: It sent! Was that your first text message ever?

After hitting ‘send,’ you started on the path back home. While maybe not expecting an immediate response, you also didn’t expect to be halfway to your building before Bucky texted back.

Yes, the text read. Can I call? -Bucky

You chuckled at the continuation of the sign-off but quickly replied, telling him you were free to talk whenever. Within seconds, your phone was ringing.

“Hello!” you said, fairly a bit too cheerily into your phone. You could practically hear Bucky’s smile as he answered.

“Hello,” he greeted you. “How is work?”

“It was good,” you said, “I’m on my way home now.”

“What?” Bucky gasped. “You should’ve told me what time you got off. I would’ve walked you home.”

You giggled, “Well, you maybe you should’ve asked what time my shift ended. I think this goes both ways, Buck.”

There was a moment of silence. “I forgot,” he eventually admitted with a sigh. “Someone had to go and kiss my cheek so I really couldn’t think straight.”

You let out a loud laugh at his comment, feeling a blush creeping on slowly on your neck and cheeks. Bucky matched your laugh.

“I’m sorry I’m such a distraction, I’ll do better,” you giggled. “Was there a particular reason you wanted to call?”

Bucky let out a bit of a disappointing sigh as if he didn’t want to admit something. “I’m not too skilled at this texting thing.”

“Oh,” you frowned, a bit uncertain. “It’s just like typing on a computer.” Sure, you said it like it was so obvious, but then you sort of hit you, remembering who you were speaking to. You stopped in your tracks, wanting to bang your head against a wall. “I-I mean-,”

“It’s alright,” Bucky let out a breathy chuckle. “I have typed on a computer but my phone doesn’t mimic that. It’s one of those flipping phones.”

“Flipping phones?” It took you a second but then the lightbulb went off. “Oh, you have a flip phone. No keyboard, then.”

“No keyboard,” he confirmed. “I figured out how to use the little keypad but it’s not exactly efficient. Plus, calling allows me to hear your lovely voice.”

You continued walking, suppressing a ridiculous, dopey smile as you passed others on the street. “You’re such a flirt.”

He let out a thoughtful hum. “Yeah? You think so?”

You caught yourself nodding before realizing he couldn’t even see you. “Absolutely,” you said out loud.

“Glad to know I still got some game.”

“Oh?” You inquired. “Were you swooning all the ladies back in the day?” The second the words left your mouth, you realized where this conversation was going and a sharp twinge of jealousy ran through you. Your eyes began watering at just the ridiculous thought of a hopeless Bucky thinking he had no soulmate and mindlessly pulling in girls left and right.

Bucky must’ve picked up on the sudden shift in you - possible perks of the bond - because he spoke very carefully after a minute. “Past me certainly did some things,” he admitted, “but he didn’t know there was a beautiful woman waiting for him way down the line.”

Your throat tightened a bit at the threat of tears. You took a couple of deep breaths completely shocked by how emotional one little thought could make you. The conversation on the topic hadn’t even lasted a full minute and Bucky was frantically calming you down.

You wanted to change the subject. Possibly putting it back on you. “When did you first learn about me?”

Bucky went silent again. You pressed the phone to your ear with your shoulder, waiting, as you rifled for your keys in your bag when you saw your building coming into view.

“They… I… I went, or really it, went dormant and I don’t know how I remember this, usually, my brain went blank in those circumstances, but one day I got this vision of you. You were playing with this bright, white cat on the lawn with this little house right behind you.” Mittens, you realized as you began unlocking your apartment door. He saw you with your pet cat Mittens whom you had when you were just a kid. “I was really confused until I felt that tug in the soulmate line or whatever they call it. I knew it was real because you never vanished. No matter what they did to me, when I was put away, you were there. Like some sort of angel sitting in my head. They couldn’t take that from me. They could never take you.”

You thought you were going to start crying as you stood in the doorway of your apartment hearing the sadness mixed with faint hope run throughout Bucky’s voice as he recalled the dreams. You could practically feel it all, too, within you.

“Bucky…” you sighed. A light sniffle came through on the other end but he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, Bucky abruptly turned the tables on you as you probably should’ve expected. While you wanted to talk more of it out with him (Lord knows it seems like he needed it) you let him steer the conversation.

“I know you said we could discuss this later but I’m very curious,” Bucky began, changing the subject as easily as you had just prior, “when did you first learn about me? You said you’ve seen some things but I’m really curious what your first impressions were.”

It was like someone just stabbed in through the chest. You really should’ve known this was coming. The first memories of Bucky - the Winter Soldier - flashed through your mind chaotically.

“I really don’t-,”

“Please,” he begged. The tone in his voice now… You had made it all too obvious earlier that morning. Of course, this was bound to come back around and you had opened the fucking gates. “It doesn’t have to be detailed. Just… something.”

You sighed, running your hands through your hair in anger as you took a seat on the couch. “You weren’t really you.” That was all you felt you could say as your heart was now in your stomach and your throat felt like it was filled with razor blades.

“I wasn’t…” He sounded confused at first but then the words trailed off. You could practically feel the exact moment when it all clicked for him. You wanted to throw up.

“Bucky-,”

You were cut off by the line going dead and the sound of dial tone greeting your ears.

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #the winter soldier #bucky barnes #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #mcu #mcu fic #marvel fanfiction #marvel #avengers #soulmate au #angst #fluff #writing*#fanfic #fanfiction

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half-bakedboy · 3 years

Note

Hello! I would love to request a Shadowhunters Malec ficlet that’s AU - Human that somehow incorporates a first meeting with instant attraction in an unexpected place/environment/circumstances. Thank you!

The Main Character (read on ao3)

Pairing: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood Rated: General Summary: “You know in those dumb romantic comedies where the main character’s ex-boyfriend arrives at the most inopportune time when the main character looks like a trainwreck and has still not gotten over their feelings for said ex?” Alec said frantically, trying to ignore the eyes he felt burning into his back.

When Alec woke up on Saturday morning, a very large part of him - possibly all, if he was being honest with himself - had wanted to snooze his alarm clock and pretend that it was just another day in his quiet apartment. There would be no one to be seen or heard except for the small snores from the mangy cat he had rescued a few months earlier, and he would be surrounded by peace.

When he peered open one eye to glance at the time, he saw Church sitting on his bedside table with one paw up, ready to swat, and he decided that the day would have to happen whether he left his bed or not. He wasn’t about to deal with his sister’s disappointment if he didn’t arrive at the shop on time and figured he was better off pulling on a tattered sweater and jeans than feeling the wrath of Izzy.

It wasn’t that Alec didn’t like accompanying his sister on her shopping adventures, far from it. He had never cared for sprees, especially when it meant spending time with his family, but the planned outing of the day was just another reminder that his little sister was about to get married. His twenty-something baby sister was about to make their parents proud, and Alec? He was in his mid-thirties, with a mediocre office job, and spent most of his mornings attempting to figure out how to effectively press his coffee with the fancy machine his mother had gifted him when he moved out of Andrew’s home.

And, of course, Alec had to make himself even sadder by sending his thoughts into a spiral as he remembered his ex-boyfriend who had shattered his heart into a million pieces mere months ago.

He shook his head to rid his mind of hurt when Izzy’s bright voice shouted, “Alec!” She nudged at their mother’s arm and bragged, “See, I told you he would be here, looking…” Izzy’s voice trailed off and Alec couldn’t blame her. Maryse had booked them a meeting with one of the most prestigious wedding planners in New York and Alec had barely bothered to put on a clean shirt, let alone match the put-together outfits his family wore.

“I don’t know why you need me here,” Alec grumbled as he sat beside Izzy, shrugging off the comforting hand she rested on his shoulder. Maryse sighed heavily but it was enough of a response to know he had, once again, not met her standards. Izzy rolled her eyes but the smile never left her face. Alec had always admired that about his sister though, so he was grateful his presence hadn’t ruined the moment for her.

“You’re here because you’re my best man--” Before Alec could interrupt and mention how ridiculous it was that Izzy didn’t just have a maid of honor like most other brides, Izzy pressed a hand over his mouth and said, “And you’re the only person I know that will make sure this wedding planner doesn’t take advantage of me.”

“Oh, Isabelle,” Maryse scoffed, “Mr. Rey would never do anything of the sort. He’s the one who requested your father and I bring his name up to you. He may be the best in his field, but we’re the best in ours and he wouldn’t dare take advantage of my daughter like that.” She nodded in finality as the man who Alec assumed was the prestigious Mr. Rey appeared from a back office, an annoyingly wide smile on his face.

He cradled Maryse’s outstretched hand in his, placing a soft kiss to the back of it, before he said, “Mrs. Lightwood, as beautiful as ever.” Alec held back the urge to vomit at the nicety and shared an almost telepathic look with his sister that clearly stated their instant dislike for the man. “And you must be the blushing bride!” He exclaimed, gathering her hand in his to give her the same royal treatment. Alec hoped he would bypass the kissing when it was his turn.

“Isabelle Lightwood,” she introduced herself proudly as she stood. “And you’re Mr. Rey, I presume?”

The man waved a dismissive hand and scoffed as he responded, “Lorenzo, please. Mr. Rey is reserved for my soon-to-be husband.” Alec rolled his eyes but stopped abruptly when Lorenzo turned toward him. “And you must be the gorgeous partner I’ve heard so little about,” he praised as he eyed Alec up and down. Husband material, Alec thought bitterly as he smiled through gritted teeth.

“Brother,” he corrected easily. It wasn’t unusual for strangers to assume his sister was his significant other, so he didn’t overreact at the insinuation, opting instead to raise his eyebrows at Lorenzo like an unspoken threat - of what kind, Alec would let Lorenzo figure out himself.

“Well, Maryse, you didn’t warn me your entire family was this stunning or I would have worn my good suit,” Lorenzo teased as he took a seat on the other side of the table. Alec should have known the day would be a test to see how long he could go without rolling his eyes and sighed as he sagged back into his chair.

As the girls and Lorenzo chattered about Izzy’s “vision” for her special day, Alec decided the metal chair was entirely too uncomfortable, so he stood to explore the office and get a better read on the man they were dealing with. Alec would have immediately pegged the man down to be a psychopath based on the sparse decorations around the room, but he saw a framed photo of him with a dog squished between his knees and figured he had to have some feelings to take care of a pet.

Beside that frame was another of an equally decorated man, both of them clutching awards for something Alec hadn’t taken the effort to squint at. The man was quite possibly the most beautiful person Alec had ever seen. His suit fit him like a perfectly crafted glove, the lapels sparkling with what looked like silver glitter, and his face was adorned with bold makeup to match. Alec’s breath caught in his throat as he leaned down to get a better look at the man’s sharp features and impeccably styled hair when a throat cleared behind him.

“You know,” a smooth voice said as Alec straightened, “it’s really a shame that only engaged men come into this office.” When Alec turned, he saw the man in the photo dressed slightly less formally - but no less extravagantly, somehow - with his hands propped on his hips in defeat. “They say that 15% of people meet their spouses at work, but I just don’t have that luxury,” he commented with a shrug of his shoulders as if rolling the disappointment off of them. He offered up his manicured hand and Alec could do nothing but stare blankly down at it.

“My sister is engaged,” Alec said without much thought. His stupidity showed in the way the man’s eyebrows rose and a teasing smirk replaced the pout on his lips.

“That’s very exciting for her,” he responded, pushing his hand just a little closer to Alec. “I’m Magnus Bane, and you are?” Alec let Magnus’ smooth skin connect with his as their hands clasped together. If his entire body erupted in goosebumps, he was the only one who had to know.

“Alexander Lightwood-- Alec--” He corrected with a furrow of his eyebrows and a rapid shake of his head. Focus, Lightwood, don’t be an idiot, Alec chastised himself as he stared into Magnus’ eyes. He hadn’t thought it was possible for a human to have such golden eyes but there Magnus was, standing in front of him in all of his flawless glory, and Alec couldn’t be too sure he wasn’t meeting an angel on earth.

“Well, Alexander, I’m assuming that lovely raven-haired goddess over there is your sister,” Magnus commented as he gestured toward Izzy.

Alec cursed to himself and muttered, “Straight,” trying to hide his disappointment behind his closed lips.

“Not quite, darling. Bendy in all of the ways that count, really,” Magnus teased as he pulled his hand away from Alec’s increasingly clammy one. He hadn’t realized their hands had still been latched together and pushed back his embarrassment at the lingering shake.

Magnus started to say something else, presumably about his sister’s wedding, but when Alec glanced back over at the table, he felt ice shoot down his spine. Kissing Lorenzo, who was probably going to be the most consistent person in Izzy’s life for the next few months, was none other than the man responsible for Alec’s current loneliness. Panic surged through him as the men pulled away from each other, the fondest of smiles on their faces as they stared longingly at one another.

As if sensing his discomfort, Magnus rested a gentle hand on Alec’s shoulder and said, “Are you alright?” Alec jumped backward, his hip knocking into the table the frames adorned and sending them crashing to the ground. He had known the others’ attention would have been grabbed so he maneuvered himself in front of Magnus, hoping all they could see was his back.

“You know in those dumb romantic comedies where the main character’s ex-boyfriend arrives at the most inopportune time when the main character looks like a trainwreck and has still not gotten over their feelings for said ex?” Alec said frantically, trying to ignore the eyes he felt burning into his back.

“And the other, clearly more likable, main character comes to the rescue as the more attractive stranger who helps the other main character get through the disaster that his life has turned into?” Magnus responded easily as he glanced over Alec’s shoulder. Alec glowered at him but quickly ducked his head as a familiar voice muttered his name. He had heard Andrew speaking with Izzy and Maryse and had known it wouldn’t be long before his cover was blown, so he took a deep breath to prepare himself.

“You gonna help me out or are you gonna secure my place as a side character for the rest of my life?” Alec asked as he met Magnus’ shimmering eyes. Magnus seemed to consider him for a moment, tilting his head as he stroked his trimmed goatee with his fingertips. Alec hoped his gaze portrayed just how desperate he was to prove to Andrew he had moved on, even if it was the farthest thing from the truth.

“That’s your family over there, yeah?” Alec nodded before his eyes widened in panic. There was no way they could pull this off with Izzy and Maryse lurking in the background. Before he could call his ridiculous plan off, Magnus rested a gentle hand on his arm and threw his head back in laughter. Alec leveled him with a confused glance that earned him an eye roll from Magnus. It was unfair how attractive Magnus was even when his eyes were full of judgment. “We’ve been on two dates and I’m very infatuated with you, just as you are with me. Nothing committal enough that you would have spoken about me with your mother, but enough to show blondie over there you’ve begun to move on.”

Alec was about to argue with him before Magnus’ words seemed to spark something inside of him. “You’re gonna do it?” Alec asked as he pressed his palm against the back of Magnus’ hand that lingered on his bicep.

Magnus nodded before he said, “Absolutely.” There was no doubt in his tone and in the way he glared over Alec’s shoulder with unabashed heat in his gaze. “Lorenzo has been driving me insane, reminding me that I’m single while he is going to marry his prince charming,” Magnus spat. Alec flinched at the mention of marriage and Magnus’ eyes darted back to his, a softness in them that Alec hadn’t expected.

