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kodzuvii · 3 years

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ON TRACK! ✩ [14: so, I guess we’re soulmates?]

next: [15: the rock wannabe]

pairing - iwaizumi hajime x fem!reader

genre - crack + fluff :) soulmate au!

synopsis - In a world where soulmates can hear the songs their partner is singing or listening too at any time, Iwaizumi Hajime wants to know who his soulmate is so he can give them a piece of his mind and tell them to stop singing along to soft lofi songs while he’s in the middle of practice because it’s seriously ruining his cool, calm, and collected image.

wc: 4k

warnings!: grammar issues plz ignore + awkward phone call between two overthinking teenagers?

a/n: this is severely long overdue and I apologize deeply for that. the taglist for this series is open! more info will be found in the note after the story! ty :)

“Nee-chan’s weakness #16: overthinks more often than usual when under a lot of pressure”

Akaashi loved you. He really did. But if the higher-ups gave him an option to choose a new older sister, then maybe, just maybe, he would consider taking it. As he watched you frantically pace around his room with your dog (who looked quite scared) in your arms, he wondered if you viewed him more of a personal therapist rather than a little sibling.

His evening was going normal. After a long day of practice, all he intended to do was read a book after dinner and maybe watch a movie with Tofu afterwards just before bed. Nowhere in his plans were for you to barge into his room unannounced with an evident look of panic on your face while mumbling incoherent words.

Your hair was a mess and you were clad in an oversized sweater and superman pajama pants with Tofu in one of your arms while your phone was being held tightly in your other hand. All he could get from the words leaving your lips at a 1.75 playback speed was “soulmate” and “phone call” and “not ready.”

Akaashi watched you stop in your tracks and pull out his desk chair. You plopped yourself onto the seat, face warm and flushed as you tried to recall how you were feeling. “No Keiji I’m telling you that any second now, my soulmate is gonna call me and uhm? Quite frankly, my brain can’t process that and I am fucking scared.”

Akaashi hummed, “nee-chan calm down.” Tofu then jumped out of your arms and leaped onto Akaashi’s bed. He walked up and cuddled up near the setters side which made Akaashi smile before turning his attention back to you.

You rolled your eyes and crossed your legs and spun around on his chair, “no Kei this is serious. This first phone call is basically equivalent to a meet-cute which also means the first impressions. I feel like his first impression already isn’t good because I literally injured his friend so this is my moment to redeem myself” you rambled.

Akaashi made eye contact with Tofu and even the poor dog looked concerned at your state.

“Kei, what if this is all a mistake? I mean the universe must be against me somehow right? What if he hates me the moment I answer and then next thing you know he’s telling me that he wants us to reject each other and then I’m gonna be left all alone to roam around this miserable world and-mph!”

You flinched back as you felt a soft pillow collide with your face and stop your ramble. You looked down at the pillow on the floor and snapped your head up to your brother, “what was that for!” Akaashi rolled his eyes and petted Tofu with his right hand, “you overthink too much” he replied simply.

You narrowed your eyes at him but you couldn’t come up with any comeback in your head. He was right after all. You groaned and stood up from the spinny chair and walked over to his bed before belly-flopping down. You leaned over and grabbed the blue pillow near his headboard and Akaashi watched as you screamed into the plush material.

You were losing it.

“This sucks Keiji, I’m terrible at phone calls. I don’t even answer Otosan’s phone calls so how the fuck am I supposed to answer my soulmates?”

In Miyagi, Iwaizumi unknowingly found himself in a similar state as you. The moon was shining from his window and the light cascaded a soft glow into his room. With his windows wide open, he could feel the cool breeze blowing in and slightly brushing over his face. But the breeze didn’t help calm his nerves at all.

Iwa was a simple guy, really he was.

As someone who meditated regularly as well as found good coping mechanisms that would help calm his stress levels down, you would think that he’d be relaxed in this situation.

But no, Iwa was also internally panicking. Being the stubborn boy he was, he tried to play it off and cool himself down by fooling himself into believing that he was fine and that he had everything under control.

He didn’t

Iwa cracked his neck and looked back down at his phone. He was sitting on the sides of his bed, hand gripping tightly onto his phone as his eyes stared at your number displayed on the screen right under your name and his thumb barely hovering over the call button.

“Okay. I’m gonna do it,” he thought to himself for the nth time in the past 10 minutes.

He took a deep breath and gave himself an internal word of encouragement and made the move. ‘So close’ he thought. “This is it, I’m gonna do it” But just as his thumb barely, just barely, made contact with the screen, he pulled it back and harshly threw his phone at his pillow. He closed his eyes and groaned in frustration as he fell back, his back hitting his mattress.

This was starting to piss him off.

It was just a phone call.

Him simply contacting and talking verbally to someone through his phone.

He was fine.

Right?

Yeah no, he was totally fine. Pft He’s had phone calls before. In fact, he had done it several times with several people (that’s a lie he only picks up to his parents and maybe Oikawa on good days) Why was this so hard? Phone calls are a natural thing. Especially in the 21st century. He wasn’t some old man who had no idea how to talk on the phone.

He got this.

But wait, did you even want him to call you first? What if you wanted to call him first? Wait what if he asked you during the wrong time and you’re tired?

Iwaizumi then lifted his head slightly to look at the clock on his bedside table. It was 8 pm. It wasn’t that late right? You would’ve told him if you were busy right? Wait what if you’re an early bird who liked catching a full 12 hours of sleep. Or what if you were just too scared to tell him you weren’t in the mood to call. God, there were so many factors he should’ve thought about before asking you. He blinked and heaved a frustrated sigh as he looked up to his ceiling. This was a lot harder than he’d thought.

If there was one thing he learned from Oikawa’s fangirls is that girls are scary.

You were no exception to that idea.

Iwaizumi took a deep breath before pulling himself back up and leaned over to grab his phone. He turned it to the side and made sure once again that his ringer was on and that the volume was all the way up just in case you know, you wanted to call first and save him from all the stress he was feeling.

He stared at your contact information and gripped his phone tighter. Your contact didn’t even have a photo and your name was just ‘Akaashi Y/n’ on his phone. Everything that happened between you two from the past couple of weeks flooded his head and he couldn’t help but internally cringe. He silently cursed at Oikawa for bringing him into this situation because maybe, just maybe, he could’ve held off this first phone call and wait for a couple of years when his voice would be a lot deeper and he would be a lot cooler and he wouldn’t be sitting on his bed with a pathetic expression while listening to his phone ring and-

Wait,

Ring?

Iwaizumi’s eyes widened as he now realized that he must’ve subconsciously pressed the call button on his screen. This was it, there was no turning back now. His olive-green eyes stared blankly at his screen. He kept blinking and re-reading your name and just hoping silently that it would change from your name to Oikawa’s so he could yell out all his frustration at him.

A couple of seconds went by before the ringing stopped and he felt his breath hitch when his ears picked up the sound of your voice on the other line.

“Hello?”

Oh, shit this was really happening

It’s been 3 seconds, shut up Hajime.

Iwaizumi cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck with his free hand.

“Hey, Akaashi-chan right?”

“Mhm but please just call me Y/n! oh and uh hi Iwaizumi-kun”

Iwaizumi blinked, he doesn’t know why but he felt his cheeks heat up as he heard his name come out of your lips. Iwaizumi cleared his throat before bringing a hand to scratch the back of his neck, “Uh- how are you doing?” he asked. Oh my god, you probably picked up on how unconfident he sounded. This is horrible. He winced and brought his hand to his forearm, rubbing it in an attempt to ease down his nerves.

“I’m doing okay, did you uhm-- eat yet??”

Iwaizumi stiffened, taken back a bit at the question but you interrupted him before he could reply. “I-I’m guessing you got back from practice not too long ago right? Assuming you stayed back late and stuff,” you trailed off. Wincing at your own awkwardness. Iwaizumi pinched his forearm and chuckled nervously, “No-uhm you’re right I got back a couple of hours ago. And yeah, I ate already. Did you?” He asked back, You shook your head, “no not yet. Been busy reviewing and all that stuff” you answered truthfully as you glanced up at your stacks of opened notebooks and coloured highlighters messily spread around all over your desk.

Iwaizumi grunted, his nervousness momentarily washing away as concern came over him. “Y/n, you can’t neglect your health. Cut some fruit up or something” You froze for a second at how stern he sounded just now. Then you realized that this could just be his natural voice and you’re just reading into it too much. Oh god you were starting to overthink again. How did Bokuto and your brother get past their first conversation?

Your silent curses towards the world were cut short when you realized that too many seconds passed and Iwaizumi was still waiting for your reply. Like you do in any unsure situation, you stifled a laugh and nodded while scratching your knee awkwardly, “I will I will.”

A long line of silence then came through and there were no other words to describe it other than awkward. The faint buzzing of your phone sounded louder than ever. You could hear the wind blowing, the clock ticking, and the way your legs would shuffle against each other as you fidgeted. The silence between you two was long, tense, and uncomfortable. The kind of silence that made people want to die on the inside. You both started to question the situation you were in. You had the same goal, both wanting to learn more about your soulmate. Yet you’re lack of comfort and his lack of confidence made things more nerve wracking than it should be.

In an attempt to ease the tension, you tried to think of something you could say that would loosen both of you up. A quick little sentence that was casual and good for conversation starters. You thought for a second, trying to recall your favourite movie couples and what words they said to each other during their meet cute. You needed something smooth, simple, but something that could address the situation you were in. It then clicked in your mind, 5 words, 5 syllables (or did it count as 7?) whatever.

All your time spent watching incredibly dramatic romance movies has led up to this moment.

“So…” you started in a casual tone.

“I guess we’re soulmates huh?”

The moment those words left your mouth your mind short-circuited and you wanted the ground to swallow you up whole. It definitely sounded way cooler in your head. God what were you thinking? And why did you make it sound like it was a question. stupid. Barely 10 minutes in and you’ve already embarrassed yourself.

You fell back onto your bed (Akaashi kicked you out of his room) and covered your hand over your mouth and moved your phone away from your face and let out a tiny scream so that Iwa would not be able to hear. Maybe you weren’t as smooth as you thought. However, that didn’t matter anymore. The words had been said and now the embarrassment was eating you up and every single bad scenario you had previously imagined began to cloud your mind. This was it, you’re soulmate definitely thought you were a loser, bye-bye happiness and hello staying sad and single until you fall into your grave.

Your ears perked up when you heard him clear his throat. You sat up, moved your phone closer to your ear as you anticipated his reply.

“Yeah I guess”

Your body tensed up at how unsure and bored he sounded. And you thought this moment couldn’t become anymore embarrassing. You physically felt your soul leave your body the moment he spoke those words in such a bored tone. This is gonna be a moment that would forever haunt you in the years to come.

Phone calls were neither of you guys’ strong suits and that fact was clearly evident in the way neither of you knew what to say next. While you could handle carrying yourself in real-life conversations, the closeness of someone's voice against your ear and their lack of presence in front of you made things made things more stressful than it should be. Iwaizumi was naturally not much of a talker, he usually let his flamboyant best friend that was joint to his hip take control of conversations. It didn’t help that most people found him rather intimidating and unapproachable.

The silence stretched out for another minute and the longer before you decided to speak up once again. You agreed to call because you wanted to learn more about him, your soulmate, and there was no way you could learn anything about him by just listening to the faint sounds of his breath through your phone. You shook your head and gave yourself a mini pep talk in your head.

Come on Y/n, pussy up bitch.

“Iwaizumi-kun I’m gonna be honest-”

Iwaizumi's hands that were playing with the cotton material of his sweatpants froze. His voice got stuck in his throat and a part of him became worried. Curse his lack of conversational abilities. He was too lost in second guessing himself while structuring his sentences about what he wanted to say to realize that you were probably waiting for him to say something. Did he already mess things up with his soulmate?

“-I suck at phone calls. Like, I’m terrible at it and I’m honestly really nervous right now because this whole thing is a bit overwhelming but I want to get to know more about you because well, you seem pretty cool” you rambled and were met with silence on the other line. Iwaizumi suddenly felt himself get flustered the moment you said that he was cool.

You sighed and continued, trying to ease the way your heart was pounding against your chest. “Truthfully I don’t know what to say or what we should talk about, so we can start with the basics, yeah?” You cleared your throat and straightened yourself up as you took a deep breath.

“Hi Iwaizumi-kun, I’m Y/n”

It took a moment for his mind to process the words you said. Basics. Yeah, he was capable of doing that. After taking a deep breathe, one that was meant to give him some sort of encouragement, he replied. You felt chills go up your back as his gruff voice echoing through the speaker;

“Hey, I’m Iwaizumi”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

First real conversations were never easy. A part of you felt like you were back in your first year of junior high when your teacher was forcing you to play ice-breaker games in an attempt to get to know the people in your class. The questions were the usual “what’s your favourite food?”, “when's your birthday?”, etc etc.

However, instead of getting to know your classmates, the game would usually just result in everyone staring at one another as they waited for someone to speak up. An awkward tension cutting into the classroom as everyone simultaneously realizes that everyone was kinda lame and boring and that they don’t really wanna get to know the people who sat beside them.

You hoped that wouldn’t be the case with Iwaizumi. You’ve known you’d had a soulmate since middle school. Since then, you’ve always fantasized about your meet-cute. You’ve watched many romantic movies and read more than enough manga to fuel your brain with endless cute imaginations and ideas.

But alas, the reality of the world is that cute scenarios are simply meant to live in fictional stories. Akaashi had even told you that you needed to humble down your expectations to save yourself from disappointment in the future.

The first couple words exchanged in your conversation weren’t poetic words of love confessions and sweet nothings. They were typical, short common questions that people generally use to learn more about each other. The expected “when’s your birthday?” and “what do you do in your free time?”

You learned about how his birthday was during June, his favourite colour was dark green, he liked agedashi tofu, and how he spent his free time doing some sort of exercise or physical activity. Iwaizumi was also relatively quiet, truth be told you did most of the talking while he said quiet words to let you know that he was still listening. Along with being quiet, he was private. A direct contrast to you. You were an open book, your mouth moved faster than your mind and you had not much of a problem telling him about little details about yourself.

Iwaizumi on the other hand was selective on what he wanted to tell you. Iwaizumi was simple. A down to earth guy who had his own little sense of edginess to him. He was levelheaded and was someone who strived for realistic goals rather than unreasonable daydreams. You caught that when he simply answered that his goal right right now was to attend nationals with his best friend. When you asked if he had further goals, he simply said that everything else was too far into the future and was out of his reach. You could also tell that even though he used names such as “piece of trash” and “shittykawa” to describe his said best friend, he cared for him in his own way.

Iwaizumi always had a feeling that his soulmate would be the more talkative one out of the two of them. He wasn’t reserved per se, just wasn’t one to ramble over things when deemed unnecessary. You on the other hand could talk for hours. Just from listening to your speaking patterns and tone of voice, you were bright and confident. You found ways to stray away from the original topic and talk about something completely different. On top of learning about your birthday, favourite food, colour, and basically everything he told you, he also somehow learned about your allergy to raspberries, your admiration for early 2000s movies, how you had a dog who you also considered like another brother, and now he was listening to you retell a story about how you got into baking and cooking.

You were carefree once you became comfortable. Your voice was captivating, one that made people always pay attention to whatever you were saying. He listened intently as you went on about your story, he hummed here and there to indicate that he was listening and nodded along even though he knew you wouldn’t see.

A part of him felt relieved to hear you speak so freely. While you never directly came to him, he could tell from your Twitter rants that you were going through a lot of stress from school. Iwaizumi may have only met you formally recently, but he’s listened to your taste in music long enough to have an idea about how the songs you were playing indicated your moods. You had been playing such gloomy music during the past couple of weeks but he was still too nervous and felt like he was overstepping a line if he became too upfront and told you to tell him what’s wrong.

Yeah, you were soulmates, but you technically didn’t know him just like how he didn’t know you.

Nonetheless, a part of him felt relieved at hearing the genuine excitement in your voice because he knew that at this very moment, you were feeling okay.

“-and that’s how I baked a cake to persuade my brother into not telling our Mom that we sneaked out to the convenience store at 4 am,” you said cheerfully as you recalled the memory. You had switched from sitting at your bed to now sitting on your chair and leaning your upper body onto your desk. You moved your word out of the way and had your elbows propped up on the surface of your desk, your head leaning onto your phone in your hands. A part of you felt giddy when you heard the faintest chuckle come from the other end of the line.

The awkward tension between you two was fizzling out and you no longer felt as nervous as you did in the beginning. You were slowly and surely becoming a bit more comfortable with his presence. Truthfully, Iwaizumi still felt a bit awkward. Not that he minded you talking a lot, he just didn’t know what to say and was worried that you found him boring like how Oikawa said he was.

He really was trying. It just wasn’t in his character to be so open about himself.

“Y/n, you know how dangerous that could've been?”

“Shh, my brother was practically a giant back when we were in junior high so he was enough to scare any creeps away. Plus, I already knew then that the elbow is the strongest point in the body so I would’ve been able to fight any sort of dangerous threat!” you exclaimed. “That is not a good excuse,” he replied in an unamused tone.

You huffed, “At least I know something about self-defence” you attempted to reason. You only heard Iwaizumi reply with a simple ‘tched’ which made you laugh.

It was then that you looked onto the clock at the corner of your desk and realized how late it was and it was also then that you remembered that you still had some notes that you wanted to write up before you went to bed. Curse University prep. You were so lost in your conversation with the boy that time slipped past your mind along with your other responsibilities. Just when you two had started getting into a comfortable rhythm too. You sighed sadly which immediately caught Iwaizumi’s attention.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asked. You shook your head and removed your phone from your ear and pressed the speaker button on your phone screen. You placed your phone on your desk and stood up to organize the notebooks you had pushed aside on your desk. “Nothing bad, just remembered I had a couple more notes I wanted to finish up before bed,” you said with a hint of sadness in your voice. You wanted to continue your conversation with him and you really weren’t in the mindset to review your nutrition notes right now.

Iwaizumi paused to take a moment to look up at his wall clock and realized that it was nearing midnight. Iwaizumi felt a twinge of guilt inside of him when he realized that he kept you up so late. This was even past his own scheduled bedtime.

“I didn’t mean to keep you up so late, my bad” he apologized. You stifled a laugh as a tired smile spread on your lips. “It’s not your fault. Something tells me that you’re the type of person who sleeps early so I should be apologizing for keeping you up” you replied.

You suddenly yawned and stretched your arms over your head, “I’m gonna finish up and call in for the night. You should get some rest Iwaizumi-”

“Go to bed” You flinched slightly at how serious his voice got.

“It’s late, you can finish up your notes tomorrow. Studying when you’re tired isn’t healthy. Get some sleep so you won’t feel extra tired and groggy tomorrow morning. If you’re gonna stay up, at least go and make yourself something to eat for tomorrow so you feel energized”

You smiled tiredly, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you Iwaizumi-kun. Oh and thank you for tonight, I enjoyed talking to you and I hope we can do this again” you shyly suggested. You closed your eyes as you clutched the material of your sweater to your chest as you waited for his answer. Iwaizumi felt a sense of relief rush into him knowing that you enjoyed talking to him. A sense of his self doubt momentarily washing away. You didn’t hear a reply for a moment and it worried you that you might’ve said the wrong thing. But a couple of moments passed before you heard a faint “Me too”

You moved your hand to hover over the red call button on your screen,

“Goodnight Iwaizumi-kun, sleep well”

“You too, Y/n”

The ‘beep’ from your phone indicating the call had ended echoed through your room. You stared at your phone for a moment as it dawned on you that you just had your first real conversation with your soulmate. And yeah it wasn’t the large extravagant straight-out-of-movie scene you had always envisioned but that didn’t matter. What mattered now was that you had talked to your soulmate and you knew a little bit more about him and he knew a little bit more about you.

It was a start.

You yawned and stretched your arms up over your head once again and sighed in relief when you felt your back crack. Your arms dropped to your side and you frowned as your eyes looked down at your notebooks that you had now neatly stacked in your hands. You realized that you were far too tired to even open up your textbooks, let alone finish a couple pages of notes.

Thinking back to what Iwaizumi said, you could always tune in early for the night and finish everything up tomorrow in the library. Plus, waking up to something to energizing to eat didn’t sound so bad. It wasn’t going to take long and you figured you had a bit more energy left to cut up some fruit before surrendering yourself to sleep.

Content with your decision you turned around and made your way towards your door. However, just as you were about to step out you heard three buzzes from your phone come back to back. Curiously, you walked back towards your desk and leaned down to read the message:

“Hey, if you need someone to study with then let me know and we can facetime and I can keep you company. If you want to of course. No pressure if you’re not up for it”

“Oh and grapefruits are really good to have the morning by the way, they’re refreshing”

“rest well.”

a/n: hello! This chapter is very long overdue and I’m really sorry about that. I’m not gonna go into it but just know that this series is back and I hope to keep a steady flow of updates going :)

I struggled a lot with writing this chapter partly because I myself am terrible at phone calls but I hope this gives an insight to difference between Iwa and Yn!

I will be opening up taglist for any of my newer readers who would like to keep up with the updates of “on track!” Feel free to comment or send me a message : ) Regarding my current taglist, it’s been months and I’ve noticed a lot of people changed their @s so I tried to find everyone who changed their users. If I accidentally tagged you and you weren’t on my list let me know + inform me if i also missed you. If you no longer want to be added, then please let me know if you would like to be removed from the taglist. Thank you all so much for your patience and feel free to let me know about your thoughts down below :)

++ I just want to clarify iwaizumi’s initial care for Y/n’s well-being isn’t meant to be interpreted as “omg he’s falling for her already” and should be seen as just someone who cares about his soulmate and wants them to be healthy. He knows that YN is his soulmate and cares about her because of that. But it’s more of a platonic care at the moment. They’re soulmates, yes, but he’s not in love with her and Y/n is not in love with him (yet at least) ya gets?

yeah i’m just a fan of slow burn

I just wanted to say that just because I’m not confident in the way I wrote him 😅 thank you so much again for reading!

taglist! [OPEN; comment or send an ask to be added!]

