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poormeowmeowcollector · 3 years

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First Kiss, But Not On The Lips

Pair: Tony/ace!Loki (platonic)

Warnings: mentions of insomnia, nightmares, panic attack, isolation and alcohol.

Notes: Basically, the idiots in love trope is my favourite. Tony is a bi mess, Loki doesn't care about a thing (or cares about too many things), Thor is a himbo and Steve is trying. Also, yes, Loki has the ace ring (and a pride flag in his room) and he legally cannot sit like a normal person. And Steve lost the bet because he didn't expect Tony to find out about his crush on Loki within a month.

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"You know what, I get it. We all deserve second chances and blah blah blah, but can't Loki redeem his name on another solar system? What about Jötunnheim? He did a genocide there too!" Tony argues. At least he moves past the redeem part.

"I told you they would not accept me," Loki sighs at Thor, trying to appear stoic. But Tony sees the disappointment in him. Because he knows how to spot it in the mirror.

"Fine, he can stay for a month as a testing period. But if he causes trouble, he's gone," Steve decides. He loves speaking out the decisions even though no one will disagree.

And Thor smiles widely and hugs his brother. But Tony can still see the disappointment in Loki.

~~~

Sleeping is hard while knowing he's in the same building. Tony expected it, but it's still annoying.

"You know he was a victim too, why are you so afraid?" He asks himself but no answer is given.

He knows he won't be able to sleep, and there is a broken suit waiting for him in the lab.

Well, if he's about to pull an all nighter, he better be productive.

~~~

Tony had gotten his all nighter on a schedule. He would wait until Steve is asleep, go to the lab, and return to his bed only one hour before Steve wakes up. Of course and they all noticed his dark circles and moodiness, but he would blame nightmares and get away with it. Not that he was lying.

And, apparently, Tony is not the only one with sleeping issues.

Thor was claiming that Gods don't need sleep or nutrition. But Thor is also a sleeper and eats every time like it's his last time. But Loki doesn't. He barely touches whatever food is placed in front of him or drinks a little water and he looks more sleep deprived than Tony. But no one has the guts to say to a thousand years old powerful cranky god to go sleep or to eat, not even Thor.

And he doesn't talk. It's been days since his voice was heard. Thor doesn't like it, but the few times he mentioned it or tried to get Loki to speak or take part in a talk, he only got a glare. And Tony still doesn't know how Thor still makes Loki even get out of his room.

~~~

Once again, Tony is working on a new suit, during his favourite inhuman hours. Because two things come out at 3am, the devil and Tony Stark.

But the first dude is not helping Tony with the non functioning leg that's driving him insane.

"It's not going to work," Someone comments from the lab's door. Who the hell is up that late?

"Excuse me?" Tony turns around, only to face Loki leaning against the door frame.

"Remaking the joint to resemble a human's is not going to work. You need less strength and more flexibility, probably even another material," Loki explains, staring at Tony. He makes a small nod. Loki then straightens himself and walks closer.

"You know about mechanical engineering?" Tony asks.

"Science, magic, it's all the same on Asgard… and I happen to be the Master of Magic, and therefore…" He trails off, something sad blooming in his eyes. Homesickness, Tony recognises with ease.

"Alright, so, how do you think we'll make it work?" Tony asks, a grin on his face. But instead of answering, Loki just lifts his sleeves and grabs a wrench.

Tony watches as Loki plays with the machine—he looks more like he plays than like he's repairing something—and uses his magic to change the elements on the materials, green glows appearing and disappearing. And, after the five minutes it took him, the leg is perfect.

"Wow…" Tony whistles. Loki grins and sits on the working table, spinning the wrench on his fingers.

"It will probably last for a millennium or two," He shrugs, like it's something easy. And Tony is more impressed.

And they go on with the suit, finishing it before it's time for Tony to go and pretend he's sleeping. And Tony would use this time.

"Well, I didn't know you're good at engineering," Tony trails off. Loki shrugs in response, again sitting on the table with his legs in lotus position.

"You never asked,"

"Yeah, sorry about that. You are just too…" He suddenly can't find the word.

"Cold?" Loki asks, raising his eyebrows at Tony.

"Reserved is how I would phrase it, actually," Tony responds, making Loki hum.

"You know what, nevermind. I'm asking now. What do you like? What don't you like? Just rumble about things," He decides, big brown eyes staring at Loki. And he responds with another shrug.

"I don't know… it is quite late, so I'll probably head to my bed. Good morning, Stark," He jumps up and leaves, before Tony can even think of stopping him.

Right, he's just waiting for people to ask…

"So… Do you remember the rumble offer? Cause it still stands," Tony eyes Loki. And Loki responds with a smile.

~~~

The next morning, Loki didn't appear. Thor explained that he crashed on the bed. And it must be the hell of a sleep because he got out of his room three days after. Again, while Tony was working on a suit.

"Hey, wanna help?" Tony yells at Loki as he walks outside of the lab. And Loki nods a yes and gets to work.

"Still not sleeping, Stark?" He asks, his smart eyes pinned on the helmet of the suit.

"No rest for the wicked," Tony smiles. Looks like he's more talkative now that he's fresh.

"Tell me about it…" He sighs. Then, he grunts a bit, probably gotten hit by some remaining electricity.

Tony hadn't noticed before how pretty Loki's smile is.

And Loki takes the opportunity and starts to talk. Tony learns a lot about Loki during the Great Rumble. Dandelions are his favourite flowers, thanks to the Æsir library he became an encyclopaedia of random fun facts (even took it far enough to share some), he's a cat person, he loves classical music or music without lyrics, and then he starts sharing some stories of him and Thor as kids.

But Tony notices other things too. He noticed that Loki's eyes seem to glow when he talks about things that make him happy, he moves his hands around, he has this cute little smile that makes his face shine. And when he talks fast, his Nordic accent slips out—just some trilled 'r's or some harder sounds—and he also has a stutter that slips out. And Tony finds all of those so beautiful, but he can't say it.

"Your turn," Loki says. And Tony freezes.

Because his mind is nothing but simping for Loki, right now.

"I… em… Ya know, I…" He mutters, trying to think of something. But, Goddamnit, those shining green eyes pinning on him and waiting are so distracting.

"I'm actually bisexual, but more attracted to women than men," He snaps, finally finding something. But what if Asgard is not so accepting? Earth is having issues with those things and those guys live in the middle ages.

"Oh, nice," Loki shrugs after noticing Tony's brief pause. And it's enough to relax Tony.

"And… Dammit, this is so hard… I like cheeseburgers?" He squirts. "I don't know, can't think of something right now… when something pops up, I'll let you know," He gives up and rubs his nose bridge.

"No worries, you're hot anyways,"

Loki grins after seeing how red Tony's face became. And Tony clears his throat in hope of containing himself somehow.

"Alrighty… How's the helmet going? Tony moves the subject away. He sees Loki short-circuiting for a long moment, before remembering what they are doing here and grabbing back the helmet.

"It won't let me fix it… whenever I try to do something to the source of the issue, I get striked," He answers.

"Have you tried plastic gloves?" Tony asks, not even looking up from the hand he's oiling.

"For the helmet?" Loki asks, his eyebrows furrowed at Tony.

"For your hands, you idiot!" Tony screams, his head snapping heavenwards. Why did he agree on this?

"Fine, fine… Norns, dauðlegir eru svo stuttir í skapi... —Norns, Mortals are so short tempered…" Loki mutters under his breath.

"You know JARVIS can translate from Old Norse to English, right?" Tony snaps.

Loki shrugs and leaps into the working table and walks across it with three big steps, jumping back down with grace and opening shelves to find the gloves.

"They won't fit," He yells at Tony.

"Whatcha mean they won't fit?" Tony yells back.

Loki jumps on the table again and ends right behind Tony.

"I mean, they won't fit. They're too small," He answers to Tony's ear. Tony has learned how much Loki loved climbing on furniture, so he just turns around instead of jumping around and cussing at the God.

"Come on… how big are your hands?" He asks. Loki grabs Tony's hand and places his palm against his own. Tony's fingers were beginning on Loki's second joints, his fingers long and thin. And Tony licks his lips, because he knows what big hands mean…

Stop being horny over deities, you idiot! It didn't end well with Jesus and it won't end well with this one too! The, usually silent, voice of reason reminds him.

"Maybe you can magic them into fitting…" He suggests. Loki nods and stretches the left glove with his right hand, a green light making it bigger as he slides his hand inside.

"Thank you, Stark…" He smiles and climbs back on the table, eyes pinned on the helmet as he's playing with the screwdriver. It's been two weeks since he came here, and he still uses only last names. But when Clint called him Odinson, Thor, Steve and the Hulk had to physically hold Loki from snapping the archer's neck. And no one dares to call him Laufeyson or even think about it.

"Hey," Tony snaps. Loki flinches at the sudden noise but composes himself right after. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare ya," Tony apologizes.

"It's fine… What do you want to ask?" Loki shrugs one shoulder, placing the helmet on his right and the screwdriver on his left.

"Why do you call everyone by their last name but don't want to be addressed as so?" He asks.

"I'm not anyone's friend, and first names feel too familiar for such a situation. And, I won't stay for a long time…" He answers, the livid glow in his eyes fading just so.

"And, your last name?"

"I don't have one…" He whispers, with what Tony recognises as shame in his voice. Tony frowns and walks closer, staying outside of Loki's personal space.

"But you're Thor's brother and he's an Odinson," He studied his words before speaking. The last thing he wants is to trigger Loki, even as an accident.

"On Asgard and Jötenheim, last names work differently. You choose the name of the parent who you are closest to and then add the -son, -dottir or -barn. But Odin and Laufey were not close at all, and Frigga could help but she chose to keep me at arm's reach. So, no last name…" Tony can see how Loki was trying hard not to show emotions, but he is so close to breaking.

"You know, with this logic, only Thor has a last name. Don't tell Steve, but Howard was a first class terrible father. Steve's dad abandoned him and his mother, after beating the poor woman. Clint's parents made him run away and go to the circus. Natasha was given her name in the Red Room, she doesn't know who her parents are. And Bruce's was violent too. The only people with decent parents are Thor and JARVIS." Tony should move the topic away, but he didn't. At least he tries to patch it up on the last bit.

"And Dum-E," Loki adds, with a barely visible smile. A fake one. Tony hears the robot's joints moving as he lifts his upper part.

"And Dum-E," Tony agrees with a smile, and the robot makes a few happy noises. Loki laughs.

"You know, he says he loves you," He turns to Tony.

"If that's so, he earned some nice oil," Tony grabs the oil and applies some to Dum-E's joint. It doesn't stop making those mechanic noises and when Tony is over, Loki's smiling at him from the table.

"He still says he loves me, right?" Tony asks. Loki makes a slight nod, not abandoning his small smile.

"And that you are the best dad," He adds. Tony laughs and pets Dum-E before heading back to the table. But he still won't get too close to Loki, he is very strict with his personal space.

Loki grabs back the helmet and starts poking it around with the tool, now ignoring Tony.

"So, you don't feel like talking, huh?" Tony asks.

"If you mean the topic you want to talk about, then no," Loki snaps, not raising his eyes. Tony nods, he knows better than invading Loki's personal space.

And Loki didn't open his mouth for the rest of the night. The next morning, he would pretend nothing happened, but Tony would see how something changed in him. How his eyes darkened and his face became colder.

~~~

The next night, Loki is even more grumpy. So, Tony avoids speaking, or making anything that has even the slightest chance to irritate him.

"You're scared of me…" Loki finally speaks, his voice soft like a whisper and his fingers playing with the black ring on his ring finger. Tony looks up from the metal glove he's making to stare at Loki.

"Should I be scared?" Tony asks, careful not to say the wrong words.

"You are too picky about what you do around me. Why not do that if not because you are scared?" He answers. And this is where Tony lets himself frown and talks without thinking.

"Maybe because I don't want to make you feel bad?" He lets his words come out without filters. And Loki raises his eyebrow at it.

"Well, you don't lie about it. But why are you so dedicated to this?" He narrows his eyes and crosses his hands, body leaning towards Tony.

And now, he can't answer. Why does he care so much? It's not that they're old friends like with Rhodey or ex-s but still friends like with Pepper. They're not even teammates. Loki said it himself, he will leave after the one month Steve gave him.

So, why does Tony care so much?

"Hmm, nice answer…" Loki snarls and looks away, playing again with the other hand of the suit.

"You're a cold son of a whore, you know that?" Tony spits, his eyes stabbing Loki. He now raises his glare again, but he looks more confused than before.

"I beg your pardon?" He blinks.

"I try to be decent towards you, okay? The reasons behind it don't matter. Could be fear, guilt, interest, it means jack. And you question me on how I dare be decent towards you and why and what I want from you! You know what, I have a question for you. Why can't you accept being treated as a normal person? Are you that messed up in the brain or you just love so much being alone and miserable?" Tony lets his thoughts come out as they are, not giving a care how much they will hurt Loki. But the moment he sees Loki's reaction, he regrets it.

The room gets cold enough for Tony to see his breathing. Loki leaves the tools and the metal hand beside him and locks his feet on a tight fatal position, his hands on his face and pulling some hair with enough strength to pull them out and his shoulders rising and falling too fast.

And Tony knows what this means… It means he messed up badly.

"Crap! Hey, buddy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean those things…" He sprints closer. Loki raises his hand towards him, a green glow erupting from it and sending Tony flying to the other side of the lab.

Loki mutters something to this in Old Norse, before jumping up and leaving, his feet shaking as he was trying to walk towards the exit. But he manages to vanish in the dark corridor anyways.

And this time, Tony definitely messed up the worst way possible.

~~~

For the next two weeks, Loki doesn't get out of his room. And it only makes the knot in Tony's stomach grow tighter. He asks Thor all the time how Loki is, if he eats, if he sleeps, if he needs something. It's a wonder Thor hasn't grown tired of the constant questioning. And the answer is always the same, "I don't know, he won't let me in,".

And if everyone on the tower has learned something about Loki, is that things are bad when he keeps Thor at arm's length.

Tony wants to go and check on Loki himself, but he bets his right hand that Loki will spit curses at him, and he has every right to do so. So, he has to settle down on annoying Thor and worrying with him.

"You know what? It's my fault," Tony admits to Thor the night before Loki leaves. And Thor furrowed his eyebrows.

"What do you mean?"

Tony explains everything that happened that night, and Thor smiles with sympathy and touches Tony's neck.

"You were right on your words, that's why Loki reacted like this. He doesn't want people to know too much about him… But he won't be mad at you." He answers.

"But, why do I care so much? We barely know each other…" Tony asks.

"Have you thought of love?" Thor suggest. Tony is about to smack Thor for saying something like this, but it makes sense.

"Do… you don't happen to know if he's queer, right?" Tony makes the big question.

"I know very few Æsir who are not your definition of queer, but Loki was never open about those things. You better ask him…" He shrugs.

Well, Thor has a point. But Tony can't exactly ask Loki what his sexuality is while he's like this. So, he better wait till it's time.

"Thank you, Point Break…" Tony pats Thor's back. And then, JARVIS yells at them that Steve wants everyone in the central room.

And there is everyone here, even Loki. Well, an emotionally drained and mentally exhausted Loki, but he's there.

"As you know, your month has passed…" Steve begins talking, his Captain Voice on. Loki nods and lowers his shoulders to appear smaller.

"I'll be on my way, then…" He mutters, voice low and breaking. Steve wants to smile, but Loki's reaction stops him.

"So, you don't want to be an Avenger?" He lets his Captain mask fall, eyeing Loki with worry. And every single one of the Avengers is now doing the same. Tony hadn't realised that this antisocial emo little God had become so popular.

Loki lets his lips make a smile so big Tony bets it hurts like hell.

"You mean I can stay?" He asks, his voice now louder and livid.

"Can't see a reason to kick you out," Steve smiles too.

And Loki drags him to a hug tight enough to break the poor soldier in half, smiling like a sunbeam and rumbling thank you again and again.

"Alright, can you let me breathe?" Steve wheezes. Loki makes a small oh sound and lets go of the hug.

"Sorry, Steve," He hums, not breaking eye contact.

"Steve? Where's the "Rogers"?" Clint asks, his eyebrows raised and his hands signing along even though he wears his hearing aids.

"Well, since I'm about to stay, there's no point in calling you with your last names, is there?" Loki shrugs.

