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harrypotterthehufflepuff · 5 years ago

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Sickly fake smile

This was requested by: @velvetthunder1999

Request: Hey :)) I was wondering if you could write something with George and female reader, where she is muggleborn and Umbridge makes her write something at detention like "I'm not mixing with purebloods" cause she knows she's with George. And he and fred are really angry, and she's like crying, and angst and fluff and I wish you the best if you accept to do it 😂 thank youu in advance! :))

Hope this is alright! I tried to really get into Umbridge’s mind and think how she would come forward about this!

Warnings: mentions of blood

Pairing: George Weasley x reader

Words: 1.4k

If you’d like to request something please head over to my other blog, https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ronaldandremuslover and I’ll try and fix it for you !

~ ~ ~ ~

"Sit down, dear." She said, a sickly fake smile etched on her lips.

So you did, eyeing her suspiciously. This couldn't be good. Thoughts of all kinds ran through your mind, the kittens on the decorative plates that hung on the wall seemed to be able to read every single one of them. The way that they were looking at you made you feel incredibly uncomfortable.

"May I ask why I'm here, Professor?" Your voice came out sounding more confident than you had intended.

Umbridge had her hands clasped, resting them on her desk. "Well, I have acquired some news regarding yourself."

"Oh?"

"Yes," She straightened her back as if she was sitting on a plank, "I have been working here for - what has it been now? - four months. And even though I have had my own suspicions, I was hoping that such a good student like yourself would not condone this sort of behaviour."

Frowning, you asked her, "What do you mean? Have I done something wrong?" Your heart was starting to beat faster. What horrible thing have you done? And how have you not noticed it?

She smiled, so obviously fake it was almost humorous.

"Well, dear, As I have been working for the ministry of magic, I know a lot more about my students than you might think."

The way she was speaking was making you annoyed. It was like she was talking to a six-year-old learning shapes. But the subject was confusing. It almost seemed like a threat. Like she was warning you.

"Yes, I know you've worked for the ministry." You said, trying to sound friendly even though you wanted to turn around and leave promptly.

The pink-clad woman nodded, looking a bit smug. "Yes, yes. But that is not what I wanted to discuss." She straightened her back even more if that was even possible. "I know that you, for instance, grew up in the muggle world."

Umbridge still had that sick smile on her pink lips.

You agreed, wanting to get this over with. "Yes, Professor."

"You're a muggle-born."

She had said it so curtly it had taken you by surprise. Her voice was flat and indistinctive. You simply nodded and looked at her, confused out of your mind.

Suddenly, the woman stood up and walked over to a light brown shelf, and took a quill and a piece of paper. She put it upon a smaller desk that stood by a window. The quill, of course, was bright pink.

She then motioned for you to take a seat at the desk she was standing at, smiling.

"Come here, if you will."

You hesitated but stood up. What other choice did you have?

You sat down on the chair. It was probably one of the most uncomfortable chairs you have ever sat on.

"Now, pick up the quill for me." She said, pointing at the said item that was displayed in front of you.

Once again, you did as she said and picked it up. Nothing weird about it. It felt like any other quill. But still, something, somewhere inside of you felt wrong. This was all strange.

Umbridge who now stood in front of the desk, looking at you, started to speak. And what she said, shook you to the core.

"Write down 'I must not breed with purebloods.'"

Choking on air, you looked at her, wide-eyed. Was this a sick joke?

"Wh-what?" You spluttered out, bewildered.

"Write it down on the paper." Her smile was still striking.

Feeling completely dumbstruck, you write it down.

It was not a completely normal quill.

After you had written it down fifteen times, the pain was almost unbearable.

~ ~ ~ ~

After almost an hour of writing the same sentence over and over again, your skin on the back of your hand was cut raw. The words etched on your skin burnt like fire and you could feel your hand pulsating. And even though you had fought it so hard, tears had rolled down your cheeks and slid over your lips.

"Alright, dear." Umbridge interrupted, seated at her own desk. "Take a seat, please." She indicated the second chair at her desk.

Happy for it to be over, you dropped the quill in an instant.

As you stepped over to take a seat, blood dropped down and onto your shirt, leaving bright red stains.

"Do you understand why this is necessary, Y/L/N?" She asked when you had taken a seat.

But you didn't answer. You were heartbroken.

"Hm?" Umbridge tried again.

Shrugging, you gently laid your wounded hand atop of your thigh.

"It's very important you remember these words Y/L/N. I know of your relationship with George Weasley."

You looked up, devastated. It was horrible to hear his name come out of her foul mouth like she's tainting it.

Umbridge continued. "I just want to make it apparent that mixed breeds are - how should I put it? - corrupted. I know the Weasleys are blood traitors and have been for years. But for you, a very clever and young (your gender) like yourself, to indulge in this behaviour."

"I- why- Is - wha-"

"Shh, dear. I'm not asking you to break off your relationship. That would be cruel. Young love is incredibly powerful. But it has to be between the right people. And how I see it, you're a muggle-born interfering with pure-bloods, it is, to put it frankly, not acceptable."

You stared at her, disbelief washing over you. What was she doing? It felt like someone had taken out your tongue; no word left your mouth. It had gone dry, and tears were still rolling down your cheeks that were now warm from the pain you were in.

And to top it all of, the sick woman added, "No sexual interference with Mr Weasley from now on if that has been a proportion as of before."

"You- I don - why? Why are you - are you doing this to me?" You stammered, voice breaking.

She smiled, one so fake it almost smells of plastic. "Whenever you wonder why just look at your hand."

~ ~ ~ ~

Almost running down the hallway, tears streaming down your face and trying hard to control your breathing, you saw the stairs that led up to Gryffindor tower.

You sprinted up the stairs and quickly said the password. The fat lady was about to ask you a question but was cut off when she needed to open the door.

Not many were in the common room. Only four boys to be precise.

"I swear, Lee if you do that to Professor Flitwick I'll give you a galleon."

"Pff, I'll do it for free."

You made declared yourself by walking out of a shadow. Dean Thomas, who was sitting in an armchair that faced the entrance looked at you and smiled. A kind smile. But it quickly turned into a frown. His reaction sparked curiosity as all of the other boys turned in your direction.

"Y/N!" Fred sprinted over to you and gingerly laid his hands on your shoulders, squeezing them gently. "What's happened?"

Soon, all of the boys had created half a circle around you, eyes filled with worry over you.

"Love..." George breathed, and moved to take embrace you, but you pulled away and put your hurt hand in the air.

"Your hand..." Lee whispered. He reached for it, and you let him. He was incredibly gentle, but still, it stung.

"What the fu-"

"Oh my-"

"Y/N, what!"

George only said one word.

"Who?"

His voice was strained, his lips pulled into a tight, thin line. He looked as if he was trying to restrain himself from hurting someone.

You pulled your hand back, feeling calmer. Being around your friends always calmed you down.

"Dolores Umbridge." Your voice was calm, you focused on your breathing. "She had asked me to accompany into her office," at this part, your voice had gotten a little bit louder, "she didn't say why. But I followed her. She made me write this sentence down on a - a paper." Now you were really fighting to make yourself clear. "The quill I used was enchanted and - and she just - she just sat there and - and-" Your voice broke, your breathing was uneven and your head started to hurt from the restrain to cry.

George pulled you into a tight hug but was mindful to your hand. He ran his hand soothingly through your hair and shushed you melodically.

"I promise she won't hurt you ever again." He whispered. "I won't let her."

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #harry potter #george weasley x you #umbridge #dolores umbridge #hogwarts #harry potter fanfiction #request #:) <3

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kiefbowl · 4 years ago

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ew why tf are you dating a scrote

okay this is clearly a troll, but I’ll answer anyway since this seems to be a topic of interest to people lately. I wrote a lot and talked about sexual assault, so go ahead and skip it if that’s not your jam. disclaimer: I don’t have a problem or think there’s anything wrong with people who don’t want to follow me bc of the bf. that’s legitimate! please do what suits you. I think some of my responses have been perceived as snarky in the past but I only try to be snarky when I suspect a troll, I really don’t have a problem with people unfollowing me b/c of the bf or even telling me about it.

I worked with Malcolm for about a year and a half before we go together, but we got together for the first time 5 months after I had a brief but intense love affair with a meth addict that ended in big traumatic ways after he started using heavily again, which eventually cultivated in him raping me (not that it was the only sexual violence I experienced with him but that time was particularly horrific because I was heartbroken and he was high on meth). he was also a man, and the reason I started dating him isn’t so clear to me except that I was looking for a way to live recklessly and self harm. There’s a longer story there but the details can’t be told concisely and it’s no one’s business. In any case, everything that happened with him is not worth recounting, but it was long and complicated and continued even after the rape. To give some context about how bad it was, I also had worked with the meth addict (I’m not using his name on purpose), and part way through our relationship he got a new job. a couple weeks after the rape, he lost that job and got his old job back. yeah, imagine being dumped by a meth addict and the being raped by him and then he starts working with you when you know he is using now. not fun, pretty sad to think about.

I was in a very traumatized state for months. It’s hard to describe what it’s like, except you don’t feel like you’re living. You can feel very foreign to your own life. I felt like something inside of me was constantly pressing against me to get out, and if it did it would be me screaming. Like, my skin had become a suit to mask the babbling lunatic underneath. I would have random outbursts where I would wince in pain and people would ask what was up and it was just that the emotional pain was felt so sharply it became physical, but I felt like I couldn’t be honest with people. I did go to therapy, it felt like life and death. right around the time before Malcolm and I together, so a few months into therapy, my therapist gave me permission to feel okay seeking out love, sex, and relationships, because I was feeling very guilty that I might be using someone if I did. In any case, Malcolm showed up to my bday party, and was one of the last to leave, and I just was ready for the next thing after the meth addict bf. Every day I didn’t have sex, the last person I had sex with was him. I wanted to be normal again. I was feeling a little better, less freakish, but still so sad. So I said, okay Malcolm, come home with me and he did. It didn’t seem so bad to take Malcolm home with me because I wasn’t very interested in him long term, so it seemed like low stakes to end up hurting him. Low investment. Yadda yadda.

Malcolm was also convenient, he lived walking distance. he was nice, friendly, easy to hang out with. our emotional intimacy was very low, it was low low low low maintenance dating. Malcolm felt very safe, he was the polar opposite of the other bf. we had a casual, boring, unintimidating fling for a few months that sputtered out. if the other bf was like riding a roller coaster that was condemned, Malcolm was like taking a nap on the bus back home after a long exhausting day at the amusement park. I know, it’s not very sexy. But it was nice to feel like a human again, have proof I could be normal, proof I could do unsexy things like watch tv and go to brunch and it didn’t feel like I was a freak for trying after months of feeling like I had a neon sign over my head that said “idiot adult woman dated meth addict like it wasn’t going to end up fucking her over HA HA.” I was ready to go out with my new sense of normalcy and have fun with people I might be, er, to be blunt, more interested in.

BUT the most amazing thing was we stayed friends after the break up, which I had never had before. and even though the first few months of dating helped me feel normal again in a way, it turns out being raped by your meth addict ex leaves deep, painful welts. who could guess. Seeking out other relationships from scratch ended up being exhausting. When do I bring up that I’m not even a year from a meth addict raping me? Date two? I tried with other people, and it wasn’t working. I dropped dating, and focused on friends and work instead. But I missed him some days, and as things around me were starting to feel like they were crumbling again, he was there and around. He came over, smoked weed, taught me MTG, let me make him dinner, took me out to bars, listened to me cry, had gentle sex. Soon we were seeing and talking to each other every day. We spent enough time together that it became clear we were dating again, and this time around it was more enjoyable and more intimate. It felt easier to invest in our relationship the second time around because he already knew the baggage. We started dating and eventually, out of the sake of convenience, moved in together.

But if it makes you feel any better, anon who is probably not reading this, the state of my relationship is not great atm. It feels like we’re very good friends that share a bed. I always had doubts about this relationship from the beginning, I was never really crazy about Malcolm and was tentative about being exclusive. I rationalized the relationship with thoughts like “you don’t know until you try” and “maybe this love is different love, and it doesn’t feel like previous love because I still need to learn more about love.” I don’t think that’s quite it anymore. But, we live together in an unpredicted pandemic, so I sort of made my bed. Plus, it’s hard to decide to break up with someone who isn’t bad just maybe not good enough. Maybe it’s my fault? some days I wake up and think, “oh well am I really giving him 100%? if I tried harder maybe it would be better.” Maybe it’ll get better? What’s life post pandemic and when is it coming, I can’t know. I’ve been depressed, will I get better? Will it change things? I also adore his parents, they’ve been amazing to me, they inspire me. they’ve opened their hearts to me. losing them weighs heavy. I love Malcom very much, he’s been a good friend and we’ve built a nice little life together that has a lot of parts working. How do you decide what day to hurt someone you love? Idk...I guess I entered this relationship to learn.

The Meth Addict has loomed large in our relationship and casts a long shadow. I’ve talked about it with Malcolm but I’m not sure he fully understands it. almost 3 years since my birthday we hooked up. That’s a long time. It’s as long as the relationship I had with my first love. I can’t predict the full story Malcolm and I will have, but I can see a potential break up looming closer. I struggle with it every day. Some nights, like tonight, it’s seems pretty clear cut. If I think this way now it pretty much proves I want to break up, right? But tomorrow morning he’ll make me tea and we’ll talk about our weekend plans and I’ll think “oh this is so nice, what was I even thinking about last night? I’m getting in my own head.” So I don’t know! I think about women a lot. I think about how I talk frankly about my bisexuality on tumblr and yet my experiences with men outnumber that with women. I feel like I’m cheating sometimes, like I’ve lead you guys to believe something that’s not real even though I’m not lying. I think about how I never want to cheat on Malcolm but I get crushes and I want to sleep with women and I wonder if I should be a mom and I think about his parents and it gets confusing. I feel guilty about thinking about our convenience because that’s cheating him and cheating me, but sometimes I wake up happy and much happier than I’ve been in 10 years.

So I guess the reason I’m dating a scrote is because I’m complicated and have a bit of a messy life, and I live day to day, and we make micro choices that lead to macro choices and then we make macro choices that lead to micro choices, and I haven’t pulled the trigger on breaking up with him yet. He was part of the healing journey because, well, he was here. In my real life. It turns out the women we follow on tumblr are very very human with lives far more complex that can be summed up in a few posts on tumblr. Maybe ask me in 50 years why I dated Malcolm, I’ll probably have a better idea why.

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alison-anonymous · 5 years ago

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flawsome bandits pt. 21 ♡ sonic

Flawsome Deceptions

Part 21! Only 3 more chapters left, my darlings! I hope you enjoy! This is also being uploaded to Wattpad as well, if any of you are interested. Love you all, darlings!

Warnings - violence (not too bad though), and some angst near the end

♡♡♡

...and smashed it onto the ground.

Robotnik’s mouth dropped open in horror as he watched his creation sink into the ground, singeing the blades of grass beneath Y/n’s tennis shoes until they were no longer recognizable. It even began to eat away at the shards of glass next to it, and Y/n winced.

That could have been her insides.

“YES!” Sonic cried out in victory just before he got punched in the face by Metal Sonic. But at least his girlfriend - or ex girlfriend - was still alive.

“What the hell have you done?!” Robotnik screeched like a banshee, rising up out his seat and gasping in horror at his specialty made poison that was supposed to melt Y/n’s insides and was now instead melting the ground beneath their feet.

You see, the lion’s actual plan had been to deceive Y/n into thinking that he would let her friends go if she came with him. But being the actual VERY HAIRY buttho- I mean intelligent scientist that he is, his actual plan was never to leave her friends alone. He would take Y/n, kill her, then destroy her friends as well so that he has a bunch of weird alien animals to conduct his experiments on. But then he got an amazing idea (not really).

What if he made Y/n kill herself in front of her friends?

God, it was genius!

Seeing their friend kill herself would definitely put a damper on their strength, as the loss of their friend would be very debilitating. But they forgot one thing.

“I’m not a fucking idiot,” Y/n snarled, her fur beginning to tingle as her powers began to churn. She cracked a smirk. The zebra was back. “I think it’s time that we switch roles, don’t you think?”

Robotnik furrowed his brows, confused as to what she meant. She took this small window of opportunity, reeled her fist back, and punched him straight in the face.

“I’m not a zebra anymore! I’m a lion, you motherfucker!”

The impact was enough to send the man falling straight out of his drone and he collapsed onto the ground, a pathetic jumble of limbs and mustache hairs. He let out a groan in pain which soon turned into a snarl, and he quickly noticed that his controller was no longer in his grasp. This was a little bit of an issue because that controller was the one that he could use to power Metal Sonic, supercharge him, and shut him down. While he was distracted, Y/n quickly dove into the drone and snatched up the controller, staring down at the three buttons that blinked before her.

They were all the same color.

Damnit.

“You little bitch, WHY WON’T YOU LOVE ME?!” Two strong gloved hands wrapped around Y/n’s furry ankles and ripped her out of the drone. She let out a shrill scream as she went airborne momentarily, and thinking quick, she let out a low hum. Her body instantly responded, holding her up into the air so she was in a sort of trance. Shadow let out a low growl from the ground, his ruby irises flaming with heartbroken rage.

“Because you’re a creep!” She shouted down at him, and slammed her fist onto the first button on the controller. She glanced down at Metal Sonic, who was in the process of trying to kill the actual Sonic, only to find that it didn’t change anything. She grunted and pushed the one on the bottom.

The robot froze.

Sonic rolled on the ground and stood up, preparing to run off again as he watched the robot in confusion. The red eyes on the bot grew bold for a moment, and then… turned off. That was the off button. Y/n breathed a sigh of relief and lowered herself onto the ground. Unfortunately, her victory was short lived as Shadow tackled her to the burnt grass.

The icy blue hedgehog let out a shriek as she went collapsing onto the ground from his weight.

“Get off of me, you pervy walrus!” Y/n snarled, immediately trying to shove the dark hedgehog off of her. But he wasn’t ready to let go that easily. He latched his strong arms around her waist, and sent them tumbling onto the ground like a bad gymnastics performance. While they were distracted, Knuckles took this opportunity to slash the binds around Spirit and Tails, freeing them. The duo quickly bounded up, armed and ready to fight, only to find that the bot was already shut off. Sonic quickly sped over to the struggling hedgehogs only to narrowly miss a burning hot laser. He froze, gaze shooting up to meet that of a very pissed off Robotnik.

“What the hell, man?” Sonic snarled, throwing his hands out to the sides in exasperation. Robotnik simply shrugged, hitting some buttons on his gloves and turning the attention of his egg bots towards him, Knuckles, Spirit, and even Tails.

“Are you forgetting that I am being portrayed as the bad guy here? It’s my job to make your life a living hell.” Robotnik rolled his eyes like he was explaining this to a five year old. Sonic had lost most of his sense of humor upon witnessing the love of his life almost kill herself, and he frankly didn’t have much time to even throw in a good natured joke when he was trying to take out a bunch of robots while his friends did the same.

Meanwhile, Y/n had other problems.

Shadow kept trying to yank the remote control out of her hands, presumably to turn back on Metal Sonic so that he could kill them. But she wasn’t having it.