@aircorumble @bunnyuuji-archive @cloudsvna @donteathecake @iloveyouasmuchaspoohloveshoney @sunabrainrot @tadashi-simp @agaashesmilktea @sbaepsae @vicassa @akaashikeijisthighs @mariachiii @ayocee @starsinthepavement @cece-lives-here @elianetsantana @gxrleexis-arctic-monks @ssaihanuweol @sazunari @kenmacorps @simping-for-tendou @intoomuchfandoms @vxnna @froyopet @komouri @idek-at-thispoint @volexis @insomniish @amberisnotcrazy @maramalademadara @faewraithsworld @mjoork @mindofess @dreamstormings @h0ngh0ngh0ng @keekee-732 @daewengol @amessypan @applekenm @ptv-hades @killlerqween @bakusquadz @bbymilkbread @bbyhaji @sophie-duck @marissaraeblr @kellesvt

tags continue in comments w/ my main🤍

#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu smau #haikyuu social media au #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu soulmate au #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi smau #iwaizumi hajime smau #haikyuu fluff #iwaizumi fluff #on track!

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groovybaybee · 4 years

Text

Empty Beach (4.5k)

Three hours. It only took three hours for the tan line on my ring finger to be brought up. Three measly hours I had spent in the country, travelling to the house and unpacking, before his name was mentioned. Despite choosing a later flight in a desperate attempt to spend as little time with my distant relatives as possible, the question was inevitable.

“No Ethan this year?” my sweet but intrusive grandmother had asked the second grace had been uttered.

It took less than two seconds for the question to be answered by my mother.

“They split up, ma,” she said with a passive aggressive smile as she passed me some vegetables.

“That’s a pity… such a nice young man,” my grandmother pressed, leaning forward in her seat.

“Very nice,” I muttered under my breath, knowing fully well that my side of the story would never be accepted.

“Anyone else on the scene?” asked my uncle as he bounced a fussy toddler on his knee. “Want to get yourself settled soon, pop out a couple of these sweet things.” He added when I shook my head.

I watched as the child grabbed wildly at anything in his reach, knocking a bread roll on to the floor. My eyes followed my uncle as he reached down to scoop up the discarded food, quickly blowing at it before settling it back on his plate.

“Mhm,” I hummed before dropping my gaze to my plate, pushing the food around miserably.

The rest of the meal followed a similar pattern. Questions were asked. Digs unsubtly disguised as jokes were made at my expense. I offered half-hearted noises of agreement when reminded that my biological clock is ticking, and no man wants an old spinster for a wife.

Family has a way of making you feel terrible about yourself. They can highlight all your perceived failures and mock them to your face, delighting in their ‘progress’ comparative to yours.

Ethan used to make these visits more bearable. Having someone accompany me to these yearly holidays helped to calm the fire in my stomach, the urge to argue with my family’s traditional ideals. For a while, I convinced myself Ethan’s presence soothed my wild nature outside these trips as well, encouraging me to be practical and always plan ahead.

He was sensible and I was sensible when I was around him. So, when he asked me to marry him at this exact villa one year ago, I did the sensible thing and accepted.

My family were ecstatic, finally marrying me off and watching me become the person they expected me to become. First would be the wedding, then children, then grandchildren. I would be a wife, most likely staying home to raise our children and resenting every moment of allowing myself to be stifled like that.

Ethan and I made sense in almost every way. We just lacked that… something. Some people describe it as a spark, others a fire. Whatever it is, it never existed between us. We both knew that, so it did not shock me to see the relief in his eyes when I returned his ring.

No one could understand how we ended a four-year relationship over seemingly nothing, especially not my family members.

“Have you been trying to work things out with Ethan? I’m sure if you just talked you could resolve whatever you’re going through.” My mother urged as we cleared the table.

The scoff that left my lips was unintentional but impossible to retain.

“I’m trying to help fix your mistakes.” She snapped, clattering plates as she piled them forcefully.

“Not everything I do is a mistake.” I countered softly, exhausted from my flight and from the years of having this conversation.

“Of course not, but don’t your father and I deserve grandchildren? Have we not earned that after—”

I refused to let her finish her sentence, quickly announcing that I was going for a walk.

Blood boiled in my veins as I trudged through cobbled streets. The stomp of my sandals against the ground sounded ridiculous and only infuriated me further as I stormed aimlessly through familiar backstreets until the sound of softly crashing waves called me closer.

It was after sunset, most of the beach empty save for a few teenagers gathered around a small fire. The anger in me had subsided by the time I reached the sand, gently toeing off my shoes and carrying them with me as I walked the width of the beach.

Waves brushed my toes as I inhaled and exhaled deeply, grateful for the gentle evening breeze that seemed to soothe the burn inside my throat. I spent a few moments, still, allowing the water to cleanse my soul and pull away the negativity of the night with each receding wave.

Planting myself in the sand, I stretched out my legs to their full extent, flexing and relaxing my bare feet until the tiny grains felt coarse on my skin.

I sat for a long while, reminding myself that only I knew what was best for me. Not my family, who I purposely only interacted with a couple of times per year. They barely knew me; they most definitely did not know what I needed.

The urge to settle down at a young age and start a family as quickly as possible in order to continue the cycle had never appealed to me. Even as a child I craved excitement and adventure; something no amount of familial intervention could knock out of me.

A late-night trip to the beach like this one would be considered reckless. I could only imagine the passive-aggressive nightmare I would return to. Silent gawks and glares would surround me until I felt claustrophobic.

My desire for freedom and spontaneity most certainly was the product of a recessive gene, one only shared by my great aunt, Delilah. She stopped attending all family get-togethers when I was still a child. The memory of her pulling me back during a family walk to skip stones with her would stay with me forever.

“They won’t be around you forever,” she had told me as she bounced a rock four times across the placid lake. “One day you’ll have your own life. You’ll make your own choices and you’ll make them for yourself, won’t you honey?”

I hadn’t really understood what she meant but I nodded anyway. I idolised her. The fire I recognised in myself, I saw in her. She was the only one who understood me, which is why it hurt all the more when I had to face family gatherings alone.

It was only when I was an adult that her leaving made sense. Delilah was in her late sixties when she finally came out to her family. That evening, after we returned from the lake, I was sent to bed while my family had a ‘grown-up’ discussion. The next morning, she was gone, and no one would tell me why.

She sent presents on birthdays and Christmas, postcards from each new place she visited, always reminding me to be true to myself and do what I wanted. Now she was free, she felt alive.

I drew her name in the damp sand with my index finger, mine beneath it, and made a silent promise to keep the fire alive for the both of us.

What would DeeDee do right now? I had wondered.

An immediate grin had spread across my face when I heard her voice in my head, telling me: “I don’t know, something stupid like skinny-dipping.”

I knew that if she were around, she would tell the story of how she skinny-dipped at boarding school with the headmistress’ daughter. I could almost feel the warmth of her laughter as I sat on the sand.

Envying her liberation, I glanced around the beach to gage the possibility of being nude without being arrested for public indecency.

The teenagers had left while I was reminiscing, their fire extinguished. The beach appeared empty. No one would see. Even if it was just for a moment, it felt something that I needed to experience.

Head and heart fixed on the idea, I quickly stripped my body of the pale blue sundress. Taking a swift but deep breath, I pulled down my underwear and tossed them into the pile. A small giggle fell from my lips as my body adjusted to the new temperature. A warm gust of wind blew past me, almost as if encouragingly pushing me towards the water.

I ran without looking back until my knees splashed water around my body and the ocean became too deep and slowed me down. I stood, waist deep, under the sky. It was a clear night, save for a few light clouds which glided past in the breeze.

My eyes fell closed as I breathed in the moment, desperate to savour each salty kiss and gentle caress of the water. Everyone had disappeared. Each nag and dig had vanished from memory. This was peace.

It was peace, until the gentle crashing of waves was interrupted by a sigh.

Instantly, I crouched in the water, eager for ever the slightest touch of modesty as I turned to locate the source of the sound.

About ten metres away, waves lapping around his ribs, stood a man with his eyes closed and head thrown back as if bathing in the moonlight.

In a desperate attempt to go unseen, I squatted low. My chin just above the water, I attempted to side-step away in order to keep an eye on him and prevent any awkwardness.

I was almost crab-walking away when he finally noticed me, a misplaced footstep caused me to be plunged underneath the lukewarm tide.

“Whoa, you alright?” I heard him ask when I surfaced, spluttering and spitting so much water that I did not notice him mirror my stance, also crouched.

“Fine.” I coughed, clearly not fine but thankful that he did not press it.

The two of us stood in silence as I caught my breath, running my hands over my head to scrape back the tangling mess of hair, already wondering how I would explain this when I returned to my family.

“Nice night isn’t it?” he asked after the silence started to become thick with tension.

“Yeah, not bad,” I replied, pausing for a moment to smirk at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Know any constellations?” he had asked, turning his head back up to the sky.

“Not really,” I answered.

It was at this moment that I was given the chance to appreciate him. His head bobbed just above the water, darkened wet hair plastered itself to his head, some parts curling out in defiance. An angular jaw tilted to the stars, catching their light and softening his features. The stranger glowed and glistened as awe-filled eyes watched the twinkling wonders above us.

“You?” I questioned.

“Just the ones everyone knows… Orion’s belt, Cassiopeia…” he commented, and I copied his stance, gazing up to the night sky.

An overwhelming swell of gratitude washed across me as I stood beneath the glittering expanse. I pictured the stars looking down at us as we did to them, marvelling at their distance. Everything felt so insignificant in the most calming way. It did not matter what my family thought of me, or even the unknown man beside me (once I felt safe that he was not about to murder me and leave my lifeless body to float out with the tide). All that mattered is that in that moment, cuddled by gentle waves and illuminated by starlight, I felt alive.

“When I was a kid, I thought that night-time was like a knitted blanket and stars were the little gaps you get,” he spoke.

Not able to help myself, I turned to him with a grin at his admission. It felt like such an impossible confession to make to a stranger that I had to meet his gaze, eyes already trained on me by the time mine found his.

“Sorry, bit mental to tell a stranger.” He laughed.

“What’s your name?” I asked, sensing his discomfort from oversharing. “Then we aren’t strangers anymore.”

I learnt his name was Harry. I told him mine and we discuss childhood beliefs as if we had known each other longer than a few minutes. Mentioning my unshakable faith that lightening was just a huge camera flashing seemed to relax him. There was a sweetness to the look he gave me as I spoke. A gentle stare that paired with an equally easy smile. Lips quirked with each word I uttered, until I soon wore a matching grin.

Only when I was able to notice the deep-set dimples in his cheeks did I realise we had migrated closer to one another. By the sea or our own volition, we were only a few feet apart. He was breath-taking up close, warm but dark eyes glinted emerald and a light dusting of freckles across his nose were a testament to a day in the sun.

It was then that I began to panic. The realisation that the possibility to slip away without him seeing my nude body was quickly diminishing the more I spoke to him. But I didn’t want to stop.

“I don’t believe you.” I laughed heartily.

“It’s true! I can call my mum and she’ll tell you. My sister convinced me whenever I blinked everyone turned into a frog.” He spoke fondly, a warmth spreading across his features as he reminisced.

“Can I ask you something that’s going to sound a bit mad?” I asked once calm was restored between us. One last-ditch effort to keep some dignity intact.

“Sure.” Harry had answered with a light, throaty chuckle.

“Do you think you could wait here for a few minutes and then come meet me on the beach? I’m getting kind of cold, but I think you’re interesting.” I explained the best I could.

“Okay.” He smiled.

Almost unbelievably, he continued to follow my instructions when I had him face away from the beach and promise not to look back. He seemed respectful when I made a half-hearted comment about wanting privacy as I towelled off, so I made my way out of the water with confidence that he would not peek. Even if he did, all he would have seen was two cheeks speeding away.

As quickly as possible, I wiped off as much excess water as I could before pulling on sandy clothing. Almost instantly, a wave of regret passed over me as grains of sand covered a variety of patches of skin. However, when I saw Harry stepping towards me, equally sodden and sandy, the feeling washed away as promptly as it had arrived.

“So how come you’re out here alone?” I asked curiously as we sat.

“Doing a bit of solo travelling, kind of figuring out who I am by myself.” He answered. I felt there was more to his story that he was holding back but I did not push. “How about you?”

“Similar thing kind of... just needed a break.” I explained. I imagine he sensed the same caginess from me as I did him, but, again, we did not dive deeper.

“What’s the plan for your trip? Where you headed next?” I asked nosily, fascinated by him in all honesty.

“No real plan.” He told happily.

Again, he took my breath away. Here was someone with no plans, no aims, no pressures. He was freely living his life. The carefree and spontaneous nature of his attitude threw me off, and I sat staring at him, wondering how I could capture that feeling and keep it with me.

“What?” he asked with a smirk as I gazed at him admiringly.

“Nothing, you’re… you’re just not like a lot of people I know.”

“Shall I take that as a compliment?”

“Definitely.” I told him with a nod.

Finally, I managed to prise my gaze from him and look out to the swelling ocean, but I felt his eyes on me still. My face began to heat up as I felt his lingering looks, tracing over my features. Breath caught in my throat as my chest rose and fell heavily.

“Harry,” I uttered, voice barely above a whisper as I turned to face him.

“Mm?” he hummed, eyes softly locked on my lips.

We didn’t say anything else, there was no room for words as our bodies gravitated towards one another until our lips touched. His were salty and a little chapped from the ocean, I imagine mine were too, but they left soft, buttery kisses that left my chest aching for more. From the first moment our lips pressed, I felt addicted to them. Each kiss was another hit, more intoxicating than the last.

He held me to him. Fingertips grazed the slope of my jaw. Lips sweeter than treacle, we sank together. Soon, our bodies laid as one on the sand, water occasionally lapping at our toes as the tide rolled closer.

We kept ourselves warm despite the dropping temperature, bodies moving against one another symbiotically. Gradually, hands worked their way under clothing, cold and warm meeting in a blissful collision. A cocktail of excitement and caution filled my stomach. Each matched breath and heavy sigh sent a fizz through my bloodstream, soon drunk on his movements. Desire and trepidation battled throughout my being; a tug of war unevenly stacked against sensibility.

When a large hand reached my breast, a light gasp tumbled from my lips. His actions stoked a fire within me that even the rising tide could not extinguish. Harry moved slowly, thoughtfully, as his touch spread around me, seeming to savour every single inch. My body arched into his when his lips pulled at the soft flesh of my neck, sucking gently but enough to have my hips rolling involuntarily. Desperately seeking some form of stimulation, they jolted harshly against his. The smirk I felt pressed against my skin only encouraged the burning within me. I was in dire need for something free and a little wild, and there he was.

“I don’t want to assume anything…” I began, my breathy voice barely above a whisper as his lips travelled down my collarbones and to my chest, “But do you have protection?”

“In my bag.” He replied with a nod to his large, bulging backpack.

For a moment, we lay still, his chin on my chest as bright eyes and a matching smile looked up at me. There was a shared sense of relief at the realisation that we both wanted the same thing and wanted the best possible outcome for each other. There was mischief in our eyes, a touch of recklessness, but mainly care.

Lips returned to my skin, puckering along each peak and valley of my covered torso until his mouth reached the hem of my dress. Lifting his eyes questioningly to meet mine, he waited patiently until I gave a soft nod. Eagerly, hands slip beneath the fabric, gliding up the outside of my thighs to reach my hips. He grabbed at the flesh there, greedily kneading it as kisses worked their way up the inside of my legs.

“Harry…” I breathed out hopelessly.

His lips crooked into a smile, but he continued to take his time, seeming to enjoy the way my body fought to lay flat against the sand.

Special attention was given to each and every part of my body, his lips taking their time in dragging their way upwards until, finally, they met the ache between my thighs. His tongue licked tentatively to begin with, before the sight of my body writhing beneath him instilled a new wave of confidence. Soft licks evolved into wet, open-mouthed kisses. Before too long, his mouth moved keenly in delicate swirls as fingertips dug gently but firmly into my hips. Harry held me in place as I desperately sought more from him. Back arched and toes dug helplessly into the sand, his hair tangled through my fingers.

His eyes were on me the whole time, confidently working me close to orgasm without even a shred of doubt in his performance. Not that there needed to be, his mouth moved beautifully against me, switching between soft licks, gentle sucking, and passionate lapping. I felt his jaw moving up and down as his face pressed into me, nose and mouth gliding up and down the length of my pussy, sure to leave no area neglected. My eyes met and disconnected with his constantly, battling to watch and remember every detail of being with him while struggling to keep my eyes open at all.

“Think you can come for me?” he groaned; lips so close they sent vibrations across my flesh.

I was already a quaking mess from his actions, but his words, his desire to give me pleasure, all became too much. My fingers wound through his hair as he pulled me closer, working faster and sloppier. Messy, wonderful circles swirled around my clit as a hand reached up the length of my body. The top of my dress was pulled down, breasts exposed and sensitive in the night air. Gentle fingertips juxtaposed the passion between my legs as they caressed and rolled the freed flesh.

Overcome with sensation, my hips shuddered against him. Stomach contracting as my toes buried themselves in the sand and fingers grasped his hair, desperate to cling to the world in any way possible. My body fought this urge, convulsing and shivering as his actions became less intense, tongue moving softer against me as he pulled me through my orgasm.

Once I had stopped shaking, Harry crawled back up my body to lay beside me. He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead before propping himself up on his elbow to observe me.

My breathing levelled out and muscles relaxed before I was able to open my eyes again. When I did, I noticed the way the moonlight reflected on his face, showering him with luminescent majesty. He looked ethereal as he watched over me.

“All good?” he asked softly, the slightest touch of nervousness present in his voice.

In response, I nodded my head to his backpack. I watched as an inescapable grin slipped on to his lips before he rolled over to dig through his bag.

As he searched, my hands began to explore his body. Slowly, they felt the tension of his shoulders, a firm chest, prominent abdominal muscles covered in a layer of soft flesh. The other hand ghosted across the meatiness of his thighs, urgently fighting the desire to dig my fingers in. It continued up to his hipbone, the bottom of his shirt pushed up slightly, revealing tattoos I had not had chance to see yet. I wondered if he would let me count them sometime as he turned back to face me, condom in hand.

His gaze softened as it fell on me, flickering for a second to my breasts before returning to my face. Our lips reconnected, the same warmth spreading across them and down into my chest and stomach, already hooked on the feeling.

“You’re sure, right?” I asked him when my hand reached the waistband of his shorts.

“Positive. You?”

My answer came in the form of a nod before I slipped a hand through his hair and pulled his lips back to mine.

Our hands worked clumsily together to unbutton his shorts, soft giggles shared as our fingers tangled. I pulled myself on top of him as he rolled the condom down the length of his cock. His eyes watched me hungrily as I positioned myself above him, gathering the excess fabric of my skirt in my hand before sinking slowly on to him. A gasp left my mouth involuntarily as my body accommodated his size. When the backs of my thighs met the tops of his, I paused, my hips grinding of their own volition. Rocking back and forth caused him to hit the most delicious spots, my muscles clenching around him until he was bucking his hips slightly, starting the cycle anew.

I rose from my position before returning, just as slowly and deliberately. The moans my movements elicited where otherworldly. The melting of our bodies into one another was intense, seeming to fit and move together as if that was their design. Soon, our hips rolled and met quicker, the sensation unlike anything I had ever felt. After a moment, Harry sat up, one arm around my waist and the other behind him to steady us. Lips clung to my chest, pressing kisses along my sternum before encircling my nipple and sucking softly. My hips began to move up and down at the new sensation, causing Harry to pull his head back, watching with lust-filled eyes as my breasts bounced before his eyes.

A low growl of a moan escaped Harry’s lips as both arms wrapped around my waist tightly. I was lifted and placed gently on my back on the sand before I could even register what was happening. This new position allowed so much more freedom for him, his hips instantly snapping against mine. Each thrust shook my whole body, sand certainly tangling in my hair. There would be no excusing this when I returned to the villa, but I could not have cared less. All I could think about was the feeling between my legs as Harry grabbed me by the waist and collided our hips over and over. He had pulled his shirt up, holding the bottom between his teeth to prevent it from interfering. His eyes bore into mine, watching with a small smirk as I crumbled into a moaning mess beneath him when he slipped a hand down to rub gentle circles against my clit. Still sensitive from before, the added stimulation had me writhing under him.

I became increasingly thankful for the sound of the waves, just loud enough to cover the obscenities that spilled from my lips as I was brought to my second orgasm. The sensation of my muscles tightening around him proved too much, as he stilled not soon after, a beautifully gruff rendition of my name tumbling from his lips.

After a moment of gentle thrusts, he pulled out and returned to his position beside me, grabbing a towel from his bag and laying it across us like a blanket. His arm lifted, calling me closer until my head rest on his chest. We laid for a while, regaining our breaths and waiting for our heartbeats to slow.

“I think that one is Ursa Major.” Harry spoke softly, his voice a little gravellier than before.

I looked up to the stars to seek the constellation he pointed out, quickly realised I was not that interested.

“I don’t really care about stars.” I confessed, looking up at him with a slightly exhausted grin.

“Me neither,” he replied, bottom lip tugged slightly into his mouth as he smirked at me mischievously. “Just wanted to keep talking to you really.”

Thankful that the night would cover the heat rising in my cheeks, I told him, “I think I quite enjoy talking to you.”

“Maybe we should run away together.” He joked, a look of fear flickering through his eyes as he realised how intense that could sound, quickly melted away by my breathy laugh.

“Where do you want to go first?”

masterlist

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savnofilter · 3 years

Text

TW: MENTIONS OF DISCOURSE, GR//MING, P/D/PHILIA, ASS//LT, C//NSENT, D//RK CONTENT.

- this isnt under a read more because i want people to read this, but please read past this/tread carefully if you cannot handle such topics. this is not meant to be interacted with.

I'm not sure how to really go about this. I've been overthinking if I should address this and bring up some stuff while I've been gone, so sorry the absence. I deleted the tumblr app a few days ago and I downloaded it again today so i could post this. I really don't like making posts like this because it cuts the vibe that I've been trying to portray that everything is okay and it makes me feel really disconnected to you guys. I am sorry for the abrupt absence and cutting off any source of communication between us. I knew if I left any form of direct line of talk to me that I would receive hate and I just mentally decided that I cant sit through being harassed right now.

