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aemonds-wifey · 1 year

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Navy Blue Barmaid

Chapter 1

Summary: You are a young barmaid in a pub in rural Manchester in the late 1940s. You mundane routine is changed one evening when you meet a navy war hero.

Authors note : Age Gap between reader is in her early 20s, Tom Bennett is in his early 30s.

Bold= Tom Bennett POV

Fifteen minutes, then you could go home and relax. Your feet were aching, you could start to feel the sole of your shoe show signs of crumbling…You were unable to afford new shoes at this point and Normally you don’t work until closing time But your boss asked if you wouldn’t mind covering, it was extra money so you volunteered. You took a deep sigh before heading back up the stairs that lead into the cellar, holding a small crate of glass bottles ready for the next day. The bar you worked in, the Green Dragon, was not the largest pub in Manchester, nor the most pristine-but you enjoyed the interaction between the customers-many of them were locals who you had known for many years.

As you closed the cellar door and approached the bar, you quickly scanned around to see many of the seats vacant, closing time was approaching-the high windows that lay opposite the large seating area sat above five booths, and one corner table -which was occupied by somebody with the newspaper covering their face. An old couple sat in a booth and you held onto the edge of the crate as you watched them, still full of affection towards each other like childhood sweethearts, it made you heart feel warm at this-love truly always prevails.

You inhaled slowly as you began to empty the glass bottles into the cabinet under the bar. The door behind the bar swung open and your boss approached you.

Otto was a tall man sporting a light beard with dark eyes that seem intimidating but he was the most gentle boss you could have hoped for. He came from Wales, opened the bar when he returned from the War. When you first started you were merely eighteen years old, he hired you and you have been here for five years. “I appreciate you staying back-might need you to do it again this week if that’s alright Y/N?” he asked as he began cleaning up the empty glasses on the jar.

“Sure I don’t mind…Could do with the extra few quid…bloody shoes are ragged.” You said as you put the crate in a stack against the cabinet behind the bar.

“You never stop. My best bar maid I’ll give you the money now if you want?” he offered.

“They’ll last till payday I’m sure.” You answered with a smile

“They better. Don’t want you limping around Y/N.” he chuckled checking his watch.

“An hour till closing… could you collect the any empties .” Otto asked

You nodded “Sure.”

As you left the bar and circled the empty tables you picked up a few empty pint glasses your eyes wondered to the table in the far corner by the window, a thin man sat there slightly hunched over totally engrossed at the paper now spread across the table, his drink almost empty. He looked so lost in the words that were printed before him, his thin lips slightly pouted as he concentrated on a crossword, He flipped a pencil in between his long fingers, he was stuck on a final word.

“Can I get you anything else?” You asked standing over him.

He took a moment “No than..” when his eyes lifted up from the paper they locked with yours immediately and the piercing blue shade made you temporarily feel

Dazed. His sharp features were nothing like you had ever seen, his eyes sat perfectly on his face and yet you saw a vulnerability in his eyes, a mystery you wanted to unwrap.

The silence was echoing around you and you cleared your throat “Another one or can I take this away?” You said smiling lightly.

His eyes didn’t leave yours as a smile grew on his own lips “I’m good…I’ve not seen you around here before.”

“I don’t usually work this late…” you said

“What’s a nice young girl working in a place like this?” He asked, his fingers curling on top of the newspaper.

You frowned lightly with a hand on your hip “what do you mean?”

He leaned back slightly but still looking at you “Just saying a precious thing like you in an environment like this…full of drunken fools.”

Your cheeks flushed lightly at his words, his eyes were fixed on you, his smile was amazingly youthful and cheeky, but the slight creases in his skin under his eyes said otherwise.

“I do just fine…I can handle myself.” You said confidently

His eyes glowed slightly “I don’t doubt that…just be careful yeah?”

“I appreciate the concern…” your voice faltered slightly in hopes he would say his name.

He smiled leaning back, his long fingers wrapped lightly on the base of the pint glass, his index finger made circles on the glass.

“Tom. Tom Bennett.” He said smiling lifting the glass and holding it over the bottom of his lips.

“Y/N.” You said shyly

“Nice to meet you.” He said drinking the rest of the beer.

The smiles you exchanged made you do your very best not to awkwardly blush outright, you were silently thankful that the pub was dimly lit. You were just as surprised when you noticed that he too had briefly glanced out the window with a smile that had grew, his lips were slightly parted as you nodded at the crossword puzzle “Warrant.” You said.

He looked at you “What?”

You nodded at the crossword “The last clue…what does WO stand for…Warrant officer.”

He slowly looked onto the crossword, bowing his head with a defeated smile “Christ I should know that…” he kept the smile as he filled in the blank space. He dropped the pencil and looked at you “How did you know that?” he asked.

You cleared your throat “My older brother…Navy Vet. “

Tom nodded “Small world…I served in the navy too…”

Your eyes widened in interest “You did…? See must action?”

Toms eyes fluttered slightly as the memory of Dunkirk hit him briefly, you noticed the slight edge of panic as he tried to mask it. Yet as he looked into her eyes again, he felt a wave of calm sweep over him- “I did…Just glad its all over now.”

You paused, sensing the conflict in his words you slowly put down the empty pint glasses on the table behind you and shuffled closer to him and held your hand out “Can I just…thank you on behalf of everyone….for your bravery and service…”

He looked bewildered as if you were a figment of a dream, he looked at your hand then up at you, slowly his skin merged onto yours as you shook hands-the electricity between your fingers was tingling up your nerves. He looked intrigued as his eyes dashed between your hand and your eyes-nobody had shown him such appreciation for his part in the war. You let go and smiled, turning round and picking up the empty glasses before facing him again.

“I will have another one…” he said holding his glass up to you

You reached to take it but he held it back slightly in a teasing way “If you have one too-you look like you need it…” he said.

You were accustom to strange and drunk men asking you to take a drink with them all the time, which you immediately always decline as you know they are only after one thing-but this man…Tom…he seemed like he wanted to talk.

You sighed slightly “I would but…I’m on shift….” The disappointment in your voice was too evident, he nodded only once “Not even one?” he said with a cheeky smile

You only laughed briefly at his smile “Tempting but my boss wouldn’t be happy…”

He nodded “Fair enough…wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.” He got to his feet and slid his hands into the upper pockets of his navy blue jacket, he was slim hipped wearing dark tan trousers

“You sure you won’t have another?” you asked, hopeful he might stay.

He opened his mouth to speak , before he could get the first word out you heard Otto call you “Y/N…need your help with something.”

“Be there in a sec…” you called out, briefly looking away from Tom.

He looked at you, briefly you both became aware that the gap between you was closer than before you heard Otto’s voice.

“See you round…” he smiled, winking once before he moved away from you.

You watched him leave, before he opened the door of the pub his eyes briefly caught yours-and in a moment he was gone.

“Y/N!” Otto called again.

The resounding click as you locked the front doors snapped you out of your trance, you slowly stepped away from the doors of the pub-looking both ways before you left the pavement and crossed the street. You were not sure why but you were secretly hoping to see Tom waiting for you , but the streets remained as quiet as a sombre graveyard. The walk from the Green Dragon was only a few minutes from the home you shared with your mother, now a widow thanks to the second world war.

You quietly opened the front door and closed it as gently as you could, your back firmly falling against the wooden door-you only thought of Tom, the handsome man from the bar-his enticing eyes, the way his skin felt against yours, the way he smiled at you with that boyish grin of his-he still had some youthful elements to his allure but you could not be sure o his actual age-either way, you secretly hoped he would return to the bar, very soon.

The walk home filled your head with endless thoughts and questions that you had no answers to.

Circling the streets you were utterly enchanted by the barmaid, there was something different about her, the way she spoke to you-genuine interest fell from her words when she spoke to you. You couldn’t sleep, as you smoked a cigarette in the dead of night. you kept replaying the words she spoke before offering a handshake, when the flashes of Dunkirk shot through you all you felt was a twinge in your shoulder where the wound still ached-who was she? And why could you not get her out of your head. As you stared up a the ceiling unable to sleep you leaned your head up and buried your cigarette in the ashtray beside the bed and lay your head back on the pillow.

Her beauty was still etched in your head, her deep Mahogany locks that fell over her shoulders, coupled with her slender figure , angelic face and jade green eyes - it made your stomach flip with a nervous flutter . Was she even real? Her soft voice and attentive spirit, the friendly confidence that exuded from her was like a riddle you were eager to solve….you had to see her again.

CHAPER 2

TAGS

@chainsawsangel @schniiipsel @moonchildrenandflowercrowns @happilyhertale @mischiefmanaged71 @namoreno @nolongereviliwantlove @talesofoldandnew @yentroucnagol @arcielee @babyblue711 @bbyaemond @bcon24 @lauraneedstochill @polkadotsocks1993 @motley-baby @sscreamingbanshee @tssf-imagines @actualhawkesworld @jessssica1234 @bellaisasleep @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @greenowlfactif @vhagars-dementia

#ewan mitchell #tom bennett #world on fire bbc #tom bennett x you #tom bennett x reader #fic #post world war two #osferth #baby monk

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hopelessromanticstrawberry · 1 year

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my stripper eras

Chanel— baby dancer part time camgirl living in a trailer park, losing all my high school “friends” and everyone finding out i was a stripper, spent like $500 at guess when i made my first bag, “goth barbie” was my aesthetic and club nickname, wore 8 inch heels my first night and nobody could tell i had never danced before, drunk guy trying to aggressively open my friends car door right after we got in after auditions (she might have ran over his foot when we drove off in a panic), never approached or talked to customers, stretched so much to become flexible, wore those ugly designer print bikinis, smoked dab pen on shift with the dj, drove 3 hours to work every shift and usually stayed in the motel 8, super long acrylics, danced to juice wrld and frank ocean, bouncer tried to pimp me out, haunted strip club, the guy who shit his pants while i was dancing for him (shit on the floor and the whole club closed early), stretches with a veteran dancer on the side stage when it was slow, watching cops drink on shift, no dancer bathroom because of the girls doing heroin, seeing my first OD in real life and ambulances, shitting outside in the rain by the smoking porch, driving 5 hours home in a blizzard, the guy who head butted through his car windshield, the blood stains from the guy who shot himself outside the entrance, my pet hamster that lived 3 years, driving across the country with my best friend, obsessed with the ig account exotic cancer, cops stalking dancers after our shift to try and ticket us for no reason (hiding one time in a bank parking lot and watching this cop who was tailing me round the block six or seven times looking for me??), a cop trying to pull me over across state lines i recognized him as one of the cops who was always in the club, additionally having cops flirt with me on shift and watch my half naked stage sets (very uncomfortable lol), a dancer stealing my entire duffel bag of lingerie me being too poor to replace it, winning dancer of the month and getting free house fees for all of December, being tipped multiple $100s on stage by a guy i accidentally kicked with my 8 inch boots,

Stormi— pandemic dancer, moved to florida because of lockdown, living in my own real house for the first time with the coolest landlord, a “friend” trying to steal 2k from me, danced stripperbowl, 38” black hair, wore microkinis and jordans, juicy couture backpack money bag, “stormi baby”, full nude dancing, got 3 new tattoos, strawberry vapes and “weed gives me panic attacks” era, grew somewhat desensitized to a violent crowded chaotic unpredictable workplace, euphoria makeup n emotionally dependent on 25mm fake lashes, cultivated extreme insecurity here and lost my sense of self, acrylic nail obsession continued until i got cut off by the nail ladies bc my real nails were paper thin, never got to pick my music always edm and i hated it, management was weird to me forever after i didn’t join their favorite girls for drinks in my first month also finding out all the managers were dating the hostesses who picked only their friends to make money (including trying to cut me out of my own money to try and give it to their friends), a lot of stormi fangirls who copied me especially after i left, first time ever being SA violently at work and feeling the crunch from breaking someone’s nose, doing coke with my girl crush (going to her house to hookup and it going terribly), the tiny locker room with no lockers, dance specials every 30 minutes and being paraded out in a line like cattle, making over 2k for the first time, meeting my first celebrity at work (nfl player), seeing explicit extras for the first time, sitting in the champagne room staring at the ceiling while the other stripper lets them finger fuck her, seeing a blowjob happen in the lapdance room, driving home in a tropical storm, 3 different shootings across the street one while i was at work and they locked us in, finding out the bouncers were illegally concealed carrying, watching dancers get SA onstage and nobody doing anything to stop it (including management/security), the club across the street hiring a disabled 13 year old girl and pimping her out, watching my friend OD and nobody caring (actually having my money id made that night threatened to be taken away bc i wasn’t dancing), 4 hour champagne room and dancing the entire time, a different friend getting roofied and nobody seemed to bat an eye, buying a new phone, taking multiple months off work, adopting a black kitten, going no contact with my family, learning pole tricks on my home pole, trying molly and ketamine, dollskill fashion, always playing lil peep, guy from the club getting obsessed trying to be my sugar daddy, eating pussy for the first time, my first threesome, doing coke on christmas, the “no entry without a warrant” sign on the door, working with no audition just an ID check, someone smoking crack while i was crying in the bathroom, my first ever gynecologist appointment because i got a yeast infection doing a splits on the dirty strip club stage, the dj who did meth and constantly screamed incoherently into the mic, over $1000 stage set, dancing with 4 girls onstage at the same time, simulating sexual situations with really hot girls at work, black yardwork trash bags full of money, getting sick from too much blunt smoke, how much it burns when someone spills vodka on ur recently shaved pussy, the church ladies leaving us gift baskets with ugly red lipsticks, pimps always coming in and being sooo cringe until we laughed them out of club, drunk ppl jumping onstage, all the concussions from girls getting kicked from whoever was doing pole tricks at the same time they were onstage (happened to me once), sex tape of a girl in our champagne room, the bouncers being manwhores, our Christmas party where they hired male strippers and one of the girls got fucked in the lapdance room (paid him $100 for this), a girl trying to fight me bc she wanted to eat hot wings over my bag (I said no obviously) working till 8am, the broadway performer guy who tap danced for me in our champagne room, the shootings omfg… hiding in the locker room bc there was a shooting in the parking lot next door

Summer— blonde bob, rhinestone 7 inch heels, baby pink everything, ribbons in my hair, working dayshift for the first time in my life, press on nails, hated all the clubs in my city and felt trapped era, daily xanax, ordering dispensary weed from a legal state and smoking again, cigarettes, hearing the djs shit talk my home club, the locker room catfight with chicken nuggets, no longer vegan, eating the lava cake at work, gaining almost 20 pounds, wearing sweatpants every day in 90 degree weather because my weight was fluctuating too much to invest in nice clothes, trying therapy and being pushed antidepressants even though i told them i didn’t want tht (her settling to push blood pressure medication meant for old men?? also cutting me off any time i talked about my feelings too much), feeling even more insecure when i wasn’t allowed to work night shifts for 3 months even after multiple managers approved it, wearing pasties that made me almost cry every time i took them off, fostering holland lop bunnies, dancing to so much summer walker, literally every girl i worked with being an escort and acting bitchy when i wouldn’t meet customers with them, onlyfans and tiktok era, alienation and frustration after trying my hardest with no results … made absolutely no friends here and felt so alone, my landlord selling our house while we lived in it (randoms unlocking the front door and walking in while i was home alone), my sister legitimately almost dying and showing signs of serious mental illness (sending worrying texts before ghosting me and reappearing weeks later in a different states emergency room) almost reconnecting with my family just to find out if she’s okay and eventually her going manic again and disappearing on me after we talked, realizing i needed to focus on myself because i was powerless in those situations, waking up to multiple hurricane evacuation sirens, officially decided to move and drive across the country in less than 24 hours

Shiloh— living in an Airbnb, almost having to sleep in my car with 10k cash my first night, almost not getting my dancer license (the dmv lady fudged my paperwork to approve me), going for my audition and being so nervous because it’s such a big city being pleasantly surprised they hired me (out of state ID was almost a deal breaker I guess), breaking over 2.5k my first night working, working almost every day, becoming a “early night shift” dancer for the first time, eating home cooked meals from the house mom, dancing to lana del ray on a really bad night and feeling unreal, buying a new car and hating it, the dj calling me to stage when i was crying, cigarette vending machine, not doing drugs and that being weird, brown sugar boba, dior rosewood lipsticks, 3 piece lingerie sets, first pair of strapless heels, first legit gentleman’s club experience, dying my hair black again, first time renting an apartment, hating my clubs owner, watching all my work friends get fired for stupid things, seeing my club single handedly destroy their clientele and not advertise to get customers, leaving negative for the first time ever, multiple weeks of no customers, grabbing everything from my locker on a busy Friday and walking out with no explanation

Jasmine-// new era//

#diary #skripper

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eddieheart · 1 year

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WOLF IN HAWKINS

Part 1

Fandom: Stranger Things

Pairings: NONE

Words: 710

Description: Will finds a wolf

She never thought she'd be here. The darkness surrounded her like a comporting blanket. Sharp branches cut into her sides and mud caked her bare feet. Rain pelted into her raw skin. They were expecting a girl, a young woman, what they wouldn't expect was a wolf.

