#sorry i am not usually so vocal but i am enraged | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

deepperplexity · 3 years

Text

All Because You Love Me

Title: All Because You Love Me

Request: Hi love all of your stories, can you make a Snape X Half-Blood Professor reader where they have a love-hate relationship and in the end they end up confessing there love to each other when Severis becomes more nicer to her than all the other professors? Thank You I would very appreciate it. @large-obesession

A/N: This was difficult to write and I don't know if I managed to do the idea in my head justice but I am kind of satisfied with this anyway? O.O I hope you all will enjoy it!

+A/N: FIRST FIC ON THE FIRST DAY OF 2021! Yay! :D

Setting: Hogwarts

Pairing: Snape x Half-Blood!Teacher!Reader

ABBR.:│(y/n) - Your Name│ (y/l/n) - Your Last Name │

Word Count: 7280

Warnings: Angst, Hurt, Harsh Language, Alienation, Kissing, Love/Hate, Fighting

Masterlist page // Masterlist post

Why couldn't he just leave you the fuck alone? Was it really that hard to just mind his own damn business? You fumed as your feet pounded the stone floor on your way to your classroom. Not only had you been forced to deal with a crying student, the havoc-wreaking Peeves and so, consequentially, you also missed breakfast. Oh no, no, you also had to deal with him. Professor Severus Snape. The gloomy, dark, too fucking sexy professor that simply would not leave you the hell alone. He was everywhere, around every corner. Even at night when you slumbered deeply under the covers he infiltrated your mind with harsh words and domineering sneers that made you ache.

You sighed heavily as you pulled open the door to the classroom. All students already present and waiting for you. "Sorry for being late, had a bit of a poltergeist problem," you grumbled as you shut the door with a harsh bang that echoed through the room while you took quick, short steps in a hurry to get to the desk and start the first class of the new week. "Open your books, page 287. Hurry up," you said as your anger still simmered and brewed just below the surface. It was unfortunate for the sixth years that seemed to wonder what was up with you, you were usually so cheerful and happy while teaching. Well, not today apparently, bloody poltergeists and billowing cloaks with galaxy eyes and- no no no, stop that! You hate the man's guts! Stop, stop, stop!

You shook your head, tried to find your usual sense of self while plastering on a smile in the hopes it would etch itself to your lips for the rest of the day. "Now, who would like to ask a question for the day?" You always asked the students to ask one question regarding the lessons material as you always made sure to tell them at the end of the previous lesson what they would be working on next. A Hufflepuff girl reached her hand up and as she asked her question, that you would answer throughout the lesson, the first class was underway. It gave you something to focus on, to tether yourself to and eventually your mind focused on the subject - to the delight of the students - as your regular disposition returned with a true smile etched on your lips.

First and second class had gone by smoothly after the little hiccup in the morning. You were happily dismissing the fourth years for lunch when your stomach grumbled something fiercely. Food, sustenance, gosh, I'm starving, you thought as you ordered your desk for the upcoming lesson before heading towards the Great Hall for the first food of the day for you. You closed the door gently and locked it.

"No running!" you shouted after some Gryffindor boys as you were about to turn a corner. "And no shouting, (y/l/n)," a growling voice snarled just as you rounded the corner. Oh, great, fucking great. You glared at professor Snape as he stood a few steps away from you. "There should be a rule about growling," you muttered under your breath as you walked towards him. Your face was hard and your back straight. "What was that, (y/l/n)?" You tilted your head back a little further, nose in the air. "Nothing, Snape," you snarled as you passed him, "I just think you should mind your own business," you continued in a cutting voice after having passed him.

You could have sworn you heard him grumble something behind you but you paid it no mind. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of entertaining him. Even if your chest ached at his harsh tone. Ignore it, just ignore the hell out of that stupid heart. IGNORE IT! You focused on the pinching pain in your stomach, the growling noises it made and hurried along to reach the Great Hall. Unfortunately, Snape had the same idea as he easily reached you with his long legs and that billowing cloak floating like a thundercloud around him. "No running," you hissed with a slight twinkle in your eyes, "I thought you were better than the students." He scoffed and arched a brow at you as he slowed his pace to walk alongside you while he spoke. "And I thought you were human, not a snail," he countered and then sped up yet again. You gasped at him before your fists clenched and you shook with anger. He got you there. You were, truly, a slow walker. Even when you tried to walk fast you were slow as a snail.

He disappeared around another corner and you tried to walk faster. But it was impossible. You could not take long strides and you could only take so many steps in a short moment. So once you arrived at the Great Hall and entered Snape had already taken his place. You seethed as you saw him sneer out a defiant smile at you. You stalked up to the table and took your place on the opposite side of the table. Food appeared and you gulped it down in a flurry of motions as you truly were starved. All other things disappeared and your stomach rejoiced as it slowly filled up; one bite at a time.

"Hungry, aren't we?" You choked on your juice as Snape's voice rumbled right beside you. "Are you trying to kill me?!" you shouted at him and he had the gall to look taken aback at your harsh tone. You smacked down your glass and rose in such haste the chair nearly toppled over. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?!" you screamed as you stalked towards him while you paid no mind to the staring students or the shocked expression on Minerva's face as you poked Snape's chest with the tips of your fingers.

He staggered backwards, "Seriously Snape! Don't just pop up like that! You could have killed me!" He arched a brow at you while your cheeks turned pink with anger and embarrassment as he looked down on you. The swirling dark of his eyes sucked you in and your heart tugged yet again. Not now! Your thoughts snarled at the roaring and hissing from your heart to be closer. "I did not pop, up," he drawled, "I merely asked if you were hungry." "You popped up! You scared me!" you shouted before you shoved at him again, with your palms that time. His chest felt tight under them and you wanted to leave them there as your heart pounded harder while he glared at you. "(Y/n), control yourself," Minerva said with a chiding voice, you spun your head towards her so fast it felt as if your neck would snap. "He merely asked if you-" "No, no he scared me half to death is what he did. As he always does. Popping up, growling, lurking in corridors and sticking his nose in other people's business!"

After that you pushed Snape aside as the other professors gawked at you, stunned as you were usually a happy, cheerful person that wouldn't even hurt a fly. You stomped out of the Great Hall with quick, short steps as tears began to roll down your cheeks. You were so sick and tired of his behaviour. You had been nothing but nice towards him when you started working at Hogwarts a little over a year ago. He had merely drawled and growled, lurked in corridors and commented on your teaching and lesson plans. Never a kind word for you, yet he was always there - pestering you to no end.

In the dark man's defence, some of it wasn't even his fault. You loved him and you had to do anything you could to push him out of your heart, to banish the thoughts and dreams of him. Why did you love him? No fucking clue. You just did. He was marvellous, handsome, commanding, strong, harsh yet helpful in his own way. Not to mention the voice that thundered from his vocal cords. It made your knees weak every time you heard it. That's why you always straightened your back, hardened your face around him. You were not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing how hard his harsh words and haunting glares were on you. Simply not happening so I should stop this damn crying now, for heaven's sake I mean absolutely jack shit to him. He never even calls me by my name, I'm just (y/l/n) to him, unlike all other staff members.

You stomped your way up some stairs as you were heading towards your classroom. Even though there were nearly 40 minutes left before the next class would begin. You wiped your cheeks to get rid of the tears. A student stopped you, a Slytherin girl from your morning class. A very curious girl who always sat at the front and asked question after question after question. "Professor (y/l/n), are you alright?" "Oh pipe it, Greene!" you snarled and the girl looked frightened as your harsh face twisted towards hers. Despite the tears that flowed down your cheeks you somehow managed to look utterly enraged at the poor student. "I'm-, I'm sorry professor, I didn't-" "I said pipe it, go bother your head of house instead!" You walked past the hunching student as guilt filled you. It wasn't her fault Snape was so evil towards you. You stopped and walked back down the three steps you had walked from the girl.

"Ms Greene, I'm sorry, I'm fine. Just, go eat some lunch," you sighed out as the girl nodded without saying a word. She walked off, seemingly still taken aback by your harsh way with her. You sighed and snivelled ever so slightly. "(Y/n)." Your head jerked up as Dumbledores voice rang through the air. "Headmaster? Yes?" you stuttered as you wiped your eyes one more time. "You are quite harsh with the students," he said as he peered at you from above his spectacles. Your cheeks blushed as you lowered your head. "It has never happened before, it won't happen again headmaster," you stuttered weakly. Just my luck that you see me the one damn time I lose it for a moment. "See to it that it does not, this is their home and we are family." You clenched your jaw as you did your utmost not to let harsh words about Snape slip past your lips by the mentioning of being family.

The week passed as you felt more and more alienated by the other staff members. Your explosion in the Great Hall was no secret, and apparently there was a rumour spreading about your interaction with Ms Greene. Only, it wasn't at all true. It was twisted and far from what had truly happened. You were depicted as a monster who shouted at the poor girl for minutes and there were no mentions of your apology. To top it off someone had seen Dumbledore reprimand you and that had at some point, around Wednesday you would say, been added to the rumour and it turned even more twisted. You had been loved by your students for your cheerful and happy ways, your gentle teaching and approach to your subject but now, most of that was ruined.

Nobody spoke to you as they had done before. Snape seemed to be around you less, he didn't pop up around corners or comment on your slow walking - he didn't even sneer at your lesson plans as you worked on them in the teachers' lounge in the evenings. Not that you had gone to that room in two days now. It was Sunday morning and everything felt like a disaster. How could one day, one moment in time, destroy a person so completely? Had you not done so many good things? Had you not been gentle, kind, happy and supportive from the beginning? Had you not tried to befriend your colleagues and be of assistance to your students at all times? How could all of it be forgotten and replaced by one single moment in time of disaster?

Another three weeks gave you the answer. No matter how hard you tried, a month after the shouting incident in the Great Hall, people still treated you differently. Treated you harshly and coldly. You had tried to explain, had tried to talk to Minerva and the others but it was no good. You were new and the other professors had been there for a long time including Snape that you went off on - they had known each other for a long time and it was no surprise they stood together. You understood that but it still did not make it acceptable. To shun someone in such a manner, without giving the person even a chance to explain. The students were a bit better but it did nothing to alleviate your pain and sorrow about the whole thing. (Even if some of them actually praised you for going off on the sort of hated professor.)

But what hurt the most, what you had thought you wanted initially, was the fact that Snape seemed to avoid you completely. Not a word, not a glance or glare. Not a scoff or harsh remark. Nothing. Just, nothing. It hurt, damn it hurt and you could not quite accept the feelings that snaked around in your veins and hissed from your heart. It made the pain more intense when your heart roared at you each time you caught a glimpse of his cloak around a corner, heard his distinct long stride from close by or the few times you saw him fully at dinner or bypassing him in the library. But you kept quiet, kept away from him as well and did not let him see the pain in your eyes as you got ever more isolated.

You sighed as you glared at a truly shitty essay by a fifth-year student. "What even is this?" you hissed out as you rubbed your temples. Outside soft light shimmered as it was nearing June and the nights were bright. You looked out the window for a moment and for some reason you banged into a wall of harsh void in your mind. The joy you had felt about teaching was gone, the magic of Hogwarts seemed to disappear and you just wanted to leave. Leave it, them, all behind. Him. Leave him behind. Retreat and lick your wounds, find something else to do with your life rather than hide in shame and isolation in a moist castle with infuriating stairs that seemed to move every time you were in a rush. "That's it, I'm done." You abandoned your desk, left your office and headed towards the Headmasters office to resign. To throw in the towel and surrender, give up, admit defeat. It's what they all want so why not give it to them?

You rushed down the infernal stairs, took a few turns and then moved up staircases again on your way to see Dumbledore and give him your notice of resignation. Your eyes stung with tears but you kept them at bay. Never had you felt as horrible as you did currently. It hurt, hurt to be forced in such a horrible way to leave. Yes, it was your choice but you were forced by the actions of others. You simply could not stand it any longer. You were a gentle and sensitive person. You were focusing on what you were going to say to Dumbledore as you took a sharp corner, stomping hurriedly in quick short steps only to be fully stopped as your body smacked into something hard yet soft.

You stumbled backwards and tried to find your balance as a cold hand gripped your wrist and steadied you. "Careful," Snape growled with that thundering voice as you looked up at him. Your face hardened yet softened. Your lips in a thin line as you clenched your jaw but you could not help the thrill that travelled through you at his touch and the sound of his voice. So, you glared at him as coldly as you could possibly manage with your watering eyes. "Sure, as if it matters to you if I'm careful or not," you hissed as you wrung your arm free from his cold grip. His eyebrows raised ever so slightly as he looked at you intently. You stepped around him and continued towards the headmaster's office.

"It matters very much to me," Snape stated with a deep, powerful voice that vibrated through you. You looked over your shoulder. Did your best to quiet your hearts hissing and roaring about love and lust as you looked at him while your face lost its raging edge. "Oh I'm sure, it matters so much to you. How could I not see that? Silly me, thinking all the glares, remarks and harsh words were not at all related to your care for me. Oh, how stupid," you tutted with a snarl at the end before you rolled your eyes, shook your head and kept walking. "Well, what else should I do?" His voice was satin soft and so low you barely heard what he said. But you did. "Don't think about it, just leave me alone Snape." He drew a harsh breath as you said his last name and that was it. You left and he remained, in silence.

You turned a corner and leaned against the closest wall. Your heart raced, your mind was as calm as a raging storm while your hands and knees shook. Tears leaked out of your eyes and dripped from your chin as you sank to the floor. Exhausted and utterly hopelessly sad as the love you held for him raged in your heart without your consent. You knew, all too well, you had tried with him. Tried and tried, but he had never accepted you as anything but professor (y/l/n) who were young and new and obviously had too many faults to be anything but a nuisance to him. You had tried and tried to be gentle, friendly, sweet and helpful towards him as you were met with growls and sneers that cut deeper than you had admitted from the start. And since it hurt, you turned angry, you had started sneering and glaring back at him. Remarked on things he said, commented on his behaviour. He had turned you into something you were not, just by his own darkness and harshness. I need to leave, you thought as you wiped your tears away and took a few steadying breaths before you pushed yourself up from the floor and kept going.

"Are you sure about this?" Dumbledore asked as he inspected you. You nodded. As you knew he could see you had been crying, knew he could see you were uncomfortable and no longer the person he had hired. "I take it I can't persuade you to stay?" "No, headmaster, at the end of this term I will leave. It gives you about three months to find someone new and I find that to be fair for both of us." Dumbledore looked at you intently as he peered over his spectacles. You twisted your hands where they rested in your lap. "I am grateful for the opportunity but I don't feel I belong here," you said as you did not want to tell him about the treatment you endured from the other staff at Hogwarts. Sure, it may have helped but then the rumours would probably just get worse as they added snitch to it. So you kept quiet about it. Not wanting to step on anyone's toes anymore despite Dumbledores words of family ringing through your head from the day everything went to hell.

