#2) I am fifteen pages in and have not touched it in months so I’ve completely lost my train of thought | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mypoisonedvine · 3 years

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Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (Chapter 8)

(chapter 1) (chapter 2) (chapter 3) (chapter 4) (chapter 5) (chapter 6) (chapter 7)

series summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind. you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman– even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: 3.4k

warnings: smut... a minor injury... a motorcycle... a teeny tiny bit of angst?? honestly it's just pretty normal aside from the smut

You actually fell asleep without anything too untoward happening, just kissing and cuddling and whispers that didn't make much sense to each other but still made your heart flutter each time.

Waking up, though, was another story entirely.

"Arăți frumos în timp ce dormi," he mumbled into the crook of your neck, pulling your hips back so you could feel his hard cock against your ass. You hummed and snuggled up closer to him, bathing in his warmth as much as possible.

“I swear I’ve never slept so well in my life,” you mumbled as you reached back to run your hands through the hair at the nape of his neck. “I need you in my bed all the time so I can finally get some rest.”

He smiled against your skin, sucking on that spot just behind your ear that made your eyes roll back in your head. “Il vrei?” he asked huskily, and you didn’t even care what he was asking; when he said it like that, the answer was always ‘yes.’ You nodded happily, biting your lip, as he started to push your panties down and helped you arch your back so he could guide his cock to your entrance.

You still gasped and clutched at the sheets beneath you, you couldn’t help it even if it wasn’t your first time discovering how thick he was. It was just barely painful for one fleeting moment before it faded into that delightful fullness, his strokes long and slow as he sighed against your ear. “Seba,” you whimpered under your breath.

“Sunt mai bun decât el, nu-i așa? Nu te-a futut niciodată atât de bine,” he growled a little, holding you tighter. “Sper că știe. Sper că știe că am făcut dragoste cu tine și că sunt îndrăgostit de tine.”

You couldn’t be sure if it was his words in your ear or his arms so tight around your chest that made it a little hard to breathe, but something was so different about the way he was speaking now than you’d ever heard him before. It was difficult to describe— not quite angry, but so passionate it could almost seem that way. You could feel it in the way he moved inside you, too; he was clearly holding back, like there was a storm beneath his calm surface.

You wanted all of it. Turning back, you kissed him and pulled his hair a little, hoping it would get the point across. It seemed to, considering how he gasped and sped up, fucking you harder and deeper as you moaned a little louder than you meant to.

“Când a fost aici, am vrut să te sărut,” he continued in a low voice, speaking right against your parted lips. “Am vrut ca soțul tău să vadă. Am vrut să te arunc în patul ăsta și să te fac să țipi, pentru ca toată lumea să te audă. Am vrut să știe că sunt eu.”

“Yours,” you said before you could stop yourself, and thankfully you didn’t have to worry too much about the implications of it because he couldn’t understand what you meant. He grabbed your face anyways, stroking your cheek with his thumb as he stared into your eyes.

“A mea,” he purred, fucking you faster until you started to whine and arch your back harder.

“F-fuck, I’m gonna—” you stammered, but he nodded before you could finish, encouraging you with whispered words and a hand slipping down between your legs to rub your swollen clit. You cried out, instinctively reaching out to grab his arm, but he held fast and kept up the pace, sending you tumbling over the edge before you had really prepared yourself for it. Unintentionally, you held your breath for a few moments as it washed over you, the tension releasing finally with a long sigh.

The very moment you began the denouement from your peak, he pulled out and rolled you onto your back, slipping right back in as he slotted his body between your legs. You whimpered and gripped his shoulders, and he got right back to his pace— but this time your body couldn’t take as much of the force and so it began to rock the bed, his headboard slamming into the wall. At first neither of you cared until he glanced up and hissed, “rahat.”

“What?” you asked, sitting up and craning your head around to see he’d clearly damaged the wallpaper there. “Oops,” you giggled, “guess we should take a break and fix that—”

He pushed you back down onto the bed as you yelped, capturing you in a hungry kiss; one arm slipped under your shoulders, holding you tight, while the other reached up so his hand could grip the headboard and hold it still as he started to pound into you again. You moaned weakly and relaxed in his embrace, feeling the bed still rock slightly under you but much more interested in the feeling of his cock slamming right into the most sensitive and overstimulated spots inside your channel.

“Oh god,” you sighed as you couldn’t stop your head from falling back into the pillow, closing your eyes to dodge the way he stared down at you with an intensity that bordered on fury. He moved in to bite at your neck instead, and if you were any more in touch with reality you would’ve complained that you didn’t bring many clothes that would cover his bite marks, but you were much too lost in the sensation he was bringing you for that.

“Atât de bine, atât de bine,” he chanted with a growl, “voi veni… atât de aproape…”

“Yes,” you whimpered, “please, Seba— yes, right there, oh fuck!”

You came again, technically, but it was nothing like the first time— more shallow but less brief, like the pleasure was spread thinner and wider, until you worried your vision would go completely black. He grunted loudly as he filled you, still thrusting roughly with each pump of his release into you, but finally he slowed and sighed, his breaths coming hard and fast as he let go of the headboard and held you tightly.

He seemed exhausted, honestly, and you laughed breathlessly as he collapsed on top of you. “You can’t be so worn out this early in the morning,” you scolded as you kissed his shoulder.

“Nu voi mai părăsi niciodată acest pat,” he groaned.

“At least let me up so I can shower!” you protested, trying to push his limp weight off of you and failing pitifully as you laughed.

“Nu, nici tu nu vei părăsi niciodată acest pat,” he cooed, covering your face in kisses as you laughed harder. Only when you defensively pinched his arm did he pull back and pull out, letting you slip out from under him.

“I’ll be back soon,” you promised as kissed him on the cheek, dashing to the bathroom and getting one last glance at him shaking out his sore hand before you shut the door.

Chapter 38 done… only five more to go, if your outline was to be trusted (which it most certainly should not). Still, you were finally reaching the real height of the tension, the climax of the story likely to hit as soon as the next chapter.

But it wasn’t what you were expecting. It wasn’t what you thought you would write when you sat down here months ago and began with page 1. In fact, it was better.

You sighed a little, looking away from the typewriter for the first time in maybe an hour or more, glancing out the window where the sun was starting to set and painting the whole countryside in an orange glow; but it wasn’t the only thing making the leaves change colors— fall was undeniably on the way, enough so that poor Sebastian was raking leaves already. And, because evil is a real and powerful force in this world, he had started wearing a shirt while working outside.

Not that it wasn’t still buckets of fun to watch him go: you found yourself leaning against the window frame to drink in the sight of him, smiling widely to yourself as he sighed and wiped his brow.

All of a sudden, he turned and caught you ogling, making him grin and you laugh with embarrassment. He waved at you, and you waved back, resigning to getting back to work for just a few more pages…

The creaking of the stairs made you realize someone was coming, but with Sebastian just outside it could only be Mrs. Alberti. With a sinking feeling in your gut, you ran to the closet to rifle through your sweaters, hoping to find something with a high neck. Nothing looked long enough, making you groan in frustration.

She knocked on the door and you jumped slightly. “One moment!” you called out to her, digging up a random scarf and throwing it around your neck to hastily cover the bruises Sebastian had left on you. “Yes, come in,” you finally sighed with relief as you threw yourself back into the chair.

“Good evening,” Mrs. Alberti smiled sweetly as she peeked through the crack in the door, “I just wanted to offer to cook dinner here tonight. I’m making a big recipe so I figured I might as well, unless you had your own plans.”

“No, that would be lovely,” you nodded, “thank you.”

“Just come downstairs in about, oh, fifteen minutes and it’ll be ready,” she explained.

“You don’t want any help in the kitchen?”

She scoffed a little. “From you?”

You chuckled at her brutal honesty. “Okay, point taken.”

“Sorry, dear, it’s just that I wouldn’t want your… Western sensibilities to muck up the recipe,” she defended.

“I can’t blame you,” you smirked. “I’ll be down in a quarter hour.”

She nodded and shut the door again, leaving you to unwrap the itchy scarf from your neck and let out a slow breath.

Of course, with an imminent deadline you couldn’t actually get any good work done, so you just read back over some older chapters and made a couple simple edits. All too soon, you checked the clock and realized you should go ahead and make your way to the kitchen.

You took a deep breath as you stepped into the entryway where the smell of Mrs. Alberti’s cooking emanated through the rest of the house. It brought back memories of when you were here with Michael and she cooked for the both of you. Those memories were wonderful once, then soured, but now you were coming to appreciate them again. Although, it was easier to enjoy them when you imagined the black eye your soon-to-be-ex was likely sporting now.

You took a seat at the table and let her serve you, even though it made you feel a little guilty; you knew she would never let you serve yourself when she was cooking.

“How’s your novel coming along, dear?” she asked as she took her own seat and you began eating.

“Well,” you began with a little sigh, “stories have a mind of their own, Mrs. Alberti. All this time I thought I was writing a thriller— something scary, gritty, maybe even tragic. But I’m coming up on the end of it and I’m realizing that all this time, I’ve been writing a romance.”

She smiled, glancing behind you to the doorway. “Yes, things have a funny way of turning out differently than we expect.”

Wondering what she was looking at, you turned to find Sebastian leaning against the wood frame, wiping his hands on a towel. “Bună seara,” he greeted.

“Sit down, Sebastian, have some dinner,” she offered to him as she stood up to pour him a new portion of soup.

He nodded and sat at the table, “multumesc,” he mumbled when she put a bowl in front of him.

You fell into a comfortable silence after that, everyone eating their meals quietly. It was nice to have a moment of normalcy— your new normal— after such an eventful day previous.

“So,” Mrs. Alberti broke the silence unexpectedly, “you two had sex?”

You instantly spat out your sip of soup, making Sebastian give you a concerned look; you waved dismissively as if to say you were fine, though you coughed a couple times. “I… uhm— how did you—?”

“He was whistling while he gardened today,” she explained, “and you look the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”

“To be fair, I think the first thing is because he punched my husband yesterday morning,” you added with a little laugh.

“And the second thing?”

“...at least partially because he punched my husband yesterday morning,” you admitted.

“Fair enough,” she chuckled, “but don’t think I don’t see the way your shoulders aren’t so tense and you’re smiling all the time. I know a woman in love when I see one.”

“L-love?” you questioned instantly, choking on the word.

“Oh, honey,” she sighed, almost a look of pity on her face, “did you not know? It’s all over your face.”

You took a slow breath and pondered your meal before taking another bite. “No… I knew,” you admitted, “I guess you just put it really bluntly.”

She smiled. “It’s how we do things in Hungary. You should be honest with him.”

“With what words?”

“Sounds like you don’t need them,” she smirked. “I’ll leave you two be, then. You’ll have to tell me how it goes.”

She bid Sebastian goodnight with a little wave, and he nodded back happily; with the back door shut as she headed to her own house, you two were alone again. He took a sip of his soup and you finally noticed the marks on his spoon-holding hand.

“Your hand…” you realized, pointing to it, remembering with burning cheeks how he got that injury.

“Ah,” he smiled, looking down at the purple knuckles and smiling as he rubbed them gently. “Un sacrificiu demn.”

After dinner, you picked up with some reading (so much more relaxing than writing, believe it or not) and Sebastian joined you for the same on the couch.

Just laying together like this�� quiet, relaxed, and totally at peace— was igniting feelings inside you that you had gone without for so long that you’d forgotten they existed completely. Resting your head on his chest, between the unbuttoned halves of his shirt, you could hear his heartbeat and it was soothing yet invigorating somehow.

He held his book up over your head while you used one hand to hold yours open and read through the space between his chest and his arm. It wasn’t the most ergonomic position necessarily, and your arm was definitely getting tired, but it was worth it to be close to him in these little ways.

"Book?" he asked innocently after a long stint of silent reading, setting his own aside to look down at you.

You closed your book and looked back up at him, resting your chin on his chest. "The book I'm reading? It's good," you nodded (as much as you could without stabbing him in the sternum with your chin, that is).

"Nu, book ta," he clarified, poking your forehead, before making a motion like he was typing.

"My book!" you realized. "Yes, the book I'm writing, it's nearly done…"

Your heart started to sink inside your chest.

"And when it's done, I'll go back to London. Like I planned from the beginning. And it'll be published and I'll start from scratch at a new life… alone.”

You cleared your throat and looked away. “Ești în regulă?” he asked quietly, sounding concerned.

You shook yourself out of it, smiling back up at him. “Let’s go into the city tomorrow,” you decided. “I need some things, if I’m going to be staying longer…”

He seemed to appreciate that you were telling him something, but couldn’t determine what. “Nyíregyháza,” you explained, “let’s drive into the city.” You pantomimed a steering wheel to explain yourself better.

“Ah,” he nodded, “nu într-o mașină. Îmi luăm bicicleta.” He returned with the motion of steering a bike— and when he curled his fingers to rev the proverbial engine, you realized he meant a motorbike. “Motocicletă,” he smiled.

“You drive a motorcycle?” you realized with a little gasp.

“Da,” he grinned, a little more mischievous than before.

“Oh, you really are gonna be the death of me,” you laughed. “Let’s go see this bike of yours.”

He helped you up off the couch and escorted you to the shed across from the house, the last light of sunset just barely enough to illuminate the way. You knew he worked in here sometimes, but you never realized he was doing mechanic work— indeed there it was: a motorcycle, right by Mrs. Alberti’s car, clearly quite old but restored to decent condition. “Iată-o, fetița mea,” he announced as he raised his arms to present it to you.

“Wow, you’ve been working hard,” you realized as you looked around at all the parts and tools strewn about.

“Avea nevoie de un alternator nou și ceva de lucru în interiorul motorului, dar acum funcționează la fel de bine ca nou... dacă nu chiar mai bine,” he enumerated as he knelt down in front of it, grabbing a towel to rub a spot of dirt from the headlight. “Vrei să conduci acum?”

You tilted your head.

“Acum,” he repeated, standing up and pulling you closer, tilting his head back toward the bike. “Sa mergem acum.”

“You want to go for a drive now? It’s pretty late, I was about to go to bed,” you protested meekly.

“Haide,” he smiled, stepping back and pulling you with him. “Plimbare pe spate.”

He handed you a helmet that had been resting on one of the handlebars, and you dutifully put it on as he got on the bike and fiddled around with it for a moment, kicking out the kickstand and finding his balance before getting it to start with a roar that echoed around the shed. He beamed proudly, looking up at you. “Eh?” he prompted with a nod.

“Yeah, it sounds great,” you encouraged with a thumbs up.

“Ce mai face casca?” he asked, leaning forward to knock his fist on your helmet lightly, making you laugh.

“Yeah, it’s good,” you nodded.

“Atunci alătură-te mie,” he instructed as he patted the seat behind him. You took a quick breath and got on, wrapping your arms around him. “Mai strâns,” he mumbled, pulling your arms in to hold him tighter. You smiled and rested your head on his back, yelping slightly when the bike lurched forward and he steered you out of the shed and into the grass outside. He was very slow at first until he steered to the gravel road, at which point he instantly picked up speed until the wind whipped at your face. His unbuttoned shirt was flying in every direction, leaving him totally unprotected from the night air, but he didn’t seem to mind, holding fast as he took you down the road, hugging the turns letting the headlight illuminate only as much as he needed to see.

When you looked up, you could see the stars more clearly than ever. You sighed and hugged him tighter, amazed at how they didn’t move at all while the world on the ground flew by. It made sense, obviously, with them being millions of miles away, but it was jarring how different the speed of the world could look from different perspectives. And as exhilarating as it was to see the countryside roll by in a blur, you preferred the steady night sky; you didn’t want to think about this moment flying by, about the fleeting nature of all of this. You wanted to believe this would always be here, just like the stars. You wanted to focus on the things that would never leave you, the moments that would become lifelong memories, and not on the reality of how beautiful things are not usually permanent things.

“I love you,” you whispered against his ear, quiet enough for your words to be blown away into the night. A small tear left a hot trail on your chilled skin, blown back over your temple instantly by Sebastian’s acceleration.

In silence, you drove into the unknown with him, letting yourself forget about the rest of the world for just a little while longer. You deserved that.

#sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan au

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pan-fangirl-345 · 3 years

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Books Bring People Together

Summary: A frustrated and stuck Kaminari comes to you for help, and it somehow blooms into something else along the way.

TW: I made Kaminari ADHD, so I'm sorry if there's anything wrong, I went off what my ADHD friends do and what a medical site told me. I myself am not ADHD, so again, I apologize if there's anything wrong with this. Small swears, and Mineta, which should be a warning in and of itself.

