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harry-writings · 4 years ago

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The Happy Years

- The one where Y/n is unhappy in her engagement and finds an escape with her former lover

Part 1

Masterlist

(A/N) IM SO EARLY IM SORRY I KNOW I SAID 9PM BUT IM DONE SO MUCH SOONER THAN EXPECTED OKAY IM SORRY LOVE YALL <3333

Three years later.

The heaviest of thunderstorms hit the city of London by early morning, the loss of the sun and the gloom of the day leaving Harry bedridden for the first time in weeks.

He always tried his best to avoid days like this — trapped within his home, caged in memories that make every step he takes heavier than the last, wishing for just the smallest taste of salvation — because it’s when he��s left alone between these walls that the darkest parts of him come out, ravaging, feeding off of what’s left of him.

Rain reminds him of the day Y/n left. Thunder reminds him of Malibu. Malibu reminds him of all the things he ever used to do with her — on the bed, on the couch, in the hallways.

There’s no escape from what he’s done.

But when the time hits two in the afternoon and Harry still hasn’t gotten up from under his blankets, he decides that doing even the bare minimum with his day would be some sort of accomplishment.

He decided to get the mail.

And what a terrible decision that was, Harry thinks, as he sees an envelope addressed to him in unfamiliar handwriting by an unfamiliar name. Something about it upsets his stomach and throws him off key, knowing in his heart that he shouldn’t open it, but it’s heavy in his hands and he can’t ignore the temptation of it all.

Another terrible decision he’s made.

Please join us for the wedding of Alfie Lexington & Y/n Y/l/n.

Saturday, September 25, 2021 at 3:00 PM.

Dartmouth House. Mayfair, London.

The downpour feels like a drizzle compared to the cries Harry lets out as he reads the wedding invitation, his worst nightmare playing out right before his very eyes and if he wasn’t already so fucked up, he’d try his best to ignore it.

Y/n played her move. She wants him to strike back. She wants to win and watch him lose more than he already has. That’s all she has left of him.

His lips tremble as he sniffles, the invitation shaking between his palms as he lets reality sink in.

Y/n is getting married.

Y/n is happy.

Y/n is going to spend the rest of her life with somebody other than him — somebody that was once his friend.

It's unfathomable to him. The connection him and Y/n shared was unlike any other. They were drawn to each other instantaneously, their feelings of infatuation never once dying down because it was simply incapable of doing so.

They put each other first. They made each other better people, helped each other grow through all the droughts and winter days, and continuously found ways to become closer to one another. They were so comfortable and confident in their company, and so every day they spent together within those four years had never been anything less than pure happiness.

They were meant to be. He didn’t see it then, but he sees it now, and now that’s all he sees because everything he sees is her.

To know that it’s no longer the same for her kills him from the inside out, because now she really doesn’t belong to him.

He lets out a sound that can only resemble what would be a whine and a groan made together, sobbing as he flips the invitation around, only to find another saved date he just doesn’t have the heart to see — an engagement party for all the invited to join.

He’s so overwhelmed with devastation that his brain becomes fogged, his body disassociating from itself as he rips the invitation apart, growling and screaming and wailing as he just keeps ripping it and ripping it and ripping it.

He’s destroying it in the same way it destroyed him until he gives up, slamming his fists down upon the counter, losing control of himself beneath all his pain and regrets. This wasn’t how any of this was supposed to happen. This isn’t what was supposed to come from this life.

He’s barely surviving as it is.

And he just needs to see her again.

But he doesn’t know how he’d react once he does. Whether he’d want to kiss her, to hate her, to love her all over again, he doesn’t know. His entire world is collapsing and he doesn’t know how to save it from falling apart. He can’t take any more risks when it comes to her.

But what is love without fear and danger? What would it say about him if he were to walk away from this now instead of trying just once more with her?

So with a heavy heart and a sobbing chest, he doesn’t take his chances.

And Y/n simply just couldn’t believe the sight in front of her.

Harry is standing at her doorstep, soaked head to toe, shaking in his bones. His lips are a light shade of blue and his eyes an alarming shade of red, somehow wetter than the rest of him. And as the thunder rumbles beneath her feet and nearly sends her to her knees, it goes to show her that he really is here, standing at her doorstep, and it’s not just a dream.

And she must have been struck by the shock of his presence because her tongue is suddenly tied, her throat dry, her lips fallen open yet forgetting how to breathe.

She just looks at him, soaking him all in, trying to understand what exactly led him back to the biggest mistake of his life.

“Harry?”

“So that was your way of getting back at me?! After three fucking years?!”

Her mouth falls open in disbelief, her eyebrows furrowing in defense. How he could possibly accuse her of something she didn’t even do — considering she hadn’t made any attempts to reach out to him since the moment she left Malibu — makes her feel even more betrayed than before.

He should know her better than this. He should know her from the inside out at this point, but she supposed three years really is a long time, because she’s never seen this side of Harry before. He seems so different to her now.

“Don’t you dare come to my home and try to make an ass out of me! Since when have I ever been the kind of person to get back at somebody?!”

Harry stutters for a moment, his anger and jealousy and hurt blinding him from the truth that Y/n never goes out of her way to get even. Her heart is too big, but he can’t shake this feeling that the person who sent him the invitation was out to do him harm.

And nobody had more of a reason to hurt him than Y/n.

“So the wedding invitation, then? You had nothing to do with that?”

He speaks it condescending, as if he didn’t believe a word she said, but that’s not what it comes down to. It comes down to the fact that she has moved on and found herself somebody so much better than him, and he has no one.

She shakes her head as if to gather her thoughts, confused about how he even found out about the wedding considering Harry quit the firm just hours after he left Malibu, leaving him with no contact to anybody that had any string tied back to her.

“Of course I had something to do with the wedding invitations! I’m the one getting married!”

She pauses then, her cold demeanor dropping into something Harry wants to say resembles a hint of relief, but it’s much more cross than that, much more serious, and he doesn’t expect what’s coming next.

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Me getting married?” She speaks it through a small, bitter laugh. “I should have known the only way you’d fight for me was by being with somebody else. You never could stand being second to me, as ironic as that is.”

“I could give two shits about you getting married.” He lies through clenched teeth, his stomach sick at the mere thought of it. “But I do have an issue with you inviting me to your wedding after walking out on me.”

Her head snaps back up to him.

“Wait, Harry, what are you talking about?” She frowns, trying to make sense of it. “I didn’t invite you to the wedding.”

Why would she?

They are no longer friends, no longer much of anything, so for her to take time out of her day to sabotage anything but herself wouldn’t feel right to her. Besides, it was her decision to never speak to Harry again, she wouldn’t ever take her word back.

Harry frowns then, too, because she isn’t faking her emotions. She’d always been terrible at doing so, and the way her eyes scream and beg for answers can’t go ignored. He, again, feels like the absolute worst person in the world.

“Then who did?” He whispers.

There’s only one possible answer.

Seven months ago.

Alfie insisted that he and Y/n had a New Year’s Eve party. They’d never had one before, as Y/n much preferred staying in with a bottle of champagne and celebrating with a lobster dinner and late night reruns of The Honeymooners.

But Alfie was persistent. Very persistent. Too persistent. So persistent she had no choice but to give in, and she just didn’t understand why.

She didn’t understand it as days passed and all Alfie talked about was the stupid party. She didn’t understand it when he rented out one of the most expensive venues. She didn’t understand it when he laid awake the entire night before, too anxious to fall asleep. She didn’t understand it when he asked her to wear his favorite dress.

She wished that she did the moment it happened.

The clock was ticking.

“Five!”

Alfie reached for Y/n’s hand.

“Four!”

Y/n noticed something shift in the air.

“Three!”

Alfie reached his other hand into his pocket.

“Two!”

Y/n knew what was coming.

“One!”

Alfie dropped to one knee.

“Happy new year!”

It was every girl’s dream — the fireworks, the balcony, the view, the prince charming that would whisk her away to spend the rest of eternity together — yet it couldn’t have felt any more like a nightmare.

It wasn’t what she wanted. Not then, not ever before, not once during the span of their relationship, and time seemed to have stopped moving forward.

There she was, in the center of the universe as everybody stopped and stared, gasping and gushing at the sight of a man on his knees for a woman. An act of vulnerability, of love, of submission, yet it didn’t feel like any of those things.

It all felt so wrong.

She began to cry.

To everyone else, it seemed as though she was crying from happiness. Her devoted boyfriend of two years finally asked for her hand in marriage, to be the mother of his children, to spend the rest of their lives tied together by a vow, unable to be broken. So it was no surprise when everybody let out an awe of endearment, nobody (not even Alfie) knowing her well enough to distinguish the difference between her happiest and saddest cries.

Harry would have known.

And that was all it seemed to come back to in that very moment in time.

Harry.

What she would have given to feel his hands on her waist, blocking her body from view with his, taking her away from all the unwanted eyes on her fragile body. He would have done it in a heartbeat because he always did — he always found a way to help her escape her horrifying realities, even the sweetest of ones.

What she would have given for it to be him kneeling in front of her… this all would have been so different.

Her lover of two years was promising her a future, yet all she could think about was somebody stuck in her past, yet so heavily prevalent in her present.

But she couldn’t say no. How could she when everybody expected the answer he was looking for, ready to toast to the bride and groom? How could she when phones captured the beginning of the rest of their lives, ready to share for all to see?

But she couldn’t say yes, either.

She settled for a nod of her head.

The crowd cheered, some clapping, others clinking their glasses, lovers kissing. She only caught a glimpse of those celebratory moments before everything around her drowned in her tears, voices of congratulations so distant beneath her heavy, hyperventilated breaths.

Alfie embraced her, then, and she felt his laughs of euphoria rumbling in his chest as hers met his, and she couldn’t even pretend.

She rested her chin on his shoulder, her expression void of everything that she should have been feeling. And her eyes went blank as they caught a reflection of her through the balcony windows — the last time she ever saw herself for what she truly was.

That same day.

Y/n was a mess waiting for Alfie to get home.

Seeing Harry again filled her with so many different emotions, she didn’t know which one to start with. She wanted to cry, wanted to scream, wanted to destroy everything and everybody that dared get in her way, she wanted to disappear. Yet she had done none of it. All she could manage to do was pace around her bedroom, biting at her nails and getting lost in her scrambled thoughts, her mind and body moving at a million miles an hour, unable to be tamed.

This is precisely the reason Y/n never wanted to see him again.

He does things to her, he always has. She hardly has any control over herself whenever it comes to him and she fucking hates it. No matter how sad, how mad, how hurt or how upset, there was something about his presence that made her see past all of that. It saddens her how much she used to love it.

But her moods swing at her relentlessly, the sadness turning to anger because yes, she is angry. She’s angry that he still has this much of a hold on her, especially after everything he’s done, and she’s even more angry that he hasn’t yet apologized for it.

Because it was all getting better. The constant wondering about what he’s doing or who he’s with and the continuous string of thought always leading back to him was all finally falling into its place. She was finally finding her place.

And then her fiancè did this.

When she hears the bedroom door open, she hardly gives Alfie any time before she starts a fight, wishing nothing more than to take it all out on him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Y/n fumes, everything tainted red with anger as she looks into his eyes and feels nothing but hurt and betrayal. “Inviting Harry to our wedding behind my back?! Do you not remember what he did to me?! Do you not realize what you just did?!”

He frowns, not sarcastic or menacing, but he genuinely seems upset that she’d ever even ask him such a question.

“Y/n…” Alfie sighs, and she suddenly hates the way he’s always managed to remain calm in the most heated of arguments. She wants to start a war with it, to go for the kill, to make him crawl and beg and bleed for her forgiveness. “Of course I remember what he did to you, which is exactly why I did it.”

Her hands turn to fists.

“Are you kidding me?!”

“I wanted to hurt him for hurting you! God damn it, Y/n… after finding out what he did to you all I could think about was ripping him to pieces and that urge never left me, especially after we got together.”

He slumps himself down at the foot of the bed, loosening the tie around his neck, almost too aggressively. And if she wasn’t so out of her mind enraged, she would try her hardest to understand his side.

But there is no excuse for this. There’s no excuse for any of it.

“So now you use our marriage as a way to get back at him?!”

Y/n may not love Alfie the right way, but she had never stooped so low to treat her marriage like a weapon, ready to strike at any moment in time. It wasn’t something she used to inflict pain onto anybody else but herself, no matter how hard it had gotten.

And though she once believed their engagement meant more to him than it ever meant to her, she can’t help but feel as if that’s just another lie she’d been forced to live with.

He went behind her back deliberately to hurt somebody even she never intended on hurting. He knew what was to come of this and yet here he is, letting it all happen for satisfaction’s sake.

It feels like all she will ever be is used.

“Is that what this is to you?! A point on your scoreboard?! A big ‘fuck you, i won!’?”

“Isn’t that what this is for you?”

“Don’t you dare turn this into my problem.” She spits through clenched teeth, punching at the dresser beside her with the side of her fist, face burning with fury. “I’m not the one sending him our wedding invitations!”

“And I’m not the one staying up past midnight scrolling through pictures of him on my phone!”

Her mouth shuts then, her hard and pressed features softening at the unexpected turn of the conversation.

She had been looking at pictures of Harry almost every night since Malibu, she just never expected to get caught. She could physically feel Alfie fall asleep against her, so she always waited thirty minutes before she took her phone out, looking back at everything that once was.

It was the only thing she ever truly wanted.

It’s what she kept going back to — a habit that came as naturally as telling her best friend about her day, about her perspectives on the world, about the lack of guidance in her life — like a phone call at the end of the day as a way to unwind.

She had make believe conversations with him as she scrolled endlessly through her favorite photo album, the thickness of his accent engrained in her mind as she thought of everything he’d say to her if he were still around. And if that wasn’t enough, she’d live vicariously through the memories they made together and replay those moments all night, until they lulled her to sleep.

“I told you from day one that —”

“That you’re never going to let him go, I know. I know that he was the love of your life at one point but this is just pathetic now, Y/n. Absolutely nothing short of pathetic.” She frowns, his choice of words making her heart sink because he knows exactly how to do it. And he sighs, rubbing his hands up and down his face as if he were in agony. “I didn’t know this was the kind of shit I was signing up for.”

Her eyes brim with tears but don’t offer anything more, only upset that he couldn’t find a way to understand her when she’s trying so hard. But he never has and he never will — not in the way she needs him to and not in the way that could ever make this work.

“I’m not sorry for what I did.” She confesses sadly, her bottom lip between her teeth and fingers picking the skin around her nails as she tries, yet again, to make him see. “He was my best friend before he was anything else to me. There was a time in my life where he was all I had.”

And though her heart is still with Harry in every aspect of every way, it’s true. He was her best friend and that’s what she misses the most. There was so much to him that meant so much to her and none of it could ever be replaced, not even by Alfie.

“You know I love you but you also know I'm not the same woman you fell for in Malibu. I’m my worst self when I don't have him around and your favorite parts of me don’t exist without him. Don’t pretend like you don’t see that.”

His hands twitch against his lap, his shoulders slumping because it’s true. The most lively and brightest parts of herself had died the first step she’d taken away from him that night. Sure, she’s still the most resilient and beautiful woman Alfie had ever known, but she’s never been the same since then.

She’s still in love with him and there’s nothing for him to do about it. He didn’t see it until he saw the way she sulked over Harry that night, all those years later, with a diamond ring on her finger that just seemed to weigh her down even more.

None of this means anything to her.