Quickly she shifted, skin stretching, bones brutally breaking, teeth growing in and hair spreading over her once bare skin. She let out a huff and charged onward. The cold nipped at her nose. Something caught her eye in the distance, a small structure of sorts.

'Castle Byers' the broken sign read, she shimmied inside the rickety building, feeling her way around. Something soft brushed her feet, a blanket. She grabbed the side of it with her mouth and rolled in onto herself.

This would have to do until morning.

—

The sun rose, signalling a new day. The rain had stoped long ago and it was now a comfortable heat. She yawned and stretched out her hind legs before curling back into herself.

She sniffled and buried her head deeper into the old worn out blanket. The snapping of twigs filled her ears and she huddled into herself, maybe they wouldn't see her.

Her heart beat rapidly, if wolves could sweat she'd be drenched. The dilapidated door was pulled open and a young boy tumbled inside. So not her captures then.

He didn't notice her, she looked around awkwardly, surely he'd turn around soon. He knelt down across from her and fondled with some old papers, had he really not seen her?

"Grrmm." She let out a noise.

The boy whipped around to face her, jerking back he held his chest and gasped. She stumbled back as well, pushing her lithe frame into the wall of the shelter.

"Oh my god." He pushed himself back into the makeshift door.

She wanted to scare him away but it was hard to look threatening when she was so thin. Eventually she settled in a soft whimper as her stomach growled.

"Y-you're hungry?" He reached his hand outside the door, never breaking eye contact with the creature in front of him.

He pulled out a metal box with colourful pictures printed on top. Her head tilted to the side in confusion, how could this be food. The boy chuckled at her and opened the box revealing something inside.

"Hope you like bologna and mayo." He chuckled out.

Food! She shuffled forwards and sniffed until she was right in front of the boy. He swallowed nervously and tried to back up, she backed away slowly, only a few steps and ploped to the ground.

He grabbed what looked like a sandwich from his box, he carefully unwrapped it from its plastic prison and ripped off a chunk. He threw it towards her and she quickly jumped to it, shoving it into her mouth.

He did it again a few times before gradually throwing them closer and closer to himself. There was a final piece left that he held in front of him, she waited patiently for him to throw it but he didn't. After waiting a few moment she opened her mouth, sticking out her teeth and ever so gently snatched it away.

The food felt warm in her belly, she was finally content enough for her stomach to stop its growling.

"I think I'll call you Grimbone. Eh Grim?" She sifted forward and rubbed her head on his hand.

He seemed shocked at first but settled into it quickly. Now he was softly petting her head she let out a gruff in pleasure at he continued to smooth down her fur.

"I'm sorry Grim but I gotta go, my mom will want me home soon." She shuffled forward as he tried to scoot away.

"I'm sorry buddy, but my mom said home in an hour." He smiled sadly and opened the hatch walking away from the sad creature.

She shimmied out of the building and perked her head up, he wasn't too far away! Following the sound of his foot steps she ran after him. She walked silently next to him before nudging his legs from behind.

He jumped in shock and sighed upon seeing her.

"Fine, but you can't come inside." He said finally walking home, wolf in tow.

@buggylad

#fanfiction #fanfic #stranger things #orginal character #original female character #steve harrington #will byres #johnathan byers #joyce byers

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caged-in-solitude · 4 months

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"Whatever our souls are made of,"

Traveling down memory lane, I realized I'm never much of a hobbyist. I have placed interest in this and that, most of them are short lived and one day I would start placing my interest again on the thing I have abandoned for a while. Doesn't know where to settle, indecisive, you name it.

"To learn to read is to light a fire; every syllable that is spelled out is a spark." – Victor Hugo

When do you first learn how to read? To spell out each letter from a word? I remembered clearly, the first book I picked up myself was one with a bright yellow cover, a thin book that doesn't have many pages, ink printed on natural uncoated papers, only containing simple instruction how to read. I was determined to learn and finally able to read a full sentence on my own after driving my father's patience to the edge for two weeks long.

Books I have read so far:

Therapy by Sebastian Fitzek

The Maze Runner by James Dashner

The Scorch Trials by James Dashner

The Death Cure by James Dashner

The Happiness Hypothesis by Jonathan Haidt

Love for Imperfect Things by Haemin Sunim

The Woman in the Window by A. J. Finn

5cm by Donny Dhirgantoro

Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami

Murder in Mesopotamia by Agatha Christie

Atomic Habits by James Clear

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho

I have read more books beside ones I have listed above. But alas, my memory has disappoint me.

"When life ends up breathtakingly fucked, you can generally trace it back to one big, bad decision. The one that sent you down the road of shitsburg." – Wade Wilson

I still laugh at myself every time I remember that the first time I went to a cinema was when I sneaked out with my highschool friends and came back home to give my mother a heart attack after she found out her child was no longer the infant she once craddled every night to sleep. My childhood was spent on the rural area where there was nothing but woodland and cliffs and so when my family first move out to the town, my curiosity got the better of me.

Movies/Series I have watched so far:

Harry Potter series

The Chronicles of Narnia series

MCU movies

Hotel Mumbai

The Silence of the Lambs

The Conjuring, The Conjuring 2

Annabelle

Hansel & Gretel: Witch Hunters

Bird Box

Insidious series

The Nun

The Curse of La Llorona

The Grand Budapest Hotel

Little Women

Kingsman series

The time passes by while I watch scene by scene unfold before my eyes will always be enchanting, thus the list will goes on for as long as the tip of my finger click on the play button and the movie starts. Same case as the books I have read, my brain seem to unable to recollect some of movies title I have watched. Long sigh.

"I don’t want to conquer anything. I just think the guy with the most freedom in the entire ocean is the Pirate King." – Monkey D. Luffy

Was it the time around 2nd grade of junior highschool when I first start placing my interest in anime and manga? No, I think it was before that, probably around 5th or 6th year of elementary school. My mother would let me sit in front of TV every day after I finished my study to watch Naruto and my father would allow me to pick a new comic every three months as a reward. It's a memory that's easy and pleasant to remember.

Anime/Manga I have watch/read:

Naruto

One Piece

Bleach

Kimetsu no Yaiba

Jujutsu Kaisen

Shingeki no Kyojin

Tokyo Ghoul

The Promised Neverland

Inuyasha

Rurouni Kenshin

Ajin

Kakegurui

Moriarty the Patriot

Death Note

K Project

Ansatsu Kyoushitsu

Hori-san to Miyamura-kun

Spy × Family

It is very likely that I have forgotten a few titles due the passage of time. I wish I could remember every single one of it so that I can go back and rewatch.

It's not always been the case, but lately I find myself enjoying a quiet time, sitting alone on a comfortable chair in my room, scrolling through my phone with my newfound hobby of reading manhwa or doing puzzles, sometimes I simply sat and play a music playlist then I start to space out. For a brief moment, I feel at ease.

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darlingarchangel · 1 year

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Do I create art because of or despite my shitty mental state? Evidence by the Goldsmiths - University of London suggests that the better an artist is doing mentally, the better they can devote themselves to their art. But I can't help but feel like the more I want to kill myself, the more proactive I become. I’ve honestly haven’t been able to form a coherent thought in weeks, but in my art I’ve been rampant. The urge to let my head get crushed by an approaching train or to drink the entirety of the laundry detergent shelf is barely manageable, so I avoid every fucking thought by creating stupid little drawing of characters from my only escape from this living hell, unfortunately Splatoon. I know I can't go on like this, but there is no future for me to look forward to, seeing the planet is slowly decaying and there is nothing I can do to stop it. Even career wise, there is nothing for me. People always tell me to become a graphic designer or some other irrelevant artsy job, that would just drive me to the brink of insanity by making me create soulless corporate art. The need to create profit is the death of art itself. Making art is a process of creativity, you can’t just create it out of thin air. Getting an idea is not something that can be mandated or can arise at a 9-5. It just comes whenever. It usually comes in the middle of the night for me. And it’s horrible. Not because I want to sleep, but because I know I have school or work tomorrow. And I know I can’t bring it into reality, because I know I will be unproductive in school the next day. This would of course mean that I won’t be able to get good grades, and not getting good grades means being a lazy loser shithead who can’t do anything right and won’t get a fucking job. The constant need to conform to a system that sees no place for the artist as a human entity, whose creativity cannot be channeled through money or any other capitalist means, is what is going to be the death of me. The issue with art is that it can’t be mass produced. Yes, you could argue that you can print out an image of a work or take that shit to the metaverse or whatever, where you get a 3D view of it across every screen imaginable. But the art is only ever created once. There is only one like it, and there is no way to ever recreate it as it is. Even if the artist perfectly recreates the work, line by line, it’s not the same. Because it wasn’t created with the same intent. The original was made with an idea behind it, that was slowly and tediously brought to life by translating it to for example canvas or piece of paper. A perfect recreation does not have the process behind it that the original had. The idea behind a copy is to be like the original, the idea of the previous work is more of a second thought. That’s why everyone is after the original, right? That is, if you’re a famous artist, but if you’re simply someone your art holds no value from an economic standpoint. There is no demand for it, so why would anyone want to buy it? After all, reselling it would only get them a couple bucks at most. It’s the rarity of an artwork and the status of the artist that determines its value.

Honest to God I wouldn’t give a shit if I could pay my rent and have enough money to feed myself and my dog, while being fully able to commit myself to creating art. But that’s an impossibility and it’s driving me insane. I will have to work for the rest of my life at a job that I do not care for just to keep myself from starving, pouring the little time I have left on this earth into a frivolous task, while having every idea that comes to my head put off until I arrive home, only to either forget it or lose any motivation. All this time I could spend on creating art and doing what actually makes me happy. I DON’T CARE IF IT’S NOT BENEFITING HUMANITY BY SERVING SOME OBSOLETE PROPOSE: I DO NOT CARE IF IT GETS ME NOTHING. I NEED TO MAKE ART AND I DON’T CARE HOW MUCH OF S CAREER IT WILL COST ME. I have no purpose in this life other than to make art and I’m happy with that. I may be slowly losing my mind, but that’s fine with me. I want to kill myself so bad it’s starting to become the only fucking thing I keep thinking about. I know I can’t keep living in this world that sees no value in what I do, but I’m forced to regardless. In the end I don’t have the strength or guts to do it, so I will just spiral down until it happens slowly by itself. I’m going to create until I die, until every little piece of me is gone because in the end it doesn’t matter. This is not a suicide note, this is a note of complete apathy to the world that decided to show me none. I will keep living even if I land in the streets. Fuck it, I’ll draw pretty pictures in the dust of piss filled backstreets while I starve.

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toothy-writes · 2 years

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Something Original

CW for dissociation??? abstract references to assault.

Enjoy my by-monthly check in with myself, my first OG writing I'll post here. I only glanced over it briefly as a proofread.

Real people write in the first person. Stanzas of lust and ‘My darling I’m writing from waist deep in quicksand of self-aggrandizing and declarations of I love you more than I love myself’ Real people tear their own paper-mache masks off and stand in times square screaming something about authenticity and the reality of us and we and sex for some reason? Who’s more unreliable than your own narrator shoved under a recalled kaleidoscope? Hell if I know and I’m the narrator. Maybe real is the third person writings of yourself, of others. Following a step behind like some kind of self obsessed shadow with a personality disorder diagnosed by an online quiz over a coke and rum.

We spend our entire lives chasing the faded ink spots of our own made up rorschach tests, tests we finger painted amongst ourselves when we were real. Chasing authenticity but only when a camera is burning in our pockets, but of course; who can blame us for only existing in witness of others? That’s what the universe made us for.

Made us too. To witness, to act, and to stare in dumbstruck awe, I guess. There’s too many of us for us all to be doing something.

Because who are we without falling up the stairs and pressing each other against elevator walls? If a tree falls.

Back to real people, because who’s more tangible than a stranger you’ll never see again? Maybe if I was crazy enough I’d say strangers are just ghosts, passing by a thin veil of reality that makes them just tangible enough for it to make sense. Maybe it’s so I can control my own story, a narcissist with a perpetual soundtrack of a sad clown falling down the stairs to his grave. Or something. //god. Unreliable narrator?//

There’s no saving you now, once you refuse to capitalise his name, you walk in circles while tracing your own boot prints and God- are those Dr Martens? Yeah whatever. That’s the fact of life, talking in a third person’s third person, somewhere infinity exists. Probably, because research isn’t his strong suit. He loves people, though he gags to admit it //unless it’s those people.// Right, he lays in his coffin of sunflowers and hisses at the sun, skin hurts but it hurts so good; and that’s what matters. The hurt, the heat, the hindsight of oh no //oh, yeah// Yeah. About them, about him? Well, a separate him from what we’re thinking. //I think we’ve killed each other for this exact reason// Right. Probably. Because you love yourself, and I have the forethought to earn that karma. Yknow. Prayer and kind deeds. Like mom taught us. Me. //You?// You. //bullshit, what god does this?// Whatever God does you. innuendo aside we’re listening to a broken record, it’s scratched and cracked and keeps skipping but somehow a new song plays every so often //I love this one.// I hate it, //so we’re in agreement?// I don’t- We don’t know. Maybe it’s the fact that he wishes he was strong enough to die, or something like that. //well we never did have enough pills// same schtick. Learn a new person, slip to their skin then cut yourself out like some fucked up C-section.