Have you guys ever paid attention to the same people who always have a statement to say or is always in discourse? It's very telling how everyone can post about me, but I shouldnt dare post about them. I'm tired of not being able to post about what I want without people vague posting about me, bringing me up every time they start another discourse with another writer or directly talking about me. My days on here are starting to feel the same. Its good then it goes bad. Good goes bad and bad goes good. It's not even tiring, annoying, or angering -- its repetitive. When I'm not saying anything people create fake stories about me, and when i speak about it im the one starting discourse. Don't get me wrong, I'm nowhere near perfect and I have made my own mistakes. But why the fuck am I always being told to be the mature one, why am I the one who should've done better, why do you people expect so much from me. It's the fact people are always quick to say, "no one cares about you, youre fishing for attention" when they're the ones who vague and interact with me while ive been minding my business for months now. Hm. The fact people have me proudly blocked but still harass me anyways shows a lot about themselves than it does for me. How its such an issue that im a minor until it comes to demonizing, tearing down my character, gaslighting, lying and bullying. I'm a literal example of how their friend group manipulates their followers and exiles people from fandoms for not kissing their ass. except now its in your face.

Consider this my last post about this discourse. I'm not going to waste my time on people who fail to digest other peoples thoughts and opinions time and time again because theyre weak narcissists. If I so choose to decide to shit post my opinions or argue with someone, none of you should be aggravated or moved by it because youre not even supposed to be on my page. If its not something serious i will not be wasting energy that i can be using to build on myself as a growing person than on miserable old ladies that have to use fanfiction to have excitement in their pity, depressing and lackluster lives. If people so do choose to create stories or vague about me, I do not care. So I ask respectfully to people who do lurk on my page to not attempt to message, post or vague about me please. This includes sending anons to yourself to make shit happen.

Past that, something got me thinking. My (older) friend had showed me screenshots of adult writers (no one i have spoken to) that were very excited to write underaged reader with adult characters. There are other instances where writers (that you have probably read from) on here openly made reader underage while aging characters up as adults/with adults. There are many more but there's really no point in listing them nor do I really care. But least to say, the same people who are gung-ho over these pedophilic themes/stories are the same people who support predatory people.

I've been thinking about whether or not i should continue writing for the students anymore. Granted, I still think they're attractive because one snap of the fingers cant stop that. I had been teetering on this thought for awhile because of how borderline pedophilic the people are here towards my age group. I enjoy writing but not to the point of willingly being in a straight line of sight where people who are well over 16 are harassing me and lurking on my page, especially to other minors solely because they are my friends. Backtracking to the statement before, I honestly dont know if I will either stop writing or just for the students as a whole. It shows that clearly some people are using their attraction to teens with the excuse that the characters are fake. The rapid normalization on dark problematic "kinks" is disgusting and vile, and the fact that its discourse now to shame said interests is appalling. Concluding that combined with my experiences here, i feel unsafe.

***(TRIGGER WARNING)*** I dont talk about my personal life on here that much cause I dont see the need too nor do i think its anyone's business. Paired with the fact that the people i have trusted personal information with have used it against me, I will be preventing myself from opening that door. Besides that for now, I have sparsely shared I've been assaulted before. This is my first time really opening up about this and i kind of find it necessary now. Coming from someone who has been a victim of assault and CP by people my age and well over, writing nsfw has been the only way where I could feel comfortable with sex in general. I won't get into details because mentioning this is triggering already and can make people uncomfortable. It feels like anywhere I go, I'm constantly putting myself in a position to be abused. The same people who told me I didn't have to worry about my age and be judged for it, exposed the minimum comfort of keeping myself private online to demonize, judge and hurt me. People call me "extra" for being distraught about my face and age being posted because they think im trying to be sneaky which isn't the case. Its the principle that they KNEW I wasnt ready to share said things, and coming from someone who is inherently a private and closed person, she knew damn well what she was doing when posting screenshots of me on Tumblr. There is no excuse for it. The same writers who write dub/non-con can BARELY understand basic consent and its fucking terrifying. This site was the only other place I could cope without being criticized. To see people who some i was close to proudly lie on my name, (adults) say that i sent them pornographic content without their consent is so very hurtful. To watch people supposedly be victims and then use their own trauma to invalidate my own was so fucking humiliating, disgusting and nerve wracking. Although I knew I made the terrible decision to interact with stories, I have never initiated any NSFW discussion with anyone in DMs unless they did it with me first and a few times -- and trust me raise your hand I'll show you the proof. I was sure that everyone I talked to regularly knew that I was a minor, and to my general consensus, people were under the impression I was 15/16 (which I was and am).***

Whether it be victim blaming from the grooming discourse, I've been met with racism, harassment towards my friends, people wanting me to harm myself and be assaulted. I fear what will happen when i will turn 18, if the harassment will escalate and what not. A big part of me is that I'm still here anyways because it pisses people off and I don't care when I receive hate. I can take it but I don't want it. A good conscious of me knows that I should be doing what's best for me but at the end I'm still attached to my ego-self with the added fact that I sincerely enjoy interacting with my followers and posting stories.

I just don't know how the options look. I'll probably be updating my blog rules as of right now. I've been writing more sfw lately because of this and it'd be nice if you guys supported those until I properly decide. I still have plenty of requests of a bunch of characters (mostly Bakugo and Dabi) and original stuff (all sfw & nsfw) that I really wanna share with you guys. But I just ask that what I do modify that you will respect it like you would to any other writer on here.

Stay safe, keep your mask on, and thank you.

#discourse #tw discourse #tw: discourse #sav talks

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faefictions · 4 years

Text

Lonely People | Ch 2

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield x reader

Word Count: 3,377

Playlist link on my master list!!

“HURRY UP SIERRA, WE WANT TO GO!” Jace yelled from the front door. Y/n was sitting on the couch, scrolling through social media. She had mentioned that Tom might show up that night, which caused Sierra to obsess over her appearance more than usual.

She appeared in the doorway of her room, just in sight of the two roommates.

“Do I look amazing yet Jace?”

“Yes, of course you do. Can we go now?”

“The correct answer was no, dipshit, so shut your mouth and let me finish or I’ll start moving slower.”

He let out a loud sigh as he watched her disappear to her bathroom again. He plopped down on the couch next to y/n, his weight forcing her to lean his way.

“You are the least patient person I know, how are you ok with this?”

“She likes the kid, just give her a break.”

“I’ve given her a break for the last 2 hours. I’ve hit my limit, Peach.”

She tensed a little hearing him call her that again. He started calling her that a few weeks after they met. She never knew why he had chosen it, but she liked nicknames so she never complained. The last time she had heard him call her that was the night he confessed his feelings though. Hearing it again brought back the memories.

“Y/n, I need to talk to you.”

“What is it Butthead?” She smiled as she used the nickname she had given him, a lot less endearing than the one he had for her.

“I’m being serious.”

“Ok, fine, what’s up?”

They were in their kitchen, Sierra had just gone out for the night, making some excuse about going out to dinner with someone she never named. Y/n sat down on the counter, across the room from Jace. He was subconsciously placing himself as far away from her as he could. His nerves were getting the best of him.

“Well, uhm, Sierra told me if I didn’t talk to you tonight she would kill me, or she would talk to you herself, but I-I don’t, uh, I don’t really…”

“Jace you’re killing me, please, just spit it out,” she giggled a little, the last time he would hear that for a while.

“I like you, Peach. L-like a lot.”

“You ok?” his question pulled her mind back to the present.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, no I’m fine. Just zoned out for a second.”

“Ok, well, while you zone back in, I’m going to go grab Sierra and literally carry her out the front door.”

“Jace, give her 2 minutes. I promise she’ll be ready,” she laughed at how irritated he was. It was nice to have some sense of normalcy between them again.

“Fine, but if I have to wait a second longer than that, I might die.”

“I’ll make sure the funeral starts on time.”

The both laughed at her reply, before falling into a comfortable silence. She continued to scroll through instagram, while Jace sat and picked at some loose strings on their couch.

“Ok, I’m ready,” Sierra announced, her shoes clicking on the floor as she entered the living room.

“Finally,” Jace groaned, making his roommates giggle as they headed out the door.

When parties were too far for the trio to walk to, they would usually take turns being designated drivers. Occasionally they would call an Uber so they could all drink, but tonight, y/n wasn’t so lucky. It was her turn to drive, which meant no drinking for her.

When they got to the house, Sierra ran off, commanding her friends to text her if they saw Tom.

Jace followed y/n into the first room of the house, grabbing himself a drink and sitting on a couch next to her.

“Hey, uh, I wanted to say, I’m….I’m really glad we’re talking again,” he struggled to get out, trying his best to not make eye contact.

“Me too.”

“You know, I… I never wanted you to feel pressured…”

“Jace, shut up.”

“Seriously though.”

“I know, I just… I don’t really want to talk about it. If you’re ok with that.”

“Yeah…I’m gonna go get another drink. I’ll see you later.”

He got up off of the couch, a half full cup in his hand. She knew he could have spent another 10 minutes drinking it, he just needed an excuse to get out of the situation. He needed an excuse to get away from her. Again.

And the guilt hit her like a truck just as it had the first time.

“What do you mean you like me?”

“Like, I have a crush on you. God, it sound so dumb like that. But I’ve liked you for months now and Si has been bugging me to tell you, I just…”

“Jace stop.”

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything, I just figured…”

“Jace, fucking stop,” she burst out. He stopped talking and his face turned white, he knew that he had made a mistake.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell, I just….”

“No, it’s fine, I get it.”

“Jace, I’m sorry, I just… don’t really do the whole relationship thing,” she muttered, her gaze unable to meet his. She could feel the tears brimming her eyes, and although she knew his were in the same state, she couldn’t bring herself to see him.

“Oh, ok, yeah, I get it, honestly. I didn’t want to tell you anyway. Sierra just wouldn’t shut up about it.”

She could sense his heart breaking, but trying to mend it would only make it worse, so she kept quiet, no matter how much she wanted to apologize and hug him.

“Well I had plans tonight too, so I’m going to head out.”

As he headed for the door, she finally looked up at him. He was no longer looking at her, but the single tear was still visible on his cheek. Her heart felt too heavy for her to move, and it kept her from calling after him.

About an hour into the party, y/n was losing her mind with boredom. She hadn’t seen either of her roommates, and although she saw plenty of familiar faces, she wasn’t really in the mood to socialize with any of them.

She finally got off of the couch where Jace had left her and made her way to the back yard. She knew her roommates well enough to know that if they were partying, they would be inside socializing and dancing. But since she knew one of them would be flirting and the other would be sulking, they were both going to be outside.

Sure enough, they were both outside in an area with a diverse array of patio furniture and torn up couches. Y/n was a little surprised to see Sierra and Jace together. Sierra was sitting incredibly close to Tom on one of the couches, her back to Jace and Harrison who seemed to be getting along very well.

As y/n approached, she could tell that Jace hadn’t been drinking much. She was pretty sure the drink in his lap was the same one from their earlier conversation. Sierra on the other hand was well over the line of tipsy.

“Hey, y/n! I was just about to come looking for you babe!” Sierra exclaimed a little too loudly when she saw her approaching.

“Oh yeah? And why’s that? Looks like you’re having a great time right here.”

Sierra excused herself from the couch, pulling y/n a few feet away, out of earshot of the boys.

“What did you say to Jace?”

“Oh come on.”

“No, you come on, I see him sulking. Now what did you do?”

Y/n scoffed, sighing before she replied. “I asked him not to talk about the ‘incident’. I thought it would make it easier, but I guess we’re not on the same page.”

“Ugghhhhhhh, why can’t you guys just get along for like two minutes? That would really make living with both of you a lot easier.”

“How about, instead of worrying about us, just go back over to Tom and have a good night. “

“You have to fix this at some point.”

“And tonight is not that point, ok?”

The stress and guilt of the situation was starting to peek through her facade, so Sierra dropped the subject and hugged her friend, before leaving her to go back to sit next to Tom.

Y/n had the urge to go back inside. It seemed like the lesser of 2 evils. She could either go inside and be alone and bored, or stay and have to choose between sitting by the overly flirtatious pair, or sit with Harrison and her sulking roommate.

Before she could turn to leave, Harrison called her name, ruining her plan of leaving. She made her way over to stand behind him and Jace on the couch.

“Thanks for the invite. As terrible of a sight as that is,” he said, motioning to the couple, “I’m hoping this means he’ll shut up about her for five minutes.”

“That’s some wishful thinking. I give you a 15% chance of that happening.”

“You want a drink?” Harrison asked, pointing towards the house.

“No, I’m driving tonight.”

“Well want to come help me fight through the crowd?”

“Sure.”

Harrison asked Jace if he wanted to tag along, but of course he denied.

She followed Harrison into the house, pushing her way through the sweaty bodies so she could keep up with him.

While he searched for a cup and something to pour, he told her about his day. He complained about something that had happened in class before they had been assigned as partners, then told her about something that had happened inside the coffee shop he had stopped at on the way home. She tried her best to pay attention, but she couldn’t seem to listen. Her brain was dwelling on Jace’s expression when she joined them and when they left without him. She knew she had hurt him, but she didn’t think it was fair that he acted like a child about it for so long. She felt bad for not liking him back, the guilt was eating her alive, but she didn’t deserve to receive the glares out of the corner of his eyes when she was around. She knew it was just out of pain, but she was getting sick of it.

“You ok?” Harrison asked, looking at her with a bit of concern.

“Yeah, sorry, I just got distracted.”

“This is probably none of my business but did you and your roommate have a fight or something? You both seem a little miserable,” he commented, giving her a sympathetic smile.

“Sierra seems completely fine,” she joked, hoping to avoid the topic. The whole situation with Jace was enough drama, she didn’t want to suck anyone else into it.

“I think we both know what I meant,” he laughed. She took a second to consider telling him, but ultimately decided against it. He was right, it wasn’t his business.

“It’s a long story, don’t worry about it,” she excused him, quickly turning on her heel to make her way back out to the couches. Harrison grabbed his cup and pushed past a few people to catch up with her.

They both sat back down on the couch where Jace was staring off into space. She could see that he still hadn’t touched his drink.

“So how do you two know each other?” he questioned, finally moving his gaze to the two.

Harrison explained that they were assigned as partners and that she was the one who had invited him and Tom that night. Jace’s expression showed nothing but confusion.

“You’re taking a photography class?”

“Uh, yeah,” she replied, really wishing that she had a drink in that moment.

She loved her roommates, no one could question that. She made meals for them whenever she got the chance and she would go all out for birthdays and holidays. She always did her best to show them how much their friendship meant, but she made a point to never tell them much about herself.

They didn’t know her family, where she was from, her aspirations, her fears, or anything that even came close to the personal category. She had mentioned once that her major was in the art’s department, but they had been drunk at a party, so no one seemed to pick that up.

Her roommates definitely noticed that she was weird about that information, but they loved her personality and they didn’t want to lose a friendship just over the fact that she didn’t want to talk about herself.

Harrison, however, thought it was insane that her roommate didn’t know about her major.

“How did you not know that? Don’t you two live together?”

“Yeah, I guess it just never came up,” she replied shyly, hoping to drop the topic soon.

“You never thought to ask each other what your majors are before you decided to live together?”

“I know Jace’s major.”

“Really?” Jace asked, surprised that she had paid enough attention. He wasn’t as conservative as she was in giving out personal information, but he knew for a fact that his major was never a topic of discussion between them.

“Yeah, you’re a film major.”

“How did you know that?”

“What kind of roommate doesn’t know the other’s major?” she joked.

“It’s not my fault that you’re little Miss guarded.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Jace went back to talking to Harrison while y/n sat quietly beside them. Nights where she was the designated driver were never fun for her. She always ended up babysitting the others somehow. She had once literally dragged Sierra into the car after she had blacked out. But that night was a little less miserable. By all means, it should have been worse. The passive aggressive nature of her relationship with Jace was bad enough, but watching Sierra being overly flirtatious made her feel sick. Despite this, she found herself in a good mood as the night went on.

Harrison was quite charming, and she laughed at quite a few of his jokes. Most people she hung around were very demanding with needy personalities, which made being around them exhausting, but Harrison was the opposite. He could talk and tell stories and ask questions for hours. She found it refreshing.

As midnight rolled around, Sierra had fallen asleep on Tom who had joined in on the conversation between the 3 on the couch. Jace made some complaint about it getting late. He had a morning class the next day that he needed to get sleep for, and as much as she wanted to force him to stay as payback for the previous night, y/n told him she would meet him out by the car. She watched him say goodbye to Harrison before he made his way through the dwindling crowd inside.

“Si,” y/n called over to her friend, throwing a pillow to hit her in the chest. Once it hit her, she jumped and yelped.

“What the hell, y/n?” she asked drowsily.

“Jace wants to go. You ready?”

She answered with a loud groan.

“I’m taking that as a yes. Come on, he’s out front.”

As she watched Sierra slowly make her way off of the chair, she turned to Harrison.

“How are you guys getting home?”

“We’re going to call an Uber.”

“If you wanna save some money you can ride with us.”

Harrison agreed that sounded like a good idea.

Tom’s arms remained around Sierra, guiding her through the crowd so she didn’t fall, although he wasn’t much steadier than her.

When they finally exited through the front door, y/n searched the yard for Jace. He was standing on the sidewalk with a cigarette between his fingers. Y/n let out a loud sigh, turning to Harrison.

“Do me a favor and keep the drunk idiots over here for a second?”

“Yeah, sure,” he agreed a bit reluctantly.

She nervously made her way over to Jace, not exactly sure what she was going to say.

He had quit smoking 6 months prior. It was a bad habit that was really affecting his health, so the girls helped him quit. But here he was, staring off into the distance with a cigarette between his lips yet again.

Y/n approached him from behind, quietly and carefully considering her words.

“You’re smoking again?”

He barely made an effort to look at her out of the corner of his eye, grunting an affirmative response.

“I thought you kicked the habit.”

“Well, shit happens. Why would you care anyway?”

“Because I care about you not dying.”

“Have a funny way of showing it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She was trying to keep her voice down, suddenly very aware of how close Tom, Harrison, and Sierra were.

“I think you know exactly what it’s supposed to fucking mean. I’ll meet you guys at the car,” he stomped on the butt of his cigarette and stormed off in the direction of her vehicle.

Y/n stood defeated in the spot where Jace had left her. She wished she could blame his temper on alcohol, but she knew he had barely had enough to give him a buzz. As she was processing the event, she heard Sierra behind her.

“I told you you need to fix it,” she mumbled.

“I’m working on it,” y/n grumbled in frustration, turning to look at her.

“Well it doesn’t seem like it.”

“I really don’t need this from both of you.”

Y/n turned on her heel and started to walk in the same direction and fashion Jace had just a minute prior.

Jace was already in the back of the car. Tom and Sierra joined him, her head rested comfortably on his shoulder for the entire duration of the ride.

Harrison sat in the front seat, trying not to awkwardly laugh at the uncomfortable situation which had resulted in a heavy silence in the car. The only noise present was the hum of the motor and the occasional direction he would give y/n so she could find her way to his apartment.

When she dropped them off, Harrison thanked her for the ride and gave her a sympathetic smile, which she did her best not to roll her eyes at.

Tom kissed Sierra on the cheek, asking her if their plans to see each other the next day were still valid. She nodded her head, kissing his cheek as well before he shut the door.

The silence carried out until they got back to their apartment. As soon as y/n had put the car in park, Jace was out, slamming the door in the process. He stormed off toward their building.

“Guess I’m walking you in,” y/n sighed, eyeing the drunk girl in the back.

As they walked towards the building, y/n couldn’t help but smile at Sierra. She was giggling and blushing down at her phone, the name Tom present at the top of the screen.

“So I heard him ask if he’s gonna see you tomorrow. You guys going on a date?”

“Yeah,” she beamed.

“I’m glad you’re so happy. But let him know if he breaks your heart, I’ll chop his balls off.”

“I will,” Sierra rolled her eyes and laughed.

It took another ten minutes to get Sierra up the stairs and into bed. Y/n helped her take her shoes off and even tucked her in. She was exhausted by the time she had made it to her own mattress.

She plugged in her phone, checking the time before she went to the bathroom to wash off her makeup. It was 1 am, and she didn’t have the energy to take a proper shower. But then again, when did she ever have the energy?

When her face was washed and she was in something comfortable enough to sleep in, she collapsed into her bed.

Thoughts about the night kept her stirring and wide awake. After fifteen minutes of tossing and turning, she finally grabbed her phone off of her nightstand and scrolled to the conversation she had labeled as “model boi”.

“Hey, sorry about all the drama tonight. Hope you and Tom still had a good time.”

(Pls comment/ask/message me any thoughts you have on the chapter! I am still overly excited about you guys reading this!!)

Tags:

@embrace-themagic @fanficparker @baconlover001 @chloe-geoghegan1 @chonisberonica @heartbeats-wildly @saturn-aka-six @ghostofdrfluke @calum-hoodwinked-me @peterplanet @mischiefmanaged49 @bucky-newtlock @johnsambrosemcclaren @r3ader @lizzyosterfield @nicotine-sunshine820 @hrryhllnd @itsjusttor @ciannemar83 @emistrash

#harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfeild imagine #tom holland #harrison osterfield fluff #harrison osterfeild x reader #harrison osterfield blurb #harrison osterfield fanfic

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absynthe--minded · 4 years

Text

Blessed Hands Will Break Me: The Official Playlist

listen on spotify // listen on youtube

cover art by @princess-faelivrin

Okay. So. I’m gonna try and walk you all through this playlist? It’s a combination of “songs I listened to while writing” and “songs that just have A Vibe”; it’s a little over an hour in length. It’s vaguely meant to evoke the flow of the story, but there’s a little back and forth to facilitate a better listening experience and make it less jarring.

Survivor - Oceans: (And I can’t help but wonder out loud ‘If only we could go back to square one, if finally we could pinpoint where we lost touch, I’d stand alone reaching out my hand to you’) This is where we start the story, more or less, with Findekáno confused and lost and a little angry. It’s a song about separation, about not knowing which way is up or down, about wishing you could rekindle a lost relationship and being a little desperate to do whatever is necessary to fulfill that wish. Also the music and the production create this wonderfully mournful tone; I do get the impression of speeding across a dark ocean with nothing but pain behind and uncertainty ahead.

