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forever-rogue · 4 years

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Apples & Lattes

A/N: Not requested or anything, but I have been in my fall and Marcus feels, so here we are. Its just a lot of sweet fluff, but I hope you all enjoy 💕🥰

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 7.6k

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

“When are you going to finally settle down and get married?” you nearly choked on your wine as your mother calmly asked you the question you’d pointedly hoped wouldn’t happen. But here it was. Again. Just like so many other times.

Once you’d calmed down and cleared the sweet, red wine from your throat, you set your glass down and plastered the kindest smile you could muster up on your face. The air in the room was so thick with tension it was physically palpable, “I’m not.. I’m not even seeing anyone, Mom. I don’t think that’s a feasible question at this point.”

“But honey,” there was that sticky sweet and concerned tone again, “you’re getting older and still haven’t married. Aren’t you worried that you’ll end up alone? Why haven’t you found anyone yet?”

“Gee, thanks for the concern,” you sighed as you pushed your plate away, suddenly losing your appetite. You knew you shouldn’t have to come to Sunday Dinner at your parents’ house. Everyone else in the room was deathly silent - no was sure what to say or do, “but um, no, it’s never occurred to me. I don’t think about it, really.”

Oh, but you did. You just weren’t about to admit that to her just yet.

“Look at all your friends, and colleagues,” she wasn’t about the let issue go. Fantastic, you wanted to groan and slam your head onto the table then and there, “they’re all married, getting married, or starting their own families.”

“And that’s great for them,” you cut her off, “I’m just not there, and honestly, I don’t know if I ever will be. And that’s just fine by me. I don’t have to be like everyone else.”

“I just want you to be happy-”

“And I am,” you insisted. And you were - truly. But there was a part of you that did long for more... “really. I’m also busy with work - in case you’ve forgotten I run my own business. Besides, I just haven’t met anyone that’s really caught my eye.”

You’d gone on dates here and there, but no ever really seemed to be...the one. The one you’d be willing risk it all for and with. Sure, some were nice, really nice, and others were good for a night in bed, but you’d never deemed anyone worthy of more. Your time was precious, and you weren’t about to waste it on anyone just because, just so you could have a half hearted relationship that ultimately left you unfulfilled.

“Maybe you should be...less picky,” she suggested and you almost snorted laughter.

"Listen," you stood up abruptly, your chair scraping lucky against the wooden floor, "this has been great and all, but I'm going to go. I didn't come here to be berated and belittled because of choices I've made. If I wanted that, I'd serve a customer a wrong order. And no, mom, I'm not going to be less picky or lower my standards just to find someone and please you."

"What if you ever find someone? You're so arrogant and stubborn sometimes-"

"Then so be it," you tossed the napkin onto the table and gave everyone a mock bow before turning to leave, "and then I'll be a lonely, but happy, old spinster!"

Before anyone of them could respond with so much as a sound, you stormed out of the room and out of the house, ready to be far, far away from them.

»»————-　♡　————-«

"Come on," you whispered under your breath as you reached for the last few apples on the branch. They were just out of your reach, and you were stretching precariously across the way trying to get them. The rickety old ladder under you wobbled slightly, but ignored its protests, reaching just a little more. These were the most perfect apples you had seen in some time and you needed them. Had to have them even.

Which was exactly why you were risking life and limb for them.

Finally, one of them came into contact with your gloved and you had made a small sound of triumph. But before you grab it and put in the bucket hanging from another of the branches, the ancient ladder decided it had had enough. And it started to tip over, causing you to do the same.

Everything happened so fast you almost didn't have to react, instead you braced yourself for the hard impact with the cold ground.

But it never came.

Instead you felt yourself securely enveloped in a pair of strong arms. When everything felt safe again, you slowly opened your eyes and peeked around to study your surroundings. Instead of the hard, dirty ground, you meet a pair of warm, soft chocolate eyes.

"Are you okay?" If his eyes were sweet and honeyed, then the voice that met your ears was even more so. You tried to find your own and tell him that yes, despite almost breaking your neck for some apples, you were just fine. But nothing came out - instead you stared at him, feeling a flush of warmth wash over you. He seemed concerned for a moment when you didn't respond but eventually you nodded and he gently set you back down, "there you are."

"I...ugh...erm...thank you," your voice finally seemed to return to as you bit your lip, suddenly feeling more shy than ever. Where was this suddenly coming from? Was it because you had quite literally fallen into the arms of one of the most handsome men you had ever seen? Possibly.

"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked with a warm chuckle. Slowly, ever so gently, he put his hand under your chin and tilted your face up to make sure there was no visible damage. His touch was like pure fire, sending a warmth and sparks throughout your veins.

"Yes," you said softly, giving him an affirmative nod, "just umm...apparently not very careful. Totally my own fault."

"That old thing wasn't helping," he gave the now ruined ladder a dismissal look, "it was ready to collapse at any moment."

"It didn't help that I was leaning over and trying to get those apples," you pointed at the few that remained, sighing heavily. You'd really wanted them, but now it looked like you'd have to leave them behind. Along with the rest that you had picked and left hanging in the bucket. Maybe you'd find some other good ones on another tree...

"Those?" he asked, pointing at the branch as you nodded sadly. A megawatt grin crossed his features as he walked over to the base of the tree, "the bucket - it's yours too?"

"Yes...I guess I should go back and get another ladder...hopefully they have some more," you were definitely more upset about your apples than you should have been. But hey, you'd been hunting for and picking apples for hours.

"No need," he said quickly. You were about to ask him what he meant but he quickly answered your silent question by climbing the tree and scaling the branch, effortlessly grabbing your bucket. But he didn't stop there - oh no. He siddled carefully along the branch and picked the remainder of your precious apples, setting them in the bucket along with the others.

Your mouth was open as you watched him in wonder, amazed by how effortless he made everything seem. Before you knew it, he was jumping down landing on his feet gracefully, a little smile on his face as you just watched him in awe.

"I believe these are yours," he said as he held out the bucket, filled to the brim with your treasures, "what's so special about these particular apples?"

"These are the perfect blend of tart and sweet," you said softly as you slowly took them from him, "for baking and making all sorts of pastries. They're hard to find around here and this orchard only has a few of the specific trees. So...I wanted to make sure I got them."

"And now you have them," he beamed at you as you struggled not to completely melt under his soft gaze, "I hope they serve you well. Do you do a lot of baking?”

"I-"

"Pike!" someone shouted as the man's face visibly contorted into a look of annoyance. You tried to hold back your giggles as he dramatically rolled his eyes, "we have to go!"

"I'll be right there!" he let out a long sigh before meeting your eyes again and giving you an almost apologetic look, to which you answered with a soft smile, "well, I guess this is goodbye."

"Thank you," you held out your hand for him to shake. He wasted no time in shaking it in his much larger one, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine, "I appreciate you saving both my neck, literally and metaphorically, and getting my apples for me."

"Don't mention it," he said softly, "it was a pleasure to meet you. I didn't get your name and I -"

"Pike! Now!"

"Better get going," you jerked your head in the direction of the man that was shouting for him. Although, if you were being honest with yourself, you were reluctant to see him go, "thank you again."

He opened his mouth to say something else but instead his name was shouted yet again. Hanging his head in annoyance, he exhaled sharply through his nose, "any time..."

Not wanting him to get in any trouble, you took your apples and gave him one last wave before walking away. Your feet had never felt so heavy and every part of you was humming to turn around and go back to him. To at least get his name, first name anyways as you assumed Pike must have been his surname. But you didn't. Why bother? You'd never see him again and it wouldn't do well to dwell on him or what had happened. It was just an accident and he was a nice man that helped you. A one and done deal; it wasn't like you'd just met Prince Charming.

Then why did you want to turn around and run after him?

Marcus watched as you trekked away, wondering if there was actually a bounce in your step or if he was imagining it. He sighed deeply at what he already deemed the most annoying thing to happen in a long time. As he watched you, he realized that your scarf had fallen and been left on the ground. Marcus quickly picked it up, ready to rush after you and return it. But you were already gone. Clutching onto the soft, still slightly warm fabric, he tucked it into his pocket. One way or another he would find it and return it to you. He was an FBI agent for goodness sake, it should be an easy task.

"Pike!" Marcus cursed under his breath as he turned around to leave. He would find you again, he vowed, no matter what.

»»————-　♡　————-«

By the way the man called Pike had been living in your mind rent free for what seemed to be days, you'd think you'd have done a lot more than exchange a few words with him.

But alas.

You'd had your one interaction with him and the rest had been daydream fantasies. You'd even let your mind wander so far as to wonder what it would be like to kiss those plump pouty lips that were burned into your mind. You wondered if he was always so kind and thoughtful or if it had been a matter of convenient timing.

Or something...it was a random encounter and you were just glad he had been there to catch you.

As you another pie down to cool, you softly heard your name being called from the doorway. It was Sabrina, one of your several loyal employees, poking her head in and offering you a smile.

"What's up?" you asked as you wiped your hands on the rag over your shoulder before tossing it onto the counter.

"There's someone here to see you," there was something about the little grin on her face that had you intrigued. You tilted your head curiously, "just..come on."

"I'm busy with-"

"Come on," she innocently with wide eyes as you laughed lightly, amused by her persistence. You didn’t normally have people come and directly ask for you...not unless it was an off moment and someone was mad about something trivial, “the apple pies can wait.”

“I almost died for these apples,” you joked, stripping off your apron and laying it down on the counter, “this better be worth it.”

“Oh, I think it will be,” she promised as she held the door open for you and let you go in front of her. As you walked up to the counter, you prepared to put on your best customer service voice, hoping whatever little problem it was could be solved with a smile and a slice of pie.

As the person came into view, your mouth dropped open as he quickly locked eyes with you. His own mouth quickly turned into a grin, his warm, soft eyes almost twinkling.

“Hi,” you barely managed to choke out as you walked over to him. You hadn’t expected to see him again. Ever. But here he was, in your own little coffee shop out of all the places in the world. This had to be some sort of dream, “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“Hi,” he replied, producing his hand from behind his back, holding out your scarf to you. In all honesty, you’d completely forgotten about it, having made peace with the face that you’d probably lost it somewhere. But this was most definitely a welcome surprise. Your favorite scarf back - and hand delivered by a handsome man? This was definitely too good to be true, “you dropped this at the orchard last weekend. I wanted to make sure you had it back.”

“Thank you so much,” you gently took it from him, clutching the soft fabric tightly to your chest.

"You found me..." you said softly, amazed by his sleuthing skills. You hadn't even gotten the chance to give him your name and he had still found you. But then again...surely a coincidence..."how did you manage that? I didn't even get a chance to give you my name..."

"Well, it's kind of a part of the job," he said as you raised an eyebrow at him. His mouth formed a small o as his cheeks took on a pink tinge, "I realize that doesn't quite sound right. I swear I'm not some sort of stalker."

"That sounds like exactly what a stalker would say," you laughed as he hung his head in mock defeat, "even if you are, it was very kind of you to return my scarf."

"FBI," he admitted softly under his breath as you mulled it over. It would explain the suit, which you thought fit him perfectly, but then you caught a quick peek of a badge under the jacket. You were sure it said FBI on it. Maybe he was legit, "I work for the FBI."

"How perfectly mysterious," you teased with a small wink, "all this trouble for a scarf? I'm just curious...how did you put it all together?"

"Itwasformorethanthescarf," he mumbled so quickly you weren't able to quickly catch everything. Before you could ask him for clarification, however, he continued, "it wasn't hard really."

"Oh?" you grinned, "do tell. If you've got the time, of course..."

"I do actually-"

"Wait!" you almost jumped in excitement as a wicked little idea crossed your mind, "do you like apple pie?"

"Its my favorite," he admitted shyly.

"Great," you beamed at him, "I have fresh apple pie, with the apples from last weekend! You have to try it. How do you take your coffee?"

“A little bit of cream and a healthy amount of sugar,” you couldn’t help but grin at the simple order, thinking it suited him perfectly. You motioned for him to sit at a quiet little table in the corner as you got to work. You could feel his kind eyes on you the entire time as you prepared your coffees, hoping you made it to his liking.

Sabrina must have been lurking nearby and listening as she popped out with two plates of warm, fresh pie. Flashing you an innocent smile, she flounced over to Marcus, and set the pie down with an overly cheery smile.

“He’s cute,” she whispered as she pushed past you, “you’ve finally found a keeper it appears.”

“I don’t...no,” you insisted as you grabbed a mug in each hand, “he’s not...I don’t know him.”

“Oh, but you will,” she winked before waving at a newly arrived customer and going to attend to them.

You bit your lip, letting out a long sigh before turning around to go back to him. You weren’t going to get lost in your little daydream fantasies...not yet at least.

“Here you are,” you set the coffee in front of him as you took the seat across from him, “I hope it’s okay.”

“Perfect,” he promised as he took a long sip. Grabbing a fork, he looked at the pie as you encouraged him to take a bite. He took a big forkful, giving it a thorough look over before putting it into his mouth. Almost fighting back a moan at how sinfully delicious the pie was, all he could do was nod before taking another heaping bit. You had been right, these apples made for some delicious, maybe the most delicious pie he had ever eaten, “holy shit.”

“Good, right?” your voice was singsong sweet as you took a bite from your own plate. His eyes were wide as all he could do was devour the remainder of his plate, “I’m telling you, it’s the apples, they make all the difference.”

“I can see why you were willing to break your neck for them,” he agreed. You’d converted another one, “I’m glad you didn’t though…”

“Me too,” you stared at your plate for a moment, “otherwise no one else would be able to make this delicious pie. Now tell me, mysterious FBI Agent, how did you find me?”

“It was simple,” he admitted, “all I did was look up the apples, and low and behold, an article about the woman that loves to use them for her renowned pies popped up. It just so happens that it was the same woman that fell into my arms when foraging for said apples. And she owns a café in the city where I work. I took it as a sign.”

Your cheeks felt like they were on fire as you listened to him. You should have realized it would really be simple for anyone to find you, but the fact that it was him just sent a spark through your veins. He had chosen to go through all of this trouble for you, “ahh, well, I should have realized it would be easy to find me. Either way, thank you for going through all of this trouble to bring back my scarf.”

“Any time,” he promised like it had been no big deal in the slightest. To him it wasn’t, not for you anyway. That much he already decided. He said your name softly and you wanted to melt then and there. That voice. That honeyed, sofy baritone already did a number on you, “I was wondering-”

“Hold on,” you licked some of the pie filing off of your fork as you waggled it at him, “you know my name now, but I still don’t know yours. Although if I remember correctly, that annoying man that called you away kept calling you Pike.”

“Marcus Pike,” he confirmed, holding his hand across the table for you to shake. You eagerly took it, trying not to marvel at how large and soft his was, “or Agent Pike. But you can call me Marcus.”

“Marcus,” you repeated his name, deciding you liked how it sounded, especially coming from him, “I like it. It suits you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agreed quietly, “umm, I’m sorry, I interrupted you earlier, what were you going to ask?”

“I was wondering if you’d like to-”

“Boss!” Sabrina had the most impeccable timing as she poked her head back out from the kitchen, “I need your help. I’m having trouble with the oven…”

“Can it wait a few moments? I’m sure it’s-”

“Fire,” she said meekly, “small fire, but fire…”

“Shit,” you hissed under your breath as you jumped to your feet, instructing her to get the fire extinguisher, “I’m so sorry to cut this short, but I gotta go. It was nice to see you, Marcus. Thank you...for everything. I really appreciate it. You can just leave your plate and mug, I’ll grab them later.”

“No problem,” he said as he watched you all but run away, sighing lightly to himself. More perfect timing. He drummed his fingers along the table before stacking the plates and grabbing your mugs and taking them to the spot you had designated for dirty dishes, despite what you had told him. Before he walked out, he got a quick burst of genius as he quickly grabbed a napkin and the pen from his suit pocket, scribbling down his phone number. He leaned over the counter and tucked it near the register, hoping you would see it and know it was from him.

He hoped you would keep it and get back to him.

He hoped, he hoped, he hoped.

»»————-　♡　————-«

Several weeks had passed since you had fallen for Marcus. Literally of course. The jury was still out on the metaphorical part. Okay...that was probably true too. He was living rent free in your mind, occupying many of your thoughts throughout the day.

You’d found his number and after finally convincing yourself to text him, you found yourself exchanging texts with him throughout the day. It was on and off of course, with you at the cafe and him at the FBI, but was nice. It always brought a smile to your face to see a text from him.

It had even led to him asking to take you out on a date, a proper date.

You said yes, naturally.

But that was almost three weeks ago, and the date had yet to happen.

The first time you got ready to go out with Marcus, he canceled at the last moment. You were already all dressed and ready, makeup and hair done when you'd gotten the hectic call. It was work, naturally, and you couldn't blame the FBI agent. He sounded genuinely upset to cancel, but promised he'd make it up to you soon. At least you'd gotten some decent selfies out of night, even if you ended up eating Chinese takeout and watching Netflix.

The second time, you had to cancel on Marcus. It was the morning of your redo date night, and you had found at the last moment that a well known food journalist wanted to interview you. You were reluctant to go and cancel again, but Marcus had been more than encouraging. So you went and Marcus ordered a pizza and binge watched some cooking shows on TV.

The third time it was a mutual cancelation. Marcus' parents came to surprise with a visit and you ended up with a stomach bug. Both of you were reluctant to cancel, and swore the next time it would work out.

It had to, right? Surely things would happen this time.

But no.

The fourth time around, you were both thoroughly determined to make things work. It was going to work out this time. It had to.

But once again, fate had different plans.

You and Marcus had made all of your plans, and you'd decided to leave work early to go home and get ready for your date, and were ready to finally spend time with him. But it turns out the restaurant you'd selected was booked for the evening and your reservation had been given away. Marcus had a last minute briefing for a big case he was working. Once again, the universe had decided it was not meant to be.

Maybe...maybe it wasn't meant to be at all.

"Why do you look so upset?" Sabrina asked as the two of you set up some Christmas decorations around the shop, "you look like you're going to burst into tears any second."

"I'm just..." you were cut off by the sound of the bell, signaling a new customer. You quickly told her you would handle it as you walked up the counter. But your dismay quickly turned into hope and butterflies when you saw that it was none other than Marcus, "hi."

"Hi," you'd already forgotten just how much you adored that soft, gentle smile.

"What...are you doing here?"

"Well, my meeting ended early," he explained, "and I figured that even though our reservations were canceled, we could still have our date...finally."

"Really?" you tried to contain the pure delight that was flowing through veins as he slowly nodded, "I'd love to but-"

"We can handle things from here, boss!"

"I'd love to," you beamed at him, "I'm just...little underdressed."

"I know its nothing fancy," he started as you pulled off your apron and tossed behind the counter, "but I was thinking you could come over to mine? I don't want to brag but I'm a pretty good cook, and I've got some new wine I've been meaning to try. I hope this isn't too forward, I just thought a quiet evening in would be nice."

"I'd love to," you agreed eagerly. Sure, you'd only talked to him mostly through text or on the phone at this point, but you already liked him a lot - trusted him, "it will be nice to finally have our date. I was starting to feel like the universe might be against us."

"Everything happens as it should and when it should," he promised as you grabbed your purse, "and by the way, I think you look beautiful."

You didn't even bother to try and hide your smile at that point.

As it turned out, Marcus was an excellent cook, and the wine was indeed delicious.

You spent the night at his, despite your original intentions, but one thing led to another and soon enough you were in his bed, unsure where you ended and he began.

It was the first of my many such nights.

»»————-　♡　————-«

Falling in love with Marcus was easy. You didn't even have to think about it. It started out as a slow, gradual thing which soon blossomed into something you had never experienced before. At first it was scary, but like with everything else, Marcus made it wonderful.

At first it was things like good morning and good night texts. Then it was him randomly popping in to see you during his lunch breaks or you stopping into his office when you had some downtime.

Then it was the random evenings spent together - he stopped by your apartment with your favorite take out if he knew you'd had a rough day. You'd let yourself into his if you knew he was working late and make dinner and dessert.

It was the late nights spent watching silly movies or having a catch up on your favorite shows. It was lazy Sunday mornings spent in the kitchen the two of you cooking and dancing to slow music that was on in the background. It was Saturdays spent exploring new places and cities, or spending the day in bed, tangled up in each other.

It was the way he seemed to say I love you in a million different ways, without even saying the words. But he spoke them all the time as well, and you never once doubted their truthfulness.

»»————-　♡　————-«

Soon the fall turned to winter which turned to spring. In the spring was when he asked you a huge question.

"Move in with me?" it was so soft, so gentle, and completely out of the blue. You were laying in bed on a Sunday morning, the sun streaming in through the large, open window, along with the cool, crisp air. Marcus had his coffee on the nightstand as he read the morning paper and you were laying on his chest, watching the morning news. It was the perfect slow, lazy morning.

"What?" you asked as you turned your face to look up at him, a confused expression on your face. Surely you hadn't heard him correctly...

"I asked if you'd move in with me," he repeated casually, flipping to the next page of the paper. He was putting on a cool façade, but the corners of his mouth were tugging into a nervous little smile.

"Do you mean it?" you asked softly, pressing a kiss to the soft, golden skin of his bare chest. He peeked over the paper and slowly nodded before you snatched it gently out of his hands and tossed it to the side, "really?"

"Of course," he grinned, "we already send most nights together, and half of your stuff is already here...I just think it makes sense. But if you'd rather not, or wait, I understand too."

"No," you said firmly, swinging your legs over him so you were straddling his waist. You leaned down and kissed him softly, his lips melding against your own, "I want to, Marcus. Really."

"Not too soon?" he asked as he gently stroked your cheek.

"Perfect timing," you promised, "its like you always say, everything happens as it should and when it should."

And so within the month you were moved into his apartment, now yours as well.

It was easy to fall into a daily routine with him. And getting to fall asleep and wake up next to your lover every day? It always seemed too good to be true.

»»————-　♡　————-«

The apartment that became your home soon turned into a small, quaint house that the two of you got together. Although the apartment had become yours just as much as his, this was the next chapter of your lives, which you were fully ready to embrace.

It had been two falls ago that you'd met Marcus, and while it had been your favorite season before, it most definitely was now.

You didn't know what you did to deserve Marcus, but you were so glad you did. Waiting for him had been entirely worth it.

"Catch up babe," you called to Marcus as he trailed behind you, a metal ladder tucked under his arm. Ever since your encounter with the rickety wooden ladder that you had falling into his arms and life, he'd insisted on a sturdy metal one.

"I'm coming," he promised, a smile on his face, his cheeks tinged pink from the cool breeze, "besides, I'm enjoying the view!"

"Cheeky," you slowed and waited for him to catch up, pressing a kiss to his cheek when he did so, "I love it. I love you."

"I love you too," he said softly as he leaned the ladder against the base of your favorite tree. The very tree you'd fallen from during your first meeting, "let me go and check the apples. They look promising this year."

"They'll make the best pies ever," you agreed as he slowly climbed up and took the buckets from you.

"May this year you'll teach me the secret recipe," he said as he disappeared into some of the leaves.

"Nope," you teased gently, "it's Nana's secret. Only family can know it."

"We're practically family," he laughed as he poked his head down to peer at you.

"That may be so, my love," you agreed, "but you have to make an honest woman out of me first. Nana's rules."

"Oh, I will," he promised as your cheeks flushed with warmth. You had meant it mostly as a joke, but there was something about the tone in his voice that suggested he wasn't, "I'm going to marry you."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mhmm," he insisted as he gently climbed down the ladder, landing on his feet with a small plop, "I am going to marry the hell out of you."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Agent Pike," you teased as you traded places with him and got ready to climb the ladder to start picking your prized apples. He stopped you for a moment, his hand on your neck as he pulled you in for a passionate, but gentle kiss. It was the kind that still managed to steal the breath from your lungs and thoughts from your mind, even after two years. You hoped it always would. You were sure it always would.

"I would never do such a thing, sweetheart," he whispered against your lips, "now go and pick your apples. I'll be here to catch you if you fall. Always."

"My hero," you grinned before starting your ascent, already keeping an eye open for the best apples of all.

As you searched, you noticed that Marcus seemed to be uncharacteristically quiet. You decided not to worry about it, attributing it to tiredness and a late night...but if it continued on, you'd ask soon.

"Anything good?"

"Hmmm..." your brows were furrowed in concentration as you reached for a few partially obscured apples. But instead of the soft roundness you were used to, felt something square and almost velvety. A small sound of triumph escaped your lips as you grabbed it...but then you slowly lost your balance and felt yourself slipping from the ladder.

"Sweetheart!" just like he had before, Marcus gently caught you in his arms. You looked at him with a sheepish grin as you wrapped your arms around his neck, "are you okay?"

"Right as rain," you beamed, "I guess some things never change, huh?"

"I'll take a lifetime of catching you," he said softly, "what happened?"

"I felt something," you said triumphantly as you displayed the little square box. As you studied it, you quickly realized it was...a jewelry box, "what is...how did this..."

"Open it," Marcus insisted as he slowly set you back onto the ground. You looked at him with wide eyes as he nodded. You popped the box open slowly, your breath taken away almost instantly.

Nestled safely into a soft, black velvet cushion was a beautiful diamond ring. It was simple, almost understated but elegant, nothing too large and garish. It was your favorite cut and color, both of which you'd only mentioned to Marcus in passing. You never thought he'd remember...or were you expecting this.

"Marcus," you were struggling to hold back your tears as you looked between him and the ring, "this is...are you..."

"Sweetheart," he delicately took the box from your hands, and pulled the ring out as he got down on one knee. This was happening. This was actually happening. He let out a shaky breath as he reached for your hand, "I love you more than words can describe. You have made me so, so happy. The past two years with you have been the best, and I hope we have so many more of them. I'm glad you fell into my arms then and today. I will always be there to make sure you're safe. So, in order to learn your Nana's secret recipe and to make you an honest woman and me the happiest man, will you marry me?"

"Yes," it came out without hesitation, without a second thought or single reservation, "yes, I'll marry you. I love you so much, Marcus."

"Really?" he had been so sure that you wouldn't say no, but the fact that you had said yes relieved all of the remaining fears he had. You nodded fervently as a few tears rolled down your cheeks. He quickly slipped the ring onto your finger before reaching up and wiping the tears away.

"Of course," you promised as you grabbed his face and kissed him, "I love you so much, Marcus. Everything - you are everything."

"I think that's you, sweetheart," he wrapped his arms around and held you tightly against him, "thank you."

"For what?" you laughed lightly, "you're always saving me!"

"You've helped me in so many ways," he promised, "I never thought...I never tonight I could love like this again. More than I ever have..."

"Me too," you promised, "I felt like I was gonna have to wait forever...waiting for you. That's what it really was. It was worth it. You were worth it. It's like you always say, everything happens how it's supposed to, when its supposed to."

"Exactly," he whispered softly, "I am so in love with you."

"And I you," you kissed him again, lingering against his lips as you took in all of him, "now - help me pick these apples or we won't be able to bake pies."

"We?"

"I guess you can know the recipe now," you grinned, "we're family. We've been family already."

"But not married yet," he said as he held the ladder for you.

"Close enough," you grinned, "I love you, Marcus."

"I love you, sweetheart."

»»————-　♡　————-«

“So when are you going to give us grandchildren?” as soon as the words hit you, you almost dropped the fork that was halfway to your mouth. Your face instantly warmed up as you turned to Marcus, ready to profusely apologize to him for your mother’s ever so straightforward nature. There was a tinge of pink in his cheeks as he gave you a little smile, “you’ll have such beautiful babies!”

“Mom,” you turned to her with wide eyes as Marcus put his hand on your thigh, tracing gentle, soothing circles onto the material of jeans, “we’ve only been married a few months. There’s no rush and it’s none of your business when and if we do.”

“I’m just saying, honey-”

“Mom,” you groaned and silently pleaded for her to stop. For once in her life she appeared to understand what you were saying, “please.”

“You’re right,” she calmed herself down as she grabbed a glass of wine and quickly finished it, “it’s entirely your decision, when and if. Either way...I’m happy for you, both of you. You truly deserve it. I know it took a long time, but I’m so glad you found your sweet Marcus.”

“Me too,” you agreed, calming down ever so slightly, “he was worth the wait.”

“I had you falling for me from the start,” he teased as he looked at you with the sweetest eyes, and the silliest of grins.

“You’re the worst,” you proclaimed, unable to contain your own laughter, “but I’m glad for that rickety ladder, and the almost lost scarf. Look at what it got me - the best part of my life.”

“I love you,” he whispered as everyone around the table awed at the two of you.

“I love you too,” you replied softly as you turned back to your plate, “now let’s get onto something else. Who all is going to come and pick apples with me for the shop this weekend?”

»»————-　♡　————-«

“I’m sorry about all that,” you sighed, shaking your head at your mother’s antics as you walked hand in hand with Marcus to your favorite little dessert spot. It was late, but not too late, so you’d both decided that a little sweet treat was necessary. And you had something else on your mind that you wanted to tell him as well, and figured it was best to do so when it was just the two of you, “she’s a little much...a lot much.”

“Don’t worry,” he gave your hand a spot squeeze, “you know my mother is just as bad.”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t do it in front of half the family and basically ask when we’re going to have planned sex!”

“So we shouldn’t tell her we have sex all the time?” he gently nudged your side as a smile worked its way back onto your face. That was definitely not a lie...like everything between the two of you, the sex was good, very good, and plentiful.

“I’d rather not,” you chuckled, suddenly feeling nervous about sharing your news with him. Naturally the two of you had discussed the possibility of children, and it was something that the two of you both wanted, but were not in a hurry necessarily to get into. You weren’t actively trying to get pregnant, but you weren’t not trying to get pregnant. It would happen when it happened, the two of you had decided, and even the doctor had told you that it would sometimes take a while for it to happen, especially after coming off of birth control.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asked after a few moments of silence. You’d been so wrapped up in your own thoughts you’d noticed that he’d been talking this whole, until there was nothing but silence on your end, “you’re thinking much too loudly.”

“I was just…” you tugged on his hand and he stopped, giving you a concerned expression. It wasn’t like you to just fall into silence and shyness. Marcus gave you that soft smile you were a sucker for before reaching you and gently touching your cheek, “you know I love you, right?”

“Of course,” he said fondly, “and I love you, sweetheart. I thought that was kind of obvious at this point, but if I need to keep reminding you, I have no problem with that. I will do all day, every day.”

“I...I’m pregnant,” you blurted it out before you could chicken out and wait for a different time. You wanted to tell him, to share your nervous excitement with him, “I...surprise.”

“You’re pregnant?” he repeated, a million different expressions crossing his features as you nodded, trying to decipher his reaction. Gods, you hoped he wouldn’t be upset, or think it was too soon. While it was true you’d only been Mr. and Mrs. Pike for a few months, you’d been together for several years now. Surely, this wouldn’t be upsetting...but in the moment you were questioning everything, and suddenly felt sick to your stomach, “pregnant.”