Touch didn’t always hurt, writing didn’t always start with a four-way argument. Things weren’t always hard. Language came easy, hugs were nice. well they’re kind of nice now. Touch wasn’t always digging fingernails and dragging glances. We- I didn’t always put a word to it. So I put a feeling to it. Maybe it’s this house, visiting home. home? Bull. yeah. Probably. I spent my childhood mapping the woods so I could escape the people. The people, maybe that’s why I’m so stuck on writing anything. I know they’re still out there, I know they’ve done it again. I know they share my blood. Maybe I write because speaking locks in the reality of it all. Right now it’s in my head, floating in the abstract and not quite existing. Whatever, as long as the void calls back in my own voice I’ll be ok.

#toothywrites #original content #writing #writers on tumblr #writing about myself to myself split three ways bc who am I again?#writerscommunity #what tags do I use?#It is 1 AM i am so sad

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foldagerborg8 · 2 years

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vittrup90bitsch · 2 years

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duskholland · 3 years

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Sunset Lovers || Peter Parker (Soulmate AU)

summary ↠ you’ve never met your soulmate, but you know his handwriting like the back of your hand—literally. every word your soulmate writes on his skin appears on yours, and vice versa. you’re desperate to meet him, but until the universe decides to introduce you, you’re stuck with scribbled smiley faces and chemistry formulae. ↠ college!soulmate au; gn!reader. warnings ↠ near-death experience (almost traffic collision; no injuries sustained), minor angst. this is very very fluffy on the whole, though. very soft :’) angst w a happy ending, if you will... word count ↠ 6k. a/n ↠ I feel emotional distress for 0.2 seconds and fall back to my 16 year old coping mechanism of fluffy peter parker fic ,,,, :D kinda very happy with how this turned out tbh. I hope you like it :) ++ I don’t like how a lot of soulmate aus are reliant on heteronormative structures and ideals, so I tried really hard to construct this universe in a way that would appeal to any type of person and any form of relationship that might fall under the category of a ‘soulmate’! it’s all world building stuff, but I guess if you’re wondering why I made it more fluid than my previous attempts at this au, that’s why! love is fluid and flexible and I think it’s important to reflect that in fiction!!

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

You’re in the college library, staring blankly at an open book, when a warm tingling on your left forearm distracts you from the pages. You’re glad for it, eyes blurry and mind drowsy, willing to take any distraction from the lines of symbols you’re trying to memorise. It’s finals season, and it feels as though the library has become your second home for the last week, your eyes more accustomed to the blank desks than your dorm across campus.

Bunching up the sleeve of your hoodie, you narrow your eyes as you squint at your skin. Gold writing appears, printed to your arm in a shade that’s vibrant against your skin tone. It shimmers slightly as you draw your arm nearer your face.

Where did you go? Are you okay? :(

A tired sigh slips past your lips. It’s as if he can read your mind. You uncap one of your thin-tipped highlighters, and your eyebrows knit together as you write a few words in response.

Library :( I hate studying. Send help please

Wish I could :( What are you studying??

Chemistry :/

Sit my test for me?

I would, but you refused to write my English paper, so…

I hate you >:(

You don’t hate him. You could never hate him. The man responsible for the scribbles over your forearm is your soulmate, and he means more to you than anyone else in the world.

For as long as written history dates back, tales have been immortalised detailing the endeavours of people connected via the link endearingly dubbed the ‘soul bond’. Most souls are partnered in pairs, but, on occasion, there are cases of more than one person being linked together. Some soulmate bonds are platonic, most romantic, but what remains is a close and fulfilling link between the bonded. Soulmates are tied together because they slot together organically, and though love doesn’t come with the soul bond, it’s easy to grow, easy to nurture. You are whole without your partner, just as you are whole with them, but there’s an undeniable thrill associated with spending your lives together.

The main giveaway that someone is your soulmate is the fact that any word, scribble, or picture sprawled across their skin appears on yours a moment later. Phantom writing announces itself with a gentle tingle, and it remains there until the imagery is removed by your partner. They make their mark on you, and in return, anything you write on your body transfers to them, too.

There are a few rules to the link—some pesky parameters set by the universe to balance the system. Regardless of the colour of pen used to communicate, it always comes out gold, tinged in a tone that varies from person to person depending on the depth of their skin tone. Offensive diagrams and harmful words are censored and appear on your skin skewed. Your face is off-limits, but other than that, your soulmate could choose to write on whatever part of their body they desire, and the message would print onto yours. By far, the most annoying twist to the bond is the fact that certain pieces of information are banned. If you try to communicate anything forbidden, the message goes undelivered, and you’re placed on a writing ban for an entire day. A wide variety of topics are ruled out, from things as broad as your name and location to any specific pieces of information that could allow you to be found. Once you’ve met your soulmate, the rule dissipates, allowing the bonded to communicate freely and easily, as the hurdles are only in place to prevent any cheating of the system. The universe wants you to find your bonds organically, and though most people usually do, the uncertainty beforehand is cruel.

Your soulmate, whoever he is, is very cute. You’d grown your link when you’d turned sixteen, back when you were both in high school. The first thing you’d found scribbled on your hand was a series of chemistry formulae, slightly smudged and completely useless to you, but you’d spent hours staring at the loopy handwriting before replying with your own short message.

Back then, you’d used to spend hours talking every night, running through packet after packet of pens as you’d unravelled your soulmate. You’d worked out that he is a man, attending high school at the same time as you. Through the scattered equations and symbols you’d frequently found yourself covered in, it’d been easy to ascertain he’s into science and maths. You can tell, through short messages alone, that he’s smart. His mind moves fast, fingers even quicker, and it’s always a marvel to watch his words appear on your skin, rising to the surface far faster than you could ever scribble.

You don’t think you’d mind if you met your soulmate and your relationship took the form of platonic adoration. The idea of a perfect best friend, yours for as long as you live, is exciting, thrilling, and often even more fulfilling than a love match. However, there’s always been a small part of you that’s masqueraded as a helpless romantic, and you’d be lying if you said the thought of meeting a romantic partner doesn’t thrill you more than anything else. Sometimes when you lay in bed at night, watching the street lamps paint your walls in shades of burnt amber, you wonder what it’d be like to have your soulmate beside you, curled into your side, or holding your hand beneath the sheets.

Luckily for you, you think your soulmate likes you. Likes you likes you. He’s cute, in a shy, tentative way, but he never fails to drop small compliments into conversations. He memorises everything you’ve said with such clarity that often, you wonder if he’s written down the things you’ve told him. He checks in when you’re silent, gives you space when you need it, never fails to be your number one supporter. It’s cute, but it also makes your heart ache. You want to know him, in real life, want to know his name and be able to touch him, but the stars just haven’t aligned yet.

You’re both nineteen now, both in college. With three years of talking between you, it’s rarer you stay up all night talking in scribbles, smiling at the ceiling. It still happens, but both of you are busy—him especially. Back at the start, there was a period when he’d started vanishing, disappearing for hours and sometimes even days at a time. The change had happened overnight, and it’d puzzled you, but you’re so grateful he’s become more reliant again. He’s still busy—still vanishes most evenings, unresponsive and far away—but he’s yours, and the knowledge that he’s only ever one message away soothes you.

A shallow sigh falls past your lips. As a yawn tugs at your lips, there’s another wave of warmth rippling across your skin.

Are you almost done? You’re tired :(

How do you know I’m tired?

As you wait on a response, you start putting away your things. He’s told you before, but you want to see it again.

Your smileys go really wonky when you’re tired. The eyes are always uneven. It’s cute.

Your heart melts. Instinctively, your fingers curl into fists. Sometimes, he says things so romantic it makes you wonder if he’s even aware that what he’s saying is incredibly endearing. He slots compliments between the lines, applies subtext so minuscule that it’d go undetected to anyone other than you.

You’re cute.

You’re cuter.

Swallowing, you sling your bag over your shoulder.

I’m going home now. Talk soon <3

Be safe! <3 <3 <3 <3

He draws a series of hearts around the final words of warning, and you find your fingertips trailing over the lines as you leave to the library. Outside, it’s late afternoon and darkening, the sun just beginning to set over the city. The cool air of December whips at the tender softness of your cheeks, but the warmth you feel as you touch the words imprinted on your skin makes you feel invincible.

Campus is deserted—eerily so. Craving adventure, you’d purposefully picked the college in New York that it’s rumoured Spider-Man attends, the city’s finest hero. Whether or not he’s actually an enrolled student is disputed, but he’s frequently sighted around campus, and your college has embraced it. There are murals up on the walls and fliers with his mask printed all over them. Your college has claimed him as an unofficial mascot, and you find yourself surrounded by images of his face. It makes you feel a little less lonely as you walk home alone, the streets around you deserted in favour of warm apartments and bustling cafés.

Whistling softly beneath your breath, you find yourself distracted. The sun is setting, and your eyes are easily drawn to the beautiful rays of gold being thrown across the aching city buildings. So wrapped up in your thoughts, you don’t look properly before you try to cross a road, and it’s a mistake that knocks the air from your lungs when you finally glance up at your surroundings.

Everything happens at once: your heart stopping at the sight of an unforeseen bus barreling towards you, the hard screech of brakes against tarmac, the yells of several distant voices. You find yourself frozen, fear keeping you in place like a cold spire, riddling your body utterly immobile. As inertia consumes you, your life flashes before your eyes, memories held in small snapshots that bring a lump to the back of your throat. The amber headlights burn your eyes, and the last thing you know to do is shut them and brace yourself.

Just as you think you’re a goner, there’s a heavy slam into your back. You go tumbling forwards, almost falling, only to find yourself being scooped up a moment later. Shaking, you try to squirm, try to open your eyes, only to feel a strong arm holding your back, pressing you into a figure.

“Stay still,” a kind voice says. “I’ve got you.”

When you open your eyes, a terrified squeak tumbles through your lips. You’re up in the air, flying between buildings, the wind from the speed tousling your hair. You look around desperately only to realise you’re being held, hugged tightly against a figure doused in red and black.

Spider-Man.

The sight makes your eyes widen, still cold and damp from tears. You try to process it, try to string together the bleary series of events, but even as he places you down on the roof of the campus library, your mind is tied in knots.

“Hey, hey, hey, you don’t look so good. Here… Sit down. It’s okay.”

The hero helps you onto a bench. You collapse into it, wide-eyed and nervous, pulling your knees to your chin immediately. After a moment spent trying to steady your breathing, you find the strength to look up.

“Spider-Man,” you utter, not quite believing the words that exit your mouth. “You saved my life.”

He’s leaning up against the railing, elbows hooked over the metal bannister. With the setting sun behind him, the red panels of his suit are flushed bright scarlet, the black plastic a deep, almost shimmering shade. He’s looking at you, expression obscured by the mask brushed over his face, but the way the white eyes contract and expand as he tilts his head to the side makes you aware that he’s looking at you.

“Are you okay?” he asks. His voice is pitched higher than you’d expected, but it’s full of warm concern.

You swallow. “Yeah.” Your waist feels a little sore from where his arms had tackled you, but now the most prominent thing you feel is embarrassment. “Shit,” you mutter, briefly hiding your face in the crook of your elbow. “I can’t believe the one time I meet Spider-Man is when I almost get slammed by a bus.” You crack a smile, laughing nervously. “This is so embarrassing.”

Spider-Man laughs. It’s gentle and light, and you know he doesn’t mean it maliciously. “Don’t be embarrassed,” he says. He pushes away from the railing and walks nearer, pausing in front of you. Taking the hint, you slide a little further up the bench, leaving the space beside you empty for him to drop into. “Accidents happen. Just, uh… Maybe don’t try walking out into a road without looking again, okay?”

You roll your eyes, tickled by the cheek in his voice. “Thanks for those words of wisdom, Spider-Man,” you say, teasing him slightly, “I’ll be sure to bear them in mind.”

It’s an odd sight: Spider-Man slumped out on the bench beside you. He has his legs crossed, ankle over thigh, arms spread behind the wood. With the setting sun covering your face, it’s as if he’s doused in gold. There’s a warmth in your chest, but it’s hard to tell if it’s from the sun or the man.

“What’s your name?” he asks. He looks back at you.

“Y/N.”

He releases a small noise from the back of his throat, all chimes and whistles. It draws a large smile to your face.

“That’s a… really nice name,” he replies somewhat awkwardly. His fingers shift down to his arm, padded fingers circling over his wrist. After a moment, he looks back across the skyline. “We’re on top of the college library, by the way,” he adds. “It was the nearest building. Thought you’d appreciate some privacy after… Well, yanno.”

You smile. “Thank you,” you say. “And thank you for saving my life.”

He pulls out the finger guns, clicking his tongue at the same time. “All part of the job, Y/N,” he replies.

Now you’re no longer in fear of your life, your curiosity returns. “Is it true you’re a student here?”

Spider-Man sits up a little straighter. “I can’t say,” he says, and you think he’s frowning. He pauses for a moment before adding, “I like it up here, though.” Extending a hand, he gestures out at the city.

“It’s pretty.” You take a few moments to watch the sunset. It’s almost over now, darkness beginning to dust the skyline. “Peaceful.”

He hums. Side by side, you admire the city. The moment feels special, with warmth held tightly in the centre of your chest. It’s only shattered when Spider-Man releases a short huff before groaning as he stands, stretching his arms above his head as he walks a few paces.

“Well,” he announces, voice quiet, “I needa go. People to see, places to swing.” Spider-Man turns back to look at you, hesitating slightly. “I, uh… I hope you have a good night, Y/N. Stay safe.”

“Thank you!” you call back. You rest crossed-legged on the bench as you watch Spider-Man walk towards the edge of the roof, suit catching glimmers of the setting sun. As he surveys the city, you reach into your bag, pulling out a pen. It’s second nature now to inform your soulmate of anything consequential that happens to you, and you think an audience with Spider-Man might warrant a message.

You’re not gonna believe what just—

You pause halfway through your message when Spider-Man releases a soft noise of surprise. His hand covers his forearm, fingertips rubbing over his suit.

“Are you okay?” you call out, worry flexing your brows.

Distractedly, he shouts back a gentle, “yeah, yeah, yeah. All good, Y/N.” Without looking back at you, he plants a foot on the railing. “Bye!”

Spider-Man swings off before you’ve got even a chance to respond. Sighing softly, you finish off your message.

You’re not gonna believe what just happened! Craziest day ever?!

With the pen capped again, you stand from the bench. After shouldering your bag, you walk to the edge of the rooftop and lean up against the railing. The cityscape beyond is beautiful—lit in dusk shades of deep purple and burnt orange. They’re complemented dangerously by flashing sirens, red and blue, stemming from a disturbance in the distance. When you squint your eyes and lean over the railing, you see the tiny figure of Spider-Man swinging towards the lights.

The smile that curls across your lips is reflexive, and you couldn’t shake it even if you wanted to.

With a final wistful sigh, you turn your back on the city and head back into the library, beginning your walk home for the second time.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Your soulmate is quiet for a few hours, and it gives you some time to decompress.