“Sorry, I just--” Alec took a deep breath and closed his eyes before glancing back over at the prying eyes of his family and the man whom he’d thought was the love of his life. “Somehow, Andrew has found a husband in the last few months while I’ve learned the names of the entire staff at my local ice cream shop,” Alec sighed with a shake of his head. Magnus chuckled sadly and slid his hand up to Alec’s shoulder, squeezing reassuringly but seemingly with enough intimacy that a throat cleared behind them.

“Well,” Magnus said with conviction, “now you’ve got a person you’re dating who is very much looking for a new ice cream shop to enjoy. So,” Magnus dragged his hand down Alec’s arm before tapping at his hand. Alec flipped his over and gladly accepted Magnus’ warm hold as he smiled down at the very surprising man.

“Alexander, are you going to say hello to Andrew or continue to ignore him in favor of…” Maryse’s voice trailed off as she raised her thin eyebrow in Magnus’ direction.

“Hey, Andrew,” Alec said and to his embarrassment, his voice cracked with what was probably leftover emotion. Magnus gripped the back of his sweater where no one could see, and Alec felt immediately calm at the touch.

“Alec! I, uh, didn’t expect to see you here. Izzy was just telling me about her engagement, you must be so happy,” Andrew said as he smiled at Izzy. He was grateful for the glare Izzy was sending Andrew’s way and just a little off put by the way Lorenzo clung to Andrew as if he couldn’t read the clear tension that had risen in the room.

“I am very happy, for many reasons,” Alec responded as Magnus wrapped himself around Alec’s arm and beamed over at the group.

“He’s such a flatterer,” Magnus cooed, slapping Alec on the chest dramatically, causing them both to burst out into laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation they had found themselves in. Alec thought it might have been the most authentic laugh he’d had in months and he shook his head to clear that thought as Magnus started speaking again. “I’m Magnus Bane; Lorenzo’s associate and a friend of Alexander, here,” Magnus said as he held out his hand to Andrew.

Andrew’s eyes widened as he stared down at the offered shake, accepting it tentatively. “I didn’t realize you were dating someone, either of you,” Andrew said before he turned back to Lorenzo. “You never mentioned Magnus had a boyfriend,” Andrew said with an almost accusing tone in his voice that Alec couldn’t quite decode.

“My associate has never mentioned a boyfriend,” Lorenzo said with his usual grin on his face. “And a Lightwood, no less.” His tone was clearly impressed and Alec was just a little happy at the way Andrew glared down at his fiance.

“We’ve only been on a few dates and you know my affinity toward labels, Ren,” Magnus said sweetly. Alec wasn’t sure what he had gotten himself into, but judging by the way Andrew averted eye contact with everyone in favor of staring at his shoes, he figured he was suddenly in the middle of a rivalry he had known nothing about.

“Alec, you didn’t tell me your new date was a wedding planner!” Izzy said excitedly, the glint in her eyes showing Alec that she had figured out exactly what was happening. He sighed in relief and relaxed a little under Magnus’ hold. “Magnus, I’m Isabelle. What do you think about planning my wedding?” Alec gaped at her, his eyes widening almost wider than Maryse’s as Lorenzo sputtered from his spot beside Andrew. Alec saw Andrew wince as Lorenzo’s nails dug into his arm and a small sense of satisfaction rushed through him over his shock.

“Isabelle, we’re here to meet with Mr. Rey--” Izzy glared at her mother before gesturing to where Magnus and Alec were still pressed together. Neither of them made a move to separate.

“It would make far more sense for Alec’s plus one to plan the day of my dreams, don’t you think, mother?” Maryse didn’t say anything in response which Alec was grateful for but, when he glanced down at Magnus, a mischievous smirk was in place of what Alec had assumed would be a look of rejection.

“Ms. Lightwood, I would love to discuss that offer at a later time, but I think I’ve got a more promising date in my near future,” Magnus said before turning toward Lorenzo and Andrew. “If you don’t mind, I’m gonna take an early lunch break with Alexander here, yeah?” Before Lorenzo could deny him, Magnus tugged both of them out of the front door, laughter echoing through the air as they made their way down the street.

“What just happened?” Alec said as he inhaled the crisp New York air deeply, a sense of happiness he hadn’t felt in a long time overwhelming him.

“You have gained a date to your sister’s wedding and I have snagged an upscale event that may finally get me out of Lorenzo Rey hell,” Magnus responded easily before he turned toward Alec. “On a scale of one to ten, how surprising was this morning?”

Alec thought for a moment as he pushed his hands into his pockets and faced Magnus. “I ran into my ex-boyfriend while my baby sister met with a wedding planner and now…” Alec trailed off as he met Magnus’ gaze, “I’m hoping to buy my knight in shining armor some ice cream.” Magnus grinned up at him but tilted his head with a quirk of his eyebrow as if reminding Alec he hadn’t answered his question. “Ten out of ten in the best of ways,” Alec responded as he held out his hand.

Magnus fit his into Alec’s and somehow, his smile widened as he said, “I usually score off the charts, but ten out of ten ain’t bad.” Alec threw his head back in laughter and wondered just what he had gotten himself into.

Whatever it was, he couldn’t wait to find out.

#malec #my writing #quickbright #thank you SO MUCH #this was such a joy to write #and i hope you like it <3 <3 #commissions

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lucidpantone · 4 years

Note

Funny ask 🤣 rank your top 10 fic tropes from your favorite to you least favorite

Hey Anon, well I am assume you’re asking me this since am basically no.1 fan of all the wtfock fanfic writers (love you all please feed me wordcount am greedy). So let’s use the wtfock top 20 fanfics as an example (evaluations based on hits/traffic count since kudos have a one time max so they tend to give a distorted look on whats actually popular in Ao3. )

☝🏽 Grrrrrrr why Ao3!! (I want deluge a million kudos)

1-10 (1 being my fav/10 still a fav but am reading 1 first)

1. A rotten work (ANGST give me all the angst all the time) by @aholynight (Warning this fic explores heavy drug use as a coping mechanism and concepts around sex as self validation but its truly a masterpiece of the human condition and how one self can perpetuate a cycle of abuse onto one’s self)

2. You are safe here (trope would be original characters au/concept) by gayboy99 I really like the development of parental figures in this fic that skam lacks. Author thank you for highlighting the male on male dynamic of father/son.

3. Rough Magic (enemies to lovers) by @aholynight I already told you how amazing of an angst writer she is so slap on enemies to lovers too. The woman is incredible in every trope.

4. The night we met (college Au) by @dearrobbe. Since we are only including the front page of ao3 I gotta discuss the masterpiece concept introduced in this fic concerning a liminal space. A million kudos for creativity.I have so much fucking respect for you Jenna you are an incredible writer. Go check out paint me in trust too its due to end this weekend or next.

5. Unattainable (social au trope: aka instagram, youtube, text crafting concepts) by @ravenbrenna09. I was one of those old school peeps that was resistant towards the whole social au concept but Breanna’s amazing writing and creativity really sold me. Also unattainable is only one part of the pov. She flips it in the next installment of this fic world. She is so fucking creative it makes me sick! Also check out her new work Jij Verliest.

6. Do I know you? (amnesia au) by @srta-pepa you know when you realize you didn’t know you needed something and then it appears and you’re like omg why didn’t I demand this before?!?! This fic is that for me it has had me anxious/worried/biting my nails. What a ride.... Thank you for attempting a trope that not many people do and killing it. Also you writing has grown so much I am so proud to read every chapter and see your development. It doesn’t go unnoticed how much you’re killing yourself for us. Thank you!!!! You’re crushing it know that.

7. the blood of both is my limbo @luludemauryyy / Rescue my heart by @skamsnake & @zaddyskam (am cheating because one is top of 2nd page but am combining fairytale/abo/soulmate au because both these fics are part of adaptive lit category). Say it with me people exposition, exposition, exposition. Did I know that I needed to know what a bar looks like in the 9th circle of hell? NO, but did luludemauryyy describe it in the most vivid unbelievable detail. Hell yes, they did. No one comes close to writing exposition like they do. They are literally masters of this style. Maybe the best in the fandom. Only people that come close to world descriptions and exposition building is snake and zaddy explaining concepts to me around abo because I didn’t even know what this was until I read their fic. Am a simple brain people. I stan all of you so much and I am looking at you for inspiration as I attempt a world fic in the future.

8. Vrijdag 21:37 (multiple pov shift au) by @wasteourdays Shut up, shut up, shut up. I am so jealous of your impeccably talented brain. I love this concept. I want to steal it. You killed it and if anyone ever says that its impossible to write the same scene 5+ times and keep it interesting needs to be sent this fic because they are simply lazy and need to be school by someone like you. Also its one of smoothest reads because I was engaged the entire time.

9. Five out of Thirty (Future au) by @tyrusmwm You know what I respect a writer that consistently ask for feedback and adjust their style and takes on real time ideas from their readership. When you write characters many years into the future it’s so hard to capture the characters correctly because 16 yr old you and 30 yr old you are worlds apart. I love when someone takes a chance to write a character many years into the future and basically carve out an entirely original character in a way. Also personal note the growth I have seen in your writing when you are timely and detailed really wrecks my heart.

10. All of you!! (Am cheating because its goes pass the front hit page) Every trope, every wacky idea, every leap of faith to be original. I stan each and every one of you that is brave enough to share your writing with us and some of your inner most intimate thoughts and experiences. You are all fucking crushing it, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

Please applause, kudos, comment, anon and dm all these writers. We are so damn lucky to have them creating content for us and they all literally inspire me on the daily to become a better writer. I love and respect all your talents so much. Thank you and a million kudos!!!!

#wtfock #wtfam #wtfock fanfic #sobbe fanfic

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dovefanworks · 3 years

Note

I read the little sneak peek at the next chapter of the borrower!AU and I would like you to know I’m going FERAL IM SO EXCITED

Waaaaaaahhh thank you so much;0; I’m so glad you’re so excited for it <3 It’s just over 15k now so here why not have a bonus lil teaser>;3c

Ignis, Prompto was slowly learning, was far less intimidating than his often flat expressions and impeccable fashion sense would have people believe. After only a few days in his presence he almost felt scammed.

He hadn’t understood what Noct had meant when he had called him a ‘mother hen’. But he did now. Prompto was still utterly bemused and a little overwhelmed every time the man would ask how he was, if there was anything he could do for him, and he was always quick to shake his head and turn him down as politely as possible. Ignis would smile kindly, but he never missed the flickers of guilt that still seemed to haunt the corners of his eyes. Yet it was in the smaller things he noticed that he really began to realise just how deep Ignis’ care ran.

He still often found himself drifting off, dozing and napping here or there as his body continued to fight off the last dregs of his fever. Every time he woke he found himself covered with his bandana, or a soft, clean-smelling handkerchief.

The little bowls of fresh water had also grown more numerous, appearing in the places he had taken to settling in when left to his own devices, always clean and refilled whenever he returned to them. Much as he was growing to adore Noctis, he didn’t imagine his sleepy-headed friend was that pedantic.

He had known for ages that Ignis enjoyed cooking, he supposed he had to given how much he catered for Noctis, though from what he could tell it didn’t seem to annoy him much. What he hadn’t accounted for was that all of that cooking skill was apparently to be applied to him now, and Ignis was wasting no time. Almost every time he returned to Noct’s rooms from whatever things he was seemingly always busy with he would sweep in with some new platter of beautifully crafted sweets and baked goods.

“Pretend to be sick more often,” Noctis had hissed around a mouthful of some kind of amazing chocolate and caramel tartlet, and that kind of hadn’t sounded like a bad idea. Though he did find it incredibly sad that there was no way in hell he would ever finish even one of the rich sweets Ignis continued to bring for them (they weren’t just for him, he kept insisting).

“He’s always been like this,” Noctis had mumbled, lazily licking cinnamon sugar from his fingers, “it’s like, he gets out a lot of his emotions through cooking I think, this is sort of like when he stress bakes, but instead of stressing I think he’s just trying to be caring.”

“By feeding me more sugar in one week than I’ve probably seen in my whole life?”

Noctis had simply shrugged and reached for another tart. Prompto had barely even made a dent in the one he had plopped in front of him, finding it easier to break off small parts of the shortbread crust and use them to scoop up dollops of the gooey filling.

“Not like I’m complaining.”

#dove drones #dove fic #asks #ask answers #final fantasy xv #ffxv #ff15 #prompto argentum #noctis lucis caelum #ignis scientia #borrower!AU #borrower!prompto

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angrylizardjacket · 3 years

Text

too old to trick or treat (too young to die) // charlotte&lola (penny&jupiter)

Summary: Two Halloween costumes Tommy witnesses the creation of, twenty years apart. His cousin’s, and her daughter’s.

A/N: 4001 words. knocked this out in literally 3 hours. okay so The Road Warrior didn’t come out until December of ‘81, and Supergirl didn’t come out until ‘84, but whatever, the timeline has been massaged for a number of reasons, bare with me, suspend your disbelief abt halloween costumes. ANYWAYS this came to me very suddenly and i had to write it. i’ve had enough angst, so have cute charlie & penny halloween moments now instead please and thank you. @misscharlottelee as always owns my heart w/ her characters. also mild sexual references in the first part bcos of mishearing something/misunderstanding a situation.

[ part of the charlotte&lola au of Run to Paradise ]

----

In 1981, Tommy dresses as Mad Max for Halloween; all pulled back hair, and a truly awful attempt at an Australian accent. He’s even butchered a leather jacket he’d found second-hand, much to the rest of the household’s horror. He’s pretty proud, despite Mick telling him to shut up since Tommy refuses to stop using the accent.

Mick’s not wearing a costume, and isn’t going out with the rest of the band and the girls, he’s only here to give his opinions on their costumes, and drink with them until they leave.

Nikki’s made no secret of the fact that he’s going as that guy from A Clockwork Orange, which, okay, is actually surprisingly subdued for his usual going out attire, and Vince would not shut up about the all-white suit he bought to be John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. Something about both Vince and Nikki in all white makes Tommy think everyone’s going to ask if they’re both the same character, regardless of their various accessories, and they’re both going to be mad as all hell by the end of the night; if he had to hazard a guess, Tommy’s pretty sure he’s going to find it incredibly funny, and Nikki’s going to chase him down The Strip for laughing.

Lola’s had her hair in rollers all day, and came home the other week with a legally obtained, sparkly, black, singlet, which was kind of a big deal when Lola either lives in the bands’ clothes, or steals herself pants that actually fit. Her actual costume, however, is escaping him, right up until Tommy walks into the bathroom, to see Lola, in said singlet, black underwear, and nothing else, sitting patiently while Charlotte diligently applied dark eyeshadow further up lola’s brow than he’d been expecting.

