#i have a few poems but they are in spanish | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lewkwoodnco · 5 months

Text

tis the damn season - Lockwood x Reader

A/N: estranged best friends to lovers trope my beloved!!! 😍 AHHH this is one of my fav fics I've written in a while. Poem below is Golden Boy by Cecil Miller, and the Spanish line is taken from a streetcar named desire by tennessee (idk how 2 spell) williams! this might be less proofread than normal + includes a few of my pre-infection hallucinations? lottt of angst, wc 5.1k!!

P.S. I think I'll be doing a part 2 to buy me presents! but not until a little later ahah and also the 12 days of fics are totally going to spill over hahah

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

Lockwood stares out the kitchen window. Both inside and outside, there is a bleak stillness in the air that sinks in his bones like a plague. It's too cold and too early in the morning for anyone to be properly out and about. But the season always messed up his sleep schedule more than usual, and now that they had taken a break from their cases for the holidays, there was nothing to occupy his treacherous mind, and its return to taut requirings of Christmases past.

Slowly, the other residents of Portland Row start to stir. George grumbles about their spluttering heating system and having to plod through the snow to get the mail, and Lucy promptly falls asleep in the cup of tea she's just brewed for herself. They were all exhausted, and rightfully so, given that the holidays was prime time for people to start looking into properly clearing out ghosts to keep their homes warm and cheery.

He slips out just as George's complaints about the heater start ramping up, and his mind is so scattered that he forgets to put his coat on. It's a little more brisk than what was completely tolerable, strictly speaking, but it was only just for a minute. When he reaches the mailbox, he runs into Mr. and Mrs. L/N, old family friends who had helped him more than he deserved over the years. They made some polite conversation while he rifled through the bills and letters.

"Oh, Anthony, we wanted to invite you over to tea sometime this week. Y/N's home for the holidays."

His hand slips and an envelope slices his finger open. It was bound to happen, given his glum and careless mood, and it takes every ounce of self-restraint to suppress his cry of pain in front of them.

"Home...as in here? London?"

Ever since she had left for boarding school, there would always be some talk of her dropping by for Christmas every year. But the plans would never be fully solid, or some other pre-existing commitment would prevent her from making the trip. He was suddenly feeling oddly claustrophobic. He glanced up and down the street, as if expecting her to be hiding in some bushes.

Mrs. L/N seemed to pick up on his distraction, and her brow furrowed with concern.

"Of course London. Where's your coat, dearie? Aren't you feeling chilly?"

"...yes. Now that you mention it...perhaps it's best I head back inside."

He gave a stiff sort of wave and walked back, mind reeling. Eight years. Eight years since he last saw her. What the hell was he supposed to do if he saw her now? How was he supposed to feel?

Luckily, he doesn't get much time to panic because as soon as he walks in, he narrowly dodges a wrench being lobbed at his head. Apparently, eleven freezing days with improper heating was more than what George could bear. It's usually a rather quick fix, but maybe the comparatively more extreme frost this year had corrupted the system beyond Lockwood's capabilities, because two hours later he was still no closer to getting it fixed.

Some time later, there's a knock on the door. He yells for someone to get the door, but he's buried too deeply in the house for anyone to hear him. Grumbling, he dusts himself off and walks to the door himself, head buzzing with frustration. He's so preoccupied with what more he could possibly do to get the heating working again that he doesn't think to check the peephole first. So when he opens the door, he gets the wind knocked out of him.

"Anthony."

It was her; rosy-cheeked yet looking effortlessly warm. Her facial features had lengthened and rearranged themselves as compared to when he last saw her, but there was still something expensive to the twist of her mouth and the crinkles near her eyes.

"It's been so long."

Even her voice was rich, like honey. Now that she was standing in front of him, the stitch in his chest from the morning seemed much more familiar. It had been some seasonally grievious paste that had coated his lungs and stoppered his mouth that made him feel eerily weightless if he dwelled on it too much.

He didn't know what to do. Exchange pleasantries, or skip to the part where he slams the door in her face? Before he could decide, he hears some shuffling behind him, and almost instinctively opens the door wider.

"Y/N. These are my associates. George Karim, Lucy Carlyle...Y/N L/N."

"Right. Lockwood and Co., was it?"

The four of them glance at each other, exchanging fleeting smiles for a good half-minute, before George has the sense to usher everyone inside for a cup of tea.

The kettle's already on, and George hands out the cups of tea waring mittens, his glasses barely visible behind the scarf mummifying the lower half of his head. If she notices the cold in the house, she doesn't comment on it.

They make some polite small talk. She's pleasantly amiable and a perfectly gracious guest, and talks about her Christmas dinner plans. Lockwood is disinterested and surly and wants to talk about his fragmented sense of self. At one point, his responses start to become so clipped that he earns a poorly concealed kick from Lucy, accompanied by a stern look. Luckily, it doesn't seem as if she's noticed. She was looking at the white blanket of snow over their garden carefully, as if dismissing their presence.

"Your garden looks beautiful. I'd love to have a look around."

George and Lockwood exchanged a look. It was freezing outside, and the harsh temperatures were clearly not worth braving for the little of the flowerbeds they could see. George opened his mouth to tell her as much, in his own snide way, but he hesitated. Lockwood felt his heart sink.

The thing was, she had had a magnetic effect on most people ever since they were kids, a quality that made it difficult for any grown adult to refuse her or for any child to oppose her. It was the same reason why she was sitting in his house, drinking out of his teacups, eating his share of biscuits (George and Lucy had clearly conspired as soon as they picked up on her staying for tea). But he had been sure that if there was anyone who could pull away from this siren call of hers, it would be George. The very boy who was meaningfully looking at him, trying to express some uncommunicable panic.

"Er...Lockwood?"

And so, he ended up taking her out for a brief and awkwardly quiet stroll in their garden once she was done with her tea. They meandered through the garden path stiltedly, and every snow-dusted weed and sapling seemed to astound her. Still, she divided her attention sufficiently to continue the ocnversation.

"Homeowner and agency head at fifteen. Impressive."

"Thank you."

"I bet you're the media's darling."

He shrugs.

She turns to him, eyes generously pooling with faux concern.

"It can't have been easy."

It wasn't easy, not that she would know anything about it. He wants to be spiteful towards her, lash out at her. God knows she deserved it. But something holds him back.

"So...that was George. And Luce."

She jerked her head back in acknowledgement, but he could see the slight smile playing at her lips as she did so. He had forgotten how terribly exasperating she could be.

"What?"

She shook her head, but that only made her smile grow wider, and so she finally relented. There's a vulpine twist to her lips that Lockwood has no patience for. "Nothing. I'm sure they're lovely people, of course. But if I wanted to know who you were hanging with while I was gone, I would have asked you."

He shrugged. "I wanted to share a bit of my life now. They're just about all of it."

She hums pleasantly, stopping short in front of one of the flower beds. She bends down and picks up a freshly fallen violet, its deep indigo harsh and unrelenting against the fresh, pure snow, against the season of vacancy and death. She holds it up in front of Lockwood.

"Viola Odarata. Symbolises humility. Flores; flores para los muertos. Flores."

A part of him wants to sneer at her in painful irony. How arrogant of her to think she could waltz back into his life as she pleased.

"That what they teach you in your boarding school? Useless facts about violets?"

She shivers, even though the air is completely still with no breeze, and her lips part. Too late, he realises he's gone too far. Her smile slips a fraction, and she takes on an air that makes him feel obliged to apologise. He resists it, and for a moment he sees something flash in her eyes, but it's gone before he can place it.

"Forgive me, but you don't seem terribly happy."

"The Problem's raging worse than ever. Happy things don't come by easy these days."

"...I suppose. It wouldn't -" For the first time, Lockwood thinks she might be feeling nervous. Her humanity, manufactured or otherwise, draws him in despite himself. "It wouldn't have anything to do with me...would it?"

He takes in her carefully manicured appearance, her intentionally pieced together life made up of the dreams she worked towards and achieved. And all he had was a house that was more of a burden than a blessing on some days and this inchoate dread over a Problem whose end was nowhere in sight. But he doesn't know how to express this resentment, this jealousy.

"I'm alright if you're alright."

Sad, dispirited eyes look into each other, searching for the fulfilment they're sure the other has found. She speaks in a tight voice.

"It's okay with the both of us, then."

She suddenly reaches out, and gently holds his finger with the papercut with a firm but comforting pressure. His first instinct is to pull his hand back, but he doesn't, and as the long seconds pass, he feels increasingly vulnerable. The cut was no longer bleeding, and was even well on its way to healing over just fine, but it was irritated from where he had relentlessly picked at it.

"Looks fresh."

She traces the cut with her other hand, violet folded in her palm, with a feather-light touch. The surreality of the moment - of her standing inches from her, her breath tickling his fingertips, her warmth spreading through him - catches up to him and makes his breath hitch. It was unbearably intimate and made him feel like the exposed, raw wound he had been nursing for the eight years she had been gone. And how like her to return with pockets full of unfounded promise to stitch the tears in his skin.

