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marypsue · 11 months

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16 and 21 for the fic ask meme

[from this meme]

16. At what point in the process do you come up with titles?

There are two possible times I come up with titles: either as soon as the premise lands in my head, or when I am staring down the draft on AO3 and about to post it. There is no in-between.

21. Have you ever deleted an entire scene after spending hours laboring over it? If so, why?

Here's my little secret: I don't delete anything anymore. Anything that doesn't work where I'm trying to put it gets copied and pasted into the very end of the document where the story lives, after about half a page of blank space from the last line of 'real' writing. Then I have it, preserved in amber, for if I get another twenty scenes in and realise that I need something and that thing that I cut out twenty scenes ago is exactly the thing I need.

(This happens more often than you might think. I completely cut about 2/3 of the final chapter of the road goes ever on, thinking I'd have to rewrite it from scratch. Nope! Just had to chop up those 2/3 of a chapter that I cut, rearrange it like a maniac with a corkboard and some red thread, and write a handful of interstitial sentences. And now it reads like it was always meant to be that way, and I can't even remember where all the stitches are. Ain't writing neat?)

To answer the spirit of this question and not the letter, though: yeah, all the time. Part of that is because I keep scenes that I cut, and if I really love them, I'll often find a way to work them in somewhere else (or into something else), so it doesn't feel like quite as much of a permanent sacrifice as it might. Part of that is because...well, have a story.

I'm a fresh baby adult. I have just recently graduated high school, and now the full weight of everyone's expectations of what I'll do with my 'potential' and everyone's disappointment that I don't have a clear, safe career path planned out yet are resting directly on my shoulders. I'm in a university art class. I'm very, very nervous, because I don't feel like a 'real' artist, because I don't feel like I belong here with all the good artists, and because I have a nervous perfectionist streak almost as wide as my entire body.

We are doing a unit on sculpture. I have never in my life done any sculpture, except for a couple of (extremely ugly) clay crafts in elementary school. We are assigned to take a rectangular block of styrofoam, and make an animal shape out of it. The kicker - we can't add anything to the block, only cut away.

I manage to make a reasonably decent-looking animal shape in my rough draft. But as soon as I try to translate it to the big block, it's immediately obvious that my design...lacks something. It's blocky. It's bulky. It's ugly. It looks...close to the shape of an actual animal, close to photorealism, but the fundamental rectangular-ness of it is so overwhelmingly strong. I'm carefully whittling away at the edges and the corners and the curves, scared to wreck it by making a big change, but nothing I do is helping at all.

Luckily, I have a very good art professor. Luckily, I have limited patience for fussing around with things that aren't working. (Luckily, I've been listening to MCR's Danger Days on repeat and it, especially the idea of 'Would you destroy something perfect to make something beautiful?', has been setting little fires in my brain.) Luckily, somehow, for whatever reason, I get fed up with nibbling around the edges and seeing no results. I get brave.

And I cut a deep curve into the side of my sculpture, cutting nearly half of the material away in one stroke.

The sculpture comes to life. The change is instant and obvious, and, more importantly, it's good. It's not anything resembling photorealistic anymore - if an actual animal was shaped like that, it would be very, very uncomfortable or possibly very dead - but it looks more like an animal than it ever did when I was going for 'realistic'. It has motion. It has visual interest. It carries the eye through the sculpture. And this massive improvement on the one side makes it suddenly extremely obvious where the rest of the sculpture needs similar cuts and angles to balance it.

I think I ended up getting a B or a C+ on that assignment. The sculpture turned out kind of wonky, with some angles that still didn't sit right. It was not a piece of timeless art. But that wasn't what was important. What was important was that I took a big risk, and got rid of what wasn't working, and it made something good. Something compelling. Something interesting. Something that, for all its flaws, I was much, much prouder of than the dull, safe thing I had been working on.

Sometimes, especially when you're just starting out as a writer, just starting to find your voice and feel confident in your work, every sentence feels precious and it feels dangerous to move or remove them, because what if you'll ruin it, what if you'll never make anything that good again. But if you're writing, it means you care enough about telling a story to try at it. Trying, and continuing to try, is how improvement happens. As Annie Dillard so beautifully put it, these things fill from behind. You will write something as good as that again. Many things, even. And even better things, so long as you keep plugging away at it.

And...you know your story. You know when something doesn't fit or isn't working, way deep down. The worst thing you can do for yourself is leave it where it doesn't belong anyway because you're scared of making a mistake.

#chatter #/descends from soapbox #writing #sorry this got long

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queerdisagreeable · 1 year

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1, 6, 16

see i reblogged this and then realised i'd have to remember songs to do it . gimme a sec here

1 - makes me happy D.A.N.C.E by Justice is possibly the comfort song of all time for me. The sound design combined with the good memories of running a Just Dance club at school just makes me so happy. It's so singable, too! Really simple but fun and it? feels colourful. That doesn't make sense but it DOES.

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6 - makes me feel like i could kill god this one is entirely something I've Pavlov'd myself into over the years -- the Vampire Killer theme from Castlevania. It used to be the battle theme for Gayng D&D, and it went SO HARD and it scored so many dope battles. After we dropped off with Gayng, though, I kept the song on hand for when I needed to write something really fast. Even as I'm writing this, I'm speeding up because I've literally trained myself just to write write write!!! when it comes on LMAO so yeah it gives me all the power to fill a blank page and that's equivalent to killing God I think

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16 - makes me nostalgic I don't know when I heard this song for the first time. I've never listened to anything else by Noah and the Whale, but 5 Years Time screams childhood and summer to me. I can remember learning to whistle so I could whistle this song. I remember sitting in the car with my parents singing it. It just fills me with possibly the purest nostalgia of any song I could've chosen for this one.

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thank u for asking these ones were nice to remind my brain of :>

#ask meme #traveller #friend tag #senseless ramblings

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sugurus-slxt · 3 years

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Haikyuu Boys Walking In On You Dancing (smexy edition)

Lineup: Tsukishima Kei, Azumane Asahi, Kozume Kenma, Yamamoto Taketora and Oikawa Tōru.

Warning: cursing, one mention of alcohol, and suggestive smexy content

A/Note: So yes two in a day, I was extra motivated y’all don’t question it. It’s probably because it’s been so long. The songs are just what I like to listen to, m sorry.

Tsukishima Kei

♬♩♪♩ Sean Paul – She Doesn’t Mind ♩♪♩♬

Tsukishima was looking for his bluetooth headphones everywhere because he was positive he had left them on the couch, in the living room. However, they seemed to have grown legs and walked elsewhere, he joked to himself. “Y/N! Shorty! Have you seen my headphones?” he called loudly but no response. He walked through the house shouting your name but you were nowhere to be found. Tsukishima glanced at the clock on the wall; it read 4:30PM. He considered maybe you had been outside, possibly reading a book which you often did.

He was right; there you were blanket laid on the grass with the long-forgotten book and you standing up dancing with his headphones. You hadn’t seen him yet and he had considered stopping you but he just couldn’t. Kei stood at the door admiring the way your hips rolled and body moved. He wondered what you were listening to make you dance this way, so beautifully, so erotically. Tsukishima wasn’t much of a dancer but he’d love to be body to body with you right now. He had clearly gotten a bit too excited and the tent in his pants was proof. His cheeks burned red in embarrassment, you still dancing, unaware of his presence.

He quietly crept up behind you gently clasping his hands around your waist. You jumped a bit, immediately lowering the headphones. “I was looking for those you know,” he whispered lowly in your ear. “I- I’m sorry you can have them back now,” you apolgise trying to turn around. He held your body still, pressing his closer to yours. Then you felt it, the hardness pressed against your back, “But I want something else now. Hmmmm. Care to help me with it shortcake?” he asked his hands finding his way below your shirt, caressing your chest and brushing over your nipples. “K- Kei we’re outside. S-someone could see,” you tried reasoning.

“Really… Hmm you didn’t seem to mind a few seconds ago. So unless you want the neighbors to get a perfect view of your body being wrecked which I’m sure they wouldn’t mind get your ass on the bed upstairs right now,” he said biting your ear, eliciting a whimper from you. “I- y-yes sir,” you reply, pulling yourself from his grasp to go upstairs, he followed closely behind.

Azumane Asahi

♬♩♪♩ Bailando – Enrique Iglesias ♩♪♩♬

Asahi was busy at work in his office; with a tight deadline and 3 designs to perfect every waking hour was spent working. But he’s been staring at the blank page for the past 20 minutes with no breakthrough and it’s not because he couldn’t come up with anything, he just couldn’t concentrate. Why? Because right now you were just outside his door in the living room blasting music. It’s not like you meant to disturb him or had forgotten either, he just didn’t tell you.

He knows you’d insist on staying up to ungodly hours with him as he finished his designs so he told you he’d be in bed shortly, he just had some papers to sign. He hoped you would go to sleep but nope. Asahi wanted to leave you to your music he truly did, he knew you were happiest when you’re dancing and enjoying yourself but he wanted to enjoy it with you. The faster he finished the faster he could come and be with you, so he decided to tell you.

“Hey-,” the words died in his throat as his eyes landed on you. Asahi considered retreating to his office right now but he couldn’t move. You hadn’t heard him and he was kind of glad you didn’t. Your hips swayed to the beat, moving in just the right way, his eyes didn’t leave you. Your clothes hugged your body just right even if they were just sleepwear. Was that really what you wore to sleep he thought? If he had noticed all this sooner he was sure your nights would end a much different way. Asahi’s face flushed red; he cursed himself for thinking such inappropriate thoughts.

Your hands trailed up your body that was moving to the music as you finally turned to see him. “Oh! Hey, honey. I didn’t see you there,” you paused the music and walked up to him. “I- I wanted you to turn down the music. I- mean if that’s alright,” he said scratching his neck. “Yeah yeah. I’m sorry honey. Lemme do that and you can get back to your work,” you pulled his hand to your lips placing a kiss on them, and walking back to the speaker. “W-wait could you umm maybe help me with something. It's fine if you can’t,” he waved his hands in front of him. You look down to find a very turned-on Asahi and chuckled, “Mmmm Of course honey. Maybe next time you can join me dancing. I didn’t know you liked it so much.” Asahi hid his face in his hands as he followed you to the bedroom.

Kenma Kozume

♬♩♪♩ LUV – Tory Lanez ♩♪♩♬

Kenma was busy working a TikTok Livestream because his followers and subscribers have been bombarding his inbox with messages to get one. He was currently in the process of making sure everything was in order as people started popping in and saying hi. You were in the bedroom trying to strike up some inspiration but instead, you got so caught up in the music. Meanwhile, Kenma was telling them about his day but the chat was blowing up with questions so he had skipped over to answer them.

About an hour had passed and he was getting a bit hungry so he decided to headed over to the kitchen, phone in hand to get some apple pie from the fridge. Everyone started commenting typical Kodzuken, a couple people suggested that he ask you if you wanted any. His fan base was very familiar with your presence and often asked for ideas where he would interact with you. The community loved seeing the softer side of Kenma that came out when you were around. His phone was turned to face you so everyone could see you when he entered.

Not even five seconds after he opened the door he closed it. “Hey guys, ummm I need to go. I’ll come back later. Kodzuken out,” he quickly ended the stream and turned off his phone. “Hey, baby. Are you ok?” you peeked out from the door one side of your bluetooth earbuds still in. His face was tinted pink as he pushed you into the room, “I- Kitten … umm my fan base just saw… they … well how you were dancing and I-,” you stopped him pulling him to lay his head on your lap. “I’m sorry baby, but it’s nothing special. Was I bad?” You ask while stroking his hair but he sat straight up. “No! I mean no, you weren’t bad. It was just,” he played with his fingers, “It was just really seductive and it's that’s not really for my fan base to see. “

“Oh? Then who is it for then? Hmmm,” you asked in a teasing manner. He was embarrassed but still confidently answered, “For me ok. It’s for me now stop teasing me ok,” he pouted turning away from you. You giggled, “I’m sorry but maybe you want me to continue. For you alone that is?” He thought about it but then his stomach growled, “Ok I do but maybe eat some apple pie with me first?” You nodded and you both headed to the kitchen but don’t think he forgot about your suggestion.

Yamamoto Taketora

♬♩♪♩ Fast Wine – Machel Montano ♩♪♩♬

Today had gone by pretty slow, and you spent it watching movies and just spending time with Yamamoto. But now it was a bit later and you were feeling some creative juices flowing so you decided to put that to use you grabbed your stuff and set it up at the kitchen counter. He decided to up Kenma’s offer to play some games. About two hours had gone by and your shoulder was getting pretty sore. The playlist was pretty upbeat and just as you had gotten up a dance-worthy song had begun to play. You thought maybe it’d be a good warm-up.

You were swaying your body to the beat and getting in the rhythm. Your hips moved freely as you dragged your hand over your body and fit your dancing to the nature of the song. What you didn't know, is as soon as you started to dance Taketora was coming to get some snacks and check up on you. But his plans changed when he saw you dancing, he froze. If he went back now he’d definitely have to take a cold shower and he saw no difference if he stayed. So he decided to enjoy it for a bit. His cheeks were lightly dusted pink and the situation in his pants was only getting harder.

He felt weird just standing there, kind of like he was being a creep so he decided to quickly run to the kitchen and run back as the song came to a close. “H-hey baby. Just getting a snack and heading back,” he said hurriedly. “Oh ok. Did you enjoy the view?” you quirked your eyebrow smirking at him. “W-what? I didn’t see anything just you baby always se- I mean beautiful as ever,” he turned away from you and opened the fridge. You slowly walk up behind him, and start climbing your fingers up his arms, “Really nothing? I guess that’s too bad, I wanted to know what you thought. Guess I just have to assume it was terrible.”

“Wait! Baby your dancing is really amazing and sexy! How could you say it’s bad!” he shouted covering his face in realisation of what he just said. You burst out in a fit of laughter, it was so easy to get him to admit things, “Babe I’m sorry but I’m glad you like it. I didn’t know how much you saw I only caught you down to the end. But I’m glad you like it I but I do see that your little friend down there liked it much more.” You pointed down to his crotch which he covered while flushing bright red. “I’m sorry I- umm I’ll take care of it,” he apologised turning to leave. “How about we both have a shower and I can fix it for you hmm,” you held his hand and whispered in his ear. “Y-yes p-please. Thank you,” he looked down blushing as you led him to the bathroom.

Oikawa Tōru

♬♩♪♩ Hips Don’t Lie – Shakira ♩♪♩♬

Oikawa was gone for practice and you decided it’d be fun to catch up with your friends because it had been a while. You were on a video call and you guys had started talking about music and gotten into a bit of details about dancing. So now you and all your friends were showing their wining and grinding skills. This was a rather normal occurrence because in all honestly things always got wild between you guys. Put the three of you in a club and all eyes would be on you in no time. It was always a surprise how a couple shots could go such a long way.

You were going off to this song, all the seductive movements, hands dragging over the dips of your body and your hips moving at just the right tempo. Tōru had forgotten his water bottle and came back only to find you dancing. Turned on was an understatement but his time in Brazil gave him experience in more than one way and he was going to use that. This man was not shy but he did wait for the right moment to jump in. He came up behind you resting his hands on your waist, guiding your movement with his. “Hey cutie, moving that beautiful body of yours I see,” he whispered in your ear gently biting it. “You startled me,” you smiled still dancing as you put your arms back against his chest and dragged your body down his, slowly coming back up.

He started placing kisses on your neck, “Mmmm m sorry, fuck I’m not gonna make it to practice baby.” He twirled you away from his body only to bring you back and dip you. He smiled and pulled you up for a kiss. Suddenly, whistles and claps erupted, “Shit- I forgot I was talking to them.” He chuckled as they asked where they can find themselves an Oikawa Tōru. “Well ladies there’s only one and I don’t think Y/N-chan is sharing,” giving them a wink.

“Well, I don’t know you cause a lot more problems than fix them,” you joke as he clutched his chest. “How rude Y/N-chan! Maybe I’ll take your friends up on their offer then,” he crossed his arms and pouted childishly. “You’re not going anywhere, you’re all mine mister, and now what’s that about not going to practice. What did you have in mind?” you asked ending the call with your friends. He didn’t reply, just grabbed you by the waist and placed you on his lap, earning a small squeak from you.

Tell me if you'd like to see anyone else for this? Whether it's MHA or Haikyuu, maybe even Jujutsu Kaisen.

If you liked my writing, maybe you’d like to buy me a coffee?

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k-s-morgan · 3 years

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What He Grows to Be: Snippet 5

Thank you to everyone who expressed their preference over what they’d prefer to see in the snippet! Tom watching Harry’s memories about the Chamber of Secrets got the most votes, so here is the draft version of it. Though since it’s almost 4K long, maybe calling it a snippet isn’t appropriate :D

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Talking through a diary was an interesting idea. Tom wasn’t sure what kind of magic this was, but now that he’d seen it, he could figure it out. He and Harry would be able to have immediate conversations instead of relying on letters or Patronuses.

Then again, considering what this diary had led to, perhaps this wasn’t a good idea. The last thing Tom wanted was to add himself into Harry’s collection of negative associations in one more way.

He didn’t see how Harry had managed to get into the Chamber of Secrets. One moment, he was staring at the bloody inscription on the wall; the next one, he was standing in an entirely new vast space. Tom still had no idea where it was located or how to access it.

His heart sank in disappointment, but when the full implications hit him, it stopped entirely.

Harry had excluded this memory on purpose. He didn’t trust Tom with the knowledge of where the Chamber was. He showed him the core events but not the details because his trust and his faith were already gone by that point.

And the ritual made it even worse.

An uncomfortable itchy heat began to radiate from Tom’s chest. The sensation was entirely unfamiliar, so he pressed his palm against it, confused and hoping to squash it down.

He couldn’t name it, but it felt a little like shame. He’d never experienced it to this extent before, and it was never mixed with this kind of almost desperate hurt.

He’d been trying. For years, he’d been trying to be someone Harry would approve of. The craving, the longing for his acceptance stayed his hand so many times that now Tom couldn’t count them all — he even allowed that scum Morfin to blackmail him, no matter how maddeningly outrageous the whole situation was, simply because he refused to risk Harry finding out.

He’d made mistakes, but they were minimal in comparison to what he would have done if he hadn’t been trying. And yet Harry still didn’t trust him.

The shame began to curl away, giving way to dejection. Loneliness suddenly felt sharp and uncompromising, and Tom wrapped his hands around himself, watching how Harry’s head snapped up.

“She won’t wake,” a voice said. It was soft but cold, so it took a moment for Tom to recognise it. His eyes quickly moved towards one of the pillars, and something in him shuddered from what he saw.

It was like watching his reflection in someone else’s dream. Something was wrong with the boy he was looking at, and it wasn’t just about the fact that his physical contours were blurred, as if he was being held together by magic alone.

No, he was simply different. He didn’t have the splendour Tom prided himself on. He was thinner and hollow-cheeked; his clothes, while neat, came from some cheap store Tom would have never stepped into. He was but a shadow with empty vicious eyes and greed that swarmed around him in a cloud — greed Tom wasn’t sure he could relate to.

He longed for things. He longed for Harry. But even from here, he could read the shallowness and the arrogance written all over his twin’s face, and he didn’t like it one bit.

This wasn’t him. This was Tom Riddle. Someone he could have been.

“Are you a ghost?” Harry asked. He was staring at Riddle with such earnestness, like he trusted him entirely and couldn’t see what a hollow shell he was. This was the first time Tom would disappoint him — the first in a long line of failures and betrayals.

“No,” Tom murmured to himself, shaking his head briefly. He couldn’t keep blurring himself and Riddle — that way madness lied. Despite some superficial similarities, they were completely different people. He might have let Harry down, too, but their story was different. This abomination was dead and could never touch it.

“A memory,” Riddle replied. His voice was quiet, but its sinister and bitter undertones were as loud as shouting. “Preserved in a diary for fifty years.”

Tom’s brows furrowed. What? A memory? That must have been some ritual. Why would he condemn himself to this kind of existence? To give Voldemort more power? Maybe Voldemort had managed to subdue his will and make him into a brainless soldier somehow. This was more plausible than any version of him feeling such loyalty to some monster that he would follow him blindly and sacrifice his life force for him.

How did one become a memory in the first place? Even Tom with his knowledge about all possible forms of dark arts couldn’t figure it out.

Riddle burst into an animated, mostly one-sided conversation, and several minutes later, Tom had to admit that listening to his own voice was surprisingly challenging. Riddle’s arrogance was distorting his words; his excitement over successfully breaking an 11-year-old girl was embarrassing — Tom had felt less enthusiastic when he killed Charlus, and that happened back when he was a child himself. His first impression had been accurate: Riddle was worlds away from him. He was stupid, and Tom would have never believed it if he wasn’t witnessing it with his own eyes.

“I have been waiting for you to appear since we arrived here,” Riddle said pleasantly. His eyes were fixed on Harry in an intense, hungry way — and well, they did have something in common, after all. “I knew you’d come. I have many questions for you, Harry Potter.”

“Like what?” Harry spat angrily. He didn’t look intimidated in the slightest — his anger and righteousness made him appear taller, and his blazing eyes were furious enough to stop anyone in their tracks.

“How is it that you, a skinny boy with no extraordinary magical talent, managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time?” Riddle wondered. The pleasant notes were disappearing again under the piles of bitterness and odd envy. “How did you escape with nothing but a scar while Lord Voldemort’s powers were destroyed?”

By the end of it, a red gleam entered his eyes. It looked unnatural enough for Tom to make an instinctive step towards Harry.

This was unnerving. Magic was one thing, but what would turn his eyes — Riddle’s eyes — red? Humans couldn’t do that, it went against all laws of nature. Unless… Unless Riddle wasn’t human.

If so, what was he?