“Yes,” you breathed out anxiously, “I found out a few days ago. I just...I was trying to find the right time to tell you. And then my mom...of course she’d ask now, and it just…everything feels so overwhelming and I’m so nervous and scared and I have no idea what I’m doing and I don’t want you to be mad or upset…”

“Mad?” he asked incredulously as he took your face in his hands, “I could never, ever be mad at you. Especially not with something like this.”

“You’re not upset?”

“No,” he promised, “I’m happy...so happy. This is wonderful news - the only other day that could compare was the day we met and you fell into my arms...or the day you said yes to marrying me...or our wedding. But this? This is amazing.”

“I just...I didn’t think it would happen so soon,” you admitted, “I just got off birth control and they told me it could take a while, and I thought we’d be fine with waiting, you know? Like it would happen when it would happen. And then boom - pregnant.”

“Everything happens just as it should,” he promised, closing the minuscule gap between your faces and pressing his lips gently to yours, “I love you, so much. Nothing is ever going to change that. Now it’s you, and our baby.”

He slowly slid his hand down to your waist and then over your still nonexistent belly, a small, contented sigh escaping his lips. You leaned into his touch, burying your face into his chest, “I love you so much. I’m so glad you’re excited, I am too. Nervous but excited.”

“And we’ll figure this all out together,” he promised, “you know I’m with you, every step of the way.”

“I’m so...I’m so lucky you’re in my life, Marcus,” you said softly, “you came along right when I needed you, when it was supposed to happen.”

“Like I always say, things happen as they should,” he wrapped his arms around you before kissing the crown of your head, “you have made me happier than I could have ever imagined. Just out of curiosity, how far along are you?”

“Almost nine weeks,” you admitted sheepishly, grinning at him. You could see him doing some quick math in his head, “yeah, I will admit I wasn’t the fastest on the uptake on that one.”

“Nine weeks,” he repeated, “so you got pregnant like right after you got off birth control.”

“Yeah,” you laughed lightly, “it didn’t take much at all. Guess that means we got lucky...or something. Who knows, maybe we’ll end up with a whole little gang of baby Pikes.”

“I’m not opposed to that idea,” his eyes practically lit up at the idea. You didn’t care if you ended up with one or more, as long as they were happy and healthy. But you wouldn’t complain about more either, especially if they took after Marcus. Marcus, the kind hearted, handsome love of your life. You kissed him softly, wishing this moment never had to end, “but we’ll take it as it comes.”

“Yes,” you agreed, “we can do it all together.”

“We’re a team,” he promised, “now, are you the two of you ready for some ice cream?”

“Sounds perfect.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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#marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #the mentalist #SO MUCH FLUFF

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tuanyiems · 3 years

Text

The Spirit of Christmas

Jaebum x Reader holiday!au, roommate!au words: 2.8k

Plot: You are sugar and spice and everything nice and your roommate, Jaebum is coal—at least, that’s how it seems at first glance. With the pandemic and Christmas Eve coming to an end, maybe it’s not just Jaebum that needs a little Christmas spirit.

a/n – guess whose household got covid in time for Christmas? 2020 hates me lol anyways, I said I was going to post a Jackson holiday au but that was taking too long, I’ll post it next Christmas lmao here is jb and his kitties in the meantime <3 happy holidays folks, stay safe and merry and I’ll meet you in the new year

“What is that?” Jaebum looks at you incredulously as you carry an armful of green into his living room. You let it fall onto the floor, much to his annoyance and his cats’ pleasure. Nora flops onto her belly, rubbing against the green sticks.

“It’s our Christmas tree!” you grin, running your fingers through the fur of her belly and earning a nip to your fingers. You giggle at the tickle of her teeth on your thumb. Despite her feisty disposition, Nora very rarely ever bites for real.

“That’s a pile of plastic,” your roommate plops himself on the couch, feet thrown over the coffee table.

Your mouth twists as you push the ottoman closer to him with a gentle push of your fuzzy sock-clad feet. Jaebum glances at the bright yellow ottoman you brought into the apartment when he told you about a million times that the thing was a waste of money (and a neon eyesore). He then looks over at your feet looking awfully like a red stocking, and he truly does mean the awful part. He keeps his feet on the coffee table and leans back into the couch, arms behind his head.

“It’s a Christmas tree,” you emphasize, lifting his legs with a huff onto the ottoman. You dust your hands before placing them onto your hips. “And you’re going to help me put it up!”

He frowns, looking into your eager eyes. “Remind me why I moved in with you again?”

“Because I had a spare room and you needed someone willing to live with five cats,” you answer easily like you always do. You throw one of the plastic limbs at him. “Now come on, let’s get festive!”

“Your festive and my festive are very different,” Jaebum sighs, but he gets up anyways.

“Noted,” you chuckle, clearing a space on the floor for him to sit beside you.

You grab your phone to turn on your playlist, lovingly titled “HO! HO! HO!iday Cheer” and immediately you can see Jaebum’s face sour at the familiar jingle as Mariah Carey’s voice echoes through the room.

“Oh, we’re going with my festive, just so you know,” you warn him belatedly. He blows at his bangs, shoulders slumping in surrender.

“Let’s just get this over with before my ears start bleeding,” he grumbles, grabbing hold of a couple plastic limbs.

“That’s the spirit!” you cheer, slapping him on the back. You don’t miss the small twitch of his lips.

You had a lot of hopes for this year, all of which pretty much went down the drain. That was life though, you rolled with the punches. But you certainly did not expect that when you opened your home to Jaebum and his five cats, that just two weeks after, he would be your only social life for the next nine months (if you didn’t count your biweekly grocery outings).

And while you have nothing against Jaebum—in fact, you absolutely love his five cats—it doesn’t take a genius to tell that the two of you are very different. Jaebum’s black on black fashion, motorcycle riding, sterling silver face piercing-self, next to your pastel, soft knit cardigan-wearing, always smelling like bread and daisies…the two of you are a walking metaphorical neon sign flashing “opposites!”

“Why does that matter? He’s going to be my roommate, not my husband!” you had shrugged Jinyoung’s warning without a second thought.

That memory would come back to bite you during the first three months of shared living, for every time he woke you up from his random 3am showers or played horror movies in the living room right before your bedtime, and especially whenever he responded to your silly jokes with a deadpan face or worse, his unrelenting despondency.

Over time though, you learned how to read him—like how he was nicer after a cup of coffee or how he has trouble sleeping but always manages to fall asleep on the living room couch when you’re baking bread in the open kitchen. You’ve learned that when Jaebum scowls, it’s mostly just a reflex and actually, if you can catch a reflection whenever he’s looking away, usually he’s smiling. And although he will grumble about it the entire way through, if you ask for help, he will always be there (even when he tells you he won’t).

Maybe you both express yourselves differently. You say “I love you” and he will ask “Did you eat yet?” You bake cupcakes and have teatime on the porch with the older neighbors, Jaebum installs cameras and buys extra essentials whenever you go grocery shopping together. You fill the windowsills with abandoned plants and bring them back to life, Jaebum leaves cat food and old blankets in your backyard for the strays.

No one else understands when you tell them you think you and Jaebum might be the same person, but they haven’t seen him the way you have over the last nine months. Beneath his hardboiled exterior is a sensitive soul who loves quietly and cares a lot.

“There’s no point in putting this up,” Jaebum grumbles as he fits another limb into the trunk of the tree. “No one’s even gonna see it, it’s already Christmas Eve. Anyways, the Christmas party is canceled.”

“You will see it. I will see it,” you hand him another part. “Isn’t that reason enough?”

“It’s a waste of electricity,” he adds, not even glancing at you.

“The lights I bought have a timer!”

“And then it’ll be more work taking it down again.”

With a pout, you stand up and Jaebum turns his head in surprise.

“Where are you going, it almost done?”

Your frown easily twists back into a smile, seeing the way he hurries to put the last limb into the tree. “Time for the decorations!”

Jaebum rolls his eyes and looks down again and you can just tell he’s hiding another smile. You hurry off into your bedroom to grab the supplies.

“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas!” you sing as you reenter the living room and Michael Bublé’s voice rings from your phone. Twirling in an oversized pajama pullover (which might be Jaebum’s that got lost in your laundry three months back), you settle the box of ornaments on the floor. “I’m so excited to show you!”

He looks at you blankly, waiting for you to continue.

You squeeze your shoulders together, excitement barely contained as you reach into the box and pull out an emerald velvet pouch.

“It came in the mail just in time!” you grin, clutching the bag to your chest.

He lifts his brow at you, but the rise of his cheekbones gives him away.

“Ta da!” you squeal, pulling round orbs out of the bag. “One of my co-workers has a side business making custom ornaments and I got one for each of the cats!”

“Woah,” Jaebum takes one of the ornaments into his palms, eyeing it closely.

You bite your lip, holding in a satisfied giggle lest you ruin the moment. He sits quietly, admiring each ornament of the cats. When he gets to the last one, you pull out one more orb from the bag, holding it up by its gold, glittering string.

“And I got one of us too,” you say quietly, showing it off to him.

He slides closer, nose practically touching the ornament. It’s a simple, clear bulb and inside are your figurine versions, dusted with glittering snow around a Christmas tree.

Finally, Jaebum breaks into a smile, eyes disappearing into crescents. You find yourself letting out a breath you had been holding.

“They even got my cheek piercings,” he chuckles, pointing to the tiny orb. “And your derpy smile too!”

“Hey, my smile isn’t derpy!” you whine, smiling.

“It’s cute,” he adds and you falter, wondering if he means the ornament or your smile. But in true Jaebum fashion, he doesn’t explain himself and turns back to the cat ornaments. “This is really well made.”

You ignore the pulsing in your chest, nodding your head. “Yeah, I told her she should raise her prices.”

He gets up from the floor and offers you his hand. “Let’s put them up.”

Cheeks flushing, you let him help you up.

“Do you think it’s okay though? The cats might knock them down,” his brows furrow with worry.

You chuckle, grabbing the ornament from his hand and hang it off the tree. “Pretty things are meant to be shown and if it breaks…then we’ll get new ones!”

Jaebum rolls his eyes at your optimism but a small smile stretches across his face. “I think your co-worker would be offended to hear how you treat her work.”

You shrug, crouching down to Nora and Odd as both cats swat at the ornament hanging precariously off your finger. “Art should not belong behind glass walls. They’re meant to be seen and enjoyed, like your music!”

You giggle as Odd jumps into your lap, pawing at the shiny orb as you lift it out of reach each time. You miss the way Jaebum looks at you.

“Okay, less playing and more decorating,” he replies, throwing a string of gold tinsel at your head, much to the cats’ delight. You laugh at their excitement, glancing at Jaebum’s reddened ears.

Humming to the Christmas jingles, you stand alongside Jaebum, dressing the plastic tree in glittering ornaments and lights. Once in a while, you even catch Jaebum swaying to the music when he thinks you aren’t paying attention.

“Aaand,” Jaebum lifts the shining star from the box to you and you rise onto your tiptoes.

“Done!” You cheer, placing the star on the top of the tree. You clap gleefully, elbowing Jaebum to follow. He gives you three limp claps before you give up and crouch down to Odd instead, forcing the kitty to clap paws.

“Okay, can I go to my room now?”

“Not yet!”

He groans, plopping onto the couch. “What else is there left to put up?”

You pout, hands on your hip. “We can’t have a Christmas tree without the Christmas tree lighting ceremony!”

He sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “There’s a ceremony?”

“Of course there is!” you laugh, rushing towards the light switch. You flick the switch without warning, covering the living room in darkness.

With only the light from the streetlamp peeking through the windows, the falling snow is even more visible. The sight fills you with childlike excitement.

“Are you ready?” you whisper, walking over to the switch for the Christmas lights.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“We need to count down,” Your lips jut out at his indifference as you eye his dark figure. In the darkness, you can just barely see his features, but you imagine he is rolling his eyes at you.

Just as you are about to give in, you hear him sigh loudly, “Five,”

You break into a smile, “Four, three, two,”

“One…”

“Merry Christmas!” you sing, twisting the knob and flooding the room with small twinkling lights.

But you don’t look at the tree. Instead, your gaze remains in Jaebum’s direction and you watch as the lights illuminate his face. And you are pleased to see he is smiling. You know it’s just the reflection of the lights, but he looks like he has stars in his eyes.

Sensing your gaze, Jaebum looks at you and frowns, embarrassed. “What?”

You smile, cheeks warming. “Your cheek piercing looks like it’s twinkling from here.”

“Don’t be weird,” he scowls. “Are we done now?”

“Do you want hot chocolate?” you offer, moving over to sit next to him on the couch.

He shakes his head, getting up. “I’m going to bed.”

Chuckling, you let him leave, watching as the cats follow behind him. “Merry Christmas, Jaebum!”

“It’s not Christmas yet!” he yells back before you hear the sound of his bedroom door closing shut.

With a quiet sigh, you grab your phone from the coffee table and turn off the music. The silence feels even quieter with only the lights from the Christmas tree flickering around the room. Without anyone else in the room, your energy quickly depletes.

Outside, the snow whips by in flurries.

This is not how you imagined you’d be spending your favorite holiday, although the festive lights do make you feel a little bit better.

You wanted the Christmas gatherings though.

You were a family person through and through.

You missed it all—the packed house, cooking dinner with the aunties, playing board games with the little cousins, throwing said boardgame across the room when you rage quit, making up for it with freshly baked cookies that you’d nibble on at midnight while opening gifts by the Christmas tree. You even missed the nagging from your parents, asking when you’ll get a boyfriend and settle down.

Snuggling closer into the arm of the couch, you hug yourself.

It’s colder this year.

Emptier.

“So, you turn off the Christmas music after I leave?” You jump in surprise at Jaebum’s voice entering the room again. He takes a seat next to you on the couch. “You listen to it just to annoy me, don’t you?”

You blink back, wondering why he returned. “Did you forget something?”

He shrugs, leaning back into the couch and gazes at the Christmas tree. “It’s my first Christmas tree, I thought I should look at it a little longer.”

“This is your first Christmas tree?” you look at him in surprise.

He nods nonchalantly. “Never really celebrated Christmas.”

You sink into your seat, thigh touching his. “What a year to start celebrating.”

“Only because you have me hostage.”

You chuckle softly. “Well, I’m glad you had no choice but to be stuck with me. Would’ve been a lonely year without you here.”

“Hmm,” he looks at you thoughtfully. “Never pegged you as the lonely type.”

“The holidays can do that.”

“Then just think like me, pretend it’s any other day.”

You sigh, leaning into Jaebum. He doesn’t scoot away like he normally does. Instead, you find his arm resting around your shoulder.

“I don’t want this to be any other day though. This whole year has been a blur of any other days.” Your lips jut out in a pout as you look up at your roommate. “I know I must sound like a child, but I want Christmas.”

Jaebum laughs softly. You can feel the rumble of his chest.

“Cute,” he mutters, and you flush. His arm around you pulls you tighter. “Then, do you want to open your present at midnight or in the morning?”

Your eyes widen and he laughs at your expression once more. “You got me a present?”

“Well, yeah,”

“But…you said you don’t celebrate Christmas.”

“But you do,” he answers easily, looking at the tree again. “And anyways, if you’re gonna make me do all the work, I might as well celebrate the whole thing, right?”

You grin, poking his chest. “Admit you had fun tonight, Jaebum.”

He shrugs, smiling. “The ornaments were cool. I’ll be the DJ next time though.”

“Deal,” you beam, holding out your pinky. You giggle when he looks at your outstretched pinky with an arched brow. You keep your hand raised though. “Come on!”

He lets out a loud breath but eventually curls his pinky around yours.

Your heart warms, seeing how big his pinky measures around yours. It’s why when he moves to let go, you keep your pinky curled.

Laughing at his confused frown, you show him your thumb. “You have to seal the promise, Jaebum!”

“You’re an actual five-year-old,” he groans.

“Yes, I am,” you grin, eyes curling into crescents. His tone doesn’t faze you. From up close, you can confirm that there are indeed, stars in his eyes. They twinkle in amusement at your gesture and his lips lift once more when his thumb presses against yours.

And this time, he doesn’t pull away.

Pursing your lips shyly, you let your hand fall to his lap.

Looking back up at him, his gaze is soft on you. You pretend not to notice the way his fingers thread around yours.

“To answer your question, I’d like my present at midnight.”

“As you wish. Then shall we make hot chocolate and watch a movie until then?”

“Sounds like the perfect Christmas,” you tell him softly.

“Okay, Joker or The Dark Knight? You can pick.”

You grin, squeezing his hand. “We’re gonna watch Home Alone, Jaebum.”

“You’re terrible,” he feigns.

Chuckling, you let go of his hand and rise from the couch. “I’ll go make the hot chocolate.”

Jaebum grabs your hand again and you turn back curiously.

“Hm?”

His thumb brushes the back of your hand gently.

“Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Jaebum.”

#got7 scenarios #got7 imagines #got7 reactions #im jaebum #holiday au #roommate au #fanfic #fluff

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notveryglittery · 4 years

Text

birthday prince (5)

summary: happy birthday, roman!!! words: 2,900 / ship: dlampts (deceit/logan/virgil/patton/roman/thomas/remy) author’s note: this is part five of my Giving The Gay Anything He Wants series for roman’s birthday (june 4)! all ships are written implied romantic but i’m not stopping you from interpreting it otherwise. check the end notes on ao3 for credit on these gifts (bc i don’t know where to put them in this post)! i hope you enjoy!!

part 1 (roceit) | part 2 (logince) | part 3 (prinxiety) part 4 (royality) | part 5 (dlampts) | read on ao3

— — —

“Rise and shine, buttercup!”

Roman swatted at the air, as if that would send away the voice trying to wake him. “Five more minutes,” he grumbled, burying his face back into a pillow.

“You said that ten minutes ago, sugar,” drawled another.

If Roman really thought about it, he’d remember that, yes, he was guilty of this charge. That didn’t mean that he would admit to it, of course! Besides, even if he did, today was his day so he should have been able to do whatever he liked.

Oh.

Oh!

Energy shot through him as he jolted up. “It’s my birthday!”

Patton’s laugh was musical, the most beautiful sound Roman could ever ask to start his morning with. “I knew we’d get there eventually.”

“I dunno, I was sure it’d take him at least another half hour,” Remy teased, standing in the doorway.

"Good morning!" Roman exclaimed, swooping in for a kiss from Patton. He happily obliged, taking it also as an opportunity to comb a hand through Roman's tangled hair.

Were it not for Remy clearing his throat a moment later, the two might have lost track of time entirely. They pulled apart, only a little sheepish about it. Patton took Roman's hands in his and gave him a tug, urging him out of bed. Thankfully, now that Roman knew what was being celebrated, he followed easily, lips curled into a grin that seemed it'd never go away.

"What's on the agenda?" He asked eagerly, curious how early it actually was and how long it'd be before his first gift.

"Get yourself dolled up first, hon," Remy told him, tilting his tumbler in the direction of the closet.

"Remy!" Patton hissed, a hint of a scolding reminder in his tone, if Roman was hearing right.

Apparently, this was all it took for Remy to remember whatever Patton was trying to say. They swapped places faster than Roman thought possible, especially with his sleep addled brain not quite keeping up. Remy looped an arm through Roman's and began leading the way to the bathroom.

Patton waved at them as he left, "see you in a bit!"

"You're up to something," Roman accused without hesitation.

"Why I never," Remy said, pouting. "When have I ever been up to anything in my whole life?"

It was, again, thanks to Roman's still half-asleep state that he could level Remy with his best unimpressed look.

"Here I am, just trying to help you look your absolute best, and you're claiming me a criminal. That's just plain unfair."

Roman couldn't deny how wonderful that sounded, actually. Doing his own makeup and hair was a regular occasion, so much so that it almost got boring to do anymore. Remy, without a doubt, could be trusted to make sure Roman's winged eyeliner would be sharp enough to kill a man. Not that Roman would ever admit it, but Remy might have been even a better makeup artist than he was.

"Alright, alright," Roman yielded, "I supposed I'd be lucky to have someone of your talent dress me up today."

Remy looked equally smug and delighted at this. He shooed Roman along to take a shower, ducking back out of the bathroom to, presumably, pick an outfit for Roman for the day. The prince used the hair and body care products that he liked to save for special occasions, singing (of course) various Disney love songs as he did. With what must've been some sort of sixth sense, Remy was on him again as soon as he was wrapped up in a bathrobe and towling his hair dry. He got to work without wasting a moment, making sure that Roman's luxurious locks were fluffy and styled just right. The swoop to his bangs had never been so perfect, if he was being honest! The makeup look was bold, reds and golds and glitter; thankfully, Remy reassured him he'd used all waterproof brands so that Roman could cry all he liked without issue.

They returned back to the bedroom, where Remy had the outfit displayed on a mannequin. It shouldn't have been a shock that he'd picked some of Roman's favorite pieces but he was pleasantly surprised all the same.

"I really do just know you that well, I guess," Remy said, nonchalantly.

Roman, lightning quick, pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving behind a lipstick print. "You do and I love you so much for it!"

While Remy blushed and stammered at the sudden affection, Roman darted ahead and began to get dressed. Remy didn't need to turn away to give Roman his privacy, all things considered, but he did anyway, fiddling with the jewelry on Roman's vanity. It took some deliberating, but he decided finally that, above all else, the rainbow jewel encrusted crown was a must for today's ensemble.

"How do I look?"

"Babe, I don't even need to—" Remy's words died on his tongue as he faced Roman. Sure, there had been no doubt that Roman would look handsome as hell, but the beaming smile and light in his eyes and bouncy excited posture… He looked so happy and radiant and— "Wow."

"Stop," Roman said, giggling.

Remy took the crown and approached. He gave Roman a half-bow, smirking up at him. "May I have the honor, your majesty?"

“Stop!" Roman repeated, squeaking.

"Never," Remy promised, standing and reaching up to nestle the accessory on Roman's head. Each strand of hair still fell perfectly into place. "Now then," he said, taking Roman's arm in his, "shall we begin the festivities?"

Getting downstairs took no time at all, though Remy did dart ahead and down the steps first, so that he could loudly announce Roman proper. Patton and Thomas cheered for him as he descended, which added only more to the warm blush that he had a feeling might be a permanent addition today to his makeup. The pair ooh'd and ahh'd over Roman's look, showering him in compliments and praise. If this was just the beginning, then he sincerely was unsure whether he'd make it out of the celebrations alive.

They gathered at the dining room table, where Virgil and Deceit were laying the finishing touches on breakfast. The spread looked delectable, every one of Roman's favorite foods, and all of it hot and freshly cooked. Logan joined them last, carrying a plate with a single biscuit on it. There was a lit candle, too, and they'd all started singing before Roman could even catch up. He blew the little fire out and made a wish - though they'd nearly all already come true at this point, anyway.

"We're breaking a record today of how many times we can sing happy birthday," Thomas said with a wink, "fair warning."

Breakfast was full of fun and light chatter. They talked about the rest of their plans (at least, the ones they weren't keeping secret) and reminisced on old milestones. Roman felt full and happy, content to just sit and listen to his loved ones talk and joke around him. He was never left out of the conversation, though, always pulled back into a topic or started one anew with. He was listened to, unequivocally, and the attention was pleasant.

Soon, the food was finished, and the group moved to the kitchen. Patton and Deceit worked together on dishes while Logan presented what would be the first of birthday treats. They were muffins with Crofter's jelly in the middle, a flavor that Roman didn't recognize.

"Roman's Razzleberry," Logan explained, looking mixed on his feelings regarding the name. "It took some experimenting, but this combination of raspberry, strawberry, and dragonfruit came out the metaphorical winner."

"It's delicious!" Roman exclaimed, taking another from the tray. "My own jam! Thank you, dearest."

They gathered in the living room next, where the furniture had been rearranged to give them space for various activities. They did start with a movie, to let their meal settle, all huddled together on the couches. Roman was squished between Virgil and Thomas, the former playing absentmindedly with Roman's fingers while Thomas trailed his hand up and down Roman's arm, leaving tingles along the way. He might have dozed off a little, warm and cozy as he was.

The short nap energized him for their next game. Charades was one of his favorites as it gave him an opportunity to really practice his acting skills. What better way to hone one's craft than by not being able to use all the normal necessary components? Playing a part without any speaking lines and having to hope he'd do well enough that his companions could guess… It was a challenge he always looked forward to!

Virgil popped out and back in shortly with snacks for them all, the apparent second birthday treat: popcorn and candies and chips and soda, all easy and quick but not any less appreciated. They split into teams of two, leaving one to be their referee, and then each round, swapping out so that they all could have a turn to play. Roman ended up the winner, to absolutely no one’s surprise, though Deceit did come in a close second.

Lunchtime had rolled around and this time, they took to each making sandwiches for themselves. Patton and Remy surprised them (well, surprised Roman) with the third and fourth birthday treats: heart shaped cookies with exquisite frosting doodles and red velvet cake pops, respectively. They were sweet and delicious and baked perfectly and Roman only resisted eating more than he could count because he knew he had to save room still for whatever Thomas and Deceit had made. After they were finished and the dishes were washed, Patton led the way back upstairs. They stopped in front of his room.

“Would it be okay if we took a trip down Memory Lane?” He asked, holding Roman’s hands. “I was thinking we could visit some birthdays past!”

Roman looked to the others, nearly overwhelmed with how much affection and love he had for them all. “Whatever you have planned, I’m all in.”

“Nap time,” Remy and Virgil chorused.

Deceit rolled his eyes while Logan stifled a laugh.

“Shh,” Thomas hushed, giving them pats on the head. It was an amusing sight, to say the least, as Remy had a couple of inches on him and Virgil’s hunched over form was shorter than them both.

Memory Lane was as warm and fuzzy as Roman remembered it. He didn’t come through here often, usually only when he and Remy needed something for a Dream, but the consistent feeling it carried of being embraced by Mom or Dad was nice. The memories they visited were nice, too: old visions of time spent with friends, trips to amusement parks, parties that ran late into the night. While they all had their moments, Roman couldn’t help but feel that his birthday today was the absolute very best of them all. By the time they exited, he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt quite so relaxed. Logan and Virgil, on the other hand, looked like they were a little tired from the adventure. He took to their sides, planting himself between them, and grabbing each of their hands. Their quiet, grateful smiles were enough to give him pleasant shivers down his spine.

“Kitchen’s off limits,” Deceit announced as they all arrived back downstairs. “None may enter.”

“Except me!” Thomas piped up.

“Except you,” Deceit agreed, giving him a not-so-secret smitten smile.

Before Roman could ask why, they’d both disappeared. His attention was quickly stolen by Remy anyway, who was dragging him down onto the couch for his and Virgil’s aforementioned nap time. Patton giggled, making sure that they had enough blankets and pillows to be comfy.

“You sleep well, okay? We’ll wake you up in a little bit!” Patton said, taking Roman’s crown for him so that it wouldn’t get in the way, and setting it carefully on the coffee table.

If Roman wanted to ask Logan and Patton to join their cuddling, he didn’t get a chance to. Remy was carding a hand through his hair, draining him of his energy with each gentle scrape of nails against his scalp. He would have declared Remy a cheater for using his powers like this, but Virgil was falling victim to it as well and having his emo nightmare curled up with him was too pleasant to allow any upset feelings, regardless of how joking or serious they were.

Roman did, in fact, nap well, especially thanks to Remy’s presence.

When he woke, his limbs were only a little stiff, but he was overall very warm and relaxed. Virgil was gone but Remy had his face tucked into the crook of Roman’s neck. His sunglasses had been removed and Roman decided it might be worth dealing with the possible attitude of rousing Remy before he was well and ready if it meant getting to see his pretty eyes.

“Pstt,” he whispered, cupping Remy’s hand in his cheek. “My sweet dreamcatcher, it’s time to wake up.”

Remy grumbled, leaning into Roman’s hold. “Sweetie, I know you aren’t trying to coax me out of slumber right now.”

“Why I never,” he teased, echoing Remy’s earlier faux offended tone.

It took a moment longer, but Roman was blessed with getting to watch Remy blink away the lingering sleep. He thought this might be the best present of them all, seeing the swirling and shimmering shades of brown in Remy’s eyes, never one color at a time. It didn’t last long, what with Remy letting his eyelids slip back closed, but that was because he was leaning in to kiss Roman, and that sort of made it worth it.

“I should’ve known better than to leave you two alone,” Virgil groused suddenly, startling them apart.

“You’re just jealous I got to kiss the most handsome prince in the world before you did,” Remy said cheekily, reaching over to grab his sunglasses from the table and sliding them back on.

Roman couldn’t have prepared even if he wanted to. Virgil moved so quickly, thanks largely in part to those flight reflexes, swooping in and capturing Roman’s lips with his own. The kiss was fierce and passionate and even as Virgil pulled away, Roman followed after him. He sighed, disappointed for it to have ended so quickly. Virgil stuck his tongue out at Remy and then shot away as Remy lunged for him. They chased each other around the living room, laughing and throwing playful insults back and forth. Roman watched fondly from the couch, warm still in their nest of blankets.

Hands pressed down on his shoulders, massaging the post-nap aches away. Roman looked up, finding Logan above him. Logan smiled, bending slightly to give him a kiss on the forehead.

“Troublemakers, the both of them,” he said, only pretending to be disappointed.

“You’re one to talk,” Roman pointed out. “I’ve seen what you and Deceit get up to.”

“Shh,” Logan hurried to interrupt. “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

“Dinner’s ready!” Patton called suddenly from the kitchen.

Roman’s stomach growled, surprising him; he wondered how long they’d slept for. Logan came around to the front of the couch and helped Roman up. Virgil and Remy had already darted away to try and steal bits of food.

“Has your birthday been so far satisfactory?” Logan asked, taking a moment to return Roman’s crown to his head. It was a testament to Remy’s hard work that his hair still looked flawless.

“It’s been perfect,” Roman answered enthusiastically.

Dinner consisted, once more, of Roman’s favorite foods. The cupcakes were courtesy of Thomas, another birthday treat, and while he seemed embarrassed about the messy frosting, Roman thought it overwhelmingly endearing; he especially liked the edible glitter and fondant stars. As they were nearing the end of their meal, Deceit procured the final birthday treat: champagne glasses for them all, filled with bubbly cider. There was another happy birthday song as Patton brought the cake out to the dining room. Roman had definitely started crying by now, as it all came together just how much they’d done for him today.

“A toast,” Deceit began, holding up his glass. The others followed. “To our favorite author, poet, artist, actor.”

“To the prince of our dreams,” Remy chimed in.

“And our hearts!” Patton added.

“To the best Creativity I could ask for,” Thomas continued.