And just as quickly, she lets go of his hand and steps back, and Lockwood feels as though cold air has been forced into his airways. She tucks the violet behind her ear, and drifts back inside. The tilt of her joints is so familiar that it stirs something in him. Something long gone, something he was gripping like a fist.

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

When they return, Lockwood excuses himself to his room for a bit of air, ignoring how closely George is watching him. He sits on his bed and takes a deep breath. His nightstand has a few miniature picture frames on it, and in one of them the picture's been flipped around. It's a picture of him and her, taken a few months before she left. It's how he remembered her before seeing her today. Sometimes, when the urge grew too great, he would tilt the frame under his nightlight, and make out the barest outline of their figures looped together on the other side of photograph.

He didn't know what to make of her departure, all those years ago. One day, they were swinging on tyres in her parents' garden, and the next day, she wasn't at school. But as the years churned on, the string tying his heart to hers stretched and tore a slow and painful death from him, out of the cavity she left, and he never felt quite the same again. And as they continued to age, the wound became old news and scabbed over what was once raw and paralysing, but a part of him always wanted to know why she did it, to be angry with her for being so callous.

And now she was back, pulling him under by the ankles, ripping the gash open viciously.

He didn't know how exactly to deal with it, after years of thinking of her adjacently, daring only to keep her in his peripheral vision, where he was kept safe. Maybe it was all part of a larger problem; the twitch in his hand and his recurring nightmare.

He's ten years old again, at a train station he's never been to, and likely one that doesn't exist. It's hard to see just about any discerning features, except for the massive train peeking through the fog in front of him. He looks to the right, and sees her strong fingers wrapped around a railing, her standing in the door of the train. He can't be sure of much, but he's certain she's looking at him. He stretches the moment as long as it will last, because it's all downhill from there.

There's a terrible groaning sound, and the train reluctantly starts to chug along, steadily gathering speed. He walks alongside it, gradually picking up his own pace, until he's nearly sprinting. All the while, she watches him with amused eyes, secure in her place on the train. He's panting, choking on the fog, eyes streaming. But if he can just reach her scarf whipping in the wind, the train will stop, and she'll step out, cool and gleaming and impervious to the cloud of dust surrounding her and-

He wakes with a start. He knows how it ends.

She slips through his fingers every time.

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

She stays for the rest of the day, and the four of them spend a cosy afternoon decorating their Christmas tree, carefully dodging the random mugs of hot chocolate littered across the room. While they were digging out the ornaments from the attic, she finds a box that he, evidently, had not tucked away deep enough.

"Remember these?" She holds up a flimsy, crumbling Santa Claus ornament made of construction paper. "We had so much fun making them."

He nods stiffly, subtly shifting the box towards a corner in the living room. It smarts his eyes to look at the hideous thing, as if its very sight was corrosive.

"Took me a while to find them, though. It must be a pain to dig them out every year."

He puts down the bauble he's hanging, and sighs. "I haven't...brought these out in a while."

Even her look of perplexity looks artificial. "Why not? Aren't there so many happy memories attached to these?" Her face falls ever so slightly. "Do memories of me not make you happy?"

Luckily, they're interrupted by Lucy placing a handful of miniature marshmallows into their hot chocolate. When she moves over to George, Lockwood wordlessly starts hanging their crafted ornaments, and she doesn't press him for an answer. When they're done, the tree looks a lot more crowded and chaotic than it normally does, similar to how Lockwood was feeling with her around. He looks at her, and isn't sure how he feels about the asymmetry of having her here.

Later, when she's about to leave, it starts snowing heavily, too heavily for her to walk home. So after a phone call with her parents, she decides to spend the night. Lockwood's in his bedroom when he hears a knock on his door. It's her, dressed in a spare set of Lucy's pajamas.

"I thought you'd be awake."

She wanted to know what he was doing, and what he was doing was wrapping some Christmas presents. Immediately, she obligingly offered to help, and she was too eager for him to outright refuse. Of course, he might have thought differently if he had known how abysmally little she knew about wrapping gifts. And so they stay up till the early hours of the morning, both of them trying equally hard to teach her the most basic of gift wrapping skills. As the night wore on, they got increasingly drunk on laughter over her heinously criminal attempts and Lockwood's limbs started to loosen up. At one point, he had given up entirely and placed his hands over hers, puppeteering the night's only decent gift wrapping while she smothered her laughter.

He doesn't remember much after that. When he next regains his consciousness, he's lying curled up next to her, with the late morning sun streaming through his windows. He watches her breathe, slow and steady, with a face so relaxed, amiable and familiar.

As her eyes start to flutter open, he panics and tries to look anywhere else, which isn't easy given how she's only inches away from him. They glance at each other, silently acknowledging their positions, and the silence hangs heavy in the air. He clears his throat awkwardly, trying to put as much space between them as he can with his arm wrapped under her. "When do you leave?"

She scrunches her forehead as she thinks. It's one of the few parts of her he instantly recognises and he gets caught off guard by a rush of affection, and a flash of an impulse to smooth out the wrinkles.

"Monday."

He pulls a face.

"We'd have the weekend together. Isn't that enough?"

They stay quiet, watching specks of dust float through the sunlight filtering through his partially drawn curtains. With how close they are to each other, they're not looking at each other's face, and it's unclear if she's asking him, or herself, or the dust they're watching. Was it enough?

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

Later that evening, Lucy wants to take a walk along some of the emptier roads in the snow. She takes their trip as her cue to leave but Lucy insists she come along, so she does. The four of them had cycled as far as they could, and when they reached the too-slippery parts of the road, they had dismounted and left their bicycles in a corner. Lucy and George were wandering around a bit ahead of them, while they slowly shuffled through the snow. She had picked up some newspapers on their way there, and was looking through them as they walked, taking particular interest in the odd article on Lockwood & Co.

"You've certainly had your fair share of media coverage."

"Along with a decent helping of frenzied media sensationalism, I suppose."

"My apologies. I forgot I was talking to the Anthony J. Lockwood of Lockwood & Co. Now, is the arson bit complimentary, or would I have to pay extra?"

She was teasing him, and it was irritating. There was a reticent air about him and after some politely delicate probing, which he had been too preoccupied to entertain, she had resorted to amusing herself. Toying with him like a figurine, the way she did all those years ago.

"You wear your grief so beautifully, Lockwood. Like...like jewels between your teeth..."

She pauses, flipping through the newspapers interestedly with inky fingertips, which flickered like shadows next to the soft white snow.

"...and you have such a winning smile. Golden boy." She laughs, and the sound feels like icicles pressing into his skull. "Golden boy," she trills, "you were a bit of a child. The world was having its way with you. You tried to...er, something...golden boy!"

She smiles at him lazily, expectantly, as if anticipating some kind of applause. But Lockwood is in no mood for her childish whimsies.

"I'm fine. I don't have any grief."

She frowns exaggeratedly. "'Course you do."

"I don't."

She mumbles, turning back to her newspaper. "Fine, then. Not like I'm the one holding onto...some kind of...ache."

He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. How could anyone be this self-aware and yet completely oblivious? The strain on his self-restraint peaks and he buckles within himself.

"Why are you here, Y/N?"

She looks away from the snow. "Lucy said it'd be nice out here."

"No. I mean why are you here, in London? Here, at Portland Row?"

Her lips are pressed together, and there's something guarded in her eyes.

"I just...wanted to see how you were doing."

"Liar."

The word drops from his tongue in such an aggrieved manner with such vehemence that it makes her choke.

"How could you say something like that?"

He scoffs. "Please, let's not pretend you weren't dying to leave at the first chance. Not that you had the decency to tell me-"

"-I was ten!-"

"- having me go through the humiliating process of finding out on my own-"

"What do you want me to say, Lockwood? I'm sorry I left? I'm sorry you were alone? I'm sorry I was too selfish to give a damn about you?"

"-and you'll come back, choking on your silver spoon only to leave again and again and again until you're all alone-"

"You never wrote!"

"I didn't think you'd want me to!"

"I didn't know what I wanted!"

"Then what do you want?"

"YOU, you idiot!"

He stares at her, speechless.

"I was ten. And I was so foolish. How could I have thought of anything but you?"

With that, the last of her rosy, polished, alluring boarding-school airs fell apart. He looks at her and sees his own anger and yearning reflected back at him; anger and yearning he's hardly ready to face. Despite all their efforts to get away from the other, to move on, something between them held fast. Or perhaps it was that they were hopelessly, irrevocably intertwined.

"Of all the roads I could have travelled, you are at the end of every single one of them. Every single one of them, except the road I did travel. I'm here, Lockwood, because I thought I might have...I might have chosen wrong."

"So you think you can just stroll back now that it's convenient for you? I didn't know if I'd ever see you again, do you realise that?"

"What do you want me to do, Lockwood? You keep pushing me away. I feel like part of a past you're forever trying to run away from. So fine! I'll leave, then. I'll go back to the sorry hole I crawled out of, back to friends I don't care about, back to dreaming of the only person who's ever truly cared about me. Is that what you want?"

She doesn't wait for a response, and turns around and walks away from him.