“Quit groping me!” She snarled between panted breaths as she countered all of his punches and smacks, clutching the remote tightly between her right fingers. She was in a very unfortunate position with him practically straddling her on the ground, eyes full of fire and rage as he tried to get the upper hand. But just as she had managed to land a punch to his face, she spotted something out of the corner of her eye that could prove useful.

Shadow’s gun.

♡♡♡

Spirit’s baseball bat collided with three of Robotnik’s bots, knocking them into the oak tree beside her almost instantaneously. She let out an exhale, but her eyes were already on high alert, searching for any more signs of danger around her. She had lost track of where Y/n had gone after witnessing her almost kill herself, and she was frankly feeling rather light headed. But that wasn’t important right now. The important thing was to get them all out of here safe.

And alive.

Tails, who was never really one for being on the front line in battle, timidly hid behind her legs while he watched with hearts in his eyes as she took out a bunch of the egg bots. The determination and the fire in her eyes… the way her hair swung about in her ponytail with her motions… She was beautiful.

Knuckles sidled up next to them after having taken out a bunch of the other bots as well, followed shortly after by the Blue Blur. Sonic let out a frustrated groan as another hoard of bots began to carreen their way towards them, lasers at the ready. Robotnik stood under the cover of his old drone not too far away from them, and it was then that Sonic hatched a plan.

“Guys, if we can get those controller gloves away from him, then maybe we can stop the drones long enough to get Y/n.” Amazing how even in the most dire of circumstances, Sonic’s first instinct was to find a way to make it to his beloved girlfriend.

Ex-girlfriend.

Gotta stop doing that.

Spirit and Knuckles immediately stepped up in front of Sonic and Tails, already beginning the process of punching and smashing the next line of robots. Even Tails was able to prevent some of the bots from getting too close by whacking them with his tails and with random sticks he was able to pick up on the ground. Using their amazing fighting skills as his que, Sonic sped through the darkness the trees gave him before coming to a stop just behind Robotnik. Thankfully, the man had been captivated by the fight as well, his eyes trained steadily on the fight as one hand controlled the bots and the other stroked his unwashed mustache hairs.

Disgusting, Sonic thought bitterly. He would make sure that this man would never harm another person again.

He slowly took two more steps forward, and the second Robotnik’s glove was within his view, Sonic ripped it off of his hand and slammed it against the ground with a rock. Robotnik let out a choked scream in surprise, cursing himself for being off his game and blaming it on Y/n’s hate filled punch, he turned only to hear the static sound of his precious controller being destroyed.

“NO!” He screeched like a little girl, not knowing how to defend himself in the absence of his beautiful bots. He dove towards the little blue hedgehog, seeming to have forgotten that Sonic was… well, Sonic. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”

“I just saved my friends,” Sonic answered boldly, stomping on the controller again for good measure. When he watched the drones drop dead by Spirit, Tails, and Knuckles, he knew for sure that they were toast. Now just one more thing left to do.

Sonic slowly reached into his right glove and pulled out a tiny little object. It was small enough for Robotnik to not quite figure out just what it was, and it was only when Sonic held it up towards the burning flames in the trees that Robotnik understood.

A golden ring.

Robotnik, for the first time in his life, was speechless.

He could only watch as Sonic closed his eyes momentarily, then threw the ring onto the ground before him. Instantly, the ring began to glow and spin before opening up a portal to some other world. Robotnik recognized it as the Mushroom Planet at first, but this one looked a lot darker. More nutrient-starved. It would be impossible for Robotnik to try and get any supplies for his drones on a planet like that. Even when he was on the Mushroom Planet, at least he was able to find some watering holes and mushrooms that didn’t seem poisonous.

This was it.

“It’s all over isn’t it?” Robotnik asked dazily. Sonic wore a very rare expression. No ounce of mercy could be seen in his searing emerald orbs as he stared down at the pathetic man who used to be a mad scientist. He wasn’t planning on pushing Robotnik in. Robotnik was going to crawl in himself.

Like the pitiful excuse of a human that he was.

Robotnik glanced around at the burning vegetation and destroyed babies he had once cradled in his arms. The little beings that came out of his egg sack (see what I did there?) They were all destroyed. He had gone through so much trouble to come up with this beautiful plan, this beautiful robot, only to have it taken down within seconds by a couple of angry hedgehogs?

Maybe he should find another hobby.

Maybe Agent Stone had been right all those times he had tried to steer him down another path. Maybe he could find some other outlet for his personal problems that didn’t have to do with forcing his wants on other people and hurting them if they didn’t go with it straight away. Threatening people and making them try to kill themselves just because they were weak. Maybe if he had been a better person, then none of this would have happened. Maybe then he and Agent Stone could have been happy. Maybe then he could have been friends with the hedgehogs. Even though they were painfully annoying.

This was it. Robotnik was never a lion, was he? No. He had pretended to be a lion, always putting his bark before his bite. Always trying to use his smarts and his pride to trump character. He thought he was better than everyone else. And then he got punched in the face by a girl.

The true zebra surrendered.

“Well played, Sonic,” Robotnik had to commend the alien creature. Sonic’s eyes widened momentarily at the first comment he had ever received from this man. “Well played.”

And with that, Robotnik drug himself forward and fell through the portal.

♡♡♡

Shadow’s gun glinted in the dancing flames of the trees from his tool belt.

Y/n stared up into his angry red irises and immediately went limp. Shadow freezes momentarily, confused by her sudden actions. Why had she stopped fighting him? He enjoyed it when she fought him, it brought up some weird emotion of adrenaline and plea-

“Dumbass.”

Wait, what? Shadow felt a strange lightness on his waist. He glanced down only to hear the sound of a gun cocking.

“Shit.” He cursed, looking up to be met with a very shocking sight.

There Y/n lay beneath him, her teeth gritting as tears streamed down her glowing e/c orbs. Her hands were trembling as she held the gun to his head, trying her very hardest to fight against the debilitation that he put her under. He made her want to die just by looking at her, let alone touching her. And now she had to make him stop. He glanced to the side by her head and felt a draining sensation through his chest when he saw what used to be the remote controller for Metal Sonic. She must have found a way to smash it at some point.

But then he realized something.

“You’re a fool,” He scoffed, shaking his head. “A beautiful fool.”

Y/n didn’t respond, but the shift in her expression let him know that she heard him perfectly.

Wait.

No, she thought. This wouldn’t work. He isn’t afraid of the gun. He isn’t afraid of it because he knows that even if she wanted to, she might not be able to pull the trigger. No, his fear wasn’t of having a gun put to his chest. But what he was afraid of...

Y/n slowly turned the gun around in her hands until it was pressed up against her forehead.

She placed her finger over the trigger, and Shadow’s facade crumbled almost instantly. He wrapped his hands around hers, trying desperately to yank it away from her forehead. They were no longer physically fighting one another as he sat on top of her stomach, pinning her to the ground. No. The fight was now over the gun Y/n was pressing to her head. But even when Shadow tugged at it with all his might, it didn’t budge an inch. The glowing in Y/n’s eyes explained why.

But she wasn’t done yet.

“You did this to me.”

Shadow froze, staring straight into Y/n’s burning e/c eyes as they swirled with a tornado of emotions. Anger, hatred, betrayal, hurt, disgust.

Sadness.

“You did this to me, Shadow. You made me think that dying would be better than living on this earth. You hurt a perfectly good batch of people, all for what? For money? For something that you didn’t even understand. You hurt me, Shadow.”

Shadow’s hands fell limp by his sides, and if Y/n didn’t know any better, she could practically see his soul shatter through his eyes.

“You. Hurt. Me.”

Shadow instantly began shaking his head, the last bit of denial still trying to claw its way to the surface.

“N-no, no, n-no, I-I love you, I-”

“You tried to make me kill myself. You. Hurt. Me.” With her final words, Shadow finally broke. Watching all the fire drain from his eyes, Y/n took the opportunity to smash the gun against the side of his head, knocking him out successfully. He slumped onto the ground in an unnatural position and Y/n finally heaved in a shaky breath. She pulled her shaking body up into a sitting position and stared down at the gun in her hands.

A tiny tear drop fell onto the trigger.

She had won.

♡ a.a.

#sonic #sonic x reader #sonic imagines #sonic the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog x reader #sonic the hedgehog imagines #sonic the hedgehog movies #sonic the hedgehog movie x reader #sonic the hedgehog movie imagines #sonic the hedgehog 2020 #sonic the hedgehog 2020 x reader #sonic the hedgehog 2020 imagines #flawsome bandits

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thebeltanequeen · 4 years ago

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The (Blurred? Nonexistent? Inconsequential?) Line Between Canon and Fanon: An Impromtu Essay by Me

I’m currently have an existential crisis. An absolute, balls to the walls, pull my hair out, stare at the walls wondering what the meaning of existence is, kind of existential crisis. Why, you may ask? Because the older I have gotten, the more Fanfiction I have read. That’s normal. Millions of other people read fanfic like me. Well, in the past few years, I have also realized that the more fanfiction I have read, the less shits I give about the actual canon of the media I love. I care less and less about what “actually” happened, and delve into fanon instead. It’s as if the two have SWITCHED ROLES in my brain. The canon is the lie, and the fanon is the truth. This used to not be the case though, so how did we get here? And why… why is this realization sending me into an absolute spiral of insanity? Why do I feel like I have been sucker punched in the jaw? Let me explain.

I’ve been reading and dabbling in writing my own fanfiction for over twelve years. It used to be an escape, a way to further delve into my latest obsessions and become consumed by them. I have this annoying habit of also picking ships that do NOT become endgame, so I’ve always sought out fanfiction as a balm for my shipper’s soul as well. I still read fanfiction as if my life depends on it… but now it’s at the expense of reading new books. Watching new media. When I do eventually dip my toes into a new fandom, I either reject it quickly or become consumed again and make a grab for fanfiction… but in the past few years, something in not only me, but in fandoms in general has shifted.

The difference between me now, and me back then is this… I used to uphold the canon as sacred. Untouchable. Set in stone. The only credible source for the media I consume. All of the fanfiction I read was just beautiful window dressing. A lovely past time to further increase my dopamine intake.

This is no longer the case.

Now, when I read and write fanfiction, it’s as if it is an act of protest. I am actively seeking to reform the narrative. It’s to “take back” the story, the characters, EVERYTHING, for myself. To make it anew. To make it perfect. I’m not alone either. I see you. I see all of you. Now more than ever, I see more and more of us doing this exact same thing.

THIS is why I am having an existential crisis. I have just realized that I will no longer be content with the canon. Ever. Even the canon of my favorite media. It’s not enough. It’s no longer enough. It won’t ever be enough again. Why? Because there will always be places where the canon is falliable. The authors of the canon, are falliable. As an author myself, this is at once an alarming yet powerful realization.

I went to college for creative writing. At the beginning of my academic career, I thought of fanfiction as a beautiful fairytale world. It was glorious, but it was other. Separate. Not as credible as canon. Had I read fanfiction better than the media it was based on before I entered college? Absolutely, but in my head it still didn’t matter because the canon was the word. The canon was the law. As a writer, I held the power of the author (and by extension the power of myself) as sacred. By the end of college, that began to change.

The more I was taught about writing, the more I came to realize that sometimes, authors are just straight up WRONG. Sometimes, there’s soooooo much potential… AND THEY JUST FUCK IT UP!!!!!!! The bones are incredible, but the canon is weak, the logic is lacking, the story makes no sense, the characters don’t reach their full potential and you know what? I’m tired. I’m tired of it. This is why fanon is canon’s salvation. Fanon makes canon look pathetic. But… if I accept the fanon as the reality, and make the canon the lie, does that still make it fanon? No. I don’t think it does. I think fanon has become something other. Something greater.

I have become disillusion by “published” or “credible” books. 95% of the novels I actually buy at the store today are garbage. Trash. Half written nonsense that only serves the purpose of paying people. I’m TIRED OF IT. I’ve become disillusioned by the “power” of the author. I have become disillusioned by canon. FUCK canon, quite frankly. Rip it apart. Dissect it. Take out it’s beating heart and transplant it into a new body. Give it the soul that the narrative was begging for. REVIVE IT. LET YOUR OWN IMAGINATION MAKE IT ANEW. Characters mean too much to people. Fiction means too much to people. Stories mean too much to people for anything less. Only then will you or I be satisfied.

Now, even an impromptu, unedited, gibberish essay is not complete without examples. I’ll start with one that you probably thought of while reading this. Game of Thrones. I think that two years ago, the ending of the most influential show of the entire decade, is where my subconscious began to shift in this direction. Now, I doubt my opionions about GoT are the same as yours, but you know what? It DOESN’T MATTER because FANON CAN FIX THE CANON. The stories that meant so much to millions can be fixed by accepting the fact that THE CANON ISN’T THE LAW! IT FUCKED UP!!!! CANON DOESN’T DESERVE TO SPEAK ANYMORE!!!! TAKE BACK THE STORY AND TRANSFORM IT INTO A VERSION TRULY WORTHY OF THE GLORIOUS BONES IT HAS!!!!!

We also can’t ignore the role that monetization plays in the media we consume. Why leave our fiction in the hands of just the big names? Why let money dictate what is real and not real? WHY SETTLE FOR MEDIOCRE STORYTELLING JUST BECAUSE IT WAS SOLD TO YOU AND THEREFORE IT’S “LEGIT CANON”??? FANFICTION IS FREE, AND THE MOST BEAUTIFUL PIECES OF WRITING I’VE EVER READ WERE WRITTEN BY FANFIC AUTHORS WHO DID IT FOR THE STORY. WHO DID IT FOR THE ART. WHO ACTUALLY DID IT JUSTICE. FUCK THE CONCEPT OF FANON AND CANON. THE STORY WE WANT IS ALL THAT MATTERS. GET MONEY OUT OF HERE.

Ahem. To avoid going on even more of a tangent, I’ll move on and give the example that triggered my existential crisis in the first place. Sailor Moon. To give some background, Sailor Moon is it for me. I have grown up with it. I’ve watched it my entire life. As a child, I ran around with my toy moon rod and desperately wanted to be Usagi. Ironically, I grew up to be quite a bit like her (but with Rei’s temper admittedly). It is my comfort show, my happiness. It makes me laugh, it makes me cry. I never tire of it. It makes my heart swell. I have never, nor will I ever, love any piece of media the way I love Sailor Moon. Flash forward to today, I watched Sailor Moon Eternal, the two new movie adaptations of the Dream arc in the manga (stick with me non-manga and anime lovers). I liked the films, but I was left with a deep, disatisfied yearning. I want back the feeling of complete bliss I experienced while watching the 90’s anime as a child. The problem with this? I’ll never get it back. I’ve just realized this. I’ll NEVER get it back. Why? Because it’s no longer the perfect version of Sailor Moon that it was to my young eyes. Crystal, while good, is also not the perfected version I seek in my adulthood, and Eternal has not scratched my insatiable itch. I am heartbroken because I’ve realized that Sailor Moon in its perfect form doesn’t exist anymore. If I held any canon sacred, it was this. But the story is flawed. The manga is flawed. The anime is flawed. It’s not infallible, as much as it truly, deeply hurts me to admit to the world and to myself. The only perfect version of Sailor Moon is the one in my heart. It’s the one I choose to piece together for myself with the building blocks that others who came before me have handed over.

Another, more recent example of falliable canon is The Grisha Verse. More specifically, the Shadow and Bone trilogy. I was brought in to the fandom by Ben Barnes’ depthless eyes and magnificent scruff. And you know what? I liked the story, but I stayed for Ben Barnes. I liked the Darkling so much that I bought the entire grisha verse books. It was a premature decision. I’ve only made it halfway through Storm and Seige, and you know what? I’m tired of the canon already. It’s not that great. The bones are there, but it could be SO. MUCH. MORE. I haven’t read the crow books yet, and by all accounts Leigh Bardugo has improved tremendously as a writer. Which incidentally proves my point. Authors are falliable. Ergo, the canon is falliable. I can’t help but think while I read these books, “Damn. I could write this better.” and you know what? I’ve read fanfics that HAVE written it better.

Am I saying this to trash Bardugo? Or even GRRM? (Yes I admit to trashing D&D but that’s beside the point ahem…). NO. I am NOT trashing the writers. I’M A WRITER. I GET IT. YOUR STORY IS YOUR BABY. I G E T I T . But I’ve realized, and what I think future authors will also have to realize, is that fiction doesn’t belong to anyone. As soon as it’s out the door, the fiction no longer belongs to the author. It belongs to us. The people. That’s what is beautiful about fanfiction. It’s not here for the money. It’s not here for the clout. It’s here for the fiction itself. Plain and simple. It belongs to no one and everyone.

In the past, I would have fought this. I would have wanted my work’s canon to be law. To be the word, the truth, the way etc. Now? I can’t be a hypocrite. I can’t be selfish. It isn’t about the author. It’s about the vision. It’s about the story, the narrative, the characters. It’s about art. And sometimes, the authors give birth to the idea (and they deserve credit for that without a doubt), but it’s also true that sometimes, someone else just writes it better. Someone else quite simply saw the vision, the story, the characters, more clearly than the author did. I make this vow now, as an author, to strive for the vision. If someone takes my vision and does it better than me, that only improves my perspective of my own story. It improves the world of fiction as a whole. It makes me better.

So, canon? Fuck the canon. Take back the story. Take back the characters. Take back the art. Fiction is ours. It belongs to us, and we can do with it what we please. Let’s strive for OUR OWN perfected version of the media we love. Canon doesn’t truly exist. The concept of Fanon doesn’t even exist anymore in the way we used to think of it. The author’s version of events is their own Fanon of the story. Canon is meaningless now. There is only the story that you accept in your own mind. There is only the story that I accept in my own mind, no matter how different it is from yours. There is only the art. There is only the limitless potential of countless people’s imaginations. Let’s continue to collaborate and celebrate beautiful stories together, in any conceivable way, over and over and over again, until the end of time.

Fin

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magictaverntranscripts · 4 years ago

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Episode 6 - The Vermilion Minotaur

[static] Mysterious Man: The following podcast is not real. But it is really sponsored by Field Notes Brand. USA-made memo books and other products, including seasonal limited editions. Visit fieldnotesbrand.com, or 400 North May. [static] [theme music] Arnie: Hello From the Magic Tavern! [trill] Arnie: A weekly podcast from the magical land of Foon. I'm your host, Arnie Niekamp, I'm from Chicago. If you haven't listened to the podcast before, here's a real quick explanation of what's happened. A few weeks ago, about a month ago, I fell through a dimensional rift behind a Burger King, into this magical land called Foon. Luckily, I'm still getting a slight wifi signal from the Burger King, I guess through the dimensional rift. And so I'm hosting a weekly podcast from a tavern in Foon. The tavern is called the vermilion Minotaur, and I'm actually very excited this week that I've been able to talk the tavern owner into being a guest on the podcast. And we'll get to you in a second, but first I want to, uh, introduce my...mostly weekly co-host, Chunt, the talking badger.

