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writingandimagining · 2 years

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High Up in the Astronomy Tower (Part 10)

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Summary: You and Draco discuss Frankenstein after some stressful news.

Word Count: 2.5k

Rating: Teen (other parts M), 💗, 💔

A/N: There's a deleted scene in which Draco actually throws Harry a wand and rejects his parents trying to bring him back to Voldemort's side. I'm living in a world where that is canon. Scene here it's low quality and kind of chopped up, but I wish it was real (Draco redemption > Snape redemption don't @ me).

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You woke before Harry. You shifted and Harry’s arm momentarily tightened around your waist. You froze, but he quickly relaxed, and you slipped out of his grasp.

You glanced back at Harry, relief and anxiety twisted in your stomach when you saw his peaceful face.

You shook your head and pushed any thoughts or feelings you had about Harry to the back of your head. You had a lot to do today to prepare for the classes for the week.

You spent Sunday in your classroom duplicating the muggle books you had purchased and arranging them by year along the shelves you had conjured.

On one of the blackboards, you spent several hours making a very general timeline marking dates that were important in the muggle and wizarding worlds.

You then set to write a reading and assignment schedule to hand out. You had serious gripes with the air of mystery many professors at Hogwarts seemed to prefer regarding what would be taught so your goal was to be as transparent as possible in your classes.

The sun had long since set by the time you felt prepared for Monday.

The schedules for students were neatly organized at the desk upfront.

You had rearranged the desks into small groups. Then you had managed to find some furniture in the recently repaired Room of Requirement and décor to make the room feel more welcoming.

The two sofas you had brought to the room made an L shape by the bookshelves with a carpet underneath. The few lamps you had scattered around the room and the tapestries you had taken from the Room of Requirement were reminiscent of the dorm rooms.

You gave the room one last once over before extinguishing the lights and leaving.

The Great Hall held a few students as they finished eating, and you slid onto the bench at the Ravenclaw table to quickly get some sustenance in you before going up to bed and collapsing.

The Eighth Year common room was half full when you arrived, but you paid little attention and headed up to your room to shower and sleep.

Harry was absent, but you gave that little thought. You assumed he was with Hermione and Ron.

Your shower was quicker than normal because you wanted to be out and dressed before Harry got back. You didn’t think you could handle another incident like the other night right now, the memory of sleeping in his bed with his arm around you back with a vengeance now that you weren’t distracted by work.

You slipped into bed and thankfully sleep came easily.

Monday mornings were always the hardest, but your combination of excitement and nerves had you rising before your alarm even went off.

A quick glance at Harry’s bed and you saw him sleeping. You were glad he hadn’t had another nightmare, or at least one that woke you up, not that you would have minded helping him again.

You set your alarm a little bit later, trying to give Harry a reprieve from your supposedly unreasonable wake-up time.

You got ready quickly, grabbing your bag on your way out.

The common room was mostly empty, and you didn’t spot anyone you wished to talk to. Pansy and Theo were sat by the fire and they both gave you a sneer when you passed. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, at least long enough so they didn’t see it.

Your anxiety about teaching today had you taking a detour to check on your classroom again.

The additions you had made looked even homier in the soft morning light.

You decided to distribute the books onto the individual desks because there was still time before breakfast even started.

Because you had the Fourth Years placed Lord of the Flies, Hamlet, Band of Brothers, a muggle history textbook, a textbook on muggles and magic, and the reading schedule on each desk.

Much to your surprise, the wizarding bookstore had actually had a decent muggle history textbook which had been written by a muggle-born wizard about ten years ago. The advances in technology since the textbook had been written made some sections out of date, but you figured you could supplement that easily with your own knowledge.

The muggles and magic book had caught your attention in the store. You hadn’t even been looking for it but once you saw it you knew you wanted it in the class. You hoped that grounding the new information in familiar knowledge would allow students to stay interested in the long stretches of the class that would involve very little mention or practice of magic.

You checked your watch and cursed. You had left you with only thirty minutes to eat by taking the time to organize and distribute the books.

You darted down to the Great Hall, slowing to a brisk walk when you noticed the odd looks from students as you passed. It probably wasn’t a great look as a professor to be sprinting through the halls.

You quickly made your way to the table and saw Harry, but no Draco.

You all but threw yourself into the seat in your rush.

“Morning Harry,” you greeted, shoveling some food onto your plate.

“Did you see the paper?” Harry asked, holding out a copy to you.

“I haven’t checked the news in a long time,” you replied, taking the paper from him. The Daily Prophet seemed to want to relive the Wizarding Wars every day and you had decided reading their less than legitimate accounts of the first and second war wasn’t doing your mental health any good.

Antonin Dolohov Escaped Azkabam Again? Is the Ministry Capable of Holding Death Eaters? Or Will More Go Free?

Your eyes widened.

You scanned the article. There was very little substantial information as most of the article was spent deriding the ministry for the sheer number of escapes that had occurred from Azkaban in recent years.

This was Antonin’s third escape and while the article had a point, it was more fear-mongering than anything else.

“What’s going to happen?”

Harry’s silence made your heartbeat pick up.

“He’s coming here,” Harry finally said.

“What? How do you know?”

The Prophet had speculated on Antonin’s goals, claiming he would try to escape the country, but there was nowhere a Death Eater with that level of recognition could go without being recognized. You weren’t sure Antonin’s movements could be predicted. He was incredibly unstable and violent, even for a Death Eater.

“Some prisoners they questioned had heard him muttering about his dedication to Voldemort and completing his vision.”

“And that’s reliable?”

Most of the prisoners had been there for years. Antonin himself had spent a total of fifteen years in Azkaban. It was a shock that he was even functioning enough to escape, but making plans to try to infiltrate Hogwarts alone? That seemed impossible.

“Lucius Malfoy heard him. He’s only been there a few months so it's reliable in that he’s not yet crazy.”

You blinked. “Why would he say anything against a fellow Death Eater?”

“Normally I’d say to save his own skin, but he claims Dolohov is not only after me but also Malfoy.”

“What? Why?”

“The only thing I can think of is when Draco threw me that wand.”

“There’s plenty of other Death Eaters outside of Azkaban that testified against Dolohov and the rest. How does Draco’s one action at the end of the war, an action that didn’t even prevent him from almost going to Azkaban, warrant that kind of attention?”

Harry shrugged.

“So, what do we do?”

“The ministry is sending a few Aurors to be stationed at the school and Hogsmeade. To keep the Prophet from finding out and causing a mass panic McGonagall has decided to keep this among the professors.”

You sighed. You didn’t want to underestimate the harm a Death Eater could cause, but you really doubted a single, barely hanging on to his insanity, Death Eater was going to get anywhere near Harry or Draco, much less break through the wards around Hogwarts.

“How’s Draco doing?” you asked after a moment’s silence.

Harry shrugged again. He seemed to not want to talk about it anymore and you pushed your curiosity down, wanting to respect the stress that this news was undoubtedly causing him.

You finished your food and made your way back to the classroom.

You let the few students already outside in and made your way over to the desk at the front. Murmurs and points at the decorations had your stomach turning over, but you didn’t see any particularly negative reactions.

“Please sit at one of the desks and we will get started in a few minutes.”

Students filtered in, sitting mostly within their house and set friend circles. You contemplated assigning them seats in the future to mix up the houses more. You would have to see how the next few weeks went before making another change.

“Okay! Good morning, everyone. As you can see, I have provided you with several books you will be reading throughout the semester. There is a reading and assignment schedule on your desk. Take some time to look over that and let me know if you have any questions.”

After a few minutes and no questions, you brought everyone’s attention back.

“As you can see, we have a few yearlong textbooks we will read alongside some novels, plays, short stories, and poems. I am going to do my best not to lecture much, so instead, you will have weekly textbook readings that you will have to do to be prepared for class. The times when we are reading the novels we will come to class and discuss them.”

You paused, looking over the students. A mix of interested and wary faces prompted you to continue.

“Great! First things first: muggle history.”

You moved to a blank chalkboard and began your lecture.

The Fourth Year class passed by easily as you went over some general information. You found yourself having to answer a lot fewer questions than you expected, but you assumed that was probably because you had started with the beginning of settled humans which was something wizards had a decent bit of education on.

Potions class went by quickly with Draco giving a lecture on Veritaserum and its ingredients. At the end of class, he handed out your graded papers.

You lingered behind the other students waiting until the last one had left.

“How are you doing?” you asked Draco, his back turned to you as he shuffled through some things on his desk.

“Could be better,” he replied tersely.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”

Draco sighed and turned around to face you.

“Honestly I’m just surprised that this is the first legitimate threat to my life and it’s coming from a Death Eater.”

“Are you at all worried about it?”

Draco looked away with a far-off look in his eyes.

“Antonin was one of the cruelest. He didn’t hold a candle to my aunt, but…” Draco trailed off.

A movement out of the corner of your eye and you saw Draco’s fingers dig violently into his left arm.

“Draco,” you murmured.

Draco jumped and released his arm. You said nothing, just watching him recollect himself.

“I doubt it’s possible for Antonin to even use magic without being detected. There’s no reason to worry.”

You nodded and Draco ran his hand through his hair in a movement that betrayed his denial of nerves.

You opened your mouth, but you had nothing reassuring to say.

“Have you finished Frankenstein?” you asked instead.

Draco raised his eyebrows at your sudden subject change.

“I did.”

“Well, I have to know what you think. Tonight?”

A ghost of a smile flitted across Draco’s face, and he nodded.

“Great! I’ll see you later, Draco.”

The rest of your classes went about the same as your first, but a few derisive comments arose. You quashed them quickly, but the threat of detention only seemed to quiet them. You could see it on their face that their attitudes didn’t change at your statements, but you didn’t expect that to happen overnight.

Dinner rolled around and the conversation centered around your classes for the day.

Harry left to join the Gryffindors when you got back to the common room, and you dragged Draco over to the loveseat.

You kicked off your shoes and removed your robe, tie, and sweater. Draco gave you an odd look but did the same.

You curled up in the arm facing Draco who sat much more composed on the cushion next to you.

“So?” you prompted.

Draco snorted and you resisted the urge to shake the thoughts out of him.

“It’s sad,” he said.

“No shit, Sherlock,” you quipped.

“Sherlock?”

“Muggle detective. Doesn’t matter. Just means you’re stating the obvious.”

“But it is. Nobody wins.”

“Should there be a winner?” you challenged.

Draco frowned. “Well, not wins. But nobody is happy. I mean they’re all dead at the end.”

“Well, the monster isn’t.”

“He wants to be.”

The look on Draco’s face caught your attention, but you can’t decode it.

“I do think it is sadder for the monster than Viktor.”

Draco gives you an odd look. Fair. Viktor’s whole family dies throughout the novel, his wife being murdered by the Creature. Meanwhile, the Creature doesn’t lose anyone and does terrible things to Viktor and his family. But you always think about how he didn’t have anyone in the first place.

“He didn’t ask to be made and then immediately cast out by what is essentially his father.”

A pained look on Draco’s face and it clicks. Draco sees himself as the Creature.

Your breath caught at the realization.

“Viktor is cruel and selfish to the monster and so the monster becomes cruel and selfish too. I’m not sure I can blame him for being so fucked up considering how he was treated.”

“He killed Viktor’s wife,” Draco replied with a look of defiance on his face. It’s like he wants you to admit a hatred for the monster, for Draco.

You nodded. There’s no excusing that and you won’t pretend there is a way to justify that.

“That’s when I stop feeling bad for him. He doesn’t try hard enough to change… But he’s also not given the space or tools to do it. There’s no clear good or evil here.”

Draco looks away and you wait patiently.

“Do you think we can blame our “creators” for who we are?”

“Blame? Not after a certain age. But it explains who we are, or who we were. An explanation isn’t an excuse.”

“And when do we start holding people accountable as individuals?”

“When they’re not children. When they’re not trapped.” Your reply was firm and pointed.

“What they did before doesn’t matter?”

“It does. But people grow, they change, they become someone deserving of forgiveness.”

Draco looks away and you resist the urge to reach out.

“Draco, you’re not a monster,” you murmured.

Draco’s eyes close as if he’s in pain.

“You’re not a monster.”

Draco doesn’t respond and you stand, gathering your clothes.

“If you’re a monster what does that make him?”

#draco x you #draco malfoy x reader #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #draco x reader #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #reader insert #doctor who imagine #harry imagine #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter x reader #harry x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x you #ravenclaw reader

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on-maars · 3 years

Text

Parenthood

Finally took the time to write a lil something for buddie again. Hope you’ll like this 🥰

Just Bobby acting like a dad to Eddie and them having a quick chat about his (obvious) feelings for Buck.

Read it on AO3.

Bobby doesn’t usually ask Eddie to help in the kitchen. Not that he doesn’t want it, he just knows that cooking is not exactly Eddie's area of expertise. This is a widely accepted truth among the 118.

Still, when Eddie asks him if he needs a hand in the kitchen this morning, Bobby finds himself nodding and handing him the knife to chop the vegetables while he’s keeping an eye on the meat.

Bobby doesn’t need much time to realize that Eddie’s sudden burst of willingness to cook may have been brought about by ulterior motives; his hand gestures are way too hasty, too sharp and the vegetables start to suffer the consequences, looking more like some kind of puree rather than small squared pieces like he asked him to a few minutes ago.

Bobby doesn’t say anything at first, wondering if it’s his place or not, but he quickly realizes he doesn’t have to. Eddie takes that decision for him a few minutes later by abruptly letting go of the knife, a dull sound resonating inside the living-room. Both Hen and Chim look up at him, share a quick glance with each other and flee the scene without looking back.

“I think I’m gay.” Eddie suddenly says and Bobby raises his eyes at him, wondering why Eddie opened up to him of all people, surely someone like Hen or Michael would be more helpful in the matter. Still, he stays silent and offers him a small smile of encouragement. “Demisexual, too.”

“Okay.” Bobby only answers.

“It means that I-”

“I know what being demisexual means, Eddie.” Bobby cuts in.

“I- I didn’t.” Eddie says, lowering his voice. “I only just found out about it. About everything, in fact. And- there’s a lot of terms, Bobby. It’s- it's a lot.”

“It can be pretty overwhelming at first.” Bobby agrees. “I wouldn’t know half of that stuff if it wasn’t for May and Harry.” He adds.

“Yeah, May was- She was very helpful actually. She was the first person I- I told. She kept sending me these articles afterwards and after a bunch of sleepless nights, it finally started to make sense. Or I mean I- I think it does. I’m still- still trying to figure it out, really.” Eddie asks, letting out a bitter laugh. “I mean, look at me. Coming to terms with my sexuality at age 30, it’s- it’s pathetic. I’m pathetic.”

“You’re not.” Bobby says, his voice determined. “Eddie, there’s no right way to figure out your sexuality just like there’s no right age to come out. And yeah it might be easier for some people but if that’s how you feel today then that’s valid too, Eddie. And these terms… These terms you’re looking for online, they’re only here to help, you do know that right? If you don’t exactly fit in a box, that’s okay too.”

“Yeah, yeah I- I know.” Eddie says, the tone of his voice still uncertain. He picks the knife again and goes on chopping the vegetables, more slowly this time, with more patience, more precision. He doesn’t look at his Captain in his eye, though. Not after what he just said, not after this conversation. And Bobby doesn’t push. He never does. He brings back his attention on the meat instead, turning the steaks so that they cook evenly.

For a few minutes, neither of them say anything. They just sit there, enjoying the silence, enjoying the quiet.

Eddie’s the first one to break it.

“It’s just not something I’ve been exposed to before, you know.” Eddie says. “The way I was raised, the house I grew up in. It’s never been something- something I had the luxury to think about.”

“But this changed.” Bobby finishes for him, smiling softly at Eddie when this one darts his eyes towards him for just a few seconds, looking away just as fast. Bobby can see him put his fingers together into a fist, most likely trying to push through the conversation despite the fear of confiding in someone about something so personal, so intimate.

“How could it not change?” Eddie answers, and Bobby catches him looking softly at the sleeping figure of Buck on the couch.

“You know you should just tell him.”

As soon as these words leave Bobby’s mouth, Eddie looks down, his cheeks turning a deep shade of red as his right hand rubs the skin of the back of his neck. “Tell him what?” He asks and Bobby rolls his eyes at him.

“Tell him how you feel.” Bobby clarifies. “You know he’s only waiting for you to get there.”

Bobby follows his gaze and his own eyes fall on Buck. Buck who’s sleeping on the couch, his mouth slightly agape, a book in his hands.

Bobby knows the kid enough to say with absolute certainty that the book he’s holding most likely focus on whatever topic Christopher is studying at school. It’s not rare for Bobby to find Buck deeply involved in a research spree on the internet, just to be able to talk about it and exchange some interesting facts with Christopher at the end of the day.

“How can you be so sure?” Eddie asks.

“It’s Buck.” Bobby answers so simply, like it’s reason enough. “He’s my kid.”

“How- how long have you known?” He says, his expression quizzical.