Back home, safe and sound, you can’t sit still. You feel rattled. Maybe it’s the stress of your near-death experience or the fact that you’d had the honour of meeting such a well-known hero, but you’re on edge and anxious. It doesn’t help that the news headlines show nothing but scenes of carnage downtown. It seems the hero landed himself in a bit of trouble after swinging away from you, and it’s as if you can feel the ache in your arms as you see blurry video clips of him fighting criminals, followed by snapshots of his suit singed and torn.

With shaky hands and a racing heart, you find yourself analysing your connection with the man. You feel worried—truly worried, more than you would’ve done before—and it’s hard to figure out if it’s some form of survivor’s gratitude or something deeper. After a while, you put it down to the stress and shake it off.

When your soulmate eventually responds, it’s gone midnight, and you’re exhausted. The message you’d printed to your arm had vanished after you’d showered, and when he admits that he’s had a rough day, you decide to keep your encounter to yourself. You’d hate to flex your good fortune on someone when they’re down, and, quite honestly, you’re still too baffled by the whole experience to feel comfortable sharing it yet—even with your soulmate, whom you’d normally tell everything to.

Life continues as usual for a few days. You split your time between your friends and your studies, getting a few of your finals done along the way. On a few occasions, you find yourself drawn back up to the library roof, retracing your steps and spending a while sitting on the bench. It’s hard to explain it, but you feel comfortable up there, surrounded by the city and the memories of such a brief encounter. The rooftop itself is usually fairly bare; besides the bench, there are only a few other features. There are a couple plant pots with wilted plants you’ve taken to watering, some old chairs and a humming power generator tucked out of the way. It’s deliberately unattractive to stop students from stomping all over the library roof, but it’s perfect, and it’s almost like there’s an invisible string tugging you back, over and over again.

One day, about a week after Spider-Man saved your life, you find yourself climbing the eight flights of stairs that lead up to the roof. Your bag is heavy on your shoulders, but there’s a smile on your face. You can feel warm words being written over your arm, the messy scrawl of your soulmate’s handwriting taking hold of your skin again. You don’t look at it yet, continuing to climb the stairs until you break through the door and find yourself on the rooftop.

You’re not alone this time.

There’s a boy.

He’s leaning back against the railing, his bag half-open and thrown on your bench a few feet away. He’s clasping a pen in his fingers, and he’s writing over his arm. In the split second that you’re undetected, you clock the chestnut brown hair and a thick navy hoodie and come to the brief conclusion that he looks unthreatening. When the heavy fire exit door bangs behind you, the man startles. Curious brown eyes join the ensemble, along with pale skin and kind features.

The world… stops. It’s like you’re stuck in place, feet rooted to the hard concrete as the sounds of the city fade out. Tunnel vision shrinks the scene around you until you’re aware of nothing but the man in front of you and the pounding of your heart, painful against your ribcage.

You try to stop staring, but it’s hard. He’s looking at you too, inquisitive eyes roaming around your face, your figure, before settling onto your gaze. He raises his chin almost defiantly before his lips pull into an uncertain smile. He has to be the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen in your life, all sharp jaws and cherry-red lips.

“Hi,” he calls out, voice quiet. It feels familiar, and you find yourself stepping forward, your body finally coaxed back to life. “I, uh… I’m Peter.”

You raise a hand, managing a soft wave. Before trying to reply, you have to swallow down the dryness in your throat.

“Y/N,” you say. He looks at you like he knows you. It’s enough to have you adding, “have we met before?”

Peter shakes his head. A soft blush spreads over his cheeks. “Nah, don’t think so,” he squeaks. He pushes away from the railing and crosses his arms over his chest. “We might’ve met in a class?” he puzzles. “Do you do chem?”

You laugh. “No,” you say immediately. Rocking forward on your feet, you walk closer to him. “I’m not really a science person.”

“Ahhh.” He tilts his head to the side, eyes wide and inquisitive. When you meet his gaze and offer a shy smile, he clears his throat. “O-Oh,” he fumbles. “If you wanna be up here, I can go. I just— was here to watch the sunset.” He springs towards the bench and begins to zip up his bag quickly.

“Oh, no,” you say, “you don’t need to go, Peter. I was, uh… also just coming up here to breathe.” You crack a wry smile. It’d be harder to explain your oddly sentimental attachment to this rooftop and this bench, so you say, instead, “this is the best place to watch the city.”

Peter hums. He tentatively gestures at the bench. “We could, um, watch the city together…? If you want?”

“Okay,” you mumble. You feel antsy, but it’s not uncomfortable. Rather, it’s familiar. It’s exciting. The nerves are like the ones you’d felt like that night with Spider-Man.

There just be something about this rooftop that draws out the frantic pump of your heart.

Peter throws his bag onto the rooftop and sits on the bench. You settle beside him, putting a little space between you both before tilting your head to look at him.

“So,” you say, “what’s your favourite building to look at?”

You talk for a while. A long while. The conversation just sort of… flows. Every gap in discussion is quickly patched by a smooth topic change or small joke, and you find yourself clinging to every word he says. Peter’s cute, and there’s something incredibly disarming about the smooth timbre of his voice. It’s expressive, constantly twisting and dancing in response to the things that you say. When he laughs, it’s like a wheeze, and the skin by his eyes puckers into deep ravines of amusement. You love the sound, and you love how quickly you learn that it only takes a stupid pun or terrible joke to draw it out of him. You learn a lot of things, actually, which is saying something considering he’s always pivoting the conversation back to you. How are you doing, how are your finals going, what do you like to do..? He asks, and he listens, peering across at you with those cavernous brown eyes and an equally soft smile.

The sun sinks, and your heart warms.

You don’t realise how long it’s been until you feel a shiver wrack across your shoulders and look out at the skyline to see it cloaked in darkness. The moon is out, obscured behind wispy clouds, but her light scatters constellations across Peter’s face, his cheeks flushed from the cold and the tip of his nose bright red.

“D’you want me to walk you home?” Peter asks, quickly rubbing his hands over his arms. As he waits for you to reply, he reaches down to grab a floppy hat from his bag. It’s very clearly home-knitted—a garish mix of red and blue that fits very loosely over his head. “It, uh… my aunt made it,” he adds, blushing slightly.

You chuckle. “Nah,” you say, a little reluctant, “I gotta get the subway. So, unless you wanna walk for like… an hour, you probably shouldn’t.”

Peter’s eyes light up. “I get the subway too!”

“We could go to the station… together?”

He nods immediately. The chords of his hat shift in the air. “Yeah,” he agrees, “it can be pretty dangerous out there.”

A short laugh gets lodged in the back of your throat. “Sure can be,” you say, briefly thinking about your encounter from the week before. “I’d like that,” you add. There’s a strange sort of electricity that crackles in the air between you, and it makes carrying eye contact quite tricky.

“Okay.” Peter smiles. “I’d really like that too.”

Your arms and elbows brush as you walk down the bustling streets of New York side by side. You take a couple of detours together, leaning into Peter’s suggestion to stop at a kiosk and grab a warm drink. In return, you drag him into Central Park to see the small market that he claims he’s been too busy to stop by.

Peter is very cute beneath the twinkling festive lights. With refractions of green and red bulbs illuminating his face, he feels multi-dimensional and exciting. You try not to admire him too much, guilt about your soulmate jabbing your ribs every time you get carried away. Despite this, somewhere between watching him fawn over the reindeer in Central Park and being gifted a black and white cookie from one of the market stalls, you decide he’s wonderful. Wonderful, like a friend, wonderful… like something else. You tell yourself that it doesn’t really matter, and you try not to stress yourself out about it because he’s so cute, and the heavy trill of his laughs is enough to dull any thoughts of guilt. You don’t really want to say goodbye to him, but when the heavens open and rain begins to splash the sidewalk, you’re forced underground.

It’s only when you’re on the subway, gazing forlornly out the window, that you realise you never got his number.

Later, when you’re home and sullen, you bring yourself to read the words inked across your skin, lingering from before you stumbled across Peter.

The sunset looks really pretty tonight. Can’t wait until I can watch it with you! <3

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It takes a few days for you to get over the whole situation. In all honesty, even when you eventually forgive yourself for failing to get the guy’s number, you still find yourself trying to make it up. You continue going up to the rooftop, now drawn back for Peter instead of Spider-Man, but finding it equally as bare as it usually was. If anything, it only seems to get colder every night as you become used to seeing the rooftop alone.

In all honesty, you hadn’t expected to see Spider-Man again. You’d buried the encounter in a box entitled ‘weird things that hurt too much to think about’, slotted just beside the warm encounter with Peter from the week before. So it’s incredibly surprising, borderline shocking, to burst up onto the library roof following your last final to see the masked hero sitting on your bench, staring out pensively across the skyline. He hears you the moment you step through the door, reflexes sharp, and if he’s surprised to see you, he doesn’t show it.

“We gotta stop bumping into each other like this!” he calls out, voice light and friendly.

Your brows crease as you walk over to him, releasing a nervous laugh. “What do you mean?” you ask. “I’m not about to be killed.” You pause for a second, feigning shock as you glance around. “Am I?”

Spider-Man goes very quiet for a second. “Oh— y-yeah,” he says, voice lower. “Sorry. I, uh… Yeah. Ignore that.” He takes a second to think before bouncing back, words instilled with enthusiasm. “Y’wanna sit down?”

You nod wordlessly, a lump in your throat. This is Spider-Man, and this time, you don’t have adrenaline to rely on. It’s hard to know what to do and how to act with your brain whirring as slowly as it is. It feels as though you’re on fire as you walk over to the bench, simmering with nerves and something unidentifiable.

A silence settles between you. You rest with your hand on your knee, bouncing as you tap your leg softly against the ground.

“Um… How— how are you, Y/N?” Spider-Man asks, breaking the silence tenderly.

Trying not to get overwhelmed by the knowledge that the vigilante remembers your name, you manage to reply. “I’m doing okay,” you say. “Finished my finals today.” A smile breaks across your face at the words, and it grows when the gloved hero gives a polite clap of his hands.

“Well done,” he says. He presses his elbow into your side very gently. “They go okay?”

“I think so?” you wonder. “They were okay. I’m happy they’re over.” You sit back, slowly feeling your nerves fade away. As your eyes flutter shut, you let the dying rays of the day flitter over your face. “I was really stressed about them.”

Spider-Man hums. “Finals suck,” he agrees. “I finished mine today too.”

“A lot of people did,” you say, thinking about how your soulmate also had his final exam today. “Are you doing anything to celebrate being done?”

He laughs softly. “Nah,” he says before gesturing out at the city. “I got work to do. Are you?”

You shake your head. “No,” you say. You join him in pointing out across the skyline. “Just thought I’d come and watch the sunset—”

“What is that?”

Surprised at the intensity that seeps into his tone, you turn to look at Spider-Man. “What’s what?”

He leans closer, pausing with his gloved hand just beside yours. “Can I— can I touch you?” he asks, voice hoarse.

“Yeah.”

Spider-Man gently takes your hand in his, bringing it towards his face. He squints at your fingers, examining your hand before poking very gently at the sight of a smiley face drawn along the intersecting line of your thumb and index finger.

“That,” he clarifies, poking it again. He traces it a second later, the latex of his gloves soft against your skin.

“Oh,” you say, laughing slightly. “It’s from my soulmate. He… Well, it’s kinda embarrassing, but we do this thing… When one of us is stressed about something, we leave smiley faces as little reminders to stay cheerful.” You look at the lines fondly. You’d found it during your exam, and the reminder that there was someone in your corner had kept you from despair.

“Holy shit,” Spider-Man mutters. Before you can question it, he drops your hand and tugs off his glove. The shock that you feel in response to seeing the pale skin of the hero fades as he thrusts his hand in your face.

There’s a smiley face on his hand, mirroring the one of yours. The only difference is the colour—where his appears in black pen, yours is illustrated as a golden copy.

“Wait…” you say. Your head hurts. You look between his hand and yours, distracted as Spider-Man rummages through a bag with his free fingers. “Wait, do you think…?”

Is it possible that Spider-Man is your soulmate?

“Maybe,” he mutters. He procures a pen before looking at you. Though the mask obscures him, you can sense the mix of nerves and excitement. You feel it reflected in you. “Y’wanna test?”

“Yes.”

You watch as Peter pushes his suit up an arm and starts to write something, the position of his hand preventing you from reading the blocky words. As it turns out, you don’t need to wait long to find out; your own skin begins to tingle, and you gasp as you shove your hoodie out of the way. Sparkling gold clings to your skin. It feels brighter than ever before.

It’s you.

You exhale, then thrust your arm towards the vigilante. “I can’t— believe this. It’s… you…?” Happiness chokes in the back of your throat, and tears reflexively spring to your eyes.

“It’s you,” he repeats, his voice far away. He stills for a second, then clears his throat.

Just as you think you couldn’t get more shocked, Spider-Man reaches up and pulls off his mask. As familiar brown curls reveal themselves to be accompanied with a slightly guilty, very enamoured face, your confusion intensifies.

“Wait— Peter?” Your fingers dig into your temples, your brain moving slowly as you try to comprehend this series of complicated events. “What— H—How—?”

Spider-Man, or Peter, or your soulmate, looks up at you, glassy-eyed and flushed. You reach out towards him, and he links your fingers together, palm against palm, warm and soft. The contact has you sighing. You fall closer, being tugged by his hand until you’re hugging him, your face couched in the gentle juncture of his neck as both of his arms hold you close.

With your eyes closed, you inhale his scent of fresh bubbles and popping candy. Your mind spins as you struggle to unite three separate people into one individual. Not only have you finally found the person you’ve been bound to for three years, but he’s Peter, and Peter is Spider-Man. It’s a lot to take in, but it feels right; his hand on your back feels right, his lips brushing over the top of your head feels right, his soul wrapped around yours feels right.

When you pull back to look at him, you’re laughing.

“We’re so dumb,” you must. Peter quirks an eyebrow, and it’s cute. “I’m dumb. What the hell.” You click your tongue. “Actually, you’re dumb,” you decide. “How did you not— think..?”

Peter’s cheeks blush. “I, uh… I dunno.” He shrugs. “Felt too good to be true, I guess. ‘N I meet a lot of people when I’m working.” A coy smile springs across his lips. “I’m happy, though. Real happy.” Warm hands squeeze your waist. “Been dreaming about this for so long, Y/N, and, honestly… I kinda had a huge crush on you. I felt drawn to you, I guess. That’s why I kept coming back here.”

“Me too.” You can’t stop looking at him. Can’t stop counting his freckles.

“Do you wanna come back to mine?” he asks, voice gentle.

You rest your head against his shoulder, letting your eyelids flutter shut as you hum gently. “In a bit,” you say, “I’d love to. Just…”

“Hm?”

You lean up to press a very light, very gentle kiss to the side of his neck. The blush that tickles over his cheeks in response makes your heart skip a beat.

“It’s beautiful out here,” you say, begrudgingly shifting your eyes away from him and back towards the skyline. With your temple resting against his shoulder, you look at the buildings doused in gold. “Do you wanna watch the sunset with me?”