A/N: I have had this half-baked idea stuck in my head for months and I wanted it out, so I am giving you all this!

"Hey, um, (Y/L/N), can I ask you something?" Kaminari asked, sliding into the chair across from you at the common room table.

"Sure, what's up?" you asked, setting your pencil down on the paragraph you were reading.

"Um, this is kind of embarrassing," Kaminari admitted. "But, um, I'm having a really hard time with English right now, and I know that you're right behind Bakugou in grades."

"Where are you going with this Kaminari?" you asked, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

You had heard things about Kaminari, and after meeting Mineta and knowing that Kaminari hung around with him, you didn't have the best impression of him. You had just been placed in Class 2-A, and so far you had mostly hung around with what the other students were calling the 'Dekusquad'.

"I need someone to tutor me," he admitted. "Normally English isn't all that hard for me, but Shakespeare is whack and I don't understand half of it."

"You want me," you started, "to tutor you. Why not ask Bakugou? Isn't he your friend?"

"Yeah, but . . . Bakugou has . . . harsh methods, and I need someone who won't treat me like an idiot," Kaminari confessed.

"Alright," you relented. "Why don't we get started now? Do you have anything going on?"

"No, this takes precedent," Kaminari said, rushing to grab his things.

"Alright, here's my question for you," you said when he propped his book open. "Why don't you understand?" You saw the look on his face change and you winced. "Sorry, sometimes I have a hard time controlling the tone of my voice. Let me rephrase that question." You paused for a moment, thinking of the right words before you said, "What about this don't you understand? What's the one thing about this that trips you up?"

"The formatting for one thing," Kaminari grumbled. "Why the hell is printed like that?"

You chuckled, brushing hair out of your face. You had thought the same thing the first time you had read Shakespeare.

"Alright, how about you just read, and then you can ask me any questions while I work on my own stuff, alright?"

"That sounds like it might work," he admitted.

"If that doesn't work, feel free to let me know," you told him. "This is about what helps you remember the material better."

"No, like I said, normally this is really easy for me," Kaminari said. "Let's try it."

"Alright, and remember, if you have any questions, I'm right here."

"Thanks (Y/L/N)," he mumbled.

"Of course, I wouldn't be much of a hero if I couldn't help people, right?" you mused, smiling at him.

"R-Right!" he chirped, grinning back at you.

You both worked in silence for a little bit before Kaminari leaned back in his chair, rubbing at him eyes.

"You okay?" you asked.

"Yeah, sorry, I'm ADHD, so sitting still and trying to read this is a little hard," he confessed. "And I might be dyslexic, I've never been tested but sometimes reading is hard for me."

You frowned, biting the inside of your lip, running the situation through your head.

"What if I read it to you?" you asked, looking up from your chemistry homework.

"How? It's a play," Kaminari said.

"I used to be in a drama club in middle school," you told him. "It's set up like a script, or if we don't have the energy to act it out, it's not hard to pretend that it's a regular story."

Kaminari stared at you for a moment before he nodded.

"Yeah, yeah I think that might work a little bit better than me staring at the same paragraph for fifteen minutes without actually reading anything."

"What part are you on?" you asked Kaminari, moving to glance over his shoulder at the page.

"Portia is trying to convince Brutus to tell her what's going on in her house. I think."

"Oh, I adore this part," you muttered, mostly to yourself. "Alright, what has you stuck?"

"This part. 'I grant I am a woman; but withal A woman well-reputed, Cato's daughter. Think you I am no stronger than my sex, Being so father'd and so husbanded? Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose 'em: I have made strong proof of my constancy, Giving myself a voluntary wound Here, in the thigh: can I bear that with patience. And not my husband's secrets?' I don't entirely understand what she's saying."

Wow, English must've been his thing, he didn't mess up a single word, and he was able to read it fairly fluently, everything considered. It might have taken him a little longer than normal, but he had nailed it.

"Okay, so she's basically telling Brutus that she won't tell his secrets if he tells her what's going on, it doesn't matter if she's a woman or not."

"What was with the voluntary wound thing?"

"So, it depends. Sometimes, in plays, the women playing Portia will have a fake knife and stab themselves in the thigh, other times they pretend to slice themselves, depends on the director," you told him. "She basically cut herself on the thigh and said, 'If I can handle this I can handle whatever's going on inside your head.' Do you understand?"

"Yeah, but damn, this woman is a badass," Kaminari said, staring down at the pages."

"Right? Some people read that as psychotic, but it's Shakespeare," you told him, "everything in Shakespeare is psychotic to some extent."

"That's fair. Thank you for explaining that to me," he said.

"Of course, that is why you came to me," you replied, laying a hand on his shoulder for a moment before you moved back to your seat.

Kaminari, despite the things you had heard, was actually quite intelligent, it just took him a little longer to get the answer sometimes.

"Thank you so much for helping me," Kaminari murmured. "You were super helpful."

"Of course, I actually enjoyed helping you," you told him. "And if you need any more help, please, let me know."

"I will, thank you so much (Y/L/N)," Kaminari repeated.

"Have a good night Kaminari," you told him.

"You too!" he chirped before he headed up to his room.

You sat down at the table again, staring at the chemical formula in front of you.

So, if zinc only had one charge, positive two, and it was combined with thiosulfate, that meant that there shouldn't be the need for two of the zinc atoms, they would make the charge neutral.

You wrote the answer down, checking the textbook to make sure you were right. Polyatomic ions were a little more complicated than monoatomic ions.

There were only a few more questions, and then you could go to bed too, and you just hoped that there were no trick questions.

You were the last one in the common room, as usual, despite assuring Iida that you were right behind him when he went to bed an hour ago.

"Alright (Y/F/N), time for some good sleep," you muttered, shutting your book and gathering your supplies.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You had been tutoring Kaminari for about six weeks, and he was definitely smarter than people gave him credit for. Sometimes he just needed a few minutes to think, or he needed something explained to him in a different way than everyone else.

Sero had been joining your little tutoring sessions too, and you had started doing them in Sero's room, since there were things Kaminari could mess with while he studied, and it was an environment where he didn't feel the need to prove himself.

"Hey, (Y/L/N), can you help me with this problem?" Sero asked, waving you over.

"Of course, what are we working on?" you inquired.

"Polyatomic ions, again," Sero said. "I need this extra credit."

"Alright, which one are you stuck on?"

"How do I figure out which Roman numeral goes here? Gold has multiple charges."

"You work backwards," you told him. "When you look at the formula, you need to figure out what charge dihydrogen phosphate has."

You gestured to the chemical formula.

"It has a negative one charge. Right?" Sero inquired, checking the list of common ions that the teacher had given them at the beginning of the unit.

"Right, and you have three of those ions, right?"

"Yeah, because there's a subscripted three outside the parentheses."

"So you have three of those, which means that those three together have a negative three charge."

"Right."

"So now you just have to figure out which gold variant has the right charge to cancel that one out."

"Well, there's only one gold atom, so it's gold three right?"

"Bingo, you got it."

"Oh, that makes it so much easier than what I was doing," he muttered, erasing the math he had been doing, writing down the way you had just shown him.

"(Y/L/N), can you come read through this essay for me?" Kaminari asked. "I think it's okay, but I need another eye on this."

"Sure, hand it over," you told him, taking the papers that he had handed to you.

You grabbed one of your signature blue pens and uncapped it, ready to mark anything you thought he could do better.

There wasn't as much as you were expecting. While Kaminari had a hard time interpreting things, once he understood, he was golden. He had a way with words, you noticed as you scanned through the paper he needed to hand in next class. You assumed that it gave him time to think about the right phrasing of things.

Other than a few grammatical and spelling errors, the paper was well written, and there was nothing major that needed fixing.

"Good job Kami, this is really good," you told him, ruffling his hair lightly.

He responded well to physical affection and praise, you had also noticed, and he made it easy.

Once you got past the typical shield he threw up, he was a nice guy with insecurities, just like everyone else.

He chuckled, leaning into your hand.

You noticed that the others didn't touch Kaminari as much as you did, despite having known him for much longer. They were worried about getting shocked, Sero had told you.

"Why though? He's never shocked me," you had told him.

"He can't control it sometimes, it builds up in his body and it needs an out."

"Well, that still no reason to stop touching him," you had mused. "If he shocks me he shocks me, it's really no big deal."

Kaminari had only shocked you once, during a thunderstorm when there had been a lot of lightning outside. He had gotten excited about getting a 90 on one of his tests, and had hugged you, giving you a slight shock.

He had apologized profusely, but you had waved his apologies off.

"It's okay Kaminari," you told him. "It happens to all of us sometimes."

You were finding yourself thinking about him more than you should've. You had become good friends with both him and Sero, and the other students had started coming to you when they had a question, but Kaminari was a little different.

It had started out with the flirty comments, but slowly those had turned into real compliments. He had been keeping Mineta away from you more and more, and he had even started laying off the perving with the grape rat.

He was a good guy, he really was, despite the playboy attitude. He was sweet, and he was just like every other person in the world.

"Thanks for tutoring us both," Kaminari said as the session was coming to a close.

"Yeah, you're really saving our asses," Sero agreed.

"Of course, come to me any time," you told them both, smiling as you made to head back to your own room.

"Hey, um, (Y/L/N), can I ask you something?" Kaminari asked.

"Sure. You know how much I love questions," you teased, smiling at him. Then you noticed his expression. "Kami?"

"Will . . . will you-" he chuckled awkwardly, messing with the seam of his pant leg. "Can you read something to me?"

"Yeah, of course," you said. "What is it?"

He handed you the book, and you smiled.

"My dad used to read this to me when I was little. I think that's why I love books so much," you admitted. "That was before . . . well, it doesn't matter now. Come on, we can head down to the common room if you want. Or your room, it doesn't really matter to me."

You had visited Kaminari's room on more than one occasion to return things to him, he tended to be a little forgetful, and he had often left things with you.

Despite the fact that everything you had learned about society told you that you should avoid being alone in a room with a boy, you trusted Kaminari enough to be alone in a room with him.

"I really like to read too," he confessed. "But sometimes my brain doesn't like to let me do it."

"I understand, it's okay," you told him, touching his arm lightly. "Are you sure that you'll be able to sit still long enough for me to get through any of it?"

Kaminari, after spending so much time with you over the last few weeks, had figured out how your voice worked, and he rarely got offended by your tone of voice anymore, which you were thankful for.

"Yeah, I like the sound of your voice, it helps calm me down. I think I might pay attention more if you read it to me."

"Alright, sure, let's go," you said, holding the book to your chest.

You knew this book like the back of your hand, and you had a feeling that Kaminari was telling the truth when he said he would be able to pay attention.

Kaminari followed you into the common room of the dorms, trailing just slightly behind, but he was in front of you the moment Mineta tried to get to you.

It amazed you how fast he could move sometimes, when he really wanted to.

"Get lost Mineta," you said. "I have nothing to say to you."

Mineta opened his mouth but a raised brow from Kaminari had him shutting it and heading to his own room so he could think his pervy thoughts in peace.

"I can't believe I was ever friends with that perv," Kaminari whispered. "I think I owe a lot of the girls apologies."

Kaminari glanced over his shoulder, and you smiled at him, linking your hands together.

You were proud of him, he had really grown lately, and you were glad that he was seeing how uncomfortable he had made the girls.

"I'm proud of you," you told him, and he beamed.

He responded well to praise, and being told that he had done a good job.

"Come on, we'll have to go to bed soon if we don't want Iida to lecture us again," you said, sitting down on one of the couches.

Kaminari sat down next to you, leaning his head on your shoulder as your propped the book open.

You didn't mind the fact that Kaminari was a little clingy, the contact was nice, and he always radiated warmth, though whether that was his normal body temperature or he ran hot because of his quirk, you didn't know.

You started the book off, barely having to look at the words as you read, changing your voice as necessary, stopping every once in a while to explain a word to Kaminari that he didn't understand, or to answer a question that he had.

It was nice, spending time with him like this, simply because he wanted to, not because he was going to fail a subject.

Somehow he had ended up with his head on your thighs, and you had one hand buried in his hair, brushing it away from his face, your fingers carding through it softly.

He was making a content noise in the back of his throat, and you smiled down at him, finishing up a chapter.

"Do you want to go to bed?" you asked softly, not wanting to disturb him too much, he had enough trouble sleeping as it was.

He hummed softly, leaning into your hands, and you smiled down at him softly.

You had never been one for crushes, they had seemed pointless, and there had never been a person who had caught your attention like this.

You had thought about it, of course, what it would be like to be in a relationship, but you had never thought that you would have to worry about it.

Well now you were worrying about it.

That nameless, faceless person that had been with you in those daydreams was starting to look frighteningly like Kaminari.

You had panicked when it had first started happening, until you realized that it would probably fade. You had had a friend in middle school who had a new crush every week, and you had assumed that it would fade with time.

It hadn't. That uneasiness that had popped up around him slowly melted into a nice warmth whenever he was close. You had started to stop worrying about whether he would like this, or hate that, and had started to show your true colors.

He had seemed to like you even more when you had started doing that, and you were glad.

But the only bad thing was that now you were noticing other things. His hands lingered a little longer than necessary when he helped you during training, his smile always seemed brighter when you made him laugh. His eyes always seemed to follow you around the common room, and he sometimes appeared at your side when you walked in.

You weren't sure if you just overthinking things or if he might like you back.

But this wasn't a simple crush anymore. You weren't sure what it was. It was a little too early to be love (even though it was just a rush of chemicals in the brain meant for human survival), but it was way past a simple crush.

Was there another step between a crush and love? Was this going to end with your heart breaking? Was there even a chance that he might like you back?

These were things that you kept in the back of your mind until you were alone in your room. Worrying about them in his presence made him worry about you, and you didn't want him to worry about you if he didn't need to.

"Kami, seriously, you need to go to bed."

"If I do, so do you," he told you, making you chuckle.

"I'll go to bed if you will. You are in my lap after all," you teased, pulling your hands away.

"That's fair," he murmured, stifling a yawn.

"Go to bed Kami," you whispered, standing up as soon as your legs were free.

They had fallen asleep a while ago, but you hadn't had the heart to move him.

"Alright," he mumbled, stumbling towards his dorm room.

You smiled softly, heading for yours.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You weren't sure what woke you up hours later. Maybe it was the three glasses of water you had drank before bed, or maybe it was the fact that your brain hated you almost as much as Kaminari's hated him.

You stretched, pulling a hoodie on over the tank top and shorts that you had gone to bed in, heading for the common room.

You weren't going back to bed any time soon, so you might as well get some studying done with a nice cup of tea or something.

You were almost surprised to see Kaminari sitting at the common room table with his books out.

"Denki? What are you doing?" you mumbled, wandering over.

"(Y/L/N)? What are you doing up?"

"I could ask you the same thing," you murmured, plopping into the seat next to him.

"Couldn't sleep, my brain went into overdrive the minute I tried to fall asleep."

"I at least got a good four or five hours in," you replied. "But it's Friday night, I should be sleeping in."

"What woke you up?" he asked, laying a hand on your thigh.

Kaminari, you had noticed, liked having his hands on you.

Not in the perverted way you had expected though. He liked having a hand on your thigh or on the small of your back. He liked an arm around your shoulders or his arm linked with yours when you all took class outings. He liked being close to you.

"No idea. It might've been a nightmare," you admitted. "I remember faint flashes, but it might've been something else."

"Are you going to be able to go back to bed?"

"Nah, I'll be up for a good while," you told him, leaning into his shoulder.

"Anything I can do to help?" he asked.

"Can you just . . . talk to me?" you inquired. "I like listening to you talk about things. Calms me down."

"What do you want to know about?"

"Anything. Everything. You."

"Did you know that I have a cat named Marshmellow?"

"What? No," you said, perking up a little bit. You had always been an animal person.

"Yeah. He's the spawn of the devil, but I didn't know that when I named him. All white, pretty blue eyes. Pure fucking evil," Kaminari told you, taking his phone out to show you a photo.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, he absolutely despises me," Kaminari said, handing his phone over to you. "Loves my sister though, so he isn't a complete psychopath."

"He's a cat, can animals even be psychopaths?" you asked, moving your seat closer to his.

"No idea, but it wouldn't surprise me if he is," Kaminari said, chuckling.

"You're right, he is pretty," you murmured, flipping through the photos quickly.

Kaminari hummed, but when you glanced up he was looking at you.