Chunt: And your roommate. Hey, how's it going, Arnie? Arnie: And my roommate, exactly. You've been very kind to let me stay with you. Chunt: No worries, yeah, no worries. Arnie: I've been there for almo-, over a month. Chunt: Yeah. It's flown by. Arnie: And uh, Usidore the wizard is here... Chunt: Do you have sarcasm in...your world? Arnie: [laughs] Yes, yes. Chunt: Oh, 'cause I said, "It's flown by" but I...was [trailing off] being sarcastic. Arnie: You were being sarcastic. Chunt: Yeah. Arnie: Okay. I'm sorry. Chunt: No, I was- Arnie: Do you want me to not...have I been staying there too long? Chunt: I'd rather you- I'd rather know that you're with me and safe, then out somewhere else wandering around, but... Arnie: I w-, 'Cause I have like, nothing. I have no money- Otok: We have plenty of open rooms. Arnie: You have plenty of open rooms here? Otok: We do! Arnie: Well, why don't we go ahead and introduce our guest. Otok: Oh, sorry. Arnie: Our guest, uh, why don't you introduce yourself? Otok: Uh...[sighs as Usidore's voice gets increasingly louder in the background] Arnie: Oh, I'm sorry... Usidore: [eventually shouting]...and Shadow, Manipulator of Magical Delights, Devourer of Chaos, Champion of the Great Halls of Terr'akkas. The elves know me as Fi’ang Yalok! The dwarves know me as Zoenen Hoogastangs. Arnie: [somewhat sadly] Hoobastank. Usidore: And I am known in the Northeast as Gaismunēnas Meistar. You...[fades out again] Arnie: U- Otok: Uh- Arnie: Usidore is here, he's just wandering ar- I think he's drunk. I think he's wandering around trying- Chunt: Mm-hmm. Arnie: -to get people on his quest. Otok: Fi'ang Yalok is here nearly every night of the week. Arnie: Oh, so you refer to h- you know him as Fi'ang Yalok? Otok: Oh, I'm sorry yeah, well, I'm half. Half, half-elf. Arnie: Oh, you're half-elf? Otok: Right. Arnie: Wow, okay, all right, I'm sorry- Otok: So it's just habit. Arnie: Please introduce yourself. Otok: Um, I'm sorry. Otok Barleyfoot, owner and operator of the Vermilion Minotaur. Chunt: Mm-hmm. Otok: It's a family-run business. Arnie: I'm so excited to have you on. 'Cause I've been hosting this podcast every week since I've gotten here. I love the vermilion Minotaur, it's a cool- Otok: Thank you. Arnie: -tavern, and lots of adventurers and different people come through here. Otok: I hope you've tried our spiced potatoes! Arnie: I hav- I haven't. I haven't tried the spiced potatoes. Otok: [sighs] Okay. Arnie: I'm not a big...I'm not a big starch guy? Otok: All right. Chunt: If I were to look at you, I'd say you're a big starch guy. [laughs] Arnie: [laughs] Chunt, are you okay? I feel like maybe I'm upsetting you. Chunt: I'm a little high st-, I'm a little high-strung, okay? I'm a little high-strung. I just came from a session. I had a- Arnie: You- Chunt: Do you- Are you familiar with fetishes? Do you know what fetishes are? Arnie: Yes. Chunt: I make a little- whenever I change into a new animal, I'm currently a badger, I've been a badger for a little while. Uh...there's a group of people who will pay me to pose... Arnie: Uh-huh. Chunt: For a fetish, and I- they have me, I"ll like grubs or something, and they'll watch me eat grubs, or- Arnie: Uh-huh. Chunt: I'll wear just like, a wet t-shirt that says like, uh, "Kiss the Chunt" or something like that. Arnie: Oh... Otok: It's the underbelly of... Chunt: Yeah. Otok: Hogsface. Arnie: Yeah, there's a- Chunt: "Got Chunt", so I mean it's just- Arnie: Got Chu- oh, yeah. Chunt: There's a certain select group who are into watching me in whatever state I'm in do...certain deeds. Arnie: Yeah, I guess that explains why that explains why that one day, you came home with a wet t-shirt that said, "Chunt Hardly Wait"... Chunt: [laughs] Arnie: [laughs] Chunt: Yeah, I don't know why I wrote that, I don't know what was coming into my mind, but, "Chunt Hardly Wait". Arnie: But I'm sorry, I'd like to get back to our guest. So, I love the vermilion Minotaur- Otok: Thank you. Arnie: So tell me a little bit about the establishment. Otok: Well, as you can see, it's um, it's carved out of the base of a barleywood tree. Arnie: Ooo. Otok: Right at the edge of McShingleshane forest. Arnie: [laughing] Uh-huh. Otok: It was carved out- Arnie: I was wondering what the name of that forest was. Otok: Oh, McShingleshane. Arnie: Yeah. Otok: And so, my family took it over right from the beginning- Arnie: Uh-huh. Otok: -Called it the Vermilion Minotaur because of the old vermilion minotaur legend. Arnie: Wh- what is the Legend of the Vermilion Minotaur? Chunt: Ooo, let me...I'm gonna' blow out some candles here. Arnie: Ooo, wow, it's spooky! Chunt: Set the mood, I'm gonna' set the mood. Otok: Thank you. Thank you, Chunt. Chunt used to work here, so we have a pretty good- Arnie: I did not know that! Otok: -relationship. Chunt: Yep. Otok: Yeah. Chunt: Every once in a while I'll bounce here. Depending on the size of the animal, I'll be a bouncer. Arnie: Wow. Chunt: But if I'm [chuckles] if I'm a caterpillar or something, I'll probably just...[laughs] stay inside. Arnie: [laughs] Otok: Back in the kitchen. Chunt: Yeah. Arnie: Is it safe for a caterpillar in the kitchen? Chunt: I usually just wrap a cocoon around myself. Otok: Yeah. Arnie: So, the Vermilion Minot- the, uh- Otok: The Vermilion Minot-, ah yes, the Legend of the Vermilion Minotaur, um, is of course the old story when the, um, the...countess' baby, um, was trapped in the forest. And eight vermilion minotaurs invited the baby into their labyrinth. Arnie: Uh-huh. Otok: And then, the heavens rained down, and then...the horses came... Arnie and Chunt: [laughing quietly] Arnie: This is a very- I'm having a- Otok: I'm not a good- You know- Arnie: It's hard to parse this, this legend! Chunt: It's, well there's, it's told a few ways- Arnie: It sounds like it's like a fever dream! Chunt: I think it's open- Otok: Uh, it might be me. My wife was the storyteller. Um- Arnie: Are you okay? Otok: Yeah, um. I'm sorry. I just...it's a story I used to tell my daughter. Arnie: I don't think I've met your daughter. Or your wife. Otok: Well, my wife...my wife passed some years ago. Arnie: Oh, I'm sor- I'm very sorry. Otok: She was crushed by a barleywood tree. Arnie: Oh... Otok: And my daughter, um, she ran away. She wanted to be a warrior. Arnie: Uh-huh? Otok: And she joined the um, the Falsetto Marauders. Arnie: The Falsetto Marauders? Otok: And I haven't seen her in...two Blunders. Arnie: I'm so sorry to hear about...the tragedies in your family. Otok: Right. Arnie: I don't know if you want to talk about it, or we could change the subject...we could talk about the- Otok: No, it's fine. I uh- and in fact...quite frankly I'm looking for, I'm looking for some adventurers to um- Arnie: Mm-hmm? Otok: -to aid me in getting my daughter back. Arnie: [astonished] Really? So you have your own quest that you wanna' go on? Otok: Yeah. Fi’ang Yalok, I've spoken to him about it, um, he seems distracted- Arnie: Yeah. Otok: -with something else. Um, but you know, ideally I'd get some help. Arnie: Yeah, I mean- Otok: Getting her back. Arnie: I have to stay here, because this is pretty important communication- Otok: Right. Arnie: Explain this world to our world. Otok: Well, y- Chunt: And I was like, Arnie's got a similar situation where, kinda similar, where he's left his wife and daughter behind? Arnie: [laughs] I'm not- Chunt: And he's done nothing to search for them. Otok: Ooooh. Arnie: No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Otok: You chose to leave them behind? Arnie: No, that is absolutely not true. I, I have a w- a wife and a newborn, uh, child at home, and I am heartbroken that I am not with them, and I worry, and think about it every day. Uh, I did not intentionally come here, I'm really just trying to make the best out of it, and trying to do important work with this podcast, but I, like you, am very heartbroken. Otok: You seem pretty jovial. Arnie: No I- [laughs] Otok: And- [laughs] Could we get-? Chunt: Could we get some spicy potatoes over here? Otok: Yes, please, the spiced...[clears throat] Arnie: So- okay, so you're trying to get adventurers together. Otok: Right. Arnie: Your daughter went off to, with the Falsetto Marauders? Is that what you said? Otok: Yes. That is correct. They're a mercenary group of warriors. They're always looking for young, young trainees. Arnie: And do they sing? Chunt: No, it's- you know when they're near, because you hear like a [breathy, high pitched whine]. Like a "Whaa" Otok: Warrior call. Chunt: Yeah. Usidore: [off-mic far in background, unintelligible] Arnie: And so, is she in any partic- Like, I mean, first of all you should go after her, but...it seems like she chose to go off... Otok: The Falsetto Marauders are the worst kind of people on the face of Foon! I mean, they're disgusting animals! Arnie: What, what horrible things have they done? Otok: They killed off all of the, the sheep... [long pause] Arnie and Otok: [laughing] Chunt: [scoffs] All- I mean we don't have sh-, we used to have sheep, we don't have any more. I know when my cousin was a baby, they walked by and just like, smacked him. Arnie: I gotta' say- Chunt: Across the face. Like, a baby. Arnie: Look, I'm not saying, I'm not saying that those things aren't [laughing] I'm not saying that those- Chunt: Are you laughing at my cousin getting smacked? Arnie: [still laughing] I'm so sorry... Otok: And that's not the only- Chunt: In the f- Otok: -baby they've smacked, either. Arnie: Sure. Look, I'm not saying- Otok: When they, when you hear that sound coming into town- Usidore: [off-mic, much louder] -SUPPOSE YOU CAN [unintelligible] WEST WITH SPINTAX THE GREEN, THEN! [unintelligible, angry] USIDORE SHALL NOT STAND FOR IT! [more unintelligible, angry shouting, growing quieter as if leaving] Chunt: Wizard fight! [laughs] Arnie: Oh... Otok: Ooo. [yelling] Not in here, boys! Arnie: Look, I'm not saying that- I just that like, killing sheep and smacking babies, on the scale- Otok: Every last sheep. Arnie: On the scale of the kind of awful things you could do in this land, the stuff I've kinda' heard about, this seems, pretty small scale stuff. Otok: Would you want your daughter, your abandoned daughter, to join a- Arnie: Not ab- Abandoned is an exaggeration. Otok: -a group of angry, baby-slapping, sheep-killing marauders? Arnie: No, of course. I'm just saying like, if this is what she wants to be doing with her life...? Otok: Activia had a beautiful voice. Arnie: Activia? Otok: My daughter. Arnie: Her name was Activia? Chunt: Mm-hmm. Otok: That's correct. Chunt: We used to, uh, any time we'd see her around town we'd kind-of sing it? [singing to the tune of the Activia yogurt jingle] Ac-ti-via... Arnie: Okay, well you know what? Let's take a quick break. Usidore: [off-mic, much closer than before] Augh! I'm caught in my robe! I'm caught in my robe! Otok: [sighs] Arnie: Um, we gotta' help Usidore. Otok: We can't have this. Arnie: We're gonna' take a quick break, refresh our drinks, and help Usidore, and we'll be right back with more tales from the Vermilion Minotaur. [Ad Music] Usidore: [off-mic] I think this will be a wonderful opportunity for you. [clears throat] To get out of Hogsface and learn a little bit more about the world around you! Well it turns out that there is evil in this world- Unknown voice: [yelling angrily] Shut up! Usidore: Take up arms against it for it is each ourouururrrururrrururrruh our duty to decide when it is time, for we can no longer stand for the evil- Unknown voice: [still yelling] This is horsh- Shut up! Usidore: To invade our lives. Unknown voice: [anguished groan] Usidore: This is your- this is your last chance! I won't ask YOU AGAIN! THIS IS, I WON'T ASK FOR YOU TO COME ALONG WITH ME ON MY WONDERFUL JOURNEY! SO MUCH GOLD AND HONOR AND PRESTIGE TO BE WON! [Ad music ends] Arnie: Welcome back! All right, so we, I guess we've helped Usidore, at least as much as we possibly can. I wanna' talk a little bit more about the, the tavern itself. Otok: Well, it's a place to, to meet friends. Arnie: Mm-hmm. Otok: To have good conversation. Arnie: Yeah? Otok: We've got some, sort of out of, out of bar activities we do? Arnie: Uh-huh. Otok: We've got a mittens team. And in fact, we're down a guy...if...all right, well we'll talk later. Arnie: Ah, I don't- I'm not very athletic myself. I know Usidore has been really wanting to get into playing mittens. Otok: ...Yeah. [sighs] Yeah, he's mentioned that. Arnie: ...Not- Okay, that's fine. Otok: Yeah, we don't- Arnie: I, I get it. You don't even- Otok: We've got a w-wizard. Chunt: [chuckles] Arnie: [laughs] That's not a big- Otok: [mutters] So we don't really need another one... Arnie: That's not a big deal. What's it like running a tavern in a magical land? Is it dangerous? I mean, I know we're on, what is it? This big, through-fare road, you probably get a lot of strange creatures and adventurers coming in all the time. Otok: Right, well, they always come in here. I mean, where do you think they get their rumors and their gossip? They come here, to the Vermilion Minotaur. Our barkeeps are more than happy to supply it. Arnie: Yeah. Otok: But it can be dangerous, I mean, I mean I already told you how my daughter is gone- Arnie: Yeah. Otok: And my wife was crushed, so- Arnie: I know, I know, we talked- [laughs] Otok: It's weird that you're leading me to more- Chunt: [singing] Ac-ti-via! Arnie: That's really bringing the podca- let's not talk so much about that anymore. So, the bartenders being kind-of rumor mongers, are they trained to do that? Usidore: [muttering incoherently far in the background] Otok: Well, it just comes naturally. I mean, people come for, they're looking for work, they're looking for adventure, and they ask the barkeep. Arnie: Are you, do you collect rumors yourself? Like are there any juicy rumors floating around lately? Otok: [tisks] I mean, I've got a couple. I mean, I don't know if I wanna' spread it. You know, I'll give you one. Arnie: Great! Otok: I'll give you one. Um, so the, the Raven's Crew? Um, you know- Arnie: I don't know what that is. Otok: Oh, well they're, um, they kind-of kidnap children? Arnie: Uh-huh. Otok: Yeah. The Raven's Crew? Chunt: They don't smack 'em though. They kidnap 'em. Arnie: They just- Usidore: [far in the background]...all of Foon will... Otok: No, they don't smack 'em. Chunt: They don't smack 'em or slap 'em- Usidore: [in background, suddenly louder] darkness! [Continues, unintelligible] Otok: Right, they're just a kidnapping of children g- it's a religious cult. Arnie: Oh, I see. Otok: The Raven's Crew, they're very um, and so they kidnap children, they bring them to their palace, and um, brainwash them. Usidore: [continuing to recruit in the background, mostly unintelligible] Arnie: Yeah. Otok: Anyway, there's a rumor that one of them is working um, at the, uh, cobbler. Arnie: Really? Otok: Yeah. I don't know if it's a former Raven's Crew member or a current, but- Usidore: [Getting steadily louder] he shall sit upon a chair, a trophy of his...a lost man... Otok: -it's just one little rumor I heard. Chunt: Yeah, I heard that one. Arnie: [laughs] You heard that one as well? No one tells me- Chunt: I heard, I heard he's also uh, I heard he's gay. [pause, Usidore still talking in the background] Chunt: [laughs] Arnie: That's...fine. Otok: Yeah. Chunt: No, it's fine, I've had sex with, with male animals, it's just...it's something to talk about. Arnie: Sure, of course. Otok: Usually you have to buy a second ale to get that extra rumor. Arnie: Ah, I see! So it's kind-of an unsp- Chunt: I'm sorry, I blew his wad- Otok: It's all right! No, Chunt, it's, don't worry about it. Arnie: It's like an unspoken menu item. Otok: Right. You know, it's like, "Ah, I'll have another ale from the barkeep" well- Chunt: Let me be clear, Chunt doesn't care about homosexuality, it's just...it's just fun to talk about. Arnie: It's just fun to talk about. Chunt: Everyone loves to talk about sexuality, right? Arnie: Sure, of course! Yeah! Chunt: Do you ha-, I mean, in your world do you talk about who's gay and who's not? Arnie: Yeah, I suppose we do, to some extent. Chunt: Yeah, but it's not in like a nasty way, it's just like, "Oh, that's fun." Arnie: I mean, unfortunately some people do talk about it in a nasty way. But then, also, people, I guess people do just generally gossip. I mean, especially if you're not sure, or surprised... Chunt: Yeah. Arnie: Or w-, like uh, it switches? Chunt: Chunt accepts all. Otok: Foon is a pretty accepting place. Arnie: It seems like it. It does! It really does. And there's so many, and there's so many things to kind of be accepting of, like, you know, people who have sex with animals and then turn into those animals! Otok: Right. Chunt: Right, thank you. Can I ask you something real quick? Usidore: [laughing uproariously, much closer] Yes! My friend Chunt is a shapeshifter! Say- Chunt! Wave! Chunt: Hello! Usidore: Hello! That's Chunt! Arnie: Usidore, if you're going to try to engage us, I wish you would be on the podcast. Usidore: I'm sorry? Arnie: If you're going to try to engage us, I wish you would be on the podcast. Usidore: I'm trying- Arnie: Do you reali- you know every week, you've been on this podcast! Usidore: I know, but I'm, I'm...I'm working hard this week, Arnold. I'm going to recruit some adventurers to defeat the Dark Lord! Arnie: Okay. Usidore: I'm re-committed! [laughs] Unknown voice: [annoyed] I'm trying to study! Arnie: All right. Otok: Ah, yeah. Chunt: I feel like two more drinks and he'll be in the wizard state, so... Arnie: Oh god, I hate the wizard state, so much. Chunt: It can be a blessing. Arnie: Yeah. Do you have any, like, what's like, so what are the perks of being a tavern owner? Otok: Well, like I said, everybody kinda' comes to me. Arnie: Yeah. Otok: You know and I've known people since they were young, y'know. Arnie: Sure! Otok: We've been here. I've billed their fathers, and their father's fathers. We also do a good deal of charity work. Arnie: Really? Otok: And if you could- Arnie: That's fantastic Otok: -if you're going to be around, it'd be great if you would, y'know, chip in. Arnie: Uhh, yeah, if I have time. What, like w- w- Chunt: If you have time? To give money? [laughs] Arnie: I- first of all I don't have any money. Otok: Are you working? Chunt: He didn't ask for a time commitment, he asked for mon- for a donation. Arnie: Oh, I thought he was suggesting that I do some charity work. Chunt: Oh, I thought you were suggesting a donation. Otok: Well, I was suggesting a donation, but we also have our Vermilion Minotaur March coming up. And if you march around the outskirts of the town with us, that would also- Arnie: And what does, what are we raising money for? Otok: Um, for an extension for the Vermilion Minotaur… Arnie: [incredulous laughter] That does not- wait, for- hold on, that's not charity. That's not charity! Otok: We- uh, did you know that we house eight unwed mothers? Arnie: I did not know that. Otok: Well now you do. Arnie: So, becau- [laughs] is this because of like your wife and that, y'know, your child, that- Otok: I thought you didn't want to talk about that. Arnie: I really, I guess I don't but it just seems so...Chunt, right, doesn't it seem...that seems like probably why? Chunt: Do you think he slept with those women? Arnie: No! [laughing] I'm not! Chunt: You think he's the father of those- Arnie: I'm- Otok: How dare you? Arnie: I'm not accusing you of anything! Otok: And even if I did, I'm a- I'm a widower! My wife died- Arnie: That's true! You were, I mean- Otok: She would want- Arnie: You can have sex with as many people as you want! Otok: Okay. I haven't though. Chunt: Can I ask you something? Can I ask you something direct? Because you seem...real...in a not real hurry to get home. Are you gay? Do you have a wife and kids, or are you gay? Arnie: I'm not gay! I have, I- I love my wife and my child, and I really do want to get home to them, I'm just, y'know, while I'm here I'm trying to make the most of it. Otok: You should know that there are a couple rumors about you. Arnie: There are rumors about me? Otok: Mm-hm. Chunt: I spread most of them. Otok: Yeah. Arnie: Oh, Chunt. Well, what are the rumors? Otok: Well, there's one that you're gay. [Arnie laughs] Chunt: Which you can't be upset with, right? Arnie: I'm not upset! Chunt: Because you said- Arnie: No I'm not! Here's the thing, I'm not having sex with anybody here. I, I guess I can understand why people, y;know, I haven't immediately sidled up to a wench here, so I guess I'm...that means I'm gay, but I'm not! Otok: We don't call them wenches. Arnie: I'm too faithful! I'm sorry, what do you call them? Otok: [pause] Barmaids. Arnie: Barmaids? [laughs] Fair, fair, fair enough. All right, what's another rumor about me? Otok: I don't know if you're gonna want to hear it. Arnie: Is it really that bad? Chunt: I told people that you poop standing up. [chuckles] Arnie: Yeah, one time! Otok: And in Foon that's the sign of a...that's the Dark sign. I mean, one of the Dark signs. Arnie: That, that means I'm evil? Chunt: Mm-hmm. Otok: Mm-hmm. Arnie: I didn't know- Look, first of all, the plumbing here is weird. There's no really good- I mean, in my world, going to the bathroom is very like, much more of a convenient situation. And so I was just trying to figure out the least grotesque way to kind of like poop in the arrangement here, and I was standing up, trying something out, Chunt walked in on me, it was embarrassing. It was really embarrassing. Otok: Do you use something- Usidore: [in the background] I know I've asked you before Otok: -besides a poop pot and a thistle brush? Where you come from? Usidore: [in the background] Make your children proud, pick up a sword! Yea, unwed mothers, come with me on this quest to defeat the Dark Lord! Arnie: Oh no. Otok: Oh no, stay away from them. [to Usidore] Fi’ang Yalok! Usidore: [in the background] Please, I beg of you! Stop- Don't go to your day jobs! Arnie: Don't- What kind of adventure is he going to have with a bunch of unwed mothers? Otok: You're sick. Chunt: You're bringing this down. Arnie: I really- I was so excited to have- I feel like this has really taken a horrible turn. Y'know, I love the Vermilion Minotaur, I'm so excited to have you on as a guest, I'm sorry if I've offended you. And Chunt, I've clearly upset you as well. Chunt: No, I told you, I had a long day of being fetishized, so it's just- Arnie: Okay- Chunt: -it's that. Arnie: Well, what are some things coming up with the Vermilion Minotaur? People listening to this, in my world, if they can somehow come though that dimensional rift, if they find themselves in Foon- Otok: Sure- Arnie: -like things they could expect if they come to the Vermilion Minotaur. Otok: Well, um, we have Open Mike Night. Arnie: Wha, really? Otok: Once a week, absolutely. Arnie: That's so strange, because before I came here, you guys didn't even know what microphones were. [pause] Otok: Microphone? Chunt: What are- Microphone? Arnie: What is, what is Open Mic Night? Chunt: We have a guy named Mike, and he'll split himself open. Arnie: [laughing] Oh god! Chunt: He's an inside-outer. Otok: Yeah. Chunt: Which means he can exist either with his skin intact or sort-of popped out. Arnie: Eugh. Chunt: And then he'll do like 2 to 3 minutes of standup. [laughter] Otok: It's...it gets pretty crowded here...on Open Mike Nights. Arnie: What- I'm gonna- What night, what night of the week is Open Mike Night? Otok: Flenday. Arnie: [laughs] Flenday? All right, here's what I' m gonna' do. I'm gonna' figure out what day Flenday is, I'm gonna kinda' try to make it a point not to come on Flenday. And I'm sorry, I was just- Chunt: Come on, I was testing out some new material! I told you about this the other day, I said, 'Come support my new material.' Arnie: Aah- I didn't know- Otok: Chunt's performing, yeah. Chunt: Chunt's- Chunt's observations! Arnie: All right Chunt, sure, show us some of your new material. Chunt: Ah, don't make me be funny on the spot! Arnie: All right, well how about this- Chunt: Have you ever been walking...next to a tree...and a leaf will fall? And you're like, "Chunt's up with that?" Otok: [laughs] Chunt: That's my catchphrase, it's "Chunt's up with that" Arnie: "Chunt's up with that?" Ok. That's- that's pretty good. Chunt: I don't want any feedback from you. Otok: And that's just one thing going on. And then there's Chunt's Night. Arnie: There's Chunt's- there's a lot of Chunt-centric nights here. Chunt: I'm uh, I mean, I've been here since I was a kid I've been running around here. Otok's been like a, like a father to me. Otok: Aw, little Chunt, you should have known Chunt when he was a little, little guy. Arnie: What was he like? Otok: Well, he went through different phases. When he was different animals. Arnie: What has been your favorite form that Chunt has been in? Otok: Otter. Arnie: Otter? Chunt: Mm-hmm. Arnie: Otters are pretty adorable. Otok: Yep. Chunt: I used to come in here, just lay on my back and crack open clams on my tummy. Arnie: Oh, that's pretty...that's pretty cute. Otok: And then he'd have sex with a caterpillar. Chunt: Yeah. Otok: Head to the kitchen- Chunt: [simultaneous] Yeah, 'See you in three months!' Otok: [simultaneous] Fry him up. Chunt: Yeah. [laughter] [trill] Arnie: Otok, thank you so much for agreeing to be a guest on Hello From the Magic Tavern. I love the Vermilion Minotaur, I'm glad that people get a little bit more of a sense of this place we've been podcasting from every week. Otok: Using my best booth. Arnie: Yes! And please, I mean, I know you're often very busy running the place, but if you ever want to sit in on the podcast please, please do. Otok: Thank you. Arnie: And maybe we can get out word about your missing daughter… Otok: Activia. Arnie: About Activia. I mean, we won't dwell on it too much because it's kind of depressing but… Usidore: [in the background, singing]Ac-ti-vi-a! Otok: All right. All right, Usidore. Arnie: Um, as always, please, if you enjoy this podcast, go to iTunes, give us a review, give us five stars. And just let people know. This is a major discovery, and I'm sure most of earth is really going crazy about it right now. But on the off chance that it isn't major news, please get the word out there. Also, you can email us your questions about Foon at [email protected]. I swear it's a real email address, it's all I could get, there's some weird firewall with the Burger King WiFi- it's not worth going into. But, uh, we got an email from Joshua Bright, who asks: "Is there an amusement park in Foon? If so, what are its mascots and assorted attractions?" I don't even know if you would even know what an amusement park is. It's just like a...a large, like a fair? Otok: Sure. Arnie: Or a festival that's just always there, and you go, and there are rides, and people dressed up in weird costumes. Chunt: Oohh, we have uh, there's Topple Land. Otok: Yeah. Chunt: And it's uh, you basically climb up to the top of a tree, and they'll, somebody will knock over the tree, and you just uh- It's where you go to die. Arnie: Oh, god! Chunt: It's when you're ready to die, yeah. Arnie: I feel like that would be- Chunt: So we don't have the term Amusement Park- Arnie: Let's not talk about that, in front of- Chunt: Oh okay. We call them Death Parks. Arnie: I know, but his wife was killed by a tree. Otok: Chunt knows. Chunt: Yeah, I mean, we have that rapport so… Otok: Right, at the Death Parks the trees aren't doing it intentionally, it's...part of the ritual. Arnie: I see. Is it common for people to go and kill themselves at this...Topple Park? Chunt: I mean if uh, a tree topples in the forest, does anyone hear it? [pause] Chunt: It's pretty common. Arnie: Chunt's up with that? Otok: Chunt's up with that? [theme music] [static] Mysterious Man: Well, what another wondrous array of imaginings in a fantastical world that isn't real, because it's fake. Chunt the Badger was brought to glorious life by the human Adal Rafai. Usidore the Wizard was played by Matt Young. Special guest Otok Barleyfoot was played by Nick Baer. He would agree with me that assembling an army of robots powered by the souls of children is no easy task. You can follow Nick on Twitter @nbaer. Don't be terrified by the unconventional spelling. ANd Evan Jacover was in there somewhere, yelling in the background. Produced by Evan Jacover and Ryan DiGiorgi. Edited by Ryan DeGiorgi. Music by Andy Poland. Hello From the Magic Tavern Logo by Allard Leban. Learn more about the show, and the fantastical world we've haphazardly assembled, at hellofromthemagictavern.com. Or follow us on Twitter @magictavern. This wonderous ball of lies was brought to you by Field Notes, with the help of the Chicago Podcast Cooperative. Learn more about Field Notes at fieldnotesbrand.com, and the Chicago Podcast Cooperative at chicagopodcastcoop.com. [static] [theme song end]

