#I wish I could title this because I have such a good one. okay I’ll say it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

littlemissmentallyunstable · 13 days

Text

there’s been lots of requests and comments so here it is PART 3!!! (SHE’S HERE first anon, hope you survived this long second anon and it was not a dream third anon, I’m posting/making it now fourth and fifth anon)

some of you were going feral for part 2 so I hope this lives up the expectation 😭😭 if not I’m severely sorry

title: the dancer and the angel part 3

pairing: grayson hawthorne x reader

synopsis: grayson has just admitted to kissing lyra kane, the girl you’d been worried about, the girl that was stunning, the girl he said didn’t matter… he chose her over you so now what??

parts: part 1 part 2

warnings: swearing, SPOILERS FOR TGG

a/n: okay so I hate switching POVs but I felt it was necessary here and I know the start is the same as the part 2 but in Gray’s POV but trust me there is lot more

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @sweetlikeanangel @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31

GRAYSON’S POV

Guilt has chewed me up and spat me out the whole walk back to our shared room. There’s a pulsating lump in my throat that aches relentlessly, reminding me of what I’ve done. I am a terrible person. I never deserved her and now I’ve done the worst thing I could’ve possibly done, that anyone on this whole planet could’ve ever done. And she will never forgive me for it. I wish there was a way to turn back time and alter certain events. As soon as the time machine is invented, no doubt by my very own brother Xander, I’m coming back to moments before now to stop my idiot brain from-

I can’t even think it. Maybe it’s because it makes it more real. It’s like the last few moments of my life have been erased from my brain, it’s a blank canvas and I have no paints. I know what I did but I can’t remember exact details. Still, I can taste her on my lips, an over sweet taste that was almost too sickly has now morphed into something bitter. Her perfume lingers on my clothes and adds to my ever growing headache. I don’t want to smell her, I don’t want the reminder of the awful human I have become. The monster that now inhabits my body, lives in my skin, breathes my air and poisons the people I love. The ones I truly love.

Y/n. At one point she was the only reason I was still existing, still carrying on. She somehow managed to give me the fight to keep carrying on. I got up most days because I knew I would get to see her face. And now I’m going to throw everything away, our whole relationship. Everything we’ve been through or planned to go through together. It will reduced to nothing in a few minutes.

I’m outside the door, my feet have carried me here through muscle memory. I must go in, I must face her I’m aware but I’m afraid. I’ve never felt so pathetic. I wonder if she is still asleep. Though, I can’t work out whether I’d rather she be awake or asleep. I don’t think I could bear to look at her angelic feature either way. Those wide eyes, round lips, heavenly- I can’t bear it, I’m going to lose her, all of her.

I fiddle around with the key, hoping the door will just never unlock so I don’t have to face this. The mechanism clicks, mocking me. I step in silently and face the door to lock back up again. I don’t understand why, I know I’ll be kicked out in a matter of seconds, what good will a locked door be? And yet I’m still facing the door, fumbling with the key, my back towards her. Though I can hear her getting out of bed. She’s awake. My body’s immediate response is to go into a state of paralysis. I can’t move as the guilt ridden cement hardens over my body, creating an outer shell of the cruel creature I’ve become. Her body is behind mine. I can feel her bright presence radiating her usual tentative nature.

“Are you okay?” I hear her whisper as she touches my arm so gently it stings.

It stings so sharply because I know what I’ve done. The shameful crime I’ve committed. I jerk away suddenly.

“Are you hurt?” she asks, deep concern in her tone.

It kills me. It’s a poisoned dagger wedged deep within my heart, hitting every vital artery. Her voice is so soft, so melodic. She cares so much, too much and I’m about to destroy it all. And as much as I could not say a word I couldn’t live a lie, the guilt would eat me alive. How could I look her in the eye and tell her she’d always been the only one when I know she hadn’t? She’d already noticed earlier today my distant mood. She had always been observant, vigilant about those things concerning me and I’d always been grateful. I wouldn’t have that anymore. Lyra had been on my mind earlier and I couldn’t tell her. Now she would realise.

“No,” I reply.

My voice is unfamiliar to myself, it’s sharp and blunt. It sounds horribly harsh. I could feel it hurt her, the air ripples with a touch of dimness when I hurt her. Even with my back to her it’s obvious to me. I know her so well, too well and from this day on we might drift to perfect strangers. That thought hurts me more than anything.

“Where have you been?” she says. Her voice so sweet, so innocent, cruelly naïve.

I don’t want to break her, I don’t want to do it. It would be like smashing a glass ballerina. Something so beautiful, something so delicate should be preserved not purposely broken. I force my eyes to meet hers. I immediately regret it. The soft mellow colour all melts into one, clawing at my heartstrings and ripping the organ to shreds. She’s so beautiful. How had I ever looked at any other? How had I let myself?

Suddenly I’m drowning in guilt. I don’t know how, it just comes over me suddenly. Like a tidal wave I had my back to. I’ve been swept under by an endless ocean of shame. My lungs swollen full of my own black sin. I don’t know how but I manage to choke out two shaky words.

“I’m sorry.”

My voice cracks. My voice never cracks. She knows that. I’m sturdy, I’m strong, I’m the rock that never breaks and here I am. Here I am crumbling into dust. She’s too smart to miss the signs, she’s too clever not to immediately know something so horribly wrong, her mind is too sharp not to have worked half of it out. She’d already been suspicious of Lyra. She’d already seen what might happen between us even before I did, before it did actually happen.

“Gray?” she asks, my name sounding too sweet on her tongue. The next time she says it will taste bitter, I’m sure of it. She barely whispers the word but I hear her, it rings in my mind. It forever will.

I’m full of pure regret and guilt, it wracks my soul, shaking me relentlessly back and forth until I’m dizzy with it. Remorse’s doors suddenly burst wide open, ready for my grand entrance. My hopes and dreams snicker and smirk smugly as I walk down the runway, my head hanging in embarrassment.

I need to tell her. My heart races in my chest and there’s a lump stuck in my throat, so large it’s started to block my airways. I don’t know how to get the words out, I don’t know how to talk. I feel like I’m suffering some sort of aneurysm. She looks at me, her eyebrows pinched in and eyes narrowed and then I see it. Her eyebrows part and slowly sink. She knows already.

“Tell me,” she murmurs, her voice of an angel shaking.

I close my eyes, trying to suppress the tears. I haven’t cried in years I’ve forgotten this feeling, this heavy weighted agony that ripples through me causing water to infiltrate my eyes. I bite the inside of my cheek and still my shaking hands.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, an uninvited raw desperation ripping through my voice, “I never wanted to hurt you, I never meant for it to happen, I-“

“Tell me,” she grits through her teeth sharply, her eyes glitter so beautifully fierce and fiery, like she wants to kill.

But I know she’s trying to steady her rising sadness by covering up with her fury. I can see through her, like she can see through me. I freeze and the pause elongates. The aching silence is deadly, it’s fatal. I wish she didn’t have to make me say it.

“I kissed her,” I murmur, the words making me feel sick as I say them.

“Who?” she asks, he tone low and ferocious, “who did you kiss? I want to hear you say it.”

I’m twisting a knife into her heart and I know it. But she wants me to cut deeper. She’s a woman of principle, I’ve already hurt her, I might as well do the job properly in her eyes. And I can’t deny her this. Not I’ve stripped her of her dignity, her trust, her love, her everything.

“I kissed Lyra,” I whisper, suddenly aware of the dampness on my cheeks.

A sour taste fills my mouth. The words send lightning sparks across my jaw, sending ribbons of agony down the sides of my face. The truth hurts. Literally. Tears are rolling the side of my face, but I don’t bring my hand to wipe them and nor do I stop them. I’ve never felt more broken.

But she doesn’t care, there is not pity in her eyes. Good. I don’t want he to pity me. She should hate me. She should want me to miserable and hope for me to have a lifetime of the torture I’ve just forced her to endure.

“Get out,” she murmurs, the anger bringing out her natural stunning features. A flicker of boldness in her eyes, the striking angles of her eyebrows, her strong thick lashes and her full lips.

“I’m sorry.” they’re the only words I remember how to say, through my internal fit of torment.

I expect her to hit me around the face, a good strong punch I know she can make or a sharp smack that’ll leave a red hand mark pressed against my cheek. I imagine she might scream at me and ask me all the questions I wish I had answers to. But she does none of that. She only looks at me darkly and utters two last words.

“Leave Grayson.”

I can hear the tears she’s trying to hold back, through the numb façade. I know her better than she’ll ever realise. But it’s not fair for me to stay, not after this. She’s only asking one thing of me when she should be doing so much more. So I do. I turn my back on her again. And I leave.

***

Tears pummel down my cheeks like never before. I can’t remember the last time I cried. I don’t think I’ve ever cried like this. I’m blinded by them as I stumble sideways. I don’t know where I’m going. I stand on the edge of the cliff and sink to my knees, letting out a loud guttural scream. I’m there until my throat is so raw I can’t feel it. I bite my lip so hard it draws blood. And then I’m up again and running, following a path my footsteps are dragging me towards. I can’t think straight, I’m dizzy with pain. Before I know it I’m outside the safe house on the island. My hands tremor on the handle and I swing open the door, falling to the floor for my sobs to take me over. My chest aches and burns and tightens. That’s when I realise I can’t breathe properly. I fumble around for my phone, a tear splashing into the illuminated screen. With uncontrollably shaking hands, I typed no words. Just three numbers.

911

***

The wait feels like years, maybe even decades. Each second taunts me, with a mocking tick. I’d crumbled into the corner of the room at some point and stayed there, curled up and choking on my own sorry sobs. What had I done? What had I done? What had I done?

The question circles around my head like the nostalgia of a distorted tune of a merry go round. I’ve never made such a big mistake and my life and deep down there’s a sinking sensation that is telling me I’m not going to be able to make this better. I sob, loud harsh sobs that hurt my lungs and knock the air out of my stomach. My whole being shakes with every strangled noise that escapes my lips. Grieving. I’m grieving over something I chose to throw away. It’s cruelly ironic. But I think part of me is also grieving the good man I once thought myself to be, that she made me believe I could be.

I turned my back on the one and only person in this world who just cared about me, took me for who I am and believed I could do anything. She only wanted the best, she only wanted happiness and she deserved so much more and here I am, stabbing her in the back and dancing in her blood like a madman. She was my everything and I managed to mess it up, just like everything else in my life. I can’t have normal relationships, I can’t do something without messing it up. I’m one big screw up the opposite of how the old man raised me to be. He’s looking down on me now and I can feel his disappointment, like an infection coursing through my bloodstream. I failed him, I failed my brothers, I’ve failed her, I’ve failed myself.

She thought I was better, she believed I could be more than his expectation. And I was stupid enough to believe it, encourage it and let her belive the lie too. We’re all idiots.

I can recite her favourite song, her favourite flower, her favourite food and favourite colour. I can tell you all about her favourite novels and how she orders her books on an endless bookshelf. I know that she tells people her favourite film is ‘it’s a wonderful life’ but it’s actually secretly ‘tangled’. I know she prefers to stay inside and cuddle under blankets rather than have a night out. I know she’d rather reason a thousand books than watch a thousand movies. I know she wanted a library in her dream house and two, maybe three children with her husband and I know she’d sometimes debate about getting a cat as well. I know how she loves brownie batter more than the actual brownies and can’t sleep with any lights on. I know she still uses the bunny rhyme to tie her shoelaces and how she fiddles with her collarbone when she’s nervous. I know exactly what diamond she wanted in her engagement ring and her favourite country. I know what people she despises and I know what people she adores. I know every inch of her face, every hair on her head, every sparkle in her eyes and every cell on her skin.

I know her.

I know her, but that can’t help me now. Pain ripples across the left side of my chest and my hand clamps over it as I grit my teeth to try and bear it. I hear the door creek open and can’t tell whether it comforts me or not.

“Grayson pookie!” Xander calls out, “we’re here.”

His cheerful voice doesn’t provide me with the cushion to this pain I thought it might.

“And we have some in incredibly strong whisky,” Jameson adds, I can here the mischievous grin in his voice, it’s been the same all of his life.

“My nose hairs are officially burnt off,” Xander agrees.

I can’t speak. I try to call out for them but the words die in my swollen throat.

“Where are you Gray?” Nash calls out, he sounds a little more worried than the other two but is concealing it well.

“Here,” my voice is hoarse and laboured, even I can’t recognise it.

The mood immediately shifts, you can feel it. The air becomes tainted with concern as their footsteps approach my cowering figure. The case of whiskey is dropped as there is an audible thunk as it hits the floor. I can feel their bodies enveloping around mine creating something of a circle of safety. I look up to worried face and shiny eyes.

“Help me,” I gasp for air, greedily trying to gulp down the oxygen that I feel so deprived of, “please.”

“We’re here to help you Gray,” Nash murmurs softly. His voice had always been something comforting, especially when I was younger. I wonder if he will be so kind when I tell him what I’ve done. He’s going to hate me, there’s nothing he despises more than a man who can’t respect a woman.

I shake my head and choke out another struggling sob, instead of the words I don’t know how to say. Jameson’s eyes flit between mine and Nash’s, the concern rippling across his features. He’s never looked this concerned for me in his life. I think to all the times as children I’d helped him settle after a nightmare and wiped his tears that he hated falling when the old man had humiliated him. Oh how the tables had turned. Now it was my little brother wiping my tears.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his touch so gentle it shocks me.

“I can’t-“ I barely get out, wrapping my hands around my neck.

“Gray…” he trails off, unmasked emotion hitting his face like a train.

“I can’t breathe,” I wheeze as the invisible blanket that was set out to suffocate me tightens over my nose and mouth.

“Hey, Gray, look at me,” Nash says, his voice smooth and reassuring, “in and out okay, in and out.”

“I can’t,” I pant, my limbs shaking embarrassingly uncontrollably.

Xander takes both of my hands into his and squeezes them until they still, “yes you can, follow Nash’s instructions okay?”

“Slowly, do it with me,” Nash nods, “in through your nose and out through your mouth.”

I do. In and out, a rhythmic pattern. Each time Nash reminds me how to breathe. There’s an aura of calmness about his voice that lulls my panic into a narcoleptic sleep. Once my breathing is halfway regulated I look at him, dead in the eye, with shaking sorrowful lips.

“I fucked up,” I sob, “I fucked up and I don’t know what to do.”

They all share a look, this is the worst state they’ve seen me and we all know it. I begin to pathetically sob uncontrollably once again, the feelings building up in my chest and tearing me apart from the inside out. It’s like a rabid pack of wolves had been set loose to feed on my internal organs. I don’t know how to stop the ocean of tears, I don’t know how to shut my mind off, I don’t know how to help myself. Reel myself in from this abominable mess I’ve become. I’m hyperventilating, my chest throbbing up and down unevenly. Nash nods towards Jameson, a short, soft, sharp nod of approval.