“It’s been three years, Y/n. Just find yourself a new best friend and move the fuck on already. I’m getting sick and tired of this.”

What he doesn’t understand is that she is, too.

Two weeks later.

Y/n shouldn’t be this alone at her own engagement party, but it’s the impossible things that always manage to find their way to her.

The party consisted mostly of Alfie’s friends, considering Y/n is much more of an introvert than he is and the small number of friends she does have seemed to have disappeared within the sea of unfamiliar faces. She felt lost for a moment, but when she finally found her fiancè, he had been too invested in his own friends to spare her a single one of his glances, and it soon became disheartening to wait for him to acknowledge her when the thought of her never once crossed his mind.

So she ends up on the steps of their back porch, sipping on a glass of champagne, overlooking the garden, breathing in the silence.

She closes her eyes and succumbs herself to the summer breeze, wondering what she has to do to find a single glimmer of happiness. Her life is just so sad, a labyrinth of betrayal and hurt and heartbreak she can’t ever escape.

Darkness is all she sees when she thinks about her future. There is nothing for her to look forward to. Every day will come and go the same way it has been — unwanted, dreaded, wasted, another failed attempt of contentment. It all seems so hopeless to her now.

The champagne doesn’t stand a chance when it comes to a lonely Y/n, and it isn’t nearly enough to curb her mood, either as she huffs at her empty glass, wishing she had taken another.

She sets it down next to her, placing both her elbows on her knees, getting lost in her world of sorrow, long forgotten by her lover.

Harry is the first one to find her.

He had parked his car across the street from her shared home with Alfie, and even from his distance he knew Y/n wouldn’t be inside. He knows her too well to know she wouldn’t find her place in crowded rooms where the attention is all on her, even if it was all in the comfort of her own home.

And the fact that Alfie didn’t know her senses of belonging well enough to accommodate them made him seeth. She is an independent, a lone wolf, a woman who moves solely in her own way and anybody who’s ever loved her knows that above all else.

He doesn’t care for her.

And he doesn’t need to go looking for her because he can feel her, as if the universe somehow bent its laws of gravity and pushed him straight to her back porch steps, where he finds her all alone.

She nearly jumps out of her skin when she feels a hand fall softly on her shoulder, but immediately sinks into comfort when she sees that it’s Harry moving to sit beside her, his hand refusing to pull away.

Finally, she has a friend.

“Hey.” She says softly, one of the corners of her lips turning slightly upward at his unexpected visit. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

He smiles briefly at her before he overlooks the garden, his fingers squeezing at her shoulder before resting his palms over his lap. And there’s something about being next to her again that makes everything around him fall back into place. This is where he’s meant to be.

“Honestly, neither did I, all things considered.” They both let out a chuckle, the atmosphere between them so horrifically sad yet so incredibly right. “But I just really felt like I had to be here for you tonight.”

Despite the years that had passed and everything that drove them apart, Y/n remains who he loves most in this world. His connection to her never died, so the sudden gusts of off and disturbing feelings Harry used to get whenever Y/n was troubled had never left him. He felt it all just as strongly — her anxieties, her fears, her tears and everything in between. And he’s glad that part of them never died because the look in her eye tells him everything he needs to know.

She’s absolutely miserable.

She sighs, the corners of her lips falling as she stares at her engagement ring, her thumb and pinky twisting it around her ring finger, itchy and heavy no matter which way it's worn.

“Me and Alfie aren’t doing so well.”

She didn’t have to say it because he can already see how treacherous they are together, but that doesn’t make it any easier for him to hear.

He lost his right to be selfish with her in Malibu, and though he does gain a sense of happiness knowing he may have a chance with her again, it’s significantly outweighed by her sadness. Nothing had ever pained him more than that.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

She shakes her head, her fingers reaching up to tuck fallen pieces of hair behind her ear.

“Don’t be. I don’t really know why he decided to do this, anyways.”

Harry’s lips fall.

“Marry you?”

Y/n’s leg begins to shake, her greatest and most absentminded nervous habit. And Harry had always been quick to place his hand over her thigh and rub at the surface, meeting her eye halfway and taking a deep breath in, to which she would always follow. He hesitates to do so tonight, but settles for it anyway.

She looks appreciative beneath it all.

She’d forgotten about Harry’s subtle favors over the past three years, so to feel it all again when she has been so low and neglected feels like a blessing to her. It feels like somebody finally cares for her, and that’s all she had been wanting all along.

Harry, she feels, is the only one who ever truly has.

“We just never talked about it. It was this big, ginormous, unavoidable, life changing question thrown at me with no warning at all.” Her forehead falls to her palms, as if humiliated by the memory. “In front of everybody.”

Harry’s heart crumbles from within him because nothing Alfie has given her has been anything she’s wanted, and that’s not what she deserves.

He remembers it so distinctively now — the way she poured her heart out to him just a few months before Malibu. It was the third Valentine’s Day they’d spent together and Y/n got so drunk, she spent nearly the entire night venting to him about everything she’d feared when it came to her future relationships.

With her head on his shoulder and her leg slung over his hips, Y/n’s thoughts were so destructive, she couldn’t bear to entertain them any longer, so she decided to let it all out.

“And what if my boyfriend proposes to me in a room full of people? I’d drown in sensory overload. And what if I want to say no? Or maybe? Or yes, just not right now? With all those people looking at me? I think I would pass away.”

Harry looked down at her in subtle curiosity, his fingers playing with her hair in the way they always liked. She was the only thing in his sight that wasn’t spinning out of his control.

“So how do you want to be proposed to?”

She hummed, as if contemplating her answer. But she knew. She already knew.

“In bed, probably. It’s so intimate and private there. So non-traditional. You’re the most done down at your first hour and something about someone wanting you at your worst, forever, is so poetic.”

She looked up at him with doe eyes merely seconds after.

“Will you make sure he does that for me, please? Promise me you’ll try.”

He smiled the best he could at her, pressing his lips down to her forehead. They lingered there for a moment, and Y/n’s breath was taken away.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

What makes the memory even worse was how much he really did love her and how blinded he was to it. He kissed her. He held her. He played with her hair. He slept beside her that night. He kissed her again goodnight. He brought her breakfast in bed the next morning. He did it all over again.

It couldn’t have been any more obvious.

But there’s something about the way she hasn’t expressed any of those concerns with Alfie that doesn’t sit right with him. It just doesn’t make any sense to him.

“Been with him for how long now, two years? And you really didn’t expect him to propose to you? Have you met you?”

She sulks herself deeper into her knees.

“I don’t know. I guess — I guess I just never really thought about it.”

Never thought about it?

“But you’ve always wanted to get married.” He says it more like a question than a statement, genuine concern and confusion in his tone of voice as his eyebrows furrow, trying to comprehend it.

She looks up at him with a void, empty expression.

“Yeah, but never to him.”

Her eyes linger on Harry’s for just a beat longer — just long enough to catch a glimpse of the way his lips fall and the way his face drains of color — before she blinks away from him, turning her gaze back toward the garden. The flowers have never looked so lifeless.

“Y/n… if I had known how you felt, I —”

“It wouldn’t have mattered.” Y/n shakes her head, looking back down at her trembling hands, tears now burning in her eyes as the sudden sadness of the conversation starts to weigh down on her. “You had four years to feel the same for me and you never did. My feelings would have done nothing to yours.”

“And I never did?” Harry asks incredulously, his voice low and faltered behind the heaviness of her words. “Is that really what you’ve been living with the past three years?”

Loose tears begin to fall down her cheeks because yes, she has been living with his unrequited love for six years and no, it’s never gotten any easier. It’s pathetic and ridiculous and the most unexplainable form of grief she’d ever carried, but it’s the most devastating kind. “How could I think any differently?”

“Because it was real, Y/n. Fuck.” He lets out a strangled, dry chuckle upon his words as he runs his shaking fingers through his hair. He’s nervous, absolutely terrified because if he fails to show her how deeply he feels for her now, he may never get the chance to again, and losing her is no longer an option for him. Not when she’s so close. “Because you know me better than anybody else and you know I wasn’t faking it with you. How could I have been? You would have seen right through me and you know it. You always do.”

Perhaps the love blinded her. Perhaps her heart was so invested it deceived her to see only the things she wanted as a subconscious form of self-preservation. It’s not an impossible possibility, and it’s certainly one she believed in throughout all this time, but a part of her can’t help but find a hint of truth stuck somewhere between his words.

The kissing, the touching, the tasting, the laughing and the loving did feel real to her. It felt real when she saw the way he smiled after every one of their kisses, and the way he reached for her when it was just to two of them, like he couldn’t get enough, and the way he moaned against her, and the way he told her he loved her, like he meant it.

She knows all of his movements and all of his habits — knows all the signs of his stress, his sadness, his tension, his ease. She knows the emotions he wears and the ones he doesn’t, notices everything he does and doesn’t do, and never once did anything he did with her seem anything less than genuine.

She hates that it’s taken her so long to see that, but it doesn’t fix all that he had broken now that she does. She wishes that it could, this life would be so much easier for her to live.

“You really hurt me.” Her voice quivers, low and quiet as she speaks her truth, and it breaks his heart all over again. Never has he heard her sound so sad in his life, and it’s all because of him.

“You think I don’t know that? I hate myself for everything I put you through because you didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

He pauses, waiting for her to say anything else, but it doesn’t come. All there is for her to offer are her silent cries and waterfall eyes.

“That night with Lydia… nothing happened. She caught me off guard and I panicked because how could I not? She was giving me everything I thought I wanted yet all I could think about was how I wanted it to be you.” Y/n’s breath falters then, a knot forming in her chest as she revisits the sight of that horrific night. “I tried so hard to talk it out with her, but she wouldn’t let it go. She kept persisting and persisting and she didn’t give me the chance to explain myself before you walked in on us.”

She didn’t truly know what happened between him and Lydia, but she had her ideas. Whether they kissed, touched, confessed their love or crossed bases, the truth would have only made it worse for herself. Ignorance was bliss when it came to them.

But she didn’t think nothing happened, either, especially when the first words that Y/n heard Lydia say to him that night was I love you, too.

Too.

Like he said it first.

She really hopes he didn’t, but she’s so afraid of his answer that she doesn’t ask.

But she doesn’t say anything else, either, because there’s so much more she needs to hear from him but she doesn’t know where to start. She doesn’t know what to do, yet she wants to know everything.

“You were all I ever wanted and I’m so sorry for the way I had to find that out. I’m so sorry that I had to hurt you to realize how ridiculously in love I am with you.”

And how ridiculous it’s gotten.

“It haunts me. It follows me everywhere I go. Every morning, I think about the way you slept beside me in Malibu and how perfect you looked before you even had the chance to wake. I still reach for you even when I know you’re not there just so I can say I tried. Every time I walk the street, I somehow convince myself that I see you walk past me and I always turn back just in case I missed you. Then I spend the rest of my day wondering where you are and how much happier I’d be if you were with me.”

And it’s all so true.

She is around him at all times. Her spirit lingers in the air he breathes, her shadow alive in every ray of sun that touches his skin, unable to be soaked away. The ghost of her is everywhere he is, always, and it pained him just as much as it comforted him.

“I come across all these women and go on all these dates in hopes to find someone that makes me feel half the things you do, just to go home hours later and watch all the stupid videos and photos I’ve taken of you throughout the years because it’s you that my heart is after. Nobody else.”

She melts into herself at his confession.

To know it wasn’t one-sided — the longing, the missing, the wanting so bad that he couldn’t help but look back at all their memories together. Whether he was beside those women or not, she had done the very same thing, and it’s almost as if those hidden moments of desperation were a silent call to one another.

He reaches his hand to her thigh again, his skin warming her to her bitter core, setting a fire in her that had burnt out many years ago. And she doesn’t stop staring at it.

“I love you, Y/n. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything else in this world. I love you so much that it drove me crazy to think about you spending the rest of your life with somebody else because I couldn’t imagine spending the rest of mine without you. But that’s my heartbreak to live with, not yours.”

But it is. It is because he’s the only one she’s ever wanted and living her life with someone else was once unimaginable. It still is. Even through her relationship with Alfie and everything they’ve built together, it wasn’t ever the same.

And it’s not a matter of her not loving him, because she does, just not in the way she loves Harry. He is a high she constantly fiends for, an intoxication that keeps her wild and free, an addiction like no other. Being without him makes her feel sober — in a constant state of withdrawal, falling down deeper into her urges, dependent solely on her relapses — and Alfie is just the mild distraction.

All of this is her heartbreak.

His fingertips rub softly at her leg.

“You’re the best person I’ve ever known. I don't know how I’m ever going to find a way to move on from you, and I don’t know if I ever will, but at least I had the chance to tell you everything you deserved to know. I didn’t think I’d ever have it.”

She still doesn’t answer him, but he didn’t expect anything more.

He wishes he could stay with her for just a bit longer, but he doesn’t want to overstay his welcome (if he could even call it that). And he starts to cry as he thinks about leaving her alone again.

She’s forever going to be his hardest loss.

“I have so much more I want to say to you, but this is your night with Alfie. I don’t want to be the one to hold you back from it.”

He squeezes the top of her thigh, dreading the let go. This may be the last time he sees her or speaks to her for a while, and that in itself is enough to make this so much harder on him.

“I’ll miss you everyday.”

He can’t even look at her as he says it.

His eyes are flooded with sadness as he stands from where he sat beside her, shaking fingers wiping at his tears, his heart the emptiest it’s ever been yet his chest heavier than ever before.

It suddenly dawns on her that she never wants to see him walk away from her again. She doesn’t want to go another dreaded day without him beside her, or go the rest of the night thinking of everything she could have said, but didn’t.

She wants him. She loves him. And she doesn’t want him to go.

“Wait.” She grabs his hand in both of hers before he can make it too far, her eyes wet but the brightest he’d ever seen them. “The party doesn’t end for a while and — and Alfie hasn’t come looking for me since it started, so…” She hesitates, his hands still in hers, and everything is right in the world again. “Do you want to take a walk with me? It doesn’t matter where just, please stay here with me?”

And how could Harry ever say no to her?

He lifts her up from where she sits, the first real and genuine smile he’s seen out of her since they’ve reunited spreading on her lips, and he wouldn’t trade this for the world.

They stray further than expected, catching up on everything they’ve missed throughout the years. It all feels so easy and so right, as if time had hardly passed between them, yet they’ve never felt more apart. Never once did they expect to live in each other’s world through late night storytelling and clandestine getaways.

They laugh. They cry. They reminisce. And they don’t let go of each other’s hand the whole night through.

Y/n returns to the back porch a couple hours later, grabbing the finished champagne glass she’d left on the top step to seem as inconspicuous as possible. Not that she necessarily has to, she doesn’t feel as though she’s done anything wrong, she just couldn’t imagine what would come from this if Alfie was to find out.

She slides the back door shut quietly behind her, the remaining guests only giving her a small smile of acknowledgement, none at all suspicious. Some offer her hugs and mingle with her, congratulating her as if it were their first time doing so, telling her how perfect of a marriage she and Alfie are going to have.

If only they knew.

But it isn’t until the last of the lingering guests make it out the door that Y/n and Alfie are left alone — the most dangerous place for them to be. And neither of them speak a word to each other, just meeting eyes for a brief moment in time, as if avoiding everything else that came with the night.

The air is heavy, the chill brutal, but it’s what Y/n is so used to. This is her normalcy.

“I’m glad you had fun tonight.” Y/n says plainly, gathering all the littered champagne and wine glasses floating around the kitchen.

