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art-blogge · 6 months

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Dante P1, Dante P2, Dante Red Coat, Dante Blue Coat

["It's impossible! I quit!"] shouted one of the Managers, throwing their hands up in frustration. Behind them, the other Manager suppressed laughter.

<"It's not that bad, P2!"> giggled the red Dante, not at all helping.

["It's awful!"] the blue Dante honked, nearly throwing the entire laptop as they swung around to face the other. ["It makes me want to give up and never look back!"]

<"You say that, but you'll be back next week.">

["Ugh."]

This was a normal debate between the two Managers and the Sinners were used to it. Sometimes the positions swapped, but the stream of complaints were normal.

Not even Faust was sure why there were two of them. There was only meant to be one Dante. One red, one blue, both with their own preferences, tactics, and "voices". Who they listened to, who they spoke to, who they preferred, who bullied them- It was different between them both. Only one person was capable of controlling them both at once.

"Will you two keep it down?"

<"Sorry Vergie!"> P1 ticked, bowing their head to the Color Fixer while definitely not hiding a heating up faceplate.

["Hehe, Vergil talked to us.."] P2 quietly tocked before they both fist-bumped. Disasters, the both of them. Vergil, for what it was worth, understood none of this and left before his being there could be more of a distraction. If he Knew or not was beyond the Sinners, not that P1 or P2 had ever been subtle.

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<"BULLSHIT!"> P1 blared as P2 directed their own fight against pallid LCCB Agents. P2 waited until Twinhooks Gregor had finished off their last enemy to check on their twin, and it was a good thing they did. Most of P1's team had been massacred by a rampaging N-Sinclair because his Sanity had dropped just a tiny bit too much.

<"Let me borrow Gregor!!">

Twinhooks Gregor, for what it was worth, didn't need to be requested and gladly crossed into P1's fight to finish the job.

["I'm grounding you until you consider your actions!"] P2 irritably tick-tocked at Sinclair, even after he dropped out of the Identity.

<"Leave Sinclair alone!"> P1 blared back, stomping on the ground, <"He doesn't control how clashes go!">

["It's not that! It's him souping all over the place!"] P2 car-honked, holding up some of their very-soup-covered jacket, ["It's not my fault Nclair is a loser!!"]

<"Sorry, Sinclair,"> P1 apologized, hugging Sinclair despite their also-soup-covered coat, <"It was my fault your Sanity got so low. We'll try a different ID tomorrow.">

Sinclair thankfully knew neither of them blamed him for this and was only marginally bothered by the aforementioned Souping Everywhere.

<"Anyway last one to the bus has to revive everyone!!!"> P1 suddenly dinged before taking off like a shot, completely ditching P2 and the mostly-dead Sinners. The only thing stopping them from dumping their entire job on P2 was the annoyed Vergilius grabbing them by the collar as they attempted to pass. P1 recognized defeat instantly and slumped in his grip.

Reviving the Sinners was a Both-Managers effort and neither was ever spared from the pain.

--------

<"I know you love Hong Lu, so look at this!"> P1 announced after returning from a dungeon. They handed P2- Who had been playing a game by themselves until this point- A battle damage calculation they'd printed out just to show off. In the top three? Hook Hong Lu, having done 6068 damage, landing him in the top three for Damage. Beating him were Reindeer Ishmael with 7713 and Spice Yi Sang with 7869.

["STRONG!"] was P2's entire reply, seemingly stunned by one of their favs being that valuable.

<"He is so fucking good,"> P1 agreed, wiping who-knew-what off of their coat.

<"Anyway, have fun with that dungeon. I'll help you from here, but I'm not going in there again. It should be easier for you than it was for me. I hope you like reading.">

Before P1 could vanish into the Corridors, P2 yelled back ["I hate reading! I shouldn't have to read a novel!"]

<"Sucks, dude!,"> P1 chimed, <"Get positively fucked! If I could do it so can you! I hope you like Faust's EGOs!">

P2 proceeded to put off dealing with their own dungeon run by doing literally anything else. P1 would have sighed if they could, but they understood it. Of course they did. They were both Dante(s) scared of difficult combat.

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<"This sucks major ass!"> P1 radio'd over to P2, ten seconds from quitting a Railway exploration. <"How are you doing that? I'm giving up on Cycle 3. Turn counts aren't real.">

["If I get the Sinner order right and Spice Yi Sang has his blue, I can three turn this fight. I just need to get the Poise right after and the right set of effects on turn one."]

As far as P1 cared, P2 was speaking in Enchantment Table or Latin or Faustese or Bullshit. They understood all of it on it's own, but together? Incoherent.

P2 was attempting to get a "record" run of the Railway, getting five Cycles under a specific amount of "turns". P1 never even tried to accomplish it. They just wanted the prizes and then they were leaving.

About thirty minutes later, P1 radio'd P2 again.

<"The Flowers boss is easy. It sucks, but it's easy. I'm out. I'm done. I get to have Vergil to myself! Sending my Sinners over to your track!">

["Hey wait!"] P2 complained, but too late.

Twenty hours later, P2 finally made it back to the Mephistopheles, where P1 had planted themselves next to Vergilius and were clearly not moving away.

P1 made heart hands at P2. P2 fumed. Vergilius just shook his head and wondered when he'd get out of this hell.

#writing tag #limbus company #dante lcb #this is a joke fic i wrote in half an hour based on real shit we've said

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seaweedbraens · 4 months

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Yoyoyo i just reread wcwsthwas for the sixth time, in 7.5 hours, and i wanted to ask about your writing process. I think the thing that makes your fics incredibly special and high-quality is the fact you have a very high skill level for natural writing and dialogue.

Reading your fics genuinely feels like i’m reading a Riordan novel, but with even better pacing and emotional writing. The only thing riordan can do better is fight scenes. And he’s a massively talented and accredited author who makes millions from his books. You are a fanfic writer. It should not be close.

I wanted to ask if you use any references or have any inspiration for the way you write dialogue? Because it’s incredibly natural and well done.

THE SIXTH TIME SDFGHHJKL i snorted

anyway you hit the nail on the head! i've always been insecure about how i can't write pretty. d'ya know what i mean? i can't do lovely pretty descriptive metaphorical writing that just makes you think wow. but i do pay a lot of attention, like you said EXACTLY, to my dialogue and emotional writing.

for my emotional writing, i think that comes from being very introspective and attuned to my emotions myself. i'm an emotional person and it's taken me many years to really fully understand how i process things and how i function. i have had a lot of complex relationships with people who, while still close to me, are completely opposite to me in terms of how they process stuff themselves. percy and annabeth dealing with their emotions so differently in wcwsthwas is directly from me and my ex boyfriend: i'm very much like percy, and he's like annabeth in the sense that he needs to take a step back to really think about things before he acts on it. a lot of how i feel about friendships and love i've given to leo, and a lot of how i feel about my own culture was given to piper and frank. someone asked me this recently, but i've based piper on a bunch of my best friends, so that's probably why she comes off the way she does in my fic.

draw on your own emotions and experiences when you're writing a scene! emotions are complex and interesting. try to think about how you'd react, or try putting yourself into the shoes of that character. i also do a lot of observation about myself and other people around me. i see how people react to things, and how it shows up on their faces or hands or whatever. that helps me a lot while i'm writing.

for dialogue, i have no clue, honestly. i try to keep it simple as far as i can, i think. nobody's grandiose with their speech in real life (or maybe they are, and i hang out with a bunch of degenerates). i think i overuse the dashes in my dialogue (—) but that kind of stuff is important to me, because nobody's usually just rattling off a big speech in a single breath. there's always some hesitation, people talking over each other, stuff like that, punctuated by glances or gestures. try to play your dialogue in your head like it's a movie. keep it natural, and see how it would play out. for fics like ''cause you've been sinning in this city' i literally did not even attempt to have any dialogue make sense. when i'm talking to my friends, half the shit we say is just inside jokes that would not make a shred of sense to anyone else. stuff like that works too!

this reply turned into an ESSAY but the tl;dr is to keep it simple, write what you know, and trust your gut! but that being said, you don't have to be great at these things to be an awesome writer. i figured out my strengths as a writer the more i wrote, and you will, too. hey, you could be one of those writers who write all pretty that i so envy.

you always ask wonderful questions and ily for that!! also thank you sm for your support. i'd tell you to stop wasting ALMOST 8 HOURS rereading my stupid fic but i know you won't listen dfghjkldjn

i hope this helped a lil bit!

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yourmidnightlover · 3 years

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the nickname

Summary: reader convinced spencer to let her take the reins in the bedroom... or does she?

TW: oral (male recieving), fingering, mention of overstimulation, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, riding, scratching, use of nicknames (princess, love, etc.), hints at sugar daddy!spencer, age gap (not specified but i’m thinking around 10-15 years). *let me know if i missed anything*

WC: 2,912

A/N: this hinted at sugar daddy!spencer (not really hinted so much as saying it outright). I also wrote this for @anxiousblanketqueen ‘s fic contest for her birthday! i believe it’s prompt number 21. i hope you enjoy :)

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you had been together for a while, now. maybe 13 months? you bet spencer could recall - more like knew he could.

you had met when you were one of his students. you're going to georgetown on an academic scholarship because no way in hell could you pay for the full tuition when you still couldn't afford it with the scholarships.

he took a liking to you - how could he not? you were a hard worker and proved yourself to be extremely determined. on top of the obvious intelligence, you had a beauty that radiated around you. and that beauty had a touch of... innocence. and maybe that innocent beauty is what initially attracted him to you, but he'd like to think it was just your personality as a whole.

you were never one of the students who would come to his office after hours for help you clearly didn't need. you would use your colored pens and highlighters to help organize your notes, so it took a while to pack everything up to leave.

one day, when there weren't any students lined up out his door, he went to your seat as you were cleaning up. you looked up, rather surprised that your inappropriate crush was standing right by you.

"uhm... hi," you smiled at him as you put your pencil pouch in your bag, breaking eye contact for the briefest of seconds before returning your attention back to him.

"hi. i was uhm..." he cleared his throat, "i was wondering if you had any questions? you never come to the office hours for questions and i was just... just making sure," he stuttered out.

"oh," you chuckled a light, airy laugh that spencer wished he had recorded so he could replay it over and over and over. "i don't have any questions. i guess that just means that you're a really good professor - very thorough," you stood up and flung the bag over your shoulder, still incredibly shorter than him.

"than-thank you," he smiled. "i'm happy to hear that you're actually getting something out of the lessons," you began walking out of the classroom, looking back to ensure that he was following you.

"yes, i truly do," you agreed. "i'm also pretty sure i'm one of the other people who isn't auditing the class," you added.

"correct, you are," he enthusiastically gestured, another laugh leaving your beautiful lips.

"i mean, you can't necessarily blame them for just taking the class," you chuckled as he held the door open for you, you gave him a subtle 'thank you.'

"what do you mean?" he asked in a soft tone.

"i mean you- you're..." you trailed off, gesturing to his entire body in hopes to convey what you meant. he just looked at you with a confused taste, letting you know you needed to elaborate. "you're very... attractive, professor reid."

"oh-that's very... thank you," he blushed as you halted by the bus stop.

"of course," you turned around, looking up to meet his eyes. "so... wait, what time is it?" you asked rather frantically.

"it's," he looked at his silver watch adorning his wrist, "6:27."

"shit," you swore for the first time in front of him, underneath your breath.

"wha-what is it?" he asked, perplexed as to why you would be so frustrated.

"the last bus leaves at 6:15 and i've missed it," you huffed out, trying to compose yourself before checking your bag and realizing, "i forgot my key and my roommate is at her girlfriend's house."

"is there anything i could do?" he asked concerned.

"no i can... i can just stay at the library. i should probably study up anyway," you tried to laugh it off although you knew it was pointless... he was a profiler for christ's sake.

"the library? y/n, this might seem a bit inappropriate but i have a spare room you could stay in until your roommate gets back," he offered kindly.

so, you took him up on his offer.

you slept in his spare room after he got you both takeout. you laughed and talked for what seemed like meer minutes but turned out to be until 1 a.m. you talked about string theory and the leonard euler's paradox. he gave you interesting facts about tortoises and achilles.

that little hangout session turned into countless hangouts over the span of three months. and then he asked you out on a real date once you finished at the top of his class - and not just because you were his favorite.

the first time with spencer was... beyond delightful. he was captivating with the way he worked against and for your body. it was almost as if he felt like his sole purpose on earth was to please you. he was eager, yet patient with the way his tongue flicked and sucked at your skin.

he was such a dominant personality in the bedroom, which was extremely appreciated since you didn't have much experience in that arena. but now that you were more versed in that world, you wanted to experiment a bit more.

casually, he began to pay for your things. it wasn't so head-on at first. it would be paying for your groceries, or buying all of your college books for you. but then it got a bit bigger. when your roommate couldn't give you the necessary half of the rent that was due and was beginning to be a nuisance, spencer quite literally let you move into his place. he would pay for your car's repairs and bought you jewelry consistently.

one time, as a joke, you called him your sugar daddy - mostly because that's how he acted. he just didn't like the term. he felt as though it made your relationship together seem one-sided when you were, in fact, very in love with the man. you came to realize it also made you seem like a gold digger, which you weren't - even though the money is a nice plus. so, you relented and didn't say that again.

spencer never really had much time off now that he was working back at the bau and traveling but now, you had him to yourself for a whole week. you had been planning this since he told you when he'd be off.

step 1: look sexy - you always looked sexy to him, but feeling sexy would also be a plus.

step 2: surprise him while looking sexy - absolutely devious.

step 3: seduce him - when doesn't he want you? exactly.

it was foolproof.

you had gotten the text 15 minutes ago that spencer was on his way back to his place, wanting you to meet him there once he had settled in. little did he know that you were in a sexy little white number - the white reminded him of your innocence which really got him going - lying in wait for him in a pair of heels. you sat in one of his reading chairs, deciding to pick up a book until he got home.

when you heard the jingling of keys coming from the other side of the door, you assumed your position. the chair was turned toward the door, you sitting pretty with one leg crossed over the other.

spencer walked through the door, hanging his coat and briefcase up before finally noticing you. his eyebrows shot up, looking your body up and down hungrily.

"wow," he smiled a wicked grin as he slowly made his way to where you were sitting. you stood up, heels clicking as they hit the floor and walked closer to him.

"i wanna try something," you placed your hands on his chest, pushing him back slightly until he was forced to sit down on the couch.

"and what would that be, princess?" he asked, hands stroking your hair that was cascading down your back.

"i..." you bent down to whisper in his ear, "i want to be in charge tonight," you placed a soft kiss below his earlobe, feeling his body shudder subtly at the proposition.

"are you sure you can handle that?" he chuckled, hands roaming to your waist and grinding your hips down on his.

you almost gave up. almost. you grasped his hands, placing them on the arm of the couch before getting close to his face. your lips were almost touching before you whispered, "no touching today, pretty boy."

you felt his hips rut up against your core, you chuckled at his eagerness. you decided to throw him a bone and ground down, hard, against his hips. the groan he let out was low and enticing, nearly enough to allow you to give him whatever he wanted.

"bedroom," you whispered against his neck before getting off of his lap, allowing him to scurry to the room. "take off your clothes while you're at it!" you giggled under your breath as you heard his clothes shuffling, telling you that he was obeying your request.

you waited a couple of minutes until you went into the room, wanting to have him go a bit insane like he normally did to you. when you walked in, he was laying on his back on the bed, just like you wanted. his cock was already red and leaky, prominent as it bounced on his tummy.

"good boy, spence," you giggled, walking over to him and straddling his legs.

once you were settled, you pressed a chaste kiss to his lips before trailing them down his torso, leaving the occasional hickey scattered on his chest. traveling kisses down his happy trail, you traced the vein on his dick and watched it twitch up and hit his stomach once again you giggled at the reaction.

"now i understand why you like so much responsiveness," you chuckled as you pressed a soft, barely-there kiss to the tip of his cock, he hissed once again from the contact.

you slowly took his cock in your mouth, agonizingly slow, and flattened your tongue at the base. one you got him as far down you could manage, you began bobbing your head just as slow. his hands flew to your hair, trying to force you to go faster until you swatted them away.

"should i tie those up?" you threatened, your hand working at his member as you spoke.

"are you fucking kidding me?" he swore, clearly agitated by your antics.

"no," you squeezed his dick for punctuation, the way he grunted made the wetness pool in your underwear. "i'm not kidding you."

you took him in your mouth once more, bobbing your head far more vigorously than before this time, just to spite him. hollowing your cheeks, you swallowed around him and began gagging around his dick before coming back up for air.

"fuck," he whispered underneath his breath, not wanting to let you know just how much of an effect you had on him.

you smiled to yourself and continued your antics until he was spilling all down your throat. you didn't stop there, you came back up and let your hand continue pumping his member slowly.

"shit," he hissed from the stimulation.

"shhh," you put your free finger up to his lips.

you gave his dick a few more strokes, curses leaving his lips delightfully before you drew your hands up his body once more before straddling his lap. after moving your panties to the side and slicking his cock with your arousal, you ground against him leisurely, trying to tease him a bit more. you unclasped your bra, throwing it somewhere in the room. finally, you reached between the two of you and lined him up with your entrance.

"are you sure you can do this?" spencer asked, not to entice you, but to make sure you were alright.

"there's a first for everything," you chuckled, knowing you had never been on top before.

you had never been on top before - you'd like to blame your lack of experience. you knew it might be hard to keep up the pace, but you were determined to make not only yourself but also make spencer feel good. that's all you've ever wanted. that's what you're meant to do - make him feel good. so no matter what it took, you'd make it happen.

you slowly lowered yourself onto his dick, being wary of how much bigger he felt from the new angle.

"shit," you whispered, your hands resting on his chest in attempt to ground yourself. "oh god..." you trailed off, feeling your dominant personality fade away as the pleasure overtook you.

"keep going, princess," he spurred you on, his hands finding your waist and rubbing gentle circles on your skin. "you've got it."

so you rose on your knees until only his tip was inside of you for you to lower yourself once more. you whimpered from the feeling of him re-entering your body, your pussy clenching around him as if he were an intruder.

"doing so good for me," he grasped your waist a bit tighter so he could help you rise and fall on his cock. "fuck, it's so good."

"d-doctor, i-" you stuttered, the persona nearly entirely gone and nowhere to be seen as he continued to move you up and down.

when you learn forward, your face hovering over spencer's chest, he took the opportunity to wrap his arms entirely around your waist. before you knew it, he was slamming his length into your pussy over and over and over and over again.

"oh! oh my god," you moaned, your voice reaching a higher octave as he drilled into your body in the most pleasurable way imaginable. "don't stop! don't stop! ple-please!" you screamed out, your hands wrapping around his torso and squeezing his body to ensure that he was there - present.

"i won't, princess. just let go. let go for me," he pressed a kiss to the top of your head so sweetly in contrast to how he was fucking you.

"i'm cumming! oh god, i'm cumming, spencer!" you cried out as you released the tension from inside of you.

only spencer wasn't done yet, so he took himself out of you, and he placed you on your back before reentering you. he moved in and out of you at a godly pace, trying to get himself to his climax before you would become too overwhelmed from the overstimulation.

"spen- spencer," you scratched at his back, surely leaving red marks for him to ogle once you were through. "i-i'm close," you sucked lightly at his earlobe before he moved his hand between the two of you, circling the little bundle of nerves at your crest.

"my little insatiable bunny, huh?" he smiled as you whimpered into his ear, nearing your second release. "loves my cock a bit too much, huh?"

"please! fuck!" you shouted out as you came on his dick, pulling at his hair. the clenching and fluttering of your pussy finally sending him over the edge, his hot release flooding your insides.

"fuck," he groaned into your ear as he carried the two of you through your releases. "good job, princess," he pressed a kiss to your neck as you stroked his hair, playing with it as you were still coming down.

"i'm sorry," you frowned once he pulled out, finally making eye contact as he lay down beside you.

"what for?" he asked incredulously.

"i just... i wanted to make you proud and i couldn't even finish without your help," you explained in a whiney manner, not allowing yourself to meet his beautiful eyes.

"hey," he grasped your chin to force you to make eye contact. "i love it when i have to help you reach that high. that's not something to be embarrassed or upset about."