"Well, I will not force you but it's a shame, I really thought you would fit perfectly here, and I thought for sure you and Severus would-" your head snapped up and your eyes burned with hurt at the mentioning of that name. "I do not want to talk about that man. There is nothing between us, nor do I wish there to be." Dumbledore smiled softly and you did not like the way he looked at you, not one bit. "That was not my meaning, (y/n). You and Severus, I thought that you two would be great colleagues as you are quite similar in ways one probably doesn't notice straight away. You are very different, but also very alike. He's quite, well, a lonely man but-" "For good reasons," you interrupted as you stood up, "I am resigning as this term ends, headmaster." You turned around and as he said 'very well' you left his office.

The next day you arrived for breakfast with bags under your eyes and you felt out of sorts as you had had a restless night. Twisting and turning, wondering where to go, what to do with your life and if you should tell the others about your resignation. You had decided not to do so and hoped Dumbledore didn't either. With a sigh, you sat down and a plate of toast with a cup of pitch-black coffee appeared before you. You grabbed the cup and started sipping. Nobody glanced your way, nor did they speak to you. Doesn't matter any more, a few more weeks and I'll be gone. They can think whatever the hell they want. You smiled to yourself as relief swept in. Soon you would be free of the shunning and alienation - free to do, well, something else and perhaps not be so miserable.

You placed the cup down and glanced to your right to see who else was there but your eyes got stuck in Snape's. In those deep, dark galaxies of endlessness. He was looking at you. Not glaring, just looking with a weirdly pondering expression. You rolled your eyes a bit, mostly at your ignorant heart who still hissed and roared for him, and stuffed the toast into your mouth before you chugged the coffee down, wiped your mouth and left without a word to anyone. If they knew you were resigning they said nothing, if that was good or bad you didn't even want to think about. So you just headed off to start the first lesson of the day. Another Monday, another week and it all would pass, end.

But you only got halfway before you heard the distinct sound of long strides from Snape, he was catching up to you. "Happy today?" he asked hoarsely with that gruff voice of his. You glanced up at him as your back straightened and your chin lifted up ever so slightly. You did your best to not falter in your pace or let him see how he made you weak at the knees just by being near. So, you did what you had done lately. You snarled back at him. "None of your business." He raised his eyebrows ever so slightly but quickly found himself again. "Well, I'd say it is my business, seeing as it is my fault you have not been happy lately," he drawled out and you could have sworn there was some sort of regret hidden in that thunderous voice despite the way he spoke to you.

You glanced at him but he looked straight ahead as he kept up with you. It wasn't really that difficult as you were, by his own words, slow as a snail. "Pfth," you tutted, "as if you care," you huffed out and kept walking. Soon you'd reach your classroom and he would be forced to leave you alone. "I-" "Don't even say anything," you snarled as you stopped dead in your tracks. He faltered and stopped two steps later. As he turned towards you you folded your arms over your chest as to keep the pounding of your heart hidden - it felt as if it was visible through your clothes as hard as it was frantically beating for him. "You are ridiculous, you know that?" you said with a flat voice. "Oh, do elaborate. I do not think that is a word I have been described with before," Snape said and you rolled your eyes. "Just leave me alone Mr Dark and Dangerous."

He arched a brow at you and you gasped as the words had slipped out before you could register what your brain made your mouth say. Had it been a pure-blood you spoke with they would most likely have been clueless as it was an expression used by muggles. But Snape was a half-blood, just like you were and he understood the reference. All too well it seemed by his expression. Your cheeks blushed ever so slightly as you threw your hands up in the air and barreled your way past him before he had time to utter another word. But as you glanced over your shoulder he still stood in the exact same spot. Idiot... If you were calling him an idiot or yourself, you had no clue about.

As the days passed Snape seemed to be nicer, more friendly and talkative. He rarely sneered, glared our spoke harshly to you and in all honesty, it felt strange. Weird and uncharacteristic for him. So as two weeks had passed and you nearly walked into him rounding a corner down in the dungeons after having lead a few stray first years down you just had to ask a question you had been pondering for a few days.

"Do you know? Have Dumbledore told you?" you asked before he had time to ask what you were doing down in the dungeons. "I'm, sorry, I don't quite follow?" You sighed at his words. "Has he told you?" "Told me what, exactly? I speak quite often with the headmaster," he droned on in a gruff drawl. You sighed and rubbed your forehead with the tips of your fingers. "Forget it." You took a step to the left to pass him but he sidestepped as well. "No, tell me, please."

You stiffened as he used that last word. A word that felt so out of place coming from his thin lips. As if some world law were broken as he vocalized that pleading word. It took you a moment to gather yourself. Well, what's the harm, it's only a few days left before I'm gone. Your face softened as he looked at you differently, more gently and not so darkly harsh. "I'm leaving," "Yes, the dungeons are not your place but tell me-" "No you idiot," you sighed, "I'm leaving Hogwarts, when this term ends." Even though you called him an idiot, it was done with a soft voice of slight annoyance and nothing worse than that.

He seemed to stiffen, seemed surprised. You sighed with a shrug of your shoulders. "Hogwarts is not for me, apparently," you said and his face hardened. "You got fired? For-, because-, because of me? For what happened?" His voice was different, it gently simmered with anger and it was not directed at you. But you shook your head. Not wanting to tell the reason you simply flattened your voice as much as you could as you spoke lightly. "I resigned, Hogwarts is just not for me, I'll try something other than teaching." "But you are a brilliant teacher," he said and you felt like a traveller in a different galaxy that was just all wrong. Did he just compliment me? What the- "I know you are, your students excel and thrive in your classroom." "Thank you, but it doesn't matter, not anymore." You gave him a tiny smile and then sidestepped again to leave the dungeons. You were simply too damn tired to argue, debate or throw any harsh comments about. enough was enough. And he didn't say anything else, didn't follow. Strangely enough, your heart hurt more now as he was being friendly. Now that he was civil with you it hurt so badly that it felt as if your chest would cave in on itself.

As the days passed you found yourself bumping into Snape more often, he talked more with you and there was an apparent effort on his side to be civil, even nice to you. But there were two differences that separated you from the other staff members when it came to Snape. One, he only addressed you as (y/l/n) rather than (y/n) as he did with the others. Two, he was more gentle with you then he was with the others. Before, he had been ruthless, harsh, bordering on cruel at times. But now, he was soft in his ways, gentle in his words and even just saying 'good afternoon' or ask 'having a good day' seemed to be food for your starved heart as it grew heavier and heavier with want and love. With a need you could not fill.

But you found yourself reverting to your old self, your true self as time passed by and strangely enough your joy for teaching returned. But there was nothing to do about that now as you had resigned and that was that. Besides, it would be good for you to escape the dark man who had captivated you since you laid eyes on him. Despite everything and all his efforts to harm you, hurt you, keep you away your heart had only hungered more for him and as the castle was empty and all students had gone home for the summer you felt it was time to do something about it. Perhaps at least get it out of your system before leaving forever. One regrets the things one do not do, not the things one has done as life ends. The words of your grandfather rang through your head and it steadied you. Gave you courage.

You had packed all your things, dressed in your regular clothing that fitted you as perfectly as your own skin did. You felt like you, not the professor or the colleague - just you. Well, in a moment I'll be just me. When I leave I will no longer be a professor or colleague. You took a breath and headed off towards the dungeons to hunt down Snape. You would at least tell him of your feelings, and then quite possibly run away before he damned you to hell for feeling romantic things regarding him. You had no idea how he would react. But it didn't matter, it was for your sake you were going to tell him. Clear the air and perhaps shut your heart up.

He was not in his office, or in the common room or his classroom where you knew he brewed potions in his spare time - not that the man actually had any. So you headed off towards his private quarters. You had never been there so it took a moment for you to find the door. His name shined on a little golden sign that was nailed to the door, 'Professor Snape, Private Quarters'. You steeled yourself, tried to find your courage again as your shaky fist knocked on the door. It took a mere moment for the door to be hastily pulled open, "If another stu-" Snape interrupted himself as you stood before him and not whoever he thought you had been.

He stiffened, his face turned slightly paler as you looked at him. You could see his adam's apple bounce up and then down behind his cravat as he obviously swallowed quite hard. "(Y/l/n), what gives me the pleasure?" "May I come in?" you asked and he arched a brow. "Yes, yes, come in." You nodded at him and stepped in on shaky legs as he moved aside. The door closed behind you and it felt strangely wrong to be in his private space. Perhaps you should have just blurted it out while the door was open and you could escape him instantly afterwards. "Can I help you with something?" he asked and you turned towards him, followed him as he stepped around you. Good, the door is clear.

You shook your head at him, "not really, no." "Well, then do enlighten me about the pleasure of your company?" Your eyes lingered in his for a moment as you for once allowed yourself to truly listen to his deep voice that vibrated through the air and your own body. "Well," you started as you looked down towards the floor, "I would like to tell you something," you continued as you braced yourself and looked up. Allowed your eyes to be dragged into his as you slowly floated about in the depths of his onyx eyes. "Go on," he murmured as he clasped his hands behind his back. He seemed to tense ever so slightly and you allowed your heart to drink him up. For just a moment you would be just you in his presence.

Okay, here goes all or nothing. Most likely nothing, you thought as you sucked in a breath of damp air. "I love you." The words were uttered clearly, no hesitation or any attempt at softening them. They were spoken with truth and honesty embedded in every syllable. Snape blinked at you as you merely stood there, looked at him with a nearly stoic face. "I just thought you ought to know." There, you had said it, you had done it. All the roaring, screaming and hissing from your heart died down. It simply pounded quietly in your chest as the truth was out. As if it held its breath for him to tell you he felt the same, but your head knew that was not what was going to happen. So, to spare yourself and him the embarrassment of stuttered words of some sort of apology, you simply turned and walked towards the door.

The handle felt cold in an unpleasant way against your palm as you twisted the nob, pulled the door towards you and stepped out without a single glance over your shoulder towards the speechless man behind you. If you had taken a second to look at him you would have found a man who was breaking and crumbling at your words. But you did not. And the door closed gently behind you. You sighed as your shoulders rose and sunk in unison with the air that filled and then left your lungs. Well, that was terrible. You shook your head as reality hit you. That you did not matter to him. Every time your heart screamed for him his remained encased by walls of stone. Every time you drowned in his eyes he remained tethered to reality. You had already known it was so, but to have exposed your truth and receive nothing in return was worse than angry words of disdain in all honesty.

The empty corridor felt deadly quiet as you began to walk away from the man you had fallen through the pits of hellish love for. You would leave, mend your shattering heart and find something to keep your mind occupied with. You already knew the future would be hard to cope with now that there were no doubts about his feelings towards you. At best disgust, at worse indifference. At least you told him and got an answer, even if your howling heart wanted nothing to do with that answer. "You'll mend," you whispered softly as you placed a hand over your viciously pounding heart. It tugged at you to go back, its claws dug into your soul and tried to wrench it back towards his door, towards him. But your body refused, your mind took control as your heart was obviously out of sorts at that moment.

You jumped as a loud crashing sound was heard. Shattered glass against stone, a crescendo of clinking noises of damage and destruction. A loud bang was heard afterwards and then the sound of books or the like that fell and landed on stone as well. "What in the-" but you had no time to say anything else as Snape's door flew open with a loud bang as it hit the inner wall of his private quarters. You ever so slowly turned towards him as he stepped out in a flurry of black fabric that swayed from his rapid movements.

His head turned and your eyes landed on his face. It was hard, jaw tensed, eyes darkly brimming with fire. You knitted your brow at him as your heart howled desperately in your chest, your mind did its best to hold the reins though. He saw you and his shoulders sank ever so slightly as if he released a breath, but you were not sure as he was a few steps away. A distance he rapidly closed with long rushed strides. "(Y/n)," he breathed out as he reached you and grabbed your wrists as if to hold you in place. His hand was wet against your skin, out of pure instinct you glanced down and saw blood dripping from it. "You're hurt," you stated as you seemed to be in some form of inner turmoil that kept your voice flat and your movements limited. Shock I believe? No? Isn't this shock? I mean, he said my name, my actual name. That's, new.

He glanced down on his hand but ignored the injury and blood as he instantly looked up to you again instead. "Why did you not tell me sooner?" he asked with a growl as his jaw looked tense. "I'm sorry?" "Why did you. Not. Tell me. Sooner?" he repeated with force between his gritted teeth. "Well, that's obvious. You hate me, I understand that. From how you treated me the moment we met I've understood that." His eyes widened as you looked at him flatly, unable to portray any emotion as you were, probably, in a deep shock at your own truth and his reaction to it.

"Elaborate," he growled. You sighed. "Really, do I really need to?" He nodded and you rolled your eyes as you felt your body go more and more numb. Not only had you told him but now you had to explain the whole thing to the man - how selfish could a person be? Could he not just leave you alone to wallow in your pain and sorrow? "Never saying my name, the glaring, the sneering and the constant remarks and harsh words. You could barely stand to look at me a few weeks ago. The moment we met you huffed at me and turned your back before storming away as if I was not even worth a second of your time." The words left you in a rush as your emotions started to catch up. "All the anger, the cruel words you've spoken. As if you did your utmost to push me away-" "I DID!"

You blinked, confused as to why he shouted such words at you. "Okay, now you elaborate. I don't understand what I did to deserve such treatment," you said and your voice turned lower and lower. Ah, there we go, here come the emotions... You felt tears sting your eyes as his grip around your wrists hardened. But that was not what made you cry, no it was the realisation that there was no going back and that the whole thing had been a horrible idea. "You exist, that is enough." You knitted your brows at his gritted words. "Excuse me for having the audacity to be born," you murmured as your throat was clogged by a knot of sadness and crying you tried to keep at bay.

He chuckled, "you're amazing." "What?" "You're amazing," he repeated as your eyes met and he had an actual smile over his lips. You just gaped at him. "You, (y/n), are utterly amazing and brilliant. All packaged in such a beautiful form. I do not think I have been able to have a single moment without you in my thoughts since I first saw you. And, it's wrong." "What's wrong?" He smiled at your confusion. "That I love you, want you. That I am desperate for you," he stated with that thunderous voice of his, "I have been since that moment you were introduced and I ran away the first chance I got." You gawked at him, his hold on your wrists softened as he lowered his eyes. "I have done, everything, to push you away and keep you away. Everything, yet you, you just rose to the challenge. I think I still have burns from some of your remarks," he chuckled out and you wrung your hands free from him. Anger and rage pulsed through you like stinging wasps.

You shoved your hands against his chest so hard he stumbled backwards as he was unprepared. "You mean to tell me I have been going through hell, been turned into this awful person, all because you love me?! Are you fucking kidding me, Severus?!" He gawked at you now. "That's, the first time you've said my name." "Well of course! You never used mine! You seemed to make a damn point of never calling me by my name but you did with everyone else!" "I never felt I had the right to utter such a beautiful word with this mouth that has said the foulest of things." You shuddered at his words, the deep darkness that thundered from his mouth. Then, you shuddered with anger again.