In any other circumstance, she would have stood her ground much more strongly, but the bitterness inside her subsided to something much sweeter after her time with Harry. The weight of the world is gone, it seems, the moon and sun and stars aligned perfectly in her universe. She is weightless, floating, her spirit dancing along the edges of her own personal heaven.

The silence Alfie responds with doesn’t strike a nerve like it usually would. It rather goes unnoticed, only furthering her into her illicit dreamland.

Harry’s touch lingers on her skin and she can feel it all the same even though he’s gone. A shiver runs down her spine as she thinks back to the way his lips pressed against her cheek before parting ways, muttering the quietest goodnight, lovie against her skin, leaving her breathless.

She is endlessly hypnotized by him, forever under his spell, as if his lips were made of magic.

And Alfie’s heart sinks when he sees the look on her face. It’s been years since he’s seen it, yet it’s all so familiar once he does. It’s the same look he fell in love with when he first met her in Malibu.

It’s all so clear to him now.

“So we’re just going to pretend that you didn’t leave our engagement party with Harry?”

Y/n lifts her head to look at him properly for what seems to be the first time tonight, his question catching her off guard since she had so rightfully assumed he wasn’t concerned about her whereabouts, and Harry didn’t make his presence known to anybody but her.

But she doesn’t fight it, doesn’t deny it, doesn’t try to scrape for excuses that’ll only dig her in deeper because she doesn’t regret what she did or why she did it. She has no reason to.

“And we’re just going to pretend that you didn’t completely exclude me from our engagement party?”

Alfie’s hands slam against the kitchen counter, a bitter and sarcastic laugh falling from his lips, as if she had said something untrue. “So I don’t give you attention for two minutes and you decide to run off with some other guy?”

“Two minutes? Try two hours on a night that was supposed to be for us.” It’s her turn to slam her hands down, except hers land on her thighs. “I was sitting on our back porch all night and nobody, not even you, came looking for me.” She sits down on the island stool with burnt-out eyes and heavy shoulders, drained from the reality of their relationship, tired of trying for somebody that’s never held her heart the right way. “Harry was miles away and even he found a way to find me.”

And just like always, it all circles back to Harry.

She’s never been one to compare — verbally, at least — so there is a gloom that hovers over her after she says it, the guilt settling in her bones, but it’s the reality of their situation. An old lover held his hand out to her while Alfie refused hers, and it ended up exactly where it had always belonged.

“All you had to do was ask me to be with you.” He sighs, depleted, because it’s true. He would have been there the second she called his name. It’s the fact that she didn’t that shows him how incompatible he is with her wants.

“I shouldn’t have to.” She frowns, fingers fiddling with the skin around her nails as she contemplates what there is to say next. “Is that how this marriage is going to work? Me begging you to be there for me all the time? Because I’ve never been that kind of person. I will never be that person.”

Alfie breathes heavily in response but doesn’t know what else to do or say to get her to stay. She’s slipping right through his fingers and he can physically feel it — can feel the way she feels for another man, can see the way her eyes refuse him, as if hiding away from something.

But this isn’t about him, it can’t be because it was all going so well, so much better than ever before and nothing ever pushed her away, until Harry.

This is all him.

“You know he doesn’t love you, right?” Alfie breaks the silence, her heart along with it, because she needs to be reminded how badly he had done her wrong. She wouldn’t be turning him into the villain if she did. “He lied to you. He used you to get what he wanted. He —”

“He does love me.” She interrupts him because she doesn’t want to hear it. She doesn’t want him to talk her out of this, no matter how much she should. But it’s on the tip of her tongue, almost breaking from its resistance, and she can’t swallow it back down now. “He was there for me more than you were tonight and he’s not even the one I’m engaged to.”

Another deafening silence.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He understood her, loud and clear, but she’s speaking between the lines. There’s a part of her that’s holding back from something and he already knows what it is, he just needs to hear her say it.

So she does.

“I’m in love with him, Alfie.”

If the confession of her disloyalty wasn’t enough to tear her apart, the choked back sob she heard from Alfie undeniably did so.

She shuts her eyes, pained, unable to take it.

He doesn’t deserve this, but she’s left with no choice. She’ll only hurt him more if she stays.

So she doesn’t.

The morning after.

Harry didn’t know what was to come after he confessed his love to Y/n — whether it be a new day of a new life away from her, or the beginning of something so beautifully timeless, he had no idea.

The closure warmed him enough to lull him to sleep, to keep him deep in a dreamstate where all he envisioned was sunny days and the touch of her hand in his. He had never felt so light, so free, so liberated from the cage of guilt and unspoken truths that even if he were to never see or hear from Y/n again, it would have been okay.

He said what he needed to say, she heard what she wanted to hear and that’s all he could have done without interfering with her relationship.

But what he wakes up to is far from anything that ever crossed his mind.

Seven missed calls and five text messages. All from Y/n.

H, please tell me you’re awake. I need you.

I ended it with Alfie.

I don’t have anywhere to go and you’re the only person I want to see right now. Can you meet me at the coffee shop? I really need to talk to you.

Please wake up.

Harry sits himself up in a state of panic, his eyes jumping between the time she had messaged him last and the time it is now. And he springs himself out of bed when he realizes that he hasn’t missed out on her yet, planning to get to her as fast as he can as he throws yesterday’s outfit, not at all caring about how it makes him look.

She ended it with Alfie.

He’s the only person she wants to see right now.

She needs him.

That’s all he can process as he scurries down the street, thinking of everything he has left to tell her to try and win her heart again. He knows he’s undeserving of it, and she does too, but that doesn’t stop him from loving her the way that he does.

His life is meaningless without her, so dry and bleak and depressing he can’t live another day like it. He can’t and he won’t because he’s going to fix this. He has to fix this.

And it doesn’t take him long to find her because there she is, sitting at their usual outdoor table, a large hot tea held between her hands, her leg shaking, her eyes distant. It's such a heartbreaking sight, and he suddenly wonders if she ever sat there after their breakup, waiting for him, hoping he’d do the very same.

The thought makes his head twitch to the side and fingers twist with guilt because no, he never did. He never went back to that coffee shop since the goodbye. It would have hurt too much, it would have reminded him of everything he’d ever done wrong and he couldn’t bear to face the person he once made of himself.

That person died along with her.

She stands from her seat when she sees him walking toward her, exhausted mentally and physically enough to nearly fall from her feet in the process. But her heart is racing a million miles an hour, her stomach fluttering as he grows nearer, her senses of anything but the love she has for him disappearing to nothing, as if it were just the two of them.

And she just needs to know if it feels that way for him, too.

“Y/n —”

“Did you mean it?”

Harry hesitates then, stopping in his tracks, his head tilting at her in curiosity but his features are softer, sadder, as if the question somehow broke him down further than before.

She doesn’t need to elaborate because he already understands what she’s asking. It was his mistakes and his selfishness that led her to question all his intentions, to doubt every sentiment he’s ever given to her, to wonder what was real and what was pretend.

But he doesn’t know what to start with, he doesn’t know what she needs to hear from him to be satisfied with his answer, or know if what he doesn’t say is what breaks this relationship.

“I need you to look at me and tell me that you meant it.” Y/n demands when he fails to answer her, tears flooding yet her face pressed and hard, committed to hearing every last bit of truth he has left. “Because I gave up everything I had for just the smallest possibility that you did. And that may make me weak, that may make me pathetic, and I may hate myself for the rest of my life knowing I made that decision but I can’t help feeling the way I feel for you.”

This is his last chance.

The window of opportunity is open and he is more than willing to dive head first out of it, but he can’t get ahead of himself. One wrong move, one wrong word, one wrong anything and he will have to endure an eternity of misery without her.

So he gives her more than she demands.

He grabs her face between his two hands, gently stroking her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, his gaze set on hers so that she can see how deeply he feels for her and how desperate he is for her forgiveness.

“I meant it.” He breathes out, his lips so painfully close to hers, she can feel his breath as he talks and it makes her legs shake from beneath her. “I’m in love with you. You’re all I think about. You’re all I want.” He leans in closer, ever so slightly, just so the ghost of her lips can meet the ghost of his. “There’s never been anybody but you. Just you. Only you.”

Her breath stammers, quivering and cracking as she flutters her eyes shut at his words, unforgiving tears pouring down her cheeks. And she doesn’t know why she’s reacting this way — the love of her life is giving her everything she’s ever asked for and yet all she can manage to do is break down from everything she’d been keeping inside for so long.

He knees buckle as a particularly violent sob nearly takes her down, and if it wasn’t for Harry’s strong hold on her, she’s sure she would have collapsed to the floor.

Her tears, his shirt, his hands, her back.

This is the closest they’ve been to each other in so long, his heart nearly shatters along with hers. He missed this more than he missed anything else in this world.

“Don’t cry, baby. It’s alright. You’re alright.” Harry shushes her, his lips settling on the top of her head as he presses chaste kisses on it, his fingers combing through her unbrushed hair. “I’m with you, okay? I’m never leaving you again.”

And he holds her for a while, tying her together as she falls apart in his arms, vowing to her over and over again that this is all over. All the pain is over. Everything will be different now.

And it was.

It felt different when Y/n and Harry spent the rest of the morning sitting in their favorite coffee shop, at their favorite table, drinking their favorite lattes. It felt different when Harry reached his hand over to hold hers, this time with no ulterior motive.

It felt different when she held his hand back, and when she smiled down at where they were intertwined, as if they were an extension of each other.

And unlike the last time they were there together, he doesn’t have to let go.

#harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #IM EARLY I KNOW IM SORRY BUT I FINISHED SOONER THAN EXPECTED #WHOOP WHOOP #LOVE YALL

858 notes · View notes

kitacco · 4 years ago

Text

clouds.

pairing: fem!reader, gojo satoru.

genre: angst, smut.

summary: ignorance is a bliss.

cw: age gap, manipulation, violence, cursing.

wordcout: 2.7k.

! part two !

you and gojo met a long time ago, through mutual friends.

one of your friends was dating one of gojo’s friends. sheer coincidence, you thought.

you two would meet often, along your friends. for some reason, you and gojo happened to be intimate friends of each friend in common, so you’d often find yourself sitting by gojo’s side while the couple chatted and kissed lovingly. gojo didn’t talk to you at first, neither did you. he was older than you, much more, and you were too intimidated by his appearance. you’d rather stay in silence then talk to him and make yourself look like a fool.

but gojo wasn’t like that - at first.

that’s how the both of you started to look forward to these little getting-togethers, asking your friends for when the four of you would hang out again.

it’s actually pretty funny to think how the both of you became friends, even your friend joked about it.

one night, at your friend’s place, the two of you got a little overwhelmed with the lovey-dovey atmosphere your friends were putting up on the couch. gojo had left a few minutes before you, leaving you behind. you couldn’t take it, and decided to leave for a while too, entering the kitchen without noticing gojo sitting on the floor mindlessly. of course, his long legs and your silly feet met together, making you fall on the floor right next to him.

you hated when gojo would bring it up everytime people asked how the two of you became so close, telling them how red you looked.

your friends dated for three years, until, like every relationship, things started to get tough, until they broke up. you were devastated, but the two of them assured you that they’d get along for the safety of you and gojo’s friendship.

you didn’t mind it, gojo either. thinking the friendship would start to dissipate, the two of you continued to meet, this time just the two of you. gojo would invite you to his place, and you’d invite him to yours. like any other friendship, you guys would talk, sometimes drink, sometimes fall asleep on the couch while watching a movie, sometimes drive around, anything. you believed your friendship with gojo was pretty strong, despite the difference in age, he became really important to you, and so did you to gojo.

so then, when did things got crude?

you knew the answer, and so did gojo. but the two of you had erased the chapter long ago.

one night, you and gojo found each other in a rather large group of mutuals friends. he hadn’t told you he was coming, and neither did you. nothing was going on, the two of you had met just yesterday, but since each of your friends (at the moment exes) had invited you and gojo, you thought it’d be impossible to meet. yet there the two of you were.

gojo was bewildered when he saw you coming inside his friend’s place, your best friend by your side with a smile on her face. the two of you were quick to catch on what was happening. your friends informed you not too later, telling you the two had started talking again and were gonna try to make it work one last time.

you blamed it on the atmosphere, gojo on the alcohol. either way, the two of you locked eyes, following each other up the stairs.

the first time, the two of you agreed it was a spur of the moment. gojo hadn’t gone out in a while and neither had you, it was understandable.

the second time, the both of you thought the same thing; you were just in need of some action every once in a while.

but then, why the both of you met a third time?

“what do you think?”

you accepted his offer without hesitation. you trusted gojo, and you thought it’d be a good idea to help each other, after all, you were friends, right?

that’s how everything started.

gojo would come knocking on your door like any other day, the two of you would chat, maybe cook something, watch a movie, and then gojo would start kissing your neck, and you’d run your hands through his hair.

you thought you were so lucky. gojo was a handsome man, and you knew if he wanted, he could get in the bed of any other women he wished, yet he picked you.

maybe that’s why, through the time, your eyes started to see gojo in a different light.

you couldn’t be blamed, gojo did too. he was gentle, loving, making sure you had a good time, you almost believed he was starting to feel the way you did.

until gojo finally looked into your eyes.

he ignored it, since, there was no way you felt that way about him, right? it was the unwritten rules in this game the two of you were playing. it’s been years, why’d you see him like that at this point?

gojo ignored as much as he could everytime he rocked his hips into you, but in no time, it was impossible to avoid your eyes, watching him lovingly as your tongue dangled out of your mouth in pleasure.

the most smart decision probably would’ve been talking about it. it was simple, gojo just had to tell you he didn’t feel the same way, you were a special friend to him, but he didn’t see you in such eyes.

but gojo started to bottle those thoughts up. he’s met many women in his life, and he didn’t want things to end like that with you, he didn’t want to lose you too.

that’s what he told himself - even though, what gojo didn’t notice, was that instead of your company, he started to enjoy more your body.

gojo had a good time with you, you were sweet, you would take anything he offered you. everything gojo wanted to try you accepted it with puppy eyes, eyes that started to unsettle gojo.

because, who in their right mind would allow be touched under the table with all your friends around?

and who would allow a man like him call you names and slam you against a wall the second he entered your house?

you did, and gojo started to dislike it.

you were so naive, so utterly in love with gojo, and enamored at the idea of him loving you the way you dreamed he would, you started to accept more and more.

gojo would fuck you with your head hanging out the side of the bed, your body swinging and the blood rushing to your head, disrupting the pleasure you concentrated on feeling, because you should be enjoying whatever gojo did with your body.

you knew you didn’t, though. you knew you hated when gojo would ask you to suck him on the bathroom while your friends chatted outside, and you hated when he fucked you in a public bathroom in the middle of your friends wedding. but how could you complain? gojo loved you.

you should’ve stopped him the moment you stopped feeling the high he did. the moment the pleasure he was feeling didn’t reach you, but you didn’t. not because you thought gojo loved you, but because you loved him.

you brought it up one time, as gojo stripped you of your clothes, the blood rushing through your ears by the way he yanked your shirt over your head. “i think you’re being too rough.”

gojo chuckled, tilting his head as he planted a kiss on your mouth, assuring you’d eventually enjoy it.

you believed him, even the mornings after when your legs and arms were sour, and you were incapable of opening your mouth too wide. gojo would only laugh.

gojo hated it, though.

gojo hated the way you would continue to stick around like a lost puppy. he couldn’t bring himself to stop the situation, but why weren’t you stopping him?