"Alright, you know what we need? A party. Who's with me?" Tony claps his hands and yells, glad to see everyone agreeing.

~~~

Apparently, being an alien God makes you hold your liquor a lot. Tony knew about Steve, but he didn't expect those two to have this stamina as well.

But Thor has started losing his balance and yelling at everyone how much he loves them in Old Norse and Loki's accent and stutter are showing, but he is just sitting on the bar and watching over the chaos.

This is your chance. He's happy and drunk enough, what could possibly go wrong? Tony thinks and stumbles towards Loki before he sits on a tall stool.

"So, are you having fun?" He asks, smiling at Loki and sipping on his scotch. It's fine, he's done this countless times before and he can do it now.

"It's quite nice, yes…" Loki hums, now turning to face Tony.

"And, em… Sorry about the other night… It was too much, should have been midler on ya," Tony mumbles, trying not to lower his eyes and break eye contact. Loki makes a soft nod.

"It's fine, you don't have to apologize… And you were quite right about some things…" He gives Tony a small smile as he talks, making him relax his shoulders a bit a mouth a thank you.

"And I wanna tell you something… I also talked to Thor about it… And I think… No, I'm pretty sure I have a crush on you. And, that's why the care and stuff…" Tony rumbles, his eyes big as he searches for reaction. But Loki stays untouched.

"I am… flattered… But I'm also asexual," He breathes out, staring back at Tony for a reaction.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't want to make it uncomfortable…" Tony rushes to apologize. Couldn't he see the black wedding ring? It's a symbol of asexuality!

"You know, things can work out platonically. I mean, you do start to grow on me…" Loki responds, smiling just a bit.

"Really? I mean, you don't mind?" Tony grins at the response, his eyes big at the God. Loki shrugs.

"Yeah, If you are okay with not getting laid with me…"

"Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!" Tony gives Loki an ear to ear smile and grabs his right hand, kissing gently the black ring.

Loki's cheeks and ears get bright red and he bites his lower lip. Tony is quick to let go of his hand.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable…" He chunters, now lowering his glare and playing with his glass.

"It was… nice…" Loki whispers, most likely to himself. But Tony still snaps his head up.

"Seriously?"

"Yes… And…" The red blush appears back in his cheeks as he fidgets with his sleeves. "It was the first time someone kissed me…"

"No way!" Tony exhales.

"I know, embarrassing…" Loki bites his lip again, breaking eye contact.

"I'm actually honoured. Not a lot of humans had the chance to steal the first kiss of a God, you know," Tony grins, hoping the joke is not that bad.

Loki reacts with a snorting sound and a light punch on the ribs, that sends Tony straight to the floor and makes the glass scatter in pieces.

"Oh, dear, are you alright?!" Loki squirts at Tony.

"I think I need a safeword…" Tony grunts.

He is sure that Loki will grimace on the joke, but instead, he giggles like a highschool girl.

"Most definitely yeah," He sighs, handing over an identical glass with the one they broke.

From the back of the room, no one sees Thor laughing as Steve sighs at the view of Loki and Tony and handing over the twenty dollars of the bet.

#Marvel fanfic #one shot #tony/loki #ace!Loki #fluff #marvel fluff #marvellousaces #maholidaybingo2020 #marvel fandom

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twoidiotwriters1 · 3 years

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Written In The Stars CVIII (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: Tomorrow I’m posting a hidden moment about what happens once the kids are at school and two former marauders are left alone. Stay tuned! -Danny

Words: 4,225

Series’ Masterlist

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Listen to: ‘Better Off’ -by Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler

Chapter Six: Hidden Nightmares.

"Prefect, eh?" growled Moody, his normal eye on Ron and his magical eye swivelling around to gaze into the side of his head. Harry had the very uncomfortable feeling it was looking at him and moved away toward Sirius and Lupin.

"Well, congratulations," said Moody, still glaring at Ron with his normal eye, "authority figures always attract trouble, but I suppose Dumbledore thinks you can withstand most major jinxes or he wouldn't have appointed you..."

Mel took her friend away from Moody in case he decided to continue trying to scare him to death.

"I was never a prefect myself," said Tonks as she walked past them. "My Head of House said I lacked certain necessary qualities."

"Like what?" said Ginny.

"Like the ability to behave myself."

"Same reason why Mel didn't get a badge," Emily walked past her daughter. "I hope this works as a lesson..."

"Sure does, now I know I'm doing something right," Mel smirked.

"What about you, Sirius?" Ginny asked.

"No one would have made me a prefect! I spent too much time in detention with James. Lupin was the good boy, he got the badge."

"I think Dumbledore might have hoped that I would be able to exercise some control over my best friends," said Lupin. "I need scarcely say that I failed dismally."

"What about my dad?"

"Matthew was a brilliant student but Dumbledore knew that giving him the badge would've been like given us green light to go around doing whatever we pleased," Sirius grinned.

"Again, same the reason why Dumbledore didn't give you a badge," Lupin smiled.

"You really think I would let my friends do mischief without any consequences?" Mel feigned indignation.

"Yes," The three adults replied.

"Well, I think I'll sort out that boggart before I turn in... Arthur, I don't want this lot up too late, all right? 'Night, dears."

Mel walked into Harry just as he was getting up and she stumbled backwards.

"Sorry," He said quickly.

"It's fine..."

"You all right?" Moody asked them.

"Yeah, fine."

"Lovely dinner," Mel smiled tensely.

"Come here, I've got something that might interest you," He told them.

From an inner pocket of his robes Moody pulled a very tattered old Wizarding photograph.

"Original Order of the Phoenix," growled Moody. "Found it last night when I was looking for my spare Invisibility Cloak, seeing as Podmore hasn't had the manners to return my best one... Thought people might like to see it."

Harry took the photograph and Mel leaned closer to take a look.

"There's me," said Moody. "And there's Dumbledore beside me, Dedalus Diggle on the other side... That's Marlene McKinnon, she was killed two weeks after this was taken, they got her whole family. That's Frank and Alice Longbottom — Poor devils, better dead than what happened to them... and that's Emmeline Vance, you've met her, and that there's Lupin, obviously... Benjy Fenwick, he copped it too, we only ever found bits of him... shift aside there–

That's Edgar Bones... brother of Amelia Bones, they got him and his family too, he was a great wizard... Sturgis Podmore, blimey, he looks young... Caradoc Dearborn vanished six months after this, we never found his body... Hagrid, of course, looks exactly the same as ever... Elphias Doge, you've met him, I'd forgotten he used to wear that stupid hat... Gideon Prewett, it took five Death Eaters to kill him and his brother Fabian, they fought like heroes... budge along, budge along... That's Dumbledore's brother, Aberforth, only time I ever met him, strange bloke..."

It was the first time she'd ever seen of her grandfather. He looked a lot like Dumbledore, but he lacked the warm gaze and the fancy robes. He had the same hair colour as her though, and there was a similarity between his nose and her dad's.

"That's Dorcas Meadowes, Voldemort killed her personally... Sirius, when he still had short hair... and... there you go, thought that would interest you! Eh?"

Five people were staring up at them: Petter Pettigrew, Lily and James Potter, and her own parents.

"That's great," She tried to sound enthusiastic. "Look at that..."

"Yeah," Harry's voice sounded heavy. "Er... listen, I've just remembered, I haven't packed my..."

"What's that you've got there, Mad-Eye?" Sirius asked loudly from the table.

Harry left so quickly she almost thought he'd disapparated, she understood though, that picture was full of ghosts, and for some reason, she felt kind of responsible for them– maybe Harry felt that way too, after all, it was him Voldemort was after...

The adults surrounded the table and stared at the picture, there were tons of quiet exclamations and nostalgic chuckles as they examined it, but what made her leave the room was the way she knew her mother and Sirius had finally found their friends' faces staring up at them, she could see something dark and heavy falling on their features.

Mel didn't feel like sticking around to hear stories about when they were all young and alive, when Peter was still Peter and not the traitor that had gotten his friends killed. It was stupid to remember something they couldn't have back.

She was in the main hall when she heard someone crying.

"No! No... riddikulus! Riddikulus! RIDDIKULUS !"

Mel ran up the stairs and found Harry looking at Mrs Weasley... She was sobbing above a second Harry, only that this one was dead.

'Boggart', Mel thought.

"Harry, we need to get help–"

"Mrs Weasley, just get out of here!" Harry's eyes fixed on the vision of his own body. "Let someone else —"

"What's going on?" Lupin rushed in followed by Sirius and Emily. Moody was right behind them."Riddikulus!"

Mrs Weasley wept harder.

"Molly– Molly, don't... Molly, it was just a boggart," Lupin patted her head gently. "Just a stupid boggart..."

"I see them d-d-dead all the time! All the t-t-time! I d-d-dream about it..."

She had been dreaming the same thing that summer– hell, her boggart had been the same thing years before that! Seeing it again that night caught her off guard. A thousand different images of Harry trapped in the cemetery came to her, the pain she'd felt that night, the memory of Cedric's body laying on the grass...

She tried to get out of the room as fast as possible.

"D-d-don't tell Arthur– I d-d-don't want him to know... Being silly... Harry, I'm so sorry, what must you think of me? Not even able to get rid of a boggart..."

"Don't be stupid," said Harry, sounding impressively calm.

"I'm just s-s-so worried– Half the f-f-family's in the Order, it'll b-b-be a miracle if we all come through this... and P-P-Percy's not talking to us... What if something d-d-dreadful happens and we had never m-m-made up? And what's going to happen if Arthur and I get killed, who's g-g-going to look after Ron and Ginny?"

"Molly, that's enough," said Lupin. "This isn't like last time. The Order is better prepared, we've got a head start, we know what Voldemort's up to — Oh, Molly, come on, it's about time you got used to hearing it — look, I can't promise no one's going to get hurt, nobody can promise that, but we're much better off than we were last time, you weren't in the Order then, you don't understand, last time we were outnumbered twenty to one by the Death Eaters and they were picking us off one by one..."

"Don't worry about Percy," said Sirius. "He'll come round. It's a matter of time before Voldemort moves into the open; once he does, the whole Ministry's going to be begging us to forgive them. And I'm not sure I'll be accepting their apology..."

"And as for who's going to look after Ron and Ginny if you and Arthur died," Lupin looked up to Emily and smiled a bit, "what do you think we'd do, let them starve?"

"Certainly not!" Emily kneeled beside her, hugging her by the shoulders. "Not after all you've done for us! After seeing how much you care about Harry! You're one of the best friends I've had in a long time, I would never abandon your children..."

Harry turned and locked eyes with Mel. He had a distraught expression on his face as he watched her cover her mouth, struggling to breathe.

One time when she was six, Mel had to be taken to the nurse because some kids cornered her in the playground and she lost it; a teacher carried her out. When her mother arrived they told her Mel had suffered a panic attack.

A panic attack wasn't exactly a good omen nor the best way to spend her last night before going back to school, but she had no control over it.

"Deep breaths, Mel..." Harry muttered, quickly making his way towards her. "It's okay–"

The boy tried to touch her and that stirred her into action. Mel slapped his hand out of the way and ran out before someone could stop her. She ran up all the way to Buckbeak's layer and she locked herself there until her crying stopped.

"WILL YOU LOT GET DOWN HERE NOW, PLEASE!" Mrs Weasley yelled.

Mel let out a pained groan, her head was pounding after last night and all she wanted was to get to the train so she could take a nap. Mrs Black's portrait was howling, but no one tried to close the curtains since the house was loud with voices coming from every floor, all gathering their stuff before leaving.

"I'm dying," The girl leaned on her mother's shoulder. The woman ran her fingers through her hair tenderly.

"You had a rough night. Been years since you had one of those..."

"It was the stupid boggart," She muttered. "I'm okay now. I'll see Erick, so that's kind of cool..."

"You and Harry haven't talked, then?"

"Mum..."

"I'm not trying to force you–"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Sirius, Dumbledore said no!"

A dog ran into the hall, looking rather lively.

"Oh honestly... well, on your own head be it!"

Mrs Weasley, Emily, Mel, Harry and Sirius all left the house together.

"Where's Tonks?" Harry asked.

"She's waiting for us just up here," said Mrs Weasley.

"Wotcher, guys," Tonks -disguised as an old woman- winked at them. "Better hurry up, hadn't we?"

"I know, I know... but Mad-Eye wanted to wait for Sturgis... If only Arthur could have got us cars from the Ministry again... but Fudge wouldn't let him borrow so much as an empty ink bottle these days... How Muggles can stand travelling without magic..."

Sirius was having the time of his life though, running around chasing pigeons and barking loudly. Mel and Harry laughed at his antics, Emily rolled her eyes and mumbled something about him being a child.

As they walked through the streets watching Sirius chase cats and go crazy with the poor birds, she felt Harry glancing at her from time to time. Mel knew he only wanted to help, and perhaps he was a little hurt about the way she'd reacted last night. However, she was far from even acknowledging that she'd cried in front of so many people.

"I felt it, you know?" Harry said when no one was paying attention. "Your panic attack..."

"I figured," Mel said numbly. "It's the lifeline... doesn't matter, I have it under control."

"I could've helped," He insisted. "When we were little–"

"We're not little anymore," She replied sternly. "You handle your stuff, I handle mine. That's what we agreed on."

Harry's jaw clenched, he didn't speak after that.

It felt like a type of rebirth when she crossed the platform and found herself in front of the scarlet train.

"I hope the others make it in time," said Mrs Weasley.

"Nice dog, guys!" called Lee Jordan.

"Thanks, Lee," said Harry.

Sirius made a show of himself, acting as the perfect puppy.

"Mel, come here for a moment," Emily drew her away from the group, looking anxious.

"What is it?"

"I didn't say anything until now because I didn't want to make you uncomfortable during your stay but... oh, well..."

She noticed how her mother glanced at Sirius, who was rolling around at Harry's feet.

"Mum... Are you and Sirius... a thing?"

Her mother hesitated.

"I know you've noticed how... I mean, we've... we're not exactly together."

"Oh," She frowned. "Why not?"

"What?"

"If you want to be a couple, then be one."

"I... you... you're not upset?"

Mel gave her a small smile. "You deserve to be happy. I want you to be happy. If being with Sirius gives you that, I have nothing against it. He's a good man– bit stubborn, but he treats you well, right?"

"He was always a good friend..."

"I hope all goes well, then."

The woman stared as if she'd mistaken Mel for someone else.

"You have more of Matthew than you could ever have of me, you know?" Emily beamed. "I'm thankful for that."

"Sirius would be an idiot if he rejects you, to be honest."

Her mother laughed.

"Don't get your hopes up about this, though..."

"I trust you," Mel brushed it off, hugging her one last time before going back to the group.

Five minutes later Lupin was wishing her a safe journey. Mel held onto him tightly, his scent filling her lungs.

"I'm going to miss you lots," She mumbled against his chest.

"You'll see me soon," Lupin rubbed her back. "Now, just because you weren't made a prefect doesn't mean you're allowed to misbehave. Make us proud."

Sirius ran up to her and crashed against her legs, she kneeled and hugged him as well.

"I'll miss you too, Snuffles... look after my mother while I'm gone, okay?"

He barked, snuggling his face closer to hers.

"Well, look after yourselves," Lupin told the rest of the teenagers. "You too, Harry. Be careful."

"Yeah, keep your head down and your eyes peeled," said Moody. "And don't forget, all of you — careful what you put in writing. If in doubt, don't put it in a letter at all."

"It's been great meeting all of you," said Tonks. "We'll see you soon, I expect."

"Quick, quick," said Mrs Weasley as the whistle blew a second time. "Write... Be good... If you've forgotten anything we'll send it on... Onto the train, now, hurry..."

For one brief moment, the great black dog reared onto its hind legs and placed its front paws on Harry's shoulders, but Mrs Weasley shoved Harry away toward the train door hissing, "For heaven's sake act more like a dog, Sirius!"

"See you!" Harry yelled from the door.

The black dog chased the train barking madly until they turned, then he vanished.

"He shouldn't have come with us," Hermione murmured.

"Oh lighten up, he hasn't seen daylight for months, poor bloke," Ron shook his head.

"Well, can't stand around chatting all day, we've got business to discuss with Lee. Are you coming with us, Lady?" Fred asked.

"Maybe later," She shrugged.

"All right, see you later!"

"Shall we go and find a compartment, then?" Harry asked.

"Er..."

"We're — well — Ron and I are supposed to go into the prefect carriage," Hermione said awkwardly.

Suddenly Mel felt really bad about not going with Fred and George.

"Oh," Harry tensed next to her. "Right. Fine."

"I don't think we'll have to stay there all journey," said the girl. "Our letters said we just get instructions from the Head Boy and Girl and then patrol the corridors from time to time."

"Fine– Well, we... might see you later, then."

"Yeah, definitely. It's a pain having to go down there, I'd rather — but we have to — I mean, I'm not enjoying it, I'm not Percy."

"I know you're not," said Harry.

"I'll tell Erick you say hi, Mel," Hermione offered, thinking that would ease her mind.

"Brilliant," She said without much excitement.

"Come on," Ginny spoke, Mel felt immense relief as she turned to look at the girl, "if we get a move on we'll be able to save them places."

"Right," said Harry, and he looked as pleased as her.

After a while of silent walking, they ran into Neville, which was even better, more people to talk to.

"Hi, guys– Hi, Ginny... Everywhere's full... I can't find a seat..."

"What are you talking about?" said Ginny. "There's room in this one, there's only Loony Lovegood in here —"

"I don't want to disturb anyone..."

"Don't be silly," Ginny chuckled. "She's all right."

They all followed her inside.

"Hi, Luna! Is it okay if we take these seats?"

The girl beside the window looked up. She had straggly, waist-length, dirty-blond hair, very pale eyebrows, and protuberant eyes that gave her a permanently surprised look. Harry knew at once why Neville had chosen to pass this compartment by. The girl gave off an aura of distinct dottiness. Perhaps it was the fact that she had stuck her wand behind her left ear for safekeeping, or that she had chosen to wear a necklace of butterbeer caps, or that she was reading a magazine upside down. Her eyes ranged over Neville and came to rest on Harry. She nodded.

"Thanks," said Ginny.

In the middle of all the movement of putting away trunks and pets, Mel and Harry somehow found themselves seated together. The girl thought it'd look suspicious if she were to move now, it would confirm that she was actively avoiding him.

"Had a good summer, Luna?" Ginny asked.

"Yes. Yes, it was quite enjoyable, you know. You're Harry Potter."

"I know I am," said Harry, frowning slightly.

Her eyes then moved to the next person, which happened to be her.

"You're a Dumbledore."

"Yeah, people keep saying that," Mel said.

Luna moved to Neville. "And I don't know who you are."

"I'm nobody," He said.

"No you're not," said Ginny. "Neville Longbottom — Luna Lovegood. Luna's in my year, but in Ravenclaw."

"Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure," sang Luna.

"Guess what I got for my birthday?" Neville asked them.

"Another Remembrall?" Harry teased.

"No– I could do with one, though, I lost the old one ages ago... No, look at this... Mimbulus mimbletonia."

"Sick!" Mel beamed. "Er- in a good way..."

"It's really, really rare," said Neville excitedly. "I don't know if there's one in the greenhouse at Hogwarts, even. I can't wait to show it to Professor Sprout. My great-uncle Algie got it for me in Assyria. I'm going to see if I can breed from it."

"If you do manage, I'd love to have one," Mel eyed the plant with interest.

Harry did a strange noise next to her and she stared back, daring him to speak.

"Does it — er — do anything?" He asked, glancing nervously at her.

"Loads of stuff! It's got an amazing defensive mechanism — hold Trevor for me..."

Neville put the toad on Harry's hands. Luna was staring again.

Neville held the Mimbulus mimbletonia up to his eyes, his tongue between his teeth, chose his spot and gave the plant a sharp prod with the tip of his quill.

Liquid squirted from every boil on the plant, thick, stinking, dark-green jets of it; they hit the ceiling, the windows, and spattered Luna Lovegood's magazine. Ginny, who had flung her arms up in front of her face just in time, merely looked as though she was wearing a slimy green hat, but Harry, whose hands had been busy preventing the escape of Trevor, received a face full. It smelled like rancid manure.

Neville, whose face and torso were also drenched, shook his head to get the worst out of his eyes.

"S-sorry," he gasped. "I haven't tried that before... Didn't realize it would be quite so... Don't worry, though, Stinksap's not poisonous," he added nervously, as Harry spat a mouthful onto the floor.

Mel cackled, cleaning her face without an ounce of grumpiness.

"That was amazing!"

The door of their compartment slid open abruptly.

"Oh... hello, Harry. Um... bad time?" Cho stared at the lot with an anxious expression.

"Oh... hi," Harry quickly tried to clean his face.

"It's a terrible time," Mel said brightly, "We stink."

"Um... well... just thought I'd say hello... 'bye then."

Cho Chang was blushing when she closed the door. She heard Harry groan and fall back on his seat.

"Never mind," said Ginny. "Look, we can get rid of all this easily. Scourgify!"

"Sorry," said Neville timidly.

"Don't be, that was really interesting to watch," Mel smiled.

Neville blushed at her comment.

"I'm starving," Ron walked in, Mel quickly made room between her and Harry, which he took without even noticing.

"Well, there are two fifth-year prefects from each House," said Hermione. "Boy and girl from each."

"And guess who's a Slytherin prefect?" said Ron.

"Malfoy," replied Harry.

" 'Course," Ron made a face.

"And that complete cow Pansy Parkinson," said Hermione to Mel. "How she got to be a prefect when she's thicker than a concussed troll..."

"Cheating of course," Mel shrugged.

"Who's Hufflepuff?" Harry asked.

"Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott," said Ron.

"And Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil for Ravenclaw," said Hermione. "Oh! Erick seemed fine, Mel– couldn't talk to him because of Malfoy, of course..."

"We're supposed to patrol the corridors every so often," Ron explained, "and we can give out punishments if people are misbehaving. I can't wait to get Crabbe and Goyle for something..."

"You're not supposed to abuse your position, Ron!"

"Yeah, right, because Malfoy won't abuse it at all."

"So you're going to descend to his level?"

"No, I'm just going to make sure I get his mates before he gets mine."

"For heaven's sake, Ron —"

"He's not being unfair, is he?" Mel defended him. "If anyone deserves detention, that's them..."

"I'll make Goyle do lines, it'll kill him, he hates writing," Ron then pretended to be the Slytherin. "I... must... not... look... like... a... baboon's... backside..."

Everyone laughed, but nobody laughed harder than Luna Lovegood. She let out a scream of mirth that caused Hedwig to wake up and flap her wings indignantly and Crookshanks to leap up into the luggage rack, hissing. She laughed so hard that her magazine slipped out of her grasp, slid down her legs, and onto the floor.

"That was funny!"

Her prominent eyes swam with tears as she gasped for breath, staring at Ron. Utterly nonplussed, he looked around at the others, who were now laughing at the expression on Ron's face and at the ludicrously prolonged laughter of Luna Lovegood, who was rocking backward and forward, clutching her sides.

"Are you taking the mickey?"

"Baboon's... backside!"

"Hey, Lovegood," Mel grinned. "We're going to be great friends..."

"Can I have a look at this?" Harry asked Luna. He was staring at the magazine she'd dropped. "Mel, have a look at this, will you?"

He was showing her an article over Ron's shoulder.

SIRIUS - Black As He's Painted?

Notorious Mass Murderer OR Innocent Singing Sensation?

For fourteen years Sirius Black has been believed guilty of the mass murder of twelve innocent Muggles and one wizard. Black's audacious escape from Azkaban two years ago has led to the widest manhunt ever conducted by the Ministry of Magic. None of us has ever questioned that he deserves to be recaptured and handed back to the dementors.

BUT DOES HE?

"What is this?" Mel asked, her voice slightly shaking with contained laughter.

"Hang on," Harry said distractedly. "This one's about Fudge.."

Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, denied that he had any plans to take over the running of the Wizarding Bank, Gringotts, when he was elected Minister of Magic five years ago. Fudge has always insisted that he wants nothing more than to "cooperate peacefully" with the guardians of our gold.

BUT DOES HE?

Sources close to the Minister have recently disclosed that Fudge's dearest ambition is to seize control of the goblin gold supplies and that he will not hesitate to use force if need be.

"It wouldn't be the first time, either," said a Ministry insider. "Cornelius 'Goblin-Crusher' Fudge, that's what his friends call him..."

"Anything good in there?" asked Ron.

"Of course not," said Hermione. "The Quibbler's rubbish, everyone knows that."

"Excuse me," said Luna. "My father's the editor."

Mel had to bit her lip to not make a sound.

"I — oh. Well... it's got some interesting... I mean, it's quite..."

"I'll have it back, thank you," Luna took back the magazine and buried her face behind it.

The door to the compartment opened again.

"What?" Harry snapped at Malfoy.

"Manners, Potter, or I'll have to give you a detention... You see, I, unlike you, have been made a prefect, which means that I, unlike you, have the power to hand out punishments."

"Yeah, but you, unlike me, are a git, so get out and leave us alone."

The group laughed. Mel felt something crawling up her chest, ready to pounce.

"Tell me, how does it feel being second-best to Weasley, Potter?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," said Hermione.

"I seem to have touched a nerve... Well, just watch yourself, Potter, because I'll be dogging your footsteps in case you step out of line."

"Get out!" said Hermione sharply.

Mel's heart skipped a beat.

Dogging.

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world

#twoidiots writing #hp fanfic #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter xoc #WITT fic #hp ootp

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spiltscribbles · 4 years