“Hey! Calm down!” Jameson snaps, giving me a hard slap around the face, “snap out of this!”

The shock shuts me up and the sting stops my tears. I’m back to reality instead of a wallowing mess. Nash must’ve been approving the slap I realise in the sudden cleared head I’d obtained

“Sorry,” Jameson mumbles at me, looking a little guilty.

I massage my jaw, “no I think I needed that.”

He grimaces and then softens his tone, “what happened Gray?”

I tense, growing very still, “I can’t say it out loud, I can’t, I’m awful, I’m horrible-“

“What happened?” Nash drawls.

I choke out yet another unnatural sound. Seems the slap didn’t snap me hard enough into reality. I exhale slowly. I have to say it, now or never.

“I kissed Lyra.”

The words hurt even more this time, that they did when I’d admitted it to y/n. Neither one of my brothers can mask their honest reaction.

“Oh fuck,” Jameson blurts out, “you cheated?”

Anger. He’s fuming with me. I can see the rage trailing through his eyes and blossoming into his expression.

“I didn’t mean to,” I reply, feeling like a small child.

Jameson’s eyes widen and fury flashes across his face, “how can you not mean-“

Nash shoots him a look and his mouth glues shut. Then he turns to me and I can’t quite read him yet. I gulp.

“No one does that kind of thing for no reason,” he says sternly, “I never thought you’d be the one of the four of us to ever do that, seems I was mistaken little brother.”

Disappointment. He’s disappointed. A horrible sinking feeling settles in my stomach. Nash is disappointed in me. It’s one of the worst feelings imaginable. There had only been few times in my life when he had been and I remember the feeling all too well. Shame has me in a chokehold an it’s succeeding in strangling me. I can‘t bring myself to meet his eyes, I don’t want to see that look I can feel is on his face, that look of pure disapproval.

“How did she find out?” Xander asks quietly.

Shock. He hadn’t said anything until now, but his lips had been slightly parted and he’d paled a little. He never thought I’d do this to anyone, he’s yet another person I’ve let down.

“I told her,” I murmur, “the guilt was consuming me.”

“As it should,” Jameson snaps, twitching with a fiery ferocity.

“Jamie,” Nash says, trying to keep some kind of diplomacy.

“No,” he growls, “you don’t do that to a girl, your girl, you can’t do that!”

“Don’t take the moral highground now,” I spit.

“When you’ve cheated on your girlfirend? Yeah I think I will,” he replies, the bitterness rolling off of his tongue like a deadly poison. He doesn’t know I’ve already poisoned myself with my own actions, his words can’t hurt me.

“I didn’t mean to,” I falter.

“Bullshit,” he grits through his teeth, in two definitive and threatening symbols.

“Careful Jamie,” Nash warns.

“All this is your fault anyway,” I continue, ignoring the warning.

“So it’s my fault, you kissed another girl, yeah, okay Gray,” he nods his head with a sarcastic smile.

“It is!” I exclaim, throwing my hands in the air, “if you hadn’t locked me in a room with her-“

“So it’s my fault you couldn’t keep up dick under control,” he quips, interrupting me.

“You could’ve locked me with my one of my sisters but of course you just had choose the only girl who isn’t related to me,” I seethe.

“Odette isnt related to you,” Xander pipes up. I’d forgotten he was there, that anyone besides me and Jameson were there.

“Odette is old enough to be my grandmother,” I scowl at him, immediately feeling bad as the words leave my lips, but don’t dwell on it as I turn back to Jameson, “why did you make me a player in your sick excuse of a game?”

“You can’t use the game as an excuse,” he laughs darkly.

“I will,” I reply sharply, “this is your fault and Avery’s fault too.”

“Avery? Don’t make me laugh,” he rolls his eyes.

“The game never should’ve been created by her,” I yell, “that’s why I’m in this mess!”

“No, you’re in this mess because of you,” he shouts back, “but don’t you dare bring Avery in to this it’s not her fault.”

I feel like I’m one of those circus acts, the ones that lay on a spinning board and get knives hurled at them. Only in my case the knives are the truth and they actually hit me.

“Why did you make me a player?” I ask quieter now, my voice hoarse, “why?”

“I didn’t know making you a player would result in this,” he says.

“It was so irreverent,” I snap becoming angrier by the second, a sudden burst of red overriding any rational sense in my head, “I never needed to play.”

“You can’t pin this on me Gray, if it didn’t happen with Lyra, who knows who else it would’ve happened with,” he hisses.

“So you think I’m just like this? You think this is me?” I ask him, prodding the hollow space where my heart used to be.

“I didn’t before….” he trails off, sighing, “but now I don’t know what the fucking think of you.”

“Jamie,” Nash repeats again, in the same warning tone as before. We both ignore him.

“Just because you and Avery are all peaches and roses-“

“Leave Avery out of your anger issues,” he roars defensively.

“No,” I counter, raising an eyebrow, mirroring his usual argument demeanour, “you think you’re so perfect now you’ve got your dream girl and the two of you are so much better off than the rest of us, because your love is undeniable or whatever bullshit people feed you about it-“

Jameson’s features twitch for a split second. He’s hurt, but won’t show it. He’ll refuse but I know that it hit a nerve that won’t heal for a long time. I stop mid-sentence.

“I am far from perfect, I think we both know that,” he says, in a low voice, “look you’re hurting, I get it, but I’m not going to mollycoddle you and tell you it’s okay when it’s not. I’m not going to stand here and lie to your face because as your brother that would be the worst possible thing for me to do to you.”

“My brother would try and understand what it’s like from my side,” I say, desperation clawing at my voice.

“You’re looking for a fight Grayson and it’s not going to end well, not with me,” he warns, shaking his head.

“Maybe I do want a fight, but you know you do too,” I growl rolling up my sleeves, “so fine, I’ll give you a fight Jamie.”

“I don’t want a fight, I want some justice for y/n,” he states simply, “she did nothing to deserve that Gray, she’s been so good to you, the sweetest soul on this earth and she’s helped you through a lot of shit and this is how you’re repaying her?”

“Jameson,” Nash says.

He ignores him for the third time and I can see his calm facade beginning to drop, “you think because you called a 911 and you’re here crying that I should feel sorry for you?”

“I thought you were going to be here for me,” I reply numbly, my tone dead, “clearly I’m mistaken.”

“I can’t be there for someone with no morals,” he replies, “you cheated and you’re the one who’s upset about it, how do you think she feels?”

“You think I don’t know her?” I fire back, my throat burning, “you think I don’t know exactly what she’s doing right now? I hate myself, I hate myself for doing what I did!”

“Good you should!” he screams back.

Before I know it I feel myself charges towards him, ready to throw a good punch but Nash and Xander launch onto me to quickly and managing to hold me back. Nash’s grip is so tight I don’t dare try and budge.

“Out. Now.” Nash says sharply to Jameson, “go and cool off.”

His tone sends a shiver down my spine that I won’t admit to. Jameson opens his mouth to argue.

“Jameson.”

He skulks away, with a sullen face. We all wait frozen until the door has been slammed shut. Nash lets my arm go, dropping it harshly and Xander follows suit.

“And you’re no better,” he turns to me, placing his cowboy hat on a nearby surface, “I’m only sending him away because you can’t be left alone in this mess and so the two of you don’t rip each other to pieces.”

Silence stills the room. His voice echoes but makes no sound all at the same time.

“Take a second, take a breath and we’re going to talk this through like adults,” he says, “if you want to carry on being a child then leave. Calm down, you’re not a toddler having a tantrum, you’re a grown man, act like it.”

Nash has a way of snapping me back to reality. I nod shakily.

“Talk.”

I begin, “I don’t even know why I kissed her, I didn’t mean to it just-“

“Happened?” he guesses, “no little brother, that doesn’t just happen.”

“The I don’t know Nash,” I say, tipping my head back and resting it on the wall behind me.

I hadn’t meant for it to happen. I didn’t want it to happen. It just did. She was there, just stood there. Her hands looped naturally around the back of my neck, warm and gentle, “someone sent me that ticket Grayson. I thought it was Avery but if it wasn’t…”

She trails off, her voice small and tentative. Her golden eyes filled with the utmost worry. I wanted her to know she’d be okay, that she’d have someone to keep her safe. Her arms get more comfortable around my neck. She’d felt it too, the electrifying spark between us. It was exhilarating but something about it was off, synthetic.

“Then who the hell was it?” I questioned, my hands magnetised to her cheek all of a sudden.

Lyra didn’t pull away and neither did I. I lower my head and she raised onto her toes and titled hers back a little. She was graceful, like a dancer. My lips brushed over hers. They were sweet like honey. For the first few moments it was bliss and the realisation hit, like a stone to my stomach. I jerked backwards suddenly, shaking my head.

“I can’t do this,” I said, my fingers trying to wipe her taste off of my lips, “I don’t- this isn’t-“

I was tongue-tied, not able to explain to her how wrong it was. The words wouldn’t work the way I wanted them to.

“Gray?” Lyra murmurs, a tender voice. Her amber eyes are widened and slightly confused.

“No,” I yell. She flinches and another wave of horribly strong emotion rushes over me, drowning me. “No I’m in love with someone else. I don’t know what that was. I can’t-“

I stumbled backward a few steps and the turned around and ran. Like the coward that I am.

“It did just happen,” I murmur, lifting my head from the wall to look my older brother in eye, “I swear to god, I didn’t intend for it to happen, I didn’t even know I had feelings for her.”

I can see he disagrees still and isn’t convinced. I don’t know how to prove it to him.

“Let’s establish one thing here, who do you like?” Xander asks me.

“I like Lyra,” I say slowly, “but I love y/n.”

Nash shakes his head, “if you loved her you wouldn’t have done that.”

“I made a mistake,” I press on.

“And you will pay for it and regret it for the rest of your life,” he shrugs, “it’s not what you wanted to hear but it’s the truth. Listen, I love Libby and loving someone means so many things. One of those things is that I don’t even look at other women, to me they don’t even really exist. Libby is my world and no one else even comes into the equation, so the fact is someone else came into the equation for you, meaning the love wasn’t there.”

“But it was, I felt it,” I say, my voice breaking as I press my chest.

“What do you feel for Lyra?” he asks plainly.

“I don’t know, she’s intriguing and smart and beautiful,” I murmur, “and I like her, but I don’t know if I have romantic feelings for her.”

“Then why did you kiss her?”

“Comfort? Lust? Greed? Selfishness? I don’t know it just happened,” I repeat for what feels like the hundredth time.

“Stop using that phrase as a get out clause,” Nash shakes his head, “you have to admit to yourself more than anyone that this didn’t just happen.”

“I leaned in and I put my lips of hers, and I didn’t stop it, it didn’t feel wrong straight away,” I admit out loud finally.

“It didn’t?” Xander says, looking wounded.

“No, it didn’t feel wrong until I realised what I’d done,” I say, looking down, suddenly finding my shoelaces to be the most interesting thing in the world.

No one replies for a long while. That’s when I realise how exhausted I truly am and how much I crave sleep.

“I vouched for you,” Xander says quietly, “I told her that you’d never do that, that you weren’t that guy.”

“I’m not,” I say, in denial at first. I take a moment to analyse his sentence and then come to a sickening realisation, “oh my god I am…”

“She was already anxious about where your loyalties were Gray,” he winces.

“I proved her right, I proved every worry she had right, I just proved to her that she shouldn’t have trusted me,” I spiral, hating that I hadn’t seen it sooner.

Xander looks to Nash for support for a reply.

“Yeah,” Nash sighs, “you did.”

“I need to fix this, there has to be a way-“

“Grayson,” the acuteness of his voice cuts through my sentence like a machete.

I freeze and clamp my mouth firmly shut.

“This isn’t a broken vase, you can’t glue it back together or buy a new one,” he tells me softly.

He was referring to a time where Jameson and I had been seven and eights years old. We’d been brawling of course, Hawthorne style and accidentally smashed a vase. Usually it wouldn’t matter, there were vases all over Hawthorne House and they were smashed frequently. But this wasn’t just any vase. It was nan’s priceless vase that had belonged to her daughter, our grandmother, Alice. We were never allowed within a five mile radius of it, but like the rebellious children we were, we didn’t listen. Through our fight we’d smashed the whole thing, it was truly destroyed. The two of us stayed up for nights on need gluing together the pieces only to realise it was never going to look like the original again. So we’d hunted to buy another, problem was, this vase was one of a kind. It turned out after four weeks or trying to ship a similar one in that nan had known the whole time. She didn’t speak to either of us for a good few months.

“This is real life, she is a real person and you hurt her,” he explains, “fixing this isn’t an option. There isn’t a way to fix it, there are no pieces to our back together, okay?”

I’m silent but it’s the loudest voice in the room. My face pinches together in agony. For the first time, a little of the disappointment fades and my brother’s face softens. He wraps a strong arm around me and I flop into him like a lifeless bag of nothingness. I bury my head into his shoulder and try to cry but there seems to be no tears left. He understands and holds me for a moment. Suddenly I’m six years old again and crying in Nash’s in my arms over Jameson hiding my favourite teddy bear at the time, then I’m eleven in his arms with pneumonia after being stupid enough to get caught in the rapids un the dead of winter wanting a good photograph of a rare fish, then I’m seventeen, crying over a redheaded girl who I thought I’d managed to murder. And now here I am, at twenty-two years old in his grasp once again, having made the greatest mistake of my life.

Suddenly I feel another set of arms wrap around the both of us.

“Group hug!” a familiar voice sings.

Leave it to Xander to make me crack a half smile in the darkest moments I’ve ever experienced. After a while I pull away and sigh.

“Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?” I ask, pulling away.

“Honestly?” Xander asks.

I nod

“No,” he says. I wish I could see that little glimmer of a lie in his eyes, but I can’t. And it kills me.

“Think about it like this,” he sighs, “would you forgive Eve for what she did?”

“This is not the same thing,” I reply coldly.

“Eve cheated your trust, she betrayed you,” he explains gently, “that’s exactly how she feels.”

Dread fills my every pore as I murmur lifelessly, “I’m as bad as Eve.”

“No wait,” he says, looking guilty and panicked all at the same time, “that’s not what I meant!”

“I know,” I reassure him so some of his guilt subsides, “but it’s true and now I’ve just realised.”

“Look Gray, you aren’t Eve. You’re never going to be Eve, but think of how you felt then. That’s how y/n feels,” Nash soothes, “she’s not going to just forgive you, that’s not how it works.”

“You just broke her heart Gray,” Xander adds, careful to keep his tone as light as a feather, “for a girl you just met.”

“Why am I horrible person? Why do I always find a way to mess to something good?” I groan, smacking my head on the wall behind me. There’s an audible thump as pain spreads through the back of my skull. I wonder if I can concuss myself to forget all of this, but I don’t attempt the idea.