“That you two love each other?” Bobby starts, his eyebrows raised. “We all had our doubts. You’ve always been joined at the hip, Eddie. Sure, Buck was more vocal about it than you... You’ve always been quieter, more cautious.” He goes on but quickly adds when Eddie looks up at him with an alarmed expression on his face. “Which is not a bad thing. It’s just the way you are.”

“How could- how could you guys have known for so long?” Eddie asks with a sigh, his eyes still focused on the sleeping form of Buck. “I’ve been… I’ve been so clueless.”

“It’s not a competition, Eddie.” Bobby reminds him. “There’s a very thin line between friendship and relationship. And it doesn’t matter how long it took you to get there, Eddie. Because when you think about it, nothing of what you guys shared and continue to share today is going to change. It’s still gonna be there. You’re still gonna be best-friends before anything else.”

“I guess.” Eddie says, still unsure.

“Nobody’s asking you to tell him now, you know?” Bobby asks. “You can take your time. Let it sink in.”

“No I’m-” Eddie starts, shaking his head. “I’m ready.” He says, his voice determined. “Turns out getting shot really put things into perspective.” He adds, letting out a nervous laugh.

As if electrocuted by Eddie’s words, Buck wakes up with a start, his entire face contorted with what Bobby guesses is fear. He looks around in alarm for a few seconds, his eyes shining with tears, until they both fall on Eddie and his face suddenly softens. The gaze is so soft, so intimate, Bobby almost wants to look away.

Buck approaches the kitchen counter quietly and sits on the chair, running his now shaking hands through his face. His eyes find Eddie again and the older man simply nods and places his left hand on the table, and Bobby realizes that’s simply another one of their non-verbal conversations.

No one in that firehouse had mastered the art of speaking without actually exchanging words more than these two.

Bobby observes Buck as he slowly encircles his best-friend's wrist with his finger, his index and his third finger resting between Eddie’s wrist bone and tendon, no doubt checking his pulse. His hand shakes for a few more seconds but a soft smile eventually stretches up his lips when Eddie intertwines their fingers together.

“You’re okay?” Eddie asks.

“I am, now.” Buck answers, lowering his eyes towards their intertwined fingers. Bobby turns around to take the plates out and give them some privacy. But he can still hear the next few words coming out of Eddie's mouth.

“What was it this time?” He asks.

“The- the shooting. You were dying before I had the chance to drive you to the hospital.”

“Well I’m here now.” Eddie says and Bobby can picture the smile on his face. “We’re okay.”

The conversation flows smoothly after that, Buck helping Bobby and taking over Eddie’s cooking, stating that “no one should have to face food poisoning that early in the day.” Eddie nudges him playfully and takes a seat, checking in with Carla to make sure Christopher is okay at home.

“Did you know that there are more than 120 pyramids in Egypt? Give or take.” He says excitedly and Bobby rolls his eyes at him, not missing the way Eddie’s face softens at his words.

“I did not know that.”

“Crazy, right? And some of their stones weigh more than an Elephant, Bobby! And you know Ancient Egyptians were very big on astronomy and researchers said that they might have used the stars to align their pyramids. Although, I guess we’ll never know for sure cause the alignment of stars is constantly changing, you know, but that’s pretty cool, right?”

“Is Ancient Egypt Christopher’s new passion or Buck’s?” Bobby asks in Eddie’s direction.

“Both, apparently.” Eddie smiles.

“By the way Eds, there’s this Egyptian Museum in San Jose, they say it holds the largest collection of Egyptian artifacts, I thought we could check it out. It’s a five hours car drive, it's a bit long but we could make it work during a week-end maybe. Chris would be thrilled.”

“Sounds like a plan, Evan.” Eddie answers and Bobby frowns, surprised to see that the Evan privileges now seem to have extended and included Eddie. For a few seconds, he wonders whether he’s been slow on the uptake about that sudden advancement in their relationship but then he can see Buck’s face light up and turn a bit redder than usual and Bobby just knows that it’s just another one of these things he will need to get used to.

“Awesome, I’ll look into it, then. I’ll text you the details, alright?” Buck asks and he’s about to reach for his phone in his back-pocket when Eddie finally says those three words.

“I love you.”

Bobby stops stirring the soup and raises his eyes towards Eddie, who seems to have lost all composure.

“I’ll… I’ll let you two talk.” Bobby says. “Buck, you mind keeping an eye on the soup?”

“Uh I- yeah I’ll- I’ll take care of it, Bobby.”

Bobby leaves the kitchen, squeezing Eddie’s shoulder as he goes past him. He locks himself in his office and tries to focus on the most boring part of the job: the paperwork. It only lasts a few minutes, though, his curiosity eventually gets the best of him. From where he’s seated, he can still see Buck, his back facing him. And Bobby is not big on gossip but he’s had to watch these two dance around each other for so long it’s only fair he gets to witness the outcome of three years of unresolved tension, right?

Buck is standing in the kitchen, and from what Bobby can tell, this one hasn’t moved for the past ten minutes, probably focused on what Eddie’s saying or too shocked to say anything. It all changes after a few seconds, though. Buck’s body straightens up but he lowers his head to the ground, and Bobby doesn’t need to be standing next to him to picture the sheepish smile stretching up his lips.

He knows he’s right when Buck raises his eyes again, changing his position in such a way Bobby can now see his face. His eyes are warm, his expression soft and the captain of the 118 finally decides to look away when Eddie appears in his field of vision, cupping Buck’s cheeks with his hands and pressing their lips together.

A small smile breaks in on his face and he opens the first top left drawer of his desk, his right hand grasping the document that’s been gathering dust for soon to be three years:

Personal relationship disclosure form

#my writing #buddie #buddie fic #9-1-1 #911 #buck x eddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #bobby nash

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lunaverseimagine · 4 years

Text

Escape

Prompt: I’ve had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with from @masterofthedarkness‘ 300 follower writing challenge! Congratulations again Val, I hope you like it <3

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: You’re having a bad day and your crush seems to notice

Warnings: Mention of injury (not your own), mention of alcohol

Word count: 2k

A/n: So I had a complete brain flop writing this and forgot that Snape was not, in fact, teaching potions in the Marauders era. However, I’ve written the fic now and don’t have the energy to change it, so consider this an AU of sorts? (Putting in bold bc I keep getting comments about it)

Fic:

It started the moment you woke up. You couldn’t explain why but all you wanted to do was crawl back into bed, wrap the duvet round you, and hide from the world. It was as though your energy had been sucked out of you, leaving a shell that felt too heavy. And yet you were a good student, you couldn’t stand missing lessons, plus you didn’t want anyone worrying about you. Which is why, in spite of your body’s groaning protests, you heaved yourself out of your dorm and down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Your friends were talking animatedly around you, occasionally trying to get you to join in the conversation, but all you offered in response were weak smiles and one word replies. As a last resort your best fried Beth tried bringing up your crush, Sirius. The topic normally excited you, but today it was just a reminder that nothing would happen between you, and you became even more withdrawn. Luckily your friends understood - you wanted to be near them but weren’t up to their early morning gossip - so they stayed with you but didn’t try to get you to speak anymore.

As always, halfway through your meal the owls swooped into the hall, bringing newspapers, letters, and the occasional parcel. Mild surprise filled you at the sight of your own family’s owl Lolly settling in front of you. You stroked her head before gently untying the small, crumpled letter attached to her leg, and she nipped your finger affectionately. Your parents didn’t send you letters very often, and you were stumped as to what could be written inside. You took a deep breath. Only one way to find out.

Unfolding the parchment carefully revealed your mum’s scrawled handwriting. Odd. Normally your dad would write the letters; he found it calming to sit with his parchment and special quill after a long day as an auror, pondering his words for a while to make his messages as concise as possible. He said the process was therapeutic. But when you read the words inside it made sense, and you felt your stomach drop.

“Y/n, I’m sorry to tell you like this, but I thought you should know. Dad was injured at work. The healers say it’s treatable but he’ll be in St Mungo’s for a while. Hope school is going ok. Love Mum xx”

Swallowing your tears down, you let the letter fall from your hands and settle on the table. You forced your eyes to look up, away from the words, and you could’ve sworn you caught Sirius watching you from across the hall. As soon as you’d thought it, he’d already turned back to his friends, and you shook your head at yourself. So desperate that you were imagining interactions with your crush. Pathetic. You lay your hand in Lolly’s warm fur, focussing on how soft she felt between your fingers, trying to push the rest of your thoughts to the back of your mind. Breaking down in the middle of the Great Hall was the last thing you wanted to do.

Your lessons did nothing to help your mood. In transfiguration you were supposed to be turning rats into clocks. By the end of the class most students had done it perfectly, but your clock had a tail instead of an hour hand, and instead of ticking it squeaked with every passing second. You felt so deflated, the only thought that kept you going was getting back to your dorm at the end of the day and hiding in your bed. Maybe finding some firewhiskey too to dull the aching you felt when your thoughts drifted to your dad in a hospital bed. In fact, what you really wanted, the one thing that might bring you peace, was to have someone hold you. Not just someone. Sirius. But you knew as well as anyone that he wouldn’t be interested in the likes of you. You couldn’t event transfigure a rat, you’d never be good enough.

You had mixed feelings as you made your way to your last lesson of the day. After this you were free for the evening, but first you had to endure an hour of Snape’s teaching, and his judgement of you. Potions was your worst subject and Snape made a point of noticing every little thing you did wrong. Begrudgingly you approached the dungeons, the echo of your footsteps was all that filled the empty corridors. Most of the time Hogwarts felt familiar, but in times like these it felt cold and unforgiving, emphasising the loneliness that was building in your chest. Wait- why was no one else in the corridors? With a jolt you realised that you’d spent so long lost in your thoughts between lessons that you were late. Your steps sped into a run, and when you finally burst through the door to Snape’s dungeon, he stopped mid sentence to scowl at you. Everyone else turned towards you too, so many pairs of eyes drilling into you. You willed the stone floor to swallow you whole.

“I will not tolerate students showing up late to my class.” You gulped, trying to suppress your heavy-breathing as you awaited your punishment. “I’d have thought you of all people would want to be present for the whole lesson. Then you might finally brew a decent potion. Alas…” he trailed off, a thoughtful expression on his face. You felt your cheeks burn, your head hung low. “Detention. After class you will scrub everyone’s cauldrons clean. No magic allowed.” It was all you could do to nod. You felt so defeated as you stood at the table beside Beth that you almost didn’t notice the small explosion a few tables behind you. You whipped your head around, and- no, you definitely weren’t imagining it this time- Sirius winked at you as Snape stalked between the desks towards the commotion. He glared down at Sirius.

“Looks like Y/L/N won’t be alone in detention.” He sneered, and weaved his way to the front of the class without another word. Your jaw was slack and Beth nudged you with her elbow.

“He did that on purpose!” She whisper-yelled. Your jaw was slack, not quite sure if you believed her.

“Well- well maybe it was an accident? Or he did it for fun?” Your excuses were weak even to your own ears. But why would he want to be in detention with you?

Seconds stretched into minutes as you willed the time away. Thankfully Beth was good at potions so she did most of the work, telling you which ingredients to chop and when to add them to the cauldron. Snape still found things to fault but you just tuned his voice out, feeling like you were watching the scene through a window instead of being in it yourself.

Eventually the class was dismissed, and Beth gave you a sympathetic smile and mouthed “good luck” as she left the room. When it was just you, Sirius and Snape left, he held a hand out to each of you.

“Wands.” Reluctantly you and Sirius both placed your wands in his hands, not quite meeting his eye as you did so. “I want the equipment spotless.” With that he left the room. Despite feeling as bad as you did, you couldn’t help your heartbeat quickening at the thought of being alone with Sirius.

Avoiding his eye, you crossed the room to the cupboard full of cleaning supplies, dirty cauldrons being the only thing that stood in the way of you and the relative peace of your dorm. You felt his gaze on the back of your head.

“What?” You kept your focus on the cupboard, rummaging through the supplies to find what you needed.

“Are you ok?” After a moment, you turned to face him, throwing a sponge which he caught effortlessly, without breaking eye-contact.

“I’ve been better.” You didn’t elaborate, instead getting to work scrubbing the grime off the cauldron closest to you. Sirius abandoned his sponge, coming to stand on the opposite side of your table, watching your determined face as you tried to get one particularly tough spot of dragon-bogey off the side of the cauldron. He found himself admiring the way you furrowed your brows as you concentrated, the way your tongue poked out slightly from between your lips. Those lips. You, on the other hand, were thinking about how it would take double the time to clean if Sirius didn’t do his half. Subconsciously you squeezed your sponge tighter until your knuckles turned white.

“I bet I could make you feel better.” You huffed. Sure you had feelings for Sirius, but he could still be infuriating.

“I bet you could.”

His eyes twinkled, surprised that you’d joined in with his flirting. “Oh yeah, how’s that?” His hopes were soon shattered as you replied.

“By helping me clean so we can leave this bloody dungeon.” Sirius was taken aback. You never normally snapped at people, and he was just trying to be nice. Godric, he’d got himself a detention just so you wouldn’t be alone.

“You know what? Fine.” He stormed back over to his sponge and started cleaning the cauldron furthest away from you. The two of you scrubbed in silence for a while, making decent progress on the cauldrons, but you felt guilt creeping in at the way you’d treated him. The guilt, the tiredness, the worry about your dad, all of it swirled through your thoughts in a perpetual loop until you couldn’t help it anymore. You let out a small sob, trying your best to be quiet, but in the otherwise silent room Sirius heard it perfectly. He abandoned his cauldron, rushing over to embrace you in a hug, rubbing soothing circles on your back. He had no clue what to say, but the silence didn’t bother you. It gave you a chance to work through your feelings.

After a while you pulled away, wiping at your eyes with the sleeve of your robes. “Oh Merlin, I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for darling.” He rested his hand on your arm for a moment, waiting to see if you wanted to say anything else. When you just smiled, he returned the smile, before going back to cleaning the cauldrons. This time the silence that filled the room was comfortable, both of you lost in thought. Finally, arms aching, the two of you finished your last cauldrons, and Sirius went to Snape’s office to collect your wands. You sat on the floor outside the classroom waiting for him, picking at a loose thread on your robe. When Sirius returned he handed you your wand, and slid down the wall so he was sitting next to you. You rested your head on his shoulder, whispering into the corridor.

“Thank you.”

Sirius wrapped an arm round your shoulders. “What for?”

“I know you got that detention on purpose. Just- thank you for being there.”

“Not a problem darling.” His fingers traced tender circles on your shoulder, and you felt yourself melting in to him. Being so close to him you thought you’d be nervous, but instead you felt peaceful. Safe.

Sirius broke the silence. “What’s going on?” It was almost a whisper, as though he wasn’t sure whether he should’ve asked, but he couldn’t bear the thought of you suffering on your own. He needed you to know that he was there to listen.

“It’s just- it’s a bit of everything, y’know? I’ve had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with.” You laughed at how stupid that sounded, but Sirius took your hand, lacing your fingers through his.

“I’ve got some firewhisky in my room?” It came out as a question.

You turned so you were face-to-face.

“And the cuddles?”

“I’m sure I’ve got some of those to spare too.” He lifted your hand to his lips, placing a kiss on each knuckle in turn. You closed your eyes, savouring the sensation. Then he stood up, helping you off the floor after him, and your hands stayed connected the whole walk back to his common room.

End

A/N: I hope you liked it (regardless of the Snape/Sirius timeline error oopsies)! If you did feel free to give feedback or check out my other stuff, and also give Val (@masterofthedarkness) a follow if you haven’t already! <3

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mysticalmusicwhispers · 3 years

Text

glimpses into a calmer universe

a gift for @luyous, because you once made some posts asking for indchu fics, and I started writing indchuran for the hell of it, but never finished until now. I think this could fit in the indchuran: bros for life AU but only after they get together, since there’s less pining than usual. Anyways, this is very overdue, but I hope you enjoy!

A little bit of domestic fluff. 3 glimpses into the indchuran universe through three different perspectives. Iran/Persia is Roshan, and they’re genderfluid.

Also on AO3!

———

The smell of food is wafting upstairs from the kitchen. It tempts Aditya sorely, and he tries to resist—he has a rather crushing workload to get through today—but five minutes later his feet are padding softly on the first floor landing, the tiles cool under his bare soles. He stops in the doorway, idly tracing the spots of afternoon sunshine dancing on the walls, and watches the figures of his two loves, side by side in the kitchen. Yao is standing in front of the stove, spatula in hand, and Roshan is at his side in front of the sink, busy washing something Aditya cannot see. They are talking quietly above the sizzle of the wok and the sound of water gushing out of the faucet, a perfect picture of domesticity, all easy smiles, gentle touches, quiet jokes and careless laughter. An intimate synchronization of movement, like their hearts are beating in time. It strikes Aditya that his heart suddenly feels like it is overflowing, and he supposes he’s done enough watching from afar—for today, at least.