"i know but i wanted to ride you and i couldn't even do that," you rolled your eyes.

"it takes time to get used to doing that," he chuckled. "and besides, riding someone on the bed is never a good way to begin. the couch is always better - that way you have the back of it to hold onto."

"really? so it's not that i'm just terrible at being a top?" your eyes widened with hope, he smiled at your eagerness.

"i think you could be a switch but it needs a bit of work, my love," he brushed your hair behind your ear before seeing your disappointed gaze and adding, "but i'll bet that with enough practice i could start calling you my little bunny, yea?"

"really?" you perked up at the proposition. "i want you to call me that."

"well then, i guess we better start practicing," he grinned before leaning in and giving you a sloppy kiss, his hands flying to your waist as he stood the both of you up to go to the couch.

needless to say, with spencer's guidance you were able to master the art of riding him. and you got that special little nickname, too.

taglist:

@averyhotchner

@greenprisca

@muffin-cup

@emilyprentisslittlewhore

@spenxerslut

if you’d like to be added to the taglist, please don’t hesitate to message me or leave a comment saying so!

#jtr23 #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #sugar daddy!spencer #spencer smut #spencer reid fluff #professor reid

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fishfingersandjellybabies · 3 years

Text

Still a Little Bit Yours (Part 1) - fic

Characters: Jon Kent, Damian Wayne, bit of Tim Drake and Maya Ducard Pairing: jondami Summary: Damian broke up with him, out of the blue. It didn’t make any sense. But, as it turns out, there’s a reason why it didn’t. A/N: Damian and Jon are in their mid-twenties and no longer go by Robin or Superboy (but not really Batman or Superman either, Tim’s last line is kind of a joke.) Title, and maybe vibe of this part, is based on ‘A Little Bit Yours’ by JP Saxe.

Part One | Part Two

The phone almost slipped from his fingers.

Damian…did Damian just say what he thought he said?

“…What?” He whispered near breathlessly. “W-what did you just say?”

“I said I think we should see other people.” Damian replied calmly. “It would be for the betterment of both of us.”

“Since when?” Jon snapped, anger flaring immediately, but instantly morphing into confusion and sadness. His heart breaking by the second.

They’d been together for three years. Secretly pined after each other for the two years prior to that. Had recently talked about moving in together. Had been happy.

Jon was so, so sure they’d been happy.

“Since…recently.” Damian hummed blankly. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

“And the thought of doing this in person didn’t occur to you in your fucking contemplation?” Jon snapped. “Christ, Damian, we were just talking about getting an apartment!”

“I’m sorry if I hurt you. I know this isn’t what you want.” There was a hint of regret in Damian’s voice, but not enough for Jon’s liking, so it only fueled his growing anger further. “I…I don’t know what else to say.”

“Oh, really? Three fucking years and this is all you have to say?” Jon hissed. “I know you’re emotionally constipated, Damian, but…god. This is low. Even for you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not!” Jon shouted. A store clerk nearby glanced at him. And that was right, he was in the grocery store. He’d…forgotten. Forgotten the whole world existed, forgot it was collapsing around him by the second, as Damian hummed those words. “Because if you were sorry, you wouldn’t have fucking done it this way in the first place!”

He heard a mother a few aisles down murmur to her children to not use language like that. That people who talked like that were pathetic.

“I…I don’t know what your game here is, Damian.” He whispered harshly.

“It’s not a game.” Damian promised. “I respect you too much to play games with you. I’m just trying to be honest.”

“But you don’t love me enough to break up with me in person, apparently.” Jon countered. He closed his eyes, wouldn’t allow the tears to fall. “I…Damian, I’m going to hang up on you right now. I…I don’t want to say something I might regret.”

“That’s fine.” Damian promised. Then again: “I’m sorry, Beloved.”

Jon scoffed and pulled the phone away from his ear. He hit the call end button so hard the screen cracked under his touch.

…Great.

He stood there a moment, trying to take deep, even breaths. But it wasn’t working real well. Each breath was trembling, and it’s like his lungs suddenly didn’t work, couldn’t hold any air.

Did he do something wrong? Did he say something? They’d fought before, all couples do. They were getting better at communication, Damian was coming out of that emotional shell the League of Assassins put him in.

They’d kissed yesterday. Jon had held him in his arms, had kissed his nose and told him how beautiful his smile was. Damian had laughed and held Jon’s face, stroking his thumb along his cheek.

And now…now they were here?

“…Honey?” Jon jumped as a hand gently touched his elbow. He spun to find an old woman in an apron matching the store’s color scheme glancing up at him. “Are you okay?”

The world around him came whooshing back. He was in the middle of the grocery store. He…he was sobbing in the middle of the grocery store. Fat, ugly tears rolling down his face as he practically crushed his phone in his hand.

“Do you need me to call someone?” The woman whispered.

“No, I…” He gently placed his shopping basket – half full of this week’s groceries – on the floor and backed away. He clumsily ran his nose along his sleeve, a trail of snot left in his wake. “I’m alright. I’m…I’m sorry.”

He turned and barely stopped himself from flying out of the store.

Jon laid in bed for two days, exhausting himself racking his brain, trying to figure out what happened, what changed, what he did.

He texted Damian, almost exactly twenty-four hours after the fateful call, but the other never answered. Never answered any text Jon sent. Or any call that he drunkenly made after that. Didn’t even give him the knowledge of being left on read.

He cried a few times, threw things a few other times.

None of this made any sense.

He thought about going over to Gotham. Walking up to the manor and banging on the door until someone answered. Thought about staging a protest until Damian agreed to see him, if the door answerer wasn’t said boyfriend.

…Ex-boyfriend.

Tears welled up in his eyes every time he thought of the term.

Ex. Boyfriend.

Jon closed his eyes, buried his face in his pillow. Honestly, he thought they were going to get married. He thought they were going to be together forever. He wasn’t ready to plan a life without Damian, not yet. They were supposed to grow old together, die minutes apart like in the movies. Holding hands until the end.

He didn’t lose Damian to death, like he always thought he would. He didn’t lose Damian to space or assassins or even to grief in the potential loss of Bruce or Dick. He lost Damian because Damian…simply didn’t want him anymore.

God. They weren’t supposed to break up after three years. They weren’t supposed to part ways in their twenties. They weren’t supposed to end things for no reason.

He thought he’d gotten pretty good at reading Damian. His ticks, his quirks. What upset him, what didn’t. He thought he was an expert. The world’s leading expert in Damian Wayne.

Apparently he was fooling himself.

He sighed, pressed his face further into the fabric of his pillow. Tried to ignore the memories threatening to overflow. Of he and Damian in this bed. Kissing, cuddling, lazing. Of Jon promising Damian the whole world, and Damian countering with the whole universe instead.

He wondered if he should call Kathy. Or Maya. Hell, one of Damian’s siblings. See if Damian had talked to them, if they had seen any signs. If they knew of anything going on.

He just burrowed under his covers, and kept his eyes closed.

In the end, he didn’t tell anyone about the breakup. Not even his parents. There were intergalactic wars starting and government coups commencing – they had more important things to worry about than their youngest’s love life. And judging by the fact he hadn’t heard from any of the Bats, he had a feeling Damian didn’t mention it to his family either.

Just as well. They were adults. They could handle this as just that. Adults.

So he wallowed in self-pity for a few days, but eventually forced himself up. Took a deep breath, dried his own eyes and distracted himself with continuing his life. Focused on his job, on heroing. The world kept turning, even if he and Damian weren’t together.

His heart hurt less as the days passed on. Not by much, his heart was still utterly shattered after all, but it didn’t hurt as much to inhale. Didn’t hurt as much to smile. Didn’t hurt as much to get a text or a call and it not be Damian.

Damian never answered when Jon tried to contact him. The first few days were understandable, but now the texts were housekeeping. Do you want your shirt back? I think you left Alfred’s cat treats here. I have a box of your stuff and your apartment key, if you’re in town soon, you can stop by and get it.

And still, like always, nothing. Damian was always stubborn, but now he was just being downright rude. It’d been almost a month now! Surely if someone as emotional as Jon could somewhat start to get over it, someone as stoic as Damian had probably completely forgotten about it by now!

He huffed as he watched a couple walk by the park bench he was sitting on, taking the momentary surge of frustration-induced courage to hit the call button on his (recently fixed) phone and hold it up to his ear.

They wouldn’t have to talk. This was just tying up the loose ends. Getting rid of the sentimental things. Getting rid of things that didn’t belong to him. That was all. That was all.

But the line didn’t even ring. It went straight to voicemail. And the frustration turned to hurt. Did…did Damian change his number? No, impossible. It still went to Damian’s voicemail, his phone was just off.

But Damian never turned his phone off. No hero did, and especially no one in the Wayne family. They were always on call, even when they shouldn’t be.

So, for Damian’s phone to be off…was he avoiding someone? Avoiding Jon?

He lowered his phone to his lap and stared at it. He was one of those people who put emojis in people’s contact names. Damian’s name was surrounded by the pink, growing heart, and the cat emoji that looked like Alfred.

He didn’t have the strength to take those away. Not yet.

He swallowed the lump in his throat that he didn’t realize was there, and put his phone back in his pocket.

He’ll just ship Damian his shit, then.

He shouldn’t have. He really shouldn’t have. It’d make him the crazy ex. The ones Taylor Swift wrote songs about.

But at least once a day, he found himself listening. Tapping into his powers and listening for Damian’s heartbeat.

He didn’t do it often while they were together. Mostly because while together they were almost always together. Physically. So he could just reach out and hold Damian’s wrist. Put his ear to Damian’s chest. Watch the pulse as it beat along Damian’s neck.

It was a coping mechanism back then, used to calm himself. When the world got too much. When his day was bad. He could just focus on Damian’s heartbeat in any form. Drown the rest of the noise out.

Damian’s heartbeat now sounded far away, but Jon didn’t feel like pinpointing how far. It was slow and even, and that almost made him angry. Damian was calm. Damian was relaxed. Probably sitting at his easel drawing without a care in the world, while here Jon was listening for him like some kind of fucking lost puppy.

Every time he listened, it was slow and steady.

Stupid Damian, he’d think as he tuned his powers back out, furiously go back to whatever he was doing. Stupid relationships.

Relationships were overrated. Damian was overrated.

“He what?!”

Maya’s shriek had Jon pulling the phone away from his ear with an amused grimace. He laughed as he switched the audio to be on speaker, and absently opened an app on his phone.

(A…dating app.)

“You didn’t know?” Jon hummed. His friend had called to ask some questions on a man she was tracking, someone who rumours said was from another planet. Kathy hadn’t known of the solar system, so she was trying the next best alien. As they talked, something about a crime scene came up, and she asked if Damian could help, if Jon could give him the phone. He had to break the news. “I thought you guys talked like…every day.”

“No way.” Maya scoffed. “Once a month, if that.” Jon could hear the frown in her voice. “And we did talk about a month ago. Maybe a bit longer. He didn’t say anything. In fact, he told me you guys were going to move in together, that he wanted me to plan a trip back to the States for a housewarming party.”

“Well…life comes at you fast, I guess.” Jon chuckled bitterly, remembering that call. He was in the room for that call, dozing in Damian’s arms, half listening to their conversation. He sneered at the choices the app was giving him. None of them were very attractive. “Because about a month ago was when he called it off.”

“Huh.” Maya mumbled. “I’m so sorry, Jon. If I’d had known that’s what he was planning, I would have beat the shit out of him. You were the best thing to ever happen to him, for gods’ sake! What the hell did he willingly throw it all away for?!”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Jon shrugged. This potential match wore a shirt that said Joker’s Biggest Fan on it, and Jon cringed instantly. “He didn’t give a reason. Just said that it was for the betterment of both of us, and that he was sorry.”

“Fucking turd.” Maya sighed. “I’ll call him here in the next few days, and see if he’ll tell me anything.”

“Good luck.” Jon drawled. “He hasn’t answered a single text or phone call since he broke things off. And I don’t know if that’s to just me or everyone.”

“You ask one of his brothers? Which one’s friends with your brother again? Jason?”

“Tim.” Jon corrected. He hesitated on this potential match option. Just stared. It was a woman. Dark hair, tan skin, standing in a desert. She was beautiful. And she reminded him of Damian. “And I haven’t seen or talked to any of them either. No cases have taken me out to Gotham lately.”

The next match had sharp eyes, ones that said they were smarter than everyone else. Cocky. That was like Damian too.

“Eh, they’d probably cover for him anyway. They’re all a bunch of freaks like that.” She grumbled. “Are you…doing okay?”

“I’m fine.” Jon lied, and he knew Maya heard right through it. “Time heals all wounds and all that. Better every day.”

“Oh, Jon…” Maya sighed sympathetically. Jon didn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed at her pity. Not when the next person on the app was standing on a rooftop, flag tied to his neck, blowing gloriously behind him. Looking far too much like every hero persona Damian’s ever been. “Hey – I’ll be back in the States soon. And I promise, I’ll make my first stop coming to see you so we can get drunk and stuff ourselves with pizza and scream about what an asshole Damian is. Okay?”

The next match was posed in the photo in a fencing match. Damian. The next surrounded by Great Danes. Damian. The next playing a violin. Damian. The next wearing a Batman costume at a Halloween party.

Damian.

Damian. Damian. Damian.

He sighed and closed the app. Stupid.

“Yeah. That sounds like exactly what I need, Maya.”

“Great. It’s a date.” She paused a moment. “Love you, dude.”

Jon hesitated, because he hadn’t said those words since Damian. Hadn’t thought them. Hadn’t wanted to think them, not for anyone. Not for family, not for friends. Not for a single person in his life. Still left in his life.

“Love you too, Maya.”

Jon wasn’t a dreamer. He didn’t know if it was his Kryptonian side, or just how he was, but he didn’t dream often. And if he did, if he remembered them, it was only flashes. Only later moments of déjà vu. Never full sequences. Never lucid.

But…this.

They were in Kansas, out in one of Pa’s fields, lying among the wheat. Damian was flat against the ground as Jon laid over him, kissing him as hard and deeply as he could. They both had their arms around the other, grips tight and unyielding. Like if one of them let go, the whole world would disappear.

He doesn’t know why, but it was a noise Damian made. A quiet moan, and his fingers digging desperately into Jon’s shoulders that snapped him out of it. Made him realize.

This wasn’t real.

He began to lean back, pulled his arms from Damian’s shoulders to steady himself. Damian shifted too, but only to hold Jon’s face, to try and chase his lips.

“No, I…” Jon stuttered, his body wanting to do just that. Dive back in and devour Damian whole. But his mind didn’t let him, forced him to continue back until he was on his knees. “We can’t.”

He got to his feet and backed up a step, half turning away. Couldn’t bear the sight of Damian lying in the dirt, shirt half open and hair disheveled, chest heaving from arousal and exertion. “…Jonathan?”

“You’re not real.” Jon almost whined, running his fingers through his hair.

“Is that so?” Damian scoffed. “Since when?”

“Since I know we haven’t been back to Kansas in like a year.” Jon sighed, turning back. “Since I just remembered you broke up with me.”

“Absurd.” Damian laughed. Jon glared down at him, watched as Damian stood, and wiped the dust from his butt. “I would never do such a thing.”

“Well…you did!” Jon spat. “And over the phone! Not even in person!”

“You’re not listening to me.” Damian scolded. He raised his sharp gaze. “I would never do such a thing.”

“…What?” Jon whispered incredulously. “I just…I just told you that you did! And I…” He snorted, shook his head. “You’re not even real. Why the hell am I even trying to argue with you?”

“Because despite what you tell those around you, you miss me.” Damian sauntered over to him with a smirk, and poked at his temple. “Now I need you to use that big brain of yours and focus on what I’m saying. What it means.”

Jon looked down sadly. Gently reached up to take Damian’s hand in his, and turned so he could kiss his palm, could hide his face against Damian’s hand.

Damian just smiled warmly, stepped closer into Jon’s space. Cupped his other hand around the side of Jon’s throat. “Please just remember.” He begged softly. “I would never do such a thing. Never.” He leaned up on his toes, and pressed their foreheads together. “Not to you, Beloved.”

Jon leaned into the gesture, and parted his lips to kiss Damian again.

But then he woke up.

He woke up in the dead of night, with tears streaming down his face, and the memory of the dream burning against his skull.

I would never do such a thing.

“But you did, Damian.” Jon sobbed, clutching his pillow, curling his knees to his chest. Because it felt like his heart was going to tumble out, all the pieces that it had shattered into were going to come spilling out onto his sheets. “You did.”

He didn’t go back to sleep.

Jon let out a low growl as he stomped out of the café. That was a bust. That was a huge fucking waste of his time.

But that’s what he got for trying to jump back into the dating pool.

The girl seemed nice enough in their limited texting interaction. She was cute and not purposefully looked nothing like Damian. She was bubbly and loud, and also not purposefully acted nothing like Damian either.

(Totally not purposefully. Totally.)

But he’d just spent the last hour listening to her rant about conspiracy theories that were already disproven one hundred times over, and rave about how Lex Luthor was the best and coolest and smartest person to ever exist, because he was rich and going to get them all to Mars. She never stopped to let Jon talk. Never stopped to take a breath for herself either.

Needless to say, there’d be no second date. He’d frankly excused himself with a lie to get out of this one early.

(And she’d already texted him about how great of a time she had, and she couldn’t wait to see him again, despite still sitting in the restaurant ten feet behind him.

Jon didn’t like to ghost people – not like certain ex-boyfriends of his – but this one…he couldn’t wait to.)

So it must have been fate that he chose that moment to leave. Not a few minutes before, or decided to suffer through the rest of his rendezvous. Because as soon as he walked out of the café, he spotted one Tim Drake coming out of the building across the street.

Funnily enough, Tim spotted him at almost the exact same moment. Except instead of waving or smiling like Tim normally would, his face visibly paled and his eyes widened, like Jon was the last person on Earth he wanted to see.

Jon frowned when he saw Tim glance around, like he was looking for an escape route. “Tim!” He called before the other could do just that, glancing up and down the street before jogging quickly towards him. “Hey, wait up!”

Tim took a step backwards, like he was going to try to bolt, but in the end stayed where he was, waited for Jon to reach him. Quickly pulled his phone out and scanned the screen before pocketing it again. “Hey Jon…what, uh. What’s going on? How are you?”

“Oh…been better. But trying to stay positive.” Jon laughed knowingly. Tim didn’t react. “How’s the family?”

“Good. Busy.” Tim shrugged. “Lots of, uh…stuff to do. You know how it is.”

Jon nodded, and the two fell into an awkward silence. Tim pulled his phone out again, but quickly threw it back in his pocket.

“How’s…” And Jon didn’t want to ask, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious. Wasn’t desperate to actually know, instead of guessing and assuming. “How’s Damian?”

But to Jon’s the surprise, at the sound of Damian’s name, Tim seemed to practically deflate. He threw his hands across his face, began shaking his head. “God, Jon, I’m so sorry. I know we should have called, or kept you in the loop or something. But we didn’t want you to become a target too or get hurt, or…”

“What?” Jon cut off, gut suddenly dropping. “What are you talking about?”

Tim peeked between his fingers, eyes narrowed. “…What are you talking about?”

“I…I haven’t talked to Damian since he broke up with me.” Jon murmured. Tim’s eyes instantly widened even more in surprise. “I just…wanted to know if he was doing okay?”

“Damian broke up with you?” Tim whispered. “When?”

“Um, I don’t know a month or so ago?” Jon shrugged. “Why? Tim, what’s going on?”

“How did he break up with you?” Tim demanded, suddenly all but lunging at Jon. His eyes darted between Jon’s desperately. “Was it in person?”

“No, it was over the phone.”

“What day?” Tim asked, almost giddy now. “What day did he break up with you, exactly? What day did you get that call?”

“Uh…” Jon pulled out his phone, and went to the call feature. He scanned the list until he found the one he was looking for. The one that ruined his whole life. “The seventh.”

“What time?”

“Like three or four in the afternoon?” Jon huffed. “Tim, why is this relevant? What happened?”

“Have you talked to him since then?” Tim continued, undeterred. “In any way? Text? Call? Carrier pigeon?”