“You don’t-“

“No I do,” I say firmly, cutting him off, “I’m not meant for love, to love or to be loved, I’m not built for it. I’m not a good enough person for it. I’m never going to find my Libby or my Max or my Avery.“

“Grayson-“ Nash begins.

“Emily knew it and now so does y/n,” I snap.

My brothers still at her name, not moving a muscle. I never bring up Emily.

“Listen to me,” Nash says sharply, getting my attention, “you are meant to be loved. You are meant to love. I love you, Xander loves you, Jameson loves you and y/n loved you too…”

The change of tense makes my soul ache.

“…but this time around, you made a mistake, a costly mistake. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve love.”

I nod numbly, robotically.

“What can I do to make it up to her?” I ask, my voice beginning to tremble, “to show her I’m sorry? Something there has to be something.”

Nash gives me a grim look and Xander’s face remains blank, they’re the only answers I need. My head sinks into my hands. The door reopens and I look back up. Jameson has returned.

He meets my eyes, “Avery’s with her.”

Blood surges through my heart and I can almost smile. He checked on her. For me.

“Is she okay?” I ask quickly.

Jameson looks at me and for a split second I almost see the ghost concern is his eyes. He shakes his head softly, “no, but she will be,” he replies, it’s an attempt to comfort me and I am grateful.

“Thank you,” I mumble.

“I’m not apologising for what I said, because I still stand by it and you won’t change my mind,” Jameson says, “but I am sorry for being so angry about it.”

“You were right,” I whisper, “you were right about me. I never deserved her, so was nothing but an angel to me and I just turned around and threw it all away. I abused the luxury I had, I stabbed her in the back and then gifted another with the knife, I’m a horrible person.”

“What you did was wrong, but that’s doesn’t make you a horrible person,” he sighs, “you need time Gray, this is going to take a lot of healing. On both sides.”

“I don’t deserve to heal, I deserve to be in pain,” I murmur, the dullness in my tone echos around the empty walls.

“Oh no, we’re not going back to emo Grayson,” Xander says quickly, shaking his head.

“I agree with Xander on this one,” Nash nods, readjusting his cowboy hat.

“I don’t want to hear you blasting my chemical romance at three a.m and then denying it later again, you came out of that phase we’re not going back there,” Jameson tells me.

I bark out a laugh that thaws my icy chest. I then bite the inside of my cheek.

“I can’t fix this, can I?” I say, looking at the ground,

Nash shakes his head softly.

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t be fixed,” Xander says.

“You’ll get through this Gray,” Jamie agrees, “I know it.”

The room grows still.

“Can we drink that whiskey now?” I ask, to cut through the silence. I feel like getting drunk, I feel like I need some relief.

“Big brother,” Xander nods at Nash handing him the bottle.

“Little brother,” he tips his cowboy hat in reply before taking the bottle into his hands and cracking it open.

“Let me pour these things properly,” Nash grins, “Jamie, come help.”

“Wait me too!” Xander jumps up,

“Stay with Gray,” he shakes his head.

“I don’t need to be babysat,” I grumble, annoyance written all over my face.

“I want to watch them pour whiskey properly,” Xander explains, “so I can impress Max.”

My eyebrows fly to my forehead, “Max drinks?”

“No I want to impress her though,” he grins.

‘You’re an odd human,” I almost laugh, tilting my head to the side.

“Why ta very much!” he says, almost skipping away.

Once I know they’re all gone, I lean back on the wall, my heart feeling a tiny bit less heavy. The pain isn’t gone. I think I’ve just gone numb. I feel hollow, empty, nothingness. Guilt is still gnawing at my insides but slower. A satifying clink against the fragile rim of the glass takes me out of my own head for a split second. There are hushed voices from the kitchen, I notice. I walk over to the door that lay ajar, I lean in to listen.

“We need to tell him,” it sounds like Jameson.

“Not now,” the accent indicates Nash.

“Then when?” Xander’s voice asks, “how long can we prolong it.”

“I can hear you,” I tell them, raising my voice a little.

They turn to face me, awkwardly remaining silent. The expressions on their faces don’t offer me comfort.

“Whatever it is, spit it out,” I say, “it’s not like tonight could get any worse.”

They share a look. Apparently it can. I feel sick to my stomach.

I can barely breathe, “who died?”

“No one has died,” Xander says quickly, “yet.”

“What?” I say, my tone deadly,

Nash glares at him, then turns back to me. There’s sorrow laced delicately, deep within his hazel irises.

“Gray,” he says gently, “Gray we hate to do this but…”

“What? What is it?” I ask urgently.

“Gigi’s missing.”

The words shock me to my core. I feel my throat begin the close up as panic returns with a smirk and triumphant greeting. My whole world has collapsed in less than 24 hours.

***

YOUR POV

I don’t hate him. Call me naive or call me stupid. But I don’t. I don’t think I ever could. The kind of love I have for him is unconditional, irrevocable. Time can’t heal a wound this deep and although it is still fresh now, I can tell. But if he were to say sorry I think I would forgive him every time. And if he asked me back I’d fall into his arms into an instant. And I hate myself for it, it’s stupid and it’s a little cruel. How easily I would take him back after what he did. I know I shouldn’t but something inside of me is drawn to him. Like an invisible magnet has been planted in our hearts. I wish I didn’t love so hard, fall so deeply, maybe I wouldn’t get hurt so badly. But it’s in my nature, it’s who I am. I wonder if he knows how much pain I’m in, the rippling agony that rolls across my chest relentlessly with no hint as to when it will cease. I’m tired of being the second choice but unfortunately I wouldn’t mind being his. And I know it’s completely stupid of me to think that way, completely wrong but love makes you do stupid things so they say. I sit on the beach, by the sea in a state of numbness. Silent tears roll down my tears as the waves lap my feet. Deja vu washes over me and the memories of Grayson and I the night of the game flash through my mind.

I grip his hand and run with him as he guides me the just beyond the shore. He sits down swiftly on the sand and pulls me down to sit between his legs. I lean my back onto his chest and let him nuzzle his face into my collarbone.

“I love you,” he whispers, kissing my neck, “only you.”

Only me, huh? Only me…

The waves crash against the rocks, hurtling a salty spray towards me. I hear footsteps and turn around. Avery stands there, a mournful expression over her delicate face. She knows. I stumble towards her and collapse into her arms in a fit of uncontrollable sobs now and she holds me. Her touch is gentle and warm but it’s nothing compared to his. I realise he might never hold me in his arms again and I cry even harder.

***

I don’t hold Lyra accountable. She is not to blame. Some girls in my position might dream about different ways to brutally murder her but I can only ask what comfort would it bring me? My feelings are already dead, what good is more pain doing?

There was a choice that Grayson Hawthorne was given: his dancer or his angel. He chose his dancer and I hope he’s happy. Because angels have wings and we rise up stronger.

idk guys I think I wrote Grayson’s POV really awfully to be honest… also I feel like the 911 meet up was not like their normal ones where they try and like do something (e.g drink or dare) and then talk about the pain but that’s bc Grayson was in such a mess and then they had to drop the bomb that Gigi was missing. so anywayyyss…

I am sorry this took so long and I hope it lived up to any expectation you wanted it too (sorry if it didn’t) and I hope you enjoyed 🤍🤍 thanks for reading as always

TIG masterlist

147 notes · View notes

theoryofthemultiverse · 4 months

Note

hehe its okay I understand:D thank you for the stuff u put out though they're really good

And because of that, I’ll gladly continue to make more stuff :>

Always makes me happy when I see all the likes in the morning, you guys help me start my day!

Hoyo‘s Doctors Love Languages ♥️

Synopsis: What’s likely to be their love language?

Characters: Baizhu, Dr.Ratio, Il Dottore

A.N: I hope we can fundamentally agree that the Bordeaux heart in the title is one of the prettiest. Also keep in mind that these are just assumptions what I have on them, and what they are more likely to have than the other love languages :)!

•:--•:♥️:•--•:♥️:•--•:♥️:•--•:♥️:•--•:♥️:•--•:♥️:•—:•

Baizhu 🐍

Quality time and acts of service

Loveable man spends long hours in the pharmacy every day, sees patients tends to their problems, looks for function of certain limbs so I believe he gets a lot of general human contact through his job. So therefore I feel like he would still enjoy cuddling for sure, but it would be his priority.

Same goes for giving gifts and words of affirmation. He surely likes giving you gifts and telling you how good you’re doing at something, but to him personally, there are just things he values so much more!

Like when the two of you spend the evening or morning together simply talking while drinking tea. Or if you decide to join him for meditation before the pharmacy opens up in the morning. If you listen to him telling you about some patients he encountered today, it all adds to his liking for quality time with you.

And if you connect it with little acts of service, like helping him sort herbs, or bringing him something he needs while in an examination with a patient, he will be in love.

Dr. Ratio 🎓

Physical Touch and Quality time

I honestly wished he could give words of affirmation but I feel like he is bad at it. (Please teach him a few vocabularies on that part) Because it might be a little too obvious, but even though you’re not his student, he still has a hard time finding things affirm them with. So all in all, a rare occurrence to hear very affirming words from him, but at least you can be sure you’re one of the only ones that ever got them then :,)

When it comes to gifts and acts of service I can see him liking it to some point. He sees meaning in a gift that comes from you if you put your thoughts and heart into it. As well as he likes you doing some acts of service for him, but acts of service are likely able to go into the ‚could you solve that equation for me‘ which he would know is something he can’t ask, so he is good about it.

But physical affection and quality time? Oh lord.

It might just be my thinking, but I believe this man is touch deprived. (I mean the only touch he really gets is the book and the chalk- which definitely don’t do the job) So when you offer to cuddle him or take a bath with him, he is over the moon.

And if you connect that with quality time as well then you even manage 2 things in one go! Cuddling while talking, listening to each other, or simply staying silent while reading a book. It really helps him recharge with you by his side.

Il Dottore🧪

Gift giving and Acts of service

Wouldn’t find much use for physical touch and words of affirmation. If you want to cuddle and get a little bit of affirmative words he’s not going to deny your wish but it’s visibly hard for him to come up with something to say that is not making you feel worse, so personally i advise against that :,)

When it comes to quality time though he is unsure, because if you come into his lab and ask him about everything he is doing and what this and that machine does he can’t help but enjoy that time spent with you and proudly show you everything around the room.

But that’s still nothing against gift giving and acts of service. Let’s say you’re out and about and suddenly stumble upon an ancient relic in one of Sumerus markets. You take it back to him and he’s going to be all over it and love you for bringing (gifting) it to him. Basically like you brought a new toy he can tinker on home with you which also connects to acts of service.

Let’s say you know your way around his lab and the way he likes to work, so when he is gone somewhere to maybe conduct an experiment, you already put out a few papers and a pen to spare him of the action upon his return, and while it may be just a small action, he really greatly appreciates you for it.

187 notes · View notes

isalisewrites · 4 months

Text

A Deep Dive into JKR's Terrible, Amateur Writing - Reflective Interlude

Hello and welcome to my ballsy series where I will prove to you, dear reader, that J.K. Rowling, author of the Harry Potter series and resident Twitter TERF, is actually a very, very poor writer.

And when I say ‘poor writer,’ I’m talking about her prose, her sentence structure, and her scenes in the Harry Potter series. I am not going to discuss anything about the HP world nor the overall plot of the books.

This is all about the nitty gritty in the craft of writing itself.

Part One Link.

Part Two Link.

However…

Hiya! *waves* I’m Isa, the author of this… Actually, I dunno what to call this series anymore. Anyway, thus far, you’ve heard a very satirical tone from me in the previous two posts, but that’s not my normal tone. I’m a rather laid back kind of gal with a side of sarcasm and deluge of emoji usage.

I have used quite a confident, even bombastically obnoxious tone in the effort to be entertaining and engaging with these posts. It was meant to be playful and sarcastic. It’s the internet, so I’m aware everyone’s attention is… kind of like a commodity, unfortunately. Look at TikTok or YouTube. How long does a 30s video hold your attention before you’re scrolling to the next? It depends for me, I’ll admit. People don’t have the attention span for long style posts such as these and that’s fair. Sometimes, I don’t either.

Thus, I used repeated ‘catch phases’ to maintain a rhythm and a thematic style through the series with a controversial title meant to hook a reader. I repeat the opening, even in this post. I repeat ‘Class is in session’ to show the beginning of the major section of the post.

However, in this interlude, I’ve toned it all down because I wanted to give you a window into my heart, my purpose, and my intent in this series. It is a reflective post that ends with writing motivation to you, my dear reader, as well as links to writerly resources.

I’ve had a lot to think about this week and I realized that many writers (and other creatives) have to battle against an enemy found within themselves. This enemy often torments many with cruel, destructive thoughts; they burrow their way into so many writers’ minds. It whispers: “Can you really do this? Are you really sure you’re any good? Aren’t you just fooling yourself? They’re going to find out you’re just a fraud. So… why bother?”

Whose voice is that?

Let’s talk about the destroyer of creation, Imposter Syndrome, why I refuse to let the bastard infect me anymore, and why my confident tone in previous posts has grated nerves.

Remember: take what resonates and leave what doesn’t.

(This means I write my posts with the honest acceptance and expectation that not everything will fit with your style, your vibes, or your personality. That’s okay.)

All right, let’s buckle up, my dear writing friends. Grab a snack. Hydrate. Let’s begin. And yes…

Class is in session on this little Tumblr post… should you wish to attend.

Having confidence or pride in one’s work seems to be taboo. Any brief moment in time where I tried to be proud about my writing or say, Hey, I’m a good writer, I was always told to be humble. “Don’t be prideful. Be humble.” It would often chip away at my self esteem. I could be a good writer, but I couldn’t allow myself to feel like a good writer.

But no more.

I have only given myself permission to be confident about my writing within the past month. This is why I started this series in the first place. I wanted to share knowledge and in an entertaining way. I make a bold claim that I’m a better writer than JKR; I analyze her writing to both improve my own understanding and to help others as well.

However, this does not mean I’ve ever been under the delusion I’m perfect. Absolutely not. God, that’s so fucking laughable! I am not perfect. I am not a perfect writer. I definitely don’t know everything. Someone once corrected me, informing me that snakes are venomous, not poisonous. Bless them, wasn’t aware of that. Immediately fixed that. One of the recent reblogs said geodes do not contain emeralds. God bless, I didn’t know that, though in the case of how it was used in TBG, I won’t be changing it since it’s within a character thought.

Sorry, Tom. I guess you need to take a geology class, too.