“To the greatest hero,” Virgil suggested.

“To a wise and clever leader, one whom we can always trust to take care of us,” Logan rounded out.

Roman wiped frantically at his eyes, uncertain whether his makeup was smudge proof as well, but not caring one bit. “Thank you,” he said, voice wobbly and thick with tears. “I love you guys more than I can say.”

Deceit, from his seat beside him, used his free hand to take one of Roman’s. He pressed a kiss to his knuckles and then held that hand to his cheek. “How unfortunate for your wellbeing,” he threatened sweetly, “because I think that we can say plenty.”

And they did, praising him on anything to everything: from his appearance to his creations, his traits and what made him tick, and the cute faces he made without realizing, and every tiny simple little thing they adored about him. It was, to say the least, the best way to end what had been the best day.

#sanders sides fan fiction #roman's birthday #roman sanders #sanders sides #dlampts #ts deceit #dani writes #gifts for roman's bday #it's basically dlamp + thomas + remy but focused on the roman ships #IT'S PUBLISHED BEFORE MIDNIGHT PST HALLELUJAH

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lewis-winters · 3 years

Text

kitty got claws

Or in which Harry asks Kitty out on a date.

(this is an expansion of my headcanon that Kitty is actually a very grumpy woman and Harry is a bit of a simp for tall, mean girls)

---

The first thing Harry notices is the olive green of her dress. The second thing he notices is how said olive green brings out the deep brown of her eyes.

The third thing he notices is her scowl.

“Yes?” Kitty Grogan asks in a bored drawl, unimpressed.

Harry lets out a dreamy sigh. “Hi,” he says, delighted. “I’m Harry—“

“Welsh. Yes. I’ve seen you around. You and my mother spoke at service last week.”

“She’s a very lovely lady.”

“Are you here for her?” Kitty asks, scowl lifting to be replaced by a sardonic smirk, instead. It twists her red painted lips into a shape so pretty, his eyes catch there for more than a split second. He wonders if she notices. “I’m sorry, Mr Welsh, but she’s a Mrs Grogan for a reason.”

Harry snorts at that—pretty, funny, and witty to boot. He can feel himself slipping down a metaphorical slippery slope and he goes willingly, looking up and up and up at this remarkable lady, just as he does in real life, because this girl is real tall, and he’s always been a weak, weak man for a woman in high heels. Especially one like Kitty Grogan, who towers over him by a whole head, arms crossed and head tilted in that calculating, expectant way of hers that means she’s assessing him and doesn’t quite like what she sees. Harry resolves to change her mind.

“I’m here for a Ms Grogan, actually,” He tells her, smoothly, flashing her a winning smile. “A miss Kitty Grogan, to be exact.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, she just left.”

Harry blinks, thrown. And remains thrown for a moment until he catches a microscopic, wicked twinkle in her otherwise carefully blank eyes. She’s pulling his leg and enjoying it, figuring that if he’s not going to leave, she might as well have a bit of fun at his expense. Harry figures he should be miffed, but instead, finds himself extremely endeared. His lips quirk up in answering amusement. “Who’re you, then?”

She hums; “Kathleen. I’m her twin sister.”

“And are you free for dinner, tonight? See, I was going to ask Kitty, but I figure you’ll do.”

“Oh, you’ve got terrible timing and luck, Mr Welsh, I’ve got plans to bake with my mother tonight.”

“You two have a triplet, then?”

Kitty laughs, a snort-y thing that is far from ladylike. Harry wishes he could hear it every day. “We’ve got a brother, if you’re interested.”

“Not really, to be honest.”

“Well then, I can’t help you there, Mr Welsh, you’re going to have to go back to whence you came, I’m afraid.” She makes to shut the door. “Good night.”

Panic shoots through Harry; so close, yet still so far! Desperately, he reaches for something to stop her, anything. Which is probably why he says this next— “Your mother told me about you.”

This, at least, makes her pause, looking up at him with surprise and then, a split second later, annoyance. She cocks a hip and doesn’t make that much of a great effort to hide the fact that she’s critically eyeing him from head to toe, now, taken aback by his audacity and especially offended by it. Her gaze is so sharp; Harry nearly curls back into himself. But he’s never been very good at shying away, anyway.

“She told me your real name’s Kathleen,” he tells her, standing up straighter in the face of her displeasure. “But they started calling you Kitty because all you knew how to do was hiss at and wriggle away from people before you learned what words were.”

“Charming, the things my mother thinks are appropriate to share behind my back,” Kitty rolls her eyes, not embarrassed at her mother’s less than flattering description— never embarrassed, no, that’s what Harry likes so much about her—but definitely not delighted, either. “Is there a point to this, Mr Welsh, or can I slam this door on your face, now?”

For some reason, that makes Harry smile. “Oh, Kitty got claws.”

“Mm, she does, and she’s never been afraid to use them,” Kitty retorts in an almost sneer. “Now, good night, Mr—“

“Come have dinner with me.”

Again, this makes her pause, but only so she can laugh at him, tilt her head back and let out an actual guffaw so loud and boisterous, Harry’s sure he’ll hear it echoing in his head all the way back home. But it isn’t mocking. Kitty may be aloof and cold and queenly in that she’s hard to reach and stubbornly prefers it that way, but Harry knows she’s nothing but kind. Kind and gentle and sure of herself, determined to carve her own space and her own path, never mind if she has to hiss and spittle at those who’d dare stand in her way. Harry knows those who run from her sharpness were never worthy of it, anyway. She’s like the summer sun. Warm and intense, bright and blinding all at once. He wants to stand in her light for as long as she’ll have him.

So he lets her laugh at him, waiting patiently as she slowly comes down from her fit until she’s nothing but a sniveling mess, wiping tears of mirth from her deep brown eyes. “My mother told me about you,” she tells him, not unkindly. “She says you’re like a stray puppy dog who keeps coming back no matter how many times you kick it to the curb.” Kitty pauses to look at him, really look at him, and Harry wonders if she likes what she sees this time. “I always thought she was exaggerating.”

“She sure likes animal comparisons, your old lady.”

“Ironic, coming from a woman who never let us have any pets.”

“She had her hands full with you twins and your brother, I bet.”

They smile at each other, at a tentative truce. Again, Harry tries his luck. “So… come to dinner with me?”

Kitty’s smile drops, though not by much. She looks confused more than anything, unable to wrap her head around why he might continue to bother. He would explain it to her, if he didn’t think it might scare her away. It’s best he start slow. Dinner and a nice walk around town, maybe a picture. Just a chance to enjoy each other’s company. He’s been wanting that for so long, ever since that fated Sunday of his high school junior year, when he’d swaggered into the church building only for his feet to be knocked from under him by a tall girl and her unimpressed gaze.

“I really do have plans tonight,” Kitty tells him, gesturing vaguely to her left where Harry figures the way to her kitchen and her mother lay. “I’m sorry, Mr Welsh.”

She means it. He can tell. “If you can’t tonight, maybe some other time?”

“My, you really are persistent, are you?”

“Like a bad penny,” Harry shrugs, letting himself relax into a soft smile. He wants to reach out and hold her hand in both of his like he sees in those romantic pictures where the guy gets the girl in the end, but he knows Kitty’s no swooning maid with perfect curls and a soft face. So, he doesn’t. No matter how much he wants to, he doesn’t. “Listen, Kitty, I really like you and I want to get to know you better. If you’ll let me. Just a dinner. Just the one. If you hate me by the end of it, then I’ll leave you alone. But this could be good. We could be good. Don’t kill this in its cradle, please?”

“I wasn’t even aware there was a baby.”

“Well, I mean—”

Kitty sends him a withering glare so powerful Harry does shrink into himself this time, chastised. She seems to like that, though, an almost smug smile curling her otherwise pursed lips up into that shape he had admired from before. But, resolutely, he keeps his gaze off it and instead chooses to look her in the eye, silently pleading. He tries one more time; “We could be good, Kitty. Real good.”

“I have a hard time believing that.” Kitty sighs, shaking her head. “But alright. If only so I can prove you wrong.”

Harry’s heart nearly stops in his chest. “I’m holding you on to that.”

“Not too tight, I hope.” She sighs again, but she’s smiling this time. Harry counts that as a win. “Come back tomorrow at the same time. I’ll be ready by then.”

When she makes to close the door. He lets her. Despite his assurance, though, that he’ll see her again because she’d permitted it, he still tries to peak around to get one last glance at her. This catches her attention one last time, and in the crack between the door and its door jamb, Harry could see her shake her head again, smile almost bordering on endeared.

“Puppy dog,” she mutters, in amused disbelief.

It sounds almost fond. Harry carries the sound of it alongside his excited, racing pulse all the way home.

#band of brothers #harry welsh #kitty grogan #harry/kitty #I forgot I wrote this tbh #might as well post it now #estrella_marie

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vampirecatboy · 3 years

Note

ok so for Rhys: 1,7,12,14,21 and Kira: 2,8,17,24,28 (I will ask about other boys later hahaha)

first up, it's the lovebirds!

What’s your oc’s most irrational fear? Is there a specific reason this fear came about?

What makes a fear irrational? That's what I wanna know. Because Rhys' biggest fear is him and/or his spouse dying horribly, specifically after he becomes a father. That stems from the trauma of losing his own parents, and the fear that his child(ren) will end up in the same situation he was in, struggling and traumatized. I would say this is irrational, because it keeps him from even considering settling down with someone, even if in his heart that's what he wants.

What song reminds you of this oc? Does this match up with the type of music your oc likes to listen to?

Anno Satana by Smashing Pumpkins, or Warrant by Foster the People. Anno Satana has a line "I never needed anyone, no" and if that's not an angsty Rhys line I don't know what is. And the chorus of Warrant gives me thiefy vibes. Rhys might like Anno Satana if he heard it, but I don't think Warrant is his style it is Kira's style though

How does your oc handle talking to somebody they can’t stand? What if it’s a situation where they’re forced to work with this person?

:3c Well, he's done that with Kira, which is probably why you asked this one for him lol. He'll be snarky if he thinks he can get away with it. If he doesn't think he can get away with that, he simply won't talk to them. His default is snark and if the person is say, bigger than him, he'll keep his mouth shut.

If he has to work with them, he might dial it back a little. He doesn't want to land in a fight with someone he's supposed to work with. He may be a cocky bastard, but he's not all that confrontational. What can I say? Kira is just that good at riling him up.

If your oc spent one day free from any consequences or recognition for their actions, how would they act?

Oh it's thieving time. He goes after a big, high-risk target that he would usually avoid, but after that, it's hard to say. If it's more than just legal consequences, like social consequences, he might take a risk or two with Kira.

What’s a fact you haven’t shared about this oc?

Oh god what haven't I shared about him? Uh... this is already under a read more I can get a little en es ef double-you... When he was 19 he had a pregnancy scare with a girl he had slept with, despite using a condom, so from then on, any time he slept with someone who could get pregnant, he would insist on bottoming. That's right. Rhys saw the "the only contraception that is 100% effective is abstinence" line and said "actually pegging too."

on to Kira!

Is your oc picky about food? What kinds of foods do they like and dislike? What do they consider a comfort or “safe” food?

Surprisingly no, not really. He doesn't like seafood, but that's really the limit of his dislikes. He loves hearty meals of meat and potatoes, and sometimes as a treat he'll get something super spicy because he loves the burn. His go to comfort food is any kind of meat pie. I was thinking about pasties and hand pies just today and decided that that's the sort of food he really looks forward to eating.

What’s it like inside your oc’s mind? (Literally, or metaphorically.)

A whole bunch of memories. Of home, of his family. Living in the past isn't always healthy, but Kira likes to retreat to his memories when things get particularly tough. His mind is full of love too. Love primarily comes from the heart, but all those thoughts of the people he loves have to be stored somewhere, and love is stored in the Kira.

If your oc had a social media page, what would it be like? What would they post about? How much personal information would they feel comfortable posting on it? How often would they update it?

I can see Kira having an insta, not too unlike my own: all nature, all the time. Found a new/pretty wildflower? Saw a garter snake or a common toad? It all goes on the gram. For the plants especially, he puts these long captions explaining its properties and uses. It’s free infodumping space. There might also be some stuff with his boyfriends (Rhys flat out refuses to use any social media but Kira likes to show off the stuff he bakes) As for personal information, he lists his first name, the fact that he is an adult (though not his specific age). and his pronouns. On the rare occasion he posts a video where he speaks, people can obviously make out his accent so they know where he’s from, but that’s about it. He doesn’t update daily, just whenever he sees something cool. For the sake of this question I’ll say he updates about weekly.

What is one thing that, no matter who it’s coming from, would anger your oc?

That’s a tough one. He’s not really an angry guy. Feisty, but not angry. I would say probing questions, but he’s sort of eased up on that with Tinsel and Zona. Yeah I’ll just say that. Excluding Tinsel and Zona, because there’s not really something they could do that would make him angry (that I can currently think of)

What’s your favorite thing about this oc?

Oh man it’s hard to pick just one thing. When I think of why I like Kira it’s just “because he’s Kira.” I love how he interacts with the world and with others, I love the relationships he’s formed with his friends and his family and his love interests. I think overall I’ve created a great character with an interesting personality, and I really enjoy rp-ing as him. That might be my favorite thing, that I get to pretend to be him.

#thank you for all the questions!#i had a lot of fun with this #dnd tag

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entity9silvergen · 3 years

Text

Why Don’t you Play Me One of Your Songs? (Sanders Sides Fanfiction)

Summary: Logan professes his love for Patton through song.

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Characters: Logan, Patton

Relationships: Logan/ Patton

Other Tags: Valentines Day, Band, Music, Song fic, BoJack Horseman, College

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1500

Chapter Count: 1 (Oneshot)

Written 2021

Author’s Note: As of when I started this, I’d written over 25,000 words for Aromantic Writing Month. With Valentine's Day coming up, I figured I’d take a break from that and write something short with romantic love. This fic was inspired by Judah’s song in BoJack Horseman. When I heard it, I immediately knew I had to write a fic where Logan sang it.

========

It was… How to describe it?

It was entropy.

In thermodynamics, entropy was defined as a measure of the unavailable energy in a closed thermodynamic system that is also usually considered to be a measure of the system's disorder, that is a property of the system's state, and that varies directly with any reversible change in heat in the system and inversely with the temperature of the system.

When Logan was retailing the story for Virgil, his roommate used a much simpler definition. Entropy is the tendency for chaos, the belief that things in order will move toward disorder. Logan had to admit that definition was a bit better suited for his situation. Virgil had called him dramatic and Logan agreed but the word truly fit.

Logan was working at his local library. He was a broke college student and it was about the best job he could get. He liked it just fine. He could get lost in aisles of books, far from the demanding world, and spend hours just organizing. He rather enjoyed it. That was until the library hired another student to man the cafe, that is.

Logan hadn’t liked Patton when he started his job. He was noisy, always striking up conversation with people coming in, and people eating his baked goods never followed protocol. Crumbs. Everywhere. So many that Logan even had dreams about crumbs getting in his beloved books. But when Logan had gone to talk to Patton about it, he found that he couldn’t.

Patton was sweet. And beautiful. Logan couldn’t say a negative thing to his face. He’d actually panicked so hard that he ended up leaving. That night when he came home, Virgil had laughed at him and told him to try to talk to him. It might do him some good to have a friend at work.

Logan had protested but followed Virgil’s advice and talked to Patton. Patton took to him with the same friendliness that he did with everything else. They became friends. And as time went on, Logan realized he was falling in love.

Which brought him to tonight. Or rather, that morning.

“Hey, Lo,” Patton greeted when Logan came by that morning and Logan’s heart had fluttered a bit at the nickname. “What’s that?”

Logan mentally froze for a moment before holding up the case in his hand. “This? It’s, um, my guitar. I’m in a band. A small one. We’re playing later.”

��I know. I saw the flyer.”

It took every ounce of Logan’s willpower not to glance at the bulletin board by the door. Why had he put the flyer up here? Where Patton could see it? Oh right, because Remy had told him they needed people to show up to their concerts if they were going to call themselves a band. But here? Really, Logan?

“So, um, I was just wondering why you hadn’t invited me? I was talking to Roman and Emile and it sounded like you invited everyone else.”

Logan felt a flash of guilt at Patton’s tone. Stupid, Logan. He mentally slapped himself Had he really been so caught up in worrying about his crush that he’d accidentally alienated Patton?

“I know you’re working tonight,” Logan said, the words coming to him with remarkable speed. Words had never failed him but he kind of wished they didn’t come so quick, not right now. “I didn’t… I didn’t want to put you in the position where you felt obligated to come or felt bad saying no.”

Patton’s face softened and Logan felt a bit better. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’d love to hear you play and I’d cancel my shift to-”

“No!” Logan cut him off before he realized what he was doing. He cleared his throat. More calmly, he amended, “I mean, no. You don’t have to do that. I’m a college student too, I know how important these paychecks are.”

Patton looked doubtful. “Well, if you’re sure…”

“I am,” Logan responded in an even tone that didn’t match the storm of feelings in his chest. “Don’t worry yourself over it, Patton. Maybe next time.”

“Next time,” Patton echoed but Logan was already stepping away from the counter and heading toward his beloved books, failing to see Patton’s disappointed gaze watching him walk away.

But Logan regretted it.

That night, standing up on that stage, he couldn’t help but feel crushing disappointment when he didn’t see Patton’s face in the crowd.

“Go to him, gurl,” Remy said, making Logan turn around, startled. The other man was leaned casually over his keyboard but his eyes were fixed on Logan. “We can survive without you.”

“But-”

“Hey, gurls!” Remy yelled at the crowd. “No vocals tonight! All vibes!”

The crowd cheered. Logan didn’t take offense. The confused glances of his other bandmates did offset him a bit and he offered them an awkward smile before thanking Remy. “Thank you.”

“No prob, gurl. Now get your ass out of here.”

Logan didn’t hesitate.

He’d carpooled here and he didn’t want to leave his bandmates hanging so he just ran. He ran like it was 7th grade PE and he needed to beat his record mile time to pass the class. He ran like Remus was chasing him with a booger on his finger. He ran like he was being chased by death itself.

He ran like he was in love.

But when he burst into the library, Patton wasn’t there.

Logan didn’t know he could feel such crushing disappointment.

He took a seat at one of the chairs at the cafe tables and crumbled. Under the weight of his despondency or out of exhaustion, he didn’t know. He just knew he felt hopeless. Right when he’d found the courage to tell Patton how he felt, he wasn’t even there.

But then he heard the door swing open and there Patton was. He looked stricken but relaxed when he saw Logan. He smiled and drifted over to one of the seats at the counter. “Hey, Lo.”

“Hello, Patton.”

“I closed early to go see you but you weren’t there. Someone told me you left.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

They slipped into silence for a moment. Logan gazed into Patton’s eyes, seeing something unreadable in them. Patton didn’t look away.

“Hey, Logan?”

“Yes?”

“Why don’t you play me one of your songs?”

Logan suddenly noticed he was holding his guitar case in a death grip. He swallowed and nodded, taking care to slip his guitar out of its case. It felt nice to have it in his hands. Grounding. And then the words came to him.

“I strive for precision.”

He sang slowly. His voice was almost hesitant. This wasn’t a song he’d written. It wasn’t a song anyone had written. Logan wasn’t a songwriter. He was awkward with words, always making sentences too long and lacking rhythm. But, he had an even voice so he sang. And sometimes the words just wrote themselves.

“My aim is to be accurate and clear.”

He was hopeful. It wasn’t something Logan could say often. He relied on concrete proof and evidence, not feelings. But hope was a nice feeling. He felt like he could do this.

“I don’t say things I don’t know to be true.”

There were few things Logan knew were genuine truths. This was one of them. He knew it deep in his heart. It resonated in his chest with the words as they formed. And that made him feel at peace.

“So believe me when I tell you I love you.”

His voice cracked halfway through. Logan didn’t look up to see Patton’s face but the words flowed to his mouth almost faster than he could keep up.

“I don’t write good love songs. I’m not adept with metaphors or rhymes. I just want to describe the things I know. And the only thing that I know is that I love you. Please believe me when I tell you…”

He took a deep breath and forced himself to look up from the strings of his guitar.

“I love you, Patton.”

And Patton smiled.

==============

Author’s Note: I tried a different writing style for this. There’s very little detail, more of a tell than a show story, and I did very little editing. Let me know if you like it. There’s a fine line between stylistic choices and bad writing.

#fanfiction #sanders sides #logicality #logan sanders #patton sanders #logic sanders #morality sanders #human au #college au #band au #songfic #bojack horseman #valentines day

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tw-anchor · 4 years

Text

33. Olivia and Lydia vs. The Darach

Anchor

Stiles Stilinski x Original Character

Episode: 3x09; The Girl Who Knew Too Much

Word Count: 7,103

Warning(s): Mature language, canon violence + gore, attempted murder of main character, kidnapping, sacrifices

Author’s Note: Sorry for not updating in a while. My Gram is in hospice and I haven’t been into writing. I hope you enjoy the chapter! Please make sure to reblog, like, and let me know what you think!

Masterlink in Pinned Post!

Olivia had only been to Peter's apartment downtown once before, and that was to bring over a polite welcome-home casserole that he probably didn't eat. Now, she had business to attend to. She had questions for Peter. Questions about herself and Lydia.

Only a half-hour before she made her way downtown to talk to Peter, she left Lydia in her bedroom after a couple of bad hours. Lydia and Olivia had been going out for ice cream with Allison before they went back to their house for a girls' night, when Lydia drove them to the school. Not only had Lydia been drawn to the area—just like she had the night she found the body at the pool—but Olivia, herself, had felt the same thing as Lydia.

She just didn't know if it was because she and Lydia shared abilities or because she was so connected to Lydia due to their shared DNA or relationship. Her only option for answers was to go to her father.

"All right, tell me again what happened," Peter blinked the sleep out of his eyes; it was around one in the morning when Olivia knocked on his door and woke him from a deep sleep.

"Lydia found another dead body," Olivia repeated herself. "What ever your bite did to her, it led her to the body and I felt it to. Now, I know you bit Lydia for a reason. That's why she was able to bring you back with that ritual. I want to know what she is and how it's affecting me."

Peter sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead, exhausted. "Okay."

"I want the truth," she said firmly before he could begin. "No changing the story this time."

"All right, fine," he agreed. "To start off, you have to know what your mother was. Grace was eighteen when she inherited her abilities. She was a banshee."

"A banshee," Olivia repeated in slight belief; she hadn't known that banshees were a real thing. They weren't even in the Argent bestiary.

"A wailing woman, harbinger of death, same thing. They're not really like the Irish myths. They don't attach themselves to a family line, and their echoes don't cause death, either" he informed her. "Only females can be banshees and their abilities are inherited from their bloodline."

Olivia knew what he was getting at. "So, Mom got her banshee abilities from Nana Lorraine and because Uncle Thomas is a male, he passed it down to Lydia."

Peter nodded. "Exactly. The only reason you're not a banshee is because the werewolf genes you got from me. Anchorams are rare, very rare, but there have been two recorded instances before."

"As results of a banshee and werewolf union," Olivia assumed.

"Yes. You're neither werewolf nor banshee, but instead you have some abilities of both," he crossed his arms over his chest. "Instead of predicting just anyone's death, you're connected to your pack—that's the werewolf part of you. That's why you knew Boyd was going to die."

Okay, that made sense. It also explained the screams that came out of her when her pack members were in deep trouble, like when Erica had her seizure from the kanima venom or when Mrs. Argent was trying to kill Scott. It was the banshee side of her.

"So, that's how I'm connected to Lydia."

"Banshees are drawn to each other. And you're related to Lydia, which gives you two a deeper connection. On your own, you wouldn't have felt the dead body tonight, but because you were with Lydia, you did."

"But I can hear her scream even if I'm far away," Olivia pointed out. "That night when Boyd and Cora were out of control, I could hear her scream from the public pool. I screamed with her."

"It might have been because it was the first time her powers really came through," Peter said thoughtfully. "I mean, other than the time when I got into her head."

Olivia narrowed her eyes at him, wishing he hadn't brought that up. It still infuriated her that he took advantage of Lydia when she was in such a delicate place.

Peter rolled his eyes. "Sorry," he apologized without meaning it. "Everyone is different, though, and since you're, what, the third Anchoram in history, some things we're gonna have to figure out as we go."

Olivia nodded. She realized that. It was just hard to comprehend. She hadn't even gotten to the bottom of her collection of abilities, and already she had a lot. It was a little daunting to know that she had more to learn to learn about her abilities, along with honing them.

"Okay," she said finally. "Can you tell me more about banshees?"

"Sure thing, sweet pea."

"So, I can find dead bodies," Lydia scoffed as Olivia pulled into the school's parking lot. "You know what, I can already tell that this banshee thing is gonna be a pain in the ass."

"You can do more than that, though," Olivia reminded her while parking next to Stiles' Jeep; it was empty, but she knew—thanks to his text message—that he was going to eavesdrop on his dad, who was supposed to be talking to the principal before school started. "You'll experience something like me, like the whispers or the warnings in your head."

"Yeah, and you handle those so well," Lydia grumbled.

"I know I don't, but they also help," Olivia stated firmly. "I know when my pack is in danger and it helps because most of the time, I have a warning and we can stop whatever is supposed to happen. You'll know if someone's dying, Lyds. What if you're able to stop it?"

They got out of the Olivia's new car—courtesy of the insurance company and Peter, who wanted to spoil her instead of being a good parent—and started making their way up to the school. Olivia was supposed to meet Stiles by the main office but she wanted to make sure Lydia was okay before she left her.

"I guess you have a point," Lydia conceded finally. "It's just a little..."

"Scary?" Olivia offered; Lydia nodded. "I know. But I'm gonna be there for you, Lydia, I swear. You don't have to go through any of this alone."

Lydia sighed and pulled Olivia into a tight hug. "I love you," she rubbed Olivia's back; Olivia awkwardly patted her back, making Lydia laugh. "I know, I know. No PDA."

"It's okay," Olivia assured her as they parted. "I love you too, by the way."

"I know you do," the corners of Lydia's eyes crinkled as she studied her cousin and the awkward face she was making. "You know, the fact that you can only be lovey-dovey with Stiles is really disappointing."

"That's not true," Olivia said adamantly. "I'm lovey-dovey with you, too. I just don't like showing my affection for people out in public."

"It's the Hale in you," Lydia shook her head with a smile. "All right, you're released. Go on and meet Stiles."

"Thanks," hurriedly, Olivia kissed Lydia's cheek and ran away from her, waving teasingly. "Love you!"

She knew that her show of her love would amuse Lydia. It was the only reason why she did that. She had to make an exception for her person.

Outside of the main office, Stiles hid behind a pillar. His eyes were sharp and his ears were perked as he spied on his father, one of his deputies, and the principal. Unfortunately, he couldn't hear much. In fact, the only thing he did hear was Noah excusing himself from the conversation when he locked eyes with Stiles.

"Hey!" Stiles frantically pulled his backpack up over his head as he rushed to get away from his dad; unfortunately, Noah was pretty quick for a man in his forties. "Hey, hey, hey, back it up," he sighed and turned to face his father. "I know what you're thinking. I know you've got all these ideas about patterns and people dying in threes—"

Stiles cut him off. "Dad, they were murdered," he then corrected himself. "Sacrificed, actually."

"I've got half the state, including the FBI coming in on this," Noah told him. "They're not getting away with killing one of our own."

Stiles almost deflated at his father's words. Up until then, he hadn't thought about just who was sacrificed. It was Deputy Tara. She had been Noah's right-hand woman ever since he was elected to be sheriff, and she was a big part of Stiles' life after his mom died. She used to bake him cookies and helped him with his homework when he was having trouble. She was a good woman.

"Dad, they killed Tara," his voice was shakier than he cared to admit. "You know, how many times did she help me with my math homework when I had to wait at the station for you?"

Noah inhaled deeply and Stiles could see the sadness in his eyes. "Just, uh, get to class, okay?" he nodded behind Stiles and greeted Olivia, who Stiles hadn't even noticed had walked over to them. "Hi, Olivia."

"Hi, Sheriff," Olivia waved at him politely.

Noah went back to his conversation with the deputy and the principal, leaving Stiles and Olivia to themselves.

Olivia gave him a sympathetic look. "How are you feeling?"

"Not the greatest, but I'll live," Stiles took her hand and locked their fingers together.

"Well, if you need to talk, I'm here," she promised him, letting go of his hand and ignoring the pout he sent her to wrap her arm around his waist.

"What happened to no public displays of affection?"

"I'll think I'll make an exception for just today."

"Just today?" Stiles stopped walking and when she tilted her head up to look at him, grinned down at her.

"Just today."

"Well, then I better make the most of it," he remarked before ducking his head and slamming his lips to hers in a passionate kiss. She easily returned his affection but when he attempted to slip his tongue into her mouth, she pulled back. "Sorry, too much."

"A little," Olivia laughed. "Come on, we have English and I don't want Ms. Blake to tell on me to Derek."

"Would she really do that?"

"God, I hope not."

"Idioms, analogies, metaphors, and similes; all tools the writer uses to tell their story," Ms. Blake stated as she walked around the classroom. She paused in between Olivia and Lydia's desks, glancing down at Lydia's drawing of a tree. "Lydia, I wasn't aware you had so many hidden talents."

"You and ever guy I've ever dated," Lydia smirked up at her, causing Olivia to snicker.

"Oh," Ms. Blake was surprised by her reply. "um, well, that was an idiom, by the way. Idioms are something of a secret to the people who know the language or the culture..."

Olivia did not like the meaningful look that Ms. Blake gave her, Stiles, Scott, and Lydia. They all knew that she knew about werewolves—she was there when Boyd died, after all—but they didn't need her to act like an amateur and blow the big secret by acting nervous.

"They're phrases that only make sense if you know key words," she continued. "Saying 'jump the gun' is meaningful only if you know about the starting gun in a race, or a phrase like 'seeing the whole board.'"

"Like chess," Stiles offered.

"That's right, Stiles," Ms. Blake smiled down at him. "Do you play?"

"Uh, no," Stiles shook his head. "My father does."

Ms. Blake smiled at him again and faced the rest of the class. "Now, when does an idiom become a cliché?"

Olivia raised her hand to answer and Ms. Blake gave her the go-ahead.

"When you say the idiom too much," she reported. "It's like saying, 'it's raining cats and dogs,' Eventually it'll catch and more people will say it. It's an overused idiom."

"Great answer, Olivia," Ms. Blake grinned at her and then went on with her lesson.

Once Ms. Blake was far enough away that they could whisper to each other, Scott leaned over in his seat to speak to Stiles and Olivia. "I think I can get to Ethan. I'm pretty sure I can make him talk."

Olivia scowled at the mention of one-half of the alpha twins while Stiles asked, "What do you want to do that for?"