“What? No! I…I tried calling him a few times, to return his stuff and all that, but he never answered.” Tim suddenly backed away from him, running both hands through his hair, like a case was just blown wide open. For the third time, Jon asked: “Tim, what the hell is going on?”

Tim hesitated for a moment, then looked Jon dead in the eyes. “Damian’s been missing for a month.” He said plainly. “He disappeared on the morning of the seventh.”

And just like that day on the phone, it felt like the world was being swallowed into a black hole beneath him. That the universe was disappearing around him, that it wasn’t real.

He could barely breath. “…What?”

“He, Duke and Cass were on a case in France. Without warning all three of them went radio silent. When we got there, we only found Duke and Cass half dead in a vineyard. They said they were attacked by a…a shapeshifter or something, lured them in by transforming into members of the Justice League. That they saw the shapeshifter and their crew dragging Damian away, but they didn’t see where to, or even what direction.”

Jon’s head was spinning.

“We’ve been looking for him day and night ever since. And when you didn’t come looking for him…” Tim winced. “We assumed he’d told you that he would be away on a mission, potentially for a long time. So your absence didn’t concern us. In fact, like I said, we were grateful. We didn’t want you getting wrapped up in this too, and potentially hurt.”

Jon was barely listening anymore, too wrapped up in what he’d just been told. That Damian had been missing since that day. That the reason Damian’s heartbeat sounded so far away was because he was, he was somewhere in Europe. That he wasn’t answering his phone because he was being held captive.

…That it wasn’t Damian on that call.

I would never do such a thing. Never. Not to you.

“…Beloved.” He murmured. Tim instantly stopped in his ramblings.

“…What?” Tim asked.

“On the call, when he broke up with me. First, he never gave a reason, which I thought was crazy. I guess…I guess it makes sense now.” Jon said thoughtfully. “But before we hung up. He said ‘I’m sorry, Beloved.’”

“…So?”

“That’s what Damian had me as in his phone. Not my name.” Jon explained. “Why would he still call me Beloved if he was breaking up with me?”

“…He would have said your name.” Tim said, the truth dawning on him. “The kidnapper wouldn’t know that. They wouldn’t know your name. So they called you what you were listed as.”

“And recognized that I was someone important to him.” Jon finished. “But…why? Why call me just to…break up with me? Why call me at all?”

“I don’t know. We can think about it later.” Tim was instantly back in detective mode, holding out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

“Why?”

“Because we can track where that phone call came from.” Tim wiggled his fingers impatiently. With his other hand, he pulled out his own phone, typing furiously with his thumb. Jon realized that’s why he was checking it so much, that’s why he was in Metropolis at all. He was looking for clues for Damian, anywhere he could. “And that might take us to where this bastard took my brother.”

“...Need a ride to the Batcave?” Jon asked with a sheepish smile. “…The sooner we get there, the sooner we can track this fucker and find Damian.”

Tim pursed his lips in thought, clearly not thrilled at the idea of including Jon, not after they all tried so hard to keep him detached, but eventually returned the grin.

“Get us in the air, Superman.”

#jonathan kent #jon kent #Damian Wayne #jondami #Tim Drake

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maysbanks · 4 years

Text

she moves in her own way. (jj maybank)

due to the ASTOUNDING response to my first jj fic which i have to say a huuuge thank you to everyone that liked, commented & reblogged, it honestly means the absolute world !! i couldn't wait much longer to start writing for my boy again, i have so many fic ideas and cannot wait to get them out to y'all. this one is shorter than the last, & the title is inspired from the song 'she moves in her own way' by the kooks (lol) but isn't necessarily based off of it, it's just something that i wrote up quickly bc i was in my feels™️ . also i feel very unoriginal with the whole plot and aspect of this but im gonna post it anyway bc i love jj lmao. anyway hope u enjoy !

warnings: swearing, underage drinking, drug use, violence, jj with a gun™️

summary: reader walks the fine line between either pogue or kook, though technically a kook, she ignores all social standings of the obx and jj maybank cannot stop himself from getting caught up in her whirlwind.

( gif isn’t mine! please let me know if it’s yours so i can credit you. )

Everyone seemed to have a different perspective of you, unsurprisingly. You weren't really much of a social butterfly, you kept yourself to yourself, really. Nobody in the Outer Banks knew much about you at all, other than what they had come up with in their heads. And while you tried your best to stay in the shadows, that only seemed to make you stand out more.

You were known for being the best of both worlds - not really a Pogue, but not really a Kook either. While your social status and family wealth suggested you to be a Kook, your free spirit and reckless behaviour fitted you better towards the Pogue style. If anyone were to ask you, you told them you were neither.

Why should a name define you anyway? You thought it was all bullshit, the stupid territorial arguments and the snide comments from both sides. You thought it was ridiculous, you weren't living in The Outsiders, for fuck sake.

You moved in your own way, simple as that. You wouldn't let anyone tell you what to do, where you can't or shouldn't be, it was a free country you'd say, middle finger salute ready to aim towards anyone who dared cross you. You were an enigma, wild and careless, unforgiving and unforgettable. You didn't necessarily like the attention, but you got it. And you knew it, and you played on it, too.

You had used your irresistible charm more than enough times to bail JJ Maybank out of trouble, despite your parents' protest. They didn't have a problem with the Pogues, persay, how could they when your dad been one half of his life before meeting your mom and marrying into the rich lifestyle; they just had a problem with JJ, as many of the parents on the island did. He was an unstoppable force to be reckoned with, weed smoking, knuckles constantly torn, skin bruised, quick wit, sarcastic humour, daddy issues, you know the type. Kids loved him, parents hated him.

You were friends with JJ, you supposed. You spent your time with him talking about your days and smoking a joint, meaningful conversations turning into joking and general tomfoolery within seconds. With JJ, you were simply unapologetically you, and JJ never judged you. He never made you choose a side, seemingly content with the fact that you were a little bit of everything, though there was times when he teased you relentlessly about the Kook life, but that was just JJ.

And despite the social differences, him being a Pogue through and through, you technically a Kook, you were drawn to each other pretty easily. Not that you hung out all the time, but you loved every second when you did, usually joined by his group of best friends - John B, Pope, and Kiara. With Kiara a Kook herself but drawn more to the lifestyle of the Pogue's, she understood you more than anyone. You'd bonded a lot, and with each of them too.

JJ loved that you fitted in with them, like a missing puzzle piece. So perfectly, it shook him to its core. The pair of you were close, but he had no idea where he stood with you, like most people never when it came to you. You were like a rollercoaster, taking people for the most exciting ride of their lives that lasted a full three or so minutes before they returned back to solid ground. You'd given JJ a ride a number of times on your non-existent metaphorical rollercoaster, and he'd returned for another ride time and time again. You couldn't say no to that damned boy.

It was a blessing and a curse, the unspoken relationship you shared. A blessing because JJ was the best thing that happened to you, and a curse because that was your downfall. You never got attached to people, never given yourself the chance. But then JJ Maybank had come along, blonde hair and blue eyes, split lip and sharpened teeth, words cunning. You saw him as a challenge at first, the name Kook Princess haunting you as he spoke them, stood in front of you at the keg upon your first real meeting. He'd held a drink out towards you, smirk perfect on his pink lips.

You'd attended over a hundred kegger's in your lifetime, the Pogue parties more inviting than those of the Kook's. You danced and talked to anyone that came across your path, whether it be unknowing Tourons, unjudging Pogues, or unforgiving Kooks, you drew them all in. You didn't fit in with any of them, JJ had realised. You really did move in your own way, he thought. He liked that, he'd decided. And hey, you were pretty cute too.

On that particular night, he'd spoken to you directly for the first time in a long time. "Would the Kook Princess like a drink?" He'd asked, holding the red cup out towards you. You'd eyed the offended object, and subsequently him, too. He smirked at the attention. You had rolled your eyes.

"Don't call me that," you'd said simply, but taking the cup from his hands regardless. You took a sip, relieved to discover that he hadn't tampered with it in any way. You were still considered a Kook to most people, after all. You could never be too careful. "Thanks, Maybank."

And he'd blinked at you, lips suddenly raising to a sly smile as he shrugged, dimples winking at you as they appeared in his cheeks. "Anytime," and he'd spoken your name back to you and you couldn't get enough of the way it sounded coming from his mouth, and you realised hey, this guy is pretty cute, and the rest, as they, is history.

You were in the midst of another infamous Pogue kegger at the current, months after your first introduction to JJ Maybank and his friends, and you stood off to the side, listening to JJ intently as he ranted about the events of the day he'd endured. Starting from finding a Grady White sunken in the marsh, "A fucking Grady Marsh, they're like 500 G's man!", to discovering that the boat belonged to Scooter Grubbs, who had coincidentally been found dead that same day, to getting chased by two guys with a gun, to the finding of the motel key from the wreck and breaking in that same motel room, finding a safe full of money and a gun of all things, to their best attempt at laying low which, unsurprisingly, resulted in the kegger in the first place.

JJ was wild in his recite of the events, hands gesturing every which way as you watched him with your lips curled into your mouth, resisting a smile at his antics. When he finished he retelling, you raised an eyebrow and chuckled dryly. "So, complete and utter boring day for you, huh?"

JJ chuckled along with you, shaking his head as if he was still in disbelief from everything that had happened in the past twenty four hours. "Man, it was crazy," he muttered. He looked at you then, eyes sincere. "I wish you were there with us. It was like something straight from a movie, I'm telling you. I feel like such a badass with that gun."

Your secret joy at his confession of that he wished you were was short lived, as the last of his words sunk in and you felt dread build in the pit of your stomach. You stared at him, him so excited that he hadn't even realised your face had dropped, before you reached out and grabbed his arm, effectively halting his movements and stopping the hurried flow of words that were leaving his mouth.

"JJ," you said carefully, eyes trained on his as he stared, clueless. "Please tell me you did not take that gun from the safe."

Your heart dropped as you saw him falter, his lips helplessly moving but no words coming out. He held a hand up, as if to hush you, though you hadn't started to speak again, and then his hand had dropped just as quick as it was raised, his teeth biting down on his chapped lip as the realisation dawned on you.

"JJ Fucking Maybank," you spat, hands slapping gently at his arms, because you could never really hurt him, you just wanted him to know you were pissed. "Do you realise how fucking careless that is? How much trouble you could get into, if anyone knew you had a gun-" your voice trailed off, your eyes closing as you exhaled. "JJ, please tell me you don't have it on you right now."

His lack of reply was the only answer you needed, and your stomach churned as you stepped back from his figure, suddenly feeling sick. He followed you, though, not letting you get too far as he took your arms in his hands and tried to drag you closer to him once more. You shook your head, arms slipping from his hold as you glared at him fiercely.

"That's so fucking stupid, JJ. You could get into serious trouble with this, trouble I won't be able to get you out of." You warned, because you knew it was true. Your charm and looks could get him out of some trouble to its extent, but it was more so your parents wealth and status that got the both of you out of shit when you managed to get into it, and you also knew your parents would literally throw a fit if you got involved in something like this - carrying a gun was no joking matter. You stepped back once more, hand finding its way to your forehead. "And from a crime scene, no less. Fucking hell."

JJ licked his lips, standing back roughly as you watched, his jaw clenching. "Well I'm not asking for your help here, Princess," he taunted, the nickname sending a wave of annoyance through you. JJ knew it would. "It's not like I ask you to help me, you're just there. Thinking I need help, like I'm some fucking charity case, a fucking doll you picked up from the thrift store that was gonna be thrown out the next day."

You tried to protest, but JJ didn't give you the chance. "I don't need your help all the fucking time. I don't need your pity. I get that you won't understand because why would you? You're a Kook, you get everything you want handed to you on a silver platter. And you can argue and fight me about it all you want, but I know you know it's true."

He sighed heavily, hands running down his face in a sign of defeat. You watched him all the while, thankful that you had ventured off the outskirts of the party so that hopefully nobody had heard JJ shouting at you, your heart wrenching as his blue eyes settled on you. "I'm sorry, JJ," you said finally. You refused to cry, though the desire to at the sight of him being so mad at you tore you apart. "I'm just trying to look out for you. With the gun thing, with everything that I help you with. And I know I'm a Kook, and I know that my parents could afford to buy half of this fucking island if they pleased, but that doesn't define me. I care, okay? And I know I care a lot more than a lot of people in your life."

It was probably a low blow, and you knew it. But JJ took it in, let the words sink into his brain where they stayed there, his fists clenching at his sides. You crossed your arms over your chest, defeated.

"I'm gonna go back to the party," you whispered. "I'll see you around, I guess." You eyed his pockets, unsure of where exactly he held the gun. "Be careful, okay."

And even when you were angry with him, you still tried to make sure he was okay, that he stayed safe. There was multiple occasions you'd showed up unannounced, simply asking how his day was, if he okay, if he had eaten that day, stayed hydrated. At first the attention startled him, he'd never really had anyone look out for him in that aspect, and yet there you were, like an angel sent from the gods themselves, smiling down at him.

You cared, he realised. You cared so much that sometimes he couldn't take it, because he didn't know how. The most family he'd ever gotten close to having in his life was the Pogues, after losing his mother and subsequently losing his father too as he turned into the monster that he was, cold and distant, fists always poised ready for an imaginary fight, and he knew that someday the Pogues would even slip through his fingers. He couldn't let that happen with you. He wouldn't.

He'd started off in your direction, truly, he had. But then John B was grabbing him and averting his attention to him, and he focused on his friend, promising only a minute of his time. You were in his sights, stood a bit away, and he recognised the couple you were talking to as Sarah Cameron and Topper Thorton, Kooks through and through. He held his distaste back, and even held a drink out to offer to Sarah as she and Topper made their way past where he and John B were standing. Big fucking mistake, he realised quickly.

It had all happened in a blur of events, each little bit leading to big finale - as he watched his best friend being held down in the water, powerless to Topper who kneeled over him, hands forcing John B to stay put in the sea. Sarah was screaming at Topper, Pope was holding JJ back with all his might, Kie beside them as she screamed along with Sarah to let John B go. And there you were, suddenly beside JJ, gripping his arm tightly as you took in the sight with a horrified glare. JJ didn't even hesitate; the gun had been pulled from his shorts and was directed at Topper's head in the blink of an eye.

The fury in his veins was red hot and ugly, tearing through every part of him like a vice. This was the Pogues land, their side of the island, and yet the Kooks still thought they could get away with anything and everything - including, apparently, attempting to drown his best friend.

"Your move, broski," JJ uttered through clenched teeth. He could hear the screams of the crowd behind him, and he pulled the gun away from Topper's head and into the direction of the sky, firing two shots towards it as the crowd of people quickly dispersed, screeches sounding from all over. "Now everybody needs to get the fuck off our side of the island!"

He was shoved to the side as Sarah rushed to her boyfriend, telling him he was fucking crazy or something like that, he wasn't really listening. The shots rang in his ears, and the adrenaline of the moment soured through him. Kie and Pope were screaming at him, he could hear their voices distantly. His blue eyes were unfocused for a second, before they looked up, and there you were.

Sent from the gods themselves, once again. You looked vibrant, so insanely alive, lips red and cheeks flushed, eyes bright. You let out a shaky breath as you watched him. JJ clenched his jaw.

"He was going to drown John B," he thought he'd said, but he wasn't sure. He didn't really know what to keep track of at that moment, Kie and Pope's obvious disapproval at him literally doing the one thing they swore not to do, Sarah and Topper stumbling away from the scene in the distance, John B getting up and muttering something along the lines of he wasn't going to drown me, or you, simply staring at him.

Before he knew what he was doing, JJ had made his way towards you. The gun was still held in his hands, and you swallowed thickly as you eyed it. "You should put that away," you muttered. JJ seemed confused, before he caught on to what you meant and he shoved the gun back to the spot of in between his shorts and his hip. "You literally did the one thing I said not to, you tool."

JJ cracked a smile, small and uncertain as he gazed at you. You stepped closer to him, eyes glancing over his shoulder. "You really pissed them off," you said, meaning his friends.

JJ shrugged, because he didn't care about their opinion, he cared about yours. And if you hated him now, hated the fact that he was just some dirty Pogue who held guns against people's heads now, apparently. "I don't care about what they think," he spoke softly. You looked at him confused. "I care about what you think."

You smiled softly, shrugging one shoulder. "Topper was going to drown John B," you replied, matter of fact. "If you hadn't stepped in when you did, who knew what could have happened. Nothing could have stopped him." You bit your lip, hand reaching out and touching his face gently, thumb soothing over the worried line between his brows. "You did the right thing, J. A fucking crazy and stupid thing, potientally dangerous, but the right thing nonetheless."

"Yeah, that's kind of my go-to, if you haven't already noticed," JJ smiled, tongue running over his bottom lip. You rolled your eyes, though playful. "Look, I'm sorry about before, okay. I was a dick. I know you care, but sometimes that's what scares me."

Your eyebrows furrowed, a confused expression on your face as your hand dropped from his face to intertwine with his own hand, his gaze suddenly becoming fixed on your linked hands, his other absentmindedly playing with your fingers that held his hand.

"It's like, you're this untouchable thing. I mean, you don't belong to anyone, you refuse to go by anything other than your name, and you're like this perfect mix between Pogue and Kook even if you do hate it and everyone knows who are you and they make these stories up about you, like that's how popular you are," JJ chuckled. "And then you hang out with me, you look past all the dirty Pogue shit, see me for who I am, and you care. And you care so god dammed much that it fucking terrifies me because nobody's ever cared that much before about me, so why should you?"

His hand left yours to remove the hat from sitting atop his hair and then run his hand through the blonde locks. You could see his tongue running along the outsides of his bottom teeth, the action causing a bump beneath his skin. He looked nervous than you had ever seen him before, and you'd both gotten into enough nerve-wracking situations together to compare. You sighed as your hands reached for his face, gripping his cheeks and forcing his eyes to gaze down at yours.

"JJ Maybank," you started, grinning softly. "You listen to me while I tell you that you deserve the fucking world and more. All this shit that you're going through, all the crap you deal with on a daily basis, you carry it so well that nobody would even know. You fight through each day and I don't even know how you manage it half the time. I admire you so much, J. And I can't help but care about you, even if you don't want me to. I care about you so much, that you wanna know a secret? It scares me too."

JJ gazed down at you lovingly, his forehead moving to rest against yours. You welcomed the embrace, his arms wrapping around your waist and squeezing you gently, as if reassuring himself that you were actually there.

"JJ," you whispered as you were stood in silence for a precise minute, neither of you daring to break the silence until you had. His blue eyes stared into yours, awaiting the next part of your speech. You swallowed your nerves down, figuring fuck it. "I'm so in love with you."

He grinned, his head swooping down before you knew it and his lips pressing against yours in a heated embrace that sent a sensation of butterflies to fly wildly in your stomach, bashing against your ribcage and taking your breath away. Shivers flew up your spine, and every hair on your body stood on edge as the kiss grew heavier, tongues brushing and teeth clattering, bodies pressed against each other as much as they could manage.

When JJ's lips left yours, you almost whined. JJ grinned cheekily, hands digging into your hips. "I love you," he breathed against the skin of your neck as he buried his head there, lips tickling the flesh. "I can't believe you just macked on me while I have a gun in my pocket."

You rolled your eyes and tugged gently on his hair, spurring a laugh from him as you shoved him away and grinned despite yourself. "Do not remind me, please," you warned him, allowing him to pull you into his side as you made your way down the beach. "I still can't believe you took that thing."

"I knew it'd come in handy though," he grinned, pulling you closer with the arm thrown over your shoulder. You wrapped yours around his waist, face squished in his chest as you shook your head.

"You're an idiot, Maybank."

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nostalgic-pancakes · 3 years

Text

Watching the starlings as autumn draws in

Summary: Tommy and his friends try on some skirts, and he reflects a bit on how they all got here. (It's a happy story) Title from September by Sparky Deathcap

Pairings: None! Platonic everyone (esp in irl fics_)

Read on AO3 (preferred place to read)

Word count: 2570

Warnings: None, except for surface-level references to the exile/prison arcs, but not much.