He coos softly. “You’re so cute,” he says breathlessly, then tries to cover the exhalation with a cough that makes you giggle. “Yeah,” he adds. Peter loops an arm around your side and coaxes you closer, a warm hand resting against your side. “There’s nothing I wanna do more than that.”

“I can think of maybe one thing that’d make this better,” you whisper.

Peter raises a brow. “Uh-huh?” He looks at you. Deep eyes flutter down towards your lips before returning to your eyes, false coyness in his expression. “What’s that?”

“I think you know,” you tease. Your tongue skims over your lips as your smile widens.

“I think I do.”

You kiss with the sun setting in the distance. His lips taste like warm honey, and they slot between yours like they were crafted with this goal in mind. One of his hands cups your cheek, and yours move to both his shoulders as your eyes drift shut.

And the sunset may be very beautiful, but nothing rivals the warmth that consumes you as you connect with your soulmate. Nothing compares to the gentle cradle of your face in his palm, nor the dopey lovestruck expression he pulls away from you wearing. Nothing compares to him.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

:’) well ! that was my annual peter parker fluff fic hfkjdhfdkj. i hope that you liked it! fun fact: i wrote most of this in april but finished it today. it was fun trying to blend it all together :’)

please let me know what you thought!!! rbs appreciated; askbox open! <3

#i like dusk if you didn't know #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #peter parker x reader fluff #peter parker #peter parker fic #soulmate!peter #soulmate!peter parker #y/n

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burnyouwithacigarettelighter · 3 years

Text

part i, autonomy in your coherence | c.g

With something like time that runs round with the world — ignoring it’s inhabitants and stealing things that you’d hidden away for safekeeping — you’ve taken up the hobby of art, furiously sketching faces that are six-feet under.

The skill is beautiful and horrific all the same, watching like a person with amnesia as the portraits begin to lose their depth, the freshness, the personality that came free with who you’d chosen to print on the page.

You’ve forgotten your feelings for Carl, because he didn’t feel the same.

You just wished you did a better job at it.

WARNINGS: mentions of death, suicide ideation

this is a continuation of watch you burn away and i recommend you read that, first! this is also part of a series, so here is the masterlist if you need it!

(cross-posted on ao3!)

Your father once told you he had a patient that died from heartbreak.

“Your heart can’t really break, though, right?” You’d said. A doctor for a father and a laboratory technician for a mother made you more than aware of things, seeing through the myths and pretty white lies of figures like Santa and the tooth fairy.

(They had gone through with it anyway, because although their child knew, it was a gateway to normality in such a busy home.)

Your father scratched his chin, unsure how to respond. “My patient had died from a broken heart, though the process wasn’t as simple as it’s term name. A broken heart — the nonliteral meaning — can be the cause and the domino toppling to many things that could lead to death.”

“Like what?” You’d said with little admission into the conversation, having been flicking through a novel you’d picked up a while back (which featured a one eyed pirate and his partner who’d ended up dying in the end — not that you knew, yet, at least.)

“I don’t know, er,” Your father swirled his coffee lightly, gesturing wildly with his free hand, “Mental health issues, for one. Erratic actions, depression, a lost sense of self. Obsession.”

“Huh,” You muttered, looking up at your father for the first time. “A lost sense of self? Really?”

“What is your father teaching you?” Your mother said, stepping into the kitchen with a questioning expression. The conversation ended there, without so much as a thought after.

You wish you pried your father for further answers. What you’d give to get the workaholic of a man to dump his duo psychology medical major thoughts unto you with little care.

The knowledge would be gold in your time of need, when pulling and pushing distance further between you was like venturing through a field of thorns.

(Perhaps you just missed your parents. But that couldn’t be it, right? They’d died and you had lived, their blood on your hands and the gun in your fingers, their glazed over eyes and your own that nearly matched, cold and willing without a drop of emotion.)

But you’d gotten through it for him— without him. Without anyone, quietly harboring scratches and bleeding from the field with little effort.

If someone asked, you would tell them with full and honest confidence that you harboured no more attachments. You were a naive teenager, running through your feet and over yourself for something that was just a crush.

Crushes are — in their whole singularity and purpose — temporary.

They are brief, and momentarily something that causes ripples and waves in your thoughts, just the slightest mention or faint sight makes you detour down a road of sickly sweet dreams and fantasies.

He was first love (like? You didn’t love him, no, it was a crush and it was something for the unattainable and the inappropriate — in which with full truth, he was.) so you poured the honey glazed remembrances and rose coloured lenses over your memories, because he was a first love, and you know that those were cracks in the heart, growing vines and constricting the part that was him — the part that’d always, always be there, without a doubt.

(However much you didn’t want it to be.)

The leaves and the venomous flowers that sprout in decaying grooves come with age, and you are older now.

You bear fresh scars that litter your entire being and wear newly buried bones of people who were once not just that, the dirt still sitting in the crevices of your nails, and you seem to forget their voices with each passing day.

More and more, the faces look like reference art rather than a taken from life picture, which was all telling them to sit still and watching their eyes crinkle at the edges when you show them the result, voices echoing and asking if they could have it.

Everyday, as it has become a peevish habit like biting your nails or obsessively reminding yourself your stove is off, you draw pictures of everyone.

If you are close enough with them, you ask the subject to sit and model for you, analyzing every breath and laugh they take when you crack a joke or engage them in meaningless conversation just to see how the light hits their brows when they raise, the shadows pooling in their aging lines.

Everyday, you wish and hope and even fucking pray that their portraits continue to be something of anxious routine, rather than trying to dump their image out of your head and onto paper so you can see their faces one more time.

His image seems to change with each moment he sits in for you, once a face with two piercing blues, then a patch and eyes that looked at the dusty wooden floor, and later, someone who looks at you straight, something that told you he was a survivor, who bore his battles proudly, the scar on the right of his face sitting ruggedly and bewitchingly.

You draw him, exactly the way you see him, and when you show him the picture, he laughs, and says “You made me look too pretty,” and you shake your head, “It’s exactly the way I see you.”

You do her, too, upon request. When she sits, you draw her almost like it was professional, drawing the curvature of her face with exact precision, intense shading, marking the features she holds. The dip in her nose, the straight of her hair.

(You often forget who you’re drawing in these moments, and when you step away from the canvas you’re hit with whiplash. It’s subconscious, the way you do these things to please him, wanting to see so clearly how his face spreads delicately with delight.)

It takes a little while for you to convince Ron. When you first propose the drawing, he gives you a confused face, before walking off to do shooting practice. He’s gotten better with the gun over the years, and doesn’t respond when you tell him you know why.

(His mother didn’t come out of it alive, and his brother didn’t come back without harm. The younger boy was alive, but would grow up with only his brother by his side and one less limb to account for.)

The second time, he makes a snide comment, albeit with no bite, about how ‘you must be a horrible artist, to ask me of all people to model for you.’

The third time, you’ve dragged him to the small office you makeshifted for the drawings in the garage. He studies every slit of paper you’ve ripped out of your book, the unfinished sketches or yet-to-be painted canvases piling up against the walls. Complete works sit proudly on your wall, displayed for the world to see.

His hands hover over the paints sitting on your desk, charcoal, dirt, sticks, paintbrushes, handmade dyes, wallpaper cut-outs.

“Why?” Ron says curiously.

“‘Why?’ what?” You echo, fiddling with a fork you grabbed from the kitchen, splaying out a thick lather combination of beet dye and cement onto your finger to check the consistency.

“Why do you draw these portraits? I get the others because,” He says, leaving the words “because they’re dead” hanging in the air between you two in mutual and regretful acknowledgement, “But you draw these everyday. You drag Carl and Enid off, or just sit on the benches and draw Maggie and Glenn knee-deep in the dirt.”

You sigh a dreadful breath, wiping the rest of the beet-cement mix onto the page with the pad of your fore-finger. “We’ll forget them one day.”

He looks at you, unblinking. The dead, the gone, and the soon to be long forgotten only existed in your memories, in your words, and when the time came that the world had moved on and stopped, they would cease. Their whole memory relied on the living, nothing about them able to reach and grasp life on their own. Memory was all that was left, and it was all you could do to wash away regret.

“And the rest?”

You bite your tongue hesitantly, your movements rigid, “You see their portraits. Everyday they get less and less coherent. When — when time comes , these drawings will be the only thing getting me by.” You whispered.

The ball had dropped. Coping and grief in it’s big and ugly form, preying on your conscious hungrily, taking shelter in your largest worries. Claws sunken in your flesh, the monster was a thing that felt like it would never go away, because it would loom right alongside death itself, watching and waiting for the moment they’d deemed someones time to have been enough.

(It would never be enough. Enough meant they’d pop in from next door and ask to borrow something, enough meant they’d swipe dirt across your face to make you angry — enough meant they would come in everyday and sit for their portrait once more.)

A creaking on the floorboard caught your attention, eyes watching as Ron’s feet walk to the corner of the room, before hopping onto the wooden seat with little effort.

“I’m not going. I never will. But — do it anyway. I’d… like to see how I look on paper.” He said cheekily, picking up a thin pencil off your desk and handing it out to you.

So you did. Seconds turned to minutes and minutes snowballed into hours in the dim lighting of the garage, asking the blond to turn his body, stretch his head and make different expressions, fulfilling and destroying the little worm of worry sitting in your head.

When you’re done with the charcoal, turning it around for Ron to see and to inspect, he asks, “What about you?”

“And what about me?” You say. His questions never make sense without further discussion, but the boy always has to wait for you to pry and ask him to elaborate.

“You don’t have any drawings of yourself. You’re the artist, the photographer, the one who makes these things that will stay longer than the memories and the words — so what about you?”

It’s rare that Ron delves into his emotions and the things he really means, but when he does, it’s something that stays, for a long while.

“I,” You didn’t have an answer for it. You weren’t one to do a self-portrait, it not being the same as having someone to sit and take from. “I don’t want to.” You finished simply, an ice cold realization coming to reality in you.

“Why?” He says the same words as before, but the words hold a heavy weight.

“I don’t know.”

You knew.

Maybe one day, you’d wished that you’d wash away like seafoam on the beach. You wouldn’t leave a single portrait behind of you, and the memories and the words were left mum behind his lips, because you knew how he got in a loss.

Quiet and unfeeling, it was so selfish of you that you’d counted on how he got in that state to leave you behind, neglecting you like the fruits of your memories you’d never get to bear.

Ron’s gaze bore into you like he knew exactly what you were thinking, telepathically taking in every thought you’d conveyed at your dispense.

“You should.” Is all he says, before stepping off the wooden stool and out the door.

What was wrong with you? You feel so… entirely foolish. Obsolete. Embarrassing.

You walked past the remnants of those who were gone everyday, obsessively creating canvas over canvas of them and the only thing you could think was that you’d wish to position yourself beside them?

This world was catching up to you, and fast, but you’d just have to run faster than it could.

#twd #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes #chandler riggs #angst #the walking dead #twd x reader #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead carl #carl grimes x you

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tooweirdforyou · 3 years

Text

Maybe » Aomine Daiki

Aomine Daiki x Chubby! Fem! Reader

A/N : hi! My second non one piece fic so yay, I’m happy it’s for KnB and Aomine! Please enjoy! :3

note : I had soooo many ideas for thisssss but instead of my original idea, I went for something a little more Cliché ;-;

Summary : after being friends with Aomine for so long and developing feelings, you keep shut about them and protect your friendship. And then, Aomine finds out about what’s been happening.

“Daiki, would you get up already?”

No response came from dark blue haired athlete other than the gentle snores that escaped his lips.

You roll your eyes and went to pick up the women’s magazine that was opened across his face, just as the tan one sighs heavily and grunts out.

“Oi.. [Name]? Where’s Satsuki?” He groans, turning onto his side and pulls off the magazine from his face.

He takes a look to see the page he was looking at to be one of those thicker, curvy models.

You sigh and walk around to face him, kneeling in front of him once again, your thick thighs exposing itself from your skirt.

“She’s managing the boys at practice. She asked me to come get you.”

Aomine grunts out in annoyance at your words and looks up to see your face, staring down at him. He moved onto his back and continues looking at you.

“...”

His silence makes you smile a bit in defeat and exhale. “Come on, sleeping beauty, you need to get to practice. Otherwise, Satsuki will have my ass.”

“I’m too tired.” Aomine mutters, turning back onto his side, turning so he faced you this time and stares up at you lazily.

Examining your features in silence, Aomine took in your appearance at the moment.

There wasn’t a readable expression on his face so you couldn’t guess what he was thinking. His staring did cause your cheeks to pinken as his eyes shifted down.

He eyes your legs for a moment, the staring hard enough to make you shift to ignore it, as you poked him.

“Come on, just get up, please?” You plead making Aomine pout and close his eyes to avoid your expression. “I don’t care, I don’t wanna..” he sulks quietly.

You heave a heavy sigh and pat your skirt down and hum, leaning close to his face, his eyes still shut.

“I’ll buy you the latest issue of the swimsuit catalog for you~” you sang, in hopes of convincing him to get you.

The blue haired athlete opens an eye to come face to face with you, inches away, and seeing how close you were to him causes him to swallow and turn away, covering his eyes with his arms.

Fortunately, it seems it worked.

“...hmph, idiot.. I want the latest issue of the swimsuit catalog, the lingerie catalog, and I want bread..” He announces, pulling up his hand and bringing down a finger for each one he counted.

You roll your eyes playfully at him, and you held your pinky out for him. “Stupid pervert, it’s a deal.”

Aomine merely grins and moves his arm to face you again, connecting his pinky with yours and you both kissed your thumbs. Something you two did together since you were kids.

“I’ll be waiting.” Aomine grunts as he forces himself up and dusts his clothes, holding his hand out for you to take. “You better remember.”

You lift your hand to take his and helped yourself up, dusting your skirt. “Don’t worry, I won’t. I don’t think I could forget my best friend’s perverted desires.”

“You think too low of me.” Aomine furrows his brows as he began headed to the ladder.

“Do I?”

“Idiot.”

Shrugging, you head down after him, being sure to threaten him if he even dared look up at you as you climbed down, and headed to the gymnasium together.

—

Gently setting down your things on the ground by the door, jacket and cellphone, you went over to greet the coach and players.

“[Name]! Daiki!”

The pink haired manager runs over excitedly, practically bouncing with joy and stars in her eyes at the sight of them.

“You managed to convince him! Thanks so much!”

“Tch, you can’t even get me yourself, making [Name] do all the work.” Aomine scoffs and Satsuki pouts. “I’m busy doing my job and managing the others boys! Besides, only [Name] knows best how to get you to come.”

The pinkette widens her eyes and turns to you. “How did you manage to get him anyways?”

You gave a side glance to Aomine, who was too busy yawning and looking away to notice and you simply shrug. “He knows better.”

Satsuki just giggles a bit and grabs your hands, her clipboard tucked under her arm. “Thanks so much again, [Name]. I owe you one.”

“No problem, Satsuki.” You smile softly at her and watch her pull away to begin pushing Aomine to change.

“Alright, alright, stop pushing me.” Aomine grumbles as he walks forward, stumbling every few steps. He then turns back to give a smirk to you. “Keep your promise, you!”