“Why do you care how I escaped?” Harry asked slowly. His own gaze was narrowed in a dawning realisation that Tom couldn’t decipher. Did Harry have a theory? How could he — he was only twelve. “Voldemort was after your time.”

Riddle smirked at him, looking almost giddy, and Tom had to amend his opinion. This impostor wasn’t simply stupid, he was crazy. He grew excited over irrelevant things and reacted inappropriately to every logical question Harry asked.

“Voldemort,” he uttered, “is my past, present, and future, Harry Potter.”

Pulling a wand out of his pocket, he slashed the air with it, writing three rapid words.

Tom Marvolo Riddle

Tom studied them, his stare lingering on “Marvolo.” Something about it stood out. Something was strangely familiar.

Before he could follow the clues, Riddle waved the wand again, rearranging the letters. The syllables shifted and clung to each other briefly before assuming their designated places.

I Am Lord Voldemort

His mind went utterly blank. Time stopped. The existence of the world lost its meaning. Tom stared at these words, re-reading them again, and again, and again.

I Am Lord Voldemort.

Tom Riddle. Voldemort.

He was Voldemort.

He was Voldemort. All this time, he was watching himself, and he didn’t even realise this.

The bottom dropped out of his stomach. Tom recoiled from the damning words so violently that he lost his balance and collapsed onto the wet floor. His body didn’t feel the impact — it couldn’t, he didn’t even have it here, but it still burned, it still groaned and shuddered, as if the weight of his mind and his feelings was too much for it to bear.

“It can’t be,” he tried to speak. No words reached his ears, so he did it again. “It’s not possible. I’m not him.”

Still nothing.

Acid burned at the back of his throat. His stomach contorted in pained shock, and then the terrible screaming something filled his ears, crawling in them until it was the only sound they could perceive. It was violent and shredding — it echoed in his very bones.

He was Voldemort. All along, he was Voldemort. He’d killed Harry’s parents. He tried to kill Harry. He made so many Horcruxes that he had gone insane, losing his mind along with his powers, losing the respect of his followers, leaving only fear in its place.

He wasn’t the right hand of Harry’s nemesis. He was his nemesis. Harry had spent his entire first life hating and fearing him — he had single-handedly ruined Harry’s existence so thoroughly that Harry was forced to escape into the past. To accept guardianship over someone who tortured and destroyed him.

An icy fist closed around his lungs, clawing and squeezing the remains of air out of them. Tom gasped, his body jerking in odd abrupt movements that he had no control over. The next second, the contours of the Chamber of Secrets faded, melting back into Harry’s bedroom. The phantoms of the past were gone — they stayed trapped in the Pensieve, but their terrible echoes remained with Tom. They latched onto his mind with hungry vengeance, throwing an image after an image of the pictures he had seen when he was first watching Harry’s memories.

It didn’t matter then. Those pictures were just that — the images of a monster he didn’t know and had no direct relationship with. But recalling them now and putting his own face onto them…

His mind rebelled. Tom pressed his hands to his ears, trying to silence the screaming, but it kept getting louder. It hurled accusations and mockeries, painted every crime he committed, every time he hurt Harry and raised his wand against him.

There was no silencing something like this. The only thing Tom could do was outcry it, so he screamed, too.

He found that he couldn’t stop.

***

That night, he added just one sentence to his letter.

Why would you love me?

***

The sleep didn’t come. The desire to tear into his skin and shred it until physical pain remained the only sensation was strong, but every time Tom raised his wand or his hands, he stopped.

He wanted to hurt himself. He didn’t want to hurt Harry.

It was easier before. In Harry’s absence, for a long time, he’d been putting his own hurt above everything, even above Harry himself; he’d marred his skin without care, wanting, needing acknowledgement.

But he couldn’t do it now. The thought of leaving even a small scratch on Harry made him sick.

That cursed ritual.

Tom managed to stay physically intact throughout the night, yet he spent it curled into a tight ball, shaking under the pressure of ache and grief and emotions he couldn’t identify. There were so many of them — they were crowding his chest, interfering with his heart, making him feel like he was about to explode with them.

When the morning came and nothing changed, Tom made himself get up. He cooked breakfast, then stared at it silently, knowing that he could never eat it without vomiting it back.

He needed… something. Something comforting. Harry wouldn’t return; Harry’s blanket and things no longer produced the same soothing effect, so it had to be something new.

If he could capture Harry’s Patronus into some vial… if he could consume the letters Harry had written him…

The letters. He still had the letters. They were the last thing he’d gotten from Harry — they had his personality, his handwriting; they had a whole part of him because Tom could easily trace the story of their creation. From the pressure Harry had applied to a quill in different instances, it was evident where he hesitated, where he took a break, where he got anxious or passionate. It was the closest thing to him Tom had in his possession now.

Without thinking further, he returned to the bedroom and grabbed the last letter. His eyes immediately zeroed in on three specific half-lines.

…I’m going to keep explaining until you do.

…I’ve promised you’ll always be my priority.

…I might consider returning.

A promise of future communication.

The use of future tense.

Future possibility.

This was evidence. Whatever Tom was, Harry didn’t give up on him. Harry still loved him. He might still return.

Tom closed his eyes, nuzzling into the letter, and finally, for the first time in hours, the ache lessened. The sick feeling grew dimmer, too, and he felt solid and grounded again. When he pulled back, his gaze dropped to another passage.

Watch those memories. Don’t contact me until you do.

Tom pressed his lips to these lines, trying to breathe them in, feeling how their rough surface scratched his mouth.

Permission to contact Harry. He still had it. He was simply supposed to meet Harry’s condition.

That meant that he had to return to the Pensieve. The sooner he was done, the closer to Harry he could feel again.

Carefully, Tom folded the letter and put it in his pocket. If things got bad again, he could always touch it and remind himself of the future.

The memories weren’t a punishment. They were a chance to improve things.

Tom couldn’t really be certain, but he preferred to cling to this notion.

This made things easier at least to a small degree.

***

He chose to return to the start of the memory. Silently, he watched his shadow speak with Harry, lingered on how it hissed the words of self-admiration and hung onto its useless pride.

“I fashioned myself a new name,” Riddle boasted breathlessly, “a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!”

“You are not,” Harry said quietly. Despite his age, his resolution was steely, and if Tom had to choose whom he admired more at this moment... it wouldn’t even be a competition.

“Not what?” Riddle snapped. Insecurity and rage were twisting his ghostly face — it was a pitiful display. If the words of a 12-year-old boy had the power to affect him, then he had not only failed at greatness, he was also a failure of a sorcerer.

“Sorry to disappoint you and all that, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore,” Harry said hotly. “Everyone says so!”

The reasoning was… like that of a child. Even though his stomach was clenched into a tight knot, Tom smiled a little, suddenly overcome with a rush of gentleness and fondness for this particular version of Harry.

He was trusting. He was pure in a way that even his Harry wasn’t — he didn’t see death and destruction yet; he was not betrayed by Dumbledore.

He was not betrayed by Tom.

The smile disappeared, leaving Tom hollow.

When Dumbledore’s phoenix burst into the Chamber, carrying the Sorting Hat, Riddle laughed, and Tom laughed with him — only his laughter was hysterical because all pieces in his head suddenly clicked into one clear picture.

Dumbledore. Of course. Of course it was Dumbledore’s plan all along, how did he not see this from the start?

Harry hadn’t sneaked into the Chamber secretly — Dumbledore allowed him to. Dumbledore was likely watching him even now, invisible, waiting for the outcome.

Harry was a Horcrux, and Horcruxes could be destroyed with basilisk’s venom.

This was a test. Dumbledore wanted to see if he could get rid of the Horcrux inside Harry without necessarily killing him. The Hat was here to give Harry the Sword — with his mindless bravery, it was not a surprise that he could pull it out. The phoenix was here to decrease the chances of Harry dying and to heal him after he was stabbed.

Clever. And enraging. Because for Dumbledore, Harry was a game piece. For Tom, he was the world.

He would have let Voldemort live for a thousand of years. He would have allowed him to destroy this universe until nothing was left if it meant he could keep Harry safe. Dumbledore would never prioritise one over a billion, and for that, Tom hated him.

“Kill him,” Riddle hissed. The words sent a jolt of automatic panic through him, and Tom moved between Harry and the basilisk before he could think rationally about it.

The snake was magnificent, there was no denying it. Even the first time, when he’d been distracted to the point of ignorance, he stopped to watch it because it was breath-taking in every way.

There was only one drawback. It wanted to kill Harry, and it meant that Tom would see it destroyed.

Harry broke into a run with his eyes shut. He managed to half-cross the room when he tripped and crashed down, his chin colliding with the cold stone. The sound of it launched Tom into immediate action again before he could stop his stupid feet.

Feeling this protective for such an extended period of time was exhausting. His heart kept hammering relentlessly and his hands were itching with magic, needing to pour it somewhere to protect Harry and to make sure he never got hurt again. How could anyone live in such a state?

The basilisk roared from pain when Dumbledore’s phoenix attacked it. Its tail whipped across the floor, approaching Harry with deadly speed, and Tom’s heart stopped. It stumbled forwards again only when Harry ducked, crouching, dirty and bloodied but with determination still burning brightly on his face. He was beautiful and desperate, and Tom would have cradled him in his arms if he could touch him.

A gust of wind sent the Hat right in Harry’s face. He grabbed it, put it onto his head, and threw himself to the side when the basilisk’s tail snapped forward again, almost crushing him into nothingness.

This was all strategic. It wasn’t a coincidence that the phoenix appeared immediately after Harry pledged his loyalty to Dumbledore. This was training — training in blind devotion, in recklessness, in self-sacrifice. And Harry had no idea.

At least this Harry didn’t. The adult version knew everything yet he still seemed to hold deep respect for Dumbledore.

Perhaps some training was too ingrained to ever fade from one’s core. This explained… almost everything about Harry. If Tom got another chance to make things right, he would dedicate himself entirely to removing these suicidal ideas from his head once and for all.

Harry pulled out the Sword from the Hat. He spent only a second on contemplating it — the next one, he was already standing and pointing it at the basilisk.

Nothing about this picture was palatable. The sword was too heavy for a child his size: Harry was struggling with it, and the basilisk kept thrashing, hitting everything in sight. How he survived was a matter of miracle. If he had died… If he’d died, this would be it. Tom would never be the person he was now. He would be limited to a memory in his own diary, to a ruin incapable of human thought. He would never get his second chance, and the life as he knew it would never exist.

Terror that rolled through him could only be rivalled by the sheer horror of witnessing the basilisk’s fang separate itself from its mouth and plunge into Harry’s arm. Static electricity burned somewhere above his elbow in a phantom sensation of pain Harry had to be experiencing. It wasn’t real, but Tom’s breathing still quickened, and his fingers wrapped around his arm convulsively.

He couldn’t tell if the fang fell out because Harry had aimed his Sword there or if it was Dumbledore again. Either way, Harry was dying, and even though Tom knew he’d survive, watching this was no less excruciating.

“Fawkes,” Harry murmured hoarsely. His eyes were fluttering shut in an image that came straight from Tom’s worst nightmares. “You were fantastic, Fawkes.”

Giving praise to an impervious bird when life was bleeding out of him. Harry was insane. He was the Harry — his Harry. It was no wonder that an overwhelming longing for him had been and was going to be Tom’s undoing in every life he lived.

“You’re dead, Harry Potter,” Riddle crowed, and Tom turned to face him with a snarl.

He hated this version of himself. Hated him. It was just a shard of him, dull and shallow, and if this underwhelming thing was ever his future, he would have preferred death.

Riddle wasn’t a powerful wizard. Even now, when faced with a dying wandless boy, he was too wary of making his own move. He let the basilisk be his weapon; he was watching Harry die and not intervening because he was intimidated.

Though perhaps it made sense. Maybe even Riddle could see Harry’s brilliance despite his narrow-mindedness — maybe, beneath the hatred and the fear, he was fascinated. Tom knew he would be.

Harry might not have much power, and he certainly didn’t at the age of twelve, but he still managed something no other wizard had tried. He’d defeated a giant basilisk with a sword; his agility was almost otherworldly as he twisted, crouched, and ducked from the heavy blows.

This was worthy of admiration. Even Riddle couldn’t be that blind so as to miss it.

When the phoenix healed Harry, Riddle didn’t cry out in alarm or anger like Tom might have expected him to. Instead, his face shifted between different conflicting expressions, and his eyes regained the hungry glint Tom found intimately familiar.

“It makes no difference,” Riddle spoke confidently, with only the tiniest twitch of uncertainty underneath. “In fact, I prefer it this way. Just you and me, Harry Potter... you and me.”

The surprising jealousy raised its ugly head, making Tom tense. He didn’t know in what way his shadow meant these words — he didn’t like to think about it either. It didn’t matter any way because there would never be such thing as Riddle and Harry, not until Harry came back to the past and gave the real Tom a chance at rebirth.

Without answering, Harry stabbed the diary with the fang, his eyes glistening with fevered hatred. Even Riddle’s piercing scream didn’t shake Tom the way this look had. He barely heard a sound through the sudden roaring in his ears, the sudden realisation that this was Harry’s first and last meeting with an actual Tom Riddle. Voldemort was a monstrosity with a face Tom refused to claim, but physically, Riddle was him.

How did Harry feel, watching him grow up? Had he ever looked at him and seen Riddle from the Chamber of Secrets? How could the feeling of love prevail over the feeling of hatred the 12-year-old Harry was currently wearing?

Tom turned away, unable to keep looking. His throat was dry, and as his knees started to shake, threatening to buckle right under him, he thrust his hand into his pocket, gripping the letter there.

In some other world, this moment had been Riddle’s end. But it wouldn’t be his.

He could do better. He would do better.

He’d finish watching these memories, he’d complete his letter to Harry, and then he’d start working. Harry would never look at him like he had at Riddle. In years, the memories of the Chamber of Secrets would fade; Riddle would become a shadow of a shadow, and Tom’s image would outshine him. It would take precedence in Harry’s mind.

This determination washed away the worms of doubts and self-hatred. When the new wave of memories swept him along, Tom felt prepared to face them.

#my fics #tomarry

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bondsmagii · 3 years

Text

My wife writes online recipes.

It’s just a little hobby of hers. I don’t really get it myself. She’s a great cook, and she gets a lot of great comments on her recipes – she’s one of those people who’s just good at teaching, you know, makes everything super simple and easy to follow – but she tends to write absolute essays at the top of all her recipes. Backstory, where she got the recipe from, how she adapted it over the years. It’s not that I don’t care. It’s just a lot of words, and I’m not a chef. I don’t know what she means by half of it. I look at the pictures, though. She’s a great food photographer as well. Manages to make the food look great – no shininess there, no congealing. It’s a neat little page, and she enjoys doing it, so what’s the harm?

Only thing is, she always stays up really late to update it. There’s no reason why she does this, that I can see. When I’ve asked, she just tells me she was busy during the day and had no time, and I believed her for a while. Then I began to notice that it didn’t matter how busy she was – she’d always wait until one, maybe two in the morning. Then I’d hear her downstairs, tapping away on the keyboard. Once, she even got up to do it. Like, out of bed. I was too tired to ask at the time, but during breakfast she just gave me a blank look and told me I must have been dreaming. We got into a bit of an argument about it, actually. I was so sure I hadn’t been, but… now I’m not as sure. I’ve definitely seen her down there, though. Late at night, when she thinks I’m asleep. I’ve stood at the top of the stairs, where I can just make her out on the couch. She writes with such grim concentration. She doesn’t look much like she’s enjoying it at the time. Looks like she hates it, if I’m honest. Then I’ll catch her reading it back during the day, and she’s smiling again. Perhaps the writing process, I don’t know.

One day I got kind of curious. That night, at about four in the morning, I woke up to my wife getting quietly out of bed and tiptoeing downstairs. Sure enough, soon I heard her fingers going over that keyboard at a rapid pace, like something had driven her out of bed and had her in a frenzy. I was so curious as to what simply couldn’t wait until morning. I thought about asking her over breakfast again, but I didn’t want a repeat of last time. Instead I went back to sleep, and when I woke up she was in the shower like she was every morning, and I pulled up her recipe site on my phone.

The latest recipe – the one she had posted that morning – started off normal. A greeting, a quick update about her life. The first thing that struck me as odd was in the second paragraph. Only a little thing, but still. She said that she was up so late typing the recipe because she hadn’t been able to sleep, but that was a lie. She had been sleeping soundly when I’d come to bed, and when I got up a few hours later to get a drink. Why would she lie about something like that?

More normal paragraphs followed. She talked about where she had picked the recipe up, about barbeques when she had been a little girl. There was a real poetry to how she described those late summer afternoons, the lazy drone of the bees, the golden air. It was beautiful, but I wondered just how many people actually read all of this stuff, and how many people scrolled rapidly down to the recipe. The thought caused a pang of sympathy to go through me. She worked so hard on these introductions, and the thought of nobody reading them made me feel heavy. Then I saw it. About five lines in, at the seventh large paragraph.

Now everyone has stopped reading, here’s what you really need to know.

I sat up a little straighter.

This recipe has a slightly stronger sauce, because the meat wasn’t as fresh as I would like. If you have fresher meat, you’ll probably want to reduce the ingredients by half, or if you don’t mind strong flavours, adjust to taste.

I sank back a little, disappointed. What had I expected to find, really? The water in the shower changed in pitch as my wife moved around under the jet, and I found myself tuned in, listening for the creak that would let me know she was stepping out of the tub. For some reason, I did not want to be caught doing this.

I caught this one on Friday night. Friday evenings are good, because a lot of people go out on the trails. They take some of the longer ones, because they have the next day off. Unfortunately when I went to check the snares, a bunch of teenagers were using the parking lot to goof around and drink, so I had to wait hours before I could collect the catch. You’ve read about how my snares are designed in the Long Pulled Pork and Slaw recipe, so you can see my problem here, lol! The snare worked perfectly, but obviously the meat had been dead for a few hours by the time I had it up and out of there, and I’m a sticker for getting to it as quickly as possible.

Here's the thing. My wife is not a hunter. She has no problem with eating meat, and she can cook up a mean steak and pull pork better than any restaurant I’ve ever been to, but she’s never had any interest in catching the animals she cooks herself. She goes to local places for the meat, likes to source it farm to fork, but snares? She’s never mentioned snares once. She doesn’t own any hunting rifles. She’s never been hunting in her life. I have no idea what she’s talking about. I wonder, briefly, if she’s delusional – some highly specific delusion from a condition that somehow impacts no other part of her life – and then I scroll up slightly and click the link to the pork and slaw.

This time the extra information is hidden in the fifteenth paragraph, in the middle of a long-winded but beautifully written story about catching fireflies with her little sister.

They showed me how to make the snares when I was nineteen years old. It’s fairly time-consuming to set up, but well worth it! If you’re interested please don’t hesitate to email me for more information, but it’s my little secret so I don’t want it right out in the open ;) The important thing to know is that the snares are quick and humane, and designed to kill the catch immediately. This is why it’s super important to check them regularly! The longer the catch is dead, the more the taste of the meat is affected – and this meat needs so much work to begin with in order to make it palatable. You don’t want to give yourself extra work! (And for those of you wondering about the obvious, don’t. They will take care of the rest of the body. This is the payment for using their techniques, and besides, we couldn’t eat that much anyway! My husband and I barely make a dent in all the food I have stored away in the freezer. Just take the cut you want, and leave the rest to them.)

The shower was still going strong, and I got to my feet before I could think too much about it. I was starting to realise I might have made a mistake, leaving all the cooking to my wife. She loves it – cooking is her real passion in life – and I’m abysmal at it, so it makes sense. Having said that, I should have probably taken more of an interest in what it was, exactly, that she was cooking.

There’s a huge box freezer in our garage. I never look in it. She doesn’t like me to, anyway. She has everything arranged and knows where it is, and she likes to be able to run out and grab something without wasting too much time. It felt almost dishonest to crack the lid and peer in – like I was snooping in her diary. All I can see are bags upon bags of frozen meat, but that’s not unusual. She stocks up sometimes. You can never be too careful. Like I said, I’m no chef, so I can’t make heads nor tails of it. It’s dark meat, red, and I mean, it’s really dark. Beef, maybe. Venison. Is she out there catching deer in snares? If so, why would she have to wait until the teenagers had gone to bring it out? It’s not illegal to hunt deer around here – not at this time of the year. And why wouldn’t she mention it to me at all?

Cautiously, I move a few of the packages. My hand closes around a strangely shaped one and I pull it out so I can see better. My heart skips a beat before I realise it’s probably just for her stock. She makes stock out of bones, you see, so it’s not unusual to see a whole shin bone in the freezer.

Except this shin bone is long and thick. It doesn’t look like any kind of shin bone I’d expect from an animal. Looking at it, it’s about the length of mine.

You know, I never could quite place the flavour of the steaks she’s been serving me.

I swallow hard. I slide the shin bone back into its place. I realise, too late, that the gurgle of the pipes stopped long ago. I realise, also too late, that I left my phone on the bed.

I think I hear the garage door creak.

#creeptastic #creepypasta #my creepypasta #writing #my writing #short story #fiction #been a while since i wrote a good old creepypasta huh

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britishvamps · 3 years

Text

Arranged

Prompt: None Fandom: Atiny (ATEEZ) Member: Jeong Yunho Warnings: Not really, underlying tones of sketchy deals, mention of a gun and knowledge of a crime family Word Count: 3,012 *Quick PSA: I cut it down but it's still over 3k words. This may be part of a series with the Ateez boys. This will have a series of its own and this is written for my black/POC girls 💜*

The day of your nineteenth birthday began pretty much like every typical day in your household. You were awoken at 7:30 am, went into the bathroom to have a shower. You sat back in front of your vanity, body and hair still wrapped in a towel as you moisturised your arms and legs when a knock on your door. “Come in.” You said, changing the song playing from your phone to Khalid’s ‘free spirit’ as your parents walked in. Behind them, an array of gifts were being carried in bags, and boxes followed them as they came up to hug you. “Happy birthday, sweetie.” Your mother spoke as she sat on your bed. “Happy birthday, pumpkin.” Your father whispered as he kissed your forehead before straightening out his suit and rushed back out, leaving you in your now packed room with your mother still sat on the bed. “Baby, get dressed and come meet your father and me downstairs in the dining room, okay. Dress cute.” She uttered as she arose and strutted out, her nude Louboutin heels clicking on the marble floor with each step she took before you heard the click of the door behind her.