“Frank N Furter?” Tommy asked, pleased and amused, still in his attempt at an Australian accent. Both Charlotte and Lola made a face at that, but Lola confirmed after a beat, lips overdrawn, shiny, a deep berry red. The idea that Lola had ever seen Rocky Horror Picture Show in cinemas enough to dress up as it’s main character was a strangely humanizing idea for the often-seemingly feral roadie.

After a moment, however, Tommy takes in his cousin’s attire; she looks incredibly pretty, of course Charlie’s naturally pretty, but she’d gone out of her way to highlight it tonight. White dress, little tiara atop her head, makeup understated and still somehow glamorous, her hair’s still dark from where she and Lola had died it a few weeks ago in the wake of her split with Duff. Maybe they’d re-dyed it.

“You look pretty, Charlie, who are you meant to be?”

“You know you sound British, right, not Australian?” Charlotte doesn’t look up from where she’s working on Lola’s face.

“Shut up, you don’t even know anyone British,” Tommy counters, nose in the air, “and you haven’t even seen Mad Max, so shut it, you don’t know what an Australian accent sounds like.” And he’s haughty for all of a minute before he’s coming back with, “but seriously, who are you?”

A wicked grin spreads across his cousin’s lips.

“That’s for me to know -”

“- us to know.” Lola corrects quickly.

“Us to know,” Charlotte agrees, “and you to find out.”

Super ominous. Charlotte’s been cagey about her Halloween costume since they’d decided to hit The Strip on Halloween as a group. Usually, Charlotte’s overflowing with excitement about her costume, back in high school, she’d roped him, Vince, and a few of their friends into being the Scooby Gang. She’s been various animals, movie characters, and last year, she’d spent almost a month putting together a truly gorgeous Cinderella costume. For all that she was detailed about her costumes, he’d always known her to play it safe.

But this year she’s been quiet. It’s unusual. Tommy blames Lola entirely.

The girls allow Tommy to stay in the bathroom until Lola’s face is done, and then, instead of leaving, they both demand he get out, closing the door after him, giggling conspiratorially like teenagers.

“What’s their problem?” Nikki asks, attempting to apply eyeliner, though the only reflective surface he had was Mick’s sunglasses, and Mick looked about ready to throw him through a window for getting so close, and so Tommy moves on instinct, snatching the stub of an eyeliner pencil from Nikki’s grip, beckoning him out of Mick’s personal space.

“Not sure; they’re either hooking up, or plotting to kill us,” Tommy muses, trying his hardest to not poke Nikki in the eye.

“Hot?” Nikki sounds like he’s not quite sure about that sentiment himself.

They can hear Lola and Charlotte talking in low voices, indistinctly in the bathroom, and clattering, and then - Take off your fucking heels! - Charlie, loud and nervous, followed by some begrudging grumbling from Lola. Scuffling, more clattering, and grunting.

“They’re definitely hooking up,” Nikki mutters. Tommy’s turning red. He’s not a prude, Christ, not even close, but... Charlie wouldn’t... right? Not when she knew how thin the walls were... Not with Lola, surely!

“Let go of me, I don’t need you to steady me -!” Lola now, and Nikki’s stepping back, laughing at the look on Tommy’s face. He’s not quite sure how he feels about the idea of him and his cousin both having -

“You’re shaking, you’re going to drop it!”

What?

Silence, a few more indistinct, now muttered words, far quieter, far calmer, then - a loud, strange rush of liquid, like the shower being turned on, but much more immediate and shorter.

“Holy shit, dude!” Lola’s yell radiates through the whole house, followed by a loud clatter, like something empty being dropped on the tiles, and Charlotte’s response is too quiet to hear. It’s followed by what is distinctly the sound of the hair dryer, and by now, all three men in the living room are just confused.

Vince finally surfaces from his and Tommy’s room almost ten minutes later, hair appropriately slicked back, white suit impeccable, making a beeline for the fridge, equally confused.

“What the fuck is happening in there?” He asks, joining the other three, currently cutting up lines of coke on a plate, in the living room.

“I still think they’re hooking up,” Nikki says, frowning down, as if the intensity of his gaze will keep his hand from shaking where he’s trying to cut the coke.

“Wishful thinking,” Mick grumbles, sitting back and taking a long sip of his vodka.

“Pretty sure lesbian sex doesn’t involve hairdryers,” Vince has to agree, and Tommy’s frown deepens.

“They’re not -”

“Fuckin’ semantics, man, sex without guys, you know what I meant,” he headed Tommy’s protests off before he could properly speak them, and Tommy’s own frown deepened. Mick looks like he wants to protest, but also knows all three men far to well to have any illusions about the abhorrent range of pornography they had consumed.

The hair dryer turns off.

“You wouldn’t have half a fuckin’ clue about what real lesbian sex was like,” is what Mick chooses, instead, to say, and Vince flips him off, right as the bathroom door bursts open, and Lola, comically wide-eyed, stumbles out, what looks like blood splattered on her shins and thighs, high heels in one hand.

“Holy shit,” she’s gasping, laughing, disbelieving, “you guys are not fucking ready for this,” she’s looking altogether like a delighted Frank N Furter about to reveal and revel in her latest creation. The guys are so caught up in seeing Lola in her costume, that seeing Charlotte coming out after her is like being hit by a train.

She’s covered in blood. Head to toe, apart from her face, which she must have been covering with her hands. Bright right. Face serious and eyes wide and Tommy knows that expression, that look, that blood -

“Carrie!” He exclaims, “Fucking Hell, Charlie!” He announces at the top of his lungs, and Charlotte’s expression cracks to a bright smile, to delight at being recognized.

“It’s paint!” Charlotte announces, giving a spin, and suddenly the hairdryer, the chatter, the confusion made sense.

“Charlotte, you look fucking killer,” Nikki’s got a look in his eyes that reads as both intimidated and turned on, a look usually reserved for Lola, but Charlotte doesn’t seem to notice.

“Peach and Eileen are going to fucking scream,” Lola was absolutely delighted at this prospect, doing a line of coke when Nikki offered it, before pulling on her heels.

Charlotte is beaming, looking cool as hell, and delighted with how the whole costume turned out.

Only later that night will any of the boys discover the murder-scene the girls had left behind in the bathtub in their excitement to hit The Strip. Tommy feels like he’ll never get the image of the blood splattered tub out of his mind.

Which is why he finds it so baffling that he’s blindsided by it exactly twenty one years later.

In 2002, Charlotte’s daughter, Penny, now all of twenty years old, the exact age Charlie had been that iconic Halloween, and Tommy’s kid, Jupiter, eighteen and a half, the pair raised practically as siblings, had been marathoning mostly-trashy horror movies all through the month of October in anticipation for the night itself, and Johnny Hudson’s Halloween party.

Jupiter had announced their intention to dress as Nancy from The Craft for the third year in a row, which ties it with the costume they’d chosen for the three years prior to that, which was Eric Draven, the main character from The Crow.

“Yes, it’s because I have a thing for Fairuza Balk in that movie,” Jupiter had announced defiantly when they’d made their intentions known at a dinner that Lola fortunately had time enough to attend, in between tours.

“That’s how I picked all my Halloween costumes at your age,” Lola had admitted with a shrug, though that just made Tommy frown as he goes to take a sip of his drink -

“Tim Curry as Frank N Furter -?”

“Lola did you go as Frank N Furter one Halloween?” Penny, delighted at the concept, leans forward over her pasta, eyes alight with mirth at the idea, looking so much like her mother that it almost stings. Lola herself has gone red, trying to suppress a smile.

“Tom, that’s not a discussion I want to have right now, but yes,” she says, slight warning in her voice, and Tommy chokes on his drink, both because he doesn’t quite know what she means by that, and because it’s rare for her to call him Tom, but then she’s looking up at Penny, smiling enough that it creases by her eyes, “and yes,” she deliberates, before adding, “I’m pretty sure that was the year your Auntie Eileen surprised everyone and dressed up as Uncle Mick, top hat and all,” Lola said, voice warm and fond at the memory, “he had no clue how to take it, shocked him enough that he actually came out on the town with us; I think it’ll always surprise him when people think he’d be a cool Halloween costume.” And she looks to Jupiter at that, while Jupiter themselves made direct and unwavering eye contact with their own pasta, while Penny nudged them, voice turning teasing, picking up on Lola’s cue, gently ribbing her cousin about the time they’d dressed up as Mick for Halloween, if only to spite the rest of their family.

The conversation moves on, and Tommy thinks fondly of the memory of how bright Charlotte’s smile had been after she’d come out of their bathroom, looking as thought she was covered in blood.

So this year, Tommy’s hit with a strange sense of deja vu in the lead up to Halloween, with Penny being cagey, and obviously in cahoots with his own child.

“Looking badass, as always,” Tommy grins, showing off his cheap, vampire fangs, as he leans in the doorway of his kid’s bedroom. Penny’s applying lip-gloss atop their black lipstick, but gives pauses as they both turn to him, scrutinizing his party-store vampire costume. With his own kids going away for the night, Tommy had been more than happy to host a Halloween party of his own for friends still in the business.

“I feel like you used to put more effort in,” Jupiter says slowly, looking from the too-small, satin cape, back to his face, and Tommy shrugs.

“I guess I could always put on one of my old eighties stage costumes,” he muses, playing like he’s seriously considering it, acting as though he couldn’t see Jupiter and Penny’s expressions both turn horrified, “I’ve still got them somewhere in the back of my closet -”

“Oh Jesus, dad,” Jupiter hisses, “you know we all know too much about how Lola felt about that weird fetish shit you guys would wear on stage, please don’t -”

“It’s not fetish shit, Jup,” but Tommy’s grinning at how embarrassed they both were, “it’s hair metal, it was hip!”

“It’s a red and black leather harness at best, and tights; I’ve seen more conservative outfits at a BDSM dungeon -”

“Dude!” Penny’s eyebrows shot up, and Tommy’s mouth dropped open. Penny, horrified, looked to her uncle; “it was one time-” she says, trying to make things better, but doing the exact opposite right as Jupiter tries to tell him it was a joke. Penny and Jupiter look to each other, both horrified at what the other had said, how it must look.

“Pen!”

“It was Johnny’s idea!” Penny blurted out, and looked to Tommy, as if realising she was digging herself deeper, “we went there as a joke!”

“That part is true,” Jupiter conceded, but Tommy kept his mouth shut, raising his hands in surrender, as if to say ‘that’s your business, as adults, but I’d rather not know’, and he’s quick to leave them to their mutual, horrified bickering.

He hadn’t even thought to ask what Penny was going as. All he knows is that she and Jupiter had been arguing because ‘it’s a trashy movie, Pen’ - ‘I love it, so shut up; you get witch powers from being an angry loner, I get them from being prom queen’ - ‘did we even watch the same movie? That’s not -” - “then just picture the original, you liked the original!’ - ‘oh, I’m past the movie itself, it’s the - they’re both angry loners, Pen,’ - ‘yeah, okay yeah, but it’s a cool aesthetic, Jup, come on -’. That was a few weeks ago, Tommy still isn’t quite sure what it could be, beyond witchy powers. Usually Penny’s costumes were straightforward, or she’d at the very least announce them in advanced...

Tommy finds himself blaming his own, erratic and mischievous child entirely; just as Lola had been known to be a bad influence on Charlie, so too could their children mirror this dynamic almost uncannily.

It only gets stranger when, an hour after doing Jupiter’s makeup, they both seem to be in full costume, and should be ready to go, they’re nowhere to be found, but they haven’t said goodbye.

Penny comes rushing past Tommy in a whirlwind, carrying something bulky in her arms, making a beeline for the downstairs guest bathroom.

“Pen, whaddya got there?” Tommy calls out, and Penny stops dead. She’s in a pretty, white dress, with her hair all done up, and a tiara sitting on top. It’s... familiar.

“Glue?” Penny’s obvious lie has Tommy frowning.

“Glue?” He asks, with a huff of disbelieving laughter. When she swivels towards him, he can see that she’s holding a large, white, pourable bottle, the label of which, Penny is conveniently covering.

“We’re sniffing it?”

“Penny, what the fuck?” Jupiter calls from the bathroom, and Penny takes off at a run, avoiding Tommy’s further questions, and Tommy himself, who, with a sudden nervousness at whatever the real situation was, follows quickly. All he can see is large, clear plastic sheets covering every single surface and every wall, like the lair of a murderer in a movie, and then Jupiter’s face with all it’s dark makeup and sprayed up hair, as they’re apologizing, and slamming the door in his face. He’s pretty sure he read the word blood on somewhere on the bottle that Penny had put down.

“Jupiter Carlotta Lee, I’ve told you before that we don’t fuck with real witchcraft!” Tommy jiggled the handle, but the door was firmly locked, “not after what happened with Nikki and Lita!”

“It’s not witchcraft!” Jupiter calls back, and Tommy can hear Penny groan about how he’s still going to kill them.

“Don’t murder your fuckin’ cousin in there, you hear me?” He jiggles the door handle again, harder this time, not quite sure of what was happening in there, but concerned nonetheless.

“Hey!” Penny shouts back, “why do you think I’m the one getting murdered in here?”

“I was addressing both of you,” Tommy sighed, leaning his forehead against the door, defeated, “what are you doing? What’s so bad that you have to keep me locked out?”

“I’ll tell you when we’re done -”

“Jupiter!”

“It’s messy,” Jupiter explained, and followed it up with a quiet, “okay, get in the bath, take off your shoes,” clearly not aimed at Tommy, before yelling back to him, “I’d rather do it, clean it up, and then beg for forgiveness in that order before you decide whether or not you want to murder us.”

“Are you sure it’s safe to stand up there?” Comes Penny’s soft question to her cousin, followed by a phrase burned into the back of Tommy’s mind, somehow still there after everything it’s been through.

“Let go of me, I don’t need you to steady me -”

And everything clicks into place, the blood, the outfit, the mess -

“Are you pouring fake blood on your cousin right now?!” Tommy’s tone is disbelieving, and he’s met with silence, and then the slow sound of liquid being poured.

“No?” Penny calls back, before spluttering a little, “it’s in my mouth.” She hisses.

“Then close your mouth!” Jupiter hisses back.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Pennylope; Jup?” Tommy squeezes his eyes shut as he remembers exactly how much scrubbing he and the rest of the occupants of the Motley House had to do over the next week, and even then the bathroom was never quite the same.

But he’s met with silence, and then he starts to hear what can only be the excess fake blood dripping into the tub. And then the sound of a much emptier bottle being put on the bench.

“No, I am not currently pouring fake blood on my cousin,” Jupiter announces; Tommy thinks he can feel a headache forming with each moment that passes. There are moments exactly like this one, in which he is reminded that Jupiter is without a doubt his and Lola’s kid, which is both a blessing and a curse.

“Penny, stay in the tub,” he calls, “make sure you wash your feet off once you’re dry; a hairdryer helps it dry faster.”

Despite their confusion at how he would know such a thing, the pair in the bathroom know better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. Tommy, for his part, breathes a sigh of relief; this, at least, he knew how to handle. At least they put more thought into it than Charlotte and Lola had back in the day.

Heading upstairs while they let the fake blood dry, he finds the photo Lola had dug up from her archives in her and Nikki’s garage.