Other notes: I wrote this in a fit of madness last night in like three hours at 2 am, so i’ll probably edit it honestly but for now, enjoy! (If the CC’s ever display discomfort with this type of fic I will take it down)

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"WELCOME BACK TO THE STREAM, BOYS!" Tommy exclaims, rubbing his hands together as he starts rapid-fire answering questions about the stream, and the stream title from chat. It's funny, how over time, Tommy's come to see Chat as this one entity- an old friend. The nervousness of answering questions as a fifteen year old with nothing but a big personality, a twitch account and a copy of Minecraft is all but gone now, nineteen years old and happier than he's ever been.

Dreadfulzombie19: what are u doin this stream

"THANK YOU FOR ASKING, Dreadfulzombie19, today is gonna be a bit different, innit Tubbo?" Tommy raises his voice a bit at the end of his sentence, just loud enough for one of his flatmates to hear him. When Tubbo yells back an affirmative, Tommy turns back to his setup. Chat's gone a bit wild again, even though he, Tubbo and Ranboo have been living together for over a year now.

"Okay, okay, calm down chat- so recently I was at university, as usual right? And I had an eight AM class again, and… yeah I can see you all can relate."

"BUT! BUT! On my way back to the flat, I saw something really cool." Tommy hesitates in his speech to take a sip of coke again- his blood pressure's been acting up lately and watches Chat to wild again, asking him what he saw.

"Okay, so there was a shop- new place, which doesn't happen often this is fucking Brighton- and they sold skirts and dresses and stuff with adjustments for AMAB sizes!" Chat goes a bit bonkers, but Tommy's mod team- a little smaller than it used to be, now that he isn't the centre of YouTube or Twitch attention anymore, none of them are- are handling it, and pretty well.

"So I had to go, right? As many of you probably know, last year, I made the astounding discovery that gender-based stereotypes and expectations are, in fact, fake and I should not give a SHIT. And so I go in and look through the stuff- it's a really poggers shop by the way, and I find the perfect thing- it was the most poggers skirts and shit, okay? So, today's stream is going to have me wearing this pogchamp shit and wearing it right, with the help of…" Tommy ends his monologue by picking up the joke shaker-things that Phil had gotten him as a housewarming gift last year and indicates for his first two helpers to enter the office.

In walks his mother, face obscured from view as always, waving to the camera, and Wilbur, also wearing one of his only skirts for this occasion. Eret had taught him, on a phonecall in the skirt shop that week about the different types of skirts with a handy diagram. Wilbur's was a pleated circle skirt, brown to offset the bright yellow of his sweater and beanie, the same colour as his hair. It's very swoosh-y, so he's wearing black leggings with his regular shoes too. Motherinnit's also wearing her favourite skirt, a baby blue prairie skirt, Tommy thinks, and it's one he's seen fairly often.

Wilbur ducks down in order to show his face to Chat, and ruffles Tommy's hair while he's at it. Tommy's taller, but not by much, so Wilbur still fucking makes short jokes, That fucker.

Chat is now going so fast that he simply cannot read anything but some of the all caps messages and can barely make out some of the emotes.

"Okay, OKAY, CALM DOWN CHAT! WE HAVE TO GET TO FUCKING BUSINESS!" Tommy yells into the mix, like he did when he was sixteen and used the 'many people find me annoying at first' intro. Nowadays he just lets the content speak for itself. Anyone who wants to be here already is, by now.

Wilbur laughs a bit, and that hasn't changed at all. "Tommy, how is chat supposed to calm down if you're not calm?"

"I am their god!! They will obey via sheer digital willpower!" Tommy replies back, pretty zealously (What? An English Literature class is mandatory for his film degree, and The Great Gatsby by Zelda Fitzgerald is a good book, as are most of the other assigned ones. He's had entire conversations with Techno with just lit quotes and it drives everyone insane. Tommy loves it.) Chat seemingly has listened to his godlike abilities, with a few OG's spotting his half-quotation of one of Dream's last lines in the Dream SMP. The rest are spamming 'MOTHERINNIT'.

"If having a shitty magic trick book from a washed-up politician makes you a god, then what does that make me?" Wilbur replies, with one of Foolish's lines and swatting his hand at Tommy. Tommy swats back.

"Bitch" "Arsehole" "Shithead" "Fuckface" Wilbur finishes cheerily, as if this happens all the time. It does. Chat's used their antics now, four years of consistently making content together will do that for you.

Eventually Motherinnit reminds them both to get back on Topic, and Tommy goes back to facing the camera, addressing Chat directly.

"Today, my beloved mother, and my idiot brother-" "hey!" "And maybe my flatmates will be joining me to show off some cool as SHIT skirts! And a dress or two. We all have our selections, right?" Everyone nods in affirmative, even Tubbo and Ranboo. Though the camera can't see them. Ranboo's just come home from his final class, then. He should probably take the first hour back off, and judging by how Tubbo is forcefully judging Ranboo to the shower, he probably gets it. Tommy signs an affirmative to both of them, and gets back to the camera, where Wilbur's showing off all of his (very poggers) very stupid brown or yellow skirts. Tommy's are in cool colours, for fuck's sake.

"Oh yeah, Puffy just confirmed she'll be on stream! She'll be here in about twenty minutes, accounting for fucking traffic, and Niki' going to get onto VC after her own stream, what game is it this time?"

"GRIS." Wilbur answers.

"Poggers- she is the SHIT and will join us soon! So expect some QUALITY QUALITY content this stream!! Remember to not spam her chat to finish faster." Exclaims Tommy, even if it ends up as a light warning, as he picks up his own very poggers skirts from the extra armchair in his office to show the camera.

One is the classic red and white, mostly white but with bright red on the waist (elastic) and the bottom, and it reached to about Tommy's knee, if worn at the hip. It had no pleats, but the red bits were a very nice velvet texture, and while the skirt was heavy, it still had very much swoosh value, and pockets!! Big ones!! He slips the skirt on top of his jeans before entering camera view, the skirt visible in all its classic Tommyinnit glory, as he takes his place right next to Wilbur, who just took. a quick spin at the behest of several dono's., Skirt spying out from his lower shins all the way to his knee, making visible one of his (many) petticoats. ("What? It's cold all the fucking time here, Toms.") Tommy also makes a quick little spin, skirt flying outward, not upward, so it looks like he's hula hooping for a moment there. Lastly, Motherinnit spins around too, and while her skirts do not swoosh, she looks opulent, like she was about to go to waltz with the enemy, for whom she has a dagger in the back of her dress for. (He finished Anna Karenina and the Six of Crows duology within the same week and has not yet recovered. Jack Edwards is laughing at him as he thinks in his English Lit Graduate glory.)

It's fun, trying on different skirts- he and Wilbur accidentally bought the same dress at one point, which they paired up to wear, darting off into their respective changing rooms while giggling like idiots with their checkered blouses and the grindl skirts that Niki had sent over when she heard of this stream idea, laughing the whole time. Tubbo enters as dramatically as possible with Puffy, and while Tubbo looks really fucking good in his handkerchief skirt with embroidered bees and plain white shirt, it's Puffy who steals the show with an exact, real life version of her red banquet dress.

Fans from way back in the SMP, before Tommy had started branching out start going insane and are bringing back emotes Tommy wasn't sure were still available, but she is fucking stunning- deep shades of red and crimson, with slits on either side of her waist and all the detailing. She'd gotten the contact for her dressmaker through Bernadette Banner, Tommy recalls- she was so fucking cool when she streamed with him once, and gotten him to swear less and supplant those world's with bigger ones to intimidate instead. While he still curses like a sailor as part of his persona, it's less so and he does way less in real life these days, unless the situation calls for it. It's also just rude, especially in uni libraries, where he spends too much time these days wondering why he didn't read more as a kid.

Puffy's stolen his audience for a WHILE, and Niki coming on hasn't helped any, so Tommy exits camera view for a while to hug Ranboo really quickly- he's had midterms and has basically been dying all month.

Everyone on this stream- Tommy, Wilbur, Motherinnit, Tubbo, Puffy, Niki and Ranboo enter the camera frame after entering their dressing rooms for the last time on this particular stream, Puffy with full in-character wigs and makeup, Tommy in an Edwardian-Gothic reminiscent black and red dress, Ranboo in something he bought when he gap-yeared in Japan, punk lolita or something, Niki flaunting her pink in a Marie Antoinette style show of finery, Tubbo dressing in all green this time, something like a very deranged biology teacher who hasn't slept in days (Tubbo hasn't-Tommy has to get into that), Wilbur like a forest-nymph, all earthy tones and swishy fabrics and nature highlights, and finally Motherinnit, who hasn't changed but is here to take pictures as they all lean in together to fit into frame, as drastic as their height difference is. Niki is going to be edited in later, and everyone on the 'Dream SMP but nobody does Dream SMP and we're all fucking nerds' discord server is going to get a copy.

The stream wraps up there, after about two hours, and it's only about six in the evening- a far cry from the late nights and long hours from the beginning of Tommy's career, so everyone runs to their changing areas for the last time, into pajamas now, and packs away all of the clothes they wore, properly, as to not incense Karolina Zebrowska, and Jemma, Dan's wife, who would look at them disappointedly and nobody wants a sad Jemma because that means no cooing at their son. Also it just feels shitty.

Everyone huddles in Tommy, Tubbo and Ranboo's living room, and they out on UP for like, the millionth fucking time (they still cry when Ellie dies), and Tommy is leaning into Wilbur's side and feeling his mum play with the hair in his very small, stubby ponytail he's developed by being in Uni as he and Tubbo intertwine their legs together and Ranboo rests his head in the tangle of limbs, playing with his fidget cube. Puffy stays on Wilbur's side, intently texting someone and smiling the whole while, and Tommy takes a moment to reflect (something he's been getting better at doing) on how the actual hell they all got here.

The Dream SMP was always going to end- everyone knew it, if course, they were the fucking writers. But by the time they did, not only were their respective brands too closely intertwined to just… sever that quickly, but they'd become too close to even want to. So the SMP discord never shut, even though Dream and George had planned it months ago, and they continued supporting each other with their interests. Wilbur made a lot more music solo, with his band and even just random ass streams where he practiced guitar for an hour. He kept playing Minecraft, but it wasn't his main focus. A bunch of people left. More stayed. YouTube left him alone.

Dream, George and Sapnap are still Minecraft streamers, but their YouTube channels are mostly blogs of them being poor excuses of adults with other former SMP members joining in sometimes. Tommy and the Dream Team were closer than ever, even though the seeds of their friendship had been sowed when they used to linger after heavy streams together, reassuring each other that none of that was true and that nothing like… that would happen in real life, because Dream had used real abuse tactics, and those still hurt unless immediately taken care of. So they were. It was a running joke that Dream was stuck at 99 million subscribers since nobody really wanted the face reveal anymore. The other Dream team members were doing peachy.

Phil and Techno were also still primarily Minecraft streamers, but they also released things like advice videos and mental health stuff, especially for relationships. They had a new scripted series where Tommy was a minor character. The dadza jokes were still as real, and yes, outside of streaming, both of them were lovely people and responsible adults (mostly). They collaborated with DanTDM and co a lot more now.

Puffy and Niki kept doing games, but did lots of different ones, testing point and clickers to triple A titles, and making it all fucking hilarious while they were at it.

So where had that left Tommy?

After the Dream SMP, he'd kind of had no idea what to do, and he was going to University for the first time, so he just… did whatever he thought would be fun. He learned about vintage fashion from the queens themselves- Mina Le, Bernadette Banner and Karolina Zebrowska and had fun learning how to sew for the first time, fixing and making his own clothes for the first time, clunky as they were, Wilbur had cried, genuinely, when he saw the Lovejoy shirts that Tommy had made for the band. He'd found a genuine love for literature in university, so Tommy started talking to booktubers and studytubers like Jack Edwards and Noelle Stevenson. Tubbo and Ranboo had joined him, fucking around in any YouTube niche they found even remotely interesting. Eventually, they all found a happy medium- a bit of everything.

Some people obviously weren't happy with that but Tommy was happy as he was, making what he liked with his best friend's, living together close enough to most of their friends (family) to have fun and drop in on one another at ass-o-clock in the morning to comfort, to laugh. His sub count hasn't gone up in a while- most of his audience is static, with about 80-90k online on a stream at any time.p

It was a nice feeling, to have carved out a space for himself and the people he loves, and be is so, so glad that he got this chance.

Looking at his mostly asleep family, Tommy thinks 'yeah. Life is good.' as the last thought before he sleeps.

#dream smp #mcyt #irl fic #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #tubbo #nihachu #ranboo #vee's writing #2021

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reddie-fangirl24 · 4 years

Text

When Love Saves a Life (A Reddie Fanfiction)

NOTE: This is a request from @criminaltoziers. Richie and Eddie get into a big fight. I based it off on that fic where the Losers go on a camping trip together, and Richie avoids everyone because he is having nightmares. I also wrote in a requested line from @arabellaturner3. I hope you guys enjoy this! It was so fun to write! Please, keep sending requests. It gets boring in quarantine sometimes.

Donate to my ko-fi!

“I sweat to God, Richie! If this whole thing is leading to a joke about my mom, I’m going to...”

The Losers didn’t want to listen to this argument anymore sitting outside of the RV. Mike was trying to fix the flat tire. In all truth, none of them were mechanics making it a tough process. What was worse was that they were parked in an area not even close to civilization. They were near a forest, with dark trees looming over them like that scary scene from Snow White where the princess runs through the forest.

This was supposed to be a fun trip. For most of their excursion, Richie was acting closed off, snapping at anybody when he was just asked a simple question. For most of the way, Richie drove. Obviously, something was wrong when he nearly nodded off, driving them off the road less than an hour ago.

Just then, the door to the RV opened, and Richie stomped out. “Let’s just end this!”

“Oh, of course!” Eddie was right behind him, slamming the door to the vehicle roughly. The sound rattled Beverly.

Richie snapped his head back like an owl. The bags under his eyes were prominent. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing! Nothing!” Eddie slapped his arms against his side. This argument had been going on for a whole hour now.

“Tell me! I’m such a rock because I can’t feel? Might as well hit me with one!” Richie challenged him.

“Who has the time?” Eddie retorted right into his face.

Oh, no, this wasn’t turning out good. Mike stood up, hoping there was some way he could stop this argument. Since they all lived in different states it was hard to get together. All Mike wanted to do was to get his friends together for a real reunion to make up for the last.

“What do you mean? Tell me, Eddie!” Richie took a charging step towards his boyfriend, huffing like a bull. He was so sleep deprived that he could have qualified for one.

Eddie shook his head, staring down Richie. “You never make time, that’s what, you asshole! It would be way easier to be with a guy who could be open about his feelings, instead of being away on so many trips!”

“Wow, and this is coming from the guy who was a loveless marriage to his mother for fifteen years!”

Wrong thing to say. Ben put a comforting arm around Beverly. Shouting triggered her.

Eddie’s mouth hung open, trembling. “That’s it...”

“That’s it for what?”

“We’re done.”

Feeling their heart skip a beat, Bill was shocked, as Beverly gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth. No, this was not happening.

Richie was still trying to process the horrible words that Eddie just said. Night after night he was plagued with nightmares. Nightmares about Eddie dying, being taken away from him, or Eddie leaving telling him that the relationship was not worth it. These nightmares were the reason why Richie had been giving everyone a hard time because he was having trouble coping, trying to hide it.

Finally, waking up from his thoughts, Mike was talking to Eddie who looked as if he were going to pass out. Normally, Richie was at his side in a second, helping him breathe, but he didn’t.

You don’t have the time.

Eddie ran off, disappearing into the forest, breaking into tears.

“No, Eddie, wait!” Mike called after him. “We don’t know what’s in that forest! It could be dangerous!”

Beverly got up. “I’ll get him!”

“Be careful!” Ben called after her.

The forest was creepy. Every moment Beverly turned back just to make sure that she was not going in the wrong direction. She should have brought along bread crumbs. Just then she realized that this was the first time she had been along after a long period of time. Beverly recoiled from the trees that stood tall like giants. Now was not the time to get scared. After all, she battled and won against an alien-clown. Twice.

Following the cries, Beverly found Eddie sitting on a rock, covering his face with his hands. Her heartbreaking at such a horrible image, Beverly immediately pulled her friend into a hug, letting the man cry into her shirt.

“Oh, Eds, you didn’t really mean that, did you?” Beverly asked him, rubbing a gentle hand along his shaking back.

Eddie held her tightly, sniffling. “I-I don’t even know where that came from! He won’t tell me what’s wrong! Are Richie and I even meant to be together?”

“Yes,” Beverly said to him, nodded.

Eddie parted from the hug, taking a deep breath. “I just wish Richie would tell me what’s going on. He won’t sleep! Am I doing something wrong?”

“Breaking up with him is not what you should do. Talking to him will make Richie open up about what is bothering him,” Beverly told him, keeping a hand around his shoulder.

Eddie started to cry again, ashamed. Break up? How could he ever say an awful thing? It hurt. Richie was the best thing that could ever happen to him. Yes, he wasn’t around a lot, but he was a comedian, what could Eddie expect? The more he thought about his accusation, it was so untrue. Richie was always there, 24/7 in the beginning when he was injured.

“I love him, Beverly,” Eddie admitted, his voice breaking from the tears. “He’s so annoying, but he’s always there for me.”

“Didn’t you tell me that it was annoying?” Beverly smirked.

Eddie snickered. Beverly’s smiles always worked. “That’s the best part about him.”

“Have you two ever thought about going to a therapist? I think you should talk to someone about how you are feeling. Ben and I have. It helps, really!”

Closing his eyes, Eddie took another deep breath trying to slow down his already rapid breathing. All that time where Eddie demanded that Richie sees a therapist, he should have been seeing one himself. His mother despised therapists, lying to him saying that therapists would only make him worse. How ironic, seeing how she messed him up.

Beverly got his attention, wrapping a comforting arm around Eddie’s shoulder. “Don’t do this to you and Richie, Eddie. Please, go talk to him. He needs you now more than ever.”

Eddie stood up quickly and took a few steps. “You’re right. I have to- WHOA!”

“Eddie!” Beverly cried out in a panic when the lower half of Eddie’s body disappeared in a murky substance.

Great! Just great! To make this day worse, Eddie had to fall into a pit mud. Filthy mud. Deep mud. Moving to get out, Eddie panicked, sinking a little to his knees. “What the fuck?”

“Do you want me to help-”

“No, Beverly, stay back!” Eddie alerted raising his hand out, stopping her. “It’s quicksand!”

Beverly’s blood ran cold. “Shit! I have to do something! Uh- here, grab this stick!” The branch wasn’t long enough for Eddie to grab onto. Unfortunately the more he moved only caused him to sink further. He sank a little over his thighs, near his hips. Starting to freak out over what germs, parasites, and other miniscule deadly things invaded in this mire, Eddie had to control his panic attack.

Nearly falling into the swamp herself, Beverly barely got her foot out before looking at Eddie helplessly with tears rolling down her cheeks. Eddie remained still. That didn’t help. He still sank no matter what.

“Beverly,” Eddie’s voice squeaked like a child. It was an awful feeling when a bog of cold mud was pressing against your legs. “You need to go back to camp and get everyone else to help.”

“What? No! I can’t leave you!” Tears sprang into Beverly’s eyes. She felt like a helpless little child again.

“You can bring a rope. Please, I know you can do this.” Eddie himself did not want to be left alone in this bog which was already past his thighs. It was the only way possible.

“Okay, okay…” Beverly reluctantly agreed.

“Hurry, please?” Eddie pleaded with clear fright in his voice. A bead of sweat slipped off his face falling into the mud and dissolving.

“I’ll be back soon, Eddie! I promise!”

---

“Richie, he didn’t mean that!” Bill told Richie was who fuming. Mike restrained Richie. To release his anger, Richie punched at the RV. These dents weren’t going to look good when they brought it back to the rental.

Finally, Richie screamed out in pain. Waiting, Richie felt to his knees, covering his arms over his face. Waiting a few minutes, Richie spoke. “No, he’s right.”

“What do you mean he’s right?” Ben asked.

Richie shook his aching head. “I haven’t been there. I’ve just been avoiding him because I’m so fuckin’ afraid to talk about my feelings!”

Mike put a hand on his back in comfort, noting how tense he was. “Richie, I’m sure Edde did not mean that.”

“He’s just trying to help you,” Bill told him.