Assuming it was another row of gifts, you dried your hair and quickly dressed in a long black flowy dress with gladiator sandals. Deciding to go semi-bare faced, you put on your lashes, did your eyebrows and put on your jewellery before you went downstairs. As you walked into the massive dining hall, one of the help came and placed a stack of hot, fluffy pancakes in front of you as two others place similar looking plates in front of your parents. “Eat up, baby. We have to go out soon to meet a few people.” Your father spoke as he skimmed over his paper whilst sipping his coffee, glancing at you as you placed a few strawberries on your plate and cut them into your pancakes. Giving a brief nod, you quickly dug in before rushing to your walk-in closet and grabbing your nude cardigan. Hopping down the stairs, your parents stood by the door with their entourage awaiting your arrival before you all bustled out and entered your respective cars. Your mother and father in one car with two guards in the front seats, you in another with three, and the rest split in two other similar looking sleek, black BMW X6′s before you set off to your location, still unknown to you. “So... where are we going, guys?” You quizzed your escorts after about 45 minutes of driving through the city, to which you got a short reply of “You’ll see when we arrive, Miss.” Rolling your eyes, you sat scrolling through the birthday wish messages from your social media as your friends posted photos from balls and events as well. “Well, seeing as nobody is going to say anything, I’m going to connect my phone to the aux.” You say as you unbuckle your seatbelt and lean forward to grab the thin black cable. Soon after, the music’s soft melodies were surrounding everyone in the car.

It was not until an hour or so later that you had begun slowing down in front of the great black gates that stood tall and proud in front of a large, pristine white coloured house. The bright green lawn and burgundy door stood out in comparison to its white canvas. As the gates to the unknown slowly opened, the silence in the area almost became deafening. It seemed virtually ghostly besides the hum of the engines that soon cut off as they reached their destination at the top of the driveway.

As you exited the vehicles, the once empty patio was now occupied by a single maid, much like Amanda. She stood, awaiting your ascent up the stairs. She leads you and your parents to a large room that could only describe what one might use for an exaggerated dinner party. On one side of the table stood a man, a woman who you assumed was his wife judging by her posture and clothing and a younger, taller male off on the side of the woman. Your mother and father walked towards them, beginning the greetings between them and the more youthful male shock their hands. Although confused, you shook their hands, bowing slightly to the younger male who seemed to have no interest in being in the same room as anyone who was actually in there already. “Hello, please sit. We have much to discuss.” The older man said, pointing towards the chairs as he took his place at the head of the table.

Confused, you remained stood up. “What is this? Where are we?” You quizzed, to which the younger male finally looked up at you, eyes curiously glancing over your figure as if trying to see if you were serious about your question or not. This gave you a chance to see him correctly and was he a sight to see. His face seemingly made by the gods themselves and his broad shoulders accentuated by his choice of suit. A grey check suit and white dress shirt with a deep black tie. “Sit (y/n). You will soon understand.” Your father’s voice spoke in a tone you haven’t heard from him before. Sitting opposite the younger male, you watched as another man, who you hadn’t noticed was even in the room, came and handed your father and the other older male a stack of papers, much like a contract. “Seriously, dad, we’re here to do business on my birthday.” You deadpanned, quite annoyed that the secrecy seemed only for another one of your father’s ‘business deals’.

“(y/n)...” Your mother started, before being cut off by your father. “(y/n), this is Mr and Mrs Jeong and their son Yunho.” As he spoke, he handed you the stack of papers as Mr Jeong handed his son a copy of your documents. Looking down at dark black ink that sat on the accumulation of white papers, sat your marriage contracts.

Thick, slabs of ivory paper perched on the deep black glass of the table, with the neatly written words staring back at you as it read ‘Legalised document of the union of the Jeong’s and the (y/l/n)’ s’. The thoughts swirling in your head were too loud as you looked up in horror, taking a glance around the table only to receive a sea of all blank faces. It became quickly apparent that you were the last one to know. Abruptly arising in anger, you practically flew out of the room, dismissing the yells of your parents and just when you had reached the door of the house, you were suddenly stopped by a sharp, curt pull on the arm, turning to be face to face with the beautiful individual who was previously sat opposite you. “I suggest you return on your own volition before I am forced to bring you back.” He spoke his face at much closer proximity than you had expected. Breathing heavily, you pulled your arm out of his hand before speaking. “If you think I am walking back into there so I can hear about how I am to get married to you on my nineteenth birthday, you, sir, have much more wrong with you than my parents do.”

As you opened the door, you were abruptly picked up and tossed over the shoulder of the man who you was to be your future husband. Screeching, you yelled to be let down, but your screams fell upon deaf ears as he walked you back into the dining room and set you down by the door before entering it and holding the door open for you to walk past. Huffing, you pushed your hair back and walked into the room, angrily throwing yourself into your chair as you listened to your parents plan the type of wedding they wanted you to have. Still angry, you zoned you into your thoughts, wondering what you possibly could’ve done in your past life to deserve such a treatment in which your own parents would ship you off to be wed to a man who, in the short hour you had known him, had already manhandled you and not left a good impression. “So, it is decided. The wedding will be in 6 months, and the two of you will be living together for that time. Get to know each other better.” Mr Jeong said, clapping his hands together as both sets of parents beamed at one another. “We will, of course, have to meet again to talk about the official taking over of my place once Yunho is wed, but until then, it seems we have a wedding to get through.” Mr Jeong finished as they all arose, shaking hands once more and to which you did not partake, just walking out. Upon entering your car, you locked the doors to ensure your parents wouldn’t try to speak to you.

“Where to, Miss (y/n)?” The driver asked, your guards back in their designated seats. “Anywhere but home. Make sure my parents don’t try to follow me.” You ordered, pulling your earphones out of your pocket and letting the lyrics of Billie Eilish consume you. It was not until two and a half hours later that you realised your destination. In this park, your parents used to take you as a child, before your father became too busy with his business to have your fortnightly picnic with you in that same park. Walking through the small, isolated area, you finally took a seat in what became your usual thinking spot. A large oak tree perched in front of the midsized artificial lake that sat in the middle of the field. Thinking back to the beginning of your day, even if you were given a thousand guesses, none would have been close to the events of today. At a mere 19 years of age, you got engaged and soon to be wed to a rude man you had known for only three long hours—a very handsome man, but a rude man nonetheless.

The sun was still shining brightly in the afternoon, but there was a clear breeze. You had been sat there for much longer than you had anticipated as your stomach grumbles, indicating that it was time to start heading back. Dreading the drive back, you slowly walked back towards the car where one of your guards, Eric, was holding a bag of takeout and a drink. “Figured you’d be hungry, Miss (y/n).” He smiles and hands you the food and drink before opening the car door, letting you slide in.

Two months had passed, and your parents had decided that it would be best to announce your engagement during one of your father’s trimonthly “fundraisers”. At this time, you and Yunho had only interacted when your parents and the Jeong’s visited and even then, the interactions were curt and almost business-like themselves. You slept in separate rooms and continued to live very individual lives; you, unaware of the back alley dealings and Yunho, preparing to take over his father’s “business.” All your friends were super excited that you were living with such a cute guy and started making plans to go wedding dress shopping but if only they knew the truth; that it was nothing more than a business deal.

You had to go shopping with Yunho for a matching dress and suit, both your parents joined making sure it was going well. You had entered another boutique, the employees running around trying to find a dress to match Yunho’s burgundy suit that he had seen almost instantaneously after visiting the first store, you, however, seemed to have no intentions to finding a dress, enjoying the complimentary champagne and strawberries you were getting served. “(y/n) you need to take this seriously. This is a good thing.” Your mum spoke, grabbing the champagne flute from your hand before pulling you up. In front of you was an assortment of dresses in the same colour as Yunho’s suit. Rolling your eyes, you ran your hands over the materials of the dresses, ranging from silk to velvet. You stopped at a silk dress with gold detailing, pulling it from the rack and holding it to your body. “Perfect choice, miss (y/n). This will look amazing on you.” The employee complimented. You walked into the changing area and put on the dress, instantly falling in love with the way it looked. You walked out to see your mum, and Yunho’s mum watches you in awe. “That’s the dress. You look beautiful, darling. This is the one.” Mrs Jeong spoke, signalling towards an employee. “Go get changed; I’ll go pay for this, and then we can get brunch and start discussing the wedding.” And just like that, the perfect moment came crashing down with reality.

A few weeks had passed, and it was the day of the ball. Everything was decorated to a T; the drinks fountains looked taller than you as they sat on the tables with filled champagne flutes roaming around as people started arriving. You and Yunho were in the study with your parents, receiving another lecture about acting like a couple. "Yunho, (y/n), please. Try acting more like a couple. Hold hands, maybe a kiss or something." His father sighed, watching the two of you practically glaring at one another from across the room. "I do not remember signing up for this." You groaned, seeing your parents glare at you before you stood up, trying to walk to the door. "(y/n) sit down. This marriage is for the best for the both of you." Your mother muttered, watching your every move. "The marriage is happening; the best thing you can do is try and make it as enjoyable as you can." Your father announced, ending the conversation as he put on his suit jacket, turning and nodding to Yunho before he began walking out. "I will do my part for tonight but do not expect me to act as if this was of my volition." You notified, pushing past him, the tail of your dress flowing behind you.

The party was in full swing when your parents had begun getting everyone's attention as they started announcing your betrothal. "Ladies and gentlemen. We have some exciting news. In a few months, my son will be getting married." Exclaimed Mr Jeong, receiving several cheers and claps from guests. With his hand out, Yunho walked towards where you and your parents were stood before taking your hand and placing a gorgeous diamond engagement ring on it. This caused an uproar of cheers, and he leant into you. "Keep this up, and one might think you actually like me." You whispered as you faked a smile, giving Yunho a quick side look before smiling back at the guests.

After you descended the stairs, your girlfriends began asking about 'the mysterious fiancee'. As if those words were his summoning, a hand snaked around your waist, causing you to force a smile as you looked up at him. "I heard I was being looked for." He smiled, planting a kiss on your temple. One would've actually believed you were a couple if they did not look too close. "Yes, girls, this is Yunho. Yunho, these are my best friends." Each of them not so subtly giving you approving looks as they shook his hand. "Pleasure. But I must steal away my beautiful fiancee." He charmed, to which they immediately sent you both off with a giggle and a wink. Yunho led you into a room in the back, immediately dropping his arm from your waist the second the door closed. "Why are we in here when the party and alcohol are out there?" You chided. Rolling his eyes, he unbuttoned his suit jacket. "We need to talk. You can't avoid me, so this the best place." He began, sitting in one of the chairs. "What do you know about your father's business?"

"He owns a few restaurants, some buildings and some shipping companies; I don't know. Why do you ask?" You quizzed, also sitting down. Yunho let out an incredulous laugh, leaning back. "Baby, that is far from the truth. Where we like it or not, we're going to be wed, so time to lay out a few truths. Our fathers are both the heads of two very powerful crime syndicates. Our marriage is an alliance to which we will both gain a lot. We may not see eye to eye, but you will be my wife, and I promise no harm will come your way." He said, staring at your face as it contorts to one of confusion and shock. Suddenly it was all making sense; the late-night work meetings, the cryptic conversations and the constant need to have guards. "I- This is crazy! It all kind of makes sense, but I can't be marrying a- a criminal." You rushed, standing up quickly. "Listen, I am telling you to warn you. We will never be 100% safe, and better you find out than during a situation that may involve me bringing my gun." He spoke as if this whole thing was normal. "Look, we can talk about this after the party. We disappear for too long, and people might think we're doing something, and we wouldn't want that now, would we love?" He smirked, straightening his suit before he sauntered out, leaving you stood in the room alone with your thoughts. Letting out a shocked laugh, you fixed your dress, faked a smile and walked back out to the enormous hall where Yunho was seemingly deep in conversation with your friends. You looked around, the news of your father's business partners not being as legit as they seem to change your perspective of each and every member in the room. Your father's head of management for his buildings and hotels you no longer regarded as your godfather; your driver no longer felt like he had just that one job.

Tag list: @helwegen @yunhobabygurl If anyone else wants to get tagged, please just message me or leave it below :)

#ateez #ateez mafia au #ateez x reader #ateez scenario #ateez angst #jeong yunho #jung yunho #ateez yunho #yunho scenarios #jeong yunho scenarios #jeong yunho imagines #choi san #park seonghwa #kim hongjoong #choi jongho #kang yeosang #song mingi #jung wooyoung

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senorarelojes · 3 years

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Pizzaverse artwork and ficlet: 'A Little Piece'

@maiyashu made this really cute and beautiful Instagram post of Pizzaverse Dave being silly and drawing little monsters/creatures on the notes he leaves for Alan and their kids around the house. Of course, Alan shows off his husband's work on Instagram. Under the artwork is an accompanying ficlet set in the future for the Pizzaverse timeline. Thank you dear Shu for your gorgeous (and funny) artwork! Happy Father's Day to the boys!

Title: A Little Piece Pairing: Dave/Alan Rating: General Tags: Pizzaverse, Kid Fic, Fluff

Dave was always amused whenever Alan teased him about being the one in their relationship who was more addicted to social media. It seemed they were both on an even keel; Alan posted more often, while Dave had a variety of accounts across various platforms that he’d lost interest in after the initial posting frenzy. They had their different addictions too: Dave liked the spontaneity of Twitter and TikTok, while Alan for some reason preferred Facebook and Reddit. But Instagram was their common vice, and most of their friend circle were on it as well.

Before fatherhood, Dave had imagined that his use of social media would dwindle because he simply wouldn’t have the time. But instead he’d found the opposite to be true: now he wanted to post about Alan, Paris and Stella all the time, and he didn’t even care if no one outside their family and a few chosen friends would find it cute.

Of course, both Dave and Alan took care to obscure the faces of their daughters. But the adorable things they did were up for grabs: Paris’ first steps, then followed by Stella’s in a few years. Their first stuffed toys. Their first drawings. Dave shamelessly spammed his IG feed with various pictures and videos, and refused to feel bad about it because Martin was doing the same with his kids, and so was Fletch, who seemed convinced that his daughter was a maths prodigy.

Of course, Dave posted pictures of Alan on his feed as well. Naturally his husband was usually included if it was a picture or video with one of the girls, such as Alan helping Paris with her homework or feeding Stella at dinnertime. But sometimes Dave saved a few precious shots he’d snuck on his phone, like Alan frowning at the computer in his tiny makeshift home studio, or stealing a rare moment after the girls had gone to bed to listen to one of the many records he owned. Those didn’t get as many likes and comments as anything Dave posted of the girls, but he didn’t care much.

In truth, Dave would have probably gone on like this if Alan hadn’t taken him aside one night and asked him why he’d stopped posting pictures of his art. “My art?” Dave echoed, genuinely surprised that Alan had been keeping track because Dave certainly hadn’t.

“Yeah, your paintings.” Alan gestured towards Dave’s most recent effort, which was a white cat posing regally by a candle. Even that had been painted more than a year ago, before Stella had come into their lives. “You don’t really post them anymore. Or paint much more, for that matter.”

Dave just kept staring at Alan in astonishment. When they had gotten married and subsequently made the decision to become parents via surrogacy, it had been pretty much an unspoken agreement between them that family and work would have higher priority. This meant their hobbies were naturally the first thing to be sacrificed for time, and Dave had been fine with that. They hadn’t touched the band in years, not since the last time everyone had performed at Martin’s wedding.

But now Dave realised that he missed painting with an ache like a phantom limb, like something that had always been a part of him was now oddly missing. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d picked up a paintbrush for the hell of it. Everything he’d designed or illustrated over the past year had solely been for work, and that thought pained him like a spike through his solar plexus.

In contrast, Alan - who had always been very driven and disciplined - seemed to have no problem reviving his interests in mixing and composing after Stella had started sleeping at more regular hours. So Dave didn't even have the excuse of fatherhood.

“You should pick it up again,” Alan told him with a gentle squeeze of his hand, before moving on to the topic of Father’s Day, which was coming up. Dave just nodded distractedly when Alan suggested ordering in brunch from a nice restaurant, still preoccupied with thoughts of Alan’s mind-blowing revelation.

After that conversation with Alan, Dave decided to try and carve out time for painting. Although that wasn’t always possible, he did want to show Alan he was trying, so he started with small gestures. If he left reminders and post-its for Alan around the house, he’d be sure to draw a funny cartoon to accompany his loopy handwriting, like a sentient postbox (to remind Alan to go to the post office) or a funny caricature of Martin and Fletch (to ask Alan if he wanted to have dinner and catch up with them).

Alan never really mentioned the little drawings beyond an amused eye-roll, but Dave knew Alan was never particularly verbose about his true sentiments anyway. Dave had learned to look towards Alan’s actions instead. Sure enough, Alan started taking pictures of Dave’s little drawings and posting them on Instagram with an accompanying dry and witty caption, along with the hashtag ‘#artisthusband’. To Dave’s surprise, it really took off among their friends and other family members, and Dave always had to fend off demands from his mum and Sue about more cute artwork everytime he called home.

Since Paris and Stella loved the drawings too, he started drawing little monsters for them on their paper lunch bags, which he would prepare for them before Alan would drop them off at daycare. It wasn’t long before Alan started posting these on Instagram too, and his comment section would get animated at times because Martin, Fletch, Paul, Daryl and the rest would start discussing which creature Dave had meant to draw. He didn’t have the heart to tell them he’d made them all up on the spot.

Having Alan’s support like this, even for his silly little drawings, was more fulfilling and touching than Dave had expected. So he’d really meant it when he said he was going to get art supplies, but more often than not Dave would get distracted and buy Elsa colouring books for the girls instead. Alan hadn’t said anything at all, but Dave knew how to read him pretty well by now. His husband was definitely planning something.

On the morning of Father’s Day, Dave was the first out of bed so he put in the order at the restaurant before going for a run in Hyde Park. His metabolism wasn’t what it used to be, and he’d gotten into the habit of eating off the girls’ plates whenever they couldn’t finish their food. Alan was a really good cook too, so Dave knew he had to fit in a run today if he was going to be feasting on french toast and eggs benedict for Father’s Day.

When he got home, he thought he spotted Alan in the study with a giggling Paris and Stella. “Hello, my loves,” he yelled out at the door, even more mystified when Alan quickly stepped out of the study with the girls, closing the door hurriedly behind them.

“The food’s just got delivered, I’ll set the table,” Alan told him with a too-bright smile. ‘You go shower first, yeah?”

Dave decided to let his suspicious behaviour go for now. “Alright, sure.” He loped over to where they were, giving Alan a brief kiss and a I’m-on-to-you squint before bending down to stretch his arms out to the girls. “Can I get a hug first?”

“Daddy’s stinky!” Paris protested laughingly, while an uncomprehending Stella just giggled along with her older sister.

Dave’s jaw dropped in mock outrage. “Stinky, am I? How about I make you stinky too, huh?” He pretended to chase a squealing Paris and Stella for a hug, laughing when they ran to hide behind an amused Alan’s legs.

“Just go shower, the food’s getting cold, you lunatic.” Alan shook his head at Dave with a grin before shepherding the girls to the dining area. Dave left him to it, washing up quickly so he could join his family for breakfast.

However, he wasn’t expecting to find Alan and the girls waiting for him outside the bedroom, all of them grinning innocently at him. “What’s going on?” a suspicious Dave asked.

Paris took his hand and tugged him to the study, Alan picking up Stella and following with her in his arms. When Paris pushed open the door, Dave stared in shock at the brand new easel waiting for him, along with the art supplies neatly piled on top of a blank canvas. He stepped forward, picking up the paints and brushes with trembling hands. Alan had gotten everything right, remembered every detail from when Dave used to paint before they’d gotten married and become fathers.

“I had to take a bit out of the holiday budget for this,” came Alan’s soft voice behind him. “But it’s worth it for me to delay our trip. I’d rather see you painting again.”

“We want more of Daddy’s paper monsters!” Paris declared gleefully, while Stella stared at all of them in bafflement.

“I--” Dave just couldn’t speak. His heart was so full, like it was going to overflow with joy and sentiment and his overwhelming love for his family. There were simply no words that could possibly encapsulate the emotions warring within him now, so instead he grabbed Alan and the girls to him in a tight hug, his breaths ragged and his eyes wet.

“Happy Father’s Day,” Alan said quietly, the smile evident in his voice even though Dave couldn’t quite see his face.

“You too, Al.” Dave pulled away to kiss him, then smothered his squealing girls with equal affection.

#dalan #pizzaverse #maiyashu #fanart

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thr-333 · 4 years

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Mismatch- Part 17

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

“Push me off the roof you coward!”

First< Previous > Next

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“So do you want to be Batman or should I?” Marion brings out the two outfits identical in every way except size.

“It’s not actually dressing up,” Marinette scolds fixing her hair.

“Well then you single handedly ruined halloween,” Marion grins coming up behind her, “Everyone wears them for it,”

“Don’t exaggerate,” Marinette watches him warily in the mirror, prepared to defend if-when he makes a move to mess up her hair.

“So Batman or Robin?” Marion holds the outfits up, dangerous close to her head.

“I don’t care,” Marinette stands up, spinning around, using the chair as a shield.