Eileen, Charlotte, Lola, and Peach, all in a row outside the Starwood, all grinning from ear to ear. Eileen as Mick, Lola as Frank N Furter, Peach as Supergirl, and Charlotte, beaming, covered in blood red paint, as Carrie.

By the time he resurfaces from the wave of memories that had overwhelmed him, Tommy gets downstairs to see the guest bathroom door open.

“How messy is it?” He calls, concerned. Jupiter sticks their head out. The hairdryer is still going.

“Not as bad as I thought, should all just wash down the drain; the plastic on the walls was probably overkill,” they admit, and Tommy gives a thin-lipped grin, remembering the splatter that came up to knee height on the walls by the bathtub in the Motley House. Though, to be fair, Lola was simply pouring an entire bucket of thinned house-paint over Charlotte’s head - it was neither Lola nor Charlotte’s brightest idea, in hindsight - Jupiter, with a bottle of screen-grade fake blood from the looks of it, would have a much more controlled pour.

And Penny would definitely have a much easier time getting it off.

When Tommy sees Penny, it’s like looking into a window from the past, the way she’s beaming, pleased and bright and covered in blood, she looks so proud to be horrifying.

“What now?” Penny asks, fond but exasperated, and Tommy snaps out of his thoughts, “what exactly about this,” she gestures to her whole self, blood soaked and standing in the tub, being hairdryed by Jupiter, “reminds you of mom?”

“What do you mean?” Tommy asks, playing dumb, and Penny’s expression softens, but she still rolls her eyes, arms out while Jupiter dries her.

“You get a look in your eye when I do something that reminds you too much of mom, and yeah it’s sweet, but this specifically is a really weird thing to get emotional -”

“This is your mom on Halloween, nineteen-eighty-one,” Tommy holds out the photo so she wouldn’t have to touch it, incase the blood on her hands was still wet, interrupting his niece.

“Oh,” Penny’s voice is so quiet, “for real?” She asks, eyes wide and misty when she looks at Tommy, and he gives a fondly amused look, and nod in response. “I didn’t even know,” Penny gave a quiet, disbelieving laugh, her own gaze turning adoring as she takes in the photo once more.

Jupiter twists to look at the photo, still drying Penny, then looks in the mirror, then back at the photo, and scowls, but keeps quiet about how they’ve just realized, at least in terms of makeup and overall pallet, how similar their costume is to their mother’s. But they’re well aware that this isn’t their moment.

“Did Lola own pants?” Jupiter does mutter, more to themselves than expecting a response, and not getting one anyhow.

“Lola poured a bucket of red paint over her head in the apartment we shared, took five of us a full week to clean it all up after,” Tommy explained to Penny, smiling.

“No wonder you were worried about us doing the same thing,” Penny snorted, and leans in, looking at her mother’s smiling face; almost the same face she sees in the mirror, if not for the blue of her eyes.

“Yeah, but I should have known you two would be smarter about it, much as I love your mom, Jup, when we were young, she wasn’t exactly known for her common sense,” and as Tommy says it, even the quietly resentful Jupiter cracks a smile.

“She looked so cool,” Penny muses, “they all do; that’s Aunt Eileen and Peach, right? The other two?” And Tommy confirms as much, also making sure to note that all four women were always better at Halloween than the rest of the band; in a move that Tommy’s seen Charlotte do a thousand times, Penny rolls her eyes, smirks, and says ‘yeah, obviously’ all smug and amused.

Tommy just smiles, asks if he can take a photo once Penny’s all dry, reminds them to call Lola and Nikki if they need a lift home, and waves goodbye to them when their taxi arrives.

The minute the taxi is off the property, Tommy’s cracking open a beer, and dialing Lola’s number in the minutes before his own guests are due to arrive.

“Lols, you’re never gonna fuckin’ believe what just happened.”

#Tommy Lee #tommy lee imagine #tommy lee & oc #the dirt #the dirt imagine #motley crue #motley crue imagine #charlotte&lola #lola & charlotte #the angry lizard speaks

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thisweekingundamwing · 4 years

Text

This Week in Gundam Wing July 26 - 01 August 2020

Here’s this week’s roundup!

Remember to give your content creators some love! And join in on the events at the bottom!

~Mod Hel

Fanfiction/Snippets/AU Ideas:

@bobo-is-tha-bomb

Unraveled https://archiveofourown.org/works/25379161

F/M, Trowa Barton/Reader

Trowa Barton, Reader

Romance, Fluff, Reader-Insert, Bathing/Washing, ritual bathing

His little witch, he mused with a slight tilt of lips. Even after years of being with you, he still couldn’t get enough of watching you.

Tonight, he vowed, he would keep you company while you bathed.

Lazy Day https://archiveofourown.org/works/25379695

F/M, Heero Yuy/Reader

Heero Yuy, Reader

Romance, Lemon, Lime, Reader-Insert

You would enjoy this day. Every minute of it. And, you vowed, you would have a repeat of it in New York.

Twenty Kisses (Ch. 6 & 7) https://archiveofourown.org/works/24038704/chapters/61620076

F/M, Heero Yuy/Reader

Heero Yuy, Reader

Romance, Kissing, Drabble Collection, Reader-Insert

Kissing Heero is something special.

Deadly Intent https://archiveofourown.org/works/25576657/chapters/62069890

Mature

F/M, Heero/Reader, ???/Reader

Heero Yuy, Duo Maxwell, Wufei Chang, Lady Une, Relena Peacecraft, Reader

Reader Insert, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Drama, Angst, Romance, Violence, Lime

Eleven years is a long time for a ghost to come back and haunt him. But Heero Yuy finds himself unable to dodge or outrun it. It’s the start of a dangerous cat and mouse game between one of the most powerful organizations in the world and a loner who has every intention of dragging him down with her. After all, she has come with deadly intent.

@coffeetailor

Emergence (Ch. 12) https://archiveofourown.org/works/13322880/chapters/62023231

Duo Maxwell/Heero Yuy

Duo Maxwell, Heero Yuy, Quatre Raberba Winner, Trowa Barton, Chang Wufei, Sally Po

Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, borrowers fusion but don't call them borrowers, disturbing themes like people trafficking from the bad guys, Size Difference, Will probably be a series, alternate canon events, Macro/Micro

Series: Part 1 of Emergence Series

When the war ended, things went a little strange. First, Duo vanished after never having let them see him in person. Then, years later, a tiny race of people are discovered. And that's just the start of things.

@lifeaftermeteor

LAM!Verse https://lifeaftermeteor.tumblr.com/post/625293600094355456/private-island-location-redacted-fiji-south

Private Island [location redacted]

Fiji, South Pacific

14 August 211

Une and Sally arrived on-island to blue skies, a functioning jeep, and a personal escort by Lucrezia Noin.

perryvic & Zaganthi (Caffiends)

All Go Unto Once Place https://archiveofourown.org/works/25520368

M/M, Chang Wufei/Treize Khushrenada

Treize Khushrenada, Quatre Raberba Winner, Change Wufei

Cameos, Anxiety, Mental Health Issues, Aftermath of Torture, ZERO System (Gundam Wing), Alternate Universe - Stargate Atlantis Fusion

He chose the study because it was formal and the least used room in the house, and brought in coffee and water because he needed something to do with his hands. "I'm sorry to request the house call. I haven't been in a reliable enough state to leave the house."

"I quite understand," Bedelia murmured. "Is this the place you feel most comfortable talking?"

He took the coffee and sat in one of the low overstuffed reading chairs rather than at the desk. "Yes. I, what we discussed a couple of weeks ago, you know. Surprising only to me, apparently, it went terribly." He cradled the coffee, watching her select where to sit, posture and movement impeccable as ever.

@simulacraryn

Higurashi https://archiveofourown.org/works/25592344#main

Heero Yuy

Higurashi = Mundane life, living hand-to-mouth. This is a VERY old fic of my (from 2008...), about what life might have been like for Heero after the war.

The Manwell

The Silencer and the Sicarian (Ch. 1 & 2) https://archiveofourown.org/works/25478938/chapters/61805053

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Relationships: Trowa Barton/Duo Maxwell, Chang Wufei/Solo

Characters: Duo Maxwell, Trowa Barton, Chang Wufei, Solo (Gundam Wing), Hilde Schbeiker, Catherine Bloom, Kyouju H | Instructor H

Additional Tags: Wufei POV, Duo POV, Trowa POV, Solo POV

Series: Part 4 of The Brothers Maxwell

It was just one vow. A simple but necessary promise to respect life -- both human and fey -- but can Duo hold to it when his resolve is put to the ultimate test?

@tziganecaffiends & Zaganthi (Caffiends)

Dust to Dust https://archiveofourown.org/works/25519633/chapters/61915789

M/M, Chang Wufei/Treize Khushrenada

Treize Khushrenada, Chang Wufei, Mariemaia Khushrenada, Duo Maxwell

Domestic Fluff, Bondage, bottom Treize, Mental Instability, Mental Health Issues, Aftermath of Violence, Aftermath of Torture, Rape Aftermath, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Kidnapping, Subspace, Subdrop, Diplomacy, Alternate Universe - Stargate Atlantis Fusion, ZERO System (Gundam Wing), Graphic Dipictions of Violence

It was unbearable, it was too much, and his heart was trying its best to jump out of his chest. Treize managed to get his knees pulled up, and pressed his forehead against them, struggling to breathe as the anxiety crawled up from his gut and clenched around his heart. Not there, anywhere but there, and he'd been fine seeing it in ZERO, not fine, but okay, livable, but being there, smelling the familiar antiseptic hell and must of the place, took his legs out from under him.

He could play forward on all of the other scenarios he hadn't wanted to explore, and he knew when that door opened it wasn't going to be Wufei. It was never going to be what he'd wanted, no matter hard he'd played at it back home with Wufei.

Fanart/Crafts/Photo Manips:

@2pcbiscuit

https://2pcb.tumblr.com/post/625195682010120192/am-i-a-furry-artist-now-quatre-is-supposed-to-be

Raccoon!Trowa, and other cute surprises.

@antarespromise

https://antarespromise.tumblr.com/post/625175674322305024

WuFei Chang

https://antarespromise.tumblr.com/post/625274951362117632

Duo Maxwell

@bobo-is-tha-bomb

https://bobo-is-tha-bomb.tumblr.com/post/625096842616717312/having-waaaay-too-much-fun-rediscovering-art

Trowa Barton

@grey-sentry

https://grey-sentry.tumblr.com/post/624917334680829952/next-batch-of-artwork-for-the-gw-art-discord

Heero & Doktor S

https://grey-sentry.tumblr.com/post/624917124777951232/art-made-for-the-gw-art-discord-i-tried-to-follow

Relena & Catherine

@gundayum

https://gundayum.tumblr.com/post/625232214658056192/i-relish-in-being-a-terrible-human-being

Relena & Heero

@oekakimemo

https://oekakimemo.tumblr.com/post/625242524130361345/20200728-digital

Relena Darlian/Peacecraft

@tatakaumono

https://tatakaumono.tumblr.com/post/625240776436252672/its-evens-propaganda-month-dont-tag-as

Quatre/Duo

Photosets/Gifsets/Screenshots/Manga Pages:

@bobo-is-tha-bomb

https://bobo-is-tha-bomb.tumblr.com/post/625161359751036928/im-so-lucky-to-have-awesome-friends-thank-you

GW T-shirts

@cynthiaandsamus

https://cynthiaandsamus.tumblr.com/post/625268346914586624/like-everyone-in-gundam-wing-is-a-ridiculously

Zechs Merquise

@janaverse

https://janaverse.tumblr.com/post/625277358889451521/aannnnndddd-theyre-done-3-the-process-was-a

Heero & Duo silhouettes

https://janaverse.tumblr.com/post/625280260361093120/for-scale-btw-they-are-perfectly-framed-from

For scale - Heero & Duo silhouettes

Head Canons:

@disturbed02girl

https://disturbed02girl.tumblr.com/post/625254324341194752/gw-fashion-mix-day-off

GW Fashion Mix - Day Off : Duo, Heero, Trowa, WuFei, Quatre

Fandom Discourse:

@lifeaftermeteor

https://lifeaftermeteor.tumblr.com/post/625289823670927360/whats-all-this-then-although-the-gw-discord

Discord Meet-up! 0900 EST on both Saturday (August 29) and Sunday (August 30)

Quotes:

@incorrectgundamwingquotes

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/625002948624318464/iria-father-quatre-youre-family-you-shouldnt

Iria & Rashid

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/625184158043570177/duo-to-trowa-are-you-trying-to-hurt-my-feelings

Duo at Trowa

Calendar Events:

@gwcocktailfriday

Cocktail Fridays!

Post responses on Friday, during Happy Hour between 3 & 5 pm in your own timezone.

Here’s the prompt for Friday, August 7th! https://gwcocktailfriday.tumblr.com/post/625255859848642560/cocktail-friday-post-responses-on-friday-august

In need of SUMMER & FALL/AUTUMN prompts!

@gwoc-october

GW OC October 2020!

Help pick out prompts! https://gwoc-october.tumblr.com/post/621130082429337600/hello-gundam-wing-folks-thats-right-gw-oc

@seasons-of-gundamwing

Summer of Hilde!

Check the page today! The full prompt list was set to post at 10AM!

We also have an AO3 collection now! Come check it out. https://seasons-of-gundamwing.tumblr.com/post/624191236146855936/seasons-of-gundam-wing-archive

@thisweekingundamevents

Events Calendar

https://thisweekingundamevents.tumblr.com/post/624053314842230784/event-calendar-update

If you are hosting an event currently, or are planning on one, hit us up with links and dates! We’ll add them to the Calendar and reblog your notices to get the word out!

#Gundam Wing #This Week in Gundam Wing #Weekly Roundup #July 26 - 01 August 2020

28 notes · View notes

cherryfi · 5 years

Text

Blame it on the Bokbunja

Requested: Anon asks: haii!!! could you please make ateez san agent au? the concept is up to youuu thank youu

Plot: The mission objective was simple - take Choi San down by any means necessary. What you didn't expect was how it was to get him alone. You also didn't expect him to be this endearing.

A/N: I got so much inspiration for this wow, I didn’t expect it to be so long, I hope you like it anon! I hope the rest of you like it too aha!

TW: Alcohol drinking, drugging, mentions of violence

Word count: 9462

The mission’s objective was short and simple: Eliminate Choi San– make his empire crumble from the top, down. It would be like cutting the head off a snake, the body wouldn’t be able to sustain itself.

What was not simple, however, would be to actually make that happen.

Choi San was not only one of the most dangerous men in the city, He controlled at least half of the country’s black market and most of its organised crime could be traced back to his syndicate, Ateez. San had inherited this legacy from his father, Jisung, who had ruled the mafia with an iron fist.

Choi Jisung had been an orphan who grew up on the streets and who, together with seven other ‘friends’ built themselves one of the most heavily controlled and untouchable gangs the country had seen. He was highly intelligent and had an impeccable eye for detail. Nothing got past him and no one was able to double-cross him without ending up dead.