He had that look on his face, the look that he sometimes got when he looked at you. It was one of the reasons you wondered if he liked you or not. He looked like he was in pain when gave you that look.

"Denki?" you inquired softly.

"Hmm?"

"Why are you looking at me like that? Like you're in pain? Like you're hurt?" you asked.

You didn't like the way your voice sounded. That little hint of insecurity snuck in, your voice had that clogged sound it got when you tried not to cry.

You weren't sure whether you could handle his response to that, but you needed to know if being around you caused him pain. You needed to know if there was any chance that he hated being in your presence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Kaminari's POV)

Pain, huh?

Yeah, this was definitely pain, seeing her like this, swaddled in a hoodie he had left in her room accidently a week ago, covering her shorts, making her legs look a mile long.

He had tried to ignore it, tried to ignore the feeling in his chest every time he looked at her, tried to ignore the blatant male pride that came with seeing her draped in his hoodie, but he was only human after all.

Denki, after spending so much time with a girl that didn't tend to pull her punches, he knew how uncomfortable he had made the girls with all of his comments. He now knew how it made them feel when he said some of the things he had.

Denki never wanted her or any of the other girls to feel like that again, and he wanted to ignore some of the things that were running through his head, but she was making it hard when she looked at him like that, when she said his name the way that she just had.

"Denks?" she asked softly, moving to get a better look at his face.

Denki had never had a crush, not a real one anyway. He had had his eyes on Jirou first year, but that had been fleeting.

He was flirty, it was just his nature, but this feeling whenever he looked at her . . . that was completely new on him.

"Denki, are you okay?" she asked, putting her hands on his face lightly, making him look at her.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" Denki asked, placing his hands over hers. "I wasn't sure whether you felt the same way and I didn't want to mess anything up."

"Denki? What are you saying?" she asked, eyes bright with hope as she looked at him, running her thumb over his cheek softly, almost absentmindedly.

"I like you, (Y/F/N), I like you a lot, and this isn't some . . . three A.M. spur of the moment confession, but . . . it kind of is. The point is that you're smart, and all kinds of gorgeous, and there's so many things about you I wish I could list, but words aren't my thing, and I know that I'm rambling, but I really can't stop 'cause I'm terrified of what your response is gonna be and I don't want to fuck anything up and-"

"Denki," she cut in, smiling at him the way she did when she was fondly exasperated with him. "You have nothing to worry about. Absolutely nothing. I like you too."

"Why?"

Even Denki was surprised by the amount of confusion in his own voice.

"Because you're a dork," she stated. "Because you're smart, even if people don't always see it right away. Because you want to be a hero, because you like to make a difference. Because in the end, you're a good guy, when you get past the playboy attitude and shitty pickup lines. Because you're cute and all kinds of soft. Because apparently I have a thing for hyperactive morons with screwed up hair."

"Rude," he muttered, but she smiled at him even wider, and he knew that it was worth it.

"Am I wrong?" she asked softly, swinging her legs around to get closer to him.

"No, but that doesn't mean that I'm happy about it," he mumbled, pouting slightly.

She gave a small giggle, something that rarely happened, and Denki smiled, wide and unburdened.

"So, what do you say about going on a date?" he asked, tucking her hair behind her ear to get a better look at his face.

"I think that's the smartest thing you've ever said to me," she teased.

Denki pouted again and she touched his nose lightly, making it crinkle in response.

"That wasn't a no," she told him, wrapping her arms around his neck softly.

"You know, this looks good on you," he whispered, touching the hem of the hoodie carefully. "And it looks very familiar."

"It does?" She pulled away to look down at it and her eyes went wide. "I didn't even know it was yours. I just threw it on on my way down here. When did you even . . . .?"

"I left in there like a week ago," Denki informed her. "I thought you had just kept it."

"I didn't know it was in there," she admitted. "But I'm not sorry that I'm in it, it's very comfortable."

"We can share custody," he murmured.

"We'll have to," she agreed. "I don't think I can deal with never wearing this again. You actually have good taste in hoodies."

"Why are you so surprised by this?" he asked.

"Because most of the time your style seems all over the place," she replied. "But that's not a bad thing. It makes you unique."

"Normal is overrated."

"A normal sleep schedule is not," she said, standing up. She grabbed his hands, pulling him to his feet. "Come on, we can chill in my room if you want to."

"You aren't nervous about having me in there?" Denki asked.

"No, because I know that if you try anything I can knock you on your ass. I also trust you," she told him, linking their fingers together softly. "Is this okay?"

"More than okay," he breathed, stepping close enough to brush their shoulders together.

He could get used to this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Your POV)

It was a rare day when you and Denki got a day off together. Being heroes was tiring, and schedules were always weird, so when you both got a day off together, you always spent them together.

"You're up early," Denki murmured, slipping in behind you from where you were sitting on the window seat of your apartment.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face in your neck.

"The baby woke me up," you said.

Said baby padded into the roof, tail high in the air, a smug look on that cute furry face as he jumped up onto the seat, curling up in your lap.

"Marshmellow, don't lay on my book," you muttered, pulling the book out.

"Told you, he's fuckin' evil," Denki murmured, kissing your shoulder lightly.

His shirt was slipping off your shoulder, and Denki treated uncovered skin like a target, regardless.

"How long have you been up?" he asked.

"Only an hour or two, and you looked so peaceful, I felt bad waking you up. I know that you've been getting more action than I have these last few weeks," you murmured, taking one of his hands, kissing his palms softly, leaning back into his warmth.

"I love you," Denki hummed.

"I love you too Denks," you told him.

"Read to me?" he requested, and you smiled.

"Always," you replied, finding your spot in your book again.

#denki kaminari x reader #denki x reader #kaminari fluff #kaminari x reader #kaminari x reader fluff #denki x reader fluff #mha #mha kaminari

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prurientpuddlejumper · 3 years

Text

Don’t Look! [Part 3]

<- Part 2 | Part 4 ->

Frederick Chilton x Reader

Once again, transformation AU by @we-are-all-just-a-bit-crazy, I’m just making a fic with it! (Going to try to wrap this series tomorrow; we’ll see if I can keep up the pace). Mutual pining + Chilton having trust issues.

2,160 words

The door opened a crack, and Dr. Chilton’s eyes appeared, searching up and down the hallway. Your pulse quickened. Finally, you were going to get answers—some logical explanation for what you’d seen last night. At least you could show him support this time instead of leaving him trembling in the dark.

He seemed to be human again. You found yourself checking and rechecking the texture of his skin for lingering signs of spikes and swirling darkness. A chill ran down your spine at his proximity, like it did when you saw a spider. You wished it wouldn’t. You didn’t want to be afraid of spiders. You didn’t want to be afraid of him.

Finding the coast clear, Chilton opened the door another few inches and stepped out wearing your grey hoodie and sweatpants. His hair was a mess, the hood pulled down to hide it.

“I cannot be seen this way. If you need me, I shall be at home. You have my personal number. Please call Nightengale Restorations and have them fix the office. Tell them I will pay a fifteen percent bonus for having it done this week,” he prattled in his professional tone as if this were just another workplace matter. He walked away, a slight hitch to his swift gait, but turned after three steps and met your eyes. “Thank you,” he said.

***

There was no confrontation after that. Dr. Chilton resumed work the next day, and things simply went back to normal. That is to say: awkward silences, reading novels into every word, and the simmering tension of pretending everything was normal when, in fact, nothing had been resolved.

Questions burned in your eyes, but fear restrained your tongue. The answers would only make you more afraid, and so Chilton did not volunteer them.

You didn’t run away, but you didn’t ask, either. Chilton was satisfied that you were just as in denial as he was.

The daily routine went on exactly as it used to: you would arrive at 7:30 am, knock at his office door, hand him a coffee, and take the file of paperwork he wanted done that day. Only there was hesitation in your knock, and you waited for him to say, “Enter,” instead of sauntering in like you owned the place. He had you put the coffee down on his desk so you would not risk brushing his fingertips as you sometimes did. When you took the file, you stared at him like he might bite.

“That will be all,” he said, dismissing you before your stoic mask faltered and you showed your true disgust.

***

Chilton’s skin crawled beneath his suit from his arms to his feet, and his scar throbbed for the first time in weeks. Having Abel Gideon back under his care was disconcerting, but a necessary part of Will Graham’s therapy—or rather, another clue in the case Graham was building against Hannibal Lecter.

He was skeptical at first. Graham was a lunatic—a sociopathic manipulator. Delusional. Yet, even a sociopath could not fabricate such elaborate lies with that much sodium amytal running through his veins.

The nightmares would be worth it when he was the man famous for bringing down the Chesapeake Ripper.

“Hey.”

Chilton looked up, eyes rimmed with red from hours of staring at a computer screen, working late yet again. You held up a bag of takeout, a weak smile on your lips.

“Need a break?” you offered, moving to sit across from him at his desk. Everything in the office was tidied up—you had cleaned most of it yourself the day Chilton went home in your sweatpants. The damage wasn’t as bad as it looked. Most of the furniture was simply overturned, not broken. Only the antique in-wall shelving waited for professional repair.

“No. Thank you,” he said, waving away the food. His lips thinned wanly. “You may help yourself if you like.”

He was equally surprised and suspicious when you stayed, unpacking the container of vegetarian pesto tortellini. He watched hungrily as you lanced one with a plastic fork and brought it to your lips. His stomach growled.

“Are you alright?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, straightening defensively in his seat.

“With Gideon here. That must be difficult.”

“I manage.”

You chewed another pasta in silence. Finally, he couldn’t help it and grabbed the second fork, stealing a tortellini off your platter. It was rich and flavorful—a bit heavy on the salt, but obviously from a fine restaurant. He held the bite in his mouth. No strange aftertastes. He did not feel woozy after swallowing. There was always a chance you were willing to drug yourself to get to him if you had an accomplice waiting to spirit him away to some secret facility.

“All right,” he snapped, chair shooting back toward the wall as he stood. “What are you after?”

You gave a startled “Mmph?” around a mouthful of pesto.

“What is the catch? A price for your silence? Why are you here, bribing me with dinner?”

“I… I’m not—what? I was worried about you.”

“Unlikely, considering the circumstances. Tell me what you want.” His eyes locked onto you, cold and piercing.

“Fine!” you broke. “I want you to forgive me!”

“For what?” he sneered, half believing your words were a veiled threat.

“I’m sorry, OK? Please—what can I do to make up for it? I tried giving you space, but now you look at me like I’m going to kick you, or”—your eyes widened at the plate of food he only touched after you ate some—“poison you! I swear I never meant to hurt you. I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” he asked in an entirely softer tone. He sat back down, hunching forward across the desk to search your face.

Your head hung low, and you murmured quietly, “I know I didn’t handle it well. I should have left when you asked. Now I understand… you didn’t want anybody to see that. I invaded your privacy. And then I freaked out!” Your voice broke. “And I’ve been trying to… to make up for it. I know you don’t want to talk about it, but—dammit, I’m pushing you again! Sorry.”

The urge to hug you overwhelmed him. If there wasn’t a deliberately massive table in between you—meant to keep others at a distance—he would have hugged you.

“Are you not afraid?” For once, the broadness of his desk seemed obtrusive.

“I could never be afraid of you.”

Your arm crossed the divide, reaching for his hand. It touched, warm and easy, and gave a sympathetic squeeze that set his blood racing. Then it retracted, and his skin ached for the lost contact.

“I just got scared because I didn’t understand what was happening. I still don’t. Maybe I am still afraid, a little. But not because—! Please, just… tell me what that was. What happened to you?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. Eyes narrowing, he answered cagily, “First, what do you think you saw? Light can play tricks on the eye, especially after long hours in a morbid environment, possible exposure to hypnotic drugs… Let us be sure we are on the same page.”

“Are you seriously going to gaslight me now that we’re finally talking? I’m not an idiot. You still owe me those pants back!”

While he floundered for words, your eyes squeezed shut, and a hissing laugh burst from your nose. A red flush crept up his neck, under his shirt collar. It was inappropriate to laugh in this situation, but perhaps that was why it was so contagious—it had been too long since he’d seen you laugh, and even longer since he’d done so himself.

“Those cheap, scratchy, torture devices? Consider it a favor that I tossed them,” he quipped. (Forget the fact that he had been sleeping with his face buried in them for the past week and simply did not wish to return them before wringing them for every drop of your scent.)

“And yet you wore them, which means I saved your ass. Checkmate, doctor.”

“Please. It is barely a Vienna Gambit.”

Laughter felt foreign in his throat. It was soft, and only lasted a brief second, but it was cleansing. You smiled at him, rolling your eyes, and his soul lifted.

“Very well,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Ask your questions.”

Your eyes darted to the windows. Another late night. Stars appeared (the handful not blotted out by Baltimore’s light pollution). You chewed your bottom lip.

“Are you going to transform again?”

“Only on the night of the new moon, when twilight gives way to the black of night. No need to worry.”

“Just once a month, then? Werewolf rules?”

He shot an offended glare, though you weren’t wrong. “Sometimes two, near the aphelion. And during an eclipse. It… hates sunlight. Even the reflection of the sun. It wants to be in darkness.” The thought disturbed him—the way the beast called him to the shadows. He always fought it to stay indoors, locking himself away from any nocturnal roving. It frightened him what might happen if he gave in. The coppery taste of blood haunted his dreams.

“Then… would you transform if you went spelunking? You know, in a cave? Or a submarine?”

“I have not tried. A darkened room is not enough. I would not tempt it.”

You swallowed and thought. Your lips twitched, building to the important question: “Is it still you in there?”

“Yes. More impulsive—I would never have smashed the decor—but I am still there.” It brings my true self to the surface, he thought, but withheld this. A slimy, dangerous, unlovable wretch. He looked at you, sitting across from him in front of a container of food you brought to share, and wondered what you were doing there after seeing it. How could you bear to be near him?

“But you’re not going to… eat me or something?” You were embarrassed to ask, and he gave you a fittingly scathing glare.

“No. I would not eat you.” He stabbed a tortellini and popped it in his mouth.

“Then I want to see it.”

He choked.

“I want to get a better look. To wrap my head around it. Besides, it seemed painful—next time I could bring you a hot towel, or… a cold pack, or… I don’t know, some tea? An ibuprofen?”

“There is no next time. You were never supposed to see that in the first place.”

“Please? If it’s going to happen again in two weeks, I want to be there. Prepared this time.”

“This is not a zoo. I am not some freak show to be gawked at! What happened to you being sorry?”

“I just want to get to know you,” you answered, and your voice sounded so small his heart reeled. You snapped your head up, “I mean—I want to be there for you. You shouldn’t be alone.”

He scoffed, defensive again. “Why? Because I might do something dangerous? I am more than capable of controlling myself.”

“Because you deserve to be comforted when you’re in pain.”

Your words struck him like a nuclear bomb of basic human decency. Deserved? Comfort?

“Does anyone else know? Does anyone… take care of you when you change?”

Only his family knew, and they certainly did not take care of him. Bringing him that bag of clothing in the morning was the first time anyone had done something thoughtful for him—helped him with his condition. Even if you had run away at first, you wanted to be supportive. To know his dark side.

Why?

Was it possible? Did you feel the same way about him as he did about you? His hand still felt warm from where you had briefly touched it.

He had to admit, it was nice having someone be there for him. Even a small gesture like old, loose-fitting sweatpants in a bag made a world of difference. Or dinner at his desk. He imagined you pressing a steamed towel to his forehead, and he did not hate the idea—doting on him like a spa therapist, taking the edge off the pain as his hair fell out and skin split open. Or watching him become hideous. Vomiting at the sight of him. Losing all interest you might have had. Realizing it was a mistake to be there.

“Thank you for dinner,” he announced in curt, clipped syllables. “That will be all.”

“Frederick…” Your voice was low, personal. Pleading. He did not like how personal it was. How you were giving him everything he wanted, like you were baiting a trap.

“Fascinating as this must be for you, I still have work to do. Your shift ended an hour ago. Go home.”

“OK. Right. I’ll see you in the morning.”