Note

Can I request 7, 9 or 78 for pynch? I liked all of those, haha -- uncertainglobalfuture

~Notes: Thank you SO SO much gorgeous<3 This came out way to soft lmfao. |

A Reblog is worth a thousand stars<3 | Buy Me A Coffee?

~78. “Just please be my best friend right now, and not the person I confessed my love to~

When Adam’s seven years old his first grade teacher asks him why he never has a lunch. He tells her he forgets to get up early enough to make it. Three weeks after that she asks him where he got that nasty bruise on his left arm. He tells her he had wiped out on his bicycle. Two months after that she keeps him inside for recess and asks him to join her and Principle Jenkins for a little while. Adam didn’t mind, he never could make a friend as easily as the others— too distant and too reserved and too withdrawn for the lot of them. But then they start asking about Adam’s home life and parents and whether he needs help or not, all rinsing hands topped off by tense smiles that don’t touch their eyes.

Adam stays aloof— doesn’t bother to panic. He’s been trained by his mother for countless years on how to reply to these sort of probing questions. Has long mastered the owlish blink to his eyes, and diffident smile to his lips. Knows exactly what to do so that they could pretend that there’s nothing out of the ordinary. He knows full and well that none of them actually want to tackle this conversation, and knows that it’s pointless because he’s a Parrish, this is all there is.

This’s all there ever will be.

He doesn’t tell either of his parents about the meeting, is too afraid of their reactions. Besides he doesn’t see much of a point when only a week later they’re packing up and leaving this small town in the dust just to settle in another with the same pasted grins and eyes that slide off from truths that are too ugly to confront.

On Adam’s first day of classes in Henrietta elementary he comes to the conclusion that not everything is stuck being the exact same when a boy with cornflower eyes and dark curls pads up to him and tells him that he’s Adam’s assigned buddy.

“What’s a buddy?” Adam asks, pinning him with a one eyed squint, totally incredulous.

“’S someone who shows you round the classroom and playground.” the other boy answers with an imperious tilt to his head. “Duh.”

“I Don’t need a buddy,” Adam glares at him. He doesn’t yell because Robert yells and Adam hates it when he yells.

“Who peed in your cereal?” The other boy, Ronan Lynch, asks sourly, indignant hands on his hips.

“I don’t need a buddy,” Adam only reiterates, spindly arms wrapped tight against his chest, his jaw set and stance rigid.

“Fine!” Ronan huffs with an emphatic stomping to his foot for good measure. “Hope you get lost with all the big kids then!”

“Fine!”

Later that afternoon, during free time, a blonde boy Adam doesn’t even recognize gleefully shoves his gross ball of slime into Adam’s face with an emphatic gusto. Adam only escapes the situation when Ronan storms over towards them to interrupt.

“Get lost Tad.”

“Can’t hog the new kid Ronan!”

“Uh-huh! Mis Sanchez made me his buddy.”

“Oh,” Tad only pouts, totally put out, before ambling off with his aforementioned ball of slime.

“Uh, ah thank you.” Adam says, wide eyed as he stares at a still moody looking Ronan.

“Wasn’t to help you! Me and Noah need someone to play trains with us, now c’mon.”

He pivots around, marching towards the back of the room, and Adam is only sorta shocked that he actually follows suit.

Adam isn’t sure how, but impossibly— remarkably— Ronan Lynch never quite leaves his orbit for the rest of that year, or any of the ones that follow.

He isn’t sure if they’re friends, has never had a friend before, which might be sorta embarrassing considering he’s in the fourth grade now. But in Adam’s defense no one else really caught his attention, certainly not keeping it for as long as Ronan has somehow done.

If Adam’s forced to think about it, he thinks that they are.

They sit besides each other for class every day, and Adam isn’t even annoyed when Ronan pulls funny faces his way instead of listening along. Yesterday for kickball Ronan chose Adam first, even before Gansey or Noah, and Adam has only ever liked adventuring outdoors with Ronan, even if it meant scraped knees and dirt on his pants that he shakes off the best he could before going back home to the trailer park.

But even still, it couldn’t hurt to ask him, right? It’s a simple question that calls for a simple answer. It’s just to double check that Adam’s not just some leach grabbing for anything he can.

Robert hates it when Adam asks questions, tries teaching him to stop being so god damn nosey about everyone’s business. Adam’s never seen it like that. Question yield answers, and answers usually make someone smarter, so without questions the world would just be stumbling around, utterly ignorant to everything. He much prefers how his first grade teacher had called him inquisitive, it makes Adam feel smart, proper, like he isn’t just annoying everyone, more like there’s a purpose to it.

That said, Adam knows that he’s inquisitive as all get out, so he doesn’t even think twice before asking Ronan point blank the following day at recess if they’re friends or not.

Ronan scrunches his nose at him, lips curled morosely.

“Stop being a weirdo and come play four square with us.”

Adam reasons that’s as much of an affirmation as he’s gonna get, and decides to only shrug before following him to play along.

The first time Adam goes to Ronan’s house for a school project, it’s a sunny autumn afternoon, and they’re fresh faced sixth graders. It’s the last year before embarking on the looming threat of junior high— A practice trial of sloppy make out parties and getting buzzed off cheap wine coolers swiped from someone’s parent’s licker cabinet— Gansey’s determined to make it the best year yet, and of course Ronan enthusiastically agrees because he and Gansey are really brothers in all but blood, so of course he’s going to entertain all of Gansey’s grandest of whims. And Noah always loves a good tie.

Adam still thinks it’s miraculous that they’ve adopted him into their little, mismatched brotherhood. That just as often Gansey looks at Ronan for a joke, he glances to Adam to ask a question with a furrow between his brows. And Noah says that Adam’s the only one who could keep up with him on a skateboard, even if his is a pathetic hunk of plastic he had bought for a quarter at a nearby thrift shop. And Ronan—

Well Ronan’s a different beast entirely.

He’s loud and abrasive and yells when he’s feeling to passionately and curses like a sailor even before they’ve hit teen hood. On paper he’s the precise sort of boy Adam never wanted to entangle himself with, the sort of boy that might’ve scared him in another universe. In a universe that Ronan wasn’t his assigned buddy on that fateful day, and a universe where Adam didn’t see how he doted on his brother a year behind them in school, and how he always fed the birds outdoors with bread from his lunch, and how he sometimes looks at Adam with such caution and care that it makes him blush.

No, Adam hates the thought of that world, and he refuses to think on it for any longer.

“C’mon ’s just a bit further of a walk,” Ronan tells Adam with a slight tug on where he’s got a hand encircled around Adam’s smaller wrist.

The first thing Adam thinks of when he finally sees the mythic Barns is that it’s a castle from a storybook.

It’s all sprawling fields filled with daisies and a large, but cozy looking house that’s got the backdrop of such blue, blue skies behind it. There are even vines that snake up its entrance, a rosebuds that accent the doorway.

The inside is much of the same, a managed mess with coats slung on the sofa and family portraits hanging on the walls, and the scent of fresh baked cookies wafting in the air.

It’s a home, loving and lived in and ringing out with warmth.

There’s a pang to Adam’s heart. He’s never felt the chasms that divide his and Ronan’s lives so acutely.

“Love,” a low, melodic voice crows from what must be the kitchen. He recognizes it to belonging to Ronan’s mother, the golden and beautiful Aurora.”Is that you?”

“Yeah Ma!” Ronan shouts back, crass as ever and making it so Adam winces back. “Adam’s here too, we’ve got a biology project to do.”

“Oh how splendid,” Aurora says with genuine mirth as she steps into the living room, splattered in flower and glowing with pure delight.

“Sorry for the intrusion ma’am,” Adam mumbles even though his own mother cuffs him on the back the head every time he does so.

“Nonsense,” she admonishes with no real heat, just fond exasperation. “Now Adam darling, how does quesadillas sound for dinner?”

Adam pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, feeling his cheeks flush as he averts his gaze. “I won’t stay for dinner ma’am, I don’t wanna be a bother.”

“Course you’re staying for dinner dummy.”

“Ronan, language,” Aurora chides, but the reproach sounds more like a formality than anything else. “Adam sweetheart we have more than enough to go around, you’re more than welcome to stay. In fact you’re the only friend of Ronan’s that hasn’t come around for a meal, and I know Niall would love to get to know you along with me.”

Adam feels his cheeks heat even brighter. He knows that she didn’t mean anything by the fact that they have more than enough to go around. It definitely wasn’t intended as any sorta dig, it’s just the way wealthier folks speaks. They’ve never needed to want for anything. Besides, it would be awful of him to stay here and eat their surely amazing food when he knows there’s a three day old meatloaf that his parents would be heating up tonight.

“I should ask my Ma.” Adam says mildly, a sneaky out. He’s sure his parents won’t let him stay past dinner time, and at least this way he won’t inadvertently insult Aurora.

“We’ll make her say yes,” Ronan squawks, indignant at the thought otherwise. Because of course he is, with the parents he got, Ronan probably can’t even fathom eating leftovers or being made to finish all the household chores or being ignored up until either of his parents feel like a good yelling. “Ma, I know he’s skinny but trust me he eats like a freaking maniac. I don’t even know where he stores it!”

“I’ll make so many you boys won’t know what to do with yourselves,” Aurora chortles, and Adam isn’t sure if he imagines the soft, sympathetic look she tosses his way or not, but prefers not to marinate on it. “Adam there’s a phone in the kitchen, you can call your folks from there.”

Shockingly, his mom says that Adam can stay.

“Your dad’s at a poker night, so come back before he does and don’t forget to walk Luanne’s dog tomorrow morning or else the doe’s coming from your pocket.”

Adam’s so stunned he doesn’t even have it inside of him to remind his mother that he doesn’t have a scent to his name.

The rest of that afternoon is spent roaming Ronan’s truly massive backyard, and playing a game that Matthew’s made up using a kickball, a spoon, and two eggs from the chicken coop. Later on Declan helps them with their diorama, and he and Ronan are allowed to eat in his room while watching an old black and white movie in the small television he keeps atop a shelf cluttered with about a thousand other nicknacks and broken toys.

And it’s wonderful.

“He’s just such a prick.”

Adam doesn’t have to ask who Ronan’s talking about.

He’s working beneath an old Ford truck in the small auto repair shop that he somehow finessed getting a job inside of even though he’s only fifteen and a sophomore and frankly, always fucking exhausted.

It’s become the norm for Ronan to ditch Gansey and Noah and join Adam in the dingy, rundown garage on his work nights, mostly just to keep him company. Sometimes he’l bring over homework and read the chapter for whichever class they’ve got the next day, and sometimes they just chat and listen to the old rock station playing from the speakers. But tonight’s one of those rare nights when Ronan is well and properly pissed, so he’s just slamming a bouncy ball against the wall over and over again while ranting about Declan, and Declan’s stupid new internship on the hill, and his stupid new girlfriend, (The third fucking Ashley in a row! Can you believe that!) And has now moved to berating Declan’s slicked back hair and clothes and his know-it-all attitude.

“He’s just such a— A—“

“Prick,” Adam says, snarky as all get out as he slides from under the car and moves to dry his hands from the oil that’s leaked onto him. “You’ve said— Like a thousand fucking times.”

Ronan pouts, arms crossed against his chest. “Well I don’t lie Parrish.”

The corner of Adam’s mouth quirks up reluctantly. “But you do pout, quite moodily too.”

“Oh piss off,” he hisses venomously, flipping him the bird for good measure.

Adam only rolls his eyes at his friend’s antics.

“Is this really because you think Declan’s a prat, or ’s it cause he’s moving out for a whole semester.”

Ronan glares at him with the ferocity of a thousand suns, and a weaker man might’ve shuttered back. But as it is, Adam is not a weaker man, and besides— He’s been on the receiving end of that look, and a thousand other even more menacing ones a countless number of times, it’s part and parcel of being Ronan’s best friend.

“You bite your whore tongue Parrish.”

Adam laughs, appreciates that even when he’s bone weary, Ronan can always do that. Make him feel lighter and dazzling and smile like they were still kids and things sucked, but they just sucked a little less.

“You’re gonna miss’m.”

“I said shut! it!”

“Ronan loves his older brother, oh this is good! I can’t wait to tell Gans!”

“I will punch your lights out you little runt!”

“Oo, big words from a big man.” Adam waggles his brows, unimpressed.

“You don’t know the people I know Parrish, I can get you offed with a snap of my finger!” Ronan says, laughter glittering in his pale eyes. The same color of the blue sky that first day Adam visited the Barns.

“Hah,” Adam snorts, finishing up closing shop for the night. “You know me, who’s a workaholic. Gansey, who’s too busy getting off to old dead kings to care about any sorta espionage mission. And Noah, who’s stoned about 98.5% of the time and built like a twig. You’ve got nothing.”

“I feel like I should be affronted on Noah’s behalf,” Ronan notes contemplatively.

“Oy, can you think on this great moral dilemma on the way to the McDonald’s drive through? I just got paid this morning and have been craving their fries from the dollar menu.”

“Oh fine you heathen,” Ronan huffs, acting oh so bereft. “Who gives a shit about my problems when your stomach is obviously much more important.”

Adam tsks as they meander to Niall’s old BMW that Ronan begged to keep, declining to buy a entirely new vehicle like Declan had gotten for his fifteenth.

“Oh and this provisional license means that I can’t have you in, so if any coppers cruise by just duck down like you’re giving me some road head, yeah?”

It’s Adam’s turn to glare at him. “Keep it up and I’ll have to tell Aurora bout your potty mouth you delinquent.”

Ronan’s smile goes sharp at that, like something very lethal and very dangerous. Adam pretends it doesn’t go straight to his gut.

“Naughty Parrish. And here I was all prepared to save you like a damsel if the coppers actually did stop us.”

Adam scoffs. “Please, that’s not a favor to me, you’re so thirsty to get arrested, it’s pathetic.”

“Well a pretty little thing like you wouldn’t last a day in the slammer,” Ronan goads, pulling the car into gear.

“You’re an idiot, and a prick.” Adam tells him bluntly.

“Tell me something I don’t know beautiful.”

Adam rolls his eyes so hard that he’s afraid he might’ve sprained something.

“Fine, you’re lip piercing makes you look like a douche.”

“But it’s so bad ass though!”

“Yeah, to like ten year old white boys in the suburbs.”

Ronan clutches his fist to his chest, feigning distress. “Parrish you’ve wounded me, I’m bleeding out! A curse to you and your family! And your family’s cow too!”

“Eyes on the Road maniac.” Adam scolds, trying his damndest not to let his mirth show.

Ronan buys himself half the menu and pays for Adam’s happy meal under the guise that it would be too difficult to have separate orders. But he conspicuously doesn’t ask for the receipt, and Adam tempts down the flicker that wants to fight him on it.

They end up on a cliff overlooking town, devouring their food in a sickeningly short amount of time before lying back on Ronan’s car, staring up at the constellations while the radio plays an acoustic song about love and slow dancing and Adam is too busy staring at the infinitesimal space that’s dividing their pinkies on the glass to pay attention to anything else.

“You— Erm, you have nice hands.” More than a bit surprised, Adam flinches back and quirks a brow at him in question. “They’re, erm rough, and you’ve got long fingers,” Ronan explains, his face going bright red and his bottom lip worried between his teeth.

“Is that right?” Adam asks, a slow smile gracing his lips as he gazes over at Ronan’s sharp profile being kissed by starlight.

“It is,” Ronan says, giving one, quick nod and not daring to look over at Adam quite yet. And God, he’s such a mess.

Tentative, Adam links their pinkies together and tilts his head so that he’s resting it on Ronan’s shoulder, hearing it when Ronan lets out the breath he seems to have been holding in for quite a while now.

“Right,” he says in a near whisper.

“Is this good?” Adam asks, only teasing him slightly.

“This is fucking fantastic Parrish.”

“You know that I—“

“I hoped as much,” Ronan admits, a bit flushed.

“But everything’s just so crazy right now,” Adam continues to explain, focussing on the velvet skyline and the full moon pouring over the pair of them.

“Your folks,” Ronan surmises, his jaw set and his open fist clenched so tight that his knuckles go white.

“Ro— Just please be my best friend right now, and not the person I confessed my love too. Please.”

“Course Adam, of course,” Ronan says worriedly, hurrying to collect him into his arms. “Whatever you want, whatever you need. I’m here.”

Adam’s entire body goes relaxed, and he puts a gentle hand over Ronan’s heart. “This, this’s all I want.”

The smile Ronan gives him in turn is blinding.

Adam’s mother tells him early on— tipsy and slurring as she puts him to bed after one of Robert’s moods— not to expect much from this world, this life. She tells him not to get his hopes up with the folly of making it big one day. Of leaving the dust and brimstone that molded him in the first place, tells him it’s a wasted effort.

“You’re not better than us Adam,” she says his name like she meant something else entirely.

She says his name like she means plague, like she means ruin, like she means tragic. She says his name like she sees all the twinkling possibilities she once dreamt of touching slowly collapse right in front of her, like it was his fault that she’s fettered to a life composed of cold silences and loveless touches and being stuck existing in the underbelly of society. Like it’s his fault the light in her eyes fractured day by day until it shattered permanently.

“The teachers don’t know what they’re talking bout, think you’re just some quiet, bookish kid.” She continues to bellow, tiny fists knotted in the material of the threadbare blanket he’s wrapped within. Adam feels nauseous at the scent of beer masking her hot breath. “They don’t know how much of a pain in the ass you are! How you just keep revving your father on for the fun of it! How you’re a fucking disappointment.”

Adam apologizes because he thinks that’s his only option. His mother snarls like she can’t stand to look at him for any longer. And nothing changes because nothing ever does.

But now, sitting in Ronan’s beloved BMW— bloody and battered and barely conscious— Adam thinks he can maybe, finally escape it.

The next time he opens his eyes he’s in an abrasively white hospital room, and he can’t hear out his left ear, and everything aches. But Ronan’s besides him, and that makes everything bearable.

“I hate them,” is the first thing Ronan says when he realizes Adam’s awake and has already pressed the button for the nurse to come in.

“I’m not going back,” Adam tells him, more convicted than he’s ever felt before.

Ronan squeezes his hand in silent thanks and it’s the first time Adam notices that Ronan’s broken three knuckles from the impact against Robert’s face, and he’s surprised that he’s only worried that Ronan’s hurt himself.

Them falling into their relationship was one of the more natural changes in Adam’s life. He hadn’t realized how gradual, how fated their romance actually was. How it’s been building for nearing on a decade.

How Ronan had always chosen Adam first since childhood— through it all. How Ronan is one of the only people Adam has always trusted implicitly. How jealous Ronan had been freshman year when Adam took Blue to homecoming and how relieved he became when Blue and Gansey began going out later that year.

Adam knows that he and Ronan aren’t some sort of soulmate love story, that they can get on each other’s nerves and have fights and disagreements too. But that makes it just the more real, makes it something solid and tangible and something Adam can’t imagine living without.

But the night his Harvard acceptance letter comes is only three months after Niall’s death after a drunk driver had hit him on the slippery January streets. Ronan’s already decided to stay home after graduation to watch out for his Ma and to keep the farm going.

“I can go somewhere closer by,” Adam tells Ronan that night, tangled in one another and Adam’s threadbare sheets in St Agnus, his hearing ear against Ronan’s chest and the pair of them shirtless and clinging onto each other like they needed the closeness to breathe.

“Don’t be stupid Parrish,” Ronan says in a excruciatingly soft cadence, one of his fingers tracing small hearts down Adam’s spine. “You’re gonna go off and be brilliant, and I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Promise?” Adam asks lowly, his voice thick with emotion and his own hands beginning to tremble.

“I’d wait for you for forever and a day.” Ronan tells him with such conviction that Adam’s left speechless, only tilts his had upwards so he could capture Ronan’s mouth and snog him nice and thorough.

“God I love you.” And it’s the first time Adam’s said as much with so many words, but he’s not afraid, not anymore.

“I love you too Parrish.”

Buy Me A Coffee?

#pynch #adam parrish #RONAN LYNCH #THE RAVEN CYCLE #SPILT INK #cowboyformitski #this is so late #But ILY BUBBY

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princessizumi · 4 years

Text

Stitches

Random idea I came up with. Please let me know if you like it! <3

Azula had finally gotten Izumi to sleep. Ty Lee was trying to help earlier but she had only managed to rile the girl up more so Azula banished her from the room, telling her to get ready for bed herself. It took a few stories and empty threats, but she had done it, the girl was sleeping soundly now.

The woman slowly removed herself from the bed and tip toed out the room. Zuko had left Izumi with Azula and Ty Lee for the weekend, the little princess had begged her father for a sleepover with her aunts and he couldn’t say no. Although he did leave them with very specific instructions on how to care for his daughter and to please, please send for him should they need anything at all. Azula had scoffed. Her? Need him? She found it an unlikely scenario.

Ty Lee was still in the bathroom so Azula decided to make sure their quarters were locked up before heading to get washed up herself. On the way back to the bedroom she notices a trail of little droplets of blood coming from the guest room where Izumi was sleeping. Azula rushed to push open the door only to find that the little girl was not in bed.

Impossible! She couldn’t have left her alone for more than ten minutes! A rush of dread fills Azula’s entire body. Stay calm Azula. You should investigate before you start to panic.

The princess followed the trail of droplets all the way to her bedroom. Inside, Azula found her niece sitting cross legged on the bed cupping her hands on her chin. She was waiting patiently for Ty Lee to come out of the bathroom.

“Izumi what happened? Where did all this blood come from?” Azula asked bewildered.

“Zuza I fell. My chin hurts.” Izumi blinked sleepily.

“Fell how? I thought you were sleeping.” She walked over to the child. “Let me see.”

“I dunno. I fell off.” Izumi pulled her hand away from her chin revealing so much blood.

“Oh sh- Ty Lee!” Azula banged on the bathroom door. “Ty Lee come out right now!”

“Yesss?” Ty Lee sang cheerfully as she opened the door. Azula pushed her way inside to grab a towel.

“Hurry we need to see a physician.” The aunt rushes over to press the towel against her niece’s chin. “Izumi is bleeding.”

“Oh!” Ty Lee calmly came over to examine the young princess. “It looks like you broke your chin! You’ll probably need a few stitches. I’ve had to get stitches there before. Azula, remember that one time I-.”

“Ty Lee!! I don’t have time for this! She’s bleeding!” Azula yelled as she picks up Izumi, pressing the towel on her wound.

“Alright, jeez, calm down before you scare her.” Ty Lee turned to the child “Everything’s gonna be fine Izumi, does it hurt?”

“Yeah, a little.” The girl said, anxiously looking between her aunts.

“You’re so brave! And you’re not even crying!” Ty Lee clapped her hands. “Congratulations!”

“Enough!” Azula was looking for her shoes while still carrying her niece. “Stop wasting time, we need to send for the physician!”

“Alright, alright. I’ll have Zuko send a doctor.” Ty Lee was about to leave the room before Azula stopped her.

“What!? Do not tell Zuko about this. He does not need to know.”

“Azula, I think he’s gonna find out sooner or later.”

“I don’t care! He will just make things worse!” She looked panicked, holding Izumi closer. She just knew it, Zuko’s going to blow up on her because of this.

“Hey.” Ty Lee laid a hand on Azula’s arm. “It’s ok, Zuko’s not gonna blame you. He trusts you.”

“It doesn’t matter! Now go find a physician, bring them here now, and whatever you do, do not call the Fire Lord.” Azula pointed to the door.

“Ok Azula, whatever you say Azula.” Ty Lee shrugged as she left.

Azula set Izumi down again at the edge of the bathroom counter to further inspect the wound. Her chin was definitely split open but most of the bleeding had stopped. Azula felt a little more relaxed knowing that her niece wasn’t going to bleed out on her.

“How does it feel?”

“It hurts.” Izumi looked remarkably calm considering the hysterics Azula had been in a few moments ago.

“I know.” She tried comforting the child. “Just don’t touch it.”

Shortly after, Ty Lee arrived with the physician who assessed the situation. He confirmed that Izumi would need four stitches in her chin.

“Alright then, do it.” Azula demanded. “And be careful, that’s a royal chin you’re stitching.”

Izumi looked nervous as the doctor set up all his equipment. “Zuza, what’s he gonna do?”

Not sure how to explain it gently she said, “He’s going to use stitches to close your chin.” That didn’t seem to soothe the young girl. The doctor got to work while Azula and Ty Lee watched over his shoulder.

“Maybe you should hold her hand Azula, she looks pretty scared.” Ty Lee whispered.

“Ok.” Azula grabbed Izumi’s little hand in hers. The girl squeezed her eyes shut when the doctor injected a drug to numb the area. Ty Lee applauded her for being so brave. Azula just held her hand tighter as he began stitching.

“Maybe you should talk to her, tell a joke, you know?” Ty Lee suggested.

“I know how to comfort my own niece Ty Lee, thank you very much.”

A couple minutes passed in silence before Azula said. “I’m surprised your chin didn’t break the floor instead, Izumi. It’s so sharp. If you’re not more careful you could puncture the hull of an empire-class Fire Nation battleship, leaving thousands to drown at sea. Because... it's so sharp.” Ty Lee smacked a hand to her forehead.

Izumi giggled. “You’re weird, Zuza.”

The physician finished up and Izumi didn’t let go of Azula’s hand once. Azula was proud of the four-year-old, she hadn’t cried at all through the whole ordeal. The doctor gave the young couple instructions on how to care for the stitches and how long it would take to fall out and then bade them goodnight.

“A whole week for them to come out?” Azula snarled. “How irritating. Do you think we can keep her here for a week, so he doesn’t find out?”