after that comment, you never said anything else, and gojo knew you wanted to, he hoped you wanted to. because he knew you hated the things he was making you do. you weren’t that kind of person, hell, you hated that kind of attention. gojo knew the only reason you agreed to fuck without compromises the first time was because you wanted him to be happy. gojo knew that, and hated you for that.

why were you acting like a bunny? you weren’t like that. you weren’t docile like guinea pig, nervous like a deer, no, you weren’t like that. you were funny and straightforward, you never let anyone step over you, but then, why were you letting gojo step all over you like that?

gojo knew the answer at the bottom of his heart, but he, like many other things, ignored it. he wasn’t responsible for you, you were a grown adult and you could take care of yourself. if you wanted to, you’d easily get up and end everything. but why weren’t you.

things between you and gojo started to change. soon becoming a year, this dynamic continued between the two of you, yet, the connection was nonexistent. he wouldn’t call, nor text you, and the only time you two would meet was when he was feeling horny. he would come, fuck you, and leave right after finishing. at first, he’d tell you goodnight, he’d tell you to have a good day or he’d greet you before entering your place. but after a month, he would only come inside your place, fuck, and leave right after. you tried to get him to talk, trying to grab onto him everytime he finished, and gojo quickly picked on your behaviour.

you soon realized that probably the reason gojo continued to stick around you wasn’t because he considered you a friend, but because you were easy to control; you were his source of entertainment.

who would put up with gojo satoru? you laughed to yourself, would anybody allow to be treated the way gojo does to you? maybe that’s also the reason why he’s constantly knocking at your door.

once gojo noticed how much you tried to get him to stay a few minutes by your side, he decided the only way to stop you was fucking you dumb enough you’d pass out.

gojo knew you didn’t deserve to be treated like this. gojo knew he was a dickhead, taking advantage of the friendship you had built over the years. the thought of another man treating you like this was revolting. the thought of another man abusing your trust, betraying you like that, hell, he’d probably go after that guy and kill him with his bare hands if he could. yet there he was, growling onto your ear and violently pounding into you.

the fact you allowed this to happen, permitted him take you whenever and wherever, managed to hunt him. everytime he heard you panting next to his body, incapable of bringing yourself to your feet, gojo turned his back to you. and he wishes, he fervently wishes the image of your face in pain, silently begging for him to stop, could knock some sense into his head.

news flash: it doesn't.

everytime he notices your eyes close tight and your fingers fidgeting, gojo regains energy, taking in the noises coming out of your mind and reading you like an open book, only inciting this sick flame inside of home. the sick idea that if he treats you like this, you will walk out.

gojo folds your body and he knows you can’t take it, praying you will scream and push him away. you should. but then why are you putting up with this?

gojo doesn’t understand, that’s why you try to think.

but gojo knows what he’s doing is wrong. gojo damn well knows, and that hope slowly turns into loathing, because, are you stupid? can’t you take the hint?

this could be easily solved if he spoke to you. but gojo had long gotten bored of any form of communicating, he hated weak people.

gojo hated you and that sick love you felt for him.

gojo watched your friends reactions to your bruised neck. it’s not like he cared. he wished you did though. but you assured them you were alright every single team.

“your friends are fucking dumb,” he scowled in your ear while your body continued to shake, his hips yanking you forward and forward where the top of your head continously hit the headboard.

gojo started hating your friends, he would always remind you that. he hated them because everytime he grabbed your neck with all his force, they still wouldn’t budge.

how long were you gonna put up with this?

“there he is,” gojo hears coming from the door as heavy steps approach him.

he doesn’t react fast enough, and a hand lands on his cheek with such force he’s genuinely dumbfounded.

“babe!” his friend yells, watching his girlfriend take a step back, gojo’s cheek swelling at the hit.

“what is wrong with you?” she screams again, completely ignoring his friend.

gojo has a bad feeling, but he doesn’t say anything.

his friend is quick to grab onto his girlfriend, who suddenly feels like slapping gojo across the cheek again.

“you psycho! what is wrong with you?” she says again, and gojo knows what she’s talking about.

your friends had gone on their honeymoon, leaving for about two months. within those two months, gojo and you started to experience new situations. gojo would slap your face, your cheek, your mouth, every time getting a little more and more violent with you.

your friends never said anything, but he knew your best friend would.

still, he was hoping you’d try to stop her, so where were you right now?

“babe, calm down, what are you talking about?”

“well, your asshole of a friend has been doing whatever the hell he wants with my friend and i won’t let him get away with it!”

gojo’s friend is confused, but gojo doesn’t say anything, expectant of what you had probably said.

��she thinks i don’t notice but how can i ignore it? gojo’s been treating her like a bag of sand, like a lifeless doll he can do whatever the hell he wants to and i won’t let him any longer!”

“why doesn’t she come here and say it herself?”

the two other people are taken aback. gojo is wearing a contented smile, as if he was finding the situation amusing. your friend scoffs, genuinely dumbfounded.

“what?”

“if she’s having a bad time why doesn’t she tell me?”

“you dumb fuck, maybe because she loves you?”

“and what has that to do with me?”

your friend latches at his cheek one more time, but gojo traps her wrist in his fingers before she can hit him with her force. his friend comes into the argument, “i don’t think you’re being fair, gojo.”

“how is she being fair? i never force her to do anything, why are you putting the blame on me?”

gojo shrugs, walking out of the kitchen, leaving the couple completely speechless.

you jump on your seat at the banging of your door. is late in the night, still, you don’t expect gojo to be at your door, neither were you expecting him to treat you with such force.

“what’s up with you?”

his fingers wrap around your neck, completely enveloping his hand around it, with so much force your eyes are quickly seeing white dots.

“w-what do you mean?”

“if something’s happening you’re telling me, right?” he asks you, but you don’t know if he expects an answer, either way, you were unable to answer, barely fighting for the last of air in your system. “answer!”

“i can’t,” you whisper.

gojo’s cloudy vision finally clears out the moment he feels a tear run down his hand. you start sobbing, unconsciously losing air, but you’re incapable of stopping yourself. you can’t take it anymore.

gojo takes a step back and you fall to your knees, your fingers going straight to your neck as you exhale.

“we’re done,” is all he says.

“wait! wait, gojo, please wait!” you call out, running after him. gojo isn’t running, but his legs move faster than he’s ever walked, trying to disappear from your presence as fast as he can.

because he’s finally realized everything he’s done, and he finally realizes how much he genuinely loves you.

#gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk angst #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #tw. age gap #tw. manipulation #tw. cursing #tw. violence

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black-streak · 6 years ago

Text

Waiting for the Worms - Is There Anybody Out There?

Part 3

I promise this is the last horrifically depressing part in a row. Part four will lighten up a touch (though other parts will get pretty dark again)

All warnings from previous chapters should be kept in mind. I'm not going easy on us here.

Broken Hearts Club: @northernbluetongue @thethirdwheelfriend @shizukiryuu @theatreandcomicfreak @michellemagic @karategirl119 @moonlightstar64 @my-name-is-michell @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @wuvpancakes @dorkus-minimus @jardimazul @allthebooksandcrannies @g-arya @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @persephonescat @mycupisbroken @luciferge @18-fandoms-unite-08 @dawnwave16 @alwaysreblogneverpost @kris-pines04 @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @weird-pale-blonde-person @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @kokotaru @naclychilli @slytherinhquinn @clumsy-owl-4178 @ladybug-182 @darkthunder1589 @evil-elf16 @dast218 @lysslovsanime @emilytopaz @naoryllis @iloontjeboontje @thepeacetea @danielslilangel @finallyaniguana @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @vixen-uchiha @yuulxd @bleeding-heart-romantic @magic-inthe-stars @st0rmy-w1th1n

~---~

When Marinette came to, she didn't.

She couldn't open her eyes or move her hand.

She couldn't move anything.

She tried to recall the last thing before this stillness. The Joker? Yes, the Joker had been beating Jason, or rather her, in Jason's body. She remembered pain and choking and fighting for control with Jason as a steel bar repeatedly slammed into her. She remembered falling asleep with Batman's rescue in mind. She remembered warmth everywhere and then nothing.

That must be it then. She was still Jason, as she had planned and probably couldn't move due to the recovery process.

With that in mind, she slipped away.

...

When she came to again, she still didn't.

Did she fall into a coma? That would explain the inability to even twitch. To open her (his) eyes after what surely had to be long enough. Now that she thought of it, she couldn't feel anything either. Not her(his?) eyelids, or fingers, or legs, or chest. Was this what a coma felt like? Or were the doses on the medication too high? Had she messed up so severely as to be paralyzed?

Fear and anxiety pricked at the edge of her mind, but she pushed it down. She needed more rest. Just to rest a while longer and it would all be fine. She'd wake up from this coma and recover and swap back to her original body, leaving Jason his healthy one. And so she slipped once more.

…

How long has she been out? Why won't she wake up? Nothing made sense anymore.

Her(...his?) body still remained unresponsive and unfeeling. The nerves were disconnected from her conscious and all was still.

She had read once that coma patients could hear things still. She heard nothing. That they could feel some things, even a brush through their hair. She felt nothing. That they could taste and smell the antiseptic in the air. She wasn't breathing.

She wasn't breathing and this body she was connected to but not had no pulse.

If there was a mental equivalent to hyperventilating, this would be it. Either way, as her distress rose, she found herself drifting back into the unknown.

…

Marinette was dead. Or at least Jason's old body that she was stuck in was. Of that, she was sure.

She couldn't help but wonder how long her spirit could live inside a hollowed out corpse. She hoped it wasn't forever. How long had it been, anyways?

Hours? Days? Weeks? More?

She couldn't say.

Maybe she should just disappear again. Was the place of drifting the afterlife? Who knew. She didn't.

…

She wanted to scream, to sob, to break down into a mess of tears and snot and gasping half breaths and she couldn't and it wasn't fair!

Jason didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve this. No one should be made to suffer like this. This endless loop of depression and loneliness and inability to express anything.

She thought she had her emotions on lock before death came for her and yet nothing would ever compare to this deep seeded, absolute need to force everything out, to express her every despair put into the open and be so utterly helpless and incapable to do so.

She wanted to rip at her own skin, to claw at her eyes, to tear into herself physically in any way she could, if just to feel again. Feel anything at all, even if it was the pain of that god forsaken crowbar in her throat again or the engulfing burn of the explosion after the fact. She'd take all the pain in the world if it meant she could feel again. Even for just a second.

Please?

Anything?

No?

Okay...

…

Was This the afterlife? When you died, did you just lay completely devoid of movement, spirit restless for the rest of time?

Maybe this was it for her. Maybe she would just stay here forever to ponder the life she lost. Forever waiting for the next slip into oblivion only to come to and stay here in this contemplative silence again. If so, she hoped Jason never died in her body. Became immortal and avoided this endless torture.

The thought hit her that she died in another's body and that the universe may lash out at her for her defiance. Jason remained living while against fate's wishes and she was to blame. So it crafted her a personal hell in the form of her soulmate's old form. The one she clung to so desperately moments before their demise.

If she was awake and alert in his dead body, what did that mean for the technically dead boy stuck in her living body? Did she condemn them both in her stubbornness?

She set her mind to determining all the possible outcomes of that possibility. She had plenty of time anyways.

…

Their funeral must have been nice. Adoptive son of billionaire, Bruce Wayne. She imagines it to be a grand affair. Everyone who's anyone, paying their respects to Bruce's kid.

Or maybe just a quiet morning; Alfred, Bruce, maybe Richard if he felt bad enough, all gathered around a grave in the family plot. Mourning together. Would the service be open or closed casket? Probably closed to hide the truth of what killed them.

Surely as Batman, Bruce had told the JL of his departure. Perhaps the heroes had given their condolences or shown up on their own to say goodbye to one of their own. Considering the encounters Jason and her had with them in the past, she doubted it, but it was a nice thought.

She imagines their coffin is beautiful. A gorgeous mahogany or cherry wood. Gold clasps and locks, the inner lining velvety soft and plush to cradle the body. She almost wants to feel the texture below their fingertips, but sends thanks to the mercy of not feeling the confinement of the enclosed space instead.

…

She was alive! She could breathe and move, if barely, but that was okay, because she's alive. Everything would be fine even if it wasn't good because she could escape this damnable hell and leave this grave finally.

She would hunt down Jason and throw her arms around him and never let go. She'd never tell him about her time down here, it didn't matter. All he needed to know was that she was alive and okay and so was he and everything would be better now. She promised, she just needed to get out of here first.

If she could sob in relief she would, because by some miracle she was alive.

…

She wasn't. She was delusional and dead.

...

Counting to a thousand doesn't take nearly as long as you think. Neither does counting down. Luckily she fades again before she can start a third time.

…

She's still sort of alive in here in her own way. And that was her living body out there. If she really tried, could she switch them back? Could she go back to living and return his dead body to him? Would he be delivered to a better afterlife once she appeased the universe?

No. No! What was wrong with her? She died for him for a reason. He deserved a better life. He had been through so damn much and deserved the reprieve away from Gotham. And no matter what, she would never choose to let him die. She would suffer in here for a millenia if it meant he was safe and happy. Even if it was without her. She felt betrayed by her own mind's musings.

That wasn't necessarily a new feeling.

…

She'd never see her parents again. Never hug them, never take in the warmth and strong scent of yeast and chocolate from her father and honeyed herbs from her mother.

Never wake up to Tikki snuggled into the pillow beside her, encouraging smiles and guiding words always at the tip of her tongue.

Never hold Chloe through her tears or fight by her side again. Finish the dress she was making her or Juleka. Help the shyer one come into her modeling career or guide her as a new miraculous holder. Guide the team.

Never become a designer or own a pet or get married or have children.

It was more than that though. She'd never train in the Batcave again or fight by his side or sit in the library window at the manor or sit in the calming aura of Alfred. Never see the one person who could always tell when they swapped. Alfred had become a second father to her. She missed helping him cook or clean up. Missed asking for his opinion and making little inside jokes about the others.

She'd never get to meet Jason.

…

She felt different. She felt wrong and confused and unsure and-

She felt…

She felt..

She felt?

Immense pain and overwhelming stiffness, but she felt!

Now. Now just to move. Please move. Let this not be another hallucination of her mind. Please? If she could move than she was alive, right?

A hand, their hand, twitched and shuddered and eventually dragged up their side. Up to their eye, the good one if she remembers correctly. She digs at the corners until eventually it squints open a touch. Pitch black.

Okay, that's not surprising. Probably another delusion, but she might as well see it through. She pushes her hand up through the dark until she meets wood. Soft wood. Barely there and slightly bowing beneath the weight of what she assumed was the earth above her. What, did they bury her in a plywood box?

Their chest shook almost in a jittery up/down dance and air wheezed between their teeth. She didn't dare believe it was real. She lifted the other hand and pushed with both, feeling it move beneath their fingers. The one arm was still broken and hurt immensely but she pushed anyway. The pain, real or not, felt amazing. She brought a leg up to push as well.

Lowering all their limbs, she took a false breath of stale air and made her decision. Attempt to escape until she came too again, if only for the entertainment of it. At least it was something new.

She brought their legs into her chest as best she could in the surprisingly roomy coffin and kicked up with all the strength she could manage. A splinter formed under foot and sparked a manic sort of determination.

She kicked and kicked at the splinter until dirt was raining down around her in the dark space and then she kicked some more. It felt amazing on her skin: the dirt pushing down, the ache in her chest, the throbbing in her throat of splintered bone, the wood pushing down against her feet, tearing at them. And then the world collapsed down onto her.