Contrary to how he ran his gang, Jisung’s family was his sanctuary and he always pandered to their every need – they wanted for nothing. This could be seen by the countless evidence photos showing family holidays; where he doted on his wife and only son, San.

According to the evidence file, San had been trained from birth to take over the leadership position from his father. And along with the syndicate’s seven other sons they were taught the skills necessary for running a ruthless and successful gang.

Taking over the ‘family’, unfortunately, came earlier than was anticipated for a 16-year-old San when his parents were murdered by a group of upstarts hoping to take over their territory. Jisung had been betrayed by one of his soldiers (Lee Sungjoo, who was paid off for information about Jisung’s whereabouts), who was quickly ‘done away with’ by the other men in the syndeo.

The Lee family were offered a rare show of kindness by San and Sungjoo’s son, Taeyong, remained a close friend. Taeyong went on to run an equally dangerous gang NCT, although both groups deferred to each other.

San’s first order of business upon receiving his crown was to obliterate the would-be rivals, making sure that any other competition knew that he would not take kindly to any threat towards his territory or family. His reputation had quickly been set and in no time, he was known across the country as being even more ruthless than his father had been.

Whether it was his training from a young age, the need to prove to his doubters that he was as good as his father, or being fuelled by pure revenge – no one could tell but, what they did know, was that Choi San was not a man to be messed with.

And even so – he was fiercely untouchable. Despite being able to hold his own in hand-to-hand combat and knowing his weaponry, San was never alone. The other members, having been friends since childhood were all protective of each other.

So, how were you supposed to take a man like that down?

It wasn’t going to be an easy feat and that’s why they’d called you in. You were a top operative but, you were only ever behind the scenes. Part of the ‘clean-up’ crew, your job was to go in after the field operatives had done their jobs and tie up any loose ends but, every field assassin that had been sent in after San had ended up dead.

It was time for a new strategy, and they hoped that sending in a fresh face with all new ideas and a whole different skill set would be what they needed. There was also a hope that it would flush out the mole that was sending San their mission information. After all, there was no way that he could foil all their plans without inside help.

How you fit into that, you weren’t sure. Technically, clean-up was less qualified than field crew, you were all combat trained, but clean-up didn’t use it as often nor did they go undercover as often but; somehow, they expected it to work.

It wasn’t working.

You’d gone over every possible point of entry into Ateez and none were viable – you’d eventually end up dead or discovered in all of them. They’d all been tried by other operatives and had failed.

Not that the corporation cared. They were putting pressure on you to succeed.

Thankfully, after 2 months of trying to find your way in, an opportunity dropped itself in your lap – as if by magic. And who were you to turn down a good opportunity?

What does a mafioso do when he’s not being a mafioso? He runs a ‘legitimate’ business.

And San was the silent owner of an exclusive bar: ‘The Noir Lounge’.

The Noir lounge was a swanky speak-easy that was a member’s only bar. People only knew about it ‘by word of mouth’ and so, it’s customers and clientele were often very important and high-class, according to the case file even the city mayor and a few city officials were members.

Although it was a bar, the lounge also had a selection of private rooms and a sex club. So, it was important that members remained unknown to the general public. Some of these men and women were married, after all.

It surprised you that they’d be advertising a position for a new bartender but, you weren’t about to let it pass you by.

You applied.

The application process was unique, it constituted of an extensive background check and multiple interviews but, that was to be expected.

None of those interviews had been with San.

It was a Wednesday morning when you got the call.

“Hello Ms Y/L/N? Your application to join the staff at the Noir lounge has been successful. Congratulations. Your start is immediate and so we will expect to see you tonight at 7pm before the bar opens to collect your uniform and go over housekeeping. Please bring with you comfortable, black, smart shoes. You’ve been sent an email with the address. I look forward to meeting you tonight. Enjoy the rest of your day.” That was it. The voice on the other end was soft-spoken but deep and masculine. He also didn’t give you his name.

He was highly professional and curt – giving you no opportunity to respond, you barely got out a ‘hi’ before he spoke.

But that didn’t matter because you got the job. A chill ran down your back both from excitement and terror.

Now it began. You would have to fit into the bar like any other employee – naïve to what was going on behind the scenes but, also interesting enough that you would somehow be allowed to enter the inner circle .

From the outside, the bar looked like any industrial building and you would never be able to suspect that it was teeming with activity underneath. If you didn’t have intel telling you where it was you would’ve gotten lost.

You arrived at 6:45 – 15 minutes before you were required to be there and buzzed on the door 3 times slowly, just as you’d been told to do. It opened and you were wordlessly led down into the lounge.

It was beautiful and crafted in a style that you would’ve expected of Choi San, classy, expensive but, simple.

“Ah Y/N. You’re early which is a good sign. I’m Park Seonghwa, I spoke to you on the phone, it’s good to finally meet you. I’ll be your manager while you’re working with us.” You took his outstretched hand and shook it firmly, smiling.

“Hi Mr Park, Thanks for the opportunity, I look forward to working here.” Of course, you knew who Park Seonghwa was.

On the surface he appeared to normal. Seonghwa was tall, handsome and friendly. It would be easy to fall for him but, he wasn’t a man to trifled with. Seonghwa was Ateez’s resident doctor, if any of the members of the syndicate were injured, they went to him to be fixed up but, that was only the half of it. If there was a poison, best believe that Seonghwa had experimented with it and he was often called in when Ateez needed someone silently ‘taken care off’.

“Ha, that sounds so formal, just call me Seonghwa. We’ll be spending enough time together working that I’ll get to know all about you. We’ll be best friends, just you watch. It’s better that we start off casually.”

‘I’ll get to know all about you.’- I certainly hope not.

You smile shyly – “Okay.”

“Seonghwa, stop flirting with the staff, even if they are gorgeous.” You almost let yourself swoon but remember who you’re talking to -Kim Hongjoong.

Seonghwa was low-key in his work and despite his extensive knowledge of poisons – he rarely got his hands dirty. Hongjoong, on the other hand, was covered in it.

Hongjoong was the ‘answers man’. You’d been disgusted almost to the point of physical sickness when you’d seen his case file. Hongjoong was the king of sadists and incredibly thorough. When Ateez needed answers and had particularly difficult adversaries, they sent them to Hongjoong. The things that man could do with a scouring pad and some hydrogen peroxide were terrifying and he took great pride in that.

But here he was, smiling at you with an almost innocent curiosity, no sign of the sick bastard that he really was.

“I’m Hongjoong. We just had a meeting here so the rest should be filing out soon and then you can open the bar. There’s another bartender working with you tonight but, it won’t be too busy. It’s never too busy on a Wednesday.” He smiled and shook your hand.

I wonder how many lives those hands have taken.

You try not to shudder at the thought.

Hongjoong was right – things were slow that night, which was good because it gave you he opportunity to get used to mixing complicated drinks and taking orders.

Your patrons ranged from well-known politicians to celebrities to other mafia members that were known to your organisation. But no San.

As a matter of fact, over the next 2 months, the only member you saw was Seonghwa and he was often distant.

The promise of casual conversations and time spent together was quickly forgotten and Seonghwa was business as usual. You only saw him at opening and closing time – he was always in a private room at the back of the club – probably with the other members but, they had their own bartender and so, you never saw any of them.

This didn’t bode well for you. It had been 4 months since you’d been given this mission and you were no closer to completion, the bosses weren’t happy to hear this.

Your work phone rang; and it sent a shudder down your spine – you knew you were in for it now.

“Status report?” Well hello to you too…

“No change. The target is yet to be seen. I’ve acquired new work but, no further advancements have been made.” You could hear the disapproving noises from the other line.

“This is unfavourable, we would have expected some status update from you other than a bartending job Y/N. Are you sure you’re the right person for this job?” Now, you were angry, first they leave you to take care of this alone and then they question your methods.

It was true that you were stumped as to your next move but, they didn’t know that. They had no place to criticise you, given how many operatives they’d already lost.

“Am I the right person? You tell me. Given the fact that I was threatened with forced resignation if I didn’t take this job, I can assure you that I wasn’t the one that made the decision to be here. The target is dangerous. I need to play the slow game. Rome wasn’t built in a day and given the amount of lives that have been lost trying to destroy them, I’d expect a little more support.” The line goes silent.

“We’ll call you for another status report in 3 months we expect progress.” And just like that, the line was dead. If you didn’t tread carefully – you would be too.

It was another month before anything happened. It was like you’d completed some probation period because suddenly, you were being told that you would be a personal bartender.

“Y/N. Just the girl I wanted to see.” Seonghwa’s wide smile greeted from the other side of the bar where you stood, restocking it. You turned to look at him.

“Hey Seonghwa, what’s up?” You returned the friendly smile.

“I have a new position for you. We’re having a separate event in one of the other private lounges and I figured you could use the experience of being a private bartender. It’s a little different to being behind the general bar; it’s more intimate and the people you’ll be serving will expect a lot more of you but, no pressure. I’ll be there if you need some guidance.” He leans on the table, his sleeves rolled up and you catch a little glimpse of a tattoo.

“Can I ask what the special event is?” You really have no clue what it could be.

“A birthday, that’s all I’ll tell you now. Don’t look so scared, you’ll be fine.” He reaches across the bar and places a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

You’re scared for another reason. The realisation hits you like a bucket of ice water as your mind runs through all their files.

It was San’s birthday.

You were finally going to meet San and for some reason, it felt too soon.

They were different to how you’d expected them to be, their case files and photos had not prepared you for how normal they appeared. They were friendly and jovial.

Even Jongho, who was known to be quite cold was actually friendly, if not a little awkward.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Your thoughts became completely scattered as you came face to face with your target.

He smirked at you and laughed a little your shock, his dimples on full display.

“Uh, sorry, I was spaced-out. What can I get you?” Play dumb Y/N – you’re not supposed to know this man.

“Yeah, I could tell, it’s not busy in here so I guess you’ve got a lot of time on your hands. I’ll have a French 75.” You balk. A what?!

“Let me guess, you’ve never made one of those? It’s not a regular one to get ordered despite it being a classic. Get a champagne flute.” You do as order and automatically go to put a cube of ice.

“No, no ice. It’s served straight-up. Pour 2oz Champagne, ½ oz of lemon juice, 1 oz gin – the Santamania is the best for this one and normally it’s 2 dashes sugar syrup but, I’ve got a sweet-tooth so give me 4. Rim the glass with some sugar and you’ve got yourself a classic.” He finishes with a wink and you follow his direction, Finishing it off with a lemon slice.

You slide it across to him on a napkin and wait expectantly.

San is not the kind of man you want to disappoint.

I hope I make a good impression.

“That’s a good 75. You know it’s supposedly named after a WW1 gun. It was the Howitzer 75mm, the French and Americans used it all throughout the war. Apparently, the cocktail’s got a kick just like the gun. By the way, if it’s in a slim glass, like the flute, never put ice with it. Ruins the experience. A flute glass is used when you want to keep the texture of the drink, you want it to keep the bubbles. That’s part of the experience.” His eyes glint boyishly; and you smile as he explains more information about the cocktails.

In another life you might have found yourself falling for a man like him, he was oddly cute.

“You know, it’s not ordered regularly but, it’s a classic cocktail, perfect for bringing in the new year or celebrating another one. I’m San by the way.” He smiles for real this time, dimples on full blast, and you can’t help but, smile back. He shakes your hand.

Damn, he was charming.

“I didn’t think I’d meet a cocktail nerd.” He barks out a laugh.

“You have to be when you run a bar.” You put on your most shocked face.

“You own this place?” He nods.

“It was mean wasn’t it? Not telling you that I’m the owner but, Seonghwa talks about you so much, I had to see what was so special about you.”

“Well, did you find what you were looking for?” You answer him, a little flirty, hoping that that would open him up to you.

He only laughs.

“I’m not sure yet but, we’ll see.”

Your next status report goes a lot better.

“Update Y/N.”

“I’m almost part of the inner circle. A rival gang offered me money to rat on them and I told my manager so, they had no excuse but to tell me what was going on. The members have been conducting business around me now so, it’s a sign of good things to come.” The line is silent again but, you’re not in fear of the response. They wanted progress, they got it.

“And what about the target?” You sigh.

“I can’t get him alone. None of the members will leave him alone, he’s always surrounded.” It was true be it Hongjoong, or Wooyoung, San was always with someone. If San was around, you could easily find Wooyoung somewhere nearby.

Besides the only times you’d been within killing distance of San was during the meetings, where you would serve drinks. You served drinks ,and they talked.

“What’s your next plan of action?” You sigh again.

“The only thing I haven’t tried: overt flirting.”

“Okay but be careful.” The line went dead again.

You had to put your plan into action.

The only time you got to see San on his own was during select night when he would randomly enter the bar. He’d spend the whole by your bar, just taking in the scenery and occasionally talking to the patrons but, rarely did he speak to you.

To top it all off, Wooyoung or Mingi were always in earshot of you.

How am I going to pull this off?

Your mission’s completion was so close you could taste it. All you had to do now was make San want to get you alone and you’d have him but, you had to tread lightly. It was around this point in the mission that a lot of operatives had lost their lives – they got cocky or crumbled under the pressure of the corporation’s demands.

You wouldn’t end up like that.

Your chance came 2 months later.

“She was cute.” It was a Friday night, but it was at the start of service, so the bar was still quiet. A few of the bar’s members had already arrived; tired and weary from their work weeks (or from the debts they owed to San).

Like the city mayor. He was in the bar and had been downing straight vodka for the last half hour but, you knew why.

He’d just walked out of a meeting with San and Hongjoong. Hongjoong had a wild grin on his face and San was fuming. The mayor’s re-election had been an odd one. Odd because nobody expected him to win so, when he clinched it, eyebrows were raised but, no one said anything.

San had bought him the election and now he owed San.

You almost felt bad for him but, he deserved it and now wasn’t the time anyway – San was finally alone.

Well, he was, a pretty girl in a blue, velvet dress swayed up to him, taking the bar stool next to him. He made eye-contact with you and you quickly busied yourself; shining glasses. He paid her no mind.

He didn’t even respond to her flirtations. She eventually huffed and walked off.

“Yeah, she was. See that guy over there? That’s Son Hyun-woo. You don’t need to know about who he is but, that girl, is a gift from him. He’s trying to keep me sweet Y/N. I’m not interested. I’m not an easy man to buy.” His stare is intense, and you find yourself struggling to look away.

He breaks out into a slow smile.

“What time are you working tomorrow Y/N?” You don’t really know where he’s going with this.

“I’m in at 7 – same time as always.” You shrug, keeping your tone light and San looks around thoughtfully.

“You’re a good bartender but, I want you to learn some of the more unique drinks. Come in at 5. Don’t worry it’ll be paid. I’m giving you a one on one cocktail class.” He flashes his dimples at you, and you agree.

Time to put your plan in action.

You head into the bar at 5 to find San already there.

“Y/N! You ready for your masterclass?” He clasps his hands together and rolls up his sleeves, you sit across from him – curious about the array of glasses and alcohols.