Emilie Autumn - Castle Down: (Trying to balance all that I had left with what I didn’t have anymore) Findekáno finding out about Maitimo’s capture, and being lost, and trying to rebuild his psyche after such a devastating blow, and wrestling with the fact that his husband is both his savior and his destroyer in one.

Shinedown - If You Only Knew: (I don’t regret any days I spent, nights we shared, or letters that I sent) More reeling from loss - this is very much a story about what you do for love, and musing on what you had before tragedy, and Findekáno’s mental state through much of chapter two matches this kind of frustrated brooding. Not to mention that he’s tormented by Maitimo’s situation and absence enough for his sleep to be disrupted - it’s all he can think on, and it consumes him. The fact that this is sung to an absent lover who presumably can’t hear the singer’s thoughts and isn’t aware of them only makes it more poignant.

Adelitas Way - Last Stand: (And I can’t make it without you, I need a second chance ‘cause I wanna make it about you - I’m making my last stand) Of course, he ultimately does decide that, for better or for worse, he’s going after Maitimo, regardless of the impact on his life and the lives of his people. This is a song about trying to do right by your partner after some kind of separation, and it’s just frustrated and desperate enough to tug at my heart.

Kamelot - Lost and Damned: (Leave me behind, don’t look back) When Maitimo becomes aware of the fact that Findekáno is sharing his consciousness and is seeing what he’s seeing and feeling what he’s feeling, he responds by shoving Finno out of his head and shredding all he can of their marriage-bond to keep his captors from noticing. This song has a specific story function in a greater rock opera, but it really works here.

Journey - Separate Ways (Worlds Apart): (Someday love will find you, break those chains that bind you) If you’re writing a story about Thangorodrim and you don’t put this song on there, what are you even doing? In all seriousness, though, this was my first song that I ever heard that made me go “oh this is about Russingon”. An eternal classic and full of yearning and desperation and pain, and perfect to describe Finno setting out under cover of darkness, I think.

Icon For Hire - Hope of Morning: (When the hope of morning starts to fade in me, I don’t dare let darkness have its way with me) This song, honestly, more than any other I’ve ever heard, is Findekáno. For one thing I’m hooked on associating him with the dawn, and with the hope that comes with the sunrise; normally in Tolkien the Sun is associated with Men and I think it’s a really interesting thing that Finno also has some of that same imagery and energy tied into him, particularly surrounding his death. But beyond that? This is a song about being worried about your legacy, struggling to balance hope and duty and mental health, worrying always that you’re not doing enough and resolving to cling to the dawn and keep looking forward. I can’t think of a better summation of my favorite elvish prince.

Devour the Day - Oath: (One way or another, I’m coming home to you) This song’s title alone would have earned it a spot on the list, but the fact that it’s called ‘Oath’ but is about endurance beyond all else in the name of returning to a loved one’s side? Yeah, that’s Blessed Hands in a nutshell, especially this first part.

Fireflight - You Gave Me A Promise: (I will hold onto this hope that I have, you gave me a promise, you gave me a promise) This is the part of Finno’s journey north that isn’t him being miserable all the time - he’s doing this for love and for the sake of his marriage and the commitments they made to one another, and the hope he has is the hope that he can do right by the nér who promised to share his life.

Linkin Park - The Catalyst: (We’re a broken people living on a loaded gun) The other half of Finno’s journey north is him worrying and fixating on the possibility that he’s left behind his people to freeze to death, even having an encounter with some sort of ghost that feeds off of that fear. What’s more, this song just has an auditory aesthetic of loneliness and cold solitary journeying through desperate situations, and of uncertainty towards the future; that fits well here.

Bastille - Icarus: (Look out to the future, but it tells you nothing, so take another breath) Mountain climbing song! No, really - the way this balances an urgent, frightened beat and fast-paced instrumentation with lyrics about not knowing what’s coming? There’s nothing better for the moments when Findekáno is terrified out of his wits and afraid he’s going to have to shoot Maitimo, only to be saved by an eagle.

Atreyu - Lose It: (This is it, I’m falling - my wings need to grow, I lose my hold, I will let go) This is a song about being afraid of falling, and doing something terrible and frightening. It’s a perfect accompaniment to amputation, and the sick horror of being forced to make a decision that might end in death for all involved.

Sara Bareilles - Gravity: (I never wanted anything so much than to drown in your love) Honestly I like this song less for the lyrics than the overall aesthetic. It’s a peaceful, gentle, regretful tune with so much emotion in it, and its themes of wondering what to do and wondering whether or not to continue on a set path with someone else are fitting. I tend to apply the idea of wanting to leave someone here to mean Finno wrestling with his royal duty - once Sorontar saves him and Maitimo from the cliff, they have the chance to go elsewhere, be other people, leave the Noldor and the Oath and the war behind them. And he chooses not to do this, for both of them, because while he wants to run he knows he shouldn’t.

Skylar Grey - Coming Home - Part II: (I know my kingdom awaits, and they’ve forgiven my mistakes) A soft, sad, mournful reflection on a less than ideal return home, that’s somehow warm and uplifting at the same time. It encapsulates Finno’s feelings on his resumption of duty and social role perfectly.

Meg Myers - Running Up That Hill: (If I only could, I’d make a deal with God, and I’d get Him to swap our places) And now we come to the heart of Blessed Hands, the song that encapsulates the whole of part I in a single tune. I chose this cover by Meg Myers because I like the instrumentation’s aesthetic more than Kate Bush’s original when it comes to this subject, but any version, really, would work. This is a song about wishing things could be different, about trying to make them different, about wishing after changes and alterations. One other line that speaks to me is ‘Is there so much hate for the ones we love?’ which, in the context of this relationship and these families, cuts right to the heart of the whole matter. Blessed Hands Will Break Me is a story about loyalty, more than all else, and about choosing love over hate, and about trying to defy cruel fate and sometimes winning, and this song covers all of that and more.

#blessed hands #RUSSINGON #silmarillion #absynthe’s fanmixes #music #silmarillion fanmixes

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eugenebondurant · 4 years

Text

those stumbling words that told you what my heart meant || ch. 1

Read on AO3 here ★

Summary: When Easy comes into the town of Alsace for the night, Carwood and Ron are billeted together in a room with one bed. Carwood's got pneumonia, Ron is fretting over him, and both think the other should have the bed.

Pairings: Carwood Lipton x Ron Speirs

Genre: Fluff, sickfick, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: None!

A/N: This fic is based on a paragraph from Stephen Ambrose's book Band of Brothers. I couldn't believe that I had a ready-made "there was only one bed" sickfic for Speirton, and of course, my brain took that and ran with it. That said, this fic is based solely off the portrayal from the HBO miniseries and is meant to be taken in that pseudo-fictional universe, and no disrespect is meant to any of the real guys whatsoever :)

The night air was bitterly cold, sharp and still like a blanket over the town of Alsace even as the line of Army trucks rumbled through the streets. Carwood got out far earlier than his aching muscles wanted to; he hopped down from the bed of the truck as soon as the lights of the town could be spotted, mindful of his responsibility despite the protests of his body and the men in his truck who urged him to stay put and let somebody else take his job for the night. Carwood would do no such thing, but he appreciated it all the same; he knew without a doubt that most of his friends and fellow soldiers would gladly take on the walking patrol for him and let him rest, but he wasn’t one to shirk his duties, even when sick, and especially not when he could take any burden and risk away from his men.

He fell into step beside the slow-moving caravan, letting the familiar sound of the men’s tired conversation act like a balm to his mind that ran ragged with worries of attacks, endless checklists, and making sure everyone and everything was taken care of. They weren’t expecting any resistance through Alsace, but no soldier worth his salt - especially one just emerging from Bastogne, Foy, and Noville - would let down his guard so easily. Like the other noncoms walking beside their trucks, Carwood kept a sharp eye out for Krauts, hostile townspeople, or even rowdy paratroopers who’d had a bit too much whiskey and a bit too little peace of mind. Their vigilance would pay off when everyone was safely billeted and everyone accounted for.

He muffled a cough in his sleeve, wincing at the sound of it and the accompanying pain in his chest. He wondered briefly if he should check in with a medic before the night was through, but he had other things to worry about before he worried about himself.

“Hey, Sarge,” came a voice from the truck in front of him. Carwood looked up and saw George Luz’s face peek over the tailgate, cheerful as ever despite the shadows under his eyes that told of loss and pain and utter exhaustion.

Carwood gave him a smile. “What’cha need, Luz?”

“You sure you don’t want one of us to take the patrol?” he asked. “You really should try and take it easy. Uh, sir,” he added quickly, lest the first sergeant mistake his concern for insubordination.

Carwood chuckled. “Thanks, Luz,” he said. “But I’m ok. It’s not much longer till we’ll be stopping anyways. You know where you’re billeted?”

“Malark says he does, so I’ll follow him,” Luz said with a grin. “He’s useful, from time to time.”

Carwood shook his head and couldn’t help but smile. “That he is.”

He was going to ask George to see to it that everyone riding with him knew where they were billeted - not that the boys didn’t look out for each other, but it always helped to have a reminder - when he heard his name being called further down the line.

“See you later, Luz,” he said, getting a jokey salute in return, which made him smile. He picked up the pace and jogged down to Lieutenant Foley, who looked a little surprised when Carwood walked alongside him.

“No offense, First Sergeant, but you look like hell,” Foley said.

“None taken,” Carwood said calmly. “Though I can’t imagine I’m worse than most of the men, sir. You needed to see me?”

“Uh, yes,” Foley said, a little sheepish with how smoothly Carwood had diverted the attention away from himself. “I wanted to make sure you knew we don’t have to go ahead with the OP tonight.”

Carwood breathed a sigh of relief. He’d hoped for the men’s sake that they wouldn’t have to bother with setting up an OP on the far edges of town; it would have been more miserable than anything to have to stay awake and alert out in the cold while everyone else was sleeping in warm houses. He’d thought about who he’d pick for OP duty if it had been needed; aside from himself, he couldn’t bring himself to choose anyone. He was glad he didn’t have to.

“Thank you, sir,” he said. “The men will be very happy to hear that.”

He and Foley slowed as the trucks rumbled to a stop in what looked like the city square, men unloading themselves and what little gear they had onto the icy cobblestones and awaiting direction.

“Get some rest, First Sergeant,” Foley said. “The men need you in fighting form.”

“Yes, sir,” Carwood said obediently, knowing as well as Foley did that the noncoms wouldn’t rest until all the men were settled. “I better try and get the guys headed in the right direction.”

He and Foley parted ways, Foley to look after his platoon and Carwood to find anyone who looked lost, especially the replacements. The only thing those kids had ever known of war was the front lines, and they could probably use some help getting to where they needed to go.

He was especially keen on easing the veterans into a position of friendly responsibility for the replacements, reminding them that they had been just as green and just as eager to please as these kids were. He found a few stragglers and told them within earshot of the veterans to stick to their sergeants and corporals; their squads would most likely be billeted together, and it was a safe bet to follow their noncoms. Even the surliest of veterans couldn’t easily protest when Carwood shepherded one of the replacements over to them, and Carwood felt confident that concern for their fellow soldier would override any reservations they might have.

He had just steered a replacement barely eighteen years old into Bull’s kind and compassionate circle of influence when Lieutenant Speirs walked up to him, helmet held under his arm, messy curls falling over his forehead.

“Lipton,” he said by way of greeting, his usually stern features softened by tiredness. “Are the men getting settled?”

“Yes, sir,” Carwood answered. “I think Sergeant Randleman’s is the last squad to get into their billets. Everyone else is accounted for.”

Speirs gave a relieved sigh. “Good. Thank you. Do you know where you’re billeted?”

Carwood shook his head. “No, sir.”

“Me either,” Speirs said. “Come on, let’s see what we can find out.”

Carwood walked with the Lieutenant as the empty trucks started to depart, content to let Speirs find someone to give them directions. Now that he knew the boys were settled, he was starting to feel the weight of his own exhaustion; worse, his body was starting to give up on the defenses he’d shored up against his illness. He felt the chill all the way through to his bones, and every breath he drew rattled and ached in his chest.

Carwood felt Speirs’ gaze on him as they walked, particularly after a rough volley of coughs that seemed to take more energy than he had left. He recovered and huddled further into his jacket, cradling his rifle in his arms that crossed over his chest.

“You sound terrible, Lipton,” Speirs said.

Carwood gave a dry laugh. “Thank you, sir.”

“No, I mean it,” Speirs said, his voice colored with concern. “Have you gotten that checked out?”

Carwood shook his head. “Haven’t gotten around to it, sir.”

Speirs huffed. “Well, I can’t blame you. But you’re seeing a medic before you sack out, and that’s an order.”

Carwood sighed. “Yes, sir.”

“In fact - ” Speirs waved someone over; Carwood didn’t have the energy to see who. “Let’s get that done now, and then we’ll find out where we’re staying, and we can go straight there.”

Carwood didn’t miss how Speirs kept saying “we”; he felt a warmth that took the edge off the night air at the Lieutenant’s concern for him. He let Speirs steer him to sit on the bed of a truck that was still idling, allowing Speirs to take his helmet off for him almost tenderly and gently prying his rife from his stiff arms.

“Doc Roe’s going to take a look at you,” Speirs said.

Carwood looked up and met the brown eyes of the Cajun medic, kind despite their tiredness. “Hey, First Sergeant,” Roe said calmly. “What’s going on?”

Carwood shrugged. “Cough. It’s been pretty bad for a day or so.” It was no use lying to Doc Roe; not only would it not help, he would also be able to see through it in a second. The medic had become so accustomed to Easy Company’s tells that he could read every man like a book when it came to their health.

“Okay,” Doc Roe said kindly. He fished around in his bag and pulled out a thermometer, which Carwood dutifully took in his mouth as Roe continued to check him over.

“Dry cough or wet cough?” he asked.

“Wet,” Carwood said around the thermometer.

“Any chest pain when you breathe or cough?”

Carwood nodded.

“I’d ask if you were tired and achy, but I think you’d be feeling that way even if you weren’t sick.”

Carwood gave a soft laugh at that and was pleased to see a small smile tip the medic’s lips. Doc Roe took the thermometer out of his mouth and moved to see it better in the light of a streetlamp.

“Yeah, that’s quite a fever you’ve got there, Sarge,” he said. “It’s probably pneumonia.”

Carwood appreciated how easily he delivered the news; there was no hint of alarm or fear in his voice, and it did wonders for his nerves, and, he suspected, Speirs’ nerves as well. The Lieutenant had been standing beside them the whole time, giving Doc Roe room to work but still close.

“I guess I shouldn’t even try to convince you to get evacuated,” Roe said.

Carwood gave a breath of a laugh. “That’s probably wise. I can’t leave, not when we just got here.”

“I figured,” Roe said, sticking the thermometer back in his bag and taking a small metal case out. “In that case, I’m gonna give you a shot of penicillin to see if that helps clear things up, and I want you to come find me or send someone for me in the morning so I can check you again. Alright?”

“Alright,” Carwood agreed. He’d often mused on how much authority medics had in a company; any man would be loathe to disregard their orders, higher ranking or not. Carwood had no desire to disregard what Doc Roe ordered; he was just thankful that Doc Roe was willing to make one last check-up when he was just as dog-tired as everyone else.

Roe administered the shot in his upper arm, the twinge of pain that normally wouldn’t have bothered him at all somehow magnified in his already sore body.

“Thanks, Doc,” Carwood said, pulling his jacket over his shoulder again and taking his helmet and rifle back from Speirs as he stood. “Get some rest.”

“Yeah, you too,” Roe admonished. He exchanged friendly nods with Speirs before he turned to go, placing everything neatly back in his medical kit.

Carwood looked up at Speirs. “You should find out where you’re billeted, sir.”

“We both should,” Speirs answered, easily deflecting any hidden insinuation that it was a burden to be looking after the First Sergeant. They walked together to where the officers and their assistants were circled, making sure everything that needed to get done tonight was done.

“Anybody know where we’re supposed to be?” Speirs asked, without any of the formalities that Carwood would have had to employ. Sticking with a Lieutenant when you were nearly too gone to carry a conversation did have its perks, Carwood thought.

Sergeant Vest shuffled through the paperwork he kept on his person at all times. “For you, Lieutenant Speirs, says here I’m to deliver your mail to the home of Mr. and Mrs. Boucher, which is...” He handed the paper to Speirs, who looked the address over and received vague directions about where in the city the house might be.

“‘Butcher’ in French,” Speirs said with a tired laugh, handing the paper back to Vest. “Mr. and Mrs. Butcher. Sounds delightful. You got an address for First Sergeant Lipton in there, too?”

Vest thumbed through his papers. “Uh, right here.” He scanned the paper. “He’s with the Bouchers too. Same house.”

“Thank you,” Speirs said, readjusting his rifle strap on his shoulder. He turned to Captain Winters. “Anything we can do, Dick?”

Winters shook his head. “Everything’s taken care of, thankfully. We’re just about to turn in. You two saw to it that the men got squared away?”

“All settled,” Speirs agreed.

“Good,” Winters said. “Colonel Sink wants a meeting tomorrow, so be at battalion CP by 0900.” The redheaded captain looked his First Sergeant over, concern and compassion in his expression, and Carwood knew Winters hadn’t missed his visit with Doc Roe.

“We’d be glad to have you at the battalion meeting, Lipton, but your presence isn’t required.”

Carwood straightened his shoulders and met his captain’s gaze. “Thank you, sir, but I’ll be there. I want to have all the information I can to help the men.”

Winters nodded, as familiar as any of them with muscling through sickness and exhaustion to do his job.

“We’ll see you in the morning, then,” he said. Turning to Speirs, he said, “Ron, could I have a moment before you go?”

Carwood stepped back to a respectful distance as Speirs moved closer to Winters, their conversation low enough to not be intelligible over the last truck engines and the tapering conversations of the exhausted officers. He didn’t need to hear what they were saying to know what they were talking about, though. Speirs bid Winters good night and came back over to Carwood, starting them in the direction of the home of Mr. and Mrs. Boucher.

“I really am fine, Lieutenant,” Carwood said as they walked together.

A smile quirked the corners of Speirs’ mouth. “Awfully self-important of you to assume the captain wanted to talk to me about you, Lipton.”

Carwood felt himself flush with more than fever, immediately wishing he’d bitten his tongue. “Sorry, sir,” he said quickly. “I didn’t - ”

“It’s ok, Lipton,” Speris said with a chuckle. “I was only joking. We were talking about you, as you so astutely guessed, and I assured him you’d get some rest.”

“Yes, sir,” Carwood said. He tried to let the sound of Speirs’ laugh ease his worries of having insulted him or being insubordinate.

Speirs looked over at him after a moment. “You don’t know quite what to make of me, do you, First Sergeant?”

That’s an understatement, Carwood thought. “How do you mean, sir?”

Speirs shrugged. “You’re not afraid of me.”

“No sir,” Carwood agreed. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Nor do you believe those stories about me.”

Carwood caught a cough against his sleeve. “No, I don’t.” It wasn’t that he thought Speirs wasn’t a brave, tough, formidable soldier - he was glad Speirs was on their side, and was thankful to have him as their leader. He just had never been able to reconcile the heartlessness of the stories he’d heard about Speirs with the man he knew. Even when he was C.O. of Dog company and their contact had been limited and formal, Carwood had always thought of Speirs as a fair, reasonable man who would never be so nonchalant with another man’s life.

The stories had their use, Carwood knew; but he, for one, didn’t put any stock in them.

Speirs studied Carwood’s face in the light of a streetlamp. “But you have your reservations about me.”

“That’s not true,” Carwood said sincerely. “I think you’re a good leader and a good soldier. I think Easy’s lucky to have you.”

“I don’t mean about Easy and being a soldier and all that,” Speirs amended. “I mean, thank you, but that’s not what I was getting at. I just meant... I don’t know, as a person. As a friend.”

Carwood looked up. “A friend, sir?”

Speirs couldn’t help a soft chuckle. “Yeah, Lipton, a friend. Someone you don’t have to call ‘sir’ all the time, or ‘Lieutenant’.”

Carwood frowned. “And call you just... just ‘Speirs’?” he asked. It sounded wrong coming out of his mouth, like it was disrespectful.

Speirs shrugged. “Or you could just call me Ron.”

Carwood was so surprised he drew a sharp breath that quickly dissolved into a cough. Speirs slowed to let Carwood catch his breath, putting a steadying hand on his arm.

“I’m fine,” he managed when he could breathe again.

“I know,” Speirs said easily. “Doesn’t hurt to take a second, though, and make sure.”

They started to walk again, and it didn’t escape Carwood’s notice that Speirs had slowed their pace.

“You could’ve just said no,” Speirs said.

Carwood looked up at him. He could hear the teasing in the Lieutenant’s voice but was still keen on erring on the side of caution. “What do you mean?”

Speirs smiled. “Instead of nearly choking to death, you could have just said you didn’t want to call me Ron. I wouldn’t have been offended.”

Carwood allowed himself a small smile. “Sir, if I was only pretending to have pneumonia, it would be for something a bit more important than not offending you.”

Speirs laughed then, a comforting sound so different than the sounds Carwood had learned to associate with war, especially from officers. It had been a long time since he’d heard a laugh like that, and he drank it in as deeply as he could.

“Rightly so,” Speirs said with a smile. It struck Carwood that Speirs’ features were more suited to that smile than the serious scowl he’d seen so often; it made him think that Speirs must have smiled a lot in peacetime. He found himself wishing he’d known Speirs before the war, and hoping to know him after it was over.

“So, what about it?” Speirs asked. “Could you manage dropping the formalities? Or is it all too anti-Army?”

Carwood chuckled and shook his head. “I’ll try, sir.” Then, after a moment, “I guess you could call me Carwood, if you wanted.”

“You guess? I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

He looked up at Speirs. “No, it’s... it might be kind of nice. Nobody in the Army’s ever called me by my first name.”

“Ah, so there is a little bit of anti-Army in you after all,” Speirs said with a grin. “Ok, Carwood. That’s a hell of a name.”

Carwood laughed. “Thank you.”