"You fucking bastard," you growled, "you damn-" and words failed you as your heart sprung free from your mind and it took the reins. In the next moment, you crashed your lips against his. He stiffened for a mere second before his arms embraced you and his lips met yours eagerly. "Bastard," you mumbled against his lips in between breaths, "stupid, stupid, stupid, bastard," you breathed out between crashing of lips against lips as he swallowed your words. "I love you," he whispered against your mouth, "forgive me." You leaned back at that as you felt his tears grace your own skin. It was just tears, no crying or any other tell of the overwhelming emotions he felt for you. You reached up and kissed his lips softly, gently. "No more running," you said and he nodded. "No more hiding," you continued and he nodded yet again. "No more anger, just love." He leaned in and kissed your neck as he hummed his acceptance of your terms. "And, use my given name, you bastard," you smiled out and he chuckled against the skin of your neck. "I will, (y/n)." You leaned into his embrace as your idea of him shattered, only to be replaced by a new one - one you loved deeply and was free of the hatred you had thought he had for you.

"I love you," you whispered with a slightly broken voice. "And I love you, I am, truly sorry," he said on a sigh. "What's done is done, all we can do is mend the things that are broken and love each other from here on out." "Perfectly put," he murmured as he straightened and looked at you. Your heart cheered its victory as your mind sulked over past hurts but you were too elated to take any notice of it. You reached up your hand to stroke his cheek before your hand gently snuggled into his hair and you dragged him towards you. Your lips met and a roaring howl of joy erupted from your heart as he passionately kissed you back.

Masterlist page // Masterlist post

So, as I re-read and edited this I noticed I completely miss interpreted the request - but I am hoping this will do anyway :S <3

Tags: @lizlil @snapefiction @morphineisouthoney @setsuna-meiou31 @snapefiction @monstreviolet @bionic-otp @meteoritewolf69 @flowerdementia @elizabeth-baelish

Want to be tagged? 💚 You can tag yourself HERE! Or tell me and I’ll gladly tag you! 😍

[Jan:2021]

#snapedom #pro snape #snape fic #snape x reader #professor snape #snape #severus snape #reader insert #snape love #writing #deepperplexity #deepperplexity fic #love/hate #fic #fanfiction #hp fandom #fic writing

215 notes · View notes

hazem4y · 4 years

Text

✰ 𝖳𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇 ✰ | 𝗜𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗶𝗮𝗻 𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗿

𝗖 𝗛 𝗔 𝗣 𝗧 𝗘 𝗥 𝗢 𝗡 𝗘 - 𝖨𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗋𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗎𝖻𝗅𝖾.

Summary: Delilah, a girl whom grew up around crime , has an unlikely run-through with the infamous Belgian reporter, Tintin. Being assigned to lead him astray from her bosses drug cartel, she ponders everything she's grown around; wondering if she can break free from her filthy past and her unsavoury 'habits.'

Featuring greasy, gelled-up mafia bosses and the small, quaint Italian coast/countryside, this book has everything a stereotypical Mafia book has, with some classic elements from Hérge's 'Tintin!'

Warnings: Mild drug references (Opiates,) Gun reference in like, one sentence.

Taglist: @another-her @cc-bitz @ofmarlinspike @augustinremi @cheesecake-crisis (If you want out or in please let me know !!)

Wattpad link here!!

Please show your support by notes n’ reblogs !! I’m so sorry, I’m vv insecure about my writing and need re-assurance 24/7 :,)))

...

"Increased use of Opiates in Belgium concerns citizens!"

The recent spike of opium usage has concerned locals as the increase of drug usage had been theorised to link to the increase of crime. Authorities say it may be due to an unknown criminal organisation, which has thought to be terrorising citizens and forcing authorities to enforce curfew rules, which in turn has enraged regulars of Belgium night life, and caused major profit cuts to clubs, bars and other places frequented at night.

"These damn curfew rules are costing me euros, and making me lose valuable customers!" Says local bar-owner, Hugo.

Other night-life goers have commented on their evident dislike of the curfew, although many elderly citizens have been thankful for the new rules; as it ensures the 'safety of each and every citizen from this awful drug craze.' Quotes Police-man, Thompson. (Which is not to be confused with his relative, Thomson.)

So far, the said organisation leaders have not been caught, nor identified, and Police investigations have failed to gather a lead on the case. Reporter, Tintin, famous for finding Red Rackham's Treasure and busting Salaad's drug cartel, has made no comment on the current situation, and has yet to reach out for further investigation.

...

"An increase in Opiate usage linked to crime? What an Interesting coincidence, isn't it?" The White, wiry-haired mutt yapped in reply, as the Ginger-haired boy pondered the article; Hand on his chin, his eyebrows knitted together causing his forehead to crease,

The young reporter thought for awhile longer, until he made a connection to prior events, re-animating his frown in a cartoon-esque manner, "Why, It's- just like when we busted...Allan and his goons!"

A cup of bitter-sweet tea on a weekend shopping trip with the familiar chill of Brussels wind was quite a juxtaposition to the rush of travelling countries for the next story. Even though they satisfied the boys wanderlust, Tintin enjoyed the quiet interludes from his adventures. But, once more, it had to be interrupted by some interloper.

"I guess our little break will have to be cut short! So soon too..."

...

"It seems our little 'scheme' has made its way into the papers..." A tall, buff figure sitting at the head of the table declared. The scars on his face were highlighted under the fluorine lights as well as the unsightly manner his face was scrunched in; his expression emitting his enraged state.

"Do you realise what this means?" He paused, abruptly throwing himself off his chair, jabbing a calloused finger into the page, "This means that nosy reporter and his friends will interfere quite soon..."

'Find him, befriend him, kill him-Whatever you need to do! Just bring him to us, dead or alive...Then maybe, we could do something about your past.'

...

Delilah stretched her limbs, letting out a long-winded yawn as her gaze stayed fixed on the ginger-haired figure; his eyes fixed on the Sunday paper in his hands, "Nothin' so far..." She muttered, the tapping of her pencil on her note-pad filled with words acting like a white-noise along with the regular chatter that filled the room.

With no means of entertainment, (Although Delilah enjoyed people-watching, sometimes her patience ran thin.) she skimmed through her pages of notes, which recorded any important information.

"Alright boy, I think it's time we head to the market. Maybe we'll see the Thom(p)sons like last time!"

Welp, that was her cue.

Judging by the hefty crowd walking around the cobbled streets, it was the perfect time to make her escape. She threw on a well-loved hat and coat, and slung a leather messenger bag on her shoulder, before slipping away; her body clad in well-worn items, her beige-hued Trench-coat and a patterned Paperboy hat inconspicuous against the males pushing her against the flow of the crowd.

...

Every so often, every Sunday morning, the town square's grey-coloured cobble is filled up with the colourful hues of the shopkeep's canopy tents; the square being filled with various people, the familiar banter of negotiation, and smells of fresh produce and food. Somewhere in the throng of coats and hats, (that protected the wearers from the frigid weather.) the infamous reporter stood, examining a shopkeep's repertoire of Bric-a-Brac,

"The markets sure are busier than usual!" His voice raised slightly over the blaring chatter. 'Twas like nobody knew of personal space; Each man arm to arm, shunning the impatient who shoved the bodies aside. As boot-clad feet came in contact with the stone, the white canine beside Tintin let out a yelp; as a foot trampled on his stubby tail.

The perpetrators eyes were wide in offence, mouth open ready to sling curses at the sound, "W-why you bone-headed nimrod, watch where you're-"

With all the ruckus happening near-by, the quiff-haired boy turned around, expression melded into one of pleasant surprise, "Captain!"

The boy's voice seemed to catch the individuals attention, prompting them to turn around, "Aye-Tintin?! Pleasant surprise seeing you, lad! 'Specially here-I mean, I never see you doing any sort of leisure!"

"Actually..." He paused. Nothing good would come of a crowd like this, "I-just decided to enjoy such leisure time! By doing some...'Sunday shopping.'" He winked, his hand slipping out of his coat pocket to hand the captain a slightly crinkled and haphazardly torn article.

The captain let out a long 'Oh' as he shoved the paper back into his pocket, picking up their 'casual' conversation, "Well, I hope you find something interesting-There's a lot of ol' treasures 'round these parts y'know."

"I hope I do too! I wonder if we'll run into Thompson and Thomson..." A smug smirk crept on his face as they continued to converse in their 'secret language.' Time seemed to lose track of itself as the duo slung words towards each other-

Actually, is seemed as if the entire market halted action; Silence rolling across the crowd.

A shrill, blood-curdling scream. Hang on, A scream?

The extreme vocal strain seemed to trigger the crowd into a panic, the hushed chatter and shifting eyes of the crowd attempting to stay alert of danger.

The reporter attempted to stand on the tip of his toes to gain leverage over his height, but the crowd smothered any chance for a look of the conflict, "Do you have any clue what's going on? I can't see-"

He squinted as he leaned on the gentlemen next to him, earning some unsavoury looks, "Hang on I-Thundering Typhoons!"

As convenient as it was, the crowd sort of parted a second, it seems as if everyone wanted to watch the conflict; and nobody was going to help?

This time the dispute was clear to Tintin, causing great discomfort and anger to surge through his tiny frame.

The male, his appearance displaying outwardly his feelings of anger, began to dash towards the trouble, his person a blur "Take care of Snowy and watch for my whereabouts," He ceased for a second, chucking a handgun that was previously concealed in his pocket to Captain Haddock's general direction, "And take this-!"

...

Author's Section.

Hello !! Welcome to the First chapter of my story !! This took me awhile to write, as I was working out the best format so that your experience will flow well. I wanted the transitions from chapter and scene to be as smooth as a fountain pen on paper, so I hope you all enjoy.

As the synopsis says, this story will include elements from every stereotypical mafia movie, plus classic elements from Hèrge's ' Tintin.'

I'm not going to spill much but there will also might be a little bit of romantic elements. Nothing that distracts from the wonderful plot, of course, that would make me a terrible writer, but just some wholesome stuff. (We will not be sinning, because I am not defiling my childhood-)

Anyhow, I hope you stay with me and this series !! (And I hope I can finish it too...)

Be warned, quality goes down from here...I feel like I did terrible on the other chapters but that's just me...

I also might change the story name too, I’m taking recommendations as well! I don’t know what to name it...

Much love,

-Hayleigh

#tintin #les adventures de tintin #the adventures of tintin #fanfiction #fanfic #tintin fanfiction #tintin fanfic #tintinxoc #original character #tintinxoriginalcharacter #original story #original plot #series #slow burn #enemies to friends to lovers #👀

10 notes · View notes

alleiradayne · 5 years

Photo

Part I - Lesson Learned

Characters: Jared Padalecki, Me, Clif Kosterman Warnings: None, only fluff and mild angst here Word Count: 3,108 A/N: Assume all parties are single and absolutely no spouse hate!

In another minute, I’d have gone to bed.

In five minutes, I’d have passed out.

And in the morning, I’d have seen the post on Instagram and been pissed at myself all over again. 2016 might have repeated itself had I not learned my lesson the hard way that year.

Instead I sat in the chair at the desk of my hotel room, phone in hand, and flipped through every social media platform I had. I searched tags and pictures and an endless stream of fan accounts until I found that for which I willingly sacrificed sleep.

#spnfamily @jarpad Jared and me @ Sneaky Pete’s!

“Ugh, Sneaky Pete’s?! Really?!”

If you can’t tell, I’m not fond of that bar. Every time I’ve been there, someone starts a fight. Something about alcohol and open stripper poles enraging people.

But Jared was there. Though I desperately needed sleep, I wanted to meet him outside of the con. Just once. Just to get that sort of selfie with him. You know, blurry, half-drunk, overexposed, and hair in my face with his perfection right next to my hot mess. That selfie.

The handle of the hotel door clicked before I realized I’d left my chair, tossed on my N7 hoodie, and shut off the lights.

“What am I doing?”

Silly question. I knew exactly what I was doing. Stalking a celebrity. Yup. Real healthy. I know. An endless tirade of chastising thoughts raced through my mind as I walked down the hallway to the elevator. An eternity passed while I waited, and twice I nearly turned back for my room. But when the bell sounded and a door opened, I darted in and smashed the button for the main floor.

In the lobby, I rushed to a side door and avoided any eye contact. If I had looked at anyone, they would know what I was up to. They would know I was leaving my hotel to go to a bar because a celebrity I wanted to meet was there and that I had stalked him on social media. They would know the second they looked at me, with my red cheeks and wide eyes. Yeah, she’s on a mission. A creepy fanatic’s mission.

The cold November air hit my face with such force, it sucked the breath from my lungs. Again, so lost in thought, I’d lost track of myself. It happens from time to time. I get so caught up in my brain, I forget where I am. Usually it's because I’m planning out another piece of writing, whether it’s my novel or fanfiction. Better not think about that too much or your dumbass will end up telling him about it. If you’re even lucky enough to meet him…

I scoffed loud enough to scare a dog and their human as I passed. Should have taken a Lyft. But nope. I had not plan that far ahead. Too impulsive. And by the time I got to the bar my feet screamed for relief, not because of the long walk, but because I’d been on them all day. Saturday at a Supernatural convention is long. The Saturday Night Special had been entirely worth it though. I’d never look at Rob Benedict the same way ever again.

At the door, I handed the guy taking cover a ten-dollar bill, and I barely heard him over the music as he asked for my wrist to stamp. Not that I paid him much attention either. I had a mission. Unfortunately, Minneapolis complicated finding a 6’4” brown-haired, broad-shouldered guy. Loads of men fit that bill there, what with the plentiful Scandinavian population.

Through the entry, I scanned the crowd as I headed to the bar on my right. To my left, stripper poles stood in a line on their platforms, every single one packed with far too many people. Though I laughed at the idea of Jared on a stripper pole in a packed bar, I knew better. He might be silly, but he sure as hell wasn’t dumb enough to do that in public.

With the bar three people deep, I forced my way to the front, a few well-placed elbows and crushed toes parting the throng. The bartender, a harried woman who tried to put on her best smile, took my order, ran off for a glass and the bottle of scotch, and poured my drink. I avoided eye contact again as two men—boys, really, they looked barely old enough to be in the place—on my right tried to get my attention with terrible pickup lines that involved my drink. Not that I could hear them. Bass deep enough to shake the building thumped terrible party music accompanied by terrible lighting and shitty vocals.

Did I mention I hate Sneaky Pete’s?

I emerged from the crowded bar and headed for the stairs, still scanning for a set of shoulders above the sea of heads. When I saw nothing of note, I took the stairs to the speakeasy basement to find it nearly dead.

Nearly.