#HFTMT #Arnie #Chunt #Usidore #Otok Barleyfoot #first mention: Activia #First mention: Open Mike Night #First mention: Chunt's Night #First mention: unwed mothers #S1E6

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yourcoffindoor · 6 years ago

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A Spike in my Heart

Pairing: Vampire!Gerard Way x Reader

Prompt: Request from Anon- “Can you please do Gerard Way imagine when he’s a vampire and he haven’t eaten in many days and he’s weak so you let him feed from you but he goes too far and you faint cause of blood lose and he thinks he killed you?”

Summary: Your new boyfriend is more than a bit mysterious. After disappearing for a week, he shows up at your door with a startling confession. Things only escalate from there. (Welcome to angst city.)

AN: Loved to work on this prompt. Hope you enjoy Anon :)

Word Count: 2,175

You pulled your fleece blanket tight around your shoulders as a spring thunderstorm began to intensify outside your window. You wanted to relax and enjoy it, since you loved rainy days more than any other, but your anxiety would rest for nothing and no one.

Your boyfriend Gerard had all but disappeared for the past week, with no calls or indication that he was still a living human. He was a frustratingly difficult person to reach, since he had never owned a cell phone or even an email address. Qualities that you once found odd but charming now made you curse his name.

You wondered if you even had the right to call him your boyfriend yet. Yes, you had been seeing each other for nearly two months now, but you and Gerard had never even kissed. He was strange when it came to physical intimacy, always keeping you at an arm’s length, preferring to play the gentleman and taking things painfully slow. You teased him often for being stubbornly old-fashioned.

Not that you hadn’t thought about kissing him since the day you met. He was immediately attractive despite his odd appearance- unkempt black hair that framed his alarmingly pale skin, with large hazel-green eyes surrounded by reddish, bruise-like shadows. His delicate features were dressed with a dangerous edge. Somehow, it only complemented his beauty.

The last time you saw him you tried to kiss him. It had been a casual date at your place, spending time together hunkered down on your couch watching black and white horror movies. Halfway through his film of choice, Dracula, Gerard struck up a conversation.

“Do you believe in anything like ghosts or vampires?”

“Like how they are in the movies?” you paused for a moment. “Not quite. But I think it would be foolish to assume that we know everything there is to know about this world.”

He smiled as if he were somehow relieved by this response. "A very diplomatic answer. And let’s say you were to run into one of these ghouls. Would you be scared?“

"Depends on the ghoul,” you stated frankly, “If we’re talking Nosferatu, I’m running.”

Gerard laughed. “What if it looked like the most beautiful, charming being you’d ever seen?”

“What, like you?” The words fell out of your mouth before you even had a chance to think. The atmosphere in the room changed immediately from lighthearted to deadly serious, romantic tension surrounding you like a thick fog. Your eyes traveled to his lips and you spoke again, no longer stopping yourself from being boldly honest.

“If it were you, I’d want you to bite me.”

Gerard’s pale face lit up briefly as if those were the words he’d been waiting for.

“Is that so?” he said in a low voice.

It was, you thought to yourself, but you’d settle for a kiss. Instinctively,and nearly breathless, you leaned in towards him. His effect on you was unlike anything you’d ever felt– How was he so otherworldly?

Your face was mere inches away from Gerard’s when he suddenly tensed up. Embarrassment welled up inside you as he quickly turned his face away.

“Everything ok?”

Gerard clenched his jaw and stood up. “I’m afraid I’m not feeling well, sugar. I better head off.”

“Oh.” was the only response you could muster, barely able to conceal the sadness in your voice. “Well, I hope you feel better soon.”

He merely nodded in your direction before wishing you goodnight and rushing out your front door.

And that was the last you’d seen of Gerard. You tried to force your brain to think of something– anything else, but you’d fallen so hard for him that it felt like you were under his spell. You resigned yourself to gloominess, wrapping yourself tighter in your protective cocoon.

The storm outside intensified. Rain poured down in heavy sheets so loud that you felt as if you were lost at sea. In the midst of it all, you were shocked to hear what sounded like a quick succession of knocks on your door.

You paused for a moment, wondering what lunatic was out and about in this weather without a lifeboat, when three more knocks rang out with desperation.

“Who is it?” you called out hesitantly as you took a few steps toward your door.

“It’s Gerard,” a familiar but wearied voice called out, “please, can I come in?”

You rushed to open the door, your hand moving so quickly it fumbled on the lock. What the hell was he doing?

“Gerard!” you exclaimed at the sight of him, soaked through and and breathing heavily as if he’d over-exerted himself. “Come in, I’ll grab a towel.”

You stood back and let him shamble inside of his own accord, looking thoroughly like a stray dog who was expecting to be kicked.

“Don’t worry about it. I doubt you’ll want me here for long, anyway.”

You closed the door behind him. A whirlwind of anger and sadness seemed to hit you all at once when you finally spoke again.

“So what made you come out of hiding?” your voice wavered as you tried to your best to remain composed.

He turned to face you, and your anger softened to concern as you got a good look at him. He looked weak and exhausted, almost sick. His dark circles were pronounced, as if he hadn’t had a night’s sleep in the past week he’d been gone.

“I don’t blame you for being angry. And after I tell you what I’m about to tell you, I’ll understand if you never want to see me again.”

You finally grasped from his tone just how serious the situation was. You tried to brace yourself for what he was about to tell you. Was he dying? Was it another girl?

“Gerard, what’s going on?” you took a few steps towards him, but he moved backwards, just out of reach as usual.

He sighed deeply, as though resigning himself to an unknown fate. “Do you remember that conversation we had the last time I saw you?”

“While we were watching Dracula?” your confusion was deepening by the second. “What about it?”

He let out a short, sad laugh. “Well, I can’t pretend anymore. They are real. I know because I am one. Y/N,” he looked at me through strands of damp black hair, his eyes dark and heavy with burdens I couldn’t begin to comprehend, “I’m a vampire.”

You don’t know why you weren’t scared when he told you. Some people would gasp or run away, others would probably laugh at the absurdity of it all. Perhaps it was the shock of the news, but you simply paused, trying to wrestle your racing thoughts into a coherent sentence.

“Your hands.” was all you had to say about his revelation, turning Gerard into the confused one, his dark brows furrowing.

“What?”

You smiled softly. “Your hands. That’s why they were always so cold. You should have told me sooner, I wouldn’t have spent so much time trying to warm them up.”

Gerard wrung his hands, his eyes frosted with fear as he still awaited your inevitable rejection. Your soft spoken words had caught him off guard.

“You’re not scared?” his face flashed briefly with hope, before quickly darkening once more to a familiar sadness. “You should be. You ought to be disgusted.”

“Never.” you whispered.

You saw his hands clench into fists. “I thought I could be something other than a monster. I thought I could have something with you that was beautiful and pure, but I can’t. I let you get too far into my heart for your own good.”

You didn’t know if it was the sight of his distress, or the tangible regret in his voice, but you felt hot tears begin to well up in your eyes.

“Is that such a bad thing?”

Gerard looked for a moment as if he wanted nothing more than to rush over to you and offer his comfort, but he held back.

“It is if you get hurt.”

For a moment, there was only heavy silence between you. Gerard began to sway slightly as if loosing coordination, his hand trembling as he reached for the wall to steady himself.

“Are you hurt?” you asked, once again stepping towards him.

“No, don’t!” he hissed, causing you to jump at the brief but blinding sight of his bright white fangs. He lowered himself on your couch to prevent himself from falling over, regaining some composure. “I haven’t fed for…awhile. I don’t know that I trust myself around you. I’ll leave just as soon as I’m able.”

The memory of your rejected kiss sprung fresh into your mind. Everything was beginning to make sense.

“That’s why you left so suddenly the other night,” you said softly, “that’s why you barely touch me, why wouldn’t kiss me.”

Gerard looked heartbroken. “I wanted nothing more than to kiss you that night, Y/N. And I’ve spent every night since we met wondering which would be sweeter, your blood or your lips.”

You sat down on the opposite end of the couch. “Then you deserve to find out.”

“We can’t.”

“Don’t you remember what I said during our last conversation?

"Yes, but–”

“Well I meant it. Gerard, I don’t care what you are. I’ve been with you long enough to know that you’re no monster. Besides, I’m not going to let you leave here in the state that you’re in. Even if you still believe we shouldn’t be together, you need blood.”

“What if…what if I go too far?”

You pondered for a moment. “How about I give you a signal to tell you when to stop, like a safe word.”

He considered. “If you think that’s a good idea…then I’m willing to try it. What should the word be?”

“How about Nosferatu?” you joked, hoping to alleviate some of his apprehension.

He smiled weakly. “Alright, if you’re sure. Nosferatu it is.”

Gerard moved closer to you, and, still hesitant, brushed the hair from your face. He placed one icy hand on your cheek, causing a wave of goosebumps to rise on your skin. Your eyes locked with his and you noticed how he gazed at you, how his eyes glowed softly like embers that needed only the slightest provocation to catch fire once again.

His lips landed gently on yours, causing what felt like a jolt of electricity to course throughout your body. After a moment it was if a switch flipped, and Gerard deepened the kiss. You felt the sharp tips of his fangs brush against your mouth, and yelped in surprise when one accidentally nicked your lower lip.

“I’m so sorry!” Gerard said, pulling back immediately to inspect the damage. A small rivulet of crimson gleamed from the corner of your mouth, and you licked it away before it could drip onto your clothes. You looked back up at Gerard and noticed a different expression cross his face. It was darker, more animalistic, like a wolf that had just spotted a wounded deer. There was no going back now.

“Don’t be sorry.”

He leaned in and kissed your neck. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You shivered as he nipped at your delicate skin, moaning slightly with each movement of his lips. You felt his fangs rest against your neck momentarily, as if giving you one last chance to change your mind.