“Of course I will!” You scoff, waving at him and smiling nonetheless, and began to head out after bidding goodbye to the other players and the coach.

Passing the viewers from up top, you hear particular comments.

“What promise could that fat girl make with Aomine?”

“Can’t be to spread her legs for him.. no guy would want a big girl like that.”

“Obviously. How does Aomine even know a piggy like her anyways?”

Their hushed voices and obvious stares only make you smile forcefully and walk out silently, ignoring their comments.

It wasn’t like it was the first time you heard something like that.

As soon as you open your locker, you find a couple notes slipping out from being held in place. You glance down before crouching and picked each one up, reading them as you did so.

‘Get some exercise, piggy!’

‘Lay off the foods for a while already.’

‘How can you stand to be so big? How does anything fit you?’

The bitter smile that formed from the sight made your heart heavy but you didn’t say a word.

It was a regular occurrence anyways.

It didn’t make you feel any better, considering your walk over to your locker, other students in the halls were pointing and staring over at you, as if you were a display.

As if it was strange to see someone like you there, someone big, where everyone else was thin.

You rip them up in two and set the pieces aside in your locker, grabbing your bag. About to shut your locker, you find the printed sheets Satsuki asked you to do and sigh.

“Better now before I forget..” you mumble to yourself, taking the ripped pieces and the printed sheets into your separate hands and closed your locker.

Slinging the strap of the bag over your shoulder, you begin heading back to the gymnasium so you could finally get home afterwards.

The gossiping whispers didn’t stop. Didn’t they have somewhere to be instead of loitering the halls?

Choosing to distract yourself, you thought about Aomine. The tall, tan, dark blue-haired athlete. It still made you surprised at your friendship but it was one of the best things that happened to you.

It was genuine, Satsuki and Aomine truly appreciated you and you appreciated them, there wasn’t anything you wouldn’t do for them.

The only you could regret was your developing feelings for the athlete. An athlete dating a chubby girl? Even you could laugh thinking about it.

However, you figured Satsuki had the same, so you could only suppress them.

Plus, you didn’t want to ruin Aomine’s image.

It seems you distracted yourself too much, because as soon as you turned the corner, you bumped into someone, causing the two of you to stumble back, the both of you falling.

“O-Oh, I’m so so-“ despite you also falling, you look to the opposite person to apologize, but you were cut off by her scream.

“Oh my gosh! She touched me! Oh my gosh, get away from me, fat girl! You could’ve crushed me!”

The other girl, seemingly her friend, quickly helped her up and both glared hard down at me.

“W-What? I-“

“Are you seriously talking to me? Oh my gosh, Sera, let’s go to the locker rooms so I can wash this filth off me.” The other girl nods as they begin to walk off, but a third voice cuts in.

“Let me help you with that.”

Before any of you could react, the rude girl was suddenly soaked with water, emitting a surprised shriek from her once again.

“What the fuck?! What the fuck are you-!” The three of you turned to see a particular tanned male and your eyes widen.

“Daiki?!”

“Aomine!”

His ignorance towards you made you furrow your eyebrows, his attention kept on the two girls.

“There, all cleaned, now get the hell out of here.”

It was clear the girls were stunned at Aomine’s attitude and overall appearance, but even worse, was his piercing, sharp glare sent to them that sent shivers down their spine, and even you could feel a bit of goosebumps.

“Aomine.. we were just—“

“I don’t really care. Get lost already, it’s a bother to hear your voice.” His glare immediately disappears and he rolls his eyes, turning away with disinterest.

The girls gaped at that and quickly scurried off, you barely noticing her tears from her wet skin.

Once the girls were gone for good, Aomine immediately turns to you, making you startled. His gaze down at you makes you a bit uncomfortable but you continued to stare at him.

“Daiki.. what are you doing-?..”

His stride towards you makes you stop your words and watch him grab your wrist and help you up to your feet.

And then suddenly, he pins you to the wall, hand still gripping your wrist and other placing itself beside your head.

His lazy, unreadable expression is plastered as he leans close. His eyes flick back and forth between yours, as if it’s searching for something.

His peripherals then catch sight of the ripped papers and he snatches them away, pulling away to read the writing.

“H-Hey! Daiki!”

The athlete doesn’t say anything and you can’t reach for it back because he’s so tall.

Aomine silently connects the papers together and reads the full text, and you can’t see his expression since he turns away, but you find his hands clenched tightly into fists, muscles tensed and veins forming as he crushed the papers.

It scares you a little bit to see, so you try to calm him down, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, it’s fine, okay? It doesn’t bother me anymore, so just-“

“Anymore?.. so it has before?” Aomine scoffs. You flinch and sigh. “Maybe, but look, I don’t care about it so let’s drop it, okay?”

Aomine clicks his tongue and turns around to look at you, an irritated yet pained expression taking over. You could actually read it.

“You know... you really are an idiot.”

You pout at that and frown. “The nickname really is unnecessary. You’ve been calling me that since I tripped over my own to feet and spilled my ice cream on myself when we were like, twelve.”

“Because you really were an idiot then! You tripped over nothing.”

“I tripped over some rocks, you jerk!” You scowl, shoving him which caused a small smile to form despite his pained expression seconds prior. His heart still ached knowing you were being bullied like this.

Aomine just shrugs and walks off, making you surprised. “W-Wait, why’d you even come here anyways? You should be at practice.” You began jogging after him.

He stops suddenly, lifting something off his shoulder. It was your jacket and your phone was in his hand, having taken it out from his pocket just now.

“You left it in the gym earlier. I didn’t want you to freak out and forget, and then not text me when you got home safe.”

Your eyes widen at you recall placing it down by the door. “Oh..” you must’ve forgotten when you were ignoring those girls from before. “Thanks..”

You reach up to take it from his hands and think back on his words, tightening your grip on your belongings. Aomine gives a long glance to you before taking your hand.

He holds it up and pressed his palm against yours quietly, you watching silently as he slowly intertwined your fingers and wraps his arm around your body. The action was enough to cause your cheeks to warm but you didn’t protest.

Pulling you close, he tightens his embrace, afraid to let go. “Hey, I..” he pauses for a moment, leaning down more so he was by your ear.

He thought for a few seconds before deciding to change his mind. Aomine shuts his eyes and relaxed himself.

“Nevermind.. just get home safe.. and promise to tell me if something like this happens again. Okay?”

His voice is a whisper, and you can’t see his face but you can hear his weak tone.

“I will.. I promise.”

You slowly pull away and held out your pinky again, smiling softly when he connects his with yours and kissed his thumb.

You thought about confessing to him. Now is the perfect time, isn’t it?.. but, the small fraction of you that’s scared, overpowers your confidence and you just smile at your friend.

“I’ll text you when I get home. Thanks again, and give this to Satsuki when you get back.” Handing the printed sheets to him, you take a step back and wave, slowly turning.

“See you tomorrow, Daiki.”

“..Yeah.. See you.”

You both turn away from each other in the hall, both wearing a somewhat pained expression for similar reasons and shared the same thoughts.

‘Maybe one day... one day I’ll confess to him/her..’

—

A/N : this is all over the place and not really meshing well together but look, I’m tired. I literally got the vaccine recently and I’m so freaking sore.

Also, is it normal to have chills? The next day, I was FREEZING all day.

#tooweirdforyou #knb x reader #knb aomine #kuroko no basket #kuroko no basket x reader #kuroko’s basketball #aomine daiki #aomine daiki x reader #x reader #knb writing #kuroko no basket writing #aomine x reader

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descendantofthesparrow · 3 years

Text

Finale - Rewrite - POYW - Harry Hook x reader - part 7 - Beast

It had taken a bit to get from the castle to the dorms but now you, Celia, and Uma sat in Audrey’s room as Mal and Evie searched the campus for any clues for where the possessed princess might be. Uma was on Audrey’s bed reading her diary while you lay across her legs, playing with the fishnet wrapped around Uma’s waist.

Celia was digging through Audrey’s jewelry as Mal and Evie turned to the room, both looking exhausted from their run around campus “she’s nowhere on campus” Evie breathed, leaning on the vanity as she caught her breath.

“Found her diary,” Uma said distracted as she continued to flip through the private pages. You had told her of Audrey’s struggles before but seeing them on paper was a bit of a heartache, wow her grandmother really was a bitch. “and damn did you ruin her life” Uma chuckled, setting down the diary and giving Mal a sharp smile

Mal just looked sad at the notion, yes, she might have originally not cared about running someone's life (Audrey and Uma being examples of her old cruelty) but knowing first hand from Audrey’s own diary that she had ruined her life made her feel terrible “did you find anything that we don’t already know or?” Mal asked dryly, trying to brush off her feelings so they could get this mission done.

“she hangs out at fairy cottage” Uma closed the book and tossed it aside, patting your leg as it hit your head. “you know? Where flora, fauna, and Merryweather hid her mom from your mom?” Uma teased, laughing a bit as Mal rolled her eyes.

“ha-ha, yeah yeah, do you think that’s where we'll find her?” Mal laughed dryly and looked down at you, as out of all the vks you were the one who was around Audrey the most.

“Maybe, she does hang out there a lot, and it’s very secluded, deep in the enchanted woods and way past Auroria castle, it’ll be past midnight by the time we get there” you muttered, picking at your nails. Mal nodded, it would be their best bet.

“Then let's head back to Evie's and wait for the boys, then we’ll head for Auroria immediately, we’re short on time as it is” Mal pushed you up from your spot on Uma’s legs and let you grab Uma, who was being very stubborn, wanting to stay on Audrey’s very comfortable bed.

Evie turned and gave a disapproving look to the thieving Celia, who had one of Audrey’s gaudy blue songbird tiaras on and multiple other pieces of jewelry. “First off, those don’t suit you at all, second, the bling stays here” Evie snorted as Celia pouted at her.

“But she’s bad!” Celia wined, shoulders slumping as Evie reached out and took the tiara off her head.

“And Dizzy made better jewelry when she was seven, now come on, put them away and I’ll get you some styling jewelry after this is all over, I’ll ever take you to the bayou.” Celia perked up a bit at that and started to take off Audreys stuff, rushing after the others with Evie after she set the last bracelet down.

“Ben!” Carlos called out for the lost king, looking around every turn in the search for their dear friend. Jay called out for him as well, Gil attempting to use his tracking skills for any footprints that might lead them to Ben, Harry trailing behind with Hadie as the five boys searched for the King.

Carlos sighed, calling Dude back to him and sitting down on a rock, pulling out a scrap of Ben’s clothing for Dude to smell and track. “come on, nothing?” Gil perked up and almost skipped over to a blueberry bush, picking some off and moving aside for Hadie as the older vk looked especially curious at the bush.

“Are these blueberries?” Hadie asked, picking one off and tossing it in his mouth, his eyes comically sparkling as the taste. Gil chuckled and picked off a handful for the god and poured it into his hands, Hadie devouring them in seconds.

“ya know” Jay chuckled walking up next to Gil and picking off a berry or two “that is the same face Mal makes when she eats strawberries” Carlos turned and laughed, nodding along.

“It is! Ya know, I always thought you and Mal had some similarities, I guess your dad being, well, your dad, solidifies that eh?” Hadie just shrugged, distracted by the delicious blue-purple fruit.

“soooo, how long have you known about you and Mal being siblings?” Gil asked, once again Hadie just shrugged.

“uh, I guess when Maleficent dropped her off at dads door” Hadie muttered rubbing his lips free from the stain of the fruit. "so, around 19 years I guess” Gil hummed and nodded, picking a couple more blueberries and popping them in his mouth, Dude and Harry walking around looking for Ben still.

Harry looked down as Dude pawed at his boot and then nodded, realizing Dude had picked up a scent. “Pup!” Carlos looked up at Harry, then silently cursed to himself, why did he still respond to that dumb nickname Harry had given him when he was 7. “Dude found somethin’ !” Carlos stood and ran after Harry, who was already trailing Dude as the dog went off the main trail and went deeper into the forest.

Gil, Jay, and Hadie quickly followed, not realizing there were eyes on them as they resumed their search for the king.

The girls arrived at Evie's cottage, which luckily wasn’t far from Auradon prep especially with the bikes, and hopped off their vehicles, Uma whistling in appreciation for the quaint home “nice place” Uma muttered, smirking a bit as Evie grinned at her.

“I got a good deal” she chuckled, taking her key out and unlocking the back patio doors, the five girls walking in and getting comfortable. Celia suddenly stopped as she noticed light snores coming from the parlor and tiptoed in, gasping a bit as she locked her eyes onto the twins and Dizzy, all three sound asleep.

Dizzy seemed to be having a nightmare, and Celia quickly calmed it with a long blanket and soothing words, Evie smiling at the two as (y/n) made sure the twins were okay. Mal walked into the living room and sighed with relief, all the other vks were still here, asleep, but here. Claudine, Colin, and Ginny were huddled up on the couch with Ginny as the main pillow, Colin on her legs as Claudine took her chest, and Diego was sound asleep in Carlos’ favorite armchair with the leg rest popped out.

Uma turned as sudden loud snoring came from the room just off the kitchen, Uma, Mal, and Evie quickly walked towards it only to find Doug on the ground in a crumpled mess, some tubes of fabric rolled out across from him. He must’ve been cleaning up when the sleeping spell washed over the house. “uh, who’s the dude?” Uma asked, Evie pushing past her and kneeling next to him.

“Doug, my boyfriend” Evie placed her hand on his head and checked for any injuries, sighing in relief when she found none, he might be sore from sleeping on the hard tile of her workroom but otherwise he’d be fine. “let's see if this works, Mal” Mal perked up, raising her brow “go get the yellow bubbling potion in the thin and long glass tube that’s at the top of the cabinet above the refrigerator,” Mal grumbled and turned, calling out for (y/n), since she couldn’t reach that spot; might as well get some help with it. Damn her 5’2 height.

Uma raised her brow in curiosity as Evie sat Doug up to get ready to administer the potion “uh, what potion?”

“Some anti-sleep spell potion I made a while ago” Evie smiled at Uma, and Uma paused a bit, suddenly fearing the once thought to be a simple fashion forward prissy isle princess “I made it from some of the poison from Maleficent’s spindle on the needle, should reverse the spell on Doug. I know Mal said there’s not a lot that can reverse the curse of the scepter but there’s no harm in trying” Mal and (y/n) returned with the bubbling yellow potion and Mal handed it to Evie. Evie popped off the cork and poured it down the sleeping Doug’s throat.

Evie clasped her hands together and prayed to whatever gods were listening that it worked. And it did, because a few moments later Doug's eyes fluttered open and he smiled softly at Evie “thank goodness for your potion-making skills” he rasped, leaning in to hug Evie as she squealed and pounced on him.

Uma laughed a bit and turned to give the two some privacy as Evie quickly caught Doug up to speed, (y/n) and Mal following close behind. Uma paused as she looked directly at the unpackaged Jane cake.

You met her gaze then looked at the cake, then sighed “well, it's gonna go bad if we don’t” you gestured to the cake and Uma practically skipped towards it “just leave a slice for Jane at least” Uma nodded, grabbing a knife and cutting herself a sizable piece, Celia running into the room to get on the cake action.