"The druids are emissaries, right?" Scott pointed out. "What if the Darach was an emissary to the alphas?"

Olivia pressed her lips together in agreement. "You've got a point."

"Thank you," Scott grinned at her and then turned to Stiles to wait for his response. "So?"

"So, I can't believe that we've gotten to the point where a sentence like 'what if the Darach was an emissary to the alphas?' actually makes sense to me," Stiles huffed. "Second of all, we're gonna have a huge problem getting to Ethan."

"What's that?"

"Going through Aiden," Stiles stated matter-of-factly. "Ever since he's been back at school, they're always together. How are we gonna separate them again?"

Eyebrows furrowing, Olivia tried to think of something that would distract Aiden. She didn't like the guy whatsoever, so the only thing she knew about him was that he liked to hook up with Lydia in Coach's office.

Wait.

"I have an idea," she spoke up. When the boys looked at her curiously, she nodded toward Lydia, who was still concentrating on her spooky drawing of the tree.

Feeling eyes on her, Lydia looked up at them and sighed, "What now?"

Just staring at Ethan's face made Olivia want to slap the shit out of him. Normally, she would think that she'd be somewhat friends with Ethan. But with the situation they were in now, she doubted that she would ever want to be. She didn't see what happened with Boyd, but Isaac had given her some details. She knew that Ethan and Aiden had picked up Boyd's electrocuted body and dropped him onto Derek's claws. She knew that they watched as Derek's claws ripped up his internal organs, and she knew that they walked away without a care that they had left a teenage boy dead behind them.

However, at least she wasn't joining Stiles and Scott in order to talk to Aiden. She didn't know if she could even look at his stupid smug face without attacking him. She didn't even care if he was ten times stronger than her. Ideally, she'd be able to calm his ass down and then Stiles or Allison could get the drop on him. Lord knows that Scott wouldn't.

"Why are you even talking to me?" Ethan asked, his eyes flitting between the three of them. "I helped kill your friend. How do you know I'm not gonna kill another one?"

Olivia gritted her teeth at his words and when he looked at her toward the end of his question, she stiffened. Stiles did, too. In fact, his temper flared at the way the alpha talked about Boyd and how he had the audacity to look at Olivia, like she hadn't been affected by Boyd's death.

"Are you look at her? Are you threatening her?" he snapped at him, standing up straight and stepping closer to Olivia. "You know what I'm gonna do? I'm going to break off an extra-large branch of mountain ash, wrap it in wolfsbane, roll it in mistletoe, and shove it up your fucking ass, you absolute dick—"

"Okay, Stiles," Scott cut him off nervously, while Olivia gently grabbed his arm and reached through their tether to calm him down. She loved that he was willing to stand up to an alpha to protect her, but she didn't want him to get hurt. "Woah, we get it."

Stiles gave Scott an irritated look and wrapped his arm around Olivia's shoulders, exhaling deeply as his anger started to concede.

"Look," Scott looked back at Ethan, who had been staring at Stiles blankly throughout his whole rant. "We're talking to you because I know that you didn't want to kill Boyd. And I think that if something like that happened now, you wouldn't do it again."

Ethan shook his head shortly. "You don't know what we owe them, especially Deucalion," he told the three of them. "We're weren't like Kali and Ennis when we met him. We weren't alphas."

"What were you?" Scott asked.

"Omegas," Olivia frowned at Ethan's answer; he and Aiden really didn't deserve any sympathy but she was going soft and couldn't help but feel a bud of it. Being the type of omega that had a pack—not ones who chose to be by themselves, like Derek had been—was said to be horrible. "In actual wolf packs, omegas are the scapegoat; the last to eat, the one who has to take the abuse from the rest of the pack."

Stiles raised his eyebrows. "So you and your brother were, like, the bitches of the pack?"

Olivia hid the smirk that threatened to spread her lips and nudged Stiles as Ethan gave him an annoyed look. "Something like that."

"What happened?" she spoke up instead, wanting to know how he and Aiden managed to make it into the alpha pack.

"They were killers," Ethan shook his head in disgust, which Olivia found to be ironic. "I mean, people talk about us as monsters. Well, they were the ones who gave us the reputation. And our alpha was the worst of them."

"Why didn't you guys just fight back?" Stiles brought up a good point. "Form Voltron-Wolf, you know, and kick everyone's asses?"

"We couldn't," Ethan stated flatly. "We didn't know how to control it back then."

"Deucalion taught you," Scott realized.

Ethan nodded. "And then, we fought. We took down the whole pack, one-by-one," his voice got a little vicious. "and by the time we got to our alpha, he was begging for his life. We tore him apart, literally."

"What about your emissary?" Ethan shook his head at Scott's question. "They're all dead? Kali and Ennis' too?"

"All of them except for Deucalion's," he confirmed.

"You mean Ms. Morrell?" Olivia gave him a pointed look and then paused as her mind seemed to leave her body and then zap right back into it. "Oh, my God."

Cora...Cora...Cora...

"Livvy, are you okay?" Stiles asked as Ethan grunted in pain.

"What's going on?" Scott asked both of them.

"My brother's hurt," Ethan answered at the same time as Olivia told Stiles, "Something's wrong with Cora."

It didn't take long for Stiles to put the pieces together; Cora and Aiden were obviously fighting somewhere nearby. "Where are they?" he asked as her eyes flashed back in forth between purple and blue. "Babe, you gotta focus."

"I...I," she stammered before she was able to pass through into Cora's tether and find out where she was. "They're in the boys' locker room."

The four of them took off into the empty hallways, trying to get to the boys' locker room before any more damage was done between Cora and Aiden. Luckily they weren't far from Coach's office and they made it to the locker room just in time to see Aiden whip Cora in the head with a fifty-pound weight.

"Stop, stop!" Olivia shouted as Scott and Ethan took a hold of Aiden on each of his arms. She didn't bother visualizing the anchor that she put on him, she was too angry about him hurting her cousin that it came easy to her.

Aiden's wolf features immediately melted away, calming down in his brother's hold.

"You can't do this," Ethan reminded Aiden as Olivia and Stiles knelt down by Lydia beside Cora's injured body.

"She came at me!" Aiden shouted. He would have growled, but Olivia's hold was still over him.

"It doesn't matter! Kali gave Derek until the next full moon. You can't touch him, Cora, or Olivia."

Stiles placed his hand on Olivia's back and glared up at the alpha twins. "Get the fuck out of here."

It looked like Aiden wanted to argue but Ethan wouldn't let him. Without a word, the twins left the locker room. Olivia hardly noticed, she was too focused on her cousin and the huge wound on her head that was pouring blood.

"She's really hurt," she said softly. She looked at Stiles and Scott and asked, "Can you help me get her up?"

Once Cora was up on her feet, Olivia escorted her over to the sinks. She got some paper towel and dampened it in order to wipe the blood off of her face. Cora was not pleased with her cousin's hovering and grunted a few times when Olivia cleaned the wound.

"Stay still," Olivia got some antibiotic cream from her bag and gently smeared it over the wound. "You're such a bad patient."

"Shuddup."

"Are you okay?" Scott asked Cora.

Lydia scoffed. "She doesn't look okay."'

Cora gave Lydia an irritated look and carefully pushed Olivia away from her. "I'll heal," Almost immediately after she took a step away from the sink, her legs weakened and she faltered. She would have fallen if Scott wasn't there to grab her and keep her steady. "I said I'm fine."

"Stop being so stubborn," Olivia sighed and wrapped an arm around her waist. At least Cora would let her help.

"Do you realize how suicidally crazy that was?" Stiles pointed out sternly. "What were you thinking going after them?"

"I did it for Boyd," Cora snapped back at him. "None of you were doing anything."

Olivia sighed. "You know that's not true, Cora."

"We're trying," Scott added.

"And you're failing," Cora addressed all her ire at Scott, Stiles, and Lydia. "You're just a bunch of stupid teenagers running around, thinking that you can stop people from getting killed, but all you do is show up late. All you really do is find the bodies."

"Cora, shut up," Olivia's voice had hardened as she turned and carefully dragged her cousin out of the locker room, not hearing Stiles' comment about the both of them definitely being part of the Hale family. "I know you're grieving and you're angry and hurt, but you can't say things like that to them."

"Why not? It's the truth."

"You shouldn't say it because we're trying our hardest to figure this out," Olivia stated, annoyed. "And I get it, I can feel Boyd's loss, too, but you can't take it out on people who are doing their best to help you and the whole town."

Cora let out a drawn-out sigh and winced when a flash of pain went through her head. "I'm not apologizing," she said stubbornly.

"That's fine. Just give them some slack."

"Hey!" they heard Stiles call from behind them; he was soon at their sides. "Do you need a ride?"

"Um, yeah," Olivia nodded. "I can leave my car here and pick it up later tonight."

"Sounds good."

Halfway to their journey to Derek's loft and after three attempts to make contact with Derek, Allison called them. She informed them that she and Isaac had been searching her dad's desk and found a Celtic knot that was labeled with each group of the sacrifices. She listed the groups of sacrifices that had already happened and then the two that had yet to come.

"Philosophers?" Olivia asked in surprised. What exactly did that mean? There were a lot of occupations or people that could easily fit into that category. It would be someone like Plato, or a teacher, or a scientist, or even a really smart person. But, at the same time, how did Deputy Tara fit in that category?

"And guardians," Allison added; that made more sense in Tara's case since she was a police officer. "which after last night, has to mean something like law enforcement. Stiles, you have to tell your dad. Tell him whatever you need but you have to get him to believe. Tell your dad, warn him."

"Okay, okay, okay," Stiles said quickly, his mind racing a mile a minute. "I know."

Olivia ended the call and looked at her boyfriend, seeing the anxious look on his face. "You're gonna tell him right?"

"I have to," Stiles nodded. "but I'm gonna need both of your guys' help."

Olivia nodded and took his hand from the steering wheel, squeezing it tightly. "Whatever you need."

Olivia watched from Stiles' bed as her boyfriend paced back and forth, trying to come up with something to tell his dad. Personally, she had never gone through telling a parent about the supernatural world and because she was pretty sure that Natalie had some sort of knowledge about it—and she was in deep, deep denial that Olivia and Lydia were a part of it—she wouldn't really need to. She couldn't put herself in Stiles' shoes properly and it annoyed the crap out of her because she wanted to be there for him like he was always there for her.

"Okay, okay, okay," Stiles murmured under his breath. "Yes, okay...No, no..."

"Stiles?" Noah cleared his throat.

Stiles quickly faced his dad. "Dad, I'm sorry. I'm just...I'm trying to...I'm just trying to figure out how to start here."

"Hey," Noah said sternly. 'I don't have this kind of time."

Stiles blew out a heavy breath, causing Olivia to speak up encouragingly, "Stiles, just start with the cases."

"Right, right, the cases," Stiles nodded jerkily and looked back at Noah. "Okay, um, for the last year, you've had all these cases that you couldn't figure out, right? I mean, all the murders involving Kate Argent, and then Matt killing all the people who drowned him, and all these murders right now. It's like...it's like you've been playing a losing game."

Noah stared at him, unimpressed. It was clear that he didn't know why Stiles was going through his "failed" cases. "Stiles, the last thing I need right now is a job performance review from my own son."

Stiles rubbed his forehead in frustration. "I know," he looked over at his dresser in order to pull his thoughts together and spotted the chess board he and his dad would play with from time to time. "Okay, see, but that's—that's just it, Dad."

He hurried to his dresser and grabbed the chess board, which folded into a case to keep all of the pieces together, and then set it on his desk. "The reason that you're losing the game is cause you've never been able to see the whole board," he opened the game and tossed out all the pieces. "I need to show you the whole board."

While Stiles carefully labeled each and every chess piece with sticky tabs, Olivia let Cora lean against her. She made sure that she didn't fall asleep, but soon she was swept up into an episode. She could hear Lydia screaming and it took all of her control—and biting down on the inside of her cheek—to make sure she didn't scream too (she didn't realize that it would have helped Stiles convince his dad that the supernatural life was real until afterward).

Noah did not look over at her—and therefore, did not see her purple eyes—because he was too concentrated on watching Stiles label and explain each supernatural creature and the names of his friends that matched up with them. By the time Olivia was pulled away from Lydia's tether and back in control of her mind, Noah was sufficiently caught up.

Well, kind of.

"Scott and Derek are werewolves," he said flatly, looking across the desk at Stiles.

"Yes."

"And Kate Argent was a werewolf?"

"Hunter," Stiles corrected him, pointing to the piece where he labeled Kate with a purple tab. "That's...Purple stands for hunter."

"Allison and her dad are hunters, too," Olivia told him, leaving out the part where they were supposed to be retired. If Mr. Argent and Allison were retired, then normal grandparents would be working overtime.

"Yeah," Noah gestured to Dr. Deaton's piece. "and my friend, Deaton, the veterinarian, is a kanima?"

"No, no, he's a druid, okay?" Stiles stated. "Well, we think."

Olivia and Cora exchanged a look. They didn't really think that Dr. Deaton was a druid, they were 99.9% positive that he was one. Then again, Olivia could see why Stiles said what he said, Noah could only handle so much.

"So, who's the kanima?"

"Jackson," Olivia responded, thinking of her friend; she missed him.

"No, Jackson's a werewolf."

"Jackson was the kanima first, and then Peter and Derek killed him and he came back to life as a werewolf," Stiles explained. "Now, he's in London."

Noah frowned. "Who's the da-rack?"

Stiles corrected his pronunciation. "It's da-rock."

"We don't know who the darach is," Olivia piped in.

Stiles pointed at her in agreement. "We don't know yet."

Noah blinked at them. "But he was killed by werewolves?"

"Slashed up and left for dead."

"We think."

Stiles pointed at Olivia again. "We think, yeah."

Noah sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. "Why was Jackson the kanima?"

"'Cause sometimes, the shape that you take reflects the person that you are."

"And what shape would an increasingly confused and angrier-by-the-second father take?"

"Uh, that would be more of an expression like the one you're currently wearing," Stiles replied nervously.

"Yeah," Noah heaved himself off the chair and started toward the door.

Stiles scrambled out of his, too. "Dad—Dad, would you wait?" he begged his father. "I can prove it, okay? Cora's a werewolf and Livvy's an anchor. You ready?" he asked Olivia and Cora; they nodded and Olivia helped Cora stand. "All right, Dad, just watch this, okay?"

Olivia didn't know if Noah managed to see any sign of their supernatural nature or not. Cora's name popped up in her head and she was dragged down to the floor when Cora collapsed.

"I wished you would have answered my calls," Olivia muttered to Derek as they sat side-by-side in the hospital waiting room while Cora was being examined and placed in a room.

"I know, Ollie," Derek replied softly. "I'm sorry."

"I don't understand why she's not healing. She should have healed by now."

"We'll find out why she's not," Derek assured her and squeezed her hand. "I already called Peter. Hopefully he knows something we don't."

"Hopefully," Olivia sighed; her phone started vibrating in her hand. When she was that it was Scott, she excused herself from Derek and walked over to Stiles, where he was talking to Melissa. "Hey."

"Hey, is Stiles with you?"

"Yeah, hold on," she waved to Melissa silently and grabbed Stiles' arm, pulling him into an empty hallway; she put him on speaker. "Okay, you're on speaker."

"All right, it's philosophers as in teachers," Scott told them hurriedly. "Allison and her father just found Mr. Westover."

"That makes sense," Stiles glanced at Olivia. "Tara, she wasn't always a cop. She used to teach middle school."

"Then the last one's gonna be another teacher."

"There's close to a hundred teachers employed at the high school," Olivia pointed out worriedly. "There's even more at the middle and elementary schools."

"And they're all headed home," Stiles added.

"No, no they're not," Scott said after a few seconds of silence. "They're all going to the recital."

"Fuck," Stiles cursed in annoyance. "All right, I'm gonna go talk to my dad."

"I'll borrow Derek's truck and head over there now, Scott," Olivia took the call off speaker as Stiles walked away to find his dad. "I'll only be a couple of minutes."

"Okay, but Liv..."

Her eyebrows furrowed at the worry in Scott's voice. "What's wrong?"

"I talked to Morrell. She told me that the alpha pack wanted me because I'm supposed to be a true alpha."

"A true alpha?" she repeated in disbelief. "Wow, Scott."

She was impressed; true alphas only came around once in a while and the fact that their own Scott was going to be one was special.

"Yeah, but that's not the only thing she told me," Scott sighed; Olivia braced herself for more news. "She told me that the alphas want you, too. She said that anchors are rare and you have powers you haven't even untapped. Deucalion thinks you be a good addition to the pack."

Shit, shit, shit, shit...Olivia cursed herself. Why did I have to be a rare species?

"Well, that is not good," she breathed nervously before collecting herself. "but we can deal with it later. We need to stop the darach before someone else dies."

"Yeah, we do," Scott agreed. "All right, I'll see you in ten."

"Okay, be careful."

"You too, bye."

The recital had already started by the time Olivia arrived at the school. A storm was brewing overhead and the faint music she could hear coming from the auditorium made the environment even more eerie. She ran through the parking, wishing that she hadn't worn heels that day, and rushed into the building.

She got to the lobby but stopped right in her tracks outside the main part of the auditorium, her gaze taking on a purple tint. An indescribable feeling flashed through her body and then she moved, letting whatever the feeling was take her where she needed to go. It was like the time that Derek had been shot with the wolfsbane bullet and she was led on autopilot throughout the school until she found him.

Lydia...Lydia...Lydia...Lydia, Lydia, Lydia...

She found herself in the English hallway, automatically making her way to Ms. Blake's classroom in a daze. She stopped just outside of the classroom when she heard Lydia and Ms. Blake talking.

She didn't take time to listen to what they were saying. She stormed into the classroom but was immediately airborne. Her back hit the wall painfully and she was risen until her feet were a couple feet off the ground. She was stuck and she was useless.

"Glad you joined the party," Ms. Blake—no, fuck that, I am not giving her any respect by calling her anything but her stupid first name! –smirked at her. "I was wondering when you would come for her."

"Let her go," Olivia snapped at her, her eyes darting to Lydia, who was terrified and staring at her with wet eyes. "What do you even want with her?"

"Nothing special," Jennifer shrugged. She flicked her hand toward a chair and Olivia flew to it, slamming against the hard, wooden back. "You, on the other hand..."

Olivia was unable to move as Jennifer used duct tape to secure her hands and legs to the chair. When she was finished, she picked up a small wooden dowel and started wrapping a length of strong cord around it. She was making a garrote.

"What are you doing?" Lydia whimpered, still fighting off unconscious from the hard hit she took from Jennifer when she first walked into the classroom.

"What's necessary," Jennifer stated. "I'm still surprised none of you seem to get that. You call them sacrifices but you're not understanding the word," Olivia rolled her eyes at her dramatic monologue. "It's derived from the Latin 'sacrificium', an offering to a deity, a sacred rite. A necessary evil."

"Oh, shut up," Olivia groaned, hoping to get her attention away from Lydia. "I'm pretty sure that killing fifteen innocent people isn't necessary."

"You know, on the outside, you appear so tough, emotionless," Jennifer stood from her crouched position in front of Lydia and sauntered over to Olivia. "but I know you're afraid right now. I know you're afraid all the time. This shell?" she poked Olivia in the cheek. "Well, it's all an act."

"Who cares if it is?" Olivia hissed right back at her.

"Oh, I don't care. I was just taunting you before I kill you and your precious cousins. The useless ones, I mean," Jennifer grinned maliciously. "I think I'll keep Derek around."

Olivia harshly snapped her jaw together, speaking through her clenched teeth, "Stay away from them."

"I would but I won't," Jennifer giggled. "See, you were my target. Deucalion wants you and you're powerful. If I kill you now, he won't be able to use you against me."

Olivia's heart started to race and her own name was starting to be repeated over and over in her head. Scott had to know that Lydia had disappeared and that she never made it to the auditorium. She had to stall so he could get there. "So, you're doing this to go up against the alpha pack?"

"Correct. Let's just say that you don't know the alphas like I do," Jennifer twisted the garrote in her hands and stepped behind Olivia. "And because they currently don't know my plan, I think Lydia is going to have to go, too. She knows too much. First, she can watch you die."

"No, no, no," Olivia said frantically, locking her scared eyes on Lydia, who stared fearfully back at her.

"Stop!" Lydia whimpered. "Stop, stop!"

Jennifer didn't stop. Before she could fully press the garrote against Olivia's throat, she forcefully tore the duct tape around her right hand and slipped it between her flesh and the cord. She gasped as the cord dug into her fingers. "Lydia!"

As if they had rehearsed, Lydia let out the loudest scream that had ever passed through her lips. Olivia screamed only a second later, unable to fight the urge that came from Lydia's tether. It was kind of weird, warning people of your own death.

Olivia's scream died out first and then a couple seconds later, so did Lydia's. Jennifer dropped the garrote from her hands, letting it hang on Olivia's neck, and walked over to stand in front of Lydia.

"Unbelievable," she gasped, studying Lydia intently. "You're a banshee. A wailing woman, right before my eyes. You're just like me, Lydia. Look like the innocent flower but be the serpent under it."

"She's nothing like you," Olivia spoke up fiercely, her voice hoarse.

Jennifer shrugged, the comment not bothering her. "It's too bad, though, and too late," she walked back over to Olivia, taking her place behind her and picking up the garrote. The garrote pulled tightly around Olivia's neck, making her choke. "One last philosopher."

Olivia couldn't breathe. There was no room for her trachea to move, causing her to suffocate. It was almost as if she could feel her throat being crushed, causing her to panic and squirm around in the chair, kicking her feet to try to fight back.

Olivia...Olivia...OLIVIA, OLIVIA, OLIVIA!!!!

"Stop, stop!" Lydia shouted frantically, choking on her tears as she watched Jennifer pull out a knife from her person and hold it up to Olivia's throat; the second part of the three-fold death.

"Drop it!" a new voice joined Lydia's.

With Jennifer sufficiently distracted, the garrote dropped from Olivia's neck. She took in a deep breath, her throat sore inside and out. Something urged her to look over at who had interrupted Jennifer, but she recognized the voice. Noah had ran into the classroom, gun cocked and aimed right at the darach.

As soon as she laid eyes on her boyfriend's father, Jennifer whipped the knife that was going to be used on her at him. It lodged itself into his shoulder so forcefully that it splayed him flat on his back. Noah wasn't technically in her pack, but he was someone Olivia cared for very much; that meant that she knew he was in danger, but he wasn't going to die. She couldn't explain it, but there was a different between the whispers that warned her of a pack member in danger and then the ones that warned her of the pack member's death. Noah was okay, for now.

Jennifer turned back to Olivia, intending to finish what she started, but a roar filled the room. Scott had arrived, his werewolf features fully on display as he snarled at Jennifer. He lunged at her, but Jennifer easily dodged each of his blows. She was more powerful than him and the way she sent him flying across the room and into a pile of desks proved it.

Olivia didn't know exactly what Jennifer did to him, but it was obvious that she did something else to him. Scott was spitting up blood and hitting desks that didn't weigh much didn't seem like it would do something like that to him.

She whimpered through the pain in her throat, "Scott!"

Her attention was dragged away from Scott as Jennifer slid her desk across the room and right into the door, slamming it closed. Before she could even wonder why Jennifer had done that, she saw Stiles' head pop into view from the small window at the top of the door. He was slamming his whole body against it, but with the weight of the desk, it wouldn't budge. He couldn't get into the room.

With Stiles and Scott taken care of, Jennifer focused on Noah, who had grabbed his gun, got to his knees, and aimed it at her.

"There was a girl," he said tiredly as Jennifer took slow steps toward him. "years ago. We found her in the woods, her face and body slashed apart. That was you, wasn't it?"

Jennifer glared at him. "Maybe I should've started with philosophers with knowledge and strategy."

She closed in on Noah and he pulled the trigger, shooting in her in her right thigh; Jennifer simply shook it off and continued on to him. "Healers," she grabbed him by the knife in his shoulder and held him high in the air, the blade slicing through the fleshy part of his shoulder. "Warriors..." she ripped his badge off of his shirt and crushed it with her fingers. "Guardians...Virgins..."

"God, leave him alone!" Olivia shouted to the best of her ability as Jennifer placed a wet kiss against Noah's mouth. Jennifer's face warped into a horrifying figure and screeched while she grabbed Noah and flew toward the windows. "No!"

Jennifer had disappeared with Noah. Scott had woken up from whatever daze Jennifer had put him in and the force that was shoving the desk against the door had disappeared. While Scott had rushed toward Lydia—on Olivia's insistence; the redhead was unconscious from the blow Jennifer had landed on her—Stiles rushed into the classroom and to the windows.

"Dad?" there was no answer to Stiles' call and it hit them all like a punch to the gut. "Dad?!"

(Gif is not mine)

#teen wolf rewrite #stiles stilinski x oc #stiles stilinksi x reader #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #teen wolf fanfiction #stiles stilinski fanfiction #stiles stilinski x original character

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kaleidoscopeminds · 4 years

Text

I’m going blind from this sweet craving

This came about because I wanted to write some Cake and my brain just went bakery!!! au!!!! Anyway this is very self-indulgent and driven by my own baking obsession. Please enjoy 6k of me talking about cake (literally) and a cheeky bit of side mashton because I couldn’t resist. For the club because everything I do is for the club <3

Warnings: horribly tooth rotting fluff, too many baking metaphors

Title from Cake by the Ocean by DNCE because I think I’m funny

Luke places the last piece of broken Oreo carefully atop the whirl of buttercream and wipes his hands on his apron, reviewing the set of cupcakes in front of him. He knows he’s hypercritical of his own work; he gets called a perfectionist by Michael at any opportunity (and not in a complimentary way), but he still maintains that it’s the only way to be to make anything good.

He deems this double dozen of the Oreo chocolate as close to perfect as he’s going to manage this morning and slides them next to the strawberries and cream set with mini meringue topping he just finished. He goes to the walk-in refrigerator and pulls out the layer cake that he made before he left yesterday, and then crosses over to dry storage to wheel out the trolley containing the carefully wrapped crates of bread that Ashton, their bread supplier, had dropped off about an hour ago.

He pulls the trays of croissants, pain au chocolat and pain aux raisins out of the oven deftly, and slides them onto a cooling rack to leave for a couple of minutes, before he can transfer them to the cabinet in the front of the bakery, and checks the clock. It’s 6:40, so he’s just on time to get everything stacked up in the front if he has a bit of help.

He hears the door at the front of the cafe slam, handle jangling ominously as it closes again and Luke smiles to himself, grabbing the trays of cupcakes and heading out into the front, opening the swing door with his hip.

“Hi Mikey,” Luke calls over as Michael struggles out of his jacket, pushing his glasses up onto his nose and grumbling incoherently.

“I’m not late,” Michael starts, attempting to pull his apron out of his backpack and hang up his jacket on the hook at the same time.

Luke doesn’t say anything, just turns his head to look deliberately at the large clock hanging over the coffee machine behind the counter and raises his eyebrows, smiling slightly.

“Well, barely,” Michael responds defensively. “You’re not the boss of me, Luke Hemmings.”

Luke laughs, “Unfortunately for you, I am. Supervising baker remember?” He opens up the display cabinet and slides the cakes carefully into place.

“Promotions gone to your overly large blonde head already, I see,” Michael says, struggling with his apron ties where they’ve got tangled around his belt.

Luke laughs again and goes over to Michael, untangling him and turning him round to tie his apron for him. “Go and drink your coffee Mikey, I made one for you about 10 minutes ago, should still be hot. I’ll get the rest of the stuff out to the front.”

“I think I’m in love with you,” Michael says genuinely, quickly walking behind the counter and finding the insulated travel mug Luke had filled with a latte earlier that morning. He pulls off the lid and Luke watches him practically inhale it, smiling fondly as he makes his way back into the kitchen.

“Remind me again why I always seem to be making coffee for you when you’re the trained barista?” Luke calls out as he carefully lifts the 4 layered cake onto a stand and carries it back out to the front.

“Ooh that looks fucking good what’s in that?” Michael asks, eyes lighting up at the sight of the cake in Luke’s careful grip. “And it's because you won’t admit it but you’re in love with me too,” He adds, putting his coffee down so he can take the cake off Luke to put on top of the cabinet.

“Chocolate hazelnut with Nutella and praline,” Luke replies with a smile. “Sorry to disappoint you Michael but we would never work, I couldn’t be with someone who hates mornings,” He says solemnly as he returns to the kitchen, lightly checking the pastries to make sure they’re cool enough before tipping them onto another tray.

“You’re going to be on your own for a while then!” Luke hears Michael call, and he laughs as he comes back through the swing door. “No one likes mornings,” Michael continues crabbily, downing the rest of his coffee in one gulp.

“You know who does like mornings?” Luke asks as he passes over the tray to Michael. “Our lovely bread baker.”

Michael blushes and ducks his head at the mention of Ashton. “Why don’t you ask him out then,” He grumbles, lining the pastries up neatly with the tongs in his hand.

“Not my type.” Luke wiggles his eyebrows at Michael. “Plus I think he might be more interested in barista types than cake-making types.”

“Shut up Luke,” Michael groans back. “I’ve told you before, he barely knows who I am. I only see the man for about 5 minutes every day when he comes to pick up the crates.”

“And yet every morning. I have to tell him that ‘No Michael’s not here yet, sorry,’” Luke smirks. “Honestly Mikey, you’re missing out not being here at half past five, lots of Ashton content.”

“Yes but that would involve, you know, being here at half past five,” Michael replies sarcastically. “Did Em make any tarts for today?” He asks.

“Yeah they look great, she’s done a new orange curd one with chocolate pastry which I’m excited to try.” Luke accepts the change of subject and goes back towards the kitchen. “Do you want to come and grab your boyfriend’s bread? Think that’ll be the last of it then.”

Michael glares at Luke and pretends to trip him up as he walks past, then follows him into the back.

“You’re such a dickhead sometimes you know that,” Michael says grumpily, pulling out the loaves of bread and stacking them on the counter.

Luke laughs, it’s too easy to get a rise out of Michael, particularly first thing in the morning and especially when it comes to Ashton. He opens the fridge again and as always sends a silent thank you to the angel that is Em, their evening baker, and the only reason they’re able to produce enough goods for the cafe. It honestly changed his life when his boss decided to employ an extra baker, now he can actually leave when the cafe closes; she picks up anything that Luke doesn’t manage to finish, as well as shaping the pastries to chill overnight and producing a few dozen tarts for the next day. He checks the new orange curd tarts and their customer favourite, the strawberry ones (perfect as always), and slides them off the shelves.

“You were literally declaring your love for me not 10 minutes ago I believe,” Luke says, checking the fridge to make sure he’s not missed anything.

He turns around frowning at the lack of a bitchy response, but Michael’s distracted by something in one of the crates.