You didn’t see him trembling as you left, clutching his hand over his fluttering heart.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Taglist: @beccabarba / @itsjustmyfantasyroom / @thatesqcrush / @dianilaws / @permanentlydizzy / @mrsrafaelbarba / @madamsnape921 / @astrangegirlsmind / @neely1177 / @onerestein / @dreamlover31 / @isvvc-pvscvl / @shroomiehomie / @storiesofsvu / @welcometothemxdhouse / @feedthemadness-sweetie / @law-nerd105 / @amelia-song-pond / @michael-rooker / @xecq / @madpanda75 / @alwaysachorusgirl / @bananas-pajamas / @leanor-min / @mad-girl-without-a-box / @katierpblogg / @worldofvixen

#Frederick Chilton x reader #Frederick Chilton #Hannibal AU #my writing

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idiots-in-black · 4 years

Text

Hot Take: Dazai and Chuuya are friends in canon (1)

I love all the Enemies to Lovers content when it comes to soukoku, I really do. But I will admit, I’m one of the few people in this fandom who actually believes that Dazai and Chuuya do not hate each other.

Now, before I start to explain myself - I don’t want to argue they are romantically involved in canon or that there is a chance they could be (though I wish I could). Also, I’m only talking about events in the canon timeline, so no talking about Wan, Mayoi or anything out of the loads of promotional content. That sadly means I don’t have too much to work with but we’ll see how this goes.

1. Chuuya can see through Dazai

I vaguely remember this being stated in an interview. But that’s not the basis I want to argue on.

Dazai is ... crafty. And manipulative. Was and is in canon. And on first glance, Chuuya seems to be fooled by that, too. Stuff like the comment on his shoes, for example. But this is small, innocent stuff, why would Chuuya even bother to think about it in more detail.

But we do see him more perceptive when it comes to the deeper stuff. The first thing Chuuya says to Dazai after his introduction (and a bit of bickering) in the dungeon is “This smells fishy. You may be able to fool the inexperienced Akutagawa but not me. I am your old friend, after all.” (Yes, that last sentence is also canon). The situation in Dead Apple is similar - he knew, Dazai was up to something and he was absolutely sure, Dazai wasn’t dead but had precautions in motion. Even though it is pretty clear they did not talk to each other about this beforehand.

Chuuya is not able to figure out all the details to Dazai’s plans. Of course he isn’t, he may not be as stupid as people like to pretend but Dazai’s brain is on another level. But that’s not the point - he may not be as smart as Dazai but he knows Dazai and knows when he is up to something.

I imagine, for someone this intelligent but also so guarded like Dazai, it must be terrifying to realize there is a person who gets you. And this is a topic for another day but I do believe, this can also be a relief. It can lift a burden.

2. BuT THey HAtE EaCH oTHeR

Do I believe they annoy each other to no end? Absolutely. Does this mean they actually truly hate each other? Absolutely not.

I’ve seen people arguing that Dazai and Chuuya feel genuine hate for each other and nothing else. This really baffles me because while this may be something they say, their actions contradict this statement pretty much with everything they do.

Chuuya had tons of opportunities to kill Dazai. He wouldn’t even have to do it himself, he could just ... not save him when his life is in danger. We have seen two instances in canon so far where Chuuya could have just left Dazai to die (Dragon’s Head Rush and the Dead Apple incident) but he didn’t. On the contrary, he literally risked his own life in Dead Apple to save Dazai even when Ango told him he was probably dead. You do not do that for someone you genuinely hate.

And I know, Chuuya says in the dungeon “if you were that incompetent, I would’ve killed you a long time ago”. But I don’t think he said this because he actively tried but because he would not have accepted Dazai as his partner if he was.

Same with Dazai. He literally has Chuuya’s life in his hands whenever he uses corruption. It would be child’s play to just leave him but he doesn’t, instead he comes for him time and time again.

3. Chuuya isn’t Odasaku

I feel like people tend to compare Chuuya and Odasaku too much. It’s easy to make that mistake since Odasaku is to this day the one person who is actually in text confirmed to be very dear to Dazai. But the thing is - you can have multiple types of friendships and this doesn’t mean one is better or deeper than the other. They’re just different.

And I think, this is the case here. We know, Oda was a good friend and very important to Dazai, this is fact. Chuuya is very different from Oda and his relationship with Dazai is also very different than Oda’s relationship with him. However, that does not automatically mean, that Chuuya and Dazai can’t be friends.

Plus, do not forget - Dazai actively sought Chuuya out when he got captured, he did admit as much. Sure, his main objective was finding information about Atsushi’s bounty but it is also canon he foresaw Chuuya coming there and anticipated it.

4. Together they can be the children they were never allowed to be

They met at the age of 15, both of them at a point in their lifes where they had to mature way earlier than they should have. We’re not privy to a lot of details to Dazai’s life prior to meeting Mori. But it can’t have been fun when you look at him and how at 15 he is already obviously twisted in an unhealthy way. We know a little more about Chuuya but while he may not be as broken as Dazai was at 15, he was pretty much alone with the heavy burden of carrying Arahabaki inside himself and protecting the sheep kids.

At that time in Fifteen and I’d bet even for a long time after that, they’re the only people in each others lifes close in age and of similar status. They’re completely equal to each other, even when they get promoted to executives (btw, it seems to me and there are still too many people out there who don’t know that Chuuya was promoted at the same time as Dazai (or maybe even a little earlier?) and Dazai only got the title of youngest executive in Port Mafia history because he is younger than Chuuya by two months).

And you can see them just being children together. When they’re playing in the arcade and nearly every interaction they have as adults just screams childish antics to me. Which leads directly into:

5. The Fucking Bickering

They are just so incredibly ridiculous. I just cannot believe, people acutally think they hate each other. They talk to each other like old friends. Well, with a little more violent touch but I don’t think this is surprising considering the environment they grew up in. When they meet in the dungeon, the first thing they do is bicker for 20 pages before Chuuya proposes a duel (who even does that).

Then they fight for literally 3 pages, before Chuuya starts taunting Dazai again with words instead of beating him up like he said he would.

Now we got through the general stuff, but I will get into more detailed scene analysis in the second part of this post (yes, there will be a part 2). Because even looking directly at their scenes, they don’t read like scenes about enemies. So stay pumped!

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd nakahara chuuya #bsd dazai osamu #soukoku #dazai osamu #nakahara chuuya #meta #canon material #headcanon #?? can you call it that??#anyways this took me waaaaay too long #but i wanted to get this out there #i hope i'll have the next part ready soon but no promises #work and my thesis are killing me rn

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unrequitedloveletter · 3 years

Text

Real- Kaz Brekker

Sankta Alina (Page Eighty-Three series, part 2)

Hello, hello, hello again! This is the third part in the Page Eighty-Three series, and, in order to understand this fic, you’ll need to read the first two parts I’ve published!

Anyways, depending on how this ends (I’m writing this note before I’ve published the fic, and I’m not sure yet!) there will probably be a part four that’ll act as a little epilogue of sorts! I want to conclude this, but I think, in order to do that, it’ll have to be four parts instead of three, like I’d planned for it to be.

A quick reminder, in this fic, Kaz, the reader, and the crows are around 21, and at 21, Kaz has gotten a fair amount more comfortable with touch.

Also, I put a gif for both Kaz and Mr. Darkles Sparkles! I wanted to put a Kaz gif in because hes in the fic later, and I put one of the darkling in because he’s in it a lot for the first bit, so I just did that! Is that not proper fanfic etiquette? I don’t really know, I’m used to just putting one.

Anyways, lets get into it!

Fic type- angst with a fairly fluffy ending!

Warnings- the Darkling is in this a lot, theres manipulation, gaslighting, the reader is chained up, kvas and alcoholism are mentioned a l o t and depicted a little, the darkling underfeeds the reader, and theres no shortage of SoC canon-typical violence in this fic

D A Y O N E

You were suspended from the ceiling, chains holding onto your wrists in a death grip, only loose enough that the circulation didn’t cut off. You couldn’t touch your feet to the ground and when you looked down, you found that you were at least fifteen feet away from it.

Candles the size of your arm were scattered through the space, their flames providing the only light in the room. There were four long walls, and, as you glanced about, you saw two entrances. One off to the right, one close to the ceiling, accompanied by a long ladder and a pole beside it.

“You know how to escape,” Was how your father greeted you. “I trained you for this moment, Y/N.”

“I haven’t used my powers in seven years,” nothing more than sending a message to Kaz while he stood under a lamplight, at least. Nothing more than providing yourself shade when it was warm and the sun was shining in Ketterdam. Nothing big enough to help in your escape. “I swore them off the minute I got away from you!”

“You were adamant about not using them while you were still in my custody,” he corrected. “You’ve always hated the gift that we have.”

“Darkness is not a gift,” you spat. “That’s like saying death is a blessing.”

“Every Grisha with an amplifier thinks so,” he said.

“Alina Starkov doesn’t,” you knew that you’d managed to hit a nerve. “She hates you for all the death and destruction you’ve caused!”

“She understands that I did it because of you,” she didn’t believe that. She’d told you that she didn’t believe that herself. “Because I missed my son!”

“You don’t have a bone in your body that’s capable of missing someone,” you spat. “You’ve ‘missed’ me not because I’m your son, but because to you, I am property. I am an object that you’ll grow tired of and abandon somewhere on the Ravkan coast in a months time.”

“You might be right,” he admitted. “But I won’t leave you alive once I’m done with you. I’ll leave your body in the Unsea, let everyone you’ve ever called family drudge it for your corpse.”

“Kaz will come for me,” you said, voice weak. “He’ll come for me, and he’ll kill you and I will finally get my peace of mind.”

“Kaz?” He asked. “Who’s Kaz?”

“Kaz Brekker,” you stumbled. The Darkling, of course knew that, but the sooner he could convince you that you’d hallucinated some of the best years of your life, the sooner he could get you to do his bidding.

“I’ve never heard that name before,” your breathing went ragged as you fought against dehydration and exhaustion. “Are you all right? I’m sure that you have a fever! I’ve never heard you speak so insanely!” The Darkling, able to see how tired you’d become, did himself a favor, coating your eyes in darkness and pushing you over into a dreamless sleep.

D A Y S E V E N

Your father didn’t give you much to eat or drink through the following days. Some water here and there, three sandwiches a day. Once you’d tried to give in and use your powers to unbind yourself from the chains, he laughed, applauded your effort. After, he explained their making, and promised you an endless stream of kvas and brought the chains just low enough that you could plant your feet on the ground, even though your arms still hung in the air.

The chains weren’t just the work of the Darkling, but also of a fabrikator. They did and undid at his will, not yours, and they could grow or shrink in length and size at the will of his darkness.

Once you’d slowly started to cooperate, he gave you more water. Five glasses of kvas daily--just enough to make sure you stayed drunk-- and three glasses of water. One for each meal and to ensure you didn’t throw up all over your own shoes.

“Why do you do this?” You asked, slurring your words and mumbling after glass number four of kvas. “Why do you force kvas down my throat and then berate me for drinking it?”

“Who is Kaz Brekker?”

“He’s a made up person from my hallucinations.” Drunk people were easiest to manipulate. The Darkling knew that and used it to his advantage. “I was in love with him.”

“And who were you with the night I took you?”

“I thought it was Kaz,” your voice sounded groggy and you’d been constantly exhausted because of the small food portions, the endless stream of kvas, and the small glasses of water given to you daily. “It must’ve been Inej or Wylan.”

“And where are we right now?”

“Underneath the orphanage ran by Alina Starkov.”

“And what am I going to ask of you twenty three days from now?”

“I have to kill her,” you said. “To prove myself worthy enough to call myself your son.”

“That’s right,” he said with a grin. “Good. We’re on the right track.” He’d turn you inside out soon enough. Kill you and use you as a decent amplifier for himself. He’d turn himself back into a national threat, and be the fall of millions.

He couldn’t wait.

“I miss Kaz,” you rambled. “I know he was a hallucination, but I miss him.”

“Tell me about him,” your father urged. “His strengths, his weaknesses.”

“I don’t think I’ll tell you about his strengths,” you said. “You’d know how to beat him when he comes for me if I told you.” The Darkling had successfully fooled you into thinking that the love of your life was a hallucination, but that he was coming to get you nonetheless.

“His weaknesses, then?”

“It’s me,” you said. “In Ravka, I’m his only weakness.”

D A Y F O U R T E E N

Over the course of seven days, the Darkling had made one decision. Less kvas for you, which, in your case, meant more legitimately lucid hours. Not half lucid ones where you could hardly remember what was said, where you were on autopilot and giving your father the answers he desired.

Every night, you dreamt of Kaz. The sad look on his face when he saw you, your arm clutched aggressively in your fathers hand. The fear not etched into his face but clear as day in his eyes, the flickering anger that showed itself in the last seconds before your father dragged you off.

Sometimes, you dreamt of your favorite moments with him. Helping him revise a back up plan. Waking up with a sore back, still perched on his office window only to meet his gaze and smile when you noticed the book in one hand, tea in the other as he moved to sit in his chair. The first time that either of you slept in the same bed when you were nineteen, the distinct feeling of his pinky finger as it held tightly to your own. You dreamt of the little things while you slept, and kept it all from your father when you woke.

He had you convinced that all of it was hallucinations. That Kaz never existed and that maybe, he wouldn’t come and save you after all, but he was also hellbent on things that you’d never cooperate with.

Killing Alina Starkov, to start. You didn’t know much of her as a kid, even less about her life after she’d lost her powers and faked her death, but you weren’t going to kill a girl with a husband and a life. You weren’t going to kill someone just because your father still considered her a loose end in need of tying off after six years.

You’d do a lot of things to ensure you made it to your next meal, but killing Alina was not one of them. Her death was where you drew the line, even if that wasn’t something that’d been made explicitly clear to your father.

“Whatever happened to your amplifier?” He’d asked after your third glass of kvas it went with your dinner, just like it always did.

“I gave it to Genya for safekeeping,” your amplifier was a claw belonging to a wild bear that you’d killed at ten years old. Your father had it attached to a ring of obsidian to remind you of your rightful bloodline, and so that the claw was always digging into any side of your middle finger, no matter where you positioned it.

In the last few months before you left for Ketterdam, you gave it to Genya, told her that she could do as she wished with it. Have it cast in gold, get rid of the claw and turn the ring into an accessory, give it to Alina or Zoya, for all you cared. It wasn’t yours anymore. You wanted nothing to do with the amplifier, or the reason that you needed it.

“She said she’d have it on her if I ever asked for it again. Why do you want it?”

“Because, son. You’ll need it to train.” you had to fight off a laugh.

Genya. She’d see you. She’d know you were alive and she’d get you back to Ketterdam. She’d get you back home, no matter what it took.

“She works with Nikolai at the Little Palace,” you said. “That’s the last that I heard of her, at least.”

“I’ll have a few visitors in the next few weeks then,” he said. “I’ll see to it that Genya informs your fellow barrel scum that you’ve chosen to work with me.”

Never, you thought. Never, in a million years, will working with you ever be my choice. I’d sooner give up myself up to Pekka Rollins than I’d ever work alongside you.

But you smiled then, and nodded. “Thank you, father,” you said, forcing your tone to sound as grateful as possible. “May I see her? I’ve not spoken to her in a long while.”

“We’ll meet on neutral territory,” he said. “If you try to escape, I’ll kill you.” You felt hope claw its way up your arms and down into your chest, settling into your heart as it thumped in an excited rythm.

You’d see Genya again, and maybe, if she gave enough way, you’d know whether Kaz was really a hallucination like your father had convinced you. You’d get a chance at leaving, too, knowing Genya, but your escape would be successful. You’d get back to the Barrel and feel at home once more.

D A Y T W E N T Y - O N E

You constantly felt exhausted. The dreams about Kaz had turned into night terrors and, at some point, you’d forgotten that sleep was important. You ate your meals, drank the kvas that your father would throw at your face if you didn’t, waited each and every day for Genya to show up and get you home safe, if that was even what she’d intended to do.

“When will we see Genya?” You asked. It was your third mealtime of the day, and you picked at it slowly.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “Bright and early tomorrow morning, a few hundred miles east. Neutral territory, remember?” You grinned.

“Excited?” He asked, and you realized then why he’d given you more than a sandwich to eat that night. In front of you sat some of your favorite food, all of it in portions bigger than any that you’d eaten in the three weeks leading up to that day. He was giving you lots to eat not out of the kindness of his heart, but because he didn’t want Genya to know that he’d practically starved you.

“Very,” you said, slowly eating as you spoke. “I’ve missed her.”

“I can imagine,” he said, pressing his knees up to his chest. “Brekker misses you.”

“As in Kaz Brekker?”

“Yes,” your father said. A flick of his wrist upwards had the chains that bound you forcing you up into standing. “Kaz Brekker.”

“I thought he wasn’t real? I thought that I was hallucinating?”

“And whos fault is it that you believe such a thing?” He asked.

You, you thought. I haven’t been able to tell whats real and whats not since I woke up chained and fifteen feet off the fucking ground.