Ugh, and I have so many godforsaken typos. My soul withers when I catch a typo after I’ve posted a chapter. I miss things all the time. I repeat things because ‘that’s my thing’ and I don’t always catch them in my edits. I forget things all the time. Thank GOD for Dede, someone who loved TBG so much she spent countless hours archiving data from it, where she caught a number of inconsistencies and alerted me to them. I still haven’t been able to fix them yet, but I’m so grateful to her. I’ve noted them all down. Harry’s height often is incorrectly implied to be taller than it should be because my brain isn’t wired for imagery. My brain forgets TBG Harry is a short king at 5’4” while TBG Tom is 6’2” and I need to go back to fix all of those.

I am not a perfect writer and I don’t claim to be.

My goals with this series are to study/learn for myself, teach/share knowledge with others, and learn some more from this experience. I love this kind of analysis. But there’s difference between my analysis of JKR’s writing and a number of those who have retaliated with an analysis of my writing.

Instead of looking at my imperfections with the desire to learn from them, they were illuminated in the attempt to ‘take me down a notch.’ To those who put in the effort to make counterpoints, I do thank you for your contribution to this series. It is appreciated, even when given impolitely and with the intent to ‘put me in my place.’

Despite all of my errors and imperfections, I still stand by my statement: I am a better writer than J.K. Rowling.

Do you know who else is a better writer than her? I could list thousands of them. They’re fanfiction writers. They’re indie authors. They’re other traditional published authors. They are so many other writers that, yes, I do think are stronger writers than JKR.

And you’re a better writer, too, so long as you wish it.

I sincerely want you to believe that.

Why? Because it’s clear within the Harry Potter series that JKR did not make attempts to grow as a writer. She just wrote. Perhaps she was under deadlines, but the lack of editing is pretty apparent to me. When you write a lot, you will inevitably get more skilled over time, but you have to actively be seeking improvement to see drastic change in your own skill. It is this lack of drive that I see within her work. She’s not making attempts to push the boundaries of her abilities and skills with each new book.

I’m not at the end of my journey of learning. I never will be. I love expanding my skills. I’m even learning during the process of writing these posts, too. I’m seeing more weaknesses in my own work and I’m now thinking on ways to strengthen my writing even further.

That’s the point of this series.

In the end, it’s not really about me. No, really, it’s not about me. I truly think it’s about the jealousy of seeing another writer be confident in their work. You see, I’m not supposed to be confident; I’m not supposed to act like I can help and teach others to write. How dare I. Posting anything about my work is an act of attention seeking. I’m supposed to be ‘humble.’ I’m supposed to be silent. I’m supposed to wave a shy, dismissive hand at compliments.

Why?

Why is being proud of one’s work and loving one’s own work such a controversial idea?

Imposter Syndrome often cripples creators. There’s already so much self doubt and anxiety in the world, but Imposter Syndrome can really wreck with a creator’s mind. It’s a poison. It stops you from creating what you love most. When you believe you aren’t good enough, then it becomes harder to try. Your belief becomes truth to you, whether or not it was true in reality in the first place. Perhaps, you sink into depression. You become anxious about sharing anything, for fear anyone might say even the slightest negative comment. The heart becomes fragile and brittle, and the muscle which builds skill atrophies over time. You see your work through a lens of self hate. You can only see flaws.

“I will never be good enough.”

When you’re in this state of mind, it’s hard to see the truth about your work.

But let me promise you something: your writing is far more beautiful than you realize.

In spirit, all creative writing is perfect to me with all of its typos and mistakes (yes, even all of the Harry Potter books!), but no single work is objectively perfect. There will always be room to improve your creation because you’re constantly growing. It’s why so many aspiring novelists fall into an endless cycle of editing their first few chapters. The more they write, the more they improve; thus, when they go back to their earlier chapters, they get stuck trying to update those chapters instead of pushing forward to the finish line.

Your work is valuable, no matter what. It’s beautiful. You’re allowed to love your work. You’re allowed to see the good in it and you’re allowed to have confidence in yourself. You’re allowed to say to yourself and to others, I’m a damn good writer.

You deserve to have love, for yourself and for your art.

I have often sincerely complimented other writers and, many times, after they respond with their thanks, it becomes clear to me they’re not confident in their work, yet they have still bravely shared it with us.

I’m so proud of them. Thank you for your bravery.

My heart breaks for them, too. They’re such good writers—such damn good writers. And I wish they knew and believed this.

I will always do everything in my power to encourage others.

How do you feel about your writing? Do you like your writing? You should. You really should because it is good. You created it, after all. There will always be space to grow and refine your craft, of course, but you are a good writer now. You’re going to be a better writer tomorrow and the next day, so long as you desire this growth in yourself. There’s no destination, though. There’s no magic level you have to reach before you’re allowed to have some confidence in yourself and your abilities. The only trap to avoid is remaining stagnant. Writing is a skill. Writing is a craft. This means it gets better through study and practice.

You can achieve that.

I know it’s hard, though. There are so many naysayers in life. There are so many people waiting to attack and bring others down, both on the internet and in our own families. How many precious fanfics have been lost because a writer received horrible, hateful comments? How many writers have disappeared from the internet because of this cruelty? We have lost many in all fandoms. That is unacceptable to me.

Uplift others. Spread love, not hate.

You’re allowed to be proud about your work, imperfect as it may be. Please, I beg you, don’t let the negative voices of others—including your own!—drag you down and steal the joy of creating. I know it’s so very, very hard to stand strong against such voices. Words have power, but you have more. Resist the naysayers.

What you have to offer the world is precious. Please lift your head and acknowledge that what you create is good. It’s great. It’s amazing. It’s fucking fantastic. You’re not an imposter nor a fraud. No one can offer what you can to the world. No one can write the stories you have in your head the way you can. Your style is unique to you. You’re allowed to love it as it is now and you’re allowed to love it whatever form it takes in the future.

Imposter Syndrome is a thief; toss it into jail and throw away the key.

My writing is not perfect and it never will be, but I’m a better writer today than I was ten years ago. I’m a seeker of my own growth. I’m often reading books on writing and watching YouTube videos on writing. I absorb it all because writing is my truest love and passion. My style has evolved from reading endless amount of novels and fanfics. I devour both.

But I wasted a decade thinking I didn’t have what it takes.

And life is short. I can’t waste anymore time.

Don’t be like past Isa, please.

There’s a difference in refinement between an episodic fanfic posted over the course of years and a traditional novel published in whole, but I still stand by my work. I recognize my style will not be enjoyed by all those who read it. It’s okay if you don’t like my style. I’m eternally grateful for the many readers who do love my writing. I’m humbled and honored by the sheer volume of people who have commented, bookmarked, and have left kudos on my work. Thank you.

My style has evolved into what it is today due to a combination of two things.

I have ADHD. It’s why my style uses smaller paragraphs as a whole.

I have aphantasia. I lack a mind that can visualize pictures. I literally cannot see anything in my mind. When people say, “I can picture it in my mind,” that’s not me. I cannot at all. When there’s a lack of description in prose, it feels blank and empty to me. This is why I use vivid descriptions in the way I do because otherwise I feel nothing from my work.

It’s okay if this style doesn’t work for you. I love my style because it caters to what I need. I also love other styles that don’t use as much description; however, I can’t always follow what’s happening because of the wiring of my brain. I can get lost sometimes, but I still appreciate their style because I can’t effectively do what they can.

If you find no value in my style and what I offer in this series here, then that’s okay. I’m not offended. This series is for those who benefit from it. For you, there are so many other writers out there from whom you can learn and I’m more than happy to send you in the direction that benefits you the most.

Here’s a list of YouTubers you might find interesting.

ShaelinWrites has been working on many unpublished projects through the years and has lots of great discussion videos on writing.

Abbie Emmons is a self published author with solid writing advice in all of her videos.

Alexa Donne is a traditionally published author with great insider information into the traditional publishing world.

Ellen Brock is a professional editor. She knows her stuff.

I hesitantly suggest Jenna Moreci and her content on YouTube because I think she has some major weaknesses in her writing. Many others have seen this about her books. However, she is a successful indie author and her YouTube content has a lot of value.

Brandon Sanderson has an entire college course in a playlist on his channel. It’s a fabulous free resource if you vibe with his style of writing. Highly recommend.

Here’s a list of writing books I recommend.

Elements of Fiction Writing, a five book series. My TOP recommendation is Elements of Fiction Writing - Beginnings, Middles & Ends.

Sin and Syntax: How to Craft Wicked Good Prose

Let the Crazy Child Write!: Finding Your Creative Writing Voice

Novelist's Essential Guide to Crafting Scenes

All right then.

Thank you for sticking around. I hope you accept this post in the good faith it was given and was always given in the previous posts. Next post, I’ll be returning to my playful satirical tone. Hehe~!

Please do the world the greatest of favors and write. Create. Share your fanfiction. Become best selling authors, traditional or indie. I promise you’re far more capable and skilled than you realize.

Until next time.

Isa

94 notes · View notes

bookshelf-dust · 2 years

Text

the hurt is good

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi

billy hargrove x fem!reader

word count: 2,344

warnings: swearing, smoking, reader is lonely, descriptions of billy’s abuse, mentions of neil

a/n: hi! so i decided to challenge myself with this. i’m making this a multi-part story. i’ve never done anything like this before, but so far i’m enjoying it. i’m not entirely sure where we’re headed, but i’ve got a sort of outline in my head. i’ve also decided to try something else new, and i’ve picked out some songs that you can listen to before you read to get you in the mood—but only if you want of course. this is all a really new experience for me but i have put a lot of heart into this first part. i hope that you enjoy this, really i do. also the title is from a part of hop’s letter to el. <333

before you read, listen to: wheel in the sky by journey and/or (don’t fear) the reaper by blue oyster cult

————

Sitting cross-legged on your bed, you turn the page of the book in front of you, the sound of the paper flipping an audible one.

You lift the hardback, tuck your nose into the center of the pages and give it a sniff. It might be odd to do so, yes, but to you, books are the best smelling thing in the world.

You put it back down, go back to reading.

A knock breaks you out of your fantasy literature-induced stupor.

“Honey? Okay for me to come in?” Your mother’s voice, soft and sweet.

“Sure.” Your voice is quiet when you speak, though just loud enough for her to hear.

Your bedroom door opens enough for your mother to stand just inside, her back against the frame, one hand gently resting on the knob.

You reach for your bookmark, drape it over one side of the pages and then close it.

“Hey, kiddo.” Her smile is easy. You try your best to give her one of your own, but you know it falls short.

“Wendy and I are going out to dinner tonight and then to an art show.”

Wendy was your mother’s longtime best friend, and quite the riot.

“Apparently her new girlfriend is something of an artist.” She gives a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows. “Do you think you’d like to tag along?”

You uncross your legs and stretch them out: contemplating. Then you do the same to your back, which makes an obscene crackling noise—enough to make the both of you grimace.

You know how you’ll feel if you go out with your mother and her friend.

You’ll be okay for the first little while, but then there will be too many people. You’ll get nervous. You will probably say something wrong and feel the need to shut down. You will shut down. Your hands will get shaky and you’ll get upset, and by the end of the night you’ll wish you hadn’t gone at all.

You know how you’ll feel if you stay home, too.

You’ll be fine, totally fine, having avoided everything you’d face in the other situation. But you’d be guilty. Guilty because you’re young and you won’t be going out to do whatever or making friends. You’ll feel like you’re failing your mom, who just wants you to experience things.

You decide that leaving your house shouldn’t require this much stress.

“No, I don’t think so,” you finally say. “But thank you for offering.”

You watch your mother as she moves further inside your room, settling on the edge of your bed.

“Are you sure?” She sets her hands on your knees, tapping her fingers, many a ring glinting in the overhead light of your room.

“We could get frozen yogurt. You know, I really think you’ve turned Wendy into a monster after we went last time. It’s all she talks about now.”

That gets a small smile out of you, but brings an ache to your chest.

“I’m sure. Don’t get too crazy, tonight, though. And be sure to let me know about her new partner.”

“Alright. Hug or no? What’s the affectionate meter at right now?”

“A hug is fine,” you say through a quiet laugh.

She wraps her arms carefully around your shoulders, allowing you to squeeze first, that way she can gauge what you need.

“I’ll leave some money out so you can order pizza, okay?” You nod. “Also there’s a pint of the ice cream you like in the freezer.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Anything for you, my little honeybee.” With a final pat of your knee and a wink sent in the direction of your book, your mother sweeps out of the room, and a little while later she is out the door.

Alone in the house, you let out an exhale, before heading to the kitchen.

Opening the designated take-out-menu-drawer, you scrounge for the one belonging to a local pizza place. You go ahead and order now, knowing that it might take awhile since the place is in downtown Hawkins.

You realize, setting the phone down, that you don’t know what to do with yourself once you’ve got the chance to do whatever you please.

You retrieve your book to read on the couch until your dinner arrives, not only for a change of scenery, but because you’ll need to be out in the living room to watch an episode of your favorite show in a while anyhow.

You’ve only sat momentarily when you hear it. Hear him. When you hear his music, specifically.

Billy Hargrove lives a few doors down from you, just close enough that you can always hear when he comes home, music blaring—not that differently from the volume you play it at when alone in your car—and doors slamming.

You don’t know him personally, only from school. Only as this pretty boy who’s been in Hawkins a few months.

You know enough that you hate the way people at school look at him. Like he’s an object. Like he’s this foreign being just because he came all the way from sunny California. The way they talk about him. About his ass, or his car, or his little redhead sister.

You know he’s pretty. You’d never deny that. But he’s just like the rest of you, and it bothers you that people treat him—at least from what you’ve seen—like this all-powerful dude.

But you also know enough that you think maybe he doesn’t have the best home life, just from what you’ve seen when you’re not out—which is always.

Sometimes you see him walking up and down the street at various times during the day. Or you hear his car speed off.

Sometimes, though really only sometimes, you see him trailing his sister while she skateboards, either talking or sitting while she goes.

To you, he seems like a loner.

And maybe it’s because you’re one too that you see him that way. That you can see him that way.

————

Outside, Billy cups his hand around his cigarette. It’s seemingly out of habit, since it’s not windy out. His thumb slides along the spark wheel of his lighter once, twice before the flame catches. The tip glows red in the night.

He walks a little further, as he inhales deeply, closing his eyes and soaking it in. He kicks a rock, hard, trying to see if it’ll hit the post of the mailbox a few feet ahead of him.

He watches a pizza delivery car ride by and pull into a driveway. He hasn’t made it very far on his walk. The walk he wouldn’t be taking because it’s pretty damn cold outside.

But Neil Hargrove wasn’t aware that Max Mayfield had joined the Hawkins AV Club, and when there was no Max at home, he took it out on Billy, telling him he was an irresponsible waste of space.

It took Susan getting home with her daughter and explaining the situation for Neil to calm down.

But Billy’s back was aching from where he’d been slammed up against a doorframe, and frankly he wanted nothing more than to get out of the house.

So here he was.

A porch light flicked on as if whoever was inside had been waiting on that pizza. You had been—sitting on the couch and listening for car sounds.