A few booths sat occupied, couples and smaller groups that wanted to escape the insanity of the main level, music muted to a dull roar. An older man sat by himself sipping a drink at the end if the bar nearest me. And the bartender—a woman about my age—talked with him. She’d get an extra tip with that sort of attention.

With a sigh, I turned back for the stairs, but something out of the corner of my eye stopped me. I looked over my shoulder, then turned back around as I spotted them. At the far end of the bar sat two people, one with long brown hair, and the other bald.

You know, leading up to that point, I never thought it would happen. From the second I’d left my hotel room, I imagined getting to the bar, getting a drink, sipping it down as I walked through the place once, maybe twice, then leaving.

But there at the bottom of the stairs I stared, dead-eyed, at Jared Padalecki.

At the back of his head.

Close enough.

My feet refused to move, though I desperately wanted them to. There were a great many things I wanted to do. But for the life of me, in that first moment, I balked. And it wouldn't be the last time. I damn near ran back up the stairs and out the front door.

But then Clif nudged Jared and pointed my way. He turned and spotted me, and Christ, I'll never forget that smile or his awkward wave. I'll never understand what about him then had managed to ease my nerves, but he had, and one foot stepped in front of the other until I passed him.

“Hey, Cliffy.”

Jared cackled as Clif leaned from his stool and hugged me. “She clearly knows the rules.”

“Get in good with the body guard, right?” I said as we parted. When I turned to Jared, I managed to keep my shit together as he hugged me in turn. “Nice to meet you. Again.”

Parted, he asked, “Were you here last year? What’s your name?” He motioned to the stool Clif had vacated.

By the end of this, you’re going to hate me. I hesitated yet again before taking a seat. “Jeanna,” I replied as I sat down. “And yes, I was here last year with my sister. We bought the very last J2 op Friday morning.”

“Well, then it was meant to be,” Jared teased. “Is that Jeanna with a G or a J?”

A long pull from my drink eased my nerves. That he even thought to ask that question set my heart racing “A J. We were J4 in that photo op. My sister is Jessica.”

“J4, I love it,” he said with a laugh. “So, how was the Special?”

“Rob kissed me,” I blurted.

Jared rolled his eyes, not missing a beat. “Rob can be a cheeky fucker sometimes,” he said. “How did he manage that?”

“They set up a sort of ‘pit’ area in the big aisles on both sides of the theater,” I said as I air-quoted. “A new friend and I stood the whole show. I got some amazing pictures.”

“You’ll have to show me after you get them cleaned up,” Jared insisted. “Twitter?”

“I’d love to…” I started as I looked around the bar. The conversation had started so well and had continued so easily, buy my confidence slipped. It was too good to be true. I had missed something, a sign or a phrase. Clif would escort me away any second. “I’m sorry, I should probably leave you alone. I don’t want to take up your personal time. You’ll be up to your eyeballs in fans tomorrow, and I’ll see you plenty then anyway—”

Before I slipped from my stool, Jared reached out with an unsteady hand but stopped short of touching me. “You don’t have to. You’re not bothering me. Not like there’s a million people trying to get my attention.”

I eased back onto the stool as I thought. I had imagined meeting Jared in public on occasion. But that simple fantasy usually consisted of a short greeting, getting that selfie, and then being on my way. Never in a million years would I have guessed that I’d have him all to myself for a personal conversation. “Are you sure? I mean, like I said, I’ll see you all day tomorrow. I’m in VIP, I have your solo photo op, I have your meet and greet—”

“You bought all that?” he asked.

“Damn straight I did, I love—”

Yeah, I usually say I love Jared Padalecki. But not to his ridiculously gorgeous face. “I uh… you’re my favorite.”

I’d tell you that Jared blushed when he regarded his beer, sipped from it. But the dimly lit bar masked his face in angular shadows so dark, I’d never know. “It’s okay, Jeanna,” he started. “You’re my favorite, too.”

“Wow. Thanks,” I retorted as I sipped from my drink. “I get it, I made it weird. Don’t rub it in. I’m not exactly… it’s not every day I get meet someone like you.”

Jared laughed through his nose as he spun the bottle of his beer on the bar between his thumb and middle finger. “Not many celebrities in the Twin Cities?”

For a moment, I stared at him, unsure of what to say. When he stared back with his easy smile and perfect hair curled behind his ears, I understood. “You are probably aware of this, but, you’re not just some random celebrity, Jared. You’re… you’re an incredibly important person to me. To a lot of people. Your compassion and empathy for people knows no bounds. You’re so selfless, I don’t know how you do it. I’d be exhausted all the time.”

Jared’s smile fell and I resisted the urge to scream, to take it all back the second the words were out of my mouth. Too late, Jared capitalized on the moment. “I appreciate your honesty,” he commented. His hand moved for my shoulder once more, but as before, he hesitated. “I’m… flattered to have had such a positive impact on people’s lives.”

“Good,” I stated, “you deserve it.”

I could have died a happy woman right then and there as Jared smiled in the wake of my words.

If I told you everything we talked about that evening, you'd have a novel on your hands, and a boring one at that. Sure, we flirted here and there, but I quickly understood that Jared was the type of person who truly meets people. He wants to learn everything he can about them before parting ways, take something profound, new, defining with him when he leaves. I told him about things I never imagined I would have—including my ideal final season for the show, complete with angels, demons, monsters, sex (not with monsters), love, and for once, a real shot at peace. Retirement. On a beach somewhere in Texas with a cooler full of Margie. As much as he liked the idea, he confirmed my suspicions. Sam and Dean’s story does not end on a beach with girlfriends (or angel boyfriends) and a cooler full of Wisconsin's fictional pride.

It was one o’clock before I even thought to check the time. We had talked for two uninterrupted hours. And as much as I wanted to stay, I needed to be back up at seven for my much-anticipated Sunday.

But before I said any sort of goodbye, I grabbed a napkin and my sharpie—always carry a sharpie with you at cons, just in case—and wrote down my number. When I slid it to him, Jared picked it up and squinted at it.

“I didn’t even have to ask,” he joked.

“Oh, gimme a fucking break, dude, you’re swimming in pussy,” I retorted.

With a crooked smile, he shook his head. “Not really. Do you think I do this,” he paused as he gestured between us, “all the time?”

“With that face and your body, I would,” I said. “Not to mention your heart and brilliant brain, too. You make conversation too easy.”

A distinct shade of pink slashed across his nose, distinguishable despite the dark shadows on his face. I waited for another witty retort, but nothing came. He simply stared at me, eyes searching mine with an intensity that rendered me speechless.

I had told Jared things about myself most people in my life did not know. And as I sat there, staring at him, I realized that Jared understood that. When he hesitated to touch me for a third time, I spoke. “Are you… scared?”

“Maybe a little,” he mused. “I can promise you, this isn’t something I normally do. Spending this much time with a fan… never struck me as a good idea.”

“And now that you have?” I asked.

Finally, his hand enveloped mine where it sat on the bar. “I'll say this. You’re a natural at meeting celebrities. You played it cool even though you were nervous. You talked to me like I was just… another person. And that’s incredibly refreshing.”

“You make it sound like most fans are cra—”

He shook his head, vehement in his disagreement. “No. You’re not. Ya’ll are amazing and generous and so full of love. I would never disparage any of you. Most engagements with fans, either at a con or out in the wild, are short or in a… sort of controlled or contained system. It’s kind of sterile. It sounds ridiculous when I put words to it, but there’s little margin for error and that’s intentional.”

“So, you’re saying it’s almost scientifically curated to go well,” I offered.

“Almost is the key word. There’s a reason Cliffy follows us everywhere,” Jared added with a coy smirk. “But more often than not, what we need is someone to take care of a crying fan because, if Jensen and I or any of the other cast had to handle that on our own every time it happened, we’d lose our minds.”

I recalled the first time I had met anyone from the show. “I thought I was going to throw up after I met Misha a couple years ago.”

Jared laughed his dorky cackle as he said, “Misha gets that reaction a lot.”

“He was all hands…”

“Oh, I am so sorry.”

“No, it was wonderful.”

Again, Jared cackled as if I’d said some sort of perverted innuendo. With his hand still on mine, he took it from the bar and held it. “See, that right there, that's... oh, how gross, I don’t want to say you’re ‘different’ and make this fucking weird. But… I don’t know, I’m not explaining myself very well.”

“I won’t let it go to my head,” I started, “But I think I get it. This’ll sound weird, too, and it might creep you out, but I’ve always imagined my personality was very similar to yours. I’ve always imagined that, at the very least, were we to have worked together on a set, we would have become really good friends.”

“You’re not wrong,” Jared started, “And it’s not weird. We could be friends.”

I tried. I wanted nothing more than to walk away from that night remembering the perfection of our conversation up to that point. But when disappointment contorted my smile, Jared saw it, and winced. When I started to talk, he spoke over me. “I didn’t mean it like that. We could be friends, sure. But…”

His voice trailed off as he thought, eyes listing to the bar. “But?” I asked.

“But I’m guessing at this point you were hoping for more than that.”

What constituted as “more”? Best friends? Friends with benefits? Long-distance lovers? “Look, I gave you my number as a hail mary.”

“What?”

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, I couldn’t resist the joke. “It’s a sports term. Like, slam dunk or…”

He grinned as he said, “Ball handler?”

I never thought I’d ever hear my laugh mixed solely with Jared’s. But laugh we did, singing a song I wanted to play it on repeat forever. I had to drop another joke to hear it again, to commit it to memory. With my pithy line readied, I sucked in a breath between laughs and spoke.

Not a single word made it past my lips, for Jared’s landed on mine with such sudden insistence, I froze. His massive hand warmed my cheek, fingers slipping into my hair, and he pressed harder, as if to remind me of what he had done. It worked, but not how either of us had wanted.

I promise, I’ll make up for how ridiculously I behaved here. When I squirmed away from him, I hated myself. I ended the kiss as quickly as it had started, slipped from his arms and off the barstool to race to the stairs. He didn’t follow me. And I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to see the dejection on his face that I knew was there.

I was up the stairs and through the front door in seconds. I wasted no time heading straight back to my hotel, oblivious to the chilly November drizzle. Incessant ridicule ran through my head, berating myself for being rude, for being a bitch, for being just downright mean. And for passing up on spending a night with someone I knew that, without a doubt, would treat me with nothing but respect.

How fitting then that, when my phone rang, I answered it without thinking.

Tags: @atc74 @hannahindie @bevans87 @meganwinchester1999 @plaided-ani-on-hiatus @oneshoeshort @jonogueira @andkatiethings @elfinmox @wonderfulworldofwinchester @princessofthefandomrealm @just-another-busyfangirl

Feedback is more than welcome! If you want to get in on the tag list, send me an ask!

#Jared Padalecki #jared padalecki x me #spn rpf fanfic #alleiradayne writes

28 notes · View notes

prettyfunkyunorganized · 6 years

Text

Sugar Daddy Hanzo part 9

Hey guys, I’m sick as well as moving to a new town, so please forgive how short this chapter is. Just 2,500ish words. Hopefully, I can get the packing done soon and maybe get out another chapter this weekend. Take care, everyone!

BTW, this whole business world AU is based on my bud @watch-your-grammer‘s post here. She’s glorious and so is her work.

The rest of the story: pt one, pt two, pt three, pt four, pt five, pt six, pt seven, part eight

You rubbed your eyes as best you could without ruining your makeup and sighed. It felt as if you hadn’t had a good night’s rest in ages, not since the first time you and Hanzo had broken it off. Now, two months since Genji’s house party, you were still feeling crumpled and confused. Yes, the initial pain had subsided quite a bit, but your desire to be with him again was still raging like an inferno. As was your resentment at how terribly you missed Hanzo.

“Distractions,” you whispered to yourself as you slipped on your shoes, “I just need to be focused on something else. I’ll be fine. He’s just a boy, I’ll get over it.”

Which was worse, trying to force yourself to hate a man, or clinging on to every memory you had together like a desperate fanatic?

“Christ,” you hissed, “I’m starting to sound like Lori.”

As soon as you had tossed on your coat, your phone began to sing, and you smiled. “Hey Lucio,” you chuckled as you answered, “did you change my ringtone when I wasn’t looking?”

“Of course I did,” he laughed, “no college of mine is going to have a generic ringtone! Besides, ain’t you supposed to be repping me? Makes sense that you have one of my hits bumping out your cell every time I call!”

“Good point,” you nodded, checking your hair in the mirror one last time. “You here?”

“Yeah, I’m downstairs. You ready?”

“Be there in a sec,” you said, more cheerily than you had sounded in weeks. When your favorite client had surprised you at work the other day, things had instantly felt one hundred-times better. Lucio was always lively, excited, and willing to do just about anything to help someone have a good time. Which was where you came in. When he went a little over the top or stepped on a few toes with his . . . aggressive approach to philanthropy, you came in to smooth things over and convince media outlets to avoid heated words without knowing the facts.

“Lookin’ swanky, girl,” Lucio said as he waved you into his bright yellow sports car. “Those the frog earrings I sent you?!”

“Well of course,” you giggled, “they’re my favorite, and like you said, I’m here repping you.”

“Nice,” he said giving you a loud high five, “and might I say, you’re rocking that bright green dress.”

You flushed, “It’s not too much, is it?”

“No way! Just look at me,” he snorted, lowering his gold-rimmed sunglasses and gesturing to the shimmering golden equipment strapped to his legs. Even though he wasn’t the DJ at tonight’s event, the man wouldn’t be caught dead unprepared if the opportunity to ‘up the tempo’ arose.

“I suppose it’s not every day I get to go to a disco, so I may as well bring out the glittery go-go boots while I can,” you grinned.

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” Lucio cheered, pulling away from the curb like a wild man and cranking the radio, “Woo, let’s get this party started!”

As the two of you drove, Lucio chattered away almost nonstop, only interrupting his stories about his tour to bop along to the radio. He would automatically harmonize with any vocals, and his perfect tone gave you shivers.

“Is something up,” he eventually asked as he pulled up to the line for the valet parking, “you’re not usually this quiet.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” you lied, eyeing the big Overwatch logo on the massive limo in front of you.

“Hey,” Lucio said, turning down the music, “come on, talk to me. That’s why you’re my favorite person to work with – you’re honest with me, no matter if I do great or if I really screw something up.”

You looked over to him and sighed. Lucio wasn’t just a client, he was a friend, too. The two of you had fumbled through the beginning of your careers together and backed each other up when things went haywire. He had helped you build an amazing resume, and you had helped him become a household name.

“It’s just,” you began awkwardly, “I kinda had a bad break up a while ago, and I’m really hoping he won’t be here tonight.”

“Oof,” he grunted with a grimace, “that’s the worst. You were right when you told me not to date that pop star, ended in a world of hurt and I have to see her everywhere! This guy, would he be here on the famous people end, or on the sponsoring end?”