"Y/N, come back."

She silently picks her bicycle out of the snow, dusting it off.

"You can't cycle in this."

Still ignoring his words ringing through the dead winter silence, she steadies herself and cautiously swings a leg over her bicycle. Lockwood starts to walk towards her.

"You'll fall. You'll hurt yourself. Y/N. Y/N!"

But she's already off, gliding soundlessly like a ghost through frigid air on icy roads.

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

He's already regretting his words by the time he reaches 35 Portland Row. When he first walks in, the house is so deathly quiet that he's convinced she's left. But her bicycle is thrown down in the garden and he knows she's too averse to the cold to walk home in the snow.

He walks slowly, his measure footsteps echoing on the wooden floors of the house, and he eventually finds her in the living room, sitting with her back to the door, staring at the drawn curtains. The fading evening glow spilling through the edges is streaked across her face and there's a soft crunching sound. As he comes closer, he sees the bowl of ice glinting in her lap, like fractured light, with her face as blank as a canvas.

"Have you gone completely mad? You'll fall sick."

She doesn't even flinch, as if she hadn't heard him. When she speaks, there's a dreamy quality to her typically strong and clear voice.

"I didn't want to come back. This city is nothing I want. I was always going to escape some day. And yet..." she trails off with glazed eyes, as if trying to look through some distant fog. "...and yet."

"You were right." The run back had left him mildly breathless, but was also exactly what he needed to get rid of the buzz in his head, giving way to some much-needed clarity. "About the...heartache. I was just sick of it. You're miles away. I love you in your sleep. I still reach the end of road alone. But I loved you all the while and...somehow that made the pain of leaving you worth it."

"I'm restless. I'm lost. I'm selfish." She swivels her head with an unnerving smoothness, grin wide and grotesque, ice glinting between her perfect teeth. "I'm so alone, Lockwood. Just like you said."

He doesn't know what to say. He walks towards her and picks up her bowl but her fingers close around his wrist like a vice. The gleam in her eye makes him want to pull his hand back. He's too old to play her games and lose.

"That's a bad habit."

"I'm a bad habit. One you can't seem to kick even after all these years: tell me, Anthony, why is that?"

"Y/N, stop. You'll spoil your teeth."

It only makes her grind her teeth even more tauntingly. It's an awful sound. "Good. Let them fall out, one by one. It's what I deserve. Maybe I'll finally learn my lesson."

Her grip on his sleeve lessens, but she doesn't let go. She grips the bowl with her other hand even tighter, as if suddenly terrified.

"Leave me be, Anthony. Leave me...to my vices...and violets and...violence."

He reads her face. He tries to figure her out, to read her like the open book she once was to him. When he doesn't leave, she shovels more ice into her mouth, uncomfortably clacking with her teeth, and continues.

"I was racing ahead...into some glorious sunset, towards some fantastic rainbow, at the end of which was some miraculous snowdrop and a wish to soothe my nomadic soul. I didn't have time for the boy with the sad eyes two streets down from me."

"I convinced myself that you resented my escape from the Problem. I was 15 with the bitter taste of lemongrass in my mouth and a stitch in my chest when I realised I spent all those years missing you. I couldn't run away from it, not truly. So I pretend. I pretend you don't hate me and I pretend I'm not an awful person and I pretend there's a chance you'd want me as much as I want you. I came home to tell you how terribly fond I was of you. It was only at your doorstep that I realised I had run out of places to hide."

"I don't have time for love. Nor the capacity for it. But I am tired of trying to outrun it."

She closed her eyes. Her voice was barely a croak. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was leaving. If I could...I'd wish away the past eight years of misery." She opened her eyes. "Some nights, I can pretend they never existed. But I can't wish your happiness into existence."

Lockwood somehow finds his voice. "I thought this was the life you wanted."

"It is Christmas, once again, and my heart is lonely as an island...once again. What part of this could I possibly want?"

He lets go of the bowl of ice and covers her limp, frozen hand with his own. She speaks in a low voice, barely stirring the dust in the room.

"I'll never forgive myself."

He sits down next to her, his feather-light lips pressed to her temple. She feels drained, and exhausted, as if the spirit that had driven her for so long was finally fatigued. Her breathing was uneven and her lungs felt lopsided. But what a blessing it was to finally fall in the one place she knew her landing would be soft.

"One day. One day, I'll..."

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

He pulls out a fresh violet from his coat, still damp from the morning dew.

"Call it even?"

She accepts the flower and gives him a sweet smile. He revels in this smallest of victories.

Their peaceful moment gets shattered by the deafening train horn, which unpleasantly reminds Lockwood of where they are.

She hesitates for a moment, but then extends her arm and holds his face. There's a troubled look on her face, like there's something indescribable she wished to communicate just at the tip of her tongue. But the compulsion passes, and she settles for a trembling brush of his cheekbone with her thumb.

"You're such a darling, Anthony. I don't care what any newspaper or lawsuit has to say about you. You'll always be a darling to me."

"Good, because soon enough you might just be the only one."

She grins, widely at first, but then it chips, and for once he can admit that the sight breaks his heart. She gives him a hug, and he holds her like she's one of the precious metals that adorn her jewellery.

"You'll come back, won't you?"

"Perhaps. See you another weekend."

When they break apart, she swiftly picks up her suitcase with white knuckles and marches to the carriage without looking back. The train horn blares for a final time. The doors shut, and the wheels groan to life. He searches for her face, and finds it, but the reflection of the train station lights hides her eyes. It's at this moment that a disconnected part of him realises he doesn't want to wait for another weekend. He wants her here, and he wants her now.

The train picks up speed, and Lockwood tries to match it. But he's not trying to run. He knows that won't work, it never does.

"Y/N!"

That gets the attention of most passengers, including her. This train accelerates much faster than in his dream, and he's got an awful stitch running down the side of his torso by now, but he's beyond caring at this point. When she sees that it's him yelling like a maniac, she presses her flushed face to the window, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Would you stay?"

TAGLIST: @dangelnleif @elenianag080 @avdiobliss @mitskiswift99 @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits @ahead-fullofdreams

#taylor swift #lockwood x y/n #anthony lockwood x you #anthony lockwood x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #lockwood & co #anthony lockwood imagine #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #tis the damn season #evermore #12 days of fics '23

94 notes · View notes

qrosewinter · 3 months

Text

Toxic

Prev - Next

Description :Part 1 - Part 2- part 3..To be continued.

Summery: Where a girl from New Zealand goes to brooklyn to live with her Auntie and Uncle, mets a brooklyn boy with secrets and a voice like honey with pretty hazel green eyes.

Where a brooklyn boy mets a girl from New Zealand with an accent he's never heard before, who he can't seem to forget.

The start of the most unlikely relationship between two people starts to bloom, between a brooklyn boy who's just a little misunderstood.

And a Polynesian girl struggling to find who she is in the concrete jungle of NYC so far from home.

Will this relationship bloom or stay untouched? Maybe we should let fate take the lead for this one.

Fic summary: slow burn, obvious to flirting, a little bit of angst, romance, revenge, anger.

WARNINGS ⚠️: Horrible attempts at slang, Horrible attempts at Spanish, Swearing, Weapons, Gore, Drugs, Alcohol, Mature themes, Spelling mistakes.

Be warned terrible attempt at slang for miles and Spanish, but we do be trying 🥲, this is literally my first time at trying out writing a fic and trying to finsh it too, so feed back would be nice and any ideas you may have ill take into consideration too!

Also I will be leaving little hints on what the chapters are about using small poems or quotes, so be sure to read those. It'll be a little insider on what (Y/N)'s past maybe even about Miles too, and even a little hint on what the chapter could potentially bring in the future 👀

chapter 1: Bumpin' into a stanger.

"Two souls don't find each other by simple accident" -Unknown

"Ion want to hurt you ma" he said to me his forearm against the wall next to my head as he caged me between him and the wall.

But I couldn't make out his face, it was to dark on this street, the nearest street light was to far away to give me even a slightest glimpse his face hidden in the shadows.

The only thing I could make out where his lips. They looked so soft and plump.

"Who said I'd let you?" I couldn't help but fire back as my heart pounded in my chest, and I was sure if he leaned in any closer he'd hear it.

He chuckled softly, the sound like liqud honey, but also slightly deep and so undeniably fucking attractive "you ain't got no idea who I am, do you mamas?"

"What?" I said confused, my head tilted back to look up at him even though I couldn't see his face. my hands felt sweaty and clamy as I rubbed them against my upper thighs against my jeans to wipe it away.

He kissed his teeth as he huffed a little amused "Fuck, Chica" he said smoothly his voice touched by an accent.

Spanish, I think? I wasn't sure, couldn't bring myself to pay attention, now with how he moved just a little closer, now pressed up against me.

And jesus, did that voice have my knees weak and threatening to give out under me.

"qué me estás haciendo" he mumbled leaning in closer to me and my pluse quickened my breath hitching as his lips got closer to mine.

I held my breath as his lips brushed against-

"Y/N GET THE FUCK UP YOUR GONNA BE LATE" a voice yelled, snapping me out of my dream.