When the delivery guy rings the doorbell you appear, and Billy realizes he knows you. That he goes to school with you. You’re very quiet. He also thinks your very pretty, and he’s never noticed that before.

You look very comfortable; all of your clothes seem to be too big. With the way the yellow outside light hits you, it gives your face a multitude of shadows. Billy thinks about some of the greek statues he learned about in a history class back when he lived in California. About how artists tended to sculpt women with real bodies.

Shit, he thinks. He’s probably staring at you. But you really are very pretty.

On the stoop, you take the pizza and set it on the table just inside the door and then hand the guy his money.

You decide not to be a dick and make sure that he gets out okay. When he backs out, you catch a flash of red out of the corner of your eye.

You wouldn’t be able to see him if it weren’t for the street lights. Billy is looking at you. You smile at him, and to your surprise, he smiles back.

“You okay?” You ask, hoping that your voice carries to him, because you don’t feel like shouting.

You watch him shrug and take another drag of his cigarette. The fingers on his free hand fidget with the ring he’s wearing, and you pretend not to notice.

“You?” He questions in return. Something about the sound of his voice makes you feel warm inside.

You shrug back, and he lets out a breath of a laugh, before you turn around to go inside and he continues with his walk.

You kick the door shut and lock it behind you, thinking about Billy.

That is the most extensive conversation you’ve ever had with him, aside from one a few days after he started at Hawkins High, when he didn’t know where the auditorium was, so you walked him the whole way there. You were pretty sure he’d been embarrassed to have to ask for help, but you hadn’t been bothered at all.

In fact, that exchange outside was the most conversation you’d had with anyone outside of your mother in a while.

Most days you didn’t say a word at school, keeping to yourself, trying to get homework done any chance you could so that it didn’t actually become homework. Sometimes you had to speak with a teacher though, and of course you said thank you when someone held a door—but that was it.

Quite frankly you didn’t know what to think. Part of you hoped you’d see him again. That you’d make a friend.

You hadn’t had a friend in a very long time.

————

When your mother returns home, it is with many beans to spill.

Wendy’s new partner, who you found out was named Stephanie, was, in your mother’s words, “Hot enough to go gay for.”

Your mother had also undoubtedly had some to drink while out and about.

“Also that boy from down the street? Don’t you go to school with him?”

You start fussing with a string on your sleeve. “Yeah, why?”

“Well he was brooding on his porch when Wendy retrieved me, and he’s still wandering around outside. It’s been,” she checked her watch, “three hours.”

You scratch at your nose, thinking.

“I saw him when the pizza got here.”

Your mother hums. “Well, I’m going to go shower the art gallery off of me and then probably stay up too late reading.”

“Okay.”

She smiles sweetly at you, collecting the pile of rings and other jewelry that she’d taken off and set on the counter while talking to you, and then you’re alone again.

You flatten your body over the countertop, bending at the waist and stretching so that your fingers can grip the other side.

You think about Billy out there. He was obviously going through something. And maybe it isn’t any of your business, but you hate the idea of him being alone, wallowing in self-pity. Not that you have any room to talk.

You straighten, walking carefully so as to not allow your socked feet to slip along the floor, and find yourself reaching for your coat.

Shoving your feet into a pair of shoes, you flip on the porch light once again, and make your way outside.

Across the street, Billy is resting against a low wall that has a mailbox set into it.

Looking both ways out of habit, you make your way towards him, stopping a few feet away. He looks up at you, both hands on the brick underneath him. There is a half-finished cigarette in one of his hands. You find yourself wondering how much he’d smoked since he’d been out here.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” He quirks a brow at you.

“You’ve been out here a long time, you know that?”

Billy glances at his watch. “Seems so.”

“Not cold?”

“‘M fucking freezing my ass off out here.”

You try and choose your words carefully, not wanting to push too hard. “Seems like you could solve that problem if you went inside.”

“Are you worried about me or something, Y/N?”

Trying not to think about the way your name sounded leaving his mouth, you admit to your crimes.

“Yeah, actually. You were out here earlier, and my mom said she saw you when she left and when she got home. I didn’t like the idea of you being alone.”

Something in Billy’s face softens. “Yeah?”

You exhale, your breath leaving a plume of air in front of you.

“Yeah.”

“Well then I guess I better get my ass inside, huh?”

You stuff your hands into your pockets and realize what you’ve got in there.

“Here.” You pull out a little hand warmer packet an hold it out to him.

Billy laughs. It’s a beautiful sound, you think. Charming and hearty. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

————

At school Monday, you make your way to the lunch table you’ve claimed, grass squishing under your feet.

You flip open your book, shove one leg under you.

It’s only been a little while of munching on grapes and forcing yourself to concentrate before you feel a weight drop onto the bench across from you, shifting the old table a little.

You look up. Billy Hargrove looks back.

He throws his bag on the worn wood, slaps a book of his own on top of that.

You’re confused at his appearance, and he seems to sense that.

“I didn’t like the idea of you being alone.”

You feel yourself heat up, and sit on one of your hands because you also feel like you could cry.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x fem!reader #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove comfort #billy stranger things #stranger things fic #billy stranger things fic #billy hargrove x f!reader #savannah’s fics

1K notes · View notes

guided-by-stars · 20 days

Text

Do you like ISAT? ⭐️ Are you looking for more media to get into? Did you stumble across this post because you’re into one of the other projects mentioned here? (If yes, play In Stars in Time!!)

I’ll be dividing this up into sections based on the content in various Acts, so spoilers for each individual section below! I’ll be trying to avoid as much spoilers as possible for the other projects referenced here, for obvious reasons, but some concepts and thematic threads will be mentioned in order to give context.

This isn't a complete list, I'm sure I'll think of some perfect things to add here after I've posted it...Also sorrry most of these are video games.

Long post, so it'll be under a cut (But PLEASE PLEASE take a quick glance at the visuals/pictures I've provided and see if anything looks cool!)

If you’ve played up to Acts 1 & 2:

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Madoka Magica ⋆౨ৎ˚⋆ ˚｡

Okay, this one's a little obvious if you know a bit of anything about both of these. It's definitely the most well known piece of media on this list. Puella Magi Madoka Magica, also known as PMMM or Madoka Magica, is a magical girl show. Directed by Akiyuki Shinbo & Yukihiro Miyamoto and produced by Magica Quartet, it centers around magical girls who have to battle witches, and only gain their powers through contracts with an alien being. This also gives them one wish. ***MINOR spoilers for Act 4 of ISAT, skip if needed...Wishes, huh? Powerful and dangerous wishes, huh?***

The writing has a lot of depth to it, the bonds between the characters are interesting, and the narrative weight they have placed on their shoulders to save the world...well!

I have an important other reason why ISAT fans may really enjoy this series, but it would spoil a lot of the series... so first, some visuals, because this show is beautiful.

Okay, now spoilers for Episode 10. These are pretty big spoilers, so avoid if you care about that sort of thing. I don't personally think it ruins the series to know about beforehand, but you do lose some of the surprise. ***Spoilers for Ep. 10 of PMMM, skip if needed: Well! It's a timeloop show. Specifically a timeloop centering one person who's terrified of loosing the person they love and prone to obsession.***

You can watch it on Crunchyroll, or you could watch it illegally on a few different pirating sites, it's not exactly obscure. There's the series, but also multiple movies. There's also a new movie coming out in 2025! Exciting!

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ 1BitHeart ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

1bitheart, created by Miwashiba and produced by PLAYISM, is a ?visual novel? I suppose. There are other mechanics besides just talking to people (mystery solving, gifting, walking), but that's the best way I can describe it. In 1bitheart, you experience the world through Nanashi's eyes, a severely agoraphobic guy. I feel like if you like Siffrin, you'll probably find him interesting. Honestly, I don't have much more to say here...just that the vibes of this game feel like something many ISAT fans might enjoy.

If you like dialogue and character building, then maybe give it a look! There's one more spoilery reason why you might find it interesting, but it's a major spoiler for BOTH games...so. I'll leave that for you to discover.

Visuals:

You can buy 1bitheart here:

☆ The Endless Empty ☆

The Endless Empty, created by Erik Sheader-Smith, is another artistic RPG game with themes of suicidality, imagery of stars, and a fascinating battle system. It's very...scrapbook diary nightmare anatomical textbook, if that makes sense. It's short, inexpensive, obscure, and delightful, in my opinion. Guys. This is good.

Visuals:

Buy it here:

𓐟◇ OFF ◇𓐟

I see a lot of people around who are into both ISAT and OFF!, which I find supremely unsurprising. Both are created by French devs (OFF by Mortis Ghost), steeped in that background, unique RPG battle system (many enemies in this game are basically Sadnesses), limited palette (and often black & white) and [killed for spoilers].

I find the translation writing fascinating, personally. There's a lot you can dig out of here.

Visuals:

Get it here:

๑ï🌧Mr Rainer’s Solve-It Service🌧๑ï

Easily the most obscure game on this list, Mr Rainer's, created by Etherane, is an incredible game that's more of a visual novel than a text based adventure. The worldbuilding of the story is fascinating, and the characters are compelling. The story ends with SO MANY unanswered questions and mysteries, which is another reason why it fascinates me so.

Like ISAT, Mr Rainer's is a game pretty much entirely in black, white, and red, about an amnesiac hooded figure who doesn't remember their past and is INCREDIBLY fucking hungry constantly, a story with multiple endings, a story about identity and belonging and being the only one of your kind in a strange land, a story about grief and life and touch and connection and cycles of pain...

Please give it a chance, I have absolutely nobody to talk to about this game. It's only 5 hours and it's only (around) five dollars...

Visuals:

You can get it here!:

If you’ve played the whole game + 2Hats (DO NOT READ ON IF YOU HAVE NOT DONE 2HATS!!! I AM WARNING YOU!!!):

⚂ ⊹.🂱 Yugioh (Specifically the Toei series and Duel Monsters)⊹. 🂱 ⚂

Well! Here it is! The series about friendship, "other you's", "you see everything I do and you know how my body reacts to things", "you’re me but also not me but also another me but also you’re NOTHING like me", "facade sees facade in the eyes and Knows" and [spoilers for Yugioh redacted].

Guys if you don't gaf about card games, in the Toei series they are an extremely small aspect of the show and other games (like Tamagotchi) are similarly important!

It's got a fucked up by grief and trauma guy who does morally grey stuff and is fixated on his own past and really does just deep down Want to be Useful!! It's also got a codependent protector who really needs to be protected! It's got GAMES!!! SO MANY GAMES!!! and DRAMA!

Visuals:

(Toei)

(Duel Monsters)

Watch Toei series here: (WARNING!! THE EPISODES ARE NOT IN ORDER! BE CAREFUL!)

You can watch Duel Monsters many places, both legally and illegally.

⟳⏱︎ Start Again, duh! ⏱︎⟳

If you've only played ISAT but not Start Again (You know who the dev is...), you might think there's little of value there besides additional dialogue, but you'd be entirely wrong. Not only is this LOOP's story (and valuable to examine because of that), but the House is quite different, there's unique art, and there's different endings as well. PLAY START AGAIN START AGAIN START AGAIN: A PROLOGUE!!! YOU WILL NOT REGRET IT!

Visuals:

Get it here:

✧♥ Hello Charlotte series ♥✧

Hello Charlotte, also created by Etherane, is an incredible series, and one of the three most impactful game series I've ever encountered. The amount of unexpected developments that happen...I couldn't possibly understand where the game was going until everything clicked at once. Personally I think it's a masterpiece of storytelling.

Another artistic RPG maker game- so of course the art is beautiful. There's a battle system...in one of the games...yeah it's rudimentary. It's more of an exploration/puzzle game than anything. It's more of a STORY than anything. I would really really really hate to spoil this game, but what I will say, is there's a reason why I put it in the 2hats section. A very good reason. Pleaseee check it out it's so much content for so incredibly cheap. Criminally cheap. You will become incredibly attached to Charlotte.

Visuals:

Get the first game here (name your price!):

EP 2:

EP 3:

#isat #in stars and time #puella magi madoka magica #yugioh #hello charlotte #off game #soliloquy #1bitheart #the endless empty #sasasaap #mr rainers solve it service

36 notes · View notes

bloody-bee-tea · 4 months

Text

June of Doom 2024 Day 1 - Help me

This marks the beginning of June of Doom, though the doom will be kept to a minimum in here. These boys already suffer enough in canon, the least I can do is give them something to be soft about. The title is always the prompt for that day.

Suguru is not going to lie about the fact that watching Satoru–certified strongest sorcerer in centuries–struggle with opening a jar is hilarious to him.

His amusement must radiate off him, because after yet another failed attempt at twisting the lid off, Satoru turns towards him, eyes narrowed.

“You could just offer to do it, you know?” he bites out and now that makes Suguru outright laugh.

“You could just ask for help, you know,” he shoots right back, not moving a muscle to come to Satoru’s aid.

There are two reasons for this: one is the entertainment a struggling Satoru gives him but the other is a little bit more serious. Suguru knows that Satoru was never allowed to rely on others, was never allowed to ask for help or support and Suguru and Shoko are trying their best to hammer it into his head that things are different here, that Satoru is allowed to be simply human every once in a while and that it’s only natural that there are things he needs help with every now and again.

They are not having much success with that if Suguru is being honest, and Satoru’s current struggle with the jar is just proof of that.

Satoru glares at Suguru for a moment longer, before he turns his attention back to the jar in his hands and Suguru is glad that shooting laser beams with his eyes is not one of the many powers that come with the Six Eyes, because otherwise the jar would be obliterated by now.

“I could just smash it,” Satoru muses once he accepts that staring the jar into submission is not working and Suguru sighs.

“If you want to cut your throat open with glass shards and then have Shoko call you a stupid, idiotic moron, sure, be my guest,” he mildly gives back and his mouth curls into an amused smile again when Satoru visibly freezes and then shudders.

Suguru knows that he’s more afraid of Shoko than of the glass shards–which is stupid in itself–but it’s working out in his favour right now, because Satoru puts the jar down, a defeated sigh leaving his mouth.

“Fine, we’re eating out,” he decides, and expectantly looks over at Suguru.

“So you’d rather get dressed, leave the school and pay for a meal than simply ask me to open this jar up for you?” Suguru asks for clarification, because the lengths Satoru goes to to avoid asking for any kind of help are truly mind-boggling.

“Who says I’m paying?” Satoru asks him and now it’s Suguru’s turn to narrow his eyes at him.

“If you make me go with you, you are paying.”

“Who says I want you there?” Satoru asks in return and now this is going to be fun.

Suguru smirks.

“Okay, fine. Go then. I’ll just have dinner here, like planned. I wish you a good evening,” he pleasantly says, implying that he’s going to wrestle the jar that gives Satoru such trouble into submission and Satoru immediately sits down at the table.

“Oh, you’re going to cook? Mind if I stay?”