“Do it.” you breathed, and that was the only encouragement he needed.

Gerard sunk his teeth into your flesh, allowing a warm stream of blood to flow freely. You cried out at the pain, as it was sharper than you had been expecting, causing your eyes to water. Gerard didn’t pull back this time. Instead he latched on, fully intoxicated by your taste.

After a few moments the pain subsided, and the warmth of Gerard sucking at your neck felt almost pleasant. You realized then that this was far more intimate than any kiss could ever be, and you began to revel in the feeling, allowing a soft whimper to escape your lips.

Still he drank, and you were helpless, utterly lost in the sensation. Your neck began to tingle and feel numb, which you paid no mind to at first; but it soon traveled down your arms and up through your lips, until your whole body was being pricked with pins and needles. You opened your eyes and realized just how dizzy you were. You were seeing double, your vision slowly fading to black.

Too much, he had drunk too much and you hadn’t even realized. You opened your mouth to speak but found that your mouth wouldn’t cooperate. It was only after you began to go limp that Gerard seemed to notice anything was wrong, and he finally withdrew his fangs from your neck, grasping your face with his hands.

You were fading fast, but you could distinctly make out the distress in his voice as he called your name. It wasn’t enough to prevent you from slipping into unconsciousness as Gerard held you, making the last sound you heard his horrified cries, begging you not to go.

#gerard way fanfic #gerardwayxreader #gerard way imagine #my chemical romance fanfiction #gerard way x reader

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friendlyneighborhooddolan · 6 years ago

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Mind the moon: part two

warnings: This story is very descriptive. Other trigger warnings are: sexual and graphic scenes, death, religion talk, descriptions of murder, alcoholism, and binge food eating.

pairing: Grayson Dolan x reader

summary: in the first two years after his girlfriend died, Grayson became a wreck, and maybe he will get himself fixed up, and maybe he won’t. Two years later, he meets Y/N.

Masterlist

THE GAME

I have a heart so heavy I think it might be malfunctioning But the warranty is probably voided.

By all the things I have done to cause my own ruin The nights I spent with people who only care for the high And not why and the friends I made in people who were bad ideas and Never text to see if I’m okay.

Do you think there’s a place I could Trade in this body or just maybe Rewire my brain Because I’m still in so much pain?

Her phone rung, waking her up from deep slumber. It was three in the morning, and Y/N groaned softly, pawing at her eyes before answering.

Grayson. She should have known.

“Hello?” she said groggily, her voice harsh.

“Y/N? Hi love,” he slurred, “I jus’ wanted t’ talk.”

She sat up, yawning and turning on the bedside lamp. Her eyes fluttered closed, not used to harsh light this late at night. “Grayson, have you been drinking?”

A giggle on the other side of the phone, an obvious answer: “Perhaps.”

“Where are you?”

“Dunno. Don’t matter. Jus’ wanted t’ talk, Y/N, hon, please.”

“Don’t call me hon. I’m calling Ethan,” she muttered out. Her brain wasn’t functioning this late at night (or early in the morning, depends), and all she could think about was her bed. She didn’t have it in herself to talk to drunk and heartbroken Grayson Dolan.

“Don’t call E, please,” he begged, “We got in a fight because of my habits, damn.”

“Look, Gray. It’s the third time you’re calling me this late at night. I have work tomorrow. I can’t help you if you don’t want help.”

Those words instantly sobered him, his breathing picking up. He was suddenly becoming aware of his surroundings, of his friends and his brother who was probably worried sick after Grayson ran out when Ethan started confronting him.

“Oh God. Y/N. I miss Sage so terribly, and the feeling is making me bleed, but not in a visible way. Y/N. I need help.”

“I know,” she sighed out. To hell, she knew, and she knew he was using his pretty eyes and soft face to manipulate and guilt trip her a bit, but she agreed to help him. “Where are you?”

“Gonna text you the address.”

Y/N ended the call, sighing. Still in her pajamas, she put on a pair of sneakers and ran out.

There are those people who you aren’t able not to love when you meet them. That’s who Grayson was to Y/N. To her, Grayson was beautiful. But the terror, the terror raging behind his pretty eyes was beautiful, not the man she looked at. To her, beauty was rarely soft or comforting. Genuine beauty was always alarming.

I guess they were both angels in each other’s stories, and demons in their own context.

“Next time, instead of going out drinking, I’m going to watch the stars with you,” Grayson promised when Y/N killed the engine of her car, calling Ethan to help her get Grayson out.

Their mouths were so full of smoke and starry skies that their jaws cracked and bent with the effort to contain it. They exhaled gold and fragments of magnolia, pink and richness coming out of his mouth. His eyes were so bright, the nebulae seemed to swim in the excess of all the exuberance: dark and volatile and clumsy, tripping over their shadows in time with his heartbeat.

“We both know you aren’t going to,” she answered.

Grayson realized he messed up. His eyes held heartbreak. Even Y/N didn’t believe in him, and over the past few weeks he realized she believes in everyone. She believes everyone can be repaired, no matter how broken and scattered and rotten someone is.

“Y/N. I want to go to therapy, please. Or those places where they make you recover.”

She scoffed, and Ethan opened his door to help him get out and into the house.

“Damn it, Gray. Why are you doing this to yourself?” Ethan shook his head, disappointment taking over his pretty features.

Grayson Dolan started sobbing, then and there. He realized he fucked up, spewing his guts out on Dolan frontyard and the green grass. And with his guts, out came all the apologies.

Tomorrow, they took him to the clinic.

To think there’s blood all over his hands. To think that in a handful of months he will be conjuring memories and hummingbirds and roses and homes with those hands like an ink-stained magician as everyone listens and wonders and wonders.

But, in the meanwhile, there’s a path laid out in front of him, the heavy looks of the traps. Beneath the soft marble, a heart beating.

He will know every bone of his, and how to turn every pain into a birdsong, and a spirit alive in those bones.

Yet this man with his yearning heart, burning for a sliver of armor, blazing for a shard of love. They will act as if he’s Apollo bathed in gold, boys his age will carry copies of his soul.

Clever, tender hands that stitched up his need, as if he was a wound and they stitch him whole again.

Y/N visited him every day. Ethan did so whenever he could.

(“Doesn’t it bother you?” She asked him one day as they were reading the headlines filled with his pictures, “They refuse to see the good in you and only choose to focus on your faults and mistakes.”

He turned his head to the forest and looked for the horizon in the peach colored sky. “Why should it? We’re all bad in someone’s story.”)

He has terrible nightmares at times. A few nights ago he dreamed he was shot and there were no wounds. He kept having to convince people there were bullets in his spine. His subconsciousness is a lazy poet.

He has no right to be this tragic, to have a brain like a broken record, repeating her death. The worst has already happened to him and he had tried so hard to be whole again.

He was, quite frankly, terrified of what was inside of him those nights. His organs were such ugly things, twisting and rupturing and failing. He wasn’t sure of his progress.

But in the mornings, he got up and, despite demons calling his name, he started all over again.

Taking out his phone, he texted Y/N. She wasn’t coming in today, something about her working overtime.

“We will watch the stars when I come home.”

A reply: “You didn’t forget”

“I never do.”

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ivyveil · 6 years ago

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She’s Such an Actress

the one where she is golden and he doesn't have a chance

She was golden.

It was in the small ways, the ways that mattered to Harry at the beginning. How she shook his hand and smiled when they met, how she tilted her hair back when she laughed at his jokes.

And he had felt that he could be golden, too, next to her.

Harry was fascinated. As most people were by Y/N, because she managed to be everything anyone could want - yet evade the sense that she was real, as if she were a phantom in the guise of an actress. In the center of the room, the spotlight on her, but there was a blank space in her eyes.

In the manipulative, draining way that Hollywood tended to have, this aspect of Y/N intoxicated the social climbers around her. They tried to fulfill her expectation that was never vocalized, seek validation that had never been promised to begin with.

The movies she starred in had gained international recognition. With awards littering the floor of her lavish mansion, she was clearly in the midst of a firestorm within her career. All eyes were on her. Not restricted to the sense of her work, but when she entered a room it seemed no one could help but spent a few moments, dazzled by her glow.

There was talk among the gossipers and media personnel, of Y/N becoming a director, or that one of her scripts would be passed onto production soon. The way she dealt with art was grandiose and made a statement, she felt like 1920s glamour in a 2017 woman. Essentially, it was everything of the past people craved, with the optimistic hope of the present; she was surreal and felt more like a promise than a guarantee, which made people love her all the more.

People were strange in how they were drawn to what would let them down, eventually.

She grabbed people’s attention without so much as making a noise. It was simple. She was attractive, but more like magnetic fields than airbrushed skin. Golden flecks of magic sprinkled from her fingertips and she simply became the Woman of the Night with barely so much as a blink.

Harry didn’t know how to approach her.

Her image had been painted on the back of his eyelids for weeks. They had stumbled into each other a few times, enough to justify a rushed introduction and quick compliments. He liked her movies, she liked his music. It was easy enough.

It wasn’t enough, though. He wanted more of her, and with the way her eyes would be caught by his own, slowly drifting down his body- it was clear that she wanted more, too.

He finally gathered the courage to start a conversation, at a random networking event that had him bored out of his mind. With a glance her way, in the corner she had nestled into with a glass of wine, he figured she felt the same.

“Hi,” he had begun, sidling up next to her in the booth. The drinks kicking in his veins had given him the boost of confidence, and the hazy aura in his eyes to forgive any forwardness he might’ve brought to the table.

“Hello, Harry Styles,” she acknowledged him with a tip of her glass. Y/N’s eyes seemed to sparkle, somehow, in the dimly-lit room, and Harry could smell vanilla wafting from her perfume.

His heart didn’t have a chance.

The night had ended with her, fast asleep on his bare chest, her fingers clutching onto the sheet’s edges like a small child. His thumb grazed over her fingers again and again as she made small, sleepy noises. Harry had stayed up longer than she had, his eyes drifting over her face.

It felt as if he were running in a church, as if it were sacred, as if she would wake up and demand to know why he had stayed the night. (Not that it had been discussed, but with the way she had jumped back into bed after using the restroom, and immediately tucked her arm around his side, he had assumed the invitation was clear.) But she remained, fast asleep, and Harry remained staring.

Frankly, it was a side of her that Harry wouldn’t get the chance to see a lot, in future ‘meetings’. Their schedules were so hectic, Harry genuinely had to pencil in Y/N’s name on his phone, in order to make it work. Whatever they were, to make ‘it’ work.

And Y/N seemingly did the same, texting Harry the hours she would be free to see when his matched up. The vague sense that it would be restricted to a hook-up was heavy in the air, next to Harry’s moaning and Y/N’s curled fingers grasping for whatever paneling was behind the bed. It didn’t bother them, necessarily, because frankly – that was all they could offer each other.

Endings didn’t often happen snuggled up under comforters, scrolling through shit hotel TV, staring at her face as she mumbled in her sleep. They typically ended with rushed kisses and her giving him one last bum squeeze, a giggle bursting from her lips as she dashed out of the bedroom, her shirt still unbuttoned and a car’s horn blaring below.

He liked that version of her the best, though, when she was asleep and he was beside her. It didn’t have the elegance and glamour of her evening gowns and smokey eyes, but it made him feel special. Harry got to see her like that, when she wasn’t acting. And the fact was, she always seemed to be acting.

The magic wore away, as it tended to do. After a month, Harry no longer noticed the golden flecks and crimson streaks that drifted after her physical form, he didn’t hear the angelic bells when she laughed.

Rather, he saw the violet smears, the eyeliner smudges, the beige stains on the fronts of his shirts. From when she, drunk and stumbling into his chest, had made her way back to him at the end of the night, again. Harry heard that one time, when they managed to squeeze in a dinner and he fed her pizza. He had made a dumb joke about the cheese, when she laughed so hard, she snorted and almost fell off the bed. He saw Y/N, and was privy to her sans pedestal and wings.

They weren’t anything tangible, though. There were no firm titles, labels, anything. Harry didn’t even have her name in his phone, it was simply the mesh of digits he started associating with her face.

Harry enjoyed that bit, because neither one of them had to play a role. He didn’t have to buy her flowers and she didn’t have to text him more often than the rare moments she did.

No “boyfriend”, no “girlfriend”. In his mind, somewhere deeper than conscious thought where he overanalyzed situations and overthought his words, he felt like that was what kept them real. It was what stopped Y/N’s missing piece from becoming too large of an elephant in the room, what let her laugh unexpectedly and not feel the need to explain anything. Because she didn’t owe him anything. It was what prevented Harry from getting too much in his head, from doing things that would be reserved for a man who could properly love her, with the right time and dedication.

Y/N wasn’t playing a role, not with him. To ask her to do so would shatter the glass that had been so sturdy, thus far. Ruin what they had built. There was no reason to break through the walls, shards flying everywhere, in order to have her stay a bit longer in his bed.

Harry could make do, he was an adult.

It was when she was pulling away that Harry realized he wasn’t as much of an adult as he had thought. His last four texts had gone unanswered. He would’ve understood, if he were asking her to meet up again or to send naughty photos - but they were texts of puppies, of weird clothing he found in thrift stores, of questions he had about that one TV show she had gotten him into (the finale was a fucker, and he wanted to know her thoughts). There was no pressure, no urgency, but he had hoped she would’ve responded.

Truthfully, it was not a huge deal. Harry was not heartbroken and he managed to continue on with life. Hook-ups had the nasty tendency of creating unrequited situations, which Harry realized was a bit relevant to his own situation, and ‘ghosting’ was not uncommon. Especially in his industry, it was what practically created muses for the artists. They thrived off of heartbreak, derived from any hurt imaginable.

Harry couldn’t shake off, though, how happy she had seemed, tucked against his side, naked chests pressed against one another, popping Goldfish at the others’ open mouth. She had seemed happy. He was happy. Was he wrong?

It went beyond sex, he had realized reluctantly.

She was a woman he couldn’t let go of, because she cried at every movie. Even her own, her eyes would tear up before the end credits and she would try to wipe them away without Harry noticing. He couldn’t let go of her because she had seen the world, knew art from countries he had never heard of. She would show him photos from her phone, the ones of her standing crudely against naked statues and pretending to be in awe of majestic portraits, and she would explain to him how art became her life. He couldn’t let go of her because he could tell her, in the same hushed voice she had used against the darkness of night, the emotional, spiritual relief that happened when he performed. How a piece of him lived in every song he wrote, and he couldn’t imagine who he would be without it. And how that equally satisfied him and terrified him, and she would give him a tiny nod and wrap her fingers more firmly against his hair, watching the shadows of his face.

He couldn’t let go of her because he wanted her to meet his mom, his sister, all his friends. He wanted him and her to become a ‘they’, and to be known for certain things. Like how his friend-couples were known for doing certain things together, for always going bowling on Thursday nights or holding wine board game nights on Sundays. He wanted her to be tucked against his side, laughing at the more ridiculous celebrities, at every formal event. He couldn’t let go of her because he could see it plain as ever: he could, very potentially, love her.

Maybe she had sensed his feelings, somehow. Maybe that was what was empty, within her, some gargantuous black-hole that sucked away her desire for more. Maybe she got bored, and it was nothing but another ending. It didn’t settle right with him, it didn’t match up to the woman he met between bedsheets. But, Harry figured, perhaps he was wrong.

He found her on the rooftop.

It was another networking event, and Harry couldn’t stand to stay in the venue for one more minute. He had grabbed two bottles of wine, thinking he would give one to Jeff later, and made his way up the stairwell. The stairs were tucked away near the back of the ballroom, which had made it easy enough for him to escape.

Harry didn’t want to feel another hand touch his shoulder, another cold voice expressing their love for his music, when he felt almost certain they had never heard it. It was cold and stark in the stairwell, but it beat the mass of kiss-ass barbarians below.

He found her on the rooftop.

Her heels were slouched against one another, against the elevated brick edge. Her dress was flapping in the wind, the loose bottom curling against her bare toes. Her legs were up to her chest, her arms wrapped around, and her chin resting on her knees. Her hair was up, but several pieces had fallen out and fell against her cheek. Her shoulders were shaking.

Harry was startled, to say the least, because he hadn’t expected her to be there. Last he had heard, she was in a different country filming an indie movie about Russia in the 1930s.

“Y/N?” he asked, as if she would disappear in a second. He stood next to the entry door of the stairwell, his heart thumping in his chest against the cold. His arms had fallen by his sides, the sloshing bottles loosely dangling by his fingertips. Almost immediately, in a bashful sense that he loathed, Harry wished he had glanced in a mirror before heading up. His suit was most likely wrinkled in the back, his hair was definitely not coping well with the wind.

Harry just wanted her to miss him, was all. And it wasn’t very likely, in his or her state.

Y/N’s head lifted, her eyes looking over her shoulder, before one arm rose and she offered a tiny wave.

“Hello, Harry Styles.”

She was drunk, and her mascara had transferred over to her cheeks and somewhat down her face. Harry felt at a complete loss, unsure of how to deal with Y/N when the tears weren’t from Up but something else, something that made her seem more ashamed than before.

He truly wasn’t sure what was happening in Y/N’s life. Not that he ever had a clear idea, but it was something he regretted now more than ever. Not asking her about her day, not checking up on her every so often - he had assumed that would’ve been too forward, too much, that it would’ve pushed Y/N away.

“What’re yeh doing up here?” Harry approached where she was curled up, moving her shoes so he could sit down. She held out a hand towards one of the bottles, and he reluctantly gave it up.

“Just thinking,” her voice broke, her eyes glancing away from him, to hold back the upcoming stream.

“About wha’?”

It was just Y/N’s luck, to be crying over a man on a rooftop - like some heartbroken teenager in a cheap rom-com - only to have the man show up. And not only that, but he was so heart-breakingly gorgeous that night, with his hair messed up the way she liked, and his shirt half-unbuttoned and his pants hanging a bit low. It was simply just her luck.

She hadn’t meant for anything to happen. Y/N enjoyed watching Harry from afar, to see his charm work over a crowd like an ocean’s wave. The people were just along for the ride, to experience his magic and witness history in the making. Entire textbooks would be written about how he lived, how he grasped attention with humility and pride, how he loved everyone and everyone loved him.

She hadn’t meant for him to notice her, or even to walk over. She hadn’t meant to sleep with him, the first night. But when his hand was on her thigh, and his voice had lowered, bordering husky, she hadn’t stood a chance.

Y/N had created a safe space within Harry. A shelter for her insecurities and flaws to become exposed, to see the light of day lest they plan a mutiny in the suffocation of fear. She had rambled to him like a school child who was learning something new everyday, about her fascination with art and how she had tried new techniques with camera angles and location shots (many of which failed, which was why she typically never let the words slip past her lips to others). Y/N could only starve off the mortification for so long.

He had become too much to her, for it to last.

Her success as an actress had sustained the piece of her that craved meaning. The reaction of people to what she had to perform was everything she could ask for, and more. Satisfaction drenched her shoulders when she received an award, recognition, or even when a famous director give her that knowing smile. The smile that meant, you’ve got this figured out, whatever it is. You’re one of us.

Her success had, similarly, led to her creating divides. Within herself, within how others wanted her to be. There were expectations that weighed down her shoulders to stay poised, that lifted the smile on her lips when it began to droop, that caused her eyes to unfocus after the fortieth time someone was trying to quote her own movie back at her, and did it wrong.