“Sponsoring, I guess,” you said waving your hand at the Overwatch circle in frustration.

“You were dating someone with Overwatch,” Lucio asked somewhat incredulously. You nodded. “Well, at least you know how to pick ‘em. Was he a bigwig? Most of the time only bigwigs come to these things. And old friends,” he added, elbowing you gently.

“He’s a bigwig,” you groaned, watching as Gabe, Lena, and Mei all shuffled out of the back seat. Maybe you would get lucky and avoid having to share a room with Hanzo tonight, but that seemed way too fucking unlikely.

“See him,” Lucio asked, leaning around to try to get a better look.

“No, but his brother’s here,” you said softly as Genji waved to the cameras flashing at him.

Lucio leaned over the steering wheel and gave you a sad look. “This is really bothering you, isn’t it?”

“It was a big, stupid, ugly mess,” you huffed. “I just want to get over it and move on.”

“Well that can be arranged,” he beamed, “all you gotta do is promise me you’re going to have some fun tonight, no matter if this jerk is in here or not.”

“How you do you know he’s a jerk,” you asked, slumping onto the armrest doubtfully. How could you enjoy yourself if you were going to be assaulted with Hanzo’s handsome face all night?

“The guy’s got to be a jerk, he let you go,” Lucio said with a wink, “and besides, even if he’s not a jerk we can pretend his is for the new couple of hours and rub our good time in his face. Because that’s what friends do – help their pals get dramatic revenge at fancy parties.”

You couldn’t help but smile at Lucio’s devious and cute smirk, “Alright, I’ll do my best to have a great time, no matter what.” Besides, it looked like Hanzo wasn’t going to show anyway.

“Hell yeah! First round’s on me,” he said sitting up in his seat and accidentally bumping the horn. The chorus from his current number one hit blared out and made the Overwatch crew jump. Lucio quickly rolled down his window and hung out the window. “Sorry ‘bout that!”

As soon as the paparazzi saw him, the crowd went wild with cheers and photographs and calls for his attention, which Lucio soaked up graciously. He waved and blew a few kisses before shouting, “Hey, how about these Overwatch folks though, am I right? Gotta love a group of people who’re trying to make the world safer.” With this, he plopped back in the driver’s seat and grinned at you. “Whoops.”

“Very good of you to put the attention back on Overwatch,” you laughed, “being humble is always a good look.”

“Just being honest, I really do have a lot of respect for those guys,” he said. “I suppose it would be rude of me to ask you to introduce me to some of them considering the circumstances, right?”

“Um, rain check,” you asked bashfully.

“Next time,” Lucio agreed.

After a moment or two, it was Lucio’s and your turn to walk up the party, only there was much more shrieking and, ‘we love you’ shouts than Overwatch had received. So many fans fawning over your friend, all you could do was shake your head. However, when he looped his arm in yours to lead you to the door, you went bright red, and the crowd gasped.

“Uh, Lucio,” you said tentatively.

“Let them jump to conclusions,” he scoffed, “it makes for good news, and if your ex comes around I want him to know that he’s going to have to deal with me if he wants to bug you.”

A snort burst from you as you looked at Lucio’s incredibly un-scary ‘tough-guy’ face. “He’s going to be petrified,” you laughed.

“Hey,” he said, feigning being hurt, “are you saying I’m not formidable? ‘Cause you know I am.”

“You’re the best, Lucio, that’s what you are,” you snickered as you pulled him to the door.

The lobby was decked out in neon lights and fluorescent colors, making you blink involuntarily. “Damn,” you gaped, looking at the tie-dye carpet that led to the massive glass elevator, “they really went all out.”

Suddenly Lucio gasped and gripped your arm and shook you. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! It’s D. Va!”

“The pilot and gamer girl? Wonder what she is – Holy shit! She brought her mech?! That’s – ” you reeled.

“That’s the coolest fucking thing ever,” Lucio squealed like an excited little kid. “You think she’d let me say hi? Or is that weird and needy? Or too super fan-y?”

“Didn’t she tweet out a few months ago that she was super bummed she wouldn’t be able to see your show in Seoul and – ”

“And gave that ticket to one of her fans! That’s right! She’s badass and a good person,” Lucio said with a wide smile.

“Not to mention a fan of yours,” you said. “Go see her! I’m sure she’d love to hang out with a fellow ‘badass and good person’ like yourself.”

Before you knew what was happening Lucio had swept you up in a massive hug. “Thanks, girl! You cool on your own for a few?”

“I’ll be fine,” you said shoving him away playfully, “now go, goofball.”

He scuttled off and disappeared into the growing hub of party-goers waiting for the elevator. You headed to the catering table nearby to wait, absently looking at the twelve disco balls twirling above you.

“Pretty, isn’t it,” snapped a familiar voice from behind you. You frowned and twisted around.

“Lori? What the – what are you doing here,” you asked worriedly. Since the whole incident with Hanzo, you hadn’t seen much of her, especially after she got fired for pitching fits at work all the time and trying to sabotage your work. Judging by her enraged scowl, she hadn’t gotten over it.

“Watching the mother-fucking finger food,” she snarled, gesturing to her little apron.

“Oh,” you said, taking a step back, “I, um – ”

“You ruined my life,” she seethed, grabbing your arm and pulling you toward her.

“Lorelai,” you sighed, “I’m sorry about the way things went down, I really am, but come on, can’t we just put it behind us?”

“What,” she said with an unsettling laugh, “you want to be friends again? No way in hell.”

“That’s not what I want,” you frowned, “but I don’t think charging me at a party is necessary either. That, and you weren’t exactly ‘friend of the year’ anyway.”

“You stole my boyfriend! You’re the shitty friend,” she barked, dragging you toward a corner. The music was so loud her outburst hadn’t turned any heads, but the sudden confrontation had a few people looking on curiously. Lori had always been very good at causing a scene.

“Look,” you sighed, “will it make you feel better if I tell you we’re no longer together?”

“What,” she asked, her voice no longer filled with malice.

“Yeah, I broke it off,” you shrugged, “had to.”

Lori’s head dipped back as she laughed mockingly. “Bullshit! He probably dumped you, saw what a damned mistake he made with your ugly ass.”

“Believe what you want,” you said trying to yank your arm away from hers, “but it’s over, for he and I, for you and I, now leave me alone.”

“No,” she growled, shoving you toward the wall and reaching for her apron’s pocket, “we’re not done yet, you homewrecker.”

“Woah now,” a very tall woman said as she approached the two of you, “is it not a little early in the party for fights to be starting up? I have not even had a drink yet.”

The stranger tried to put a hand on Lori’s shoulder, but your former friend was quicker, pulling out a small handgun and pointing it at you. Before anyone had time to say anything, Lori fired a shot at you.

You watched in horror as the big woman snatched Lori’s wrist and twisted it behind her before pinning her to the ground. The woman was a beast, holding tiny Lori with one hand and shoving the gun in her waistband with the other as if it were nothing before looking up to you. “Are you al– pizda rulyu.”

Everything felt tight and wrong as you tried to take a breath. But nothing happened, at least not as it was supposed to. Everything hurt as you looked down and saw the blood pouring from your chest. But it couldn’t be yours, could it? Everything swayed to the side as you touched your breast and the blinding pain hit you. But the choking feeling in your throat was somehow even more oppressive.

Somewhere you could see flurries of movement and frenzied noises, but your mind couldn’t process anything but your inability to take a proper breath. You were so scared. And confused. What had happened? What was happening? What was going to happen to you? Were you – were you dying? You looked up at the faces trying to help you, but they only frightened you more.

None of them were familiar.

Where was Lucio?

Where was Mags? And the rest of the girls?

Where was your mom? Your dad?

Where was your grandmother? Your grandfather?

Where was Hanzo?

You wanted Hanzo.

You didn’t want to die without him.

Instead of words, you hacked out blood as you tried to ask for him, which made you panic triple, but your body wasn’t your own right now. It flopped about and trembled and leaked and sputtered without your control. Everything was so blurry and painful. You grabbed out for someone – anyone who could help you find someone you loved, but no one understood. They laid you down and tried to stop the bleeding and said things you were sure were kind, but nothing helped.

Everything hurt, and you wanted Hanzo.

That’s all you wanted.

To tell him he was an asshole for ever ruining what you had together.

To tell him he was the best sex you’d ever had.

To tell him he was a persnickety dick.

To tell him he was the most important person in your life.

To tell him he was an uptight grouch who was about to turn everyone away.

To tell him he was an incredible man for trying so hard to better himself.

To tell him he was a pain in the ass.

To tell him he was the only man you’d ever loved.

But you wouldn’t get the chance.

He wasn’t here.

And you couldn’t force yourself to stay awake any longer.

@collinssie @watch-your-grammer @zarcake-writes @yesthisisbae @eebbapanda1@deercapitate @missbumblina @skyrina @justjaaaay@thewetbones @skyelentnight @ilovebva @punk-dork @cbrokeherboobs@sobanoodledragon @sydniesamm @honeyburger @knightofsexyness @queenoflabyrinths @speakingishard @iknowimcutethanks @ninevast @ivymarquis @sydniesamm @barbie-the-centrist @tumblertrash @angle0fthegourd @shaybae1997 @lillypet95 @rusty-potato @tt-nikithakppr

** please let me know if you would like to be tagged or removed from the tags in future updates and sorry if I missed anyone, I feel like tumblr is deleting my shit**

#overwatch #hanzo #hanzo x reader #sugar daddy hanzo #reader insert #mine #my drabble #overwatch drabble

81 notes · View notes

unfortunatelysirius · 6 years

Text

You Know Nothing, Sirius Black [Sirius Black – Marauders]

💟☼💟 PROMPT 💟☼💟 ☾ ¡Request! ☾ Gryffindor! Y/N L/N has anxiety, and she fears resentment by approaching someone with her inner demons. But Sirius Black is damn well persistent, and he refuses to leave her alone, especially after he begins to notice her struggle. 💟☼💟 A/N 💟☼💟 Okay, so this prompt hits home. I know it might for quite a few of you. Anxiety is a terrible feeling, and I envy those who feel nothing. I’ve actually been diagnosed with several different forms of anxiety, so hopefully, I sound educated in my description of anxiety or I’ll be ashamed of myself. Also, I feel like this is really horrible and awfully rushed, but I tried. I’m still sorry about how this turned out, though. Have a beautiful day (or night), my loves! 💟☼💟 WORD COUNT 💟☼💟 2542 💟☼💟 TAG LIST 💟☼💟 @kapolisradomthoughts @rageofcaliban @saucyleftovers @bunnymother93 @siriuslyr5 @apareciumimagines @random-quartz @ruefulposts

IT WAS HAPPENING AGAIN. The panic was setting in—the kind of scary-feeling fear that gripped your throat and emptied your cords of vocal obligation and tensed the muscles in your scapulars and cheekbones. The stress that would blur vision, deepen the bottoms of human eyelids, and raise blood pressure. It was something Y/N L/N knew well—something she knew very well. The white stars would enter her vision as she stumbled into a fight-or-flight state, limbs immobile and mind delirious with sick fantasies of disintegrating from the picture, once perfect and now ugly as a blackened daisy. There was nothing was fear in the air, sweat on her skin, icy blood in her veins. Nothing but death. Nothing but bad—bad, bad, bad.

It could happen anytime, anywhere. This time, it was in the dungeons. This time, it was in the face of demons who wore the skin of humanoid snakes. This time, it was with a wand directed at her frightened features and a threat on the tip of her axon terminal. Mulciber and Malfoy were there, and so was Regulus Black—and maybe Snape, or Goyle, or another Slytherin accomplice accompanied them, obscured by the shadows or made vague by the tears in her vision—but it was Mulciber and Malfoy who were the main perpetrators. It was them whose taunting remarks were muffled by the metaphorical cotton in Y/N’s ears, entering her ears and ruffling her to her core but petrifying her feet to the dungeon floor, her back to the dungeon wall. She could taste the electricity in the air, or maybe it was all fabricated, all a delusion conformed by her stricken brain while in the face of danger. Fight or flight, that’s what they called this—right? Right? Shake the fear away, or let it consume; which would she do? Which would her body allow? The neurons? The synapses? Which hormone would the pituitary gland secrete—the one that caused her to run, the one that caused her to fight, or the one that caused her to panic?

Y/N couldn’t say a thing; she’d already lost that ability the moment she felt Mulciber and Malfoy suddenly flanking her body. She’d been pushed into the wall by rough, cold hands; she’d been taunted by words that went unheard, tormented by the sneering she saw when teeth and mobile skin suddenly rushed into her peripheral. And surely, she would soon lose motor function; already the tremors were calming into stricken, tension-filled nerves, exhaustion rushing through her icy veins like goddamned heroine, filling her with such a sudden fatigue that she nearly lost balance—but Mulciber was not yet finished. Hell, he hadn’t even begun.

The cotton faded, allowing her ears to hear only the slightest of words from Mulciber’s mouthy lips: “Listen to me when I’m speaking to you, you filthy half-blood!” His expression was drawn into an ugly scowl—uglier and scarier than anything Y/N had ever seen. “Are you fucking brain-dead? Huh? Huh?”

Y/N blinked, just barely containing her tears. She wouldn’t give the arsehole the satisfaction of seeing her cry. And she remained silent, just staring at him through her watery eyelashes, heartbeat fast and uneven and shivers embedding deep within her skin and veins. She was deathly afraid; that much was obvious, and she could tell that it certainly fucking was for the men taunting and tormenting her. Why else were they continuing to hurt her? They preyed on the weak, not the physically-able.

Mulciber held up his wand, and it seemed almost certain that he was going to hex Y/N into oblivion—as if she wasn’t already there, as if she wasn’t already sick with delusion—but a strong voice suddenly yelled, “Expelliarmus!” Mulciber, the damned fool, looked around and about in bemusement, wand no longer in his grasp; rather, it was on the ground yards away, by the pudgy feet of Goyle and substantially-smaller feet of Lucius Malfoy. Malfoy looked just as enraged, and he proceeded to glare down the corridor where Y/N’s savior was while Mulciber came to stand beside his blond-haired companion, his bastard-of-an-accomplice.

Through bleary vision, Y/N saw a dreadful vision: four Slytherins huddling together to her left and a single bloke from further down the corridor. She noticed instantaneously three different telltale signs as to who her savior was: tall, muscular stature, medium-length hair, and suave posture. A guttural gasp barely clogged in the back of her throat as her mind whispered, Sirius.

A few things rapidly rang in her dazing head. Sirius was a friend. Sirius could get hurt. Sirius was angry. Sirius didn’t know the extent of her anxiety.

“Bugger the hell off or you’ll be paying in blood, Mulciber,” Sirius said threateningly, pointing his wand at the bloke in question.

“Blood-traitor,” hissed Mulciber through closed lips. “You don’t scare us.”