In the wonderful pressure and choking hold of Earth, she tore at the soil, dragging herself up further and further, feeling it shift across their skin in glorious relief. Please never let this delusion end.

And then, then! Light. Blinding, all encompassing light came into view and she was on ground. Not under it, but above it, laying on it, letting the wondrous light bathe her in its heated gaze. She choked out dirt and coughed and wanted to cry out in joy but no sound would come out of their bone dry body. No tears would spring from depleted eye sockets.

Eventually sight came back in a blurry daze of nonsense until the abandoned graveyard came into view. Turning, she saw a barely there grave marker and couldn't help but think her imagination cruel.

Pushing for more, she stood on wobbly, tattered feet and walked. Out of the tiny, forgotten field and into even more abandoned streets. She wasn't sure where her mind took her, but she kept walking in what looked like an early morning sunrise. She walked for what could've been hours, the sting and ache and tearing in their body spurring her on in a strangely gleeful manner.

Eventually she stopped in front of a hospital. The sun had moved and faceless people had started appearing at a distance as time moved on in her thoughts. She liked this pain but… maybe she should seek help? Maybe her brain was searching for something to make it better. Mentally shrugging and then perking at the feel of their real shoulders following suit, she wandered into the ER.

As people suddenly swarmed her, asking questions she couldn't process and grabbing her arms to drag her onto a gurney, reality kicked in harsh and fast.

She was actually alive. Everything was real and they could see and feel her and she could feel them too! Their body was alive and here. This was real.

And as relief swept into her veins and she collapsed down into the bed they provided, she felt such amazing peace that she didn't even notice as she fell asleep and straight into a coma.

...

When sounds filtered in around her and she smelt the antiseptic and felt the tubes running through their body but still couldn't move or see. She screamed and cried and sobbed in her mind for the loss, their body horrifically failing to follow suit once again. Why couldn't this torture ever end?

#WFTW #part 3 #jasonette #maribat #ml x dc

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mychemicalficrecs · 5 years ago

Note

do you have any longer frikey fics, preferably bottom frank if theres smut

I do have some longer Frank/Mikey stuff, but no guarantee on bottom Frank!

Longer Frank/Mikey

Emotional Brilliance by kopperblaze, 21k, Mature. Toro and Mikey are a good team, Mikey doesn’t get why Brian had to hire someone else. In particular he doesn’t get why Brian had to hire Frank, who knows nothing about Lush products and who's incapable of keeping his mouth shut. Lush!AU. The one where Ray is a skin care expert, Frank is obnoxious, Mikey is annoyed and Pete leaves glittery handprints all over everything.

Gross roomies by turps, 36k, Explicit. Frank loves living with Mikey. Sure, the apartment is a mess, the kitchen's a toxic wasteland, and there's something growing in the refrigerator that's just a day or two away from becoming sentient, but other than those minor inconveniences, it's all cool. Or it is until Mikey decides to embark on a journey of sexual discovery and adventure and Frank's left at home with nothing but the fridge monster for company. To make matters worse, Mikey insists on telling Frank everything he does with his new kinky friends, right down to the tiniest detail. And now suddenly Frank is best friends with his right hand and he can't stop thinking about Mikey in ways he never has before. The really big problem, other than suddenly being in lust with his best friend, is that Frank isn't sure why.

Won't Know 'til You Begin by knight_tracer, Sena, 24k, Explicit. In which Frank is an accidental pervert, Mikey sleeps with Fabio, Gerard is much too sincere when talking about pain sluts, Ray is terrible with women and great with guitars, and Otter's got really bad taste in music. Alternately, the one where Frank realizes he has a thing for Mikey, Mikey realizes he has a thing for guys, and they're both adorably stupid failboats.

On Air by ladyfoxxx, 15k, Teen And Up Audiences. Frank's a radio DJ at an alternative station, spinning punk tracks and talking shit. When he gets handed the most popular show at the station to host, his first guests are independent horror filmmakers Gerard and Mikey Way.

Standing on a Planet that's Evolving and Revolving by Green, 13k, Explicit. The evolution of Frank Iero, age 15.

Buenas Noches From A Lonely Room by Femme (femmequixotic), 15k, Explicit. Frank wants to touch Mikey, to slide his fingers across the sharp angle of his cheek just below his glasses, to drag his thumb along the curve of his bottom lip, to smooth his palm down Mikey's long throat.

What Dreams May Come by sperrywink, 15k, Explicit. His career in music derailed, Frank never met the other guys in My Chemical Romance. A silly tale of teleportation.

a scent and a sound by mwestbelle, 15k, Explicit. In an urban fantasy world where werewolves can't hold a decent job and no roommate wants them, werewolf Frank is looking for an apartment. He finds one with Mikey Way.

Heart Wrapped in Clover by Sena, 19k, Explicit. Everbody's got their not-so-secret secrets on tour. When you live out of a van, you just can't help but notice things that you shouldn't talk about if you don't want to embarrass your friends or start a fight. Frank wishes sometimes they talked about things, though, because he's dying to ask if anybody else has noticed that sometimes, Mikey wears panties.

Tints Verse by turps, 65k, Mature. A MCR AU where Ray has his own gardening firm, and one day he does a job for the Ways.

We Used To Be Friends by ladyfoxxx, 50k, Explicit. "You and me, right Mikes?" "Yeah, fuck everybody else." Best friends since high school, if Frank could've chosen a brother, he'd pick Mikey. Then Mikey became a rock star and Frank... didn't. After years of radio silence, Mikey steps onto a stage in Jersey and back into Frank's life. (Or, the one where Frank is a school teacher and Mikey plays rhythm in The Used.)

And the Painted Ponies by turps, 35k, Mature. After years of struggling to be taken seriously as a bodyguard, Frank Iero is finally well established. He loves his boss, Ray, he loves his job, and he prides himself on his professionalism. But then he's assigned to be the personal bodyguard of Mikey Way. Mikey Way, aka Roboboy, is a successful high fashion model. Loved by designers and the public alike for his trademark lack of emotion, but mocked by the tabloid press for the exact same reason. Mikey is someone that Frank's sure he'll hate. Except it doesn't work out that way. In fact, it doesn't take long before Frank discovers he really likes Mikey. Maybe too much.

Better Than A Paid Life by gala_apples, 15k, Explicit. Gerard and Mikey Way are the Killjoys, a motorbaby duo. That is, until their car gets wrecked in a battle and the dashboard accessory of their new Trans Am is an ex-Companion with a mission.

Crash by Gorgeous Nerd (gorgeousnerd), 26k, Explicit. In a future version of Seattle, Frank Iero's a lot of things: bike messenger, cage fighter, sometimes thief, Ray Toro's roommate. Mikey Way's also a lot of things: record label owner, co-heir to his grandmother's fortune, younger brother. Neither are normal. But they don't know just how far each other's abnormalities go until Frank's past and a secret of Mikey's unexpectedly shove together. (Dark Angel AU.)

Sound Tracking by turps, 46k, Mature. The beat is muted, almost non-existent, and the loss hits Bob hard. He's used to living his life in a constant thrum of sound, sensing those around him, the rhythm of the universe a constant companion, but here there's almost nothing. He can feel the sound that's been pulling him for weeks now, but little else. This place is dead, almost silent, and Bob aches with the feeling of being cast into nothingness. A MCR - Bob and Gerard centric space AU where Gerard's band has been taken from him and Bob helps find them. Also features FOB, especially Pete.

Drink Cider From a Lemon by turps, 20k, General Audiences. A story about friendship, love and building your own kind of home.

Mikey Way and the Quest for the Stone by Roxy_palace, 29k, Explicit. “I’m in Colombia!” Mikey said, raising his voice over the crackle of a poor connection. “No. no, no, no, no,” James wailed. Mikey could really relate to his disbelief. He couldn't believe he was in mother fucking Colombia either.

Below the Trees, Which Are Below the Stars by alpheratz, 38k, Explicit. In the mid-1920s, Gerard and Mikey moved to France - Gerard to pursue art, Mikey because he couldn't stay behind. Now, it's 1930, and Mikey's become an airmail pilot, flying the mail route to Dakar with his navigator Frank. For a long time, the only rough thing about Mikey's life was the strain on his and Gerard's soulbond when Mikey was away, but his growing feelings for Frank and the arrival of Frank's old friend Ray could change everything.

Food of Love by Lucifuge5, 12k, Teen And Up Audiences. Ever since it re-opened, Frank's been "Sweet Nothings"'s number one customer. That he harbors a gigantic crush on one of the owners is something that he's kept to himself for the most part (Ray will never tell a soul.) It's not until he strikes a friendship with the older brother of the object of his affection that he 'fesses up. Moved by Frank's pining, Gerard promises to help Frank woo Mikey. Complications arise when Gerard's "helpful advice" is anything but. Will Frank be successful in his courtship or are his chances to win Mikey's heart as ruined as a burnt cupcake?

You Only Hear The Music (When Your Heart Begins To Break) by Acadjonne, 28k, Mature. Mikey and Frank have known each other for years. They're roommates, and best friends. They're also friends with benefits. The arrangement is casual, and it suits them both. Somewhere along the way, Mikey develops feelings for Frank, but he pushes them aside. They aren't important, he'll be fine. Or, Mikey is fine, until he somehow ends up pregnant a year into this thing with Frank, and all of a sudden, he's got more to deal with than just how long he'll be able to hide his feelings for Frank or how the hell he's supposed to afford his transition.

Give Me A Reason To Believe (Failboats In Love) by Acadjonne, 14k, Teen And Up Audiences. On the night of October 31st, Linda and Frank Iero welcome a baby boy into their family. He weighs six pounds, four ounces, and is nineteen inches long. They give him a family name, and he becomes the third Iero man to bear the name of Frank. A year later, on All Hallow's Eve, a sleeping baby is taken from his crib and replaced with a fake. The babe will later be taken from the hands of the goblin that stole him, and he will be raised by two rowan treefolk, a house brownie, and some pixies. ----- When Ray walks down the stairs to the Way family basement, the last thing Mikey expects to see is a scrappy and long-haired form following behind him. But as he later finds out, Frank is almost always unexpected in the best of ways, the rest of the world be damned.

Death's Muse by TheFratelliEffect, 53k [WIP], Mature. Lonely and depressed, Mikey Way is battling through the drab years that immediately follow college. Struggling to make a living as an artist, Mikey has became a battered down, quiet introvert whom wants nothing to do with the abusive romance he is unwillingly involved in. On a cold winter morning, the starving artist is confronted with the opportunity to paint Frank Iero, the Midnight Falls' elusive, young doctor, which he takes up immediately. Love and lust ensure as the story opens on the painter as he meets his muse.

Gallons Of The Stuff by MCRmyGeneral, 20k, Explicit. Frank has been amused by blood for as long as he can remember. When he was a child, it was a simple fascination; the way it felt on his hands, the way it looked dripping to the floor, the way it smelled. But as he grew older, that simple fascination morphed into a daring lust. Blood no longer amused him, now it turned him on. Frank has never intentionally hurt someone just to see their blood. He just takes what he can get whenever an accident happens. But when Mikey is hurt bad, Frank discovers how hard it is to keep his hands, and thoughts, to himself. He loves Mikey, he has for a long time. But now, he finds his silence so much harder to keep. He has two choices: either tell Mikey how he feels, about him and his blood, and risk scaring him away, or keep quiet, and never let the man know how much he means to him. Whatever he chooses, he knows that someone will get hurt.

#frank/mikey #fic rec list #frikey

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lunasilvermorny · 6 years ago

Text

Magical Creatures Everywhere SQ (Where I basically fangirl over Barnaby and Professor Kettleburn 90% of the time...)

But, as usual, we start with some bad photoshop edits!

MC: Acromantula?

Kettleburn: Chimaera?

Charlie: DRAGON!

And now, to the SQ!

(with all the characters that I tagged. I promise I don’t just tag stuff without reason!)

It started with Charlie.

Yep, that’s going to be a good one.

Also, regarding what he said - you do realize that would be fatal for the students, if there were a real dragon. right? Nope, he doesn’t care.

Sane people?

So it’s good we’re the Loony Squad!

If Trelawney were here, she’d say it means:

Also, I want to point out - Charlie, Liz, Barnaby and Professor Kettleburn all in one location? This is my dream SQ!

Just the two of you took all the creatures in one go?

Whatever happened, you deserve it.

Of course he’s happy about it.

Be honest, you freed them, didn’t you?

MC: Y-you want me to help you?... HA! SUCK IT, LIZ!

Liz: ...?

MC: I still love you, though!

So, headcanon here - I feel like Luna has this special ability when it comes to animals. Yeah, it’s pretty much canon that she loves creatures, but my MC has something beyond that.

She has a special connection, not just with her pets or creatures she adopted, but any animal she encounters. It’s not like being a Parselmouth, she doesn’t directly understand the meaning of what they’re saying (except for Owls, since that’s her Animagus form), but she can feel what they want to communicate to her, and animals have a higher tendency to trust her, even wild ones. That’s the reason she can approach even dangerous creatures with confidence, because she makes them trust her and so they don’t attack most of the times.

So yeah, she’s perfect for this SQ.

Yep, that’s definitely it.

You let them loose, come on, be honest.

That’s one of the best days of your life, isn’t it?

You’d think they prefer a living tree...

Normally I’d choose the option with the book, but this time I have to go with the more headcanon leaning option - she’d probably try to talk to them in a soothing voice to calm them down.

I do have to say, it’s going to be pretty disappointing if this entire quest is just a fetch quest and nothing more.

Magic!

They look like cat grandpas.

MC: You’re going to tell Papa?

You should really know the difference, as a professor.

Wait, so you do know?

Sure... let’s go with that.

Fine, you know.

MC:

Why does he look so terrified? Poor thing.

Grass?

You too? Wow, that’s almost overwhelming.

MC:

Aww, it’s so cute.

Oh...my god.

Anybody else hear - “Ooh, heaven is a place on earth.“ playing in their heads?

It’s not funny, it’s amazing. She just found her heaven!

Throw Barnaby into the mix and it’d be perfect.

Very convincing...

I wouldn’t call it maturity, just sheer happiness.

Oh wow. Umm.. Thank you?

That’s impossible!

Crazy idea - have you thought about using magic? You know, since you are wizards!

Back off, Filch.

Probably...

The truth?

Okay, MC, don’t freak out.

MC:

What do you mean “pretend”? You’re already a puppy.

Also, look at him!

Ah, my heart is so full right now.

Sure thing, mate.

She’s not thinking about the task, but about how she’s going to gather them all in her dorm room.

This is adorable! I can’t handle it... I just want to watch him all the way through this task.

And the Crup that sleeps next to him... Okay, THIS is MC’s heaven.

(Also, Barnaby Jr. and that Crup behind them! So damn cute!)

Because he’s a cold-hearted, murderous Death Eater.

Your soul is too pure for your family, Puppy.

That’s a bad thing, Lizard.

Alright...

Oh, you precious angel...

You do that!

Anything for Papa.

MC: Well, obviously.

Again, crazy idea...

MAGIC!

Oh yeah, that’s how he lost his eye, right?

Oof. That’s rough, buddy.

Not the moustache!

I love that that’s her reaction to what he said.

This SQ is so damn cute, I can’t...handle...it...!

It’s all fun and games, until you figure out he was behind Dumbledore’s death all along. His thirst for power knows no boundaries.

Haha, nice one, JC.

I like that.

Yeah, and questionable judgement about children’s safety.