Izumi was sleeping in between them in their bed. The last thing Azula needed was for her to roll off again.

“Nope. He’s gonna be here bright and early tomorrow to pick her up.” Ty Lee frowned.

This was a new feeling to Azula. Zuko was usually the one afraid to confront her, not the other way around. Azula gently pushed back a lock of hair on Izumi’s face. Surprisingly the girl had taken to Azula ever since she was a baby. Even when Azula was moody or aloof Izumi would ask to play with her or follow her around. There were a lot of people responsible for the person Azula was now, her brother, her wife, her mother. But Izumi was different. She never saw Azula as scary or crazy, she was just her Aunt Zuza. And Azula loved it, no matter how much she pretended she didn’t sometimes. She loves Izumi.

And now Zuko would probably never let her see her again.

“Don’t worry Azula. Everything’s gonna be fine. You’ll see.” Ty Lee pressed a kiss to her lips and laid down to sleep.

Azula watched Izumi’s sleeping face for a few moments before getting out of bed. She put on a robe and shoes and headed out the door. Azula walked all the way to the nearest guard post. The soldiers inside were shocked to find the Fire Lord’s sister demanding to use the communication line that connected directly to the palace.

She had to wait for over fifteen minutes by the time Zuko came on the line. She heard his confused voice over the receiver ask. “Azula what’s wrong? Is it-”

“Listen Zuzu,” Azula interrupted him, “I just called to let you know what’s happened, but rest assured I’ve already handled it, so I don’t want you barging over here at this time of night, that would be completely unnecessary considering I’m doing you the favor of calling.”

“Handled what? Azula what are you talking about?”

“You have to promise me you won’t overreact like you always do.”

“Azula! Tell me now or-”

“She broke her chin. She rolled out of bed and broke it. She has four infinitesimal stitches in her chin, and they will fall out in one week. She didn’t cry not once and was very brave and if you come get her now you will have to wake her up and that will just upset her more than she already is.”

“Oh.” Was all Zuko could say as he processed the information.

“It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t push her out of the bed if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Azula, I wasn’t-” Zuko sighed, “She’s Ok?”

“Yes, she’s sleeping soundly with Ty Lee right now.”

“And she didn’t cry?” He sounded surprised.

Azula laughed, a genuine one. “No, not at all. She’s brave, that one.”

“Yeah, she’s something else.” Zuko sounded proud.

There was a long silence over the line. “So, you’re not angry then?”

“Well I’m annoyed that you didn’t tell me when it happened but no, I’m not mad. It was an accident.”

Azula wouldn’t admit that she was relieved. “Yes, well you have a bad track record of overreacting.”

She heard him huff over the line, “I can’t help it. When you have kids, you’ll understand.”

“No, I think one little gremlin for a niece is enough for me.” She rolled her eyes.

“Thank you, Azula. For taking care of her, and calling me, a- and everything else.”

“Of course, Zuzu. Anytime.”

#Azula #Ty Lee #Zuko #Tyzula #Atla #Izumi #Princess Izumi #Fire Lord Zuko #Fic #Fire Siblings

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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years

Text

Well This is Strange and Unexpected [Toshinori x Reader] [Part 3]

<- Part 2

Summary: You’re feeling guilty over past mistakes and wake up in a bad mood only a certain human golden retriever can cure.

2,696 words | SFW (but there is some canoodling & severe injury)

Hot tears roll down your cheeks, flowing in burning rivers along the side of your nose, and over your lips, filling your mouth with the taste of salt. Searing pain shoots through your left arm from the elbow up through your shoulder. Every time you move, even in the slightest, unbearable agony rips through your arm and pulses through your whole body like a thing with teeth, consuming you whole. So you sit as still as possible, trying not to move, dreading every breath and every sobbing wail that makes your chest rise and fall, shifting enough to renew the torment.

Your arm is broken, but you don’t understand that. You are four years old, and you have never experienced this kind of pain before.

You just want it to stop.

Mama runs toward you, calling your name. She’ll make it okay again. She’ll help. She’ll make the pain go away. You would do anything to make the pain go away.

She scoops you up in her arms, cooing calming words. Wrapped in her protective embrace, the pain goes away.

You stop crying.

She screams.

“Are you all right?!” A hand shakes your broken arm.

Your eyes shoot open. Lightning blue irises stare back at you from their shadowed sockets.

“No!” you scream, scrambling back until you strike the headboard. “Stay back! Get away from me!”

Toshinori retreats to the door with a yelp, turning his back respectfully and shielding his eyes. “I’m sorry! I wasn’t trying to be creepy, I swear! You were shouting, and I thought...”

Broken? Your arm still throbs with the sensation of being fractured. No. You rub it with your other hand, testing it, and find no pain. Not broken. You knead and stretch the offending limb, massaging away the horrible prickling beneath the skin. You’re fine, you breathe. It’s fine.

Someone is frantically muttering apologies in the doorway.

Crap.

Toshi. He thought you were angry at him. You have to—

You try to hold in a laugh, but, failing, it ungracefully bursts out your nose as a snort.

He is wearing a short pink sweater that shows off his abs, and sweatpants that say “DAT ASS” on the butt.

***

A wave crashed behind you, spraying up sea foam and a million jewels of water that reflected the dazzling fire-colored sky silhouetting your entwined forms. If someone had been standing there with a camera, the frozen snapshot of that moment would have made a stunning poster for a heart-throbbing summer romance film.

Unfortunately, time marches on, and in the next moment, you were both soaking wet in water up to your ankles, fleeing, gasping at the shock of freezing water. You laughed about it, but since you hadn’t taken your shoes off to walk on the beach, and the not-quite-summer sun was sinking below the horizon, the walk back to the train was uncomfortably squishy and cold. The damp chill set off Toshinori’s blood-fueled cough nonstop, making other passengers stare, unsure if they were in the beginning of a zombie film.

Huddling close together for warmth the entire way home, however, somehow made all the shivering worth it.

He insisted on getting off at your stop and walking you home—he couldn’t let you go off all alone freezing! In turn, you refused to let him go home covered with goosebumps and hacking up blood everywhere. You lent him some dry clothes, but he is so much taller than you, all of your shirts fit him like crop tops. You’re not sure why he had to pick those sweatpants though. He claimed it was because they were the most comfortable pair, but you didn’t quite believe that reason as he twisted his hips to show off the ass-writing while grinning like an idiot.

“Nope. You are not walking home like that,” you said dryly.

“Aw, come on. I’m adorable.”

“Yes. But someone will beat you up.”

“It wouldn’t be a date with you if I didn’t get beat up.”

“Couch!” you growled, dragging him across the living room and pushing his shoulders down onto the sofa. He was being so goofy all of a sudden. You’d never seen him in such a relaxed, cheerful mood—and it was infectious. You couldn’t resist climbing onto the couch after him, straddling his lap. He folded his arms around your neck and laid back, drawing you down on top of him. Your nose was an inch from his, and your face grew hot with the desire to kiss him again. A throaty hum rumbled in his chest.

This wild-haired scarecrow man smiling up at you between your arms. On your couch. You swallowed, a squeezing in your heart. He was so affectionate, like a stray dog once it warms up to you—like he craved it. And he was good at it.

His hands began to slide up your shirt, watching your face for hesitation. When you let out a shuddered sigh and relaxed more of your weight onto him, he started caressing the curve of your waist and ribs, hands enveloping most of your back—so large for such a slender man, though in proportion with his height. He leaned up, but instead of kissing you, missed your lips and nipped your ear. You let out a pleased gasp, which elicited a devilish grin from him, full of teeth.

Your heart beat faster. You wanted more. You were lying on top of him with his hands under your shirt—it seemed like more was where this was headed, and yet… how could you? The squeezing in your chest tightened; became constricting. He only likes you because he thinks you’re heroic. All that stuff you told him about your quirk, about wanting to help him, that’s what attracted him. Just like his refusal to take advantage of your ability turned you on. But he had the wrong idea. You’re the opposite of heroic. Would he still want you if he knew the real you?

You barely knew him, either, come to think of it. And there you were canoodling like teenagers.

You realized his hands had paused on their path up your back, and his lopsided grin had sunk into a worried frown, tension tugging at the creases of his eyes. The giddy, intoxicated atmosphere between you turned harshly sober. Did he notice your sudden panic, or was he having his own second thoughts?

A PHONE CALL IS HERE! A PHONE CALL IS HERE! A PHONE CALL IS HERE!

Bless that obnoxious ringtone. It broke the silence that had fallen between you, and you both jerked upright, straight as boards, straightening your clothes, a discreet sigh of relief escaping both your lips.

“S-sorry, I need to take this.” He clapped a silencing hand over the phone as he held it to his ear, quickly retreating into the bathroom and closing the door. Apparently, it was private. You could just make out a few hushed words, “All set?”, “...internships…”, “good.”

“Do you have to leave?” You asked as he finished the call. God, you hoped it wouldn’t end on such an abrupt, awkward note.

“No, no, everything is fine, just checking in. I'll actually be free most of the week,” he smiled. “Well, freer than usual, anyway.”

He sat back on the couch next to you. You both flushed again, a bit unsure if the other wanted to resume... whatever was about to happen. “Ah, m-movie?” You offer.

He wanted nothing more than the reprieve of a familiar activity. A movie would be a welcome distraction to cool off from the conflicting uncertainty of moving way too fast. Yet, he couldn’t let the fire be extinguished that easily without paying it proper tribute first.

He took your hand and drew it to his lips, keeping his eyes on you as he kissed each knuckle. Your heart pounded. He smiled mischievously, and let out a chuckle, raising his eyebrows in commiseration, “A movie would be great.”

Less than an hour later, he was snoring softly, mouth hanging half-open. Quietly turning off the television, you tried to disentangle yourself from his arms without waking him. You threw a warm blanket over his gangly form, curled in on itself to keep from spilling over the sides of the sofa. Silently mouthing, “Goodnight,” you tip-toed back to your room.

***

“Toshi, wait, it’s not you! I was having a nightmare,” you stretch out your hand to beckon him back, wiping sleep from the corners of your eyes. “And I’m wearing pajamas, you don’t have to hide your eyes,” you add with a yawn.

He had peeked out from behind his hand at your outburst of laughter, suddenly not sure whether he had grievously offended you or not. This new development seems reassuring.

“Sorry for scaring you,” he says, penitent.

You had already startled yourself most of the way out of the covers, so you sit the rest of the way up and throw your legs over the edge of the bed. You shake your head.

“You didn’t. I was just… afraid of hurting you.”

“Hurting me?”

Morning light filters in through the window, casting glowing shapes over the blanket and floor. It’s a sunny day, but your body feels heavy, like there’s a rainstorm outside. Though you’re awake, the nightmare lingers in the air. Its dark clouds had parted momentarily thanks to this enormous puppy dog’s wardrobe choice, but they close in around you again, suffocating.

And there he is—your gaunt, ungainly puppy’s head tilting slightly, trying to figure out what’s wrong. He looks… nervous? He doesn’t know what to do in this situation. It’s weird. Ugh, why are you being like this? He’s too thoughtful, and you’re being weird. Shouting in your sleep and then being all ominous and moody. Taking up his time. Embarrassing.

But you may as well explain.

You recount the dream. Memories, really. Replayed and repackaged a thousand different times courtesy of your brain. The details and facts might change, but the essential truth remains the same: you hurt somebody close to you, and it could happen again.

As you talk, your heartsick expression drives him to sit down next to you and take your hand, massaging your palm between his thumb and fingers.

“You were just a kid. It wasn’t your fault. Kids accidentally hurt people all the time when they manifest their quirks. It can be ugly, but it’s a fact of our super-powered society. You can’t blame yourself.”

Your eyes focus in and out on a pattern on the wrinkled blanket beneath you, where a printed line meets a neat row of stitches. Should you tell him? You chew on the inside of your lips. Does it matter? It was so long ago.

“That wasn’t the only time,” you finally croak, a tightness in your throat. “Remember the I-almost-died story? How I learned my lesson about playing hero and using my quirk more than I could handle? I made it sound like I was the victim. But I left something out that… changes things.”

A villain attack damaged the school. Emergency services hadn't arrived yet and all of your wounded classmates were looking at you like you were the solution to all their problems. And you thought, this is my chance to prove I can save lives. That I’m not a monster who breaks people.

Every part of your body screamed out in agony. You writhed on the ambulance bed like a feral animal blindly lashing out, though every movement shot a crackle of lightning behind your eyes. There was no position you could lay in that didn’t hurt. Each breath was like glass shards rattling in your chest. All rational thought was drowned out by the pain screaming in your ears, burning you like fire. Every moment was more than you could endure.

Only one impulse remained: Make it stop. Please, make it stop.

“A medical technician made the mistake of touching me, and I hurt them. Bad. Just trying to escape my own body—to save myself from my own stupid mistake.

“I always pretend it wasn’t my fault. It was because my classmates kept asking me to help, even though they knew it was hurting me. It was because All Might made it seem noble to grit your teeth and smile through the pain. It was everybody else’s fault for making me go past my limits. Except it wasn’t. I was the one who did it. I was the one who couldn't control myself.”

“Yeah, that was pretty stupid,” he says plainly. Oh. That was blunt. He sighs and tips his head to the side. “Did you want me to scold you for it? It sounds like you already know exactly what you did wrong, and you’ve beaten yourself up plenty.”

It wasn’t the most comforting thing to say—more like he was lecturing a child—but to be honest, if he had sugarcoated it and told you it wasn’t that bad, you wouldn’t have believed him.

“I just... don’t want you to have the wrong impression of me. You probably think I’m a good person, but I’m not. I’m a villain!”

He actually laughs. Then he sees your face.

Toshinori’s eyes flick wide in a moment of panic, realizing he was being callous, before instantly transforming into comfort mode. He puts his arm around your shoulders. You hadn’t realized you were on the verge of tears until you instinctively turn and bury your head in his chest. Dark wet spots appear on the borrowed sweater where your face presses into it.

“You are not a villain, young lady.” He kisses the top of your head, nuzzling your hair. “Nothing like one.”

“But I still used my quirk, even after all that, knowing it could have happened again. When I make a mistake, people get hurt. And I broke the law! I’m not licensed!”

“It was to help someone you saw in need. You reacted. It was brave, especially knowing how worried you must have been about using it.”

“Yeah? I doubt All Might would see it that way.” Your words, hitched and muffled in the pink sweater, are needlessly sharp, but you don’t care about insulting his stupid idol right now. “Any hero would still just see illegal public quirk use. There's only good and evil with heroes, no in between, and clearly I'm on the wrong side.”

His grip around you becomes fiercer, his teeth gritting, like he’s trying to squeeze the sadness out of you. “I am absolutely certain he would not want you to feel that way. Only an idiot would think you're evil.”

Well, All Might is an idiot, you think, but don’t say, choosing instead to bury your face into his chest again. Even if you could speak through the crushing pressure of his arms, you wouldn’t want to spoil the moment, or end the comforting, consuming weight of his embrace. When he finally lets up, you gasp for air. He takes your shoulders firmly but reassuringly, hands so large his thumbs rest tenderly on the sides of your neck. He blinds you with his bright blue eyes.

“When you make a mistake, you learn from it, and keep moving forward.”

His voice is so deep and confident, yet so gentle. The way he says it makes it sound easy, and the heavy storm clouds begin to evaporate into the morning air.

“Just move forward, huh?”

He nods. “It’s a dangerous gift you have, but you weren’t afraid to use it when someone needed help. In fact, you insisted you’d use it again in an emergency, even if I told you not to.” He smiles warmly, his thumbs ghosting up and down the crook of your neck. “Why is that?”

You slowly let out a breath. “Because I know my limits now, and how to defend my boundaries. I know I won’t lose control again.”

“That doesn’t sound like a villain at all,” he lifts a brow.

“No… I guess not.” You wipe your eyes on your pajama sleeves, sniffling. “Dammit, you squeezed the sad out of me!” You laugh. He’s a little confused, but glows when he sees you smiling again.

#Toshinori yagi #toshinori x reader #all might x reader #All Might #emotional hurt/comfort #fluff #READER HAS ANGST #yes he's wearing that ridiculous outfit during the entire scene #but you know what? he pulls it off #my writing

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whatshername-please · 5 years

Text

Out of the Water

Synopsis: You were very proud to be a mermaid, thank you very much. You didn’t want to be where the people were. Actually, you’d rather avoid it. Defending the merfolk was the biggest goal in your life… well, it was until you meet a certain pirate… it seems that your family really had a thing for humans, after all. Not that you’d ever admit it…

Pairing: Harry Hook x reader (although he isn’t in this chapter, sorry)

Warnings: none? Possibly grammar mistakes?

Part 1 of ?

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so I’ll probably mess up some tenses, grammar and stuff. Go easy on me, please. Feedback is always appreciated.

________________________________________________________________

“We can’t let the merfolk from the Isle out. They are criminals”

“Their children are not. Futhermore, even the former villains should be punished accordingly to the Atlantica laws.”

“Atlantica is part of Auradon and by our law, that all the kings and queens agreed upon, the villains shall stay in the Isle of the Lost”

“That place is barbaric. The idea alone is vicious. They live with our leftovers, without medical care or fresh food. C'mon, that’s absurd.”

“Most of the kingdoms agreed on that”

“So maybe they should be on isle too. Ben, the people there can’t even see the sun.”

“I know.”

“So do something about it. You’re the King. You should do more than wear a crown!”

You’ve lost count of how many times you had this same argument with Ben. You were the daughter of Attina and, therefore, King Triton’s granddaughter and heiress. One day you’d rule over the ocean but you were the diplomat of Atlantic for the time being. You were the one responsible to deal with the diplomacy with the water kingdom and Auradon. Whoever thought this was a good idea was out of their mind.

You’ve heard many times you had swapped places with some child of the Isle. Not that you were mean or evil, you were simply honest. People said you had your grandpa’s temperament, others that you were moody, and some just called you a bitch. You paid them no mind. Unlikely your aunt Ariel you’ve never given up your voice so you tried to make the best of it. You stood up for what you believed and wasn’t afraid to say so.

And there you were, on land, trying to convince again Ben to get Uma and the other merpeople out of the Isle. If you were to be Queen of the Seas one day, you wanted to be wise and righteous. And locking up children who had done nothing wrong but being born on the wrong side of a barrier, wasn’t fair at all.

Your cause seemed lost until Mal had had a major break down and gone back to the isle, Ben was kidnaped and spelled by Uma and now Uma was on the loose somewhere in the ocean and Mal and Ben had asked your help to find her. Of course you said yes and thank goodness they said nothing about turning her in.

Humans, what fools.

You swan fast, passing by shoals of fish and corals, if you weren’t in a hurry you’d have stopped to say hello; there was a really funny ray who lived nearby, but you had more important things to do right now. Flapping your tail you went downwards to the most dark and mysterious parts of the ocean. Also, you were being followed; rumours that Uma was hidding somewhere in the depths were spread and you and a few Atlantica guards went to check over. Well, they were, you were just trying to look like you were doing it. In reality all you wanted to do was go back to the palace and sleep.

After a few hours you called the guards off. Obsviously Uma wasn’t there and you had just wasted your time again. The guards offered to escort you to the palace, to which you politely declined. Swimming your way back to Atlantica you were greeted by your grandfather, who seemed more than worried.

“No news of Uma’s whereabouts?”. He asked, his stern voice echoing through the waves.

“No grandpa. I think she might be far away by now. Maybe at Agrabah coast. No one goes there…”. You tried to sound as serious as possible. Your grandfather understood you like no one else did, but If knew what you were doing… Well, you could only imagine the consequences of it.

He looked at you, perceiving something in your face. He signed, a deep frown crossed his forehead.

“I trust your judgment, my dear. But be carefull”. He had a little furrow between his eyebrows as he said that.

Hugging your grandfather, you reassured him “I’m always”.

He let you go, watching you swim away from him. If you had turned around, you’d have seemed a hint of sadness in his eyes. He loved you so much and he knew you could take care of yourself. Still, he couldn’t help but worry about you.

You went straight to your bedroom, it was a beutiful room in one of the highest towers of the palace. It was decoreted with shells of your favorite color, corals and all kind of things you’d found at the bottom of the sea. You approached your bed carefully, scaring the girl who was on it.

“Damn it! You want to kill me? What took you so long, anyway? I’m starving”

“Sorry” you said with a laugh and a grin on your face “I was looking for you, actually. We had a search party and everything.”

You sat on your bed next to Uma, you saw how her hair danced around her head as she sat up, eyes fixed on you.

“That’s a dangerous game we are playing. If I get caught…”

“You won’t” you promised her “Uma, this is the perfect plan. No one suspects you are here and it’s been months already! They are too busy following made up rumours. Every day a new fish caught sight of you in a different part of the sea when you are actually here at the heart of Atlantica”

You took her hand and squeezed lightly. You and Uma had became good friends over time. You recalled the first day you met her, she was scared and alone and prepared to strangle you with her tentacles. Well, she did tried.

You found her by chance, she was swimming around the isle, trying to find a hole in the barrier; a way to get in or to let everybody out, whatever happened first. Remembering it now you were super careless, you let yourself be distracted by the beautiful cecaelia in front of you. You’ve never seen one of theirs before. A selkie? Yes. An ondine? Of course. Nereids, rusalkas, loreleys… you’ve met them all. But a cecaelia? Never. You were in a trance watching her body move with the waves and before you noticed she was striking at you, ready to attack.

Luckily, you knew how to fight pretty well. Also, you had a trump card hidden in your hair: a comb. Well, it looked like a comb, but with a little bit of magic it could be turned into a trident. It wasn’t a all powerfull trident like yours grandfather’s, but it was enough for you to defend yourself when necessary. When Uma thought you would strike the final blow you set the trident aside, offering your hand instead.

She took it and you both instantly clicked and became friends… well, at least it was how the scene played in your head. Truthly, it took weeks to convince Uma you weren’t going to turn her in, even more time for you to actually bond. You’d bring her food, help her to hide and more importantly, you always made sure that no one would find her.

You looked at the girl by your side, her teal hair floating gently in the water. You wish you could introduce her to your family. Uma was strong, willfull, determined, a natural leader. The only con was her parentage, she was the daughter of your family’s former enemy, Ursula. However, you knew she had nothing to do with her mother’s doings, how could she? Uma wasn’t even born when her mother was terrorizing the ocean. All that you cared about was that Uma was part of your people; therefore, you’d be there for her and any merfolk who might needed your help.

“Stop staring at me, creep” her voice brought you back to reality. It was only then you realized you were still holding her hand. Not that Uma minded, she’d die before admiting it, but she liked the contact. Still, you pulled your hand away. “Do you have any news from the Isle?”. She asked.

“Hm… New four VKs will be chosen like in 5 days. Well, they had already been chosen. They’ll just be announced in some celebration”

“Do you know who?” Uma tried to sound indifferent but you knew better.

“I think it was Dizzy Tremaine, Celia Facilier and some twins whose name I don’t really remember.” you aswered, aware of what she really wanted to know. “I haven’t heard about Harry or your crew. Which is good, because have they done something, word would have already been out”,

She shook her head, a thousand thoughts crossing her mind. With one quick move she swam away, leaning against the colorful coral structure you used as a vanity. From your spot on the bed you could see her twisting the tip of her tentacles, she only did that when she was worried about something.

“Four Villain Kids?” She spoke after a while “That’s not enough. While they live their perfect little lives the people on the isle are suffering”.

“Uma…” you knew she was right. More than that, you agreed with her, but someone had to be reasonable and everytime the Isle came up, Uma became anxious. “Things are changing. We can’t act recklessly, don’t forget you’re on the run”.

‘It’s easy for you to say. You don’t know how it’s in there" You could see the hurt in her eyes as she said that. It was clear Uma cared deeply about the villain kids but the simple thought of returning to that place scared her.

“Uma, we will work things out.” you offered her a warm smile, but deep inside you were desperate. It wasn’t like you had any idea how to convince Ben to let all the V.K’s out of the Isle, you were trying that for years without success. Also, he wouldn’t need a curse to go all beast on you once he find out that you’ve been helping Uma. Still, you had to reassure her that everything was going to be alright.

“Let’s go grab some food” you said, getting up from your bed.