“Coin flip then,” Marion drapes them over the chair, “Oooh foreshadowing!”

“Please tell me you're going to take this marginally seriously?” Marinette leans back on the dresser as he fishes for a coin.

“You’re starting to sound like our manager,” Marion flips the coin with extra flare, “Heads,”

“You should thank Kate for setting this up,” Marinette catches the coin before he can, “Tails,”

She takes the Robin outfit from the chair, ducking Marion as she passes.

“You know I don’t think Kate wants to see me,” Marion takes his outfit behind the opposite curtain, “She's pretty stressed something will go wrong,”

“In Gotham?” Marinette pokes her head out the curtain on the other side of the room.

“I know, crazy right,” Marion also peaks through the curtain, “Where would she get that idea?”

“Who knows?” Marinette cheekily grins before ducking back behind the curtain.

“If we get attacked again I think we might give aunt- I mean,” Marion pauses pulling on his grey turtleneck, “ugh, this is hard,”

“Mari, the outfits are designed for easy use,” Marinette teases, tone sounding half hearted even from this distance.

“What are you calling her in your head?” Marion pulls the turtle neck down all the way.

“Selina,” Marinette answers, as he shrugs on his hooded crop top over the turtleneck, split into two colours to make a vague bat-shape. “Although I just avoid saying it out loud,”

“Great minds think alike,” Marion pulls on his grey leggings, that Marinette had thankfully made into thermals.

“I’m the only great mind here,” Marinette teases, Marion lets out fake gasp as he pulls a pair of shorts over his leggings, “You just like to copy,”

“How dare you!” Marion pulls the curtains aside dramatically, Marinette doesn't even look up from where she's putting on bracelets, “Dishonour! Dishonour on you, Dishonour on your kwami! Dis-”

“Hey!” Tikki flies out of the backpack.

“Sorry Tikki,” Marion looks away from the fuming Kwami, trying to avoid her by pulling on his black and blue boots.

“It’s ok Tikki,” Marinette finishes putting green and gold bracelets up to her elbows, “He’s just trying to be funny,”

“And succeeding!” Marion corrects, smoothing a mask over his eyes.

“Ah-ha,” Marinette stands, black and yellow scarf flaring out at the back.

“You know I don’t think she agrees,” Marion stage whispers to Plagg from his bag.

“Ah-ha,” Plagg says in the same tone, as Marion is pulling on his black gloves.

“Traitors, all of you,”

“Hey look,” Marinette bumps his shoulder, nodding towards someone.

“It’s Jason,” Marion whispers back excitedly, moving to wave.

“MCD doesn't know him,” Marinette grabs his arm, “Let’s hope this isn’t as awkward as it was with Chloe,”

“I thought that was fun,”

“Of course you did,”

"Hi," Jason approaches nervously, completely different to how Marion's met him before, it's cute.

"Oh hello, stranger," Marion grins, ignoring the kick from Marinette, he'll be careful, it's fine he's got this, "Whats your name?"

"Jason," Oh my God he's blushing!

"Jasin," Marion repeats pretending to write on what he was handed.

"Um…." Jason looks like he's about to correct Marion, this will be perfect- "yep,"

Fuck fuck fuck i though he would correct me fuck, Marinette help! Marinette rolls her eyes at his pleading look.

"Jason, CD," Pointing to the page without writing, "son,"

"Ohhhh Jason,” Marion says, as if he had come to some amazing realisation, Marinette looks like she wants to slap him, “haha, sorry, of course, I just didn’t hear you right, because I don’t know your name, why would I know your name? It's-"

Marinette rightfully cuts off his rambling with a swift kick, that both knew would never actually hurt him. At least Jason looks just as embarrassed as him, neither quite knowing how to start the conversation back up,"

"How about we take a picture?" Marinette says, their saving grace.

"Yeah, that would be great," Jason fumbles for his phone, Marion hopes his mask will cover his blush, as he remembers what Jason had said about him at dinner, the only reason he was blushing.

They take a nice picture together. Then one where Marion throws bunny ears behind MDC. She swats his hand away and he pushes her out of frame. The next picture is one of him and Jason with Marinette rising up, like a threatening blur in the background.

"Aw thats a nice picture" Marion looks over Jason shoulder, they were meant to be with the next person already but they were a design hopeful, babbling to MDC about her designs, "You should send it to me,"

"Of course," Jason seems flustered with his proximity, enough so that he didn't see Marion's trap.

"Great heres my number," Marion quickly writes it down on blank piece of paper, a picture seeming a bit too narcissistic at that point.

"...Waut,"

"Well you have to send it to me someway," Marion shrugs, conveniently ignori-forgetting that pictures were sent through his social media all the time.

"Right... right," Jason seems to be in a bit of a daze when Marion sends him off, standing next to Marinette as the fan leaves.

They watch Jason leave. Marinette starts giggling when he almost runs into a wall.

“Are you ok?" Marion asks, partly for the security guard who was waiting for their ok to send the next person up.

“You are such a dork,” She breaths through her upcoming laughter, “I think I need a minute,”

“Fine but if I get a hopeful fashion designer I’m telling them your new direction is crocs,” Marion huffs, not really insulted, but if he didn't act it she would only up the anti.

“Do it and your casket will be made out of crocs,” Marinette threatens ineffectively, walking to the backstage door.

“I kinda want to see that,”

“You’d be dead,” Marinette calls from the door.

“Minor issue,”

Marinette waves him off, which could have been an aborted swat. He watches as the crowd nearby begin whispering, some offering others to go first to stall for time. Marion plans to shove this in her face next time Marinette claims she isn’t popular. He’s about to take a camera out for evidence when one of the groups, fast tracked but the crowd, approaches.

Marion goes to do his more basic greetings when a gun is shoved in his face. The group made up of armed men surrounding him, one holding a camera.

“Smile for the camera,” The figure pulls his coat back, revealing the frankly disturbing face of the Joker.

“Oh it’s you,” Marion keeps a blank face, evidently confusing him, “Any chance two-face will show up?”

“.... No?” Marion fights to keep his composure as the crowd are threatened by the remaining thugs, pushing them to the ground.

“Pity, what a waste of good foreshadowing,” Marion shrugs casually, that camera is probably filming.

“What,” Marion supposes its a rare thing to see the Joker taken aback, but watching a group of armed men storm backstage distracts him from the sight.

“Nothing, I just made a brilliant joke earlier and you're sort of ruining it,” Marion makes exaggerated gestures, testing his limits, the guns follow him but don’t shoot. “Anyway are you here for an autograph or what?”

“I’m not-” He watches the Joker's face twist in gruesome realisation, “you’re trying to stall me,”

“Stall you from what?” Marion tries not to make his scan of the crowd obvious, “Please go in depth,”

“How about on the way up to the roof?” Chilling smile, but Marion is too used to fear to let it get to him.

“Oh goodie, I hear it has wonderful views,” Marion claps his hands, probably getting weird looks from the goons hiding behind masks, but who are they to judge?

He’s guided to the elevator. The Joker making the mistake of not tying his hands, or gagging him. He feels Kaalki and Plagg tense in his pocket.

“Huh, no elevator music,” Marion observes as the elevator starts to rise, “I just kind of expected it at this point,”

“You are strange,” Marion makes the mistake of glancing over, the Joker does not seem perturbed by that fact.

“You’re telling me that?” Marion tilts his head, “Actually that's quite the achievement,”

The Joker starts to go on about his plan, something about throwing MCD off the roof in front of the crowd for whatever reason, he’s not really listening. No, instead he’s made his own plan. There's no way Marinette was caught, not when she has no one to look after. She must be somewhere in the building, probably as Sparrow. It’s best if Sparrow and Songbird are seen near their other identities as little as possible, so he had to deal with the camera. If she saw the footage, which was probably being broadcast (a brilliant idea, really, no problems with that) she would intercept them. The best position would be on the elevator, but he had to buy time.

The cameras closest so he strikes, hitting it out of the goons hand, mid sentence. In the split second confusion he hits the number panel, lighting up all but a few.

“Huh, that was easy,” Marion says with genuine surprise.

“And here I thought you were being a good hostage,” Marion feels several guns press against him, but it’s only the pistol with the Joker at the end that worries him.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Marion smirks cockily, the threats turning more violent.

No, not threats, promises. Marion debates calling on Kaalki, while he’s still able too. It wouldn’t be great for a miraculous to be seen in a different country, but better than the one that can teleport than Ladybug. If Marinette couldn’t stop them in time she would surely turn to Ladybug and pick him up as he falls, right in front of the crowd and cameras. Not great.

There were other heroes in Gotham, they both knew. And if it was just him at stake he would put faith in them. But it’s not. He’s Chat Noir and there's not enough time to train a new Black Cat, not anymore.

The elevator finally reaches the top. Marion braces to help Marinette fight on the other side of the door. It opens. There’s no one. Great, great, great .

“Well, well, well why don’t we see what's behind that mask and carve up your pretty face, hm?” Joker leads him close enough to the edge of the building that anyone else should be scared.

“That sounds counter productive,” Might as well try plan b, he should have come up with one, but as is he’ll have to wing it, “Weren’t you going to throw me off the roof?”

“Eager aren't you?” Not really “After, promise,”

That grin paired with the knife inching closer should scare him, but honestly the only thing that truly scares him anymore is someone going for his ring, or Ladybug’s.

“What's the point? I’d be dead soon anyway, sounds like a waste of time,” Marion debates adding a yawn to match the tone, but it seems like overkill.

“A few screams are never a waste of time,” Marion is backed up further to the edge of the roof, able to see the fretting crowd below.

“Sounds to me like you just don’t have any confidence,” Marion says with all the sass he can muster, which is a lot.

“Oh, do explain,” The knife inching closer to the edge of his mask encourages the opposite, but he was never much good with warnings.

“If you really believe your plan will work and I wouldn’t be saved by I-don’t-know, Batman?” Yep that strikes a cord, probably not the best cord to strike with a knife in your face, oh well his wounds will heal soon anyway, “Then you’d throw me over the roof, a few cuts doesn't matter much when your dead,”

He can see the gears turning, debating if there's merit to his bullshit or if it’s just that. Honestly Marion doesn't know either.

“Revealing my identity and stuff is just a way for you to feel like you’ve won when Batman beats you,” He carefully doesn't emphasise the ‘when’, making it sound casual, like a given fact, “Cutting my face is just admitting you think the heroes will win,”

Just a little bit more. He’s almost pulled off plan ‘b’ for bat-shit crazy. He has the horse miraculous in his grip, Kaalki won’t like it but it's hard to put glasses on in mid air.

“Besides, won’t the mask leave a bit more impact?”

Hook. Line. Sinker.

“You really think the Bats going to save you huh?” The grin is unnerving, so Marion matches it with one of his own.

“I do,” He challenges, chin tilted up, “do you,”

He hears a cackle that would have surely appeared in his fear toxin dream if he heard it before. He’s pushed, vest twisted in the jokers grip, trying to stay balanced on the very edge.

“I like you kid,” And yeah, by that smile it’s not a good thing.

“Goodie,” Marion says sardonically, ignoring the shouting below, probably because his torso is all the way off the edge.

“Make sure to scream,” He feels the grip loosen, not having the natural response to grab onto something.

“I won’t,” he sends one last smirk as he’s dropped, weight sending him off balance and off the edge.

He’s in free fall and knows the screaming is not his own. He’s too busy debating the right time to transform. The street is getting closer and closer, no staff or grappling hook to save him.

“Klakki!-”

The air gets knocked out of him at the sudden change in directions. He can feel the arm and hears the glass shattering. For all the speed of a few seconds ago he is not expecting the quiet that follows. He’s leaning forward against someone's chest, both crouched down inside the building he just fell from. He recognises the shade of red first, Marinette had spent weeks with it pinned up all over their room and Marion has been wearing it ever since. He relaxes.

“Are you ok?” He gets pulled back from the chest, his complaints are cut off, a gloved hand tracing over his cheek, he feels the sting so it must be cut.

“Yeah I’m fine,” Probably not convincing, since his crush is the closest he’s ever been and Marion is almost the same shade of red.

“You’re fine?” The disbelief is clear and it takes Marion a second to realise why.

“I mean… Oh no! Trauma!” Marion tries to fall dramatically but the arm still on his back catches him.

“Good thing you’re a popstar not an actor,” Marion feels relief at the stiff atmosphere relaxing.

“Excuse you,” He snaps back up, poking Red Hood’s chest, smirking, “I’d make a wonderful actor,”

“Yeah, yeah,” Red Hood looks away, as far as Marion can tell with the helmet, “You sure you’re ok?”

“Yes, are you?” Marion stresses, remembering that he broke through the glass.

“... what?” Red Hood's full attention comes back to him.

“Are you ok?” Marion tries not to get annoyed at the answer, humour then, “After all breaking through a window isn’t much fun,”

You idiot you can't use his line on him ! Not in different identities! What if he figures it out?!

“Yeah.. yeah," He looks away again, "I’m… great,”

Marion smiles, guess things did turn out great in the end.

“CD!” Marion jumps out his skin, both suddenly realising how they looked and stand, Marinette runs right up to him, “Are you ok!?”

“Yep I’m… great,” Marion exchanges a private glance with Red Hood as Marinette frets over him.

“Thank goodness,” She sighs, shoulders sagging, then coming back up to hit him over the head, “Then why are you such an idiot!”

“Natural talent?” Marion rubs the spot, she put some Ladybug strength in that one.

“At least you’re good at something,” She sighs, brushing her hand over the spot.

“Rude,” Marion pouts, even as his head feels better, and his cut is startling to close up.

“If every things ok then,” Red Hood says awkwardly, “I’ve got a clown to go beat up,”

I Forgot!! How do you forget that! Marion yells at himself When your crush saves you from falling to your death…. Less romantic than it seemed in the moment.

“Have fun….” Marion waves, increasing the awkwardness ten fold, “dear god, I am an idiot!”

He groans into Marinette's shoulder after Red Hood left.

“Yes, but blush later, we need to be ready to provide backup,” Marinette pulls him out of the room stepping over broken glass.

“Uh- yeah! Right! lets go,” Marion snaps out of it, running after her.

“You are such a mess,” She insults as they jog, or with their speed, sprint up the stairs.

“Of all people you don’t get to call me that,” Marion needn't remind her of how she spilt orange juice all over herself at breakfast.

“... You just fell off a building, I was talking about your clothes,” Marinette has on her, ‘you’re an idiot’ face, well practiced that one.

“Oh,”

“But yeah you are a walking disaster,” She speeds up.

“Hey!” Marion sprints after her.

They reach the roof, not as out of breath as they should be.

“I thought I told you to stay put?” Red Hood snaps, alone on the roof.

“You didn’t,” They chorus coincidentally.

“I thought you had common sense,”

“We don’t,” They chorus on purpose.

Red Hood just shakes his head, probably smiling under the helmet.

“So the Joker escaped?” Marinette is the first to wipe the grin off her face.

“He was gone when I got up here,” Red Hood shrugs, “Waiting on intel,”

Probably from oracle.

“I didn’t say thank you!” Marion realises, not used to being the one saved.

“You don’t have to,” He looks away again, “Just doing my job,”

“But I want to,” Marion walks into his line of sight “So thank you,”

“Yeah well… thanks too I guess,” He looks away again and it's starting to get annoying.

“For what,” Marion leans over enough that he should be in sight, but he can't see his eye to confirm.

“I like the outfit you designed off me,” Marion freezes, almost stumbling over, “The interview was… entertaining,”

With that killing blow, a grappling hook is sent out and Red Hook is whisked away.

“.... Hey, can I borrow your miraculous?” Marion says blankly when Marinette comes to stand by him, “I need to wish myself out of existence real quick,”

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

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pebblysand · 3 years

Text

of breakable clay [extended author's notes on chapter viii of castles]

oh my god. it’s out. jesus christ.

okay first off, before i dive into anything, i know i’ve already done this in the actual a/n but i would like to wholeheartedly thank @whiffingbooks over on discord for helping me with figuring out the structure of things fic. although i have to admit i did not, at all, do what i told you i would do, talking it out was massively helpful in figuring this one out, so thanks a million. secondly, i would like send all of my most sincere and affectionate thanks to @whizzfizz on here, who mother-of-god basically designed this entire chapter and listened to me rant, and rant, and rant about it for days on end without complaining. i’ll go into a bit more depth later on, but THANK YOU.

now, a few facts on this chapter before i dive further in:

wordcount: 19168. i legit would apologise for this but i promised i wouldn’t so i’m not going to. that’s growing up people. don’t apologise for yourselves haha.

soundtrack: so i’ve never mentioned this but each chapter kind of has a soundtrack? like a song that i listened to on loop while writing this. here, i would basically point you to the entire spotify of a band called barns courtney (there’s one album and a few eps), i basically listened to all of their songs on loop this past month. i feel like they have such a strong gryffindor energy, in the good, the bad and the ugly. this chapter is definitely sort of an ode to gryffindors so their music was a very big inspo. if i had to point you to one song, it would probably be dopamine.

favourite line: ‘I dig my fingernails into the inside of my palms and it feels like the blood that comes out is already boiling.’

what is this chapter about? now, that’s an easy one. survival.

okay, now, spoilers under the cut.

ugh. holy fucking shit. i’m actually at a stage right now where i strongly believe that no one on earth will want to read this because everyone probably hates me right now for the choices that i made, especially after i made you wait almost three months for this shit. i always feel like whatever i’ve put out was the hardest chapter to write so far but this one was really out there in terms of struggles - i’m really sorry it took so long, but here we are.

there are reasons, though. first, as i said in my may round up, i didn’t really start writing this until about a month ago, because a lot of things were happening in my life that i needed to take care of. i took exams (which i passed!!!!), my mum had a health emergency, ireland added france to their mandatory quarantine list (it has been removed as of yesterday thank. fucking. christ) and i started a new job. it was a lot.

anyway, this being said, when i did get to writing this chapter, as mentioned above in the thank-you section, i kind of first struggled with the structure of it. now, you will see this is a recurring theme this time around but for this, my instincts were telling me one thing, and my brain was saying something else.

basically, what came first here wasn’t the actual content of ginny’s letters (more on that, obviously, in a minute) but the ‘mood’ i wanted for the chapter. i wanted to recreate, both for harry and for the reader, this sort of idea of being completely immersed in a book or a story. like, you know the kind of mood where reality just kind of blends out, where you start reading something and just. cannot. stop. i don’t think he’s much a reader (at least not canonically) and so i wanted this to take him by surprise, for her to take over his life with her words. i explained in the previous a/n [link] i chose to have ginny’s war be told through letters (basically, i thought it would be the best way to narratively tell her story), and i really wanted harry to experience what she’d lived through almost first hand.

now, interestingly, my idea for how to do this originally was to have the letters sort of be interwoven into the events of 1999, throughout the next couple of chapters (meaning this one and chapter nine). i had this idea in my head of him living through ‘real life’ things but not being able to take his mind off her letters, with the letters also sort of echoing the events that were happening in 99, etc. having the two plot lines develop at once and meet in the middle, kind of.

and i tried to write that. for a long time. spoiler alert, it didn’t work. i think the reason is that every time i sat down with it, i felt like i was doing a disservice to both stories. i mean: 97/98 is important, but 99 also is, you know? and by taking the narrative in and out all the time, it was like you couldn’t concentrate on one thing. it was just very messy and didn’t have the intensity i was originally aiming for because it kept being dragged out of whatever was the main action at the time. i wanted harry to get sucked into the narrative, for her letters to take over his life, but in the end, the impression i just got was that the whole thing was confusing af. instead of deeply caring about both, i couldn’t bring myself to care either for ginny’s story, or for his.

also, i just kept hitting a wall: a wall called harry. basically, i knew that the next two chapters (i.e. eight and nine) would stretch from january 99 to june 99. and for the love of god, no matter how many times i turned it around in my head, there was - to me - no way that harry as we know him would just pace himself to read her letters throughout all those months. like, harry fucking potter isn’t the kind of guy who ‘paces’ himself. he’s the kind of guy who doesn’t sleep for a week to get through it all, you know? this is everything that he’s wanted to know since last may, he’s been desperately looking for answers up to this point, there is absolutely not way in hell that he’d wait it out nicely until june. it felt ooc to have him read the letters over a few months. and i just kept hitting that wall over and over. i considered, at one point, building him reading the letters into flashbacks but flashbacks of flashbacks were, again, quite messy, and i don’t think her letters would ever be something he’d volunteer to re-read, so. clearly, it wasn’t working.

then, i think on a random sunday a few weeks ago, i just went back to the drawing board and was like: okay, say we just write all of the letters and go from there, what would happen? by the end of the day, i’d written 12,000 words and that was that, really.

now, the second difficulty, once i’d decided that was…. what you all probably want me to talk about.

i know this is probably not what you want to hear but: i didn’t really plan this? like, i understand that a lot of people have sort of a headcanon about what happened to ginny in that year in hogwarts but i … don’t. like, as planned as this fic is (which it is, i know where i’m going, i promise) that was always a bit of a blank-space-tbd in my head. i think that this story, as hinny as it is, is mostly about harry. and while i knew what i wanted for harry from her telling her story (for him to get sucked in, for him to realise that his war wasn’t the only war in the world ‘cause he’s been bloody self-centered so far, for him to realise that his plan to protect her didn’t exactly work because it didn’t cater for who she is, etc.), i wasn’t really sure what that story was. i mean, i knew it was going to be bad and traumatic, obviously, but i didn’t know what would happen. and still, to me, what i wrote is a version of that year. it’s not really my headcanon (i still don’t really have one), and i definitely accept other versions, if that makes sense.

this being said, i obviously had thought about it a little. i remember writing chapter one with that line: ‘They have sex for the first time, that day – his first time and it feels like hers, too, but he wouldn’t dare ask, not anymore, anyways’ and thinking i wanted to leave the door open. to me, it was a door completely open: it could have indeed been her first time, or she could have seen someone else (consensually) during that year, or she could have been assaulted. i honestly didn’t know but yeah, that was always a possibility in the back of my head.