“You okay there?” Luke questions.

“Yes,” Michael mumbles, blushing furiously, attempting to pull the crate out of Luke’s view. Luke quickly walks over, interest piqued, and grabs the crate out of Michael’s hands, ignoring his noise of protest.

In the bottom of the crate there’s one of Michael’s favourite chocolate chip hot cross buns, but instead of a cross on top there’s a carefully shaped ‘M’. Luke laughs delightedly.

“He barely knows who you are, hm?” Luke teases.

“Its..” Michael coughs embarrassed. “It’s probably just a friendly thing.”

Luke rolls his eyes. “Come off it Mikey, that’s the most obvious display of affection in enriched dough form that I’ve ever seen. Where’s my L eh? Nowhere to be seen.”

“Shut up,” Michael says, but he reaches into the crate and pulls out the bun, wrapping it in some baking paper with utmost care, before walking out into the front of the cafe.

“You’re meant to be stocking the actual breads!” Luke calls after him, grabbing the tarts and following Michael out.

Michael just raises his middle finger at him as he gently slides the wrapped bun into his backpack, still blushing.

Luke laughs and goes to fetch them himself, stacking them in the baskets at the side of the counter, ready to be sold or to be sliced for their toasties.

“Right I’m gonna start on tomorrow’s cake, let me know when you need a hand.” Luke says, turning to Michael who’s absentmindedly filling up the coffee grinder with beans and not looking like he’s heard Luke in the slightest.

“Earth to Michael, come in Michael.” Luke nudges Michael’s arm with his elbow and Michael looks up with a start.

“Oh yeah, sorry. That’s fine,” Michael replies quickly.

“Are you going to be okay out here on your own?” Luke jokes. “You look like you could burn yourself on steam or tip grounds everywhere at any minute.”

“Yes Luke,” Michael replies testily. “Now go and make some cake and let me do my job, I’ll call you when it gets busy.”

This is the way it works with the two of them in the morning, Luke getting a head start on his batters while Michael deals with the dribs and drabs of the early customers. When it gets to 8am and the little cafe starts getting really busy, Luke will step out to the front to help, and they will work seamlessly together; Michael tamping coffee and steaming milk expertly, whilst Luke takes orders and fills bags with breakfast pastries and muffins. After the rush dies down, Luke will retreat back into the kitchen and start the doughs for the next days’ croissants, until lunch time and he’ll be back out to give Michael a hand with slicing bread and toasting sandwiches.

He enjoys the buzz of service with Michael, moving round each other with a well practised air and smiling at customers, his favourite bit is getting glimpses of the joy they get from something that he’s created. He’s most comfortable in the kitchen though; in the sweetly calming clouds of icing sugar and the reassuring warmth of the ovens, most at ease on his own with slightly sticky hands, flour perpetually dusting all of his clothes and with a speaker quietly playing his favourite songs into the vanilla scented air.

“Luke!” He hears Michael’s voice float through the door, just as he’s closing the oven door on 3 sandwich pans of fresh raspberry filled sponge.

“Coming!” He responds, setting his timer for 30 minutes, and pinning it to the top of his apron, before washing his hands and heading out of the door to join Michael. He sees there’s a queue building up and quickly steps behind the counter and smiles at the next customer as Michael pours milk into 3 flat whites in quick succession, a perfect leaf in milk foam appearing in each of them with an artful flick of his wrist.

“Hi, what can I get you?” He smiles at the man who’s just approached the counter.

“A small black Americano to take away, and make it quickly, I’ve already been here 15 minutes and some of us have actual jobs to work you know,” an older man in a suit barks at him, not looking up from his phone.

“So sorry for the delay Sir, we’re very busy as you can see. Can I take a name for that?” Luke grits his teeth but maintains the smile on his face with some effort.

“It’s Richard,” the man says pompously. “And maybe you should employ more staff if you’re this busy.”

“We’ll take your feedback on board,” Luke replies, his smile coming forced. He writes the man's order, and “Dick” in tiny writing underneath on a cup before turning round and putting it on top of the coffee machine, rolling his eyes at Michael as he does so. Michael smirks in return, pressing his lips together to quell a laugh and slotting the portafilter into place under the grinder.

“That’ll be £2.00 please.”

“Actually I think I’d like to speak to the manager about the poor service before I pay,” The man says brusquely.

“She’s not here at the moment unfortunately,” Luke responds, not bothering to maintain the smile.

“Well then I’d like to speak to the most senior person here,” The man continues.

“You’re looking at him,” Luke replies coolly, crossing his arms. He’s never been good at dealing with difficult customers, which is why he prefers being in his quiet domain in the kitchen, but he’s dealt with men like this before, all talk but no action when pushed.

“I think you’re being incredibly rude, you’ve made me wait a ridiculous amount of time for a coffee which is priced extortionately, and now you’re going to be disrespectful to my face,” The man snaps.

“Maybe if people like you just paid and left then nobody would have to wait as long.” A calm voice comes from behind the man.

Luke looks around the rapidly reddening man in front of him to see the source of the voice and sees a man around his age in a suit, with a pair of headphones slung around his neck. Luke tries not to stare but the man is gorgeous, all deep brown eyes the colour of rich dark chocolate ganache, and swooping dark hair, his eyebrows raised and plump lips pursed slightly.

The older man starts spluttering angrily, “And who do you think you are to say something like that to me?”

The younger man just shrugs and continues to look at him calmly, not bothering to elaborate. Luke takes the opportunity to hold out the card machine towards the older man.

“£2.00 please,” He repeats.

The man scowls and taps his card against the machine.

“You can wait at the end for your drink,” Luke says with a dry smile.

The man grunts but moves away to the side with a glare.

“Thanks,” Luke says quietly, smiling at the younger man as he approaches.

The man’s lips spread into a genuine smile and Luke thinks they look even better that way if that were possible. “No worries, I think you were handling it fine, it was just an observation.” His voice is warm and deep, reminding Luke of a buttery caramel sauce.

Luke bites his lip and tries not to blush. “What can I get for you?”

“Flat white, please,” The man says, still smiling at Luke.

“Name?” Luke attempts to hide his face behind the cup he’s just picked up.

“Calum,” He says. “But I think I’ll take that to have in if you don’t mind?”

“Of course!” Luke says quickly, fumbling his pen slightly as he switches the paper cup for a ceramic one, peeling a sticky note so he can write Calum’s order. “Anything to eat?”

“I’m new here, what do you recommend?” Calum says, cocking his head slightly before looking over the display case. “It all looks amazing.”

Luke definitely blushes this time and clears his throat. “Well the pains au chocolat are quite good I think,” he says nervously.

“Let’s go with that then.” Calum smiles again and Luke thinks his legs might have melted into his shoes but he can’t seem to move them to check if that’s true or not.

“Or if you wanted something sweeter you could go with one of the lemon muffins, or the strawberry cupc-”

“Luke,” Michael interrupts from behind him. “Please stop flirting with this nice man and get on with serving the other eight nice people we have waiting?” He begs.

If Luke thought he was blushing before it's nothing compared to the heat he feels in his face now. He turns to Michael and throws him daggers.

“The pain au chocolat sounds perfect.” Calum fishes out his wallet. “And your colleague’s right, I’m being a bit of a hypocrite after telling that twat to hurry up aren’t I?” He pushes a hand through his hair and smiles apologetically.

“No, you’re fine it’s no problem at all,” Luke manages to get out. “That’ll be £5.60.”

Luke lets Calum tap his card on the machine and then busies himself with pulling the pastry out and onto a plate which he places on a tray with a napkin, ready for Michael to put the coffee on when it's been made.

“Why don’t you go and sit down, Luke will bring it over in a few minutes if you’re not in too much of a rush?” Michael suggests, pressing the buttons on the coffee machine and sliding a cup underneath to catch the espresso starting to stream out.

Calum looks bemusedly at Michael for a second before shrugging. “That’d be great, yeah. My office is just round the corner so I’ve got a few minutes. Thanks… Luke.” He says Luke’s name like he’s deciding how he likes the taste of it in his mouth, before quirking his lips once more, and heading to a table in the corner of the cafe.

“What are you doing?” Luke hisses at Michael as he takes the next customer’s order, writing quickly on another cup and fishing change out of the till when the woman hands over a five pound note. “You were just making a point about how busy we were!”

“I’m not telling you to go and sit down with him,” Michael whispers back, only just audible over the sound of the coffee grinder. “But he’s obviously into you, just take his coffee and flirt a bit and then come back and help me!”

Luke takes the most recent batch of completed coffees and distributes them to the waiting customers, smiling slightly when the rude man snatches it off him and storms out on his phone without even checking the name on the cup. He takes another order and passes it to Michael, just as Michael finishes off a flat white with a perfect heart.

“There,” He says in a pleased voice, setting it down next to the pain au chocolat on Calum’s tray. “Now off you go.”

Luke smiles at the woman he’s just served then glares at the tray and at Michael. “What have you put a heart on it for!” He yelps.

“It’s called flirting!” Michael starts steaming another jug of milk.

“He’s going to think you like him not me!” Luke protests.

“Just go!” Michael hisses, finishing up another coffee and handing it to a waiting customer. “Hi, how are you?” He intercepts the next person waiting at the counter before Luke can do anything about it.

Luke huffs noisily and picks up the tray reluctantly. He wouldn’t go over at all, but Calum did help him with the arsehole customer so the least he can do is actually provide the service he came in for and give the man his coffee. He heads over to where Calum is sat, with his headphones on and jiggling his knee as he types something into his phone. He looks up at the sounds of Luke putting his plate down on the table and smiles gratefully. Luke then sets down the coffee next to the plate and tries to tamp down his instinct to run away immediately. Calum looks at the coffee and then up at Luke, eyes twinkling and a blush in his cheeks.

“Hope you have a great day!” Luke squeaks out and speed walks back to the counter.

“So?” Michael asks as he fishes out a croissant and places it in a bag, tapping the end of the tongs on the glass.

“Uh, I told him to have a good day then ran away before he could respond,“ Luke mutters, snatching the bag off Michael and handing it off to the customer in front of him.

“Luke -” Michael starts.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Luke snaps. “Make coffee.”

“Okay boss,” Michael says, barely repressing a giggle.

Luke spends the next 15 minutes regretting every life choice he’s ever made and resolutely not looking towards the corner Calum is sat in, focusing entirely on the rush of customers. At about 8:45 he sees out the corner of his eye that Calum has stood up, brushing a few crumbs off his knee and patting his pockets. Luke turns around and busies himself with writing the next order on a cup for Michael so that Calum can leave without making eye contact with him. When he deems that it’s been long enough, he turns back to the counter, but standing just off to the side is Calum, scuffing a hand up through the back of his hair and smiling shyly at Luke again.

“Just wanted to say, an inspired choice on the pain au chocolat.” He says. “Send my compliments to the chef,”

“Oh erm, thanks, I will.” Luke stutters out.

“Bye, Luke,” Calum says. “Maybe see you tomorrow, and... Hope you have a great day too.” His face breaks out into a wider smile that reminds Luke of the feeling of getting just the right consistency for macaron batter, or a perfectly smooth finish on a cake or the way good puff pastry flakes into the perfect fragments when you cut through a mille-feuille. Or something.

With that Calum slips his headphones back onto his head and leaves the cafe.

“You are a useless sack of shit you know that,” Michael scoffs at him.

“Fuck off,” Luke mutters under his breath. “Two words. Ashton. Irwin.” Michael glares back at him.

They get through the last half hour of the rush as normal, Luke pausing only briefly to pull the sponges out of the oven, and he’s twitching more than ever to get back into the safety of his kitchen with some dough in his hands and the comforting whirr of his mixers.

“Okay I’m all good here, you can go,” Michael smiles at him shaking his head.

Luke basically runs through the doors into the back and inhales deeply. God, he needs to get a grip.

It continues like this over the next few weeks. Calum will come in most mornings, and sometimes he’s in a rush, smiling apologetically as he orders to take away. Most mornings though, he will appear earlier, choose something to eat on Luke’s recommendation and sits at the table in the corner for 20 minutes before complimenting what he’s eaten on his way out. Luke never speaks to him short of suggesting a new pastry or muffin (and maybe he’s also developing new options everyday just to be able to give Calum something else to praise), but he does spend quite a lot of time looking at Calum sitting in his corner, long fingers wrapping around his mug of coffee and mouth chewing thoughtfully on whatever Luke’s provided him with whilst he jiggles his knee to his music.

Luke swears that sometimes when he chances one of these looks over to him whilst he’s serving a customer, Calum is looking back at him, but his brown eyes always blink away as soon as Luke’s catch them.

Predictably, Michael is absolutely insufferable about it.

“Loverboy’s looking at you again,” He smirks, checking the most recent order Luke has written for him.

“Shut up, Mikey,” Luke says petulantly. “He is not.”

“He’s always looking at you, Luke,” Michael laughs. “You’re actually driving me mad, please just ask him out or something, you two have the most obvious thing for each other ever. ”

“We do not, he doesn’t like me like that,” Luke protests. “He could be looking at you for all we know, you were the one who put a heart on his flat white,” he adds, sourly.

“You should see his face drop when he comes in here and you’re already in the back,” Michael responds knowingly. “He looks like someone’s pissed in his coffee every time you’re not here to stammer at him about what cakes you’ve made.”

Luke’s face flames red and he turns his back on Michael deliberately to serve the next customer, as he hears Michael’s suppressed giggles behind him. Look, he knows Michael might have a point and that he could just talk to Calum, but Luke doesn’t really know how, unless he’s talking about pastry or ganache or sponges words just don’t come that easily to him. Especially when faced with someone who looks like Calum does. He sighs and closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them, as if summoned by Luke’s thoughts, there Calum is at the edge of the counter.

“Blueberry muffin was particularly good today,” He says quietly with his usual smile. “Have a good day, Luke.” He gives a small wave and exits the cafe. Luke opens his mouth to say something before he can leave, but nothing comes out so he just closes it again. He kicks the edge of the counter grumpily.

“I’m literally the worst ever,” He groans, spinning round and going through to the kitchen, swinging the door behind him, Michael’s laughs following him through.

Luke is having what he thinks might be the most disastrous day ever. It’s after 5pm, the cafe has just closed and he would normally think about going home soon but Em’s got the day off and he’s not been able to make half of the stuff he needs to for tomorrow. Every ganache he’s attempted has split, he’s burnt one batch of cupcakes and under-cooked another so they’ve sunk in the centre, he’s crystallised his caramel so its unusable, and the chocolate he tempered for the triple chocolate layer cake he has planned has come out mottled and dull. He hates to admit it but the worst part of it was that he didn’t even see Calum this morning, he worked out the front much longer than he normally does in the hope of seeing the other man, but he never turned up. Michael had just raised his eyebrows and given him a knowing grin as he had slumped back into the kitchen at well past half-nine. He sighs at himself as he pushes a hand through his curly hair which he’s had to pull back into a tiny ponytail at the nape of his neck, and tips another set of cakes into the bin.

He hears a knock on the back door of the kitchen, and the door opening. A curly brown head appears round the door frame.

“Hi Luke, Is this a bad time?” Ashton says, surveying the disarray before him, bowls and utensils on every surface, half finished cakes and fillings littering the other available spaces.

Luke huffs out a laugh and wipes his hands on his apron. “No you’re fine come on in, just having one of those days. Sorry for the state of it in here.”

Ashton smiles at him and steps into the kitchen, going to the store where he knows they keep the empty bread crates. “No worries at all mate! Oh I brought my flatmate with me, hope you don’t mind. Calum had the day off today and I roped him into helping me do the pick-ups.”

Luke’s mouth drops open as Calum Calum sidesteps into the kitchen and smiles at Luke embarrassed. “Uh, hi?”

Luke just gapes, spatula limp in one hand.

“Just going out the front for a sec, Cal, just need to check something with Michael!” Ashton calls quickly exiting the room. Luke thinks he spots a smirk on Ashton’s face and his eyes narrow in suspicion.

“Uh, sorry for barging in on you like this,” Calum starts, standing awkwardly by the door still. “When Ash said he did deliveries for cafes in the local area I didn’t know he meant yours as well.”

“Missed you this morning,” Luke blurts out, then promptly feels himself turn red, again. Jesus Christ where did that come from? He wants to disappear like, immediately and wonders whether he could shut himself in the walk-in without Calum noticing.

A small pleased smile appears on Calum’s face and he blushes slightly. “I thought it might be a bit desperate to also turn up when I’m not even in the office. But I guess I’m here anyway.”

“Well I’m glad,” Luke says quietly, ducking his head and biting his lip.

Calum’s eyes twinkle at him. “So this is where the magic happens?” He asks, examining his surroundings.

Luke groans. “Don’t look at it like his,” he begs. “I’m usually such an organised worker I promise, I’m just, having a few issues.”

Calum smiles and comes over to stand next to Luke. Luke inhales sharply and thinks that Calum smells like the freshly baked bread in Ashton’s van but also something else, sweet and spicy, like a hot cinnamon and apple cake or a warm speculoos biscuit just out of the oven.

“Can I help with anything while I’m here?” He asks softly, reaching out hesitantly and barely grazing Luke’s elbow. Luke focuses on trying to regulate his breaths which is proving almost impossible with Calum standing so close to him, the feeling of his warm hand through his sleeve and the sight of the concerned smile on his face.

“It’ll be okay I think,” he manages to get out breathily. “Thanks though, that’s very sweet of you.”

“No, I think that’s you,” Calum says quietly, reddening a bit but looking up to meet Luke’s eyes.

He reaches out and brushes a hand gently through an escaping curl on Luke’s face.

“You’ve got a bit of flour here.” He says quietly, tilting his head to one side and twisting Luke’s hair around his finger briefly. “And here,” Calum continues, skimming his fingers across Luke’s cheekbone. “Here too,” he murmurs, stepping even closer to Luke and dragging his fingertips under Luke’s chin and down the side of his neck, leaving them to rest curling slightly into the collar of Luke’s shirt and looking at Luke in the eyes. Luke’s not sure if he can breathe, lost in the gentle stroke of Calum’s hand and the swirling chocolate of his eyes, feeling the pink blush dusting across his skin, left in the wake of Calum’s touch. His eyes flicker down to Calum’s lips, and he sees them curve into a smile, before he leans forward slightly and catches Luke’s own lips in a soft kiss.

“Hm,” Calum murmurs as he pulls away slightly. “You taste sweet too.”

Luke honestly thinks this might be the best moment of his life so far, and slides his hand over Calum’s shoulder to pull him back towards him, but just as he does he hears a scuffling sound from outside the swing door into the main cafe.

“Mikey is that you?” Luke asks suspiciously, stepping away from Calum slightly and turning towards the door. Calum steps back too, but loops an arm loosely around Luke’s waist, fingers playing with the ties of his apron.

“No,” a voice comes through the door.

“Get in here,” Luke says bossily, “You too Ashton I know you’re out there.”

The two of them appear in the doorway, Michael having the good grace to look a little ashamed but Ashton doesn’t even bother, a huge shit eating grin on his face.

“What is going on here?” Luke demands, narrowing his eyes at the pair of them. He’s trying to stay stern but it's proving very difficult when he can feel Calum’s hands skim along his side and him gently nose his shoulder blade as he huffs out a giggle behind him.

“What I think is going on is that you, Lukey, and dearest Cal Pal might have been having a moment?” Ashton smirks at the two of them.

“I don’t know how you two are involved in this but I know you are and I want you to explain yourselves,” Luke says petulantly. He then looks at Ashton and Michael closer and catches sight of their hands clasped, hidden slightly behind Ashton.

“What is going on here?!” Luke repeats again, gesturing at their hands. He sees Michael (and Ashton come to think of it) every day, how has he missed this? Probably because he’s been lost in thoughts of Calum for the last 3 weeks he reasons with himself.

Michael blushes to the roots of his hair and pulls away from Ashton slightly but Ashton just tugs him into his body, curving his hand around Michael's hip and pressing a kiss into his neck before releasing him.

“Well Michael and I started talking the other week, and we found out that by some miracle that the Calum that happened to be coming in everyday to stare at Luke for 20 minutes and leave, was the same Calum who lives in my flat and won’t stop talking about the gorgeous cake maker who works at the cafe round the corner from his office.” Ashton says, laughing, as Calum makes a wounded noise of protest and hides his face in Luke’s shoulder. “And this very Luke that Calum wouldn’t stop talking about happened to be the Luke that I deliver bread to every morning and apparently won’t stop throwing longing glances at Calum from the other side of the counter when he thinks he’s not looking.”

Luke squeaks, and feels Calum giggle behind him, both arms coming round his waist and dropping his chin onto Luke’s shoulder.

“And you two thought you would mastermind a plan then I suppose,” Calum says amusedly.

“Why aren’t you more annoyed by this,” Luke gripes, turning his head to try to glare at Calum but managing only to brush his nose against his cheek.

“Because I got what I wanted out of it, regardless of the method,” Calum says sweetly, and Luke blushes again.

“That doesn’t explain.. This!” Luke gestures at Michael and Ashton, he doesn’t know quite why his brain has fixated on this development when he has Calum basically draped along his back but what has happened in the last 10 minutes has been too much for his brain to handle.

“Well we had to come up with a plan so I asked Ashton if he wanted to go for food,” Michael finally pipes up, a small pleased smile on his face.

“You did?” Luke asks in what he acknowledges is probably quite a rude way but this was a turn of events he was not expecting.

“Well maybe watching you pine so disgustingly made me want to do something about it,” Michael retorts, but there’s no heat in it.

“I knew the hot cross bun would work,” Ashton says solemnly, and Michael jabs him in the ribs with his elbow.

“Okay, I’ve decided that’s enough of the two of you,” Calum says. “Go and scheme elsewhere now please.”

Ashton laughs and salutes them before tugging Michael out of the back door.

“I honestly can’t believe this,” Luke begins, “they think they can just meddle in our business and force us into the same room together and that we’ll just kiss and they can pat themselves on the back for a job well done?”

Calum is quiet beside him and Luke turns to look at him. “Well?”

Calum smiles at him, that one that makes Luke feel like he’s floating in sweet mallow clouds and tips his head slightly to the side. “I mean I’m sorry Luke but that’s exactly how it happened, so yes I suppose they can.”

Luke begins to make a noise of protest but Calum just grabs the front of his apron and pulls him back towards him.

“You can carry this on later, but can we stop talking about Michael and Ashton for one second? I was sort of busy before they came in,” Calum whispers over Luke’s lips.

“Yeah okay,” Luke responds, leaning into Calum and catching his lips back against his own.

Calum pulls away after a couple of minutes and brushes another rogue curl out of Luke’s face. “So about that help you turned down earlier, I’m not taking no for an answer. I’ll start cleaning some of these things up and you can get on and do what you do best.” Calum leans in and gives him one last peck before heading over to the sink and starting to run the tap.

Luke smiles, slightly dazed and runs his fingers over his lips, thinking Calum tastes pretty sweet himself, a little bit like the warm vanilla air in his kitchen and a lot like home.

#5sos fanfiction #cake fic #5sos fic #cake #meg fic #this is meg from the past as i have SCHEDULED this as i am busy #ya girl wrote some cake content and it's entirely self-serving #this is probably too long to read nicely on tumblr i should probably sort an ao3 acc #also apologies for any errors im still getting to grips with this and i didn't get anyone to read this for me first #also FUN FACT all the things luke talks about making are my own recipes and things i make 😌 thats how self serving this js

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mgnifiqueyoo · 4 years

Text

“Can’t You See Me?”- THEORY

"BEOMGYU'S MANIPULATION" - Part 1

(a/n: I’m starting a TXT Theory series on each mv they made/will make bc WE STAN BIGHIT MENTALITY... I won’t do a BTS one cause TXT has like five mvs and my BRAIN IS LIQUID ALREADY what more if I DID A BTS ONE? I ONLY HAVE LIKE HALF A BRAIN CELL THAT BARELY WORKS... anyways, I made this theory for two hours straight sO PLS APPRECIATE MY WORK LMAO)

(another a/n: I wrote time stamps so that you can watch the mv while reading this theory, too! Enjoy because I said so and I have to reform MY BRAIN/ i am also terribly sorry if I ramble some stuff there lmao ENGLISH IS NOT MY NATIVE LANGUAGE DFBHJD)

From 0:08 - 0:22 - We see flashbacks from the previous mv "Runaway". Yeonjun starts a fire in his notebook and Beomgyu already knew that there is a fire. The weird thing is that only Beomgyu knows that there is a "small" fire. Beomgyu could've thrown the notebook outside or do something "smaller" to prevent the fire from growing BUT NO, he really used this BIG EXTUINGUISHER to turn off the fire. Really weird because it looks like as if he knows something bigger would happen in a matter of SECONDS IN THE FUTURE???

After the flashbacks, the notebook also bursted into flames. Could this be because Beomgyu didn't success into stopping the fire, causing a bigger problem?

From 0:38 - 0:44 - Now, we see the four members (Yeonjun, Beomgyu, Taehyun, and Hueningkai) in front of Soobin's house. The five of them obviously will hang out eventually during the day.

0:44 - 0:51 - Then, we see Yeonjun bake some pastries for them to eat. No one in the group noticed that the fire in the oven started growing. Weird because Beomgyu noticed the fire quickly in the previous mv which is just a small one and they're also in a school (meaning there's a lot of people occupying space or something, y'know what I mean?) but he couldn't notice a bigger fire in Soobin's house where there were only five people in there? Sketchy.

0:51 - 0:56 - Hueningkai started taking pictures (juSt bFf tIngZ) and if we look closely, Taehyun is literally lost. He's not even looking at Hueningkai's camera. He seemed so lost and bothered. He probably doesn't know that Kai is taking pictures. He's literally just looking around as if he notices something strange.

0:56 - 1:01 - Yeonjun pokes Soobin's bubble made from hi bubblegum and Soobin looked pissed. It looks normal "jUST BFF TINGZ" from the start but as the scene goes by, Soobin and Taehyun's eyes WERE FIXED at the TV while he eats strawberries. Hueningkai, Yeonjun, and Beomgyu were literally messing around but the two of them were just STARING at the TV.

1:01 - 1:02 - (this just cute uWU)

1:03 - 1:06 - Then, we see Beomgyu staring at the camera (lmao visual king) and it's just creepy that the whole lighting in the house just TURNED SO RED AND BEOMGYU STAYED UNBOTHERED???

What's even more creepier is that the TV was just red. There was nothing there on the TV, so why would the four of them (Beomgyu excluded) still mess around like they were watching a show when they were in fact NOT?

1:31 - 1:35 - Beomgyu puts a bunch of strawberries in the blender and a lot of it spilled everywhere on Soobin's kitchen counter. When you see the actual scene, it actually looks like Beomgyu murdered someone but at the same time still seen as pure and innocent.

No suspect can be seen as pure and innocent... unless if that suspect is manipulative... (mom, help im scared)

1:39 - 1:48 - Basically, Beomgyu and the boys are playing around with the mess he made. Hueningkai wasn't playing around but he was just eating strawberries... just like how Taehyun did at 0:51 - 0:56. Soobin seemed pissed because his friends came over specifically to "play and hang out" with him and not leave him alone in the air IN HIS OWN HOUSE. In his boredom, he plays with this glass half full with some kind of pink juice.

It could've been made with those same strawberries the boys were so drawn onto.

1:48 - 1:53 - Soobin then 'purposely' dropped the glass of pink juice on the ground as it transitioned to Beomgyu and Yeonjun playing together in (probably) Soobin's bedroom. If you pay attention, the lighting is red again.

(THIS ONE IS HARD TO PAUSE LMAO HELP) 1:54 - Four of them looked down on Hueningkai (literally!) and Kai looked upset and down, too. What could've Kai done for the other boys to look down on him like he had done something bad?

Or is he being taunted by his own friends and he couldn't do anything about it because he's the youngest?

Or is he being in the middle of everything that's happening?

1:54 - 1:56 - The transitioning was like glitches at this part (my eYES HURT) as Hueningkai stays in his place while looking down on the floor. This scene shows that his "hyungs" either leave him or tower over him no matter what he feels.

Tower over him? I meant: hyungs = higher authority Maknae = no control whatsoever

1:56 - 1:57 - In this ONE SECOND SCENE, we can notice a lot of things. Beomgyu plays with Taehyun as he covered Taehyun with a blanket. Taehyun was smiling and laughing as his mood changes when the lighting turned red.

There IS something wrong with Beomgyu.

1:58 - 2:02 - Beomgyu continued dominating over Taehyun as the lighting switched from red to the normal "bright" one. Beomgyu looks at the camera, showing no emotion like he did on 1:03 - 1:06... like he wasn't doing something wrong to Taehyun.

For me, it seemed like when you put the "bright" lighting on the scene... it looked like Beomgyu and Taehyun were just play fighting.

But when it's red? It honestly looked like Beomgyu was trying to suffocate Taehyun in the sheets. (Read time stamp 1:31 - 1:35)

2:03 - 2:05 - Taehyun looks bothered again as he stares into the camera. If you pay attention to the other members, you'll notice something.

They are just chatting and eating together... not even asking about Taehyun.

Taehyun was bothered because of what happened between him and Beomgyu.

2:06 - 2:10 - Beomgyu throws in a tomato as it changes to both him and Soobin laughing during dinner. Yeonjun throws a tomato after Beomgyu as it transitions to Taehyun being bothered at the dinner table.

Yeonjun then draws a "smiley face" using ketchup. Does it mean that Yeonjun wants to be happy after... an incident?

2:10 - 2:13 - To distract Taehyun's boredom, Beomgyu flicks a strawberry(???) on him. Taehyun wasn't playful (my statement on 1:58 - 2:02 HAS A POSSIBILITY) and he's looking at Beomgyu like he was pissed despite them being messy earlier before dinner.

2:14 - 2:16 - We see Beomgyu laughing it away and the two other members were just unbothered. In the fast paced scene, we see Soobin just confused and bothered.

We also see Beomgyu looking sad as if he was sorry about what happened between him and Taehyun. We also see Beomgyu looking confused as if he was like "What could I have done wrong to you?" towards Taehyun.

2:16 - 2:21 - The five of them started playing and throwing food around again. Taehyun was weirdly "okay" in this scene. Maybe Beomgyu could've done something for Taehyun to forgive him.

Or he wanted to hide his anger from Beomgyu because Beomgyu was pictured as pure and innocent by the boys?

2:21 - 2:29 - Yeonjun picks up a tomato but it already bursted in his hand. It's impossible for a tomato to already burst when he wasn't even throwing them. Then, he stares at his hands and then back to the boys. He realizes that Soobin's house is on fire and all four of them blame it on Yeonjun.

If you pay attention to the surroundings, it really looked like a bunch of psychos murdered people because the tomato on the walls looked like splatters of blood somehow.