Yao hears him coming first, and turns around as he enters the kitchen, but doesn’t say anything, just acknowledges him with a smile and a softening of the eyes, and begins to heap the stir-fried ants-on-a-branch—the vegetarian variation, with diced shiitake mushrooms instead of minced meat—onto a plate. When Roshan sees him, Aditya is treated to a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek that smells like roses before they turn back to washing the spinach, cilantro, and parsley—Aditya thinks they’re for the reshteh that recently appeared in the kitchen cupboard—in the sink.

He offers to help with the washing, or the onions (even though they make him cry, which always makes Roshan and Yao laugh), but Roshan pushes him lightly out of the kitchen and Yao makes sure he doesn’t go back in. So Aditya is forced to sit at their small dining table, debating whether to finish his work or enjoy the afternoon sunshine streaming in from the glass back door. The work, he decides, isn’t worth it, and instead he goes back to watching Roshan and Yao work. He refuses to think he is admiring them.

Nevertheless, it isn’t long before he’s too caught up in staring that he doesn’t notice Yao nudging Roshan and whispering “Aditya’s pining again”. But when Roshan catches him staring, they just smile cheekily, wink, and blow him a theatrical kiss that still makes Aditya’s throat catch and his heart stutter, even after a year of dating them. When they turn back to chopping herbs, the sunlight catches on their hair, coating it gold. Aditya is reminded of Roshan’s name, and Yao’s—and their meanings: light, shining.

He does not think himself sentimental, but sometimes—many times—he wonders if they were fated to be. And he supposes it is not too cliche to admit to himself, privately, that his partners are the lights of his life.

———

Yao pauses at the entrance of the Ferry Building Farmer’s Market, still wondering whether it was wise to bring Aditya and Roshan along, and whether they will drag him to every place that sells anything vaguely shiny before leaving. But just as he thinks this, he makes the mistake—and it is definitely a mistake—of turning, and catches Aditya grinning at him, flashing an easygoing smile—a smile he’d do anything to keep, and he relents. But his regrets, or doubts, or whatever the vaguely self-preserving feeling in his chest is, must have shown on a slight frown or in an imperceptible sigh, because Roshan kisses his cheek and says,

“Come on Yao, we’ll handle ourselves. We won’t get distracted and we’ll be back at home in no time, exactly as you planned.” They wink at Aditya, which is never a good sign, but it’s still enough to wheedle him into agreeing, however fondly exasperated he is, and however certain he is that they will waste half the day away, as usual. He sighs again—the old man sigh, according to Roshan—but grumbles a “fine, but you need to pay me back in white rabbit”, and watches them veer off towards the artisan stalls, holding hands. Aditya’s hair glints brightly in the sun, and Roshan’s is dyed a rich, dark brown. Like two suns, hand in hand; one bright, the other warm.

Someone bumps into him, and Yao shakes himself out of his reverie. The grocery list is a mile long, and he doesn’t need to waste more time than is absolutely necessary, after all.

But finding all the things he needs to buy takes more time than he likes, and the walk to the Chinatown butcher’s to see whether they have halal live chicken— they don’t—takes even longer, so that it is almost noon (two whole hours, which he realizes with a pang) when he wanders back to the Ferry Building to find Aditya and Roshan in a small jewelry shop, excitedly inspecting a stand of earrings. He watches them for a second through the windows as Aditya holds a pair of dangling yellow lotus blossoms up to his ears and Roshan looks on admiringly. Yao is pretty sure he too is admiring Aditya—he looks truly beautiful, with the earrings and a modest smile and a bright twinkle in his polished obsidian eyes—but some part of him pulls him back into real time and reminds him that although it is a Saturday, he has no time to waste (stupid law firm), and he regretfully walks into the store to retrieve his partners. He thinks—no, he knows—it will be half an hour before he can pull them away from the (admittedly alluring) jewelry displays, but he supposes Aditya’s cheek kiss and Roshan’s cheerful gratitude will be worth it. Anyways, he can always bullshit case briefings and squeeze out extra time somewhere. He’d rather not rush this moment.

———

When Roshan finally trudges home after getting the week’s groceries, neither Yao nor Aditya are there to hold the door open for them, and there is no response when they call out an “I’m back” from the kitchen. They know Yao and Aditya are in the house—Yao’s Hello Kitty slippers are missing from the shoemat—so the only possibility is that they are ignoring Roshan. Sad. They sigh—rather theatrically—but heave everything into the refrigerator without calling a second time, and hope this will be a fair trade for them failing to find white rabbit in Chinatown for the third time in a row.

Yao and Aditya, they find, are in the living room couch, engaged in another petty struggle over the remote. The newest Game of Thrones episode is playing on the TV Yao shipped from China, and Aditya is furiously muttering about “what a trashy white-produced rapefest show it is” and trying to swipe at the remote Yao grips with white-knuckled hands. Yao, for his part, has not retaliated much at all, besides scooting over to the other side of the couch and obstinately holding onto the precious remote. Roshan looks on for a time, amused, and watches Tywin Lannister’s face loom nastily over them all, until Aditya turns around and catches sight of them in the doorway.

“Roshan, help me! You can’t possibly agree with Yao’s taste, can you?” Aditya looks thoroughly exasperated, and Roshan almost can’t believe how much his voice begs them to take a side.

“No thanks. Aditya, you’ll have to fight the good fight by yourself; I’ll be in the kitchen making dinner.” They smirk, and decide that the way Aditya swells up with absolute fury is definitely worth whatever payback is coming. And as they walk back to the kitchen to start washing vegetables for dinner, there is a brief moment of silence as the TV switches off before everything descends into chaos. Yao's yelling now, and, by the sound of it, has started a pillow fight that Aditya joins in with enthusiasm. Roshan glances back, just in time to watch Yao whack Aditya with a flower patterned pillow and scream,

"LET ME LOOK AT TYWIN LANNISTER AGAIN, ADITYA!"

They are idiots, Roshan thinks with a smile, but they are their idiots.

———

Feedback is welcome and appreciated! thank you for reading :)

Notes

In the second scene, I just chose a notable farmer’s market in San Francisco at random hhhhh (apologies for any inaccuracies if anyone from CA is reading lol) the Ferry Building Farmers Market is pretty close to Chinatown, and although idk where they live in San Fran, Yao’s gotta get his white rabbit from somewhere right (the live chicken would be for chicken soup, but not the American kind)

Last scene inspired/taken from this ask! thank you bones, this was the fic I was talking about lol

the title was made up on the spot but I was thinking along the lines of “well this is a universe where the three of them are less of a group of bastards and also don’t have to contend as much with complex relations and just be lovers together”

In the first scene, there are two dishes I was referencing:

Ants-on-a-branch: 蚂蚁上树, whose proper name is ants climbing a tree, but I tweaked the translation a little. It’s a Sichuan dish that usually consists of vermicelli noodles cooked with minced meat (pork I believe) and a bunch of green onions and chopped peppers for spice (my parents also add stuff like wood ear, a fungus, and carrots and don’t add pepper but idk how “authentic” that is because we ain’t from Sichuan lol). For a lot of Chinese dishes you can usually substitute meat with shiitake mushrooms to make it vegetarian/vegan.

I tried to imply that the dish Roshan was planning to make is ash reshteh, a Persian dish of thick noodle soup with various herbs, onions, and peas. Kashk or yogurt whey is also a component of the soup and gives it its signature rich sour flavor. Because reshteh noodles are believed to bring good luck, ash reshteh is typically served around the Persian New Year, Nowruz, and at important events, but it can be theoretically be eaten at any time.

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subbing-for-clones · 3 years

Text

Stranded Part 2

Savage Opress x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

WARNINGS: Mentions of death and decomposition, mental illness, fear terror and FLUFF

PREVIOUS NEXT MASTERLIST

Savage's eyes fluttered open to the sun shining brightly through the trans-durasteel panes that decorated the walls seemingly without rhyme or reason. The little one was frying some kind of thin meat strips on the stove and sipping hot caf. Without turning her head, she called over to him.

"How ya feeling?"

"Not great but better."

She turned and strode over to him, still laying down.

"I couldn't do this yesterday but I can today."

"What do you mean..?"

She placed her hands on his bare broad chest and closed her eyes. A warm tingling sensation wafted over him. It felt like sunshine, utter joy and flying all at once. When she pulled away her eyes were a little fuzzy.

"It takes a lot of energy but you can transfer your life force to something and heal it. I was kinda low yesterday," she turned matter-of-factly back to the stove.

Savage had only ever had painful experiences when it came to using the force or having it used on him. He hadn't ever thought of it as anything other than a weapon. He wanted to ask about it but shy away from the topic. Instead, he stood and stretched. He didn't have an ounce of pain. This woman who found him once again amazed him.

While the two unlikely pair ate their breakfast, her eyes didn't leave him, slightly squinting.

"You haven't been like this very long?"

"No. I was altered by the witches of my home world."

"Huh. Did you ask for this?" truly curious she stopped eating.

"No." she cocked a brow at his response, waiting for an elaboration.

"My species is subservient to our women. We live separately and go through deadly trials to be chosen by one for breeding or whatever they want really." He continued eating as the information he provided was simply normal for him.

"Was this..." she waved her hand at his body. "For breeding?" his cheeks slightly tinged in a deeper gold.

"No. I was chosen to act as a weapon for one of the sisters. She abandoned me when I didn't live up to the expectation." the woman noted as his eyes darkened. Wanting to change his mood she lightened up.

"Well, I'm happy you're here Savage. You have much to learn in the ways of the force.. you're strong but your energy is incredibly dark but you... you do not feel that way....." she trailed off in thought and muttered, "certainly an enigma. Very interesting," she tapped her finger against her chin.

Savage's heart fluttered. He had never received any kind of praise from a female before and he didn't really know how to process it. His flush only deepened when she once again undressed in his line of sight, slipping on a shorter, loose grey dress.

"When you've finished, dress and meet me outside,” she skipped out the door and shouted something unintelligible into the trees.

Savage silently hoped she wasn't completely insane while he quickly washed the dishes for her. He pulled on his pants and his long black kilt. Remembering that she had cut off his shirt for a sling he huffed and left the tattered remnant. When he came out, he saw what could've been a scene in a holovid. She stood with under a ray of sunlight, skin shimmering in the glow with a bright smile gracing her face. Her hands were pressed to the forehead of a green Varactyl while a dozen small song birds of every color fluttered around her.

"I think I should call you 'princess,'" he stepped forward cautiously.

She giggled melodiously.

"Mira here won't hurt you I promise. You think I look like a princess?" she flushed and batted her eyelashes.

"More than anyone else I've ever seen."

She extended her hand out to Savage.

"Come here," she cooed. He slowly made his way to her and took her hand. It was soft and warm, she held it for just a moment, running her thumb over his knuckles.

"Do not be afraid. Mira is a friend," she placed his hand where hers was just a minute ago on the Varactyl's head.

"Close your eyes and reach out to her with the force. Gently."

He stood there for a minute before he felt anything. All of a sudden it felt like wind was rushing around him. He could see trees flying past him and a breeze danced against his skin. He leapt from trees, gliding through the air.

She watched with satisfaction as his and Mira's eyes were closed and their breathing synced slowly. She felt their signatures meld for a moment. Savage pulled his hand away and looked at her wide eyed but grinning. Mira chirped happily beside him.

"Good, you made the connection. Rather quickly I might add. Mira is a receptive one. Very friendly. She's been with me a couple years now."

"I...I felt what she feels when she hunts," he was smiling at the creature fondly.

"Yes, that seems to be a favorite time for her."

"That felt much different than any other time I've used the force.... was that the light side?"

"I'm sure the Jedi would say yes but I am no Jedi. I don't see the force as light or dark."

Savage looked confused. Everyone called the force light or dark. The woman continued,

"Take a knife for example. In the wrong hands... a knife can take an innocent life, used to rob someone or threaten them other ways. However, in the 'right' hands it can be used as a medical instrument, carve wood or simply chop produce. I think of the force in the same way. The intent is what matters to me. Did you want to hurt Mira when you reached out to her?"

"No..no I didn’t," he stammered.

"That’s why it felt different."

Savage understood what you were saying and turned back to Mira. The animal nudged him gently with her head affectionately.

"Let's go for a ride. I wanna finish stripping the ships you landed on. I haven't been to those ones yet. If you have anything else there, now’s a good time to get it."

The woman strapped large bags onto the sides of the Varactyl. She hopped up onto Mira's back and once again extended her hand out to Savage. He climbed up and took his seat behind her. When Mira lurched forward, he gripped the woman's waist tightly so he wouldn't fall off and she laughed.

"Hold on tight handsome it's not a long ride but it's a turbulent one."

"A-alright princess."

The added weight did nothing to slow Mira down. She was light on her feet and graceful. Leaping high into the air and gliding back down into the canopy. Princess whooped and cried out in excitement whereas Savage just held her tighter. His chest swelled with the rush. He was terrified but also having fun. He was a little disappointed when it ended and the ships were in sight. He slid off first and held his hands out for the princess. She beamed down at him and let Savage lift her by her waist with her hands on his shoulders. Her breath hitched when he pulled her down to him to set her on the grass underfoot. Quickly turning away to hide the heat rushing to her face.

"Alright, anything you wanna take, toss it in the bags. I'm gonna look through some of the others.”

They parted. Savage always traveled light so he didn't have much to take with him. Some extra med gear and clothes, that was it. He hesitated in the cockpit looking down at the talisman that Mother Talzin gave him. It lay in pieces. He exhaled a silent apology, acknowledging that he probably wouldn't find his brother anytime soon. He slipped the pieces gently into his pocket and made his way out. After securing his few belongs in the saddle bag on Mira, he turned around to look for the princess. He could sense her nearby but couldn't see where she was.

"SAVAGE!"

He ran back to the hazardous pile of crashed ships.

"WHERE ARE YOU?"

He sighed relieved when she popped out behind his transport smiling ear to ear. His heart still pounding.

"It’s not huge but there's a Kriffing cargo ship buried under your transport and a fighter. Help me lift them. Cargos are gold mines."

She stood shoulder to shoulder with him; well, shoulder to rib. Both of their arms were raised. It was shaky at first but they managed to move Savage’s large transport off to the side with the force. The fighter was much easier to shift. She grabbed his wrist and cried out excitedly, pulling him along to the sealed door.

"Could you cut it open with your saber?"

He smiled as she watched him ignite his saber and cut through the thick durasteel.

"Yes! Cutitopencutitopencutitopen!" she chanted excitedly and squealed.

Once he kicked the obstacle out of their way she shrieked and dove practically head first inside. When he entered, he was hit with the heavy scent of death. Four Weequay bodies lay scattered and half rotted around the cargo bay. Savage covered his nose with a disgusted look on his face.

The woman however didn't seem bothered by it as she sifted through the containers.

"This was a pirate ship... I haven't seen many of those," her whole top half was inside a rather large container while she spoke.

"Usually lots of credits, jewelry, spice.... not really useful to us right now but if we ever make it out of here, we'll be rich." He made his way to the sleeping quarters and took the standard med gear and hygiene supplies that was fairly standard to each room.

When he came out, he found her pleasantly surprised as she held up some lovely dresses in bright colors to her form.

"I think I can tailor these to fit..." more thinking out loud than actually talking to him. She walked deeper, into the cockpit and tried to fire up the engine to no avail. She didn't have hope, it looked like they nose-dived into the ground anyway. She sighed and checked the common area.

Rations, some cook ware in better shape than hers was, liquor... other odds and ends that would be decently useful. Savage found her holding a Sabacc deck.

"Do you know how to play?" She asked coyly?

"Yeah... some of the other nightbrothers taught me when I was a pup. Do you?" She shook her head.

"Well, I'll show you. We can play together." Her face lit up and something warmed in his chest that he'd never felt before. He pointed his thumb back towards the cargo bay.

"I found something you might be interested in.." she followed him; arms full. He fiddled with a small electronic box and powered it up.

"It won't connect to the net out here but it looks like there are some downloaded holovids,” he turned back to face her. She had dropped everything she was carrying and stared at him in amazement.

"I...I've never seen a holo-player out here before," he smirked.

"Well princess if you can charge it, we can see what's on it."

The two of them loaded up what they had onto Mira. Princess did a thorough once over of the other ships. Finding a blaster with a decent amount of charges was the second best find next to the holo-player. They found a few sewing kits, more rations and med kits, and some crop seeds which also excited her.

They had ended up spending much longer than she wanted to searching through the wreckage. The sun was starting to set and it was falling fast.

"We need to get going. It gets dangerous at night... things come out.." she shifted uncomfortably on her feet looking up into the trees. Mira let out a quiet warning chirp. Savage lifted her up and put her on the Varactyl's back, climbing up behind her. This time when he held her waist it was more protective.

"I think I can sense them... what are they?"

Mira took off but it was slower, more cautious than when they came here to begin with.

"I don't know.. I've never seen them clearly. I know they have two arms, and three long sharp claws. Their hide is tough and... very rough. No fur.."

Savage held his saber in one hand, not yet igniting it. He could see in the dark but these creatures still hid. The sky was a deep, dusty blue as dusk swallowed the atmosphere. It felt different at night. Like the air was hungry.