then, to tell you the truth, when i wrote the first version of this chapter (the 12,000 words i mentioned earlier), it wasn’t there. i sat down and decided that i wasn’t going to go there. firstly, because, while you probably don’t know this, i’ve written about sexual assault before. my previous long fic, children, in another fandom, dealt (in part) with that. and i didn’t want to be the-fic-writer-who-writes-about-sexual-assault. especially because trust me, there are people who are a lot more legitimate to talk about this than i am. i also didn’t feel like it was necessary to the story, i could do without it and still explain ginny’s early behaviour in the fic, explain her trauma, and have harry realise the things i talked about before. secondly, i’ll be honest: i know this isn’t what people in this fandom want to read. the hinny pairing is mostly about love and fluff (which i love, btw, don’t get me wrong) and i was like, ugh, i don’t want to face the angry comments. i’m writing this a/n the morning before posting so i admittedly don’t know what the reaction will be but i do anticipate a lot of annoyance with me. i knew that a lot of people wouldn’t like it if i went there, and it was just easier not to.

but then, as i started editing, there was a comment (and this, ladies and gentlemen, is a testament to how much your comments fucking matter, okay?). a comment that i remembered reading on the previous chapter and could not get out of my head, no matter how much i tried. well, hello, @whizzfizz. i’ll happily give credit where credit is due. it read:

This made me think of something you mentioned earlier in the fic (possibly Ch1) about Harry not being sure if he was Ginny’s first but that it felt like it. I wonder if this is something that is going to come up in her letters to him.

and, so, it turned. around and around in my head, and i couldn’t get it out. and i kept saying to myself: no, you’re not going there. no, you’re not going there. and then, one night, i caved. i was like, fuck, i need to know if this person really meant what i think they meant by this. and so we talked. a lot. and, i did a lot of thinking. about women. about wars. about violence against women as a an inevitable weapon of war. about ginny being harry’s girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend (more on that later), and what that would have meant in their world. and @whizzfizz, you said something that in the end really sold me. you said: ‘at this point, i don’t think it would be realistic for it not to have happened.’ and, that was that, really.

because i was right, initially. amycus/ginny (ugh, the idea of a pairing makes me throw up in my mouth a little but yeah, there it is) isn’t necessary to the story. but i believe it to be necessary to what this story is trying to show. the plot held well without it, no questions asked. 12,000 words of the da and their battles, of ginny’s rebellions. it was fine. but i think i wanted more than fine. to me (and i appreciate how fucking pretentious that is, please slap me in the face *eyeroll*), castles is more than its plot. i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again: this is about what is behind ‘all was well.’ it’s about trying to paint a realistic picture of their lives. and that includes the war. and realistically, as far as i’m concerned, knowing how humans fight their wars, knowing our history and the history of violence against women construed as a weapon in literally every conflict there ever was, there is no way that this didn’t happen. ginny says it herself: for us girls, it’s just the way wars are fought.

so, i did go there. and the whole fandom probably hates me for going there, but i sort of stand by it, i have to say. to be honest, on a sort of subconscious level, i kind of wonder: didn’t i always know i was going to go there? like, this fits perfectly into the plot to the point that i think it was probably in my head for much longer than i care to admit. now, i’m so, fucking excited to write next chapter because i finally get to write happy things, and hinny getting back together on rock solid foundations of openness and sharing, and trust, and i’m so, so glad. there are a couple of scenes in the next chapter that i’ve been working towards for months and i’m so, bloody excited to write them. everyone might hate me and i might just be writing this fic for myself now (lol), but again, i stand by the decisions i took. to me, it fits.

phew. okay, now that huge thing is out of the way and explained, here are a few more jumbled thoughts:

the more i think about it, the more i think that my reason for not wanting to be the-fic-writer-who-writes-about-sexual-assault is a bit ridic. children and castles, in that way, are so, so different. like, i appreciate the overlap between the silk fandom and the hp fandom is probably ridiculously small but if you’ve read both stories, they’re obviously very different. one thing that both stories centre on, though, is consent. and to me, that’s probably the most interesting element of ginny/amycus, and the most interesting element of writing characters within a restrictive pov, rather than an omniscient one. like, do i think ginny/amycus is rape? yes. 100%. do i think that ginny thinks it’s rape? that is a much more interesting question. she says it a number of times but i think to her, this is all about control. i think that because of what happened to her with tom, she’s someone who is terrified of losing control of her mind and of her own agency. so as not to lose that, she’s willing to do whatever it takes. it is a ‘you can control my body, but not my thoughts,’ sort of narrative. and, she never says it outright because i think psychologically she’s just not there yet, but tom is everywhere in these letters. and as her world just spirals out, she hangs onto the very few things that she can control: her relationship to harry, and her willingness to do what it takes for them to survive. she initiates the ‘relationship’ with amycus in an attempt to control her fate. later, as she explains to harry she feels a lot of guilt over what she did, and like a lot of sexual assault survivors, she thinks it was her responsibility. because i’m in harry’s head most of the time for this fic, i’m not sure i’ll ever really get to discuss that at length, but it’s definitely something that i wanted to show. another interesting question is: does harry think it’s rape? i think at that point in the fic, he doesn’t have the education, nor the vocabulary for that. i think instinctively (because he is someone who is very instinctive), he doesn’t blame her. if he blames anyone, it’s probably himself. he understands the necessity to do what you have to do to survive and thinks that no, no matter what she claims, that was not consented. that’s kind of what comes out in his annoyingly inarticulate letter to her at the end. beyond that, though, i think he’s a bit lost, just like she is.

on a mildly related note, there is something that i've been seeing a lot in the comments and that i feel like i should maybe address? namely: harry's reaction to ginny dating other people. i assume similar comments will be made about his reaction to ginny/alecto (meaning that he still decides to write to her, at the end of the chapter). i've seen a lot of people observe that he's much more 'chill' about it in castles than in canon. fair point but is he, though? like, he isn't happy about it in castles. and he's jealous as well. but he was never entitled in canon. he was jealous, yes, the chest monster and all that, but he never really did anything about it, and never really impeded on her right to see other people. now, this being said, i agree that in sixth year he might have thrown a tantrum, had she done what she did in castles, but that was sixth year. it was before the war. before he lost half a dozen people. before he had to adult bloody fucking quickly. this being said, i do think castles-Harry is more 'subdued,' i suppose, than canon harry. this is a choice i made early on, which to me is related to the fact that he kind of lost his 'voice' during the war. i mean, it took him six months of people talking shit behind his back to do a press interview to defend himself. i think with ginny, it's a lot of the same. he's a boy who blames himself a lot, and generally doesn't particularly think he deserves the people in his life. to me it's an evolution of his character within the the world of castles. i'm happy to agree to disagree on it, but to me it makes sense within the character evolution and the way the fic's gone, so to speak. now, obviously, he'll grow out of that in due course, but we're not quite there yet.

regarding their relationship, now, i have to say: one headcanon that i did have for this was her not outright telling everyone they’d broken up. i’m sorry, that plan was shit. i just don’t buy for a second that she would willingly have gone ahead with it, and i don’t buy for a second that tom wouldn’t have used her had he known they’d been together, ex girlfriend or not. plus, i think she needed something to hand onto, and that was her relationship with him. her letters. the belief that they would be together again. without it, i don’t think she’d have survived. and i think that summer after the war, they were totally on the same page, for different reasons. both of them kind of saw their relationship as the one thing that kept them afloat, the one good thing they had, partly also because they’d idealised it for so long. she says it as some point, it wasn’t a relationship, it was a lifeline (another sentence i came up with as a response to a comment, lol) and while that is toxic and was meant to crumble at some point, it was necessary for them, both during the war, and in the early days after it. i think her last letter to him is painstakingly correct on that one.

regarding canon, i know i’m bending a couple of things here, which i just wanted to quickly acknowledge: 1) i know jkr has said it’s teddy remus lupin. i just can’t believe, for a moment, that someone who hated himself as much as lupin did, canonically, would name his son after himself. naming his son after his best mate who died to young to become problematic though? i totally see it. so yeah, creative licence, it’s teddy james lupin in this house, lol. 2) when they meet neville in dh, he kind of hints that they’ve only just started to use the room of requirement a couple weeks ago. the text however, only says they’ve only been staying in it full time a couple of weeks ago. i needed them to have somewhere where to meet with the da and stuff, so i bent that a bit. it’s not strictly canon, but it’s also not not canon, if that makes sense.

on seamus blowing things up and talking about eight hundred years of oppression? full disclaimer, while i am french, i have been living in ireland for long enough to become eligible for citizenship in less than six months (yay!). i know some people have said that seamus is a bit of a cliche in the books/films and all (the only irish character keen on blowing things up, haha *eyeroll*), but i actually kind of love it? like, the whole thing about the cranberries and zombie at the start of the fic has been in my head for much longer than i care to admit. i love the idea that there’s this whole muggle war going on at the exact same time that no one ever talks about and actually, i find the idea of wizarding ireland v. muggle ireland and the whole political structure fascinating. like, is wizarding ireland an independent state? what’s the story there? i have a whole seamus fic in my head, partially on this topic, that i might or might not write one day.

lastly, i know this may sound a bit weird but i need to say it: once i’d figured out what and how i was writing it, i bloody loved writing this chapter. first stylistically, i really wanted to mimic the style of how i’d written the magazine article in chapter 5 (i.e. not writing out the whole thing but writing out in text the excerpts that harry focused on) and i love how that turned out. i think it was a good way to balance her words and his, kind of merging them into one, big narrative. second, as a writer, it was so fucking interesting to write someone who knows how to write, which believe it or not i’d never done before. additionally, i loved the challenge of editing this because it was like: i’ve got to edit this, but not too much? i was very careful about modifying and polishing too much of ginny’s speech in the letters because i obviously wanted it to sound like someone who was just writing as the words came to her, without polishing the words, the punctuation, etc. like i usually would. i wanted her to have quirks (she says ‘you know?’ a lot) and i played with her capitalisation and punctuation a bit too. i know these aren’t necessarily noticeable details but it was definitely something that i thought about and that was very fun and interesting to write, as a format.

wow, okay. this was LONG but i think i have everything i wanted to say. if you’ve read all of this (whyyyyy?), thanks so much for sticking around. if you’ve got any questions, anything i didn’t address, do let me know, anon or not, my ask box is open. now, i would love to say i’m going to chill or something, but the truth is that i have to a) actually do a last read through of the fic, lol and b) put it out. this is what i get for writing the a/n before finishing the damn thing, i guess. i’ll rest tomorrow, lol.

lastly, in terms of next chapter, realistically, i’d say eight to ten weeks. i have a full time job now and also, writing this was fucking exhausting and i need to take time out for a bit before coming back to it with a fresh mind. i will be writing other stuff though, i promise. i have a couple of prompts to get to (thanks!!!) and a couple of other ideas so i will probably be posting in the meantime, just not castles.

lots of love,

#castles #extended an #writing #fic #its out #holy shit #byyyyyye #I have not proofread this so we die like men eh

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samwritesforyou · 4 years

Text

We’re gonna be okay

Diego x reader

Summary: You and Diego worked out a system for a situation if he ever comes to your place while being in the highest form of distress and needs your help. He assured you it won’t happen often. Until one night, it finally did.

A/N: i feel like i’ve read the whole tumblr dot com worth of diego x reader fanfics and yet i still wanted more, so the desperate need to finally write something myself has been fulfilled. i would actually love to take requests, so if you want, dont hesitate to message/ask me! im ready to write fics and headcanons :) (my blog might seem new but ive been on tumblr for years and years and i finally dedicated a new blog to mostly reader inserts, either my own or reblogging others)

Warnings: Mentions of a panic attack, gender neutral reader

Wordcount: 3,350

There was a knock on the door.

It was pretty late, but not too late for it to be Diego yet.

Or so you thought.

You got up kinda lazily from a comfortable chair you had situated in the corner of a room, at first designed mainly for reading or napping, but ending up doing absolutely whatever you could on the spot. Eating pizza, watching netflix, browsing through the internet after long working hours that you put in into your tiny art selling business.

You slightly opened the door and already plastered a semi-fake smile for a possible neighbor, but in front of you stood Diego.

Your dear friend, who was at the moment soaked from the rain outside, with big eyes, fast breathing and bloody hands.

Bloody hands?!

“Hello to you too, friend!” you said quite worried, quickly patting him down for signs of any physical pain. For the first time in a while he seemed fine, unscarred.

Your eyes finally went up, literally scanning his face but it was completely unreadable.

His eyes were wide and he looked as if he couldn’t comprehend what was going on around him.

You looked down again and took his fists into your hands. His own palms unclenched and you could see that they were heavily bloodied.

“Diego.. whose blood is it?”

No answer.

You rushed him inside and closed the door behind the two of you, facing the damn vigilante again.

“Diego, I need to know who’s blood is on your hands,” your voice grew steadier as you knitted your brows together in worry and confusion.

Only then the guy decided to move his arms and you noticed how shaky he is. He connected his two index fingers in the form of a cross, pressing it to his chest.

Your own eyes went wide now as you stumbled back a few steps and your mind went blank.

You instantly remembered a night that happened a few years back. He has come in crumbling through your window and was obviously in some new form of distress, that you couldn’t quite understand yet.

“Diego?” it seemed like your voice didn’t reach his ears, so you tried calling out his name again, getting up from the couch and patting him lightly on the body, to determine any sign of an injury.

It looked like there was none, so you tried to reach his gaze that was somewhat absentminded, all over the place, scanning everything but not meeting your eyes.

He was a tough guy, and you knew it. You knew that if you want to get answers, you need to either get them yourself or make yourself heard, until he cannot ignore you any longer.

“Diego Hargreeves, what is going on?” your voice was soft yet determined.

His dark orbs finally stopped on your face and he just shook his head, his breathing oddly fast for a man who was just simply standing.

You continued to push. You didn’t have the best day either, and to be interrupted at 1am by his visit was nothing new, but you couldn’t let him have this behaviour. Even though you’re friends, that didn’t automatically mean that he could do whatever he wanted.

Throughout the whole night he didn’t say a thing, but when you started adding volume to your voice, he.. he just broke down.

That night, you’ve witnessed Diego experience a panic attack. Caused by yourself.

You couldn’t fall asleep that night, even after you eventually calmed him down and the only thing that was left to do for you was to watch him sleep and slowly rubbing circles on his exposed arm out of the blanket.

It felt like neons before you noticed a first ray of sunshine drawing from the half-closed curtains, making you spring to your feet and drag your ass to the kitchen, trying to think of what to do for breakfast.

When you figured the recipe out and finished cooking, Diego was already up and joined you near the kitchen counter, next to which you had two stools.

He settled on one of them, looking at you.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you couldn’t muster anything better, so you just put a plate in front of him and then sat next to his side, simply digging into your portion of scrambled eggs.

“About last night, y/n..” he drifted off, probably at first deciding that it’s better to fill his stomach a little bit.

In the meantime you didn’t dare to speak up and just waited for him to say something, anything.

When he finished his meal, he finally turned to you with a sigh.

“You know that one guy I told you ‘bout? That we.. we do some vigilante shit together from time to time?”

You just nodded, not meeting his eyes.

“Well. I guess I could count him as a close friend. You know.. and,” this was followed by a slight pause and clearing of the throat.

“He died yesterday. I couldn’t save him.”

Your eyes immediately shot up to Diego and all that vulnerability and hurt that you’ve clearly seen yesterday just overtaking him were completely gone. Now present only a strong facade that he mastered whenever he needed to hide from showing emotions. You hated it.

“Shit, Diego..” you spoke quietly and softly, all the words seemed to have left you in all the things unsaid in your throat. But you tried to continue.

“I’m sorry. And I’m also sorry for pushing you over the edge. I.. I didn’t know what happened so I just acted how we would normally do,” he smirked at that, merely for a second, but you still caught it.

“Look, I.. I know, “ he simply said and then it felt as if he was weighting pros and cons of telling you something else that was clearly on his chest.

“You always help me out. Every single night I come to you.. Why do you do it, y/n?” Diego’s eyes were steadily turned your way.

At the sudden question you raised an eyebrow, “well, I.. I care about you.”

He lightly bit his lower lip and turned his gaze away, clearly thinking about something really hard.

“Okay,” he finally said, “y/n, do you think I could ask you for a favour then?”

At that your eyes met and you felt nervous, for some reason.

You really liked him. Not just like a friend. But you understood that there probably won’t be a chance for you two to ever become a couple (mostly considering that you didn’t believe that he could feel about you this way), so you settled for friendship anyways, since you two really got along well.

And having this handsome tough guy as a friend? Damn, just that is already some kind of luck swinging your way.

But your feelings of course meant that.. you’d do more for him than what you’d do just for a friend. You would get out of your comfort zone just to help him with injuries or hear him talk about his girlfriend (at the time, now they were broken up) and how they argued so much that he ended up on the streets and didn’t really want to go to his lonely place at the gym.

And you took him in. You always did. And since the day you became friends you always care for him.

And you’d care now once again.

“What is it?” in your tone danced a question, troubled with what he might ask for.

“Well, yesterday-“ he cut himself from finishing and cleared his throat, starting over.

“I imagine we’re gonna be friends for a long time, right?”

You just pushed your brows up with a small nod in affirmation.

“I never had.. anyone, really, to help me with the states I often got into,” you immediately thought of Eudora, wasn’t his ex-girlfriend supposed to be his support pillar? Or is he just making you feel sorry for him-

“Or I didn’t ever trust anyone that much, you know,” oh, okay, that kind of explains that then.

“And I guess.. I trust you enough? To share this?” he talked quietly and mumbled a lot so you realised soon you won’t be able to hear him at all.

You grabbed his hands with yours and caught his attention this way.

You were never really touchy together, but occasional hugs and even holding hands was kind of a standard for you from time to time.

His eyes met yours again and you cursed yourself for your heartbeat getting faster. This is not an appropriate moment to get butterflies in your stomach, dammit.

“I’m listening, Diego,” you confirmed, nodding again.

“Okay. It’s- it’s just really h-hard to talk about this,” he stuttered a bit, but with the next breath continued again, “When there’s some situation that’s just completely fucked up, like losing someone close to me, or- or somethin’ else, I don’t know.. I finish what I need at the scene where it happened but when I come home I just,” he breathed some air in and you felt his hands squeeze yours a bit tighter, “I just break down, you know? Sometimes it’s just all too much for me and I don’t know how to deal with it and I would just wanna.. someone to hold me, I guess? Otherwise when someone’s trying to talk at me or somethin’ I just get even more worked up and it’s even worse.”

It all started to come together in your mind. Even though it sounded really strange to hear Diego talk about things like.. wanting to be held and shit. But you always guessed there’s a far bigger sweetheart and a soft boy underneath all those harness and knives.

You tried to pick your words carefully.

“So when I started to ask you shit.. You just flipped. Basically because I was talking at you a lot and you couldn’t take it anymore, right?”

He sighed and looked somewhere up, nodding bit by bit.

“Yeah, yep. That was it.”

You clapped at his hands lightly, to bring his focus back again and he looked at you and mustered a sad, faint smile.

You did the same. In the world you lived in, unforeseen and unfortunate events were happening left and right and thinking about his childhood and everything.. no wonders he developed such a huge reaction and coping mechanism to something catastrophic happening.

“That’s okay, Diego. I’m here for you, I mean it. Let’s just talk about some things what I should and shouldn’t do when you come here in that state, alright? I just want you to feel comfortable.”

“Alright. Thank you, y/n,” he was looking down now, the whole morning kinda failing to meet your gaze and just rubbed his thumb across your hand, which send you heart into a race again.

You slowly let go of him, making an excuse to go wash the dishes.

After a while you looked behind you where he sat and said, “We also need some sort of a sign that you can easily show me, since you’re not really talkative when you get like this.”

Apparently he already used said “sign” somewhere, because he had it on the ready.

It was his hands clutching in fists, index fingers crossing each other in a form of a cross, pressed to his chest.

“Something like this. But don’t worry, I don’t think it’ll happen often. That would be really sad,” he laughed a little and then looked at you somewhat longingly and you averted your eyes back to the sink, nodding.

You almost forgot about that and now it all come flooding back.

Something terrible must’ve happened. You were panicking, but you had to stay strong, for him.

He was still standing in your hallway, with a crossed index fingers pressed to his chest.

“Okay, okay..” you mumbled more to yourself than to him, taking his hands into yours and looking him up and down.

He really seemed.. disconnected. It was kind of scary and you tried so hard not to think about what happened. Or about who died.

“Here, come with me, Diego,” you led him by the hand towards your couch as he was holding onto you, but his usual grip was gone.

You both ended up on a sofa and you really didn’t know how to act around him now, because.. he didn’t talk, didn’t look at you but when he did, his eyes were wide and big and he just seemed suddenly like a small boy to you.

Hopefully he won’t remember this tomorrow, you thought and tried to smile a little bit at him.

“Okay. Can you get your hands up for me, baby boy?” You’ve decided to approach this situation as if you were just babysitting an overgrown child.

Because nothing bad happens to children normally, right? And if you kept thinking about him as usual grown man Diego, you’d lose your mind in the process, wanting to scream and shake him by the shoulders until he spills you what happened.

Being Diego’s friend pushed you to new limits each day, truly.

He didn’t bat an eyelid at your tone change and word choosing, just obliging and putting his hands up.

You helped him to get his knives down and put his black turtleneck over his head, so now he sat shirtless right next to you, hands still smeared with blood.

Goddamit the blood!

You took him by the elbows and lead Diego to the bathroom, where you helped to get the red out of his hands. At the sight of blood dripping down into the sink you deciphered a whimper from him, even through the sound of running water and looked up.