You don’t have any authority here anymore, old man! The bowtruckle is in charge now.

So, wait...

My first instinct was for her to blame herself, but I don’t think it’s really necessary. I doubt Dumbledore would actually be mad about this whole thing.

It’s probably best to tell him the truth. (Also - blue book!)

Because they tried to move them all in one go. It was inevitable...

See? He appreciate her honesty and instead of getting mad, he’s glad she helped.

Throwing yourself under the bus is not always the best solution.

Injuries? Oof... Well, at least Papa would be happy.

Jesus Christ, Merula. If you actually hurt a creature, I would never accept any type of your redemption arc!

Is that why, in the past, you suggested making creatures fight each other for your entertainment and even straight up killing them? If that’s your kind of love, please, save it for people only.

You do you, Puppy.

What does it say about me, if it actually interest me?

It’s supposed to be a joke about Rowan’s dorkiness, but it’s a really interesting premise for an essay.

Because Dumbledore asked for more, you cheap.

The option “You’re a generous person” is just objectively wrong, also, she’s not a major suck up.

Mmm... He does have empathy, even though he’s trying to hide it. Maybe the first option?

I know he doesn’t like children, but he can’t really leave them injured like this when he has the supply for their medications.

Time to impress Papa.

Don’t worry, she aspires to become a healer, so you’re in good hands.

Yeah, and don’t forget who helped you out - your favorite student and mentee!

I want him to tag along, but maybe he should rest a bit. We don’t want him to lose another limb. (OR DO WE?)

Dammit, I’m not sure he’s going to like that answer. I hope he wouldn’t find it too boring.

That’s not a satisfied Papa...

Dammit.

Oh.

Wait, so it was the right choice?

MC: Yes! Suck it, Liz!

Liz: Seriously?

MC: Sorry, love.

That’s a big snail. I can’t wait for MC to have one of those!

Is that a huge Niffler next to Merula?

What the-?

Also, Ben is not terrified - that’s the spirit, buddy!

Wait, didn’t he say something about it earlier?

Yeah, at the beginning of the quest:

Barnaby can see into the future, confirmed!

Merula alert:

Dammit. Barnaby can see the future - busted.

I really don’t get how people can look at this screenshot and think- oh, she’s amazing.

She’s laughing at the thought of ruining people’s lives.

That’s not endearing, that’s a major character flaw and shouldn’t be celebrated.

Not to mention, a stupid plan that’s easily reversible, so she’s not just being a huge douche, she’s also being really dumb.

Mean and dumb - some people’s type, apparently.

I’m sorry, she’s just so incredibly pathetic.

Even if you like “the bad guy” type in stories, she’s incapable of even doing that correctly.

Unless you like the type that constantly humiliate themselves and showing how incompetent they are, because if so - she’s your ideal character!

Girl, you have serious issues.

Oh look, it took us 3 seconds to fix.

You’re such a mastermind, Merula.

I’m sorry, was that supposed to be a threat?

Oh, honey...

MC: DUMBLEDORE!! SHE’S HERE! THE ONE THAT DID ALL THE MESS!

To be fair, Merula is so incompetent that I doubt she’d be able to hurt anyone on purpose...

No one is going to believe you, you nimrod!

Are you really in a position to judge anyone else’s appearance, Ismelda?

Characters in this SQ: Let’s test your knowledge.

MC, a Ravenclaw:

Wow, muggles are really the true victims in this SQ, aren’t they?

Yeah, skip...

Eyes.

You’re not very reassuring, Mr. Diggory.

That’s better. Thanks, buddy.

Wait, it’s getting gradually better... Does this mean-?!

Awww! Papa’s stamp of approval!

Aww, it’s such a cutie pie!

Obviously.

That can’t be good...

Oh, right. Stalling...

Fine, but in the headcanon, she did it on her first try.

Here we go... Such a good boy.

Instant BFFs!

Thanks, Papa.

We did it! (Not that there was any real challenge, but still...)

Aww, such a nice little SQ.

Conclusions:

I really like this one.

I spent most of my time just fangirling over Barnaby and Professor Kettleburn, which is not necessarily a bad thing, in my eyes.

I did find it a bit boring at times, but mostly it was just cute and wholesome.

I really enjoyed the company of Barnaby and Liz, though I wish they’d included them more in the plot of the SQ and not just the background. Also, I wish Charlie had a bigger role.

But overall - really cute. Good job, JC.

Bonus:

Not part of the SQ, but I just love how they sit together.

It makes much more sense to me that Barnaby would hang out with Liz than Ismelda or Merula.

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faemoria-arch · 6 years ago

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toothiana’s disinterest in having her own children is nothing to do with her being like , bad with kids or anything like that . she’s quite good with kids , if only a little odd in her priorities for keeping them safe hence folks of any age that find themselves staying in her home often , in turn , finding themselves training in weapons && stuff like that . then again it’s not a very healthy outlook to train every child like a soldier either . . . her disinterest in having her own children biologically she 𝓬𝓪𝓷’𝓽 , she doesn’t have the anatomy for it , but magic && adoption are methods that could be explored if she cared to is due to the understanding that she would project her own fears && anxieties onto them , as well as the fact that she feels like an inherent danger to the people she keeps close to her , as survivors guilt is prone to cause . it’s why she tends to spend more time around muses in general that can kind of handle themselves && makes a point of giving that same impression in hopes of not allowing anybody she loves to humor the idea that she would ever even want them to risk themselves on her behalf . that said , when toothiana’s relationship with children gets ‘ too ’ close , it often leads to some of the most interesting interactions i can recall having on my blogs . in the case of @howlblack it was unintentional through magic with absolutely no romantic ( or even sexual ) cause behind it && she had to come to terms with a lot before even being willing to emotionally connect with him && for a long time the poor boy was only taken care of on the most base level of being provided shelter && such . toothiana felt as though she was becoming too close to @erromes && that their conflicting morality would cause nahia more suffering that she was already destined to go through && for that reason attempted to steel herself against allowing them to be close . in times she has been too harsh against his adoptive brother when around @ofdeathandfear without taking into proper consideration that he is someone valrún greatly looked up to && was undoubtedly a positive influence in his life , because she was simply too hyper-focused on anything she considered a risk or threat .

so maybe it’s best to say that toothiana is ‘ quite good with kids ’ in moderation . the temporary visits , the homestays , everything like that she is great && comforting && engaging with children && not treating them like they are incapable of understanding things when presented the right way something that is especially important when it comes to returning memories for their benefit after all . it’s when she is made to raise a child && play a regular , constant fundamental element to their growth that she could definitely use a lot more practice in .

ah to clarify though , ‘ could use more practice in ’ doesn’t mean with the intent of having a child in every/any ship on this blog . there’s a few folks she could maybe be comfortable with in that respect one day ( @materxnatura && @ledovna come to mind immediately ) but just generally an element of her personality that she could learn to improve for the sake of better supporting the children she influences somewhat regularly .

#[ a.k.a why she gets the 'vodka aunt' instead of the 'wine mom' title #she's not persistent enough in spending time around any child to be their terrible mom #she's just their bad influence aunt who will let them play with her swords #&& whisper to them how to use their fork at the dinner table to incapacitate someone if they ever need to ]#» ทั่วไป ; Headcanon #» โลกีย์ ; Out of Character #[ ironically the AU where tooth ended up with a kid between her && pitch was like #the least cavity-friendly verse on this entire blog lol #but i mean let's be real they'd both be awful parents ESPECIALLY together LOL ]

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psychomoxxie · 5 years ago

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Don’t Say You Love Me (Falling For A Psycho Girl)

So if you read the last post, you know i’m just dragging myself by the teeth and unkempt nails out of the dumpster fire that is my so-called “heart”;

I.e., yet another relationship bit the dust. The first one in 4 years. It was new, but i fell hard, because he was different and not an abusive fuck, was super-sweet, and had the brain-cooties too (not like mine, but still), so i could relate to him on a deeper level than most. But turns out, he’s already into someone else, if his FaceBook memes are any indication (which they almost certainly are), which makes me feel incredibly stupid and naive that i didn’t see it coming. He was probably talking to this girl romantically before things ended with us. Which puts things in a whole new light.

That light being — i am, and i reiterate, incredibly stupid and naive.

Which brings me to the next bit.

The very next day after things imploded in my face with this guy, a friend – a male friend – talked to me for three hours on the phone to cheer me up, make me feel better about my stupid little heart; and after we hung up, he messages me to confess to me that he’s in love with me.

Here’s the thing. It’s not that I don’t “love” this guy friend. In as much as I can feel love for him or anybody else. That sort of thing is reserved for a very small pool of people, and I’m not very good at it. Ask anyone who knows me, and they’ll tell you. I will disappear off the face of the earth for weeks at a time, and expect you to be ok with that. I have a hard time being emotionally available for most people.

My capacity for being In Love with a capital “L” is severely limited, and probably not defined in the way most people think of the word. I’ve experienced real, actual, true Being In Love probably twice in my life. Where it hit me hard, and i was both viscerally and emotionally affected by it, and wanted to put that person’s needs before my own and all that sort of thing, where i felt that gut-wrenching emotion when it ended for whatever reason. Where i felt emotions that had to do with THEM, and not just ME. Not just the selfishness of “romantic love”, which mostly has to do with how that person makes you feel, and less to do with the actual person. But when I did feel it, I felt it all the way. And crawling out of it is certainly no easy feat. In fact, I still love my first True Love — but he died many years ago, so there’s not much I can do about that.

I’ve certainly developed feelings, even felt love for a couple people I’ve dated — which evolved into true friendships, which I consider to be a type of love that’s different from being In Love, though still very worthy and much more likely to occur in a person’s life multiple times. Those instances of love are the people that i still speak to, despite whatever pain it cost to get us here, because we still actually had a real connection after the romantic bit ended. (The guy in the photo being one of those).

Of course, the question is, was it genuine Love ™ i felt for the Guy I Fell For if it wasn’t actually reciprocated? If he’s already moved on to someone else, then clearly it was one-sided on my part since i still have feelings, and he clearly does not.

I don’t know. The thing is, I can’t transfer my feelings from one person to the other so quickly. Or at all. Because for me, I rarely feel them to begin with.

Oh, in the past i’ve felt serious infatuation. When i was younger and unmedicated, i was capable of obsessive infatuation. Of course that ended when that person’s flaws came to the light, or they disappointed me. I see this one’s flaws quite clearly and still have the feelings. I hate it, but there it is. Maybe that’s the problem. For him, it was just infatuation.

Part of the problem of being a Psycho bitch — like, literally, I have ASPD (Anti-Social Personality Disorder, my secondary diagnosis, and it’s not severe, but it’s significant enough to be problematic. This is the first time I’ve talked about it, because the stigma surrounding it is so fucked up) — is that it’s not easy for me to connect with other people. Not in any genuine way. It’s considered to be, in my and many cases, the result of certain childhood experiences. It’s a fairly common reason for this fairly uncommon disorder. A protection that the brain constructs as a result of physical and psychological trauma. I recognize it, and i try to work on it. It’s not easy.

Here’s where the Mental Illness Education Bit comes in, folks. Because yeah, we’re doing that now. ASPD is a relatively new diagnosis – or rather, TERM for a diagnosis (in general, and also for Yours Truly), and it’s often interchanged with Sociopathy, which is often interchanged with Psychopathy. It’s not a Mental Illness, per se, but a Personality Disorder. Which might be wrong, for me, since it’s co-morbid with Schizoaffective Disorder which has some symptoms in common, and they gave me my ASPD diagnosis several years ago for what they thought previously was Bipolar – which is fairly obviously not my problem. I don’t have mood swings, per se, but i do have impulsivity, and lack of empathy, and other things that jive with the ASPD diagnosis. Apparently, my being slightly Sociopathic makes more sense. Honestly, i sometimes think they just liked slapping the label on a woman because it’s so rare.

On the other hand, it does kind of fit, if i’m going to be honest. I’m very good at the whole social mask thing. And i don’t feel things normally – haven’t ever, really.

I’ve never murdered anyone (yet), but i will certainly admit to having a lack of conscience or empathy where many things are concerned. Or, perhaps just a lack of emotion in general. My psychiatrists say it’s due to severe PTSD and trauma. As is true for many people with the disorder, as i mentioned.

The misapprehension people have, however, is that people with the disorder NEVER connect, or are incapable of it. This isn’t true. When we do connect, it’s definitely genuine and deep. We just don’t do it with many people at all. Mainly this is because we’re basically self-centered and pretty selfish. And not very “nice”. We have to work at it. We aren’t “empaths” or any of that new age crap. We don’t connect with the outside world very easily, or well. We can be manipulative. And in some cases, fairly narcissistic. Definitely overly-logical when being emotionally sympathetic is clearly called for.

But every once in a while, i really connect with somebody. And when that happens, it’s really not easy to let go. But when i finally decide it’s time that i do, it’s like that person never existed. It’s very black and white. Again, a protective thing my brain does, i suppose.

And God knows what I did to fuck things up with The Guy I Fell For, because that’s just it — i will do things out of my inability to be empathetic sometimes. Or patient. People will tell me that I’m sweet and kind, but really I admire those qualities in others, and try very hard to emulate them. I think I have those qualities in me sometimes, but I have to work at them. The very few people I do love bring them out in me. But even so, I fuck it up. Often. I didn’t have anything to model it after growing up, you see. So my version of compassion and normal love and affection looks rather like Helen Keller’s version of trying to describe the color blue, I rather suspect, sometimes.

But, i digress.

So, this friend – we’ll call him The Limey (because oddly enough, he’s also living way the fuck in another country) confesses his love for me, and i realize off the bat that my emotional response is all wrong. The wheels in my head are turning in all the wrong directions. It’s a welcome distraction, and an ego boost, and i latch onto it like a drowning woman for about a day. In some ways, he’s a perfect match for me. We’re good friends. He’s single, a talented musician, whipsmart, witty, kind of an asshole in all the right ways; he’s willing to come right out and tell me how he feels. He’s incredibly attractive, and sexy as Hell. He wants me to leave the damn country with him, for fuck’s sake. All the things i so desperately want. And, yes, i do like him, a lot.

But do i Love ™ him? No. Which comes into stark relief when he pisses me off by being a jerk to one of my friends – someone i do love (not romantically, but definitely love) and my first reaction is FUCK this Limey. I don’t even give him the benefit of the doubt.

My emotions are so shut down at this point that i can’t even conceive of giving the Limey a chance. Him, or anyone else for that matter. Because i’m done. I’m done connecting with people for a good while. I have the very few people in my little Universe of Discourse, and that’s all i need.

Clearly, the point here is that i’m damaged, but i’ve always been. I don’t think it means i need “help”, and i certainly am not asking for sympathy. I’m perfectly aware that i am fucked up. In fact, on one level, i’m happy to know that i’m still capable of falling for someone, as misguided as it may have been, and as hurt as i am from the way it all ended. It shows me that i do, in fact, still have a soul. That i’m capable of actually feeling something real, as opposed to my usual screwing around with abusive men — which is not love, but some weird head game i put myself through out of some need to torture myself.

Soooo, this post digressed wildly.

The point IS, i was flattered and moved by this friend’s declaration of love for about 48 hours before he pulled some crap that made me want to beat him over the head with a tire iron, and then i responded in my usual unsympathetic and offhand fashion because that is my default.

I’m fairly convinced at this point that i should just avoid romance altogether. I’m obviously bad at it, i pick the absolute wrong person nearly every single time, and then wonder why i’m miserable. Then i spend the next 3-4 years perfectly happy all by myself, which is just long enough to forget how miserable relationships make me. Rinse, repeat.