The magic shell glowed as Uma’s appereance changed slowly. It never cease to amaze you to watch her changing into a completely different person. Her cecaelia form became the one of a litlle mermaid; her aqua tentacles were replaced by a reddish tail, her hair became a light shade of brown. Even her face was changed by the spell.

That was how she had been living in Atlantida for the past months, she would easily change her appereance and no one seemed to noticed that your new friend was, in fact, the sea witch’s daughter.

Due to magic being discouraged in Auradon, all of the most powerful magic objects were donated to the museum. You always thought this was stupid. However, since Uma started hiding in King Triton’s domains, you were glad he didn’t have his trident anymore; otherwise, he would have seen right through Uma’s charm spell. Fortunately, this wasn’t the case and her necklace was the strongest relic in Atlantica, ensuring that both of you were able to hang around in the kingdom without worries.

“Are you going to Auradon next week?” she asked while you swam towards the kitchens.

You grumbled in annoyance.

“Yes. Ben is going to propose to Mal and…”

“He will what?!” she interrupted you, surprised “Mal really gets everything, doesn’t she?”

You felt the indignation in her voice, but it didn’t stop you to tease her.

“You sound jealous” you sang, winking at her “I can’t decide if you are jealous of Ben or Mal, though”

You could swear you saw Uma blushing.

“This is not what I meant! You’re so annoying” she swam past you, hitting you with her tail as she did so.

“I was only messing with you. Come back here” you laughed, heading towards her. Truth to be told, Uma had become a huge part of your life and you’d do anything to help her.

_______________________________________________________________

The new V.Ks had arrived in Auradon, Ben and Mal were engaged, Hades tried to escape, some weirdo stole the crown of the Queen and Maleficent’s sceptre… Like every other ordinary day on land. That’s why you hated changing into your human form. Humans were noisy and dramatic and petty. The truth was; you didn’t like being on surface. You were a mermaid for crying out loud, why would you want to change your beautiful and elegant fins to clumsy, hairy legs? You didn’t say it, but in your opinion your aunt Ariel was crazy. Who in their right state of mind would want to be human?

But you still had to go to Auradon once in a while, be diplomatic and all that. You had reported on the search parties for Uma, sent the best wishes to Ben and Mal for their engagement, made small talk to people, argued with your cousin Arabella. Normal stuff. You didn’t intend to stay more than necessary. First because having legs was way too unconfortable and second, you had agreed to meet Uma near the barrier.

She often went there, either to finda way to let everybody out or trying to get a glimpse of her friends. She missed them very much. You’ve heard the name of Harry Hook more times than you could count and from everything she had told you, you were certain he worked both sides of psycho street. Not that you were one to judge people without knowing them, but still…

You were halfway there when a turtle told you that a eel told him that a crab told her that a dolphin heard from a seagull that Auradon was being attacked by an evil witch who put everyone to sleep.

You never understood why sleeping was considered a curse…

Anyways…

If those rumours were true your cousins who went to Auradon prep, like Arabella, Elle and Melody, were included in this wicked spell. Gosh, you could desagree with them about lots of things, but you’d die for your family. Without hesitation you turned around, swimming ashore as fast as you were able to.

If only you knew this decision would change your life, but that’s not how fate works, isn’t it?

#harry hook x reader #harry hook x you #Harry hook imagine #descendants imagine #descendants x reader #descendants #harry hook #Uma #uma x reader

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thewayiremember · 4 years

Text

youtube

EPISODE 2

July 6, 09:47 AM

The official police statement is that I was found brutally beaten in a narrow alley near the movie theater I was supposed to be at around that time.

THE THINGS I KNOW:

The movie was to start at 7 PM

Complete blackout

I was found at 11:40 by a woman, who when calling 911 reported she had found a dead body because according to her I wasn’t breathing and my body parts were not really where they should be, but thank God the paramedics who rushed to the place didn’t entirely believe her judgments. It turned out that she didn’t even get close to me because she was too scared, and from a distance, I looked much worse than I did in reality.

The police later found out by looking into the security cameras that I wasn’t present at the movie theater that night

The police are annoyed because they don't believe in my memory loss and think I just don’t want to tell them where I went that evening.

My parents don’t believe me either. They asked me about a thousand times now why did I lie to them about going to the movies. Well, we don’t know if I lied to you, do we? To confirm that, I would have to KNOW that, and I DON’T KNOW that. Thanks for being supportive and not making me feel guilty.

It’s ridiculous to talk about. It’s ridiculous to even write about. But it is true, I did travel back in time. I keep having flashbacks of a teenage girl yelling at me that if I don’t do anything it will be my fault and that I need to go back to the day that it happened. But WHAT happened? I think her name was Nora? It all feels like a memory long forgotten.

I’ve been avoiding thinking about it because every time I do my stomach drops. I don’t want to get involved, I don’t care. Why should I? It’s not my fault I don’t remember. I want to be a dentist, not a detective. And I’m not a kid anymore who’s excited to run around the city solving mysteries. I don’t care about what happened to me. I'm fine! Stuff happens, let me move on.

11:30 AM

I asked a nurse if she could give me some more painkillers today because I couldn’t bare staying in bed for another day. She said “No problem”, but I’m pretty sure she gave me some sugar-filled pills since I don’t feel any better. Nice try, lady!

Apparently,I'm the only one who didn’t know this place had a cafeteria downstairs because when I went there people were having a legit breakfast party. It was too loud,so I ordered a coffee to go and took off immediately. Where do all those people get their energy from so early in the morning? Oh, coffee, probably. Nevermind. I went to the mini-park instead. Nice benches, nice grass, nice… fence? Yeah, I don’t have anything to say about this park. It’s nice cause it’s at the back of the hospital, so you can’t really hear any cars driving by. Yeah, that’s what I call a smart design, that’s it, right there.

I haven’t heard from Bobbie and Nicole for seven days now. They went camping on some kind of meditation program that Bobbie was really excited to go to and he tried everything to make us go with him. I don’t know how he managed to bribe Nicole into this, but there just wasn’t a chance that I’d spent a whole week without my phone or Internet whatsoever. So maybe that’s just karma that got me beaten for turning my back on a friend. Nah, I’d probably ruin the experience for Bobbie with my moodiness anyway. I like to think that I’m letting them gather their energy back that they lose by putting up with me. It’s a good thing. I’m a good friend.

They should be back by 7 PM. Today. They don’t know what’s happened. I mean, me neither, but I need to give them some kind of explanation. Do I prepare them first, somehow? Do I text them what happened, or do I wait till I’m back home tomorrow and we see each other in person? Do they want me to wait, or are they going to be angry that I didn’t want them to visit me here? Because I think I don’t. It’s depressing in here. People get triggered by hospitals. They get all miserable, it gets awkward, they don’t know what to say because they feel the need to feel sorry for everybody. And I don’t want to be felt sorry for. I’m fine.

Telling them thatI had a car crash crosses my mind for a second. That way I would skip the uncomfortable part of losing my memory and they could tell me all about their boring trip, that I’m actually weirdly keen on hearing. I kind of miss interacting with people. I know I always say that I love being alone, and I still stand by it. I recharge by being alone. But let me tell you, this place has recharged me pretty quickly. Or has it completely drained me and it’s not the lack of interaction itself that I miss, but just the lack of interaction with healthy people? Yeah, I can’t tell.

3:10 PM

Nathaniel, buddy, my hospital bestie, did they treat you good today? Are you comfy, do you need me to adjust your pillow? Here, let me… Better? Yeah, it is. Sorry I haven’t been around that much this morning, but do you remember when I told you that I wanted to explore this hospital some more before I leave? Yeah, and I’m leaving tomorrow morning, so, today had to be the day. Did you know there’s a mini-park at the back? And somewhere above us, there’s also have a mini-church. And when I say church I mean a room with a hanging crucifix on the wall. I’ haven't found any mini-synagogues or mini-mosques, though. Are you religious? Probably not. But how do you feel about Christmas?

Oh yeah, I talk to him like that. I just googled how likely is it for an unconscious person to hear me, and it said there’s a 25% chance. I’m doomed. I must look like Kathy Bates in “Misery” to him now that I think about it. When you wake up and you want to fill a lawsuit against me… I’ll be waiting.

I was out of bed for 4,5 hours and I’m completely exhausted. Is that how elderly people feel all the time? I hope not. I was planning on being an active senior. That’s how I see myself in 50 years. Hiking, biking, maybe even running. I’d be the coolest grandpa.

8:30 PM

I just took a 3 hour nap. Great, good luck falling asleep tonight. I’m looking around the room to see if I have to start packing today, but I guess I don’t have that many things here with me anyway, so, I’ll leave it for tomorrow. My mom is picking me up at 11 AM so I’ll have plenty of time to do it. If my last morning blood test results are all good that is, but I’m sure they will be.

I just got a text from Bobbie. Here’s the screenshot:

BOBBIE: Guess who’s back! Come over and don’t forget to bring your PJs. I promise I won’t be boring you with any meditation stories. Nicole said she won’t be attending my Sleepover Night because apparently, she’s tired of sleeping with me.

ME (wanting to sound neutral): Sounds great, but I can’t. See you tomorrow?

BOBBIE: What’s wrong?

God, he’s annoying. Of course he knows there’s something wrong.

ME (trying to keep it real but not reveal where I am so that he doesn’t get a wrong impression and think that I’m dying): Nothing serious, stop worrying. I’m free after 12, you down?

BOBBIE (thinking I need a lecture from him): Every time you have a problem you stop talking to me? Have you noticed? You avoid me until you solve it alone and you’re able to just tell me all about it afterward. Include me in the story sometimes.

But yes, I’m down, after 12 it is.

Yes, I have noticed. And I wouldn’t include him this time either, but since the story of why I woke up in the hospital isn’t over yet, I kind of have to include him, don’t I? I don’t want them to make a big deal out of it and I know they will. It’s not THAT serious. I’m fine!

#short story #love #romance #gay #lgbt #lgbtq #queer #mistery #young adult #youtube #book #audiobook #forest #woods #wattpad #asmr #illustration #illustrator #adobe #graphic #comic #animation #fiction

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magicallygrimmwiccan · 5 years

Text

Only Time, Part II

Summary: In which I break hearts and souls, yelling is done, and tears are shed

Notes: Part II of my trade with @dailypattondoodle / @moonfang03! Warning for a panic attack. Sorry this is so late, my editor and I both had a horridly busy last week of school, but now that we’re both on spring break, these will get up faster!

Of course, things could only look up for so long. The next month was wonderful for both of them: Roman spent more time with Logan on a daily basis, Logan’s mood and overall mental health improved, and the twins actually both started to act like better siblings. Virgil and Patton were happy because their kids were doing better, Roman’s friends mentioned how much better Logan seemed to be doing whenever he was around, and even Logan’s teachers noticed a stark improvement. He was less moody now, they said, more open to answering questions, and overall interacted more with his classmates. Roman was happier that his brother was doing better, and his friends were also happier for this change.

Roman promised that he would show up to help Logan run through his poetry presentation at lunch that day. Roman promised that he would be there to support his brother through this stressful presentation. Roman promised that he would not skip this meeting. However, five minutes after their meeting time, Roman was nowhere to be found. Roman was nowhere to be found and Logan was in the office of his physics teacher, sobbing his eyes out and trying desperately to breathe. Roman had abandoned him again. He should have known this would happen, why was he so stupid, he couldn’t breathe, he needed his Dad…

“Logan? Love? I need you to look at me, alright?” Mika’s soft voice came from in front of him. Logan shakily raised a hand to communicate, but refused to remove his face from his legs. A sigh, a shuffle, and then Logan found himself being pulled into a loose, warm hug. He buried his face in the soft sweater vest Mika always wore and allowed the tears to fall without restraint again. Mika let him cry, rocking him back and forth.

“Would you like me to call your Dad?” Mika murmured. Logan nodded, and Mika dropped a gentle kiss into his hair. “Hang on, then. Would you like me to call him or Wirt?”

Logan raised a hand and shakily signed Wirt. Mika nodded and shifted slightly.

“Hey, Wirt? Could you call Logan’s Dad and tell him to come get Logan?” Mika called softly. Logan stiffened. No no no, he didn’t need to be picked up, please don’t bother his father with his stupid feelings. Mika gently grabbed his hand, and Logan distantly realized that he had been signing that. “No, Logan, it’s okay. Your Dad won’t be angry, I assure you.” Distantly, Logan registered Wirt stammering into a phone, talking to his Dad, but he decided to ignore that and focus on Mika.

Roman left again, Logan signed. Mika sighed, chest rising less than it should have thanks to xyr binder. He promised he would be here to help and he left.

“Roman is going to feel my wrath, I assure you,” Mika growled slightly. “That was not okay of him.” Logan shrugged. He should be used to it now; why was he so emotional about this?

A person cleared their throat above him, and Logan looked up to find Wirt holding out his phone, video chat with Virgil open. “Logan? I’m coming to get you, okay? Just hold on for fifteen minutes,” Virgil babbled. His green-brown eyes were blown wide in fright, and Logan could sense the panic radiating through the screen.

I will be fine, Dad. Focus on your breathing, please? Virgil giggled, slightly hysterical, and shook his head.

“L, don’t worry about me, okay? It’s my job to worry about you.” Logan nodded, still confused, but let it go. Virgil smiled, promised to be there as soon as possible, and hung up, leaving Logan alone with his two friends. Wirt crouched down, still looking nervous, and offered a shaky smile.

“Hey, Logan. You’ll be okay. We’re here for you,” he stammered, smiling awkwardly in support. Logan nodded and sniffed, tears still flowing down his cheeks. His two friends scooted in, cuddling him and offering comfort while glaring viciously at anyone who dared to look in their direction. That was how Virgil found them fifteen minutes later, out of breath and panting. Logan looked up, tears mostly dried, and Virgil jerkily dropped to his knees, taking Logan’s face in his hands.

“Oh, sweetie, are you okay? Here, let’s go home, I’ll get you some tea and Crofter’s and we can talk, okay?” Logan nodded and allowed Virgil to pull him up as the halfway bell rang. Mika and Wirt stood up as well, one with eyes blazing and the other with eyes filled with worry. “Thank you for helping him, you two. You’re welcome to come over later if you’d like.”

“We most likely will, thank you Mr. Everhart. Take care, Logan, okay?” Mika replied, smiling softly. With that, Virgil lead Logan out of school, fully intent on showering his son with all the love and support he needed. When they were gone, Mika turned to Wirt, teeth gritted and eyes blazing.

“I’m about to go rip Roman a new one. Are you with me?” Wirt nodded shakily, and with that, the two stalked out, fully intent on chewing Logan’s twin out until his ears bled and he realized exactly what he had done.

“Roman Everhart! I need to have a word with you!” a crisp British accented voice yelled, the anger in their voice easily cutting through the din of the cafeteria. Everyone shushed immediately, eyes turning to see the tall form of Mika Kirkland storming through the crowds of high schoolers, eyes blazing with the fury of a million suns from a thousand solar systems. Those who had their backpacks in the walkway quickly moved them, scared of what Mika would do to their belongings in their angered state. Roman, the person Mika clearly had a vendetta against, looked up, face painted in confusion. Why did one of Logan’s best friends need to talk to him, especially while looking so angry?

Mika came to a stop in front of Roman’s table, fists clenched and gritted teeth bared. “Did you or did you not promise Logan you would be there to help him with his poetry presentation?” Roman blinked, still confused, and nodded. That was tomorrow, though, wasn’t it? Why was Mika yelling at him over it now?

“Then why the hell weren’t you there?” Mika growled. Roman’s blood froze as reality dawned on his slow, stupid, awful brain. That… that had been today. He had missed something important to Logan after promising to be there for him… no wonder his brother hated him! Roman bolted to his feet, wild with desperation.

“I… Mika, where’s Logan? I… I have to go, I have to… I have to fix this,” Roman gasped. His friends all looked at him, concerned, and Shiloh slowly rose to his feet, hand outstretched to offer comfort.

Mika’s eyes drained of most of their anger and instead filled with pity. “He’s at home after having a panic attack in the physics room. I think we should take this somewhere private, yes?” Roman nodded, still in shock, and began to climb out of the lunch table. He tripped and fell, legs trembling too badly to support him. Shiloh dived to catch him, murmuring reassurances and affirmation to him in an attempt to help. Mika crouched down and grabbed Roman and Shiloh’s backpacks before standing back up. “Come on, Shiloh, I know a place.” With that, the three of them set off, desperate to fix this situation before the hurt became any worse for any party involved.

Even with only 20 minutes of lunch left, Mika’s reputation as the perfect class president with a 4.0 GPA and a perfect record allowed the three of them to get permission to miss fifth hour in order to have a chat with the school psychologist. In reality, Mika convinced xyr physics teacher to allow them to sit and talk in her office to sort this out, which she was more than happy to oblige. Mika set to work brewing up more coffee while Shiloh settled Roman in and began to calm him, muttering soothing nothings until he was sure Roman was calm enough to be present for this conversation. Mika walked over balancing three mugs and settled in, years of ballet lending a certain grace to xyr movement that Roman could only wish he had. Xe took a long, slow sip of coffee and began.

“Roman. I apologize for yelling at you. I see now that you genuinely forgot, and while I am still a bit angry because of how upset Logan is, I am not angry at you, per say.” Roman nodded and took his coffee with shaking hands. Shiloh squeezed his shoulder for support while Mika continued. “Now, why do you think Logan is upset?”

“I… we promised, together, that we’d try and actually be there for each other… I’d spend less time with my friends, Logan would try to talk to me about his feelings… and I fucked up,” Roman whispered, staring into the black depths of his drink.

“Hey, Roman. Human error. This isn’t your fault,” Shiloh insisted.

“Well it sure isn’t Logan’s!” Roman yelled back, voice cracking. Mika jumped, clearly startled, but Shiloh took this in stride, used to Roman’s emotional outbursts.

“Of course it isn’t, but it’s not yours either! These things happen, Roman! Stop blaming yourself!”

“Could you two maybe stop yelling, please? There is class going on outside,” Mika broke in, voice wobbling a bit. From a distant corner of Roman’s mind, he remembers Logan telling him that Mika and Wirt were both sensitive to loud noises, especially when it came from other people who appeared angry. Roman forced himself to calm down and quiet down, not wishing to scare anyone else.

“Yeah… so. What… what can I do to fix this?” Roman murmured, eyes screaming apologies in Mika’s general direction. Mika finished xyr mug of coffee and poured another, much to Roman’s shock and horror. How much coffee did this person drink?!

“First: I’d work on communication with Logan. He’s noticed that you’ve been slipping a bit in talking to him about important things in the past week or so, and I agree with him that you do need to work on that. For God’s sake, Roman, he’s your twin. He’s not going to judge you for having feelings.”

“Yeah, Ro, you do have a habit of bottling and not talking about the things you need,” Shiloh added, smiling apologetically. Roman nodded and finished his coffee, the warm beverage filling him with heat missing from his soul right now.

“I can do that. Start talking to Logan about feelings and stuff more,” Roman muttered. Mika nodded, a slight smile tugging at the corners of xyr lips.

“That’s all I can ask. Second: Try and include Logan more with your friends. Not just choose him over your friends, since that is a situation no one wants.” Shiloh nodded at Mika’s assessment, and Mika took that as permission to continue. “Start inviting him to sit with you at lunch once a week or so when Wirt and I are too busy with other things, for instance. Invite him to afterschool activities. Start planning sleepovers with him and your friend group. Anything will help, I assure you.”

“But… Logan doesn’t like crowds, and he doesn’t like my friends. How do I work around that?” Roman seemed genuinely confused and upset. Mika and Shiloh shared a look, understanding passing between green eyes, before Shiloh turned to Roman.

“Ro. We all don’t know Logan well enough to like him or not. This is a good first step, I promise.” “And Logan doesn’t dislike your friends, he just doesn’t know them well enough,” Mika added, second cup of coffee during this conversation almost gone. Roman blinked. He… had not considered that, had he? Whoops.

“Third: Be patient. Logan likes to pretend he doesn’t have emotions, but that is a blatant lie and we all know it. Emotional pain takes time to heal, so just… be patient with him. If you do those things, Roman, you can at least start to repair your relationship before it’s too late.” With that, Mika poured xemself a third mug of coffee and settled back, waiting for Roman’s response.

Roman allowed Mika’s advice to swirl around his head, and he pondered how he could begin to implement this plan. Logan was at home right now, most likely bawling his eyes out (that caused a harsh pang of pain to erupt in Roman’s heart; he’d never liked his brother in pain, especially not crying) and believing that Roman hated his guts. He needed to fix this now, and honestly, Mika’s idea seemed to be the best way to do that. Mika knew Logan even better than Roman did at this point (and didn’t that thought just sting), and Roman knew that xe knew how Logan operated better than most.

“I… thank you, Mika. I think I can try to start tonight,” Roman choked out. Mika nodded and sipped at the coffee, smiling lightly.

“Of course, Roman. I will always be happy to help. Logan cares for you, and I care for Logan. Therefore, I care for you.” Roman blinked. That… no wonder Logan was friends with Mika, they thought in very similar ways.

Shiloh snorted. “Wow, no need to sound so formal, Your Highness.” Mika choked on xyr coffee for a brief instant before recovering.

“I… alright then. I was… not expecting that,” xe coughed. “Now, you two could head back to class if you wished.”

“Nah. I’d rather stay here and make sure Ro’s calm,” Shiloh answered. “I kind of want to stay here and just watch videos and talk about other fun things,” Roman chirped. Mika sighed, clearly conflicted, before nodding and scooting next to the two extroverts.

“Well, there is this nice YouTuber who makes writing videos and is just a dork who loves his cat. I would not object to watching his content,” Mika said as xe pulled out xyr laptop. The three of them settled in to watch light-hearted videos and ignore their problems, just like teenagers should.

“Okay, Logan, sit down, sweetie, I’ll make you hot cocoa, just stay here and don’t die, please?” Virgil babbled, setting Logan down on the couch before dashing into the kitchen. Why was he so useless when it came to emotions? Patton was so much better, but Patton was at work and wouldn’t be home for a few hours, leaving Virgil alone to comfort his crying son. Said crying son was curled into a ball, salt water soaking into the skin of his arms because his sweater sleeves were pushed back to prevent damage. Virgil’s heart broke for his son and he finished making the cocoa as quickly as possible, desperate to get back and comfort his son. He dashed back out to the living room, careful not to spill a drop of the comforting beverage, before sitting next to his son and handing over the cocoa.

“So, L, what’s wrong?” Virgil whispered. Logan spent a few minutes in silence, drinking his cocoa, before shakily raising a hand and beginning to sign.

Roman promised to help me with my presentation… and he didn’t show up. He forgot me and abandoned me again… Virgil’s blood absolutely boiled and he had to force himself to take deep breaths so as not to let his anger show. No matter how angry he got, he would not frighten his son. But he was going to have some words with Roman when he got home.

“Hey… I can’t say that Roman didn’t mean it, or that he just forgot, or anything else, since I’m not him and wasn’t there. I can, however, say that I am here for you, and we’ll solve this whole mess together, okay?” Virgil answered. Logan nodded, tears still streaming down his face, and took a long sip of his hot cocoa before leaning into his Dad. Virgil lifted an arm and pulled Logan closer, sighing sadly. He didn’t like seeing his son so sad, especially when it was the fault of his other son, and he hated feeling useless like this. He could, however, try and make this better, and that’s exactly what he was going to do. If that meant making hot cocoa, he would. If it meant giving advice, he would. If it meant being a pillow to cry into, he would. He just needed to make sure that Logan was okay, and, come hell or high water, he would make it happen. For now, though, he sat there with his quiet son, sipping hot cocoa and watching space and nature documentaries until Logan fell asleep. When he did fall asleep finally, Virgil slipped his phone out and texted Patton. He still had a couple hours until Roman got home, but when he did, the two of them were going to have some words. This needed to be fixed, now, and Virgil would make sure it was. He would not allow his children’s relationship to fall apart, not this easily, not when he could help fix it.

Virgil didn’t realize that he too fell asleep. He only noticed when he was shaken gently awake by soft, unfamiliar hands. “Mr Everhart, please wake up. Roman is home, and he wants to talk to Logan,” Wirt’s voice came from above. Virgil blinked awake, still cuddling Logan, to find his son’s friend standing over him, brow crinkled in worry. Behind Wirt stood Roman and Mika, Logan’s other friend, one sheepish and one angry. Three guesses as to which was which, and the first two don’t count. Virgil quickly woke up the rest of the way and stood, cracking his spine as he fixed Roman with a flat glare.