They reached the home of Mr. and Mrs. Boucher, the warm light from inside spilling out into the street where the two officers stood and waited patiently for someone to come to the door after they’d knocked. If Speirs had been worried the Bouchers might live up to their name, he was let down; the door opened to reveal a tiny, old woman with long silver hair and a surprisingly gentle smile.

“Amerikanisch?” she asked.

“Ja,” Speirs answered. “Mrs. Boucher?”

She smiled. “Ja, willkommen.”

She opened the door wider and let them in, closing the door on the cold night behind them as they stood just inside, waiting for direction. She seemed perfectly at ease with two strange soldiers in her home and beckoned them closer to the fire. Her husband strode over from the kitchen doorway, greeting them each with a smile and a handshake.

“Hello,” he said jovially, in heavily accented English. “Very good to have you here.”

“Thank you,” Speirs said, returning the man’s smile. Carwood let Speirs do the talking, muffling a few rattling coughs in his sleeve, his head swimming with fever and exhaustion.

“Sind se krank?” Mrs. Boucher asked, concern etched on her face.

“Your man is sick?” Mr. Boucher translated, asking Speirs.

Carwood gave a surprised chuckle as Mrs. Boucher tutted and put a warm hand to his cheek. “I’m alright,” he said with a smile. “Ich bin gut.”

“Liebling,” she cooed. Darling . Carwood had heard parents call their children that, and it made his chest warm with affection for Mrs. Boucher.

“Kommen sie,” she said, taking his hand. He’d said that to prisoners enough to know what it meant, and he was thankful he was going to a much better fate than an Army prison. He met Speirs’ eyes, asking if he should go with her, and he nodded with an amused smile.

“Papa, mach bitte tee und schnapps fur die soldaten,” she said as she led Carwood out of the living room and down the hall.

“Ja , mama,” he heard Mr. Boucher say. Carwood followed her into a small but homey bedroom, a fire crackling cheerily in the grate and a colorful quilt on the four-poster.

“Gut?” she asked him, studying his face.

He smiled down at her. “Ja, danke,” he said sincerely. He would have been happy for anything that wasn’t a snowy foxhole, and this tidy, cosy bedroom was more than he’d dared hoped for. This was a greater kindness to them than the Bouchers could ever know, he felt incredibly grateful to them while she patted his hand and smiled up at him.

“ Gut ,” she said, satisfied. “Ich werde nachdeinem tee sehen.”

He didn’t know what she’d said, but she gave his hand a gentle squeeze and went back out to Speirs and her husband, leaving Carwood at the door of the bedroom. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to get into bed and sleep for a week, but he checked himself; Speirs should get the bed, since he was a Lieutenant. It wouldn’t be right for Carwood to take the bed and leave Speirs to sleep on the floor.

Though his body protested, he didn’t have a bit of hesitation or resentment in his mind about it. He would take the floor, and he was grateful for it; it was warm and dry and safe, much better than sleeping in the snow among tree bursts and German artillery. Compared to what he’d been living through, what all the men of his company had been living through, the hardwood floor of this little French house was heaven on earth.

He took off his helmet and set down his rifle, half-listening to the sound of quiet conversation coming from the living room, unable to keep a smile from his face when he heard Speirs’ laugh.

Maybe we could be friends, he thought as he took the woolen blanket from his pack and spread it out on the floor. Carwood and Ron. He gave a soft laugh. He liked the sound of that.

forever taglist: @not-john-watsons-blog, @punkgeekchic

#second chapter will hopefully be up soon!#let me know what you think!!#speirton fanfiction #band of brothers fanfiction #speirton #speirs x lipton #carwood x ron #hbo war fanfiction #maddie writes stuff!

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fayewonglibrary · 4 years

Text

"To Love" Reviews (2003)

Progress or the beginning of a decline?

When describing a new Faye Wong album, words like "looking forward to it with great anticipation" are usually used to show people's full expectations for the singing queen and also reflects how important her position is in everyone's hearts. Faye Wong, who has not released a new album for more than two years since the 2001 self-titled album "Faye Wong", finally released her new album "To Love".

The title of the album "To Love" is actually an abbreviation of "To Love to the End". In this album, Faye Wong played a lot of word games, such as "Spinning Wood" is "Carousel", "Yang Bao" is "Sunshine Baby", "Beauty Error" is "Beautiful Mistake", "Night Makeup" means "heavy makeup at night" and so on. These little word games make people feel that the cold and arrogant queen of the past has lowered herself down to get closer to the people. The unsmiling Faye Wong has become humorous. And to strengthen this "zero distance" feeling, you will have to listen to the songs in the album one by one.

"To Love" uses war as a metaphor for love. The cruelty, burning, and death in war will also be experienced in the world of love. Faye Wong wrote this song herself to express a kind of fear of love. The spirit of carrying love through to the end and overcoming all difficulties to fight for victory is truly impressive.

"No Regrets" composer Yuan Weiren wrote "Carousel" and added a touch of warmth.

Guo Zi's "Beautiful Mistake" adds a layer of femininity comparable to his previous song for her ("Reservedness").

"Empty City" and "Night Makeup" were written by one of Faye Wong’s old partners, manager Kwan, who wrote words that outlined a different kind of urban feeling.

"Leave Nothing" uses a lot of parallel lines. She sings about the love of two people, "I give my thoughts to you/my time to him" and "I give my heart to you/my body to him". Faye Wong's voice is hoarse and sexy.

"Passenger" is a cover of the song "Going Home" from Sweden's Sophie Zelmani. It is like a road movie where the camera scans everyone's fixed face and reflects their inner thoughts. Lin Xi's poetic lyrics were beautifully and ambiguously written, and brings to mind a dim yellow street lamp on the corner of a distant city.

The genre of the whole album of "To Love" is very mixed from pop, trip-hop, folk, Latin dance music, etc. The gorgeous arrangements that come in wave after wave seem to indicate Faye Wong's thoroughness and determination. After the two albums "Fable" (2000) and "Faye Wong" (2001) did not achieve great commercial success, Faye Wong has reduced her experimental exploration of music and replaced it with more popular and beautiful sounds in "To Love", and her singing voice has also reverted to the coquettishness of the "I'm Willing" era. When personal experimentation becomes restrained by record sales and mainstream entertainment dictates music aesthetics, the miserable side of the record industry is revealed - sales are everything and commerce prevails.

It was reported that "To Love" broke through one million sales as soon as it was released. Although this number must be attributed to the hype by the record company, the commercial success of this record cannot be denied. However, some fans believe that the album is "terrible" and her entanglement with Nicholas Tse has made Faye Wong "decline". Such statements seem a bit extreme. Faye Wong no longer insists on her usual arrogance and indifference to the business. She was seen attending press conferences, playing volleyball, and even appeared on gossip variety shows. At least the past Faye Wong, who despised the industry and was low-key, has undergone a transformation. From this perspective, it may not be known whether this is Faye Wong’s progress or the beginning of a decline.

In terms of the music, Faye Wong has gradually waned and was unable to grow in "To Love". The success of this album is glitzy on the surface but has nothing to do with the improvement of music standards. One day, someone will use unprecedented and brilliant music to beat the shameless music business. Can you still count on this person to be Faye Wong?

SOURCE: MUSIC WORLD // TRANSLATED BY: FAYE WONG FUZAO

------------------------------------------------------------------

After a wait of two years, Faye Wong finally released her new Mandarin album "To Love" on November 7, 2003, after joining Sony Music. This is an important prelude to her "Faye Unusual Concert" series at the Hong Kong Coliseum, December 20-27.

The idea conveyed in the new album "To Love" emphasizes the persistence of "to love to the end". As Faye Wong said: "If you have love in your heart, you will not despair. Love is pure and should not be disturbed by anything else."

"To Love" is actually the abbreviation of "to love to the end". In fact, a major feature of the new album are the many two-character song titles, such as "Spinning Wood" (Carousel) and "Mei Cuo" (Beautiful Mistake), “Yang Bao” (Sunshine Baby), “Ye Zhuang” (Heavy Makeup at Night), etc. They are like the popular made up words and phrases among Taiwan’s junior high students. The fun lies between solvable and unsolvable, under their extreme simplicity, each has a touching story. Faye Wong hopes that this will allow the audience to more deeply feel the spirit and ideas she wants to convey when listening to her music. There are also 10 different ideas in the song titles but as long as everyone's heart is touched by the music, this is what Faye Wong really wants to express through the songs.

The music and lyrics of the first song "To Love" were written by the heavenly queen. It uses war as a metaphor to describe the cruelty and sacrifice of love. The concept is fresh and it represents a kind of fearlessness when facing external forces. With a firm attitude and courage, the atmosphere of the music is powerful, which fully demonstrates Faye Wong's unique style of daring to love and hate. Faye Wong’s music and lyrics also shows her views on life. She feels that there is no absolute "right" or "wrong". The opposition of "love" is not "hate", and love should always exist in everyone's heart. Although people are lonely as the lyrics say "loneliness is eternal", but as long as love is still in the heart, there will be no despair. This single also happens to represent the core concept of this album.

The album brings together Golden Melody Award "Best Composer" Chen Xiaojuan, Lin Xi, Zhang Yadong, Yuan Weiren, Guo Zi, Yang Mingxue, and Kwan in a super lineup. Plus Faye Wong's own four compositions and three lyrics definitely makes "To Love" the most anticipated album of the year.

As long-term partners, Faye Wong believes that Lin Xi’s words have their own unique charm. Although Faye Wong and Lin Xi do not have frequent communication with each other, but through Lin Xi’s observations plus their similar view points in life, the lyrics are consistent. Even if Lin Xi's creation is not a true portrayal of Faye Wong, it still feels connected to her. And Zhang Yadong, a long-time music partner, is still an important behind-the-scenes player in the album. He is an all-rounder in production, composing, arranging, and singing. In addition to the electronic music style he has always excelled at, one of the songs "Smoke" contains a lot of Latin elements to make Faye Wong's voice pleasantly surprise listeners with its intoxication for love.

In addition, she worked with Taiwanese creators Chen Xiaojuan, Yuan Weiren, and Guo Zi. This time, Chen Xiaojuan’s "Empty City" follows "Passing Years" and "Overthrow". Yuan Weiren's "Carousel" when compared to the previous "No Regrets” has a sense of warmth, coupled with the poetry of the young talent Yang Ming, which is very touching. Guo Zi's "Beautiful Mistake" is comparable to "Reservedness", revealing the gentleness of women. Another old partner, her manager Kwan’s "Empty City" and "Night Makeup" have an urban sensibility. And their lyrical words all present the beauty of calmness and determination.

Faye Wong’s music is mostly inseparable from lyrical and electronic styles. In the new album "To Love", more diverse genres have been integrated, including elements of Middle Eastern and Latin music, as well as trip-hop, folk, etc., making the music rich and strong. Faye Wong has created a brand new design, bringing more musical possibilities. In addition to Zhang Yadong, Faye Wong is also the producer of the album, which guarantees to be invigorating.

The new album contains four of her personal compositions and three lyrics. When talking about the possibility of creating an entire album, she frankly admitted that life is the source of her creative inspiration, and all creative motivation comes from her. Regarding her experiences and emotions of life, she only wants to express the feeling of a certain point in time and place, so she does not force herself to create the entire album. She just hopes that her creations can be closer to her own ideas and express herself through the songs, letting everyone understand her through her music.

Faye Wong, who is not good at verbal expression, has presented her mood and feelings on life during the past two years in front of everyone through her creations. She has always given the media and people the impression that she does not speak too much. She chooses to express herself in songs, regardless of the interpretation, as a singer and songwriter, she has profoundly conveyed Faye Wong 100%.

[Special Edition]

Limited CD+VCD enhanced version.

In order to repay the fans’ enthusiasm for waiting two years, Sony and the production company "Silverfish Music" spared no efforts in design. In addition to the 13-song CD, it comes with a collection of Faye Wong’s MVs and other behind-the-scenes production highlights. The 2-for-1 price is a super deal.

[Song Introduction]

To Love Music / Lyrics: Faye Wong Arranger: Zhang Yadong

Faye Wong wrote these lyrics using war as a metaphor for love. The cruel sacrifice of love is a fresh idea. It represents a firm, courageous attitude defying forces. Isn't love a kind of faith? Thousands of lovers are martyrs, willing to fight against everything. Heaven is near, we should “love to the end".

Empty City Music: Chen Xiaojuan Lyrics: KWAN Arrangement: Lin Hai

Empty City is the next masterpiece after "To Love". Is love illusory or real? Is a lover made in heaven or a natural enemy? Don't make empty promises, just feel it. The piano and strings, coupled with Faye Wong's easy-going vocal performance convey a heart-stirring desire for true love.

Leave Nothing Music / Lyrics: Faye Wong Arrangement: Zhang Yadong

A song of women’s hearts, another designated classic of KTV. The parallel lines are full of Faye Wong-style word games, comparing and contrasting. It is full of wit that makes people smile. In the lyrics, she said that the body and mind belong to two different people in their love affairs, in which there is a kind of unreserved and carefree freedom.

Passenger Composer: Sophie Zelmani / Lars Halapi Lyrics: Lin Xi Arranger: Guo Liang 　　

The song is like a road movie, showing the imagery through the song. You can vaguely see the passengers inside the car in Lin Xi's vivid strokes and gentle thoughts. There's a touch of sorrow, the coolest weather in autumn. This is a cover of "Going Home" by Sweden's Sophie Zelmani .

Carousel Music: Yuan Wei Ren Lyrics: Yang Ming Arranger: Huang Zhongyue 　　

Fresh and moving song about bringing joy to others, but not themselves. The carousel is a metaphor of selfless love. The whole song exudes a faint sadness within its warmth.

SOURCE: NETEASE // TRANSLATED BY: FAYE WONG FUZAO

#2003

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talesfromthefade · 5 years

Text

June Lavellan x Dorian Pavus (College AU), for @lyrium-lovesong @apostatetabris and @dadrunkwriting

June freezes as a hand finds itself on his shoulder, entire body stiffening under the touch. Seeming to realize their error, long, ringed fingers and the hand immediately retracts with a quick string of apologies as an absolutely gorgeous man steps into his line of sight. It’s got to be a mistake. Except… he’s using his name.

“June?” So great is his disbelief, that anyone at this party might know or care who he is, much less someone like Dorian Pavus, he can’t seem to swallow or make his tongue cooperate. He nods. “You’re not leaving already are you?” He had been. Truthfully, June isn’t entirely sure why he conceded to the peer pressure and came out in the first place. The room is entirely too packed, the music too loud, the lights… all of it too much. Dorian frowns, and that shouldn’t make him want to stay longer. It’s not enough to overcome the rest of it, however handsome Dorian is, he’ll be miserable if he stays much longer, worn far too thin to even begin tackling the weekend’s tomorrow.

“I- would you mind going somewhere a bit quieter for a moment,” he asks, voice somehow still honey sweet while trying to compete with the din behind them. “Thank you,” Dorian smiles, nodding as they make their way out to the library, drawing the doors closed behind them. “I won’t keep you long if you were hoping to leave. But I was actually hoping to ask for your thoughts on a paper I’ve been working on. I’ll admit I never really expected to bump into you here.”

“Me,” June blurts out, eyes wide. “I don’t know anything about magic.”

“No,” Dorian concedes, “but you’re light-years ahead of anyone else in the Anthropology department, most of the professors included, and it could do with a bit more culture and history to bolster it, to be honest. Besides, I’ve been working on this too long, I could use a fresh pair of eyes on it.”

June fights the urge to blush at the compliment, then to frown with the thought that, Dorian is one more in a long line of students and peers seeking to use or only interested in him for his breadth of knowledge. He’s too quiet, awkward, too plain for it to be anything else. He can’t dance. Not really. Doesn’t even like it all that much, but for a moment… For just a moment, the thought of being asked to dance by the most handsome and sought after man in the room, the only guy who’s ever managed to divert his attention away from his books and studies, had been as thrilling as it was terrifying. Because Dorian is brilliant, he could pretend otherwise like so many do, rest on his laurels and coast on his looks, but he doesn’t. He works every bit as hard as June does, and like him, seems to relish learning and exploring new things. Unlike June, however, Dorian has a much better handle on the more social aspects of it all, or at the very least, bluffing his way through it in a way June is positive he never could.

“Sure,” June agrees with a nod, because it’s still something, at least.

“Really?” Dorian sounds so surprised, June isn’t quite sure how to reply. Like there was some part of him that genuinely believed he might turn him down. As if he could.

“Yeah,” June croaks, nodding and swallowing down on the lump that’s suddenly formed in his throat. “Do you have your phone? I’ll give you my email address.” June waits to give it to him, only to fumble as Dorian unlocks the device only to hand it over to him.

“You can add your number too if you’re so inclined,” Dorian offers cheerily, and June nearly drops it, before Dorian’s hands catch his own and the phone. He’s not terribly good at these things, but he’s admired Dorian from afar long enough to recognize he’s flirting.

“You don’t have to do that,” June manages softly, shaking his head with a slight frown. “Flirt with me,” he adds.

“Sorry. Couldn’t resist. I know I shouldn’t have- I really would appreciate your help with the paper. I don’t want to make things awkward. It’s just-”

“I mean, I would be happy to help review what you’ve got regardless, you don’t have to-” June interrupts, looking at the floor as he carefully hands his phone back to him, pulling his hands out of Dorian’s.

“The paper has nothing to do with the flirting, I assure you,” Dorian interrupts, chuckling a little as June’s head snaps up in surprise. “Well, maybe as a conversation starter, but... If it’s unwelcome-” June doesn’t think he could speak now if he wanted to, settling instead for a furious shake of his head.

“It’s not,” he manages finally. “Just… unexpected.”

“Really? After three semesters of me choosing seats specifically just so I could look over and see you whenever the professor's got to droning on?”

“W-what?” Could that really be true?

“You are adorable.”

“Um, right,” June blushes. “Er, could I have that back for a second,” the elf manages, gesturing to Dorian’s phone once more, adding his number to the new contact he’s made and thrusting it back into his hands before his nerves can get the better of him. Dorian checks it, and beams.

“So…” he drawls in a voice that’s more seductive than anyone’s should have any right to be. “Should I email you my paper, then suggest we meet somewhere for coffee to go over it where we completely forget to talk about it, necessitating a follow-up, or two?”

“That sounds unnecessarily complicated,” June blurts out. He waits for the scolding he’s come to expect from others for being too direct, but Dorian just laughs. Genuinely laughs. And he’s pretty sure it’s not, in fact, at his expense.

“It does, doesn’t it,” he smiles, shaking his head as he pockets his phone once more. “Well, then Mister Lavellan, how about a dance before you go until we can firm up a proper date, and I email you the paper when I get back to my room this evening?”

“Uh-” June hesitates at the proffered hand in front of him. “Here?”

“Unless you’d prefer to return to the throng.”

“No.” Definitely not.

“As I suspected,” Dorian nods. “Not, that I wouldn’t be thrilled to be seen with you and be the talk of the evening.”

“As if you aren’t anyway,” June replies, smiling through the blush creeping up his face.

“You wound me,” he smiles, clutching his breast dramatically, but there’s a smile at the corners of his mouth and in the lines at his eyes.

“So?”

“I’m not very good,” June offers, feeling it’s better to get things out of the way beforehand.

“Nonsense,” Dorian smiles, waving his free hand dismissively as he takes June’s in his. “I’m not expecting a tango or anything. Just make it up as you go and do your best not to step on my feet. Most of the music they’ve been playing is dreadful anyway.”

“Then why would you want to dance,” June manages puzzled, nearly stopping the pair of them where they’ve begun spinning in a lazy circle, their hands on one another’s shoulders and hips.

“It’s fun. And because it’s with you.” June wants to be suspicious. He feels like he should be. Like he must be reading all of this wrong. That he must be dreaming, though he’s never really remembered any with any clarity, certainly none like this before. But the silvery eyes that stare up into his look entirely earnest. Teasing isn’t exactly something that comes naturally to him, but for Dorian, for an already unbelievable night that could have gone so differently, June thinks he’ll try.

“You wouldn’t happen to be buttering me up so I’m kinder with my remarks on your paper, would you?”

“Absolutely,” Dorian chuckles softly, a gentle squeeze of his shoulder that makes June’s entire body flood with warmth and a tingling sensation. “Is it working?”

“Maybe,” June admits softly, as the song drifting in through the door slowly fades and the pair of them slow to stop.

“In all seriousness,” Dorian offers, straightening up once more, and slowly letting go of June, hand slipping down to gently clasp one of his. “I can take it. Your critiques. Your candor is one of the things I’ve admired about you. So, don’t feel like you have to filter or soften whatever you have to say, about my work. About anything. Let’s get what is possibly my worst attempts at a meet-cute and flirting out of the way and forgotten so we can never speak of it again and move on to me telling you all the other things I appreciate about you without there being any possible ulterior motives.”

“Alright,” June nods, smiling a little, even as Dorian finally lets go of his hand again, turning back to the library doors behind which the rest of the party continues without them.

“Oh, and, June? Thank you for the dance,” Dorian winks.

Creators, what has he gotten himself into?

#dadrunkwriting #lyrium-lovesong #pavellan #dorian pavus #lavellan #dragon age: inquisition #da:i #dragon age #june lavellan #tales:lavellan #apostatetabris

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diveronarpg · 5 years

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Congratulations, KYLIE! You’ve been accepted for the role of RICHARD III. Admin Rosey: My favorite thing is when a line from the character’s biography is highlighted -- especially that singular line because it was one of my favorite that demonstrated Ronan’s humanity, like you noted. Yes, he’s a terrible, awful human being but the nature of his corruption is something so centrally highlighted in the play -- and now in the way that you write him. Kylie, you have no idea how absolutely over-the-moon I am that you decided to apply, and for Richard III no less! Your writing is so refreshing in its cadence and beat, it perfectly accents Ronan and what he has to offer. Truly. Absolutely. Ecstatic. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | kylie

Age | 25

Preferred Pronouns | she/her

Activity Level | I would say I’m about a 5-6, I’m currently finishing up my schooling so I’m not taking as many course hours.

Timezone | MST

How did you find the rp? | i’ve been stalking for a while now, finally worked up the courage!