My eyes shot open in fright, I shot up in bed but well ended up tangled in my sheets and tumbled out of the bed "Fuck!" I cursed as I hit the ground and I groaned.

"Well what are you waiting for young lady, get up. ka tohe koe i tenei reiti." Came my Auntie Lily's voice from the kitchen as she grumbled to herself.

My Auntie Lily's like me, she's from new Zealand too, but ended up moving to brooklyn after she met my uncle and fell in love with him.

My auntie lily has beautiful long black wavey hair hair that stops mid back, light brown skin, and dark brown eyes. And still even in her mid-thirtys she's still very beautiful.

I heard the sound of shuffling feet filled the apartment of everyone wide awake and getting ready for the Day.

I groaned from where I lay on the floor in a tangle of blankets my cheek squished against the carpet, I lay there for a few minutes before I pushed myself up and untangled myself from the blankets.

"Fuckin' mornings" I grumbled under my breath as I sluggishly made my way to the bathroom I was thankful I had in the bedroom my Auntie let my have.

The room was still plain and empty of decorations seeing as I only just got to America two days ago, and well its only been two days since I've been in new york, so I was still getting used to things here.

I made it into my bathroom and sighed running a hand through my messy hair and looked up in the bathroom mirror and grimaced a little, because well I'd seen better days for sure.

I had dark bags under my eyes, my skin looked a little oily and kinda dry in some places as I rubbed my finger tips over my skin to get a better feel, seeing as I didn't get to do my skincare before I left to get on a plane here to New York, and well fuck the 16 hour flight I had to take here and the stuffy plane filled with assholes.

And well having to get used to an 18 hour time difference was hard too, but slowly and surely I was getting used to it but not as fast as I needed too seeing as I had only been here for about two weeks.

I thought rolling my eyes to myself, then I glanced at my piercings I had and hummed in thought, thinking of the last time I cleaned them.

I had a septum piercing nothing fancy just a sliver one, then snake bites on both sides of my bottom lip and yet again nothing fancy just plain old silver seeing as I could never get the right lip rings for them, either to big, to small or just not comfortable, course I had a tongue piercing but that was just an impulse decision to get it, a plain old sliver bar with red and white stripped balls on each end.

And finally I had both my first and second lobes pierced, for my first lobe it was just a plain old sliver hoop with safety-pins hanging from them, because I remembered reading somewhere that they meant something like being a trusting person always here to listen and help so I thought why not and added them, then for the second lobe was a sliver stud shaped like a small Angel wing with a little white crystal in the center, a gift from auntie Lily for my 18th last year.

And I grimaced as I ran a hand through my hair, it felt greasy and sweaty seeing as I didn't get to wash it for the past few days being tired and trying to adjust to being in such a new place, and well it didn't look any better either and was in some need of some good TLC.

With a slow deep sigh I turned on the shower to warm leaving it to warm up as I walled into my room over to my drawers to get some clothes and underwear.

I pulled out a fair of black cargos, and a black halter crop top I had cause it was right there and I didn't want to go digging for any other shirt feeling to lazily to look for something different.

I pulled out a pair of black ankle socks and threw them on my bed to put on after my shower, then a plain pair of black panties and a bra to match nothing fancy, along with throwing a black oversized varsity jacket I had with red accents on it, onto my bed too.

Before I moved off to the bathroom with my clothes to wash up, and get my day started even though I wanted to crawl into bed and die.

(About 30 minutes later)

I walked out of my bathroom feeling fresh and brand knew after washing up, doing my skincare, and putting some products in my hair and clipping it back in a messyish bun to keep my damp hair out of my face, but still I had a few stray hairs framing my face and curling gently against my cheek.

I slipped my socks on then my old warn black Nikes with white accents, i so happened to buy myself back home after going on a day out with my sisters, I'm our small town, cause why not and I needed some new shoes and by looking at these ones I'd need to get some new shoes later on too.

I quickly swiped on some of my vanilla oil perfume putting some just below my ears, then my collarbones and then finally my wrists before setting it down, slipping on my jacket then my cross body bay I got on sale it was a small black Nike cross body bag with about four different pockets.

the one right on the front of the bag had about three different lip balms in it, the one right on the back and some cash and my credit card in it, and on the inside it had my portable charger and a small charger cord in it for both my phone and well my earbuds, the other little pocket didn't really have much in it on the inside just my apartment keys and some lose change I had.

I didn't forget to slip my phone into my back pocket while putting my JBL earbuds in my bag too after taking the earbuds out of the case.

Bought them myself when they were on sale, cause I had a Job back home, made decent money too, got paid 25 an hour just to clean some rooms on the weekend or even ever school was out, I always put half of what I had away in my savings and the rest I kept for myself to spend on what I wanted or needed.

And as I walked out of my room I swiped on some coconut lip bam cause my lips felt dry, as I started to walk for the door, after shoving it back into the front pocket of my bag.

"I'm off! Bye Auntie!" I called out to my Auntie as I slipped out the door.

"Bye have a good day!" I heard her call out after me as I slipped out the door, putting my ear buds in my ears, and tapping the side of the right one once to press play as the song 'Baby by me by 50 cent and Ne-yo' filled my ears as I walked down the apartment hallway.

down the stairs and then finally the apartment building and down the street to get my schedule from the new school I was starting in a few days, but first I was having a little meeting with the principal so he could show me around first.

~Have a baby, have a baby by me, baby, be a millionaire, have a baby by me, baby be a millionaire, have a baby by me, baby, be a millionaire, be a millionaire, be a, be a millionaire~

I hummed along under my breath as I walked down the street hands in my jacket pockets as I walked, bobbing my head a little to the beat of the music as it played in my ears blocking out the sounds of the city around me.

Taking in the sights around me cause I haven't actually stopped to take the time too really look at everything, all I really knew what this was Brooklyn, a little run down but still in its own way beautiful, graffiti here and there on the sides of buildings, a few old looking stores, people going about there day, and well a few shady people lurking around alleyways, but I knew better then to look at them so I didn't.

But the people here had spirit for sure, I could here the mix of New York/ Brooklyn slang, home cooked meals being made, the sounds of people taking even over the sound of music in my ears, the mix of American and Latin culture being thrown around with Spanish too, a language I didn't quite understand but was still beautiful nonetheless, the beautiful blends of skin tones ranging from dark mahogany skin to light skinned brown with a few pale skin tones and tanned.

~Have a baby by me, baby, be a millionaire, have a baby by me, baby, be a millionaire, have a baby by me, baby, be a millionaire, be a millionaire, be a, be a millionaire~

I stopped at a crossing as I pulled a hand from my pocket to press the button on the pole to the traffic lights before stuffing it back in my pocket, waiting for the red light to turn green.

~I don't play no games (I don't play no games, so when I'm in that thang (when I'm in that thang), come see what I mean (see what I mean), see what I mean, ow (See what I mean)~

Once the light turned green I walked across the crossing with a few others, dodging out of the way of people almost brushing against me cause they weren't looking where they were going and I did not want them touching me.

Personal preference really, I wasn't overly fond of being touched. Never been an overly touchy person either, hug's definitely weren't my thing unless I was close enough to you to be comfortable hugging you. Then again it took me nearly four to five years being comfortable to hug my own friends back home. But like I said it was personal preference.

I kept walking feeling glad I had gone with my Auntie when she had first signed me up for my new school, and that new school was brooklyns Visions Academy I was lucky enough to get into. I know you've got to be well really smart to get in and I wasn't exactly the smartest, but they started up an art program I managed to get a scholarship for to be able to join the school I think so far I was one part of the first ten students to get the art program school.

But most of all I was glad I went with her on that car ride to the school because I was so anxious and paranoid I was gonna forget the way to school, that I had before hand set up the directions on my phone incase I did forget the way there, or maybe I was just overthinking making myself anxious and paranoid.

And I had tried my hardest to memorise the way there and back home too....yeah I'm definitely just overthinking again, a very bad habit of mine I couldn't shake off.

~Said lil' mama put me on (baby put me on), bet I'll have you gone (bet I'll have you gone), come see what I mean ( see what I mean), see what I mean (see what I mean), come see what I mean, come on~

I walked down two more streets before turning a corner and spotting the school up a head with students lingering outside or making there way into the school as I walked up to it.

I took a deep breath in and tried to shake off my social anxiety as I got nearer to the stairs leading up to the school.

"That's a lot of people outside" I muttered to myself, but I cleared my throat and tried to ignore the lingering feeling of anxiety prickly at my skin.

I made it up to the stairs of the school and walking up them and passed people as I walked through the school doors ignoring there stares, and if there where whispers I was glad I couldn't hear them over the music in my ears blocking out all noise, forcing myself to focus on the music then the stares burning themselves into my back as I clenched my fists in the pockets of my jacket.

~first it's her neck, yeah then her back, yeah I'm a freak, I get into all that, girl I perform for ya, like a porno star, 'til you had enough, then I just need a little bit more~

I was lost in thought and the music playing its up beat tune in my ears a much needed distraction from my anxiety as I hummed along lowly under my breath as I looked down at my feet as I shuffled down the schools hallway to the principals office, having memorised the way there the first time I was here.