“He misses you,” your father spat. “Him and his lackeys are looking for you at every bloody chance they get. I saw them when I was getting your food at around six bells.” Your eyes widened as he pulled out a knife that he’d sheathed in his coat.

The first cut wasn’t so bad. Along your arm, not too deep, but still deep enough to draw blood. The next was in your other arm, from elbow to wrist.

You closed your eyes, tilted your head back and forced yourself to focus on the good times. The laughter with Genya, quippy moments with Zoya. When you came out to both of them and they hugged you until you couldn’t breathe.

Waffles with Nina, explosions with Wylan, and endless hours of fun at the tables with Jesper. Running across rooftops with Inej. Using your crossbow and feeling the wind slapping against your face when the adrenaline set in and Kaz realized that his initial plan had fucked up. The feeling of rain meeting your bare skin and soaking your clothes.

Kaz’s pinky in yours, grins in his office, poems read aloud and gentle hands caressing clothed shoulders as you helped Kaz through his touch aversion.

The feeling of his lips against your forehead that first time. The slight smile you felt against your skin when he’d pulled you as close as he could handle.

You forced yourself to remember every happy memory with him, every good part and every bad part after that. Every argument, every shout, everything. All the good and the bad, because, even though there was good, the bad came with it sometimes.

Once your father was done, you knew that there were cuts in places that’d take ages to heal. You felt them, watched as the blood dripped and slid down your skin, and even then, you were only able to muster one word.

“Kaz!” Your scream was so loud that it was blood curdling, and you’d been sure that someone above ground had heard it, but you didn’t care. If someone, anyone, had heard it, it just meant that you could escape when they questioned your father. You could go back to Ketterdam and find a home in the arms of a boy who your father had convinced you was a hallucination, but whether he was or wasn’t, you’d be home.

D A Y T W E N T Y - F O U R

Genya didn’t come the next day. Or on day twenty two or twenty three, and by dinnertime on day twenty four, you weren’t sure she’d ever come.

“The entire bloody town has heard your screams,” you’d let yourself go to sleep in the two nights between days twenty one and twenty four, and the nightmares came at you with full force. You woke up scared out of your wits and screaming bloody murder every time, but the nightmares were worth it.

Kaz was in Keramzin. That meant that Jesper and Wylan and Inej and Nina were, too. They were close. They would find you and take you home.

“Pray to god that they don’t find us,” you said. “I’m sorry about the nightmares.”

“Whats caused them?”

“I don’t know,” you lied. “I think I just need a moment or two to see the sun. Be outdoors for a little.”

“Tomorrow,” he said. “I promise.”

The both of you heard a rattling sound to your right, and you couldn’t help it.

Your eyes widened, you got yourself to standing, and you started screaming.

“Help me! Help me!” you saw the knob on the door jiggling. “Kaz, please!” You gripped onto your chains as the Darkling quickly ran off to the left, his only real intent being to save his own skin.

The door burst open, and in an instant, people went a million different ways. Nikolai and Zoya focused on getting the Darkling into a corner, whilst everyone else ran straight for you.

Kaz and Nina, you noticed, lingered near the back, whereas Inej, Jesper, and Genya were at you in a minute, putting food into your hands and helping you eat, then getting you to chug a bottle of water and bombarding you with questions.

“Are you all right?” Came Genyas voice.

“Has he fed you?” Asked Jesper.

“Can you get yourself out of these chains?” Inej asked, giving the fabrikator made chains a slight tug.

“Kaz,” he was the only thing that your mind was able to focus on. “Kaz.” He snapped up to attention, meeting your eye and taking a cautionary step toward you.

“Y/N?”

“A-Are...” You were stumbling. Nervous. Kaz hadn’t seen a nervous side to you since you’d first met. “Are you...?” He wanted to kill the Darkling for making you stumble. For the cuts he noticed, peeking out from under your shirt, near your collarbone and on your arms.

“Are you real?” Kaz nodded instantly.

“I’m real,” he said. “I promise. Do you want me to help you out of the chains? They have locks around the cuffs.” He was treading lightly.

“He told me you weren’t real,” you mumbled. “I’d started to believe him.”

“Hey,” he whispered. “Look at me, okay? I’m right here, I’m real, and I’m not leaving your side until your safe and sound in our bed at home.”

He pulled a lock pick from his pocket, and had the cuff on your right wrist undone in seconds, quickly moving to do the left.

“This could be just a--” you were glancing between the six of them, completely and totally unsure of yourself. “I don’t know that this is real!” In the later years, you’d never admit to having had that breakdown, or that your fathers words had effected you more than you thought.

Without so much as a second thought, Kaz removed one of his gloves, grabbed your hand, and brought it to his cheek.

“I’m real,” he said. “I’m Kaz Brekker, I’ve loved you since we were teens, and I’ve not stopped loving you for even a moment of my life through the last six years. We’re going to get you home, okay?” You nodded, pulling your hand away from his cheek and glancing at Genya.

“My amplifier?”

“You’re not going to try and kill him, are you?”

“Amplifier, Genya,” she heaved a sigh, pulling it from the pocket of her wool kefta and pressing it into your outstretched palm.

You slid it onto your left hands middle finger, shooting Kaz a grin as you did.

“Be careful,” he said. “Killing him could kill you, and I’ve only just gotten you back. I’m not ready to lose you again so soon.”

“Yes, King Brekker,” you teased. “I promise, I won’t get myself killed.” You glanced around, spotting where Zoya had cornered the Darkling, fighting a grin as you hobbled over, with that movement having been the first time you actually used your legs for walking in twenty four days.

You let the darkness come to you, clouding itself into your hand and curling around the tips of your fingers as your gaze hardened and met your fathers.

“Kill me,” he said. “You can’t do it, you’re a bloody coward!” You grinned, shrugging as you did.

“I was a coward at fourteen,” you said. “But here, at twenty one, with a boyfriend and a family who mean far more to me than you had in the twelve years that I lived with you? Sweet of you to think that I haven’t washed innocent blood off my hands, father.”

He took a sharp inhale. “Coward,” he whispered, exhaling and resting his head against the wall. “You are not my son. You are a coward.”

“A coward who’s justified in the killing of his father,” you answered, tone clearly conveying condescension. “I’m doing this world a favor.”

“And for it, well, I’m sure I’ll figure out some Ravkan perk,” Nikolai quipped. “Just for your final demise, Aleksander.”

“How do you know my name?” The Darkling screamed.

“Our beloved sun saint talks,” Zoya gave. “Y/N, finish him.” You nodded, glancing back at Kaz, only to find him watching your every move.

You gave him a nod, one that told him not to worry, that you’d be fine, and glanced back at the hand you held just a few inches away from your fathers heart.

“I think that I’ll turn the bones of your hand into quite a nice little bracelet for myself,” you said. “Both an amplifier and a token of my own victory.”

“You take the right,” Zoya said. “So long as I get the left. Genya, Nik and I will figure out a way to split his skull.” You nodded, laughing lightly before sending the darkness in a daggerlike spiral toward his chest.

It took more energy than it should’ve to kill him, but eventually, the beat in his heart stopped.

You collapsed shortly thereafter, exhausted beyond any other exhaustion that you’d ever felt.

--------

Tags: @whateverfandom00 @a-c-lee @incorrectquotesconaisseur @the7seannas @teatimeforusreaders @hunnybunimdun

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #shadow and bone #six of crows #shadow and bone netflix

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jetaime-jespere · 3 years

Text

Prompt #130/164

130 & 164 fit well together as kind of a “two parter”.

Oh my god! You’re in love with her! Why can’t they see they’re meant for each other?

Despite the image he maintains with relative ease, David Rossi wouldn’t consider himself an expert in love. Far from it, actually. After all, he’s been divorced three times, each one a bit more dramatic than the previous. He’s broken hearts as many times as his own has broken. It’s a relentless cycle that has made him overwhelmingly astute, the kind of wisdom that comes from years of experience.

He’s undoubtedly charming, knows his way around a wine cellar, and can woo even the most jaded of women.

Love, however, is a different story.

But if there’s one thing he prides himself on, it’s calling it when he sees it. As he’s learned over time, love is sometimes inconvenient, usually impractical, and something is always lingering in the shadows to tear it apart. It’s a test of survival, one he’s failed many a time.

Those years of experience are how he comes to the conclusion that Aaron Hotchner is head over heels in love with Emily Prentiss. He’s annoyed at himself for not calling it sooner, for not seeing the signs. Because today was one hell of a sign, and as he walks away from the crime scene, his heart pumps just a little faster, a bead of sweat lingering on his brow. A sign that was just a little too close for his comfort.

They’re in Boston this time, having been called in to catch a killer targeting brunettes in nightclubs. And as day two blends into day three without much more than a tentative profile and preferred location, they have to take a different approach. One Dave should have seen coming.

It’d been Emily’s idea to go under, posing as a potential target, one Aaron disagreed with from the beginning. Dave had watched him shoot her down immediately, an utter disregard that bordered on downright rude in front of half the Boston PD. It wasn’t the curtness of his voice that got his attention, or the way he held up his hand as if to shush her when her mouth opened to question his directive. It wasn’t that. It was concern, maybe even a touch of fear he’d seen in their normally unflappable Unit Chief. He’s met with Emily’s fury, an anger that radiates through her eyes, her arms curling across her chest in defiance.

But they have no other option, because catching a nightclub killer isn’t going to be easy, as Emily reminds him, unwilling to back down. It’s a good plan, she suggests, because she fits the bill and knows the profile.Aaron’s face darkens at the prospect. “He’ll walk right into our trap,” she reasons before it’s almost a done deal, and she changes into the slinky emerald green dress that somehow appears from nowhere.

Dave has an inkling his reluctance goes beyond more than just simple concern for a subordinate just moments before they leave for the club. When sees her angrily stalking away from him, wearing that green dress that turns every head in the station, her hair fixed and fully made up, he knows there’s something between them. Something that’s been going on for awhile now. Aaron follows behind her, his mouth pressed into an angry line and his jaw set. His eyes don’t even linger on the dress - which suggests he’s seen it on her before. The only question is when that was.

“Disagreement?” Dave attempts with discretion as Emily disappears around a corner, her spine stiff and her shoulders squared.

He says nothing in return, only fastens the FBI vest around his waist, a sign of his defeat.

But as it turns out, in the end, Aaron was right, and Dave isn’t sure he wants to know all the details of just how he finds him bent over their unsub, menacing with a gun in his face less than two hours later. The Boston PD swarms around them too, their own weapons drawn in preparation. Aaron is seething, hissing that it’s over, an expletive falling from his lips.

“Hotch,” is what Dave says evenly, almost pleasantly, because what he recognizes in his face is rage. Rage for the fact that Emily was found with maybe seconds to spare before things went from bad to worse, with two broken ribs, a badly sprained ankle, a fractured cheekbone from being pummeled in the face. “We’ve got him. Go.”

When he escorts their unsub into a police car - a man whose name isn’t even worth uttering - he spies Aaron hovering around the open doors of an ambulance, mere inches away from Emily’s side. She’s bleeding at the knees, her face already swollen, as she’s loaded into the ambulance en route to a Boston hospital. They got lucky tonight, as they often do, but this one carries a little more weight. For more reasons than one.

...

The bar is where he finds Aaron after they get back from the hospital hours later, everyone in just a few more pieces than they’d been when arriving. There’s a drink in his hand and an empty glass beside it, suggesting he’s been here a bit longer than Dave originally thought. The clock on the wall approaches 2 AM.

“Shouldn’t you be with her right now?” He asks, taking the empty stool at his side. “Didn’t think I’d find you here.”

“JJ has it under control,” Aaron says stiffly, clearly not ready to elaborate any further because things are clearly still rocky. “I shouldn’t have ever agreed to send her under.”

“Did you actually think you’d have a choice?” The bartender brings another round for them both, and he nods a quick thanks. “Emily is … well, Emily.”

“I could have taken her off the case. But then I wouldn’t have been objective. What I did was based strictly on my own feelings.” It’s as close a confession as he’ll get out of him, so Dave takes a chance.

“How long have you been seeing each other?”

“Three months,” Aaron says honestly, maybe a bit too forthcoming, but that’s probably the alcohol talking. Has it been that long? Clearly by now, Dave knows their little secret. “She’s a little out of my league, don’t you think?” He scrubs a hand over his eyes, his face lined with exhaustion and stress, the emotional turmoil that comes with nearly losing someone you love.

“My God,” Dave whistles, the whiskey burning his throat and quieting the voice in his head that reminds him just how close she got today. He suddenly wishes he had a cigar. “You’re in love with her,” he adds quietly. It’s a statement, not a question.

Aaron swallows tightly, nods. “Is it that obvious?”

His face cracks into the slightest of grins. “No. I’ve just been around long enough to tell.”

...

The flight home from Boston is uncomfortably quiet. It’s like everyone knows to stay out of Aaron’s way, giving him space once they’ve boarded the plane. He gets on last, staying a safe distance away from Emily, even though he keeps a protective eye on her at all times. She’s on crutches for the next week - the ankle sprain was worse than they’d originally thought, and she curses under her breath as she maneuvers clumsily down the narrow aisle. Whatever went down between them in Boston is clearly still brewing, and Dave is glad they’re all headed to the sanctuary of their own homes. He says a silent prayer for whichever set of neighbors have the good fortune of listening to the argument that will most likely materialize once they’re back in Virginia.

“I’m fine,” Emily says firmly once she’s seated with her foot elevated on the seat across from her, ignoring the sympathetic smiles from Morgan and Reid, their offers to keep her comfortable. “Everyone please stop looking at me like I’m going to break into pieces.” Emily grumbles, clearly exasperated, gripping the armrests as she takes a few steadying deep breaths. From the corner of his eye, Dave watches her pop a pain pill, chase it down with some water, and stare at the ceiling for a few long moments.

Aaron settles not too far away, and it only takes a few minutes before they’re staring daggers at one another, a wordless duel laced with the remnants of previous arguments. It’s palpable, hanging in the air like a cloying smoke. Being in their vicinity finally gets too uncomfortable; he awkwardly shuffles down the aisle a few seats back, finding JJ in one of the seats with a book in her lap. She barely acknowledges him, just a little half smile as she stares at the pages, and it soon becomes painfully obvious she’s not even reading the words.

“You gonna turn the page anytime soon? You’ve been on -” Dave leans over to confirm - “page 177 for the last fifteen minutes.”

“Why can’t they see they’re meant for each other?” JJ mutters under her breath next to him. it’s meant for only him to hear, Dave does a double take, making sure he heard correctly. She catches him immediately, smirking behind her fist. “What? I don’t believe for a second you don’t know about what’s going on between the two of them.

He holds up both hands innocently, hoping it's convincing. “I know nothing.”

“Lie to me again, Rossi, and I’ll ask Strauss why she comes to your office every night when she thinks we’ve all gone home.” JJ snaps the book shut, tossing it to the side. “Now,” she says, lowering her voice. “Tell me what you know.”

#hotchniss fanfiction #prompts #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #and rossi because he's the captain of the Hotchniss ship and I can't be convinced otherwise #hotchniss

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missdawnandherdusk · 4 years

Text

I Will Rise

Hufflepuff!Reader X Draco

You can take everything I have

You can break everything I am

Like I'm made of glass

Like I'm made of paper

Go on and try to tear me down

I will be rising from the ground

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5 Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Summary: With the next winter holiday things get to their lowest point. But rock bottom is always the place to start building up.

A/N: So this was supposed to be super angsty with no end in sight but ya know, I changed my mind. This is angsty don’t get me wrong, but this is also where choices are made and people are changed for the better or worse. Sidenote: I just ended a four year relationship yesterday and ya know. I’m great. Anyway. Love yall!! Let me know that you think as always!!

Draco and I stood at the Manor gates. Dark clouds rolled in, suffocating us. They threatened with snow, ice, and fury.

“It’s the Dark Magic,” Draco noted, his voice seemingly indifferent, taking my hand.

I nodded, sighing. Something was to be said about missing sunny days and warmth. Even in the dead of winter, this chill sat differently on our shoulders. Winter promised spring... this artic promised nothing but death.

Inside and unpacked, Draco and I shared a bit of tea in front of a warm fire. He was reading The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe aloud, and despite my adoration of the book, I couldn’t seem to lose myself in the words as I once had. Even with the silkiness of Draco’s voice. I now had a deeper understanding for Narnians before the events of the book. An endless winter with only a small gossamer of hope to cling too.

“Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight,

At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more,

When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death,

And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again.”

The words mocked me. Draco seemed to pick up on my disinterest.

“Don’t tell me you don’t prefer the book any longer?” There was a soft teasing smile on his lips as he closed the book, setting it on his lap. It was the one I had given him almost a year ago.

“No, I do,” It was a sad sigh. “I just... do you think someone is out there for us? An Aslan to come and save us?” I hugged my knees.

“Well, you know as well as I do,” He took the same book and flipped further back before settling on a page that seemed to satisfy him.

"Dearest," said Aslan very gently, "you and your brother will never come back to Narnia."

"Oh, Aslan!!" said Edmund and Lucy both together in despairing voices.

"You are too old, children," said Aslan, "and you must begin to come close to your own world now."

"It isn't Narnia, you know," sobbed Lucy. "It's you. We shan't meet you there. And how can we live, never meeting you?"

"But you shall meet me, dear one," said Aslan. "Are — are you there too, Sir?" said Edmund.

"I am," said Aslan. "But there I have another name. You must learn to know me by that name. This was the very reason why you were brought to Narnia, that by knowing me here for a little, you may know me better there."

A smile brushed my lips as he closed the book again.

“But do you think that was meant for us?” I laid my head on his shoulder.

“I think that it was meant to give hope,” Draco decided after a quiet moment, “Aslan, by any other name, would still be something to believe in,”

“Unless that name happens to be Harry Potter,” I chuckled, drawing a laugh from Draco. “And have you been reading my Shakespeare?”

“Maybe a bit,” A smile toyed at his lips.

“Romeo and Juliet though?” I rolled my eyes. “I told you, it wasn’t a good story to read presently,”

“I think you also told me that it was worth keeping the books that didn’t have a happy ending,” Draco set the book on the coffee table and pulled me into his hold.

“Do you think we’ll have one?” I asked softly. “A happy ending?” His face was hard to read as his eyes fixed on the burning fire.

“How can we with what we’re going to do?” The words echoed in my thoughts as we both sobered.

The plea for him to not do what he was asked of came rushing to my lips, but I held them there. I wouldn’t tell him. I had decided on that long ago. This was the one choice that he needed to figure out how to make on his own. I was torn myself. I wanted to tell him to stop, to help him make this choice, but I couldn’t. I didn’t know how to. But I could stay beside him... I prayed that it would be enough for him.

Even with the holiday upon us, the air was void of excitement and magic. The Manor was decorated immaculately even still. Tears stung my eyes, when thinking that this was the first Christmas I ever had without my mother, without baking or cooking or the music or movies. There was nothing to do in the kitchen with the house elves working and practically shoving me out of the room. There was nothing to clean. Nothing to tidy or move... It felt unnatural. Draco pulled me into his arms, giving me the comfort that I craved so desperately.

“Your mother is arriving soon,” He murmured softly. “Are you going to be alright?”

“I think so... we’ve been civil through writing. How bad could this possibly be?” My words were cynical but hopeful still. “Besides... at least it won’t be just the four of us. By comparison my mother will be a delight,”

“Bellatrix has agreed to be civil, and Snape always comes for Christmas. Or has before the last couple years at least. He’s my godfather, you know. He and my father were close when they were young,” Draco’s voice was strained. “But I suppose they will all be needles in a haystack,”

“It was right to invite the rest of...” I trailed off. “They’re alone too,”

“Always the Hufflepuff, are we?” He mused softly.

I hummed in acknowledgement. I was still wary about Bellatrix attending supper. Too many things had the chance of going poorly.

“You know we have to do this,” He read my thoughts.

“The perfect children. The perfect couple. The perfect soldiers.” I sighed. “What I wouldn’t give to go back to that night at the Ball. Or the month after...”

“It’s ironic,” Draco chuckled darkly. “That we now know ignorance is bliss,” I nodded at the doorbell chimed throughout the house.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,”

It was something quite different dining with just the Slytherins and dining with their parents as well. It wasn’t just I and Draco who were playing perfect children, but all of my friends, everyone I knew. All sapped of joy, of smiles, expression... under the scrutiny of their parents. Blaise, Vincent, Greg, Theo, and Pansy.

“How has schooling been?” My mother tried asking as the first course was served.

“Well—”

“Ugh,” Bellatrix scoffed. “Who can learn anything with that daft old fool as headmaster?”

“Bellatrix,” Narcissa warned gently.

“Yes, yes. Civil. As you wish,” She rolled her eyes and slouched, digging into what I assumed was quail.

Draco and I shared a look. Attempts for conversations halted after that.

Dinner passed and I barely tasted any of the surely rich foods that were placed before me. After the awkward affair, my mother asked to speak with me in private. Draco, Narcissa, and oddly enough, Snape eyed me warily.

“Of course,” I gave Draco one last look. He looked as if he were ready to pick me up and make a run for it, but he refrained.

I led her to the small rose garden that Draco had once led me to. It seemed sacrilegious to tread upon this secret haven, but it was a place that gave me comfort. Though it was covered in snow and the trees and bushes were bare, I still remembered the summer warmth the garden offered.

“You have surrounded yourself with quite a group people my dear,” Her voice strained out the words. “And that dress is lovely,”

“A gift from Narcissa,” A tight smile touched my lips.

“So, you’ve replaced me then?”

I turned, frowning at my mother.

“You really think that?” I was baffled.

“Well look at you! New dress, new shoes, new friends! You’re living and dining with a bunch of Death Eaters for Merlin’s sake!”

“Yes, because I had so much of a choice to abandon the people I love and come home and live with my mother who lied to me for fifteen years and manipulated me!” I watched as my sharp words silenced her.

“You could have come home any time,” It was a quiet notion.

“No, I couldn’t have,” I wrapped my arms around myself and took a deep breath. “I’m going inside,”

“Please, dear. It is Christmas,”

“Yes,” I turned to face her. “And I’d rather be inside with Draco, if you can understand that.”

“Draco,” It was nearly a sneer. “I have heard... rumors about him.”

“I really don’t think you have any right to say a word,” I said, my tone as ice.

“You’re blind. Your own love blinds you to who he really is. You’re going to get hurt,” There was an air of concern in her voice.

“No! I’ve spent years of my life terrified of letting people in because you’ve got it so deeply ingrained in me that I might get hurt! Well you were wrong about the world! And you were wrong about me!” I stalked up to her. “I have done things that you will never know! That you will never understand! I’m living through a war for god’s sake mom! And you’re here yelling at me about who I’m dating!?” I took a small step back, shaking my head. “This was a mistake...”

“Y/n, wait, please, you have to understand—”

“No mom! You... you don’t get to just waltz in here and ask me to understand! I don’t have to understand, and you really don’t get to give a damn after all you put me through! Don’t you think I want to have my mother here for me!? That it doesn’t kill me inside because I’ve never felt so alone in my life!? That everything I’ve known has been pulled from under me and while I’m trying to set myself somewhere new you just criticize me!? No! You just...”

“And what would your father say?”

I gaped at her, enraged.

“How dare you!?” I annunciated each word. “Dad would be damn proud of me! And he never would have let you do what you did to me! I am supposed to be your daughter! But I’m done.”

Without another word I stalked up to the house and inside, fuming. Draco caught me at the door, but I shrugged him off.

“Love,”

“No,” I snapped. “I need to cool down, just...” Wordlessly I headed upstairs before collapsing behind a random locked door, sobbing.

After a while, when my tears had subsided and my frame only shook minimally, I pulled myself up off the ground and stumbled over to a vanity. It must have been a guest room that I found myself in.

The girl looking back was a mess. Tear tracks stained with mascara ran down her cheeks and red lipstick was smudged out of place. Her hair was hanging haphazardly and out of order. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her lips etched into a permanent grimace.

There was a knock at the door.

“Go away, Draco,” I sniveled.

“Do I look like that blond-haired prat to you?” The door clicked closed softly as I saw Pansy’s reflection in the mirror.

“Pansy, please... I—”

“You don’t have to tell me anything. I’m not here to console you, not particularly,” She came up beside me and leaned against the vanity. “Everything’s really fucked up, huh?” Her voice was depressed as she looked down.

“That doesn’t even begin to describe it,” I muttered.

“You know, I can’t tell my parents about Abby at all,” Her confession was small and weak. “She’s not a pureblood, and well, they’re not as accepting as her parents are about our relationship...”

I looked up at her, my eyebrows furrowed, trying to figure out why she was telling me this now.

“We haven’t spoken all holiday,” This wasn’t the strong confident Pansy I was used to seeing, but rather a broken scared teenager. “She’s mad at me because I won’t tell my parents about her, and I... I can’t do it. I’m a coward,”

I let out a hopeless laugh and smiled at her.

“I just told my mother off and now I really think I’ve been disowned,” A dry humor coated my voice. “And I’m in love with the son of the man who killed my father,”

“Well shit girl,” Pansy laughed. “You make my problems seem so trivial,”

“Not my intention,” A smile met my lips. “And I’m really sorry about you and Abby... not saying that it’s anywhere near the same... but I’m aware of what it’s like to be scrutinized for my choice in partner.”

Pansy nodded and a silence fell between us.

“You’re going to run yourself thin, Y/n. Trying to be everything for everyone.” Her voice returned to its somber mood.

“I think I’ve past that point,” I muttered darkly.

“Then tell me, little Hufflepuff, who are you going to be?” There was a slight challenge in her eyes. “You don’t have parents watching over your every move, you don’t have the constant expectations.”

“I can’t just—”

“And why not?” She shot back.

“Because I have to protect Draco,” I breathed out. “Play the part and get through this,”

She eyed me; eyebrow raised but said nothing. “If that’s what you think,” She mused.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I shot back.

“Well, the girl I met a couple years ago would stop at nothing to be herself even if it meant being teased and bullied by a couple Slytherins. The same girl who cut off all her hair and started to fight back. I just wondered what changed.”

I opened my mouth to refute her point but refrained. A lot had changed. Draco was a Death Eater now. We had a trial to get through alive or we would both die. I had to somehow manage not to get killed by his aunt preferably. I still had to pass my bloody N.E.W.T.s as if the rest wasn’t enough.

“Tell me, or don’t. But I care about Abby and Draco a lot. And now I’ve got this kid sister under my wing and I don’t want to see her drive herself into the ground like I have. This war is shit, but you... Y/n, you’re someone to believe in.”

I tutted out a laugh. “I’m a mess. Please don’t believe in me,”

“But that’s what makes you so valuable to all of us. Blaise, Theo, Vin, and Greg too. You gave us all a second chance. It doesn’t take much to lay down your life for a good man, but to forgive a bunch of villains?”

“You’re not villains,” I refuted.

“See, that there. That’s why we believe in you.” Pansy smiled. “Even through it all, you still are kind and believe in us,” She tucked my hair behind my ear. “Now let’s get you cleaned up, because I’m sure Draco is on the verge of breaking in here himself,”

I laughed and pulled her into a hug.

“Thanks Pans,”

_____________________________________

Draco paced outside the door as he heard your ragged sobs coming from within wishing nothing more than to go in there and hold you. But you had asked for space, so he tried to honor that. Draco jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Pansy?” he asked, relaxing a bit. “What—”

“I’ve got this lover boy,” She smiled and patted his shoulder.

“She doesn’t want to be bothered,” Draco defended, glowering.

“Maybe not by you, but I think she needs a sister about now, what do you think?” Pansy raised an eyebrow at him, and it reminded him of all the times that Pansy had been there to be a sister to him and he nodded, knowing that it might help you more that he could.

Draco leaned against the wall, next to the bedroom door, his eyes closed.

“Draco?”

He peaked an eye open to find his mother on the landing with him.

“Is she alright?” Soft concern colored his mother’s voice.

“I have no idea,” It was a ragged whisper. “I knew we shouldn’t’ have invited her mother. I knew it was a bad idea,”

Narcissa laid a hand on his shoulder and tilted his chin up so that his eyes reached hers.

“It was going to happen eventually, but maybe now she can get some closure from it,” His mother sighed. “I remember the night that Andy walked out... it was weeks before that last fight and I could see how much it drained her. And you know it’s been hurting her too,”

“Andy?”

“Your aunt, Andromeda.” Narcissa smiled sadly. “Married a muggle and was disowned... she was barely older than you,”

“Talking about our dear sister again?” Another voice snarked from behind them.

They both turned to see Bellatrix leaning against the stair banister.

“She was a traitor, Cissy,” The witch sneered. “Walked away from this family. Married a muggle,”

“I know,” Narcissa’s voice was strained. “But I thought perhaps it would give some insight to what Y/n is going through,”

“Are you sympathizing with our dear sister then? Are you a traitor sister mine?” Bellatrix raised an eyebrow.

“Of course not,” His mother snapped. “If anything, Y/n has just affirmed her loyalty by turning her back on her muggle loving family,”

Draco knew the words were said to appease Bellatrix, but still he flinched at the reality of them and what it looked like on the outside. He knew that was far from the truth. He knew that you had walked out on your mother because she had a problem with you being with him. It had nothing to do with blood status. But perhaps the wicked narrative would keep you safe.

Three pairs of eyes snapped up as the door opened. Pansy emerged first, a smile on her face and you followed behind. You were smiling and held your head high. You were also barefoot, your stilettos in hand. Draco smiled at the sight.

His aunt on the other hand.

“Improper if you ask me,” She muttered.

“I don’t think anyone did,” The smile on your face was tight and he had to refrain from laughing at the look of shock on Bellatrix’s face. “My apologies Narcissa, I do believe that I may have ruined your dinner party,”

“Think nothing of it my dear,” His mother smiled. “I’m just glad to see that you’re alright.”

Tucked by his side, Draco tried to read your facial expressions, but even he couldn’t pick anything up. What you showed him seemed real. A real smile and real confidence, but he doubted that it was really the case given the present circumstances. But perhaps it wasn’t far fetched after all.

Bellatrix glared at you, but you held no air of worry or fear. Instead it was almost as if you were challenging her. Which left him wondering what in Merlin’s name had Pansy talked to you about.

Draco kept a close eye on you all night, but you really did seem alright. Curled up under his arm on the sofa in the company of just your friends, you were almost at ease. He itched to know what had happened between you and Pansy, but there was never a moment alone with just the two of you.

The night wound down, and soon it was only you, him, and his mother left in the large house. The both of you had drifted to the sitting room that held the grand piano. Draco’s fingers danced along the ivory keys, remembering how last Christmas he had composed for the first time. Your song was still remembered under his fingertips as it became a part of mini concert.

Christmas morning came and there were few presents under the tree, most of them trivial. Christmas seemed trivial. He had gotten a pack of permanent markers from Abby with a note saying that you would know what to do with them. You had gotten a pair of diamond earrings from him—and his mother. You both agreed, however, not to get each other anything. It was a depressing notion, but there was simply nothing to say about the occasion.

That evening, you donned your cloak and smiled at him softly.

“I’m gonna go visit Papa,” Your voice was soft and subtle. “Would you like to join me?”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. He never expected for you to invite him to something like this. After the events of yesterday he didn’t feel worthy to go with you, let alone meet your father.

“It’s okay Draco, I can go alone,”

“No,” It was immediate. “You’re not going alone,”

Draco never thought that your father would be buried here. At Godric’s Hollow. He supposed it was a common place for wizards to be buried, but... he didn’t make the connection. There were others here as well and he could hear the faint hymns being sung at the church down the road. You and he were just cloaks in the crowd, two hoods visiting a loved one. You paused at a gravestone.

Walter Y/l/n

1956 — 1983

A Father and Husband

~Have Courage and Be Kind~

“Happy Christmas Papa,” You whispered softly, waving your wand, riding the gravestone of snow and frost. You sank to your knees, tears in your eyes and a smile on your lips. “I brought someone here to meet you,” Your fingertips brushed the stone. “This is Draco, Draco Malfoy. I know you probably don’t like the last name Papa, but... he is good,”

Tears welled in Draco’s eyes at the interaction. He stooped beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Hello,” His voice was tight. “You have a wonderful daughter,” A pause. “And though I cannot atone for my father’s mistakes, I will try. And I will be someone worthy of her affection and love,”

You laid your head on his shoulder, not saying anything, but rather enjoying the quiet night, the soft snow starting to fall. Drawing his wand, Draco conjured a small wreath of holly at the bed of the grave.

“He would be so proud of you,” Draco murmured. “As I am.”