Plus there’s that whole thing where i have to explain that i’ve got the Brain Cooties…or Brain Worms (thanks, Jay, for that new term), which is never a fun conversation; like, “No, dear, i’m not going to knife you in your sleep, and no, i don’t hear voices telling me to roast your spleen with a nice Chianti. At least, not usually. NO, BABE. THAT WAS A JOKE…”

I just…i can’t.

If i end up like one of those old ladies with her cats living with her female roommate in the boondocks collecting furballs and molding them into puppets and selling them on Etsy, then so be it. Right now, it seems like the sane choice.

*photo of me and The Samurai – dear friend and fellow artist

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makeste · 6 years ago

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more discussion about BnHA 237, and the “bystander effect”

Makeste, it’s been hinted for a long time now that Tomura had personally experienced the bystander effect when he was younger. When he had his little therapy talk with Midoriya at the mall he was pissed at how the people around him were just going about their lives and ignoring other people’s problems, thinking only about themselves. And when Midoriya pointed out that a hero would arrest him, he brought up that although anybody’s quirks could let them fight back and perhaps stop him, no-one would do so if he went on a rampage- their complacency and trust in hero society meant that they couldn’t conceive of such a thing happening to them, and so they would default back to letting heroes or the authorities arrive and save them, rather than saving themselves. Like sheep to a slaughter, they just couldn’t bring themselves to act, because they would rather support a peaceful society that protects them than willingly fully endanger themselves.

I actually liked that Horikoshi made it clear that some people were willing to help Tenko, so it wasn’t that Tenko coincidentally wandered into a street full of uncaring assholes, but his ghoulish appearance was a major factor in driving off the help he so desperately wanted. Just, looking at him, you can see the kid’s gone through something horrible, and if they got involved, they might have risked whatever caused it to happen to them next. They were scared of him, and didn’t want to risk getting involved in something they weren’t equipped to handle. Better to leave it to police, or authorities who have trained for similar situations and can protect themselves. Whereas the ‘defenceless’ citizen could tell at a glance that Tenko was something beyond their ordinary lifestyles, an unspoken threat to their peace and safety. Maybe some did call the police and authorities and Tenko had wandered off. But you can see why, for a society that, because of the whole ‘restrict your quirk and don’t perform heroic actions without a licence’ stuff, has been taught that they’re supposed to act normal and not get involved in dangerous situations or criminal activity, helping Tenko was too personally involving for those citizens.

You also got a hint of that when Tomura was restrained at the bar- the flashback’s words even spell out that “before long a hero will…everyone said things like that, but they all ignored you, didn’t they?” Maybe AFO had a hand in helping Tenko get isolated here. He could have had a subtle quirk that manipulated their emotions and fears to drive them to ignore Tenko, or he could have simply just used his connections to stifle any calls or reports of Tenko’s appearance to the proper authorities, and left him in the ‘care’ of the nearby public. Personally, my money’s on the latter. Either way, his appearance here definitely rings too good to be true- he was probably shadowing Tenko whilst he walked through the streets- but I get the impression that he honestly didn’t do much to make the general public act the way they did towards Tenko. He just let the boy experience the isolation and apathy of a society focused on ignoring danger unless there’s someone authorised to handle it.

It’s actually something that’s pretty common in some Japanese media. There’s a great example of this in the Anime ‘Psycho Pass’, set in a futuristic society that’s kinda a mashup of Minority Report and Mega-City One, wherein a city-wide monitoring system called the ‘Sybil System’ constantly monitors people’s emotional and mental states. Should they exceed an accepted threshold that denotes how likely the person is to committing a crime even in advance of them committing any crimes, that person is pursued by law enforcement and either arrested or executed, so they don’t spread undue stress and emotional instability to people around them and cause more people to become ‘crime co-efficient’.

(interrupting here to add a *spoiler warning* for season one of Psycho-Pass, just in case anyone is planning on watching it at any point, which I would recommend actually; it’s a pretty good show.)

The main Villain of Season 1 is a psychopath that, due to his unique mental mind-set and view of people, doesn’t register as9)crime co-efficient when thinking about or committing crimes, rendering him effectively invisible to the system and incapable of being judged or sentenced under it, which is a problem since it’s illegal to hurt others unless authorised by the system. Despite this advantage, much like Shigaraki, the villain can tell how screwed up the world he lives in is, and seeks to awaken others from their blind dependence on the Sybil system, to think and act for themselves. In ep 14, he starts distributing helmets that shield the wearer from the Sybil System’s monitoring, allowing others to commit crimes to their heart’s content. This leads to a harrowing scene where a helmet-wearing stalker, in the middle of a busy, crowded street in public, walks up to his target and beats her to death with a hammer, in full view of everyone. No-one does a thing to stop him, their dependence and complacency making them think it’s some kind of performance art piece, incapable of thinking that it’s anything sinister or a problem for them to take action against. Even as the woman screams for help, they don’t lift a finger, and the Sybil monitoring robots actually start cornering the victim as she bleeds out, confronting her on how her emotional stability has exceeded the acceptable threshold, and she’s now crime co-efficient, even as she dies.

This isn’t the last time the Villain performs social experiments to demonstrate the inherent flaws of humanity in a society that lets a system control and define their actions. He lures the protagonist to an isolated room with a chasm in the middle, no way for them to cross to him, but no obstacles on his side to hide behind. Thanks to his invisibility, even as he speaks of killing more people, admits to his guilt, and tells the protagonist that he will keep hurting more people to prove his point, the Government-issued gun keyed to the Sybil system won’t fire on him. The villain has located and loaded an ordinary gun and left it on the protagonist’s side, challenging them to use it to shoot him dead. The system is incapable of judging him, so the only way for the protagonist to save lives is to take action without it, to act on their own initiative and do the right thing, even if it’s illegal in the eyes of society. The villain is fully willing to risk his own life if It means he can wake one person up for their society-wide bystander syndrome and make them act and think for themselves.

(END PSYCHO-PASS SPOILERS)

Honestly, I’d love it if, going forward, Shigaraki took similar steps to underline the inherent flaws in a hero-worshiping society, running social experiments that force heroes to avoid participating and ordinary civilians to make the heroic actions and save the day, just like the twin ferry scene from ‘The Dark Knight’, perhaps closely monitoring everything so he can publicize how they made the correct decisions if the government tries to condemn them for taking illegal actions to save themselves. It would be a great way of causing an indirect attack on ordered society. And freeing up people to use their quirks more freely would also tie into the MLA’s vision of society, so that could be a case for what’s left of the army to work with Tomura for now, rather than get steamrolled by Giganto again and their cause forgotten.

If that’s what ends up happening, then that could be the main cause for Deku and Shigaraki to clash time and again against each other, as Midoriya keeps interfering in these experiments and performing heroic deeds to save those in need. Because the one thing that’s always been consentient about Deku- powerless or not, legal or not, he will step in to save someone regardless of the reasons not to get involved. It’s a shame, really, that Tenko and Midoriya didn’t meet when they were kids- you know Deku would have helped him because he needed it, regardless of the potential danger.

---

first off, I just want to clarify that I do understand this scene, and I understand that the series has been clearly hinting at a scenario like this almost from the start. I can also understand and accept the logic behind it. it’s just that I dislike it. I understand the point it’s trying to make; I just disagree with it. I think it’s cynical and dystopian. I think the world is better than that, and I think people are better than that. I’m not gonna go into a whole rant, but there’s this psychological phenomenon called negativity bias that basically means that negative things tend to leave more of a psychological impact in general than positive things. put that together with the constant bombardment of negative shit in the media and online and basically everywhere, and over time that tends to lead toward people perceiving the world as being worse than it actually is. this is something that really bothers me about modern online culture, actually, because the overall effect it has on a lot of people (myself included) is to leave them feeling overwhelmed and depressed, and depression in turn drains your energy and makes it more difficult for people to actually do anything about the bad shit. which, I suspect, is intentional on the part of the institutions responsible for most of said media. let’s energize the far right, and dishearten and discourage the left.

but anyways, that’s getting off track and veering towards territory I don’t have the spoons to discuss further lol. okay, so back on topic. a lot of people pointed out that we don’t actually know whether anyone called the police or not, and it’s very possible that they did. this is a fair point. as for AFO subtly having a hand in influencing the passerby’s emotions as well, I’m all for that too. that was always my original theory. because it’s always been clear that, at least from Tomura’s perspective, this is exactly what went down -- something bad happened, and no one tried to help him. we’ve always known that was the case. I just hoped that it wouldn’t prove to actually be the case, and that we would learn that Tomura had misunderstood, or that AFO had intervened. I didn’t hope for this because I thought it had canon support and was logical; I hoped it because I, personally, disagree with the supposition that the average person, when faced with a situation in which a child is in trouble and needs help, would not help, regardless of the potential danger to them. my own personal belief, supported by my admittedly limited personal experience, is that they would.

lastly, I have seen Psycho-Pass (the first season, anyway; I need to check out season 2 one of these days) and enjoyed it a lot, actually. but it’s one of those things I enjoy simply as a what-if, kind of like The Hunger Games. it’s great entertainment if you’re in the mood for some dark and gritty stuff. but it’s a very 1984 type of worst-case scenario government-controls-your-thoughts type of story, and not something I personally would go “oh yeah, I could see this happening in real life” while watching it. it’s more of a fun cautionary tale warning people about the potential consequences of taking extremes too far, even in the name of the greater good. plus it has these really awesome guns that transform and look really cool and splatter the shit out of people. and Amano did the character designs, so if you liked the character designs in KHR it’s definitely worth a watch for that alone, just putting that out there.

anyway. I’ve completely run out of time, so I’ll just post this and I apologize for not wrapping up my argument neatly. or, you know, at all sob.

#bnha #bnha 237 #shigaraki tomura #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #makeste reads bnha #bnha meta #asks #thequietmanno1

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bvckystxn · 8 years ago

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I Trust You - Bucky x Reader

Disclaimer: GIF isn’t mine, but Tumblr wasn’t working properly so i had to get it off google. All rights go to the creator.

A/N: This wasn’t a request, but an idea I’ve been playing around with in my head. It’s also my first piece of fanfiction in years so I hope it’s decent. Basically, the reader finds Bucky while the Avengers are fighting Ultron in Sokovia.

Word count: 2879

Warnings: one or two swear words.

The Tower was empty and quiet, which was unsurprising as the Avengers had gone off to Sokovia to battle Ultron. I had even begun to miss Steve and Tony’s constant bickering, which was odd as they had only left earlier that day.

I thought I’d be happy to have the Tower to myself, but with my sprained wrist there was only so much I could do. It was safe to say that I was already bored, I had started to walk down random hallways aimlessly.

Around a year ago, when Steve found out that his old friend Bucky Barnes was still alive, he was a victim, a tool for Hydra to use. But after the big clash between Hydra and SHIELD Steve told me Bucky had disappeared. It was just as if he had dropped off the face of the earth. I promised him I would help him look.

I remembered my promise as I walked past Steve’s room. It’ll give me something to do. I thought as I laid my hand on the cold frame of the steel door and slowly pushed it open.

Steve always kept his room neat and tidy, which marvelled me as mine was always in disarray. I was constantly scolded about this, mainly by Steve, but I was repeatedly running late so I threw items of clothing around in order to find one specific top. Strangely, no one thought this was a good excuse.

I stood in the doorway for a moment, debating whether or not to actually invade Steve’s privacy by using his computer.

Steve was not only old-fashioned, but also naïve when it came to technology. This made my life easier as now I wouldn’t have to sit behind his desk for an eternity, guessing at his password.

I would have felt more at ease if I had been in my own room, using my own computer. But Steve wanted for this private mission of his to be kept on the down-low, so his was the only computer currently tracking down James Buchanan Barnes.

After Natasha released all of SHIELD’s files on Hydra to the public Steve’s system had picked up on several people saying that they had spotted the Winter Soldier shopping for groceries.

Steve now ignored all of these as every single one he had acted upon in the past had turned out to be a cry for attention from the internet.

I ran several different algorithms, searching for mentions of Bucky in the news, facial recognition, cardholder names etc. As per usual, nothing came up. I leaned back in Steve’s chair and drummed my fingers on the wooden surface of his desk.

Out of boredom I moved the mouse over to the section that would scan the internet for any and all mentions of Bucky, and clicked it. All of this was basically white noise. One post said that the Winter Soldier was showing off his moves in a ski resort in Italy and another said he was working out in some gym in Florida.

I let out a large puff of air as I kept scrolling through all of the posts, each one more ludicrous than the last one had been. Bucky was obviously hiding, he would never be at a ski resort or sunbathing in the Caribbean. How daft were some people, honestly? Sunbathing you did shirtless and if this guy did not have a metal arm, how could he possibly have been Bucky Barnes?

As I was about to close the program a picture caught my eye. Hardly any of the other people’s posts featured images, and on the rare occasion when they did they were very poorly photoshopped.

I enlarged the picture which portrayed Bucky across the road from where the photo had been taken. There were cars blocking my view of most of his body and he was wearing a baseball cap, but he still looked like the Bucky I had seen in pictures and vaguely remembered from DC.

To make sure I pushed myself up and looked around Steve’s room. I spotted a picture frame sitting on a shelf with an old photo of him and Bucky in it. I picked it up and carried it over to the desk to compare the two. I squinted and tried looking at it from different angles, but in the end I decided that this might actually be something worth checking out.

The two images were still very different; in Steve’s picture his friend seemed happy and full of life, and in the other one he just appeared tired and there was some other type of sadness that his eyes betrayed. However, I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, I hadn’t seen anyone with that kind of look in their eyes before.

As I fished my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans I swiftly ran my eyes over the comment that went along with the image, which mentioned something about a location.

“Steve!” I breathed into my phone’s microphone after it had stopped ringing.

Steve’s voicemail started to sound in my ear. “Cap, are you kidding? The one time I need you?”

I hung up without leaving a message and quickly sent myself a link to the post before I shut down the computer.

I pushed the chair back from the desk and darted down the hallway, to my own room. I essentially flung myself to my knees and reached a hand under my bed.

Part of my training had been to always be prepared to run. I had taken that to heart and purchased a basic duffel bag, which was now filled with principle essentials for travel.

“FRIDAY?” I asked, addressing Tony’s bodiless assistant.

“What can I help you with, Miss Y/N?”

“I’m sending you a picture of a man in Bucharest, Romania. Can you use the security cameras in the city to track him and figure out where he’s staying?”

“Of course, Miss Y/N.” FRIDAY replied.

I made my way to the garage, got into one of the standard black cars and started to drive in the direction of the airport.

Bucky was Steve’s friend, I knew that. I didn’t know him. I had only seen him once, when Hydra attacked SHIELD in Washington. But the Avengers were fighting in Ultron in Sokovia and I hated missing out on action. On top of that, when Steve would return and find out that I had come across an actual solid lead for the first time and just let it go, he would have my head for that.

I got on the first flight to London and got a connecting flight from there to Bucharest. Everything was taking too long for my liking, but as I had not properly completed my training yet I was not able to fly one of the jets directly to Romania.

I checked into the hotel I had booked during my layover in London very early in the morning and just crashed on top of the bed. Sleep seized me in an in instant as I was incapable of sleeping on planes and thus exhausted.

The hotel hadn’t provided many options for breakfast at all and the coffee was a disgusting watery liquid. I don’t know why I had expected anything else, I had booked a cheap hotel very last minute, of course it was going to be crappy.