Weaving through people and trying my damn hardest not to bump into anyone, or get in anyone's way as I slid past a group of people just standing in the hallway talking to each other, a group of girls not really caring they where in the way of others getting to there lockers and trying there hardest to balance books in there arms as they headed to class a little early .

And seeing as I wasn't looking up or paying much attention being to busy daydreaming as I weaved through and around people, I manged to walk into someone, bumping into a hard chest.

'Good job (Y\L), did the one thing you were literally trying not to do'

And I winched in embrassment as I pulled away tugging an earbud from my ear and shoving it in my pocket "Shit I'm so sorry" I apologised to the person infront of me I had just walked into.

~I don't play no games (I don't play no games), so when I'm in that thang (when I'm in that thang), come see what I mean (see what I mean), see what I mean, ow (See what I mean)~

~Said lil' mama put me on (baby put me on), bet I'll have you gone (bet I'll have you gone), come see what I mean ( see what I mean), see what I mean (see what I mean), come see what I mean, come see what i mean~

I glanced up to see who I bumped into, another apology on my tongue, but it died when I got a look at the guy infront of me, but that felt wrong to call him a guy or even a boy, cause he looked like a man and held himself like one too, like someone who had to grow up just a little to fast making him so much more mature for his age then others.

He had dark skin but not to dark skin it was like the perfect mix between milk chocolate and dark chocolate somewhere just in between, he had barely noticeable freckles I could only just see being so close to him dotting his nose bridge and cheeks, his features where soft yet sharp in some places making him look more mature then he should for his age but he still had that soft boyish look under the stoic expression on his face, his lips looked soft and plump if not just a tiny bit chapped.

His hair which looked like he had 4B textured hair in dense coils was braided back, in two braids down the back of his head and only just brushing past his shoulders, a hairstyle that suited him but I could tell by the way his hair was just slightly frizzy and looking like his hair may have grown out just a bit, he was in need of a touch up.

he was taller then me thats for sure, I was 5ft6 and he looked around 6ft something and towered over me so I really had to tilt my head back to look at him, sure I wasn't exactly tall, but it was clear he got his tall genes from maybe his father? Or even his mother, but I wouldn't know, this was literally the first time I'd ever met him.

But what really got my attention was his eyes, they were a Hazel colour with hints of green in them but one eye his left had more green in it then the other did, but it was very subtle unless you where up close to him. His eyes reminded me of a forest the brown of the tree trunks with the green of the leaves or even moss, reminding me a little bit of home.

And for a moment I felt just a little ping of something I couldn't identify, maybe homesickness? Or maybe just missing the vast green of the forests, mountains and trees I was used to seeing. Compared to the concrete jungle that was NYC so vastly different.

He had on the Visions Academy uniform, his tie was hanging loosely from his neck like he just loosened it or just didn't bother to really out it on properly, the sleeves of his white button up rolled up to his elbows his school jacket nowhere in sight probably in his bag or even in his dorm, the dark navy blue trousers that went with the uniform fitting him quite well too.

Expect his shoes were Nike airs purple and white with black accents, that well made him stand out a little. But even then his school uniform didn't hide the fact he was lean, not just hard muscle, not lean enough to show he was always busy physically in the way of going to the gym or even maybe another kind of activity just as physical for him to keep his figure just right, not to much muscle, but not quite just skinny being just bones and all, it was a perfect balance in between the both of them.

"It's aight ma, don't sweat it" he said, his voice was deep but not to deep, and the way his words rolled off his tongue like honey and a hint of an accent I couldn't really place at the moment with music still playing in my ear, and the noise of students walking around us.

He had a hand on my waist having set it there when I had bumped into him, a reflex probably to make sure either he didn't fall over or to make sure I didn't ass over either.

His hand on the bare skin of my waist peeking out just under my crop top, his hands felt rough calloused just enough so it was clear he did hands on physical work but not to rough to the point it felt like the skin on his palms were gonna scratch my skin, it was a strangely pleasant feeling feeling the rough skin on my own.

And for a moment that threw me off, I hadn't ever liked someone's touch before, not even my own mothers. So for the fact I didn't mind his touch, that this feeling wasn't like the usual feeling I got when someone touched me. That it didn't feel like my skin was crawling and making me physically uncomfortable....was strange, so very, very strange to me.

I blinked a little in surprise, 'Ma? Well that's a new one' I thought to myself before I shook it off and cleared my throat stepping back away from him shoving my hands back in my pockets.

"Sorry again, I should have paid more attention" I said to the mystery man in front of me with a small awkwardly apologetic smile.

'Jesus I feel fucking awkward as hell right now, get a grip (Y/N) stop being a little bitch'

"Mm, ain't nothin' ma, just look where you goin' next time" He sounding almost a little amused, but if he was I couldn't tell over the rising anxiousness and awkwardness as he looked down at me as he seemingly shurgged off the situation, his hand fell from my waist dropping back to his side.

"Uh yeah, I'll remember that" I said a little awkwardly cause well I wasn't a people person and clearly didn't get out much to be standing here trying to have a normal conversation.

"Well I better get going, have a good day, and sorry again for bumping into you" I said to him automatically falling into a more polite tone, one that had been drilled into me for years back home by my parents, family and everyone I basically knew.To always been polite unless given a reason not to be polite to them, just like I was told to be respectful, until they didn't have the right to earn such respect for me if they couldn't give it back in return.

AI stepped away with a small smile and a nod to the man I bumped into as I started to walk away.

"See you 'round ma" he called out to me as he watched me leave, as I continued to walk down the hallway to the principals office, taking my earbuds from my pocket and shoving it back in my ear as I walked just a little faster away from him, feeling so goddamned embarrassed and awkward.

(Miles's POV)

Miles watched as the girl who had bumped onto him apologised one last time so politely making him almost, almost crack a genuine smile for the first time in along while, even told him to have a good day before she left and he couldn't help but be amused by that.

And a small smirk tugged at his lips as he watched her walk away, his eyes trailing over her from her hair clearly damp from a shower clipped back messily to the clothes she wore.

Black varsity jacket with red accents on the collar and chuffs of the sleeves, black cargos that hugged her lower body just right, he paused for a moment to look at her ass, as she walked, and yeah those cargo's definitely hugged her just right.

She had an accent too, one he didn't recognise, but it sounded like a mix of two completely different accents that seemed to blend so easily together when she spoke, her voice wasn't like the other girls voices in this school.

Coming out a tad soft and like honey when words fell from her pierced lips and slightly high pitched from embarrassment and being a tad awkward.

But what he noticed the most was how when she spoke her two uniquely blended accents just come out more pronounced with certain words as she spoke, sometimes sounding more like the other the blended together.

But it was clear she wasn't from Brooklyn not with that accent and the way she acted either, but the biggest give away was how jetlagged she still looked, along with her features that looked unique, unique in the way that showed where ever she was from she was a perfect blend of two cultures, and that was enough for him to know she was new to his city.

She was also not bad looking either, she had pretty (E/C) eyes, a pretty little body too softly curved in the right places. He remembered too how soft her skin felt against his rough palm, the tingling feeling it left behind on his palm from were his hand had been on her waist.and unconsciously he clenched and unclenched the hand that had touched her soft skin.

But he also remembered the smell of her perfume once he got a whif of it when she had been just inches from him, it smelt like vanilla and something softer, something sweet kinda like marshmallows. it wasnt strong like most perfumes that stung his nose and over powering his nose with the harsh smell of someone drowning themselves in there perfume. it was soft and subtle, Not over powering the soft scent of coconut sticking to her skin mixing in so well with the vanilla.

Miles turned around and walked off to his Spanish class his backpack slung lazily over his shoulder "Interesting" he muttered to himself under his breath as he kept walking, a barely visible smirk on his lips as he walked shoving his hands in his pockets, as he lazily strolled to class.

END OF CHAPTER ONE

Next chapter

Hope you enjoyed that let me know of there's any spelling mistakes 🙃

Translations: qué me estás haciendo = What are you doing to me?

ka tohe koe i tenei reiti = Your gonna be late at this rate

#earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles x you #miles morales x reader #42 miles morales #miles g morales x reader #earth 42 miles fluff #prowler miles #Spotify

61 notes · View notes

miguelswifey04 · 10 months

Text

miles morales x black! fem reader hcs

how you both met was miles had tried to rizz you up with his spanish—it didn’t really work but he did make you laugh and that kind of piqued your interest in him. you liked the way he was funny without trying or trying his very best to flirt with you but they were too silly.

you understand spanish really well because your mom is mexican and your dad is black!! something you and miles have in common and probably bond over that :>

you poke fun of miles’ broke spanish but nonetheless you teach him spanish and correct him whenever he slips up and he would always thank you for that—he’d probably be like “gracias, corazón” and wiggle his eyebrows at you 😭

the first time he brought you to his place oh my god did his mom and dad LOVED youuuu they were so proud of him for bringing you over!! they’d definitely make him flustered and embarrassed which you found it very endearing that his parents were super caring & supportive <3

now when you brought him over to your place, you mom and dad would not stop talking to miles and going over the top LMAO they really liked him and were proud of you for bringing a good guy as miles to the family :)

miles loves to share his projects, little sketches—giving you sneak peeks every now and then and asks if you like it or if he should switch it up…he really wants your feedback & whatever you say he will do it :3

he definitely draws you and writes short poems about you and i would like to think he’d be good at songwriting so he’d probably write a few songs about you and your beauty. you both share your love over music and he makes tons of playlist for you on spotify.