One thing was clear – San didn’t respond well to obvious flirtations so; your plan would need tweaking. Maybe you could charm him with your intelligence?

“Get behind here Y/N. You can’t make drinks from that side.”

“Alright. I’m here.” He smiles at you again.

“The first one we’re going to make is a clover club. This one predates the prohibition era in America. It was popular in Philadelphia; where it was created. It’s a classy, aromatic drink; reportedly drunk by literary experts and high-class men. That’s why it’s served in a cocktail or martini glass – so you can take in the aroma before you sip it.” You watch him expertly mix the drink.

“ ½ oz Gin, ¾ oz lemon juice, ¼ oz raspberry syrup or grenadine and one egg white. We make it thick by shaking the ingredients up in a shaker with ice but, serve it dry. Rim the glass with sugar and some frozen raspberries. Go on try it.” He nods encouragingly and you take a sip, he pours himself a glass as well and you look at him curiously.

“What? Shouldn’t I be able to savour the fruits of my labour?” You roll your eyes and he winks at you.

He’s right – you smell the gin and the raspberry syrup. It’s sweet and tart and surprisingly its thickness doesn’t take away from its enjoyability.

He takes you through other cocktails, making you try each one: La Paloma, the Penicillin, The Martinez, the Corpse reviver – you try them all and eventually you’re a little tipsy. He seems completely unaffected by the alcohol.

Bad move.

San looks at you with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“I made this one myself. Have you ever heard of Bokbunja?” You shake your head, no, and try to steady yourself; giggling when San stands close to you from behind, whispering in your ear.

“It’s a wine that we make from Korean Blackberries. It’s made in the same way as wine but, it has a higher alcohol content. Its acidity makes it perfect for seafood.” You sigh when he wraps his arms around your waist, his breath fans across your ear and jaw. It smells like the last cocktail.

“It’s also perfect with fresh mint, I like to add it with sour mix and elderflower as well. You know why it’s so popular in Korea? Apparently, it’s an aphrodisiac. I don’t know about that but, I know it makes you quite hot under the collar. If you plan on getting fucked later in the night – Bokbunja is the way to go. Now that I think about it, maybe it is an aphrodisiac. Try it and tell me.” San’s lips ghost across the shell of your ear and he pulls away to guide your hands.

You haven’t even sipped it yet and you’re already hot under the collar.

“Take a sip. Do you like that Y/N? Does it make you feel hot?” You moan quietly.

You finally come to your senses when you feel his lips on your neck.

This wasn’t part of the plan – you were supposed to seduce him not the other way around.

“San, I don’t think this is a good idea but, thank you for the lesson.” You pull away from him and he only laughs. You put your hands on his chest. His grey, silk shirt feels good under your palms.

He obviously has expensive taste.

“Maybe you’re right but, you can’t say you don’t want it, want me.” He’s right and suddenly, you don’t think you can carry out the rest of your mission. If you keep feeling this way, you might end up compromised.

You almost fell under his spell and if you didn’t get a grip soon, you’d fail your mission.

Failure wasn’t an option.

But San didn’t make it easy.

Somehow, he’d only gotten worse. Before, you couldn’t get him alone but now? You couldn’t keep him away. Every time you came to work San was there.

He was sweet, he was kind, he was flirtatious.

And those damn dimples.

“Status report, Y/N.” God, where do I begin?

“In the last month, things have advanced a lot. San, I mean the target and I have spent more time together.” There is a pleased sound on the other line.

“This is good. You should complete your mission soon then I assume?” You cringe.

“There is a slight problem – the target has been pushing his sexual advances heavily. I fear I won’t be able to complete my mission without giving in to them.” There’s a huff on the line and you sigh.

“Do you know what ‘by any means necessary’ means, Y/N? We gave you a mission to complete. If that means giving into the target, then do it. Don’t be shy now – these things are often necessary and expected of our field operatives. Make yourself pretty, visit a spa if you must. But, your mission must be completed within the next 2 days or we’re pulling the plug on it and you.”

“2 days?! How am I supposed to do this in 2 days?” You’re beside yourself in anger and bewilderment.

“By any means necessary, Y/N.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“We don’t make threats, it’s a warning. Y/N if he wants you then it should be easy to strike him off. We expect you to deliver in 2 days – we will be in touch.” The line goes dead as your heart drops to your feet.

You have no choice, but to do as told.

As usual, your shift doesn’t start until 7 so, you spend your day at the spa.

You get everything, from a full body wax to a shiatzu, to a manicure – all on the corporation’s dime but, none of the treatments are enough to ease your nerves.

You’d expect that after a day of hot stone massages and saunas, you’d expect all your kinks and sore muscles to be worked out but, instead you feel like a taut rubber band; ready to snap.

It’s now or never.

You wear a new set of lingerie under your uniform for later that night. It’s lacy and rubs against your skin airily and a little rough; the colour complements your skin perfectly. It should make you feel sexy but, you feel filthy instead.

You feel like a whore.

Your hands shake as you place the gun under your clothes and it’s never felt heavier. When you get to work you put it in your bag and in your locker instead, the feeling of the metal on your body making you sick.

As if the universe wants to play a sick joke on you, all the members are unexpectedly at the bar. They’re finishing up on their meeting as you step in and they all greet you once you step behind the bar.

“How are you Y/N? You’re looking a little green.” Jongho studies you but, drops it quickly when you tell him that you’re just not feeling well.

As a matter of fact – all the members were studying you, aware that you weren’t your usual self but, San told them all to step off.

“You’re so used to people acting suspicious that you’ll give this poor girl the 3rd degree? She’s just a little unwell, right Y/N? I think something’s going around, the other bartender called in sick today.” You can only nod, scared that your voice will betray you.

“You know what’s good for that gin and tonic. Here drink up.” He makes you a single with ice and you down it quickly, trying to cover how much your hands shake.

Can you really kill Choi San?

The answer is no, no you can’t.

Your shift goes by uneventfully and you leave work, disappointed.

The ball of tension in your stomach has grown tighter and you’re thankful for your day off but, it’s also your deadline day.

You only had one day to finish your job and you’d failed – you were screwed.

Yeosang calls you in the morning.

“Y/N? This is Yeosang, San would like to see you at his home this morning, it’s to discuss your job. A car will be by your home in 20 minutes.” You nearly collapsed; San wanted you to visit him?

“Yes, thank you. I’ll be ready.” You said your goodbyes and Yeosang hung up.

Were you getting fired?

You didn’t have time to ruminate on it – you quickly got ready for this impromptu meeting placing a small blade in your shoe.

It wasn’t what you would have planned but, you had to improvise.

The car journey was deathly silent. Wooyoung picked you up and after a short hello, he didn’t say anything else.

He knows. He has to know.

Wooyoung kept stealing glances at you in his rear-view mirror but, wouldn’t say anything, his expression was blank. There must have been a reason why he’d been the one to pick you up, given how close he was to San.

“We’re here Y/N. Just head up to the front door, the butler’s waiting for you.” Wooyoung turns to you and holds your stare for longer than expected. It makes you squirm under his gaze, while he searches your eyes. Your body’s tense with anxiety.

After a moment of you sitting frozen, he laughs shortly.

“They’re waiting for you inside Y/N.” You get out quickly, taking your bag with you.

You’d decided to pack a gun in the end as well, hopeful that you’d be able to end it all quickly, it felt heavy in your bag.

There was a lot more to Choi San than you’d read in his case file. Behind all the bloodshed and cruelty of his world, was a charming man that just wanted to live a normal life.

Could you really blame him for how he ended up, given that this was the only life he’d ever known?

You shake your head at the thought. A criminal was a criminal, regardless of how they got there.

You had a mission to complete, you steeled yourself as you walked up to the front door. Wooyoung drove away once you were at the top of the stairs.

San’s home was completely different to the bar. Where the Noir Lounge was cool and chic with its black interior and classy upholstery, San’s house was light and airy: it felt like a home. Even from the outside, the large, gated state-home looked inviting.

With its lush gardens and gravel driveway, even the wall surrounding the home was unintimidating. You could imagine San entertaining friends and gusts in his home or relaxing in his front room. You could almost imagine yourself right there beside him.

As you walked to the front door, it opened.

They really are waiting for me.

“Miss Y/N, Mr Choi is waiting for you in the dining room. I will bring you to him now. My name is Jiwon, I’m the personal butler for this home and I hope you’ll be enjoying your stay with us.” He guides you through the door, walking you across the marble floor after asking you to remove your shoes and giving you a pair of house slippers.

Jiwon is efficient and he moves fast. As soon as your slippers are on, he guides you to the dining room giving you little time to get look at the house (or recover your knife) but, what you took in was gorgeous. The doorway led to a large staircase on your right but, Jiwon led you down back, and as promised into the dining room.

It was beautiful.

You breathe deeply to ease your panic. It doesn’t work.

The dining room was an extension of the kitchen but made completely of glass, the sun rays shone into it and you could see another lush garden outside. In the centre stood a large mahogany dining table big enough to sit at least 20 people. But for now, it only sat one.

San.

“Mr Choi, your guest is here.” He turned to look at you, a dazzling smile on his lips, his eyes practically disappearing. Your heart sped up just looking at him.

He was dressed casually today, in joggers and a t shirt but, that didn’t take away from how beautiful he was.

“Thank you Jiwon. Y/N. Come have a seat by me. Let’s talk.” He pats the seat next to him and you take it, a shaky breath leaving your body. You were going to be alone with him.

Silently, you hoped that Jiwon wouldn’t leave.

“I will be by shortly, with today’s brunch, we have a selection of light foods, such as smoked salmon and cream-cheese bruschetta and some Scandinavian pastries for you to try miss Y/N as well some palette cleansers.” Jiwon smiles at you directly and you return it. In the little time you’ve seen him, you liked him.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“The chef is incredible Y/N, you won’t be disappointed. Thank you Jiwon, I’m giving you the rest of the day off so please, go and enjoy yourself.” You panic a little.

You’re definitely going to be alone with Choi San. Your training kicks into overdrive as you try to casually look for all possible escape routes in case things went south.

It was now or never – you’d never have another opportunity to finish your mission.

“Now Y/N. I’m really sorry to call you here on your day off but, don’t worry, you’ll be paid. I wanted to discuss how things are going with your work. I’ve got a proposition for you.”

A proposition? Your ears perked up. What kind of proposition could he have for you and what did it have to do with the job you already had? Whatever it was, you were sure that it wouldn’t bode well for you. You’d have to put your mission on hold even further, much to your own chagrin and worse - you’d have to report it back to your superiors. Would they give you the benefit of the doubt? You could only hope that you’d be able to convince them that this new job would be a good opportunity to not only take Ateez down but, to take down their associates as well. As long as you spun this roadblock into an opportunity, you’d be able to come out of this on the other side but, whether or not it was unscathed was left to be seen. Up to this point, you hadn’t actually gotten involved in the seedy underbelly of the ateez syndicate - after all you were just a bartender and aside from San’s constant flirtations and being privy to some of the more intimate details of their work, you hadn’t really been involved in dealings. Hell, the members aside from Seonghwa and occasionally Hongjoong hadn’t had more than light conversation with you. This would be a perfect opportunity.

Your musings were quickly interrupted when Jiwon came back in, followed by the rest of the staff. There were 2 other staff members, one of whom you assumed was the chef: given his uniform. “Brunch is served. We have a selection of charcuterie and sandwiches as well as the palette cleansers, as promised. I recommend the gooseberries over the hazelnut coffee for this particular selection but, I’ve put both here as I know how you enjoy your caffeine, San. Please also enjoy, the selection of cakes.” The chef bows to signal his end and San dismisses the staff with a quick smile.

“ I’m sure that Jiwon’s told you, you have the weekend off. I’ll clear the table myself. Don’t worry. Enjoy the rest of your weekend. I’ll see you all Monday morning. ”

Now you’re really scared.

The whole weekend? This must have been big. You watch them file out of the room, a sense of heavy dread filling you as they go. “Now that I have you all to myself; let’s talk business.” He rubs his hands together, smirking at you.

“As you know, you’ve been working with me for a little while and I’m impressed with your work. But, I’m also quite fond of you Y/N; which makes me privy to a little bias, don’t you think?” He smiles a little and pours himself a cup of coffee. You watch the liquid fill the glass mug, too scared to meet his eyes. The liquid swirls disturbed by the movement and you watch as it settles.

San blows on the mug and takes a tentative sip. “I, uh guess.” you say dumbly. San Laughs. “That was rhetorical Y/N. Please eat something. I want you relaxed. You’re as stiff as a board.” You try to laugh it off when he reaches out to touch your shoulder, but the sound is weak and pathetic.

“Sorry, I’m just not used to brunch dates.” You could kill yourself. You cringe as soon as the words leave your mouth. Dear Lord, please let the ground open up and swallow me whole! Date?! Why did you say that Y/N?

“Is this a date Y/N?” He’s back to teasing you again, his tone mischievous and you know there’s no way he’s going to back down now.

You swallow your pride. “I uh, I didn’t mean to say it like that.” You cringe and turn your attention to the Danish pastries, trying to distract yourself. “Because I would like that very much. Actually, you beat me to the punch. That’s what I wanted to talk about.” You look at him in shock. You lean forward curiously and San places a bottle of bokbunja on the table in between you.

You glance between it and him, a little perplexed.

“You remember what happened when you and I had this drink don’t you? And since then, we’ve been dancing around each other, playing a very dangerous game. I don’t like games Y/N, I like honesty. And honestly, I want you and I’m no psychic but, I know you want me too.” He leans into you and rests his hand under your chin: his thumb resting on your lips.

You don’t pull away, instead your lips part instinctively. Your eyes are still downcast, looking at the pastry in your hands. “Look at me, when I’m talking to you Y/N. Let me see those beautiful eyes. You can’t hide from me anymore.” You look up at him through your lashes, his eyes are intense. They’re ablaze with passion and fondness.

He pulls away from you and your breath stutters. He was right. You wanted him but, a mission was a mission. It needed to be fulfilled.

Yet, somehow, you’re starting to think that it’s not all that important anymore.

“Now, as much as I want you, I also know how dangerous it is to mix business and pleasure. So, I have a decision for you to make. Would you like to be mine?” You gasp.

He remains unfazed and carries on. Your eyes bug out.

“If you say no that’s okay. We’ll carry on as normal and you won’t have to bother about any awkwardness between us, I’m a professional man after all. But, if you say yes, you’ll have to quit. I won’t be able to keep my hands off you at work once I’ve had a taste of you and I won’t want to. I also won’t be able to hold my tongue if one of those disgusting men flirt with you, I can barely restrain myself as it is. If only you knew how vile they were. But I promise I’ll help you find work somewhere else if you’d like. I also promise to cherish you for everything you’re worth, I’ll take such good care of you.” Your heart swells at his words. The look of seriousness in his eyes has you breathless.

“San can I, can I think about this?” Your eyes gaze at him, pleading for him to understand how hard that decision was to make.

Even harder, given that you’re supposed assassinate him, right Y/N? This wasn’t fair. Life just wasn’t fair.