Diego couldn’t stop looking down at his hands and tears were running down his cheeks.

You quickly took his face into your wet hands from the water and forced him to look away and lock his gaze with yours.

“Hey, don’t look at it, okay? It’ll only make you stressed. Until I’m done you can just close you eyes, okay?”

“Oh-okay,” he said and just closed his eyes here and there.

You sighed and tried to finish washing his hands as fast as possible, cursing under your breath pretty often.

“I’m sorry..” you heard him mumble and when you looked up, his eyes were still shut.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about.. We’ll talk about this tomorrow, right? Don’t worry. You’re safe now,” you smiled as you were already wrapping his hands in a towel and his eyelashes fluttered, eyes opening.

You stayed looking at each other for a second longer than necessary, but then you already lead him away to the bedroom area, where you actually tucked him in, wrapping in a soft blanket and then rushed to the kitchen, grabbing a few cookies and then leaving it on a plate next to him on the night table.

You almost made yourself comfortable on the couch, when he suddenly called out your name from the bed.

You sprung to your feet, thinking he’s actually hurt but you didn’t notice or that- “Can you... stay with me? P-please?” he asked, disrupting your train of thought. You did expect this, but still felt really shy about that.

Diego is vulnerable right now and does need your help and presence though.

And there wouldn’t be anything you wouldn’t do for him.

“Sure,” and after this simple answer you carefully climbed in next to him covering you both with a blanket and he curled up closer to you, almost immediately falling asleep.

From one point of view it felt like you wouldn’t sleep at all tonight, but from the other one.. you actually fell asleep just as fast as he did.

To nobody’s surprise you woke up first and actually flinched at the sight of sleeping Diego inches from your own face.

Your mind went running with ideas what happened and what’s going on until you realised the real deal and your brain caught up to yesterday’s shenanigans.

It was a wild ride and you were thankful that now it’s - most probably - over.

Your eyes were subconsciously scanning his face, until you realised what you’re doing, but you didn’t stop even then.

You’ve never been this close to his face yet and now you could admire and explore every part of it.

Having feelings for a friend that’s laying in the same bed with you at the moment is really not the healthiest thing that could’ve happened to you, huh..

You actually froze and your heart started racing billion times faster when you realised that you have a weight of his arm around your waist, pulling you closer from his sleep.

He grunted and his nose was now in your hair, shuffling a little to get more comfortable.

You had no idea how to change positions, especially when being held by such a strong arm as his and you got a feeling like Diego might actually wake up just about now, so the best solution that came into your mind was to forcefully close your eyes shut and pretend that you’re still sleeping.

He did, indeed, wake up. You were suddenly pushed to the other side of the bed, arm disappearing from your waist and a waterfall of curses fell from his lips quietly.

You used up all your acting stamina to make a believable scene of you gaining your conscious from the deep slumber that you were obviously in, stretched your arms for a good effect and finally opened your eyes.

You immediately signed up for a staring contest as soon as you looked at him and smiled a little. His face remained unreadable but perhaps a little bit flustered?.. But you may be reading too much into it.

“Hi,” you said with a higher tone than intended and Diego just nodded at that.

You tried your luck by addressing the elephant in the room right away, you never liked ignoring the problems that were always looming over you, “care to tell me what happened yesterday?”

He drew a big sigh and rested his head back on the pillow, looking up at the ceiling.

You couldn’t stop looking at him. At first because you really wanted to know the mystery, but the longer you looked at him, the more you realised that you’re just admiring the beauty that he holds, until his words fell like a dead weight right onto your shoulders.

“I found Eudora’s body yesterday. I couldn’t get to the place in time and someone killed her.”

What?

It felt like what he said was simply a trick of your imagination. You liked Eudora yourself, she was a very intelligent and an interesting person, you two often hung out and that feeling didn’t cease even after you found out that she and Diego started dating.

And even when they broke up some months after, you still found your way to spend time with her. So did Diego.

You wanted to cry, but thought that it might be insensitive towards him, because he was much closer to her than you were, so you tried to swallow your forming tears down.

“I’m.. I’m so sorry, Diego..”

“It’s your loss too, I know it, y/n,” he looked at you with much softer look this time.

“Come here,” he said a little bit hesitantly and opened up one arm towards you.

This was unusual, but maybe last night’s events tore down some walls?.. Who knows.

You almost threw yourself into his embrace and once your forehead rested on his chest, you started crying.

From everything, honestly. There’s been problems at work, your seemingly unrequited feelings for Diego didn’t help much either and now you learned that you lost one of your friends.

He started rubbing circles on your back, just letting you get those emotions out, while you two were hugging each other on the bed in your apartment.

And as you slowly started to calm down, he said a gentle, “it’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna be okay”

#diego x reader #diego hargreeves x reader #tua diego #diego reader insert #the umbrella academy #tua fanfic #umbrella academy x reader #diego hargreeves #number two

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joonclouds · 3 years

Text

The Price Of A Wish | 2

The third time you meet Jung Hoseok, you realise the last ten years has done nothing to the way you were drawn to him, with a force as sure and inescapable as gravity.

CHAPTER INDEX

Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Idol!Hoseok, Chaebol!Reader, OT7 bangtan show up too, Slow Burn, Unrequited feelings, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Fluff, (we might include some other things later let’s see)

_________________

You’re into the last leg of this evening. Between having to skip dinner, make small talk with businessmen who make it their life’s work to mansplain the workings of this country’s economy to you, and Jung Hoseok upending your world on it’s ass, you’ve almost made it through the night.

With an arm resting in the crook of Taehyung’s elbow, the two of you take a slow walk around the less occupied parts of the gallery before you have to be at the main foyer to see off the guests. It’s not hidden from everyone’s eyes, but it’s a little ways from the crowd and you’re glad for the small breather. The two of you stop in front of one of your favourite pieces in the new collection - a massive triptych that takes up almost the whole wall at the far end of the exhibition hall.

“So, Jung Hoseok, huh.”

Taehyung is speaking softer now and he tilts his head closer to your ear, like he’s telling you a secret. Even while you’re wearing heels, he’s taller than you by half a head.

“It’s nothing.”

“You left me hanging“ - he emphasises the me by pressing an offended hand to his chest - “to greet him. That’s not nothing.”

“Well, he’s an important guest.”

You think back to the fleeting hello, which really was more for the attending press than the two of you. It was like something out of a bad romance anime, complete with the slow motion and sparkly shit, just shy of having a few rose petals fly across the screen. You weren’t seventeen, you were twenty eight, for crying out loud. You could be a mature adult about this.

While your idiot of a heart had gone and betrayed you, as soon as the fluttery feeling had subsided, a tinge of bitterness and anger were quick to make themselves known. Very slight, but there, nonetheless. It made the single moment seem stupid and unwarranted, and that was exactly how you felt about Jung Hoseok.

You play it off coolly, but as you know by now, no matters of the heart (well, your heart, specifically) got past Kim Taehyung.

“Always knew you had high standards.”

“He’s not on the standard.”

“So… is it a celebrity fan crush or is it like…” Taehyung gives your arm that’s hooked in his elbow an enthusiastic shake. Whatever that meant. “Because in my entire nine years of knowing you, you’ve not mentioned his name even once.”

“It just didn’t come up, I guess. ”

“Oh, it didn’t come up.”

“He’s just a friend, okay?”

“Oh, so now he’s just a friend.”

“Did you like, lose your brain halfway through the small talk?”

He groans. “I had to talk to duck face selfie girl at one point so maybe a good chunk of it just slid right out of my ears.”

Despite yourself, you’re amused, but you tuck the smile away behind your teeth.

“Come on, ____. Your definition of making friends is holding people at arms length until they’ve all but signed a blood oath and sworn their firstborn to you in fealty.”

“Ugh. Go back and talk to selfie girl.” You shrug your arm out of Taehyung’s elbow, but he’s quick to tuck it back in place affectionately, and you let him.

“So friends… with benefits?” He presses after a moment, nudging your shoulder with his.

“Academic benefits,” you scowl. “I helped him pass math class.”

Your friend turns to you with a look on his face.

“Oh no.” You groan.

“Oh yes.” Taehyung beams at you with a smile that is way too cheeky to mean anything good. “A crush, but not just any crush, ____, a highschool crush.”

“We were close in highschool. Then he left to be a trainee when he graduated and we lost touch. That’s it, okay? Now can we please drop it?”

“If you think I’m going to be satisfied without the juicy det- ow, fuck! Stop!“

You pinch Taehyung’s arm and he yelps. To anyone not privy to this conversation, you and he are director and curator, finding time during the bustling evening to appraise the opening collection. It looks like he’s made an amusing comment when you nudge him and he laughs amicably.

You elbow him in the ribs to make a point. Hard.

“I’m running on 3 hours sleep, I can’t breathe in this dress, and these heels make me want to strangle something. So help me god I will not hesitate to throw them, and you, off the top floor balcony to christen this new gallery.”

It’s not really a surprise, but the threat does nothing to deter Taehyung. He’s a dog with a bone and not about to let it go anytime soon.

“I haven’t seen you that starry eyed since you watched Bocelli live.”

“That’s different,” you gripe. “Would you be starry eyed if you met god?”

“My point exactly.”

“Ugh.” You throw your hands up in frustration. “So I was seventeen, I had a crush, he moved away after graduation, now we’re here, nothing is going to hap- “

“Shut up.” Taehyung hisses.

“Wow, you know, that’s pretty rich for someone who - “

“Do you want to look like an idiot? Shut up, ____. Shut up right now.”

“What?” You demand, turning to him, confused and annoyed (more so the latter because he’d been the one trying to pull this story out of you). He’s smiling at something over your shoulder, so smug you just know it in your bones it can’t be anything good. You know that look and it makes the blood drain from your face when you guess the worst possible reason for it.

Your voice is a whisper. “He’s coming over, isn’t he.”

“Yep.”

“Fuck.”

Turning around, Hoseok is right there and you pray to any benevolent god for enough functioning braincells to hold a conversation. Actually, just even one braincell would be fine, because that’s more than you had going for you right now.

“Hey, Hoseok.” You breathe.

“Hey, ____.”

Hoseok offers his hand to Taehyung and smiles. “Jung Hoseok.”

“Pleasure. Kim Taehyung.”

As Taehyung accepts the handshake, he can see why you were so mesmerised. He can imagine Hoseok to be quite the looker, even when he was younger and hadn’t necessarily grown into all his features yet. The guy exuded an easy charm about him that many had fallen victim to. Many, including you (still falling, Taehyung was sure of this).

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“No, perfect timing, actually.” Taehyung replies easily. “I was just telling ____ that I should head back out to see if everything’s running smoothly.”

One of his hands comes to the middle of your back and gives it a firm nudge. Just enough for you to be slightly off balance, making you take a tiny step in Hoseok’s direction.

Horrified, you open your mouth to say something, but again, Taehyung beats you to it.

“It was great to meet you, Hoseok. You two catch up alright, bye!”

And with that, he’s turning on his heel with a tiny wave and scuttling away. When this evening was over, you were going to find that guy and burn his entire silk pyjama collection, designer or not. Even better, if they were designer.

“Just thought I’d come say hi. Properly, this time.”

Hoseok’s voice is lower now, and there’s a relaxed way about how he’s got one hand in his pocket that definitely wasn’t there before. He’d grown out of his teenage chub into elegant cheekbones, a high nosebridge, and a sharp jawline. It’s with a little twinge that you note how painfully handsome he is now - a reminder that this isn’t your Hoseok - he’s older, different.

“I hope you enjoyed the evening?” It feels formal - too formal, but you don’t know how to talk to this version of him yet, so you take the safe small talk route. He gives the room an approving once over, raising his glass to it and takes a sip.

“I did. The space looks wonderful, and it’s a really commendable initiative. I think a lot of artists will benefit from it. I’m proud of you, ____. I’m glad I came.”

“I’m glad you found the time.”

You really hadn’t intended for your tone to be quite so sharp, but the bitterness leaks, no matter your efforts to patch up the cracks.

“I guess I deserved that.” He sighs. “Look. I just wanted to say I - I’m sorry.“

“Yes, I agr- wait. What?” The apology is unexpected, and makes you draw a blank mid- small talk script.“Wait. What for?”

Hoseok hooks a finger under his neck scarf, pulls at it a little to loosen it.

“Like. For.” He gestures vaguely in the air. “The last time we spoke.. Or didn’t.”

Oh.

The bitterness rises very close to the surface now, you can almost taste it at the back of your throat, bubbling and indignant. With lips tightly pressed together, you swallow it back down.

“It’s okay. I didn’t need you to apologise for anything.” Your voice is surprisingly level.

“Well. “Hoseok looks a little lost, like he wasn’t the only one being caught off guard this evening. “I needed to say it anyway.”

“For who? For me, or you?” You’re still pretending like you’re having this conversation with the art piece on the wall instead of him.

“Well. It’s alright. Thank you for your apology,” you continue when he doesn’t reply, calm but curt. “I’ve heard it, and I hope that resolved any residual misunderstandings.”

Hoseok huffs a chuckle but it’s more like a sharp exhale. “You haven’t changed one bit, have you?”

This pricks your temper. If he wanted your attention, he certainly has it now.

“No,” you deadpan. “Not really.”

“Why do you -“ he pauses, gestures to you frustratedly, head to toe, “ - always cut people off when they try and reach out to you, run away when - “

“If we’re really going to be digging up the past, Hoseok, it’s more like you ran away from me.”

He runs a hand through his hair, disturbing the way it was styled.

“ ___, If you could just hear me out, I - “

The bitterness - it rises, bubbles, boils over.

“I’ve heard you out, Hoseok, listened to your apology.”

“Look, I just want us to start over again - “

“Start over?” You let out a snort, not caring that it’s terribly unprofessional and cameras might be watching. “Newsflash, your insufferable persistence is ten years too late.”

Your annoyed outburst hangs in the air as you finally turn to face him properly.

His apology angers and softens you in equal measure. You can’t figure out what his deal is - why he’d never bothered to cross paths with or even reach out to you all these years, though you both ran in overlapping circles of art and entertainment. Until today.

You allow yourself one tiny moment of honesty, dropping all the bells and whistles that came with the persona you had created for tonight.

“Why didn’t you call me back, Hoseok?”

You’ve said it so quietly that he barely catches it.

When Hyunmin, his manager, had insisted he come to this event because his next project, it was a bit of a reluctant agreement on Hoseok’s part when he found out you were the main hostess. Since leaving town, he’d packed up all its memories, shoved them into a metaphorical basement, locked them up with a key and tossed that key to the bottom of a river called Not Dealing With Things. That included you. The whirlwind of the past ten years had done a good job of making sure that basement stayed locked.

So in his confidence he’d been prepared to show up, greet you, apologise, get over some initial awkwardness, make small talk - he’s handled worse. But he wasn’t prepared for you to be even more beautiful than he remembered. Doe eyed and glowing, lips curved into a charming smile, and dressed in a long silver gown that made it look like you were walking in a puddle of moonlight.

Maybe, even that he could handle, if all you offered him was that warm facade that you showed to everyone. But he certainly was not prepared for you looking at him with eyes as soft as the first time he met you.

He opens his mouth to explain himself, but then shuts it again, like he can’t find the right words or bring himself to spin up an excuse. You see his hesitation and suddenly your eyes are cold again and the shutters are up - he’s back to square one.

“Nevermind. Don’t tell me. I don’t care. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

Before he knows it, you’re spinning away in your moonlight dress, leaving him there alone.

He lets out a deep sigh and rubs a hand over his face. Stalks a straight line to the valet, taps his shoe impatiently as the driver gets his car, slides in without tipping anyone, and floors the pedal, heading for the highway.

He needs to get away.

__________________

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#joonclouds #POAW #hoseok #jung hoseok #hoseok fic #bts fic #hobi #hoseok fanfic #bts x reader

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moonah-rose · 3 years

Text

King Takes Knight (Part 3)

This has a plot now. Sorta. I don’t know.

Part One

Part Two

(TW: Captivity, isolation, torture, humiliation)

A large wheel is propped up at the front of the stage, each with a panel containing a different word. Scorpions. Spiders. Bees. Bees with Teeth. Lightning. Ice Spears. Nickelback. Whipping. Flesh Tearing.

“Time to spin the Wheel of Misfortune, Bad Janet.” Shawn instructs.

After an obligatory slur, the Bad Janet dressed in a black, glittery showgirl outfit does as instructed. The crowd watching cheer out their predictions as they watch the wheel spin, panels clattering against the arrow at the top, slowing down with each second.

The unlucky ‘contestant’ shivers against the stake in the centre. They’ve wrapped a blindfold around the top of his head so he doesn’t get to see the result. That would ruin the surprise, after all.

The clacking stops. The crowd laughs.

“Ah! Always a classic. Bring them in, boys.” Shawn strides up to Michael, grabbing him by the jaw and putting his lips to his ear; “You’re gonna go for a nice little swim, you stinking jellyfish. There are some creatures who are just eager to play with you...and they are very, very hungry. And horny. And electrified.”

Laughter ripples through the crowd again as a broken whimper escapes through the constrained lips. His chain is loosened, wrists still bound behind his back. There will be no attempt at ‘swimming’ in the tank that’s brought out.

“Don’t worry, Mike. We made sure to keep the water nice and cold for you. It will be like floating on the sea after the Titanic sunk. And we know how much fun those guys had.”

Shawn yanks his hair back as he’s moved forward.

“Hold still. I want Bad Janet’s camera to get a good long look at you...We want your filthy humans to see their demon daddy at his best, don’t we.”

Another cringe, a helpless writhe, then he’s pushed forward into the tank.

“Turn it off.” Tahani requests, getting to her feet and turning her back to the screen, “Please, I can’t watch anymore.”

Janet does as requested. She’s already seen it all for herself. She hadn’t intended on showing the others, hoping what she described would be enough, but she’d had no choice.

She looks to Jason who’s staring forward, vacantly. Anyone who didn’t know him would think he was completely oblivious to what was going on. But she knows her boyfriend and knows, more than anything, the worry that’s going on behind those blank looking eyes.

Eleanor remains seated on Mindy’s couch, running her hands over her mouth, her skin much paler than it had been a few minutes ago.

“You see now why I have to go back?” Janet tells them; “This has gone on long enough.”

“She’s right.” Tahani doesn’t miss a beat; “I haven’t seen anything that awful happen to someone I cared about since....You know what, I’ve never cared about any famous person more than I do Michael to compare it to!” she wipes a stray tear from her eyes.

Eleanor gets to her feet; “Look, guys, I get it, I do. That wasn’t easy for me to watch either. But...we need to think about this.”

“What is there to think about?” Tahani challenges; “We need to save Michael! You saw what they were doing to him!”

“I know!” Eleanor responds, heatedly; “I wanna save him too but if we just rush in then we’ll be doing exactly what they want! This isn’t like last time when they didn’t know we would find out Janet had been swapped out - they sent us that footage hoping it would bait us into going back there! They want our Janet to reopen the tunnel because I guess their own Bad Janets suck at it.”

Janet watches as their team leader’s fingers twitch as she clearly struggles to remain pragmatic and reasonable against the distressing footage they’ve just witnessed. A part of her admires and respects Eleanor for thinking clearly. And there’s nothing in Janet’s omniscient mind that would question her reasoning.

Yet, oddly enough, she wants to say ‘fork that’ and get...angry. That’s new.

“I hate to be the one to say it but we’re doing so well and they know this! They’re trying to sabotage us again by having us risk ourselves going back there, which is the last thing Michael would want.”

Jason finally pipes up; “I dunno, I think being pushed into a tank filled with giant electric piranhas, might not be what Michael wants either.”

It’s almost impossible for Jason to sound sarcastic, but Janet senses an undertone of it beneath his usual vague tone.

“Look....Michael knew the risks when he chose to stay behind, he told you guys to get out safe and not to reset...We would be making his sacrifice for nothing if we threw our progress away now...”

“How can you be so cold? He’s our friend!” Tahani stares at her.

“And I was the first one who wanted to go back for him when I saw he wasn’t on that handcart, remember?!” Eleanor snaps back, “Janet was the one who said to wait it out, in case he escaped!”

“I was wrong.”

Everyone goes quiet, their eyes turning to fix on her. She clenches her thumb tight in front of her dress.

“I’ve never been wrong about anything before...I didn’t think it was possible. But I was wrong about that.” Janet admits, her lip wobbling; “I thought they would just do what they did to me for all those months, lock me in a cell and have me watch Vicky’s bad rehearsals. I never thought they would...I hoped that Michael would...”

Jason gets up and quietly moves over, putting his arms around her. She puts her hand to his back, not having realised how badly she needed a hug right now.

“It was easier not knowing...Horrible but, you’re right...Now I can’t stop picturing what they’ve been doing to him. Poor Michael. He looked so...” Tahani’s fingers touch her hcest.

Small. Scared. Weak.

Alone.

“We only have a few months left. He’s lasted this long, if we can just bear through-.” Eleanor tries.

“No.” Janet responds.

She’s not used to saying that word.

Eleanor looks at her, sympathetically; “Babe, I know it’s hard, trust me-.” She tries to reach other to touch Janet’s wrist.

She moves back.

“No, Eleanor. I don’t think you have any idea how hard it is.”

“Oh, really? You don’t think that I’ve had to make sacrifices recently? Did you forget what I had to give up...What Chidi had to-?”

“Chidi gets to walk around in the fresh air, he gets to teach and do the things he loves, with only the mild anxious torture. You get to watch over him and make sure he’s safe and know that in a few months, he’ll remember you again.” Janet points out, “Michael is suffering. Every second he stays down there...and you know, as well as I do, Eleanor, what a baby he can be just getting a hangnail. He did that...to save me. To help us! And you just want to leave him there?!”