“You know what should, though? Expulsion,” Sirius said, cocking an eyebrow as if daring the Slytherin to challenge him. “Already have a fair bit of warnings from our dear old headmaster; why shouldn’t another do you in?” He grinned a dark and humorless smile that was almost wolfish. “Leave her alone, or I will hurt you.”

Mulciber’s nostrils flared, hot breaths fluttering through the threshold of his respiratory system—his nose, his mouth. He looked enraged and almost ready to say something violent, but Malfoy’s hand firmly grasping his shoulder caused him to falter. They shared a look of utter annoyance before turning away, an impassive Regulus and grumbling Goyle following submissively as Mulciber retrieved his fallen wand and Malfoy led their group far, far away—to the common-room of Sorting-Hat-preference, most probably.

A hardened look had entered Sirius’s eyes as he watched the Slytherins make their departure, but it became soft and concerned as he turned his black-eyed gaze to Y/N’s unsteady frame. “Y/N…” he said slowly, approaching her tentatively—and he had every right to, considering the look of panic and terror that was sluggishly diminishing from her eyes. “Are you okay?” It was a simple, stupid question—only that caused Y/N to physically flinch. “Wait—don’t answer that. You’re obviously not okay.”

Y/N’s vision was still distorted from tears, and throat was still congested with snot and knots of tension, but she managed to choke out, “I’m fine.” She was fine—fine, fine, fine. How could she not be? The villains were gone, and she was left in peace. Left with Sirius—a friend, someone she was comfortable with. She was okay now. The tears would fade—and as would this terrible paranoia, this terrible ache—and she would no longer be overwhelmed by hospitalized stars and fast-paced hearts. She was fine. Perfectly peachy. One-hundred percent okay.

Sirius looked torn between scoffing and pretending he believed her, and it seemed that he slowly chose to do neither. “Y/N, you know you can talk to me, right?” was all he said. The words came with a cautious look, as though he were afraid she’d take his words the wrong way. He didn’t want her to feel like a psychiatric patient, though that wasn’t necessarily the term he was using in his mind; really, he just didn’t want her to feel like she needed help. He didn’t want her to feel abnormal. He could hardly even understand the situation at hand, truth be told. If he were backed into a corner by Mulciber and his goons, he would hardly feel scared. Sirius was a tough guy; if anything, he would still maintain his usual arrogant nature and poise. But Y/N seemed insecure now, so he couldn’t help but wonder—was she seeing herself as abnormal. Was she feeling insecure? And it almost instantaneously made him regret his words.

“I’m okay,” Y/N said, and she had blinked away her tears, rubbing away the excess so that it left a redness that would last an hour at the least. “I don’t…” She swallowed, feeling that same tension from minutes before. It made her heart accelerate and her palms dampen with nervous moisture. “I’m fine.”

“Y/N, ‘fine’ isn’t exactly the word I’d use,” Sirius said, skepticism clear as day on his tongue. “You were scared—that much was obvious. And you were panicked. But fine? You definitely weren’t fine.”

“Just leave it alone, Sirius!” Y/N snapped, losing her nerve. “I am fine.”

There was that word again—fine. Same meaning as okay. Meaning alright, but not amazing. Nothing like ecstatic, or excitable, or happy. So why did she seem to believe the word meant anything to Sirius? It was all faux to him—like using a deer pelt to make socks when socks were meant to be soft and wooly, not rough and ragged. It was nothing but an attempt at a diversion from the truth. Nothing but a damned lie. “You’re not fine, Y/N!” Sirius said. “Stop lying to me! You mean a lot to me, and seeing you like that—it hurts, okay? A whole fucking lot. So why can’t you just let me in?”

“You don’t know anything, Sirius Black,” Y/N yelled at him, and it was hard to tell whether it was anger or anxiety making her resolve crack so easily. “You just—leave me alone! I don’t need your help.”

“That’s a damn lie, Y/N,” Sirius argued, but questions crackled in his head: What if she meant it? What if she doesn’t want your help? What if you’re causing her even more trouble? He tried to keep his worries hidden, but the quirk in his lips had already fallen; he was obviously hurt, and he was obviously faltering under her withering gaze and words. “Those boys could have killed you. It’s—It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know? Being afraid. I get like that, too, sometimes—”

Y/N shook her head, nonverbally denying his words. It isn’t fear—why doesn’t he understand that? But Y/N suddenly realized something: Sirius didn’t know that she had anxiety. Neither did Lily, or Remus, or James, or Peter. Marlene, Alice, and Mary were completely, blissfully unaware, too. She’d spent years in a constant battle with her nerves and mind, and never had she mentioned its extent to her friends—to her family. Instead, she had continued to lie and deceive, knowing that she’d soon be caught in her lies. Her friends weren’t stupid; they’d soon notice how her composure rattled when called on during class, the way her hands shook when the attention was all on her in the Great Hall, how she’d be on the verge of tears after one of James’s silly, minuscular pranks. She wasn’t exactly subtle about her struggle, but she had never approached someone with her fears or her problems. She was afraid of reproach and resentment; she’d been rejected because of her problems before, so what stopped her friends now? What would stop them from breaking off ties to avoid problematic Y/N L/N, basket case needing to be sent to a damned psychiatric ward?

And there was another realization—Y/N needed to stop comparing her friends to her old friends. Those friends were Muggles, judgmental and critical and hateful. Her Hogwarts friends were understanding, caring, kind-hearted. They wouldn’t see her as a burden, nor as someone needing of resentment. So, there wasn’t any use in her being fearful of coming to them with her struggles. She had spent all these years closing herself in when what she really needed to do was let herself out.

She decided to take a chance. “Sirius…” She let out a breath, heart pounding at the complex dynamic occurring in her head. “You would never—judge me, right?”

An indignant noise rumbled from Sirius’s throat. “Why would you even ask something like that?” he cried. “Unless you’re seeing a Slytherin, I would never judge you.”

A swarm of butterflies ignited in Y/N’s stomach at how fierce his reply came. She bit her lip, hiding a smile, before the urge dropped as suddenly as it came. “I just… I have problems, Sirius,” she said quietly, not liking the look of bemusement that appeared on his face. “I don’t feel like other people… I get really emotional when I shouldn’t, like you seen with Mulciber. I—I freak out. I don’t know why, but my heart starts hurting my chest, my head feels like it’s about to explode, and my vision gets blurry. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. I cry because the feeling gets to be too much. It’s not fear doing it to me, either. I know it isn’t.” Y/N took a deep breath. “I… I have anxiety, Sirius.”

Sirius’s face completely dropped, and he stared at her with a range of emotions flittering across his beautiful, sharp features—first fear, then anger, then sympathy, then sadness. It stayed on sadness for a very long time. His lips parted, and he seemed ready to say something, but the words died out. He blinked. “Y/N.” Her name was choked out of his mouth. “Why didn’t… why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I was afraid you’d reject me,” Y/N blurted. She regretted the words the moment she saw Sirius’s face go from betrayed and sad to shocked, bemused, bewildered. “Shite, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“No, Y/N…” Sirius shook his head, and he stepped closer to her. He looked determined, for some unknown reason. “Why didn’t you tell Lily and them?”

“I was afraid of resentment,” said Y/N, looking up at Sirius as he stepped even closer.

“But not rejection?” Sirius asked, as if he were hinting at something. He reached up a calloused hand and gently cupped Y/N’s left cheek. His eyes were dark and caring. “I do not understand why you feared rejection from me, Y/N… the only thing I want is for you to be happy.”

“I was scared,” Y/N admitted, moving her gaze to the ground.

Sirius sighed, gazing down at her with a look of sadness on his face. To him, she was someone that he wished to cherish and hold onto. Not someone to protect, or someone to help—but if that was something she wanted, he would gladly do it. He wanted her aware that he was always here, never to judge but to listen and hold her hand. But he did not have the strength or the courage to muster up the words. “You don’t have to be afraid when it comes to me, Y/N. I’d rather die than ever judge you.”

“I see that now,” Y/N whispered. It was scary to her, almost—how she felt only a slight sense of anxiety around him. It was there, but not as avid and easily-triggered. He was an anchor for her to hold onto, conforming the anxiety into a very little ball of tension that was hardly mobile, and merely there to belong. It made Y/N realize just how much she needed Sirius, how he made her feel happier and safer than any pill could. “Sirius…” Y/N looked upward and met Sirius’s gaze. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“There’s no need to apologize, love.” Sirius pulled her into him, and the sudden warmth surrounding her didn’t trigger fear, worry, or obsession. Instead, she felt like she was home.

And maybe she was.

#sirius black x reader #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fluff #sirius black headcanon #sirius black imagine #harry potter blog #harry potter x reader #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter canon #harry potter #marauders #marauders era #marauders map #anxiety #slytherin #gryffindor #x reader #imagine

328 notes · View notes

hetaliaarttrades · 6 years

Text

Round Robin #1 - Hungary has a bad day

The first round robin exercise we did as a group!

Written by @dragonsaphirareads @truephandomtrash @neetstudioart @bananapajama87

Prompt - “My uterus is shedding and I will not hesitate to stab you”

Elizabeta was about to hit her limits. Her friends’ voices were grating on every nerve she had, her body was screaming in protest with every movement, and worst of all she’d just remembered that she’d just run out of chocolate in the house.

When Alfred started laughing wildly at a joke at Carlos’s expense, she snapped. Eliza spun on her heel and pointed sharply in Alfred’s face, not even an inch from his nose. “If you don’t can that stupid laugh of yours right now, I am going to personally rip out your vocal chords.”

Alfred was, understandably, very concerned by her sudden outburst and even more so the look of absolute murder in her eyes. He took a step back, hands in surrender and laughing nervously.

“Ha, um, ok, Eliza... What’s the matter with you?”

Her voice lowered and she curled her lip. “My uterus is shedding and I will not hesitate to stab you if you get any more on my nerves than you already are.”

Carlos and Feliciano glanced at each other. The former wasn’t exactly unhappy that Alfred was called out, but it was a little scary to see Eliza in such a state of rage.

The italian boy stepped forward and put a cautious hand on her shoulder.

“Is there anything we can do to help, Eliza?”

She took a breath, breathing out slowly. Her abdomen was actually killing her, and walking home was just making it feel worse. All she wanted to do was lay down with her hot pad, put on Netflix and eat some chocolate until she felt better.

“I’m sorry, guys, I’m just really irritable right now. Cramps suck ass.”

The guys shrugged at each other. Of course they wouldn’t understand, but Feli smiled in sympathy.

“I know, mi sorella complains about them all the time. Do you want to stop by my house first? We might have some medicine for you.”

Feliciano’s house was much closer than hers, and the prospect of painkillers was enough. She nodded, and the other guys followed along as they took a detour through a neighbor’s yard to get there faster.

“So, how much does it really hurt?” Alfred asked, clearly a glutton for punishment. Eliza smiled dangerously, turning her head to look him in the eyes.

“Well, imagine that someone stabbed you right in the gut. With a butter knife. Then, they reached in and took your guts and started squeezing.” To make her point stronger, she took Alfred’s arm and squeezed it as tight as she could with both hands. He winced and tried to pull away. “But that’s not it. They also decided that they should spread that pain to your legs, and your back, and your chest. And give you a headache, no matter how many painkillers you take.”

Alfred winced again. “Ouch.”

She nodded. “Yeah. Ouch. So you’ll excuse me if I decide that all I want to do is stab a hoe and hope they suffer the same pain as me,” she said staring directly at Alfred who couldn’t help but fear for his life. Was all girls this crazy when their periods started? It was that moment he decided he was blessed that he was born a guy instead of a girl dealing with periods.

Luckily for Alfred (and possibly the rest of the guys as well), they had arrived at Feliciano’s house which he quickly let in Elizabeta. She brushed past everyone and headed to the bathroom. He stared after her form before turning at the other two.

“So… who wants to be the one to tell her that the painkillers are actually in the kitchen- and I’m not doing it,” Feliciano quickly added at the end. He knows how girls can get on their periods and last time he told his sister that they were out of painkillers, he ended up with half his hair gone and a black eye. It wasn’t a fun day that day and he would rather not have a repeat that day.

Carlos and Alfred both looked at each other before quickly shouting, “Not it!” The two exchanged glares as electricity flew between them. Neither wanted to die today.

“Hey you said you are a hero? You supposed to be brave and I insist go showing off your bravery today,” Carlos gritted out at him.

“Its to save people and not to get myself killed. Why don’t you go? You always insist that you are stronger and better than me,” Alfred shoot back.

Tension only grew between the two and Feliciano instinctively retreated backwards away from them. No way was he going to risk his neck to stop them. Fortunately (or unfortunately), it was interrupted by a loud frustrated scream followed by loud stomping. Alfred and Carlos froze hearing the footsteps growing closer and closer and turn to look where Feliciano was only to find that he had disappeared. Of course the Italian retreated to safety leaving the two to handle an angry and frustrated girl on their period who may or may not stab them because she couldn’t find the painkillers.

“Hehe… I just remember I got something to do,” Alfred nervously said and tried to leave only for Carlos to grab him by the collar of his shirt pulling him back in and shoved him towards the sound.

“I actually have to get going. I insist you go,” Carlos said backing towards the door. Alfred glared at him and soon the two were fighting to get out of the door neither of them wanting to die.

However, they froze when a bloodlust curled up their spines greeting them with a bone chilling numbness. They slowly turned to see Elizabeta somehow found a spoon and was holding it threateningly to them. “I will only ask once and once only… where is THE MEDICINE CABINET?!?!” Elizaveta shrieked, winding up to hit Alfred across the face with her spoon.

“Yo I don’t know! It’s Feliciano’s house, why are you asking me?!” he yelled, flinching under the woman’s hard gaze. She whirled around wildly, trying to find her new target.

“Oh Feli! Where are you? You can’t promise me painkillers and then just disappear honey!” Her voice was suddenly very sweet and dripping with threat. She began to prowl around the room like a tigress on the hunt. Suddenly she ripped a tablecloth off a coffee table with a yell, revealing Feliciano, curled into a little ball underneath.

“AHH! Don’t hurt me please! I’m much too young and delicate to be hit with a spoon!” he squeaked, his eyes filled with tears as he fell into his practiced wails for mercy. Carlos and America looked at each other in fright, they had never seen Elizaveta this angry, and certainly not towards Feliciano. Those two usually got along pretty well. But right now, they were realizing why their other friends were so scared of her. In her hands, that spoon looked like a broadsword.

“There’s absolutely no reason why I should hurt you, if you give me what I came here for.”“It’s in the kitchen! PLEASE! Let me go!” Elizaveta had already dragged Feliciano out from underneath the table by his shirt collar and was dangling him a foot and a half off the ground with one arm, her other arm wielding the spoon.

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?! Do you know how terrible walking up stairs when it feels like your lower spine is being ripped out?” she whispered harshly.

“Don’t be mad, please, I didn’t mean to!”