“He would be proud of you too,” You looked up at him, snowflakes on your eyelashes. “We should go before the snow gets worse. I can feel it growing dangerous,”

Draco’s eyes darted around to the other mourners in dark colors that made only your silver cloak stand out when his eyes landed on a rather large focal statue. You followed his gaze and stood, standing.

“Do you think Harry has ever...?” The question was soft.

“I don’t think he knows it’s here,” Draco answer truthfully, his brows tugging together.

He led you down the rows of headstones until you were before Lily and James’ gave. It was sobering, seeing it like this. Draco knew the legends and stories, of course, but looking at the small bundle etched in the stone, cradled in Lily’s arms, it seemed almost too real. With your wand, you used the same spell and cleared the grave of frost and snow.

“As much of a prick that he is...” You trailed off. “I hope he’s having a good Christmas,”

Draco hummed in acknowledgement.

___________________________________

Narcissa greeted us at the door to the Manor. A warning in her eyes. The warning, proven to be in vain because nothing could prepare us for what was awaiting inside. The treacherous smile of Bellatrix greeted us, as she was flanked by two others, in hoods and masks—deeming them unidentifiable. Even though I had seen her the night before, her civility seemed to have vanished.

“The young prince returns, dear sister,” Bellatrix cooed. “But he has not been such a good young prince now has he?” She twirled her wand in her hand as Draco took a step in front of me, his own wand out.

“Bellatrix,” A steady recognizable voice called.

My eyes snapped to the right where Snape stood. His nonchalant demeanor almost blending in with the gloom that hung in the air.

“You know his fate, Bellatrix,” Snape did not attempt to stop her, but something held in his words accomplished the feat.

“Yes,” Her head cocked to one side as she drawled out the word. “But he is not above the Dark Lord’s law. And that goes for his harlot.”

“You will not speak to her like that,” Draco spat, growling.

I placed a hand on his shoulder. I could handle some name calling. I was just desperately trying to figure out Bellatrix’s game and why she had come back and why the hell Snape was here too.

“You know, you might have gotten away with it, little tramp, had the Ministry and that blood traitor Weasley stepped in and torn through the enchantments,” The purr fell from her lips. “And Cissy you should really know better than to leave me alone anywhere,”

Bellatrix waved her wand and I felt unseen hands grab my arms and drag me forward, to the center of the foyer, and then they were gone, causing me to stumble onto my knees. I glowered up at the witch, picking myself up and drawing my wand.

“Bellatrix!” This time it was Narcissa.

“Worry not little sister,” The witch stalked up to me, her wand tracing along the scar that resided under my shirt: from her knife the last time we had met. “She is in no harm... The Dark Lord has plans for her after all... But I am afraid that her possessions...”

My eyes went wide. I shoved the idea that the Dark lord had plans for me and finally figured out her game. The reason she was here.

My room in the manor. Filled with my muggle books, and records, and photos... Everything I had left from the family and home I no longer had.

“Yes, little pet.” Bellatrix snapped. “But I wanted to take this as a learning opportunity. That the Dark Lord will expect nothing less than perfection—dedication.”

“Bellatrix, please—” I started, only for my voice to be taken by a flick of her wand.

“You will be silent, little toad,” She snapped.

I turned, and saw Draco standing with his mother, pure fury written on his face as Narcissa held him back. As much as I yearned for his touch and comfort, I knew that this had to be played very carefully for us to survive. His eyes met mine.

“Come, come,” The deranged witched cooed almost happily.

Draco wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me along beside him. I looked up at him with frantic questions in my eyes, but he just shook his head. Though I couldn't hear the others behind us, I was sure they were there. Standing at the door of what was once my room, I saw the scattered books, torn pages, and absolute destruction that was in the room’s wake. Tears welled in my eyes at the sight. Draco’s and Narcissa’s arms around me were the only thing that held me back from running forward to save something—anything.

“Draco,” Bellatrix motioned him forward. Rigidly he let me go and took a step forward.

“The Dark Lord and every Death Eater believes that Purebloods are superior. That Muggles are filth and should not be considered human. And yet you allow such scum in your house. Muggle scum.” Bellatrix turned to Draco. “Destroy them. Prove your loyalty, little prince.”

Narcissa’s arms became a vice grip, holding me up instead of holding me back. I ducked into her shoulder, not being able to bring myself to watch what I knew had to be done.

“Confringo,”

Time passed. I wasn’t sure how much time. Maybe seconds... maybe an hour. Everything froze around me. My lung burned for oxygen. My eyes saw nothing. There was nothing left for me to see. Nothing but destruction in wake.

________________________________

“Draco give her mind time to protect itself,” Snape’s calm voice chided, watching the young boy pace outside the room you were in, nursed by Narcissa.

“No.” He snapped. “She—Fuck she’s going to hate me! Do you realize what I’ve just done!” He nearly screeched. “I’ve just destroyed everything—”

“And rightfully so!” Snape hissed. “Do you think the Dark Lord would be as forgiving as Bellatrix? If he came here and saw such things?” Snape’s eyes narrowed. “If it weren’t for the Dark Lord’s plans for her, she’d be under a gravestone by now.”

“Plans for her!?” Draco rushed his teacher, wand out. “No. He doesn’t touch her.” The threat was malicious and icy.

“It is out of your hands,” Snape merely brushed Draco’s wand away. “Has today not been enough for you to understand that there is no other choice for you here?”

Draco took a cool step back. “Crystal.”

The door opened and two pairs of eyes snapped and fell upon a weary Narcissa.

“She is awake,” Her voice wavered slightly. Narcissa walked forward and placed a hand on her son’s shoulder. “She’s asking for you,”

Ice ran through Draco’s veins as dread filled his chest. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was goodbye. Maybe this finally broke you. It’s what he dreaded the most, but knew it was coming.

You were sitting up, on the edge of the bed, your gaze cast to the floor.

“Y/n, please, you have to—”

You held your hand up and shook your head.

“Books... can be bought again. So, can records...”

“But they—I...”

“Draco,” You called, squeezing your eyes shut. “I know.” Your voice was curt. “I know, but right now, if I dwell on that...”

He nodded and looked down.

“Can you ever forgive me?” Tears welled in his eyes as he sat beside. “Please forgive me,”

“You had no choice,” Your voice was small. “They’re just... things.” Your eyes still didn’t open. “They’re trying to break us. Break me. The Dark Lord has plans for me,” You almost scoffed. “Like I’m his pawn. Like I belong to him!” You stood pacing the room. “Well you know what? He can watch me bleed, he can watch me burn, but I will not give in!” Your voice was vehement. “I—won’t—break,”

Draco gaped at you, utterly shocked. This was... new. This was different. This was also the first time that he had ever seen you so adamantly speak against the Dark Lord with such fervor. A kind of courage that he wished he possessed. A determination that made him believe that maybe, if nothing else, you would get through this. It gave him hope that maybe he would too.

You sat beside him again and took a deep breath, running a hand through your hair.

“How are you feeling?” You voice was gentle and soft.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” A small smile touched his lips.

A shrug fell from your shoulders and your hand ran up and along his left arm. The action alone eased the ache of the magic etched into his skin.

“I hate what I am,” He confessed through tears. “I hate what I’ve done and what I have to do. I... I don’t want to kill anyone. I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Sobs wracked his frame. “And I don’t know how you’re getting through this so well because I’m just breaking. I’m broken.”

Your arms wrapped around him, head resting on his shoulder.

“And that’s okay,” You pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Go ahead and break. You’ve been strong too long, Draco.” Your hand ran through his hair.

He clung to you desperately, sobbing into your shoulder, hiding there. And he did break. He broke on you. He came apart at the seams in your hands and you held him together.

“I—I don’t w-want to kill him,” He sniveled. “W-why haven’t you tried to stop me?” He started to hiccup from the lack of oxygen.

You took his shoulders and looked him in the eye.

“Deep breath,” You instructed and took an exaggerated breath waiting for him to follow suit. It was shaky and ragged, but Draco managed a couple. “And because I wanted you to figure that out on your own. I wanted you to make that choice,” Your thumb brushed away his tears. “And I’m so proud of you for making it,”

He nodded and collapsed back into your arms a sense of relief flooding through him despite the threats that closed in from all sides.

__________________________________

“M-miss?”

It was early January when the house-elf came to me, clutching something in her hands tightly. Cassie, I thought was her name.

“Yes?” I knelt down, a soft demeanor to the action.

“I—I am—” She started to hyperventilate, tears in her wide eyes.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” I soothed softly. “I won’t hurt you, nor tell you to hurt yourself. You’re safe in my presence,” I held my hands out, a slow action, showing the cowering house elf that they were empty and held no threat.

“I—I have been a b-bad house elf,” She cried. “I s-stole from M-miss,”

I frown furrowed my brows. I couldn’t think of anything that I owned that was worth stealing. A depressing thought tacked on that I didn’t own anything worthwhile even to me at the moment.

“It’s alright,” I smiled something sad.

The house elf held out what she was clinging too.

My photo album, the gift from Abby last Christmas. Tears sprung in my eyes as I hastily snatched the book from the house elf’s grasp.

“P-p-please do n-n-not be cross with C-C-Cassie,” The elf sobbed. “S-she likes l-l-looking at the p-p-pictures of h-h-happy mom-ments.”

“Oh, I’m not mad,” I quickly rushed out. “Not even in the slightest,” Tears streamed down my face. “You saved this,” I set the album down and drew the elf into a hug that she tried to scramble from but eventually relaxed, sobbing into my shoulder. “Thank you, thank you.” I cried.

“P-P-Please do not tell Master D-Draco,” She sniveled. “Y-Y-You have a-a-always been k-k- kind to us e-e-e-elves, p-p-please,”

“Y/n?” Draco’s voice was concerned. “Tell me what?” Cassie squawked and hid behind me, cowering.

“M-m-m-master D-Draco,” The elf stammered apologies.

“What’s going on?” Draco was reserved, a mask of calm.

“Cassie, she saved my album.” I ran my fingers over the leather cover. “She took it from my room I guess... said she liked to look at the photos,”

Shock and relief flitted across Draco’s face in waves. He knelt down beside me and brought the book into his hands tears in his eyes.

“Thank you,” He spoke softly to the house elf. “Thank you for saving what I couldn’t,”

“Draco,” I chided softly, reaching out for him. “It wasn’t your fault,”

“Regardless if it was or not,” He turned his attention back to the house elf. “You have my deepest gratitude,”

I flipped to a worn page by my own hand, to a day last year in the snow of four friends laughing and smiling. It wasn’t much, but I supposed it was something to believe in.

Chapter 9

Masterlist

Tags: @coffee-addicti @msmcsmutt @ravn-87 @artemismohr18@whygz @crazywritingbug @fuzzy-panda @bitemebro522@zombiesnips-blog @savingdraco@welcometomyworldwithoutrules@akari180 @slytherin-emerald@memalfoy-spidey@queenfeatherwings @fanficflaneuse @go-whovian-universe@spicyshenanigans @darling-im-not-okay-i-promise @dietkiwi@katsukink @takemetothekingdom @strangerr-things @tmnt-queen @hxneybgb @justsomerandomgur@belcvayelena@moviesbooksandfandoms @howdycharlie@xtrashmouthxtozierx@cocochanelthepupper @ninacotte@braelynn-j @jiggllyy@honeymarvel @darcypottah@atomicpunkrock @thiccheerioss@lottie289 @boredashaeck@beautiful-pegasus @tceedlmao@deadlynyghtshayde@iconjuresnapeingrandmaclothes@anonymous034 @bi-andready-tocry @lunna-does-real-doodle@dragonsandbread @okaydraco@the-queen-of-hell-things@cmxreader @alienmotel @oh-itsnothing @sunflowerxsadnessw @fattycooter@angelotakunerd08 @thisisahugemistake@fanficsigottaread@gweaslvy @strawberriesonsummer @gaysludge@cleopatera@ray-of-sunrise @artist-bby @shadowsingeraxolotl@peters-legos@quillsareforwriting @ghostlytoadalmondhairdo@wollymalfoy@lilpieceoftoast @paper-cats @floweryjh @sdicapriox@slothgirl22@peachesandpinks @monimillion @hufflautia @livize75@annie-mcl@riathearora @live-like-luna @justathoughtfulangel@coconutdawn@skteaiy @wannabeskinny-thinspo@naughtygranger @queenofmankind @dragonsandbread @abundantxadorations @moony-artnstuff @myforeveryoungblog @and-then-a-girl-with-luv @1-800-luvsick @pandas-rice-field @strawberriesonsummer @jjustsomerandomgirl @mrvlfangirl3190 @loverbbgirlsblog @in-slytherin-we-trust @emmaa-t @introvertedrae @infinity1o1 @stoleurmomsvan @echpr @sunkissed-hufflepuff @dekulover @marshmallowtraver @cereuselle

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unbloomingmoonflower · 3 years

Text

Imma get personal for a second.

Since it’s Mental Health Awareness month, I’m going to get real personal for a second. I’m putting it under the cut, because there are parts that get triggering.

For almost three years now, I’ve been getting a handle of having Bipolar 2. While Bipolar Awareness falls on March 30th because apparently Van Goh was diagnosed with it, there are different types of bipolar disorder. Sorry that this first half is more informative, but it is relevant, I promise.

From https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/bipolar-disorder/, you can read about bipolar disorder and its types. Bipolar 2, which I was diagnosed with, is defined by a pattern of depressive episodes and hypomanic episodes, but not the full-blown manic episodes that are typical of Bipolar I Disorder.

Since my teen years, I’ve had periods of depression and hypomania, though at the time no one thought anything of it. My family chalked it up to it “Moonie being Moonie”, that nothing was wrong. It wasn’t until I turned fifteen that the depressive episodes came in tandem with the suicidal ideations. Every day I was stuck in that depression, I told myself I was out of place; that I didn’t belong; that there was no point in me living; that everyone would be better off without my existence.

It wasn’t until I was nineteen that those thoughts became worse during the depressive episodes, especially when I was left alone. I’d stay in bed all the time. I even attempted to cut myself to feel something, but all I felt was fear at the knife I held in my hand. But hey, fear is a feeling, right?

I decided on the more painless method: overdosing on pain medication. Stuff you can get over the counter. I tried three times during a period of depression and failed each time.

Several months after that was when I began seeing my therapist. With her, I was able to say things I couldn’t even tell my best friend (and my best friend knows I have things I have yet to share). We tried the natural way to see if it helped alleviate the depression symptoms (talking), but soon it was determined that I did need antidepressants. My therapist and I discussed at length how I was “high-functioning”--forcing myself out of bed to go to work because I had to.

During the hypomania when I lived at home, I was volatile. I wanted to live my life, to experience things. I felt smothered, suffocated, sheltered. I wanted to escape what I considered a prison. So in the winter of my 26th year on this planet, I moved out.

I think that’s when it became really apparent to me that something was wrong, even when I tried to downplay the severity. When I moved out, I was drinking heavily (something I usually never do because I HATED the taste of liquor) to the point of blacking out, I was hypersexual. I probably could have even done hard drugs if I hadn’t seen what it did to people my father knew. I’ve made out with a girl (with her boyfriend’s permission no less) that probably would have escalated further had my roommate didn’t say that I was too drunk.

The breakdown in August three years ago is what pushed me to admit myself into the hospital.

I told my therapist on August 15th, 2019, that if I did not get help, I was not going to make it home that night. Having felt out of touch with my parents, who had believed that I had nothing to be depressed about (and we all know depression doesn’t give a shit), I didn’t feel safe to tell them what was happening. So my therapist met me at the nearest hospital with a psyche ward so I could admit myself, in tears and mumbling how I wanted to just die.

I spent seven days in that hospital. No one knew I was admitted except for my boyfriend, though he wasn’t sure which hospital I was in. Because of my falling off the grid that way, my family ended up filing a missing person report that one of the nurses at the hospital saw shared via my aunt’s facebook page (apparently they were mutuals). Obviously due to HIPPA, this nurse couldn’t tell my aunt that I was in her hospital and I was safe.

When the psychiatrist on call diagnosed me with bipolar 2 with borderline personality disorder, I was stopped cold. I knew I had issues stemming from childhood sexual abuse and then the subsequent seesawing between depression and mania, but bipolar 2? That crashed me back into orbit. Whatever I anticipated as a diagnosis, that definitely wasn’t it.

Three years since then and I moved back home after it became real to my parents that they could have been burying their daughter instead of my taking the initiative to hospitalize myself. And honestly, the first few months back home was the most difficult for me; while adjusting back to being home was easier, the “Moonie” people did know prior to then was now something of an illusion. Taking lithium and sertraline to keep myself stable, feeling as though others looked at and treated me differently...it feels incredibly isolating. Like now that there’s a name to what was wrong with me, it changed everyone’s perception of me.