“On second thought, I’m not hungry anyway,” Suguru immediately replies, getting up and waving over his shoulder. “Good luck with whatever you decide,” he calls back to Satoru and a quick glance over his shoulder reveals a gaping Satoru.

It’s honestly hilarious.

He’s almost out of the building by the time Satoru catches up to him.

“You would let me starve?” he whines out. “Me, your best friend, the light of your light? You’d be so cruel to me?”

Suguru knew it would happen, so he doesn’t so much as stumble when Satoru collides with his back, hanging off him like a limpet and he rolls his eyes, trusting that Satoru can feel the sentiment even though he can’t see it.

“There are two easy solutions to the problem,” Suguru explains to him, not stopping in the slightest. “One, you can just say you’re going to pay for my dinner.” He’s predictably met with silence. “Two, you can always ask me for help.”

That earns him a displeased huff but still, Satoru doesn’t speak up. It’s only when they arrive at Suguru’s door that Satoru speaks again.

“Fine, dinner it is,” he mutters, and even though Suguru suspected that this would be the outcome he still can’t help the slight twist of his mouth.

Surely one of these days Satoru will feel comfortable to ask him for help. Suguru simply has to believe that.

“Thank you for paying,” Suguru says in advance, reminding Satoru that this is what he agrees to and Satoru rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, come on, I’m starving.”

“Things could have been so much easier,” Suguru reminds him but decides to drop the topic when Satoru’s face closes off.

Suguru can push and prod much more than anyone else would ever be allowed to, but even then Satoru has his limits and clearly, Suguru has reached that for today.

“Let’s go to your favourite place,” he says, a peace offering in lieu of a real apology—one that Satoru wouldn’t take anyway, Suguru knows that from experience—but instead of happy enthusiasm he’s met with a frown.

“You don’t like that place,” Satoru reminds him and Suguru freezes for a moment before he shrugs.

“It’s not my favourite, that’s true,” he admits. “But they do have some dishes I like, so it’s not that bad. We can do my favourite place next time,” he offers and now that finally gets Satoru to grin at him again.

“Deal,” he agrees and then happily skips ahead, Suguru following him at a more sedated pace.

One of these days, Suguru vows to himself again, but clearly it’s not going to be today, so he’s going to let it rest. For now, he’s simply going to enjoy an evening out with Satoru.

~*~*~

Ever since that fiasco with the jar, Suguru can’t stop thinking about it. It was bad before but now it’s occupying his every waking thought because he just doesn’t understand why Satoru wouldn’t just ask him.

Suguru wouldn’t even have made him ask verbally; it would have been enough for him if he offered the jar to him. That would have counted, in Suguru’s opinion, but even that Satoru couldn’t do.

Shoko and he have never outright asked Satoru why he’s never asking for help, certain in their assessment of his childhood and family trauma, but Suguru can’t help but to think that even that can’t fully explain Satoru’s stubbornness.

He acts as if he’s going to die if he so much as hints at needing help and Suguru simply doesn’t get it.

“Hey, Satoru,” he asks, carding his fingers through Satoru’s hair in anticipation of his mood when the question is out and just like predicted, Satoru melts under his touch.

“What?” Satoru grumbles, not even bothered enough to open his eyes or lift his head from where it’s pillowed on Suguru’s lap and it brings a small smile out on Suguru’s face.

He knows Satoru trusts him because of moments like these and he truly wouldn’t change that for anything.

And yet he’s still going to shatter the peace.

“Why are you so adamantly against asking for help?” he comes right out with it and despite the way Suguru still scratches at his scalp, Satoru tenses and makes to move away.

Suguru stops him with a hand to his shoulder and a reassuring hum but he knows he’s only semi-successful because Satoru glares up at him.

“Why are you so stuck on this?” Satoru grumbles out and Suguru sighs.

“Because you’d rather struggle with a single jar for ten minutes and then pay for two dinners than simply asking me for help. I could have opened that jar for you and I would have thought nothing of it. Why can’t you just ask?”

“Because I’m supposed to be the strongest!”

“So? I mean, you are, there’s no denying that. You are the strongest sorcerer. But that doesn’t mean that you also have to be the strongest human, you know.”

Suguru keeps his voice even and calm, hoping to defuse some of the anger he can see bubbling up in Satoru and he allows himself a small smile when it works and Satoru goes limp again.

“Yes, it does,” Satoru eventually says. “I can’t be weak. I’m not allowed to be weak.”

Suguru huhurthurts for him.

“Do you think me to be weak?” he asks even though he knows what the answer is going to be and he’s proven right when Satoru huffs in displeasure.

“Of course not, why the hell would I think that?”

“I asked you for help just yesterday, remember? When I asked you to carry some of the things for me we bought.”

“Yeah, but that’s—” Satoru tries to say but Suguru interrupts him.

“How is that different? Why is it different when it’s me?”

“Because it just is,” Satoru almost yells out. “You’re allowed to be—” his voice cracks and breaks before he goes on, “—human. Things are different for me.”

“How are things different for you? You’re just as human as I am,” Suguru carefully says, desperate to not let his voice shake, to not let Satoru know how much he hurts for him but he knows he’s not really successful because Satoru’s face twists.

“Am I?” Satoru asks, his voice uncharacteristically wavering. “I’m not so sure I am. My family at least doesn’t seem to think so.”

“Well, they are fucking wrong,” Suguru almost spits out and bends over, until he’s certain that all Satoru can see is him. “You are. And that’s perfectly fine.”

Satoru stays suspiciously quiet at that but Suguru isn’t deterred.

“You’re human, and you’re allowed to have emotions and to struggle with things and to ask for help. None of these things take away your strength. Nothing can change that you’re the strongest sorcerer. Those things are not related at all.”

Satoru presses his lips together when Suguru falls silent and Suguru knows that this is Satoru’s limit. He probably already pushed a little bit too far, but Satoru hasn’t run out on him yet—which happened before Suguru learned to read the signs—so it has to count for something.

At least Suguru hopes it does.

“Let’s not speak about it anymore today,” Suguru finally relents and sits back up, taking his soothing motion in Satoru’s hair up again. “I’m sorry.”

“Just—shut up,” Satoru mutters, but Suguru knows he doesn’t mean it when he turns so he can hide his face in Suguru’s stomach.

“Alright,” Suguru softly gives back and scratches at Satoru’s scalp with more intent to make up for his words.

They spend the rest of the evening in silence and Suguru knows that they are going to be okay.

~*~*~

Suguru wasn’t really paying attention when Yaga handed Satoru a letter after their lesson, but he does notice that something is off the moment Satoru freezes. Yaga and Shoko were long gone by the time Satoru opened it so it’s just Suguru and him in the classroom right now and that makes Satoru’s reaction even more alarming.

Suguru sees how his eyes fly over the page, sees how stiff his shoulders are, how his hands shake the tiniest bit and all Suguru wants to do is soothe him however he can, no matter what the letter says.

“Satoru,” he quietly says, cautious not to make Satoru flinch but Satoru flinches anyway.

He can’t seem to tear his eyes off the page in his trembling hands though, so Suguru carefully puts a hand to his wrist.

“I’m here,” he simply says, because he doesn’t know what’s wrong, doesn’t know what the words say so he can’t tell Satoru that everything is going to be alright. Not without knowing what’s happening. “Satoru, breathe.”

Satoru sucks in a reflexive deep breath and then continues to breathe like he should do and that has to be a good sign.

“I’m not weak, right?” Satoru asks, his voice thin and reedy and Suguru’s fingers around his arm spasm.

“No, you’re not,” he’s quick to reassure him and watches Satoru’s head jerk.

“And I’m human?”

“You very much are.”

Satoru turns his gaze to him at hearing that and Suguru can’t remember a time when Satoru had looked this panicked.

Not even curses are able to put that look on his face.

“Help me,” he breathes out and Suguru still doesn’t know what’s going on, doesn’t know what he’s even supposed to help with, but he knows that there is only one possible answer.

“Of course. Whatever you need.”

At hearing that, Satoru shoves the letter into Suguru’s hand, who quickly scans it over. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, in his opinion; Satoru’s family is asking him to come back home for a weekend but if before Suguru could only guess at Satoru’s relationship with his family, this certainly cements it.

To say that Satoru has issues with them is probably the understatement of the year.

“You want me to come with you?” Suguru asks when it becomes clear that Satoru is not going to tell him what he actually needs help with, but it’s not as if Suguru needs him to say it out loud.

He knows Satoru well enough to read the desperate panic right off his face.

“Please,” Satoru whispers, still clearly so desperate and Suguru is quick to nod.

“I will, I absolutely will, Satoru.” He’s not sure how much he can push Satoru right now, how much he can handle, but he feels as if he has to say something else, too. “Thank you for asking,” he quietly adds on and then watches in horror how Satoru crumbles where he stands.

He’s quick to gather him in his arms, pressing Satoru’s shaking form to his chest and he presses one reassuring kiss after the other to the crown of his head.

“It’s okay if it’s you, right?” Satoru asks, his voice barely audible even in the silence of the room and Suguru understands that his is about more than about asking for help.

It’s about his family, it’s about letting Suguru know that he’s not as strong as everyone always claims he is and there is nothing else for Suguru to do but nod.

“It’s always okay with me,” he agrees because Satoru can be allowed to be weak and painfully human with trauma and issues in his presence.

Just like Suguru can allow himself to be the same with Satoru.

“Come with me. Don’t let me—I can’t go there alone,” Satoru says, his voice still shaking and Suguru doesn’t mention the hand that is so desperately clutching Suguru’s shirt.

“You won’t be alone. I’ll be right there, I promise.”

It doesn’t even bear thinking about—Satoru asked him for help, so Suguru will do whatever he wants. Or needs, in this case.

“You wanna take the afternoon off? We can finally watch that movie you keep pestering me about,” Suguru offers when nothing else comes out of Satoru’s mouth and that finally gets him to relax a bit.

“You’re not going to ask? Why?” Satoru wants to know and Suguru shakes his head.

“No. I don’t care. You don’t want to go there alone, so you won’t. It doesn’t matter why. If you want to tell me, then I’m here, I’ll listen, you know that, but I’m not going to ask.”

Just like Satoru hadn’t asked when Suguru almost had a panic attack over a stupid painkiller, because the sight of pills is still a trigger for him, even though he’s been off his medication for months now.

“A movie sounds good,” Satoru says after a beat and Suguru allows himself a small smile.

“Let’s go then,” he decides, quickly stuffing the letter in his pocket, so Satoru doesn’t have to see it again.

It’s only once they are on Suguru’s bed, Satoru curled into his side and the movie running, that Satoru speaks again.

“Don’t leave me alone, okay,” he softly says and Suguru almost wants to laugh because there is no universe out there where he’s ever going to leave Satoru alone ever again.

“Never,” he promises and brushes his lips against Satoru’s forehead.

“Good,” Satoru breathes out, pressing his face under Suguru’s chin into his throat and Suguru doesn’t mention that he’s going to miss the movie like this, because the movie is not even the point in the first place.

The point is to let Satoru know that he’s ereherehere, that he’s always going to be here and he thinks he gets that across when Satoru melts against him.

They’ll face Satoru’s family together, just like they face curses together and in a week or two they will laugh about this, just like it should be.

And Satoru will know that he can ask anything of Suguru because Suguru will always be there for him.

#bt writes #june of doom 2024 #satosugu #geto suguru #gojo satoru #jjk #hurt/comfort #referenced child abuse #trust #getting together #fluff

44 notes · View notes

rorywritesjunk · 10 months

Text

I can’t tell where the journey will end But I know where to start

Prequel to my Kid Buggy fic, set about 11-ish years before that story.

Buggy meets you by chance when he needs his buttons sewn back onto his jacket. He’s young, up and coming, and he thinks everyone should cower before him wherever he goes, but all you do is smile at him.

Rating: PG-13ish just for some swearing. Warning: Buggy’s in his early 20s. He’s an asshole. He just is because I wanted to write him loud, demanding, everything. There’s 3 new characters thrown in because why not? Future Wife gets a name as well! A/N: I have no idea when Buggy became a Captain, so he’s a fresh faced captain in this. No clue how long this fic will be. I just started on the 4th chapter but I’m excited to write it out! I had fun with the original fic and decided to write the prequel to how they met. Enjoy! Also I wish every customer was like Buggy in that "I'm going to be an asshole but I'm going to overpay you for the opportunity to be an asshole".

Title comes from “Wake Me Up” by Avicii. TAGLIST: @lostfirefly @ane5e @kingofthemfingpirates @the-angriest-angel @tiredemomama @valen-yamyam16 @i-reblog-fics-i-like @plethora-of-fickleness

Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6 + Chapter 7 + Chapter 8 + Chapter 9 + Chapter 10 + Chapter 11 + Chapter 12 + Chapter 13 + Chapter 14 + Chapter 15 + Chapter 16 + Chapter 17 + Chapter 18 + Epilogue

Chapter 2

It was five weeks until you saw that pirate again. You were at the counter while the girls were in the back working. Your boss was gone on an errand, leaving you in charge. This time he opened the door with a little less force than last time but the door still swung open and hit the wall. You looked up from your book and smiled when you saw him.

His coat had a tear at the sleeve where it connected to the shoulder and one cuff was nearly coming off. It looked like he got into a scuffle while wearing it. He was scowling as he stormed up to the counter, removing the coat and holding it out to you. You took it from him and looked it over with a frown.

“What happened?” You asked as you inspected the tear at the sleeve. “Did you get into a fight?”

You obviously chose to ignore what your boss had told you every day since he first showed up. Do not help him if he comes back. How could you not fix his coat up when it was in such a state? Not only were there tears in it, you saw the dirt staining the bottom and some blood on the front. You quickly gave him a look over, seeing that he appeared uninjured thankfully. You didn’t want to explain why there was a bloody and injured pirate in the shop if your boss returned early.

“Fix it.” He said, refusing to look at you.

“Do you need help? Are you injured at all, Captain?” You asked as you reached over the counter to touch one of his gloved hands. Buggy jerked his hand away from you and crossed his arms, shaking his head quickly.

“I’m fine!” He snapped. “I just need it fixed!”

“Can you give me some time?” You asked as you draped the coat over your arm. “I’d like you to wait here in case I need to see you in it.”

You saw his face turn red at those words but you didn’t know why. All you needed to see was that the seams on the sleeve were correct once you mended them, to make sure it still fit him in the shoulders when he moved in it. He glared at you before storming out of the shop.

“He came back.”

You turned to see the two teens peeking through the doorway to the back. You sighed softly and smiled. “He did and he gave me his coat to fix.”

“Miss Pins said not to help him.” Livia said as Edith nodded in agreement. You shrugged as you headed towards them.

“Well, I’m in charge right now so I get to decide who we help.” You told them. “Now, who remembers how to get blood stains out? I’ll do the mending but I’d like you two to clean it, okay? This will be good practice.”