“I haven’t been there for him,” Richie was so tired that his mind could barely comprehend what his friends were saying to him. All he wanted to have was a good night’s sleep. Eddie had been doing everything to help him, but all he was doing was making their relationship worse.

He looked up at his friends, seeing how worried they looked. How could he make them worry? And Eddie was off somewhere in the woods crying.

Ben looked into his eyes. “Just talk to him, Rich. Everything will be...”

“RICHIE!” Beverly flew out of the forest in a panic. She almost tripped herself up on a tree root.

Richie stood up when he saw her panic-stricken face. “What is it?!”

“Eddie! Eddie… h-he…” Beverly was so out of breath that she couldn’t form words. Ben walked up to her, hugging her tight, rubbing her back.

“What happened? Where’s Eddie? Is he hurt?” Richie asked practically shaking the woman out of her skin. He stopped immediately, knowing that Beverly did not like that.

“Quicksand! Eddie is trapped in quicksand!”

In a flash, Richie ran off into the woods. Ignoring warnings from the Losers, they followed him.

I’m coming, Eds. I’m coming!

---

Reaching his arm out to try to grab a stick that was sticking right out of the ground near the bog, it only broke the moment Eddie put weight on it.

Eddie sank past his hips. The quicksand was pulling him deeper into its grip. His heart continued to pound as he did everything to stay completely still. How did staying still help anything? You still sank. The mud slowly creeping up your body. Microscopic germs were probably crawling along his legs or into his pants for that matter.

Come on, Eds, you can do this, Stay calm!

Eddie sank well over his hips now, unable to move. Gross, this was one of his favorite shirts! Even breathing, he could still feel himself sinking. Remember Richie said. Your mind is stronger.

Did Richie even want to save him? Especially after breaking up with him. Was that really official? No, that was something he said out of anger. People never meant half of the things they said when they were angry.

Whimpering, Eddie made the smallest move just to look down the pathway. This one little movement caused him to sink to his chest in just a second. Yelping, Eddie flung his arms about, panicking, his breathing going frantic.

Richie, where was Richie? That morning they were cuddling as he brushed his curly black hair, they were happy. All he wanted him to do go to sleep which turned around in ar argument with Richie only trying to make Eddie smile with his usual humor.

Eddie shivered. The mud was cold the lower he sank. There was nothing holding him up below. It was becoming tougher to breathe with the thick muck pushing against his chest slowly pulling him in further. His shirt was getting filthy. Oh, that was the least of his worries!

Why would he ruin the best thing that ever happened to him?

Closing his eyes, Eddie waited for the end, sinking further.

“Eddie!” Richie screamed, screeching to a halt in the dirt, nearly falling into the mire.

Shivering from fear, and from how cold the mud was the deeper he sank, Eddie kept his arms lifted above his head like the time when they were wading through the sewer water. Eddie just sank over his chest making his arms hit the cold gooey surface.

“Richie...” Eddie whimpered, afraid to speak. Tears leaked out of his eyes.

“It’s okay, we’re going to get you out of there, Eds. Just breathe,” Richie told him gently. He turned to the Losers searching for a plan. Mike put his foot down very close to the edge of the bog only to sink it.

Without wasting any more time, Richie ordered the Losers to hold his legs, and he crawled on his stomach into the pit like a crocodile. Because he was laying flat, he didn’t sink. It smelled though. Now, he was closer to Eddie, only a foot apart.

“Eddie, grab my hands!” Richie told him, stretching his arms out to him.

Feeling his arms slowly getting pulled under, Eddie gasped, now that his neck was the only part of his body that was out of the mud. “I can’t...”

“You can! Eds, you can do anything! You’re so brave! I’m here right now, and I am not leaving. Sorry to face facts, but you’re stuck with me!” Richie smiled at him. “You can do it!”

Slowly, Eddie reached out and took Richie’s hands. The other Losers pulled Richie back until they were both safe on the hard surface.

“Are you okay?” Richie asked Eddie who was hysterically breathing. Richie helped him sit up, put his hoodie around Eddie’s shaking body. He kept his distance for a bit letting Eddie regain his composure. He just wanted to hug him. The other Losers kneeled down at a close distance themselves.

“Breathe, breathe, it’s okay,” Richie comforted the man, resting his hand on his cheek as Eddie coughed, half choking on air. Richie shooshed him, brushing his hair lightly. That always helped Eddie calm down. Once Eddie looked calmer, his breathing slowed down, Richie held his cold hands trying to warm them.

“Say something. Anything! Even if you just call me an asshole just say something,” Richie begged of him. This helped after one of them had a nightmare.

Eddie took a breath, looking into Richie’s eyes. “I’m okay.” He kept taking deep breaths.

Finally letting the tears spill out, Richie broke out into tears, holding his boyfriend close. He didn’t care that he was covered in mud. “Jesus, you’re okay! Fuck, why did I make you run off? I almost lost you once, damn it! You don’t deserve me...”

“Richie, you’re here,” Eddie smiled at him, putting his hand on his shoulder.

Richie met his eyes. “That’s right. I’m here,” Richie told him, putting their foreheads together. “I’m here, and I will never leave.”

“I love you, even though you’re an asshole,” Eddie giggled, hugging him tightly.

“Same. Except you stink.”

“Can we take a shower?”

“I’m down for that. Then I’ll sleep.

“Good.”

#Reddie #Reddie Fanfiction #It Fanfiction #It Chapter 2 #Richie tozier #Eddie Kaspbrak #The Losers Club #Quicksand #Beverly Marsh #bill denbrough #Mike Hanlon #ben hanscom #Benverly

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riot3672 · 4 years

Text

A Reylo Retrospective, I Guess

I was thinking of doing this anyway after TROS came out, but I feel like it hits kind of differently in light of what TROS actually was and how the discourse has continued to blow up after everything. So this will be rambly, but hopefully have a point or something.

I’m one of those OG Reylo shippers. Like I saw TFA the night it came out and saw the potential romance from the tendrils and a lot of literature theory based analysis. I happened to be someone who loves villains, and the dynamic of a scrappy orphan-turned-Force user from nowhere having an important dynamic with a fallen prince of a mountain of legacy was....wow. Incredible.

So I wrote fic practically the night after the movie came out called CAVED. I followed Reylo blogs. And miraculously, my fic became more popular than anything I’d ever done and the fellow English nerd, villain-loving people I found on Tumblr and AO3 were some of the most positive, smart people I’d seen in fandom. But along with that, there was the hate. I somehow made it enough under the radar to never get online hate despite the fanfic and reblogging Reylo stuff, but I’d read every word of fandom discourse and the way Reylos were bullied. It discouraged me, really, from ever interacting with the fandom beyond reading and reblogging.

2015 passed. Then came 2016. I got a new roommate for college, one who apparently followed me on Tumblr and vehemently expressed how much she disliked Reylo. I shrugged it off. I wasn’t planning on engaging with fandom discourse in my own home, thank you very much. And I was nice to the roommate -- she was a fine person overall, and invited her out with my friends for a trivia night. Then, out of seemingly nowhere, she looks to my friends and says, “you guys know Carlyn’s a Reylo right? That she supports incest and abuse?” Whether it was a joke or not, I found myself floored, completely dumbstruck that someone would actually say the vile shit antis say to people online in real life. And to my friends. Of course, my friends didn’t really engage, but it was something I’ll never forget. But 2016 passed, 2017 came along and we weren’t roommates the following year.

I’d continue to just watch from the sidelines and work on original fiction. When TLJ came around, I said I’d write another ridiculous fic and see what Rian Johnson did to the movies. And Jesus, was that movie incredible. I’d admit, I remember wishing that Ben would turn at the end of that movie, but I figured JJ was on Rian’s wavelength and we’d get a Zuko-level redemption for Ben. There seemed like so many damn ways they could do it. I was hyped from TLJ and all the new Reylos, excited for 2019 to come. And, of course, I wrote my fanfic.

And I’m not going to say there wasn’t some level of joy in watching Bendemption or the Reylo kiss. In fact, my Reylo friend and I were crushing each other’s hands and squealing in a silent theater during the kiss. I rode that high for hours. I was right. We were right. All the romantic coding was real, the narrative doesn’t see this as abuse, there was a kiss. I got one chapter of the 3rd fanfic written.

And then just kinda stopped. I started reading analyses, and just got more and more angry. Why wasn’t TROS as good as it could’ve been? I started analyzing every arc and story beat, and none were good beyond my obvious dissatisfaction with the interrupted progression of Reylo from the first half of the film, Rey Palpatine, and Ben’s death. And truthfully, I don’t think I’ll ever be satisfied with how the film was made or how the discourse is creeping back in for no reason.

But there are a few things I plan to bring into the New Year.

- I’d love to actually get more Reylo mutuals and interact with them. I love you all and have loved you for years. Who cares if it gets me on the radar of antis.

- I’m taking everything I’ve learned from what I loved about Reylo and what I wanted Reylo to be and putting it into my original fiction. I’ll never be the writer to my fans that JJ is to us.

- Maybe I’ll actually finish my third Reylo fanfic for my own dumb trilogy.

But overall, just wanted to say you guys are the best. We were right, and one day writers will actually follow through on what dynamics like this can be. Hopefully one day I can be one of them.

(Link to the Reylo series if anyone’s interested.)

#reylo #ben solo #an unproofread ramble #tros spoilers

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elenatria · 5 years

Text

How to turn a London Con trip into a “Chernobyl” trip.

I’m home so I can finally make this post.

Where to start.

Okay-

Let’s start with “Chernobyl”. It happened a few months ago, fell on our heads like a nuclear bomb. We all loved the protagonists but Viktor Charkov, the KGB chairman, is also a memorable, creepy, hateful character who got under our skin with the cold truth of his words, the harsh reality of his behaviour. He was too real, too pragmatic to be ignored. From stories I’ve been told in person, he’s no different than the executive arms of tyrants we had here not more than forty years ago. He exists. People like him live among us.

As for the actor himself, so strange. See, there is no mention of Alan Williams’ age on IMDB or Wikipedia and that’s enough to show that, apart from his theatre, TV and film work, little is known about him. Where to find him, contact him, he’s too old to care about social media and apparently he never was too sought out, not with a “face like a bagful of donuts” as he jokes.

But I was thrilled. I wrote the first chapter of “A single bullet” after watching “Chernobyl” and I just had to show it to this elusive low-profile thespian who inspired me. Because... I don’t know, because. Just to say “Thanks for doing a magnificent job. Thanks for helping me understand evil.”

So I tried contacting his agent. I gave her my name and nationality. I thought I’d just send her the link and forget about it.

Apparently, she forgot about it too because I never heard from her.

After a month London Con was upon us, but what to do in the evenings? Plays of course. I booked a ticket for “The woman in black” and “The Hunt” with Tobias Menzies. Then I searched and searched for Alan Williams plays but, to my dismay, he had finished playing Ivan Romanovich Chebutykin in “Three sisters” at the beginning of June and his new play, “Faith, hope and charity”, wouldn’t premiere before September. Just my luck to be in London in between the two plays. No stage door queue, no autographs.

After spending a full Saturday at London Con and Sunday at the British Museum, Monday had to be a day of leisure. A free concert at St Martin-in-the-Fields before lunch was all I was capable of attending, drag my steps towards the closest bus stop that would drop me off… wherever. I didn’t care.

But then I decided to read my post from the previous day about managing to buy a ticket for “The girl on the train” at the very last minute and meeting Alex Ferns, the naked miner. The unexpected ticket, the unexpected hug.

Now how difficult would it be to meet an actor who is NOT doing a play at the moment?

Very very difficult, confirmed one voice.

He’s rehearsing for ‘Faith, hope and charity’, isn’t he? disagreed another. He must be. It’s almost August and the play opens in September. He’s at work right now. He must be!!!

I googled and googled for almost an hour. I found that “Faith, hope and charity” would be staged at the Dorfman theatre near Waterloo station so I called the stage door. I explained to the receptionist that I did not know Mr Williams in person but I was visiting London for only a few days, was a big fan of his work in “Chernobyl” and I would really love to greet him. The man on the phone was very helpful revealing that this was their first day of rehearsing (the incredible coincidence!) and they had started only… an hour ago. He asked my name and I said “Well… you can say Eleni”, I mean, who needs my complicated surname, right? The guy said he’d save my number and let Mr Williams know.

Oh god.

But I couldn’t just sit there waiting for a call, I’d never get that call, come on.

So I rushed to the Dorfman Theatre. I was breaking my brain trying to figure out how I could get the Charkov chapter of “A single bullet” printed in a district with no stationary shops whatsoever. I was hoping I could… shove it into his face I don’t know, and later imagine he’d be reading it. He didn’t really have to read it, just nod condescendingly and lie that he would, and that would be enough to put a smile on my face. Just like all those toys and drawings people give to celebs at cons that end up in the hands of volunteers, assistants or charities, if not in the trash.

When I got there I talked to a different receptionist, a very professional, very unhelpful young man. For safety reasons he wasn’t supposed to disclose neither the time they’d finish nor the time of recess. For safety reasons I had to go through Mr Williams’ agent to get to him. Outrageous, the woman didn’t even forward my story to him, let alone give me permission to meet him. I was hopeless, I was being turned down. I was being an idiot.

“But they must have a lunch break, right??” I insisted. “Can’t I just wait outside?”

That guy was a goddamn sphinx, and the helpful guy was still talking on the phone or to some lady there, I don’t remember, so I couldn’t reach out to him. Suddenly I felt unnecessarily needy as if I was sitting on the subway floor, shaking my hat to passers-by, clinging my few coins. How humiliating.

With heavy steps I exited the theatre. Why is it so complicated, why do I need someone else’s “permission”? I’m not a child. I looked around, it was a sunny day, people were sitting in coffee tables out in the patio. Some tables were empty but I didn’t care, I just sat on a column by the entrance, far enough to not be seen by the receptionists and feel like shit for lingering, close enough to catch anyone exiting.

For an hour and a half I crouched over my phone trying to figure out how to contact the agent without sounding too stalkery. I called the agency but the girl on the phone gave me the same email address where I had sent my fic. Fine. I changed the wording of my message again and again so as not to sound too needy or creepy even if I knew it wouldn’t work.

I knew I had missed my concert for no reason and I would soon have to leave because who doesn’t like giving up? It’s better to give up than stress over something that’s never gonna happen. It always is.

I was seconds away from clicking “send” and making a fool of myself to the agent for a second time when I thought I saw someone, a towering presence stopping a few meters away, looking over, hesitating, waiting.

I raised my head.

There he was, three-dimensional, bathed in sunlight. Not an image in my head anymore.

Believe me when I say that I was staring at Gandalf, Santa Claus, the Grail Knight from “Indiana Jones”, the Big Bad Wolf.

I honestly don’t know what I was staring at.

But there he was, in all his elderly silver-bearded glory. A myth in my mind, in the flesh. How did he know I was there? I didn’t tell anyone. I was supposed to be hiding.

After nanoseconds of deer-like stun I did the polite thing and jumped on my feet, ready for a handshake. I mean, I had to stand up, right? He had come out just for me.

Shit. What had I done? The nerve.

The first thing I remember noticing when I got closer were his faded blue eyes with a distinguishable light-shaded rim circling the iris. The rest was just word vomit, how we all love him on tumblr, write fics, make memes etc.

Memes?

I described to him the “Try me, bitch” edit we all love, courtesy of @two-screaming-rats.

He didn’t get it at first, then he laughed so HARD, so damn hard. You guys have to see Charkov laughing his heart out.

He said he only had a few minutes before he had to go back to the rehearsal so I decided to start the conversation with the Charkov fanfics. He was quick to apologize for not answering my email. “I’m sorry but… but I honestly don’t know what to say when someone sends me a story,” he admitted humbly. “I read all of them but… I mean I’ve been sent stories based on my characters before but I really wouldn’t know what to say.”

Okay first of all, he read my story. I don’t know if he read it a month ago when I sent it or minutes before he exited the theatre to greet me but he did.

Secondly, there are more stories about his characters? WHERE.

“I’m not a writer anyway,” I said apologetically.

The unexpected reassurance. “But you are.”

I guess one doesn’t have to be The Writer™, they just have to write. What a way to be courteous to a fan though.

Then I mentioned how we love Charkov’s trademark, his glasses, how we’re frantically looking for ‘80s-looking glasses, how we obsess over specific frames and brands.

“They’re not a brand,” he clarified, “they were specifically made for me, they’re an exact replica of Viktor Chebrikov’s glasses. Just like our clothes that were made by seamstresses who worked during that era.”

Naturally I praised the production’s attention to detail that has us ranting, how beautiful and “European” it all looked, how true the script was to Lyudmila’s story as it was described in Svetlana Alexievich’ “Chernobyl prayer”. I talked about my thoughts when I first heard there would be a “Chernobyl” TV series: the Americans made a TV show based on events that affected Europe, now that’s a new one. He mentioned Russian media admitting that they should have made that show, not the Americans. I agreed but also added “That’s the thing, it may be beautifully made, it may be the truth, but it’s still propaganda. Just because it’s true, just because the Soviet government did all those horrible things, that doesn’t mean that the show is not serving someone’s agenda.” He disagreed saying that the Soviet people were shown in a good light for their bravery and sacrifice. Well, we knew that, didn’t we.

I said how impressed I was by his portrayal of Charkov because we were told about people like him by dictatorship victims at school. People who had been tortured in the ‘70s came to us, talking about their time in underground cells, in the hands of sadists like Charkov. I told him about my uncle who was arrested and executed by the Nazis for distributing left-wing leaflets, about my grandmother who had to escape to the mountains during the civil war that followed the German occupation because she was a communist. I explained how real it felt to me, his last scene with Legasov in the kitchen. How bleak and horribly accurate.

He mentioned “You’re one of us, Legasov”. To him Charkov was just doing his job, working for the greater good and he agreed with the quote in my fic, that Charkov “couldn’t wait to retire”.

He then joked about Charkov being blasé after the committee meeting, “Meh, I’m done with arresting people, I let others do it for me”.

I assure you all those questions were answered in a couple of minutes, and I was certain our meeting was about to come to an end.

But then… he gestured toward an empty table.

Don’t let an aged man standing, was my spontaneous thought. I was reminded of my father.

Then I realized. He gestured toward an empty table.

Table. The two of us. On a sunny day.

Time, he was offering me his time.

And… oh my god, this was practically an interview, why was I not recording this, he was answering my questions so effortlessly.

No. That would be rude, that would be greedy.

Just relax and enjoy the moment and try to remember fucking everything.

I asked him what his inspiration for Charkov was, if he based his portrayal on other actors or historical figures. He paused to think and explained that the script was very strict anyway, very defined. However he did mention Charkov’s line, “I know you’ve heard the stories about us. When I hear them, even I am shocked” and how that reflected Stalin’s hypocritical quote, “What do I know, I’m just a peasant”.

His favourite line was “Trust but verify, and the Americans think that Ronald Reagan thought that up”.

“Is that really an old Russian proverb…?” I wondered.

“I… don’t know!” he laughed.

During the rest of the conversation he mentioned his friend whose job was to translate the Pravda, and his years in Canada where he met Czech-Greeks, namely Greek communists who were driven away by our right-wing government after the Second World War. Even the Soviets didn’t want them so they were sent to the Czech Republic and ended up in Canada. These people belonged nowhere.

I didn’t know that, and he didn’t know about Vladimir Gubarev, the writer of the play “Sarcophagus” and science editor of the Pravda who was the recipient of Legasov’s tapes. I quoted him saying “Why call the protagonist Legasov since that’s not how Legasov was, they could have used a character who’s a scientist and give him any other name.” Like Ulana, I added, who’s a composite character, or Chebrikov/Charkov, mostly fictional.

Our conversation was coming to an end; he asked me what plays I saw in London and he smiled when I mentioned Alex Ferns in “The girl on the train”.

It was truly overwhelming; I was torn between being swept away by the moment, focusing on nothing but the faded blue of his eyes, bathing in the calm rhythm of his voice, and actually paying attention to what he was saying. Only once did my eyes dart at his left hand spotting the unusually thick golden ring on his finger. When one’s mind plays tricks the best way to discipline is a glimpse at The Ring because if he didn’t have nearly my father’s years I’d probably be having a horribly inappropriate crush.