With Harry, she had felt more free. And originally, because they had been such a secret, it was a salvation. She could separate herself physically from her expectation and live in the ways she longed for, have the romance she craved. It had developed into something more, though, and all Y/N really knew was how to run away. Create more divides.

She supposed it was instinct, more than anything else. Since Harry had been a home for her fears, she would soon turn away from their new location in a natural attempt of escape. They would follow, she knew, and Harry would be left in the dust. A biproduct of her trying to be what she felt she should be.

“Me,” she answered, and it was partially true.

Harry fell quiet, this time, and in the lapse of their words Y/N found it was harder to breathe. Her heart thundered in her chest when he finally spoke, and the tears threatened to over-spill. She wasn’t expecting to hear his voice dry-cracked with exhaustion, the bottle rising hesitantly to meet his lips. Y/N honestly would rather get drunk off the redness from those lips, than the wines in her cellar.

“It’s okay, if yeh wanted to end things. I know yeh’re busy, got a lot goin’ on.” His eyes were held resolutely on the bridges in the distance, the lighted tips of skyscrapers and the dashing streams of cars below. It was cold, the wind beating against their breath and keeping their cheeks redder than the circumstances alone would have allowed, and Harry felt the overwhelming sense of inadequacy gripping his bones.

In his more poetic moments, he had referred to her as his Muse, his goddess, his Eve who never left Eden. And it was true, to an extent, as all mythologies cast their foundations in the well of actuality. She held the world at her fingertips, poised between finger and thumb, and all he could be was a speck in relation.

She never made him feel ‘less than’, because she never quite focused on her talent to begin with, when she was with him. When they were in public, he could easily notice the shift between her then – and her later that night, legs tossed over his own and her head burrowing into his butterfly tattoo. Her actress persona was more refined, with practiced flaws so as to enhance the general beauty of her celebrity. Her other persona was more casual, gentle, with genuine rough curves and edges.

“Never said I wanted to end things,” Y/N mumbled, her fingers reaching down to pick at the pokey ends of the brick edge.

“Yeh didn’t say anythin’, actualy.” His voice was more clipped.

“Didn’t know what to say.”

“Could’ve said that, I-” his fingers reached up and he tugged at his roots slightly, raking the hair back. The wine bottle met his lips as he, aggravated, attempted to sort through his thoughts. It didn’t help, though, only made him feel more imbalanced and less sure about what he felt.

“I dunno,” he sighed, “I didn’t expect yeh to drop me, I guess.”

How much more honesty would it take to shatter the glass around his eyes? Harry already felt them begin to bend with blurry reluctance, the bitter rise in his throat being the ultimate betrayal.

“What did you expect me to do, Harry? What was I supposed to do? Did I miss the script between us, was there supposed to be another fucking scene I missed?”

And, no, Harry hadn’t expected her head to snap over in his direction, her shoulders heaving upwards with an angry rise bubbling in her throat, and her eyes to suddenly break into a clear, irritated glare into his.

She wasn’t acting, now, and she didn’t seem so golden.

Harry wasn’t feeling so golden, either, next to her.

“Treat me like I deserve a response,” was all he could reply with, his tearful gaze looking into hers more hesitantly.

“I don’t owe you anything, Harry Styles. We never established anything,” and her voice broke again, the exterior glaze of frustration not quite matching the vulnerable end of her words.

Harry watched her carefully.

“Did yeh want to establish something?” he asked slowly, unsure of which response he wanted.

Y/N didn’t want to talk to him, anymore. Her mouth felt heavy, closed, yet her tongue worked against her. A drop hit her arm, and it was only when Harry’s fingers gently grazed her cheek did Y/N realize she had started crying again.

“I don’t know, what I want. It’s all just so – so, I don’t know. I can’t think,” she mumbled, squeezing her eyes shut. Y/N could feel the wet mascara fucking up her face more, and the small part of her that had demanded perfection for so long was writhing against her chest.

“That’s oka’,” he was murmuring tenderly, almost, and Y/N hadn’t realized he had shifted a bit against the edge. His hip was closer to hers, his legs dangling down as hers were still tucked against her chest. One of his arms reached out, hesitant, and when Y/N glanced up she saw him looking at her, silently asking if it were okay. With a brief, glum nod from her, Harry’s arm went around her shoulder, pulling her in next to his side.

“We don’t have to figure anythin’ out. I just wanna know, if yeh wanted to end things. Gotta know, so I know if I gotta let go.” It was the most clear either of them had been, the only portion of the discussion that had lacked emotional-driven response and reaction. Y/N appreciated that about Harry, that he could be absolutely rational and calm down way faster than she was able to.

“I like who I am, with you,” she whispered, and she knew he heard because his body stilled, somewhat.

“I’m not who I am, all the time. And, I dunno...it’s hard? Because I can’t figure out how to balance myself, when you aren’t around. I don’t want to be so dependent on someone, not when we aren’t anything.”

Harry nodded, understanding. It had been difficult for him, as well, because although they hadn’t discussed the extent to which they would be dedicated to one another, he hadn’t been messing around with anyone else. And it was hard, on the stretches where they were traveling and across the world from each other. It was difficult because he didn’t know if he had the right, to call, or to text, or to ask for anything.

“Maybe we could make our own thing, yeah? Not a relationship, but with more contact than we’ve been givin’,” he compromised, and Y/N rested her head on his shoulder. He shifted slightly, giving her more space to snuggle in closer.

Y/N gave a little nod, and Harry couldn’t help but smile.

“I like yeh, lil famous Mrs. Y/N.” he gave her shoulders a squeeze, and felt them shake slightly. Worried, he looked down, but saw she was giggling this time.

“I like you too, megastar Mr. Harry Styles,” she replied, sniffling a bit.

They sat there, quiet, in the silence of the night and the overall epic nature that tended to wash over those who sat on a rooftop together, pressed in each others’ sides as they no longer feared the next day. The horizon twinkled with the cars and streetlamps in the distance and the noise of the street below intermingled with the wind to become dispersed over the ground as a whole. It was quiet outside, too.

“Do you wanna know something? Never mentioned it, before,” Y/N said, and one of her hands drifted down to play with the edges of his coat.

People were awfully strange in how they gave up their hearts at midnight, as if the hours wouldn’t tick by and life would just stop. For a moment. For a second. For that instant.

“What’s tha’?”

“You’ve got a glow around you. It’s the first thing I noticed, when we met?” she began, and his heart was already growing a bit, “It’s like…” she drifted off, shaking her head as she searched for the word Harry already knew.

“Gold?” he offered, praying his words didn’t sound as choked as he felt inside.

Y/N paused, before nodding against his shoulder.

“Yeah, you’re gold. And sometimes I feel it, too? Like, gold,” she cut off her own rambling, seemingly a bit embarrassed that her words didn’t appear to make sense outside of her feelings. Y/N couldn’t tell that Harry had felt the same way about her, that she was, for a time, his Sun.

Harry hummed agreement, not feeling the need to explain his own take on how she impressed him, in a shower of golden rain. There would be other nights, he felt sure.

“I was wonderin’...”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to...” The question was already in the air, the ending was all he had to get out. It wasn’t a huge step, anyway, and it wouldn’t cement anything that would require expectation into what they were to each other. But, he had spoken about Y/N to his mother, anyway, and she had been curious to meet the woman.

“What is’t?”

“Meet my mum?” he finished, feeling it sort of difficult to swallow.

Y/N stilled, before looking back up at him, confusion bringing her eyebrows together, and worry painted across her lips. He would kiss it off, if the timing were different.

“Does she know...who I am? About us?”

“She knows yeh’re a great girl, and that yeh’re a bit shy. That yeh like Goldfish but won’t eat real fish, because yeh think of Nemo,” Harry shrugged. “Doesn’t know what yeh do, for a job, though. Didn’t mention it, didn’t think it described you well enough.”

Y/N waited, perhaps a bit confused as to what Harry meant, so he continued.

“Amazing actress, yeh are. But that’s not all yeh are, yeah?” and she nodded, so he braved forward, “Just was wonderin’ if yeh wanted to meet her. No pressure, you don’t have to. She just thought yeh sounded lovely, ‘s all.”

“Does she really?” Y/N sounded a bit nervous, as if she didn’t quite believe what Harry was saying.

“O’ course she does, because yeh are,” Harry brushed it off.

Suddenly, he felt a couple of hesitant kisses against his neck, before one of Y/N’s freezing-cold arms wrapped behind his head to hold his face closer to her lips as they gained intensity. He shuddered, but let her continue, his dimples poking deeply against his smile.

“You’re kind to me, Harry Styles.” Her breath smelled of wine and Harry felt certain he had a mess of smudged makeup against his scruff. He set his bottle down and turned towards her, his hand reaching up to cup her cheeks. They were cold, as well, and still slightly wet from her tears.

“Yeh’re cold,” he mumbled, his eyes drooping from the heavy thudding within his veins.

“Warm me up?” It was barely a whisper, and the shivers that broke against his spine weren’t from the wind.

So, he first started on warming her lips, by kissing her gently. They were a bit rough, not as smooth as her lips usually were, and he ran his tongue against her lower lip as he pulled her in closer. She laughed, a bit, but it quieted down when he pressed deeper against her mouth, a heavier breath escaping his and warming against her lips.

It was one of his favorite things about her, how she would always laugh at the first kiss, little puffs of air against his lips. She liked how he reacted to it, by not questioning what she thought was funny, but accepting it as a compliment of sorts.

Eventually, he broke off, with a small kiss at the end, still holding her face close to his own. Her eyelashes fluttered against his nose when she looked at him, her lips still parted and full. He swallowed hard, flashing her a quick grin.

“Hi,” he whispered, unable to really contain the giggles that slipped from his lips, this time. Harry felt like a twelve year old boy, sometimes, after kissing her, because while she was definitely the most real with him, there was still a phantasmagoric level to her beauty. He almost felt like it hadn’t happened, but his lip was still tingling from how she gently bit against it, so it must have.

“Hello, Harry Styles.”

His heart really didn’t stand a chance.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed! Let me know your thoughts here, and check out the rest of my works if you’d like!

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #archive of our own #mine #one direction fanfic #one direction fanfiction #one direction fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic #she's such an actress #ssaa

384 notes · View notes

katedoesfics · 6 years ago

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Shadows of Hyrule | Chapter 16

Clearly, the world was coming to an end. Not only did Revali lose against Link – of all people – in their soccer game over the weekend, but he also down right failed to retrieve any phone numbers from the four girls he encountered that same day. And as if that weren't bad enough, word apparently got around to the girl he was seeing a few cities away that he was less than faithful – even though he was never seriously committed to anyone, and that shouldn't have been a surprise for her – and she canceled their plans for Saturday night, which meant that he wasn't getting laid, and it was all Link's fault. Hanging around him brought Revali nothing but bad luck.

And to make matter's worse, he had the strangest dream Sunday night that kept him up all night, resulting in him being extra cranky Monday morning. And today, of all days, Link decided to really push his buttons. All he wanted to do was survive the day without any shit from Link. Fate, of course, would have different plans for him.

“Hey, Ravioli!”

Revali sneered over his shoulder and slammed his locker closed.

“What's got you?” Urbosa asked. She shoved her books into her own locker, then frowned at the disorganization of it all. With a shrug, she let the door swing closed.

“Nothing,” Revali muttered. “I'm hungry.”

“You're hangry?” Urbosa said with a grin.

“Hun. Gree,” he sneered.

Urbosa held her hands up defensively. “Jeez, okay, relax.”

They walked side by side down the hallway as more students poured out of classrooms. They hurried to their lockers or to their next classes, each one waving and smiling as they passed Urbosa and Revali.

“Sup, Ravioli?”

“Ravioli! See you next period?”

“Mama mia, can I get me some Ravioli?”

Revali muttered through gritted teeth, but all Urbosa could catch was something about Link. He checked the courtyard through the windows as they headed towards the door. Just as he suspected, Link, Mipha, Daruk, and Teba were already outside. He pushed the double doors open and ignored their greetings as they made their way to the table.

“What's got him?” Mipha asked.

“I dunno,” Urbosa said with a shrug. “He's grumpy.”

“I'm not grumpy,” Revali spat. He narrowed his eyes at Link, but Link ignored him, happily eating his sandwich.

“You seem grumpy to me,” Teba said.

“Everyone called me 'Ravioli' all day today,” he whined. “I know Link has something to do with it.”

“Yes,” Link said, rolling his eyes. “Because I got the entire school to agree to do that on a whim.”

“Clearly,” Revali said. “You must have paid them.”

Link grinned and took another bite of his lunch. “It was totally worth it.”

Revali lunged over the table at him, but Link was quick to dodge, jumping backwards out of his seat, still gripping his sandwich so it wouldn't fall to the ground.

“I'm gonna rip your throat out,” Revali hissed.

“Ha,” Link barked. “I'd like to see you try.”

“You're an immature weasel.”

Link nodded. “You're right. I'm sorry. I just... I look up to you, Ravioli.”

Revali lunged over the table once more, but this time he was successful in knocking Link off of his feet and pinning him to the ground.

“Say it one more time, punk,” Revali threatened, pushing Link's face into the dirt.

Link grunted, but managed to grin. “Ravioli.”

Mipha sighed and shook her head. The three ignored them as Link continued to tease Revali, and Revali shoved Link's face deeper into the dirt.

Link finally managed to push Revali off of him, but he was sure it was only because Revali let him. Revali gave him one last dirty look before sulking away from the group. Link got to his feet and wiped his arm across his face in an attempt to remove some of the dirt that was smeared onto his cheeks.

“Can't say I didn't warn you,” Mipha said when Link rejoined them at the table.

“You did,” Link said with a nod. “You warned me.”

“But did you listen?”

Link stuck a finger in his ear, scraping out dirt. “No.”

“Do you ever listen?”

He shook his hair out. “No.”

“Are you listening now?”

He worked at fixing his pony-tail. “No.”

“It was good,” Urbosa said. “I enjoyed it.”

Daruk nodded in agreement.

“Some people appreciate my antics,” Link said with a grin towards Mipha.

“One of these days, he might actually kill you,” Teba said.

“Revali loves me,” Link said smugly.

Mipha laughed sharply and shook her head. “You're an idiot.”

“Yeah,” Link started, “but I'm you're idiot.”

Mipha cleared her throat and averted his gaze. “Speaking of being an idiot,” she muttered. “Are you even remotely prepared for the test on Friday? Or the finals coming up?”

“Probably not,” Link said frankly as he bit into his sandwich.

“Are you even going to try to study?”

Link shrugged. “I dunno.”

Mipha sighed, exasperated. “Can you put some effort into your life?”

Link smirked, taking another bite. “Maybe.”

“I'll come over and help,” she said. “But I can't keep babysitting you.”

Link shook his head. “I have plans. I can take care of it myself.”

Mipha gathered her books and stood, cocking an eyebrow towards him. “Plans? You've had plans every day after school all last week.”

Link shrugged. “I'm busy.”

She narrowed her gaze. “Doing what?”

“Doing who?” Teba said with a grin.

Link glowered at Teba. “Studying like you want,” he said defensively, turning to Mipha.

She didn't believe him for a second, but she wasn't going to push it further, slightly disturbed by what Teba had said. Was it possible that Link really was secretly dating – or screwing – Zelda? She turned away from him in an attempt to cover the heartbroken expression that slipped onto her face.

“Alright,” she said. “See ya later.”

Link, however, had not noticed her turn in behavior, and he happily finished his lunch without her nagging.

“Who would do Link?” Daruk said, turning to Teba. “Who could possibly be that desperate?”

Urbosa snorted, but said nothing, stealing a quick glance in Mipha's direction.

“That's harsh,” Teba said. “I'm sure there's some lonely girl out there for him.”

“Thank you, Teba,” Link said. He paused mid-chew. “I think.”

Teba grinned, pleased with himself. “Lots of fish in the sea, my man. You'll find yours.”

“He'll be dangling his hook for a long time,” Daruk said.

Teba nodded. “It would help if his hook actually reached the water, though.”

“Ha. Ha,” Link said between bites of his lunch. “And I thought Revali was the only one immature enough to use small dick jokes.”

“You're right,” Teba said, shaking his head and looking genuinely disappointed. “I've been hanging around him too long, unfortunately. I think my IQ has dropped being around him.”

Finishing his lunch, Link turned to Urbosa. “Hey, what did you mean Saturday? That Mipha needed to get paid?”

Urbosa blinked blankly at him for a moment. “Huh?”

“You said she needed to get paid. Is she seriously asking that I pay her for her notes, now?”

Urbosa stared at him a moment longer, than burst into laughter. She shook her head and, without a word, left the three of them alone in the courtyard.

Link stared after her, his brows knit together, but didn't question it further. He turned back to Daruk and Teba, getting up from the table. “Okay, then,” he started. “I'm too broke to pay for a tutor, so I guess I should get to class.” He regarded them when they didn't stand with him. “Aren't you coming?”

“We have a free period next,” Daruk said with a grin.

“Pretty sure it's called Study.”

“Not when you're a senior,” Teba said, his fingers tapping a message on his phone. He looked up to Link, pausing for a moment. “And when you've actually passed all your classes.”

“Whatever,” Link said, turning away from them. “Have fun doing nothing.”

“Should we hit the arcade?” Daruk said, turning to Teba.

“You can't leave,” Link sneered.

“Bro,” Daruk said. “Go learn how sex works. The condom goes on the banana.”

Teba snorted and grinned.

“Get bent.” Link turned away from them – arrogant bunch of seniors – and made his way back into the school, as if he had much of a choice.

#soh16 #soh #shadows of hyrule #chapter 16 #loz #botw #fic #fanfic #legend of zelda #breath of the wild

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fangirlingtodeath513 · 7 years ago

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sunshine | a 14x08 coda read here on ao3

you can blame @casistooadorableandithurts for this, it was born from our post-episode conversations

Secrets never keep, especially not for the Winchesters. Cas knows this, and he knows his secret will eventually be found out. He also knows how pissed they’ll be, especially Dean, so he keeps it to himself.

Then they find Michael. They actually manage to kill him and, for once, there’s nothing else pressing that needs their attention--no rogue angels, no hunts others can’t deal with, no demon problems.

That’s why he finds himself outside Dean’s door that night. He needs help with this, he’s searched through everything he has and he can’t find a way out of the deal. Dean’ll be pissed, but it’s better that he hears it directly from Castiel, so he knocks three times on the door softly.

“Yeah, come in.” The voice that answers him is tired and quiet but undeniably happy. He hates that he’s about to shatter that. Taking a breath, he turns the knob and pushes the door open.

“Hello, Dean. Can we speak?”

Dean’s face lights up as soon as he realizes who’s knocking. It’s adorable, frankly, and he’d confess right now if he was sure the Shadow wouldn’t come for him.

“Yeah, Cas, ‘course. Have a seat.” Dean moves over and pats the bed next to him, so Cas sheds his coat and suit jacket before settling in next to Dean. “What’s up?”

Cas picks at his cuticle, a nervous habit he’s picked up from Dean over the years. “I’ve been keeping something from you.” He can feel the shift in the room when Dean stops breathing. “When I went to Heaven to get Jack’s soul, the Shadow was there, the entity from the empty. It wanted Jack’s soul because he’s a nephilim and thought it owned Jack.”