Buggy returned two hours later. You were at the counter again with Livia, showing her the books and how customers and payments were tracked. The teenager ducked beside you when he came in but you just smiled. Why did you smile whenever you saw him? Buggy wasn’t sure what your game was but he was suspicious of you already. You should be quaking in fear when he arrived, not smiling like you were friends with him.

“Your coat is ready.” You told him as you nudged Livia to go retrieve it. “I got it stitched up and the girls cleaned it. Can I see it on you?”

“W-Why?” He demanded as he narrowed his eyes. Livia came out with the coat and started to leave but you stopped her. “What do you want me to do?”

“I need to make sure it fits you in your shoulders.” You told him as you took the coat from her and approached him. He took a step away from you but you held it out to him, and after a minute long stare down he finally pulled the coat on. You stood behind him as he made sure the fit felt good, and you put your hands on his shoulders again, smoothing out any creases and looking to see how it fit him. “Now, see, Livia, we want to make sure he has movement in his arms when he wears it, which is why I didn’t go in so far with my stitches when I repaired it.”

Buggy turned around to face you, scowling already, but you took his arm gently and lifted it up, showing her the cuff you reattached. “And see, you don’t even notice that this was hanging by a thread when he brought it in. I made sure to re-enforce this cuff as well as the other to ensure he wouldn’t have any issue.”

Livia stayed by your side, nodding along with what you said as she tried not to look at Buggy. How could she not stare at the bright red nose on his face? She wanted to ask if it was real, and did it honk if he squeezed it? Occasionally her eyes would go to his face while you talked about cleaning the stains and the best way to handle blood, but she really tried hard not to stare.

It was difficult and when she looked up at him one more time, he caught her looking and glared at her. She took a step back and ducked behind you as he opened his mouth to say something not nice to her.

“I’ll only bill you for what we did, but honestly it won’t cost much because you overpaid last time.” Your voice brought him back to you and he frowned. “So let us write that bill up real quick.”

He clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes. “No, I’ll… pay the amount I owe.”

“Oh, but last time-”

“I’ll pay you what I owe.” He snapped as he reached into his pocket and slammed the berry down on the counter. He didn’t wait for the bill, instead storming out of the shop once again. You collected the payment and counted it out again, shaking his head. He kept paying too much and you were wondering if you should open a line of credit for him if he came back.

The girls did not like Buggy. They thought he was loud, rude, and too angry. Your boss still wanted you to refuse service to him if he ever showed his face again but you didn't find him to be a problem. He came back two weeks later to the shop while it was just you, coat draped over his arm with the scowl forever etched on his face, though not as intense as usual. You smiled at him when you saw him and he tried not to look at you as he held it out to you.

“What happened now?” You asked as you took it from him and placed it on a hanger. You hung it from a book on the wall and began to look for any rips or missing buttons. Buggy crossed his arms, still not looking at you. “Captain?”

“There are threads that are too long.” He grumbled. “I need them trimmed.”

“Oh.” That was a bit of an odd request. “Can you show me where?”

He came around to you, pointing out where the thread tails were. You grabbed your little scissors and trimmed them as short as you could; some were less than a quarter of an inch long, but if he wanted it done then you would do it. You took time looking for any other imperfections, noting that the lining was still intact from where you had repaired it the first time, and the shoulder and cuff repairs were still holding strong. One button at the top of his coat looked like it may come undone in the near future, so you ducked into the back to grab a needle and thread to repair it.

Buggy remained quiet as he watched you work. You were quick to remove the button and old thread, wanting to make sure there was no risk of the button snagging and falling off. Every repair on his coat meant one less chance for him to stop by. Being a captain, you were certain he was busy, and that making time to try and get his clothes fixed would eat up valuable time, so you wanted to make sure he wouldn’t need to return any time soon.

Once you finished, you held his coat out to him and smiled. “Can you try it on for me?”

“Why?” He replied as he did as you asked. Might as well since you ask him every time he’s come in so far. You stepped forward and made sure the collar laid flat before you buttoned the top button of his coat.

“I want to make sure it looks good on you.” You told him as you made sure the fit looked good. “I’m almost done with my apprenticeship and I was taught to make sure the customer was happy.”

Buggy frowned. “Why aren’t you scared of me?”

“Am I supposed to be?” You asked as you finished with the buttons and straightened up, looking him over. “It looks good on you.” Smiling, you gave him a thumbs up. “Orange is a great color on you, Captain Buggy.”

He didn’t want to but he couldn’t help it. His cheeks burned at your compliments because he knew it was your job to tell him that. You said this to every customer, paid attention to all their details as well, so why was he feeling flustered just from this interaction with you? He didn’t even know your name but this was his third time stopping in for your help in the shop. He needed to sail away and never come back at this point. He didn’t want to see you if it was going to mean he blushed and his heart started racing, but at the same time, you had been nothing but kind to him. It was a little hard to stay away when he looked forward to seeing you smile at him.

Buggy reached into his pocket and you held your hand out to stop him. “No, no, it’s fine, I won’t charge you, Captain.”

“I’m going to pay you.” He grumbled as he pulled out the money. He took your hand, ignoring how he could feel the warmth of your skin through his glove, and put the payment in your hand. He pulled away and was out the door before you could stop him.

These little visits of his were starting to be a little… interesting to you but for some reason you were starting to look forward to seeing him.

#buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown x you #opla buggy the clown #opla buggy the clown x reader #opla buggy x reader #opla buggy the clown x you #opla buggy x you #buggy the clown x oc #buggy x oc #sunny x buggy #one piece #one piece oc #one piece fanfiction

119 notes · View notes

leclsrc · 2 years

Note

Heyyy, congrats on 2000! ❤️❤️

I have a request for Carlos + [ FIVE CALLS ].

what i feel for you – cs55

genre: fluff, 2k celebration, title from this

send for five times the receiver nearly calls the sender and the one time they do.

You’d told him the night prior about your date, gave him the usual crash course that came with these flings. He made a joke about how you should take advantage of the handsome men in Madrid, even if his heart felt like a giant foot had just smashed it. Because, Carlos reminds himself as he awaits your text again, he’s supposed to be a good friend.

It’s a weird label, friends. It’s a label for a relationship that’s something else entirely. Yeah, he’s your closest friend, but he’s here hoping you don’t pursue a second date. Yeah, you two are best friends, but you sleep in the same bed on cold nights during the season even if there are two in the hotel room.

His phone dings. Went like shit,you text. I’m in a pissy mood :(

Lando would tell him to take the chance while he can, like this is God or whoever giving him a sign to finally try and do it. And Carlos would say no, Lando, we’re just friends even if the younger guy would 100% be right. He swipes on your contact, hovers his thumb over the telephone icon, tries to picture how all this would go.

You’d sigh, pick up in the middle of the third ring, be all I’m okay, Carlos in an effort to save yourself the sympathy, but he isn’t here for sympathy—he’s here to tell you he likes you. In the stronger way, in that way. What? I like you, he’ll insist. Come to mine and I’ll let you know how much.

Think I’ll go for drinks somewhere first Carlito, don’t wait up. He swipes off your contact, texts back OK, and waits for you all night.

—

When you’re a hotshot in Formula 1, you’re bound to be pushed into the face of a myriad of journalists.

There’s clicking, flash, rehearsed questions Carlos still answers. They all ask the same shit, you’d think they all belonged to one magazine. But he braves through it anyway, tries to let the answers vary so he doesn’t sound as robotic as they do. But there are a few questions that have stuck to him.

“I imagine racing is the love of your life,” chirped the journalist, who he could barely see behind the shadow of the huge TV camera beside her. “Would you agree?” He’d hummed, gauging the possible answers: there was the easy yes, which would’ve made a good impression on racing fans seeing him in Toro Rosso for the first time; there was the no, which might’ve been a bit too dicey.

“It’s very important to me, but it’s not the love of my life.” Carlos decided finally, laughing.

“Playing coy, I see!” She exclaimed.

But the truth was, Carlos wasn’t “playing coy.” He really didn’t name racing the love of his life—because there’s only one thing that enters his mind when he thinks of the phrase, and he wished to save the phrase for that and that only. Racing is fast, it’s passionate and rapid fire, but that—it’s so different.

He almost tells you about it a few years later, when he’s exhausted from Ferrari media day and the memory replays in his head. You’re in Asia for work right now, so he hopes the call he’s about to place will go through anyway.

He’s smiling, walking to his car, and line is just about to ring when he realizes—how can he tell you the story, if it means admitting you were the answer?

—

Everyone has high tolerance until it comes to tequila. At least Carlos thinks so—the state he’s in is definitely not sober and Lando, across him, is in even worse shape. They’ve drained a whole bottle at this point, laughing back and forth and dancing to the music at the bar.

“I’m only serving tequila at my future wedding,” belches Lando, wearing a pair of sunglasses neither of them owns.

“Amen.” Carlos squints at the thought of marriage, pulls out his phone and finds your name under the Favorites section of his contacts. The cheeky little shit Lando catches on immediately, whistling a high teasing tune to get under Carlos’ skin.

“I say ‘wedding’ once and already you’re off calling her,” he quips. “I better be best man.”

“We’re just friends,” he slurs, smelling Cuervo on his breath. “You know.”

The line rings once, twice—Carlos opens his mouth and says “Hello? Did you know I…”

He passes out before he gets to the rest of it.

—

The drivers make a night’s trip around the city, and they stop at the Trevi Fountain.

“Throw a coin in and you return to Rome,” Charles says factually, like he’s their tour guide or something.

“Does it allow normal wishes?” Carlos, already amused, presses the phone icon near your name to tell you what he’s up to. The spotty signal slows the call.

“Depends. What are you wishing for?”

“Her.” Lando points at your name on Carlos’ phone.

He hangs up. “A world champion title, actually,” he lies.

—

“Hey Carlito, I’m on my way to the room.”

“With pizza?” Lando hollers into the speakerphone. Carlos laughs and rolls his eyes.

“Yes, obviously,” you say, but your voice is laggy through the phone. You’ve visited them in Italy for the weekend, taking a break from work to meet your best friend again after weeks of being apart. And of course Lando and Carlos sort of came as a package deal these days, so you dealt with him, too.

Carlos takes you off speaker after you say your byes and see-you-soons, pocketing his phone. The Brit doesn’t miss a beat in teasing him. “Dude! Even your voice sounds so down bad, mate.”

“It does not.” Carlos doesn’t even know what down bad means.

“Low it! You’ve loved this girl for how the fuck long and you’re never going to tell her, will you?”

“How do you tell a friend you love them?” Carlos sighs. “It’s—dios mio, it’s difficult. I’m in love with her but it’s a risk to think she feels the same. And”—Lando opens his mouth to protest—“yeah, yeah I know that’s love, I know that’s the whole point, but I couldn’t live with myself if I lost a friend because of these estupido feelings.”

Two raps sound on the door, and he gets up to let you in. “Okay? So shut up.”

Lando watches his friend swing the door open, and sees you on the other side holding up your phone.

AA Carlito, it says, signifying the call was never hung up. You smile. “The feelings aren’t that estupido.”

#f1 #carlos sainz #leclsrc2000 #carlos sainz drabble #carlos sainz imagines #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz fanfic #f1 x reader

285 notes · View notes

the-weeping-author · 3 months

Text

Saving Grace

This was a request made by @takingchences

Request: something where Bakugou saves the reader.

Word count: 2,263

Warnings: none

A/N: I enjoyed writing this request sorry it took me so so long, also sorry if the title is horrible for this fic I could t think of anything better so here we are ahahaha. Anyways please enjoy haha I’m rambling at this point 😅

Please enjoy 😊

It was a slow morning here in Musutafu, the sun had just risen to wish the earth a good morning. The birds were singing their lovely toon, my mother was taking me to her job today. On the way there we stopped and got some coffee. Well, my mom got a coffee. I got a cappuccino, but that was only because my mom said she didn’t want it to affect my studies. However something was off, there weren’t many people starting their day. Yeah it was four thirty in the morning, but that’s when office workers went in.. right?

I noticed it when we were two blocks away from my mothers job, the air seemed very different now than it did a few moments ago. I looked at my mother as she walked down the sidewalk, and before I knew it I stopped walking. My mother instantly noticed my hesitation which caused her to stop as well, she turned her head towards me before smiling softly.

“Y/N why did you stop walking, what’s going on?”

I immediately wanted to respond to her, but instead I shook my head at her question. Using the opportunity to catch up to her, once I caught up to her I looked at her again.

“Oh well uh- the air changed, it feels thicker it’s making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.”

Her eyes shined at me before she let out a small chuckle, and ruffled my hair softly.

“Oh honey there’s no reason to feel like that, you’ve been to my office a few times before there’s no need to worry everything will be fine.”

“I know mom, it’s not that I’m worried, it’s just something about today feels off.”

My mother stopped walking, she then turned to face me. Her usual neutral aura shifted into a calming assuring one, she ruffled my hair softly before letting out a sigh.

“I promise kiddo everything will be fine, if you continue to have this feeling after being at the office for a while then I’ll just call it an early day.. okay?”

I bit my bottom lip softly, and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. I adjusted the bag on my arm before I looked ahead at all the people crowding the streets, I took a few short breaths before letting them out.

“I know mom, you always have my best interest in mind. I promise you’ll be the first to know if something’s going down.”

My mother nodded her head with contentment, then continued to walk down the sidewalk with me quickly following behind her. We walked for what seemed like hours, but it was probably only minutes that passed. As we approached the tall building that was my mothers workplace, my stomach knotted up. I looked towards my mother as she put her hand on my shoulder patting it softly.

Seeing her reassuring smile eased the worry out of my mind. Once we walked through the lobby doors we went to the elevators waiting on it to arrive, once it did my mother hit the button that would take us to the floor she worked on. On the way up I turned around watching the street grow smaller and smaller the higher we got, the elevators dinging pulled me from being up in the clouds and back to my mothers overly boring job.

She spent the day sitting at her cubicle doing paperwork, my mother seemed busy so of course I wasn’t going to bother her. Instead I went to the breakroom to grab water from the refrigerator, that’s when everything seemed to happen all at once. An echoing boom sounded, and the office shook softly. The once silent office was now buzzing with what seemed to be panic, I shoved the break room door open to only hear screeching in my ears.

I knew instantly that we were under attack, despite the fact that I could barely hear, I still searched for my mother. As I arrived at the cubicle dread filled my entire body, where was my mother? The dread I once felt immediately turned into fear. I quickly turned around, and started planning my escape route. My eyes settled on the elevators, and that’s when everything went radio silent. I didn’t let that stop my quickly thought out plan, I made them my new destination.