If you pay attention to the lighting, it changes again from bright to red.

If you pay attention to all three factors (the acting, the lighting, and the surroundings) metaphorically, it seemed like Yeonjun was the one blamed for murder.

But wasn't it Beomgyu who suffocated Taehyun in the first place?

(Note about time stamp: 2:10/ Who has a smiley face on their clothes? Beomgyu)

2:43 - 2:46 - Taehyun and Yeonjun threw tomatoes at the camera as it transitions to Beomgyu enjoying the tomatoes on the floor.

"Throwing tomatoes" at someone is like hating on them. If you watch children's series or even comedic adult series, you may have noticed that if they started "booing" on someone they hate... they throw tomatoes.

So, Taehyun and Yeonjun are throwing hate on who? Beomgyu.

Who suffocated Taehyun and blamed Yeonjun for the "fire" (still unknown if it's actual murder or a representation of something serious kdfglvnjkf)? Beomgyu.

What does Beomgyu do with the hate? Laugh and enjoy the hate he's receiving.

Honestly, it seemed like he was manipulative in this damn mv. He's not psychopath, he's a sociopath.

(A sociopath is a term used to describe someone who has antisocial personality disorder (ASPD). People with ASPD can't understand others' feelings. They'll often break rules or make impulsive decisions without feeling guilty for the harm they cause.) - literally a google definition that describes Beomgyu's character in the mv perfectly.

2:48 - 2:49 - You'll think that it's a Soobin glamour shot but NOPE. If you looked behind Soobin, you see Taehyun, Beomgyu, and Yeonjun.

If you pay attention at how Beomgyu LITERALLY SAT and ATE, he seemed so child-like.

Again, he is PICTURED as soft and innocent in the other mvs but in this one? He seemed so manipulative (using his "innocent" image to control what his members felt about his actions.)

Taehyun wasn't even facing him, meaning that he's still mad about what he has done. Yeonjun runs upstairs... where the "Taehyun Suffocation Incident" happened (Soobin's bedroom).

Soobin, on the other hand, is in the middle of everything that was happening between the three. Soobin felt lonely despite Hueningkai's presence.

It was because Hueningkai was so lost in what's happening in this reality where his three hyungs hate each other and his one hyung struggling to fit in within the friend group. Basically, Hueningkai's character only knows what's going on with his self and not the others (kinda sounds harsh but fAcT about me is that I'm the youngest and it's kinda innate for the youngest in the family to be a bit bratty and self-concerned.)

2:49 - 2:51 - Taehyun throws a tomato around an unbothered Hueningkai who is still eating food despite of what's happening around him. If you take it literally, Taehyun's like "Join us!!!".

But if you take it that way (yknOW WHAT I MEAN), it's like Taehyun was trying to wake Hueningkai up in the reality where his hyung (Beomgyu) is a sociopath.

But Hueningkai was in that fantasy (representation: eating strawberries).

2:52 - 2:53 - Here we see Beomgyu and Hueningkai being happy while tomatoes are thrown everywhere in Soobin's house.

In this scene, it seemed like Beomgyu was convincing Hueningkai to believe his "pretentious acts of kindness".

Did Hueningkai believe him?

2:54 - 2:55 - We see Beomgyu looking like he regrets everything he has done. In another scene of Beomgyu, he was staring at his hands the same way Yeonjun did at 2:21 - 2:29

2:56 - 2:59 - We see Yeonjun throwing a tomato at Soobin as we also see glimpses of Beomgyu laughing, Taehyun shifting from laughing to being angry, and Soobin finally snapping out.

Clearly, Soobin was silent because no one asked (or cared) for him throughout the time in this mv. He was always in the middle of everything.

3:02 - 3:05 - After snapping out during "playtime", Yeonjun and Taehyun walked away. It looked like Soobin was blamed for ruining the fun.

The two members who walked away were Taehyun and Yeonjun, right? If you connect their characters to the actual TXT members, Taehyun is basically known as the matured member in TXT while Yeonjun is the eldest. Basically if you connect this in the storyline, the three matured members (hyung-like members if valid) were the ones having a fight.

The two members who were left staring at Soobin were Hueningkai and Beomgyu. Connect this?

Real!Hueningkai = maknae CYSM!Hueningkai = also maknae, pictured as the youngest

Real!Beomgyu = middle of the hyung line and maknae line CYSM!Beomgyu = rarely regrets not taking responsibility of what he has done to others; either manipulative or just being childish

Soobin looked down and looked like he felt like it was his fault for snapping out in front of them. It also resulted Hueningkai to see what was happening in the reality while Beomgyu just stares blankly.

In my HONEST OBSERVATION, Beomgyu doesn't know how to sympathize to what Soobin feels because he's a sociopath.

3:10 - 3:14 - We see Yeonjun wrapping himself in the blanket that Beomgyu used to suffocate Taehyun as it transitions to the members losing their minds.

But why does Yeonjun look fine in it (not fine FINE but yes he does look hella fine in it LMAO)? Is he trying to sympathize to what Taehyun felt during the "Suffocation Incident"?

The members losing their minds? Each of them needed help from each other, even Yeonjun who fully understands the situation.

3:33 - Yeonjun looks into the camera as the fire in the oven started growing.

To me, it looked like Yeonjun accepted the blame. The blame that he was the cause of the fire when in fact...

It was actually Beomgyu (Read time stamp: 0:44 - 0:51).

3:35 - 3:37 - We see a shot of Beomgyu and Hueningkai being bothered by the fight. We also see a shot of Yeonjun and Taehyun being bothered as they were victims of Beomgyu's manipulation.

Summary:

Beomgyu manipulated everyone by making them see the innocent, pure, and childish side of him while he takes over his victims slowly. Although, he has a side of conscience but it rarely ever showed up because his situation is too severe

Yeonjun was the only who fully understands Beomgyu's actual persona, a sociopath. Yeonjun also took the blame because he knows that deep down inside Beomgyu, there's a kind person who's lost in the real world while trying to find himself.

Hueningkai is just as lost as Beomgyu but the difference is that he depends on his hyungs more than himself, being self-centered.

Taehyun, on the other hand, thinks differently from Yeonjun. Taehyun's character is matured but if you consider the age gap between him and Yeonjun, there are still possibilities that he's still more immature than him. Taehyun most likey doesn't understand why Beomgyu is like this and is close-minded when he sees happy friend turn into something that dark.

Soobin is tired of being alone and having no one. It's even shown in the concept trailer that he wants to wake up from that nightmare he has... being alone, left out, and eaten up by the darkness around him. The darkness? Taehyun-Beomgyu-Yeonjun situation and guilt.

Lastly, do the strawberries represent something? Yes.

In this mv, eating strawberries represents them being blinded by Beomgyu's pure image. The red lighting also represents Beomgyu's thoughts and intentions (manipulating members and attacking them slowly).

IN CONCLUSION: The "Can't You See Me?" question applies to everyone of them. They all need serious help and the right attention. They all need to help each other, not turn their backs from one another.

The question: were the flashbacks from the Runaway MV set in the future or in the past?

//the end//

Y’all can message me if you noticed things I didn’t notice or take note of :))

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bibliothesoph · 4 years

Note

How about a first prince flower shop AU? Alex and Henry own flower shops on the same street and have a competition on whose shop is the best.

the war of the roses

Alex knows that he’s hot––he uses it to his advantage. If there’s a hot guy or girl that walks in, all he has to do is bat his eyes and, like magic, they buy something. Sometimes, if they’re especially beautiful, he gives them a free flower––usually a white camellia if he’s got them in stock. It does wonders for the business, really, so June never says anything about the free flowers. They’ve got a good system going, the two of them. He’s the face of the shop. He greets customers, answers any questions they might have, and checks them out (both literally and metaphorically). June’s the one who usually does the arrangements because she’s better with the whole color thing, but Alex is the one who knows the meaning of each flower like the back of his hand. When they do specials for what they like to call “The Power of the Flower,” he picks out the flowers with the important meanings and June decides which ones actually look good together.

Since it’s the first few weeks of summer, one of their “The Power of the Flower” specials is happening right now as a way to welcome in the new season and the warmth and happiness that comes with it. Usually, in the summertime, most of the arrangements they get are for happier feelings like love or excitement or, on occasion, a proposal. They get a few requests for some really great “fuck you” arrangements that Alex always enjoys because of the irony––why send flowers, even mean ones, to someone you supposedly hate? The idea is ridiculous and he loves it.

Historically, they’ve been the only flower shop in this area. It’s a hipster sort of place and, since all of their flowers are pretty local and sustainably farmed or whatever, people flock here to get succulents and arrangements. They’ve made bank here for the past three years until The Incident, that is.

Alex refuses to actually say the name of it out loud because it makes his blood boil. That fucking blond-haired dude and his friend (well, the friend seems okay) and their fucking flower shop. Like, when someone opens up a business, Alex thinks they should probably scope out the area first to make sure there aren’t any competitors in the area or something. That seems like the smart thing to do. But this bastard with blue eyes and a perfect fucking smile came in and set up shop directly across the street from his own flower shop. And he knows that the Green House has loyal customers like Ted and Ginger and Simon. And he knows that they’ve been here longer and therefore are generally the first place to pop into people’s minds when they want flowers, but since the other store is directly across the street, it steals customers away sometimes.

Like today, for example.

And the worst part is that Alex can see that smug bastard’s pretty face while he’s stabbing Alex in the fucking back. Whenever Alex looks out the window to see how things are going across the street, the blond guy is always there with an evil, smug smile and a sarcastic wave. Like this is all some fucking joke to him.

Well, Alex isn’t having it anymore. Not during The Power of the Flower time.

“June,” he groans from the front desk. The place is empty, save for the two of them.

She pops her head out from the back area where she makes the arrangements. “Please don’t tell me you’re staring at Henry again.”

His face contorts. “Who the fuck is Henry?”

She rolls her eyes and comes over to him, wrapping her arms around him to calm him. “The guy from the V&A. The one you keep staring at.”

Alex huffs. “He started it. Anyway, we need a plan of attack. He’s stealing our customers!”

“He’s not––”

“He’s stealing them, June. Along with my fucking sanity.”

June sighs and looks out the window, waving at Henry. “He seems perfectly nice. I know his partner, Pez, is a nice guy. I walked in a––”

Alex gasps in horror. “You went in? Judas!”

“I just went in to see how they were running things,” June explains. “And they serve tea, you know. They make it themselves.”

Alex growls and slams his fist against the counter. “Unbelievable. Well, that fucking settles it.”

He stomps off and into the backroom to collect his thoughts with June close at his heels.

“What are you doing?”

“Figuring out a plan of attack,” he explains, pulling out a pen and paper. “We need to up our game, Bug. We can’t let them win.”

“It’s not a competition!”

“It is now.”

He decides to bravely and calmly storm across the street to check out the competition, just to see what they have going on. As soon as he opens the door, a bell rings to announce his entrance. When he steps into the place with steam practically coming out of his ears, a guy that is not the blond one––so Pez, probably––greets him with a smile. He’s wearing flowy pants and, more importantly, a fucking V&A shirt that looks hand-stitched. He’s even got little flowers painted on his cheeks and a flower crown on his head.

“Hi,” he beams at Alex. He’s British, it seems. “Welcome to the V&A! My name’s Pez, so just give me a shout if you need anything, okay, darling?”

Alex fights the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m not a customer, actually,” he huffs, folding his arms across his chest.

“Oh? Are you here for me then?” Pez asks, batting his eyes and smiling.

“I’m here to speak to the owner. Blond? Bland?”

Pez raises an eyebrow at him. “Henry?”

Alex rolls his eyes. “Yeah, sure. Whatever. Can I talk to him please?”

“If the issue is that he never called you back, I––”

“He’s not a suitor, Pez,” another voice says from behind Alex. Alex turns and sees, in all his fucking glory, Henry. He’s wearing the same shirt Pez is wearing but neatly tucked into a pair of snug jeans. His hair looks fucking perfect somehow, and he’s carrying a tray of what looks like baked goods. “In fact, I think he might think us enemies.”

“No shit,” Alex huffs. “You’re stealing my customers!”

Henry rolls his eyes but he’s smiling like this is all hilarious. “Oh, am I?”

Alex is fucking fuming. “Yeah! You knew we were right across the street. Literally. I can actually fucking see your smug face when I’m working and I hate it.”

Henry sighs and moves past him.

Their shoulders knock together.

Alex follows Henry and watches as he sets the tray down on the old, wooden counter. He starts taking the treats off the tray and carefully moves them to some sort of ornate platter.

“You serve food now, too?” Alex asks.

“Not always,” Henry explains, “only when I bake. I feel that it adds a special something to the experience, you know?”

Alex is practically seething. “Okay, well, I just wanted to come over here to say fuck you, fuck your stupid store, and fuck your fucking pastries.”

Henry raises his fucking perfectly manicured eyebrows in surprise. “I hardly think that seems appropriate. We’re not enemies, Alex. We just both happen to own stores on the same street.”

Alex shakes his head so violently that it hurts a little bit. “No, no, no. You opened this store up directly across the street from mine. And you made it the exact same kind of store. What the fuck is wrong with you? Seriously, man? It’s not cool. Okay, also, how the fuck did you know my name?”

Henry has the fucking audacity to touch Alex’s chest. Alex opens his mouth to say something but Henry beats him to it.

“Nametag,” he says with a smug smile. Alex looks down and sees that, sure enough, Henry is poking the name tag on his apron.

Alex slaps Henry’s hand away. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you? Coming here, doing your fucking––whatever the fuck you’re doing––and messing with my business? I’ll make you regret you ever touched a flower, okay?”

Before Henry has the chance to respond, Alex stomps out of the shop. In his rage, he fumbles to get the door open. Pez helps him out and opens it for him so he can continue to rage-stomp out of the stupid fucking shop and away from Henry’s stupid fucking face.

So Alex does what he does best: he makes a list.

Things the V&A does that we don’t do:

1. Tea (fucking homemade tea. Those fuckers)

2. Flowers based on your personality

3. Free baked goods for some fucking reason

4. Terrariums

He wonders, vacantly, if they’re even a real fucking flower shop. With the amount of random drinks and foods that seem to float through their shop, Alex thinks they might be more of a fucking general store or café. But, since he’s determined to beat them, he’ll play along. He can’t bake for shit, but he gets the fixings for coffee––including fucking organic flavor syrup. June helps him set up some little spiritual packages––little kits including crystals and special plants for different purposes. He’ll be damned if he lets the people from across the street steal their customers.

A day after they implement the little spiritual kits, he finds a package outside the door as he’s coming in for the day. Curious, he picks it up and takes it inside. They never get packages here––only deliveries from farmers who come in and make the drop off in person. He takes it inside and places it on the desk, staring at it for a moment before he decides that, even though the only thing written on it is his name, he’s going to open it.

Inside is a collection of assorted items. There are some pink scones, some packages of loose leaf tea, and a bundle of chamomiles. The chamomiles are really what set Alex off and make him know exactly who fucking gave this to him.

Chamomiles. Patience in adversity.

Alex is going to kill him.

He stomps into the V&A for the second time and marches right up to Henry who’s behind the desk, seemingly setting the register up for the day.

Henry looks surprised to see him which only makes Alex even more pissed off. “We’re not open yet,” Henry tells him, sounding bored. “But we’ll be open in thirty minutes if you’d like to come back then.”

Alex slams his fist onto the counter. In his hand is a bouquet of assorted flowers––crab blossoms, petunias, red dahlias, and rhododendrons. The bouquet is, most simply, an “I hate you” and “go fuck yourself” arrangement. The colors might not work well together, but Alex is so beyond caring at this point.

Henry eyes the flowers for a moment, probably trying to recognize and place them each in his mind. For some reason, the angry flowers make him smile. “Are these for me?”

“Obviously,” Alex huffs, releasing his hold of them and taking a step back.

Henry picks them up and looks at them for a moment. “And you made this?”

Alex nods, not really sure what’s going on here.

Henry sighs. “Well, if you’d ever like lessons on how to make a proper arrangement, please let me know.”

Alex glares at him. His heart feels like it’s thumping in his fucking ears. “What.”

“We offer workshops, you know. We get some nice wine and teach people how to put flowers together properly. Given what I see here, you lack the proper eye for this sort of thing. While I understand the intent, I have to say that I’m a bit disappointed with the execution of it. Since you own your own shop, I would have expected something…better, I suppose. It’s no wonder you think we’re stealing your customers––they must just be appalled by your work.”

Alex grits his teeth and gets close to Henry, staring him down. “Go fuck yourself,” he seethes.

He rushes out again, furious. He needs a better plan––something that will make this all go away. He needs a plan that will make Henry run for the fucking hills.

June helps him make it, though she seems hesitant. It takes about a day of looking through flower meanings and consulting with June to get it done, but when it’s done, it’s fucking perfect. It’s a large, obnoxious arrangement filled with hate flowers and plants that he hopes will make Henry really get the message. It’s beautiful but vile and Alex has never been more satisfied with his work. He leaves the arrangement outside the doors of the V&A before he goes home for the day, excited to see what Henry’s reaction will be the next morning.

When he’s on his way to work the next morning––running a bit late––he gets a call from June. He picks up, hoping it’s not something bad. He might slap himself if he forgot to lock up again.

“You took it too far,” she tells him.

He stops walking. “What?”

It sounds almost like she’s crying. Or, at least, someone’s crying. “The thing with Henry,” she explains. “I get the arrangement, okay? It’s all in good fun. But doing that to his store…”

“I literally have no idea what you’re talking about,” Alex says truthfully.

He rounds the corner onto the street where his shop is and sees it almost immediately. Out front is his arrangement, right where he left it, but it’s surrounded by broken glass. The sign for Henry’s shop has been painted over in slurs. What looks like a rock or a brick has been thrown through the window. He can’t stop staring at it––staring at the terrible words that someone’s written about Henry on the sign. He hangs up on June and rushes inside the Green House, finding Henry and Pez there, too. It looks like June has given them both blankets and some of that tea they sent over a few days ago. And they do not look happy to see Alex.

“Alex,” June says, pulling him aside as soon as he enters, “why would you do that?”

“Bug, I swear,” he says, “it wasn’t me, okay? I––I would never write that kind of stuff, you know that. I didn’t even know he was gay.”

She sighs and rubs her eyes. “Look, they think you’re the one that did it. You shouldn’t be here, okay? Even if it’s not your fault, I don’t think it’s a good idea. Just…go home, okay?”

The look she shoots him seems final so Alex leaves. He doesn’t want to make this any worse for Henry but…he feels terrible. Even though he’s not the one that did it, he still feels like shit about it. So he doesn’t sleep that night, instead, he's trying to figure out what he can do to help.

He doesn’t know why he’s so worried about Henry. It makes no sense for him to be this upset about Henry because, as he’s told Henry to his face, he hates him. He hates Henry’s stupid face and his hair and his fucking cute shop. Maybe what he hates most, though, is that he can’t stop fucking thinking about him. It’s ridiculous how much Henry has filled his mind lately. Henry, even as an enemy, is all he’s been able to think about since this whole thing started. And it’s driving him insane and he feels like he’s drowning because Henry’s upset and there’s not a single fucking thing he can do about it.

But he can try.

When he comes in the next morning, Henry is still there. He’s sitting in the backroom and looking blankly at the wall like there’s something really interesting there. Alex sighs and sits down next to him. Henry visibly stiffens.

“Hey,” Alex says.

Henry scoffs. “‘Hey?’ Is that all you have to say to me?”

Nervous, Alex fiddles with his fingers. “No. I mean…I don’t even know what to say."

“I think you’ve said enough,” Henry says. “I wasn’t trying to steal your customers and, even if I was and even if you hated me for it, that’s no reason for you to…you wrote awful things. Vile things, Alex. Things that no one should ever have to hear.”

“I didn’t do that to your shop,” Alex explains. “I swear. But I’m still sorry. And I…for what it’s worth, I don’t hate you at all.”

This makes Henry look over at him, obviously confused. “I thought––”

“Yeah,” Alex chuckles. “Me too, honestly. But I––you can hate me forever if you want. And I’m really fucking sorry that happened to your store because you don’t deserve it, but I want to help.”

He pulls an envelope out of his pocket. Henry takes it with shaking hands and opens it to reveal, first, a white tulip, then a wad of cash. “Alex…”

“The white tulip means new beginnings,” Alex explains, just in case Henry doesn’t already know. “And the money is for whatever you want. Awning, a window, whatever.”

“Love,” Henry whispers.

Alex raises an eyebrow. “What?”

Henry looks over at him with big red eyes. “The white tulip,” he says, swallowing a lump in his throat, “also means love. It’s…it’s romantic.”

Alex feels his face turn bright red. He rubs the back of his neck. “Like I said,” he whispers, staring into Henry’s eyes. “I don’t hate you.”

Henry’s lips tug up in the corners for a moment before he moves forward, closing the distance between them. Henry’s lips are soft on his own and Alex can’t help but melt into it. His hands instantly find their way to Henry’s hair which is softer than he imagined it to be. Henry’s free hand wraps around Alex’s waist, pulling him closer as he deepens the kiss. The whole thing is making Alex feel like he’s being set on fire in the best way possible.

They pull back for a moment, staring at each other. Alex takes Henry’s face in his hands, rubbing his jaw with the pad of his thumb. “I’m sorry about your store.”

“It’s alright. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know but…we’ll fix it, okay? Together.”

Henry stares at him for a moment, those blue eyes making Alex’s body tingle. “You mean that?”

Alex nods and kisses him quickly again. “‘Course I do. I know we made good enemies but I’ve got a feeling that we’ll make even better partners.”

A week later, Henry’s store is fixed and in full swing again. On his way to work, Alex stops by just to see how Henry’s doing. When he walks in, Henry puts down the arrangement he’s working on and rushes over, wrapping his arms around Alex and kissing him.

“Good morning, love,” Henry beams in the small space between their lips.

Alex smiles and kisses him again. “Morning, handsome. How goes the store?”

“Fantastic, actually. We’re getting more customers than ever, thanks to you.”

Alex rolls his eyes and shoves him playfully. “It’s not all because of me,” he argues. “I think you underestimate the power of your pretty face.”

Henry smiles again and kisses him once more.

The two stores may still be across the street from each other, but you’d have no idea they were once owned by two sets of different people. Marking the space between them is a road of chalk-drawn flowers, inviting you to step inside either one. If you go into the Green House, you’ll find flowers for every occasion and a variety of healing crystals and succulents. If you go into the V&A, you’ll find sweet treats, delicious beverages, and, their newest edition, little dogs made of wire and covered in flowers available for purchase.

Even though two of the owners, the blond one and the short one with a mess of curls, work in different shops, you can see the way they look at each other through the glass––lovesick smiles on both of their faces.

Yeah, Alex thinks he might ask June if he can switch with Pez soon.

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #prince henry of wales #henry fox mountchristen windsor #flower shop au #au #fan fic #cute

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mor-beck-more-problems · 3 years

Text

New Year, New Tears || Morgan & Deirdre

TIMING: December 30, 2020

PARTIES: @deathduty & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan and Deirdre need to talk before they can start the new year fresh.

Say that you'll hold me forever Say that the wind won't change on us Say that we'll stay with each other And it will always be like this

CONTAINS: brief, non-specific references to past abuse, negative self-talk

Morgan had made sure they arrived in New York in time for checking in and knocking off the first few items on the itinerary she’d devised. Initially, Morgan had organized the activities mix-and-match style according to how many hours they had at their disposal and how much time they wanted to spend in bed. In the fall, she had imagined a lot of New York would pass by behind drawn curtains while they had as many kinds of sex as they could think of and they would content themselves with only so many big things and so many little things into their three and a half days away from Maine. Today, it went like this: they dropped their bags off in their suite (in the first room, Morgan insisted they could work it out later), walked to a gourmet bakery, and took what Deirdre didn’t eat at the place up to Central Park. Then came a taxi to a cluster of rare and second-hand bookshops, and just enough time to change before catching the evening showing of Hadestown. Morgan left the theater with her arms tight around Deirdre’s waist, singing her favorite song with careless delight.

Paris had been good to them, a testament just how easy things could be. The days after stung a little, because Morgan felt weird about their bedroom, didn’t want to stay in the hotel long term, didn’t have the tiny house Deirdre had offered to help her assemble in the back yard yet, and feared latching on too hard and destabilizing herself all over again if she dove in ‘business almost as usual’ style. Because she did latch. Her heart’s freedom and her Yuletide warmth had stayed with her, sending tingles up her skin and reaching out to Deirdre to share and spread the relief between them. Touch was intuitive again, smiles came more easily--but where was the line between happiness and impending danger? She hadn’t been able to tell the difference before; would the universe guide her steps and show her now? And so every day ended a little different. Every coming and going hit a different note, some off key, some resonant with hope. But tonight, in a world so iconic and strange it seemed like something she’d dreamed, Morgan couldn’t find any of her old apprehensions. She couldn’t imagine doing anything but staying next to her love until the sun rose out their window. She tumbled into their hotel room, still singing, and kicked off her heels and jumped up for a heavy kiss. “So, you really liked it? I’ve been wanting to ask, but I couldn’t really hear in the street: which song was your favorite--no, which part in the story? I wanna know everything you’re thinking about.” She parted just to shove their suitcases off the bed and flop onto it, evening dress and all.

Human stories delighted Deirdre in a way that often felt forbidden. The fae stories focused far more on mischief and chaos and humans dying, and while those were fine, they were nothing like the stories Morgan had shown her. The kind she had come to enjoy greatly. When Morgan told her they’d watch a musical, she thought of all the ones she was familiar with; Waitress, The Sound of Music, that one about the pies with human meat, and if those Disney movies counted, then those too. But what she watched was nothing of the sort, and New York, as exciting as it had already been, seemed brighter, warmer, livelier. Was this what it was like to be human; uncomplicated and free? Could they eat baked goods, watching the sun set, going to bookstores, absorbing stories finely crafted by strangers? Could they be so....normal? Deirdre’s smile faltered for a moment as she watched Morgan flop on the hotel bed. For the duration of their trip, she kept a watchful eye over her happiness; she had been trained well in the ways it needed to be contained. And her hands, that wanted Morgan then and wanted Morgan now, needed to be reined in. They couldn’t be so normal, not yet. Normal them would have been making love by now, evening dresses crumpled on the floor. And that question would have been asked breathless, in her arms, just as Morgan remembered she never heard the answer, and had gotten distracted along the way. Normal them would have slept like that, woke up like that, went about their days exactly like that. Normal them didn’t need to worry about tamping down happiness, they simply were. But normal them was wrong, somehow, as Morgan had said it and as Deirdre struggled to understand. And normal them was gone, and present them needed to work on building a good future them so they wouldn’t break again.

But holding each other was ‘free’, and so whatever compunctions Deirdre had about intimacy now, that wasn’t one. And she fell into bed beside Morgan, pulling her love into her arms until they were tangled together the way they fit best. “You mean you couldn’t hear me over your singing,” Deirdre teased with a laugh, delighted in equal parts by memory of the show and Morgan’s glee. If she’d thought Morgan’s squealing in the snow in Paris was the happiest she might see Morgan for the year, she only wished she could go back and tell herself not to be so sure. “And you’re sure no one saw me crying in the theater, right? Because I don’t--” She cut herself off with a chuckle, “well, I don’t know. Maybe you should sing through the tracklist again so I can figure out my favorite.” With a grin, she pressed her lips to Morgan’s quickly, mumbling rough against them. “It’s better, coming from you. Oh and--” Deirdre drew back. “I have some complaints about story choices here. You said this was based on something? Why did he turn around? That’s just--” She pouted. “It was mean. You didn’t tell me it would be a sad story.” Admittedly, not Deirdre’s favorite kind of story--tragedies left her heart with a strange, unnamed, kind of heaviness. A feeling that she hadn’t yet picked apart and dissected meaning from, a feeling she had been long since afraid to try with. “I did like it.”

Morgan sighed with delight as Deirdre joined her on the bed and tangled them up like normal. The fluffy tulle under her skirt bunched up around her thighs and the simple boning around her bodice made it hard to curl up as snug as she really wanted, but Morgan was too happy to mind any of it past fiddling with her zipper and tugging it down a few centimeters. She cradled Deirdre’s face and kissed it several times over as her banshee gave her answer, lingering and nipping here and there as it pleased her.

“It was also loud with the cars going by us too,” Morgan protested, though she couldn’t keep a straight face. “Because you don’t what, babe? It’s okay, you know, right? I cried too, and the lady in front of us was crying much harder than either of us. The story’s supposed to make you feel something. That’s the magic in it. You don’t have to feel weird about any of that.” There was more to say, but Morgan leaned in and drew out another kiss, long and enthusiastic and tender when she remembered the exact look that had shown in her love’s face in the dark theater.

“I am sorry the ending hurt you by surprise,” she said, threading more kisses around Deirdre’s jaw. “It’s a very old human story, actually, from Greek antiquity. I never liked it before, because it doesn’t explain why he did it, so I always thought—yeesh, dude, you had one job! How much did you really love her anyway? But the way this version tells it…” Morgan sighed and settled her face in the crook of her love’s neck. “He held onto so much hope for so long, even when the disappointment started to break him. And then having to keep going without her, when they’d barely even touched since they’d found each other, having to believe she wouldn’t leave again, that he was really worth all this trouble— I think anyone would at least think about turning to be sure. And it was just a second, you know? Just a quick, desperate mistake. And I think it’s so sad because their love was so much bigger than that one mistake, it’s not fair for them to lose it. But the universe is brutal sometimes, and that’s why hope is so hard and special in the first place…” Morgan’s hand slid down to Deirdre’s chest and started tracing shapes over her heart, occasionally skirting along the hem of her own bodice where it kissed the swell of her breasts. “I am glad you liked it,” she murmured. “Even if I would rather hear your favorite song from you.”

Though Deirdre hummed under each touch—leaning closer to Morgan, urging more—her hands remained stiff and chaste around her, despite the twitch that radiated from her fingers. The bright grin that claimed her mouth was evidence enough that she wanted this, and wanted more, but she couldn’t have it. Her body stiffened as her voice remained light. “But this is different from crying over those cartoons in our—“ Deirdre swallowed. “The house; in private. This is different.” As Morgan kissed her, her twitching fingers curled into a claw at Morgan’s back, bunching tight fabric and digging into skin under her harsh grip. As much as she wanted to move, she did not. As Morgan continued to explain Orpheus’s plight, Deirdre thought about her own restraint. If that were her, she wouldn’t have turned around at all. She wasn’t even doing it now, as much as she twitched and stiffened and clawed for it—she was being good, dutiful, devoted. And yet, for all her carefulness, she’d let curiosity slip between her carefully crafted walls. “Is that how you felt?” She blinked, “is this…’turning around’?” She shook her head, wincing at the question—coated in metaphor as it was, even if Morgan could pick apart what she meant, it wasn’t the point. She already knew their love was bigger than their mistakes, but she suddenly understood the nature of doubt in a chilling way. She knew the truth, and yet….well, perhaps she shouldn’t have been so sure of her powers of self-control. Maybe she wasn’t any better than Orpheus after all.