“Time to go,” he apologized.

We took a couple of photos and I pulled out Svetlana Alexievich’ book, asking for an autograph.

“Where should I sign?” he asked.

“Wherever you want.”

He flipped through the pages noticing my page markers, notes and underlinings. “What are these for?”

“Just… just notes. Do you want my—” I suggested grabbing my big-ass permanent marker.

Without a word he gave a knowing smile and, like an experienced conjurer, he pulled out of his jacket an elegant little sharpie. Delicate pens for delicate words.

I didn’t dare read what he wrote to me then, I could only make out his name through that intelligible doctor-like writing. Surely my name wasn’t there because I hadn’t introduced myself. Still, I thanked him from the bottom of my heart.

Time to go.

We shook hands and I said how honoured I was that he had spent time with me. I tried not to stare as he disappeared into the theatre but before I left I ran into the foyer, quickly thanked the receptionist to whom I had talked on the phone and stormed out of the building with that huge wave of adrenaline pumping violently in my ears.

As I crossed the street I was grinning like an idiot. I knew I had to stop right there and write down everything before I forgot - but it was pointless. I’m not a recorder to have to write down everything the minute it happens. It’s enough to remember the pale rimming of his eyes.

Now, two days after meeting him, I’m still torn between pride and embarrassment. What the hell was I thinking? Doesn’t a man deserve to work in peace?

But as I’m writing this and attaching his signature on the first page of “Chernobyl prayer” I dare for the first time read what he wrote to me.

Pleasure to meet you.

People say they have religious moments when meeting their favourite celebs.

Mine was poetic.

What a darling, darling man.

#chernobyl #alan williams #viktor charkov #vikor chebrikov #fan encounter #dorfman theatre #alex ferns #the girl on the train #london #kgb

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nebulous-frog · 5 years

Text

Not-So-Straight Best Friends

Summary: Based off this post from @pseudophan. Basically, what if Dan and Phil really were queerbaiting us this whole time but suddenly they realized they were in love?

Word Count: 1832

Genre: Getting Together, AU, crack!fic (ish? idek man)

Warnings: Vague descriptions of queerbaiting, swearing, dumbassery, first kiss... honestly idek

Author’s Note: I literally just wrote this in like. An hour or something? Hour and a half? on my phone and then found my laptop to post it. Not entirely sure what this is, pretty sure I was possessed when I started writing, but now we’re here I guess lmao

Link to AO3 Fics Masterlist

When Dan and Phil first started talking, it was because Dan genuinely wanted editing tips from Phil.

They pretended they became friends after that from a shared interest in Muse, but it really wasn’t anything like that. Instead, their friendship formed from a shared love of sports. The first time they met each other in person, they went out for beers at a pub in Manchester and then kicked a football around at Phil’s place. They didn’t hug, they didn’t have an emotional moment. They did a manly handshake and carried on. That night, Dan slept on the floor, a respectful, definitely-straight, no-homo-possible distance from Phil.

Years down the line, they wouldn’t remember whose idea it was. Dan would suggest it was Phil’s, since Phil was the one who knew about publicity already, but Phil would suggest it was Dan’s, since he was so keen on being friends in the first place. Whoever started it, they had long ago decided to pretend to be in a relationship that they were intentionally hiding from their audiences.

They created imaginary stories and scenarios and sent them out to the public, watching as their fans ate up every last bit of the fake relationship.

It was all an elaborate ruse to keep fans invested and draw in a wider audience. They even made their personas intentionally nerdy to really grasp the attention of a specific demographic.

To really sell it, they went on a few holidays together and tweeted about each other all the time. Eventually, they moved in together, partly maintain the shady lie.

But it wasn’t all a lie. They really were best friends and did everything together, just as any other guy best friends would do. They knew each other’s favorite athletes, attended sporting events together, played wingman for each other (whenever possible, that is; they had to be careful so no fan would see them dating or flirting with someone else).

And so it went for years. Dan and Phil hid their true sports-loving lad personalities from the internet successfully, even going so far as to act differently around friends so they wouldn’t accidentally let it slip. They were content with this, too. It made them money and people looked up to them, respected them, loved them. It was everything they’d ever wanted.

Except it wasn’t.

Dan was totally straight, of course. Of course. But he couldn’t help but admire Phil’s physique. He’d stopped exercising quite so much a long time ago to help with the nerdy image, but his arms were toned in just the right way for a camera not to notice. Plus, it wasn’t like Phil ever took his shirt off on camera. His abs were killer. The only reason they made Dan feel weak was because he literally wasn’t as strong as Phil. Right? Right.

And then Phil started asking Dan to play wingman more often.

“Come on,” he’d whine. “I haven’t gotten laid in ages and you’re such a good wingman.”

And Dan would feel his jaw clench, his hands twitch. “No,” he’d say. “I don’t want to.”

“I’ll buy your drinks, though,” Phil would promise.

Dan would scoff and shake his head.

“Why are you being such a dick?” Phil would accuse with a glare.

And so it went, over and over until Dan finally agreed to just do it already so Phil would quit bothering him.

They went out to a higher-end bar to avoid fans. The lighting was dim and the music was loud to encourage closeness, but Dan just found it annoying. He wanted to go home.

Not long after they arrived and got their beers, Phil bumped Dan’s arm with his own.

“Look at her, over by the loo. Wavy brown hair.”

Rolling his eyes, Dan turned his head to find the girl in question. He could see why Phil had noticed her. Her crop top showed off a flat stomach and her short shorts showed off long legs stuffed into knee-high stiletto boots. Her pale skin shone through the darkness of the bar. Dan turned back to his drink.

“You gonna go talk to her or do I have to?” Dan asked, voice betraying no emotion as he raised his beer to his lips.

“Well, obviously you have to. You’re my wingman, remember? Go talk me up.”

Dan sighed through his nose, too quiet for Phil to hear, and downed the rest of his drink in one.

“Here goes,” he said with a nod at Phil. He crossed the room to stand in front of the girl Phil fancied, thoughts racing with every step. The closer he got, the more repulsed he was by this whole plan. All he had to do was talk to her but that was supposed to get Phil laid and Dan suddenly felt sick to his stomach. He didn’t like the idea of Phil sleeping with some strange girl. Come to think of it, he didn’t like the idea of Phil sleeping with anybody. Well. Anyone but one specific person…

Dan stopped a few feet from the girl, eyes wide. He didn’t want to do this. He wouldn’t do this, he couldn’t possibly. It would break his heart, right as he’d finally discovered how it beat. He sized the girl up once more, then turned to look at Phil, who was nonchalantly leaning up against the bar and pretending not to pay attention. Phil would be so pissed, but Dan couldn’t help it. He had to do what had to be done.

He crossed the last few steps towards the girl.

“Hey, that guy over there? Black hair, quiff?”

The girl looked disinterestedly over his shoulder at Phil. “Yeah, what about him?” she asked, clearly suspicious.

“He’s got…” Dan grasped for an excuse- “he’s got chlamydia.”

The girl wrinkled her nose. “Sucks to be him, then.” Then she stalked away, boots clicking on the tiled floor as she walked out the door.

Moments later, Phil appeared at Dan’s elbow.

“The hell was that? You’re usually so good!” he asked, perplexed.

Dan fought the blush threatening to creep onto his cheeks at the compliment and scrambled for an explanation. “She- uh- she said she’s a lesbian.”

Phil frowned. “Oh. Guess it wasn’t meant to be, then.”

“Guess not,” Dan agreed with a pitying nod. “Alright, let’s go home, then. We’ll try another night.”

Phil’s brow scrunched up and Dan had to fight the desperate urge to rub away the wrinkles on his forehead.

“Give up after only one failure? No way, Howell, we’re not going home tonight until one of us gets fucked.”

Dan sighed again. He wasn’t really in the mood for getting fucked, at least, not by anyone who wasn’t Phil.

The realization hit him like a train again, but he had no time to recover as Phil grabbed his arm and pulled him back to the bar so they could scout their options once more.

Phil sent Dan out to try three more girls, and each time Dan purposefully botched the interactions.

Finally, a defeated Phil agreed to give up for the night.

Life continued on as normal for the two of them for a while as Dan desperately tied to figure out what to do with himself. His jealousy had awakened feelings inside himself that he’d never expected to feel and suddenly he wasn’t quite as straight as he thought he was and being around Phil was simultaneously too much and not enough.

He was in love with his best friend. His straight best friend, who he half-pretended to be in love with.

God, it was complicated.

Every little thing Phil did would send butterflies racing through Dan’s digestive system or blood rushing to places it ought not be rushing to and Dan was having a very hard time coping with his body doing all of that all at once and could Phil be a little less sexy for two minutes?

He was a goddamn mess, basically.

And then there came a day when he just couldn’t take it anymore.

They were playing FIFA together and nothing in particular caused it but Phil laughed at something Dan said and he looked so pretty and suddenly there it was.

“I love you.”

Dan’s eyes widened. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud to Phil, not ever, and here he had. Shit, what could he do? What should he do? Play it off as a joke? The thought of turning something so serious, so heartfelt, so real into a joke was almost too much to bear-

Phil snorted. “Yeah, of course, I love you, too.”

In a split second, Dan realized he couldn’t keep living like this. He had to come clean.

“No, really.” He paused the game, ignoring Phil’s protests but refusing to meet his eyes. “I love you but, like, not work-related.”

He was met with a deafening silence. The tension was killing him, so he forced himself to look up at Phil.

Shock, confusion, and something unnameable played in his expression, his jaw dropped open and eyes searching Dan’s face. Dan had expected anger, disgust, betrayal maybe, but this was very different. He thought he’d known every possible expression Phil could make after being friends and living together for so long, but this was something new and unexpected and frightening but the tiniest bit exciting, as well.

The seconds crawled by until finally Phil shut his mouth with a soft clop and his eyes stopped their searching, landing on Dan’s mouth. Time stopped then, and then suddenly Phil’s lips were on Dan’s and hands were grabbing and feeling and wandering and Dan felt dizzy with it all when Phil pulled back a few seconds later, eyes wide again and his hands still buried in Dan’s curls.

“I’ve never done that before,” he blurted. “Kissed a guy, I mean. I’ve never felt like this before, either, though, so I guess it makes sense that it would make me do things I’d never done. What the hell is wrong with me? This is insane-“

Dan’s heart sank. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, I understand you don’t feel the same-“

Phil’s lips were on his again and Dan let out a squeak and then a moan as Phil took his bottom lip between his teeth and pulled.

“Sorry, you were getting the wrong idea,” Phil hurried to say when he properly pulled back, hands still in Dan’s curls and holding him in place so he couldn’t chase after Phil’s lips like he so desperately wanted to. “I love you, too, not work-related. Well, I mean, sort of work-related because that’s how I fell in love with you and why I thought this would never happen and wanted a distraction and-“

Now it was Dan’s turn to interrupt Phil.

“We’ve wasted enough time already, don’t you think?” Dan gasped when he broke the kiss.

“I guess you’re right,” Phil replied. “Carry on, then.”

And “carry on” they did.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #crackfic #fluff #getting together #food mention #first kiss #friends to lovers #my brain just yeeted this into existence i apologize lmao

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phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess · 4 years

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For that ask meme (If you don't want to answer them all feel free to pick and choose): 3, 6, 7, 8, 12, 14, 21, 22, 24, 26, 30, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 42, 43, 45, 47, 50, 51, 54.

3. Favourite thing to write? Well, I’m not sure. Mostly I just like found family type stories, or elaborate nonsense. (As you may have noticed, all my stories are nonsensical bs lmaooo).

6. Where do you usually find inspiration? My bed, or the shower, inconvenient times. Sometimes it will be music, or a weird what-if. But you can blame the lovely @grezzirossi for a lot of my fics, as they tend to come out of weird conversations and headcanon building we do in chat. 7. Do you listen to music to help you write? Sometimes. I mean, sometimes you need a certain kind of music to help you think. Sometimes you need the background noise of youtube etc.

8. What’s the biggest “challenge” for you as a writer? ...writing.

12. What’s your favorite thing that you ever wrote? I’m not sure, I really like a few of mine. Mostly because there was one killer pun or joke in there the whole fic was based around. Maybe ‘Spy Is My...’ it’s not even good, but I remember how i felt when the headcanon came to life.

14. What’s your favorite character/person to write for? I love Scout from Team Fortress 2, but all the mercs really. They’re all unique and ridiculous and an excellent mass murdering found family.

Lot of others tho. I have a few half-written fics i will one day finish, and your minds... they will be, disappointed.

Would like to do some Witcher or Overwatch fics eventually. Getting to it, promise.

21. What’s your favorite AU trope?

+Nobody Died/Everybody Lived +Superpowers +Some sort of soulmate au? Or even Hanahaki? +Found Family/Fight to Protect FAmilies +When someone assumes no one is coming... and then everyone comes to save them. 10/10 yes. Thanks. Probably others, can’t recall anything else off the top of my head...?

22. A fanfiction cliché you can’t help but love? Oh no... I cannot love them both! Surprise motherfucker! You can!

24. Have you ever had an idea for story and forgot about it? ...yes. The ghosts of half-recalled fanfics past haunt me in the eerie hours of dawn...

26. How did you find out you like to write?

Not sure if it counts but like, in grade 2 I wrote a harry potter fanfic with no idea of what fanfic was. Just a creative writing/short story thing, which apparently meant ‘me and best friend at time meet harry potter and fight vampires, and save people from vampires then go to hogwarts’. Also wrote a version of ‘the chicken who made bread’ that was like, ‘the pale blue unicorn made barley sugars’ in the same grade.

But proper fanfic? I can’t recall the exact moment... but it also involved harry potter and fanfiction.net. And I would rather die than relieve that terrible mess. Gods I thought I was SO GOOD and now it’s so YIKES. Lmao.

30. What would you say it’s the most “famous” fic you’ve ever written? Not sure... I don’t think any are really that well known?

34. What’s your favorite font to use when writing? The default. It legit never occurred to me to change it.

35. Which do you prefer to write: longer or shorter fics? I tend to aim for shorter and always get longer. I aim for longer, and never finish them because I am a disaster of a human being.

36. How do you keep yourself inspired?

a) write it in one sitting; b) re-read it a million times and occasionally type an extra word; c) have a lovely friend telling you that You Can Do It! or d) despair at being a lazy bitch with no time... ugh

37. Have you ever written something you didn’t like but posted anyways? Yeah, most of it lmaoooo. I never feel its good enough to post? It’s silly, but like, that’s the Mood I have.

38. What is your “strong suit” as a writer? Being able to just like, bullshit my way through anything I guess.

39. What’s your favorite trope? Found family / Supernatural as Normal Everyday Shit (Like oh god dammnit i phased into the 6th dimension again and i’m gonna be late for work’) / HORROR

42. What is your weakness as a writer?

Not good at describing certain things, like kissing or postures or whatever. Feels like I’m often repetitive. I dunno, it just feels repetitive, I guess? Often., even. Also lack of time and motivation to write, after work, where constant typing is a Thing.

43. Have you ever cried or felt any emotion while reading something you wrote? Yes. Also occasionally blindside myself with dumb jokes i’ve hidden in the fics. AS if my brain erased their existence after I typed them out, so it’s Always Fucking Funny when I read them.

45. One thing you love about fanfiction.

That it can hold shitty canon at knifepoint and demand a better ending. That there is no real limit to the whole thing... you want to rewrite Lord of hte Rings in space? Fucking GO FOR IT.

47. What’s your favorite thing about writing? It feels like painting with words? Just getting lost in the story in your head, realising character A was holding a sandwich three paragraphs ago and now its a gun so you have to swear and find a part to slide in where they switched it, etc. lmao.

50. One thing you don’t like about fanfiction.

People who are like Super Into inc*st, p*doph*lia and r*pe fics, but get defensive when people are like The fUck? Or people who ship REal Life Actual People, and get weird, or even frightening about the whole “Well these two actual human beings MUST be together so I will send death threats to their real life partners” thing.

Also what the FUCK was with the wattpad fic phase where everyone’s mothers were selling them to 1Direction. Lmaoooo.

51. Least favorite trope? Violently out of character fics. Where it’s straight up, ‘author has removed their personalities and added in generic uke/seme personalities from like 2009 or some shit’. And everyone’s acting super weird. (M/m and f/f/ and m/f fics alike).

Very frustrating. Just... learn about the character, use it, it makes things way more fun to write and read.

Also A/B/O. It’s weird, lads. I love Teen Wolf but some of you got WEIRD Weird.

54. Do you usually like what you write?

I get stressed that it’s never good enough. Sometimes, yeah; mostly nah.

#Anonymous

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one-of-us-must-be-crazy · 5 years

Text

the prequel you almost got

With Stage One I wrote a mini-long-fic just to explain the groundwork of their relationship for Lucky Star by just making the events of the canon story take place over a longer amount of time but there was a scrapped idea that I had:

When the two meet in game, it’s not the first time they’ve been introduced.

It’s the seventh.

She was given a company android to run maintenance on as part of her interview process with WY, and there’s something off about him. He’s friendly. He asks her what she’s doing and why, and how she ended up working for WY and you know what? He has just little enough of a perosnality that she lets it all out. Her mother, her shit father, her lack of funds, her hating herself for crawling back to the company that acted like it owned her when really it just owed her.

“They aren’t the best people to be property of,” he says with a half smile.

“Are there any good ones?”

“If you ever need anything, feel free to put it in as a request with me.”

“You would do that? Don’t they have like...teams of you?”

“Well--you don’t have to ask for me specifically, but--a lot of humans have favorite synthetics to work with, it helps ease the uncanny valley if they’re dealing with the same person, for lack of a better word, every time they’re in.”

“I might do that then,”

They meet once about her case, and he makes the mistake of telling his human superior that he’s upset by it.

That he’s feeling about it.

Feeling.

The next time Amanda comes back, a bit more hopeful than she’s been for a while, he doesn’t even remember her, just a few details about her case.

“It’s nice to finally meet you in person.”

Ripley doesn’t tell him what happened, or the next two times it happens.

After the third time it happens, three times she’s watched his eyes light up with something that could even be affection alongside human care, she suggests they discuss the case in a more casual setting. WY hears “public setting where she’s less likely to make a scene” and approves the request.

And her next four requests. Cafes, a couple diners, the restuarant over looking the tourist docks.....A bar where the music is so loud the next couple over can’t hear them.

“You seem so real,” he tells her, taking the cap off her beer with one hand, a trick show of strength that makes her grin.

“Because I am?” she clicks her bottle to his when he passes it to her.

“No...it’s like you’re in my coding--I’m sorry, it’s... Almost like you’re my operator or you wrote my programming. I don’t think I have a better metaphor for it. I feel like I know you, more than I actually do.”

“You get more human every time we meet.” she smiles.

“What does that mean?”

It’s that fourth time that they’ve met, the longest it’s lasted that she actually tells him, but not for any real reason other than the fact that it’s never gotten this far and whatever ‘it’ is isn’t something she wants to chance at not getting back.

On one hand he doesn’t want to believe her, on the other, well...he’s seen it happen to his peers, seen their vacant eyes and confused faces when he tries to remind them of their brief and lifeless small talk. He’s so much more lifelike than the others and he finally admits that to himself, and Ripley--Amanda--has put forth this effort so many times. She even has screen shots of emails that WY has long since hidden. Conversations that they’ve had, all terse and businesslike but speaking of a familiarity below the ‘with all due respect.’

Christopher Samuels leans over to her, pauses; if the proximity bothered her she had room to lean back, and he continues on and instead of talking at her ear so she could hear him over the guitar from the live band, he kisses her on the mouth, and when she doesn’t pull away from him, he puts his hand on the side of her face, and the other around her back, holding her close to him until she holds him back. They’re just another couple making out to the music.

Ten hours later, he kisses her on the hand before getting out of her bed, finds his clothes, and finds his way around her kitchenette enough to find something food-related. Humans eat first thing in the morning right?

“That was....a lot.” Amanda says before anything else when she slumps across the room to collapse into a chair.

“At some point last night you said I should stay.”

“I know I did,”

“I meant you said I should stay...for good. Because if they find out why I was away last night I’m facing much worse than a reformatting.”