“I hope they find Ben” Mal muttered, sitting at the kitchen window counter and leaning on her hands, eyes downcast in worry for her boyfriend.

“I’m sure they’ll find him Mal” you comforted, rubbing her shoulder and offering her some cake. “have some faith in them”

Carlos called for Ben as Dude let them deeper into the forest, the dog pausing ever so often and then leading them in a new direction. “Ben!!” Carlos yelled out, spinning in a circle to get his voice to reach father as Dude sniffed at a large claw/shoe print.

Dude shook his head and turned to look at Carlos ‘I found a print! Smells like Ben and-something really really smelly! Even worse than Jay's power shakes!’ Carlos snorted and walked up to Dude to look at the print, yelping as a large stone statue leaped from the brush next to him, swiping at his face but thankfully missing.

“holy shit!” Carlos yelled, picking up Dude and running back towards Jay, the stone statue close behind. Jay’s eyes widened as he got a good look at the beast. It was one of the marble lion statues from Auradon prep!

The boys turned on their heels and ran, Hadie taking a small chance and creating a fireball in his hand then throwing it at the statue, grinning as it blasted the beast into pieces. But it was replaced with two more that lept from the brush just behind him. “fuck!” Hadie yelled bolting after the others.

…

Ben opened his blackened eyes to the sound of screams…familiar screams. He lept up from his shady spot under a tree and bolted towards the sounds. His friends! His friends were in danger! He slid to a stop on all fours and let out a pitiful whine as he watched Harry, Gil, Jay, Carlos, and Hadie run away from the marble beasts chasing them, Hadie taking quick shots at them but unfortunately missing.

Ben let out a low growl as several more marble beasts went to attack his friends, he arched back on his heels and went to pounce but stopped. He saw his horrific reflection in a small puddle next to him, beastly matted hair, black eyes, sharp fangs, dark curling horns, paws with claws the size of his face, he had also grown several times bigger than his human size.

He was a monster, he sank back, watching his friends with watery eyes as they attempted to fight against the beasts. Ben let out a pained roar as one of the beasts jumped at Harry and sliced into his shoulder, the pirate falling to the ground in agonizing pain as Harry screamed out. Blood poured from his shoulder and Ben steeled himself.

They were his friends, they were being hurt, they cared about Ben.

They wouldn’t fear him, and they would never hurt him.

He had to be brave, for them. As their king and friend.

Ben leaped out of the brush, letting out a mighty roar and slamming into two marble beasts, the stone crumbling under his claws in an instant. He whirled around and jumped towards Harry, slamming into the beast about to clamp its jaws around Harry’s throat and tossing it away. Ben let out a terrifying roar, one that echoed out throughout the forest.

“Beasty?” Harry weakly asked from below him, hand clamped on his heavily bleeding shoulder. Ben looked down at him and let out a cooing whine, looking back up and growling as another two statues came near him. Ben reared up and slashed at the beasts, the marble crumbling under his strength.

“Go Ben!” Carlos yelled from next to Jay, who stared slack-jawed at beast Ben. “you got this! Kick their butts!” Ben grinned at Carlos’ encouragement and did quick work of the last two beasts, swiping and destroying them under his jaw and claws.

Gil and Carlos cheered for Ben as Jay stared in awe, Hadie bolting towards Ben and sliding underneath him to attend to Harry. Ben backed away and nudged at the slowly becoming unresponsive Harry. “shit” Hadie curse, patting Harry’s face to wake him “come on Hook, don’t pass out on us”

Carlos, Gil, and Jay ran closer to the three, Jay grabbing onto Ben’s collar just in case he got afraid of their reactions and tried to run. But thankfully that was the last thing on Ben’s mind as he looked down at Harry.

“Harry come on dude” Gil whispered, taking off his bandana and soaking up the blood as Harry’s eyes fluttered “(y/n)s gonna kill me if i-woah!” suddenly Ben was sprayed with water, his body glowing a soft periwinkle as he shrunk down to his normal size and his horns, paws, claws, and fangs reduced with it.

Ben shook his head and looked around, eyes widening as he spotted Jane holding a long water gun, probably half full with enchanted lake water. “Jane!” he called, waving her over to Harry. “help him! the water can help!” Jane hurried over and gasped as she saw the badly wounded Harry. She kneeled next to him and gently sprayed the water onto this shoulder, the slices glowing the same blue as Ben had and closing up, the blood disappearing as the water ran over it.

Harry slowly regain consciousness and groaned, sitting up with the help of Ben and Hadie. “wha-Beastie boy? How did yeh?” Ben just nodded at Jane then quickly explained what had happened to him.

“Audrey, no, Maleficent cursed me to become my worst fear, an unlovable beast like my father, but the water” Ben nodded at Jane again, who was being hugged by Gil “turned me back, it breaks spells and can drastically reverse curses but-“ Ben gestured to himself, still mostly furry and fanged “-only mostly, we’ll have to defeat Maleficent to fully remove the curse” Harry just nodded, still out of it slightly and stood on wobbly legs, he had lost a bit of blood so it would be a minute before he didn’t feel dizzy anymore.

“Let's head back to Evie's place, they’re waiting on us,” Gil said, pushing Jane to Carlos for the younger vk to take her as Gil and Jay helped Harry get situated to move out. “and We’re running out of time” Ben nodded and followed after his friends, Hadie trailing just behind them, eyeing the marble statues that had been destroyed by him and Ben.

Mal stepped behind Celia's chair, looking at Uma slightly unsure before she decided to just go for it “Thank you, Uma. That was a really good idea” Uma turned to her with raised brows, confused on why Mal was talking to her willingly “searching Audreys room, now we have an idea of the right track” Uma frowned and glanced at you, who shrugged and continued to eat one of your snacks that you had hidden at Evie's just in case.

“Is there an insult in there or something that I missed?” Uma asked with a mouthful of cake, Mal shook her head, sincere in her words.

“no, no insult, I just…wanted to thank you.”

Audrey, no, Maleficent clicked her tongue in frustration, slowly her weak little failure of a daughter and her ‘friends’ were figuring out where she had gone and were getting closer to beating her…if only little Malsy didn’t have that blasted ember, it was the only thing next to the wand that could defeat the scepter and reverse the possession spell she had placed upon the daughter of Aurora.

“On the right track,” Maleficent said through Audrey, glaring down at the image on her scepter as Mal sat across from Uma, getting a plate of cake for herself “you won't be going anywhere” Maleficent looked up and smirked at Chad, who looked as if he was five seconds from peeing his pants. “how about we mess em up a little?” Chad looked at her fearfully and attempted to suggest something less…evil. Which made Maleficent angry.

“I say we go back to my place and binge-watch some tv?” Chad suggested, his eyes wide with terror “huh? Or maybe order some stuff online?” Maleficent/Audrey tilted her head with a smirk, somehow that translating to ‘yeah let’s do that instead’ to Chad “yeah? Yeah!” Maleficent/Audrey flicked her hand down and Chad followed it, his body glowing a soft green as he went to his knees. “no?! um-what about pizza?” Maleficent/Audrey flicked her hand out and Chad fell on his ass, his back facing an open closet…which gave Maleficent/Audrey an idea “okay, you don’t like Pizza, salad! Sa-“ Chad stopped as he looked towards the front door of the little cottage the two were in, eyes widening as he looked at “Audrey’s” shadow.

Except it wasn’t Audrey’s shadow anymore, once with long hair and a crown perched on her head, was now a taller older figure, with curling horns protruding from its head. Even Chad wasn’t dumb enough to not figure it out. He looked from the shadow to Audrey as discreetly as he could, clenching his jaw as he noticed Audrey’s usual honey brown eyes were turning a vivid green, similar to Mal's eyes.

He went to stand and attempt to take the scepter from his possessed friend but Maleficent blasted him back with a wave of her scepter and Chad was in the closet, the lock sliding shut with another wave.

He started to bang on the door, pleading for Audrey to fight the spell that had taken hold. Maleficent only laughed, there was no saving Audrey now, by the time her daughter and her friends got here, it would already be too late.

Maleficent turned and disappeared into a swirl of green smoke, she had a much better place to execute her evil plans than in this old hideout the good fairies once hid the princess Aurora.

Mal chewed her lip as she watched Uma from across the dining table, Uma ignoring her as she enjoyed another piece of Jane’s cake. “Okay I know I’ve been feeding you sugar for the past three years but slow down you’re gonna give yourself a sugar crash and stomach ache” you joked as you pulled the almost empty plate away from Uma, laughing as she glared and pulled it back.

“Fuck you let me have my sugar,” Uma said in a teasingly angry tone, a smile on her face as you tried to take the plate again “take the plate and I stab you”

“Stab me and I’ll turn you into calamari” you shot back, snickering as Uma rolled her eyes.

“That’s squid dumbass, I’m an octopus.” you held your hands up and sighed, leaning back in your chair and looking outside to keep an eye out for the boys.

“Hey, Uma?” Mal asked nervously, playing with her piece of cake as Uma looked at her with wary eyes “I um…I wanted to apologize” Uma looked genuinely shocked at that, sharing a look with you before looking back at Mal apprehensively, unsure of what Mal was going to say.

“I-I was a bitch of a kid” Uma snorted at that, going back to her cake as Mal continued to talk “I really was a bitch to you specifically, the…shrimp incident, the harassment after that, I treated you like dirt even before all that and I really want you do know that I regret it all, im sorry for the way I was and how I was so cruel to you, I know we were raised to be like that but still, I feel awful about it”

Uma glanced up at Mal, her face giving away nothing. Mal sighed, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear “im not expecting your forgiveness or anything like that, I don’t expect your friendship, just because I apologized doesn’t automatically mean you should forgive or forget about the way I hurt you. So I understand if, after today, we never speak again” Mal smiled at Uma and looked down at her piece of cake, seeming as if a weight had finally been lifted off her chest.

Uma stared at her for a moment before nodding and pushing around a piece of cake with her fork “You were right (y/n)…she has changed” Uma muttered, pushing down a smile as Mal perked up at that and looked at her confused.

“(y/n) talked about me?” Mal asked, looking at (y/n) with shocked eyes “Why would you talk about me?” you shrugged and grabbed your bottle of root beer, keeping your eyes on the outside.

“Told her ‘bout you going to therapy n stuff and how you are actually doing better than just saying it and not changing at all” you hummed, sipping at your soda and sighing. “in my world, the movie you was a whole ass bitch and the writers didn’t develop your character properly at all, treated everyone like shit, including Ben…weird thought but what if we’re in the third movie right now?”

Uma and Mal shared a look of ‘ah right forgot she’s from another dimension where we’re fictional characters’ “that’s possible, but please don’t even mention that again I do not want to implode” Mal snarked, laughing a bit as you flipped her off without looking.

You froze as the hum of magic suddenly pulsed around you, a dome of blue magic that shimmered with green and pink surrounded the house like an airtight cage, sealing the doors and windows. “What the fuck!?” Mal yelled out, standing from her chair and rushing towards the windows, yelping as the dome pushed her back from them “It's Audrey, she trapped us!”

“Celia!” Uma yelled out for the young vk, the aforementioned girl rushing in just after that with a panicked look, running into Uma’s arms and burying herself into Uma’s side.

“What’s going on!” Evie yelled as she ran in from the living room, Doug just behind her with wide fearful eyes as he looked at the magic dome blocking the windows and doors.

“Audrey trapped us, Mal do you got a spell or something for this!?” you grunted as you slammed your shoulder into the patio doors, rubbing it as pain flared from a particularly hard smack.

Mal froze for a moment, trying to figure out a quick spell to get out of the castle when one finally came to mind “please work” Mal pleaded to herself, holding her hands out “You’ve caused my friends pain and fear/we’ve had enough, now disappear!” Mal went a twinge of pain run through her, mostly hitting her head as her hands sparked light blue with magic but nothing else happened “shit! I don’t think I can, I don’t have access to my magic anymore” Mal pressed her palm to her head as Uma looked down at her necklace, the ember within glowing along with her shell.

“What?!” you screeched, backing away from the door as the glass started to crack from the dome pressing on it “But you used a spell on the knights?!”

“I don’t know?! I think I connected to the ember or something?!” Mal grabbed onto Evie as the windows creaked with effort “what is she trying to do, kill us?!” Evie winced as the windows cracked, whelp, that’s fun, and hundreds of dollars down the drain to get those fixed.

Uma’s mind went back to when she and Mal had combined their magic to defeat the knights, and then remembered Mal had cast a spell with her, through the ember! Mal was right, she had connected with the ember! Uma stepped up to Mal, holding out her hand for Mal to take. Mal just looked at her confused and scared.

“Together,” Uma said forcefully, shaking her hand a bit to encourage Mal to take it “like with the knights, our magic together can overpower it.” Mal looked relieved at the idea and took Uma’s hand, the ember blazing bright blue as she did and their hands glowed teal-blue. Uma and Mal nodded at each other once before turning towards the patio doors, focusing on the dome just outside.

Uma’s eyes glowed turquoise as Mal’s glowed yellow, and her hair moved like fire once again. “You’ve caused our friends pain and fear/we’ve had enough, now disappear!” Uma squinted as the ember and her shell burst out in a bright show of light and another glow burst out from her and Mal’s conjoined hands and flowed out towards the rest of the house and the patio doors. The dome shattered with the burst and they were free. Uma and Mal’s hands dropped and separated, the ember within Uma’s necklace dimming from its lost connection with Mal.

Both Uma and Mal let out a slow breath, their shoulders dropping in relief as the tenseness from being trapped released. “you did it” Evie breathed out, looking relieved that her doors or windows didn’t shatter

“Nice, now get me the hell outta here” you grumbled, moving to push the doors open and gasping as you saw the boys running towards the house, with both Ben and Jane. “It’s the boys!”

The other girls followed you and Mal ran to Ben, Uma colliding with Gil as you ran into Harry's arms, slowing down as you noticed his sluggishness. “Harry” you breathed, gently squeezing his torso before pulling back to examine him “what’s wrong, did you get hurt?”

He just nodded, stumbling a bit as his supports named Gil and Jay had gone to make sure the rest of the girls were okay “aye, Audrey sent some stone statues at us, one of ‘em got me pretty good, it’s mostly healed though, Jane had some enchanted lake water” you nodded at Jane in thanks and she nodded back, leaning on Gil’s arm as he introduced her to Uma properly.

Uma caught your gaze and gasped, seeing the slices on Harry's shoulder as he pulled his hand away. She raced over to him and laid her hand on top of the shallow cuts and muttered a healing spell, focusing on the rips in the fabric of his shirt and jacket as well. A moment later Harry was fully healed and his clothes were fixed as well, he also looked as if he had renewed energy. He pulled Uma into a hug and thanked her, the sea witch nodding and patting his arm to tell him to let her go.

Mal was making sure Ben was okay, pursing her lips at his fuzzy face and fangs “Are you okay?” she asked concerned, knowing one of his greatest fears was turning into a beast. Ben smiled and shrugged.

“I am now” he hummed, giving Mal a reassuring pat on the arm “hey it’s okay, I was scared at first but-I’m not now, I’m not a beast, Im just” he gestured to himself “fluffy” Mal looked unconvinced but let it go, they didn’t have time to argue over Ben brushing his problems away when they were clearly important.