“Oh I’m not mad, just a little annoyed you made me waste my time. I really don’t like wasted time where this agony is concerned.” She then threw Feli down onto a nearby couch and beconned Carlos and Alfred over to her.

“Come with me, we’re going on a little treasure hunt.” The two men were too afraid to do anything but follow when she threw open the door to the kitchen and stomped in.

“Yo, dude, I wouldn’t want to come across her in a dark alley.”

“Si, I don’t think anything could stop her now that she’s on the warpath like this.”

“Yeah no wonder Gilbert is always tiptoeing around her.” The two men tried to make themselves seem as small as possible as Elizabeta lead them to the kitchen. Hopefully if they were quiet, she would forget they were there. Alfred began to wonder if her sight was based on movement, like in those dinosaur movies. Carlos began to wonder if she could smell his fear. They were headed into a room filled with objects much more dangerous than a spoon. Eliza ran to the nearest cabinet and threw open the doors. She began searching for any kind of pain medicine while Alfred and Carlos stood quietly behind her like scared puppies. The search continued for 5 minutes, half opened boxes of pasta laid on the ground, and no medicine could be found.

“WHERE THE FUCK IS THE TYLENOL!” Eliza screamed out at the couch where Feli was dropped. Eliza grabbed the nearest frying pan and stomped over to Feliciano, ready to whack a bitch.

‘’I COULDN'T FIND THE FUCKING MEDICINE” Eliza pointed the frying pan at the Italians head

“DONNA PER FAVORE PLEASE DON’T HURT ME I'M TOO YOUNG TO DIEEEE!” Feli cried out, slightly shaking. Eliza smiled creepily

“Give me the medicine and maybe i won't be so harsh.”

Feli ran into the kitchen, passing Carlos and Alfred, who were cleaning up the mess that the enraged Eliza made. He died slightly inside, seeing all of his pasta RUINED. Feliciano went over to a small, untouched cabinet above the microwave and got the medicine that was needed. He also grabbed a bottle of water and a small bar of chocolate from his fridge. Feli ran back to Eliza, who was laying on the couch cuddling her frying pan. Feli gently gave her what he grabbed from the wreck that he called his kitchen.

‘‘T-thank you” Eliza said sniffling. Was she crying?

“Are you ok? Feliciano asked, very worried about Eliza’s sanity

“Do i look oh-fucking-kay to you”

“What's wrong?”

“I AM IN PAIN FELI THAT'S WHAT'S FUCKING WRONG”

‘‘Oh…..” Feli replied, surprised at her outburst. Eliza took the medicine and quickly devoured the chocolate that Feli gave her. Alfred and Carlos peeked out of the kitchen, the danger of being murdered seemingly low. The boys all sat down at the various chairs in the living room. One hour and a crappy X-Files rerun later everything was calm again. Eliza slowly fell asleep and the house was quiet again.

“Soooo… who’s gonna tell her that she has to go back home?” Carlos asked.

#hetalia #aph hungary #aph america #aph cuba #aph italy #hetalia fanfiction #hetaliaarttrades

4 notes · View notes

atleastputinsomeeffortinuroc · 6 years

Text

Rant/Review: Ready Player One --aka-- Just Watch Wrinkle in Time Instead...

I don’t usually hate movies.

I know that seems backwards considering that this blog is me complaining and ranting incoherently about movies I don’t like, but very few movies leave me seething. Even all of the Detective Conan movies, which are mostly terrible pieces of garbage, I don’t necessarily hate. Red Crimson Letters is a terrible waste of time and energy, but I wasn’t insulted or felt talked down to. It was just a really bad movie I wanted to talk about.

In my life, there have only been three movies who have truly enraged me. “Batman v Superman,” “Joy,” and “War for the Planet of the Apes.”

Objectively, there are aspects that are genuinely good in all of them and are definitely better than I probably give them credit for...but I doubt it, but they just flare up an anger in me for one reason or another. They’re permanently on my “fuck that movie” list. And now…now there’s another entrant to that prestigious list.

Ready Player One.

My GOD. THIS was the book everyone’s been talking about? THIS is supposed to be the fucking bible of pop culture?! THIS MOVIE?! THE ONE THAT UNIRONICALLY HAS THE PHRASE SPOKEN BY HUMAN VOCAL CHORDS “FANBOYS ALWAYS KNOW A HATER?!!” ARE YOU GUYS--…ok. Ok, I need to calm down.

There are several, several, SEVERAL parts about this movie that don’t work, and I could go into a lot of the problems, but instead I’m going to try to talk about three aspects of the film. And for the sake of me not swearing up and down, we’re not going to talk about that godawful dialogue. Just know that it sucks.)

1) The ham-fisted arc

2) The protagonist and his trophy waifu

3) References over content

There are spoilers ahead, and I’m going to write this with the assumption that you’ve already seen the movie. If you haven’t, you’ve been warned. Anywho, let’s get started. Put on some “a-ha,” break your nostalgia goggles and join me as we go down this road where I collectively shit over Spielberg’s attempt to adapt a supposed “beloved classic.” (CAN YOU TELL I’M MAD?!)

1) The arc

Here’s the thing with arcs in narratives, and more specifically films.

They need to feel earned.

Your central character has gone through a life-altering change or point of view since the beginning of the film due to the adventures and trials had throughout the film. Good examples include “Mad Max: Fury Road” where Max finally lets others into his life and sees the value in not going through life alone as described by the part where he donates his own blood and tells Furiosa his name. Another good example is actually from the Oscar nominee Spielberg had LITERALLY LAST YEAR, “The Post.” In it, Kay Graham finally put her foot down and shows authority by stepping out of her comfort zone to release the Pentagon Papers—damn what the powers that be say. This is important to any narrative because it shows the flaws of your characters through their insecurities and hesitations to make them human rather than movie characters. Even if you have paragon characters like Superman, Wonder Woman, or Batman, they still have to overcome some kind of personal issue that is keeping them from achieving what they’ve wanted.

Now, if you look over to the main character, you can see that his arc was…what is it that was his arc?

He’s…he’s the same at the beginning as he was at the end.

“OH BUT HE HAS A PENTHOUSE AT THE END,” yeah that’s not a change. One could argue that the (even though the catalyst for change has no fucking relation to it) arc is about unplugging and enjoying the real world. The bits at the end with Easter Egg man where he starts going on and on and on about how he missed reality or something, and the VERY BRIEF bits at the beginning where you see people all over the VR systems, one of which is the mother neglecting a fire in the house and one where an Asian man almost commits suicide after losing all of his stuff in the game (it’s played for comedy, so THAT’S also pretty fun, because it’s not like Japanese suicide rates are a serious issue or anything OH WAIT.) So it’s about being close to reality and unplugging. Ok. Coolio.

But here’s the thing, similar to “War for the Planet of the Apes”…YOU HAVEN’T EARNED IT. There are brief moments where it kind of alludes to it (see the middle challenge with ‘oh yes, I should have kissed the girl during the Shining’ and the small bit at the middle where the main two are sitting there and the main dude has ONE HALF-ASSED LINE about how “it’s nice here. It’s slower,”) but that’s IT. It doesn’t actually give you a reason to think that staying in the Oasis and avoiding reality is a BAD thing. Sure you have abusive father obsessed with getting high scores but he’s just one dimensional asshole dad who dies and you don’t give a shit about it one second later after his parental figures are killed.

There are no real CONSEQUENCES to spending too much time in the Oasis, it’s just because he’s good at the game. And if there are, they sure as hell aren’t focused on in favor of mindless spectacle (which looks REALLY BAD by the way. I know it’s supposed to look fake because video game, but do the main characters have to use the ugliest models in existence?!) As such, the ending and central arc of learning is lost.

So what’s the arc? Well…there is none. Nothing is really learned, nothing is really gained that MATTERS aside from the keys to Willy Wonka’s goddamn chocolate factory.

Z or Perzival or Wade or generic-white-gamer-boy learns all of fucking NOTHING by the end. (As such, it makes the ending where he says “EVERYONE HAS TO BE OFF ON TUESDAYS AND THURSDAYS” come off as BULLshit.)

But no, this is clearly the Spielberg classic. It’s not like Indiana Jones learned anything in the Last Crusade as a character only he totally fucking DID, HE LEARNED TO RESPECT AND LOVE HIS FATHER WHO HE PREVIOUSLY DESPISED AND THE IMPORTANCE OF—sorry. Sorry I’m getting a bit mad again.

Anywho, due to a lack of a real arc, it makes you think that the entire fucking plot was pointless. It was just inevitable that the good guy win because…well he’s the main character. He doesn’t say anything about anything but is instead dumb fluff, which would be fine…but here’s the thing. It also affects the main characters. And it affects them HARD.

2) Tweedledee and Tweedledumbass

The two main characters have no personality or character due to this lack of an arc.

The main man, Wade, his personality is…what exactly? He’s just generic hero-boy who is obsessed with the 80s. “He’s like a regular Star-Lord!” I hear you say, only he totally fucking isn’t. Starlord has baggage, has character has points and instances that stretch BEYOND just quoting 80’s movie and saying the actual phrase that a screenwriter actually wrote down and didn’t immediately delete that went “FANBOYS ALWAYS KNOW A HATER” NO I AM NOT OVER IT.

...Point is, the references don’t make Star-Lord who he is, it’s the character of Peter Quill himself. Cocky, brash, and in many ways, a child running from his past.

As for Wade, he’s got nothing. I’ve looked over this sometimes, depending on the writing or the situation, so maybe it wouldn’t bother me so much, but the actor who plays him isn’t doing a good job. I know I don’t talk about acting a lot, but the man…the man is just whining through his lines. He comes off as insufferable with his needless 80’s knowledge that I was genuinely rooting for the one-dimensional villain to kill that fucking brat.

Then we have Artemis or Samantha or Sam or its-the-pixie-cut-rebel-chick.

There are several scenes that are etched into my brain now (including a FUCKING NUT-SHOT AND A PASSWORD FOR A HUMAN ADULT THAT IS “B055MAN69.” IN A SPIELBERG MOVIE. THE MAN WHO MADE INDIANA JONES AND SCHINDLER’S LIST.), but one of the big ones is the final image of the film in which the main character in his 80’s man-boy cave spins around with his beautiful woman sitting in his lap as they suck face as the line “reality is pretty awesome anyway” or something like that. Aside from the main character not earning that statement as previously stated…fucking let’s look at it for what it is.

The man just won a real-life walking-talking waifu. A trophy wife that he wins at the end of the game.

She’s what probably made me see through the movie the most honestly. She makes this big fucking deal about “oh, but I’m not who you think I am on the outside, I’m not pretty” and then when you go outside to the real world, of course she’s the fucking gorgeous Hollywood white girl—she just has a goddamn birthmark on her eye to be her “blemish.”

“Oh but she’s insecure about it,” I hear you say--I’m sorry, but you mean to tell me NOBODY told her she’s fine and beautiful with the eye-mark BEFORE Wade? You mean to tell me she’s insecure, but not insecure enough to feel the need to buy fucking MAKE-UP!? I’m not saying that she needs it, I’m saying that the character’s central flaw is the WEAKEST FUCKIN FLAW I HAVE EVER SEEN. YOU WANNA CHANGE THE GAME, QUASIMODO THAT SHIT.

THEN, and this part was just fucking HILARIOUS to me, she mentions about how the ioi company fucking KILLED HER FATHER in a workshop and she has to stop him for revenge…and then it’s totally dropped. Like it’s never mentioned by the end. At all. She chucks a grenade into Mechagodzilla to kill the bossman but fuck me if it ain’t satisfying and adds physically NOTHING to her character.

Her character exists for one purpose. She is the love interest who sets the main character off on his journey. Nothing more. And I say that, because SHE’S THE CATALYST FOR HIM FINDING THE FIRST KEY. She tells him something that reminds him of something that solves the puzzle. And what’s more, I am willing to bet that THAT’S the reason they kept her Hollywood pretty. Because you need to have an attractive romantic love interest to keep the audience pleased.

Now apparently, she does more in the movie than she does in the book. And that’s great. That’s super. She’s the one breaking in to destroy the d20 of doom. Hell yeah I guess. But I also don’t care. You wanna know why? BECAUSE I AM NOT READING THE BOOK. Superficial changes that improve certain aspects doesn’t make the movie better than it is. It’s like polishing a fucking turd. Yeah, it’s nicer than what you had, but you are still making me hold this piece of dogshit.

They don’t have characters. They don’t have chemistry BECAUSE they don’t have characters. It’s a fucking wash.

3) Drowning in References

But now we talk about the big one. The big fucking thing that everyone and their mother is obsessing about this movie over. And the thing that has gotten me from not liking this movie to fucking DESPISING it.

The references.

To quote from people who will be seeing the movie in the theater *ahem*...

“OHMYGOD IS THAT TRACER?! OH AND IT’S HARLEY AND THE JOKER! OH! OH! OH! IRON GIANT! HALO! BORDERLANDS! BACK TO THE FUTURE! BATMAN—FUCKING IT’S THE BATMAN! THEY MENTIONED THRILLER! THAT’S PRINCE! STREET FIGHTER! MECHA-GODZILLA FIGHTING GUNDAM! MINECRAFT! NINJA TURTLES! FAST TIMES AT RIDGEMONT HIGH! STAR TREK! FIREFLY! THE SHINING! IT’S FUCKING CHUCKY!!!”

…Ok? So what?

Not to be a snob, but seriously—so what? Why does it matter?

Listen, I like crossovers too. I remember the Avengers and what a big goddamn deal it was, and how it made everyone’s jaw drop to the ground, and how in some ways, it still does. But whereas with those it felt organic, Ready Player One with its ninety thousand references felt…empty.

I’m going to bring out two comparisons to the table that do the same thing that Ready Player One did, “Who Framed Rodger Rabbit?” and “Wreck-It Ralph.” Both had pop-culture icons throughout them. One had all of the classic cartoons all spliced together—where you saw Daffy Duck and Donald Duck in the same shot having a dual piano-off. One of them had all of these video game characters that you loved and embraced since you were a kid, running around and hanging out ala “Toy Story.” These big names are all in the background, just like Ready Player One, but they’re clearly different in terms of execution. Why is that?

Well it’s because the movies weren’t reliant on them. Sure, Rodger Rabbit had fun moments with these big names, but if you took them out and animated totally new characters with similar personalities, what would you lose? Nothing. The plot is the same, the dynamics are the same, and it can still be seen as a salute to the classic animations from back in the day to also an allegory for the Jim Crowe era just as the book intentionally was. Same goes for Wreck-it Ralph, the character goes through a fundamental change that has him accepting who he is and how “there’s nobody else I’d rather be, than me” ALL THE WHILE paying respects to classic arcade video games.

The same can’t be said for Ready Player One. The instant you take away the pop-culture references, the movie loses its protective suit of armor to reveal it’s about…nothing.

It is.