“They’ll figure out where you are.”

“I can wander. Hide sometimes if needed.”

“Okay. Alright. You don’t have to stay with me, I know a few guys that could help with getting you IDs, and--”

“Thank you... For now though, I think you should have something to eat, I don’t remember you having anything last night.”

“You’re good.” she smiles, crosses the tiny apartment room to hug him tightly, “And you’re welcome to turn that into a two night stand if you want.”

“I might have to do that.”

It’s two weeks of wearing civilian clothing with Amanda Ripley, two weeks of seeing her in settings other than professional, seeing her relaxed, seeing her happy. Two weeks of nights spent testing the limits of his protocols, and stroking her hair as she falls asleep, her arms tight around him.

A jacket he bought for himself with money he might have stolen/withdrawn from a company account is now draped around her shoulders on a walk home, arms linked, when some idiots think he’s a synthetic and call her out on it.

“Does she look artificial to you boys?” he says, accent morphed into that of an actor from the old movie they just saw.

“I meant you, asshole.”

“Fuck off,” Amanda interjects before a fight gets started. It’s not the first time someone’s recognized him. Glasses, sun glasses, the leather jacket, skipping a few days of shaving, none of it has made him look different enough. He knows they’re going to get caught, and he knows she’ll be in trouble when they do.

If he turns himself in though, the humiliation that she’ll face knowing that some sick creeps at WY now know what every part of her body and heart look like? Not worth it.

“Amanda?” he wakes her late that night,

“Yeah?”

“I’m going out for a walk. Feeling a little overheated.”

“mmm sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” he kisses her softly, then pulls her up to sitting next to him

“What?”

“Just saying goodbye,” he kisses her tenderly, holds her close.

“Are you okay?”

“I am, I promise.” she doesn’t seem satisfied with his answer “If I ever forget again--if something ever happens... Please tell me again?”

“Of course.”

“No matter how much I do or don’t believe you, how many times it happens, keep reminding me?”

“You’re freaking me out, Chris...”

“Amanda?”

“Okay, fine, I promise.”

“Thank you. Because I don’t know if I can or not, but I do feel compelled to say I love you.”

“It’s okay, I don’t know if I love you or not either, but I feel ‘compelled’ to say it back to you.” she kisses him again, afraid she knows what he’s about to do.

“I’ll be right back,”

“Wait,”

“Yes?”

“You’re getting more human. I don’t think you’ve lied to me yet.”

“I’m not--”

“I love you. Be careful.”

“I will.”

He does a base reformat to himself, and then goes back to the offices.

Ripley doesn’t sleep for the week, and nearly has a heart attack when WY rings her to come back.

“Is the synthetic I usually work with back yet?”

“No.”

“I want to talk to that one.”

They show her a fake, she catches it after a few minutes, and tells the supervisor that there must be a mistake, and she’s then shown another one.

It’s him, she’s sure of it, but she’s not going to tell him either, not yet. Maybe not ever. Still, whatever is there shows up again and again, and finally she’s done. She’s ready to move on, to hope that he gets away some day, but maybe it’ll be easier since she’s the reason they always seem to catch him on the verge of self awareness, when he shows up to her work with a golden ticket.

also I realized today that there’s now room for a joke about “what do u mean you knew I give off electric shocks when im....” “Becuase we’ve done this like twelve times before.” “wait what.”

a;sdlkfjadsfkj just that whole idea of it doesn’t matter how/when/why they’re gonna keep finding each other and he’s going to be increasingly head over heels every time

#lucky star #or whatever lucky star almost was about #it became too complex of an idea to work with with the plot I wanted and where it's going #I told marble about this today and I realized I'm likely never going to write it as a full fic #maybe go back and do a bit of an AU of my AU?#I don't know #I like the idea I just...it's A Lot and samuels in this version was going to be a lot more confident and smooth with things bc #he knew that he had done this all before

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jortsman · 5 years

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Yooo 2 and 13 for before the century was stolen?

yessssss love both these! I’m gonna answer 13 first because 2 is long, hah

13. What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? Or if you didn’t listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading?

I listen to so so much, except certain scenes when I’m getting really into them, I turn everything off and get into this super-focus mode. But! I actually have a playlist for writing this (though I throw in random stuff all the time) and here is that playlist. It’s 2 hours, hah, but that first song on there especially gets me into some feelings that are very blupjeans appropriate (like, put in some headphones and close your eyes and just chill while listening to that song and get totally emotionally wrecked. The song after it is pretty oof too).

2: What scene did you first put down?

It was their conversation in the lab in ch.14 (I’ll post the scene below the cut). I just finished relistening to TAZ and got blupjeans super stuck in my head, specifically during Stolen Century, and I read all of the fic that I could find that was in that particular vein of what I wanted to read. But, my brain was still all wrapped up in it and I was running scenarios in my head while doing my mindless job, and then was like... what if I wrote this down? I felt positive that I couldn’t actually write a legit fan-fiction or stay committed to a thing, but I convinced myself to just write this one scene, and it ended up being way longer than I thought, and I actually kind of liked it.

But then I got really into the idea of figuring out how/why things got to a place where they would have a conversation like that and started forming all of these ideas. And then I thought maybe I should actually try writing something for real, figuring that I probably wouldn’t be able to stick to it for very long, but it would be good writing practice. But now it’s been *looks at watch* 5 and 1/2 months, and I’m still so invested in this, and I’m just really glad that I allowed myself to write that first scene, because I was really close to not doing it and speed-running sudoku instead. But anyways! The scene is under this!

The lab was filled with a low, warm, golden light. Barry had obviously been hard at work since before the natural light from the couple of small circular overhead windows had disappeared into darkness.

Barry had the automatic lighting of the Starblaster disabled in the lab; sometimes he would need it to be completely dark or to have light focused only in a certain spot, so he used his own, manual light sources. That night, there was only one dimming, dying bulb on above his work space. Lup wondered if maybe he needed more light and was just too engrossed in his work to notice, but she was really digging the atmosphere; it was very homey and not so clinical or science-y. Lup was sitting in the swivel chair on the opposite end of the long, curved counter that made up the back half of Barry’s workplace. She kicked back away from the desk a bit, fully slumped in her chair, arms hanging off the armrests, fingers almost dragging on the floor, looking very obviously bored. She straightened and scooted towards Barry, who was moving between plant samples and his notes every few seconds.

Lup kicked at the ground to roll towards him, almost knocking her chair into his. “Baaaarry. I want something to do.”

Barry looked up from his work for the first time in over an hour. “Oh damn, yeah sorry, I was so involved in what I was doing that I forgot to catch you up on -- what it is that I’m doing. Which is not a great way to get your help,” and he chuckled even though he was obviously nervous and blushing. He was getting back to being a little bit more open after having clammed up some over the past couple years. He was talking with her so much more and frequently joking again instead of stammering out apologies over and over. And his laugh. She was getting a lot more of that lately, and it was the best laugh and she did what she could to hear it often.

Her boredom dissolved and she lit up knowing that he was about to teach her something new or just get her involved in some shit. And, that she had his attention. No, no, no. It was about learning and working, not about Lup being noticed. Lup was always noticed, but she didn’t always get to learn and gain new skills; that’s what made it exciting to spend time with Barry in the lab.

Time with Barry was productive and fun. Time with other people was about being noticed and the center of attention, which happened without her even trying or necessarily wanting that. But, there was something about having Barry’s attention that felt so different, and she couldn’t figure out why that was.

“So, I’m trying to develop a way for us to be able to determine if uh, starting with plant based food I guess, if we can find out what’s safe to eat in a more efficient, and faster way and with clearer results, y’know. This stuff is hard; testing things according to our standards and our knowledge of biological makeup of plant matter when we’re literally on alien planets. But, I figure I can do this now while we’ve got some down time, and it can save us time in future years. Figure the faster we can know what’s safe when we start a new cycle, the sooner we can get to real work.”

He was obviously genuinely enjoying working on a project that he came up with and assigned to himself apropos of nothing. He could have been using the opportunity for some rest, as most of the others were. Not Barry, though; he loved to work. But, she was also there, looking to him and his work to solve her boredom, so what did that say about her? He was about to talk, but she cut him off before he could expand on his idea.

“So, you came up with something to work on now, so that you can get to other work faster in the future. And I’m gonna guess that it’s probably so that you’ll have more time to work on other things between and after work? Maybe some things that will, hmmm, let’s see; give you more work?”

“What can I say,” he said brightly while shrugging, “I’m not livin’ if I’m not science-in’.” He laughed faintly, not because what he said was at all funny, but just because he was happy. Obviously, visibly happy.

After he he had spoken, while still wearing his goofy smile, he transitioned seamlessly into a fake, stereotypical, super nasally nerd voice and pushed up his glasses -- not in his normal way, but in a well timed, intentional way, and said “Me and science are best friends.” And Lup died laughing.

He was in such a fun mood and uncharacteristically confident and Lup was ecstatic.

“You!” she said with lingering emphasis, through a huge smile. “Are. SUuUch a NERD!” And then Lup did something that she’d done tons of times before; socked him somewhat gently on his arm. And then Barry did something he’d never done. The same thing, back to her.

And Lup was surprised. In a good way, but definitely surprised, and Barry saw her surprise and realized what he had just done.

“Oh gods, Lup, I am so sorry, I-I-I I don’t know why I did that or why that happened, what is wrong with me, I-I-I-- ” he was spilling out bits and pieces of words impossibly fast, his brain exploding as he saw flashes of their entire friendship collapsing within a moment. Lup interrupted him by leaning forward a bit and grabbing him by the shoulders. He stopped talking, but his mouth was still slightly agape and his eyes clearly showed the immense shame and panic he felt.

“B-a-r-o-l-d,” she said his name firmly and drawn out and with emphasis on both syllables, as if she was trying to wake him from a trance, which she might as well have been. “That. Was hilarious. I am so into this Barry that you are Barry-ing tonight, and I do not want you to freak out and never be like this again. Because one, it’s fucking cool and two, I don’t want you backing off from our chill hangs again, like last year.” He visibly calmed, though still a little nervous. Only really enough for her to be able to tell though; she’d become an expert of reading his face.

“Look. You shouldn’t ever feel bad about reciprocating, yeah? I punch you in the arm, it’s fair game to punch me in the arm. We are buds and it is okay! And, Barry?” She waited for him to make eye contact with her, and she was glad that his eyes had relaxed and were meeting hers in such a natural way; it was kind of distracting. “If anything ever did happen between us that wasn’t okay, I would let you know and we would talk. Listen. I would never throw our friendship away or let it change over some tiny thing. Or even a medium sized thing. Medium-Large, though? That could be taking it too far.” She smiled and he smiled with her.

He pulled in a deep breath as she let go of his shoulders and leaned back into her chair. He exhaled and said “I’m sorry I can be so, I guess easily shaken, and sorry that I --”

“Hey, Barry?”

“Yeah?”

“ Stop apologizing. ”

“Heh. Yeah, I’ll try. That’ll be a tough one,” and he drew in another deep breath, trying to pull his body back into sync, his adrenaline still a little bit off.

“I’m sor -- nope, stop,” he caught himself and partially covered his face with his hand in exasperation and momentarily closed his eyes, trying to think of how to say what he felt needed to be said without tearing himself down or apologizing profusely; things he had never even thought about working on before Lup.

“Your friendship is really important to me. And I guess -- hitting you in the arm like that felt really disrespectful. And, Lup.” He purposefully met her gaze again, “I have so much respect for you. You’re an amazi-” and his adrenaline was flooding him and his heart was gearing up to go wild, and gods, why did he start that sentence? He took a short breath, lowered his tone a bit, and forced some calm into himself just be calm for a second, he begged his body. Try to summon some of that professor mentality from way back when, from a lifetime ago.

“You’re an amazing person. I am constantly impressed and surprised by your work and how unnaturally fast you can learn. You are a good friend, a good sister, and a good colleague to us all. You are so needed and cared about.” He took in a sharp breath and gulped. “By everyone. And I don’t want to do anything to disrespect you.”

The words had to be forced at times, and he was getting more and more light headed, but it all came out and nothing was stammered or unfinished and left hanging or surrounded by apologies. He didn’t say a word wrong or spontaneously forget a word completely. He said it all, and he felt good about what he said.

What a fucking feeling .

Lup was taken aback. Just by virtue of being Lup, she had gotten lots of compliments throughout her life. She didn’t believe them all and she knew some come from a place of self gain. Many others she knew she deserved. Absolutely no one aside from Taako had ever said something even close to that sincere to her before, though. Was it only because she’d let basically almost all of her barriers down around him? Would everyone be that sincere with her if she were even less guarded with them? No -- that was just Barry. And she was either going to cry or say something really stupid if she didn’t reel the conversation back, at least a bit.

“That means a lot to me Barry, truly. Even though that first half felt a little like I was getting a pep talk from a dad or a teacher.” She got a small laugh out of Barry.

“You need to loosen up around me!” She went on, trying to turn the flood of feelings into excitement and sincerity and to drown out anything else that was knocking around in her head. “I am never going to be put off or offended or uncomfortable about anything you do, I’m sure. I want Barry unchained, let loose, uncensored, free roaming, all natural 100% grade-A-Barold, got it?” He smiled and exhaled and gave a relieved laugh. He got it, and he knew he was going to do whatever he could to be that for her. They met each other’s eyes with mutual gazes of deep warmth and calm.

But, she realized; there was something else very important that needed to be addressed. Couldn’t end on a joking note quite yet.

Her face went soft and then formed a furrowed brow and slightly downturned lips. She took both of his hands into hers as they faced each other.

“Barry. What you said about not doing things like that out of respect for me…” and she involuntarily, abruptly paused, something forming in her throat and not allowing her to continue. It was not quite a lump or a hiccup but more like a strain; a sudden half-second restriction of her breath. Because she was barrelling head-first into “serious conversation” territory, and that was territory that she had successfully danced and tiptoed around for most of her life, save for the conversation with him back in their ninth year -- but that was all about him, not about her being vulnerable. Now she was walking around the edge of a boiling vat of her own vulnerability and was about to either decide to jump down to safety or intentionally let herself fall into it. And why would she choose to do that? To fall? Why was she definitely about to do that? Her eyes couldn’t face his; she was looking down at his hands in hers.

“...do you think that I don’t respect you?” And at the end of that sentence, there was definitely a lump in her throat.

There was a long pause between them and then Barry stammered through several different beginnings of a response that he didn’t have. His voice shook and he was even more nervous than usual because he was taken off guard by the question and by Lup’s sudden shift in demeanor (and definitely, and probably mostly, by her hands holding his) and also because he didn’t know how to answer, because either he had to lie to spare her feelings (but he could never lie to her) or… he had to admit that he didn’t feel like he was respected. It wasn’t something that he was angry or resentful about and it absolutely was not something he demanded or needed or even wanted. It was just something that was absent, though he wasn’t even actively pursuing it or trying to get it from anyone. It was simply a fact that he was aware of. That he was certain of. He wasn’t respected.

As he stammered and fidgeted, Lup took her right hand away from his and raised it to his face. She cupped his cheek and let her thumb lay over his mouth to hush him. It was an intimate and soft gesture that made him lightly gasp but also, as her hand settled perfectly around the curve of his cheek and her thumb lay still on his lips, made him warm everywhere and loosened all the tension in his body at once.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she said in a voice softer than he thought was possible to come from his boisterous and loud friend, softer than when they had talked on a more serious level in the past. She sounded sad, and his heart dropped. And him being warm and without any tension and a heart that just free-fell, he completely melted and his shoulders dropped, too.

She was looking straight at him, searching his eyes for something, and Barry was looking into her eyes without glancing away or lowering them as he almost always did.

“Barry. I respect you immensely. You are one of the -- no, actually, the most intelligent person I have ever known. I have learned so much, just by being around you. You’re approachable and kind and willing to share your knowledge, without so much as a trace of pretension. There’s no stick up your ass, like most of the people I’ve ever known who thought they were smart,” she barely smiled and exhaled sharply through her nose in a kind of almost-laugh. Then she was completely serious again; a look that Barry didn’t know what to do with or how to react to.

“You are — so knowledgeable, and you utilize that and apply it to your work, to which you are dedicated in a way that I have never seen anyone be dedicated to anything . And you constantly push yourself to learn more, and you share and teach everything you can to anyone who wants to listen, and you do it with patience and kindness, and…” and then she was the one nervously rambling. That was not Lup. She let her hand drop from his face and scooped his free hand back up.

“I have a lot of respect for you, Barry. So much. And I trust you, completely. But,” she paused and felt like she was on the verge of tearing up. “I’ve never said that. And I’ve never done anything to show it.”

She sighed and looked back down at his hands in hers, feeling warm at the sight, but still guilty. Barry was trying to put together a response, to protest, to tell her that she did so many things to show her trust in him, but he couldn’t find the words. All he could do was sit there with a slightly agape mouth and sad eyes as Lup continued.

“I can’t just expect you to know how I feel. So, now I’m telling you. And if you know me at all, you sure as hell know that I wouldn’t say any of this or get this vulnerable if I didn’t mean it.” She looked back up at him and she was finally actually smiling; a little bit weakly and through slightly watery eyes, but a real, happy smile. Barry’s entire body felt like it was on pause. But then, she dropped his hands and raised hers to smoosh each side of his face, looking directly at him and putting on her best mock serious expression as she leaned in close. Barry’s heart shot back up and into his throat with Lup that close to him.

“But, now that you know, you will never see me this mushy again, Barold,” she told him in an assertive tone. “You only get one Lup heart-to-heart, and you’ve just burned yours, cowboy.”

And she laughed, and Barry laughed even though tears were free-falling from his eyes without him even crying.

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luminoustico · 5 years

Note

For End of the Year Writing Meme: All the questions sound super interesting so just use this as an opportunity to answer whatever questions interest you most

So funny story I put this in my drafts to complete in the quiet time of New Year’s Day, but then I forgot about it completely. BRACE YOURSELF.

A. If you could rec a piece of music to accompany one of your fics, what would you pick? Why?

Lies by Marina and the Diamonds, to accompany the latter half of Valse Melancolique. It’s a really good song to show Irene’s POV at that point, especially her reluctance to accept that the webs she’s spun are basically collapsing around her.

“I just want it to be perfect / To believe it’s all been worth the fight,” is the most relevant set of lyrics, IMO.

B. Who’s your favourite side-character from something you wrote?

I really enjoyed writing side characters like Rose and Finn, though Rose just edges it because I’ve been enjoying writing her in Don’t Complicate It. Finn runs a very close second.

C. Get any good comments on your stuff this year?

Sure! All comments are good comments, let’s be real. Unless they’re an obvious troll comment or those “update now!!!” kind of comments. Those aren’t so good.

D. Any drawings or pictures that had a big influence on your writing?

The artwork of the late 18th century and Roberto Ferri definitely influenced the tone of Valse Melancolique. Many scenes from certain stories were driven by a single image I had in my head as well.

E. Who’s your favourite main character you’ve written?

Though I do enjoy delving into Ben/Kylo’s psyche, I enjoy writing Rey more – she’s more enclosed, and I love chipping away at characters to get to their truths.

G. Where do you think you grew the most this year?

Towards the end of the year, I began to realise that writing can actually be fun like it used to be. I’ve been so aware of the way the world is currently that I’ve been convincing myself that my writing must have a message, or it’s not ‘worthy’. I need to understand that I started writing not to pass on any morals or messages, but as a release and a way to find enjoyment in the constant buzz.

H. How do you write? Paper, pen, computer? Music, no music?

All of those. I write on my phone, on my computer, on pen and paper. Music and no music, it depends. Most often I’m listening to a playlist/album which then stops and I cease writing an hour or so later realising I’ve been writing in silence.

I. What’s your favourite work you did this year? Why?

I’m always tempted to answer this kind of question with my most recent story. But I’m going to be really honest and say that star among the stars is a personal favourite. And it’s not just because of the pegging.

J. What are the best jokes you told this year? Any jokes you thought were funny that people didn’t catch? Vice-versa?

I’m completely blanking on this one.

K. Who have you killed this year? Why did they have to die?

Qui-Gon Jinn (to match with canon), Molly and Sherlock (hey it was a story based on Dangerous Liaisons, and I was reading classical Russian literature at the time of plotting) and Kylo Ren a bunch of times (metaphorically).