I knew about villains, but I never had an encounter with one. Well that was until now apparently, but I didn’t see anyone in sight. When I got closer to the elevators the building shook once more, and another loud boom went off making me unbalanced, and I immediately fell to my knees. This time a chunk of the building was gone, and it was the floor I was on. Glass flew all over the floor I was currently on, and the debris along with dust finally settled. That's when I heard it, well her, my mothers voice however this time it sounded different than earlier.

There was no assurance, no comfort, the only thing that seemed recognizable was panic. I tried to call out to her, but I couldn’t speak. My mouth was abnormally dry, like something was blocking my vocal cords. That’s when I hear it, a loud menacing crack. My eyes followed the crack as it traveled throughout the floor I was on. When it stopped at the exposed wall my heart dropped, I finally stood back up on shaky knees after what seemed like a few minutes while I controlled my breathing.

When I got myself as calm as I could, that's when everything went from bad to worse, the foundation under me cracked this time. The vibrations from the constant attacks made my hands tremble, and that’s when I felt it. The floor under me was slowly caving in, tears started to fill my eyes. Time seemed to zip past in that moment, and I squeezed my eyes shut trying to make some logic out of my fearful mind.

My mind went blank as the breaking building filled my ears, and the floor slowly started to lean downwards towards the pavement. Instinctively I got on my knees and started to crawl to the side of the building untouched. I slowly made my way towards a sturdy desk near the elevators, and before my fingers could make contact with the leg of the desk the floor gave away.

The air flying past me made it hard to hear, or see anything. I quickly accepted my new founding fate, and started sobbing as I flew down the nine story building. It’s funny how much you can accept when staring death straight in the face, I waited for my body to make impact with the ground. I heard a loud boom, and felt my body jerk to the side. I let out a soft grunt, and my eyes fluttered open softly. That’s when I saw it, my guardian angel I smiled softly before allowing the dark to consume me.

~~~

My eyes shot open, and I immediately looked up at the ceiling. W-what happened? My mouth was dry, and my throat felt really scratchy. I went to sit up only to feel a quick sharp pain shoot in and up my right side. I winced immediately, and sat backwards. The door opened, and my mothers figure stepped into the room. She noticed instantly that I was awake, and rushed to my side. Her warm hand instinctively found mine, and I smiled softly at her.

“H- *cough* H-hi *Cough cough* momma.”

She smiled sympathetically at me before she started sobbing, rubbing my back softly.

“Oh my sweet Y/N, I don’t know what I would have done if I lost you. I'm so sorry.”

When I pulled away from her, that's when I got a good look at her. Her e/c eyes were bloodshot, she had dark circles under her eyes, and her hair looked crazy.

“M-mom w-what happened?”

She tensed up at my question, and she swallowed thickly before letting out a shaky breath.

“W-well honey.. villains ended up attacking the office, the reason for it is because we’ve been holding onto some kind of information for Endeavors agency. They should have known it was a risky thing to do, and now I hope they do. That information almost got us all killed, and no one knew a thing about it.”

I nodded my head at the information, and turned my head to the hospital door as it opened. The lady who I assumed to be my nurse smiled widely at me, and started checking my vitals.

“Well well, I’ve been waiting for you to wake up sleepy head. Now I need you to slowly sit up for me, but please be careful two of your ribs are bruised. However there are two that are cracked, you may also have a hard time speaking and breathing for an hour or so due to all the smoke, and debris. I’m gonna need you to take your medicine.”

I nodded my head at my nurse as she continued to tell me my injuries, and then a face flashed back into my mind making my heart pick up. I turned my head towards my mom before smiling at her.

“H-how did I get saved? The last thing I remembered and saw was falling from the building, and my guardian angel.”

My mom smiled sweetly at me, and grabbed my hand once more stroking it with her thumb. Before I could ask anymore questions the hospital door busted open once more, but this time it was a guy. A cute guy if I may say so myself, but confusion etched its way onto my face. I turned to look towards my mom once more before she stood up kissing my forehead.

“There’s your guardian angel sweetheart.”

My eyes widened, and my cheeks turned a soft shade of red. I quickly took in his features, His beautiful rose colored eyes, his seemingly soft skin, and his lips which were now turned into a small smirk at my obvious oggiling.

My mom left us alone for a minute, and as soon as she left it was extremely awkward. The unknown hero shoved his hands in his pockets and looked everywhere but at me so I decided to break the silence.

“T-Thank you for uhh… saving me.”

I watched his cheeks turn a light pink before he started to rub his neck.

“Tch there’s no need to thank me idiot, it's a part of the job.”

My mouth opened and closed at his response.. idiot? How dare he, I’m not the brightest in the country however I’m far from an idiot.

“You thought I was your guardian angel huh?”

This time it was my turn to flush at his comment, he wasn't supposed to know I said that.

“Well who can blame me, I was staring death in the face.”

My comment made his sly smile disappear, and the sudden feeling to see it again was instant in my gut. Pinch me now because this all feels surreal, a handsome hero saved his Dansville in distress his job was done.

“So why is he still here?”

“Bakugou, my name is Bakugou Katsuki.”

“My names Y/L/N, Y/N/ it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Don’t tell anyone I said this, but I’m glad I could be your guardian angel.”

I smiled softly at him, and hummed softly. The medicine going into my arm made me a little bit bolder than I usually would be.

“I know you probably hear this often since you save people for a living, but you’re really attractive no wait you’re unfairly attractive.”

He coughed loudly, and turned his face away ahh now it was his turn to be bashful.

“Uh uhm t-thanks, you are too.”

I hummed to myself absentmindedly, and played with the sheets on the hospital mattress. The only sounds that filled the chilled room were the soft beeps of the heart monitor, and the tv playing in the background.

I laid against the soft chilled pillows the hospital provided, and looked back at the guy who just hours ago saved me. My mother walking back in the room broke the comfort silence we had built. He looked at her, then to me before nodding his head.

“Alright, it was a pleasure talking to you both. I’m afraid I have to get back to the agency I'm interning at.”

My mom smiled widely while I pouted softly, before he could leave she stopped him.

“Why don’t you come over to our house for dinner?”

He nodded his head softly before pulling out what I assumed was the agency he was currently at. Bakugou walked to the hospital door, and then opened it. He stood in the doorway, but before he left he turned back to look at my mother.

“I’ll come, but only if you allow her to come by the agency.”

She gasped excitedly, and before I could even reply she did it for me.

“Of course she would love to! Besides I’m sure she’d like to get to know the boy who saved her life. How does next Thursday at 7 o’ clock?”

Bakugou's eyes stayed glued to mine while he responded to my mother. That sly little smirk found its way back onto his face.

Sounds like a date.”

A/N: thank you so so much for reading, I know I haven’t posted in a while.. however I hope that’s gonna be changing soon. I am currently working on 3 other fics so I’m hoping those will be done soon.

@wolphielautz @explosionkatsu @hauntedparadises @pastelbakugou

#bakugo katuski #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugo imagine #bakugo x reader #my hero academia #my hero imagines #katsuki bakugo x reader

23 notes · View notes

twisted-wonderland-shenanigans · 1 year

Text

MERMAY: Twisted Wonderland Marine Biologist!AU Skit

In honor of Mermay, I’m posting a skit from two new Twisted Wonderland AUs I’ve started working on (and I likely will find more ideas to create more AUs over time), and I’m so happy to share some of the stuff I’ve got with you all~ UvU As you can see by the title, the version today is the Marine Biologist!AU~!

So here in this scene, Yuu has started figuring out their new role as caretaker for a motley group of mermaids that arrived at the facility after their avian guardian (aka Rook) arrived to keep them all together and safe from humans trying to hurt them. Let’s see how their first official week goes~ >v>

Oh, and I forgot to mention this in the poll, but in both AU’s, the mermaids cannot speak human languages and speak in clicks, chirps, trills, and whistles (or squawks in Rook’s case). Each character’s form is based on their nickname given to them by Floyd in game just for clarification! (Crowley in these AU is a manta ray because it has wings, and because we don’t know what Floyd would call him, so I want him to be a manta ray!).

////------------////

A week had passed since the new feeding routine started, the seagull-like harpy they’d started calling “Roo” taking each bucket and passing them to each enclosure while Yuu stood near the cart. While somewhat boring with nothing to do but watch, Yuu reminded themselves that this was the closest anyone had been able to get since the mermaid’s avian guardian appeared. It was also fascinating to watch how, for the most part, he seemed to have a good rapport with the majority of the tanks. They couldn’t help but notice how annoyed Leo seemed whenever Roo got near him though—even when the harpy seemed undeterred and still smiled so cheerfully.

What sort of relationship did those two have in the first place?

‘So many questions…I wish we could communicate with one another,’ Yuu thought, moving to put another bucket on the red ‘x’ when they saw him taking off towards them again. This was the last one and they would be done for the morning feeding.

When Roo landed and swapped the empty bucket with the full one, he stopped to look at the cart with the other upturned buckets. For just the briefest moment, Roo looked…disheartened? Before they could figure out what it could mean, he had already taken flight towards the final tank: the Pom Tank.

‘Wait…are they…getting enough to eat?’ Yuu wondered.

As he landed, they paid close attention as Roo began sorting through the fish, gently passing them to Violet and Guppy when they appeared at the surface. Eventually he took at least three fish for himself before returning the bucket, a calm yet still somewhat weary smile on his human-like face. If he was only taking so little while giving everyone else the rest…

“Pardon?”

“Sir, I really think we should add at least seven more buckets of fish,” Yuu told Mr. Tanner. “I don’t think any of them are getting enough food, and the whole time I was watching them, Roo only took three fish for himself. He looked…disappointed when he was looking at the empty buckets.”

“Wait, who’s Roo?”

“The harpy creature. It…got a little awkward trying to communicate with him or calling him ‘harpy-man’, and he seemed to respond to the name Roo, so…I’ve started calling him Roo...for lack of a better name, anyway.”

“Oh…I see.” The director hummed as he mulled over Yuu’s words. What he was thinking they couldn’t say for sure, and for a moment they worried he might turn down the suggestion…until he nodded. “Okay. I’ll make arrangements with the supply team and have them prepare another cart of fish for tonight’s feeding. You are to report what you observe, and if it seems like they may still need more, we will add more until we find what amount works.”

“T-thank you, sir!”

“No, thank you.” Mr. Tanner’s expression was soft as he smiled at them, reminding Yuu of a grandfather as he said, “We honestly cannot afford to lose these creatures due to our own negligence. No one should ever have to go hungry, whether they’re human, animal, mermaid…or a giant screeching harpy man!”

At that Yuu couldn’t help but laugh, Mr. Tanner’s jovial chuckle joining in. Hopefully their idea will work, and this will put them in good standing with Roo…

“Roo! Feeding time!”

Yuu’s voice echoed in the mostly silent warehouse, mixing with the low thrum of the filters keeping the waters clean and oxygen rich. A flurry of feathers announced Roo’s descent before he landed, talons clicking against the metal floor as he approached the offered bucket as usual. One by one they continued the same routine, Yuu waiting impatiently for him to finish so they could bring out the nest cart.

When he brought back the last bucket—once more carrying three fish and disappointed look in his eyes—he was about to take off before Yuu called out his name. “Wait,” Yuu said, holding their hands up and making a motion they’d used once before. Pointing to where he was standing, they said, “Stay, Roo. Wait.”

Roo’s head tilted as he watched them, yet he stayed put with an expectant stare. Yuu put the last bucket on the cart and wheeled it away, glancing over their shoulder to make sure he stayed there. Their heart hammered in anxious excitement as they reached around the entrance to where the second cart was waiting, seeing Roo tense as they once more repeated the request…before pulling the load around the corner.

The moment he saw the fresh buckets full of fish, Roo’s emerald eyes grew so wide in clear shock and disbelief. It wasn’t until they approached with one in hand that he began crooning and squawking, nearly losing his grip on the three fish he’d had in his arms before dumping them into the fresh bucket. “There you go, Roo,” Yuu said, unable to hold back the biggest smile at the joy he was showing. “I’m sorry we haven’t been feeding you and your friends enough. We didn’t know you needed more than we were giving you. If it’s still not enough, I can talk to the director and get some more buckets…okay?”

The joyful harpy soon calmed down, though his smile never went away as he tilted his head, regarding them with a thoughtful expression. Then, he picked up the bucket—

And promptly deposited it in Yuu’s arms.

“Wha-?!” they uttered, barely managing to get a proper hold on the bucket in question. “Wait, what-?”

Before they could voice any protest, Rook had already picked up another bucket and was holding it in one hand. With his free arm, he gestured towards the tanks and gave Yuu a calm, expectant look.

“…are you…allowing me to help?” Yuu asked, pointing at themselves. To their shock, he nodded, one of his wings reaching out to nudge them forward as he guided them towards the Hearts Tank. It wasn’t until they’d started climbing up the stairs that he took off, fluttering over to one of the other tanks and landing on the platform. To their shock and amazement, several of the mermaids had approached the surface, watching them carefully as they set the bucket down and began tossing some fish into the water.

It wasn’t until Roo called out to them that they slowly began to eat the offered food, giving Yuu a good look at them. The crab-like mermaid had a heart-shaped mark on one eye, while the blue mackerel one had a spade over the opposite eye. The orange mermaid had a diamond on one cheek, and when the golden-eyed turtle appeared they saw a clover marking on the opposite cheek. Card deck markings…? That wasn’t something that the other researchers had been able to note before.

Finally, the red, black, and white mermaid appeared, slate gray eyes observing them with such an intensity that they felt…intimidated. Like they were staring in the face of royalty. Not a king per say, but…a queen maybe?

“Wow…you’re all so…gorgeous,” Yuu couldn’t help but utter in amazement, elated at the fact that they were able to even get this close to them now. Then—realizing that they would have to report this event—they hummed in thought. They were going to have to figure out names for these five just like they had for Roo. So maybe…

“I think I’ll call you…Red Queen,” Yuu finally said, pointing at the red one. “And you are…Diamond. Clover…” A moment later they smiled, adding, “If I call you Turtle Clover, I can nickname you TC! And…you two are going to be…Spade and Ace—like the Ace of Hearts!”

While the others seemed indifferent or confused by this, the moment they mentioned ‘Ace’ they noticed how the crab mermaid seemed to perk up in surprise. Did he somehow recognize the word?

Curious, they called out, “Ace?” To their surprise, he squeaked and chittered up at them, moving closer with a ‘Yeah? What do you want?’ look on his face. “Does…Ace mean something to you?”

He chirped at them in response, looking annoyed as he crossed his arms over his chest in what was yet another very human-like action.

Just how much actually separated the mermaids from ordinary humans…?

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland marine biologist au #twst marine biologist au #rook hunt #vil schoenheit #epel felmer #leona kingscholar #riddle rosehearts #trey clover #cater diamond #ace trappola #deuce spade #if you guys figured out that “TC” is also a nickname for “Trey Clover” you get a cookie!

206 notes · View notes