Why couldn’t he be like every other high-stakes criminal? A pig who wanted nothing more than to fatten themselves up off the back of everyone else’s work. Why couldn’t he be 2 dimensional? Black and white? Just pure evil? Why was Choi San so god damned loveable?

His casefile spoke of a deeply troubled and highly dangerous man who had no issue with disposing of anyone. People were pawns to be used and boy was he good at using them. But the man before you was nothing like that. He was fiercely loyal and passionate. Driven, hardworking, and kind.

San was everything you’d ever wanted in a man and then some and it was your job to kill him. You’d been compromised. There was no way that you’d be able to do harm to him now but, there was also no way that you could go into corporate HQ empty handed.

Your mission statement had been clear: failure meant being burned. Which meant definite death for you. If you could stall San, it would give you the chance to run. You’d disappear into the wind probably somewhere where they couldn’t find you. You’d leave him a warning and disappear for good.

Yeah, you could do that… Except- San’s eyes darkened. His face set in determination “No. No Y/N , you don’t get time to think about it. This is a onetime offer. I’m not going to let you keep running from this." He held your wrists in his hands shaking them lightly; prompting you to look directly into his eyes.

"I’m putting everything that I am out there, I’m offering you my heart Y/N. I don’t think I can sit around and wait while you decide whether or not I’m worth it.” This was new. San looked so vulnerable as he held your hands in his.

You couldn’t bring yourself to tell him no. Screw your mission - somehow, you’d make it work.

Eventually, you’d have to tell him that you were a plant but, that could wait.

“Okay San, I quit. I’m all yours.” Your voice comes out in a hoarse whisper. But he hears you. San pulls you forward, wrapping his arms around you and trapping you with a kiss. You taste the hint of coffee left in his lips and the sugar from your pastry: sweet and bitter, just like the situation you were in now.

Your lips move against each other slowly, San takes his time with you, running his hands over your body; caressing every inch that his hands touch.

When San pulls back, he looks like a dream. His dimpled smile stretches across his face, eyes almost disappearing, his hair tousled from you running your hands through it. His lips are spit-slicked and swollen and the prettiest shade of cherry red.

You feel like a teenager experiencing their first kiss all over again, except this time it’s not disappointing. You’re giddy and you can feel your face heating up.

“I’m really happy that you’re here with me Y/N. We should celebrate. How about a drink?” He holds up the bottle of Bokbunja and shakes it.

“Yeah, let’s celebrate.” You sigh, the gravity of your decision finally settling in on you. There was no way you were going to be able to get through this. If you ran now, the corporation would find you and if they didn’t you were certain that San would.

“Let me get us some wine glasses.” He pats your thigh and gets up, taking the bottle of wine with him. Being alone with your thoughts for that short time was driving you crazy.

How were you going to get out of the situation you’d put yourself in? You’d been trained for almost every possible situation but, there was no training for what to do when you fell for your target.

You’re pulled out of your stupor when San returns with the 2 glasses of wine, placing 1 in front of you.

You try to smile convincingly but, it felt more like a grimace but, you still try to play your role. “What should we toast to?”

San thinks for a moment.

“We should toast to something cheesy like, ‘new beginnings’ or to ‘us’.” He laughs at how cheesy it sounds and your heart swells at his sudden shyness

“Okay, to us it is. To us.” You both raise your glasses together, clinking them and then you drink.

You chug the wine, hoping that a little liquid courage would help you relax.

“Woah slow down there Y/N.”

“Ah, I’m sorry, it’s a really nice wine.” You smile sheepishly and rapidly blink – your vision going a little hazy. You try to hide how nervous you are as you pour another glass for yourself.

San pulls his chair back from the table and sits across from you. You try to reach out for him, but your arm feels heavy.

San just watches you, his expression distant.

“I’m glad you liked the wine, I added something a little different to yours though. Can you feel it Y/N? Seonghwa said you would, he said it was fast acting. It really looks like it’s working. I’ll have to thank him.” You look at him quizzically and try to shake off the brain fog, but you can’t. Your mind is hazier than ever.

You didn’t drink that much, what did Seonghwa have to do with the wine?

It clicks in your mind and you watch as San’s sombre expression. Your mind runs back to your fact files. Seonghwa was a chemicals expert. He played around with poisons.

You try to convey your alarm, but your head and eyes are too heavy.

“whaid you doo tme?” Inside your head, you’re panicking but, outside you can’t move, you’re slowly losing consciousness.

“I didn’t do anything to you Y/N. You did this to yourself.” You try to fight back as San picks you up bridal style but, your body isn’t working with you. Mounting panic gives way to artificial indifference and your vision narrows down to a pinhead. Everything goes black.

You came to, slowly. The first thing you noticed was that you were sprawled out on your back and that your arms were aching. Trying to stretch them out, you realise with a start that they’re bound to bed posts. Your body slips on black satin sheets as you try to sit up. “Keep calm Y/N, keep calm.” The panic is setting in, freezing your body and you know if you let it take you over that logic will leave.

“Yeah Y/N, stay calm. I’m sure this will all blow over.” In taking stock of your current, bound state, you didn’t even realise that San was watching you. He regards you silently but, coldly. His eyes holding none of the previous love and softness.

You’ve been had. You realised it too late. And now you’re going to die. But you don’t want to die.

Your breath comes in short puffs, quickly increasing and your head is beginning to spin. The feeling of pins and needles travels across your fingertips. Tears start to prick at your eyes.

San quickly gets up from his seat in the middle of the room and sits next to you on the bed. “Calm down Y/N, I need you to breathe slowly. Especially because I need you to be coherent for what I’m going to say." You try to do as your told and flinch when San reaches towards your face and wipes away your tears.

"I don’t like games Y/N but, that doesn’t mean that I’m not good at playing them. I always win. You’ve been playing a slow game with me and I’m really not happy about it.” He leans in close and you try to back away from him, but the sheets aren’t on your side, you’re still groggy.

“I know who you work for. I’ve always known.” Your heart rate picks up at that. You’d had a feeling that he would’ve found out but, not that he had always known.

“Now, before you go getting yourself into a panic. I’m not going to kill you. No, you could be of some use to me. I’m going to ask you some questions honey and if I think you’re lying, I might have to send you to Hongjoong and we both know what will happen if I do. But, if you’re good and you tell me the truth, I might just let you off the hook.” San’s hand grips your inner thigh and then he pulls back; getting up from beside you and pulling his chair to the end of the bed.

You can only watch him, your mind running through all the possible ways you could get away from him. Your mind comes up short.

“The corporation put another hit out on me, yeah? It doesn’t surprise me but, what does is why they would send a lower level spy so, why you? And remember princess honesty is the only thing that will keep you safe.” He leans back in his seat, crossing his arms and looks at you expectantly.

“They couldn’t figure out why every assassin they sent was getting killed so they figured you must have insider info on who they were sending. Lower level means less clearance so they sent me in because it would be hush hush. Less people to get permission from, meant less people involved, lower chance of failure.” He nods and furrows his brows.

“So, was the aim to still kill me?” “Yes.” You’re surprised to see the flash of hurt pass by his features but, it surprises you even more that it affected you so much.

Killing someone was one thing, telling them was another.

“When.” He watches you carefully, daring you to lie to him. “My deadline was today.” He sighs, nodding.

“What stopped you?" You can’t answer him. Because I fell in love, was such a cliché response and it would’ve sounded 2 dimensional given the situation you were in now.

San was clearly hurt so most likely wouldn’t believe anything that sappy but, it was true.

Even after being mildly poisoned and tied up your feelings didn’t waiver and even before this, you’d been planning on how to leave him unscathed.

"You’re taking too long Y/N, don’t li-” “I fell in love with you.” You blurt it out before you can second guess it. He looks at with a blank expression, his lips pressed tightly together.

He doesn’t believe you.

“You wanted honesty so here it is. I started doubting my ability to carry out the mission as soon as you guys started letting me into your inner circle. I didn’t get that close to your business, but I got close to you guys; I have so much in common with Yunho and Jongho showed me all his tech stuff and I had lunch with Hongjoong and his mum. His mother, San. The closer I got to all of you the more I didn’t want to carry this out. I was meant to do it yesterday but, I just couldn’t. I can’t hurt you. ” A fresh wave of tears flow from your eyes.

San gets up, wordlessly and walks away, shocking you. It’s over.

“Don’t look so panicked.” He sits by you, tissues in in hand and wipes your tears. “I’m not going anywhere but, I don’t think you want tears drying on your face.” He’s smiles at you tenderly.

“Untie me San.” The smile drops off his face.

“Why would I do that? Thank you for your honesty but, that doesn’t let you off the hook just yet. Do you have any idea who, exactly, you’re working for Y/N? Because I do. Your boss has been living on my dime for years, he was even on my father’s books.”

“For what exactly?” You’re shocked but, not exactly sure what this has to do with you.

“Let’s just say that your boss has a few extra-curricular activities that would put a damper on his career goals. He wants to run for government one day and there’s no way he can do it if the info I have on him gets out.” The cogs are turning in your head, hearing what he’s saying.

“You’re telling me, that Kim Jinyoung, the same Kim Jinyoung who’s been strait-laced his whole career, who’s been responsible for removing some of the worst careered criminals off the streets, who has a doting wife and 4 kids; is in the back pocket of your gang? That’s not possible San and I’m not playing your game. Just hurry up and kill me.” Oof, you don’t know where that came from, probably the frustration of being tied up and realising that you’ve been had the entire time.

But think about it, Y/N, if San can be good despite what his casefile says then, Jinyoung has every possibility of being vile.

San gets up and reaches for a manila file in the bedside table.

“I thought you’d say that. I normally have these files stored away but, I bought this one just for you. Let me show you what he’s been up to. Here’s one of him doing cocaine. Here’s one of him drinking with Taeyong at one of Taeyong’s parties; I’m sure you know who Taeyong is. And, this one’s my favourite: him being spanked by a girl at Mingi’s strip club. So, tell me again that I’m lying.” You’re left speechless, unsure of what to say and having no clue where to even begin.

San pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs again. You only look at him in bewilderment.

“Look, I’m not going to kill you Y/N. If I’d planned on doing it, I would have killed you already.” He pulls the key from his trousers and undoes the cuffs around your wrists. You rub them gingerly and flex your fingers – trying to get the feeling back into them.

He unties your feet as well and sits back in his chair.

“I’m also not letting you leave. I’ve had a mole in the corporation for a while, I’ve known this was coming. But I wasn’t expecting to get feelings for you. The plan was to play with you and Jinyoung, make him think he’d finally gotten the one-up on me and once he’d gotten comfortable or you thought you were close enough, I was going to send you to him in pieces.” Your body runs cold and you start to shake.

San had planned on mutilating you?

“Well what stopped you?” You want to look defiant; you want to appear strong but, the question comes out in pathetic whisper.

“You were only doing your job. As were all of the assassins. They were given choices. Stay or die. 4 stayed and they work for Ateez now and 1 was disposed of. You’re the only one I’ve fallen for and trust me when I say that I love you. My proposition still stands Y/N, although in a different way. I want you by my side but, obviously that means quitting your job – your real job. If not, I’ll let you go; I can’t hurt you and I won’t let anyone else, not even your boss.” He rubs your cheek with his thumb lovingly.

You lean forward, closing the distance and kiss him slowly.

When you pull back, his cheeks are dusted with pink but, he still looks unsure.

“Choi San, I quit.”

#ateez imagines #ateez #choi san #choi san imagines #choi san scenarios #ateez san imagines #ateez mafia au #kpop mafia au #ateez scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios

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lady-charinette · 5 years

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Chapter 1 - Strings & Papers Lukanette AU (Teacher!Marinette & SingleDad!Luka)

A/N: Hello everyone! As requested, I made this into a full fic. It was originally something small on Tumblr, an AU idea for Lukanette (SingleDad!Luka and Teacher!Marinette) but after many requests, I finally decided to post the first chapter.

INFO:

All characters are aged up! Everyone is at least in their late twenties/early thirties.

Modern AU without superpowers/kwamis. Tikki is a cat here ^_^

A few OC’s will make appearances, mostly the children of some of the original ML characters (Luka’s child Leon…etc.)

This is purely Lukanette.

Oh and I apologize for any OOCness in advance!

Enjoy reading! :)

Chapter 1

Children rushed about, the room bustling with life as her students went about their tasks; trying to create something using their hands and imagination.

It could be drawings, clay creations, any piece of art that the children were able to craft.

The important thing was, it was something that made them happy and that they liked.

“Miss Marinette! Miss Marinette! Look what I did!“ the boy waved his clay creation in the air wildly, cupped securely in his hands.

His teacher flashed him a bright smile, bending down to look at him and his clay figure properly, “Oh! What a cute dog!” the brown clay figure with blotches of white was slightly disfigured, but Marinette could tell from it’s general shape it was supposed to be a dog, a dog with missing ears, but a dog nonetheless.

Marinette grinned cheerfully and nodded towards the others. “Is this what makes you happy?”

He didn’t hesitate to reply. “Mhm! I love my dog very much!” he raised his arms and spread them as wide apart as they could go, indicating how much he loved his pet.

Marinette’s alert gaze swept over her class, catching some students drawing quietly on some tables, others chatting energetically on the arts and crafts table with glue and colourful carton papers strewn about.

Some children were on the floor, building castles, vehicles or even people with lego blocks.

She walked around, asking every child how they were doing and if they needed any help. Marinette offered holding the tall lego tower for a girl while she got the little decorative bow on top of it, her mother’s workplace she said, a place she could play at where her mother was also nearby, because she didn’t want to be alone at home.

The next child was a boy with dark messy hair and kind brown eyes, Leon. He was drawing something.

Two people, surrounded with what looked like music notes. And what appeared to be an instrument on top of the taller figure, a guitar.

Marinette crouched down next to the table and peeked over his shoulder, giggling when he turned his head and wore a full blown grin on his face. “Miss Marinette!” her heart warmed and lips pulled into an automatic smile at his glee.

Leon was such a cheerful child. He was a walking contradiction at times, cheerful and kind but also quiet and polite, he was never mean to his classmates or teachers.

He sometimes hummed a melody during class, but quiet enough not to disturb her or anyone else, she sometimes heard it when the whole class was silent, except for Leon, who hummed a tune to himself, swinging his legs with a small smile on his face.

Marinette remembered the first time she asked him about it, the reason why he hummed and if it was a special melody.

His answer had surprised her. ‘Mhm! My dad always sings me to sleep that way! He’s really good with his voice.”

She couldn’t remember ever meeting the man, Leon’s father, she vaguely remembered jotting down a phone number as the parental contact information, but she couldn’t remember it.

The only parental figure that frequently picked Leon up from school was his aunt Juleka, whom Marinette always had pleasant conversations with. The woman was kind if a bit shy, her voluminous hair, dark save for the purple streak at the front and at the ends, half hiding her left eye. It would’ve hidden the entirety of her face if not for the hairclip holding it at bay.