Eleanor exhales, looking a little knocked back. It’s about time someone knocked her out of the tunnel vision she’s locked herself in since this started.

“Of course not.” She replies, voice breaking; “I’m just not sure-.”

“He loves you.”

Eleanor stops. Her mouth opens, wordless.

“You know it already, don’t you? You must know, you’re not stupid.” Janet tells her, “He loves all of you so forking much...If you don’t know that, I might need to check you didn’t suffer some sort of aneurysm when he gave your memories back, because I saw it all. I watched him start to grow tired of torturing you all. I watched him have to fake looking ecstatic when Shawn said he was being promoted and then, as soon as he was free too, have a freak out at the idea of having to betray you all. I watched him collect all the mementos he has of his time with you guys. I’ve listened him talk for hours about how he adores you all...”

Tahani and Jason both look solemn. Janet’s eyes focus on Eleanor.

“I watched him cling to your ticker tape for over a year. Never sleeping, never stopping...You were all he cared about in the Universe and was prepared to risk everything to save you all. And he’s never once asked for anything in return...He sure as There wouldn’t ask you to save him now. That’s why we should.” Janet rouses, “Jason told me about what happened that night before I got rescued. Michael did so much for you all and you were willing to risk losing him over a lie.”

“It wasn’t like that-.” Eleanor winces with guilt.

“He’s never stopped believing in any of you guys since he changed.” Janet cuts in, “And he’d literally jump into fire to save any of you! But you’re not willing to do the same for him? Damn...you humans. I’m starting to get why some immortals feel the need to torture you.”

That feels like too much to say. Being angry isn’t fun, it turns out. It almost conflicts enough with her Good nature that she feels ready to melt. No wonder humans say and do stupid things when they’re pissed off.

“Janet...You know what’s at stake here and why we need you-.” Eleanor tries again.

“So we should be willing to let Michael be in pain in order to win?” Tahani interrupts; “I’m sorry, Eleanor, but I’m with Janet on this one. If saving humanity means sacrificing our own then I want no part of it.”

“Oooh, good one.” Jason comments.

“Thank you.”

Eleanor rolls her eyes. Janet can see how torn up she is right now. It’s no easy position to be in. But neither is the torture dungeon where one of them is trapped right now.

She takes a step forward, reaching out to touch Eleanor’s arm.

The short human sniffs; “...Why did we have to teach him to be so....not selfish?!”

“If it helps, I don’t think you did. Michael might have learned ethics and morals from you guys...But that love he has? That...unconditional, reckless, self-sacrificing love? He found that all on his own. It’s easy for me, I was designed to care about humans. But Michael had to fight against every one of his natural, evil impulses to be our friend. You don’t have to love him back after what he did to you for all those years....But you should at least appreciate that.”

The humans have no words. So much for Janet’s not being one for speeches. But then she’s no ordinary Janet.

Enough chit-chatting. That’s just another few minutes Michael has had to suffer.

“You guys have shown you can run the neighbourhood with just Derek. You can do it again. I’m going to rescue my friend...my oldest, my truest, most loyal friend...” She repeats the words he said to her; “...Because I do love him.”

To love a demon, something else that seems to go against her natural instinct, as she feels her essence fizzle a little. Worth it.

#whump #angst #tgp fanfic

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lwjstiletto · 4 years

Text

wangxian au where lwj is a popular hand model and wwx is an independent jewellery maker [Part 3]

[Part 1] [Part 2]

wwx shuts himself in his workshop for a month straight, with lwj being his only visitor. everything he makes looks beautiful on lwj but it’s somehow not enough, not quite /deserving/ of lwj yet.

when he tells lwj this, he only gets a slight downturn of his lips in return.

“you have fine craftsmanship.” lwj says, turning his hand so that the lights bounce off the crystal encrusted hand chain. “i have never seen anything like it before.”

wwx watches him in stunned silence. lwj tends to drop these really sincere, heartfelt compliments that both embarass him and motivate him to show lwj he can do even better. another reason for his stunned silence is how ethereal lwj looks in jewellery

wwx wants to cover him in it. a nice jade pendant that hangs just above his bellybutton; a hairpiece that weaves flowers between the silky black strands of his hair; a thick banded crystal choker that sits around his throat just so; an anklet with teardrop pearls perhaps

but for now, he has to work up to making the hand jewellery suitable. the rest can wait

—•—

the next time lwj visits, he looks like he’s one blink away from sleeping where he stands.

“lan zhan,” wwx says, because they have somehow progressed to calling each other by their infromal names, “are you okay?”

“mn.” lwj says, then almost collapses mid-blink. in true rom-com fashion, wwx catches him with one hand around his waist and the other on his arm. he would tease lwj about it but this isn’t the time.

“i’m sorry.” lwj tries to straighten up.

“come on, you need to sleep.” wwx says, using his hold on lwj’s waist to guide him towards his bedroom.

“no sleep.” lwj says, planting his feet into the ground much like jin ling does when he wants to be stubborn.

“lan zhan,” wwx cajoles with his practiced baby voice, “come on. you’re tired. just nap for one hour.”

lwj glares at him, “sleep later, work now.”

wwx bends down and puts a hand under lwj’s knees, scooping him up before he can react.

lwj’s sleepy eyes widen, “wei ying!”

“if you’re gonna act like a child,” wwx says walking towards the bedroom, “then expect me to treat you like one.”

internally, wwx is panicking. he is definitely crossing some boundaries here. however, wwx considers lwj a friend and his friend looks like he hasn’t slept for a week. sometimes extreme measures are necessary, jc has taught him that.

lwj twitches in his arms when he reaches his bedroom door.

“you can put me down now.” he says, his voice weak.

wwx ignores him and kicks his door open, gently placing lwj on the bed once he reaches it.

“go to sleep.” he says, pulling the duvet over him, “if you dare come out before the hour is up, i can and will carry you back.”

lwj looks like he wants to protest but he seems to lose the fight with exhaustion and drifts off the sleep before wwx’s eyes. wwx quickly exits the bedroom and closes the door behind himself. lwj. is. in. his. bed. sleeping... he’s sleeping. because he’s tired. and wwx’s friend.

“jiang cheng, lan zhan is in my bed.” he says into his phone once he has shut himself in his workshop.

“xichen’s brother? why? did you kidnap him? tell me you didn’t wei wuxian. xichen will kill you.” jc says.

“ok first of all, he’s here for work.” wwx realises that between working and sleeping he has forgotten to inform anyone about this. “and he was tired. he looked so sleepy and cute, what could i do?”

“you... was he at least... coherent? it was consensual right?” jc asks

“what?!” wwx screeches, standing up in indignation. “jiang cheng oh my god. we- he’s TAKING A NAP!”

“oh thank god.” jc sighs, “wait how do you know lan wangji?”

“ah,” wwx scratches his nose, “long story short, remember that pretty guy from uni? yeah lan zhan and him, same guy.”

“you-“ jc sighs deeply, “i’ve been hearing you wax poetic about lan wangji’s hands?! how will i ever look xichen in the eyes after knowing that you probably- eugh i hate you.”

“ok first of all, it’s not a fetish-“

jc hangs up on him.

this leaves wwx with too much free time to think and that’s never a good thing. so he starts looking around for something to do. this is how his eyes fall on lwj’s gloves lying on the table beside the door. lwj has developed a habit of discarding them as soon as he comes in

and like a magnet, wwx feels drawn to them. it must be annoying for lwj to wear them all the time, but he never complains. wwx, however, has no such qualms and detests them with vigor

today, it’s the white leather gloves. wwx picks one up and examines it. it’s soft to the touch, worn out to smoothness. an idea strikes him and he tosses the glove back as he reaches for his sketchbook. he thinks he has finally got it.

—•—

when lwj wakes, there is light coming through the curtains. he doesn’t remember the last time he had such a comfortable, dreamless sleep. an unfamiliar but pleasant scent surrounds him, safe, warm.

lwj bolts up in bed, remembering exactly where he is. he looks at his phone. it’s six, ok that’s fine. wait... 6AM. lwj throws the covers off and looks around, then back at his phone as if that’s going to change something.

he spent the night at wwx’s place. speaking of, where did wwx sleep then? he ventures outside and sees nobody in the living area. sure enough, wwx is passed out in his workshop, cheek flat on his workbench.

lwj sighs.

“wei ying.” he prods his shoulder gently, “wake up.”

wwx groans and shakes him off, “go away.”

after a few more pokes lwj rules it a lost cause and decides to make tea for himself and coffee for wwx. thankfully, he doesn’t have work until 3pm so he has plenty of time to waste puttering around wwx’s sparce kitchen.

after finding only hot sauce in the top cupboards (one labelled ‘burning hot’ with flames on the cover which makes him cringe away) he finally finds coffee. no tea. it’ll have to do, he thinks.

the smell of coffee near his nose does a better job at waking wwx up. he reaches blindly for the cup before he even blinks his eyes open. ridiculous.

lwj, in the most dignified way possible, sits on the purple beanbag and waits as wwx’s brain reboots with every sip of coffee.

“lan zhan?” wwx asks.

“i have the same question.” lwj says, “why am i still here?”

“too philosophical for this early in the morning. what time even is it?” wwx looks at the wall clock and groans, “why are you awake?”

lwj gives him a blank look, “i was promised a nap.”

“yeah, yeah.” wwx brushes him off, “i’m happy you slept well, you look much better than before.”

lwj feels his ears burn and his heart rate quicken.

wwx has an ease to his words and actions that makes lwj agreeable to existing in his space without wanting to revert back to professionalism. he fears that one day he’ll become so comfortable that he wouldn’t want to leave

“come here.” wwx beacons.

once lwj is bent over his shoulder, he shows him the rough sketches he has been working on all night apparently.

“are those..”

“inspired by the bane of my existence, none other than your gloves!” wwx says proudly.

“why do you hate the gloves?” lwj asks, curious.

wwx gives him a complicated look, “because they’re fabric. how old and boring. wouldn’t you rather be tangled in crystal chains that you can’t wear or remove without help?”

lwj lets him dodge the question, then gives the designs a closer look. “they’re very interesting.”

“it’s just a rough sketch.” wwx refuses to look at him, “i’ll refine the details and start working on it by tomorrow.”

“mn.” lwj says.

—•—

“da-ge tried to beat up su she again.” nhs informs him when he gets to his office a few hours later.

“again?” lwj asks.

“he bumped into him at the lobby. again.” nhs sighs.

“i will speak to him.” lwj says.

“what? no these stalkers just get worse-“

“i meant nie mingjue.” lwj clarifies.

“it should be fine. i’ve banned him from office premises now and i’m working on filing a restraining order against him.” nhs says, “i tried to explain this to da-ge but you know his temper. actually maybe you should talk to him. he might listen to you.”

lwj nods, “i will call him after my shoot.”

—•—

nhs must have mentioned it to nmj because he’s there to pick lwj up after his shoot. it’s late, almost past eleven, and the parking lot is half empty.

lwj gets a text from wwx just before he gets in the car.

wei ying: garnet or emerald?

lwj replies: i’m no expert at this

wei ying: lan zhannnn humour me

lwj: ruby

wei ying: i will fossilise you in one. lan zhannnn be serious

“you look much more at ease.” nmj comments.

lwj realises that he is.

“you don’t need to bother with su she anymore. huaisang has it under control.” lwj says.

nmj gives him a skeptical look.

“i trust him.” lwj emphasises.

“i was told you had previous acquaintance with that man.” nmj says.

lwj sighs, “he was in my cello class.”

“you play the cello?” nmj asks.

“not anymore.” lwj answers.

nmj doesn’t ask further.

they sit in uncomfortable silence until nmj asks where he should drop lwj off. what comes out of his mouth are the directions to wwx’s place. his excuse: he needs to know what a garnet gem is before making a decision.

“i will trust you and huaisang to handle this.” nmj says when they come to a stop, “be well.”

lwj nods, then opens the car door.

“wangji.” nmj’s hand grabs his elbow gently.

lwj turns to him.

“i’d like for us to be friends.” nmj says. it sounds stilted, amended.

lwj frowns, “i already consider you one.”

nmj nods and lets go of his hand. with the hint of a smile he says, “goodnight wangji.”

lwj looks at nmj drive away then turns to face wwx’s apartment building. now that he’s here, his excuse sounds feeble. he takes a deep breath, he’s already here. might as well.

wwx opens his apartment door and stares at lwj like he has seen a ghost. “lan zhan?”

“i don’t know what garnet looks like.” lwj says.

wwx grins at him, then grabs his forearm, dragging him into his workshop. there, on a mannequin hand, is the half finished skeleton of what looks like wwx’s design coming to life. he holds up a red and a green stone. he points to the red one, “this is a garnet.”

“it looks like a ruby.” lwj says

wwx looks like he goes through the seven stages of grief before he says, in a strangled voice, “how could you? you’re– you’re messing with me again, aren’t you?”

lwj gives him an innocent look. he can feel the tension in his shoulders bleed out.

“it’s coming together.” wwx says when he notices lwj looking at his unfinished project. “come here, let me see if you can have mobility with it on.”

lwj removes his gloves and stretches his hand towards wwx. wwx gently manoeuvring delicate silver chains around his hand isn’t something new, but it feels different in the middle of the night. more intimate. lwj discards that word with a flick of his hair

it’s not usual for him to leave it unpinned, but he has spent the day lying on a carpet with his hands stretched upwards, balancing a small perfume bottle between his fingers. coming out of it with a few strands out of place is a minor inconvenience.

“tada!” wwx says, drawing lwj’s attention to his right hand which is now tangled in a complicated-looking array of chains from the tips of his fingers down to his wrist. it’s stunning even in its incomplete form.

“it’s beautiful.” lwj says, low as the silent night.

“it’s barely anything right now!” wwx protests but his cheeks are red, “come on, try to move your fingers.”

lwj does, slowly as to not break the delicate structure in case it does lack mobility. it moves with him, like still water disturbed, pressing coldness onto his skin when he closes his fist.

there is no bite, in fact it barely feels any different from wearing light cotton gloves. he thinks he understands wwx’s vision better now. he opens his fist again, one finger at a time, watching how the chains loosen and hang lower on his wrist.

he’s so fascinated by it that he’s surprised to see wwx standing in front of him when he looks up. his eyes are fixed on lwj, unwavering and shameless in their focus, dark with what lwj would presume was desire if he didn’t know better.

“ah it doesn’t need adjustments for now then!” wwx says, snapping out of it. “it looks great on you! i’m sure your girlfriend will like it when it’s finished too!”

“i’m gay.” lwj deadpans.

“oh.” wwx says, choked. “your... boyfriend then?”

“wei ying i...” think of you as a safe haven in my hectic life? find your rambling amusing? think you’re extremely talented and deserve success? have a teeny tiny crush on you? what is lwj supposed to say? each of those sound worse than the one before

at the end he decides to settle for the worst possible answer, “i don’t have time for a boyfriend.”

he does! well, not really. but he would make time if it was wwx... or something! sometimes lwj wants to punch a wall, break a finger, quit his job as a consequence and live in a secluded mountain in the east for the rest of his days. this is one of those moments.

wwx nods in understanding. lwj would prefer if he /didn’t/ understand and demanded to be lwj’s boyfriend to prove him wrong. ‘i’ll make you have time for a boyfriend’ is what lwj imagines him saying.

instead wwx offers him tea.

“it’s too late for coffee.” he shrugs when lwj mumbles a surprised ‘tea?’

before lwj can ask why he suddenly has tea in his house when he didn’t just yesterday, wwx is already gone.

they sit around wwx’s small breakfast table. as they sip their tea- high quality tea nonetheless- wwx begins to talk.

“this project is going more smoothly than i expected. i already have a couple designs in my mind. i’d say it’d take maybe a month or so if i substitue my sleep enough with coffee.” wwx says.

“do not strain yourself.” lwj replies.

“rich coming from you.” wwx’s lip quirks, “you passed out on me yesterday. oh what could have caused that? i don’t think it was sleep deprivation and overworking because you’d never do that.”

it feels like lwj is being scolded.

“wei ying-“

“lan zhan, are you alright?” wwx asks sincerely, “i know you said that you weren’t hurt back then when i saw your bruises, but we weren’t friends back then. you were in pain when i met you at wen ning’s parlour. -

- wen qing was oddly iffy about telling jiang cheng about you even though she knows that he’s friends with your brother. you looked so afraid when you thought i was stalking you, which, technically my fault but still. i’m sorry for bringing this up but i’m worried about you. i want to help you, with whatever it is.”

lwj sits in silence for a few moments, flabbergasted. it seems like this is genuinely bothering wwx, and maybe it has for a while now.

“wei ying.” lwj starts, trying to mentally arrange it all in chronological order. “i think there has been a slight misunderstanding. i did not persue conventional modelling because i did not want to be in the public eye.

however, my identity was exposed about a month ago. it made me unnecessarily paranoid which is why wen qing was careful about my information, and i was in turn careful about my surroundings.”

“who the hell-“

“it does not matter now.” lwj says calmingly. he doesn’t need another person trying to beat su she up.

wwx fumes silently as lwj continues.

“at wen ning’s parlour i was actually in quite a bit of pain.” lwj says. wwx opens his mouth but lwj cuts him off. “yes, it was due to overwork, and yesterday can be attributed to the same cause. but it does not happen as often as you’re thinking, i promise.”

wwx mulls this over. “ok fine. don’t think i didn’t notice you skipped over the bruises though. they can’t be from overwork so either someone did that to you or-“

“it is..” lwj says, forcing the words out, “as you thought that day.”

he wouldn’t admit this to anyone, but he doesn’t want wwx to have any misconceptions. and well, if he sacrifices his own peace of mind for wwx, it is most likely worth it in the end.

“you mean...” wwx swallows, “you–“

seeing him struggle so much with the words makes it easier for lwj to blurt them out somehow.

“i like restraints, yes.”

this does not bring an end to the conversation, instead making wwx stutter through even worse versions of it.

“you like– to be tied up– oh my god.” he says, “you- that’s what you meant right? handcuffs, ropes all that- like bdsm? is that what–“

“wei ying. please.” lwj says.

“oh of course. here.” wwx grabs both his wrists with one hand.

lwj stares at him. wwx stares back. what the hell.

...

“oh,” wwx draws back like has been burned, “oh my god i don’t know why i did that. i’m so sorry!”

“wei ying it’s okay.” lwj tries but wwx has now put his face in his hands and does not seem to hear him above his mumbling variations of ‘oh my god’ and ‘i’m so sorry’.

lwj lets him go on for a while before he can’t take it anymore. he puts a gentle hand on wwx’s shoulder. this seems to have the desired effect, both shutting wwx up and making him look up at lwj.

“wei ying, it’s okay.” he repeats.

“no it’s not! what was i even thinking? it’s not okay for me to do that! out of nowhere! god, i must have made you so uncomfortable–“

“i don’t mind.” lwj says.

“how can you not? you should fire me!”

“you are my employer.”

“that’s even worse!”

lwj sighs. wwx seems to be transforming into a puddle of shame right before him. he has to put an end to this or wwx will overthink himself into an early grave. no amount of consoling seems to work though. lwj sighs, it is time for drastic measures.

“i lied.” lwj says. he quickly continues before wwx can officially begin his pity party, “i do have time for a boyfriend.”

“what.” wwx says, drawn out of his stupor with the sudden shift in topic.

“i have time... if it’s you.” lwj says and then immediately wants to adapt wwx’s head in hands coping mechanism. “now we are even.”

wwx seems to be dissecting his sentence to make sense of it. “oh. OH.”

“i should go home.” lwj rises from his chair. just as he is turning away, wwx grabs his wrist and pulls him so he’s face-to-face with him.

“lan zhan,” wwx says, his eyes fond, “you’re so.. ugh!”

lwj frowns. ugh. he’s ugh.

“lan zhan!” wwx takes lwj’s face between his palms and grins at him, “do you know i’ve been crushing on you since that day at the university?”

“you have?” lwj asks.

“you really didn’t know?” wwx asks, “lan zhan, lan zhan, do you think a professional jeweller needs weekly fitting appointments?”

“you don’t?” lwj feels just a little stupid.

“not really? i could have made adjustments after i finished everything.”

“you like me?” lwj asks. for some reason it hadn’t occurred to him that his crush could be reciprocated.

“yes!” wwx shifts from one foot to another eagerly, “can i hug you now?”

lwj nods and is drawn into wwx’s arms. wwx presses his nose into the space between lwj’s neck and shoulder. lwj holds his shoulders, glad that he can hide his red face in wwx’s hoodie

wwx sighs, his breath tickles on lwj’s skin.

“will you stay with me tonight?” and when lwj is silent for two seconds,

“not like that! it’s innocent! like a sleepover! i won’t tie you up i promise– lan zhan please shut me up i beg you–“

lwj draws back, simply places a gentle kiss on wwx’s lips and says, “don’t ever shut up.”

The End!

as for any loose ends:

- lwj manages to gain his anonymity back

- su she manages not to get beaten up by wwx or nmj but does get a restraining order

- wwx completes his collection and it’s a success! the best part is that he is holding the hand that started it all!

This fic has a nsfw one-shot on ao3 if any of you want to read it :)

http://archiveofourown.org/works/25827673

#wangxian fic #wangxian #lwj x wwx #lan wangji #wei wuxian #lan zhan #wei ying #the untamed #cql #mdzs #my fics #hand model au #long fic

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afrobeatsindacity · 4 years

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AFROBEATS CITY MEETS DOCTA DEE

No stranger to the music scene and especially the UK Afrobeats scene, Docta Dee has been blessing us with nothing but hits since he first entered the music scene in 2012.

Afrobeats City caught up with Docta Dee to find out about his new mixtape The Antidote, how he stayed positive during lockdown and more.

Who is Docta Dee and how did you get into music?