Nothing.

The generic quest, the generic corporate baddie, the generic love interest, the main character has nothing to say, and the conflict is revealed to be flat—nothing about it sticks out or makes an impression.

And if you fail to make an impression without a fucking suit pop-culture references then, well, if I may use a pop-culture quote myself...“If you’re nothing without the suit, then you shouldn’t have it.”

Plain and simple.

But then…there’s the one thing I can’t really debate.

“It’s just fun though, right?”

Yeah sure. I’ll admit around that third act, even though it was long overdrawn, I had fun watching the violence and references I understood while they blasted “We’re Not Gonna Take It” in the background.

But y’know what? It was just about as enjoyable as seeing someone adapt a piece of shitty fanfiction, because both have one thing in common for everything that they do: It’s just there for fan service. If you make the statement “well the Oasis is cool,” then you’ve clearly missed the point because you don’t like the movie, you like it’s gimmick. And it’s gimmick exists—it’s called VR Chat.

Meanwhile, screenwriters of different backgrounds, ethnicities, genders and religions from everywhere across the world are actually putting EFFORT into their screenwriting and directing. And while their action scenes for their blockbuster idea may not be perfect, they at least tried and did something new with it.

I went to see “Wrinkle in Time” today after I’d seen Ready Player One yesterday, needing to see literally anything good. And yeah, it’s not perfect. It’s got some stilted dialogue and some questionable acting on nearly all fronts at points and the conflict can be about as cliched as you can imagine, but the visuals, the costume design—you could tell everyone cared and put a goddamn effort into everything put forth. It’s much more gorgeous than the downright UGLY CG that was in the Oasis world in Ready Player One, and I guarantee you nobody had the phrase “B055MAN69” anywhere. It didn’t pander to kids or guys who wanted to feel validated for knowing a couple references. It wanted to tell the story of fighting back evil and hatred by embracing love. It’s cheesy and sappy…but fuck me, if it didn’t try to say something while having fun.

But fuck that movie right? We have Iron Giant fighting Mechagodzilla.

If you have that, then why bother putting in effort?

That’s what kills me. It’s lazy and people praise it because it just stuck pop-culture words in a fucking blender. Don’t call it innovative. Don’t call it original. Don’t call it anything than what it is.

80’s. Prepubescent. Fucking. Fanfiction.

You can love it and enjoy it if you want, I mean I don’t like not liking movies. It sucks. And in some aspects, I can see why you can if you turn your brain off but…I’m not gonna lie, to see this get away with murder insults me.

Listen, I love Spielberg. There is nobody I respect more in the business. His work in AI, and the reason why he did so to keep a dying friend’s vision alive will always keep him as one of my personal heroes but…sometimes you gotta call people out when they make shit. And I am.

I don’t care what anyone says, don’t see Ready Player One. Watch something worthwhile. Go to Netflix and watch “Stranger Things” if you’ve got that need for an 80′s kick, or hell--”Blade Runner 2049″ is a visual goddamn MARVEL. Go see “The Post” or “Jaws” if you want some good Spielberg. Just PLEASE! Go see something that isn’t just a bunch of references that almost feel as though it’s a remake of “ctrl+alt+del.”

(Random aside, people have told me to read the original book...but if that fucking thing is ANYTHING like this movie, I’d rather BURN IT than let it get one inch into my house. So no, I’m not going to read the book even if there are claims that it’s “better.” (Even though I believe that it’s impossible to say a book is better than it’s adaptation or vice versa because it’s two different mediums and as such it’s hardly fair, but that’s a whole other thing.) Point is, I’ve never been more turned off to a book in my godddamned life and I ain’t gonna bother.)

62 notes · View notes

ellanainthetardis · 7 years

Note

Haymitch and Effie try not to be caught for obvious reasons when having sex so they keep the volume of their "love making" to a minimum but could you do a one-shot where they simply go "screw it" and have crazy loud unrelenting Hayffie sex as if the world was theirs? That would be magical. XD

So, as some of youhave noticed, I’ve been having troubles keeping up with a prompt a day lately,due to a certain number of reasons ranging from inspiration, passing through‘it’s spring so I want to do stuff outside’ and I’m playing dragon age again,and ending with I’m totally binge writing a huge hayffie story right now andI’m obsessed with it, which means I have less time to actually tackle prompts.

So I will keep to twoprompts a week for now (I’m thinking Tuesday and Thursday because I have thoseafternoons free usually but it may vary from week to week) but probably notfour anymore for the time being. It’s not a carved in stone rule, obviously, ifI’ve got time and inspiration I might publish one a day but… For now, I preferwarning you that it might stick to 2 a week for a little while. I hope nobodymind =)

[X]

Thirteen’s Rules

“Quiet.” Haymitch reminded her when a lowwhimper passed her lips. “Be quiet for me, Princess…”

He soothed that reprimand with a kiss, keepinghis thrusts deep and almost brutal, more frustrated than aroused by the way shewas fighting not to make a sound. It couldn’t be good for Effie. She was sofocused on trying to keep a hold on herself, there was no way she was going torelax enough to actually enjoy it.

Fucking District withits fucking rules…

Thirteen had taken everything from them. Theyhad taken his alcohol and his knife. They had taken her blinding armor ofcolors and her cheerfulness. They would nottake away the sex. Not if he had anything to say about it. It was his lastderivative, his last guilty pleasure in this life, and he would fight for it aslong as he could.

So, of course, contraception wasn’t availableat all in this place and abstinence was the only way to prevent a pregnancy –they had tried that, it had lasted a good total of two days before driving themcrazy and up against the nearest wall, which had prompted them to agree thatwith her fertility problems and his years of alcohol abuse, they would probablybe fine if they were careful about what they did. Of course, with a security astight as it was and with people coming and going to find him and drag him backto Command at every hour of the day, they were now more or less an open secret.Of course, Effie was angry and he was desperate and it made for a bad mix ofrough hate sex.

Of course.

But it wasn’t enough to stop them.

Even if they had been forced to sit through avery embarrassing lecture from a guard the other day about keeping it down forthe neighbors.

It seemed they were being too loud and thatthere had been multiple complains from the adjoining compartments.

Effie had sat through the whole thing lookingstoical, with a touch of polite interest on her face but not much else. Thewhole thing had enraged Haymitch to no end. The lecture had been given on thethreshold of her compartment, public enough that he was sure a few peoplepassing by had heard, and had so clearly be meant to humiliate them or to makethem feel ashamed – well, her mostly,he figured, because he wasn’t that vocal in bed – that it was all he could do notto punch the guy.

And he had never been prouder of Effie thanwhen she had simply smiled at the soldier at his end of his little speech, hadthanked him for sharing his concerns and had simply shut the door in his face.

They had avoided having sex again for a fewdays because, as much as it annoyed him, he knew it wouldn’t be that easy.

And there they were, with Effie keeping hereyes shut tight, breathing hard through her nose, her neck strained, so red inthe face, her hands clenching the crumpled standard sheets under her back…

He pressed a kiss on her throat, not quiteenjoying himself either. He didn’t like seeing her like that, restraining herself. She was sobeautiful when she lost control…

“Don’t.” she croaked. “Just… Finish, please.”

“You ain’t going to come like that,sweetheart.” he sighed, slowing down his pace. He hooked his elbow under herknee, forcing her leg higher, switching angle, hoping that maybe… What came outof her mouth was almost a sob. She bit down on her hand and he frowned,immediately prying it loose from her teeth. “None of that.” he chided her.

“I hatethis place.” she spat. “I hate it.”

“Yeah.” he agreed wholeheartedly, resting hisforehead on her collarbone, trying to convince his hips to stop their rocking.“Look, we’re just gonna…”

“You can finish.” she cut him off, snatchingthe pillow from under her head to press it against her face.

With each new thrust, she hugged the thingtighter and he was afraid she would suffocate. He held on for a couple ofminutes and then took it away and tossed it on the floor, far enough that shewouldn’t accidentally kill herself out of frustration.

“What do you need?” he asked, lips pursed inirritation. “What can I do to help?”

She shook her head. “If I let go, I won’t bequiet, Haymitch. It is not you. You are doing it very right, which is the problem…”

He stared into her blue eyes, calculating, andthen came to a decision.

“Fuckthem.” he declared, punctuating that statement with a brutal thrust. “Screamfor me.”

A strangled noise escaped her throat but shebundled the sheets in her hands even more, as if trying to find purchase.

“We will get in trouble.” she reminded him inan urgent whisper. “It is not worth it. You will…”

“Oh, yeah, it’s worth it.” he grumbled. “Ifthey’ve got a problem with us having fun in bed, maybe they need to loosen up alittle, have a good fuck of their own. Might even take that pole off their collectiveass.”

“But…” she argued and it morphed into a longmoan when he bit down on her neck.

“I’ll take care of anyone who complains.” hepromised. “Don’t worry your pretty little head…” The tension slowly left herbody to replaced by another, more pleasurable, kind. He could have gotten highon the little sounds she made before it became full moans and whimpers. Herewarded each and every one of them with open-mouth kisses on her sweaty skin,tongue poking at her flesh. “So beautiful…” he coaxed against her mouth,slipping his free hand between their bodies when she started wriggling a littleunder him. “Come for me, sweetheart…”

“Haymitch!” she shouted, loud enough to beheard two compartments away probably.

It made him smirk and he sunk his teeth on herneck in a kiss that would leave a mark, somehow answering to the primitive urgeto claim her as his. His thrusts werefrantic now and he hooked her leg even higher, thankful that she was soflexible because she was boneless under him and no help at all, lost to her ownbliss.

He felt her fingers run in his hair and downhis sweaty back, felt them trail lower until they shamelessly grope him hard,nails digging into the tender flesh of his butt cheek…

“My name.” she requested. “Say my name…”

It was more than he could take.

He barely had time to pull out before he cameon her stomach and breasts with a rare loud groan that vaguely sounded like hername. For a moment, he rested his whole weight on her, too far gone to think orcare.

She kept him there, one hand coiled at the backof his nape, her legs hooked around the back of his thighs. Eventually helooked up, feeling the sticky mess on their chests resisting the pull, andlicked his lips because she was so beautiful, so sexy, he could almost go for a second round. She had tossed herfree arm over her head on the mattress and she had that particular spark in hereyes that she always got after a good fuck.

He felt sorry for anyone who could ever thinkstopping her from being loud in bed was a good idea.

As far as he was concerned, it was part of thefun and he loved it.

And he didn’t care if it was bothering theneighbors.

It was one thing to be quiet when they werehaving a quickie in the restrooms, in a supply closet or in a locked room in apublic place but it was completely another to be quiet in bed, where they couldtake their time and where it wasn’t about the rush of a hasty affair.

“I used my allotted hot water time for the dayalready.” she pouted.

“Yeah, me too.” he winced.

Five minutes of hot water every day wasn’tmuch.

She groaned even as he pressed an apologizingkiss against her throat. He should have known better and aim to the side. Itwas easier to clean messes from sheets or the floor than from themselves.

“I am sonot in the mood for a cold shower…” she complained. “I am finally warm…”

“We’re sweaty anyway.” he pointed. “We’ll catcha cold. Come on.”

He dragged her out of bed. She followed more orless willingly, knowing he was right but not happy about it.

He didn’t like cold shower any more thananybody but he didn’t mind them so much either. Cold water was all that oftenhad been available in his childhood and Twelve wasn’t exactly Four, you didn’tgrow up there and not develop a tolerance for low temperature. Effie, on the otherend, was sensitive to the cold and was forever complaining about the lack ofproper heating in Thirteen.

The shower was small.

It was barely more than a square on the floor –and it left water everywhere in the tiny bathroom every time they used it. Heusually had to duck his head if he wanted to get it under the streamingfreezing water – which he wasn’t keen on at the moment. Fitting together inthere was a feast they had yet to perfect but Effie didn’t quite seem to mindthat her back wasn’t completely under the spray. She cleaned herself up veryquickly and stepped away, leaving him room to do the same.

Since she had yet to be assigned a roommate,there was only one towel and they were forced to share – which she grumbledabout a little. By the time she was back in woolen socks, the long-sleevesundershirt she had stolen from him and a pair of loose grey cotton pajamasbottoms – with which she had a love-hate relationship with because she hated sleeping in pants even though itkept her warmer than anything else she owned – her teeth were still chattering.

She hurried back into bed and under theblankets, immediately snuggling up against him when he eventually joined her.She trapped her cold feet between his legs, sneaked her freezing hands underhis shirt and buried her nose in his neck. It wouldn’t be comfortable to sleepbut he knew she would shift at some point after a few minutes, probablyinsisting on him draping his whole body over hers by spooning her, so she couldsleep in a warm cocoon.

Thirteen had forced them to adopt domestichabits he wasn’t quite sure about.

He disliked sleeping in his own compartment ifshe wasn’t there. He didn’t even mind justgoing to bed without anything happening if it meant having her close at night.He was slowly being forced to acknowledge feelings he had been denying for solong it almost was ridiculous…

Yeah…

Thirteen sucked.

“Will they punish us, do you think?” shewhispered, sounding a bit worried.

With good reason, he guessed. Punishmentsaround there hardly fitted the crimes.

“They won’t touch you.” he mumbled, turning hishead to her hair. Something else he wouldn’t really have done before. Gesturesof affection were getting out of hand on his part lately. Somehow, they hadstarted to become natural responses and…

“You do not know that.” she breathed out.

“Oh, yeah, I do.” he snorted. “They need me andKatniss. Coin’s not a fool enough to go after you now… It’s not a total freepass but… She won’t go after us just‘cause we…”

“Have enthusiastic sex?” she finished, ateasing note in her voice.

“Yeah, that.” he chuckled briefly.

She chuckled too, right into his neck and hetried not to love the intimacy of it as much as he truly did.

“I love having enthusiastic sex with you.” sheteased. “It is the best sex.”

“The best, yeah?” he smirked, probably a bit toosmug.

Her chuckles turned to giggles and she shiftedon her other side, pulling his arm over her waist, effectively forcing her tobecome a human blanket. He wrapped himself around her willingly enough, mainlybecause with the war raging outside and so much of their friends missing, hecouldn’t help but feel overprotective of the ones he had close.

He was drifting off, lulled to sleep by thedistracted patterns her nails were drawing on his forearm, when she finallyanswered.

“The verybest.” she murmured, almost to herself. “The only kind I want for the rest ofmy life.”

Months earlier, it would have sent him in apanic.

Now, it still unsettled him but not enough thathe bolted from the bed.

He kissed her nape instead.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart.” he muttered. “Maybewe can get you to wake the neighbors tomorrow morning…”

It would certainly be more fun than the sirenthat passed for an alarm clock in this place.

#hayffie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #prompt #mj time #d13 #movie!verse #coconuts #crack #protective haymitch #fluff #coconuts friends #cuddles #busted by people #kinda

25 notes · View notes