"I will keep you safe," he said as his eyes darted around. Once they broke the tree line it was only a short distance to the cabin. They unhooked the bags from Mira and she dashed behind the house up the barren hills, as far away from the forest as she could get. Savage and princess walked into the house.

"I've never seen them leave the forest. They've never come out of the trees into the clearing so the house and the yard are safe as well as the hot springs and hills behind us. Savage nodded in understanding.

"Stay here," his voice rumbled, "I'll fetch wood for the fire."

She nodded before he left with his weapon in hand. Princess started putting away their various findings and set some rations out on the table. They were going to have to go hunting again tomorrow. She felt his shift in the force. Fear had a particularly unique wavelength. She took the blaster and right before could get to the door he kicked it open with his arms filled with wood. He hurried inside, dropped the wood and latched the lock. His face was blanched.

"Are you alright?" she asked slowly reaching for him.

"They just stood there. Behind the trees. Watching."

"You have night vision?"

He nodded and looked down at her.

"I... I’ve never seen anything like them. So.. gangly. Tall and.." he shuddered and shook his head, controlling himself. If she lived here for so long it was safe but when he turned back to face her, she had regressed.

"Beasts in the trees....." she still stood but her eyes were blown, her arms crossed over her chest; trembling.

"Beasts in the trees...." she repeated

He quickly gathered her up in his arms and sat on the bed. Her terror radiating off of her. He shushed her softly and rocked gently. With a finger under her chin, he tilted her face up to his.

"Come back to me princess," he whispered soothingly.

"It’s alright, you're safe. I will keep you safe. I've cut down bigger and scarier things in my life. My planet has a rancor infestation. I have you. It's alright," he continued to whisper and hold her until she came down. She splayed her hand on his chest over his hearts. Their strong beat acting as an anchor. She buried her face in his neck. Her breath hot on his skin.

That warm feeling pooled in his chest again. He ran his fingers across her forehead, swishing away the hair that had fallen over it. She finally pulled away to look into his eyes.

"T-thank you Savage... I don't know how much longer I could've lasted alone out here. I feel like I'm breaking as soon as the sun goes down." He thought about his next words carefully as he stroked her cheek.

"My people live in darkness. I have lived with and fought against its terrors all of my life. I swear to you I am strong enough to keep you from harm. Today I found myself... almost glad to have crashed here. Because of you, and what you can show me. But, mostly you princess," his face was hot. She pressed a tender kiss to his cheek.

"We should eat. You especially. I imagine you're starving. The rations aren't bad with the hot sauce I found," she smiled coyly at him.

They ate in a comfortable silence. This time he watched as she slipped off her dress out of the corner of his eye. A feeling of want tingling under the surface. When they crawled in bed together, she wrapped her leg around him and lay her head on his chest. Listening to his hearts beat while he held her close to him.

She stayed like that all night and for the first time in years, she slept through the night.

#savage x reader #savage opress x reader fluff #savage opress x reader #savage fluff #savage opress #savage #swtcw au #star wars #force sensitivity #force sensitive reader #stranded #swtcw #fluff #x reader

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basicallywhiterice · 4 years

Text

moonlight (xu minghao)

Genre: Fluff, one scene with angst, college!au, graduation!au, established relationship, moving in together

Summary: Your relationship with Minghao, told through phone calls

Word count: 2k

Warnings: One cuss word I think

a/n: This is lowkey the foil to sunny but the plots are completely unrelated. Happy Minghao day y’all

D-17.

You wake up to a phone call from Minghao.

“Good morning!” he chirps. You respond with a noncommittal grunt. “Aw, baby. Rise and shine!”

“Five more minutes,” you yawn, turning over in your bed.

“C’mon, chop-chop. Get your exams over with! Get that bread, get that head, then leave.”

You still want to go back to sleep, but Minghao’s ridiculousness makes you open your eyes. “You want me to get that head? When you’re a hundred miles away?” Static. “That’s what I thought,” you grin, closing your eyes as another yawn escapes your mouth.

“Hey hey hey, don’t fall asleep on me again. You got this. Turn your camera on!”

“Why?”

“So I can see your beautiful face,” he sing-songs. A grin spreads across your face almost involuntarily—after three years of dating Minghao, simple statements like these never fail to make you happy. It’s because of how genuine he is, you think. He means it from the bottom of his heart. “Plus, you’ll have a harder time falling asleep again.”

“If you insist.” You sit up, turn your camera on, and prop your phone up on your blankets. Minghao pops up on screen a few moments later. “Hey.”

The call freezes for a second, displaying a pixelated jumble of his smiling face, before it resumes to show him blowing a kiss at you. “Hey.”

You blow one back, feeling the sleepiness leave your body. “Mm. Last day of exams. Can’t wait to get this shit over with.”

“That’s the spirit!” His grin is contagious, and you can’t help but break into a smile yourself.

“Thank you for cheering me up, Minghao. You just helped me start my day right.” Minghao’s the more laid-back person in your relationship, but he has no problem being your personal hypeman. He’s good at it, too—he never fails to brighten your day.

“Thank you for overcoming your sleepiness for me, baby.”

“Mhm, just for you. I think I’m gonna take a quick shower before I finish my exams.”

“Can I join?”

“Minghao!” You burst out laughing. Minghao grins.

“Hey, at least you’re fully awake now, right?”

“Oh my god, you dork. Anyways, what are you doing today?”

He explains some of his new designs and marvels at the amount of creative freedom his upcoming project has. Before you know it, it’s 8:28 and Minghao has to leave to catch the metro. You say your goodbyes like normal.

“I love you, Minghao.”

“I love you, y/n.”

You pause before you hit the ‘end call’ button. “I’ll see you soon.”

D-13.

Sometimes, you wonder if suffering through two years of graduate school was worth it.

Then, you remember the job offer you landed a few months ago, and the long hours seem like a small price to pay. Getting a job in New York City is no small task, and your learning through your graduate program certainly helped.

Plus, listening to Minghao get excited about how you’re finally moving in makes the process sound more than worth it, no matter how long it took.

“—so I asked my boss for the afternoon off to pick you up, and she said yes! And I was super happy, and she was super happy that I was happy, you know? She also suggested getting flowers—do you want flowers? I told her you don’t like flowers because they’re impractical, but I can get you a bouquet if you want, if you’ve changed your mind. Or I could get a flowerpot for our apartment. Or do you want a succulent for our apartment? They’re cute—”

“Minghao, calm down. Take a deep breath.” You wait until you hear his exaggerated huffing and puffing, and you smile. Minghao talks a mile a minute when he gets excited, but you love it. “Great. I’d love to get a plant for our apartment. I’m bringing my cactus with me, so we could draw cute faces on the flowerpots and have them be friends.”

“Didn’t you already draw something on your cactus’ pot, though?”

“Yeah, but there’s plenty of space to add on. Wait, let me show you.” You stand, padding toward your window and throwing open the curtains. Outside, the faint streaks of sunset paint the sky, illuminated by the fading glow of daylight. You grab your cactus from the window sill and walk back to your desk, holding it up to your phone.

“Oh, I like all the doodles,” Minghao remarks as you turn your plant this way and that. When you show him the back, where you’ve painted a crescent moon, his eyes soften. “You painted a moon on there.”

When Minghao graduated and left for New York, he promised that he’d always be there for you in spirit. After all, he had said, when you could look up to the same moon he saw, it was almost like he was there with you. “Whenever it’s cloudy at night or when there’s a new moon and I can’t see the moon, I just look at this instead,” you admit, running your finger over the paint.

“God, I’m so in love with you.”

“I know,” you smile softly, looking back up at your phone screen. “That’s exactly how I feel about you.”

“I know.”

Minghao stays on the phone with you for ten more minutes before he hangs up to go grocery shopping.

“I’ll see you soon, Minghao,” you say before you end the call.

Outside, the moon hasn’t risen yet, the sky an inky black. Tonight, though, you don’t need to watch the moon to deal with missing Minghao. Tonight, you sit back, content with waiting thirteen more days to see him.

D-10.

“I’m always so worried that this might be the last time I see my friends,” you whisper into the silence. It’s nearing midnight, but your mind is racing. You just got back from a long dinner with your friends and classmates, which was a fun affair, but now existential dread is creeping up on you.

“I felt the same way when I first graduated,” Minghao admits. You’re Facetiming him again, but your phone lays flat on your bed as you shuffle around, trying to drink in all the details of your room before you have to leave. “I still worry that I’ll never see some of them again. But they’re always one text away, and I make time to see everyone important to me.”

“Yeah. True.” You sigh. “Still, though. I’m gonna miss everyone. I miss you too, you know, even though I’ll be in New York soon.”

“I know. I miss you every day.”

You fall back onto your bed, grabbing your phone and holding it above your face. “I don’t… I don’t want to suffer through missing my friends while knowing that we probably won’t live in the same city again, you know? Missing you is slightly more bearable because I know we’ll end up in the same place, but there’s no guarantee for everyone else.”

“Yeah, and it sucks. But you’ll still be in touch with them, and you’ll make new friends.”

“Yeah.”

In the middle of the night, after you hang up and you’re all alone, you gaze up at the moon for strength.

D-5.

After walking across the stage and throwing your graduation cap in the air, you’re finally free from school. You don’t have much time to talk to Minghao—your day is packed with ceremonies and parties—but he’s just as excited as you are.

“Two years and I’m done!” you half-shout over the chattering in the background.

“I’m so proud of you, baby. Show me your graduation cap!”

You pluck it off your head and hold it in front of you with one hand, rotating it this way and that like a steering wheel. “It’s about the same as the undergraduate cap. I did get this hood, though. It almost feels like a cape.”

“You could be a superhero that has caffeine for blood, or something, and your kryptonite could be history tests.”

“God, don’t remind me of those. I’m free now, remember?”

You talk for a few more minutes before your friends remind you of the graduation party at 4 pm, and you have to hang up to get ready. Before you hang up, Minghao bombards you with reminders of how proud he is, before you finally have to go.

“I’ll see you soon,” he says.

D-1.

“Really? You’re still doing last-minute packing?” Minghao asks as you throw some shoes into your suitcase.

“Shh, I blame you for distracting me with late-night calls.”

“You find me to be distracting?”

You roll your eyes, ducking down to grab your folded towels and plop them on your bed. “Mhm, always have. Don’t get cocky, though.”

He’s smirking when you look back to the phone screen.

“Minghao! I just said not to get cocky.”

“C’mon, let me have this moment.”

You sigh dramatically, glancing around your nearly-empty room and making a mental checklist of things to pack in the morning. “You’ll get to the airport at 2 tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah. Terminal C, right?”

“Right. Can’t wait to C you then.” He groans, and you can’t help but prolong the joke. “Get it? C you?”

“I feel so bad for your roommates. I bet you tortured them with constant bad puns during exam season.”

“No comment.”

At 8:21, your roommate Jieqiong starts the last movie night you’ll share together, and you bid Minghao goodbye. Still, you find comfort in the fact that this is the last goodnight you’ll send over Facetime for a long time.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Minghao,” you say, blowing him a kiss.

“See you tomorrow.”

D-Day.

“I just got done picking up my suitcases,” you say, slipping an earbud into your right ear as you drop your phone in your pocket. As you grab the handles of your luggage, you scan the baggage claim area for an exit and start walking toward the sliding doors at the end of the row of conveyors.

“Awesome, I just saw some people walk out,” Minghao says. “I’m here waiting.”

Suddenly, you feel very small as the gravity of the situation weighs on you. Minghao is behind those doors, waiting. You’re about to start a new life together, staying in the same city for the first time in two years. “What if I can’t find you?” you all but whisper, halting your footsteps.

“Then we’ll just keep looking for each other. Take your time, baby.”

“I—yeah, okay.” You will your legs to move again. “Will you stay on the call with me?”

“Of course.”

“Okay.” A comfortable silence falls as you pass the exit checkpoint, stepping out of the sliding doors to the pickup area. “Okay, I just walked outside and—”

And then your gaze falls on a certain young man wearing a top in your favorite shade of light blue. What catches your attention is the poster he’s holding, with ‘my moon’ written on it in loopy handwriting and a cartoon moon doodled next to it.

Your face nearly splits open from how wide your smile is.

“I see you.”

Day 1.

You wake up with your face pressed into Minghao’s chest.

“Good morning,” you whisper. “Are you awake?”

Minghao groans. “Five more minutes,” he mutters. “What time is it?”

You glance around the room until you find his clock on his bedside table. “9:45. We have lots of time before we have to meet my parents for lunch.”

“Mm. Good.” He wraps an arm around your waist. “I’m glad you’re here, sleepyhead.”

You scoot closer. “You’re the one asking for more sleep, mister.”

“You’re the one who’s warm and soft and cuddly. I love you, y/n.”

Closing your eyes, you nuzzle your head into his chest and relax into his embrace. “I love you, Minghao.”

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 3 years

Text

Is It Really THAT Bad?

How many fucking times must I talk about this movie?

I feel like this movie doesn’t need an introduction. Everyone knows this film. Its reputation precedes it. It didn’t bomb and it’s not generally considered one of the worst films ever made (at least on the level of films like Robot Monster or The Cat in the Hat), but this movie is easily one of the most divisive films ever made. This film has generated enough arguments that, if we harnessed the energy of all the flame wars it has caused, we could probably power the entire world until the heat death of the universe.

With the impending release of Zach Snyder’s bloated redo of Justice League, I’ve decided to go back and ask myself of this film here… is it really that bad?

THE GOOD

Here comes the most uncontroversial opinion: the action scenes in this movie rock (or at least two of them do). The standouts are the titular showdown, which almost makes sitting through the rest of the movie worth it, and the epic warehouse fight Batman gets into, which is like something straight out of the Arkham games. It’s so good. And aside from that, a lot of the cinematography in the film is good. The film knows how to look good, though unfortunately it does end up being a lot of style with little substance.

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On the subject of Batman, I think Ben Affleck is a great and inspired choice. I certainly think he’s worthy of standing alongside Batmans like Clooney and Keaton, easily embodying both the Dark Knight and Billionaire Playboy aspects fairly well, though the writing does not always handle him quite as well as it should (we’ll get to that soon enough). Henry Cavill, while still a rather dour Superman, is as good as ever as Superman, and Gal Gadot as Wonder Woman was a great choice here, especially since she didn’t have control so that she could insert anti-Arab racism, like some DCEU movies.

Perhaps one of the movies most impressive feats is how, in an uncharacteristic moment of brevity, it manages to condense the backstory of Batman into the prologue, getting it out of the way and not making us sit through yet another Batman origin film. This is literally the only thing the movie has over the MCU; where that franchise just has the character Spider-Man inexplicably in existence without even a hint of his origins, they just get Batman’s tragic backstory out of the way so we can see him beating the crap out of people. If more superhero movies want to take this route and just condense the backstory into an opening montage like this, I’d be down for it.

THE BAD

I really could just say “most of the movie” but that’s such a cop out. Let’s actually look at the problems. Let’s work our way up through the things from least problematic to most, shall we?

The best place to start is what Zach Snyder did to Jimmy Olsen.

Jimmy Olsen is made into a CIA spook who is brutally killed early on, and yes, that was Jimmy Olsen. Snyder put him in to shock audiences with his senseless murder, and also because he felt the character had no place in his series. Does making Watchmen just turn people into joyless husks who like to horribly bastardize iconic characters? Jimmy Olsen is ultimately a small microcosm of the film, but he is the sum total of everything wring with the early DCEU. He is bleak, soulless, and shows a critical lack of understanding about the comics and why people enjoy them.

Now let’s move on to the more exciting problem to discuss: the villains. I don’t even think it’s worth wasting much time discussing what’s wrong with KGBeast. While it is kind of interesting they’d think to use the guy at all, the fact he never dons the costume and dies by the end of the film is unfathomably lame for a character named KGBeast.

Now, onto the main antagonist, and the most infamous part of the movie: Lex Luthor.

Lex Luthor is horribly, horribly miscast. Jesse Eisenberg is a great actor for sure, and he’s effective in movies like Now You See Me, The Social Network, and the Zombieland films. But here he is being asked to play one of the most diabolical cunning geniuses in comic book history, and rather than play him as such, he plays him like a cartoonish twit. This Lex is utterly unrecognizable as Superman’s greatest foe. Does anyone think Lex Luthor would send a jar of piss to someone as a joke before he blows them up? That’s more something the Joker would do on an off day. Lex is not cunning, not intimidating, and not diabolical in the slightest, and yet there are moments where Eisenberg’s acting chops shine through and Lex, for a moment, is almost engaging. Luthor really suffers the way Doctor Doom tends to in film adaptations: the filmmaker clearly doesn’t get why people like the villain, and decide to do some weird, unique take that will only cause to alienate fans.

But perhaps the worst of them all is Doomsday. Doomsday has exactly one claim to fame, and that’s killing Superman, so as soon as he shows up if you have even a passing awareness of the character you know how the movie is going to end, which robs the film of tension for its last battle. The fact he also appears with little buildup and doesn’t have any characterization doesn’t help; Doomsday is just the Big Gray CGI Blob that superhero movies try and pass off as a final boss for the heroes to fight. This has worked precisely once, in Iron Man. The Incredible Hulk and Venom did not make it work, and this film is nowhere close to being in the same ballpark as Venom.