“I think I need to have a talk with Roman first, if that’s alright?” he asked, making sure to keep his voice light while his emotions were anything but. Mika and Wirt were wise and left quickly, Mika stopping to gently scoop up Logan. Smart boys, those two. No wonder Logan was friends with them. Logan’s choice in friends was not Virgil’s current concern, however, and he turned his attention to his other son, eyes icy.

“Roman. What happened.” This was not a question; this was not a debate. This was a serious talk about the state of Roman and Logan’s emotions and relationship, and Virgil needed Roman to know that.

Roman sighed and looked down, sorrow oozing off of him. “I… I was supposed to help Logan with his poetry presentation… and I blew him off for my friends. Everyone is telling me it was an accident and that I just forgot, but… I don’t know.” Tears started to pool in his eyes, and Virgil bit his lip. He didn’t like seeing his kids sad. How was he going to fix this?!

Virgil pulled Roman into a hug, gently rocking him back and forth. “Hey, Ro. I’m not mad, okay? Well, no, I’m a bit angry at the situation, but that’s because I don’t like seeing you two hurt. I care about you, okay? I… I just want you and Logan to be okay.” Roman started crying harder and squeezed Virgil back, burying his face in the writer’s shoulder. Virgil started to cry as well, and as one, the two of them collapsed onto the couch, allowing their emotions to finally leave their souls. Virgil could not tell how long they sat there, simply talking and crying, but at some point, Patton came home and sat on Roman’s other side, pulling his husband and his son into a warm, comforting hug.

“It’ll all be okay, loves,” Patton murmured, voice clogged with tears. “Everything will be okay.” “Will it, though?” Roman whispered, voicing what they were all thinking. Virgil couldn’t answer that, and neither could Patton. No one really knew whether things were going to be okay. It was up to Roman and Logan to fix this, and no matter how much it pained them, this was one thing they couldn’t help their children with.

“Yes. You’re trying, Roman. That tells me that things will be okay,” Patton whispered. Roman nodded, sniffed, and stood up, roughly wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. He squared his shoulders, set his jaw, and smiled.

“Now, I need to go talk to Logan. We’re fixing this.” With that announcement, he strolled off, leaving Virgil and Patton alone.

“Do… do you think they’ll be okay?” Virgil murmured. Patton dropped a kiss into Virgil’s hair, hugging him close.

“I don’t know, love. I don’t know.”

Notes: I promise, things will get better. Hope you liked it!

#sanders sides #logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #twin logince #moxiety #paternal moxiety #angst #fluff #hurt/comfort #selectively mute logan #i am an evil author #writing trade #chapter two #only time #also some ocs #and characters from other fandoms

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slashertalks · 5 years

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So I really just want to bang this out— you’re gonna have to forgive any sloppy organization with what I’m about to throw at y’all.

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it a thousand times over: I firmly believe that the Rob Zombie remake of Halloween is the superior Halloween film. Out of all of them. It’s a darker, grittier, edgier version, yes; it’s a Rob Zombie film. It’s also a film with much more emotional depth than any of the others, and I feel that the second one in particular treats Laurie with more fairness with regards to her mental state and the expectations of others around her. I’ll expand on this in a bit.

Right, so, clearly that’s an example of a remake surpassing (in my opinion) the original. I respect any differing opinions and will happily acknowledge that the original John Carpenter version is a classic, but I stand firm by my own opinion that it’s a classic film that happens to suck shit compared to its remake. What, then, about the other main focus on this bit of writing? My Bloody Valentine 3D. So, I said in the little preview thing that I thought My Bloody Valentine 3D sucked shit too; it’s a remake that fell completely flat compared to its original, a reverse of the Halloween situation. But then, there are other remakes than Rob Zombie’s Halloween that have outshined the original; John Carpenter’s The Thing is a clear example. Why have I specifically chosen Rob Zombie’s remake? Three things: gritty tones, vulgarity, and mental health.

Rob Zombie movies make heavy use of grit and dark color palettes, and his remake of Halloween is no exception, but he balances this all out with bright colors as well. The opening scene of Halloween (2007) makes use of a lot of nice blues, oranges, whites, and pink. It IS muted, but not gray— this is important: you can have a muted color palette without turning everything a dull grayish-[insert color]. He maintains his visual aesthetic while keeping the colors distinct, letting them pop just enough to signify that things are, to some extent, normal. Even when the film turns dark and Michael begins killing, there are a lot of blues and teals, not browns or flat grays, which keeps things visually interesting and prevents anything from looking overly washed-out.

On the other hand, in My Bloody Valentine 3D, from a beginning scene in a bar to the end confrontation in the mine, it’s.... brown. Not that there’s anything wrong with brown, but as a muted color palette it becomes boring. Blue is a color that clearly conveys a mood, and the brown of the leaves and purple of Laurie’s shirt can still come through as a pop of color. Warm browns can also contain a lot fo really nice, welcoming shades, and really dark browns can be equally pleasing. The main issue with the use of a mainly brown color palette with My Bloody Valentine 3D is that it’s a muted brown, and it doesn’t allow for the combinations of colors that Rob Zombie uses. It’s a muddy, grayed-out mess that tries and fails to be a moody, muted palette. They do switch between a grey-blue and a grey-brown, but it doesn’t do much to help except make the ugly mud brown of Jensen Ackle’s “Bland Horror Protag” costume stand out even more.

The one pop of real color in that bar scene? A tiny little neon sign. The original My Bloody Valentine also uses a muted color palette (the weather is pretty grey and a lot of the scenery is dark, so it’s kind of a forced palette), but there are lots of bright(!!!) reds from Valentine’s Day decorations (versus that muted brown-pink of the hearts pictured above), and bright colors on the miner’s clothes— Sylvia has a pretty lavender top, Howard wears a lot of red consistently, John’s got ginger hair, so on and so forth.

As for grit, I find it seriously amusing that the original My Bloody Valentine had much grosser gore than its remake, which was clearly trying to up the “grit.” Where Rob Zombie makes use of blood and gore, of grit, as an aesthetic, it feels much more natural coming from his films; same with the gore in the original My Bloody Valentine. The remake tried to make everything grittier, with their obligatory naked woman kill and their hospital scene where the room is entirely drenched in blood, it all winds up losing its shock value. Its main point wasn’t to successfully scare, it was to outdo its predecessor. Rob Zombie wasn’t fighting back against the original Halloween, he was making his own movie. By using a system of aesthetics already established in his films, one that he works well with, the heavy gore, nudity, and vulgarity in the Halloween remake wind up coming across as natural.

On the topic of vulgarity, I found the swearing in My Bloody Valentine 3D laughable. It’s not as if people don’t swear, but it’s another thing that comes across as forced, as if the film is trying to be “My Bloody Valentine But Edgy” instead of a good movie. Casting is also important here. They may only try to pass Jensen Ackles off as a teenager for a few minutes, but there’s something hilarious to me about seeing a thirty year old man trying to be eighteen, and then seeing the same thirty year old man acting his own age, and the movie expecting me to go “yeah, that was absolutely a teenager and this is absolutely an adult, and they’re not at all exactly the same but in slightly different clothes.” Rob Zombie cast an eighteen year old to play Laurie Strode, and while she does swear more and make sexual jokes it doesn’t feel forced— teenagers do act like that, but it’s just totally laughable when an adult tries to act like a teenager. Casting an actual teenager, even if only for a short prequel scene, makes all the difference in the world when it comes to believability.

Then, there’s mental illness. Both of the originals, John Carpenter’s Halloween and the 1981 My Bloody Valentine, don’t really tackle mental illness. Yeah, Michael’s been in a mental hospital, and yeah, Axel clearly has some issues after watching Harry Warden murder his father, but it’s not the main issue of the film. Rob Zombie’s second Halloween movie (2009) and My Bloody Valentine 3D both explicitly tackle mental illness, and again... My Bloody Valentine 3D fails. Horribly.

I think the reason I don’t have a problem with Laurie’s mental issues being so explicitly discussed in RZ’s Halloween 2 is that he doesn’t expect her to hold herself together. She’s a kid who went through something traumatizing and has no idea how to cope. Her main support network, both of the Bracketts, are ALSO trying to cope in different ways. The Sheriff is trying to move on without really confronting that he almost lost Annie; Annie is also trying to move on, and maybe she’s succeeding a little more than her father since she isn’t as uptight about Halloween coming around again. It also isn’t that Laurie’s not trying to move on, but that she’s explicitly struggling and acts out the way someone who feels trapped in a corner often does. Her breakdown isn’t scary, it’s tragic. She’s sad, scared, angry and confused and her death isn’t meant to shock. Sheriff Brackett doesn’t call for Laurie to be shot when he sees her at the end, he shouts for his men to stop shooting but they don’t listen. Sheriff Brackett, even seeing his adopted daughter so unhinged, doesn’t condemn her; it’s the actions of other people that cost him both of his daughters in the same damn night.

My Bloody Valentine 3D also tackles trauma following a set of murders, but instead of presenting Tom’s trauma as something sad, it’s a cheap shock opportunity. “He’s not who you think he is.” “Get out of the car.” Tom is presented as dangerous because of his mental illness; someone to be avoided, to be killed. Why incapacitate the mentally ill man when you can just shoot him instead? It’s not surprising that mental illness is used as a cheap scare in horror movies, but it was particularly upsetting in light of this remake because the original My Bloody Valentine is SO charming. The original is such a deeply enjoyable, original slasher film that having such a cheap shit “plot twist” is angering. I noted that Axel obviously has issues in the original, and it’s worth noting that when he’s buried and one of the rescuers shouts that he’s alive Sarah rushes back to him and tries to help pull Axel out. Again, as with RZ’s Halloween 2, she doesn’t demonize Axel or call for him to be killed, she tries to hold his hand and help uncover him— he’s still redeemable in her eyes, still worth being saved. My Bloody Valentine 3D’s Tom, though? Who is explicitly mentally ill? Screw it, let’s kill him.

Good remakes can absolutely be made. Good edgy remakes are possible, if more difficult, but this? These pitfalls of overly-muted, cheap shock-filled movies whose big twists are “ooo look we made a character mentally ill and that makes them SCARY” with no other substance behind them? That ride on the coattails of superior films without ever attempting to stand on their own two feet? It’s hot bullshit, man, and horror as a genre deserves better. The original My Bloody Valentine deserves better. We, as viewers, and especially mentally ill viewers deserve so much better. My Bloody Valentine 3D epitomizes everything I find infuriating about modern horror remakes, and this piece doesn’t even touch on the absolutely bland, flat performances from all of the actors. I’ve never been so bored, disappointed, and angry about a remake like this. I generally either avoid them or hold some hope that they’ll be halfway decent, but this? Fuck this movie.

#my bloody valentine 3D

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vanaera · 6 years

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Missed Calls

Synopsis | Namjoon realizes everything is amiss right after you dropped the greatest plot twist in his life. Now terribly confused about what he’s supposed to do, he starts to just avoid everything that may connect him to you. Luckily, you’ll never get tired to remind him he’s missing something important: he doesn’t have to be alone and that...he doesn’t have to watch your face on TV screens anymore when he can have all of you for himself in a single call.

Genre | Fluff with humor and a tinny bit of angst

Wordcount |3,776

A/N | This is a sequel to Unread Messages (I’m tagging you @spiicyari as per your request!) This will be another drabble series of mine, so expect random updates on this one too! (I will edit a header for this once I finally have a free time). Majority of this fic is inspired by the recent events in my life. Enjoy reading!

Namjoon wakes up in his dark bedroom with the heavy silence pressed against his chest. He doesn’t need his glasses to see the pitch-black screen of his phone by his side, unlit with zero notifications. He turns to the other side of the bed, tearing his eyes from the said gadget. The unfamiliarity of the black screen being just black for too long taunts him to open it and just ask you if everything was a desperate mirage of his mind or not. It’s strange, too surreal, too good to be true that his Sun that talked with him through his every struggle is the same person as the Y/N he’s been dying to at least greet with a “hi”. And Namjoon knows anything that is too good can only exist in fantasies and dreams, such as him and Y/N finally, actually talking to each other.

He closes his eyes and buries himself deeper in his sheets, with hopes that it can also drown the thoughts surrounding you and the factual probability of you actually writing a song about him. Needless to say, he woke up too soon for the hours to lift the heavy bags off his eyes along with a sudden urge to consume two mugs of caffeine to get him through another tiring day.

“I didn’t imagine you’ll be this fucking handsome, god, I should have fixed myself.”

“Namjoon?”

“Huh?” Namjoon sits straight up, papers and pen dropping onto the floor and before he can kneel down to pick them up, he nudges his phone off his desk. Jimin saves it for him just in time.

“Jesus Christ hyung, what’s with you recently?” Jimin hands him his phone, forehead furrowed in concern.“You look like you just woke up from death.”

“Wow, thanks for the compliment,” Namjoon mutters, eyes fleeting to the notification bar of his cell. Still blank and black as always. He tucks it in his pocket. “I always look horrible, no need to point it out.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Jimin seats himself across him, chin jut out against his crossed arms. “You’ve been too…disoriented lately. I mean you’re always disoriented but this week was really different. You even walked into a pole yesterday. What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, just…woke up from the wrong side of the bed.” Yeah, probably he did, Namjoon thinks.

“Alright, if you say so,” his friend turns to the front just the moment their Philosophy professor enters the room.

Namjoon heaves a sigh. It’s not that he didn’t trust Jimin with his problems; the kid has been with him through thick and thin (even when he’s literally thinning out last year because of his schedule and Jimin religiously have to get into his thick skull that he has to eat). It’s just… Once you’re presence has become tangible to another, it becomes easier for them to map out who you are which also makes it easier for them to nitpick each part of you. And Namjoon can’t let his friends see him as a burden. That’s why he prefers talking them with you. Everything is easy for him – relaying his embarrassing stories and exploding outbursts through a digital screen with no condescending eyes to judge him; entrusting his secrets to a person on the other end of the world which is completely detached from his own; baring himself open to an unknown face he can just hit up with a message without being that vulnerable in front of another person.

But now, you have a face in his mind, a face too familiar, a face everyone knows, and he doesn’t know if he can look at you the same way as before. How can he? He didn’t imagine the girl he loved in his own little fantasy will be actually you, the first female friend he had a platonic relationship. You even said so when you first exchanged names!

SunnyY/N 8:30 PM

Platonic relationships are so underrated.

MonJoon 8:31 PM

Yeah, I second that!

MonJoon 8:32 PM

I’m Joon btw. What can I call you?

SunnyY/N 8:34 PM

Just Sun! ☀ ☀ ☀

“Just Sun?” Hell yeah, you’re the Sun to every fan like him, Jimin, and everyone else that loves you and your craft. Thinking about it, everything you made up perfectly coincide with everything Y/N does. You travelling around with “your parents” and Y/N’s promotions overseas also start the same time frame. You being hella busy “with your folks that you can’t even touch your phone” is in the same schedule as Y/N’s concert tour. You being unable to meet up when you’re in Korea just in time when Y/N is currently in Korea for an encore concert. You spamming the convo space about your loneliness the same day Y/N received tremendous backlash on the release of No More You.

Fuck it, Namjoon slumps his head against his desk. A loser like him is a million miles away from a star like you. You’re able to reach thousands of other better people out there so why settle on a plain joe like him? How did he manage to actually make friends with you? But most importantly, why did you let him be?

“Namjoon, care to tell what’s so interesting with your notebook?”

Fuck. Why now?

“Y/N, seriously get off the phone, you’re going on live in two minutes.”

“Wait manager Kang, just a minute,” you pulled your cerise lips in a tight smile before looking back at your phone, fingers somewhat numb from the minutes spent on it pressed against the screen.

Kang Solmi just turns away, already used to your antics. You’ve always been stuck to your phone since she handled you two years ago and until now, she can’t understand your fascination in the illuminated screen that have kept you up all night and all day.

Well, it was different in other days, you usually tell her. “Just a message I have to check,” “Just one more look!” and “This person is important to me” - all of these already worn out on your tongue but you wouldn’t choose otherwise. You can’t open to her that you’ve been craving a normalcy in your life and this online friend of yours happened to give you just that. You can’t just blurt out too that you’ve been telling a stranger about things you’ve promised to keep exclusive only for the company, much less things you didn’t disclose even to your family and friends. And most importantly, you can’t tell her that stranger has been your muse for one year now that you can’t even control the rapid thrumming of your heart whenever you wake up to his “good morning, hoe.” For god’s sake, it doesn’t even sound romantic!

But all of the things you can’t do, you can’t drag the screen down enough to change the things you sent in your convo space with MonJoon. It’s still frozen to the last message you sent him.

SunnyY/N 1:04 AM

But I can’t wait that long, what if I say I want to meet you now?

Shit, you must have freaked him out. You haven’t met him personally in the first place and you already scared him off. You bite your lip and scrunch your face in annoyance. “Why did I have to be drunk that day? Out of all days – and his birthday too! Why, why, why?! What did I even tell him that in the first place?!”

“Hey, Namjoon, You’re idol’s performing live.”

Namjoon passes by Seokjin, eyes immediately looking at the mini television they bought with hard-earned money to see the very reason of his sleepless nights singing her heart out to My Only Friend.

The TV they bought was to satisfy Seokjin’s need for Netflix and his need to watch you on a larger screen without the possibility of him shattering it into shards. Well now, he could actually hear a resounding crack on his chest. It’s not real - you’re both born to be in different worlds, it’s just your imagination. “Yeah, okay,” Namjoon shrugged, legs fast as he heads for his bedroom.

“’Yeah, okay?’” Seokjin looks at him perplexed, tone incredulous making him stop midway. “What have you eaten? You’re usually salivating just the moment your eyes land on her.”

“I do not!”

“You do!” Seokin presses, expecting to see the weird expressions his friend will put on his face.

However, he didn’t expect to see the man huff in annoyance with an indignant scowl on his face. Namjoon only looks this scary when he’s really annoyed. Seokjin immediately drops the act and turns off the TV to follow his friend’s trudging.

“Hey, what’s wrong, Joon? Sorry I was just teasing you.”

Namjoon only turns on his back mumbling, “Nothing, I’m fine.”

However, unlike Jimin, Namjoon knows Seokjin doesn’t entertain any bullshits.

“Seriously, just tell me what’s bothering you. You look like a zombie these days, you almost finished our stack of coffee, and you’re being moody as hell like a 14-year old pubescent girl. What’s really up with you these days?”

Namjoon looks away. He can’t just tell Seokjin the one he’s watching on the screen a few seconds ago was the same person he’s been going on and on to their friends as “Namjoon’s online girlfriend.” His friend will laugh his ass off and that’s the least he wanted to have in his shitty day before he goes for the night to tutor some brats.

In his silence, Seokjin keeps his intense stare on him before he sticks out his index towards him. Namjoon waits, feeling his lungs squeezing -

“Don’t tell me…you’re in a fight with your online girlfriend!”

Oh right, Seokjin may not tolerate bullshits but it’s fine if he’s the one who gets to do so.

“Damn you.”

Namjoon closes his door, a relieved sigh escaping from his lips as he hears Seokjin’s laughter echoing behind him along with the sound of the TV turning on to show a different artist taking the stage.

Well, he can’t blame Seokjin from making that conclusion when it’s true he’s been like this when he’s going through arguments with you online. The first one was last year when he insensitively sent you “you’re lucky you get the hell out of school because of your parents” in his sleepy haze while writing excruciating six essays he has to pass the next day. He immediately knew he fucked up when you didn’t reply for the next two days even though he knew you read his last message. Cue then the next three days he’s been quite snappy and sulky before Seokjin demanded him to get his shit straight and make an apology message for you. It was easily resolved. You forgave him and you went back to the same lively internet friend of his.

The second fight you had was still fresh in his mind. It was eight months ago when you asked him “Why are you letting yourself become an underdog to them?” in the middle of his rant about the bullshit of Yoomi, the bossy bitch classmate of his in Arts who thinks what she comes up with should always be followed by everyone. It offended him way more than anyone has thrown insult at him - probably the most offensive remark he received from someone - and it really hurt that it came from you, the person he regarded the only one who can really really understand him. The cold silence ensued for only two days before you immediately messaged him “sorry, it was really an asshole move on my part,” and though Namjoon finds it hard to easily forgive anyone who does him wrong, it was that day he realized how he can easily soften up to you and unknowingly let you settle yourself back in your special place in his mundane-as-ever life.

But this time – this time, it’s different. He’s not even dealing with any cold war with you through the screen, but the moment he taps the icon of Send Me, he just finds himself stuck frozen with tingles running down his spine. You don’t message him after the bombing video call that threw him off his every expectation of the actual you behind the screen and – and it’s already been a week. Are you mad at him? Did you regret what you did? Or did you suddenly want to disentangle yourself from the mess of his life? Namjoon doesn’t know but at this moment he wants to cry. And so he does, sobs muffled by his clenched fist as he seeks comfort in his bed. He knows he’s gonna break down sooner or later and he’d rather do it now before he goes off to teach some spoiled brats later to fill his sad piggy bank for his MonStudio.

Another week passes with Send Me still silent on the other side. Namjoon doesn’t have the guts to check it from time to time recently, afraid he’ll send something that will worsen the situation. And though that helps him to put his personal turmoil at bay, it doesn’t help him with the disarray of thoughts and pent up feelings filling the expanse of his inner calmness to the brim. You’ve been his support system for two years now and Namjoon knows it’s partly his fault why he’s like this when he’s the one who put you in the pedestal as the only one person that can really understand him. But he can’t help it when you really do as what his title on you says.

You helped him get through heavy workloads with constant checkups you slipped while staying awake with him until he finished all his requirements.

SunnyY/N (2:35 AM)

Hey, you still up?

SunnyY/N (3:45 AM)

Don’t you dare sleep on me, let’s finish this!

SunnyY/N (4:01 AM)

We’ve done it, hoe! Now pass it! I’m gonna catch a shut-eye now. ;DDD

You gave him advice how to start reaching out from his introvert shell little by little just so he can make life easier for him

SunnyY/N (7:31 PM)

You don’t have to become an extrovert! Just step out a little in the open, I promise it will work.

SunyY/N (1:20 AM)

Don’t hate yourself too much. You know you can’t have everything under control, right?

SunnyY/N (3:56 PM)

I’m gonna send my love to you in hopes you’ll love yourself a little more each day, hoe. Here’s some ♥ ♥ ♥ from me :D

And when he feels like giving up, you’re always there to push him back in his game.

SunnyY/N (12:37 AM)

Hey, you have to continue this. You have to shift to Music after this!

SunnyY/N (11:58 PM)

Joon, you know you have to endure this. Mon Studio, remember?

SunnyY/N (2:21 AM)

I’ll come to your studio someday and make great songs with you, so just hang on, okay?

And now that you’ve been quite absent in his life, Namjoon knows he may easily just...burst, give up - lose control on the things he tries to keep at bay, especially now when he doesn’t need to have everyone know how much of a sorry loser he was.

“Namjoon?”

Namjoon’s eyes shot open at the recognition of Johnny’s voice on the other line. What the hell does their block’s president have to tellhim at fucking eleven o’clock in the fucking night?

“Hey Namjoon, do you hear me? I have a favor to ask you about the upcoming event in the uni.”

What the fuck, it’s already eleven o’clock and they’re calling me about school? Why did I even answer –

And then he hears the goddamn voice of Yoomi. “Namjoon, do you actually know what you will do?”

“Huh, what?”

“Don’t pretend you haven’t seen it. You ‘seen’ the reminder I sent on Messenger thirty minutes ago.”

Oh shit. The reminder Namjoon tapped on but didn’t actually read because the wonky internet suddenly caused the app to crash. Goddamn it, why does he and Seokjin have to forget to call the network –

“Hey Namjoon, you there? Speak up!”

Namjoon scrambles for his glasses, feet almost tripping on one another as he stands up. “Wait, wait, I’m getting up. I’m sorry I didn’t see the reminder; my net was shitty. Anyway, what is it that I have to do?”

“So basically, we had each group assigned to make their own tagline they’ll post in their Facebook update for the event, but we’re unsatisfied with what they made up so we’re gonna ask you to redo them instead – “