L. Which character did you most write about this year, and why do you like ‘em?

I wrote more about Rey. As mentioned before, it’s because I like chipping away at a character’s surface but also it’s because I really relate to her, especially in regards to her feelings of loneliness and her tendency to put on ‘a brave face’. Plus I really admire her compassion and her strength. I envy it.

M. Meta! Have any meta about a story you’re dying to throw out there?

Not particularly -- just headcanons and reasons behind why I write what I write. (I’ve never been very good with meta anyway.) I really like it when other people meta my fic, or pick up on something I didn’t! That is an AMAZING feeling.

O. Do you believe in outlines? Show us one!

I do indeed! I love my outlines. For some projects, I’ve got whole folders with docs labelled Initial Ideas, Plot Summary, Chapter Outline, etc. etc. I’ve got my notes app on my phone stuffed up to the gills with mini-outlines. I frequently use my story structure template, which is technically more for screenplays, but the breaking down into acts thing helps my brain figure things out.

P. What are your pet peeves in other people’s work?

When an author relies too much on UST and ruins the pacing. Like, an author drags out the first getting together because they believe that the anticipation is the only thing generating comments. If it’s right to have them bang, have them bang! The awkward morning after is a delicious opportunity for UST -- just a different kind. 9 times out of 10, your readers are there not for the smut because they’re invested in the story and like your writing.

Q. Quote three bits of writing you read this year. Can be your writing, or not.

Let’s mix it up.

“ “Why did you do that?” he demanded as they ducked into a side alley. “What part of ‘keep a low profile’ is difficult for you to understand?”

“I’m a good haggler,” Rey said through a full mouth. She didn’t have any idea what she was eating, and she didn’t care. It took so much effort to chew each bite instead of gulping it down whole. “He was trying to cheat us.”

“You didn’t haggle. You pushed.”

“I did not. Why would I knock him over in the middle of his stand?”

Kylo just stared. “You need a teacher,” he muttered. He watched her eat for a moment, his expression somewhere between thoughtful and disgusted, before taking a bite from one of his own skewers. Disgust won out. ” -- Symmetry and Black Tar by audreyii_fic. (Grumpy smuggler Kylo Ren, spunky scavenger Rey, canon divergence. Excellent.)

“ "Ben," Rey breathes once Kylo's mere inches away. It's the name Luke introduced him with, the only name she knows him by, and he's never bothered to correct her. Why hasn't he corrected her? The question flees from his mind as she closes her eyes and he leans down into the space between them, kissing her full on the lips. It's not gentle, he doesn't know how to be, but she opens for him the way the flowers she loves so much bloom in the sunlight. ” -- the surface of last scattering by diasterisms. (It’s the apocalypse, it’s exactly the right time to meet the love of your life, right? Read for utter devastation.)

“ Rey could spend hours in the Falcon’s inner workings. She’d spent so much time in the belly of hollowed-out Star Destroyers, which were horrific remnants of old worlds, cold and grey. The Falcon is alive, speaking a strange language she’s just about half-deciphered. Sometimes, on days where she misses the connection most and dreams of a boy reaching across the stars to find her, it feels like the Falcon doesn’t want to speak to her. It shuts down. Sparks spit at her, and mechanisms develop odd faults.Today, a jet of steam blows directly in her face, not harmful, but almost like a snarl of 'go away'.

Rey climbs out of the hatch, fetching tools. She works with that fault first.

“I’m not thinking about him,” she promises to no-one but the ship she’s looking after. ” -- If I was born as a blackthorn tree, by me!

R. If you had to rewrite one of your stories from scratch, which one would it be? What would you do to it?

Going to cheat here and head back to 2017. I’d rewrite Two Stars Aligned. What I’d probably do is make it a post-TLJ fic, where Rey and Ben decide to run away after getting involved in a secret relationship, but get shot down by the First Order -- after landing in Giaca, they become embroiled in Game of Thrones style politics and the ruling families, while the Resistance and the First Order conduct searches for them. I’d cut out the weird Force shit and make the redemption arc thing more organic by giving the whole story room to bloody breathe. Two Stars Aligned is actually the reason why I now try to stick to oneshots for exchanges and any anthologies I get involved in.

S. What’s the sexiest thing you wrote this year?

Sexiest thing written in 2018... It’ll have to be the pegging in star among the stars.

T. Themes, motherfucker, do you have them? What are they?

Feminism. Females being allowed to be as fucked-up and broody as the men they love, and perhaps, even broodier. Make women afraid of commitment, 2k19.

U. Any stories that took an abrupt U-turn from where you thought they were going?

If I were a blackthorn tree took a pleasing turn away from the initial outline. The initial idea was lots of secret trysts and stuff like that, but I much prefer the quiet romance with a note of hope at the end that it turned out to be.

V. Which story was the most viscerally pleasing to write? Tell us your narrative kinks.

Huh. Hm. Don’t Complicate It is turning out to be kind of fun to write; when I’m not allowing myself to be crippled by the brain goblins that is (they’re strong lately). It’s a combo of writing a trope/kink I’ve been wanting to write for ages -- A/B/O -- and remembering that it’s okay to have fun with it.

W. Who are your favourite writers?

@kylo-wouldnt-like-those-chips - @conchepcion (every time I think I’m out, she pulls me back in *shakes fist*) - @introspectivenavelgazer - @audreyii-fic - @kylorenvevo - ambiguously - @fettuccine-alfreylo and SO MANY MORE (this post is long enough already!!)

X. What’s your least favourite work of this year?

My least favourite has to be In Cars. It was an ambitious idea, which I didn’t really fulfil, I feel. Curse of being a perfectionist. I want something to be amazing. World-changing! Tear-jerking! I want Vestal virgins to weep golden tears over my words, already delicately transcribed onto ancient parchment by monks. Obviously, that’s an impossible standard, but I can’t help being cross when I don’t reach it.

Y. Why did you write? For fun, for a friend, for acclaim?

During 2018? Mostly for acclaim. It made 2018 a very difficult year for writing, and just a difficult year in general. I’m trying to make sure I have fun during 2019 with this stuff. Striving for perfection is a punishing task that no-one can ever accomplish because perfection doesn’t exist. Contentment does, though. As does happiness. And those should be more important.

Z. If you could choose one work and immediately finish it, what would it be? How would you end it?

I’d finish Sanctum, my priest Kylo fic. I’m split between continuing or rewriting anyway (the rewrite would include relocating the action to the medieval era, around the time Luther wrote that damned essay and pinned it to the church door). But I do know the exact image I want to finish on, which will remain whether I end up rewriting or not. It involves a name, a scrap of material and a rather fetching colour scheme.

Ooh. Cryptic.

#anonymous #answered #end of the year #did i just answer all these q's?#yes #i did #my ego is MASSIVE and i'm so sorry for that #long post for ts

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accidentally-logince · 6 years

Text

School Project

A/N: This is the shitpost-iest fic I’ve ever written, and it should not be taken seriously. The events in the fic are (mostly) based on a real-life experience, and there is absolutely no plot-line whatsoever. I put zero effort into this random piece of crap, I wrote it in less than an hour and did no editing. Enjoy my shitshow.

Warnings: Swearing, jokes about fighting each other, “I want to die” jokes, random jokey reference to “Y’all need Jesus” meme (that I really hope is not offensive), minor food mention, maybe a tiny tiny bit of Logan angst(?)

(If there are any more, PLEASE let me know!)

Word Count: 841

Pairings: Platonic LAMP

---

Working without distraction was never exactly easy when it came to Roman and Logan. Roman would often get bored and start to mess around in the room. And when both of their roommates are invited (well, technically Virgil wasn't invited, he was already in the dorm room when Roman showed up with Patton) it's pretty much impossible to focus.

It had been all of two hours, and the room was hectic. Patton had accidentally broken Logan's little white board- which isn't too much of a big deal, he supposes, he still has his large one- and was now using just the laminated bit to scrawl stupid messages and shove them in the other's faces, hoping for a laugh.

Roman let out a little snort as Patton dropped the "white board" into his hands from the top of the bunk bed. Scrawled across it in orange white-erase marker was the word "Succ" in all capital letters.

Patton steals the board back and wipes the word off, giggling as he opened the marker again.

"What are you writing?" Logan huffed.

"Amazing things, okay?" Patton answers, the marker squeaking on the board.

"Oh, really?"

"Uh-huh." Patton sticks his tongue out. "Don't doubt my hilarity." He then flips the board over and holds it out to Logan. This time, the board says "You can't spell 'Sass' without 'Ass'"

"That is definitely not an 's'," Roman butts in, pointing to the last letter on the board.

"It definitely is," Patton argues jokingly. "You wanna fight me about it?"

"Yeah, you wanna fuckin' go?" Roman teases back. "I'll fight you."

"Ughhh. I screwed up," Virgil groans from the other side of the top bunk. "I broke my stupid keyboard. God dammit." His brow furrows, and he tries to click a key, but it pops off the computer. "I hate my life. I wanna die."

"Nooo," Patton says.

"I'm gonna die. I'm gonna," Virgil says. "I'm gonna do it," he jokes. "You can't stop me! I'm gonna do it!" He leans dramatically over the side of the bed, mock falling off.

Roman laughs again, and Patton giggles as he goes back to his white board.

"Stop laughing at me, I'm dying," Virgil says. "I'm dying inside." After a moment, he lifts himself back up and mutters, "We're all dying. I'm just dying quicker."

Logan sighs, pushing a strand of hair out of his face. "You're fine, Virgil. You can press the keys back onto the board." He types something down on his own laptop and nods to himself. "I think that'll work," he murmurs to himself

"Ah, crap, these don't look right," Patton mumbles, rubbing at the white board.

"Are they 'S's?" Roman teases, hoisting himself up to lean over the side of the bed. On the board are a bunch of deformed "A's". "Okay, those look like half-assed stars." Patton lifts the board and wiggles it in Roman's face, causing him to jump back to the floor.

"Ack! Stop, I'm gay and afraid!"

"I'm gay and depressed," Virgil pipes up, trying to stick the broken key back onto his keyboard.

"Shit, I don't know the word," Logan groans.

Patton places the white board marker onto his lap and holds up the board, which now says "Ur pretty gr8". "Here, Logan, maybe this'll spark your creativity!"

"That is a Falsehood," Logan grumbles. "I'd like to inform you that not only is your spelling abhorred, but the message you're trying to convey with these... I don't even know what these are, it looks like you threw alphaghetti onto a page and wrote down what you saw. Either way. Falsehood."

"No, no, no," Patton says. "I think you need to go back and study because this is all correct." His eyes slide over the words again. "Even the spelling."

"Oh, goodness gracious what is the word?" Logan grips the sides of his laptop, looking just about ready to toss it across the room.

The room is silent for a moment after Logan's outburst, until Patton flips over the white board again. "...'Git Gud'?"

Roman reaches up and grabs the board and marker from Patton, scribbling over his words. He holds it up to Patton when he's done. "Git God, ya filthy minded freak" he jokes, transferring the board to Patton, who falls over into Virgil's lap, laughing.

"Can my space button work? Please?" Virgil complains. "Until it started sticking, I actually liked space."

Patton leans his head back. "Good one."

Virgil taps aggressively at the 'D' key that's popping off of his keyboard. "Why is it so detached?"

"Don't you mean 'D'-tached? Cuz it's a 'D' key?"

"Please stop," Logan mutters from the floor. "Why are you like this?"

"Okay, we need to take a break, or else Logan and I are going to implode from frustration," Virgil says, pushing his laptop onto the bed. Patton lifts himself back up as Virgil swings his feet over the ladder.

"Alrighty! Let's go get something to eat," Patton suggests.

"Come on, Lo. Your laptop will still be here when we get back."

---

My Other Fics (They’re better than this one, I swear)

Tag List: @lilbit-gay @succanegg69 @emi-loves-them @logicaltimeink @thelogicalloganipus @monikastec @misstallip @aikogumi @pastel-patton123 @drunken-ghost @confinesofpersonalknowledge @crofters-junkie @well-love-has-failed-me

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ixiethepixiewrites · 6 years

Text

Synesthesia

Rating: G

Warnings: Some existential shit in the beginning, no real warnings, pre-relationship usukus

Summary: The colors had left him, so what would it take to bring them back? Rockstar AU

A/N: I was reading an interview with the lead singer of Panic! At The Disco and his words really resonated with me and pushed this out of my brain shjbjdhsj it started as just me writing my feelings but turned into a fic. Hope you enjoy. A little piece of my soul is in this one.

Colors, words, shapes. Alfred could see them all, and it was beautiful. When a song ended and changed to the next track, new colors appeared, the shapes melted into other forms, and words twisted to become something entirely different. That was how he had always seen the world when he listened to his favorite bands, when he wrote songs on napkins at coffee shops, or when he rode on a bus with headphones in. The music always took him somewhere new, a burst of colors that followed him wherever he went. When he had tried to explain this to his friends, they had looked at him like he was crazy, and he had to laugh it off. Pretending it was a joke hurt him, his insides twisting uncomfortably. No one would be able to understand.

Those long years in high school had turned his colors gray, the shapes vanished, and words no longer came to him. He’d lost all interest in his music, choosing to focus on things that his friends would like better. His guitar sat in his closet, untouched. The drum set he used to bang on? In the garage, gathering dust. Every year, the colors faded even more, and had all but vanished by the time he was graduated. Life had become a chore, nothing brought that same feeling back to him, but at least his friends and family were satisfied. His parents were proud of him for giving up his dreams and going for the dreams they’d picked for him. His friends enjoyed the sports they played together, urging him to play professionally. Naturally, he did as he was told, but all the joy on his face had become fake. His smile was forced, the laughs were hollow, yet no one seemed to notice.

Laying in bed, watching the ceiling fan rotate slowly, Alfred reflected on his life. What was good about it? Others would say he had it all, but was that really true? Did he really have it all if it all felt so empty? The tears started small at first, but as the weeks turned to months, more came out, spilling forth in tidal waves of blue. He wrote the first song in years, a testament to the pain that stabbed at his heart, gut wrenching feelings that awoke within him after so many years of being crushed and put to the side. He tore that paper in half, leaving it in the bottom of his closet with the other remnants of his old joys. It was too painful to look at them anymore, to see that reminder of happier times, when his joy had been real.

TV flickering to life at his command, he numbly watched the news, wanting noise to drown out the words in his mind. Oh but it never worked, they would always be there to haunt him when he went to sleep, stealing the rest from his body and leaving him drained by the time he had to wake up in the morning. The weather rolled by in a blur before something caught his eye. A man in a torn up punk rock style shirt who was flipping off the cameras. Arthur Kirkland, the name scrolled along the bottom of the newscast. Then a miracle happened.

Music played on the TV, video of this man’s concert, and something caught in the corner of Alfred’s vision. There was another flash to the side, and he’d seen it for sure that time! It had been green, he was sure of it! The video clip ended and he desperately waited, hoping that the music would play again, or perhaps the name of the band would be shown. When he had no such luck, Alfred turned to the internet, the saviour of his ignorance. Typing in the name Arthur Kirkland had led to a plethora of interview pages, but one particular name stood out. “Black Rose Tea...”

The name echoed in Alfred’s mind as he typed it into a video site, praying for results to show up. Blessedly, the band did pop up, album after album showing under the search results. He chose a song at random, listening to it while he lay on his bed. The colors graced him with their presence, shapes and words joining in and nearly making him cry from the feelings they evoked. He’d found them again, after so many years, his words and colored shapes had returned to him. The feelings within him were overwhelming, but he just kept playing songs, listening to each and every album, desperate to get more of that beautiful imagery flowing before his eyes. At around four in the morning, he ran out of songs to listen to, but that didn’t matter anymore. He had what he needed, and he was ready to give up everything he had to keep a hold of it.

The weeks rolled by as normal, but he now saw the world in a different light. Everything seemed brighter, happier, or maybe that was just him? The colors radiated so strongly, music filling his very soul and making his smiles feel less and less empty. When the news was announced that Black Rose Tea was coming on tour in the USA, Alfred had stayed up for 48 hours straight just to buy VIP tickets for the venue closest to him. He spent all the days before the concert preparing, unable to hold back his excitement, no matter how many odd looks he got from teammates and friends alike.

The night of the show, he was eagerly bouncing on his heels backstage, ready to see the band walk by and to their dressing rooms. What he saw soon after nearly broke his heart. The drummer of the band had walked out, leaving a fuming Arthur and a shell shocked Kiku Honda behind. Did they have a backup? From the looks they were giving each other, and their hushed tones, he figured that it was a no. Biting his lip, Alfred glanced warily at the large bodyguards, before he inched closer to the rope that kept the fans back. When he figured he was close enough, he realized he had no way to get their attention. That was when he remembered what he had brought for Arthur to sign.

Hurriedly, he pulled out the sheet of paper, the one that had the song of his sorrows on it, then scribbled a message on the back and balled it up. With a quick prayer to any diety that would listen, he threw the paper, hitting the singer on the back of the head. Surprised by the sudden hit, Alfred could soon see the glare he received from the rocker. Thankfully, the band’s other member, Kiku, had chosen to pick the paper up and unfolded it carefully. In black ink, the note read: ‘If you need a temporary drummer, I know how to play all your songs.’

Arthur took the note and read it, then he eyed Alfred warily before calling for security to bring him forward, all while the other fans nearby whined. Clearly they had not seen that fight as Alfred had, because they chose instead to complain about the concert being late to start and cutting into their autograph time. Holding up the note, Arthur raised an eyebrow at Alfred skeptically.

“Do you really know them all? Even the most recent release? It’s only been out for a month--”

Alfred nodded his head quickly. “If you give me sticks, I can prove it. I just... I just wanna help. I saw what happened right here and I know all these guys will definitely be upset if you had to cancel just because Francis is being a drama queen.”

That comment earned a snort from Arthur, who was now smirking. “I like you already. Follow me, we’ll see if you have what it takes to handle this job for one night. Can you sing?”

“Uh, I mean, I’m nowhere near as awesome as you, but I think-”

“Flattery gets you nowhere kid, can you sing?”

Alfred felt his cheeks redden in embarrassment. “Dude, you’re only a year and a half older than me, I’m not a kid... and yeah, I can sing.”

As they stepped into a closed off rehearsal room, Kiku politely handed the paper back to Alfred. “You write well. Is this a song?”

“A songwriter, hm?” Arthur snatched the paper before Alfred could, and read it over.

That was it, Alfred’s life was complete, Arthur Kirkland was actually reading his song, oh sweet jeebus have mercy was it hot in here? Face as red as Kiku’s base, Alfred couldn’t help but fiddle with his jacket sleeves. What would Arthur think of his music? Surely it would look amateurish compared to any real singer, but Alfred figured that it at least had feelings to it.

When he was done reading, Arthur’s eyes met Alfred’s, a startling green staring at his own blue with surprise. The words that left his lips caught Alfred off guard.

“You see them too?”

That very same green that filled Alfred’s soul with every song of Arthur’s he’d listened to, it was in his eyes right now. The world had come to a stand still, and Alfred could only numbly nod his head in affirmation. Yes, he did see them, he had for the longest time. “Your music brought them back to me. My whole world had lost color, but when i heard you, I- I could see again.”

A small, genuine smile was the response, and Alfred swore his heart had stopped in that very moment. Those beautiful eyes stared into his own and he felt a whole new type of color flow through him. It was one of the most glorious feelings Alfred had ever been lucky enough to experience. It may have been only infatuation, but it was a start.

“Come on, lad, we have a concert to perform. What’s your name?”

“Ah-uh, Alfred Jones.”

“Alfred, hm? Welcome to the band.”

Arthur handed the paper back after writing something on the top. It was a single word, one that Alfred had never heard before, and yet he knew what it meant already. A word for the things he saw when he was in the music, feeling it, breathing it, living it. Loving it.

Synesthesia.

Synesthesia is a neurological condition in which a person experiences "crossed" responses to stimuli. It occurs when stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway (e.g., hearing) leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway (e.g., vision).

#hetalia #usuk #ukus #pre-relationship usukus #band au #rockstar au #human au #ixiewroteathing #ixie wrote a piece of her soul and is still sho o k

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