By and far the biggest problem, though, is the movie’s incredible length and its very existence in the franchise at this point in time. This is an epic superhero crossover in which two of the biggest comic book characters of all time fight and then team up… And it is the second movie in a franchise. While they do a good job of establishing Batman rather quickly, Wonder Woman comes out of nowhere. And then at the end, Superman ‘dies.’ We have had one single movie prior to this to make a connection to the guy, and yet here he is getting a temporary comic book death with no buildup whatsoever that we know is going to be reversed sooner than later because the movie telegraphs this to us.

Imagine if, instead of building up the character over the course of a decade and putting him in all sorts of different stories, the MCU went right from Iron Man to Endgame. You go from a simpler, character-driven piece to a massive crossover where a hero dies right away, and it doesn’t give anyone time to care. Tony Stark had multiple films worth of characterization under his belt before they threw him in a crossover, let alone killed him, but Snyder expects you to give a damn about a Superman who just started his career in the previous movie of a franchise.

And the ass-numbing length of the movie is no justification. Even before the director’s cut came out this film was a slog, and the director’s cut really does nothing to earn its existence. All it does is add more runtime to an already tedious and bloated film, leading to the same exact ending and fixing none of the overarching narrative problems of the thing. The problem with any director’s cut is that ultimately the movie is still going to be Dawn of Justice, it’s still going to lead to extremely rushed character decisions, and it’s still going to be a mess. You’d have to redo half of the film to make this into a worthwhile and coherent narrative that’s actually worthy of being an entry in a superhero franchise.

And to top it all off, the movie spends far too much time foreshadowing for its own good. People criticized The Mummy for shoehorning in way too many shared universe elements right off the bat, and if that movie was bad for it, so is this one. The cameos from all the members of the Justice League, while striking, could be excised from the plot with little to no impact, and the Knightmare sequence is just excessive and weird.

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Is It Really THAT Bad?

The answer to this question has never been harder.

On the one hand, this film does have some merit. There is some good casting choices, good cinematography, good action… But then, on the other hand, the film is overly long, pretentious, has poor writing and dialogue, mishandles everyone aside from Superman, and is just incredibly unpleasant.

This film is in many ways the exact problem Christopher Nolan created with his Dark Knight trilogy. Nolan, by grounding the fanciful characters of comic books into a realistic setting, created a climate in which someone could suck any sort of joy or meaning out of comics. The success of his films meant that people would see dark, gritty realism as preferable to joyous, colorful escapism, and the negative effects of his films, however good you find them, are still felt today even as filmmakers are finally shaking off the grit. Dawn of Justice is the zenith of Nolan’s style of superhero film. There is nothing fun, joyful, or engaging to be found here; it is simply the characters you know and love forced into dark, miserable scenarios that ends in death and misery. Where’s the fun? Where’s the color? Where’s the wonder, the excitement, where is any of it? This film paints a bleak and miserable and hopeless picture of a world of superheroes. It really makes me think of this rather famous comic panel:

I absolutely hate this movie, but not because I think it’s bad. I hate it because it has enough good ideas where it should be the best thing ever, but it really isn’t. It’s a miserable slog of a film that does nothing to justify or earn its massive runtime whatsoever. It really does belong somewhere between 5 and 6 on IMDB, because I can almost see why people like it, but it just isn’t even remotely close to being how good its fan say it is. This is not a good superhero movie, and this is not how we should want superhero movies to be. There is a market for serious superhero fare of course, and there’s no reason that these films can’t engage with mature themes or anything, don’t get me wrong. But this is absolutely not the way to do it.

#Is it really that bad #IIRTB #Review #movie review #Batman v Superman #Dawn of Justice #Zach Snyder #Batman #Superman #DCEU

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sewnblade · 3 years

Text

The Manslayer

A/N HI GUYS.... this is new for me. mainly just doing this to have an outlet for my self indulgent bullshit. <3 might do a few chapters of this but IDK??

TW: anything you’d see on peaky blinders is game. nothing graphic happens in this at all, but references to murder, parent death and abuse.

Humans- real ones- wouldn't conduct themselves this way.

Wouldn’t have had to be locked away, thrashing and cursing, in his office. Wouldn’t be passed out on the firm oak top of his desk, curled up with stocking feet, muddied on the bottom, torn, drooping over the side.

But here you are. Whiskey still acrid on your lips, the ghost of a cigarette stale on the back of your tongue. What does that make you?

Papers, ledgers and notes, a mess beneath you. He wouldn’t be happy. The drunken spectacle itself was frustrating, but not unheard of. Not remotely unheard of, for anyone in his life. But you know how he feels about the sanctity of his space, and how he’d deal with almost anybody else invading it like this.

Though- to be fair- it had been Polly that had turned the key.

There, unconscious and blessedly quiet, your mind passes through dim, malformed memories, watching them like a picture show someone has made of your past without having lived it. The villains laughable and overacting, the blood made of syrup and wine. In one of them, Tommy even shows up in time.

That’s out of place enough to wake you up.

Raising heavy eyelids, you can make out the flash of a lighter before you can piece together the man behind it. He’s sitting as he so often is- somehow at once slouching and as poised as a Greek statue, a sullen boy hewn in marble and timeless. Taking in the measure of you, of your state- and God, it is a state- he huffs through his nose and swirls his whiskey. “We’re going to have this conversation again, are we?” he drawls around his cigarette, a slight strain in his voice as he leans forward to pull a crumpled sheet of paper free from beneath your knee.

His tone is unreadable.

“Wh’time is it?” you dodge, making a show of propping yourself up on one arm, rubbing your eyes.

He doesn’t answer at first, taking a drag, but after a moment his half-lidded gaze finally turns to the side, towards the shop, and he motions similarly with his glass. “Well, late enough they’ve all fucked off, if that’s your worry.”

“It’s not,” you snipe back.

Unfazed, Tommy closes his eyes and raises his eyebrows for a moment in what is as close to a shrug as you’re likely to get. As much as you care about him- as much as you should feel comfortable around those eyes- every time they close there’s a flood of relief. A moment of shelter in a torrential wind that batters you, fights its way into the gaps in your coats and your stockings. Makes you turn your head away, squint your eyes so hard you can’t see where you’re going anymore. “You staying up there, then?” he asks, his demeanour not altogether unfriendly.

“Well,” you venture, finally sitting up, “every moment I’m up here is a moment you’ve got to talk to me.” A little grin, almost too small to notice, and you test the waters. “I’m sat on your numbers.”

He acknowledges you with a lazy ‘hmmh’ of agreement and leans back in his seat again. “You’ve cut all your hair off,” he observes, as though he hadn’t seen it the second he walked in. As though Arthur hadn’t barked the knowledge at him when he’d discovered you taking up as a working girl. The last time Tommy had seen your hair it was long and coveted, thick, softened with oils and pulled into a long, loose plait. Now, chopped blunt below your cheekbones, the curls hang in your eyes and do as they please.

“That's right,” you agree, trying not to sound defensive. “Men recognising me was bad for business. No one wants to fuck a—“ you catch yourself, and risk a quick look at him. Somehow, even perched on his desk with him sprawled in his chair beneath you, you’re still looking up at him. The incongruity leaves you a bit dizzy. “-well. Get a reputation as a manslayer,” you spit that word out like a mouthful of blood halfway through a boxing match, “and suddenly the men go shy.”

There is a flash of something old and scarred-over in his morning-mist eyes as they flick back to you, gaining his undivided and unpretentious attention for the first time that night. Christ, for the first time that month. He gestures at you, accusing, with his cigarette. “And I’m not paying you enough to let them stay shy? Is that it?”

You can feel the warm flush creeping up from beneath the collar of your dress, spilt wine leeching through a tablecloth. A beat, and you open your mouth to respond, but the thousand things you want to say to him are withering and retreating under his scrutiny. You’d fought for weeks for him to talk to you straight, and now that you had it, the words were quicksilver through your fingers. Instead, all you can manage is “can I have a drink please, Tom?” It's weak. Tentative.

In one motion, Tommy knocks back the rest of his whiskey, and clinks your glass together with his in pinched fingers to pull them toward the bottle. “From what I hear, it’s the drink that caused all this,” he replies. You’re not sure whether he means the mess you’ve made of his office, or the scene you made in the betting shop, or the state of your life- he’d be right in any instance, but he pours the drink regardless and sets it down again. “That was a rhetorical question, by the way,” he adds. “At the rates I’m giving you, you must be the only whore in Birmingham just doing it for the love of the job.”

You bristle. It was meant to hurt, and it did. “And what other job shall I get, Tom? Ay?” you finally fire back, hands gripping the edge of the table. “No one decent will hire me ‘cause of— ‘cause of what happened, and no one indecent will hire me ‘cause you’ve made it very fucking well known I’m tainted stock, by order of the Peaky fucking Blinders!”

His hand, still holding his cigarette, squeezes between his eyes. “You want for nothing, (Y/N),” he says, his voice tired and straining. You know that catch in his throat- he’s been shouting all day. Shouting, cigarettes, spirits, repeat. If he’s lucky, inhale some gunsmoke and furnace backdraft in between. He could be a baritone with that voice of his, could have sung for crowds. “I’ve seen to it, I’ve fucking seen to it—“ he’s raising his voice now, crescendoing, and you can feel the crowd swelling with him. Then, all of a sudden, he changes tack and the volume of his voice drops. “You don’t need a fucking job, you need to be looked after- and I’ve fucking well done that for the last three years,” he says, seething, and it's almost a complaint. He's trying to get the words out before you can object, and he can see your objection mounting.

Like clockwork, your indignation escapes you in a breathy laugh. “I need to be what? That’s fucking rich coming from you, Thomas Shelby. The last time I needed to be looked after, you showed up just in time to miss everything. I did it all. All of it.” After it leaves your mouth, tumbling, flooding out, you regret it immediately. It tears at you on its way out, the regretful sting of a honeybee. And as infuriating as it is, you hear your voice wavering, feel your face tightening.

For a moment, Tommy looks at you- really looks at you. Not coolly, not strategising or trying to put you in your place. And you know he can see through you, down to the churning, violent, black void you choke down every day. The dark hollow, the bottomless-sea eyes of someone who has taken human life, someone who has been harmed permanently, someone who walks among humans but is no longer one of them. You know, because when he lets you see it, you can see it straining to escape from the pits of his pupils as well. War had happened to him, being a Blinder had happened to him. Your father had happened to you.

And in return, you had happened to your father.

“So, fine,” he relents, and with a blink he’s managed to obscure the dark portal again. There’s only the frozen, windswept wasteland of his gaze. “You don’t want the money, you don’t have to take it.”

“It’s not about the money, Tom,” you argue, and are loathe to hear it come out in a whine. “It’s about— it’s about trying to live as a ghost in this city. Just an open, needy mouth, a parasite. You're the only people who will talk to me, and even you don't want to talk to me. It’s not fair on you, and it’s not fair on me. And I know you loved him, and I know I took him away from you—“

His expression shifts suddenly, and in an instant his hand is lashed around your wrist, the grip so tight and violent you think the bone might snap. “Is that what you think?” he demands, his voice dangerously low, his face close enough that you can taste the whiskey on his breath. “You think I resent you for what happened?”

“Don’t you?” it could very easily have come out sarcastically, and maybe that would have been preferable. Instead, it escapes you in a timid, weak breath that you despise instantly. “I’m the one that did it.”

And for one fleeting instant you catch it- you’re sure of it- pain flashes across his features. It’s gone as quickly as the flicker of a candle flame, but you know what you’ve seen. Those little frames of truth, the ones Polly could read as sure as tea leaves and bad intentions. You know she can, because she saw the dark spirit before anyone else. Warned everyone, warned Tommy. Only he hadn't listened well enough.

Tommy’s grip on your wrist stays, but softens. His thumb traces your pulse, making you very aware of the raucous thudding of your heart. His eyes, those February wind-storm eyes, fixate on you- and even though you can feel the intensity of what it means when Tommy Shelby gives you his attention, the power of it no longer buffets you and stings your eyes and lips. “Listen to me, (Y/N). Killing in self defence is not a sin, and I am not St. fucking Peter.” And just like that, the edge is gone from his voice. Because he’s got the measure of you, now.

You'd wanted to be an animal, a beast, a frenetic and untameable creature- because Tommy had more time and more patience for beasts than for men. What you hadn't anticipated- and you fucking should have, you little fool- was that the reason Tommy preferred the company of animals was that they fell under his spell without messy complication. After all, wasn't that the reason he'd spent all those afternoons as a boy helping at the stables with your father? Couldn't those hands, capable of such brutality and such violence, settle calm as warm sunlight against the sides of a horse's muzzle? Didn't every horse, whether wounded or ornery or spooked find something other humans couldn't explain in that cut-marble face and those December storm eyes?

He is taking you by the muzzle and blowing short puffs. You're nothing more than a mare causing trouble at the far end of the stable. Rattling her stall doors. And he knows how to settle you.

And it's working.

Your other hand finds its way to his grip on you, tentatively settling over his own. “You've done so much for me, Tom,” you admit finally. “I don't want you to think it's ingratitude, and I don't want you to think I don't appreciate you. I just- I want to feel like I- I dunno, I guess-”

As you fumble for words, you can feel his hand squeezing your wrist gently, reassuringly. “Like you're doing something to earn it,” he finishes, looking lazily across the room. He isn't really talking to you, you know- just thinking out loud, as he so often is.

“Like I'm of use to someone,” you correct him gently.

His head doesn't turn, expression doesn't budge even a tic, but his eyes come back to meet you. “And you want to be of use to me, ay?” he asks, still calm- but you can sense the whisper of a warning dancing beneath his words. “Have you even the faintest idea what can happen to people who agree to be of use to me?”

Scooting forward, you ease yourself off his desk, just leaning against it now, and find yourself occupying the position between his spread legs. Retrieving the bottle from where he'd set it a few minutes ago, you set it to his glass with a faint clink and refill it. He's silent, appraising again, but you can see that little glimmer of a laugh in his eyes. Where he kept it locked away, along with the other parts of himself that slowed him down.

Finally, you tilt your head like you'd been considering the answer. You hadn't- you knew it all along. “You let them?”

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #tw parent death #tw abuse #tw murder #tommy x reader

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dorki-c · 4 years

Text

You’ve got to be kidding me...

Relationship: Twice/Jin Bubaigawara X Fem.Reader

Author note: DOES ANYBODY KNOW HOW TO ADD A READ MORE ON TUMBLR APP XD

Sizzle...

Pop!

Sizzle...

Those were the only sounds that occupied your ears as your hands worked tiredly away at chopping up the rest of the spring onions that you had stacked up on the side of the wooden chopping board. Needless to say, you were busy. Ever since Jin had gone through multiple missions with his new crew, he has missed countless things that you considered important- like your 3rd year anniversary or (ironically enough) his own birthday- today however was a day where your going to treat yourself and not worry about him, like you have been doing for the last two and a half weeks.

Although the last few nights have been rough; the side of your bed that was once warmed up through the late nights and late afternoons, was now cold. No amount of blankets or layers of clothing could fulfil your clinginess for something to be warmed by your lover. At least you haven't resorted to using self-heating blankets...yet.

When taking a second to glance towards the door, your eyes scanned the entry way with an unknown attention before your hand was sliding closely to the stove's switch in order to take the frying spring onions with various of different vegetables off of the hob they were currently cooking on. Adding some paprika, basil, and oregano to the vegetables, you glanced towards the boiling pot of chicken as colorless bubbles burst and then form another bubble once more.

As (y/n) left her chicken to boil further, she resorted to changing her clothes into something more soft, more comfortable to her liking. As her feet padded against the cold summer floor, she paused. Opening her bathroom door, she turned on the light to see nobody in the clean and bleached room. Releasing a sigh of relief, she switched the light off and made forward for the bedroom. There's nothing to be afraid of, its probably your imagination.

Into the room of desolate dreams, (y/n) had changed out of her own clothes and into her lover's clothes, which is when you usually bunched up some of his sweaters and shirts and then slap your feet across the hardwood floor with the excess fabric of the sweatpants that keep sliding down your legs each time you fold them upwards.

When entering the living room to access the kitchen, there was a window opened with bloodstains coating the floor in a frenzied mess. Oh no. What if somebody broke into the house? Bubbly fear crackled in the midst of your stomach as you whipped your head around to spy if anybody is coming behind you with your fists readying to knock a bitch out. "Who's there?" Growled (y/n) as she side stepped to the side of wall in order to switch the living room light on.

Though what she saw...was unspeakable. Unspeakable, yes, but not surprising.

A black and grey color schemed outfit stood to attention whilst leaning on the old couch. To say you were disappointed was a freaking understatement. Fury coated your form when you saw a red liquid spilling down and very visible gashes scattered through his villain costume. "H-Hi baby! Oh no, she's angry." How very right the second voice was...