Deirdre turned her gaze to the window, mumbling her requests for Morgan to forget she’d said anything. “I like ‘All I’ve Ever Known’ best, for now.” It was night, not that it was any easier to tell over the lights of New York. It was her body that told her first, in the yawn that erupted from her, before her eyes could even settle on the inky sky. “It’s getting late,” she commented. Her arms slackened. It was time for her to leave, probably. As it usually went, at least. And if she really wanted to try to be better than a fictional Greek myth, she ought to listen to the rules laid about before her. Morgan never shared a bed with her anymore, and she slept holding a pillow tight to her chest in the lonely privacy of her office. When she woke, the sight of an empty wall greeted her. If she was lucky, it would be one of the three cats instead. If she was really, really lucky, it was two of them. She could only hope the hotel pillows were close enough to the Morgan-replacement one she normally held; if she could’ve stuffed it into her suitcase, she would’ve. “I’ll take my things into the other room.”

“No, stay.” The words burst out of Morgan before she could think better of them, even just to have a better follow up argument besides, “Please.” She winced, and would have flushed if she had any blood flow in her face. She moved her arms around her love’s neck and pleaded with her eyes. A moment ago, Deirdre had been giving her so many green lights and their touch and their bodies all struck the right chord, harmonizing with such rich, perfect clarity, Morgan didn’t want the feeling to fade out.

“First of all, it is our house. Or it kind of is, or I want it to be. And second, I don’t want to forget what you said. It matters to me.” She caressed her face tenderly, hoping to convey her earnestness, her confidence. “You did...it did feel like you left me and ran away. All the note said was you weren’t dead, I didn’t know if that meant wait for me or don’t follow me, and by the end of that week, I was starting to wonder if…” Morgan shrugged, trying to keep the leftover hurt far away from her in a box at the bottom of her heart. “...if you still wanted me at all. I didn’t know how to believe you were still with me and so I turned around then, yeah. And in those days before Yule, I did kind of want to know how worth it you thought I was. Some of the ways I did that weren’t fair or kind to you. I was just…” She shrugged. “Clinging to some leftover revenge bullshit, maybe. It seemed so important that you really, really understand how it felt. None of the words I had felt good enough. And maybe if you’d take it, it would mean you would stay, or if you understood, you wouldn’t do it again. But I buried all that in Strawford, babe. I don’t need or want that. I didn’t excise the hurt completely, but I took enough out of me that I can be close to you without getting a complex about it. Enough that I can be-- stars, so incredibly happy with you. And I’ve missed that feeling so much, I don’t want to let it go right now. Haven’t you felt...lighter today? Freer? I know it’s just for a little bit, but everything’s been so hard, I don’t see the point in denying ourselves a few good nights together. I literally can’t think of anything I want more immediately than to stay here with you all night. And this isn’t even the first night I’ve felt that way, it just feels so much more silly not to follow through with the feeling when we’re away from everything else in a beautiful city plastered over a hundred movies.”

Morgan kissed Deirdre then, firm with determination. “For me, the place we’re at right now is us walking together. It’s not the way we came and I don’t know what’s next, I’m just believing as hard as I can that we’re gonna make it after coming this far. I looked, and you were there, and we’re lucky enough that we can keep walking after. That’s what I feel like this is, babe.” Her fingers idled around Deirdre’s shoulders, the ends of her hair, the gentle curve of her neck. She knew this was all dependent on what her girlfriend thought, that though they were walking, maybe they weren’t in exactly the same place yet. Her smile faltered with worry, but she held tight to her nerve and kept herself steady, though her voice was soft. “What is this for you? What do you think about...what I’m suggesting, for how we spend the nights this trip? Tell me what you think, huh…?”

Deirdre’s face softened instantaneously, her hands moved around Morgan to hold her, comfort her. It was a reaction of the body more than it was the mind, and her body wanted to yield to Morgan. To say that she would stay, that she could, that she wanted to and that she’d work out every bead of pain in Morgan’s body until her fingers bled. But the usual enthusiastic yes, yes, was replaced with lips pulled thin, brows furrowed. Her mind was a little more cautious, as it always had been. She shook her head; she hadn’t felt exactly freer or lighter. Her dutifulness was a devious prison, and it caged the rest of her well. Morgan wanted space, and Deirdre had worked it into her mind that she would provide. Every smile died miserably with guilt. And every touch withered with worry. It seemed so important to Morgan that they didn’t sleep together, Deirdre respected the choice as well as she could respect anything she didn’t want. She had thought it was so strange to deny it to themselves days ago. Weeks ago. But it was important to Morgan. And now it...wasn’t? Deirdre shook her head again as they parted. “What do you want me to do, Morgan?” Her shoulders sagged, her face contorted with confusion and hurt. The dark circles around her eyes must have been more clear then, even under the makeup, or at least she felt like they were. The nights of restless sleep without Morgan took their toll, and chilling fatigue coiled around her bones again as the mind remembered what the body could never forget. “I love laying with you; before I met you sleep was just a means to an end for me and now it...it feels like rest. Good rest. But you said you wanted your space, and I am trying my best to respect that. You set the rules Morgan, but you can’t just—“ Deirdre swallowed, turning her gaze away.

This was stupid. Any sane person would have just given in and cuddled up; her insides begged her to. She was so tired and so desperate for Morgan that she’d take just about any scrap offered. But her stomach lurched and her head throbbed; it wasn’t right. “Don’t make me into some thing you use for comfort and then leave again. Don’t just, ask for me to stay and then make me sleep alone again. I can’t—“ She closed her eyes, finding her breathing (In. Hold. Out) without Morgan’s usual prompting.

When Deirdre turned back, she was calmer, though no less pained. “You want space. That isn’t space. And I don’t want your progress to be hindered by these moments of permissibility. But more than that, I need rules. I can’t do this without rules. I need something to follow and tell me I’m doing this right. I need something, my love.” She sighed, shoulders slumped again, victim to Morgan’s touch. She hated herself so completely sometimes; how terrible and idiotic it was that her mind couldn’t just accept this. She wanted it more than anything else. “It doesn’t feel like we’re walking together, Morgan. I’ve told you that already. I’m just trying to do what’s right, but I can’t even tell what that is.” How could it possibly be walking together when she didn’t want space at all? Was it ‘walking together’ when they weren’t yet a couple? Or was that just Morgan, waiting? Wasn’t this just her, waiting?

“I’m sorry,” Morgan murmured. “I just...it just felt so good today, and I’ve felt lighter and so much better since last week and I just thought--” She squeezed Deirdre close, pressing her into a comforting grip. “You’re not a thing, that’s not what I meant. I’m so sorry you’ve felt like I don’t value you or that I’m doing this casually or anything else like--” Morgan grimaced and told the rest of her apologies with kisses through Deirdre’s hair. “I’m just sorry,” she whispered after a while.

She shifted back, just enough to see Deirdre’s as she guided it up to meet her own. “I’ve never been great with rules. It’s not intuitive for me. I’m not used to having that kind of structure in the first place, or anything staying steady enough for too many rules to work, and anytime I feel good, it’s usually so rare I don’t really think to question it or hold back anymore, especially with you. So I-I don’t mean to mess up and confuse you and hurt you like this. That’s not what I want. I want you so very much, my love, but I want your peace of mind and your comfort too.”

Morgan pressed a tender kiss to Deirdre’s forehead, whispering another apology against her skin before sitting back again. “I love you. Always, I love you, Deirdre. And I want to do better. I want to give you what you need. But I also…” She winced, her face twisting with worry. “I just don’t want to get so set in one set of rules that we don’t ever come back together all the way. I don’t want to stay so apart from you. Whatever we come up with, I want it to be something we can change later, somehow, in a way that doesn’t hurt. Maybe at a regular interval, once a week, maybe? Or we can ask? Either way, I’d like to write some new ones for us. Starting with working out a different sleeping arrangement system, if, you know…if that’s okay?” She reached slowly behind her for the hotel stationary pad, taut as a spring with hope. Wherever they really were in this metaphor, she knew she wanted to be moving forward.

Deirdre slumped, sinking further into the plush mattress. A sense of defeat rolled over her, washing her body with its cold tide. You couldn’t just let Morgan be happy? Deirdre’s grip on the sheets tightened. “No, I-I’m sorry this is…” Stupid, she’d wanted to say. They were happy, and fine, and what did it matter to her if she just let them cuddle for a few days? Why did it matter? Her mind had projected itself far enough into the future that she could feel the sting of lonely nights fresh again, after the bliss of restful sleep. Her body, once enthusiastic about giving in, recoiled in fear. She couldn’t understand what created such a challenge for her, and she didn’t possess the words to explain it. “I’m tired,” she said, unable to think of anything else. Fatigue drowned her; sad eyes morphed to tired-red, and her face sank. “I like rules.” Which was strange for a fae to say, but her life had been dominated by them, and under their command, she knew what was right and what was wrong.

She hadn’t known what was right and what was wrong for some time now. Rules would be nice, thank you, she opened her mouth and pictured the words coming out. No, actually, just forget it, I’m too tired to care now, and even that wouldn’t leave in anything more than a whimper. I just want us to be better; I hate sleeping apart from you, I hate not knowing what’s wrong, the truth of it made Deirdre’s eyes water. She hated the “space”. She hated the stupid studio, which only served to churn her insides with melancholy every time she looked out their back window. She hated that she couldn’t understand what to do--the books had told her to “not take it personally” but how exactly was she supposed to not take her girlfriend wanted an entire living space outside of their home in any other way but personal? She hated the self-help books, and their confusing language and messages. And she hated herself, for being so angry. Morgan wanted space, and though Deirdre struggled to rationalize the why, she wanted to give that to her. And she was trying, except her trying seemed to be flawed. So she had to try a different way, but that was flawed too. And now she was making her girlfriend make a list, even though she said she didn’t like rules, and was afraid of what they might do. The word “compromise” came to mind, and then her mother telling her that compromise was something idiots did when they were either too cowardly to rend open and offer themselves out or too weak to get their way. What was it, but Morgan having to suffer more on Deirdre’s behalf?

The banshee shifted. When she spoke finally, her voice was barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to. You didn’t appreciate it much when I asked you for rules the first time around. And I don’t want to put you through that again. Just...tell me what I’m supposed to do. If you want me to stay, I can stay.”

Morgan let Deirdre fall away, feeling her body tense. “Hey…” she cooed. She hesitated to scoop Deirdre up, knowing that it was just as likely that she was punishing herself as it was that she didn’t want to be touched. In the end, she split the difference by finger-combing her hair, taking out each of the little pins she ran into and setting them neatly aside. “Don’t be sorry, my love. I’m proud of you, for telling me what you need. And yeah, it’s weird and hard, not having our instincts aligned when it comes to us, but I think we can compromise. No one has to hurt so much or feel completely out of her depth. I think that’s how we’re gonna get through this.” She slid down beside her banshee and kissed her hair. “You’re right, I had a really hard time with the rules the first time we made them, but I was also in a really low place, and I was really lost and hadn’t figured out much of anything about what to do with myself. But I think they weren’t such a terrible idea after all, especially then. And I'm in a different, better spot now. And I want to do this. I’m offering. And as long as we can revisit these and change them so we can keep moving closer together, I’ll make the rules as detailed as you need them to be.”

But Deirdre’s pain was more than that. The ache in her went deeper than a worry that Morgan didn’t really want to go along with her idea. Morgan didn’t think that would be enough to make her love cry on its own. Slowly, she reached over and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “If you’re tired, we can just come up with a few rules for tonight and do the rest in the morning. But I think sooner is better than later, because...it just seems like we both want to be closer, more intimate, than we have been, and if we both want that, it seems awful to keep ourselves from it. We just have to make sure we’re doing it in a way that doesn’t hurt so much, you know?” She wiped another one of Deirdre’s tears. “...Babe,” she said, lowering her voice, just above a whisper. “Can you tell me what it is that’s bothering you so much right now? What it is that’s so sad or stressful… I need you to talk to me, babe. Right now, I need that very much. It doesn’t even have to make much of any sense. I just don’t want to do the thing where you hurt in silence and I’m on the outside trying to figure out what to do on my own.” She let her fingers slide down Deirdre’s cheek, tracing the gentle lines of it. “I’m not going anywhere unless you want me to, babe. I’m here, and I think we can figure out how to get to ‘okay.’ We just have to do it together.”

Deirdre’s mind coursed with the same words pulsing in numbing repetition: dumb, stupid, idiotic, dumb, stupid-- She hissed as Morgan’s fingers pushed through her hair, not from the contact, which was gentle by all accounts, but from the uncanny ability they possessed to make Deirdre feel raw. It was medically impossible, but she thought Morgan could feel her thoughts through her scalp, that she could pick each one out word by word. Don’t look, don’t look. Deirdre closed her eyes. Was she more embarrassed that her mind had dissolved to such negative prattle or that she knew Morgan wouldn’t like it anymore than Deirdre would enjoy Morgan beating herself up? But her habit of self-flagellation was one Morgan knew well, and had never responded with cruelty to before. Morgan was kind, and Morgan was gentle, and Morgan loved her. Yet for all she understood, all she could think about was how terrible she must be, wasting Morgan’s time and energy like this. Morgan should’ve been taking care of herself, and instead, here she was. Dumb, stupid, idiotic, dumb, stupid… “No,” she croaked, “no, you really don’t have to do that. I know it’s hard for--you need space. You wanted to...think about yourself. Figure that out. And you said you don’t like rules and I...can manage. I can do that for you.” Her heart clenched, her face twisted with pain. Her body was so tired; she had nothing left to give of herself. Please stop, please stop. But she wouldn’t, she couldn’t. “Together…” she rolled the word around against her tongue. To-geth-er; foregin, by an unnameable metric, but an idea she could latch her words to. The good words. “Not together.” Well, the mediocre words. “Not--you need--you said--you--” She swallowed. “The books, I don’t understand them. And the studio it--” She closed her eyes again. Stop, stop, stop. “Roots grow big, and long, and they take from the soil. And the other plants dry, but that’s okay, because you need it now. You need it.” Deirdre opened her eyes, shaking her head. “That’s the only thing I understand about this. I think the books are trying to say that the other plants shouldn’t dry for each other, but does that mean you have to be transplanted into a new bed so you can grow, and what does that mean for--” Deirdre hissed. “This garden metaphor is dumb. I just mean, I don’t even understand what was wrong in the first place. And maybe it’s stupid of me but I thought we were fine, but we weren’t, and now what? And I know it’s idiotic, but I don’t get it.”

Morgan listened, burning with aches as she saw Deirdre nearly writhing with pain. It was like looking into a cruel, double sided mirror. Here was her pain during all those grief days, her desperation, now with Deirdre’s face. Here was every reason to go into that therapist’s office as soon as they could get in. They couldn’t stay trapped in these patterns, they couldn’t sink into this much hurt for each other so easily, not if they wanted to last for centuries. Morgan adjusted herself so one of her arms could drape around Deirdre and take her hand while the other twisted up on the pillow and worked tenderly at the tension in her love’s scalp.

“It’s not idiotic or stupid or dumb, Deirdre. None of those things. And I got what you were saying with the garden metaphor, even if it has its limits.” Close as she was to Deirdre now, her lips brushed against her ear and neck as she spoke, and it was nothing at all to press a kiss to the nape and remember its tender, sweaty feel. “You know, for a while, I couldn’t put words to it either, but I was looking over my notebooks and this letter draft I had. I think it was the last one I wrote when I was still alive. I said something like, before you I had this little world inside me...” She let go of Deirdre’s hand to make a little sphere with her own. “And it wasn’t perfect, but it was whole and it was good. And then I found you, and you loved me, and we started making a life together, and suddenly there was more.” She took her sphere hand and stuck it on Deirdre’s trying to mould it into some expanded, hybrid shape. “And I guess once you start looking at the whole thing as space, it sort of becomes like a building. I had, let’s say, three walls holding me up. And then you came and then I had four walls. I was even bigger and stronger and had so much more possibilities. But then I died. And when I lost my senses, my magic, my life….those were my walls and they all collapsed.” She crumpled and flattened her hand to illustrate her point. “And if it wasn’t for you reminding me that you, my newest support, were still standing, I would’ve just stayed collapsed. But you did. And I finally had one whole thing to balance and fill myself with. I could finally get off the ground, and maybe our therapist will have some thoughts about that, but I can’t see that as anything but a good thing, as you saving me. The problem is, after that…” Morgan sighed, wincing. She still didn’t know when she could’ve done anything different, what opportunity she could have realistically taken to build herself better and spared them this. Maybe if she had just magically known what she knew now, if her mind hadn’t been so scrambled by death that the thoughts wouldn’t seem so hard to get to...but that wasn’t how it had been.

“I wish I could figure out another way for it to have gone, besides me just listening to you and staying alive, but I can’t. We did the only things we could think of, so it can’t be anyone’s fault, but...the problem is after that, there was still a whole me. A whole world, a whole building, and only one support to carry me. And before, when I had three, you could come and go and we could separate for those awful times, and it would hurt, but I was still upright. But with only one support for my whole self...every time you left, or seemed to leave, every time I was afraid you just might, or afraid you’d even be angry with me, I would collapse again.” She put her hand through the motions, growing to only a fraction of the old size and collapsing, like a heart losing the will to beat. “I mean, remember that first time you needed to go away for the night and I wrecked the house and you found me on the floor? There’s just so much of me, I can’t be held up with only one piece, no matter what it is. It’s just absurd to build anything that way, much less me, right? There’s not enough to hold up everything that was, much less everything and more.” She sniffled, blinking back a tear. “And it took me having to go without you, to fear the absolute worst for you for so many awful days, to realize that. But, when I did, I felt like the only way I could figure out what else to build myself up with is to keep going without, with intention. And I found another wall to hold me up in Strawford, when I gave my hurt to the earth and my heart to the universe. And I’ve found another in my arts and crafts work. Housing those new supports in the studio right now help remind me that these are separate and sturdy and mine. I’ve been a lot less insecure about wanting you now that I have that space, if you haven’t noticed.” She pressed another kiss to Deirdre’s neck. “I can just picture that place and know those supports are there. And I’ll be working again soon, and Leah said I could help with the library, and Remmy gave me the keys to the supernatural sanctuary, and I just know, because I know I belong here and the universe is holding me in my own place and my body is more than just a walking death--I know I have all the supports I need even if they aren’t firmly set into the ground yet. And so I feel confident in letting myself be so much closer to you now than I did before. I’m not so fragile anymore. You are my only and dearest love, and you are still one of my supports. You just help me have more, and not just the bare minimum. It should be like that, shouldn’t it? Us making the world wider and brighter than before…?”

There was a measure of anger to feel how easily her fears buckled once reassured by Morgan. It was childish, Deirdre thought, that her feelings could be so sensitive. Her sensitivity was something she had fought to hide away, bury deep and forget about. And yet— The stiffness in Deirdre’s body caved, and she reached for her girlfriend, curling fingers around the fabric of her dress. Her gaze followed down to the demonstration unfolding in her hand. She could see the little house Morgan was talking about, that happy, stable life. Then she could see it crumble, and become a fraction of what it once was. Morgan built her supports again, she was still building them. Some of this rang with familiarity; she knew this. But the ease of the metaphor gave Deirdre a chance to reflect on something she never had: her own life, and its supports. She had her house too, or she did. And then she had Morgan, and her house wasn’t so much a house as it turned out to be a cave. But she’d only managed just the one support, afraid of anything else—confused, lost. She missed the routine of her cave, but that had crumbled now. Deirdre drew her hand back with a frown, making and un-making a fist. It made sense, and with the sense, a terrible hollowness. There was something wrong with her and no amount of fixation on fixing Morgan and their relationship would suddenly give her any of that purpose she wanted.

Morgan had explained this in some words before, but Deirdre hadn’t made much sense of it then. Hearing it again, the picture was more clear. Deirdre sighed. “I suppose.” She unfurled her hand and stared at the wrinkles in her palm. She drew her other hand back from where it had fastened on to the front of Morgan’s dress, trying to draw her own house connecting the wrinkles. Morgan had done fine on her journey to stability, but Deirdre hadn’t moved an inch; she didn’t want to move. Her mother often admonished the predictability of humans, the creatures of comfort that they were, but Deirdre felt herself no different. She missed the cave. “I don’t think my world is very wide or bright, Morgan.” She spoke mostly to her palm, which had yet to yield a usable house. “But I think I get what you mean now.” Giving up her quest, she bundled her hands together and looked up. “Thank you. I think I understand it now. Truly. Properly.”

“No, I guess it’s not,” Morgan admitted with a sorrowful whisper. She had urged Deirdre, even when things were good, to find more than just her to sustain herself on. But her love, in all her fear and bewilderment, hadn’t found the courage yet. Then again, she was afraid of picking out the color of the furniture, so things had to come in small steps. “But I have every belief that it will be. And you’re welcome. Any time, my love.” She bundled Deirdre into her arms and threaded kisses along her forehead. “Can you tell me what you need right now, or what you want? I want to stay close with you tonight and take a couple hours in the other room sometime tomorrow morning to meditate alone. But I don’t want you to hurt, or be afraid. So just tell me, okay? We’ll find a way to make the pieces fit.”

“But it wasn’t supposed to be. It’s not supposed to—“ Deirdre slammed her mouth shut, hissing down a sob. This was a rhetoric that she had touted since the day she met Morgan, and she knew Morgan hadn’t grown any fonder for it. “I just want to sleep.” She sighed, humming her way into a more comfortable position in Morgan’s arms. She bundled her face into the crook of her neck, tangling her long legs into Morgan’s. The pieces of their bodies already fit, the rest they’d just have to figure out. “Can I sleep here? Can you hold me? Can I just...rest?”

Morgan crooned contentedly as Deirdre wriggled in and their bodies made a home with each other. “Oh, is that all, just sleep?” She teased softly, her voice lilting with comforting warmth. “No back rub? No helping out of your dress? No ambient lullabies or kisses?” She caressed Deirdre as she spoke, giving her a squeeze that she hoped expressed that she had no objections if this was how they would lay for the night, petticoats and stockings and all. It had been so very long since they’d been like this, their stillness harmonizing just right, together and apart, whole and connected. “Yes, my love. I will hold you right here, happily, and you can rest.”

“I’d have to move to get out of this dress.” Deirdre laughed against Morgan’s skin. Moving sounded like just about the worst thing she could think of. A truly dreadful thing to ask for. “Just sleep.” She smiled, eased in the arms of her love. It felt a little more like walking together then, and less like blind stumbling. Maybe she’d apologize in the morning for being so dense about it, but that was a morning problem. All she wanted now was the peace of Morgan’s embrace; she’d missed it more every second she had to do without it, and she relinquished herself to the feeling. With anguish alleviated from her mind, if not in permanence then just long enough to humor the night, she was sure this trip would be good to them.

For the first time in weeks, a gentle sleep greeted her. And beyond it, the flicker of hope, illuminated under New York City lights: tomorrow, a day as gentle as the night, spent in museums and cemeteries and— with little coaxing— a bakery. They’d watch the ball drop through their hotel window. They’d hold each other, kiss and dance and laugh as Deirdre expressed her disappointment in the lack of big apples. Then she’d sleep again, restful as the day before. And hope would grow, and love would remind her that they carved their own good into the world; walking together sounded like just about the best thing she’d ever heard. And it made everything possible.

Even a brand new year, better than the last.

#new year new tears #wr deirdre #wr chatzy #wr deirdre chatzy #//soft #wickedswriting

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 4 years

Text

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.81

Lance was silently fuming in his grave. He’d lost his temper with his friends, and now he’d exiled himself to the backyard to avoid them. He didn’t want to be mad at them, but when they pulled stupid shit and made jokes over becoming a vampire, he couldn’t cope. Coming home to a home that kind of no longer felt like his was bad enough. He’d hoped that what Matt wanted to show him was him kicking Pidge’s arse at some video game and Matt was simply making fun of him. Not this. Not some half baked idea of investigating Lotor. Rieva had been so scared they’d been forced to return to Platt, and now she was happily conspiring with Pidge and Hunk, like that fear didn’t matter. There was a reason hunters existed. They took care of things like this. Not two werewolves and two humans who’d only just found out that things really do to bump in the night. He wanted his life back. He wanted things to go back to hunting dumb ghosts and the occasional yucky feeling of death when they did. Why couldn’t they understand how he felt? He shouldn’t have lost his stupid temper, but being a vampire wasn’t something to joke about.

Being the light of his undead life, Hunk was the one who came to talk to him. Shovelling off Lance’s death dirt, Lance faked death until Hunk made it impossible to ignore him

“Lance... I don’t know if you can hear me... but... Can we talk, buddy? I’m not used to this... You look dead in there and I don’t like how it feels seeing you dead”

That was the nicest thing Hunk had said in ages. That he didn’t like seeing Lance laying in his shallow grave

“I’m not changing my mind”

Hunk sighed, Lance hearing the way his clothes rustled as his friend sat heavily, just short of where he’d dug Lance up

“I don’t like this either... but Pidge wanted to help... and she needs someone there to keep her grounded”

Hunk was good at that. Provided Pidge was still listening and not swept away in an investigation

“She needs to leave it alone before she ends up dead”

“But you’re dead... and you’re okay?”

He wasn’t okay. He’d just gotten very good at existing

“I’m not going to watch her go through what I went through”

“What... I mean, you totally don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I guess... maybe I don’t see the problem with you being a vampire”

Hunk wouldn’t. He saw the absolute best in everyone. Even when they didn’t see it in themselves, he kind of... brought it out of you. Lance couldn’t tell him. He didn’t want Hunk to pity him. He’d barely been able to tell Matt without Keith’s support

“I... I can’t tell you. I can tell she should fear being a vampire. If Pidge was turned, she’d never be the person we know again. That’s if she kept her mind”

“But you... kept yours? You’re not secretly a serial killer are you?”

Lance could almost see Hunk worrying his pointer fingers together

“No. I was turned young. Too young... My mind and body were more flexible. When we get older we get set in our ways. Our sense of self evolves as we grow. That’s the secret to keeping your sanity. It’s holding onto every little bit of humanity you can find”

“That had to be rough... I...”

Hunk was so pure he wasn’t seeing the truth

“You don’t know what to say. You’re cautious. I can hear the way your heart beats increased. I did everything I could to keep you out of this. But that all went up in flames in an instant. Yeah. I knew Matt was a werewolf before he came back. I prayed Pidge wouldn’t find out... and look what that got us. A whole lot of awkwardness and mistrust. You guys can talk and laugh about it because you’ve never seen a vampire properly. You’ve never seen humans paraded around as fresh meals on a lead. You’ve never felt hunger that robs you of your sanity. Pidge only saw a sliver and you were there to witness what that did to her. This isn’t a game and we can’t just drink slushies to feel better after a bad hunt. A bad hunt means you’re dead. Throat torn out for the fun of it... if you’re lucky. If you’re unlucky... it’s not a quick death”

If you’re unlucky you turn out like Adam, but that wasn’t Lance’s secret to share.

Hunk fell silent. Lance’s hearing not good enough to hear the metaphorical cogs kicking over. It was a long moment before Hunk replied

“You’re right. We don’t understand. It scared me when Matt suddenly showed us his wolf. I don’t know how to cope with any of this. I can’t even tell Shay and she totally thinks I’m flaky”

That wasn’t fair. Hunk was only flaky in the sense he was like a warm croissant

“I know. Since I met you guys... I... I was scared. I’ve never had friends as close as family before. I’ve never loved having people around like I love you and Pidge. I’ve spent my adult life trying to atone for what I am. Realistically I should have died when I was a kid. I never enjoyed lying. My ego never thought I was better than you. If anything I envied you both. You both grow old. You grow old and fall in love. You make families and you know love. When you don’t age you get to watch everyone you love grow older and die before you. I love you guys warm and breathing...”

“I don’t think Pidge is going to give up. Her... um... dad... he like knows about this kind of thing. And her mum... she’s pretty mad at both of them”

That made sense. Kind of... He’d thought Colleen and Sam had some sense that he wasn’t human. Though how they knew hunters wasn’t as clear. Platt was a big place. Most vampires and werewolves knew how to keep their heads down when they really needed to

“I love her. I love her and I don’t know if I can support this. I can barely support Keith and he’s been a hunter for years now. I don’t... I spent a long time not being part of that world for a reason. Nothing good ever comes out of it”

“Keith did...”

Touché. Keith and Shiro... they were a different kind of hunter. Eyes opened by personal tragedy that should have left them blood thirsty

“Keith... with him... it’s different. He feels like... he feels like he’s been our friend for years. He was really hurt over what happened. He’s not the best with social cues and friends. He’s been through so much and I was so happy that you guys wanted to be friends with him”

“He’s... nicer then when we met him”

“That’s because he was convinced I was a blood sucking monster that fed on you as you slept”

“That doesn’t make me feel good”

“Relax. I swear I never ever fed on either of you. I had blood bags, and I never wanted to. I wanted to be human”

“Is there a way to cure vampire-ism? Is it “ism?”. Do you guys have like a preferred term?”

“I’m fine with whatever. But no. There’s no cure. I’m as dead as I can be without being in a hole in a ground”

“Dude, you are literally in a hole in the ground”

Touché again. He was kind of cold buried up to his shoulders... His poor death soil hadn’t been taken care of at all. Stupid dandelions had invaded... He’d always kept the garden so meticulous

“I know... Hunk, I don’t know what to do”

“I don’t know what to do either, bud. What would Keith say?”

“I don’t think he’s talking to me. I told him I was coming back here today and he didn’t reply”

“Oh, man... I’m sorry... I didn’t know you two were...”

Two were what? Fighting? Lance thought they’d made up...

“I don’t think we’re fighting... he just normally answers or he’s working... or sleeping. Shiro did get slightly drunk last night”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep. Curtis finally took him on a proper date”

“Like in public?”

“No. They went to this underground vampire fighting ring that serves great wings. Yes, in public. Just because Curtis is slightly cursed doesn’t really mean anything”

Lance could hear Hunk scratching the back of his head

“Dude. Relax. I’m joking. Curtis’s curse doesn’t mean he can’t go out and enjoy himself with Shiro. He styled his hair to hide his horn”

“So like curses and magic are real? That’s a real thing?”

“Yeah. I only found out about it not that long ago. Curtis used to be a hunter. I suppose he still kind of is, but he works for Coran now”

“Like you work for Coran?”