Docta Dee is a songwriter who grew up in the church and grew up around music. Everyone calls me Docta Dee, it is a nickname I grew up with in my area. I originally grew up in Blackheath but moved to Kent.

Docta Dee also comes from my Dad being a Pastor with a Doctorate and the nickname stuck with me for the rest of my life. It has been hard to shake off but it has served its purpose in terms of helping people and trying to provide a solution to my music.

In 5 words how would you describe your musical style?

Good vibes, positive, reflective, fun, and vibrant

You recently released your new album “The Antidote”, how did you come up with the name for the album and what was the creative process behind the album?

The Antidote is a very special project for me because during this time of COVID and the pandemic, I thought about me being Docta Dee what can I do for my people. So many people lost their jobs or are going through a lot of things with their family, what can I do to try and lift their spirits and provide hope so that is what The Antidote is, it’s reminding people that the solution comes from within themselves. I put a bit of my story and pain so that I can try to influence and have an impact on someone else’s life.

My favourite song off the album is “For A Bit”, what is your favourite song off the album?

“For A Bit” for me is a banger, I like it because it’s different, it’s trap. It was actually a freestyle I was messing around with so I’m glad you said that.

My Personal favourite is “Smile”, it hits home and touches the surface of what I have been through during this lockdown as well. I also sampled an old school church song in there “This Little Light Of Mine”. Stuff like that makes me want to listen to the song every single day.

Do you think growing up in the church influences you in terms of music, I know you don’t do gospel music but in terms of the way you incorporate your faith into your music?

Yes big time, my faith is very much my everyday life and struggles. All the pros and cons that comes with living, I try to reflect that in my music, even though I do not solely do gospel music, I just try to uplift people through my music. I know my parents would love me to do gospel and my dad will promote me widely, but I am just trying to find my own feet and take it as it comes.

Your new single “Sidekick” featuring Ka’Reema gained over 50k views in the first week of its release which is amazing, was you expecting that sort of reaction to the song?

I was and I was not because I knew that I was going to release it on my own channel and push it myself. I tried to use all the resources possible so when I released the first video “Payroll”, I kind of engaged that people were not expecting me to fire them with visuals. I went abroad to shot the video and two weeks late I dropped “Sidekick” and I knew that song was that radio, Afroswing type of song that is strong at the moment.

Ka’Reema is an amazing artist who added that extra vibe and we have just been pushing it and pushing it and thankfully I’m seeing good views on my own channel and I am going to keep pushing it until everyone is playing it. I am happy that we can pat ourselves on the back, but the work continues.

Did the recent lockdown affect your music plans for 2020 or do you feel that you were able to still achieve your plans?

It affected my plans in a good way, I normally release one single a year traditionally or like a major video. I pushed an EP at the start of the year called The Life Of The Party and then I thought I was done but being on lockdown and losing my job, I was able to make the best out of the situation. I went to the studio, I was able to song write and then I produced the video for, “For A Bit”, “Payroll” and “Sidekick” so in all there are about 4-5 visuals that have been out since January. I saw myself being more pro-active and hungry. All my friends in the music business are doing their things and it inspired and encouraged me to do it at my pace. I realised I was doing it at my pace but putting in a lot of work as well.

Due to lockdown rules you currently can’t do any live shows but have you done any instalives or online shows?

I have done a few lives called The Consultation in the theme of going to your GP or Doctor and the response and feedback was real good so I am going to keep doing that. I would love to throw a little live party once we get all clear in terms of the lockdown. I might do a few intimate live shows and put it out there, they are some ideas that I have in the pipeline.

What is something you learnt early on in your career that has helped shape your career?

“Don’t Wait For Nobody, Don’t Sit Around”. Do not expect anything and have a clean heart. You might do something for someone they might not do it for you but it doesn’t mean there is beef or no love. I know I have been designed and created in a special way to always go over and beyond for people and it may not be returned but just have a good heart and wish everyone well.

Understand your audience but give them what they want. I love R&B but when I asked the question on my Instastories a lot of my followers love the Afroswing stuff, I have to find the balance. For The Antidote, I made sure there was a balance of R&B, Afro-fusion, Trap and Drill. I was able to give them a dose in that project.

What is one message you would give to your fans?

A message that has saved my life is “Learn To Dance In The Rain”. No matter what you’re going through just find the positive and appreciate what you have, dance in the rain. If you can dance in the storm with the cloud over, then you will celebrate in the sunshine when the rain goes out. I try to stay happy and smiling especially during this time.

What is next for Docta Dee?

I have a single outside of the project, it should have been on the project but I wanted to take my time so it should be out in a few weeks. Visuals to follow as well.

I have also been writing for other people so their stuff is coming out and then I have another project at the end of the year. I thought 2020 was cancelled but God has other plans for me, so I’m going to keep working and keep going at my own place

Just for fun, fill in the blanks…

Without music, I would be…Stuck in finance or have my own business

My current favourite song is…Docta Dee – Smile

My favourite song to perform is… Flex N Finesse ft AdeJosh

My dream artist(s) to collaborate with is…Konan - his amazing on hooks and an ear for melodies. But I work with so many artists that I work with and respect. AdeJosh is one of my favourite artists of all times. That’s my bro

Support Afrobeats because… Its authentic, it’s raw, energetic and it’s home. That is why it’s key to support it especially being from the UK but know your roots, it’s so important. I’m happy that we have the UK Afrobeats chart and there are so many opportunities and so many people that are pioneering the movement. So as an African, Nigerian in the UK especially with a lot of Caribbean friends I have never been so proud of our music, the quality of the visuals, the sound even from Nigerian artists and artists here. The progression since 2012/2013 has been massive and to be a part of that I am so proud.

Follow @Officialdoctadee on Instagram | @DoctaDee on Twitter

This interview was conducted by Shade A (@shardeya) / Afrobeats City doesn’t own the rights to the image used.

#Afrobeats #Afrobeats City #Docta Dee #Afrobeats City meets #Afrobeats Interview #Africa #African music #Afrobeats UK #Nigeria #Nigerian music #Music Interview #Adejosh #Konan #Docta Dee Smile #The Antidote #Docta Dee The Antidote #Music #UK Afrobeats #London

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axelsagewrites · 5 years

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Alec Lightwood*Soulmate

Ship(s): Alec x reader

Request?: @schneetannchen

Hi, I love your Imagine Story's so much. Can I get an Imagine Story with Alec Lightwood where he is the reader's soulmate, please?

Warnings?: Swearing

Type: Angst, fluff

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- = POV change

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"Soulmates are not a thing!" I almost screamed at Isabelle.

"Yes, they are!" She said, though with more laughter.

I sighed, looking at her with a blank stare, "Isabelle, listen closet, soulmates are. Not. A. thing. Okay?"

She gave me the biggest smile possible, "No," I groaned, flinging myself back to slump in my chair. "Back me up here Clary,"

Breakfasts were never calm, all of us being sleep deprived except Jace who always seemed to get enough sleep, but I was going through my cereal. Last night Izzy and I were having a winddown night and doing these things called 'BuzzFeed quizzes' when the argument began.

"I mean it's a cool idea," She shrugged, "Knowing there is one perfect person out there for you. It's sweet," Jace grinned, stretching an arm over her shoulder, "Even if he is the most annoying person on earth," Jace frowned.

Isabelle chuckled, "Has Jace ever told you about soulmates?"

"No," she said, face contorted in confusion.

"Shadowhunters have a different idea of soulmates," She said, and I huffed, "Hush. It's said that Johnathan Shadowhunter saved a mundane girl when he first became a shadowhunter. A few years later there was a demon outbreak and she got stung. There was nothing Johnathan could do so he just held her and gave her what he thought would be there last kiss. Raziel, as a reward for there work, said that if two people truly loved each other, and the angels had made them for each other, then their final kiss can save them. And that's how soulmates were formed,"

"Aw, that's sweet," Clary said.

"Ew, that's dumb," I snorted, "Why wouldn't every shadowhunter kiss their partner on their deathbed? Oh, wait they do, it just doesn't do anything,"

"Just because you love someone doesn't mean they're your soulmate," Isabelle groaned.

"Will you two just shut up?!" Alec snapped, dropping his spoon in his cereal, making a splash, "Damnit," I passed him a napkin, "Thanks. Izzy, you know mum just told you that story to get you to sleep."

"No. it's true. Back me up, Jace?"

"I didn't exactly have someone ready me bedtime stories," he said.

"Ha," I grinned.

Before we could go back to arguing Maryse walked in, "Why are you all lounging about? Their's work to do,"

Ugh, work. Today was dreaded paperwork day. Luckily, we were able to get desks near each other. Isabelle sat at the desk next to me, Alec across from me, Jace next to Alec, and clary had to go practise runes after a mishap on our last mission.

These days were so slow. It sounds bad but I was waiting for someone to run in and yell something about an outbreak or crazy action. Anything to get up from this hellish chair. Isabelle was determined to finish all her paperwork for an early lunch, so she was being boring.

Alec had always been the fastest at paperwork so I could annoy him. I pinged a tiny crushed up piece of paper. He looked up startled, but I went back to my screen. A few moments later another. Then another. Then another. Then "Whose doing that?" Alec said.

I took my headphones out "What?" I asked.

"Nothing," he mumbled, going back to his work. I looked at Isabelle who rolled her eyes then Jace who winked at me. Jace started doing it too.

Jace was too ambitious and shot a full crumpled up post-it notes. "Jace!" Alec turned in his chair, quickly lowering his voice.

As his head was turned, I fired one that went right in his ear, "Score," I couldn't help but laugh, raising my hands in the air in triumph. Jace began to cackle as well and I swear I saw Izzy hide a snigger. I took my headphones off, waiting for the onslaught.

Alec glared at me, "Shouldn't you be doing paperwork?" He snapped. I pressed my lips together, trying not to laugh, "You think your funny? Grow up. You're 19, get your act together,"

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," I mumbled.

"Someone wants to actually do their job and take responsibilities for there actions," he raised his voice, "Otherwise it's just going to be dumped on someone else's desk. It's a good thing soulmate aren't real because who wants to be with a child. Grow up," Alec went back to work with a glare etched on his face.

My face fell and I put my headphones back on. Jace rolled his eyes, probably trying to help, but I looked at my screen. Harsh. Isabelle, finally taking a little broke, slid a post-it notes to me. "Don't let it get to you," It read, "he's in a bad mood,"

Alec's bad moods didn't usually bother me. I don't know why I let it bother me. But I did go back to work.

I finished around the same time as Isabelle did for lunch. We sat in the lunch hall, Isabelle across from me, and I was picking at my lunch. "You okay?" she asked, "Alec's in a mood,"

"Yeah but never mind," I sighed. Isabelle gave me a look and I sighed, "Maybe I don't want soulmates to be real because I don't think I have one,"

"Don't say that- "

"But what if it's true? Then what?"

Isabelle sighed, "I don't know. Hell, I don't know if I have one, or if it's a shadowhunter or what it means if they aren't one. Don't let Alec get to you. You'll have at least one lightwood on your side," I smiled a little at her words. Her smile fell, "Speaking of..."

I looked up to see clary, Alec, and Jace walking in. "Look who we found in the library," Jace said, arm over Clary's shoulder. Clary and Jace sat next to Isabelle and Alec plopped down next to me. As he sat down, I stood up, taking my plate to the bins.

After clearing my plate, I walked down past Isabelle, "I'm going to get a head start," she sighed but let me go.

"What's up with (Y/N)?" I heard Alec asked as I walked away. I walked faster.

Paperwork sucks. Isabelle joined me shortly after followed by the other two and clary. "Hey, I was wanting to help clary studying so I was wondering..." he said.

"Send them to me," I said, not looking up from my screen.

"Then they'll never get done," Alec said with a chuckle. He looked at me expectantly, probably expecting a comeback.

I ignored him, "I'm on my last one,"

"Since when did you get fast?" Isabelle said, looking at my screen, not believing me.

Looking straight at Alec, "I grew up," he looked down and I rolled my eyes, "Jace just send them over."

"I owe you,"

"I know,"

I have halfway finished Jace's workload, mindlessly typing and filling in codes, when a red light popped up on my screen. I glanced at Isabelle who was doing the same. "Alec what does it mean when- "Isabelle began to ask.

"We've got a mission," Alec said, getting out his seat.

Isabelle and I followed, quickly gearing up. Jace was there a couple moments later, "Mission?" he said. We all had personal devices that lit up when we had a mission, but they showed on the computer when we were logged on.

The mission was only a few blocks away, so we were there in minutes. "I'll lead," Jace said.

"Shocking," I muttered, and he grinned.

We followed after Jace into a small alleyway. It was down the alley and over a fence in the middle of an industrial estate. Jace led, Isabelle behind him, and Alec at the rear. Jace hopped the fence, then Izzy, as I was halfway up, I heard a gurgling noise than a whooshing noise.

I looked down at Alec to see he had shot an arrow through the chair fence, hitting a green blob looking thing. It hissed and slinked away as more demons began to pour out. Quickly I swung my legs over the fence, dropping down.

Alec was over the fence quickly, but I already had run in. he was long range and stood near the fence, Isabelle had her whip and sword which was kind of a combination, but Jace and I were short range.

We had to the run-up to the demons. There seemed to be a mix of different breeds of them. As I slit the supposed throat of a blue thing, it seemingly mantling away with a hiss, another snakelike thing began to wrap around my leg.

Before I could react, Isabelle's whip wrapped around its head, pulling it back and sending it through the air where it met Alec's arrow. my heart was beating. Hard. My grip on my seraph blade was weakened by sweat so I gripped it tighter, feeling the design of the hilt pressing into my skin.

One latched onto Jace's back. I ran over, pulling it off and raising my seraph blade to slice it. As I did Jace lurched back as another launched at him. He knocked me and I grunted as my back slammed into the concrete.

It's always better to fight on your feet. Once your down though you still have to fight. One slid onto my leg and I sat up, thrusting my blade into it, watching it disappear with a satisfying sizzle. I grinned then I felt something slither around my neck.

It yanked my head back, hitting off the concrete. I was able to look up for a moment to see a demon's tentacle wrapped around my neck, pulling me closer. Dropping my blade, I tried to pull it off.

A sharp pain went through my neck then another sizzle. I scrambled up, seeing an arrow a foot from where my head had been. There was no time to pause.

I felt myself breathing a sigh of realising as Izzy drove her seraph blade into the last demon with a sigh. We were all panting, "Some sicko was keeping them, prisoner," Jace said. "No wonder they were pissed,"

"So," Alec said but I felt my neck getting hot. I was panting more than they were and I raised my hand to my neck where the pain had been, it felt like ice. "Whose doing the paperwork for this one?" The other three laughed but it was muffled as if I was underwater. I blinked more as the colours seemed to blur together for a moment then go back then blur. "(Y/N)?"

"I-I-I think I'm gonna," I landed with a thud. All I could hear was a muffled sound. I could see everything, but I could barely move my fingers.

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"What happened?" Jace said, dropping to his knees beside his friend.

Isabelle began searching (Y/N) for an injury, "I-I don't know. I didn't see them get poisoned or-or-or,"

"Izzy calm down," Jace said.

"My best friend is dying!" She yelled, tears falling from her yes, "Fucking panic Jace!"

"This is getting us nowhere," Alec said, quickly moving beside Izzy, "Jace start checking their legs for something, Izzy their torso," They all snapped to attention, quickly putting (Y/N) onto their back checking for something, anything.

A wound, a bite, a scratch. Whatever did this.

Alec looked over and studied every bit of (Y/N)'s face. He put his fingers through their hair, looking for a gash or something. He glanced down seeing (Y/N)'s eyes following him. He took a breath going back to his search. (Y/N) had to be okay.

"I can't find anything," Jace said.

"Me neither," Isabelle sighed. "What are we going to do?"

"Call Magnus," Alec said, standing up. He tossed Jace his quiver and bow, bending down to pick (Y/N) up.

"Should we move them?" Isabelle asked.

"Can't get much worse," Jace said, phone to his ear, "Magnus we're coming over,"

Alec had never had a bigger reason to run. As he ran, he cradled (Y/N) in his arms. Magnus had come down to let them in and they all rushed upstairs.

"Wouldn't the silent brothers be better?" Isabelle panted.

"I know demons better," Magnus said, leading Alec to lay (Y/N) on the couch, "Besides I can teleport you. Jace pass me that book,"

The biggest problem was knowing the poison. They didn't even know the spot. Alec paced the living room, glancing over. (Y/N)'s eyes were still following him. He froze, looking back at them. His eyes dropped when he saw something.

Alec rushed over, kneeling beside Magnus, "There," He pointed to (Y/N)'s neck.

"A hickey?" Magnus asked, "This isn't the time for jealousy,"

"No, it wasn't there earlier," Alec snapped.

"He's right," Isabelle said, "(Y/N) is single. What do you mean jealous?"

Magnus, Alec, and, Jace all shared a look, "Nothing," Magnus said before going back to work.

"Alec you idiot!" Isabelle stood up flicking her brother's forehead, "(Y/N) likes you! Couldn't you have done this before they were paralysed!?"

"I didn't know this would happen!"

"I found it!" Magus interrupted them. The shadowhunters all tried to look over Magnus' shoulder but Jace felt his stomach churn as Magnus' smile fell. "I-I can't do anything,"

"Then we need to go to the silent city," Isabelle said.

"No." He cut her off, "The poison, the demon. Did you see a purple demon with tentacles?"

"Yeah. One grabbed (Y/N) around the neck," As Izzy spoke, she seemed to realise, "Oh no,"

"It's poison paralysis's the body. Activity speeds it up. Soon every muscle in (Y/N) body will stop. The heart normally is the last but after they stop moving it's normally the breathing system then the eyes,"

"What does that mean?" Isabelle asked, ignoring the mascara down her checks.

"(Y/N) will suffocate to death and we can't do anything about it,"

"No, no, no, no"

Everyone took their moment with (Y/N). Isabelle was a mess. Alec held her as Jace knelt beside (Y/N), then Magnus. Jace walked over and essentially took Isabelle out of Alec's arms. He stood up, shaking legs, and walked over.

Alec knelt beside (Y/N), holding their hand. "I'm so so sorry," he said, "For everything. Magnus says you can't hear us but I'm so so sorry. I-I shouldn't have snapped. Anyone would want to be your soulmate. If only I had had the balls," Alec sniffled, "I love you," Alec began to stand, pressing a kiss to (Y/N)'s forehead. His tears fell onto (Y/N) and he quickly wiped them off. (Y/N)'s eyes were still following him.

Alec cringed as he stood up, "What now?"

"We wait," Magnus said, looking at the floor.

"And what? Let them suffocate to death?" Jace snapped.

Isabelle looked up, taking a deep breath "(Y/N) deserved a better death than that. They don't deserve to feel that,"

Alec nodded, "Magnus? Is there anything?"

"You're asking me to-?" He shook his head with a sigh, "I've lost too many to do it myself,"

"Please. they shouldn't have to suffer,"

Magnus pointed to a door, "That's my storage cupboard. Help yourself,"

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The sound in my ears was like waves at first but then a beating sound joined it. It was a struggle to move my eyes, but I was trying to figure out what was happening. The sound in my ears began to fade and their voices were becoming clearer.

I looked up as Isabelle stood over me. She made eye contact before turning away and passing something to Alec. Alec held it then held it out for Jace, "I can't," I managed to make out despite it being dull.

Jace took it then slowly moved to kneel beside me. He sighed and I heard him. I felt my toes begin to move

"The throat muscles will stop working any moment," Magnus said, and I heard it clearly.

A tear fell down Jace's face and his hand moved up to pull open my mouth. I saw him raise something up. "I'm sorry," he said. This time it was clear, and I could feel my fingers begin to move. Out of instinct, I tried to close my mouth.

He paused, "Did you see that?" he asked.

"Your imagining things," Magnus said.

I had to try to talk. I had to. All I managed was a low grunt. Jace jumped back, probably dropping something as I heard glass smash then a sizzle.

A sizzle.

Those sizzles.

My eyes darted to the side. I was just able to turn my head slightly, "How are they...?" Magnus said.

Isabelle's eyes went from mine to Alec to mine, "Soulmates," she said, "It's the soulmate thing!"

"That isn't a thing Izzy!" Alec yelled, "Can't you drop that!?"

"Yeah," I managed to breath out before spluttering. Slowly a warm feeling began to travel through my body.

Magnus said it could take a while for me to be able to fully move let alone stand. So far, I could talk, breath, thankfully, and move my arms.

They filled me in on everything, everything. Not knowing if we'd be too weak, Magnus offered to let me crash so he could monitor me. Eventually, they had to go, probably after Clary's 100th call. Isabelle and Jace said their goodbyes then it was just Alec, Magnus and I.

Magnus looked between us "I'm going to put the kettle on. Want tea (Y/N)?" I nodded and waited for him to walk out.

Alec sat down on the coffee table across from me, "So um,"

"Isabelle's crazy, isn't she?" I said, not able to look at him.

"Yeah totally," When I looked up, he looked away. I held in a sigh, "Is it crazy I kind of hope she isn't...?"

"You mean...?"

"I don't care if your childish-not that you are but if you were- "

"You like me,"

"You heard that?" he asked, his head dropping.

"Heard what?"

"When you where-never mind," Alec looked up, gathering some kind of courage, "I'm sorry. For everything,"

"It's okay," I said then we were plunged in silence, "You know if I could stand, I'd kiss you,"

"What- I mean do you- um do I- "

"Kiss me," I cut him off. Alec lurched forward, kissing me. it took a moment for me to be able to move my hand to the back of his neck. After a few moments, he pulled back, "I promise I can kiss better than that normally,"

"I'll be the judge of that,"

"Not in my house you won't!" Magnus yelled, walking in. Alec shot back in shock, forgetting he was on a coffee table and falling off, "Such grace," Magnus muttered, "I brought tea,"

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