Current/Past RP Accounts | n/a

IN CHARACTER

Character | Richard III / Ronan Ivarsson

What drew you to this character? | When I first read Ronan’s bio I was reminded of a quote from Les MIserables, that I thought summed up my thoughts about him pretty well–”He was a charming young man, who was capable of being terrible.” I was really attracted to the dichotomy that exists within him–the difference between his public face, the face of the politician, and who he really is, the darkness of his true self. I liked that he seemed capable of moving between the two with ease–that he could placate a crowd of people with only his words and force of personality, and keep the fact that he is capable of doing terrible things for the sake of his own advancement hidden from the people he supposedly “serves”.

I was also really interested in this particular line--”It was not because his heart was made of stone, though, it was because he enjoyed, far too much, how the dilapidated organ seemed to squeeze merrily when they said his name.” I liked that there was a human element to him–that there’s an element of himself that he has a hard time controlling. That despite being cold and intimately familiar with his own darkest instincts, he has a heart that still beats wildly and craves the attention of other human beings, that at one time, for a brief fraction of a second, felt something akin to love for someone else.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

AND SEEM A SAINT, WHEN MOST I PLAY THE DEVIL

Ronan has no interest in being subservient to anyone, but he’s also aware of the fact that in order to make any kind of advancement within the Montague ranks, he’s going to have to play their game to a certain extent. I’m interested in how his two faces would work within the context of the Montagues–How long will he be able to play at being the loyal soldier before the enormity of his ambition starts to get in the way? Has he ever really been good at hiding his true nature? Being in the mob would be an interesting litmus test for how well his carefully crafted facades would stand up against real and intense scrutiny.

SINCE I CANNOT PROVE A LOVER

I’d love for Ronan to have to reckon with the fact that his heart isn’t made of stone, and that for a half second he believed that he could have actually been in love with someone else. What was it about Lucien that caught Ronan, whose heart is so firmly fixed on himself, off guard in that moment? There’s clearly something about him that Ronan can’t let go of–why is he so intent on keeping the man that could so easily destroy him so close to his chest? I’d love to explore the mutual destruction of their relationship further, because I feel like it’s the one area of his life where Ronan actually feels really vulnerable. It’s the thing in his life he has the least control over, no real contingency plan for–ever since their eyes locked across that room, he’s never been able to plan for Lucien’s role in his life.

THIS GLORIOUS SUN OF YORK

I’d like to see how Ronan would react if he faced some kind of concequences for his past actions–specifically the murders of his parents, which set him on his fated path. I think that Ronan only belives in real religion when it’s convienent for him, but the belief that he has been set on some kind of divine path since he was young is a fundemental part of his being–if an obstruction appeared on that path, would it shake his faith in both a religious sense, and his faith in himself? I’d love to explore the relationship–or lack thereof–he has with his family, how the way his parents views of him might have shaped how he views himself with regards to his disability, or how he might have strived to overcome their views of him. His name is the reason he is able to get his foot inside of so many doors, the reason he is able to dress his body in the finest fabrics, the reason he is able to walk his divine path–and yet he hated the two people who gave it to him. How does he feel about that legacy?

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes! Ronan lives his life in such a way that I think he’s prepared for that eventuality.

IN DEPTH

What is your favorite place in Verona?

The smile that Ronan gives at the question is a practiced one, designed exactly for moments such as this–a small quirk at the corner of his lips, just enough teeth. Enough to give the general idea of interest and a certain level of enthusiasm, and to hide the quick shaft of iritation that shoots up the curve of his spine and into his shoulderblades. The truth of the matter is he has no favorite place in Verona–places are just vessels for people and the actions that occur within them. He’s never understood sentimentality in a larger sense, but it seems particularly like a waste of time when it’s applied to something as inconcequential as a particular arrangement of bricks or wood. However, he can’t say that to a reporter–constituents wouldn’t take kindly to their councilman brushing off their beloved city as buidlings with arbitrary meanings assigned to them.

“That’s easy,” He says with a wave of his hand and a chuckle. “The Hotel Emilia, where I met my husband Lucien. How can I answer any other place than where I met the love of my life? That’s not to say I don’t enjoy other spots in the city as well–the library has a special place in my heart as well.”

What does your typical day look like?

“Can any day ever be considered typical in Verona?” He laughs and lifts his shoulders in an attempt at a shrug–it’s a painful motion, but he does the same thing he’s done since childhood when he didn’t want to give away his position at the top of the stairs–he bites down hard on his tongue to keep the sound from escaping.

“I’m usually up before my husband.” Because he sleeps in a bed in one of six apartments scattered throughout the city on any given night, because Ronan’s bones have never known comfort, even in sleep. “I like to check the news, make sure I know what’s going on in the city and around the world. Answer emails, texts, sometimes I get so wrapped up in things that I forget breakfast entirely.” Because you cannot make plans for battle without first knowing your enemy as intimately as you know yourself, because the best performance is a well informed one. “And then depending on the day I’m either off to my weekly physical therapy appointments or straight to work. I’m a bit boring I’m afraid–always a little too focused on my work for my own good.” Because he is born to do it, because he does it better than anyone else in this city, because there is no difference between divine will and the will of Ronan Ivarsson.

What has been your biggest mistake thus far?

His muscles tense for a fraction of a second as he processes the question–an imperceptible hesitation unless you knew to look for it. He makes a mental note to double check the publication this reporter claims that he works for, before leaning back in his chair and tapping his fingers idly against the arm of his chair. He doesn’t believe in mistakes, mistakes would imply wrong steps and Ronan Ivarsson does not make wrong steps–every decision he has ever made has been to serve his own purposes in the best way possible, and the fact that he is sititng in this office is proof that it has all been nessecary, that his actions have been ordained by a higher power. He resolutely does not look at the silver band on his finger, does not probe the uselessness and empty symbology of that particular object. “Any moment where my constituents have felt like I have not been representing their interests to the best of my ability could be considered a mistake, but I have to be honest with you–I see mistakes as starting points for learning, and making better decisions. All of the mistakes that I’ve made have helped me to become a better man, and a better leader for Verona.”

What has been the most difficult task asked of you?

Bending the knee to Damiano Montague, without question. A necessary evil, but evil all the same.

“Making the best possible decisions for the people of Verona. The trust of the people is the most important thing an official can have, and I want to do everything in my power to prove to them that they made the correct decision when they gave it to me. It’s not a responsibility I take lightly.”

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

It’s the first question all day that has considered a real modicum of thought, that has required Ronan to choose his next words with care. He leans foward so he is better able to clasp his hands together on top of his desk, even though the motion pulls at the muscles in his shoulders in a way that is uncomfortable. “So often in these kinds of conflicts there are no real winners, are there? My only thoughts are for the people of Verona, and my sincere hope that they do not suffer the concequences of a fight they have no stakes in.” Soon enough they will both bend the knee to me. Soon enough their blood will mix as it flows through the streets, as it slips between the spaces of my fingers.

Extras: If you have anything else you’d like to include (further headcanons, an inspo tag, a mock blog, etc), feel free to share it here! This is OPTIONAL.

pinterest board x

inspo tag x

#accepted #accepted: richard iii

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motorcyclegirlfriends · 6 years

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man, i don't understand their insistence on shading lena so much(not her grey moral side, that's pretty cool and shows a yin/yang balance with kara), presenting her like a bomb ready to go off anytime. If they're so intent on making her evil why not actually have Lex show up, make her choose between her beloved brother and Kara so she can choose Kara and let supercorp be endgame like... i'm p sure the writers realize where it leads if they make Lena choose, so they just shade her "evilness"

They’re playing with the morality and darkness of the character because that’s who the character is.

Not who the person is—I’m not trying to say if you pop this person into reality that it’s inevitable that she’ll turn evil or even struggle in the same ways. I’m saying that when you take a character with her history and her issues and her fears you have to explore them for the story to work.

Who the character is defines what their story is about, and vice versa.

Let’s say you’ve started with an interesting premise and an awesome world, and all you need are some characters before you can get to the story. So you take your protagonist and begin throwing some of your favorite traits (and some other traits to play off of them in interesting ways) into a blender to see what sticks.

Perhaps they’re awkward, but funny. Insecure yet ambitious. Smart, but struggle with getting certain things. And then you go a little deeper. Where does the character’s insecurity stem from? Being socially awkward? Perhaps not. Perhaps you don’t feel you have a take on that idea that isn’t cliché.

Maybe the gaps in their intelligence, then. But why? It’s not interesting if it doesn’t go deeper. Absent parents who must be impressed for attention? Critical parents who are disappointed with anything less than brilliance? A formative experience in which the gaps in their intelligence resulted in something truly terrible?

You settle on something, and then you… write a story with nothing to do with their insecurity? I think not. The story is about your character, and your character is about this. (If you want your story to be about something else, instead create characters which are About that journey.)

Lena Luthor is about a deep ache, a need to be good.

Kara Zor-El Danvers is about finding home.

Alex Danvers is about being true to oneself.

We know this because of how they were built, the events which shaped them. Because of the setup before the real story begins:

Kara lost her entire world. Her home, parents, culture. Everyone and everything she knew. How could her story be about anything other than finding a home after that?

Alex had difficulty carving a space for herself as a kid because doing so would often result in Bad Things happening, and a heavy dose of perfectionism left her with very little room to be anything other than what she Had To Be. Do we not now want to watch her learn how to be healthy and to be assertive of her needs and to be imperfect and to just be?

And Lena. Lena Luthor, the emotionally abused kid in a family of terrorists, whose mother made her feel like she was never good enough, and who the world now never sees as good, full stop. Who fears becoming the monsters which hurt her above all else. Isn’t her story meant to be about recognizing and cultivating her own goodness to feel safe in her own skin?

Each of these characters strive to find happiness, but they all have different journeys to go on to get there. And these journeys examine the foundation of those needs to say something about them.

Lena can be good. Kara can feel at home. Alex can be true to herself. But, like in an essay, one must set up and address the counterarguments. This is where the story comes in. The story is the act of addressing the theme of the character’s counterargument.

If you have two characters in a fanfiction who do cute things with each other with no conflict internally, between each other, or otherwise externally, then you don’t have a story. You have a piece of a story (which people do love to consume anyway, because they’ve experienced the set up in canon that makes it feel satisfying).

But trust me, a 50 chapter fanfic of just this is not satisfying. Fluff only goes so far. It’s like eating only candy for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

The characters must struggle and then surpass these struggles in order for the story to say, with confidence… anything. If you want to say that the intelligence of your character doesn’t matter as much as their heart, you have to prove it. Give them an obstacle they try to solve using their head and show them failing miserably. And then show them getting back up and using their empathy or their will to win the day, instead. Without that first failure, winning in that way falls flat.

And then with each success, offer a different counterargument. Another obstacle.

Your character who lost her world—who you wish to prove that one can overcome great loss through—is happy? In a relationship with a guy from a sister planet to her lost world who makes her feel pretty normal and at home? Rip it apart. Don’t just take it away, but make her feel worse than she was before he came into her life. And then have her build her life back up from scratch, with another angle to the argument.

“What if you tear away that answer? Can she still find a home? If the Romantic Love is destroyed, what is left?” the villain inside all of our brains asks.

Answer the question. Answer it a hundred ways.

Tell us the wrong thing: Supergirl. Just Supergirl.

Tear it down. Offer another: “And if I don’t have Supergirl, what do I have?” “You got me.”

The villain asks another question: “What if her home becomes sick at its heart? What if it becomes foreign to her through its hatred?”

It asks more: “What if her relationships became strained?” “What if someone she loves dies?” “What if she feels she doesn’t deserve her new home?” “What if this physical planet were destroyed?”

Answer them. Answer all of these questions with your story until your audience believes, “Yes, of course. She’s home. She’s home.”

Because once the character wins, really wins forever, the game is over.

If Lena Luthor is good, believes she’s good, is impervious to temptation or moral tests and doubts and the whole world believes in her goodness (or she finally feels free from needing that), her story is over.

Until then, this is the character playground we’re living in. Lena’s issues are about trying to defeat the monsters she fears within and have been since day one. The story can take breaks from tackling this theme so directly (slow burn, baby) but it’s always, always going to come back to this.

But it’s not always going to look the same! And it doesn’t mean she’s Secretly Evil or a time bomb.

The question is, “Can Lena rise above her emotionally abusive and ideologically toxic upbringing and be Good, or is she destined to be evil?”

Sometimes it’ll be about Lena wondering if being intelligent and cunning means she’s like her mother in other, nefarious ways. Or if she is responsible for what her intelligence results in down the line. Or it’ll be about proving to the outside world that she isn’t what they think.

Sometimes it’ll be about making mistakes which hurt people and how she can still be good even if she’s imperfect. Sometimes it’ll be about learning to recognize the parts of herself which need work—emotionally, relationally, and morally—and addressing those without self destructing because of her fears. Sometimes it’ll be about the nature of goodness. Maybe one day, it’ll be about helping someone with similar struggles while staying true to the lessons she’s learned.

Often, it’s about how healthy love can help her be good, and how refusing that kind of love can set her astray.

So, to address what you’ve said, of course the writers know what Lena would choose, in the end.

(Though the question isn’t really about two people, or choosing who she loves more. Even if Supercorp were canon, Lena would still be dealing with this until the story was over. Supercorp itself would be a tool to answer Lena’s goodness question.

And even without the shippy angle, Lena choosing Kara is a no brainer. Their relationship is clearly valued by the show and by Lena, and she has addressed how wrong her brother is already. That’s not her current struggle, nor the hardest one she’d face at this moment in time. Now, throw the perception of betrayal into it via Kara’s secret identity, and you’ve got something a little more interesting.)

It’s just that Lena has to keep making these types of choices until the show is over. Otherwise, she’s just furniture. A setting. Her real story is over.

If you’re not interested in various angles of Goodness™, or if you just love the character so much you can’t stand to see her morality under scrutiny all the time, I feel for you.

Personally, I think certain beats are a bit overdone (and that some of the undertones—like Lena fearing her own intelligence, for instance—could have been highlighted more to make it more dynamic) and that what we’ve seen so far could have been drawn out over more time while other, less obviously core issue-related things are happening.

But generally, I like it. This question of goodness is what drew me to the character to begin with.

Not just because of the Lex comparison—although it is connected to it.

It’s because it’s a story about emotional abuse and how it can get into your head and nurture qualities you abhor but fear you can’t escape emulating. It’s about feeling all twisted up because of what you’ve been through, and the struggle to keep those demons from hurting others while they whisper in your ear that it’s all useless anyway. That you’re just bad.

That’s something I’m interested in seeing, and one I haven’t really seen told this way before?

But it’s not enough to have her fear being evil and then just be good anyway. That doesn’t represent the insidious nature of emotional abuse nor the real work one has to do to overcome it. It’s complicated, and I want to see it be complicated, because when she overcomes all of that it will mean something.

Because the villain in our brains are already asking these questions (doubly so if you relate to Lena).

“What if she does do something bad? Really bad? Does that mean she’s evil? That she was evil all along and can’t escape it?”

I want the show to say, “No. She can come back from this. Goodness is a choice.”

Because I fully believe that their intent isn’t to make Lena evil, it’s to prove that she isn’t. To subvert our expectations set up by what happened between Clark and Lex.

To say “No, this time friendship wins. Hope wins.” To refute that dread of inevitability caused by the familiarity of the story and, for Lena herself, that dread of inevitability because of who her family is and how she was raised.

It’s a hopeful show by design, and so it often has their main character try to get through to people, to change them for the better. Logically, this is the sort of story they’re going to tell, and personally, I’m here for it.

But it’s not going to go away.

#supergirl #lena luthor #long post #analysis: you're gonna suffer but you're gonna be happy about it #Anonymous

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hilunawrites · 6 years

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25 Lessons on my 25th Birthday --Part 2

Thank you so much for all the love and reblogs of Part 1— ”25 Lessons on my 25th Birthday!” I’m glad my lessons could help some of you, and I hope you get as much out of Part 2 as the last. For these next ten, if one or more of the lessons resonate with you, please reblog and let me know which ones! You can find Part 1 here. Now let’s jump into it:

11.) Don’t blindly accept rules and boundaries “set” by society.

Society has a lot to say about how we “should” live our lives: the “correct” path in life to follow and in what order, “good” career choices versus “poor” ones, “normal” relationship practices…the list goes on and on.

Each of us is on our own path in life. These societal rules and boundaries don’t take into consideration that we all start from different points, have different priorities and belief systems, and, frankly, don’t deserve to be limited to such an extent during our time here on Earth! If you want to have a baby first and go to school later, become an artist, or have a polyamorous relationship—YOU DO YOU. Your internal guiding system is infinitely more important. You are no less than those that choose to abide by societal expectations.

12.) Don’t forget where you came from.

I know not everyone comes from a happy place or a happy family. Maybe you were over-the-moon ecstatic when you could finally get the hell out. My family and I have a strained relationship, and I’m happy to have some distance from them. My hometown on the other hand? I miss it desperately. When I left, a hole in me formed that won’t ever be completely healed.

Either way, whether you love or hate where you come from—it’s helped shape who you are today. You’ve learned invaluable lessons during your childhood and as a teenager about yourself, your beliefs, your likes/dislikes, and your passions. Where you come from has shaped you in huge and subtle ways, and you are here, exactly how you are in this present moment, because of your past. And with some reflection, you can learn a lot from that and continue on your way into the future.

13.) Communicate.

A little obvious this one, but an indispensable lesson nonetheless. NEVER. STOP. COMMUNICATING. And I mean clear, direct, honest, and open communication. If you just say what you mean without beating around the bush or teetering towards passive-aggression, you will sustain solid relationships with others, based on mutual trust and respect.

Also, don’t expect anyone to be able to read your mind! This is one of the most unfair and egocentric things we expect from other people. No one else is in your head with you--don’t assume people will know why you feel a certain way or what you want/need them to do! Spell it out for them. For example, “I need you to show your love for me more, and this is how… ” So much hurt and frustration could be avoided if every human practiced effective communication.

14.) Decorate your home.

I’ve noticed several times throughout my life that I never truly feel at home unless I decorate it. I would switch bedrooms as a kid or move to new apartments and postpone decorating my new space for months or even years! A big mistake. It was only after I finally put up my posters, pictures, quotes, cards, and art pieces from friends that I truly felt at HOME. I feel euphoric as I look around and take in MY space. It welcomes me, it welcomes others, and I feel like I’m claiming my little corner of the world, marking it as my own. In a way, it makes me feel a little powerful, being able to express myself however I wish in my home decorations.

15.) Don’t call them “guilty pleasures.”

We all have that one thing (or several things!) we think we “shouldn’t” enjoy—usually because it’s unpopular or criticized by the majority of people or our closest friends. As a way of fitting in, we deny ourselves the opportunity to indulge openly and unabashedly in our “guilty pleasures.” How sad is this? We’re only on this Earth for a limited amount of time, why not enjoy the things we enjoy? Don’t waste time worrying about what others will think of you listening to that One Direction album for the umpteenth time—relish every second you spend partaking in that activity! It will feel so much better than the alternative, trust me. Just take solace in the fact that everyone has pleasures that could be criticized by others—so let’s just like what we like and get off each other’s backs!

16.) It’s okay to cut people off.

You are under no obligation to keep toxic people in your life. Whether these people are strangers, acquaintances, friends, or family—you have the right to fill your life with people who lift you up, not tear you down. Whether that means you set healthy boundaries with problematic people or drop them completely, be sure to make the right choice for YOU. The choice that makes YOU feel free and safe. Take care of yourself first, before you worry about how your choices affect others.

And when it comes to family, you do not have to love someone simply because you share blood with them. Sometimes they honest to God do not deserve to have someone as spectacular as you in their life. Find your chosen family and lean into them. They will support you.

17.) You don’t have to win every argument.

I have a terrible habit of trying to use logic in order to “win” every argument. I rationalize, I explain, I call out the other person on inconsistencies or hypocrisy. If I can destroy all the holes on their side, and sew mine up nice and pretty they won’t be able to deny that I’m right and they’re wrong. Then they’ll apologize and we’ll move on—right? Wrong.

In the end, “winning” doesn’t feel as good as I think it will. The other person is still upset, frustrated, and fed up with me. We move on, sure…but have we actually gained anything from our disagreement except more grief?

I’m trying my hardest to listen more and speak less when I’m having an argument. If we are all willing to self-reflect and validate the other’s feelings before jumping to the defensive, disagreements will be resolved more smoothly, quickly, and respectfully. This way we can move on without as many residual feelings of resentment.

18.) Hug and cuddle people often. And animals too.

Of course this depends on whether you’re a touchy-feely person or comfortable with animals—which I am! It’s just science: hugging someone for even 20 seconds releases oxytocin, the “love hormone,” which can do wonders for your mental and physical health. I love hugging, cuddling, kissing, all of that. It helps my lungs open up, and I can breathe better. I feel safe—like the other person is a human wall of protection.

And I could never forget my dog, Dobby. He is so soft and cuddly, I sometimes can’t resist leaning over and giving him a big squeeze. He loves to lie with me, placing his head in my lap or over my legs and letting out a deep sigh. In those moments, I can hardly take his utter adorableness!

These physical touches make me feel closely connected with the people and animals around me, and these connections spark positive emotions of happiness, safety, love, and belonging. Who couldn’t use a little more of that in their everyday life?

19.) Stand up for what’s right, even if you’re standing alone.

A scary thought right? Especially for those of us who don’t like the spotlight…

There are some things that I know are absolutely wrong (sexism, racism, homo/bi/transphobia etc.) and I am often placed in situations where I have a choice to make. Do I speak up and break the silence? Or do I let the inappropriate and unacceptable comment or action remain unchecked?

When I’m the only person who realizes what’s going on is wrong, it makes it that much harder to stand up for what’s right. I might be punished or retaliated against in some way, shape, or form. They may ignore me, criticize me for taking things too seriously or overreacting, or even ostracize me from a particular group or community.

I once worked at a place where people openly made racist comments and were willfully ignorant about their culturally appropriative actions. This was particularly concerning because my colleagues and I worked in close proximity with young children who were soaking everything up like a sponge. Long story short, I stood up for what was right, even though I was standing alone—none of my colleagues were willing to stand with me—and just a few miserable weeks later was forced to quit.