Ben looked over to Uma, looking slightly surprised to see her “Now where the hell have you been?” Uma just looked sheepish as Gil and Harry pouted at her. “wait lemme guess” Ben pointed at you as you snuck behind Harry “(y/n)s been hiding you at your request?”

“How in the hell did you guess that?” Uma said surprised, her eyes wide. Ben just shrugged.

“I know (y/n) and that is exactly something she would do, and knowing you from Harry and Gil, that is also something you would do” Uma turned to her boys, slightly surprised they seemed to talk about her that much. Harry and Gil just shrugged as Mal turned Ben’s attention to her.

“okay, so Uma found a clue in Audrey’s diary” Ben looked at Uma slightly disappointed that she had gone into Audrey’s private life like that but Mal quickly turned his attention to her again “I know I know, we’ll both apologize to her after this is all over, but now we think she may be in Fairy cottage, the one her mom was hidden in when she was a kid, do you have any idea where it may be?” Ben nodded, wringing his hands a bit.

“yeah, she took me there every fairy godmothers day…speaking of FG’s where is FG?” Mal, Evie, (y/n), Jay, Celia, Carlos, and Hadie all looked uncomfortable at that.

“uh, she got turned to stone” Hadie muttered, kicking away a stone at Jane and Ben’s shocked looks. “we were trying to get the wand and I suppose Audrey found out and stopped us before she could get it.” Ben nodded solemnly turning back to Mal, who gave him a sad smile. Ben took a deep breath and went into king mode, turning to Doug and Gil.

“Doug, Gil” the two looked up slightly surprised at his authoritative tone “go with Jane, find FG, I know she stone right now but knowing her exact location would be good” Mal went to say she was at the museum but stopped as Ben continued to talk “then get the wand just in case, Jane should be able to access it” He looked to Jane for confirmation and she nodded, looking sure she could control its magic this time around. “and if we do fail in defeating the scepter, you’ll be our last hope.” everyone nodded, the tension rising in the area as you all realized you were all heading into a final battle situation, where the stakes were high and death was probable. “good luck, take the bikes if you need to” at that Carlos opened the garage to reveal Harry and Gil’s new motorbikes, to which Gil and Jane climbed on his and Harry quietly threatened Doug to not ruin his.

Soon the three were off into the setting sun, Mal biting her lip as she remembered Beasts words on the deal ‘return the scepter and the crown to the museum at sunrise, or the barrier will be closed for good’

Ben intertwined their hands, seeming to know what Mal was thinking about, she gave him a watery smile and they turned to go back into Evie's place for a moment to make a quick plan with everyone before they all headed out.

-end of p7-

part 7 yall!!!! hoped you liked it!!! i really like how the beast ben part turned out along with Mals apology and the scene just after that :3

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@thecaptainsgingersnap @jatp-rules-my-life @verboetoperee

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rewrite taglist

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#Descendents #descendants #disney descendants #harry hook #harry hook descendants #harry hook x reader #harry hook imagine #rewrite #part of your world #shuffle playlist #d3 rewrite #interlude #finale

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tokisguitarpick · 3 years

Text

interruption part.1

characters: Skwisgaar Skwigelf x Reader

doods, I really tried to make this one giant piece but I said that on friday, it’s fuckin wednesday, work has been kicking my ass, here’s what I got so far

The first time you met Skwisgaar Skwigelf was unfortunately also the first time you pissed off Skwisgaar Skwigelf.

In your defense, you thought it would be prudent to bond with the support staff- your boss Charles, the music producer Abigail and her assistant Dick, the Klokateers, the people around the band- as soon as you could to cement your place at work first. After that, then you would really worry about Dethklok liking you. It's not that you were rude to them, hell your whole job was making sure their needs were met and they were secure and happy on a day to day basis. But if Charles asked you for a report at the same time Murderface told you to go get his dethphone from his bedroom, Charles took first priority. Which was why when you were sent to deliver a fax from Crystal Mountain Records to Abigail, you went diligently down the 4 floors it took to reach the studio and entered quietly, recognizing the red recording light on over the door. A brightly melodious guitar solo rang through the gothic studio rooms, sounding as exquisite as a Beethoven composition when unaccompanied by the rest of the death metal band, and you hovered by the door for a moment. You were nervous to disturb now that you heard exactly what they were recording. But your rationale won out and you decided to simply slip the fax to Abigail and leave.

Approaching her desk, you got a clear look at the source of the music and it caused your step to falter. Skwisgaar, tall and imposing, shredded his guitar with deft hands inside the recording booth, his fingers moving faster on the Gibson neck than your eyes could follow.

Instead, they moved to his face, taking in his closed eyes, his full lips parted, and a light sheen of sweat covering his skin as he worked. His long, cornsilk hair was uncharacteristically swept up in a messy bun at the nape of his neck, short tendrils made loose from exertion clinging to the edges of his face or else flowing around him. A bead of sweat caught your eye as it rolled down his Adams apple and your gaze trailed to his thin, defined arms and the muscles working under his skin, his long fingers showing off every ounce of skill he had. He looked nothing like the guitarist that took the stage with Dethklok, giving a heavy and thrashing performance. He looked at peace, a man entirely in his element. He looked heavenly.

Suddenly, every headline calling him a rock and roll god over a photo of him covered in ghoulish makeup felt entirely false. If only they could see what was in front of you now.

Sadly, all good things come to an end. Your faltered step caused you to squeak as you caught your balance. Abigail jumped and turned in her chair. The music ended with an abrupt squeal and Skwisgaar's icy blue eyes snapped open.

"Oh, who the fucks is this?!" he spat into the mic and you blushed, embarrassment finding a home in the pit of your stomach. Abigail sighed, looking you over with a crooked eyebrow.

"So sorry, I was just bringing this to you." You handed Abigail the fax and she unfolded the paper to read it over. Skwisgaar, who seemed to find your interruption bothersome enough, bristled as your eyes flickered between him and the music producer. He yanked the guitar strap off his shoulder and snarled, "Not evens anythings important! Get the fucks out of heres!" He held the guitar by the neck and gestured aggressively with it.

You jumped, turning tail and hurrying away as fast as you could without running. The only reasoning for his behavior came at the end of an email from Abigail, a throwaway line about it being crunch time with the production of the newest album. But sadly, that was the start of your professional relationship with the Dethklok member and it was a shame, that one instance coloring the way he treated your presence in Mordhaus. He didn't reply when you asked the band questions, he turned his nose up when you had to contain some of the band's more brutal ideas, he only ever referred to you as a servant, the list went on.

It was taxing and honestly, a little upsetting. You had managed to piss off Nathan your first week here as well but by the next morning, he greeted you with a joke about it and asked you to make a pot of coffee. You spent many afternoons wondering if there was any way to make it up to the haughty guitarist. And wondering what exactly you needed to make up in the first place.

The next climactic moment in your relationship came around the four month mark of your employment.

The acrid smell of burning plastic reached you as you walked past the hallway leading to the kitchen, making you sigh. You put a jump in your step, something at odds with the very exasperated expression you could feel on your face, and hurried to the source of the smell, the armful of dirty laundry you'd picked up in the living room discarded as you jogged. Entering the kitchen, it took no time to zero in on the small fire slowly growing on the stovetop.

Toki and Skwisgaar stood over it, the former blowing frantically at the quickly blackening frying pan while the former flapped at the fire with a hand towel. The mere sight of Toki's long hair billowing around the open flame made your chest seize. "Guys, guys," you will be the first to admit, your voice came out in a shriek, "stop! Move!"

Toki jumped away from the stove with a welp, his eyes wild when he saw you. You snatched the fire extinguisher off the wall by the door and ran up to the stove. Skwisgaar still hadn't moved. If anything, he seemed to step in your way, blocking you from the fire. "I has it under controls, leave." His voice was hard and cold, almost jarring in contrast to the scene playing out.

And in your bewilderment, you snapped. Months of irritation compounding itself into a rage that bubbled past your lips, you growled, "Skwisgaar Skwigelf. If you think-", you grabbed a fistful of his shirt and wrenched him back, "-for a goddamn SECOND-" Skwisgaar stumbled and you caught his slim waist in the crook of your arm, "-I'm going to explain to Charles-", you threw him behind you and lined up the extinguisher, "-his most arrogant guitarist got third degree burns because he was too fucking STUBBORN-" aim, "-to MOVE!" fire. You pulled the trigger on the fire extinguisher and doused the stove in a thick, chemical scented foam, holding it there until the fire was smothered. Breathing heavily, you spun around and shoved the extinguisher into the blonde's arms. "Then you're stupid, too," you murmured with venom.

Skwisgaar was a tall man so even face to face as you were, he still towered over you, his eyes icy and his hands overlapping yours on the safety equipment. His eyes traced your face and you could the heat coming off your cheeks but using all your strength, you softened your expression. "Stop freezing me out. I'm just here to help." Your voice was still low but much gentler, which seemed to throw him off. Skwisgaar's haughty face mellowed and his eyes dropped to your mouth, his bottom lip finding a place between his teeth unconsciously.

"Ja," Skwisgaar finally replied, a terse acceptance as he took the fire extinguisher from you. His eyes hadn't left your face for a moment and he just rocked back on his heels, keeping the equipment awkwardly held in front of him. "I suppose Charles woulds finds dat upsettings."

Breathing a sigh of relief, you finally looked back at the stove and frowned at the charred frying pan. "Can I ask what you guys were doing?"

Toki finally piped up, seeming relieved that you weren’t yelling at them. "We's were tryings to makes a grilleds cheese."

Eyebrows furrowed, you studied the charcoal in the pan until you recognized it as a whole block of cheese. The mental image of a new, freshly purchased block of cheese, still wrapped in the plastic, being placed by these adult idiots into the frying pan made your blood pressure rise and you immediately put it to the side, deciding against any other questions.

"Okay. Well. I'll order us some pizza."

That cheered Toki up immediately but Skwisgaar simply nodded once, his cheeks turning a very light pink.

From that point on, Skwisgaar seemed to slowly accept your place as a member of the support staff. Between riffing on your jokes and agreeing with you on occasion, you would've said that your relationship with Skwisgaar was the best it had ever been.

Unfortunately, this came with an unforeseen consequence.

Now, you had a massive crush on Skwisgaar.

Okay, sure. Technically, you'd had a crush on him for a few years. Everyone in the world knew Dethklok and regardless if they liked the music or not, everyone had a favorite. Yours had always been the Swed. And sure, he looked hot as fuck in the recording booth all those momths ago. But all the following cold shoulder encounters had turned you off of the rock star, the withering look he shot you whenever you had tried to reign in the band members kicking any thoughts of fancy to the curb.

But that was before. This was after. The shock you felt later that day when he addressed you by name for the first time was electrifying. Instead of jestful barbs at your expense on the off chance he acknowledged you, Skwisgaar joked that you took no shit so Murderface better stop riling you up. No longer barking "Moves!" if you were in his way, he simply slipped past you, his hand warm against your upper- though once or twice, lower- back. Now you preened yourself when you knew you would see him, not wishing you could hide. It was driving you crazy.

You felt like a groupie or a schoolgirl, constantly fixated on your crush. Wishing and scheming to get closer when he was around you, his presence obscuring your thoughts when he was away. You had read all the print interviews available in the Mordhaus archives, watched the video interviews online, and had even followed a Dethklok fan Instagram to get a smattering of band photos on your timeline every day. You justified it all as being diligent at your job. But that only went so far, even with yourself. You stayed there, living in limbo for months as you wrestled with your feelings and professionalism. Skwisgaar, however, seemed oblivious to the effect he was having on you. You caught him staring at you sometimes but it was so few and far between that you simply chalked it up to him zoning out.

Or that's how you lived until Christmas.

You celebrated your winter holiday early so you could be on call for the band during actual Christmastime, which turned out to be a good idea. The mothers of Dethklok decided to visit the week leading up to the 25th, having skipped the year before on Charles' recommendation and they seemed exceedingly cranky due to that. The week itself was brutal - Nathan was broody and even quicker to anger than normal, Pickles hadn't been seen sober since they learned about the impending arrival, Murderface was essentially a walking scab from the anxious picking he'd subjected his arms to, and Toki was catatonic.

Of course, your focus was caught most by Skwisgaar. Sulky with a sour stomach, he kept his head down all week. He had his guitar glued to his hands and was second only to Toki in using avoidance as a defense mechanism.

It was incredibly stressful juggling between the bristled band members and their neurotic mothers. Charles himself said it would be at least a month before they could schedule any public appearances so the boys could decompress, and ideally avoid a PR nightmare. So to say you were glad to see their mothers finally leave, only Nathan's thanking you for attending to her, was an understatement.

After a long day of taking everyone to eat then to the airport, you had retired to your small Mordhaus apartment as soon as you could - which was pretty soon as the band seemed just as exhausted and had disappeared once you had gotten home.

You didn't reemerge until after midnight, sneaking out and down the hall to find something to eat at a quarter past twelve. The house was quiet on your walk to the kitchen but after grabbing your snack - a cold cut sandwich you had wrapped in a paper towel to avoid leaving a trail of crumbs - you heard soft, twinkling music coming from the living room as you passed it on your way to the elevators. Pausing to listen, you recognized it as guitar and wondered which of the guitarists were playing, given that Nathan was the only band member who couldn't. You wondered if Murderface had seen you head down and was trying to get your attention, a ploy he had used before, ending with your curiosity getting the best of you. You crept to the living room entrance to peek.

Skwisgaar sat on the sofa facing you, pale and glowing in the dim light coming from the arcade games. His eyes were closed as his fingers glided over the neck of his Gibson, his silky hair draping down his neck and naked shoulders. Seemingly dressed for bed, he was shirtless - though his guitar hid his midriff, to your disappointment - with a pair of black sweatpants on. He seemed lost in his music, strumming out a low melody with mastery.

Your breath caught as you took in the sight and you stood there silently, trying to photograph the moment in your mind, until you registered his expression.

Devastation.

His eyes were closed but tears were streaming down his gaunt cheeks, his quivering eyebrows were furrowed, and he was mouthing a song to himself, his full lips pale. He looked like a man at war with himself, lost and broken. The music was no longer soft and twinkling, it hung in the air like a funeral dirge.

As the past few days ran through your mind, every mention of Skwisgaar's childhood came back to you and all the pieces suddenly clicked into place. This wasn't a man lost, this was a man, once again, in his element. The grief and sickness he had been feeling all week was flowing out of his guitar like the tears from his eyes.

Feeling your own eyes prickling, you felt like this was too much, too personal, for you to see. But despite that, your heart ached and you were stepping forward before you registered the motion. "Skwisgaar?"

#metalocalypse #metalocalypse fanfic #skwisgaar skwigelf #skwisgaar skwielf x reader #dethklok #i wanted it to be 5 times you interrupt skwisgaar and the last one was gonna end in a kiss but i'm slow #i got stubby slow fingers donts fuckin looks at me #if you have ever seen hozier live i tried to capture that in the recording booth #timeline is weird because i wrote this before debating if my fics take place between s3 and s4 still dont know!!!! enjoy!!!

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