DEFINITELY AND 100% KNOWS HOW TO BRAID AND WASH YOUR HAIR 💆🏽‍♀️ you’re in for a treat when he massage your scalp with coconut oil 🤍

both of your families BOND a lot like oh my god like y’all’s families GOOO CRAZY AT PARTIES AND AT COOKOUTS 💆🏽‍♀️😜

———

tags 🏷️: @kairiscorner

#spiderman atsv #spider man: across the spider verse #miles morales x reader #miles x reader #miles morales x y/n #miles morales fluff #miles morales imagine #miles morales x you #earth 1610 miles #atsv miles #miles morales x black!reader #🌱 lin writes

143 notes · View notes

hussyknee · 2 months

Text

Somewhat put off by the spoilers I've read about Mary and George. There's no doubt nearly all relationships in the British court were some level of sordid, but King James, to all intents and purposes, had genuine feelings for his three male favourites, most especially George Villiers. He was no Henry VIII. I don't know why they wanted to reduce the most famous and open homosexual relationship in European royal history to a comedy between a "cock-struck" old lech and a conniving courtier that led him by the nose and then betrayed and murdered him.

All evidence points to George at least being loyal to James (if you discount his love letters as simply sucking up to his benefactor) and even had a fond relationship with his Queen and his son Charles. He was in fact in France when James died, and reportedly cried when he heard the news.

It's even a little heartbreaking because this is right after Nicholas Galitzine played the closeted gay Prince Henry in Red, White and Royal Blue, who in the book is proud of the open and unashamed love between his ancestor and his lover, and the way even James's son Charles I honoured Villiers for accompanying him to the Spanish Court to ask for the hand of the Infanta.

“Actually . . . you remember how I told you about the gay king, James I?”

“The one with the dumb jock boyfriend?”

“Yes, that one. Well, his most beloved favorite was a man named George Villiers. ‘The handsomest-bodied man in all of England,’ they called him. James was completely besotted. Everyone knew. This French poet, de Viau, wrote a poem about it.” He clears his throat and starts to recite: ‘One man fucks Monsieur le Grand, another fucks the Comte de Tonnerre , and it is well known that the King of England, fucks the Duke of Buckingham.’” Alex must be staring, because he adds, “Well, it rhymes in French. Anyway. Did you know the reason the King James translation of the Bible exists is because the Church of England was so displeased with James for flaunting his relationship with Villiers that he had the translation commissioned to appease them?”

“You’re kidding.”

“He stood in front of the Privy Council and said, ‘Christ had John, and I have George.’’

“Jesus.”

“Precisely.” Henry’s still looking up at the statue, but Alex can’t stop looking at him and the sly smile on his face, lost in his own thoughts. “And James’s son, Charles I, is the reason we have dear Samson. It’s the only Giambologna that ever left Florence. He was a gift to Charles from the King of Spain, and Charles gave it, this massive, absolutely priceless masterpiece of a sculpture, to Villiers. And a few centuries later, here he is. One of the most beautiful pieces we own, and we didn’t even steal it. We only needed Villiers and his trolloping ways with the queer monarchs. To me, if there were a registry of national gay landmarks in Britain, Samson would be on it.”

Henry’s beaming like a proud parent, like Samson is his, and Alex is hit with a wave of pride in kind.

He takes his phone out and lines up a shot, Henry standing there all soft and rumpled and smiling next to one of the most exquisite works of art in the world.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m taking a picture of a national gay landmark,” Alex tells him. “And also a statue.”

Like all white liberals, Casey McQuiston tends to romanticise the crime against humanity that is royalty and also that house built by bunch of slave owners that has since housed a progression of genocidal war criminals. There's very little to like about any British monarch. But the relationship between James and Villiers is a significant part of gay history and there's no need to smear it even more than it's already been smeared the last four hundred years, contrary to the actual known facts.

Idk man. I'm sensitive to this stuff Ig. Maybe I'd be a little more positive about it if I watched it, but the trailer gave me "tee hee they're gay" vibes so Idk if I want to.

Edit: so it seems the trailer is misleading and the story is more complex than a "tee hee gay" comedy. I might watch it after all, even if the starkly visible age difference makes me a bit queasy. How tf is Galitzine nearly thirty and a babyface with those razor cheekbones?? Perfect to show how uncomfortable it looks for a middle aged man to get with a kid of twenty.

#nicholas galitzine #mary and george spoilers #mary and george #british history #the stuarts #king james vi and i #george villers #king charles i #period drama #julianne moore #lgbtqia #lgbt history #queer media #queer representation #queer history #queer drama #knee of huss

45 notes · View notes

jessamine-rose · 10 months

Text

꒰ THE SPIDER AND THE FLY - Author’s Note ꒱

Read The Spider and the Fly here ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و

It’s finished…I wrote my Yandere! Miguel O’Hara longfic and lived to tell the tale. Istg not a day has gone by without me cursing Miguel bc of this. To those who’ve already read their story, thank you so much for your lovely tears feedback (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )

With that over, it’s time for another Author’s Note!! This is just me rambling about my writing process, headcanons, and creative details in this fic. I hope y’all enjoy this behind-the-scenes perspective <3

“Since the loss of his family, Miguel O'Hara has avoided every Variant of his wife. Then he meets you, a special exception—a version of her whose salvation lies in his interference.” (AO3 Summary)

꒰ Introduction ꒱

♡ Fun fact, the only reason why I got into Spiderverse was bc my socmeds were flooded with Miguel O’Hara. My brainrot was so bad that the fanfics weren’t enough; and even then, I didn’t expect this idea to reach 7.6k words. It was also my first attempt at dual POV and more detailed spice ( ´•̥̥∇•̥̥` )

♡ One major inspiration for this fic was the popular “Miguel falls for his wife’s Variant” trope, and I hope you all enjoyed my take on that idea!! Giving Variant! Darling her own angsty backstory was a must, given my fondness for twisted happy endings <3

♡ Before I continue, I want to thank the following mutuals for making this fic possible!! @yandere-romanticaa for dragging me into the Miguel O’Hara fandom, @diodellet for being the world’s best beta-reader, and @yanmaresu for helping me with the Spanish translations~

꒰ Characters ꒱

♡ We don’t talk about how much Miguel O’Hara tormented me in my attempts to properly write his character. I headcanon him as a strict, overprotective yandere who is only cruel to his darling if provoked. I find his dynamic with Variant! Darling particularly interesting as it opens up his guilt, trauma, and breeding kink yearning for his lost family.

♡ Variant! Darling is the unhappiest version of Miguel’s wife. She has low self-esteem and impostor syndrome, which gets worse as she learns about her more successful Variants. As a result, she craves external validation but doesn’t believe she deserves it. Despite her inferiority complex, she does has positive traits and skills which her other versions don’t have.

♡ LYLA, my love!! I had a lot of fun writing her scenes. She is simply the best wingman/ voice of reason that ever lived, and one of the few people allowed to interact with Variant! Darling.

꒰ Literary Motifs ꒱

♡ The Spider and the Fly by Mary Howitt - Cheers to Miguel reminding me of a poem from my childhood. It was the main inspiration for the title, Darling’s character, and other details~

♡ The red thread of fate - referenced at the end of iv. triangle web purely out of self-indulgence. I just rlly love that motif, and it helps that Miguel’s webs are also red xD

♡ Spiderweb varieties - I couldn’t think of anything else for the section dividers, thus I embarked on online research ft. unavoidable spider pics. The webs were picked for the following reasons::

i. spiral orb web - the most basic and common web design

ii. funnel web - hiding place for spider, used for surprise attacks

iii. lace web - I ran out of common web varieties and it sounds pretty

iv. triangle web - not sticky, fuzzy threads used to entangle and smother prey

v. mesh web - similar to cobwebs but found outdoors, used to entangle prey

vi. cobweb - sticky, irregular, tangled, found indoors

vii. sheet web - typically permanent, regularly repaired by the spider

꒰ My Favorite Scenes ꒱

♡ vii. sheet web

Mere words cannot describe how many times I died revising this chapter. It was pretty difficult to write due to my inexperience with smut, my fear of making Miguel OOC, and the transition from noncon to angst to comfort. Ultimately, I think I did a decent job at writing emotional smut and indulging my hornii thoughts for Miguel. What do you guys think?? I’d love to hear your thoughts ^^;

꒰ Miguel x Variant! Darling’s Playlist ꒱

Cue me going “!! :0” when I realized that the first song is a perfect fit for The Spider and the Fly. At least Miguel and Variant! Darling got their twisted happy ending <;/3

♡ Yesterday by Official Hige Dandism

♡ Overdose by natori

♡ Cinderella by DECO*27

♡ Delphinium by Remo

♡ BLUE by LUCKY TAPES ft. kojikoji

♡

That’s all I have to say!! Once again, thank you so much to all of my readers. Your feedback means the world to me, so just know that every comment gave me a serotonin boost. It is my sincere hope that more of you will cry over enjoy this while I recover from the mental turmoil of writing for Miguel O’Hara ꒰｡- ᴗ - ｡꒱

108 notes · View notes

qqueenofhades · 5 months

Note

Wait hold up you know SIX LANGUAGES

Like I grew up bilingual (English in school and Spanish at home) and got through my two years of a foreign language in high school relearning (terrible) textbook Spanish, and I genuinely do not think my brain could hold another language in there if I tried and wouldn’t even know where to go about start to learn another one

But holy shit SIX langauges is so incredibly impressive and I dunno if you've talked about it before, but could you share a little more about how/why you have SO MANY?