Now that sounds like a terrible story—why should we stand up if we’re just going to be shut down and punished for “speaking out of turn?” First, I planted a seed. Sometime down the line (even if it is years from now) my ex-coworkers will be forced to reflect on their teaching methods which will no doubt become outdated and unacceptable with time. Second, I got myself out of an environment I now know I couldn’t have worked in long-term. And third, I’m able to share my story and continue encouraging others to also stand up for what’s right. It’ll take time, but one person standing up will lead to two, then ten, then 100, then 1000, until widespread change takes over the whole world.

20.) That being said, don’t be afraid to step back if you need to.

If you’re not emotionally able to handle a situation you’ve gotten yourself into, it’s more than okay to step back. If you remember from Part 1, you come first. ALWAYS. If you need to take a temporary or permanent break from something, do it. Just living, let alone fighting for equality or standing up to others, takes a lot of emotional strength and courage. Self-care is imperative to your success in all areas of your life, and sometimes the best thing you can do for you is to step back and take yourself out of a situation which has become toxic or spiraled out of control. No need to feel guilty. Be selfish. I’m serious. Everything else can take a back seat while you take care of yourself. Nothing is more important than your well-being.

I hope you enjoyed lessons 11-20 today! I’ll post my final 5 lessons on July 18th, my actual birthday (O_O). Again, if any of these lessons resonated with you, please reblog and let me know which ones! I look forward to reading your thoughts.

Those of you who enjoyed Part 1, I’m tagging you here: @alinakerrin, @theouterdark, @awkward-sappho, @atgit, @crucioandcoffee, @skullszeyes, @sarcastictinydancer, @ilike-art, @fangirling4mynicoandazriel, @macemason, @brookexautumn, @whitewolf756, @ducklingxkitten, @axel-writes, @neodesta

#writeblr #writing #mywriting #amwriting #lunawritesoriginal #writing positivity #lit #advice #anxiety #depression #mental health #selflove #activism #standup #speakout #speakup

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mickeyyasi · 6 years

Text

Tomorrow (Does not) always come

This came out one night when I thought about the possible scenarios for this couple in Infinity War, and although I have my opinion of why would hire twins for the 4th installment, I really hope that these two end with a happy ending instead of the one they had in the comics I take two iconic phrases in the comics of these two to write this, the first is from Vol # 1 of Avengers and the second if memory doesn't fail, it is from Vision # 7 both said by Wanda towards Vision.

I hope you enjoy it.

Vision writes a letter for Wanda on their last night together in an attempt to show how he feels about her and in case Thanos and his evil plans to conquer the Galaxy end up working:

To the love of my life, Wanda.

Maybe at this moment while you read these lines, a series of events occurred that led you to know this through this letter and not in my person, I'm probably unable to do so, or I'm no longer here, but in essence, it's me.

You may ask why a letter if in all the time of knowing us I never made one, but in this moment, when you are lying between my chest, I can feel the soft warm skin of your back increases my senses and I think it's the perfect time to write a letter with words I may never tell you, dreams that may never come to fruition, and that doesn't mean that I didn't want it, believe me, I do it and a lot. I'm a being born of logic, guided by it, but you, you beat my logic and now there is only what is in my synthetic chest, and that can't be quantified because there is simply nothing I can use to do justice for gauge my feelings for you, not even an exponential figure such as pi, or infinite could, and that is that from the moment your mind touched mine the day I was created, my love for you only started to growing.

You don't know how much I regret not telling you this before, I guess being new in such an old world made me think that someone as wonderful and beautiful as you wouldn't feel the same for a machine like me, I know that thought is not justification and you detest when I say these things, but I bring the subject afloat because without you. I wouldn't feel that I can be something beyond why I was created for, you make me feel like a complete man, your man.

Still, thanks for emphasizing that I am different from anyone, I’m happy to be it, because I assure you that I love you more than any human heart would do. If I had known you felt the same, and I had been brave, tonight would not be our first night together, and I think it was just my fault, at some point between the Accords and the Raft, I made so many mistakes thinking that I was protecting you and then thinking that it was not the moment to tell you what should not be silenced; and wasted the few days we had until tonight, I guess we lost a lot of time.

But in spite of everything, I don't regret anything because you have given me the most beautiful moments of my life, my first kiss, my first sigh, my first in everything, and I need you do not forget it, you always be my first and only love, forever and ever and neither the Accords, nor Thanos can ever take that away from me. I also don't regret the worst moments we lived because the pain of your loss made me more human, you don't know how much hurt lose you in Leipzig, with the uncertainty of not knowing if I could hold you in my arms again, then I had to bear that you were not by my side and I missed you too much, cursing not being able to sleep every day to find some peace, I felt terribly miserable for not taking you away from everything when I had the opportunity and instead I put you in the middle and I lost you. The months you spent in the Raft were incredibly slow, and I being unable to do anything to get you out made me feel the most useless being of existence; The only thing I thank Steve Rogers for all that conflict is that without his help you wouldn't have been free and we would have missed all this time too.

I don't want look back on the past because that is not the purpose of this letter, I mentioned it because the only time we talked about the Accords and the breakdown of the team I told you my perspective of the conflict but I didn't tell you how I felt and you deserve to know that I was not indifferent. Not when I couldn't have you by my side. I don't know what will happen tomorrow when we all meet again as a team, I know that you had that vision of the end and you promised to protect me, but when the time comes I will not allow you to do it. I care too much for you to sacrifice yourself for someone who puts you in danger every second that passes since they attacked Earth. I hope that one day you can forgive my decision and understand why I did it, and that is that I cannot lose you again, even though physically could do it.

I don't know what you see when you look at me, but when I see you, I see only my home, in your eyes, I see happiness, through your eyes, I can find myself, I can return to you where I belong where I always have to belong. Your smile, always sincere and sometimes sarcastic. The way you frown when you focus, the way you laugh, the way you sing or dance and play the guitar, I've seen people doing all that and yet none of them compares to you and I like having I had the opportunity to be with someone as unique and irreplaceable as you are, Wanda Maximoff.

Last night I had a beautiful dream, one where the pain did not exist and you woke up in my arms, I held you strong, but I no longer had or felt the fear of losing you, there was nothing that could take you away from me as in this moment. I don't know if it was your dream, mine, or both that was created as one, but in that dream you woke up and you looked at me with your beautiful smile, you tenderly kissed my lips, and I wanted to show you that I was yours, but you stopped me and with a little laugh you said, "You will wake them up." At that moment I didn't understand anything, but it wasn't a confused feeling but rather happiness, and as the dream went on I understood why.

Twins.

Yes, twins, they were identical but not for their hair, one of them had your brother's hair and the other yours before you dyed, one had my smile and the other my chin, both were more than ready for a Picnic in what appeared to be our garden. You wore a long yellow dress that fluttered in the wind, then one of the twins lay asleep in your lap between your arms, I played with the other and we laughed at his frustration at not putting the correct figures in a box, he had the same face that puts a woman who fought against an army of evil robots but can't open the jar of pickles after an Asgardian closed it. At some point in the dream you looked at me and smiled, we were really happy.

Then I woke up and even though you were by my side, I had to accept the reality of the situation, I know we will win, although the recent breakdown of the team does not favor us and we do not have the best odds, we all still have hope and that's enough, although to win sometimes sacrifices are made and not all of us will be there to see it, but I know and I firmly believe that you will be there and I want you to have all this that I dreamed, even if is not with me.

Today, this night I choose to think that there are alternate universes, those of which you like so much and I read to you on nights when you have nightmares. I want to believe in them and maybe in some of those universes, we will continue dancing on the roof in the light of the moon as we once did in the complex, that you will eat your breakfasts I made you even if they are horrible and you only do it because you love me, that you will give me the best years of your life and I live only to ensure that you don't have any bad and make you happy as much as you make me with your simple existence. Wanda, thank you for teach me that love is for the soul and not for the body, thank you for being my love and my soul itself, thank you for loving me in the way no one else could.

In case tomorrow doesn't come, I give you my last today.

I love you

Yours, Vision.

It was the hundredth time read it, and she was sure that she could never tire of reading, again and again, the same lines written neatly for her, all the love he could give her had been expressed in that letter.

“Wanda, are you ready?” Tony asked as he peeked through the door of her temporary room in a complex that was being rebuilt for the remnants of the war.

“Yes.” She answered wiping the tears from her cheeks.

“You're fine?”

“Yes, it's just the emotion of the moment.”

“He will be fine, Helen, Banner and I did our homework.”

“What will happen if he´s not the same again?”

“We will find the way to him return to us. I promise.”

“Okay.”

In complete silence, they went to the improvised laboratory, Wanda walked with slow but firm steps with her hands on her chest trying not to let her face reflect her fear, Tony pointed to the entrance and inside she spotted the people who helped create the man of her life the first time, surrounding him expectantly because Vision had just awakened and was sitting motioning insecurely, looking at his arms, hands, and legs with amazement, He seemed to be the same Vision that came out of the cradle three years ago. Suddenly, he stopped and looked towards the entrance where Wanda was. And he stared at her.

“Vision?”

Epilogue

The sun was beginning to show signs of hiding, the birds were still singing merrily, even if enough attention was paid, an owl could be heard, the smell of flowers, and a nearby forest was unique, toys are overflowing the garden grass, and a small indoor pool, Leonia was a really charming neighborhood, or maybe just the house, the house they could call home. She had Thomas curled up in her lap while caressing his white hair. He had William exhausting his last energies playing with wooden chips. Suddenly he noticed that while caressing their son she was staring at him.

“Definitely Billy has your scowl, not mine, the one you use when you are slow to solve something” His wife spoke looking at the little baby who was playing settled between his dad.

“And Tommy definitely has your smile, especially the smile you make when you sleep.” Vision answered.

“I thought I was snoring, I don't think that counts as a smile.” Wanda answered with a small laugh.

“After these years I learned that your sleep patterns change with certain situations, not regularly, but you only snore when you are tired and sick with the flu.”

Wanda smiled.

“Is that how your dream was?” Wanda asked in the hope that he will remember.

“You remember? Did you read the letter?” Vision asked with surprise in his voice.

“Of course, is a very beautiful letter, in fact, I keep it.”

“You never told me.”

“You never asked”

“I, I don't know what to say, I remembered that letter some time after you told me that we would have our children.”

“I keep it very well after your reconstruction, you know, to try to recover your memories and show it to you when you were ready.”

Vision recalled those moments, wake up after the war and without memories, for a time, the only thing he managed to preserve from his old self, was the love towards her.

“If I had known that I just needed to tell you I was pregnant with your children for you come back to me and be your again, I would have confirmed my suspicions weeks before and not two months after it was obvious that they were coming.”

“The memories came to my mind one after the other and suddenly they were so fuzzy that they could not stay. But the ones I had with you were different, yours were like following your voice home. And our children were the final piece to return.”

“I'm glad you came back.”

Vision smiled with the best smile in years. The one that was only for her and their children.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“And you were right...” Vision affirmed.

Wanda tilted her head without understanding still looking at him.

“Tomorrow always comes”.

The End.

Well, according to the rumors and statements of Paul, our actor for Vision, is a possibility that at the end of one of the two films, Vision and Wanda end up being a family that sits in the suburbs and then have their twins, but what I know and investigate about Marvel movies, usually they hire twins when it comes to ONE child character, for example, Lila Barton's daughter the actress girl has a twin, but Cassie's actress Scott's daughter, she doesn't have it, so everything can happen, right? Another of my theories is that if there really is that of time travel or What if? in the movies, maybe the role for these twins is that of a Tony Stark child who has a Steve Rogers uncle who never ends frozen or that Tony himself travels to that time of his life to find the key or something that may be useful to stop Thanos, anyway, if you have another theory let me know

#scarletwitch/vision #wanda maximoff/ vision #wanda maximoff #vision #scarlet witch #Vision Marvel

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eddiesrichie · 7 years

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Sit Still

people who im talking to on here...this is why i haven’t responded in awhile. trying to finish this damn thing XD

but yes, another reddie one shot cause im trash

warnings: just kissing

Ever since Eddie was able to walk, he’s been told about the risk of contamination for each and every object on earth. He knows more about types of bacteria than he does about sports. He knows that the diversity and count of bacteria is higher on sinks and other inanimate objects than on a human being.

The facts his mother was so gracious to inform him on has him shivering at the mere thought of using a public sink. It was paranoia that consumed his entire being, and it made him go on rants and freak outs, which in turn leads him to pulling out his inhaler.

After the clown situation, he’s learned that he’s not truly sick. Nothing was wrong with him, and he has an immune system as strong as any other teen boy. His lungs are normal, not in any way needing help to breathe. He was able to do anything his friends can do. He can run through the tall grass without a risk of an asthma attack or the inflammation of his allergies.

Even after learning this, he was still hesitant on joining his friends on adventures like running through the sewers, playing tag in the tall grass, or hanging out on rocky roads full of obstacles capable of scraping his knees. He hates his mother for forcing this onto him, making him paranoid with bacteria count. He has no reason to worry about it anymore, but he still involuntarily does.

He still reaches for his inhaler when something shakes him up, only to remember that it was just plain anxiety. He doesn’t have the willpower to turn off the alarm on his watch, signaling him to take his routine medication. He was so used to it, and turning off the timer was going to dig at him. He was going to have an empty feeling deep in his chest, knowing that something is missing. So, he keeps the alarm turned on, simply turning the beeper off when it plays.

There are a few benefits to his old, yet ingrained life. There are things that he still holds tight around. For example, he keeps his hygiene intact. He washes his clothes, hands, hair, body, etc., making sure he is clean and safe from disease. Also, he keeps track of the sicknesses going around, taking the time to secure himself from getting it. It was instinct that he can’t fight off, but he doesn’t see it as a bad thing. What about not getting sick was a bad thing?

He has an eye out for tells on people even remotely showing a hint of sickness. He dodges them like the plague, refusing to so much as look at them until they are better. So, he catches on quickly that someone in the group was sick.

The early signs are slight, ignorable. Eddie pedals after his friends, always one to remain in the back when they are riding around in a group.

The move is small, barely noticeable, but Eddie did. His eyes flicker over to Richie, watching as the taller boy jerks his handlebars to skim by the car at the last second. He chooses to not comment on it, watching as it happens again minutes later. This time, Richie barely moves out of the way. He had been too busy rubbing his nose against his upper arm.

They are walking in the library, following Ben as he explains some oh-so-interesting tidbit of history. Dust is layered on the bookshelves, causing Eddie’s bogus allergies to flare-up.

He eyes Richie, noticing how quiet the other boy was. His nose is red, and his eyes are puffy, and it takes no time at all for him to start a sneezing fit in the middle of Derry’s history section. Eddie jumps back at the sneezing, wincing at the sight of the wet germs in the sunlight.

He goes behind Richie and grabs a hold of his shirt, pulling him away from the group. “Okay, sicko! We’re leaving before you get the whole town sick with your snot.”

Richie scoffs, “I’m not sick. That’s just your imagination and paranoia in the back of your stupid head.” The words choke out of Richie like sandpaper, and Richie winces at the burning of his throat.

“You do look awful, Richie,” Beverly perks up with a shrug. “You should be in bed.”

“Shut it, Molly, I’m fine.” Richie coughs dryly directly after, covering his mouth with his elbow. Eddie is proud to see that Richie at least knows to not cough into his hand. “You’ve nearly ran into numerous things,” Stan comments. “Just lay down for today, and you’ll be right back up tomorrow.”

“Guys…” Richie croaks out, but it seems that he used up his words. He makes a few more noises, growing angry with the loss of the ability to talk. He coughs like mad, and Eddie pulls him to the door with a goodbye call to his friends.

Richie doesn’t go without a fight, complaining the whole time. It did nothing but make Eddie laugh at the way Richie got frustrated with the way his throat wasn’t cooperating with him. “Yelling at me isn’t going to help your sore throat,” Eddie taunts his sick friend.

He doesn’t get a response, but he does hear a hard kick to the rocks on the road. Eddie guides them both to Richie’s house, walking into the kitchen where the medicine is held. Before that, though, he fills a cup with water and hands it to Richie, who takes it with a pout. Richie goes through a coughing fit, making it impossible to drink anything.

Eddie groans at the manic cough. He sneaks a peek at the cabinets, glaring at the empty shelves with no medication. “Never thought I’d say this, but I liked it better when you were feeling up to complaining. Your cough is disgusting to listen to. It’s more annoying than your talking.”

Richie finally stops coughing, taking the moment to breathe and drink the water given to him. “Doctors are usually way nicer to their patients, Eds,” Richie says with fake sadness in his eyes. His voice was still rough, but he can talk now.

“Doctors like it when their patients aren’t stubborn asses. I’m not a doctor, nor am I playing one. Your parents will take you to the doctor,” Eddie proclaims with his hands deep into the shelves. He smiles in victory when he finally finds a small advil bottle. He deflates when only two pills are in it.

Richie scoffs from behind him, “They’re not going to take me to the doctor, Eds.”

Eddie bites his lip, unsure of what to say. Richie’s parents aren’t exactly the parents of the year. He comforts Richie with silence, quietly handing over the medicine. Eddie freezes when Richie suddenly clutches at his stomach, groaning as he bends over. His hands grab at the sink and within seconds, he’s vomiting into it. The retching noises are disgusting, and Eddie grimaces at the sound, sight, and smell.

Recollection of having the flu has him moving quick, removing Richie’s coke bottle glasses and setting them on the kitchen counter. He wraps an arm around the other boy’s upper back, and he uses his other hand to remove the dark brown curls from line of fire and the taller boy’s eyes. His nerves are on fire, fighting him to get away from the sickness. He shoves the thoughts back, focusing on being there for his friend. He chokes down a laugh at how Richie was actually ‘trashmouth’ right now.

“Fuck…” Richie groans under his breath once he’s done throwing up. He leans heavily onto the counter, breathing deep and rapid.

“You’re okay,” Eddie shushes. An insult comes close behind the comfort as always, but this time the insult doesn’t make it pass his lips. He makes sure Richie won’t fall before turning around and wetting a cloth. He presses it against Richie’s clammy forehead, and he can practically feel the fever through the fabric.

Richie looks suspiciously at the cloth. “What are you doing?”

“It’s what my mom does when I’m sick – legitimately sick,” Richie answers with a shrug. He uses a nail to peel Richie’s wet bangs from his face. “Does your mo- anyone do this for you?” Eddie winces at the mistake, but Richie caught it.

“Yeah, and she also kisses me goodnight,” Richie snarks back. Eddie bites his lip, observing the other boy.

He can’t imagine going through the flu without his mother. He was close to asking for death until his mother came to the rescue with caring eyes and a box full of pills. Yes, his mother was crazy for tricking him into thinking he was sick and fragile. Though, his mother was always there for him. She loves him. She’s crazy, but she loves him.

Richie dealt with the complete opposite. Richie’s mother neglected him, starving him of motherly affection from already emptiness from his father not giving him a minute of the day. Neither of them cared a bit of what he was doing or where he was.

Now, here he was, sick as a dog on the kitchen floor with no parent to look after him. He looks terrible and miserable, and he was close to falling down. His shaking feet not doing an ounce of effort to hold him. If it wasn’t for the counter and him, Richie would’ve long gone fallen onto the wooden floor.

Eddie takes one more look at Richie, wiping a lone tear on Richie’s cheek. “You’re coming to my house,” he says firmly. Richie widens his eyes, and then squints from the lack of help from his glasses.

“What?”

“Come on,” Eddie says as he pulls the sick boy out the house. He grabs the glasses and hands them back to Richie. “You need more than advil,” he adds to explain himself. He gets on his bike, keeping it steady so Richie can begrudgingly hop onto the front.

Richie whips his head around with a shit-eating grin. “You mean to tell me I get the help from Dr. K, himself? Oh, my heart swoons!” A cough follows his words, and Eddie has to help him stay on.

“Yeah, I’m saving the world from seeing the great ‘Trashmouth’ Richie Tozier actually look like trash,” Eddie responds with a roll of his eyes.

The ride to Richie’s house is short, but not short enough. Richie talks the whole time. It’s more annoying than usual, since coughing came out between every two or three words. A flu doesn’t silence Richie even a little, and Eddie shouldn’t be surprised.

“I think I should become a singer with this sexy new deep voice I have. Don’t you think?” Richie hums. “Lure all the ladies in with my dark tone and words.”

“You’re pretty great at creating nonsense. Your imagination is out of this world,” Eddie comments as he stops the bike.

“Awe, you called me pretty!”

“Which medicine will shut you up first?” Eddie thinks out-loud, once they get inside. He is thankful to find the house empty. He goes into the kitchen to look at the medication. He takes out a few bottles, measuring out the Nyquil. He wasn’t lying. He was going to knock Richie out. His running mouth was only going to lengthen his time being sick.

“I heard the medicine of true love’s kiss – wait, no, that wakes you up. Nevermind! Please, give me something to fall asleep, so I can wake up with a sweet kiss from ya, Eddie spaghetti,” Richie sing-songs from his spot on the floor.

“I wouldn’t kiss your hideous face even if you weren’t crawling with infection,” Eddie quips smoothly. He hands the measuring cup to Richie, guiding it to his lips. Richie obediently drinks it. As he does, Eddie checks Richie’s temperature. He tsks at how hot and clammy Richie’s face is.

Eddie takes back the now empty cup, cleaning it in the sink. He looks back down to see Richie. The humor has lifted from his body, and he has his arms back around his stomach. He looks incredibly miserable again, and Eddie’s sympathy comes crashing through him like waves.

“Get up, you blob,” Eddie orders softly, taking Richie’s hand and pulling him up.

“I’ll sh-show you a blob,” Richie croaks out, sluggishly walking behind Eddie.

Eddie holds Richie’s hand in his, even after successfully getting the sick boy back on his feet. He holds it as he cleans some of his stuff off his bed, and he continues to hold it as Richie lays down on the bed. Through all the coughing, Eddie still doesn’t let go of Richie’s hand. In the back of his mind, he wonders why is he allowing himself to hold Richie’s germ ridden hand. Why is he not planning to wash his bedsheets right after? Any other day or any other person, that would be his first priority. With Richie…he didn’t entirely care. The medicine was now kicking in, and it was kicking in hard. Richie was looking at him with tired eyes. Eddie smiles at how big Richie’s glasses make his eyes look. They made his brown eyes huge, and Eddie finds himself staring into them.