Nevertheless, I put up with it, I had had worse.

I downloaded the address FRIDAY had nailed Bucky’s location down to and headed into the streets of Bucharest.

As I neared a shabby-looking apartment block I walked past a beautifully huge fountain. It’s tall structure and gold detailing on the water-spewing lions seemed very out of place in this neighbourhood, but I ignored it and continued on walking.

Bucky Barnes was my mission, I had promised Steve I would help and that was exactly what I was doing.

The building had very poor security, which was unsurprising and allowed me to enter without anybody having to let me in. Strangely, the hallways did have a few cameras, not many, but apparently enough for FRIDAY to locate Bucky’s apartment number.

I cautiously started the walk up the staircase, due to the lack of windows this was no easy task. The only real light came from the skylight, which was incredibly filthy, so that was also obscured.

Bucky’s apartment was almost on the top floor and yet, with all of my training I did not want to appear even the least out of breath, so I gave myself a moment before heading down the corridor.

Every step I took brought me closer and closer to the man no one had been able to uncover for an entire year. If I was going to be honest, it made me feel special, like I wasn’t worthless for once. My lack of training caused me to be left out every so often and I secretly believed that that was the actual reason I wasn’t in Sokovia with the others, not my sprained wrist. It took a lot more for any of the others to be “grounded”.

Finally I reached Bucky’s door, but I didn’t knock on it. I didn’t know why. I just stood there, staring at it, thinking about everything that could possibly go wrong, which included this being just another dead end.

Oh, for fuck’s sake Y/N! I scolded myself and then raised my hand. I tentatively knocked on the door. When I didn’t receive a response I knocked again, a bit louder and surer this time.

Feet shuffled around on the other side of the door and then nothing, just silence and the distant sounds of traffic.

“Bucky?” I asked carefully, “Bucky Barnes?”

“Who are you?” a low voiced replied, slightly muffled by the door.

“My name is Y/N, I’m a friend of Steve’s.”

Silence.

“Captain America.” I clarified.

Silence.

A moment, that felt like an eternity, later I registered a clicking sound, which I presumed was him unlocking the door.

The doorway then slowly opened, creakingly, and revealed a tall man, with dark hair that reached his broad shoulders. The roots were greasy and it appeared as if it hadn’t seen a comb in days.

Bucky regarded me, caution radiating off him in waves, and I didn’t blame him. But I had come here for a reason. “Can I come in?”

The question hung in the air between us for a minute and then Bucky slowly nodded and opened the door completely, revealing a one-room apartment and windows that had been blocked out by newspapers.

I slipped past him and as I stood in the centre of the room I realised that there was also a tiny bathroom adjacent to it.

“How did you find me?” Bucky had closed the door, but was still standing next to it, as if were an escape route. Which I supposed it was.

“You didn’t make it easy,” I admitted, “but we have really advanced technology.”

Bucky looked at me with a blank expression, making me feel slightly uneasy.

“I come in peace.” I blurted out and silently cursed myself the second those ridiculous words left my lips.

The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitched upwards. The smallest hint of amusement and a giant relief for me.

“I’m sorry.” I muttered, ashamed and looked down at my shoes, which had all of a sudden become the most interesting thing in the room. They were simple white tennis shoes and they made me feel as if I was walking on clouds.

“Y/N was it?” I looked up, Bucky had moved from his post next to the door and was now walking towards the kitchen counter.

“Yeah.” I told him, rather sheepishly.

“Did Steve put you up to this? Is he waiting outside?” he questioned me, casting a worried look toward the front door.

“Um.. No, not exactly.” I replied hesitantly, wondering if saying that Steve wasn’t involved was a good idea.

“Is he here?” Bucky repeated his question.

“No.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed together as he gave me a sceptical look. “Steve is not here.” I restated.

I couldn’t believe what happened next; it was as if Bucky let out a sigh of relief. He closed his eyes for a second and his shoulders sagged. His whole body just seemed to relax.

I took this as a sign that it was okay for me to loosen up a little bit too, and allowed myself to sink down into his small couch that had been pushed up against the kitchen island.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. You’re happy that Steve is not here?”

Bucky took a tentative breath as I tried to study his expression; there was still a hint of the relief he had just shown, but now it was mixed with worry and what I believed to be timidness.

“Yes.” he said after a while.

I widened my eyes at him, kindly urging him to explain. I had come all this way to be able to inform Steve I had finally found his missing friend and now that friend was telling me that he didn’t want to be found by specifically Steve.

“If Steve were here…” Bucky started and then stopped, looking down at the kitchen counter.

This time I didn’t urge him on, it had become clear to me that this was not an easy subject for him to talk about. So I just sat on his couch and waited, giving him some time to figure out whether or not he wanted to tell me. I started to think about how disappointed Steve would be when he returned from Sokovia.

I got so lost in my own whirlwind of thoughts that I barely noticed Bucky sitting down on the arm of his couch. He took a deep breath and started again: “If Steve were here I would have to be Sergeant Barnes, but now I can just be Bucky.”

I watched him as he looked down at his hands, absent mindedly running his flesh fingers along the metal plates. He looked up and directly at me. “Do you understand?” he asked.

“Not completely.”

My answer made a disappointed and sad shadow appear on his face, obscuring his features. I took a chance and reached across the couch with my hand, laying it on top of his as a sign of encouragement.

“But I want to.”

The shadow didn’t disappear entirely, but I did register a faint gleam in his eyes as he looked at me. I tried really hard to maintain a calm and welcoming expression on my face as he did so.

“Okay.” he said after a while, shifting his body ever so slightly towards mine.

“As you undoubtedly know, I lost all of my memories, but now I am very slowing recalling little things. The thing is, after seventy years of having your slate constantly wiped clean there are certain things that you lose for good. From our last encounter I have reason to believe that Steve figures that that’s not true. I remember him never wanting to give up, and no matter how many times he tells me that I’m not the Winter Soldier, I know I am. I know I will never be that Bucky again, the Bucky he grew up with, Sergeant Barnes. But he believes I can be and every time I prove him wrong I remember the disappointment on his face. After what Hydra did to me, I can never go back, it will always be a part of me. Don’t get me wrong, I want to remember, I even document every memory that comes back to me, but I just can’t face his disappointment again. At least, not yet.”

After Bucky had finished talking I didn’t know what to say, what the right words would be.

“That must have been very difficult for you to admit to me.” I told him after I had let it all sink in, “Thank you for trusting me and explaining.”

“Please don’t tell Steve.” Bucky said suddenly, grabbing hold of my hand, surprising me.

“That you don’t want to disappoint him?”

“No, please don’t tell him that you found me.”

I looked into Bucky’s eyes and for a split second they reminded me of a dog’s. They were big, pleading, full of genuine fear and they looked straight into mine.

I knew Steve would murder me if he ever found out, but Buck’s eyes made me feel so guilty and it was as if I could feel his fear seeping into me through them. I was aware that that wasn’t possible, but yet I agreed to keep it all a secret. I just felt so bad for him.

“I just have one question.” I said.

“Yes?”

“Why did you tell me everything?” I loved the fact that he told me, but I was so confused when it came to why as I was a complete stranger.

“I don’t know.” he admitted, confusion lacing his voice, “I guess I get this feeling that I can trust you.”

Tags: @ravishyourheart

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beesandwasps · 5 years ago

Text

How To Complain More Effectively, With An Example Of How Not To Do It

This is going to kind of long, so I’m putting it below the fold.

A few days back, I made an extended comment on a post about Prohibition (which you can find here). In passing, since I was bringing up the public health crisis which England faced when distilled liquor was introduced, I mentioned for those who don’t know that distilled liquor was invented by Muslim chemists. I felt that this was necessary to mention because a lot of people on Tumblr are young and often don’t know much history, and might appreciate knowing some context. As far as I know, the actual history of alcohol distillation is not a particularly controversial subject — there are well-attested accounts, trustworthy primary sources, the whole nine yards.

So: sometime today (I was away for most of the afternoon) some idiot DMed me claiming that I only mentioned that because I was a brainwashed PC leftist who wanted to… uh… make a dig at the English, I guess? (I’m still not 100% certain what, exactly, was the point they were trying to make.) In the course of some brief conversation, they came out with the following claims:

It doesn’t matter what actually happened, we shouldn’t credit Muslims with this invention (or, it was implied, anything positive at all)

The idiot I was talking to was Palestinian, so they’re automatically right about Muslims and disagreeing with them means condoning genocide of the Palestinians

“Muslim” is a political stance, not a religion, and it’s right-wing (speaking as an atheist: the latter might be debatable as to a statistical majority across the whole world, but it certainly isn’t just flat-out “true”)

Distilled liquor was independently invented by others, look at vodka! (This claim is actually outright false; even the briefest research shows that vodka was allegedly invented centuries later, and by people who already had distilling equipment — which means that they did not invent the process.)

Mohammed had a (political marriage to a) child bride so he must have been a pedophile and therefore admitting that Muslims have ever done anything at all noteworthy is encouraging pedophilia

There was probably more, but I blocked the idiot before it occurred to me to take screenshots so this is all paraphrased from memory. (Tumblr won’t show DMs from somebody who has been blocked, for which I am mostly thankful.)

The first point that should probably be made is: regardless of whether you think the Muslim invention of distillation deserves celebration or not, trying to deny that it exists because you don’t like it, or don’t like Muslims, is wrong. Wanna tear down statues because the subjects are problematic? Fine! As a Person Currently Living Today, you deserve a voice in who and what our society celebrates — and it’s even okay to say “let’s not have statues which honor anybody because we can’t agree who deserves it”! But when it comes to actual history? We should record what actually happened, to the greatest degree we can. Even in the modern era, with video, there can be ambiguity, but that does not mean it is acceptable to deliberately falsify things. We may never reach the ideal, but we should strive for it as much as we can.

Now, given the weird succession of claims, this was pretty obviously a right-wing wackjob, but once again, a lot of people on this site are young and may not know how to not be like this, so as a public service, let me lay down

A few guidelines for more effective complaining

Think seriously in advance about what you want your complaint to accomplish, and make sure you say it. Do you want an apology? (And do you want it privately or publicly?) A published correction and/or retraction? An acknowledgement of the issue with no correction? Is this a public performance to show how angry you are, not really directed at the recipient? Or are you just letting off some emotional steam and the consequences aren’t important? You should make it clear what you want, and depending on what it is, you should adopt a different tone. It is (or at least can be) okay to be angry! But unless you’re just yelling for the sake of yelling, you probably want “angry but collected” rather than “screaming everything that crosses your mind”. My idiot more or less jumped straight to the latter, and although they never actually said what they wanted me to do about it, you may notice that not only am I not issuing a retraction or an apology, I’m using them as an example of what not to do in a whole dedicated post and calling them an idiot. This is probably not the outcome you want.

Consider, as well, the relative importance of the thing you’re complaining about to the person you’re complaining to. Is this a major focus for them? Something they mentioned in passing? Were they sneering, or showing enthusiasm, or just talking about it? Obviously you may have to make a judgement call to some degree, but it’s important to remember that other people’s focus may differ from yours. If the issue isn’t very important to the other person, you probably want to be less demanding. (Once again: “being less demanding” is not the same as “not being angry”! “I demand that you issue an immediate public apology for saying something as terrible as [fill in the blank]” is a different approach from “I understand you only said [fill in the blank] in passing, but that is actually a terrible thing to say, it made me horribly angry to see such a statement even as an aside, and you should apologize unless you really intended to be that offensive”.)

Be careful about assuming hostility. Sadly, even people who try to be deliberate in all their actions fail to actually do so. Equally sadly, having good intent does not guarantee that you do no harm. (And people can even have good intent and be so completely wrong that they do harm while trying to be helpful.) Obviously, there’s a limit to how much slack you cut people when deciding whether they “meant” what they were doing, but there should be some slack if possible. And no, this does not mean “you should be happy to be a human doormat” — but the fact that you are complaining, all by itself, already demonstrates that you are not.

At a minimum, you should check your facts on Wikipedia. Even Wikipedia might not be enough, but if you’re going to make claims in your complaint which any random person with an Internet connection can disprove in 10 seconds, your complaint invalidates itself immediately. My idiot made the vodka claim, and the instant the search results came up for “vodka invention” I knew that this was a person who was not motivated by any kind of concern for the facts.

Don’t pull in irrelevant things. My idiot was probably doomed to fail anyway, but the minute they brought in “I’m a Palestinian” they were fighting a very definite uphill battle — even without the ridiculous claim of “you can’t disagree in the slightest with me, personally, without condoning genocide”, it’s irrelevant to a question of historical fact! The Muslims invented distilled liquor and it became a serious social problem in England whether my idiot is Palestinian or Saudi or Israeli — or English, for that matter. And the weird claim about pedophilia very definitely sank any hopes the idiot might have of convincing me for good. “Irrelevant” has different meanings in different contexts — had I been saying something about Palestinians, particularly something subjective, then it would have been at least slightly relevant that my particular idiot was Palestinian. Context matters, so consider it.

You don’t have to be polite, but it can be useful — and it’s a good idea not to be the first person to be outright rude. At this point, nobody owes Donald Trump civility — but when people express anger at him in public, remaining polite about it emphasizes how much better they are than he is. (And since it’s clear that he’s incapable of anything like a sincere apology, the only reason anybody would complain to him is as theater.) If you’re anti-TERF, then you don’t owe J. K. Rowling civility any more, because she has already made it clear she doesn’t respect you and doesn’t care what you think. But when there’s ambiguity? If the person is sympathetic then being polite may tip the scales, and if they aren’t it gives them one less excuse to dismiss your complaint. You will have to use your judgement, but if you stay calm and polite, no matter what the outcome is, you will have done a better job of maintaining your dignity, and that is always useful. In addition, in the event that the recipient gets angry and does something in retaliation, rudeness might be legally considered provocation, and leave you and not them on the hook.

Remember that your complaint is public if either you or the recipient wants it, and potentially “forever” like the Internet. If your complaint is a public performance, then this may work in your favor — but if not, remember that no matter how private your complaint is, the recipient might choose to make it public. That might be with benign intent — they’re publishing your complaint so they can apologize — but it might be malicious if publication would make you look bad. This is another good reason to remember the previous point and try to stay polite. (There’s also another factor: if your complaint is public, anybody in the future who looks you up on the Internet will probably find it. I hate to admit it, because it’s unfair, but this is a good reason to pick your battles.) (And this is why I’m not giving the account name of my idiot — they may have been awful, but if they want to remain anonymous that’s up to them.)

Make sure you’ve seen/read/heard enough to know what you’re talking about. This is the only point I can think of which my particular idiot did not fail on, but it’s common enough to deserve a mention. Before you issue a complaint, make sure that it’s justified. All of the following are things I have seen happen (or read about happening): (A) an offensive thing is the focus of a drama, and people issue complaints because it is offensive and should not be shown in a positive light — except that the whole point of the drama was to point out how offensive it was; the complainers only saw the name of it in the first sentence of a plot synopsis and assumed the drama must be defending it. (B) an acronym has multiple very distinct meanings; one of these meanings, which became attached to it after the other(s), is objectionable; the acronym shows up in a text where it obviously has the earlier, unoffensive meaning, but people see it and complain assuming it has the offensive meaning even though that would make absolutely no sense in context. (C) a character in a work of fiction does something which is morally offensive; people complain that this character’s existence is an attempt to defend the action, when in fact the action is used to show how terrible the character is. Try not to be the sort of person who does any of these things.

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