Marinette couldn’t blame her, she herself normally styled her hair into pigtails, loose hair would get everywhere in her face and it was impractical for teaching.

She also experienced some of the more daring kids try to pull on it, so pigtails were always a safe bet.

Marinette focused back on the picture Leon was drawing, particularly the two figures on it. “Is that you and your dad?” she saw him nod his head, using black to colour the top of his father’s head and blue for the ends. She stifled a giggle, always amazed at how creative children could get. She saw a girl once draw her father with flowing rainbow hair and when she’d seen the man in person, he almost looked nothing alike from the childishly drawn picture his daughter portrayed him to be.

“Your dad’s hair looks cool.” She smiled, giggling at the light blue.

“Thank you.” His polite phrase made her smile and the pedagogical figure in her rejoice, she was proud whenever parents raised their children right.

Then, she pointed to the guitar over his head, his best attempt at the instrument, which Marinette had to admit was good for someone his age. “Is that your guitar?”

This time, Leon shook his head. “No, that’s my dad’s. He plays it whenever he’s home, he also plays for me.” He smiled shyly, sheepishly, rubbing his messy black hair. “Um, I tried to play once, but it fell on the ground. Dad didn’t get mad, but I felt really guilty.” His cheeks tinged pink and Marinette felt sympathy well within her heart as she placed a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“I’m sure your dad forgave you as soon as it happened, it was an accident, right? Accidents happen all the time, Leon! I dropped my mug in the kitchen today!” she giggled, cringing internally because she was known for her clumsiness.

The boy stuck his bottom lip out and shrugged. “Yeah, I guess, I still felt really bad, but dad said it was okay…” a bright smile curled his lips in the next second, eyes alight with excitement. “Miss Marinette, can I tell you a secret?”

Marinette steeled herself, adjusting her grip on the table to support her weight. Children were honest by nature, they frequently revealed things about their home life, in extent their parents’, to the teachers. Most things weren’t bad, but very amusing, a secret source of entertainment for teachers to talk over coffee in the teacher’s lounge.

Leon whispered before she could say anything, grinning from ear to ear. “My dad is the best dad in the world!”

She blinked, surprised, but laughed at the ‘secret’, shaking her head and affectionately pinching Leon’s cheek, which made him laugh. “Really? Then I guess I should meet the best dad in the world sometime, hm? I would love to meet him.” She was being honest too.

It was important for teachers to know the parents of the children they taught and took care of through the day and their early education, knowing from what sort of familial backgrounds children came from was important to adjust their teachings or offer the appropriate help if children were surrounded by less than desirable circumstances.

Marinette doubted that was the case with Leon, but she was curious about his father, since she never met either him nor the mother.

She did hear from the aunt that his mother was working and living overseas and that the father was her older brother, but that was that.

She hadn’t thought to ask the aunt, since she thought his father would come to pick his son up himself sometime. So far, that hadn’t been the case, but Marinette could be patient.

If he was as great as Leon described, surely he would have time to drop by sometime?

Standing up, Marinette complimented the drawing one last time before she clapped her hands and announced for the children to hang up they art works somewhere in the classroom, on the walls or the strings over their heads to decorate the room with.

Weeks had already passed since the school year started and Marinette longed for something new and fresh to liven up the classroom, the children found the idea good too. It would help keep their creativity flowing and to brighten the overall atmosphere.

Her gaze strayed to the clock on the wall and a sigh left her lips.

It was almost time for the big break.

A few minutes later…

The two women laughed, Marinette stirring her coffee to dissolve the sugar as her best friend and fellow teacher Alya talked about her day. “Wait, you didn’t take the glue from him?”

The busty woman snorted, taking a big sip from her black coffee before she smirked like a fox. “Nope! I let him squeeze out every last drop, he learned his lesson when the ball rang. He had to clean up all the mess himself and he got a good scolding from his mom too. Good woman, I salute her!” she lifted her mug in a mock salute and Marinette laughed, shaking her head.

“I’m sure the boy had reasons to be so destructive.” Truthfully, children with such tendencies weren’t rare, they were aware of the phases of each child and that sometimes by destroying things, they released pent up frustration or helped themselves focus better afterwards. But this child seemed to be a bit different. “What’s his background like? The parents?”

Alya sighed, taking another long gulp. “Father’s a mechanic, has a bit of a sailor’s mouth. The mother is an iron hard business woman, she even makes me freeze on the spot whenever she comes to pick him up.” She grimaced, extending her hand to throw a sugar cube into her coffee. “I think the dynamics in the family are a bit unbalanced. The father is a bit too lenient but the mother is too strict, causing the two to clash. They’re unsure of their parenting methods, they even had a small verbal fight during parent teacher conference.”

Ugh, Marinette secretly dreaded those days, as did every other teacher.

Parents came in all shapes and sizes, just like anyone else.

There were parents who were the spitting images of their offspring, other were their polar opposites.

There were parents with impeccable backgrounds, academically successful people, but lacking in human warmth. Parents that continued the archaic parenting methods of their own parents, never intending to change the way they were raising their own children from their own childhood treatment.

Marinette disliked those the most, ones that weren’t progressive in their thinking but cocooned in their own ‘deal’ version of how a child had to behave or to what limits a parent’s authority could reach.

It was her secret pleasure whenever she had an opportunity to shoot them down and lecture them otherwise, she lived for those moments to see the colour drain from the adult’s faces while she explained all the potential negative ways their toxicity could affect their child after, that children weren’t ‘small adults’ and that every child had different needs and required a different form of parenting finesse.

Some parents were defensive and angry like lions, others more kind and understanding and willing to better themselves and correct the errors.

In the kitchen of the teacher’s lounge, somewhere in the back of her mind, Marinette kept Leon’s picture stored in her memory and during her conversation with Alya, she wondered just what sort of parent Leon’s father was.

——–

It was two in the afternoon and classes were over for today, for the children the day of duties and learning was over.

But for Marinette, she still had tons of work to do.

She watched the children leave the classroom, watched them put on their outdoor shoes and how some parents were already waiting for them out of the classroom.

Those moments, when the parents came to pick up their children, those moments Marinette loved most.

To see the pure joy of child and parent at seeing each-other, after being separated only for a few hours. To see them kiss and embrace each-other and laugh. The parents asking about their day and the kids retelling everything they did, from the tiniest details, the most insignificant things to the big events.

The parents listened with a smile, some shutting off their phones so colleagues from work didn’t disturb them.

There were also other parents, some greeted their children with a quick hug and kiss, ushering them along so they didn’t stay away from work for too long. Others gave a robotic kiss to their cheeks and took their school bags, marching out of the school like a soldier in the military, their child trailing behind them like a doll pulled by its strings.

Marinette always stayed with the ones whose parents were running late, being met with endless exclamations of gratitude for watching over them on her break and the like, with numerous apologies spilling from their mouths about traffic and work or too many duties overlapping.

She understood, she was an adult herself, and while not a mother, Marinette knew how difficult children could be. Her past work experiences in a local kindergarten taught her the very definition of patience.

And what it means to be assertive.

Kindergarten kids could be surprisingly stubborn and with their temper tantrums, nothing was safe from them.

She remembered starting her private meditating sessions for that very reason, always after work, with or without relaxing music and her bed.

She tried a scented candle once, but nearly burned her foot after not paying attention.

Sometimes, relaxing music didn’t help, the zen-esque tunes not appealing to her at all. She sometimes wondered if the people composing the music ever really tried mediating to it.

But the most relaxing thing to her was still her other passion, besides teaching.

Fashion.

She loved to create.

She encouraged creative minds in whatever way she could.

Her own parents’ encouragement and support in her youth drove her to pursue a career in fashion, then switch over to teaching, to be in a role where she could offer the same kind of warm encouragement and fierce support children didn’t have from home.

Her wardrobe consisted of more than half of her own creations, clothes by her own design. She’d tried opening a small fashion store once, but had to close it due to time constrictions. She couldn’t do two very time consuming jobs at the same time.

It might have been ‘just’ elementary school, but correcting hundreds of students’ tests, writing new ones, overseeing several classes while attending her own educational courses took up a lot of time.

Marinette relished coming home, stretching and taking a quick shower before she set to work.

Before she opened any of her thick folders or worksheets for school, she first opened her journal.

She always liked to document things, for safety but also private reasons. As insurance and the fond – and not so fond – memories to find a home.

For that purpose, she kept two diaries.

A journal for work.

A diary for home.

Marinette took the thick leather bound tome first, a modest brown leather design, a feather imprinted onto the leathery material on the cover, the thick book held closed by a magnet.

She opened it, skimming through filled pages to get to a blank one.

And she began writing, Tikki mewling at her feet, her soft fur brushing against her legs, whiskers tickling her skin while Marinette scribbled furiously, toes gently running along Tikki’s arching back.

“Hello journal,

Today had been a good day, 24th of October.

I started class at 8 sharp, there were only two children who called in sick, with parents excusing their absences immediately.

Class began with arts and crafts, the children received instructions on the tasks for today: decorating the classroom.

The old decorations were discarded, some saved in the storage room for further use, but the broken and tattered ones disposed of. The children had to create something that made them happy, in whichever form they could. Drawing, painting, using clay or building blocks to their heart’s content.

I tried helping as little as I could, to not impede their creativity, but offered helpful advice when asked. Most used clay to form figurines of their parents, siblings or pets. Some even formed food. A few creations caught my eyes, but all of them were unique and beautiful in their own way. Some of the children took their creations home, drawings they made a second or third time mostly. But many others stayed to decorate the classroom, it gave a refreshed image and helped levitate the atmosphere.

Break was spent outside in the school garden, I led some of the children to the vegetable garden to check on the growing plants and explained some of the still budding vegetables, unrecognizable in their ‘baby form’ as the students called it.

Tasks for tomorrow were quickly finished, I worked through my fifteen minute break, the short assignments about ‘happy memories’ had been read through but refrained from correcting. It had been one of their first written tasks, so I refrained from putting a stamp on them with red markings. I’ve returned them today, for the two sick children, I kept them in my desk in the teacher’s lounge to be dealt out once the children returned.

Parents had picked their children after school was over, some running late. Ms. Wilson had a suspicious countenance in particular, I detected a faint scent of something alcoholic, but didn’t address the matter. I did send a message to social worker Chloe Bourgeois, who agreed to look into the matter after some measures. Apparently, the family had already been a case not yet laid to rest and they’d waited for a cue to finally take action.

More to come tomorrow, goodbye for now.

- Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Marinette yawned, spying the clock on her desk reading just passed seven in the evening. Had she been sitting for that long already? She shook her head, leaning down to scratch Tikki’s head, resting languidly on Marinette’s foot.

She would need to feed her later and check her water bowl. Tikki was sometimes surprisingly gluttonous, despite her slender frame.

Stifling another yawn, Marinette safely stored the notebook in her first drawer, locking it with a key and slipping the metal into a hidden sleeve underneath her desk, well concealed from inattentive eyes.

She smiled when she grabbed her private diary, the pink leather book feeling heavy with memory in her hands.

She pulled off the leather string tying it together and flipped it open to a fresh page.

And began to write.

“Dear diary,

Today had been a stressful day.

The children were fine and well-behaved, but I had so much work to do! Not to mention, I missed one of my breaks because a colleague had called in sick unexpectedly and I had to fill their shift. Can you believe it? She couldn’t have called hours ago before school started, she HAD to call five minutes before her class started and I had to FLY across the hallway to make sure the children were inside and busy with tasks.

Sometimes, I wish I could throw a banana at some of my colleagues.

Some people just shouldn’t have become teachers.

The world would be a better place, the children growing in it too.

Speaking of children, something caught my eye today that I just couldn’t get out of my head.”

Marinette paused, tongue sticking out of her mouth as the image of Leon’s drawing burned brightly in her mind, as if she imprinted it so perfectly into memory.

“Leon drew a picture today, under the theme ‘what makes me happy’. He drew a picture of his family, his dad and him. He didn’t draw his mother and I didn’t ask, it wasn’t my place to and I doubt he’d know anything aside from ‘mommy doesn’t live with us’ or the like. At least, that’s the impression I got. But from everything I saw so far, it looked like the father didn’t live with him either. He never set foot in school before! Or at least I never saw him, Alya apparently did, but couldn’t really remember, saying it was for a short time and there were so many people.”

Marinette rolled her eyes, thinking back to the conversation she had with Alya in the kitchen.

That woman could memorize six pages of their random chats about a boy they gossiped in high school, but couldn’t, for the life of her, remember seeing the parent of one of the children at parent teacher conference two years ago. She smiled, shaking her head fondly and the pen was scratching against paper again.

“Anyway, what Miss Reporter said, Leon’s father was apparently pretty busy. She didn’t know what his occupation was, but it was the only logical conclusion, right? A man that rarely picks his son up from school? Sends his sister to do it for him? He must be some businessman. Then again, Leon mentioned how ‘he was the best dad in the world’ and he would sing and play songs for him before he went to sleep. Maybe he wasn’t so bad, but what was the deal with not coming to school? Was he a former dropout? Did he just have a phobia? Maybe he really was just too busy, but still, something’s fishy. Juleka, the aunt, mentioned how apologetic the man felt for not always being there….I guess he might not be a bad parent, but still, Leon talked so fondly of him, I really hope he isn’t the jerky parent I think he could be. I also, wondered about where the mother was. Leon rarely ever talks about her, I don’t really dare to ask neither him nor Juleka. It was a family matter after all, but still, I was biting my nails the whole time! Juleka just mentioned the mom lived and worked overseas and the dad was busy, but that was it. Were they divorced? Forced to live apart because of work? I don’t think Leon seemed to mind much, at least he hadn’t showed any signs to. He rarely talks about his mom, but he regularly gushes about his dad. Maybe I shouldn’t judge too quickly, the man could have his reasons for not picking up his child.

Still, I’ll see where that goes. Maybe I’ll try to flip through the parent contact book and try to give him a call, just to see how he would react.

Anyway, that’s all for today, I still need to feed Tikki and myself.

See you tomorrow, dear diary!

- Marinette

Thanks for reading! What did you think so far? :)

Tag List: @seraphkitty @canadianburd @macaknight @fher43 @vivilakitty @quickspinner @im-here-for-the-content @decaffeinated-happyshit @jessigurl-design @2sunchild2 @zebrabaker @redscarlet95 @didntwant2come @graduatedmelon @eve-is-the-dawn @bresso23 @anjuschiffer @alissawhited-blog @rudy-ruby @mystery-5-5 @winter-gardenflower @kayla-the-rambling-writer @teresarosiadeviluke2112 @captainmac6 @violatiger8 @crazywhitemofo @varksvader

@veroocasanova (I’m sorry for not asking before, but I remembered you wanting to read more Lukanette fics without Adrien salt 😅)

#ml au #ml fic #miraculous ladybug #lukanette #lukanette au #lukanette fic #luka x marinette #teacher!marinette #singledad!luka #i like your dad au #lmao I will not get rid of that name huh #luka couffaine #marinette dupaincheng #leon couffaine #fanfiction #crossposted on AO3 & FFnet

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