“Cas, tell me you didn’t,” Dean says quietly. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Dean scrub a hand over his face.

“I offered to take Jack’s place in the empty so he could return here. I expected to be taken then but… the Shadow didn’t want that. It wants to watch me suffer. So, in my happiest moment, it’ll come and take me.”

“What the fuck, Cas? Why didn’t you tell me? Does Sam know?”

Cas shakes his head; he still can’t bring himself to meet Dean’s gaze. “No, Sam doesn’t know. Jack does, but only because he was there. Don’t be angry with him, I made him promise not to tell you both.”

Dean sighs. It’s a weary, exhausted sigh Cas has heard before and it hurts that he’s the one that caused it. “So what’s our next move? Is there any lore on this thing?”

Cas frowns, finally turning to Dean. “A fair amount, surprisingly. There’s a summoning spell for it, and I’ve gotten a fair bit of information from angels. As far as anyone knows, it predates everything, including God, Amara and Death. It’s where all angels and demons reside post-death, though they’re generally in a cosmic slumber they don’t wake up from. I’m the only one that’s ever escaped that. God has no power there, so whether or not he actually answers us won’t matter. It can shapeshift, it can search your memories with a touch, it’s incredibly strong, and it can possess things. Angels, at least, though I suspect that will hold with other beings as well.”

Dean gapes at him. “You’re making it sound unbeatable, Cas.”

Cas smiles weakly, his gaze returning to his own hands. “I fear that it is.”

Dean’s shoulder bumps against his, so he chances a look at the hunter, who’s smiling softly at him. “C’mon, Cas, when have we ever let something like this win? We’ll figure it out.”

The swell of emotion is what wakes it up. It’s been a year in Earth time, more than long enough for it to have slipped from Castiel’s mind. And now it’s here, his moment of true, shining happiness.

It can’t wait to rip Castiel off the living plane.

But first, he’ll let him have his moment. He’ll let him confess and be loved in return and then take him, leaving his precious hunter heartbroken. Such sweet revenge for being woken up and losing the nephilim.

“Cas, I love you. I have for a while now, I just… I was scared to admit it.” A soft, nervous chuckle escapes Dean’s throat. “I’m tired of dancing around it, who knows how long we have left?”

A delicious bit of irony, in it’s own opinion.

“I love you too, Dean. Of course I do, how could I not?”

It swoops down from the empty, all the way down into that dusty bunker in Lebanon just as the hunter and the angel meet in a kiss. It gives Castiel his moment, feeling all the delicious happiness flowing through the angel’s borrowed veins before reaching out and grabbing onto his grace.

A trap. It should’ve seen that coming, honestly. Of course a Winchester would never go silently, deal or no deal. The taller Winchester is chanting in the first language, the Shadow’s language, and he knows this is it. It hears them. All of them. They’re waking up, the empty will never be peaceful again. The tall one finishes the spell and it feels itself being pulled back to the empty, back to the noisy angels and demons that are now awake and searching for a way out. Unluckily for them and for itself, Sam Winchester just locked the gates of the empty and threw away the key.

“Is that it? Did we do it?” Sam asks breathlessly, eyes darting to his brother and Castiel. A moment of silence passes before Castiel finally nods and grins at them.

“It’s gone. Nothing will be getting in or out of the empty ever again.”

Sam sighs with relief and Dean quickly sweeps Cas into a hug that would be bone-crushing if he wasn’t an angel.

“I’m sorry that was out first kiss,” Dean murmurs, though Cas shakes his head and tightens his grip on the hunter.

“Don’t be. I’m positive we’ll have many more.”

Almost as if to prove the point, Dean leans back and places a chaste kiss on Cas’s lips.

“I should take care of something. I’ll be back tonight.” Cas starts to pulls away, pausing when Dean frowns at him.

“Take care of what? We just saved you, I’d like to keep you safe for at least a night.”

Cas smiles softly, nodding and sliding his hand down to grip Dean’s. “Sam, we’ll be back tonight.”

Sam doesn’t get a chance to say anything before Cas is pulling Dean from the room, heading straight for the garage.

“Cas, hang on, where are we going?” Dean pulls at Cas’s hand, forcing the pair of them to a stop just outside the garage door.

“I’m going to give Naomi my grace.” The look of shock on Dean’s face is confusing, to say the least, and has Cas rethinking his decision.

“What? Cas, is… you don’t have to do that because of me, do you?”

Relief floods through Cas’s system and he smiles easily. “No, Dean. I don’t have to do it at all.” He takes a breath, mostly to steady himself, before continuing. “When I was human, after Metatron… it felt right. It felt like what I’d been missing my entire existence. I had to take my grace back to help, but I never really wanted it back. Now I don’t need it. I figured Heaven could use it. Grace that doesn’t have to maintain an angel at the same time would be far more effective at powering Heaven, and it would relieve the stress of the remaining angels.” Dean still looks confused, so Cas tilts his head as he thinks of a better way to explain. “I can ensure Heaven stays running and be who-what-I really want to be. Human.”

Dean frowns. “You want to be human?”

Cas smiles. “Almost as much as I want to be with you.”

That makes Dean blush, and Cas would be lying if the sight didn’t cause his heartbeat to ratchet up. “You’re sure?”

With a single, decisive nod, Cas leads them to the Impala. “I’m positive.”

Three hours later, they return to the bunker with a newly-human and much happier Castiel and a perfectly functional Heaven.

It’s the best the Winchesters have had it in a while, and Dean sends a silent thank you to Chuck. Not for this--Chuck couldn’t have planned this--but for Castiel.

Finally, for once in their lives, Dean and Castiel get to be unabashedly happy with no looming threats hanging over their heads.

#supernatural #destiel #14x08 #coda #endgame #spn spoilers #the empty #the shadow #dean winchester #castiel #human!castiel #sam winchester #coda fic #my coda #my writing

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kurtty-drabbles · 6 years ago

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Revival au

N/A: Let´s resurrect Kurt right.

@djinmer4 @sailorstar9 @dannybagpipesarecalling @discordsworld @look-ma-no-hands336 @bamfoftheundead

Kurt Wagner is on Heaven, no euphemism here, the literal Heaven. The mutant has a bow and is praying along with his faithful sword. “Father oh mighty, let my sword fall upon the unfair and protect those who can´t” his prays are halt as two angels appear.

When I come back should I still call Kitty an angel?

The angels in Heaven follow the Outer God of Death called Death and let´s say their looks aren’t exactly how the movies illustrated. The tallest one speaks in his non-human voice for Kurt to follow him/her because the God of creation wants to have a word with him.

Kurt is excited to meet him, in fact, too excited as he mentions those words out loud prompt the two angels to stop and look at him funny(well, is hard to say the Angels here aren´t easy to read) “He? What´s making you think is a He?! The god of Creation is not bound by any gender rule” and the second one adds to the conversation “But, she likes to be a she in 99% of the cases”

Kurt corrects himself and is happy to meet SHE.

______________________

Kurt was lead to a small door. The Angels make some jokes(he believe it was jokes) and let Kurt own his own advice. The mutant enters the door and is not surprised to see how endless the room truly is.

“Actually, you are thinking how is infinity!” A feminine voice jolts him and he looks up to the throne where to his utterly surprises Kitty Pryde is there, well, one closer look can say that is not his Kitty Pryde.

This Kitty has straight hair and freckles, but, aside from that, is a perfect copy.

“Oh, this is too much? What you would prefer?” she snaps her fingers and the throne room is nothing more than a tea party. Kurt would say something when he feels tentacles wrapped around his body.

“You know 616, I´m watching you for a while, well, the watcher has, but, I prefer to make my own judgments” the tea party room is blue, crystal blue now. “And I can say a few things about you, Mr Wagner, that you won´t like, however, in light of what you could have become this is a safe option.”

Kurt gulps noticing the tentacles and the two moons, actually, those are eyes. The mutant thanks her and can feel his heartbeat so loud that she must have heard it.

“Death is used to you X-men dying and coming back. But, I think my sister has an agenda in this” she looks at Kurt as if expecting him to answer. She rolls her eyes. “She did ask about Deadpool?”

“Yes, she did. It was a real interrogation. She really loves Deadpool”

“Yeah, she does, but, anyway, I ask to deal with your case because. frankly. your story bothers me” she confessed gesturing Kurt to sit and eat the biscuits. For a moment, he thought the biscuit were human fingers but is not…for now.

“Why does it bother you?”

“You are a manslut! Don´t get me wrong, sex is great, but, it seems you go for sex with the least sane partner as if you want to be heartbroken…I ask this to Ny” she stops noticing the mutant shivering in fear again she rolls her eyes “Oh, I forget, I ask about the Chaos itself and he told me some humans like to get hurt…my husband is suspicious in this regard”

“Husband? then…you´re…” she does not respond and let him fill the gap “Zaorva?”

“I would like if you have called by my other title, Eternity, but, yes, I´m Zaorva”

And Kurt is freak out, Margalia Szardos was a terrible mother and person, but, she never let Kurt be too ignorant about certain stuff and that includes the Outer Gods. Now, Kurt feels a bit stupid(she called Death her sister who else does that but Zaorva?)

A tentacle waves at him as if is a hand. “Stop, many humans never truly grasp my relationships, back to you, I want to make a deal with you”

Kurt says nothing.

“I´ll let you resurrect but you must do a few things for me. First, I want you to stop Shadow King” she speaks with a bitter tone “that creature was in my realm, he may not have done anything but…he was there” Kurt gulps as Zaorva´s mask breaks a little she really doesn´t like Shadow King “second, I want you to stop thinking with your dick” Kurt would be offended if she wasn´t Zaorva “and third, I want you to do therapy”

“If I accept, will you let go back to Earth and once I die go to Heaven?”

“That would be my Sister, but, yes, as long you don´t anger her…there´s nothing stopping you from returning to Heaven” and once Kurt agrees she adds changing the aspect of the room completely. Now, the room is out of a nightmare “if you break those conditions I´ll destroy you over and over again, got it?”

Kurt nods solemn gulping.

Now, the room is back at the friendly tone from before. “Great, we have a deal, Mr Wagner, so, good luck”

___________________________________________

Kurt wakes up on an island and the X-men are there to greet Nightcrawler, the first thing Kurt does is to search Kitty Pryde who is with tears in her eyes and hugs the elf tightly. “Kurt? Is really you? No other version of you?”

“I think you have stories to tell me, but, yes, Katzchen, this is me"the elf hugs her and suddenly remembers the tentacles. "X-men, we have a mission to do, Shadow King…” Kurt stops talking when Psylocke and the other X-men is under Shadow King´s control. “Is here, dam”

“Nightcrawler, welcome, now you and the girl will be added to my personal collection!” his voice is bombastic and is followed by his cruel laughter.

“Dude, Zaorva is mad at you”

This makes Shadow King stop and gulp in a way Kurt almost pity him, almost. “Why?”

“You…went to her lands and she is not pleased” Kurt explains and Kitty takes her cue to summon the soul sword to end Shadow King´s terror, meanwhile, the deity is already feeling terror already.

Kitty ended up with Shadow King, but, something she found odd happened, instead of him going back to his place, a tentacle wrapped around him and pull him above. The tentacle is crystal blue.

Shadow King is screaming, but, whatever he was saying was cut in less than a minute and now, there´s no shadow King.

The other X-men are free from the deity but notice the tentacle and a very shaken Kurt Wagner. Who hugs Kitty again. “Kitty, do you know a good therapist?”

#revival au #kurt wagner #kurtty #kitty pryde #fuck canon #zaorva is not fan of shadow king #lk is amused #kurt will do therapy

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motherstone · 6 years ago

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So, I was looking at your AU (So well developed I must say) and there's this question in my mind, is Emily... dead?? In your Oc universe I mean, no need to answer if you don't want to

Haha! Anon, be prepared for a rant because you have pressed my Hyperfixation Button.

Warning: this rant shows how bias I am towards a character and certain places in Amulet and contains real world opinions and issues that I am Absolutely Pissed about so I retconned a couple of things in my OC world. It addresses issues that is very much happening and if it makes you uncomfortable, well, it’s never meant to comfortable. This contains a lot of sensitive themes and frankly I am still doing research

Technically speaking, the entire Council is gone along with Cielis (although the Surface knows it’s still alive they just ceased contact). Vigo died quite some time ago, along with several of theoriginal crew. Emily and Trellis are what remains of the Council but theresponsibilities are split because Trellis stayed on Alledia while Emily assistsin Space as a fighter (she’s not a leader). Elves age differently here, so Emilyis well in her senior years while Trellis is in his early 20s. Emily found Moze(already having a stone) abandoned as an infant in a wreckage after a fight inGhen-7, and brought him back to Alledia to raise him. Here Trellis actuallyserved as Moze’s adoptive father with Emily as his mom (but they’re not in arelationship, more of QPR because Emily is aroace while Trellis is a demi throughand through).

He’s p reluctant at first and suspiscious where Emily gothim and if she just “stole” him without, I dunno, searching for his parents butultimately agrees because Emily has to be in Space and the safest place sheknows is Alledia and the most trustworthy person she knows is Trellis.Fortunately, he genuinely loved him and raised him as his own despite being differentspecies, even more so as from different planets. The problem is, Emily was kindof… Emotionally neglectful. The only time she ever bothers to visit Moze iswhen she wants to train him and bring him to space so he could join her in herfights but nothing beyond that. Trellis is a bit more affectionate, butconsidering he is recovering trauma from his own abusive childhood, strugglesto communicate properly with Moze and tries to feebly and reluctantlyunderstand and justify Emily’s action.

Unfortunately, this just bred resentment in Moze, as most ofthe time he’s complimented and recognized based on his skill and power, ratherthan his worth as a person. It worsens to the point that he believes that theonly reason Emily adopted him in the first place because he’s a weapon they canuse in their “war” (considering Alledia’s mandatory 500 years of peace is ineffect, Moze interprets that his parents has not yet switched out of their “atwar” mindset. And considering Emily’s actions, it’s quite hard to blame Mozefor drawing up that conclusion). The fact that Trellis is training him as astonekeeper to one day become a Guardian of the Council and didn’t evenconsider if THAT’S what Moze wants…. Moze was in a very claustrophobic anddistressing situation. When he does try to bring it up with Trellis, he’llreceive excuses. When he does try to bring it up with Emily, he gets dismissed.His lack of friends because of prioritizing his training made him deprived of agood support network (which a weakened Ikol took advantage of)

Contrary to what Moze thinks, Trellis DOES notice Moze’sdistress and worries about it, but is torn from defending his best friend ofmany decades to defending his beloved son. After he remembers how he alwaysyearned to be an adult his younger self needed, he goes off to confront Emilyfor her actions. Now I have to tell you, they both loved Moze, but they areindeed terrible parents with flaws they didn’t properly addressed, leading totheir kid suffering for it (considering Trellis has little proper adult guidanceand Emily is also emotionally neglected by Karen… It’s inevitable). That’swhere he realized Moze was just “taken” and Emily never bothered to search forhis parents. Trellis nearly broke down then and there because he realizes theySTOLE Moze. Moze is a Ghensepta (citizen of Ghen-7, it still hasn’t fallen tothe shadows yet), but he was raised Alledian, taught Alledian culture, taughtAlledian history when he already has ONE of his OWN. Moze was forced to take anidentity that wasn’t his and was absolutely isolated from his real culture andheritage. He is horribly sickened by what he and Emily has done and is outragedby it.

(Trellis’s and Emily’s relationship isn’t abusive per se, andit was genuinely a good one from the start but as they spent of the timeseparated from one another and be desensitized and cynical by their traumaticand heavy issues they encounter in their duties in either ruling or fighting…Well, it dissolved to the point that they only bothered to listen to oneanother because of past yearnings and insistence to try to stick of what they wereinstead of accepting the other as now. They still do care one another though,and consider each other family, but the former passion and harmony is long gone.Trellis do ended up going along to what Emily desires instead of protestingback in the good ol days)

Trellis demands that Moze be returned to his home planet butEmily declines, as they are his parents now and Ghen-7 will be safe no longer. Whatkind of parent that endangers their child? Trellis dissents that they are not Moze’sparents and that he doesn’t belong to Alledia and deserved to return to hisreal home and family. The argument heated to point it dissolved to a fightwhere Trellis is nearly crippled from Emily’s attack. Her own actions horrifyher, and in the gist of the moment, Trellis begs to understand, that they didMoze wrong, that he’s sick of always compensating for Emily since the start oftheir friendship, and that she at least don’t do it for him, but for Moze. ThatMoze still loves her, and she undoubtedly loves him, but they need to talk, andshe needs to listen this time. That Moze was hurting and that they failed himlike the adults in their lives failed them. Realizing the truth, Emily breaksdown as well. The thing is, Moze overheard some of their fight, andmisinterprets this as Trellis becoming sick of him, hating him, and desiring todisown him (it doesn’t help that to Moze’s unawareness, that Ikol is amplifyinghis self-hatred)

Utterly heartbroken and crushed, Moze felt sick when Trellisvisited him in his room that night, to tell him that he has to go with hismother for a while. Believing this affirms his worst fears, he promptly acceptsit (Moze prefers Trellis over Emily clearly and loathes spending time with thelatter). Trellis looks like he wants to say something and Moze was about toanticipate it, but he shakes his head, and leaves him alone. The last timeTrellis saw Moze was when he was leaving with his mother

When Emily returns, Trellis is overjoyed to greet her,although surprised they got back early but presumes that they must have quicklyresolved things.

He stops dead when Emily was there alone, with Moze’stattered blue cape.

His whole world shatters when Emily disappears to get Mozeback when he lost control, never to return.

Destroyed by his son’s and best friend’s death within ashort span of time, Trellis fell into depression and suicidal tendencies,abandoning his position and duties as both Guardian and King, leaving a powervacuum and a fragile peace and structure his Cabinet and other offices try tofill and stabilize. Ultimately Riva is forced to shoulder his position asGuardian. The entire world goes into a shitshow when he’s gone for 3-4 years,isolating himself in his home village with only Luger keeping him from killinghimself but it’s clear he’s lost the will to live. He only returns when Gulfenis threatened to be overthrown by a tyrant and start another war again, andonce again usurps the throne to his great reluctance and despair (he hatesruling tbh and would rather live a normal life til he dies but duty has brandedhim to the bone), becoming Alledia’s sole ruler as the only remainingstonekeeper alive (the motherstone is actually still intact but no one knowsthat except him, because they are saving the stones for a new Council once the500 years of peace passed and the cycle of discord becomes anew). However,traumatized with rollercoaster of recovery and relapses and mental healtheducation and treatment virtually next to nonexistent yet, he spent most of hisearly reign with and emotional limp. Navin, last of the original group asideTrellis and his first friends, dies.