Breathing into your nose and out of your mouth, you pointed to the bathroom for Jin to haul his ass to. "I'll meet you there in a minute. Got it?" As his head fearfully nodded, he scampered past you like a child running from a terrible beast in the closet. You were normally very nice, but in rare coincidences, you can instantly instil fear into the deadliest of villains.

Like take for example, Jin's colleagues: At first, you remember your fiancé bringing over some of his 'friends' a little while ago, they were two people that he worked with; A little girl with adorable blonde buns and a tall patchwork guy. You don't particularly remember people's names, so you couldn't name them from the top of your head, however, you do remember that when you asked him to bring the laundry from the bathroom, one of his fairly rude voices shouted at you.

On that particular day, your asshole of a boss decided to schedule an overtime shift for two hours on a Friday- a Friday out of all days- since the piece of shit decided to give extra work out to you.

So to top it all off, with the added stress that came with cooking chicken, you snapped at him quite easily resulting in the lights flickering 'a little bit' before exploding to make your point clear to the guests and Jin, that they shouldn't fuck with you.

Cracking the wooden bathroom door open, your eyes moved across the scene travelling slowly in front of you. A masked individual sat dejected as he mumbled under his breath about something you couldn't make out. "I need you to take off the suit, Jin." Bending over to grab the bandages from underneath the sink, the sound of a zipper echoed through the small room as you placed the bandages onto the pink stained tiles before grabbing out the rubbing alcohol.

When you glanced upwards, he was still wearing his mask. Noting the slashes circled around his waist area to his arms, he may have been training with the short blonde girl or he ran into one of those heroes.

From next to the toilet seat he was sitting on, you grabbed the large bag of cotton balls to soak the rubbing alcohol in. Once you've placed a cotton ball atop the opening of the acidic solution, you tip the bottle over and then turned it onto the bottom of the bottle so it doesn't spill everywhere. Once applying the cotton ball to his skin, you managed to clean him up; the crisp brownish-red blood was instantly cleared as you inched closer and closer to his open wounds. After the third or so cotton balls were used, the fourth or so cotton ball started to clear through the sweat and mucus starting to surround the wound.

Once diving deeper into the gash, multiple hisses were heard through the mask. Once the pain was over with, your hands make quick work with unravelling the cloth that was slowly wrapping around his waist. "Are you still angry with me? La, la, la..." Your hold on the sterile dressings tightened as a shaky breath slipped through your lips. "Yes." Although your voice was still showing signs of frustration, maybe annoyance, the female couldn't hold herself to simply be 'angry'. Through all the hardships that she's faced in her life, Jin is one of the few people she can trust to understand how she feels in times like this.

(Y/n) isn't simply angry, she's simply feeling a lot of emotions. The reoccurring emotions that is choking her in her own salvia is the overwhelming regret of being a bad fiancée. It's always haunting her when each and every day that Jin steps foot into the outside world or when you fear that he's not coming back. The trepidation of unknowingness always slithers into her throat and blocks the security of JIn's arms wrapping around your waist and smothering each and every spot on your body whenever he wants.

For a small pocket of time, he paused. "Sorry I wasn't here for my present. I'm not-" Jin manages to cut off the run-along second comment. Awaiting a response, he flashes his eyes down to see you finishing the wrappings around his waist. You were tearing up. "Do you know how worried I was?" The waterworks had begun their journey by laying waste to the apples of her cheeks by scorching the way for them to make track quickly down the race course. The villain didn't bother to answer as it would probably upset you more when you were trying so hard to stop the stormy weather streaking across the plain hills of your skin.

"I thought you abandoned me..." Such simple words knew how to simply cut deep into a man's heart along the soft hiccups of your damaged soul that unknowingly peered at him from a traumatic childhood. Fuck, he didn't know what to do but hold you close to him as the wounds on his arms pricked at his nerves like a swarm of bee's stinging him. "I never intend to abandon you, okay (y/n)?" He's so grateful that nasty second voice, of his, didn't come to bite his ass.

As his large hands skimmed along your shoulders, up your neck; where the raw, but somehow smooth surface of veins and bone markings laid bare for the tips of his calloused fingers to trace religiously over, before meeting the upturned cliff your jawline; he never intended to leave the sensitive hiding surface of behind your ears alone when travelling through the straight road of your jaw that narrowed down to materialise your chin, that lead to Jin grasping the jutted out bone below your beautiful lips.

In the correct manner of duty, he shut his eyes and removed the mask covering his face. Jin set his forehead and locked his own lips against yours like the many times before. "Let's go eat, baby girl. Then you can give me a present." Murmured Jin when sneaking another sweet, small kiss. That sneaky bugger, really wanted to kiss your ego at the end of the day.

You might as well let him.

—————————

ANY FORM OF PLAGIARISM IS NOT TOLERATED!

Credits: Dorki-C

#jin bubaigawara #jin bubaigawaraxreader #Twice X reader #MHA #mha x y/n #bnha x reader #Twice mha #villain x reader

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ubernoxa · 3 years

Text

The Token: A Guns N’ Roses Fanfiction

Chapter 14: Royaly Screwed

Story Summary: Story inspired by the movie She’s the Man. A female Duff is tired of dealing with the bullshit of trying to make it on the strip as a female bassist. Did Michelle think it through as she chopped her hair? Nope. All she knew was that she wanted to make it on the strip. If she had to mascarade as a guy, so it shall be.

Chapter Summary: Michelle’s (Duff’s) dinner with her roommates and Walter’s dad doesn’t go as smoothly as she hopes when she find out why Walter’s father is back in town

(Masterlist)

Taglist: @littlemisscare-all @smokeandmirrorz @aratbaby @slashscowboyboots @queen-crue @achiweyow @bitter-13-suite @white-lightning-625

AN: Sorry for the delay with all of my fics, this is defiantly a couple months overdue ❤️

I took a couple minutes to calm my breathing as I stared into the bathroom mirror. I barely recognized the figure before me. It was Michelle’s reflection that stared back at me. The brown haired wig concealed Duff’s blonde hair, and the dress was more pop than hard rock. Duff was hidden away behind the mask of Michelle, it was no longer the other way around.

Betsy’s threat of exposing me as Duff still felt heavy on my head. Everything, she could destroy everything. All it took was a couple words and I would be done, finished. No band would ever want me as their bassist, just due to my reputation.

I got this.

Everything is going to be okay.

Betsy is all bark and no bite.

You will be okay.

I continued mumbling these phrases over and over again until I calmed my breath down. I still had one card I had yet to show, Henry. Henry who worked with Walter’s father. Henry who worked in the music industry.

I glanced at myself one last time in the mirror before heading back to the table with my new plan in place.

Halion were the Kings of the strip, but Walter’s father worked for the record company that ran it. He was my greatest weapon and I needed him on my side.

I felt Nyx’s eyes on me when I returned to my table. I simply ignored him, and took another sip of the wine Walter’s father had ordered. Let him and whoever was watching watch. As any good performer would, I was going to give them a show. As if Betsy’s threat had turned on some switch, I began to play her wicked game.

“So tell me Michelle, how is the coffee shop these days?” I almost choked on my wine at Walter’s father’s question.

“My cousin came back, and my uncle gave her my job. She was going to school for business, and she recently graduated which means she gets my position,” the lie rolled off my tongue.

I offered Henry a smile as he placed his arm around me to comfort me.

Walter simply sent me a glare as I took another sip of my wine. I wasn’t sure if it was because I was actually fired because I got into a bloody fight at work or that I was leaning into Henry’s touch. I felt a little guilt for playing with his friend’s emotions, but that quickly evaporated. I was doing this for Guns N’ Roses, and if I broke some hearts on the way, let it be. Mine had already been ripped to shreds.

“That’s a shame, have you thought about suing?” I couldn’t hide the shock that crossed my face at Walter’s father’s words. Of course he would think of suing! He probably dealt with lawyers every day.

“Well I should add that I was the worst baker. I burned half of the cherry danishes I cooked. My uncle had moved me to coffee and customer only duty a few months back, so I figured it was only a matter of time...before I was let go,” I shrugged again, indulging in my half lie.

“Those cherry danishes, even the ones you overcooked were still pretty good. I remember visiting you one time at work, but you couldn’t talk because you were too busy dealing with an almost riot!” Macy added causing the table to erupt in giggles. I sent her a thankful glance for taking the attention off of me, even if it was only for a couple of seconds.

“Oh a riot of 70 year old retirees and rich middle aged entitled soccer moms? Now that’s a sight I would love to see,” Henry leaned in closer as he spoke and I couldn’t help in indulging with everyone else’s laughter that erupted at our table.

“Hey you laugh, but those old ladies have canes and they hurt!” I joked back.

“Do you need anything? Any refills?” I looked up at the waiter who was eyeing my wineglass and turned towards Walter’s father.

“You don’t need to ask Michelle,” Walter’s father sent me a warm smile as I asked.

“Yes please then,” I sounded like a giggly school girl only earning a small chuckle from Henry.

“Just don’t start dancing on tables,” I blushed at Henry’s whispered words as the memory of me dancing on the dining room table drunk on vodka flashed through my head. That was what? Two years ago?

“Come on, from what I recall you enjoyed the show,” I teased back.

“I did, but if I remember you had your eyes on someone else at the time,” my heart sunk as he hinted at my ex-boyfriend, Nyx. The same Nyx that was currently staring me down from another table.

“Well, tell me, who do I have my eyes on now?”

He sent a cocky smirk my way before taking off his suit coat. “Here, you seemed a bit cold.”

I sent him a confused glance before taking another sip of my wine. I was not cold at all? Had my completion given me away.

“Nyx had been undressing you despite having some whore on his lap, please put the coat on.” His words were more of a command this time.

I wanted to splash my wine in Henry’s face for what he was saying. Duff would have done that for calling Betsy a whore even though she threatened to expose me. Betsy and I were children of sunset strip and he had no right to insult her. Even if she was acting like a whore.

Actually, no, Duff would have done worse. Duff would have punched him in the face. But I wasn’t Duff right now, I was Michelle. Michelle wasn’t aggressive...anymore.

“Are you two okay?” I looked over at Macy as she spoke, without a doubt she recognized my uncomfortableness.

“Yes, Shelly is just being stubborn. She is cold and doesn’t want to take my jacket I'm offering her because she doesn’t want me to get cold,” he replied to Macy who clearly didn’t buy his story at all. It was rather unsettling how easy the lie rolled off of his tongue.

“Fine,” I let out a fake giggle before taking his jacket and putting it on. I didn’t miss the look Henry gave Macy when he looked over towards Nyx earning an understanding nod from Betsy.

“Ok, that smells amazing! Please tell me that that’s our food!” I asked as the air filled with the smell of roasted vegetables.

“Well I did order you fajitas for us to share, so that might be it,” Henry smiled back earning a soft smile from me. This smile was actually genuine, fajitas were always my favorite.

To my relief, Henry was right. The waiters began to place our dishes in front of us and I quickly thanked him before digging in. I couldn’t remember the last time I ate this good.

I remained focused on my dinner, only offering small talk every couple of minutes before our conversation was interrupted by a small squeal.

My face went hot when I looked over to see Nyx had ‘accidently’ ripped some of Besty’s blouse, momentarily exposing one of her breasts. I felt a tug on my heart as I watched her playfully slap Nyx. Was this my fault? Was Betsy acting like this because Nyx promised Pyxie a slot to perform on their up and coming tour?

I remained focused on my dinner as Walter’s father mumbled some choice words under his breath. Guilt flooded my bones before I could stop it. She was acting like a whore because I left her no other options. She was doing what she had to do to make it on Sunset Strip.

“Are you okay?” I looked up to see Walter’s father staring me down as he spoke.

“Yeah, just uhh…”

“Do you know her?” I nodded at Walter’s father’s words.

“I used to be in a band with her, Pyxie,” I added hoping he would look too much into my saddened tone.

“Used to be?”

“I left. The rock scene wasn’t my thing. The music was good, but the people weren’t tolerable,” I paused talking before I looked over at Beth and Nyx, “Exhibit A.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

As Walter’s father continued to talk, I became lost in my thoughts. Was I ever that wild? No, I reassured myself. Despite the rumors, I always had some

minor control over my situation when I was drunk. I guess that is part of the reason Nyx and I broke up.

“Yeah and I could show Shelly around!” My head snapped back into the conversation at the sound of my name. The nickname only Izzy was supposed to use.

“Show me around?” I asked, intrigued to see what they were talking about.

“Yeah, the music studio! Sadly I won’t be able to show you around first thing tomorrow morning because the three of us will be talking to the local bars to see about any rising stars to replace Halion. Would the afternoon work? Say 4ish?” I nodded feeling a pit grow in my stomach.

Turns out I had similar plans as Walter, Henry, and Walter’s father. Axl and I were also going to talk to local bars to get gigs. Maybe I could reschedule? I immediately shot down that idea. Axl wasn’t one to be tolerable when it came to changing plans on him, and he would most likely accuse me of not being devoted to the band. Slash and Izzy would understand, but Axl didn’t know.

Unless I told Axl that I was secretly Duff who is a girl and not a guy. Yeah, Axl totally wouldn’t overreact to that. I almost laughed at the idea of telling Axl that I was masquerading as Duff. Saying he would freak out was an understatement.

“What were those three bands you mentioned earlier?” Henry asked, his attention focused on Walter’s father,

“Truer Blindness, Falcon and Guns N’ Roses,” I almost choked on a pepper when he mentioned Guns N’ Roses.

I locked eyes with Macy, and I did my best to hide my panic.

“All those are rock bands, I thought you would be getting away from the rock scene after the mini hell Halion caused,” Walter asked. I tried to follow the bitterness in his tone. I hid the shock once I realized he was jealous that Henry knew about the bands his own father was looking into before his own son knew.

“I want to get out of the scene, but the payoff is always too good. A new band would have enough motivation to get an album done while costing the company minimal money. Once they get too big, then we would dump them. Usually rockstars start getting big heads after their first album. Which means I dump them after the second album,” Walter’s father clarified.

“Are there any standouts?” I shot Macy a glance as she spoke.

“True Blindness has been on the strip for a while, so they would have the potential to bring in a steady income. I am a bit concerned that no other label had picked them up. Falcon is a newer band that we have heard murmurs about. One of our competitor record companies is interested in them, so naturally I am as well. The big one I’m interested in seeing is Guns N’Roses. Apparently they are a bit wild, but they are new and draw in a big crowd whenever they perform. Guns N’ Roses is a definitely a wild card.” I remained frozen at Walter’s father’s words.

“Guns N’ Roses? That’s Duff’s band, right?” I nodded at Henry’s words.

“You know them?” Walter’ father’s words sent electricity through my veins.

“Yeah, I have made coffee for them,” I replied before returning back to my food.

I wasn’t just fucked, I was full on screwed.

#gnr fanfiction #guns n’ roses fanfic #gnr fanfic #gnr imagine #guns n’ roses fanfiction #guns n’ roses imagine #duff mckagan fanfiction #duff mckagan / oc #duff mckagan imagine #duff mckagan fanfic

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dafukdidiwatch · 3 years

Text

Signs (2002)

Were aliens always this boring?

Overview: Former Priest Graham is raising his two kids with his brother in a farmhouse after his wife died. However mysterious crop circles pop up and strange things start to happen as it appears aliens have arrived.

So this is a Shyamalan movie and honestly the track record for me liking his films is pretty low. Avatar the Live Action was terrible. You guys can all see my review of The Happening I did before. I think the only film I liked of his was Unbreakable which was a pretty realistic take of Superheroes. With that in mind, I didn’t really have high hopes here.

It also sort of doesn’t help that I first heard of this movie as a bad movie by watching movie reviews of it. I watched a lot of Nostalgia Critic for the longest time, and this movie was one of his reviews. So...didn’t really help my perception of a movie, as a movie.

But, I still tried to give a benefit of the doubt here. NC made Mama Mia seem bad but when I watched it, it was a fun dumb movie. Maybe it was lies, or a bit more exaggerated that what the movie really was like. Hence, watching the movie for my Movie Reviews.

I was bored out of my mind.

So my sister watched it with me because she said she saw it before and it also bore her out of her mind. So we decided to be bored together.

I couldn’t help it! Everyone spoke in a monotone all the time. Regardless of what paper-thin reaction they called an emotion they were trying to convey. It was really really hard to even get invested when everyone was speaking in the “this is a serious film, we need to be serious here, this is dramatic and serious so everyone has to have their serious face on” like, how an I supposed to care about the issues when the characters don’t even seem to care?

The only like that I liked because it actually had emotion was when the cop was saying was trying to give suggestions about who the morph-suit batman alien really way, and the brother Merrill says something along the lines of “So outside of Scandinavian women long-jumping outside our house, who do you think it really is?“ That’s the only good line in the film because it was Funny, Realistic, and had some fucking emotion in it damn.

It also doesn’t help that me and my sister fought over the boy of the film. I said it was the Home Alone kid, she said I’m crazy and it wasn’t. Turns out it was his brother. Has no relevance to the movie, just a fun thing to know.