The silence was intimidating, but Eddie did nothing to break it. He continues looking at Richie, who looks right back at him. Eddie runs a thumb along Richie’s palm soothingly, and he sees Richie’s arm twitch. He reaches up to move a pesky hair from Richie’s eye.

“Thanks, Eds,” Richie whispers out with a tiny smile.

“You know I hate it when you call me that,” Eddie whispers back. He really doesn’t.

He keeps himself busy as Richie sleeps. He checks the sleeping boy when he hears him cough in his sleep. Every now and then, he gives Richie a drink of water before leading him back to sleep.

It was weird seeing Richie sleep. The boy was as energetic and spontaneous as a firecracker. His comebacks were superb, and he was the funniest person Eddie has ever known. Richie made him laugh harder than anyone ever could.

But there was a switch inside him. He can go from being ‘trashmouth’ to caring and patient. Back when they were about to be attacked by the clown, and he had been completely defenseless, Richie stepped in and been there for him. In that moment, Eddie believed that Richie would’ve done anything to protect him. He wouldn’t have wanted anyone to be there with him in the face of death than Richie.

During that whole situation, he found himself gravitating towards Richie and vice versa. Each other’s names were called out by one another, fearing for the other’s life. Richie was the only person he found himself running to, and Richie welcomed him with open arms.

Now, he was able to be there for Richie. Richie was going to be fine, which was exactly what Richie had told him when he had a broken arm with a deadly clown stalking over to him.

Eddie’s flicker across Richie’s face as he bites his lip. He is back to sitting next to Richie, thinking a million words a minute.

‘Please, give me something to fall asleep, so I can wake up with a sweet kiss from ya, Eddie spaghetti.’

Richie was the only person he imagined running to in the face of danger.

Richie was the only person he imagined experiencing his first kiss with.

Eddie moves forward, awkwardly balancing himself halfway over Richie’s sleeping form. He jerks back when Richie suddenly brings a hand up to rub at his left eye.

Eddie admires the way Richie is like as he sleeps. The losers club has all had their fair share of sleepovers in the past, but not once has he took the time to really look at Richie as he sleeps. He’s never had a reason to.

Shying away, Eddie places a kiss on the other boy’s forehead. He hates himself for wussing out, and he can already tell that he’s going to regret not doing it. His lips tingle at the touch, and his heartbeat picks up at the fact that he just kissed a most likely contagious person.

“You missed.”

Eddie widens his eyes, stomach twisting and turning when he meets Richie’s eye. He expects disgust ridden all over his face. He expects to be told that he never actually wanted a kiss, and that he’s not into boys like that. He expects to lose one of his best friends in that moment.

What he gets is not what he expected.

He spots pink cheeks and amused eyes. Sure, Richie’s face had already been tomato red, but it fits with the fond in his eyes. Eddie blinks when Richie curves his lips upwards, waiting for what Eddie ‘missed’.

His palms are sweaty, his grip on the pillow above slipping slightly. The realization of the moment has him breathing so hard that he second guesses his fake need for his inhaler. Richie is giving him that look. He’s been given many looks from Richie, but nothing has been acted upon until now. It was all for shits and giggles before, but now there isn’t any of that. Richie was legitimately looking at him with nothing but fond and… what is that? He’s never been looked at in this way before.

Then, Richie’s facial features seem to diminish as he looks away.

No, he can’t have Richie looking like that because of him.

Eddie readjusts his hold, and he swoops down and brings their lips together. The kiss is shy and stagnate, as the shock of first kiss sits in. Eddie doesn’t know what to do, what to move, how to move, etc. He’s left to guess, tilting his head to quietly breathe through his nose. He shivers when the lips on his start to add pressure, and he adds his own to match.

It’s not that surprising that Richie’s lips are chapped. Based on his lifestyle, Eddie doesn’t expect for Richie to take care of himself. Plus, he drinks a shit ton of soda rather than water. He doesn’t mind though, since he’s too busy trying to figure out how to kiss.

It’s fun, yet slow, both boys experimenting. Eddie feels a hand timidly hold on his lower arm. He straightens his back, placing one of his hands on Richie’s shoulder. Touching Richie’s skin really makes him realize what exactly he’s doing. He’s kissing his best friend. He’s kissing ‘trashmouth’ Richie.

The kiss ends, and Eddie fights from trying to continue it. He opens his eyes, and his cheeks redden when he notices the grin on Richie’s face.

“I am intoxicated, Eds. You’re taking advantage of me,” Richie croaks with fake betrayal.

Eddie sits back up, swatting at Richie’s laughing form. “Should do it again so you’d shut up!”

“Help!” Richie calls out. “My doctor is taking advantage of me. I want my lawyer!”

“Shut up, you complete ass,” Eddie scowls, moving down to efficiently shut him up.

#reddie one shot #reddie #my writing

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im-writing-under-a-pen-name · 7 years

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Your “Weird” Is Good - Jughead Jones Imagine (Riverdale)

Imagines

As I promised, I wrote this new imagine for you guys. It’s based on some lines from the movie „Short Term” because I was in love immediately when I heard them and I thought it would be nice to write something and include them there, I really had to. As I said, it was so sweet, I couldn’t even resist.

Warnings: I don’t know what should I say here, maybe just that it is a kinda sad imagine and there are mentions of a though life which may or may not affect some of you … I DO NOT intend to make anyone feel bad while reading, so, please, if you can’t handle sad things or you just don’t feel okay to read things like that, please skip those parts or I don’t know ... I don’t want you to feel offended, none of you. I've had the duty to let you know before you start reading.

I don’t own any of the TV series’s rights and the persons I’m mentioning here aren’t like that in the real life. This is just a story made up by me, meaning that the descriptions of the characters that I’m writing about are based on how the Riverdale’s cast is portraying them. It’s a work of fiction.

Okay now, enjoy your reading.

PLOT: You are not a very happy person. You’re though with yourself because you are in trouble, you can feel it. But you can’t feel the fact that you’re spending your time with a person just as hurt as you are and it just happens that you two share feelings that you don’t even understand. However, none of you can make the first step, it seems like it’s enough to be one in another’s company.

Like the most late nights, Pop’s shop was full. Well, if you count the people you’re already used to. It wasn’t such a big deal, anyone would’ve paid too much attention to you. It was raining outside, so your jacked is a bit wet on the surface. You are not cold, but as soon as you feel the warmth and the smell of burgers, you feel somewhat relieved. It was never too late to come here. The barely observable humming around you could cover what else screamed inside of your head. You wanted to bite your lip all the time just to get rid of that knot in your throat. You sniffled and then you headed for the place where you knew you’d find your friend who you called earlier tonight to meet you here. You wanted less tension and wanted to be away from home again. Nothing feels right back there, not anymore in a long time.

As soon as your eyes fell on that eternal beanie, you tried to smile, even if the boy hadn’t seen you yet. He didn’t have his laptop with him, instead, he was drinking something you assumed was coffee because of those steams coming out from the mug which was placed on the yellow-colored table. At some point he noticed you as you approached. You tried to keep your weak smile.

„What a great evening, missy.” He teased you when you sat at the table, facing him. You chuckled and then ran a hand over your forehead to wipe off some drops of water. You weren’t sorry that you didn’t take your umbrella with you. It wasn’t raining so hard after all.

„Hello.” You greeted him, liking your dry lips. You didn’t continue after that, which made him realize something was wrong. Although you two have been friends for only one year now, he was the fastest to feel when you weren’t okay. He knew everything that was happening with you and what made you feel like that. He was always ready for you, probably more than anyone. You felt good thinking about it, somehow, it was calming you down but would never help completely. „How are you?” You asked finally, trying to stop him. In fact, you wanted to tell him everything, like anytime. Right now, you simply didn’t dare. You no longer want to ruin the atmosphere, you just wanted to talk to him.

„Bored if I’m honest.” He answered, looking at your face. You were trying to look into his eyes but you didn’t succeed as you should’ve. You were going to sigh. „Y/N, you can’t look at me, did something happen?” He asked in a gentle tone, trying not to force you. You tried to avoid the subject, but apparently, it was impossible. You didn’t know where to start so you covered your face with your hands.

„I’m listening.” You heard him.

„How do you always figure it out, Jughead?” You asked frustrately, looking through your fingers at his now serious face. But it was obvious.

„’Cause I do.”

Exactly.

You removed your hands from your face and looked sad at him. It was hard for you to talk about the problems you had with your parents in front of him. You felt more ashamed now than ever because he had never done it the same as you did. Yes, he also had problems, he faced troubles too with his rough and heavy drinker dad, with his mother who left him, and still you didn’t feel like he was telling you everything the way you did with him. Maybe he was feeling terrible too sometimes, that’s why you tried to take it differently.

„Hey, if you want we can go somewhere else. We can take a walk …”

„The Drive-In” You said thinking it was an enough private place. Also, maybe you would feel better if you walked a little. „Is it okay?”

„Definitely.” He smiled at you before getting up and leaving one dollar there.

He came to your side and gestured you to go ahead. Outside, you realized that rain has stopped and you stepped slowly on the wet asphalt. You held your hands tight into fists while Jughead was right near you. Turning your head to him, nostalgia hit you heavily.

Since you decided to get closer to him, like, emotionally, he didn’t stop for a second to be by your side. Especially after what you’ve told him. Your problems easly became his problems too, like he hadn’t any. No, you weren’t together and you did not like each other, you both would always try to avoid that. You couldn’t do that. For you at least, it was hard to conceive such feelings towards him. And maybe it was the fact that you couldn’t see something good coming out of it, maybe it was because of what was happening to you and because you couldn’t see yourself happy. Even if you were not going to talk about it, you knew that some things needed to remain the same between you and Jughead. There were some things that you didn’t understand and it was this stuff you had. Your family was not very understanding, hardly at all. You also have a younger brother who is ruining everything. Yes, you can say that without being sorry at all. You would not have wanted to get to it, it was pretty clear to you at first, but the situation got twisted. Your brother is the most important. So important that you became a burden to your parents. The problem isn’t the attention he recieve or the things he benefits by, but the attitude he is influencing. You are older enough now, right? They always said that. Yet, they know nothing.

Your brother has become the highest priority. Everytime he wants something he has to get it, everytime he thinks he is right he has to be assured that he is. He's very spoiled. And you thought it would be fun to have a younger brother. He is the child who doesn’t make the mistakes you make. The really-wanted kid. That's what you started to think a long ago, since you realized the situation would never change. You probably made mistakes, but is this something so bad? The last time you checked, everyone was making mistakes. No one is as „clean” as they seem. Your mom and dad don’t think the same, because they always wanted perfection. You thought they wouldn’t make choices between you and your brother, but you were wrong. Just because he is younger than you, doesn’t mean that he has never made a mistake. He's about to grow up and probably will make even more mistakes than you. You always wanted to have a good relationship with him, to get well with him, to have your own jokes, even to hear him boast at school with his older sister ... He hates you. Because he noticed that you're just trying to help him and he doesn’t want your help. When you were already sick of it, you've got the attitude, and that made the situation even worse. When you are not guilty he tries to convince your parents that you are. They are always so ready to hear any single lie that comes out of his mouth, it’s miserable.

Your parents didn’t see you as they once saw you, they no longer consider you the girl you were. They think you choose the „wrong ways”. The thing is that you’re exactly the same as you always were. You don’t think you’ve changed anything lately, especially since you’ve never been a problem. Okay, maybe you smoke from time to time, but there's nothing serious about it. All the teenagers do it. Plus, you started doing that to get rid of the stress and of that state of mind that made you think you could go crazy at all times. It's just a release. Your mom and dad think it's an act of rebellion and that you do it intentionally. Every new day has become a new obstacle for you. You wake up and try to handle the morning without getting a hard word, your only good luck is school. But when you get home, automatically, everything comes back. Your brother's annoying voice is heard everywhere, he’s doing things, blaming you, you try to ignore but sometimes it is too much. You try to talk, you try to reach an agreement, you try to make things go well, you just want a good relationship with your family. You want understanding and you want to have someone to make you feel good after a hard day. You would want to feel your mother as close again as she was once to you, you wouldn’t want her to call you a „waste” anymore or to make you lose your self-esteem. The weight that is put on your shoulders and in your heart destroys you with every minute that passes. And you didn’t even have the chance to explain them how it feels. How it feels like after an unconditionally love, you are now receiving an out of common cold trace. They’re the only family you have, you can’t go and confess to your friends, it’s not the same and it’s never going to be. You want to feel at home everytime you open that door. But instead, all you feel is that you have stepped into an empty space, filled with people you don’t even know anymore.

„You are not good at all, Y/N.” Jughead suddenly concluded. He was already looking back at you.

”Yeah, you’re right. I’m not.” You said, staring at the steps you were doing. As you said, it wasn’t so cold outside. Still, the air was coming out of your mouths like steam.

„You can tell me.” You heard his voice. „Did … Did they do something to you again?” This time he stopped and stood in front of you, looking at your whole expression. He wanted you to look in his eyes and tell him the truth, but you knew you could only feel helpless now.

He deserved all the thanks in the world. He deserved better than you. He just listened to you, and that made you feel special because no one ever did. Or it was just the fact that you couldn’t tell anyone the things you could tell him. You were very comfortable with Jughead because he was always sincere with you. The first time you two met at Pop’s when you sat down at his table without knowing. You still remember how he came up there with his backpack and told you it was his place, actually. The first question that popped into you head at that time was to ask him why is he owning a table from a public area. You really asked him that out loud. He told you „because he meant it” and showed you the bottom of the table where two initials were scratched: J.J.

„Jughead Jones.” He told you then, and a strange smirk appeard in the corner of his mouth. You told him your name and you mentally reminded yourself not to be so mean with a stranger, at least not that time. That night you learned more about him than you’ve planned. He learned in the same highschool as you and … He was kind of a writer. You didn’t want to believe him at first but then he showed you his laptop, explaining what he’s doing like, everyday on it. You were fascinated then. At the same time, you never thought you'd just come across a person as wasted as you were. It was strange how you didn’t notice him until then. One day he sat at the same table with you at school’s lunch and you talked a lot. You even found out that you were not the only one who never liked Cheryl Blossom too much … Jughead liked no one in general. Then, he whispered to you one sollution at a math test and you thought it is enough for you two to be friends. Everyone considered him a freak, but he didn’t seem to care. That was something you admired because he wasn’t hiding like teenagers usually do and show a fake part of them. Jughead ate fruity candies every break, it didn’t matter if someone had anything to say about it. He seemed sarcastic and quite clever to you for a guy who wore shirts under a wool jacket all the time. You never thought you were wasting your time with him and when you two started to be seen together more often, people thought you were together. And how you laughed when you heard that. Initially, you couldn’t believe that, you definitely did not see him like that. Jughead neither, in your case, you were sure of that. But at some moment, you didn’t hesitate to ask him even if you already knew the answer. You were a little afraid that he might have liked you and you didn’t. He gave you the most incredible look when he heard you.

„I do not like you. You’re smart enough to fiind someone better than me to ask.”

That reply made you laugh and shake your head. He was becoming more and more unexpected. You knew, though, that you liked his personality and that he was a totally new person to you.

First, he found out about what was going on in your family when he tried to come to your house and then go to school together. He heard screams and he saw you getting out of the house with red eyes. He did not want to ask you but he couldn’t resist for long. You just told him that you fought with your parents. As you became more and more revved and moody, he realised it was much more. So he didn’t gave up until he made you tell him. You did, more or less, you did tell him everything he needed to know, without having a choice and without being afraid of his reaction after that. Somehow, you wanted to think he would understand. The conversation turned into a storm of uncontrollable emotions, you didn’t know how you didn’t cry in front of him. Even now, you still didn’t cry in front of him. You told him about your parents and your brother, about how your house is no longer home, and how dreadful you really are. About how do you feel. You remember how he stared at you without talking and without interrupting you. He was so focused. He didn’t try to make you feel better, you just felt good about being able to tell those things to him. You didn’t need his affection. You felt you couldn’t stop, that there was finally someone who was listening to your words and who didn’t say anything about it. Damn it, you didn’t even care if you were doing the right thing, you were getting rid of everything. Finally, you thought he was going to leave. But no, he did not. He stayed there, sighing and telling you he understands you. It was better than the affection. He started telling you about the whole drama in his family even if you didn’t ask. Detailed. You were the one who sighed and tried to get a few good words out of your mouth after that. Then you realized how serious his problems were, now you know it a lot better. You realized that you were not the only one going through hard times and trying to „survive”. He started to be closer to you than he was before, not in that way. He was trying to make you laugh and forget. He told you how much he hated football and how ugly he was without his beanie on. (Even though you had the chance to see a bit of his dark hair once, it was nice.) He told you about the time he was about to be homeless because of his father and how he lived at the Drive-In for a good time. You always tried to make him feel better about it, even if it was not possible. He spoke without emotion in his voice, he became used to it. And you've always wondered how he could do that.

He told you many things. Things out of the ordinary that would have amused you if the subject was not started from something else. You understood how strange and different he was and you felt really good, as if it was all perfect. He did nothing else but to talk to you. And in the end, he told you that you're good enough. He told you he can relate and that your parents are foolish. He told you he doesn’t think you are dreadful, rather volcanic and calm. Yes, just like that. You never realized how much that meant. The fact that Jughead had been a person who could understand without judging. You didn’t understand why he would trust you, but why would you trust him? When it was needed, he’d show you a smile and tell a few words that would make you think about their meaning more than it should’ve been necessary. Yeah, you were right, you didn’t like him. Because you couldn’t. He was better than a boyfriend and you liked it more that way. Or … Was it possible to don’t want him so involved because you didn’t think something good could come out of the whole thing?

„No. No, it’s just … As usual.” You finally answered him wanting to go further. The night was so quiet, it was almost beautiful. You didn’t check your phone when you left home because of your parents, so you didn’t know how late it was. Jughead didn’t talk until you’ve arrived, it seemed like he wanted you to calm down and be able to tell him everything by yourself. The fact that he didn’t force you was so important. You almost felt pity for him, how many times did you understand him this way?

„Do you want popcorn or hot dogs? These things don’t shut down after everyone leaves and luckily, I know how to use them.” The Drive-In was empty now, Jughead was right. You honestly enjoyed being just the two of you here and anyone else. It was much easier for you.

„I don’t want anything, Jughead.” You told him but he didn’t stop.

„Maybe a movie? It makes you feel better if- …”

„I’m serious, you fussy-head.”

„What happened back home, Y/N?” This time he left everything aside. Your vision blurred. He was a few meters away from you, kinda close and yet he looked much taller than you. His shoulders were down and he was looking at you, waiting for a concrete answer. You turned your back to him and walked to a bench near the popcorn makers. The neon light that came from them blinded you and when you sat down, you felt your pants getting wet. Jughead followed you and sat near you.

„So?” He asked softly.

„You already know it’s about my parents.” You said, looking down to your lap. „I don’t know, I felt the need to stay with you tonight. I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”

„You never did that.” Somehow you wanted him to lie to you. You knew you weren’t there everytime he needed you to. He was able to comfort you, but you had the feeling that you never did that the same way for him.

„I’m sorry that I’m a grose friend. I know I am.” He didn’t try to stop you from speaking. You got used to him doing that. He would wait for you to burst and then he would be right there to be your shoulder to cry on. “I’m sorry for filling you with all of those nonsenses about me and my family, I shouldn’t do that. You’ve got your problems too and …” Your voice has died. You bit your tongue. „I’m not that important, okay? I shouldn’t be because all this time I felt like a big, fat nothing thinking that I wasn’t even able to talk to you properly or treat you like you treat me, Jughead. I don’t deserve that. You’ve always tried to be by my side and to … To cheer me up whenever I felt miserable.” You turned your head to him and saw him parting his lips. The look on his face told you that he was ready to contradict you in any second. „What did I do for you, Jughead? And don’t lie to me. I’m useless, maybe that’s why I can’t show you anything.”

„You’re just confused.” You heard him talk. He was calm, always so calm. „I don’t want you to do anything for me. I’m with you right now because I want to. I always wanted. Y/N, you’re not what your parents say you are.” He approached you. „Grown-ups suck. You shouldn’t listen to any of their words as long as you’re more than that.” He was doing it again. Your head was spinning. You’re exactly what your parents say, he’s wrong because he trusts you. You trusted him too and now you feel like you were so wrong for such a long time.

„Why are you so nice to me? You didn’t even have enough time to know me better. All I did was complaining, all this time.”

He breathed very slowly for a few seconds so that the air he had released from his mouth came close to your face. His face shrank and he seemed disturbed, but he closed his eyes. You watched him carefully. He pressed his lips together and opened his eyes again, looking at you with a little smile on his lips.

„It’s because you are the weirdest, most beautiful person that I’ve ever met in my whole entire life.”

Your breathing stopped in your throat. Your eyes widened. You thought your cheeks were wet by something warm. You didn’t cry. You would have tried to move, but you were afraid that you would tremble.

„You sound like a writer.” You muttered, blinking slowly. You were trying to hide your smile.

„Oh, really?” The irony and the smile that was still on his lips made you hug him. Your arms wrapped around his waist while he, for a second, didn’t know what to do. You were already smiling hard in the fabric of the jacket he was wearing. He held your waist with one hand while leaning his cheek on the top of your head. A little shy, you grabbed his hand and squeezed it, intertwining your fingers with his. He didn’t move his hand. You felt different. His words have awakened something inside you, that feeling was amazing.

„Why are you squeezing my hand so hard?” You heard him. You let out a little giggle and brushed your big thumb over his hand.

„I’m the worst. My parents are right, Jughead.” You were probably ruining the mood, but you felt the need to say it.

„Shut up.” He murmured.

After a few good minutes of silence when you figured it out, you said:

„Oh my God, you feel just like a boyfriend.” That wasn’t supposed to sound funny.

„But I’m not your boyfriend, Y/N.” He murmured again and squeezed your hand which was still glued to his.

I am veryy happy that I finally finished this! As I said, I thought the lines from that movie fit this imagine (obviously said by Jughead because he’s so artistic). Hope you liked it, let me now what do you think because an opinion really brings a smile on my face. I’m really glad that you like what I’m writing so far, I mean it. I’m not going to do a part 2 of this because I think it’s better to end like that. Love you all, thank you so much for reading!

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