Wait, what? So this is the extra unnecessary event the block presidents planned? It’s not even graded, why do they have to stress on it too much? And why the hell should he redo the other’s work?!

“It wouldn’t be too much on you, right?” Yoomi rattles on, “given that you score perfect in most of our essays in class, hmm?”

Namjoon could already hear the warning bells of “this is bullshit” ringing by his ears and he could already imagine you scream “fucking hell no, bitch!” along with him to this whole bullshit scenario. But instead of voicing out his denial of the task suddenly thrust into him without his say in the matter, he finds his throat clogged up, unable to let the words be heard in the simple line connection. The cloudy haze in his sleep-deprived mind is also not helping in the situation. “Uhhm, uhh-“

“You don’t understand, Namjoon? You don’t understand? You just have to do this and then-“

He can’t deal with this right now. He presses the red icon of end call and puts the number in his phone’s blacklist. He knows it’s unnecessary but the panic in his veins doesn’t subside. It wasn’t until he pressed “leave the groupchat” where that damned task was messaged in was he finally able to sit down and breathe properly. His fingers are shaking, head suddenly pounding with long-withheld aggravation to these assholes who always have to disregard his consent in these activities –

“Why are you letting yourself become an underdog to them?”

Namjoon couldn’t take it anymore. He has to reach you.

Tapping the icon of Send Me, he presses the profile pic with your username to go into your convo space. He’s about to type everything that’s happening now but then – but then there’s missed calls and messages you sent earlier…this day?

SunnyY/n (5:26 PM)

Hey, Joon, I’m sorry I’ve been off the radar for two weeks. I’ve been thinking about the things I should say to you so as what happened the last time we talked wouldn’t turn that shitty but I guess I won’t be able to do so. I’m already shitty enough so I’m sorry you have to bear with me.

SunnyY/N (5:27 PM)

I’m sorry for shocking you that way. I didn’t intend to shake you out of your wits which probably scared you off from messaging me again.

SunnyY/N (5:30 PM)

I’m sorry again. I’ll be calling you until you pick up and I apologize this may come off irritating, but I just have to really talk with you again face to face.

A notification now pops up.

SunnyY/N is requesting for a video call. Accept? Decline?

Namjoon has never given out a reply so fast in his life.

The screen changes to the same room he has seen in the last call. But today, there’s no bottle in the vicinity, and Y/N – you are looking at him straight in the camera, face bare and eyes clear of any tears.

“Jo-Joon.”

At the sound of your voice, Namjoon knows it’s time to let out the things he’s been withholding for too long. It’s his turn to cry now and as the tears run down his cheeks, you immediately do what only you can do to him – keeping him grounded. You let him rant out the things he’s been enduring all on his own – one of the spoiled brat he tutors stood him up in the library they’re supposed to meet, the scholarship he feels he’s about to fuck up with his recent unsatisfactory grades, and the shitty call of Johnny and Yoomi which is just so unfair on his part. He doesn’t mention his problem with you but you know it’s already implied when he looks at you beneath his lashes in sequences before he continues his words. It unsettles you that he has to have his guard up in front of you when you’ve been open to him for a very long time now. Anyway, you’d rather have him finally within your reach than have him completely disappearing for the worst two weeks of your life.

“I-I’m sorry for looking like this,” he sniffs, fingers frantically wiping his wet cheeks. “I probably look like the typical pitiful underdog, I just-“

“Joon, listen to me.” And Namjoon does. “You’re not an underdog, okay? You’re just doing your best at the moment, you always do. And these things – they’re just obstacles, okay? We’re gonna get through all of them, remember? You told me so in that long textpost of yours in Tumblr! Do you want me to go there and make a Namjoon protection squad?” you roll up your pale yellow sweater to show some “biceps” you wished you were actually working on, and this makes Namjoon laugh a little. You smile wider. He’s been defending you far too long, it’s your turn to have his back now. “‘Cause everyone’s been indirectly attacking you; I need to defend my hoe!”

“No need, I’m – I’m gonna be fine,” Namjoon shakes off, his form calming down from his sobs. You always know how to make him smile again right after another breakdown. Letting his eyes meet yours from the screen, he still feels everything is a dream conjured by his wild imagination. It’s still too good to be true that the person he watches from afar now watches him and only him in the middle of the night. He simply can’t wrap his head around the actual possibility of everything that’s happening is actually real.

You must have caught on his prolonged stare. “Are you – are you still weirded out this…is actually me?” You murmur but Namjoon still hears it. How can he not, when your voice was all that connected him to you when he hasn’t found out you’re actually SunnyY/N.

“I’m not weirded out. I-I’m still shocked.”

“With-with my bare face? I know I look horrible without make-up on and look-“

“You still look as pretty as I’ve ever known you.” And this shuts you up.

Namjoon takes in the image of you flushed and cheeks tinged in pink, the color making its way to his own blushing face. He can’t believe you’re actually blushing because of him. He’s still shy looking at you so closely so he casts his gaze down. “I-I don’t know if this is actually a dream or not – I-I don’t even know how to properly talk with you again- ‘cause I mean I’m your fan, and before you called me, you were just a fan, like me. By the way, I’m still fascinated how you just fangirled with me over you.”

Your chuckles resounding from the other line makes Namjoon think he’s in cloud 9. “I swear I actually enjoyed doing that with you. One of my best stress-relievers.”

“Fangirling over yourself?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Okay, noted.”

“But anyway, Namjoon, the friendship I formed with you with SunnyY/N is real and I hope you won’t change how you treated me through that convo space now that you know who I really am. I – I missed the normalcy I once had before my career suddenly put me in a place hard for me to personally reach anyone and – and I didn’t expect an online friend would give that comfort to me.”

Namjoon smiles. “Of course. I’m just shaken up, I just have to get used to talking to my idols face to face.” You chortled at that along with him. “I wouldn’t want to be suddenly hoe-less just because I’m shocked you were actually the only person who gets me in so many ways.”

“Promise me, you’ll be there for me just like how we used to for two years?” You put up your pinky in line with the camera.

“Promise me you’ll tell me anything beforehand before you surprise the hell out of me again.” Namjoon also puts out his pinky leveled with yours.

With a chuckle of “Promise!” just like how you type your promises in the convo space, the warmth Namjoon feels as he presses his pinky against the screen to meet yours felt too real.

“Also, promise me that you won’t snitch my account to random people. I don’t wanna get hacked.” And at that, Namjoon giggles along with you.

“Promise.”

Everything still feels like a dream. But your warm smile and comforting presence on the other side makes it hard for Namjoon to turn his back away from this one hell of an opportunity fate has given him.

It’s really good that this is real. He knows he has to bask longer in his side of paradise along with his sun.

Post A/N | Follow up! I’ve been working on requests recently so expect some of them to drop within the following weeks. Thank you for all your support! :D

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we-work-hard · 6 years

Text

Sweet One (Part 2 of 2)

Pairing: 18 year old High School football player AJ Styles (here he is in his kit) x OFC exchange student Marisa (you can choose where she’s from, that’s cool XD – English isn’t her first language, so lots of good choices)

Summary: It’s Marisa’s last night in America before going back home, and she wants to say goodbye to her sweet/cute/rough American boyfriend properly (on the Johnson High School football field in Gainesville… at midnight… with no pants on). Part 1 is here

Notes: I started this ten thousand years ago as a present for sweetheart @ajstylesworld, and I just got up the courage (sort of) to finish it

Tagging: Welp, I didn’t really tag anyone on the first chapter… and I don’t really write straight stuff that much… but I’m tagging peeps who were nice about the other one, and you can totally ignore this if you want :D @stylesmella @unabashedwwesmut @athoughtfulmindwrites @wweimaginewonderland @bethyl4life123 @justrae9903 @thephenomenonalkingofthebrogues @pixelatedmenace @cris1984love @chasingeverybreakingwave @scriptor @sarahmatthews7 @bigpixiefoot @your-darkdiva @castielscamander @shooting-star-cypress @stylesgirluk

Warnings: High School smut time, sex on a football field at midnight, mentions of Christianity, pre-marital fooling around, hopefully no typos (There Will Be Typos). I’d list what they do, but… yeah.

Sweet One

As she slumps down onto him in bliss, pleasure still pulsing through her body, she can feel him kissing at her forehead. He’s talking excitedly in a raspy whisper, but she can’t bring herself to concentrate on what he’s saying quite yet. She wants to enjoy the comfort of his sweaty body underneath her for longer, rubbing her face against his football jersey sleepily and winding herself around him tighter as the air around them starts to get colder, a breeze blowing through the football field. But the boy has no patience, rudely shaking her out of it to ask eagerly, “What now? What’s next?”

“Mmm… Slow down, boy…” She drags herself out of the tingly fog and turns her head up to look at him, resting her cheek on his shoulder with a sleepy grin, sighing happily. His eyes are shiny and excited, like a kid with a new toy, face flushed. He slides his hand out from between her legs and automatically reaches to sweep the hair out of her face with affection, then pauses, laughing gruffly with a little embarrassment, hand awkwardly hovering between them. She wonders what he’ll do next, resting her chin against him and watching.

His fingers glisten in the moonlight. He lets himself look at them with wonder and curiosity at what they’re coated with, what he’d just touched inside. He’s tasted her before, he liked it. She can tell what he wants to do.

“It’s okay – taste,” she coaxes, pushing his own fingers towards his mouth, helping him to slide the fingertips past his full pink lips and against his tongue. He’s too slow to stop her, eyes widening and mouth slackening with alarm, then tightening around his thick fingers.

“Hmm,” he lets out, his eyelids closing, bottom lip pulling. She gets that pulse between her legs again to see it, remembering his tongue on her – just that one time, when he wasn’t too scared to give her pleasure instead of just taking his and leaving her wanting. She can’t stop herself from grinding down against him again slightly with her hips, stroking his wrist, then his fingers, then the lips around; rubbing her thumb-pad on the crease of his mouth, feeling the wetness of his welling saliva. His eyelids open, blue eyes hot.

“The sin tastes good, yes?” she whispers, then laughs at the shock that plays out on his face.

He pulls his fingers out to protest, but she shushes him.

“I know other sins, AJ – I can teach you. Would you like to learn them?”

He swallows, his eyes searching her face, just a little frown between his eyebrows.

“Yes,” he whispers, voice shaking with need and nervousness.

“Would you like your own taste from my mouth next?” she whispers back with mischief.

He squirms under her at that, scrunching his face up with disgust. “No! Why would you say that-”

“Hey, hey, hey,” she giggles, making herself heavy and reaching for his wrists again, pinning them to the grass either side of his head. He’s all pouty like he gets when she goes too far, when she doesn’t let him be the Big Strong Boyfriend. Usually she’d go back to Sweet Submissive Girlfriend Mode, but not tonight. Tonight he gets to learn that women aren’t like that at all; not really. She has needs too, and she won’t push them down any more for him and his male pride; not on her last night with him.

“Don’t get silly, don’t get moody,” she chides, letting go of a hand to tug at his bottom lip and laugh. He pushes her fingers away with a tut.

“Don’t play with me, Marisa; it ain’t funny.”

“Ah… okay, I’m sorry, baby. I just want to have some fun with you. That’s okay?”

He sighs and looks down at where she’s sitting across his hips – his hardness hasn’t softened at all this whole time, still digging up against her, even through the apparent disgust at what just came out of her mouth. That intrigues her. She wonders excitedly – has he ever? – almost missing what he’s saying…

“… just don’t mess around with me. I haven’t done this stuff before, not with anyone else. It’s not funny to me.” His eyes are open and honest, nothing like they’d been in the first few days she’d known him. He’s vulnerable with her now, and that’s delicious to her – a boy putting his heart in her hands, his sensitive feelings. She’ll be careful with them… but she’ll push it – she can’t help herself.

She leans down and tips his head back to kiss his sweet curved mouth again, enjoying how quickly he kisses her back; so hungry, so eager for touch even after being angry a second before. She forces her tongue in his mouth, making him moan, wanting to taste more of him – but will he let her?

Pulling away and kissing across his face wetly, down his neck, she trails her hand between her own legs, bringing her fingers up to his mouth and pushing them in as she makes her way down his body, still clammy from the game earlier, now covered in a light sheen of fresh sweat. The feeling and sound of him sucking her fingers while he moans around them makes her want to touch herself again, but she can do that later with the memories of what comes next.

In the darkness, she can see how hard he is through the lycra of his football shorts, damp from her grinding. She presses her tongue against him and braces against his desperate bucking against her face.

“Marisa!” he gasps, groaning deeply when she licks against him, putting her hands on his hips and looking up at him, seeing his hands covering his own face. Him trying to hide from her, shaking.

“I want it – let me see it, let me suck it, AJ.”

“Oh, god. Oh god, okay,” he gasps, hurriedly helping her to undo the laces, grunting as their knuckles brush against him while they pull the material down over his sweaty hips. He’s beautiful, just like she knew he would be – thick, and almost cherry red at the tip. The smell of him makes her mouth water; the salt of his skin, the light chlorine smell from the sticky glaze he’s dripped into his underwear.

“Fuck, oh fuck-” he starts to chant while his hips twitch, seeing her studying him and what he looks like. “Don’t stare at me – oh god.”

She licks up his length with a flat tongue, pressing down against his hips and enjoying how much he shakes underneath her, and the groans as she sucks on the head, rubbing her tongue inside the slit and tasting his precum. It’s sweet and musky, tastes like his innocence and nastiness all together. She wants to swallow it all, steal it from him and keep it forever inside her, leave him filthy and wanting for the rest of his life.

She forces more of him inside and lets the head rub against the roof of her mouth, poke against her soft palette while she moans, feeling his balls tighten up where she holds and rubs at them between his legs.

“Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum… I’m gonna cum in your mouth-” he gasps out after a minute of her sucking, him holding himself taut to stop from grinding his pleasure out into her mouth. She wants to see it, pulling herself off of him and wiping his taste across her face, pulling at him fast and watching his hips bunch and flex against the feeling, white shooting out of him and over her hand, across his stomach; beautiful.

“Uhh, oh… fff- oh my God… so good… oh, fuck,” he gasps through his hands while he shudders and twitches, body undulating against the aftershocks.

She looks over him hungrily to fix it in her mind – his sweaty spiky hair, rough hands running over his face, heaving chest and glistening stomach, belly button twitching where his shirt has worked its way up. His half-hard cock, and the sweaty pelt of his groin, the crease where his hips meet his thighs; how soft they look. She wishes she could lay him out on a bed and see him naked completely; how beautiful his body must be underneath his clothes. Does he even realise?

She crawls up beside him and pulls his hands away to kiss him deep again, him kissing back and realising too late what he’s tasting. She pulls away and looks in his eyes to see his reaction – he looks back amused, eyes sparkling. A naughty boy; he’s tasted that before. She can’t help but rub at his mouth again, him looking at her so filthy like that.

“Nice?” she breathes against his face.

“Yes,” he whispers back with a smirk, sucking his bottom lip, picking up on what his honesty is doing to her. He pulls a leg over him again, settling his groin against hers to feel her heat, let her push against him, rubbing his hand over her ass through her dress and underwear, encouraging her to press against where he’s getting hard again.

“Bad, disgusting boy; dirty boy,” she gasps with a smile, his mouth smirking right back, chuckling with nasty glee.

“You like your boy dirty like this, huh?” he says to her, sending sparks of pure want through her. “You like this?”

He pulls her dress up so he can look at where they meet, how she’s rubbing herself against him through her panties on reflex, unable to control it. He catches her eye again and flashes his teeth in an arrogant grin, pushing up against her and biting his lip nastily.

“Come on, I want it,” she gasps out, turning over to her back and pulling him on top of her.

“Oh, shit… I don’t… I don’t know how-”

“It’s okay – I’ll show you,” she reassures him, stroking his hair back and pushing her tongue into his mouth again, rubbing it against his and feeling him moan. She should pull the condom out of her bra where she’d slipped it, ready for tonight; she should. She should make him put it on. But she doesn’t want to; pushes him up a little so she can work her panties down, him quickly pulling them down off of her legs, throwing them aside in haste and pushing her legs apart, looking at her there.

‘Please, just once more, just once,” he pants, sliding down her body and licking hard between her legs, making her growl and buck against his face to get his tongue inside. He obliges her – forcing it inside and flicking it in and out, moaning hotly, nose pushing against her clit hard in his hunger to rub his face in her wetness.

“Stop, stop – stop it, dammit,” she yells in her own language, hitting at his head and trying to buck him away, him holding her under her ass and squeezing while he pushes his head down.

He lets her go and scrambles back up, nuzzling his face against her neck while she pulls his hair, winding her legs around his waist. He’s back to full hardness, grinding and dripping against her, so she pushes him up to hold him, guide him to where she needs him, looking at his face, his soft mouth, how it makes an ‘o’ shape when he starts to push inside, their hips slowly meeting closer so he can sink home.

She’s tight, even though she wants this so bad. Her body always gets nervous for this, and he looks so unsure and scared, asks her if she’s okay, doesn’t it hurt?

No, it doesn’t hurt, just go slow, slow, not too fast – make love to me slow, pour your love into me and never forget me; always remember, every time you do this when I’m gone. Sweet one, sweet boy; all mine, just for tonight, just for now. Make it feel like forever.

…

He rests his head on her chest, breathing softly while she strokes her fingers through his soft wet hair, holds around him with her other arm, rubbing his back through his shirt. He sighs and makes contended sounds – sweet and sleepy, no macho pride anymore.

She can barely hear him when he starts to talk, whispering as if he’s scared to be heard.

“I wouldn’t do this with anyone else, just you. Even though, even though we shouldn’t have; everyone should wait… until-”.

“Marriage?” she says with a sad smile, rubbing the back of his neck and looking up at the stars above them, the night quiet.

“You don’t have to marry someone to keep them close. I’ll always be close.”

“But, you’re leaving,” he says sadly.

“In here,” she says, rubbing a finger against his forehead with fondness. “Close in here.”

“In there’s not enough.”

“I’m here now,” she says, pushing the bad feelings away again, trying to enjoy what she has now. She reaches to tweak at his nose, earning a huff and a hand lightly swatting hers away.

“Had you…” he mumbles, fumbling with the top of her dress. “Had you done this before?”

“Yes.”

He sighs.

“So I’m not your first,” he says mournfully, gently stroking at her skin with a finger.

“No. But I was yours. And that’s special.”

She keeps stroking his hair back from his forehead as he breathes out and settles back down against her, closing his eyes. She loves him, this sweet boy she’s leaving tomorrow. They’re young, and memories of this time will fade as they move through their lives, but he won’t forget what she gave him tonight, and what she took away. She smiles at that.

#I'm sorry for the typos and smaltz #have I spelled that right I bet I haven't #P.S. SAFE SEX ALWAYS OKAY #I'VE NEVER BEEN NEAR A DUDE WITHOUT A CONDOM AND YOU SHOULDN'T EITHER #aj styles #shit fic #fanfiction #filth #badness #*RUNS AWAY INTO THE NIGHT AND HIDES*

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twoidiotwriters1 · 4 years

Text

Written In The Stars X (Harry Potter xFem!Oc)

A/N: Making friends is hard and can be a little dramatic.

Words: 2,634

Warnings: None!

Series’ Masterlist

Previous chapter // Next chapter

Chapter Ten: The Slytherin Boy.

The next days had few pleasant surprises, one of them being Draco's face when he saw Ron and Harry happily entering the Great Hall the next morning.

Harry tried to get her attention during breakfast, the boys were talking about the thing that the dog could be guarding; he had his own suspicions and intended to make Mel support his ideas, but she was quite moody that morning.

After Hermione decided to stop talking to her, she felt lonely. Not that Harry and Ron ignored her, but it just wasn't the same, not even with Harry now that he had Ron. She thought that maybe the thing was that they were boys, they had more things in common... if that made any sense.

She ate her breakfast quietly, ignoring the pain in her chest every time she looked at Hermione, who kept refusing to even glance in her direction. She was bloody mad at Malfoy too, if it wasn't because of his idiotic dare, Hermione would still be her friend, she wouldn't feel so misfit.

The next surprise happened about a week after:

During breakfast, the owls arrived with a strange-looking package for Harry, several students had their eyes fixed on them, wanting to see what it was. A letter was delivered moments after, one that Mel read along with Harry and Ron.

'DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE.

It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everybody knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one.

Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch pitch at seven o'clock for your first training session.

Professor M. McGonagall'

"A bloody-" Mel stopped short before she could give it away, she looked up to meet Harry's eyes, happiness flooding through them.

They stood up at the same time, their breakfast long forgotten on the table. The three kids ran towards the marble stairs only to have them blocked by Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. Malfoy took the broom from Harry's hand and examined it.

"That's a broomstick," He said, with disgust that Mel knew wasn't directed towards the object, "You'll be for it this time, Potter, first-years aren't allowed them."

"It's not any old broomstick," Ron teased, "it's a Nimbus Two Thousand. What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty? Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same league as the Nimbus."

"What would you know about it, Weasley you couldn't afford half the handle," Malfoy snapped back. "I suppose you and your brothers have to save up, twig by twig."

"Careful there," Mel replied, "we might think you're jealous..."

"Not arguing, I hope, kids?" Professor Flitwick asked, appearing beside them.

"Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor," said Malfoy quickly.

"Yes, yes, that's right," said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harry, "Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?"

"A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir," said Harry, his voice trembling, "And it's really thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it."

Mel let out a short laugh that she covered with a cough, excusing herself and starting to walk upstairs. She heard two other pairs of feet coming behind her, Harry and Ron emerging at her sides. One look at their faces was enough to burst out laughing.

"Well, it's true," Harry chortled as they reached the top of the marble staircase. "If he hadn't stolen Neville's Remembrall I wouldn't be in the team..."

"So I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking rules?" Hermione was looking disapprovingly at the package in Harry's hand.

"I thought you weren't speaking to us?" said Harry.

"Yes, don't stop now," said Ron, "it's doing us so much good."

Hermione then looked at Mel, and for a moment she thought she'd seeing hurt in her eyes, almost as if she was asking her if she felt the same way.

She did not.

Hermione never asked, she just walked away.

That night Harry and Ron had to practically drag her back to their dormitory to see the new broom.

"Wow," Ron sighed.

That summed up pretty much every thought Mel had about it: It was pleasant to look at, impressive to look at, she fell in love with it.

Mel sat on the bed and softly let her fingertips run over the handle.

"It's beautiful," She glanced back at Harry, "you'll let me fly in it some time, Glasses?"

"Of course," He smiled, glad to see her in a better mood.

"Can I go to your practice?" She inquired.

"We have homework," Ron raised a brow.

"I finished yesterday," She said proudly, "so, what do you say?"

"I guess Oliver won't mind," He shrugged.

He walked out to the Quidditch pitch with Mel beside him.

"Can I ask you something?" The boy said.

"Sure," She tilted her head, "what thing?"

"Are you angry with me and Ron because of what happened with Hermione?" He scratched the back of his neck, "I know you liked her"

Mel sighed, shaking her head.

"I'm not angry with you. I wish you could be more polite, she only acts like that cause she feels pressured to be a good student, so her parents can feel proud. I get that feeling... but I'm not angry"

"Then why have you been so quiet around us?"

"I just feel that you and Ron understand each other better," She gave him a shy smile, "sometimes I even consider that... maybe you don't need me as much as before. That's one of the reasons why affected me so much when Hermione stopped talking to me."

"Mel," Harry blinked in surprise, "Why didn't you tell me you felt like that? Listen, I might talk to Ron a lot, but you're still my best friend. I would never stop talking to you!"

"I know you won't, but it's hard to feel like I belong, you know?"

"You belong. I don't know what would I do without you," Harry nudged her arm, "I'm sure Hermione will talk to you again in a few weeks, you'll see. You're too great to ignore"

"Thank you, Glasses," She wiped away the tears that were threatening to fall from her eyes.

"There's nothing to worry about, Dumby," He smirked.

"Please don't," She complained, "that's even worse than 'Dumbledore girl"

"Too late. I like how it sounds."