For the most part, the movie just felt flat. Even though the plot beats were on point. I can see them do the build up, the tension, the “wtf is going on”, how the whole world is affected and not just them. I can see the logic and reason for how most of the film is structured, but it just doesn’t work for me. I’m sorry but monotone doesn’t make things more dramatic it makes it hard for me to relate to the characters. I can’t feel for them, if they can’t feel for themselves.

Not saying that everything was done pitch perfect here. Like, the slow-burn of how Graham lost his wife to the point of flash-backs. Ok, that can work. But then we have like the girl always leaving water glasses half way all over...ok weird but it’s a little kid so I get it. Then we have like, a scene where we all just got info-dumped by the military and some podunk punk about Merril’s failing baceball career? And Shyamalan being the guy who killed Graham’s wife and giving a monologue about how he was meant to have killed his wife?? While being also “oh btw I locked it in the closet, wood is it’s weakness, same with water, later“ like.....OKAY??? The plot beats were there but they could have done a lot better with the execution of exposition and foreshadowing.

I think it’s the way they also tried to humanize the characters just doesn’t work. Like when the Cop Lady was talking about how some mean old biddy was spitting on store skateboards, that reminded me of a scene in Jaws where the secretary was telling Brody that 9 year olds were karate chopping a fence. And comparing them, it works a lot better in Jaws than Signs. With Jaws, it’s 4th of July, literally the entire police squad is busy preparing for the holiday, dealing with the locals, and trying to go through the actual paperwork. The secretary was A) making the small town more realistic and B) just piling on to the already chaotic chores that Brody needs to take care of. But in Signs, there was no connection to this story and Graham. Graham had nothing to do with the crazy old lady, no connection between him and the town at that point. It might have tried to flesh her out, but nothing to actually bolster the plot. The environment doesn’t match the story she was telling, being quiet and alone and just the two of them.

And many questions about the Aliens. Actually, more comments than questions really. Because it took me a while after the movie to realize that, the Aliens never did anything bad did they? Think about it, all they did was be in camo and watched more/less. It wasn’t like they ever had guns, weapons, tried to nuke a city. Most of the “dangerous” alien feel was from the people not knowing why they were there, which we STILL don’t know why they were there in the first place. So the tension comes from us trying to react to a possible threat on a small-scale farmhouse, without actually knowing if it is a threat or not.

Now, you can say “well what about the alien that tried to kill Morgan, or when they attacked the house, that was bad” let me hit you back with this one. The Alien that mainly attacked was the one that Graham had chopped some fingers off. He was locked in a closet, barely got out. And by the time he did the rest of his team ditched him on a dangerous planet that he couldn’t leave from. This human asshole prevented him from going home, yeah I would probably be pissed and want revenge on that one guy.

Morgan said that there were only two options for aliens to have come here, which is bs because there could be other reasons why. Like, crash landing. Got Lost and putting out an SOS. Maybe scientists trying to study them. But having a child give out only 2 possible options does add to the parania so I’ll let that slide.

Science Wise I don’t think the aliens would have even worked. If water is like acid to them.....what about fog? Clouds? Mist? Where do you think morning due comes from? Hell the sky is BLUE because of the water being refracted in the air. So their weaknesses are Water, Wood, and being beating the shit out of them.

Also....the alien had fucking CLAWS. What is that bullshit of just puffing out poison perfume from their wrists?? Like, dude, shred him. You wanted to give the kid a more civilized death or something??

But the worst thing I can think of is, We Don’t See The Aliens. Yes, foreshadowing and slow reveal of the monster adds to the fear of the monster and the gravity of the situation when you do see it. Jaws did that well. And the slow reveal of the aliens was also well done in Signs too, like blurry cameras, only body parts where you don’t see them. The PROBLEM comes from the fact that Even at the END of the movie, where the alien HAS little boy Morgan captured and poisoned, you STILL don’t see shit! Nothing! It’s just backlighting to block the view or reflections in water glasses and frames. It’s the END! The dude it beating it with a BAT! Give us like SOMETHING here.

Overall: This wasn’t a good movie. Well, it was a “proper” movie, but not an enjoyable one. You can see the plot and think it makes sense. Some of the thriller tension scenes were done well like Graham and the Pantry Alien. But overall it was boring. There was no emotion for me to latch onto. I was confused by choices made in exposition and direction. It just wasn’t fun.

#dafukblog #Dafuking Films #signs #signs 2002 #week 43 movie

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marueonmain · 4 years

Text

WINDFLOWER

part nine ~ i’ll walk with you ~

(part one) (part two) (part three) (part four) (part five) (part six) (part seven) (part eight) (part nine)

A/N: I’ve had these scenes in mind since I started writing. Messages/Asks are open. Take time for yourself this week if you can. You’re important.

Summary: George plans a party. Alex hears more noise coming from Sammy & Y/N’s apartment; he investigates.

Pairing: imallexx x reader

Warning: Implications of an Abusive Relationship.

Word Count: 3.9k BLUE TEXT = FLASHBACKS

Afternoon sun seeped in between where the window curtains in his bedroom met, creating a diagonal slash of light across Alex’s face. Eyes closed; light brown eyelashes rested softly on even softer cheeks. Their natural blush toned down in his unconsciousness. Lips relaxed to be parted the tiniest amount, enough to let out small mewls as he slept: more like purring than snoring.

He appeared delicate enough to break with a single glance. Peaceful. Calm. Unproblematic. Unlike when he was awake.

Clattering of cookware and the smell of burnt are both unpleasant things to wake up to. Combine the two, add muttered cursing in his flatmate’s distinct voice, and that would be Alex’s alarm clock.

Ten hours of dead sleep ended abruptly at a SLAM of a kitchen drawer followed with the metal clash of pans and the refrigerator door being opened and shut repeatedly. It was odd. George was usually a quiet presence to have around. Often loud-mouthed but always light on his feet.

Alex groaned and squeezed his eyes tighter, but he was not able to ignore the noise. Rolling twice over, he moved to one side of the bed and dragged himself out from under his duvet. Retying the strings on his pajama bottoms – which had slipped to be sitting precariously on his hips – he scanned his room. Deciding to load his arms up with food wrappers and half-full glasses before leaving.

“Morning,” George called over his shoulder as he pushed a spatula around in a pan in short panic-fueled movements. A light smoke spiraled up into his face.

“Is it?”

“Close enough.” He moved the pan off the hob. “It’s half one.”

Flipping the glasses in his arms upside down and loading them into the dishwasher, Alex smiled to himself. Knowing whatever it was his flatmate was making – he would end up eating. It was not that either of them were terrible cooks just that both were impatient and set temperatures higher than should be or was recommended. To be fair, things did come out faster but also often simultaneously burnt in parts and still raw in others.

“We’re set to host this weekend.” George piped up as he pushed his concoction from the pan onto a plate – an identical one next to it. “How much alcohol do you think we need to stock up? Keeping in mind that Will asked us to keep him accountable after how he crashed last time…”

Alex closed the dishwasher and put the food wrappers in the kitchen bin. He took a bar seat and watched his flatmate finish up. “You invited Becky, right?”

“Right.”

“And she said she’d come? Might as well double it is whatever we got.”

George laughed. He slid the spatula and pan he used to cook, into the waiting water of the plugged sink. Taking a plate up in each hand, he moved to take a bar seat and placed in front of Alex a very crispy looking omelet. It was cheese and ham and mushroom.

“Thanks,” Alex mumbled around the fork already shoveling food into his mouth.

It was quiet for a few minutes as both men ate at their respective speeds: George with small quick bites and Alex with large, almost inhuman bites he did not necessarily chew before swallowing.

Adjusting his glasses, as he had not bothered to mess with his contacts that morning, George piped up with, “James texted me earlier. Aria and him are hitting up a pub or two tonight for a birthday celebration thing. I don’t know. But he wanted us to come along.”

“It’s not James’ birthday.”

“I think it’s for one of Aria’s friends. Reckon he just doesn’t want to be the one guy there.”

“I think I’m going to be busy.”

“Scraping together a video because you’re already late to upload doesn’t count as ‘being busy.’” George chuckled.

Quiet crept back into the conversation, expanding out like a noxious gas and poisoning all the air in the apartment, maybe even the entire floor of the building.

Omelets were eaten. Plates were cleared and cleaned. It came time for both to go return to their separate sides of the apartment into their separate lives and separate understandings. Alex reached for the handle on his bedroom door.

George pitched his voice a smidge lower than usual and started, “It’s ok—”

“Piss. I hate it when you do that. Do we have to?” Shoving a hand through his hair, Alex stepped back from the door, choosing instead to lean on the back of the sofa with arms crossed as he faced his flatmate. Why could we not have a regular morning? Why does he have to go on and ruin it?

“It’s OK to be, you know, lonely.”

Alex scoffed. “How could I be lonely when I got you hovering over me all the time?”

“I meant like romantic-like. There’s no shame in using Tinder and Grindr and that.”

“I’m not lonely.” He almost put the word in air quotes. Almost. “Or if I was, I’m not that desperate – besides, you pretty well ruined my dating ability on Grindr. Why you concerned anyway?”

“You’ve been moping. Acting all far away from things and that.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t mean to be if I am.” It did not take a lot of words for Alex to express the admiration he held for George and his genuine gratitude for the compassion all his mates had shown him. It did not take a lot of words, just a tone he reserved for them and a knowing look. “Don’t always notice it.”

“I do. When you’re not your usual annoying self, chattering on and on about Star Wars and Lord of the Rings for hours, making me want to chop off my ears.”

“And bagging a bird will fix me right up?”

“You don’t need fixing.” George shrugged. “I’m not trying to get sappy or whatever, but the right person comes along; sometimes, you just need to set-up the right conditions for that right person, you know?”

“You get one girlfriend in your whole life, and you’re a relationship expert, is that it?”

“Basically.”

Laughing, Alex pushed himself off the back of the sofa and meandered a couple of steps closer to his bedroom door. Signaling a clear desire to end the conversation – not that George would pick up on even the most obvious body language: what with his watermelon-level social skills.

Unsurprisingly enough, for each step Alex took to distance himself from his flatmate, George took an equal step toward him. His hands came up in front of him in an it’s not all bad type gesture.

“Come out with James and me tonight and have some fun. I’ll even stay out the way if you want to bring a lass back to the flat.” George winked an exaggerated wink.

“I can’t get a pet lizard because of possible diseases, but you’re condoning a one-nighter?”

“Yeah, could do you some good.”

Alex tapped his socked foot against the floor, a rhythm of gentle thumps. Rubbing the back of his neck, he said hesitantly, “I’ll think about it – going out – ask me again later?”

“Alright.” George nodded. Both men resigned from the conversation and moved towards their respective bedrooms.

~LATER~

Alex flashed a smile to the camera. “Don’t forget to leave a like, subscribe if you’re new, and turn notifications on. And I’ll see you guys in the next video. Peace out people and have a good day.”

He stopped the recording. It was the entire rest of his afternoon, but he had finally finished filming himself having another go at Brent Rivera. Drained from even simulated socialization, Alex pushed off from his chair and dumped himself on top of his bed. Sprawled out like a lowercase letter ‘x.’

It took a lot of trial and error over most of his life to learn how essential breaks were to his productivity. Pulling his phone from his pocket and his earbuds from off his side table, he pressed play on his most recently cultivated playlist. Alex let his eyelids flutter closed (without intentions to sleep) and focused on the music: steady. sappy. great vocals.

From above him came the familiar sound of muffled shouting followed with a new sound – the shattering of glass. It was loud enough to hear over his music. Alex pulled his earbuds out and laid still, cocking his head a tad, as he listened.

All couples fight. Alex knew that. First of all, because he was not an idiot. Second of all, because he had gotten into it with all his past partners at some time or another. Now he also knew he was not an aggressive person nor intimidating in most situations. But he had gotten rather angry before – pulsing neck vein kind of angry.

He had shouted and been met with stunned quiet. He had shouted and been met with shouts of equal anger. It was never pleasant. It solved nothing, and he regretted it after.

Muffled shouting remained indistinct but grew in volume. Alex closed his eyes tighter; he was weak in the stomach like he was going to be sick and felt lighter like he had been bloodletting. His breathing picked up. He tried to ignore it – the shouting. With rattling hands, he put his earbuds back in and practiced some of that self-talk his therapist had once recommended.

All couples fight. It is normal. There is nothing to be anxious about. I am not there. It does not involve me.

There was a second shattering sound from above. An army of nightmare scenarios invaded his head. He did not know what was happening. He did not know what was happening and it. was. killing. him.

What if I did nothing and Y/N’s in genuine trouble?

Alex took to his feet in a flash. Slipping his phone in his pocket and snatching his keys off his desk, he stormed out of the bedroom like he was escaping a fire.

“Al, where are you going?” George dropped what he was doing, jumped to stand, and near hurdled over the sofa in a race to reach the front door first. In a stern command, he called, “Stop.”

But the younger was not listening. Alex had his hand on the door handle, pulling it open just ten centimetres when George appeared to the side of him and closed it with one hand, trapping him inside.

“Let me go.” He pulled the handle, gaining no more leverage.

“Not until you tell me where you’re going.”

“I—” It was apparent he wanted to get the words out, but before another distorted syllable could be spoken, Alex stopped and turned his eyes up to the ceiling: to the muffled shouting.

Rigid in stance, George scrunched up his forehead; he did not move his gaze from Alex. “No. You have to let it be. You have to—just, don’t get involved.”

After dropping his focus to the floor, and looking to his feet for a short second, Alex pulled his eyes back up – pathetic and pleading. Desperate for something but trapping all possible answers inside. Opening his mouth and closing it again, he appeared liable to spring a leak or deflate entirely. “Please.”

George complied. He removed his hand from the door. And Alex left the flat.

He was the same person in the same hall he had been in a thousand times. Yet. It was different that time. Familiar but wrong – spoiled – a rip-off version of a beloved video game.

Might have been the lights were about dead and not shining as bright. Or the carpeting had not been hoovered recently and was stiffer under his shoes. Or some decoration had been removed from the walls, something large enough that his peripheral recognized it as being absent.

Might have been, but Alex could not be sure.

Weaving around the crumbling blockades of rationality and through the ripped recklessness filter, a spark carrying a thought ™ completed the obstacle course from stem to the front of his brain: You’re not a fighter. Even if Alex walked straight into Sammy and Y/N battling it out on the floor above, what was he expecting himself to do? Could he even act logically in such a situation? When just the thought of it had riled him up so terribly?

Each step Alex walked, the stale air expanded further beyond the physical limits of the hall. Goose pimples bubbled up on the skin of his arms. His own footfalls sounded distant behind his breathless breathing and the ring in his ears.

At reaching the lift doors, the feeling of suffocation broke to little relief. Not broke like a fever, with the hope of good health ahead, broke like snapping a pen in half, leaving it useless. Surely, he would be useless.

His index finger smashed against the call button; the sliding doors opened. Anxious fires died down while worried coals remained warm and present. He needed to know what was happening – not with himself – that was a question he could not answer. But with Y/N. Lovely, Y/N.

DING. Alex cleared the doors and took the hall above his own in quick strides until he stopped outside Sammy and Y/N’s apartment.

Shouts could be heard from behind the door, first from Sammy, “You never remember any of the good things I do!”

Y/N interjected, “I—”

“No. I’m talking. You’re such a depressive bitch to be around – everybody agrees. Oh, go on. Get all teary-eyed. Can’t you see how manipulative that is? Where are you go—? Red!”

Alex raised his fist to knock when the handle jumped, and the door was thrown open. Startled, he stood stock-still as Y/N harshly shoulder-checked him. She fled up the hall – opposite the lift – to the door for the stairwell.

Nothing in her hands. Not even wearing shoes.

“Alex? What are you doing here?” Sammy stepped forward from his hidden spot inside the apartment and into view; his frame took up almost the entire doorway. A reserved but friendly smile stretched across his mouth. His cheeks were not flushed red with heat, and there was not a speck of hostility in his stare.

Neither acting nor looking like he had just been screaming. As if he had flipped a switch, the second Y/N was out of sight; shifted into a new skin entirely.

“Um—I,” Alex babbled as he dragged his focus from the door Y/N had disappeared behind. “I—there was a crash. It was loud, and George thought I better check-up on you two, make sure everyone’s ok.”

Putting his hand on the smaller man’s shoulder, Sammy jostled him a touch. “No worries. That’s actually really cool – very thoughtful. Yeah, when Red gets agitated, things can get out of hand fast.”

“George and I, we’ve gotten a good number of noise complaints before, and we’re still here. But I’ll be honest. Keep going like that, and the eviction notice will be slid under your door tomorrow.”

“Good looking out. We got security called on us yesterday. Poor guy had to practically tear Red off of me.” Sammy held his hands out and curled his finger in a representation of cat claws. “I don’t expect there to be much noise going forward. She’ll calm down. Best to just leave her alone for a bit.”

Alex was decidedly not going to do that. “I could talk to her.”