Aha, thanks. I know that someone (recently?) asked me about this, but I can't be arsed to dig through my archives to find that answer, so the short version is:

I have studied French in some capacity for most of my life (it was the main foreign language in my house; my parents both speak it); this was enough to successfully bullshit a last-minute MA graduate proficiency exam while barely studying (seriously, don't do this) and then I did medieval French history for my PhD. This means I can read most things, including complicated academic texts (I will not understand a certain word here and there, but otherwise fine), and speak/understand enough to get around in France by myself.

My Spanish and Italian is somewhat ancillary to that. I studied Italian in high school and used to remember a lot more than I do now, enough to translate things, but (alas) I haven't practiced it in a while and lost most of it (but if I worked on it for a while, it would probably come back). I live in a fairly bilingual Spanish-English city and also briefly studied Spanish once upon a time, so there are daily opportunities to read and/or hear it. I would not say my current grasp of either one is particularly outstanding, but still generally enough to at least get the sense of things I read.

I am a medievalist, so I had to study Latin. It was kind of unavoidable. Not gonna lie, I Did Not Enjoy It, though if I had actually planned my career trajectory better, I should have taken it in undergrad. But I didn't, because why would you do that to yourself voluntarily? In any event, I can read charters and documents and primary source texts in Latin, although slowly and with a lot of swearing and recourse to William Whitaker's Words. I certainly can't read literary or elaborate poems or whatever, but for what I do, it's fine.

I taught myself how to read Cyrillic and started studying Russian during the first lockdown in 2020. I can understand some basic phrases and a few grammatical conventions, read text, understand the alphabet, and a few other things, though it is (as noted) very beginner-level. I would like to brush up on it, but that is among the many, MANY things I do not have actual time and/or brainpower for.

#anonymous #ask

30 notes · View notes

erieautumnskies · 7 months

Text

(This will be constantly updated!)

About Me:

My name is Claire but you can call me Eri or Echo! I go by they/them pronouns (also found in my bio). I'm an 18 year old based in the United States.

Since I was young, art and writing have played a major role in my life. Hense, it has been a passion of mine that I'm endlessly turning back to. I'm currently studying creative writing, book publishing, and graphic design online; later hoping to study art history and print production. If I could, I'd indulge in every form of art that there is. I deeply enjoy helping other indie writers and creatives alike out in their journey, from ARC reading to showcasing their small business'!

To date, my poetry has been published in nearly 50 magazines and lit journals across the globe. I plan on releasing 4+ poetry/prose chapbooks, so keep an eye out for any updates regarding them! Moreover, I'm in the process of writing a few novels in an array of genres, sneak peaks of the stories may be shone!

You can find out more about me on my Website as well as on Instagram, Pinterest, and Spotify.

Languages I know: English (native), Vietnamese, Thai, Norwegian, Irish, Japanese, Hebrew, Czech, Indonesian, Hungarian, Hindi, Finnish, Ukrainian, Italian, Icelandic, Arabic, French, Malayalam, Swahili, and Swedish.

Languages learning: ASL, Korean, Mandarin, Urdu and Spanish.

Some of my favorite things: Rainy days, any kind of tea, flowers, exploring, the night sky, sunsets/sunrises, bookstores, cozy coffeeshops, nature walks, old books, sweaters, making art, creating playlists, volunteering, and learning about other cultures!

Fun Facts: I have undiagnosed ADHD, dyslexia, am queer identifying, gender non-conforming, and practice Shintō.

Blog:

Erie Autumn Skies will center around creativity and where I find inspiration. Expect postcard-poems, letters of prose, possible short stories, translated works of original poems, artwork, and so forth! I may post book reviews and travel photos now and then, too! This will be a writeblr blog and a personal blog! I am open to tag games, asks, etc. as long as they are writing related.

I'm open to DMs and collaborations if you ever want to chat or write together! Everything is okay to reblog. However, no resharing my work outside of Tumblr without my permission. Additionally, I'm open to requests for short poems as long as the prefered theme is included in your request and credit is given wherever the poem is shared.

WIPs:

Poetry Chapbooks

Book Recs:

Fiction Novels

Colorblock Interlude

Winterwood by Shea Ernshaw

The Littlest Tea Shop in Lower by J. Lofton

The Mirror Visitor Quartet by Christelle Dablos

Secrets & Stars by Alix Klingenberg

Sakura Park by Bailey Rae

And numerous others!

Pov My Pinterest Feed:

All original posts will be tagged under erieautumn! Tag games will be tagged under erieautumn tags. Asks are under erieautumn asks.

It was nice to meet you! Happy to have you along on my creative journey and hang around for as long as you'd like! 🌸

#pinned post #writers and poets #introduction #erieautumn

34 notes · View notes

donovan-writes · 2 years

Text

All Good Things Must Come To An End

Headcannons for Ernesto while he was alive because my boyfriend’s obsessed @obi-wans-man-titties

~male reader~

Warnings: internalized homophobia, gets angsty, and probably bad Spanish I only took 5 years of Spanish

You met Ernesto at one of his performances. You got front row and once the lights were out of his eyes he was captivated by you

He tried acting so sly but got too tongue tied for it

All his pickup lines sucked. “Did it hurt when you crawled out from heaven? I mean- Dios Mio.”

He couldn’t get his words right for shit he was so dorky

He eventually gave up when you laughed and handed him your home phone line

Once he got home he was giddier than ever he called you IMMEDIATELY

Doesn’t care how much the phone bill is gonna cost to call you he will pay as much as he needs and will even send YOU money to keep talking

He doesn’t think he has a crush. He just barely has genuine friends. They’re all there for his popularity which isn’t really ideal

You get VIP to all his shows once you’ve established a real friendship

His partner on stage always said “you’ve got a thing for your little buddy don’t you?” And he immediately turns it down

“I can’t be with a guy that’s not good for people like us” Ernesto always tried to turn it down like that

He tries getting with several women who use him for money and fame just to try and assure himself he’s not gay

Meanwhile you were writing poems and letters and love songs for this guy. All your friends and family knew you were in love with Ernesto ever since you got close to him

As you and Ernesto De La Cruz toured the world together you both got so much closer

Eventually you told Ernesto how you feel. You gave him a bouquet of several roses* (white, peach, orange, red, and burgundy. For those who don’t understand rose colours I’ll add a guide at the bottom)

However he turns you down. Claiming he’s not supposed to swing that way and that it would be bad for his reputation. It’s not what he wanted to say but it’s what he thought he had to say

You’re destroyed but you take out the burgundy rose and hand it to him instead “then at least accept this” you’d say

Ernesto would take the rose and put it on his hat giving a smile

He does his performance like normal but you aren’t there. You decided to stay in the hotel room that was rented for you both. You could still hear the music a few streets away, this caused you to cry. You have just had your heart broken

Ernesto walks in on you crying still. He had just come back from a party, one he never told you he was attending

“Hey I didn’t see you! Where were you amigo I could’ve used your support” Ernesto would say to you with a grin left over from the festivities, but soon realize your puffy red eyes. “What’s the matter? Did someone hurt you?”

As you dry your tears you shake your head. He wouldn’t understand how it hurt. He gets everything handed to him, so understanding heartbreak is probably something Ernesto is incapable of. Or so you think

Ernesto doesn’t buy it “I know when something is bothering you. What’s going on?”

You’re close to losing it. “Ernesto please stop. I don’t want to talk about it. I’m tired and you’ve got a big day ahead of you let’s just go to sleep” as you get up from the hotel chair to your bed

Ernesto stops you “if it’s about what I said then I’m sorry”. This is the most serious you’ve seen him.

As you take your arm back you look at him “it’s fine. I understand”

“No it’s not fine. I wasn’t being fully honest and I was being a coward. Let me explain my answer” Ernesto asked. You agree and both of you sit on his bed

“I do have feelings for you, but I don’t think I can be seen in public as.. well you know”. Ernesto hopes you do know and you finish the sentence “gay?” He nods

“Well then what if we hide us? Act like we usually do in public but act how we want when no one is watching?” You offered.