Hunk was curious, yet kind of freaked. Lance could hear it in his voice. He’d come out here for peace, but instead found himself having a much needed talk with Hunk

“I don’t work for Coran. Coran takes care of like all the supernaturals and hunters in Platt. I’ve known him since I was turned. He helped me and my family out a lot with adjusting to me being the undead”

“So if anything goes wrong...?”

“I go to Coran. He’d welcome you guys too. He’s heard all about both of you”

“I don’t know how that makes me feel”

“Nothing bad. Just... you guys really mean a lot to me. You’re not the first humans I’ve been friendly with, but you’re the most important people in my life to date. And Keith. I didn’t even tell him I was coming back today. I messaged him... but he didn’t reply...”

Silence fell between them again. Lance content to let Hunk take his time, which he did, before finally starting to talk again

“Lance. Is there a reason you left Platt? If you were happy there... you could have stayed to be with Keith if you’d wanted”

“I was in Platt because Rieva was concerned for our safety with Lotor around. Lotor comes from a really bad family. Like worse than every vampire movie you’ve seen put together. His mother’s worse than Elizabeth Bathory. Hell, she probably got her twisted ways from her...”

“Or from pop culture”

Lance shook his head, sending dirt across his face. That was the trouble with burying himself. Maybe it was time to invest in a nice body bag, or a proper coffin to keep the dirt out

“She’s been alive longer than pop culture has existed. If Lotor suddenly proclaimed she was Elizabeth, I don’t think I’d actually be surprised”

“Is she really that bad?”

“Rieva didn’t tell you? The woman’s got a screw loose up there. More like she’s walked into a hardware store, pulled every packet of screws off the shelf, opened them all, then thrown them everywhere as she then bosses the staff into cleaning up the mess she’s left”

“That doesn’t sound good”

It sounded like a total chaotic shit show. Kind of like how the Blades conveniently marched to the beat of their own drum

“Not particularly. Bud, I know you always see the good in people, but you need to see Honerva isn’t a person. Those invisible lines the of law that keeps us in line doesn’t apply when you’re that powerful. Going after Lotor could bring that madness down on all of you. Not just us, but everyone you love. I’m so happy you and Shay finally started dating, and I’m not telling you to choose but if you ever feel you have to, then please choose her. You two are so perfect for each other. I want to see you grow old together... I want you both to be happy”

Hunk sighed heavily

“I... don’t know if I can ignore what’s happening... I don’t want... I don’t want to see people hurt because I wasn’t brave enough to do something”

Because Hunk loved his friends as fiercely as Lance loved them

“Then... then I don’t know. But don’t chase anything. I can let Keith know, or Coran, but I can’t lose you, even if it makes you hate me. The world is a better place for having you and Pidge in it... always remember that. I’m going to take a nap out here”

Moving seemed like effort. Inside smelt like werewolf. The gremlin was cranky. Here seemed as good as any spot to wallow

“You’re going to take a nap?”

Hunk sounded surprised. Then again, he wasn’t used to Lance napping in the ground. Lance wasn’t used to Lance napping in the ground, but the soil felt kind of reassuring

“It’s fine. I spent three months making this soil. It’s actually good for me. Helps promote healing all that... I’ll be okay”

“I don’t like leaving you in there alone”

Lance snorted, mentally imagining Hunk trying to climb in beside him

“I’ll be okay. Just don’t let Matt pee on me. I think I need some me space”

“Should... should I cover you back up?”

“If you want to. I’m pretty cozy in here”

“But... don’t you need to breathe?”

“Eventually. I breathe. But I can also hold my breath a ridiculous amount of time”

“Dude... that’s so weird”

“Welcome to having a friend who’s a vampire. Seriously though. I really love you guys. I want to be here with you... I... Thanks for coming to check on me. I know this isn’t easy for you”

“Well... like... you know... we’re like best friends... right?”

“Best friends forever, buddy”

** I can’t help it. I love our boy interacting with his besties and being friends again**

#once bitten twice stupid #oncebittentwicestupid #ashratherose

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heartslogos · 3 years

Text

newfragile yellows [999]

"I'm a terrible wife. He's going to hate me. He's going to hand me divorce papers as soon as I get back,” Ellana laments. Her head is resting against the window of Max’s car as he drives them from the mail center near the from of the Inquisition’s sprawling headquarters to the residential suburbs Ellana and the Iron Bull live in towards the far west.

“He didn’t marry you to divorce you a year later,” Krem says. He meets Max’s eyes in the rearview mirror and both of them quickly shoot each other panicked grimaces.

The Iron Bull isn’t going to divorce Ellana for sure. He might even tease her about this in the future. But this is one hell of an awkward first anniversary. Especially considering that they know what his plans were for it and they were supposed to be a surprise for Ellana.

“It’s our first anniversary and I’m bailing because of emergency dispatch orders for me to head to the Graves,” Ellana moans, “I’m a terrible wife."

“It’s part of the job risk. I mean. He knew that going into it and so did you. You guys are on call pretty much all the time, even when you block your time off weeks in advance. You’re too high up on the ladder and you’ve got such a distinct skillset that you’re extremely important assets. Besides, what’s he going to do? Tell you that you should’ve disobeyed orders and gotten — I don’t know. What does the Inquisition have? No one’s ever disobeyed orders before. Court marshalled? Is that what it is?”

“Let's look on the bright side,” Krem leans forward from the back seat to reach Ellana, putting his hands on her shoulders from behind and giving her a gentle shake. “They found your package.”

“What did you get anyway?”

“Chocolate powder,” Ellana answers. “Different flavors. They can be used for hot chocolate or baking. I got some with whiskey flavor, some with rum, some with red wine, some with tabacco, some with orange — it’s a whole array of chocolate flavors.”

“That explains why the box is so big.”

Ellana lets out a tiny little squeak as Max pulls up to her house, shrinking into the seat as she stares at the lit windows.

She hugs the box, the brown envelope containing her dispatch information crinkling where it’s between her and the box. It’s an apt metaphor for the situation.

Ellana’s lip wobbles as she turns to look at Max. “He’s going to be so disappointed. What do I do?”

Max reaches over and unbuckles her seat belt. Krem gives her shoulders another squeeze.

“You go in there, you give him his gift, and you tell him how much you love him and how sorry you are, but you’ll have to delay your celebrations for another day.”

“What if the other day doesn’t come?”

“Maker’s balls, Ellana,” Krem shakes her a little more firmly, “You aren’t going to die. You’ll come back in maybe a week and then you’ll do whatever it is you want to celebrate your anniversary.”

“What if — “

“Ellana, I love you. You’re a dear friend to me. I’m going got throw you out of my car,” Max interrupts. “You can’t stall this. What, were you just going to leave it on the doorstep, ring the bell, and dive back in here and tell me to drive off”

Ellana’s face tells them both that this is possibly exactly what she was thinking of doing.

“Communication is key to any relationship,” Krem says. He can’t believe he’s saying this out loud. “Go in there and communicate about your relationship.”

Ellana nods, drawing in a deep breath and squaring her shoulders. She closes her eyes and then flings herself out the door like she’s doing a jump out of an airplane. Ellana practically races up the front steps, unlocking the door in one fluid motion and disappearing into the house.

Krem and Max both sigh in relief, turning to look at each other and give a very small thumbs up at a job somewhat well done.

And then startle when the car door opens again and Dorian takes Ellana’s previously vacated seat.

“What are you doing here? Where did you come from?”

“Drive. As for the latter I came from Tevinter just like you did, Aclassi, as for the former…” Dorian cringes. “I got roped into giving the Iron Bull dispatch orders.”

“Mother fucker,” Krem throws his head back, groaning into his hands.

Max stares at Dorian. “I think they’re going to actually kill my cousin. Do you know what the orders were? Where’s he going?”

“Antiva.”

“I’m going to commit a felony,” Krem groans into his hands from the back seat.

“Are you joking?” Max continues to stare at Dorian. “Are you serious right now?”

“You think I’m happy about it? I thought the Iron Bull was going to snap my head clean off,” Dorian scowls at them. “And she’s one of my friends, you think I enjoy ruining her special day? She was so excited to see him she ran into the house. And I ruined that.”

“No — it’s.” Max waves his hands uselessly. “We were at the mail room and Ellana got dispatch orders to the Graves.”

Dorian’s jaw drops. “You’re trying to make me feel better.”

“I wish I was, I really wish I was.��

“We were at the mail room to get Ellana’s gift for the Iron Bull which came from Antiva,” Krem adds on, “And it got lost in transit for like, three damn weeks. She could’ve just had it ready for him to pick up. Holy fucking shit.”

“Just drive,” Dorian covers his eyes with his hand. “This whole situation is a flaming wreck of a disaster. I couldn’t take it. I was told to wait and make sure he takes the orders and doesn’t just ignore them and he told me to wait until he sees her. I can’t do it. I saw her running in and I couldn’t do it. I texted de Fer to text him that I put the dispatch information on his back porch swing and left. He won’t ignore a message from her. But I literally can’t take it. Just drive and get the three of us out of here. I don’t want to see the fall out of this. If I have to see either of them walking out of that house looking like dejected and forlorn puppies I’m going to lose it.”

#heartsfic #gather your party and venture forth

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himiko-yumehellno · 5 years

Text

Saiouma Week Day Four: Music

Title: Do You Daydream of Acceptance?

Summary: Kokichi has Maladaptive Daydreaming Disorder, which means he's gonna have his head in the clouds for a good part of his life, even if he doesn't want to. He wouldn't be surprised if Shuichi leaves him once he finds out... But will he?

Words: 2142

Note: Note: I saw the word "music" and was like "ah, yes, MADD time." Cause!! I see so many fics in so many different pairings talking about the ships dealing with depression, anxiety, and sometimes other mental disorders. But Maladaptive Daydreaming Disorder? Not so much! So screw that, us maladaptive daydreamers deserve our happy endings too. (Oh, and btw, if you're wondering how I got MADD out of a music prompt – most madd-ers, including myself, daydream while listening to music.) Hope you enjoy!

+++

Kokichi was pacing again.

To be fair, it wasn't like it was anything new to Kokichi. Whenever he got home to his dorm room after school, he'd go to his room, plug in his earbuds, and pace while listening to music on YouTube. It was normal, it was routine, and... And it was something he'd been doing for years.

Kokichi stopped halfway through the song, pausing it as he plopped down on the floor to switch over to social media for a few minutes. Typing in a tag and scrolling through it for a few moments, Kokichi had inspiration again, and he jumped up to continue pacing again.

Maybe... Maybe "pacing" was the wrong word. Sure, it was pacing, but that wasn't all he did. Sometimes Kokichi danced, sometimes he'd act... But most of the time, he was pacing, making movements and saying lines that went with the masterpiece of a plot in his head –

The sound of a doorbell startled Kokichi out of his thoughts. Pausing the song again, this time a bit more irked, Kokichi marched through his dorm, took a moment to compose himself, and opened the door with a fake smile already plastered onto his face.

"Ooh, heey, Shuichi! To what do I owe the pleasure?" Kokichi asked, poking his cheek with one finger while he batted down his irritation at being interrupted. He checked the clock on his phone; Shuichi never took too much of his time up, but maybe if Kokichi hurried him along...

"Ah, nothing much!" Shuichi smiled at him, and Kokichi returned it with a grin, but the next words out of Shuichi's mouth both ruined and inspired any genuine feelings behind it. "I was just wondering if you wanted to hang out today? I was thinking about a date at the carnival?"

The carnival. It was in town for the week, and though Kokichi had already gone with DICE, going with his beloved would be awesome. Kokichi'd been hoping to go with him since the carnival opened! He just wanted to see if Shuichi would ask him first, and now he had.

But... There was just one problem. "Ooh, is Shuichi asking me out on a date instead of the other way around? How bold, Shuichi! But, I'm a very busy person. Will it fit in my schedule, I wonder?"

Shuichi's smile started to fall, as if he knew what was coming next. "I... Was thinking about going now, if that's okay."

Kokichi's grin disappeared, and as it did, his grip on his phone tightened. Kokichi pulled out his earbuds, but he knew he understood what Shuichi said.

That wasn't nearly enough time to mentally prepare, and shove around when his scheduled daydreaming would be. So Kokichi, inwardly sighing with a heavy heart, picked up his metaphorical mask again and beamed his best sad grin at Shuichi, hands behind his head. "Sorry, but that won't work out! Unfortunately for you, I've got a lot of supreme leader business to –"

"Kokichi, I know that's a lie." Shuichi cut through his lie, and Kokichi's face fell only for a moment. Ignoring Shuichi's determined look, the kind he only got when he was serious about something, Kokichi switched tracks to a different story.

"You got me! I'm actually decoding the next Rosetta Stone; Korekiyo asked me to do it and you know I can't say no to someone as scary as –"

"That's a lie."

"Okaaay, so I was actually baking something and if I leave it in the oven too long it's gonna burn, so if you'll excuse me –"

"Kokichi."

Shuichi called his bluff one final time, and Kokichi gave it up. Kokichi's shoulders slumped, and as Shuichi took a step forward, face full of concern, he took a step back.

"Kokichi, what's wrong? Are you sick?" Shuichi asked softly, and Kokichi practically jumped at the chance to lie and leave, but before he could even do more than open his mouth, Shuichi was muttering to himself, "No, that doesn't explain why..."

Frustration bubbled inside Kokichi like the bubbles in his favorite soda. "It doesn't explain what, Shuichi? Having a busy schedule?"

Shuichi froze for just a moment, eyes wide, and Kokichi swallowed. Teetering on the edge of two choices, Kokichi wondered for a heartbeat if everyone felt like the world was tilted when they had the opportunity to open up to someone, but banished the thought with the next movement Shuichi made, which was to take a step back, looking over him curiously.

Kokichi knew he could have pushed further, poke the metaphorical bear of temper some more and made Shuichi leave, but something inside him was tired.

Maybe this time, he'd let Shuichi push back.

... Kokichi checked the time again. Seven minutes had passed.

"Kokichi," Shuichi began slowly, but Kokichi didn't meet his eyes. The hallway wall seemed very interesting right now. "Are you okay? Whenever I bring up something to do, if it's not a few hours away, you shut the idea down. And I know you stay up late, a lot later than what's healthy, and... And I see you muttering to yourself sometimes, or doing something that doesn't make sense in the situation. I know it could all just be a part of who you are, but...

"Are you okay?"

Are you okay. Are you normal, more like. Shuichi, like the detective he was, had laid out a good handful of his symptoms, of the things he couldn't always cover up or handle, and Kokichi didn't move.

... So, is that it?

Kokichi knew Shuichi was growing uncomfortable with the silence; the shifting and fidgeting he did would have made it obvious to him, even if they hadn't been dating for over a year now. Kokichi raised his free hand, eyes going to the door, and a memory of soon after they started dating came to mind.

"Are you really sure you'd wanna date a liar like me? I doubt you'll want me once you really know the true me – if you can manage to unravel my lies, that is, nishishi!"

"Yes, I'm... I'm sure. And unless your 'true self' is a murderer or something, I won't leave you just for you being yourself. That would be just wrong."

"... Oh really? You promise then? To stay with me even if you find out the horrible secrets of who I really am?"

"I – ... Yes, I promise. I love you, Kokichi.

... Hah. "I love you, Kokichi." Kokichi knew it was a lie, the promise Shuichi made. No one wanted to stay with someone who dealt with something as "obviously fake" as Maladaptive Daydreaming Disorder. No one wanted to deal with someone who spent half their life in a world they made up.

"Kokichi?"

Ah. So he hadn't left yet. Alright, might as well tell him and get this over with, since Kokichi knew how this was going to end anyway. How... Boring.

How... Typical.

"Nishishi!" With a giggle and his fakest smile yet, Kokichi lunged forward, grabbing Shuichi's arm and pulling him inside the room. Shuichi stumbled as Kokichi shut the door behind him, quickly spinning on his heel and leading the way into the living room.

"Ah? Kokichi?" Shuichi's voice betrayed his surprise, while on the outside Shuichi appeared quite calm, the only indication of concern his raised eyebrows and glances around the room. He followed Kokichi slowly, shuffling to the couch that Kokichi plopped down on; Kokichi was already scrolling through his saved photos, looking for a specific one. "Kokichi, what is it? Did – did something happen?"

Yes, I developed a mental disorder years ago as a coping mechanism, thank you for your concern, Kokichi snarked back in his head. He stayed silent through, even when he found what he was looking for and jabbed his phone at Shuichi for him to take.

Shuichi flinched, but after a moment of staring between the two, he gingerly took the phone, perching himself down at the edge of the couch cushion as he read. Kokichi turned away, gazing at the solitary window his dorm provided, waiting for Shuichi to understand.

He knew the words by heart. He knew the explanation by heart, he should say. He got used to having to explain it to therapists over the years, and having to pull up sources for the ones that scoffed at him. Heck, if Shuichi wanted, he could probably rattle off the url for the webpage of the the scientist who put a name to his disorder.

But Kokichi wasn't going to do that. As he heard Shuichi take a deep breath, Kokichi closed his eyes, waiting for the rejection, the mocking, or the storming out.

Hey, maybe he'd get all three this time. It had been a while since he got that reaction... Not since...

"So... You have... Maladaptive Daydreaming Disorder?"

Kokichi didn't open his eyes. "Yeppers!"

"And that's why you've been doing all... All the things I talked about earlier?"

"... Yep!"

"..."

"Okay, thank you for telling me, Kokichi. I'm glad I get to understand you a bit better."

All at once, Kokichi's eyes snapped open wide, he shot up to a sitting position, and his jaw dropped open like a fish's mouth. He didn't know how he felt – relieved? Happy? Loved? – but something was going on with his emotions, and Kokichi had to take a deep breath to steady himself, feeling light despite how heavy his heart had been just a minute ago.

"You... You don't..." Kokichi didn't care if Shuichi could see right through him right now. Kokichi blinked at Shuichi, as if the situation were a fuzzy dream that would disappear if he just woke up, and as Shuichi reached for his hand, a concerned frown on his face, Kokichi finally found the words to express his shock.

"You really don't care? Shuichi, this – this is – a, a, a DICE member left because they didn't want to deal with that! With... Me! Why on earth would you... It doesn't... It doesn't..."

Kokichi trailed off. Swiftly, Shuichi moved to put his arms around Kokichi, and the smaller boy buried his face in Shuichi's shoulder like it was second nature.

"I'm really, really sorry, Kokichi," Shuichi breathed, just loud enough for him to hear, and Kokichi tensed, heart skipping a beat before Shuichi kept it going with his next words. "You shouldn't have had to feel like this was something you needed to hide."

... What. Kokichi stayed there for a heartbeat. Slowly, shakily, he brought his own arms around Shuichi, and though his face was still pressed against his boyfriend's chest, Kokichi mumbled out, "You still love me?"

"Wh – of course I do!" Shuichi's voice was surprised, but there was still that undertone of "why the hell are you asking me this?" that Kokichi expected of him, and Kokichi choked out a laugh as Shuichi continued. "I wouldn't... Kokichi, I..."

Kokichi took a deep breath. Pulling away from Shuichi, Kokichi grinned, and not even he was sure whether it was fake or not. "I knew my beloved wouldn't leave me! I was just testing you!"

Shuichi pulled back as well, though he kept his arms wrapped around Kokichi. Something danced in his eyes – pity? Love? Kokichi couldn't tell.

But the shock was wearing off now. And with the lack of shock came all the previous emotions Kokichi had before he opened up.

"Welp, alright. That's enough mushy business for one day!" Kokichi beamed at Shuichi, jumping off the couch and turning to face him while clapping his hands. "Now, I'm gonna ask this of you as polite as possible, so listen up, Shuichi."

"Ah?" Shuichi shifted on the couch, straightening up and giving Kokichi his full attention. "What is it?"

Kokichi gave him one of his creepier grins, and said very, very slowly, "Get the fuck out of my dorm room so I can daydream, and do not breathe a single word about this to anyone."

Shuichi jolted back, but after a moment had passed where Kokichi didn't move and gave him the opportunity to process his request, Kokichi felt his heart flutter as Shuichi laughed. "All right, I'll do that. I'll see you later, then?"

"Totally!" Kokichi held his hand out. "Buuuut, you gotta give me my phone back, beloved! Don't tell me you were trying to steal it!"

Soon, after a series of apologies from Shuichi, and a return of reassurances and pushes from Kokichi, Shuichi was out of his dorm, and Kokichi was able to sigh in relief as he returned to his bedroom, checking his phone again.

Hm. Fifteen minutes.

And it seems that Kokichi had lost his train of daydream in that time.

...

Maybe he'd listen to some love songs this time.

#long post #my fics #drv3 #saiouma #saiouweek #oumasai #kokichi ouma #shuichi saihara #madd #actually madd #fic #sorry for the late fic!#i had a very bad day and had to push this back #but it's here now and i'm really proud of this!#himiko cast original post

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buzzdixonwriter · 4 years

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Hoo Noo Shmoo?

Never let it be said that this blog is flagging in its enthusiasm for flogging horses so dead they’re found in the glue bin at Office Max.

To whit, the Scorsese vs MCU brouhaha.

Bottom line: Scorsese is right. As well made as MCU movies are, they ain’t cinema, they’re glorified commercials to sell MCU product.

Full disclosure: I should know, since I wrote for G.I. Joe, Transformers, and a host of other toy-based syndicated animation shows. I’m happy with the work I did, I can point proudly to specific episodes I wrote that aspire to be more than mere half-hour commercials…

…but they ain’t art.

They ain’t art, despite our aspirations to do the best job we could, because ultimately we creators were not allowed to create what we felt best for our stories, but what Hasbro deemed vital to their sales.

(The closest we got to art was when Hasbro cancelled The Inhumanoids toy line in mid-production of the TV series, and said we could finish our broadcast commitment however we saw fit so long as it didn’t result in an FCC complaint. As a result, we went nuts.)

My Hasbro / Sunbow experience remains a highpoint of my creative life, so I’m not denigrating the talent, skill, ability, spirit, and enthusiasm of those making MCU movies.

…but they ain’t art.

Now, those who love MCU movies think Scorsese’s comments are a slam against them.

Welllll…no, not directly.

But they do underscore how popularity -- especially of media designed to push product -- is a faulty measuring stick for artistic merit.

Case in point: The Shmoo.

Wuzza shmoo, you ask (and thus proving my point)?

Shmoos were extremely popular in the late 1940s. Part of the wonderfully wacky world cartoonist Al Capp created for his hit Li’l Abner comic strip, shmoos represented a parable on American consumerism, modern day geese laying not mere golden eggs but birthday cakes with candles a’blazin’.

As Capp described them:

They reproduce asexually and are incredibly prolific, multiplying faster than rabbits. They require no sustenance other than air.

Shmoos are delicious to eat, and are eager to be eaten. If a human looks at one hungrily, it will happily immolate itself -- either by jumping into a frying pan, after which they taste like chicken, or into a broiling pan, after which they taste like steak. When roasted they taste like pork, and when baked they taste like catfish. Raw, they taste like oysters on the half-shell.

They also produce eggs (neatly packaged), milk (bottled, grade-A), and butter -- no churning required. Their pelts make perfect boot leather or house timbers, depending on how thick one slices them.

They have no bones, so there's absolutely no waste. Their eyes make the best suspender buttons, and their whiskers make perfect toothpicks. In short, they are simply the perfect ideal of a subsistence agricultural herd animal.

Naturally gentle, they require minimal care and are ideal playmates for young children. The frolicking of shmoos is so entertaining (such as their staged "shmoosical comedies") that people no longer feel the need to watch television or go to the movies.

Some of the more tasty varieties of shmoo are more difficult to catch, however. Usually shmoo hunters, now a sport in some parts of the country, use a paper bag, flashlight, and stick to capture their shmoos. At night the light stuns them, then they may be whacked in the head with the stick and put in the bag for frying up later on.

Of course, in the original strip continuity, the shmoos were quickly eradicated, driven to extinction by food packagers who feared bankruptcy.

It was a sharp, biting message, and one that looked critically at both insatiable consumerism and capitalism’s claims of superiority.

Capp, of course, was too savvy a marketeer himself to eliminate the shmoos entirely, and so he provided for one breeding pair to survive…and for the shmoos to make repeated appearances for the rest of Li’l Abner’s run.

Shmoo mania ran rampant with shmoo dolls, shmoo clocks, shmoo games, shmoo candy, shmoo snacks, and shmoo apparel.

The money truck basically backed up to Capp’s front door and dumped its load on his porch. Shmoos proved insanely popular and it seemed the mania would never end…

…except it did.

To mangle metaphors, you can only take so many trips to the same well before your audience starts asking “What? Beans again?”

And then, in a fickle flash, it’s over.

I’d be hard pressed today to find anyone younger than the boomer cohort who ever heard of Al Capp or Li’l Abner unless their school or community theatre presented the Broadway musical adaptation of the strip (the show remains popular with amateur theatrical troupes such as high schools and colleges because the huge cast of Dogpatch citizens guarantees everybody who tries out for the show will land some part in it).

For all their popularity and merchandise and media impact -- songs on the radio, big spreads in weekly news magazines -- the shmoos left virtually no cultural footprint.

(Full disclosure yet again: I wrote for a Scooby-doo knock-off by Hanna-Barbera called The New Shmoo and it was a piece of crap, abandoning the whole consumerism point of the original shmoos and making them -- or just “it” in our case -- a pseudo-funny dog sidekick for a squad of mystery solving kids. And it wasn’t a piece of crap because we didn’t try our best, it was a piece of crap because the shmoo was treated as ubiquitous “product” under the misconception that of course everybody younger than Joe Barbera would recognize the name and love the character so deeply that they’d simultaneously develop amnesia about what made the original character so appealing.)

Product.

That’s what one of the most brilliant, most poignant, most spot-on commentaries on rampant consumerism and ruthless capitalism ironically reduced down to. Product.

There’s a line in Jurassic Park that resonates here: ”Life will find a way.”

Let’s paraphrase that to “Art will find a way” because like life, art is an expression of the creative urge.

Right now, by and large, it’s trapped in the giant all encompassing condom of corporate consumerism, providing fun and pleasure and excitement, but not really creating anything new, to be wadded up and thrown away when the suits are done screwing us.

But every now and then there’s a tiny pinprick in the sheath, and when that happens there’s the chance of something wonderful, something meaningful, something of lasting value emerging.

It is possible for art to emerge from a corporate context, but only if the corporate intent is to produce a work of art for its own purposes. Michelangelo carved David as a work for hire, the local doge commissioning the sculpture because he wanted to impress peers and peasants by donating the biggest statue ever made by the hottest artist of the era (and even then Michelangelo needed to resort to subterfuge to keep the doge from “improving” on his work with “suggestions” [read “commands”].)

The very first Rocky movie was a work of art because the producers focused on telling a simple, singular story about a loser who could only win by going the distance, not by defeating his opponent but by refusing to be beaten by him.

It’s a great cinematic moment that rings true and it’s going to last forever…unlike sequels Rocky II - V where Rocky fights supervillains like Mr. T and a robot (hey, that was the movie playing in my head when I watched Rocky IV and it was a helluva lot more entertaining than what I actually saw onscreen).

The suits castrated Rocky, reducing him from a unique universal cultural touchstone down to…well…product.

The MCU movies are product; rather, they are two-hour+ commercials to sell product in the form of videogames, action figures, T-shirts, and Underoos.

The real art occurred almost 60 years ago when Jack Kirby and Steve Ditko knocked out page after page as fast as they could, drawing deep from the wellsprings of their own interests, experiences, and passions.

(“What about Stan?” I hear you ask. Look, we all love Stan, but truth be told his great contribution to the MCU came in his service as drum major for the Merry Marvel marching Society. God bless him for firing up the fan base’s enthusiasm for the Marvel bullpen’s work, but compare what his artists did before and after their collaboration with him to what he did before and after his editorial tenure at Marvel and it’s clear upon whose shoulders the muses rested.)

As much fun as MCU movies are (I’ve seen about 1/3 of ‘em and enjoyed most of what I saw), I also recognize in them the harm they do.

They are promoted heavily to sell product to raise the fortunes of one of the biggest corporations on the planet, a corporation that holds control over five of the largest, most popular entertainment brands on the market.

To protect their cash cows, Disney chokes potential rivals in their cribs.

Think there’s going to be another Alien or Predator movie now that Disney owns them and Star Wars? Why create rivals to a mega-successful property you already own? (I will be genuinely surprised if we see another Guardians Of The Galaxy movie in light of the faltering popularity of Star Wars in Disney’s eyes; they’re going to want to shore up their billion dollar investment rather than call it a day and let some upstart -- even an upstart they own 100% -- rob them of revenue.)

Disney’s battle plan to choke out all potential rivals leaves no room in the DEU (Disney Expanded Universe) for independent minded creators.

They want competent hired pens who can churn out the product they desire in order to bolster sales of other products derived from those.

(Even more full disclosure: I wrote for Chip ‘n’ Dale’s Rescue Rangers as well as some Aladdin and Scrooge McDuck comic book stories.)

Disney’s MCU, for all its expertly executed whiz-bang, is a bloated, soulless zombie, a giant gaudy inflated parade balloon blocking the vision of others.

There’s a scene in the movie The Founder -- a genuine cinematic work of art that comments ironically on the selling of a product -- that applies here.

Ray Kroc (Michael Keaton) relentlessly browbeats the McDonald brothers (Nick Offerman and John Carroll Lynch) into letting him replace their real milkshakes with what will come to be known as the McShake, an ersatz product that at best reminds one of what a real milkshake should taste like.

The McDonald Brothers are horrified. Not only does it not taste like a real milkshake, but it goes against the very grain of what they desire as restauranteurs: To provide quality food quickly for their customers, trading value for value.

Kroc will have none of this. To him the customers are simply one more obstacle between him and their money.

He doesn’t see them as the source of his revenue, but as impediments to same.

What benefits them, what nurtures their diets, what gives them pleasure, what trades value for value is completely unimportant to him.

They exist only to make him rich and powerful.

By the end of the film, Kroc has effectively declared war on his own partners, his own employees, his own customers. He recognizes he is not in the business his customers and employees and partners think he’s in (i.e., fast food) but rather in the real estate business, buying land that McDonald’s franchises must lease from him in order to operate.

By the end, he’s not concerned with how well his customers eat, or how well his employees are treated, or how financially secure his franchise managers feel.

By the end, all he wants is the money, and he doesn’t care how his franchises make it so long as they pass it along to him.

As a result, McDonald’s contributes heavily to America’s obesity and diabetes epidemics, advising their employees to take second jobs so they can afford to continue working for them at substandard wages.

Disney’s MCU is a super-sized Happy Meal™ that’s ruining the cultural health of its consumers.

#Marvel #Disn #Jack Kirby #Stan Lee #Steve Ditko #Star Wars #MCU #Rocky #Martin Scorsese #media #movies #superheroes

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