“I wouldn’t bother, but I won’t stop you.” Sammy’s face brightened. “Actually. You know what? That might not be a bad idea. Less chance of her causing a scene if she’s with someone. And your type is well good at handling women and the emotional stuff, aren’t you?”

“My type?”

Alex gritted his teeth at the comment. “Stop.”

“Oh?” Sammy raised his head. “You’re gay?”

George started, “Well, he’s bi—”

“Yeah.” Alex cut him off. Sometimes it was easier to just be “gay” than to get specific with someone who might not understand or even accept further explanation.

Sammy breathed out an, “Oh.”

“Is that an issue?”

“It’s a relief! Don’t have to be worried about you trying to chat up Red.”

“Oh!” Alex forced a smile, “My type right. I got yous.”

“That’ll be perfect. Much better to have you giving Red advice than—well, just remind her that you’ve known me long enough to know I’m a good guy and stuff.” Sammy stepped back and wrapped his hand around the door to close it. “Maybe, tell her I’m sorry or something.”

“Got it.” Alex turned and walked up the hall to the stairwell door. He heard Y/N’s whimpers and then jogged up one flight of stairs and found her.

Y/N sat on the edge of the landing with her bare feet planted on the step below. Crying quietly, despite stairwell echo, as she held a hand over her mouth in a bid to suppress each hiccup and each broken noise. Her her head hung low.

Others might have described her as a portrait of lost strength after holding out for so long: a tragedy-struck Venus: an inspirational and poetic muse. Alex would not. He saw nothing analogous to artwork.

Y/N was not a subject to be romanticized in her lowest moments. She was not a canvas, painted pale with a couple of blue-tinted tears. She was a person, shuddering while red blotches bloomed across her skin.

“Hey, Red. I—uh…heard what happened, and I’m sorry for following you, but I was worried.” His heart gushed with empathy or sympathy – if he had ever bothered to learn the difference, maybe he could tell.

All Alex knew was his core ached with physical pain when he looked at her.

There was no reaction to his words nor his presence. Y/N did not lift her head; Alex ducked to see if he could perhaps catch her eyes, but they were screwed shut. Tears carved rivers down her cheeks. The hand over her mouth remained and was accompanied by her other hand as her sobs reached a new peak. It did not seem she would be speaking anytime soon.

And what was Alex supposed to do? He could not force her to want him there, so he reluctantly turned around and started back down the stairs. While he walked, a voice broke the silence in his head: Y/N’s emotional state and relationship issues are not your responsibility. It is not your job to help pick her up.

True. It was not Alex’s job to be there, and that was reason enough for him to leave without guilt. He was not responsible for her, and that should have stopped him from thinking about it again. It would have stopped him if he had not lived the life he had. If he had not known how frustrating – how debilitating it was to feel so helpless. To need others so desperately while also unable to ask for that help.

Leaning on the push bar of the stairwell door two floors down, opening it to his hall, he could see the door to his apartment, and where he knew George would be anxiously waiting for him.

Alex traced his gumline with his tongue. What am I doing? Spinning around, he took the stairs two at a time back up to Y/N.

True. It was not his job to be there. Alex wanted to be there. Even if Y/N was not in a position to understand that.

Returning to the landing, he stopped for a breath, unsure how to approach the crying woman, just watching her for a short moment. He sat beside her and planted his feet on the step below. A pair of shoes set next to a pair of bare feet.

When his bottom touched the floor, he felt the full weight of Y/N pushing on him. Her sobbing renewed as her arms wrapped around his neck, and her hands found the back of his shirt with clinging grasps. Alex wrapped his arms around her. Y/N brought her legs in closer and practically pulled herself into his lap.

From how limp and pliable Y/N was as she spilled over him, it was clear there was no anger behind her tears. No rage. No thought that she might start shouting obscenities or stomping her feet. Nothing like that. These were cries of exhaustion. But how she clung onto Alex like she was trying to ground herself, like he was the one real thing in her world at that moment, made him think there was more to it. How she had pacified herself with her hands earlier and how she buried her face in Alex’s chest to similar results. Y/N was frightened. Scared.

Tears formed wet spots on his shirt. Alex tried to keep himself as stable as possible, and he was, for the most part, considering how the woman he held shook like a coke-addicted pomeranian. It was not as uncomfortable as he might have thought. There was no talking, shushing, or humming. Alex and Y/N just sat in their relative quiet for however long it took.

Eventually, the hiccupping slowed. Stopped. Then it was just them and the quiet.

Alex asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

Y/N’s limbs stiffened, and Alex relaxed his hold to allow her to untangle herself from him; she did. Pulling back, she swung her legs and situated herself to be sitting perpendicular to him. Her puffy, wet eyes hesitantly met his dry ones.

“Is it normal? For couples to fight like us?” Y/N asked somehow able to keep eye contact as she did but not able to raise her voice much above a whisper. “For him to throw things?”

“No.”

“Oh. I’m sorry you had to—”

“You don’t have to apologize. It was scary.” He assumed as he ventured to place his hand lightly on her knee. “If you ever want to talk to someone, I’m here. Whenever you want to drop in, just do it. Seriously. I got lots of free time; I’m basically unemployed.”

“Thank you.” Giggling, Y/N wiped the remaining tears from her cheeks and dropped her hand to her knee – curling her fingers around his hand; she gave a small squeeze. “You’re sweet.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“Have I? Huh. It must be true then.” The words were barely out her mouth when she dropped her newfound smile entirely, and her brows furrowed in seriousness. “I should—it’s time I head back.”

Alex bit his lip, wanting to protest, wanting to scream and shout, but knowing he could not risk starting an argument with her – not now, not about this. “Ok. I’ll walk with you.”

Taglist: (message to join!) @angelbabyivy @eboysimp

#imallexx #imallexx imagine #imallexx x reader #alex elmslie #alex elmslie imagine #alex elmslie x reader #eboys #commentary crew #internet sensation #memeulous

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tanzaniiite · 4 years

Text

valid // kirishima x reader

prompt: "Why are you crying?” “…I wish I knew”

requests: OPEN

warnings: some good ole angst (my favorite) with a dash of fluff

word count: 2,412

a/n: can’t believe this is my first time writing for BNHA and i’ve been in the fandom for like forever. anyways i want to write more so requests are open.

I don’t have any rules or anything like that yet but i’ll probably develop some as time goes on.

___

Today was one of your extremely rare days off and although you wanted to sleep the day away… you couldn’t. Even though you had made it into the hero course, you felt so out of place with everyone. Their quirks were just amazing, how could someone as average as you top that? Your quirk was simple, telekinesis. You could pick up shit with your mind and that’s it. If you overexert your quirk, you got headaches and sometimes migraines, not a fun time. Ever since your quirk first manifested, you always felt confident with it but now you weren’t so sure. But there was no use sulking over it, you just had to work twice as hard to catch up with everyone else.

You walked into the dorms after having a somewhat lengthly gym session, originally you planned on staying for about a half and hour. But that 30 minutes slowly turned into 2 hours without you noticing. Now you were sore, sweaty and tired. You wanted nothing more than to just flop on your bed and sleep for the rest of the day but once again, you couldn’t. You promised Kirishima that you would help him with the most recent math chapter. Turns out Bakugou whacking him over the head wasn’t the best teaching method, huh, who would’ve knew? You walked past your friends in the common room, waving slightly. “Wow Y/n, you went to the gym on an off day? Man I wish I had your determination” Uraraka commented, noticing your work out clothes. Your other friends nodded and hummed in agreement. You smiled sheepishly and scratched the back of your head, “It’s honestly nothing, just a simple workout. I’m trying to improve on my upper body strength” You explained, your cheeks flushed slightly from the sudden attention drawn to you. Iida looked to you and started chopping the air, “I admire your will to work on your weaknesses, especially on your day off. Well done, Y/n! We all should follow Y/n’s example and dedication to become the best versions of ourselves-“ He stated, slipping into one of his ramblings causing everyone in the common room to groan.

You giggled slightly and walked into the kitchen, Bakugou was there sitting on a stool scrolling through his phone aimlessly. “Hey Bakugou” You greeted, making your way to the fridge and opening it. He grunted in response, not looking up from his phone. You drunk from you water bottle in silence as you pondered on where Kirishima might be. You noticed he wasn’t in the common room with his usual friend group and he wasn’t with Bakugou, which was weird because he didn’t seem like the type to keep to himself. ‘Gee, I hope he’s not sick or anything’ You thought, as you finished your water. “Um, Bakugou? By any chance, have you seen Kiri?” You asked, trying your best to not provoke the hothead. Bakugou rolled his eyes, “How the fuck would I know where Shitty Hair is?” He scoffed, finally looking up at you. You shifted under his obvious glare, “Okay, a simple yes or no would’ve sufficed” You replied, walking out the kitchen ignoring the ash blonde’s threats as you made your way to the showers.

After your shower, you changed into more comfortable clothing before making you way to Kirishima’s room. You had all your books and materials you needed, prepared to teach Kiri some math. You had even went as far as to bring your whiteboard, in hopes to help him understand the material a little better. You rapped your fist on his door, standing back waiting for him to open it. After a minute, you knocked again. No response, huh that’s weird. You pressed you ear against the door trying to hear any movement. Turns out the door is too thick for you to actually hear anything. You hated to just walk in without permission but you knew he was in there. Kaminari told you he had saw him walk in there a few minutes ago. After mentally battling with yourself for a minute or two, you finally decided to open the door.

You smiled as you saw Kirishima sitting at his desk, looking at his textbook. Your smiled faltered as you noticed how much distress he seemed to be in. Upon further inspection, he was clutching at his hair and trembling slightly. You put your stuff down on the floor and slowly walked towards him. He didn’t even notice you were in the room yet, you touched his shoulder gently. “Kirish-“ You started, eyes widening as he jumped from your touch. His head snapped up towards you before turning away and wiping his face, mumbling something along the lines of “I’m sorry”. Even though you only caught a glimpse of his face, it was still heart wrenching. His face was flushed, tears in his eyes and the most heartbreaking expression on his face. It was so different from what you normally saw from him, he looked a totally different person.

Kirishima sniffed and finally turned back to you, his eyes dry and a smile adorning his face. It was like he wasn’t crying and trembling a minute ago. But because you knew that smile on his face was forced as hell, the frown on yours didn’t disperse. “So, what can I do for you Y/n?” Kirishsima asked, bringing you back from your thoughts. His voice was back to it’s normal bubbly self but you could hear the tremble in his words. It was obvious that he wanted to forget the scene that just happened but you didn’t. “We have a study session, I’m helping you with the recent chapter. Remember?” You say, gesturing to your books that you placed on the floor by the door. Kirishima looked at your books and nodded, “Yeah, I totally forgot. We can get started if you’d like” He stated, getting up to get his notebook and other stuff.

You couldn’t focus on what the hell you were trying to teach the redhead. You kept stumbling on your words or losing your train of thought. Your mind kept wandering back to earlier, you were conflicted. You wanted to ask Kirishima about what happened earlier but you also wanted to respect his wishes and forget about it. But on one hand, it wasn’t healthy for him to keep his feelings bottled up but on the other hand, was it any of your business? Kirishima was your friend and you want to help him, but does he even want your help? He probably had someone to talk about this stuff, so what use would you be? You sighed loudly, gaining the attention of your friend. As he looked at you, he noticed your furrowed eyebrows. He guessed you were trying to figure out how to explain to him the next part of the chapter but expelled that thought when he saw that you were just staring at the front cover of the textbook.

“Hey Y/n?” He asked, watching you cautiously. You hummed in response, still staring at nothing. “Are you alright?” The redhead pressed, putting his pencil down. You looked up at him and nodded slightly, “Yeah, um how are those practice problems coming along?” You asked, changing the subject as you ran your fingers through your hair. “I think I’m doing pretty good, I would’ve never pegged you to be a math kind of girl but I actually understand what’s going on? It’s crazy” He laughed, as he gestured to the problems written in his notebook. You stared in awe, you honestly had no idea how Kirishima could be so composed and back to his usual self when less than hour ago he was just crying. Was he always like this and you just hadn’t noticed? Did he always hide his true feelings? Wow, what a shitty friend you’ve been, to not even get the suspicion that something was wrong. “Seriously Y/n, what’s wrong? You’re worrying me” Kiri stated, looking at you with concerned eyes.

You let out a dry laugh, “You’re worried about me? I’m worried about you Kiri. I know you want to forget what happened when I first walked in, but I’m sorry I don’t feel like a good friend just letting something like that go unnoticed” You replied, looking at the redhead. Kirishima looked taken aback before sighing. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t have let that go” He muttered, looking up at the ceiling. “Kiri you don’t have to tell me anything, but I need you to know that I’m here for you. Whether you just want my opinion on something or if you just want me to listen” You explained, taking his hands into yours. The redhead, looked at your hands that were now holding his. Your hands were so small compared to his, and much softer might he add. His lips trembled slightly before he covered his mouth with his hand in an attempt to muffle the whimper that left his lips. You squeezed his other hand sympathetically, your thumb brushing over his knuckles gently.

Kirishima tried to choke back a sob but failed, after that the tears just kept coming. You moved closer to him and hugged him tightly, he hugged you back just as tight, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he cried. As you comforted him slightly, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. How long has he been holding his feelings in like this? After what seemed like a good 20 minutes of Kiri crying, he seemed to calm down. Now his head was leaning on your chest while he stared at nothing in particular, his hands clutching your shirt slightly. The redhead was still visibly upset, and as much as he wanted to stop, the tears were still falling silently from his eyes. You didn’t want to break the silence but you think it would be helpful for Kirishima to talk about his feelings, of course you didn’t want to force him so you tried to coax it out of him.

You rubbed his shoulders gently, prompting him to sit up on his own. You felt his body heat leave with him and you shivered slightly. Kirishima had his head down, tears still welling in his eyes as he sniffed occasionally. “Hey.. Kiri? You don’t have to answer this but… why are you crying?” You asked gently, passing him a tissue so he could blow his nose. He took the tissue, mumbling a small “thanks” before blowing his nose and grimacing at the noise. You didn’t ask the question again, knowing that he heard you the first time. Instead you sat next to him patiently, waiting for him to answer. “Honestly… I wish I knew” He stated, smiling weakly wiping his eyes again. You blinked in confusion, surely he had to know why he was upset, that just didn’t make sense. Kirishima noticed your confused expression before he explained. “I mean, obviously, I know why but- it’s just so stupid. I shouldn’t be being such a baby about it-“ He said, laughing dryly and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Stop. Stop belittling your feelings, whatever you’re feeling.. it’s valid Kiri” You declared, grabbing his hands once again, and looking into his ruby colored eyes. “… Y/n please. You’re gonna make me cry again” He said, looking away from you. You chuckled slightly, now holding his warm tear-stained cheek in your hand.

“It’s okay to cry Kiri”

“You sound like my mom”

“Is that good?”

“Yeah, she’s the smartest person I know”

You felt you heart swell, this boy was just too precious. You wanted to crush whatever dark thoughts that were clouding his mind. The redhead sighed, before looking back at you, “I’m honestly not sure what triggered this. I guess it really started when I woke up. You know when you have those days when you just feel like shit? Like you’re doing something wrong or that you’re just not good enough?” He asked rhetorically. You nodded slightly, listening intently. “Well today was one of those days. They happen more often than I’d like to admit but it is what is. I spent most of the day in my room only leaving for a snack or the bathroom. Then I remembered about our study session so I figured I would try to get a head start and at least try to understand the material. And… that’s when it really started. I was stuck on a stupid problem and I was so frustrated. I just couldn’t take it and I started bawling like a baby” He finished, looking at you for any sign of boredom or disgust but he was only met with look of sympathy.

“Oh Kiri..”

“I know, it’s dumb”

“Dude, what did I just say?”

You narrowed your eyes at the redhead before holding his face in your hands. “Stop. Belittling. Your. Feelings.” You said, breaking it down. It literally broke your heart that he thought his feelings were dumb and not valid. Kirishima looked at you with sad eyes, “And I guess the real reason I started crying was because.. who wants a dumb hero? When you or Bakugou explain this work to me, you guys make it sound so simple and I can’t help but think.. is there something wrong with me? A-And who wants a hero that can’t do basic math? Or a hero that has low marks? What if I-“ He rambled. You interrupted him with your lips crashing into his. The redhead’s eye widen slightly before he melted into the kiss and pulled you closer to him. Your hands went to his neck, and his hands snaked around your waist. When you finally pulled away for air, you giggled at Kirishima’s pout. He smiled slightly at you, “Can you do that every time I start to spiral?” The redhead asked, leaning his forehead on yours. “Sure, but you don’t need to spiral for me to kiss you” You replied, smiling. Kirishima tilted your face until you guys were centimeters apart, before kissing your soft lips once more.

Bonus!

“Ugh, there’s dry snot on your shirt. That’s so gross, sorry”

“It’s okay, I don’t care about snot. I’ll just change”

“Take one of my shirts!”

“Oh no, that’s okay”

“Please I insist”

“Alright, I’ll wear you shirt. And Kiri?”

“Hm?”

“Please talk to me whenever you’re feeling down, ‘kay?”

…

“I will”

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