Ernesto would think about it for a moment “that’s actually a good idea. But it’s no wonder you thought of it, you are the brains out of the two of us”

You’d laugh “Then, Ernesto De La Cruz, will you go out with me?”

He takes you in his arms tight “of course I will mi flor”. You blush at the new nickname

So from then on after his concerts and any alone time you both got would be special for just you and him. He had even stopped going to some of the after parties just to sneak away with you

You’d always be holding hands under tables and blowing kisses from across the room when no one’s looking. Your friends and family easily caught on but wouldn’t say anything for both of your sakes

He gives the best hugs and holds you really close

He’d book the 1 bed hotel rooms and pretend like it was an accident but that it was fine in front of reception. But the moment you get to your room he’s snatching you and you’re both on the bed snuggling

You’d give him good luck kisses before concerts when he’s backstage

However all good things must come to an end..

There was one concert you regret for the rest of your life.

Ernesto was doing his usual, the crowd was cheering and singing with him, the lights were bright, there was even a fireworks show planned soon when he took his final bow. But they’d never reach that..

Someone slipped up backstage. No one saw who. But they released the large bell he was playing under, crushing Ernesto.

You scream and run to the bell as people grab you to hold you back. People are screaming and running out of the concert hall.

You sob uncontrollably as you make it past the people who were keeping you back. Some of the security was already trying to get the bell off, you decided to help out

It took a while but the bell was removed, and you saw him. It broke you to your very core. You drop to the ground next to where he was. You began begging for this to be a joke or for this to be a bad dream. Begging for any of this to not be real and that he’d walk over, hold you tight, and tell you it’s okay.

But that never happened. Just as he was crushed your heart was too, now there’s an empty space only he could’ve filled left.

A really good thing had come to an end for you

(SORRY I KNOW ITS SAD BUT I HAVE A PART 2 PLANNED DONT WORRY AND STAY TUNED. Also sorry if the story headcannons were weird I just felt like writing it like this)

*rose guide <3

#ernesto de la cruz #disney #coco #x male reader #gay #ernesto de la cruz gay #disney coco #headcannons #gay headcannons #gay Disney #Disney headcannons #headcannon story

129 notes · View notes

incorrectcoldflashblog · 6 months

Note

Sooooo...is it too much to ask for your answers to all of the questions on the ask list about your country?? (I hope you will say no and tell me to select a handful, if that's what you prefer.)

Sorry, sorry, I totally meant to do this faster but that was a lot of questions, haha. Putting this under a read more because it got LONG.

1.) favourite place in your country?

Honestly there are a lot of beautiful places in France, but a personal favorite would be Biarritz, near the Spanish border. My whole extended family used to vacation there when I was a kid.

2.) do you prefer spending your holidays in your country or travel abroad?

Given the choice I’d prefer to travel abroad.

3.) does your country have access to sea?

Yes, via the English channel, the Atlantic and the Mediterranean sea.

4.) favourite dish specific for your country?

La blanquette de veau, a dish that was originally from Normandy :)

5.) favourite song in your native language?

Nooo, don’t do this to me. I hate picking favorites. I’ll just share one that has some personal significance for me and not call it my favorite ;)

6.) most hated song in your native language?

I don’t know that I really hate that many songs, but on a personal level I definitely never wanna hear Jusqu’ici tout va bien by Gims again as long as I live. It’s the theme song to a show my roommate watches every evening (which means I have to hear it Every.Day.) and it irks me that the title is a reference to one of the best scenes from my favorite movie when the song itself is so annoying. But maybe I just feel that way because I have to hear it so, so often.

7.) three words from your native language that you like the most?

Clair-obscur (chiaroscuro), l’engrenage (an ineluctable series of events) and it’s technically two words but l’amitié amoureuse. The literal translation would be ’friendship in love’ but it’s not actually a romantic love, it just describes basically having an intense but platonic crush on your friend. It’s one of my favorite concepts in the French language.

8.) do you get confused with other nationalities? if so, which ones and by whom?

No, we don’t, for better or for worse France is very uniquely French, lol.

9.) which of your neighbouring countries would you like to visit most/know best?

The one I know best is probably Switzerland, just because my great-uncle lived in Lausanne and we visited him a few times when he was still alive. Fun fact, he ran away to Switzerland after having an affair with a married woman because her husband threatened to kill him, lol.

The one I’d like to visit most is Italy, just because that’s where part of my family is from (from Parma) and I’ve never been.

10.) most enjoyable swear word in your native language?

Putain, which I use approximately 500 times a day XD

11.) favourite native writer/poet?

Listen, how am I meant to pick just one when there are so many??

Classic literature: Gustave Flaubert

Contemporary writer: Marie Ndiaye

Favorite poet: maybe Marguerite Yourcenar? Although my favorite poem might be L’Irréparable by Charles Baudelaire.

You didn’t ask but my favorite play is Le Cid by Corneille. Romeo and Juliet wishes XD

12.) what do you think about English translations of your favourite native prose/poem?

I think there’s just always something missing in translation tbh.

13.) does your country (or family) have any specific superstitions or traditions that might seem strange to outsiders?

I mean, I know outsiders often comment on the fact that French people kiss each other on the cheek to say hello (se faire la bise) but I don’t know if that counts as a strange tradition.

14.) do you enjoy your country’s cinema and/or TV?

Ehh, to me French cinema/TV is divided in two categories, really fucking good and really fucking awful, haha, there’s pretty much no in-between. A bad movie is called a navet (a turnip) by the way^^

15.) a saying, joke, or hermetic meme that only people from your country will get?

There’s a lot of jokes and memes that originated from the tv show Kaamelott that are going to be hard to decipher for people who haven’t seen it. Here’s one I think you’ll enjoy:

16.) which stereotype about your country you hate the most and which one you somewhat agree with?

The one I agree with is that French people complain all the time because we really, really do, haha. I don’t agree with the stereotype that French people are lazy though, we just don’t live to work but why are we acting like it’s a bad thing?? I don’t know, there are a lot of negative stereotypes about French people but tbh at the end of the day I don’t really care that much.

17.) are you interested in your country’s history?

Sure, it’s definitely interesting, but there’s so much of it it can be a little intimidating.

18.) do you speak with a dialect of your native language?

Nope.

19.) do you like your country’s flag and/or emblem? what about the national anthem?

Our emblem is le coq (the rooster), which you only see on the French team’s shirts, just like you’re most likely to see the flag when there’s a World Cup. It’s fine I guess, I don’t really have an opinion on it.

Our national anthem is kind of problématique but it does go hard. I’ll give it that. Like, if you’ve ever watched that scene from Casablanca where they sing La Marseillaise you’ll understand what I mean by that.

20.) which sport is The Sport in your country?

Mbappé Soccer :)

21.) if you could send two things from your country into space, what would they be?

I’ve been puzzling over this question for weeks, haha, and I’m still not sure what it means, like? Do you mean annoying people I’d launch into space or XD

22.) what makes you proud about your country? what makes you ashamed?

I don’t have a lot of national pride tbh. I’m ashamed about a lot of the public discourse, the islamophobia, the state violence, the way Nicolas Sarkozy and the media brought far-right talking points into the mainstream and now we’re all swimming in their shit.

I’m proud to know that French people are always ready to burn shit down though.

23.) which alcoholic beverage is the favoured one in your country?

According to Google it’s beer. I would’ve probably said wine.

24.) what other nation is joked about most often in your country?

Probably Belgium. There’s lots of belgian jokes.

25.) would you like to come from another place, be born in another country?

I don’t really think about stuff like that. Every country has its own issues, so it is what it is.

26.) does your nationality get portrayed in Hollywood/American media? what do you think about the portrayal?

Oh boy, does it ever. Every time a new season of Emily in Paris comes out you can bet French Twitter is gonna have a field day over this shit XD

27.) favourite national celebrity?

When you say national celebrity my first thought immediately goes to Jean-Jacques Goldman. Amazing songwriter, but also very well-known for his work with the Restos du Cœur, a French charity that was founded by his friend the comedian Coluche and les Restos famously do more for the poor than our own government ever would. Probably why Goldman gets elected personnalité préférée des Français every other year. (He also pays his taxes in France, unlike some people, and we always appreciate that here.)

28.) does your country have a lot of lakes, mountains, rivers? do you have favourites?

It does. I think the most famous are the river Seine, the Mont-Blanc (although that crosses over into Italy) and as far as lakes go I’m sure there are a lot but I can’t think of a really well-known one.

29.) does your region/city have a beef with another place in your country?

My city does have beef with another city, but I won’t say which for privacy reasons ;)

30.) do you have people of different nationalities in your family?

My paternal grandmother was from Laos and my paternal grandfather’s family immigrated from Italy (not him directly, but his mother). I think there’s some German (well, Prussian) and Flemish on my mother’s side. My aunt’s husband is also from Italy, and my eldest brother’s wife is from Madagascar. I think that’s all :)

Thank you so much for asking, friend, I can only hope I didn’t totally bore you to death XD

“Hi, I’m not from the US” ask set

14 notes · View notes