Fortunately, he’s REALLY good at ruling and ended upimplementing laws that revolutionizes Alledia, especially Gulfen, but strugglesto implement it in other countries, especially Windsor due to racism and many ofthe country’s authority resisting him, and thus simply left them to their owndevices if they desire to implement it or not. Thus, his power as a Guardian isreduced considerably because of it, meeting resistance and suspicion ineverything that he does, no matter how well-intentioned. Still, believing thefight is not over, Trellis the forms strategies and plans to prepare Allediawhen the shadows return, and that includes warnings of rising fascism and discord.He prioritizes public education, equal rights (be it in gender, sexuality,disability or race), and (mental, physical, and emotional) health oversecurity, intending to help Alledia recover first before preparing for a war.He also tries to unify Gulfen by solving the divide of the East and West after itscivil war, and tries to harmonize and fix the racism that divides the elves andhumans, by allowing elves to reside in more friendly cities, such as Lucien,Ippo, and Frontera. Cielis, hated by the surface due to their actions andabandonment in the war, was dropped as Windsor’s capital and acknowledgesLucien instead. It became Alledia’s first metropolis, boasting as the richestand most diverse city in the world.

With that in mind, he forms the Lufenian Green Cross (acharity volunteer organization that spreads welfare and healthy internationally,its HQ based in Ippo, Lufen’s capital), Frontera Science Prefecture (and whereGulfen’s Space Program members aka the Elvem Resistance operated in secret to assistwith the war in space), and the Alledian Auxiliary, a cohesive paramilitaryorganization that is formed by the remnants of the Elf Army and the HumanResistance (sure enough, early days were bad but over time formed a s trongbond, contributing to the Hamony movement). He’s done a whole lot more but let’smove the fuck on

Eventually, around 23 he started dating Riva (after dating afew people to test the waters. He’s dated only three people before Riva, but he’sdated both men and women, human and elf), and then marrying her after a fewyears. It was a private ceremony, but Alcyone claims it was the only day shenever saw Trellis frown and was happy throughout. Still, he never fullyrecovered from his PTSD and clinical depression and anxiety, often overworkinghimself to compensate. Although as mental health becomes more widespread andrefined, Trellis allows himself to go to therapy, but struggles to recover.Succeses are far and few in between, and healing was hard work on top of hisoverwhelming duties. Nevertheless, he actually manages a happy and healthy marriagewith Riva regardless of his deep rooted mental issues thanks to it. Riva andTrellis never never had any children, as Trellis was far too traumatized and guilt-riddenfrom what happened to Moze, believes himself to be a curse like his father towhoever his child may be. Yet feeling like he owes Riva, they eventually haveRavis when they are around their 40s (in Elf age, so 300 after the events inAmulet).

Trellis didn’t want Ravis to suffer and experience thedangers of Royal life, thus kept the existence of the child secret and keptthem both in Lucien as simple citizens, with him separating personal life and leaderwork, thus he visits from time to time. But he refused to be more active inraising Ravis in his toddler years in fear of hurting him and guilt yet treatedhim genuinely well (he is also scared of loving him, and then losing him). He onceagain experiences a relapse and isolates himself more, leading to a few suicideattempts. When Ravis is around 5, Trellis’s condition worsens, to the point heis frequently hospitalized and isolated to keep him from his self-destructiveand suicidal tendencies (it happened enough times that the staff knows him wellenough, but he’s never hurt Ravis or Riva). Fortunately, after extensivetherapy, Trellis finally chooses recovery and affirms himself that he is worthyof the good life he is trying to cultivate, now tries to be a more active andgood father to Ravis. And sure enough, he did, absolving himself of mistakes hedid with how he raised Moze (but the fact that Ravis and Moze nearly have thesame personality tells that their kind and rather timid nature comes from him)

He does have relapses from time to time, but now he’s relieving himselfof his duties more and more to leave it to his subordinates in order to spend moretime with his family. Besides, it’s just 400 years, they have a century ofpeace. It comes to the point he’s considering to abdicate his throne and dissolvethe monarchy. Unfortunately, the last gadoba (the plant Riva saved in bk 6)warns him that the shadows are returning much earlier to exact their revengeand commit the genocide they intended from the start. Knowing full well theyaren’t ready, Trellis despairs, that why now of all moments, the moment wherehe is now desiring to live did the gadoba ask him to die to sacrifice himselffor Alledia. But Trellis comes to terms to impending death and plans to facethe shadows on the new moon, which is a month later. Father Hope tells him thathis century will only end under the light of the full moon with his son in hisarms.

He does tell Riva all of this, and she despairs as well, buthe tries to reassure her. He then goes on behind the scenes to prepare Allediaonce he’s gone, all the while spending whatever time he has left with hisfamily. Ravis thought their father was feeling sad, and tries to cheer him up, andalthough he does smile, it cant seem to reach his eyes. Thus, when Trellis isaround his 50s, he suddenly disappeared from his chambers in Valcor, the dooropening to his balcony and into the red rocks bellow. They can’t find his body,and the scene was ruled as suicide.

Thus to answer, Emily is dead, and Trellis is “dead”.

#Sorry for long post #ugh tell me if you want me to delete it #as I said bad idea to get me to rant #to say that it's well developed is not innacurate

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moonstruckbucky · 7 years ago

Text

Invisible

SUMMARY: The reader is, quite frankly, fed up with being second to Nancy "Goody-Two-Shoes" Wheeler.

PAIRING: Billy Hargrove x female Wheeler!Reader

WORD COUNT: 3.1k

REQUESTED: no

WARNINGS: Language [ya'll are gonna learn real quick that i have a straight up potty mouth], tooth-rotting fluff, slight Nancy-bashing [but it is not indicative of my own personal feelings towards Nancy, she’s a badass.]

Growing up as “the other Wheeler” was about as exciting as a nail through the eye. You were the middle sibling, serving to only add insult to injury. Virtually, you were the invisible one in the family, except when your father would ask why you couldn’t get grades like Nancy. Every time, it chipped away at your ever-dwindling self-confidence so that even you had begun to compare yourself to your older sister.

As for dating? Forget it. Your love life consisted of dating a boy for a few weeks until he had wormed his way closer to Nancy, and then you were history. You weren’t as pretty as Nancy, you weren’t as funny as Nancy (which was the only thing you disagreed with; you were downright hilarious while Nancy’s sense of humor bordered on non-existent).

You just weren’t Nancy.

You had a minor crush on Nancy’s boyfriend, Steve, when they first started dating, even though he barely considered the two of you to be friends. He tolerated you, as did everyone else. Nancy’s friends tolerated you when they invited Nancy out and said you could tag along too, if only out of respect for Nancy. But they never included you in conversation, never asked how your college applications were going. It was like you weren’t even there, and eventually you stopped going, and Nancy stopped asking.

The two of you weren’t particularly close, despite only being six months apart in age. She was focused on school and was too wrapped up in Steve to really worry about what her sister was or wasn’t getting up to. The only link between the two of you had been Barbara Holland, and once she’d disappeared and turned out to be dead, all ties between you and Nancy had been severed.

You went through the motions at Hawkins High School, throwing yourself into achieving the best grades you could to get into a school miles away from Hawkins, Indiana. Someplace where you wouldn’t just be known as “the other Wheeler”.

On a Thursday afternoon, you found yourself in the school library, nose buried in your American History textbook trying to retain the Gettysburg Address. You’d gotten your tests back earlier that day, and you’d just about failed. You hated the feeling of failure; every other aspect of your life was failure, so it was unacceptable for school to give you that feeling too.

The slamming of books on the desk jolted you from your position and you gasped loudly.

“Hey bookworm.”

You leered up into the face of the new kid, Billy Hargrove, who was wearing his signature smirk as he leaned on the chair across from you.

“Can I help you?” you grumbled, your heart rate slowing as you calmed down.

“Word has it you’re good at Algebra.” He pulled out the chair and sat down, completely uninvited.

“And?”

He tossed a stapled group of papers at you before folding his arms on the desk, leaning forward. You picked them up, taking in the circled red F on the page. Your eyes skimmed his answers quickly and then you tossed it back to him.

“Your formulas are wrong,” you observed before turning back to your book. The papers appeared in your line of sight again. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“Help me. Tutor me?” You raised an eyebrow at his almost pleading tone. “I can’t fail another class.”

“What’s in it for me besides loss of patience?” you snarked back, setting your book down.

“I can help you bring that History grade up.” Ignoring the sassy remark, he nodded at the test to your left, the failing grade bright against the paper. You gnawed on your lip for a while, weighing the pros and cons of trading tutoring sessions with Billy Hargrove.

You weren’t friends. In fact, the two of you couldn’t be more opposite. You’d seen him in the halls, parading around like a peacock surrounded by a gaggle of rowdy boys and girls who were drooling after him. You’d heard stories about him, how he moved from sunny California, how he picked fights over the smallest reasons, how he dated girls and left them heartbroken the next day. He was everything about high school you abhorred, and yet, you somehow found yourself agreeing to his stupid idea.

“Fuck this,” you whisper-yelled about an hour later, slamming your textbook closed. Billy had moved into the seat beside you to better go over his Algebra problems before moving onto History. You shoved the book away from you, fully fed up with trying to nail down important dates of the Civil War.

Billy smirked. “Didn’t know the other Wheeler had such a mouth on her.”

Bitterness settled in your gut at his remark, and you pursed your lips and pointedly looked in the other direction. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t heard before, but the way it came off Billy’s tongue sat heavy with you. Your leg started bouncing in annoyance as you fiddled with your pen, trying to will yourself not to cry over a comment you heard literally every day.

“Hey,” Billy then murmured, leaning forward to try and see your face. “You okay?”

“Just peachy,” you grumbled before gathering your belongings. “Tutoring’s over.”

You left him in the library, staring dumbfoundedly after you, and only when you stepped foot outside did you let your vision blur with the tears fighting to the surface. You climbed into your car after dumping your books on the passenger seat and punched the steering wheel, the horn honking once.

You weren’t exactly sure why you were so upset; after all, the comment was coming from Billy Hargrove of all people, so it wasn’t as if his opinion actually mattered. But somehow, it did. It cut you like a papercut, a quick swipe that gave way to an unrelenting sting. Maybe it was your subconscious finally giving up on trying to ignore it every time it slipped through someone’s teeth. Maybe that one time was enough straw to break the camel’s back.

God, you wished high school was over.

The drive home was silent and lonely, just like the rest of your life. While high school was supposed to help you figure out who you’d become in the real world, it seemed as if it was determined to point you in only one direction: Nancy’s shadow.

The house was quiet when you got home, and you found a note on the kitchen island that told you Nancy was out with Steve, Mike was at Will’s, and your parents had gone out for dinner. You sighed. It was typical that they forgot about you, leaving you to your own devices for dinner. You called your favorite Chinese place and ordered delivery and while you waited you showered, trying to scrub away the day’s events, cried a little in the shower over your pathetic life, and then put on a pair of pajamas and parked your ass on the couch for a horror movie binge.

Nancy never understood your fascination with the genre. You tried explaining it to her once, but she just looked at you like Sigourney Weaver looked at a Xenomorph and gave up on trying to “bond” with her sister.

The Chinese was delivered not long after you popped your Alien VHS into the player and changed the channel. You paid the driver and tipped him before closing the door and setting the bag on the coffee table. You dug out your orange chicken, fried rice, and spring rolls, popped the top on your can of Coke, and hit play on the movie.

The next day at school, there were whispers in the hallway about your tutoring session with Billy. Some girls glared and scoffed, while others merely analyzed you curiously. The boys just laughed.

What took you by surprise was the fact that your sister was standing beside your locker, looking every bit annoyed once she spotted you.

“What are you doing with Billy?” she hissed. “He’s a bad guy!”

You gave her a deadpan look as you swapped out your books. “I’m tutoring him in Algebra and he’s helping me with History. Besides, it isn’t like you actually care. They all eventually come crawling after you anyways.”

You slammed your locker closed and left Nancy gaping after you. As you entered your first period class, all conversation ceased and all eyes were on you. It was an uncomfortable walk to your seat in the middle of the room, the eyes of your peers burning into your head. You sat quietly and kept your head down, trying to block out the not-so-subtle whispers of the students around you.

By lunchtime, talk was buzzing through the school like rampant bees that “the other Wheeler was in the library with Billy and left in tears”. The story, of course, had been convoluted a multitude of ways that stretched it further and further from the truth until the final version was something along the lines of Billy, you, and a scandalous affair.

Normally, at lunch, you’d sit with Nancy, Steve, and the others even though you were never formally invited into conversation with them. Today, though, the look Nancy gave you when you entered the cafeteria told you you weren’t welcome. That was fine; sitting alone at a table made you feel less alone than when you were with Nancy and her cronies.

You pulled your lunch out of your bag despite not feeling very hungry, the cafeteria buzzing with activity as everyone tried to guess why you were suddenly sitting alone. Then conversation halted altogether, and a tray dropped down across from you, the school pizza dripping grease onto the napkin beneath it.

Billy Hargrove followed the path of the tray, settling on the chair across from you and popping the top on his can of soda. He met your surprised stare calmly and easily, and he winked over the top of his drink. You felt yourself blush and looked away from him shyly, suddenly wondering why all of the sudden he was paying attention to you of all people.

The answer to that question came later in the week. You were in the living room working on History homework on the coffee table, your headphones in. Tutoring with Billy had gone better after the event at lunch, and he’d fortunately kept the conversation to a minimum if it didn’t involve homework or your notes.

Your parents were home, but Nancy wasn’t. You bopped your head along to AC/DC, not seeing your mother come down the stairs in her bathrobe.

Karen was surprised to see a spitting image of the man on the cover of her trashy novel standing outside her front door, his shirt unbuttoned and showing off a good portion of his toned chest.

“Hi,” he said, turning the charm up to a hundred.

“Oh, are you here for Nancy?” she asked, hoping that his answer was no as she leaned against the doorway and pulled her hand from her robe, letting it fall open just a bit.

“No, no, not my type,” Billy replied, shaking his head with a smirk. “I’m actually here for Y/N.”

The surprise was clearly evident on Karen’s face since a boy hadn’t come calling for Y/N since her sophomore year. The expression on her face angered Billy, as if it was so unheard of for anyone to visit or even interact with her daughter. What kind of mother is she?

“Oh, she’s, um, she’s in the living room. Um, come on in.” Karen stepped aside and Billy sauntered in, hands in his pockets as he took in Y/N’s modest home on the other side of town. He found you bent over your textbook, headphones on your head as you mouthed the words to “Girl’s Got Rhythm”.

“Honey,” Karen called feebly. She said it a few more times before waltzing over and pulling the headphones off your head just as the guitar solo was about to kick off.

“Hey! What the hell-- Billy?” You felt frozen in your spot as Billy smirked at you from the living room doorway.

“Your friend came over to see you.” Your mom did a shit job at hiding the shock in her voice, but whether it was from the notion of you even having friends or having friends who looked like Billy, you weren’t sure. “I’m just going to go up and resume my bath.”

You grimaced at the way she said bath and batted her eyelashes at Billy, who barely spared her a second glance as she sauntered away.

“What are you doing here?” you finally asked once you stood to your feet. “Better yet, how do you know where I live?”

“I have connections,” he replied with a one-shouldered shrug. “Let’s go for a drive.”

“I-I can’t. I have homework.” You gestured behind you at the books laid out on the table.

“Work on it later. Lords know you’re passing every class.” He rolled his eyes. “Including History now, thanks to me.”

“Whatever,” you grumbled as you shoved your feet into your shoes. If there was one thing you knew about Billy Hargrove, it was that he was aggravatingly tenacious. He was relentless in his tutoring, making sure you had one set of dates down before quizzing you on the next set. It was frustrating, but you were glad you were finally grasping the concept.

Billy led you out the front door and down the walkway to his blue Camaro, stopping by the passenger door to open it for you. You angled into the seat, the leather cool under your jeans, and he ran around to the driver’s side. The engine roared as he turned it over and then he floored it down the street. Your hands were balled into fists inside your hoodie pocket as he drove, heading to the outskirts of town.

It remained silent in the car as he drove and for a while, you wondered if you were about the be the victim of a classic horror movie. Until Billy stopped at the top of the quarry, overlooking the lake and got out of the car. He leaned against the hood and ducked his head to light a cigarette before reaching back to slap the hood and waving you out.

Slowly you unbuckled yourself and got out, coming to stand beside him at the front of the car. Your nose crinkled at the smell of his cigarette, but he was at least generous enough to blow the smoke away from you. The moon reflected off the lake hundreds of feet below you, rippling as the breeze disturbed the water.

Billy was shockingly silent beside you, puffing on his cigarette and leering out into the night. You spoke up when you’d finally had enough of the silence.

“Why did you sit with me at lunch today? Isn’t that social suicide or something?”

Billy blew the smoke out through his nose in an aggravated huff, his eyes becoming hard. The rest of his cigarette was crunched under his boot as he turned to face you.

“Why do you do that?” he asked. At your confused expression he elaborated. “Put yourself down like that. Why do you do that?”

Your mouth dropped open but you had no answer for him. Not a verbal one anyway, so you shrugged.

“You know, for a smart girl, you’re really dumb,” he fired off next. Your shoulders squared themselves, ready to fight back. “You let people treat you like you’re nothing, like you’re invisible, and I don’t get it.”

“I...Where is this coming from? You don’t even know me!”

“I know you’re itching to get out of Hawkins, to find somewhere you’re not being compared to Nancy. Yeah, I know all about that. I hear people talk and I saw the way you reacted in the library when I called you the other Wheeler. You’re not subtle. I’m not some big dumb brute of a guy who can’t see when someone undeserving is suffering. I see a lot more than you think.”

Your mouth snapped shut as your throat tightened, and you had to look away. The look in his eye was too much as you came to the realization that you weren’t invisible, not to Billy anyway, and it hit you like a freight train.

“You don’t understand,” you heard yourself whispering. You closed your eyes against the onslaught of emotions rising within you. “My whole life, I’ve been invisible, never anyone’s first choice. Middle child syndrome, you know? My father always asked, ‘why can’t you get grades like Nancy?’ Why can’t you excel like Nancy?’ My first A- was trumped by her fucking A+ and I didn’t stop hearing about it for a week. Any boy I ever liked just used me to get closer to Nancy. It’s always Nancy. Nancy, Nancy, fucking Nancy. Why can’t it ever be me?”

The last line was said in such a broken tone that Billy was compelled to step forward. Then you were surrounded in his warmth, and it broke you. You cried into his shirt, finally feeling some relief that you could let it all go.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Billy murmured into your hair, pressing a gentle kiss there after. “I see you, Y/N.”

At those words, you choked on a sob and wound your arms around his waist, holding him tightly to you, and he mirrored the embrace. You stood like that for a while until you were out of tears and his shirt was thoroughly soaked through. Sniffling, you leaned back a bit out of his embrace and he loosened his hold on you just enough to look down at you.

“Sorry,” you muttered, nodding at his shirt. “I ruined your shirt.”

“Fuck the shirt,” he retorted with a smirk that made your mouth quirk up at the ends. “There’s that smile. You don’t have to live in anyone’s shadow, Y/N, least of all Nancy’s. You have a light all your own; let it shine.”

The next week at school was the best week of your life. After Billy had knocked some sense into you, he was never far from your side. Usually he had an arm slung around your shoulders, or your hand grasped in his, leaving the rest of the student body to gawk and wonder what he saw in you. Your confidence was slowly, but surely, rising, though you still had your off days. On those days, Billy was right there with you, murmuring his faith in you that you would overcome it, that you were brilliant, and smart, and beautiful, and that no one could touch you.

Billy Hargrove had unexpectedly saved your life.

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove x reader #bill hargrove x reader fic #billy hargrove/reader #stranger things #stranger things fic

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