When they arrived at the Quidditch pitch Oliver Wood wasn't there yet, she was about to go over to the stands when Harry spoke up.

"You want to fly?"

"Now?" She looked around, "it's dark..."

"Yes or no?"

"...Yes"

Harry handed the broom to her, she hesitated.

"It's the first time someone will use it, are you sure you want me to go first?"

"I trust you," Harry shrugged, "you won't break it, won't you?"

"I'll try not to," She joked.

"I'll risk it," He insisted, taking her hand and putting the broom's handle in it. Mel held it firmly, mounting the broom as their teacher had told them to.

"Ready?" Her friend asked with a tiny smile on his face.

Instead of replying, Mel kicked off and swiftly move upwards.

That broom was really something else, it moved smoothly in the air, she barely had to move her wrist for changing directions. She was a bit tense at first, too scared to attempt any abrupt movements, then Harry's voice came from the ground, encouraging her to go faster.

So she did, maybe not her best idea, but the feeling in her stomach each time that she would fall fast and go back up was like nothing else. Eventually, she decided to go back to the ground, landing a few meters away from her friend, who sprinted towards her with a bright smile.

"See? Wasn't bad, was it?"

"It's amazing!" Mel jumped off from the broom, "Thank you! It made me feel much better..."

"It's nothing," He replied casually.

She offered him the broom.

"Your turn."

Harry's smile widened as he took the broom and flew around the Quidditch Pitch. Mel made her way to the stands, wrapping her scarf a bit tighter around her neck. She watched as Harry flew around the Pitch. He was wonderful to look at when he was flying, she had the feeling that it would become one of her favorite things: Harry flying around in a Quidditch uniform, his hair messier after a whole afternoon of training.

She felt the same sensation in her stomach once more, only that this time it wasn't from falling aimlessly on a broom.

When the practice was over, she had a hard time maintaining her attitude as calm as possible, she couldn't stop thinking about Harry's perfect score when catching every single one of the golf balls.

Mel discovered that as much as she liked watching Harry, she also had lots of schoolwork to get done, so she let him leave the common room without her three times a week while her a Ron stayed behind in the Gryffindor tower.

Halloween arrived and with it, the opportunity to practice more complicated charms. Professor Flitwick paired them up -Mel was with Neville, who seemed delighted to have her as his partner- and walked them through each of the steps.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practising! Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too – never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."

It took Mel exactly three attempts. When her feather moved, Professor Flitwick was so pleased he gave Gryffindor five points. She could've floated away in bliss too if it wasn't because an argument caught her attention, a few seats behind her.

"You're saying it wrong," Hermione had been paired up with Ron, "It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."

"You do it, then, if you're so clever," Ron snarled.

Hermione flicked her wand and said, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

"Oh, well done!" Professor Flitwick, clapped, "Miss Granger's done it too!"

Ron was less than pleased when the lesson ended.

"It's no wonder no one can stand her," he said to Harry and Mel as they pushed their way into the crowded corridor, "She's a nightmare, honestly."

Mel was about to deny it when Hermione's figure appeared in front of them, pushing Harry out of the way. Her heart broke when she noticed the tears.

"I think she heard you."

"So?" said Ron, but he looked uneasy, "She must've noticed she's got no friends."

"No friends?!" Mel exclaimed, catching people's attention, "She had me! And because of your stupid comments, she won't talk to me ever again!"

"Woah, Mel listen-" Ron tried to calm her down, panicking at her outburst.

He tried to hold one of her hands and she snatched it away, almost hitting Harry in the process.

"No, you listen to me," She demanded, "I'm sick of listening to your complaints. I'm sick of hearing your rude comments about Hermione. You are the one that's impossible to stand! You're childish and... and I don't think I can't keep tolerating this!"

She turned around, pushing through the bodies of a few students that had stopped to watch the scene unfold. Mel was too angry to feel embarrassed, she needed to find a quiet place to sort her mind out.

Her feet took her to a small courtyard, a perfect place to hide. She sat and closed her eyes, controlling her breathing.

"Are you alright, miss?" The voice startled her, she opened her eyes and stood up.

Mel froze, recognizing the person as the Slytherin boy that had helped her found her way to the Great Hall. Erick.

"What do you want?" She asked, grabbing her stuff, "Are you trying to find a reason to make fun of me?"

"Why, just because I'm a Slytherin I can't be nice?"

"Your housemates aren't nice, I don't have a way of knowing you are any different. Besides, didn't you say we're not allowed to speak to each other?"

"Well, yes," He smiled for the first time since she'd met him, "but I'm getting rather bored of following stupid traditions."

Mel stared at him, deciding that she wasn't going to waste her time.

"I'm alright," She brushed off some dirt from her robes, "It's a silly issue, not important..."

The boy crossed his arms and leaned against an arch.

"Try me."

"Why do you care?" She asked in exasperation.

"You looked upset when you left your friends."

"So you followed me," Mel replied, "I shouldn't trust you."

"Are you afraid cause I followed you or cause I'm a snake?" He raised a brow, "I presume that if I were from any other house, you wouldn't be so nervous"

It sounded like a challenge, the way his taunting smile said it like he could read her mind. It annoyed her even further that he was right, she didn't trust him cause he was in Slytherin.

Wasn't that the same thing people did to her? Call her good and bad things because she was a Dumbledore.

Wasn't it the same thing she hated about Ron and Harry whenever they talked about Hermione? Judging without knowing.

She sat down again, leaning her body against a column.

"My friends got into an argument and now I can't be with any of them"

"If I can give my opinion," Erick stepped closer, sitting in front of her, "I don't think you should worry. It's very likely that your friends will make peace, keep in mind it's only your first year."

"Harry said the same thing," Mel shook her head sorrowful, "Hermione doesn't like them, she'll keep bugging even if she decides to talk to me again. I don't know what to do..."

"If she brings you more worries than joy, why do you want to be friends with her?" The boy asked sternly.

"She's the only person that helps me be better in class and never compares my achievements to my uncle's. Besides, she pressures herself so much that I feel like I'm the only voice in her head telling her to slow down."

"If that's all... I could help you, you know? With your schoolwork. You don't need that Hermione girl, if she wants to break her back all the time that's her problem."

Mel stared intensely at the boy, trying to come up with an explanation as to why he was approaching her so out of the blue.

"You're being too nice to me," She replied calmly, "and I don't mean 'too nice for a Slytherin', I mean too nice for any normal person."

"I'm attentive," He shrugged, but Mel kept feeling that there was something else to it, "well-mannered"

"You don't know me," She insisted, "I could be a bad person"

Instead of worrying, Erick's smirk grew wider.

"That's the best part."

The girl tilted her head and frowned.

"You're weird."

He raised his eyebrows.

"I'm mysterious, there's a difference," He stood up, walking up to her and extending his hand, "let's start over again, shall we? I'm Erick Flint, second-year Slytherin. You are?"

Mel had to take a very important decision on the spot. She could either slap his hand away and pretend that conversation never happened, or she could take it. She thought about Malfoy and his friends, and how disgustingly rude they were; then about Ron and Harry, and how annoying they could get.

She looked up to Erick's eyes, a genuine courtesy on his expression, his hand waiting patiently for her, no malice involved.

Mel took his hand and shook it.

"I'm Mel Dumbledore. First-year Gryffindor."

Erick gave her a lopsided smile.

"Nice to meet you," He let go and picked up her bag.

"Likewise," She nodded. Still not smiling, she took the bag, "but uh, would you mind if we..?"

"If we keep it a secret?" He inquired, "I was hoping you'd ask. I do want to be your friend, but I think it's better if we keep it to ourselves, at least for now."

"I don't have a problem with that," She smiled in relief.

It was small and brief, but for Erick, it seemed to be enough.

"Bye, Flint."

"Have a nice night, Miss."

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@vampiregirl1797 @tiphareth2018 @siriuslysirius1107

#twoidiots writing #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter xoc #ron weasley #hermione granger #fred weasley #george weasley #neville longbottom #draco malfoy #severus snape #albus dumbledore #minerva mcgonagall #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x reader #WITT fic

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ihatethecoldalot · 2 years

Text

I posted 5,367 times in 2021

28 posts created (1%)

5339 posts reblogged (99%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 190.7 posts.

I added 298 tags in 2021

#reblog - 120 posts

#batman - 28 posts

#batfam - 26 posts

#star wars - 25 posts

#batfamily - 22 posts

#bruce wayne - 20 posts

#bag o laughs - 18 posts

#damian wayne - 14 posts

#tiktok - 13 posts

#lol - 12 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#if marvel is going to downplay his skillset in fights they could at least try to make it look like he spent a thousand or so years learning

My Top Posts in 2021

Damian Wayne by Arsalan Ghasemi

(Demons head Damian is a aesthetic)

26 notes • Posted 2021-04-14 20:42:46 GMT

Batman’s Bio kids

[left to right Alina, Athanasia, Helena, Damian, Terry, Matt]

40 notes • Posted 2021-05-01 22:03:46 GMT

So watching Batman beyond and I have come to two conclusion on episode 1

1) terry has no sense of self preservation and

2) terry’s thought process was absolutely ‘the old man is a serial killer! Must see what’s down there’ and honestly same.

53 notes • Posted 2021-11-29 03:01:22 GMT

Random Idea With Ben Skywalker

Listen I doubt that a redhead skywalker won't be considered a Kenobi.

Ben Skywalker time travelled to the clone wars like a month before Satine’s murder

He panics when confronted with Obi-wan and falls back on ‘THE SKYWALKER LIST OF APPROVED NAMES’ which include Skywalker, Naberrie, Organa, Lars, Solo, Djarin, Kenobi, Kryze (via Korkie) Whitesun, Antilles, Tano, Mothma, Jinn, Darklighter, Fett, Vader Calrissian, Chewbaccason, Starkiller

With Ben doing the logical skip over the first five since Vaderkin will recognize them and the political affiliations and he swore never to call himself a Solo and being confronted with ~~OBI-WAN KENOBI~~ He jumps straight to Kryze (Djarin would have been his first choice but he blue screened)

This causes a very long debate as to how he’s Obi-wan’s son which forces Ben to save his ass by explaining he’s from the future like twenty years from then.

(Ben is 19)

Obi-wan had a brief mental breakdown as to the fact that he would have a ~son~ with ~Satine~ in a ~~year~~

Anakin is broken as is swinging in between moody af or delighted af. Ahsoka is just trying to get closer to the ‘Kryze’

Ben is able to save his ass by knowing so, so much of Mandalorian customs because Mara, Luke and Din are in a Poly and you can fight me

Cody delights in a Terrifyingly Competent Kenobi who actually wore armour and didn’t try to lose it and no he isn’t crying what are you talking about?

Ben had gotten so many lectures from his buir about wearing armour and lectures from Leia about armour weave everything

He fights Dooku and beats him with just the Force because ‘My mother is a pacifist and I respect her ideals.’

He manages to have some really interesting conversions with some of the clones about the war.

Rex is his favourite because ‘You've kicked Pre Vizsla's ass’

Ben has a vicious, vicious streak that is rather terrifying and everyone assumes that he got it from Obi-Wan.

Satine learns about her son via a sheepish Obi-Wan.

[When Mandalore learns of that they hold a week-long festival celebrating Ben’s conception]

Ben never uses his lightsaber. Never. When they asked him why he uses a spear instead he scares them by saying his master fell and that the lightsaber was his.

No one ever talks about his Master ever again.

“Have a child, do you now, Master Kenobi?��

“Yes,” Obi-Wan replies, a few words away from punching Yoda.

“Meet him, I wish to. Bring him here, you shall.”

Aayla and Depa are snickering and Quinlan isn't even bothering to keep any propriety.

So I’m just thinking here is Ben just going to go like:

“Oh, hello Master Yoda, how's my brother?” Ben asks, very obliviously.

“Brother?”

“Yeah, Grogu. About yay big very green? The one my buir adopted and toted through the whole galaxy to find Luke?”

Ben is very uncomfortable calling his dad by his first name but goddamn it it was too late to give up the ruse anyway.

“Your buir, hmmn?” [Ben, oh shit]

“Yeah he rescued me after my mama’s murder.”

“SATINE DIED???!!!!” yelled literally everyone in that room.

“Yes. Maul killed my mother. Fucking asshole that buttless bitch. Don’t worry Ahsoka, Ezra and Luke get him later.”

Who’s Ezra and Luke?

Ezra is Caleb Dume’s future son- i mean padawan and Luke is a Skywalker.

Or or hear me out

“Hello, you absolute bitch.” [addressing Qui-Gon but he is in Yoda’s vicinity]

“Disrespectful, you are. Manners, were you not taught?

“OH Im SoRrY I JuSt CaMe HeRE BeCauSE I WaS FOLLOWING YOUR FUCKING FORCE GHOST!!!!

“Force Ghost?” [that was Anakin]

“WHAT ELSE IS THAT SERENE ASSHOLE WHO SAID HIS NAME WAS QUI-GON!!!” Ben cried exasperated as hell.

“Qui-Gon is dead.”

“THAT’S WHY IT'S CALLED A FORCE GHOST”

All the panic but no disco.

So this can end in

1: Ben just randomly drops information and helps out until he meets Palps and just stabs him with an angry “YOU KILLED MY FATHER BITCH” and does the same to Maul later. Meets Satine and gets rescued by Grogu

OR 2: Talks about how the ‘Sith Master’ murdered the Jedi and then killed Padmè in a bid to martyr her and how he’s in a Rebellion with the aforementioned kids and stabs Palpatine and then ‘Jaina Naberrie’ shows up and drags him home before he faces any consequences.

68 notes • Posted 2021-05-25 13:49:11 GMT

284 notes • Posted 2021-04-01 00:00:23 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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pendragonfics · 7 years

Text

Family

Paring: Jim Hopper/Reader

Tags: female reader, adopted children, family dynamics, journalism, domestic fluff, spoilers for Stranger Things 2.

Summary: Sometimes, family isn’t nuclear, with the happy little American love story where it’s all good and well. Family is two adults who found each other in their times of need, and a miracle child.

Word Count: 2,355

Current Date: 2017-11-03

It’s dark when he comes home, but you’re awake. You’ve been awake for almost fifteen hours, and despite sore eyes, an aching headache, and sore limbs, you’re sitting up, to see the door open, and close very slowly. To see the way Jim takes off his shoes, peels off his socks, puts his hat upon the rack by the window. He looks as tired as you feel – in the moonlight through the window, you can see the lines above his eyebrows, beside his eyes.

Jim’s barefoot and stifling a yawn, working on undoing the buttons on his uniform. You watch as he walks toward you in the kitchenette, but as he turns the paraffin lamp, he jumps a little, but still quiet. You’re sitting on the bench, beside the sink, legs dangling like a novelty made-at-home dolly, wearing one of Hopper’s holey old shirts and boxers.

“You scared me,” he says, low, quiet. “What are you doing up so late?”

You shrug, gesturing to the cup of tea growing cold beside you. “Story came to me, couldn’t stop, and then couldn’t sleep.” You take a sip from your cold tea, and wince, “Why are you home so late?”

There could be a myriad of answers. Kids egged a house down on an avenue in town – perhaps he’d helped an elderly lady at the grocery store pack her bags into her late husband’s station wagon, maybe the paperwork wasn’t done on time and Flo stopped him until it was completed. But there wasn’t any egg on his wrinkled uniform, nor groceries in his arms, or ink on his hand.

“Found a kid walking around town, all alone. Drove them home.” His smile wan, he moved past you, flicking the stove on heat up the soup you made earlier for yourself and El. “Flo wanted to know how the story’s coming along.”

You make a noise. “Slow. Be better if I didn’t screw up my last typewriter.” You hummed, showing your hands to your boyfriend, hands that were covered in pen scratches and ink transferred from the paper.

“________, those things don’t come cheap,” he mutters, taking his dinner from the fridge, shoving it in the microwave.

“Ellie went to bed happily again.” You change the subject, tapping your bare foot lazily on the cabinets.

Jim raises an eyebrow. “Ellie?” he asks.

You shrug, drawing a knee to your chest, watching as the screen on the magical microwave oven counts down the seconds until it pings! “She doesn’t like me calling her Jane, and you know I feel funny calling her a number. She’s a teenager, Jim, Ellie suits her, I think.” You pause, and sliding down from the countertop, you add, “She was kind of bummed she didn’t get a goodnight kiss from her dad.”

The clock on the wall clicks over to the new hour, reading the hour that the witches come out to play. Or at least, that’s what your mother used to tell you back home in Boston, before the split as a child when your dad moved you to Hawkins.

“She called me Dad?” Jim asks, just as the sausages and gravy are ready.

You nod. “Right before nodding off. Said she missed your scratchy kisses.” You grin, eyes scrunching up like there’s no greater happiness in the world than seeing the person you love described so simply. “I missed your scratchy kisses too.”

Jim takes his meal to the table, smiling to himself. You stand there in the kitchen, still, swaying. It’s almost like you’re caught between being awake, and overtired, or perhaps you’re imitating a ghost caught between this world and the one beside it, swaying in the breeze of life. But you snap out of your moment when Jim’s fork clanks against the table, and carrying the paraffin lamp to the table, you sit opposite, silent.

While you’re not as important in your workplace as Jim; you’re just a journalist at the local newspaper, writing the little things that happen around the place. The editor in chief had a ‘real’ writer for the larger stories, saying you were second rate because you were more creative, and wrote things that weren’t real (or maybe because you were a woman). One day you’ll be published, a shiny hardcover in the hands of the nation – but until then, you wrote about the effects of the weather on chicken farming in the outer-regions of Hawkins.

It was a strange paring, your father said – you, and Jim. The divorced recluse of a police chief, and the daydreaming old maid who wrote. But you hadn’t talked to him in ten years, so what he thought didn’t matter to you. You weren’t that old. Thirty-five was just a number. Hopper insisted you were young – but then again, he’d gone to hell and back, fought in the war, lost his first family. He thought he was as old as the mountains themselves, and at the best of times (as well as the worst) doubted why you loved him as much as you did.

“________, you’ve got the thousand-mile stare.” Jim hums, and you’re brought back to the moment, instead of inside your head. He glances to his dinner, almost all eaten, and says, “What about you head to bed, and I follow?”

You nod, too tired to speak. But when your head hits the pillow, you’re gone, consumed by sleep’s touch.

---

You’re standing before the mirror on the basin, hairbrush in hand. Except, it’s not your hairbrush, and you’re not checking out your reflection in the mirror. Instead, you’re carefully carding the tines through your adoptive daughter’s hair, trying to get her in the habit of brushing her unruly locks. El’s face is composed of unadulterated joy, eyes bright, mouth stretched wide with excitement.

“Big day today,” you say, running your fingers through the last bit, untangling a knot the size of your thumbnail. “First day of school.”

She bounces on the balls of her feet at the sound of the word school, meeting your eyes in the mirror. When you first met El, she’d acted all shy like a woodland creature, then, after time went on, moody like a storm about to break. That was before all the commotion with the Hawkins lab and the passing of Mr. Newby. Now she’s sunshine in a bottle, threatening to explode.

“What was your…favourite?” she asks, selecting the right words.

You beam. “I loved the library. They have books on everything there.” You fluff out her head of curls with both hands, the hairbrush tucked under your arm, and add, “But my favourite class was where we read the books.” You peer out of the bathroom, seeing where Jim is lacing his boots, a piece of toast between his teeth as he rushes out the door, “Your dad liked it more in gym.” You remember the way he looked back in high school in the uniform, and you chuckle.

“Gym?” El asks. “Mike said it’s hard.”

You shake your head. “You’re not Mike, though, are you?” You ask her, and moving before her, you kneel, pushing the hair from her eyes away, you add, “Hey, Ellie,” you see your reflection in her eyes, a hesitant smile now on her lips. “You’ve got this.”

“I’ve got this.” She repeats.

“Okay, time to go!” Jim calls out from the other room. At this, El runs around you, her new overalls sliding down her legs, curls bouncing. “________, have you got the keys?”

“Yeah!” you exclaim, jangling them from your pocket. “Have you got Ellie’s bag?”

“I’ve got it!” She shouts, the sound of the sheriff’s wagon door slamming followed suit. You’re almost out of the door, and from the backseat, El makes the horn toot and hollers out the open window, “C’mon! I don’t want to be late!”

She’s not late – in fact, when you two walk her into the administration building with her, she’s run away as her class schedule is handed to her, off to walk to class with Mike, Dustin, Lucas, Max and Will. Mr. Clarke stills her running, and from the window in the wall, you see her smile is big, group of friends even bigger.

“Your daughter seems excited to be here, Mr. and Mrs. Hopper,” the older office lady smiles, handing you a copy of El’s class schedule.

You glance to Jim, and he to you, scrambling over your words, until you manage to say, “We’re not – I mean, we’re just –,”

She raises an eyebrow, and goes on to say, “School ends at three, and if we have any trouble, I’ll make sure to get Principle Coleman call.” She smiles once more, and looks at your hand, holding Jim’s, “Are you sure you two aren’t married?”

---

You’re at work, staring at the typewriter that’s screwed to the desk, waiting for the fingers attached to your creative soul to pick up something and translate it to words. But sitting there doesn’t help, and when you return from the coffee machine, you’re face to face with your boss, whose fingers are pawing through your reporter’s journal, eyeing the notes you’ve made over the last six months in its pages.

“Saw you were stuck, ________,” he places your notebook down, the cover thwacking the desk very un-quietly. “You’ve been all over Hawkins, and still, found nothing worth writing about.”

You nod, cradling the cup of hot coffee close to your chest. “That’s right, sir.”

He hums. “Maybe what you need to consider is something a little closer to home?” He asks, and with that, goes off on his way by Debbie the copier for his regular demands of the poor P.A.

You still. Closer to home? You think about how boring your home life is, until you realise how un-boring it is, and inspired, you sit, and over the next four hours of the work day, manage to churn out and edit something that could be read by the people of Hawkins.

---

I grew up alone. I suppose we’re never alone; we have a mother, a father, a community. My parents left each other when I was young, and my father worked nights when I was at school. People didn’t want to be my friend, since I was a loner. I had my books, I had my mind, I had my mind to write the passages for books to come.

When I was at college, my boyfriend was fighting in the end of the Vietnam War. When I was starting at the newspaper, my boyfriend was married to another woman. When I re-met my boyfriend, he had acquired the position of sheriff at Hawkins Police station. He had lost so much in his life, and when we met, not for the first time as gangly teenagers who wanted so much more than what fate would give us, but when we were adults, hardened by life in our own ways, brought into moulds by our own hardships, there was something there. That feeling of loneliness.

This was not a conventional love story. I never wanted to grow up to be in a cul-de-sac, to do what any of my relatives could have done. I am a woman, making decisions for myself, loving a man who can make decisions for himself. And together, we love our girl, who can make decisions very well for herself. Sometimes, family isn’t nuclear, with the happy little American love story where it’s all good and well. Family is two adults who found each other in their times of need, and a miracle child.

You see, together, you are not without hope. You just can’t be – two heads, two hearts are better than just one. Since this we have solved mysteries buried deep beneath the dirt under Hawkins, Indiana, and found something that wasn’t loneliness to bond ourselves.

“It’s, uh, pretty feminist,” your boss commented, glancing up from the type-written paper near the end of the working day, “Is this what you’re willing to submit?”

You nod.

“It’ll be printed for tomorrow.” He slides it into his pile, extinguishing a cigarette in a cup on his desk. “Keep an eye out, ________.”

---

You’re waking up slowly, gently, when there’s what feels like an earthquake. But no, there isn’t another disaster falling over Hawkins – instead, it’s El, bouncing on the bed, wearing the Star Wars t-shirt that you bought her when you took her to see Return of the Jedi. In her hands is a crumpled newspaper, scrunched by her hands. You glance beside you, to see what Jim makes of this morning tyranny, but he’s not beside you, snoring as usual. Instead, he’s behind El, watching the both of you.

“What is this, a bouncy house?” you ask, pushing yourself up from the covers. “What’s the news, Ellie?”

Her grin widens. “You’re famous, Mom!”

You’re caught on the word famous, and peering forward to see what your daughter has, you almost miss the word mom and you feel overwhelmed. But then you see on the newspaper page caught between El’s pre-teen fingers your name, and beneath it, your words. You feel faint suddenly, even though you’ve been awake for all of two minutes, and let out a breathy laugh.

“I’m famous?” you ask, pretending to peer closer at the page, and instead, take El in your arms, and tackle her to the bed. “How about I’m the luckiest lady in all of Hawkins!” you laugh, tickling your daughter’s side. She squirms, laughing, and from the doorway, so does Jim. “Come on, let’s have a big family hug.”

El laughs, and before you know it, you’re all sitting on the bed, cuddled up like you’re hiding from a snowstorm, but instead of it being bad, you’re all in a fit of laughter. When El excuses herself to call Mike on the walkie-talkie, Jim leans into your ear, whispering, “You have no idea how much I love you both.”

You raise a brow at that, replying, “I’m pretty sure you do, Chief.” You kiss his cheek, and glancing to the door, where El could appear any second, and murmur, “She called me Mom!”

#jim hopper #chief hopper #jim hopper x reader #chief hopper x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfic #stranger things imagine #chaotic--lovely #pendragonfics #Female reader

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