Even now, it still feels isolating. It’s hard to talk about being bipolar when you don’t know many others with a similar disorder. When you still seesaw between depression and mania, though with less severity with the help of the pills, it’s hard to talk about it. Aside from my therapist, there’s a small number of people who have an idea of how bad it can get. The fear of relapsing is always present, fearing the possibility of the progress I’ve made being dismantled to the point where I end up hospitalized for a longer period.

Getting personal like this isn’t easy for me. But maybe if I am, others will feel more okay or comfortable to talk about their own mental illnesses. That it’s okay to talk about it instead of suffering in silence.

#moonie rambles #mental health awareness month #getting personal #tw: suicide mention #tw: abuse mention #added tags thanks to the askblog that reminded me #since I wrote this at 8am I derped on adding the tags in tags in the first place #I was vague on which triggers before the cut and that is on me #my apologies for those I may have triggered with my story

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banalbones · 4 years

Text

The Petite Prince: Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Princes Don’t Need Help

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8

SideStory

Summary: Roman is a child. Virgil is spending time with said child, and said child likes Logan’s Crofter’s.

Words: 2179

Ships: Familial everything, except roceit. Eventual familial roceit

Genre: Fluff with a side dose of angst

Warnings: A few swears, tell me if there’s any more!

Taglist: @pricklyfish777 @sunflowerblondeuwu @itriedandimtired @draw-your-perfect-world @cemmy @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @nonbinary-lizard-2 @fanforeveruniverse @i-cant-find-a-good-username

_________________________

Virgil was content.

After hours, hours of searching for the precious little bean, here he was in the emo’s arms.

Finally.

The small royal giggled as Virgil made a silly face at him.

Scary reputation? Who’s she.

The baby reached up and tugged at the anxious side’s hair, marvelling at the pretty purple color, pulling at his own chocolate curls in comparison.

“Woah!”

Virgil felt his heart melt as the petite prince tugged his hair again, happily beaming and showing off his gap tooth.

He knew that the others were watching the exchange, but, for the first time in his ‘life’, didn’t even care.

Then Roman’s face scrunched up in concentration, and he let go of the emo’s hair.

“Liv’ roo!”

Virgil smiled softly.

“The living room?”

“Liv’ roo!”

So. Cute.

___________________________

Okay can I just interrupt for a second?

You already have, but go on.

Why do you all keep emphasizing how cute he was?

Because I was absolutely adorable.

Because he was absolutely adorable.

…

Fair enough.

___________________________

Patton was still chatting with Logan, about brownies and endorphins and all the like, but he still felt sad.

Patton was the literal dad of the group, and yet when one of his kiddos turned into a literal kiddo, he could do nothing about it. Well, for now at least.

Logan had told him that Roman had most likely felt extremely overwhelmed, causing him to regress further, and therefore should not be exposed to one of the main reasons he had felt overwhelmed by for a bit.

The logical side had faltered near the end, which the moral side took as a good sign.

Maybe he doesn’t think I’m too big a ‘main reason’.

Patton held on to this hope.

Because any hope, no matter how trivial, was hope.

____________________________

Remus really hadn’t wanted to give his little bro over to Virgie, and was considering to just, well to just not, but the look that Nerdy Wolverine had given him had convinced him of doing otherwise.

Whatever. I guess they still think I want to kill my brother.

Which he didn’t.

But again, whatever.

The Duke ignored the sting that the thought had left.

Whatever.

____________________________

Back in the living room, Roman was grinning wider than ever.

It was working! There was waaaay less sad, and even better than that, he had helped.

Ooh, look at the pretty lights! And the pur-pur hair! Wait, he had already seen the pur-pur hair. It was still pretty though!

The room was being decorated with nice bright colors and fairy lights. Big him (and Little him) loved those!

“So. What d’ya wanna do?”

Roman turned and looked at Virgil, a tad confused, before shrugging.

“You choo!”

Big me never got to choose. Wow! Fluffy blankets!

The little prince missed the shocked face Virgil had worn at his response, and his confused face before that.

“Disney?”

“Yeah!”

_________________________

Why had the bean looked so confused when I had asked him what he wanted to do?

That was a question that would surely echo throughout Virgil’s mind for the rest of the movie marathon, and most likely after it as well.

Looking to the adorable little royal, Virgil smiled an anxious smile.

I hope he’s okay.

Virgil looked at the wide green eyes, engrossed in whatever the Disney movie at the moment was. He was so small, but that was to be expected of a now fifteen month old baby.

The paper crown slipped down over the prince’s eyes, blocking his view of the film. He huffed and pushed it back up with his tiny hands.

“Need a little help there?”

Vigil was still smiling as the bean harrumphed, rather dramatically.

“No.”

“You sure about that? The crown keeps falling.”

“No.” he retorted, stubborn as ever.

The crown fell again.

This time tears filled the prince’s eyes and he pouted angrily.

“Stay!”

Virgil reached over to fix it, only to have his hand swatted away.

“No! Prin’s don’ nee ‘elp!”

Princes don’t need help? Well that doesn’t seem… healthy. What if the bean isn’t healthy?! Well, its obvious he’s not- he is regressed, but what if- I should probably try to stay calm. For his sake.

It was funny, the literal embodiment of anxiety trying to be calm.

The crown fell again and tears rolled down the youth’s cheeks.

Virgil wrapped his arms around the bean, attempting to comfort him. He did want to find out what the small royal had meant, but he couldn’t bear seeing an upset little royal.

The bean must not be sad!

And so Virgil kept hugging the little prince, trying to ignore the phrase.

Princes don’t need help!

Great, two things that would probably haunt him forever.

_________________________

Roman dried his eyes in VeeVee shirt, already regretting the tears.

He was supposed to make them happy!

Sad=bad!

And so, the petite prince took a deep breath, and cuddled closer to Virgil.

_________________________

Both boys had forgotten about their movie marathon by now, content to just cuddle there forever, but then the baby prince had an idea, an idea that would hopefully make VeeVee happy.

The hoodie itself was reeeeeally nice and soft and fluffy and warm, and the prince wasn’t even wearing it!

If it was that nice on the outside, what it be like on the inside?

And so Roman had two options.

Option one: snuggled inside the jacket against Virgil’s chest,

Option two: snuggled in the hood.

It was a very hard choice to make, but the small royal eventually clambered to the top of the emo’s head, getting ready to drop down into the soft embrace of fabric.

Virgil was extremely confused throughout the whole of it.

Roman giggled, and then he was laying in the warm, warm hood.

Oh look! Pur-pur hair!

And so the prince was cosy and the emo was amused.

“Adorable.”

_________________________

Logan walked into the kitchen the next morning, ready to enjoy his sweet, sweet Crofter’s, when a giggly Roman and a smiling Virgil entered the room.

Now, this would not have struck Logan as odd if it weren’t for the fact that the tiny prince was sitting in the anxious side’s hood, his little arms wrapped around Virgil’s neck.

Logan.exe is experiencing a malfunction. Overload of cuteness has temporarily shut down subject’s brain.

Now, Logan wasn’t a robot, or anything of the sort. He was a metaphysical human being. But in that moment he just ‘couldn’t’.

This is odd, I’ve seen and identified the child as ‘cute’ before. Why am I so overwhelmed by the cuteness now?

Virgil must’ve noticed Logan’s mini meltdown, as he snorted and said “You good there teach?”

“How is he so adorable?”

Virgil was about to respond but got interrupted by the little prince.

“Mama!”

Logan.exe is experiencing a malfunction. Overload of cuteness has temporarily shut down subject’s brain.

Twice in a minute. That was most certainly not normal.

But it wasn’t necessarily bad, either.

________________________

Roman, even as a baby, loved attention, and teasing people. So when he noticed he had a chance to get attention and mess with Mama, of course he would do it.

His spot in Virgil’s hood was very comfortable though.

It could wait until after breakfast.

The little prince hugged Virgil’s neck tighter, and pointed at the jar of Crofter’s next to Logan.

Well, he could still mess with Logan from up here.

________________________

You were literally fifteen months old, and yet you still felt the need to be annoying?

Hey! I didn’t want to be annoying, I just wanted to mess with you.

Sure.

And also eat your Crofter’s.

As you would usually say, heathen.

________________________

“You shouldn’t be eating this. Too much sugar could be detrimental for your teeth.”

Logan, in the end, gave in to the whims of the adorable little child and let him eat the jam.

…

Logan and Virgil were mostly silent throughout the meal, happy to listen to the small royal’s babbling.

And then there was a tug.

The left brain boys had completely forgotten about Thomas.

Virgil looked to the logical side, panic evident in his expression.

“What the fuck do we do?”

Logan had on a similar expression.

“The more pertinent question is do we tell him?”

“Tell him what?”

“About Roman. He doesn’t know that sides regress.”

“He doesn’t!?”

“No.”

“How come I thought he did?”

“You were usually the regressed side.”

“That doesn’t mean anythi-”

Another tug.

Roman let out a whimper.

One of them had to go, but the other had to stay with the prince.

“Roman can’t sink down, he isn’t touching the floor.”

“Guys!”

They heard Thomas’s voice this time.

And so, in a heat of the moment decision, Virgil gently but quickly lifted the bean out of his hood, handed him to Logan, and sank down.

“I’ll come up with an excuse!”

_________________________

Logan sighed, and looked to the petite prince now in his arms.

“No he won’t.”

The scaled-down side nodded his head in agreement.

Logan smiled at him and with a quick flick of the wrist, summoned a book.

It was a small picture book with a few words littered throughout.

The nerd knew that normal fifteen month olds would not be able to read at all, but they weren’t exactly real, and so didn’t follow the ‘natural process’ of aging accurately.

Roman squealed as the book landed in front of him, a golden light illuminating his tiny features.

Wait a… gold light? Where is that coming from?

Very odd.

A few moments later the princely side, after being few pages in, started humming.

And then there were birds.

And rabbits.

And squirrels.

And deer.

Where are all of these coming from? Should I be concerned?

Logan stared incredulously at the child, who didn’t seem to notice his new company.

Curious.

…

And then the humming stopped.

Logan, who had summoned his own book to read, looked up to see a frown on the youthful side’s face as he seemingly struggled to read a word.

“Do you require any assistance?”

The royal shook his head fiercely.

“No! Prin’s don’ nee ‘elp!”

Oh. Oh dear.

“Why not?” Logan decided to say, in a deliberately soft voice.

“B-b-bi’ me!”

Big him?

Logan was tempted to get another side’s help, but decided against it.

He could help the child himself.

“You should never be ashamed of needing help, Roman. Everyone needs it sometimes, even me.”

Roman looked up at him with tear filled eyes.

“Rea’y?”

Logan smiled.

“Yes, your highness, it is true.”

The miniscule royal frowned.

“Bi’ me ner g’elp…”

Logan was having a tough time translating.

“Big you never wanted to get help?”

The prince shook his head.

“Go’ elp.”

“Big you never got help?”

Roman nodded.

Did he not?

“How come?”

“Asd, bu no.”

“He asked but no?”

The royal nodded again.

That is quite concerning.

“No’n elp ‘im, so no nee’ elp!”

Logan really needed a dictionary.

“No one helped him, so ‘no need help’?”

“Ee d-d’ided no nee’ elp.”

“He decided he didn’t need help?”

“Ya!”

Well.

Logan definitely needed to have a long, possibly uncomfortable discussion with the rest of the sides.

As Virgil would so eloquently put it, ‘We fucked up.”

_______________________

In Remus’s room, the day before…

Remus had joined the conversation with Logan and Patton after Virgil and his RoBro left.

He had also found out everything that had happened.

And he was not happy.

_______________________

Janus was happy.

Very happy, in fact.

The slimy snek boy knew it had literally been a day since it happened, but still.

He had gotten accepted!

He had revealed his name!

And it was great. Extremely freeing to know that he finally had nothing more to fear.

Except Roman. Except Virgil.

He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind.

He was Denial after all.

No one has spoken to you since then. Not even Patton.

He pushed those away too.

Happy. Happy. Happy.

You were too harsh.

He forced out a smirk and ignored it.

All he did was call your name stupid.

Happy. Happy.

He didn’t even mean it. You know when people are lying, and he was.

Happy.

He didn’t mean it, but you did.

Jesus Christ Superstar!

All Janus wanted was to be happy and feel nice feelings after being accepted!

These thoughts were pushing through an indestructible wall of denial, something only Remus could d-

Remus.

You and I are going to have a problem.

____________________

In Remus’s room, the day before…

Patton had been happy to chat with Remus as well as Logan, (or so he told himself) and so when the Duke had asked what had happened with him and Roman, he had been fine with telling him.

Well, would have been.

Logan had interjected before the moral side had had a chance to open his mouth, and Patton inwardly shrugged and listened.

It seemed so much worse when you put it like that.

And so when he had seen Remus’s stormy expression, he had been worried.

Well, shit.

______________________

Thank you for reading this chapter of the Petite Prince!

Another competitor has joined the arena!

Also before you say (if anyone was going to say anything) ‘oh my god! Patton swore!’ I personally do hc Patton as someone who swears. Not like ‘oh god’ or anything like that, but since Thomas swears, I think all of the sides do.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders sides #tss #the petite prince #roman sanders #baby roman #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #im probably going to add remy #not as a side #but you'll see

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oldtypenewtype · 4 years

Photo

7 years ago I had this article professionally translated. 1986 is considered to be one of if not THE defining years of the medium. In this article Newtype intervies 21 anime industry leaders to discuss what’s wrong with the industry, ways it can be fixed or just their gripes with with it all. A true snapshot of some of our anime heroes while they were younger.

*reposting article altogether in one post.*

アニメの予言者21人

21 Prophets of Anime アニメ大予言'86 Grand prophecy of Anime ‘86 今、アニメ界に求められているのは、こんな企画だ！私はこんな企画を出す！1986年のアニメ界をリードする21人が業界の問題点と自らの解決策を語る。これを読めばアニメの未来が見える。 This is the project needed by Anime world now! I propose this project! 21 leading personnel in Anime world in 1986 talk about problems in the industry and their solutions. You can see the future of Anime by reading this.

Page 46 & 47

(Article Title)

1985 was a flat year in the animation world. Let’s ask the hit makers who hit the home runs on how to put an end to this situation.

HAYAO MIYAZAKI (writer and director of “Laputa: Castle in the Sky”)

(Blurb)

What are the animated works that the young ones, the ten year olds to fifteen year olds want to watch? Doors will surely open if you keep them in mind.

It’s unthinkable that new hope can come out of TV when one episode from a TV series needs 3500 cells to be drawn. On the other hand, in movie theaters as well, there are no films that will mobilize moviegoers other than anime fans. I think that filmmakers have forgotten the basics of selling movies. Collaboration films intended for overseas markets are all the rage, and even though I want the fans who are in Japan to see these films, they can’t and all I’m left with is frustration. Only deterioration can come out of this situation. Actually, there isn’t even one anime today that is aimed at older kids in elementary school to kids in middle-school - the very kids who should be watching anime. (The anime available now) is aimed at younger kids at elementary school and then jumps straight into anime for college kid anime maniacs. It’s a tough time for fifteen year olds who are put aside by society. Twelve year olds to fifteen year olds are the kids who need the most comfort and yet the situation now is that they get their comfort from handheld video games. Those who produce animation are losing sight of their targeted audience. The remaining anime fans are making anime that they want to watch, and this is a symptom (of the present situation) that is beyond redemption. This is why video animation is still backward in terms of its production, and only its format is new.

If one has an earnest approach, children will definitely react. This is a real example - in a run-down middle school, in his morning greeting, a new principal said, “I don’t determine a person’s value by his or her grades or appearance”. Miraculously, all misbehavior was gone from that day’s afternoon onwards. What children want has always had just one theme - an adventure that saves the mind and heart.

(Caption for illustration at the top of the page)

The hero “Pazu” and heroine “Sheeta” from “Laputa: Castle in the Sky”. Mr. Miyasaki comments that “For a young lad, living at all times in itself is an adventure. The reason why Japanese adventure novels are boring is that the hero (in these novels) makes a living out of going on an adventure.”

SUGII GISABURO (executive director of “Touch”)

(Blurb)

What people want nowadays can’t be found in data. What is the secret of the hits “Night on the Galactic Railroad” and “Touch”?

Honestly speaking, if anything, I genuinely make animation to match my desires, not thinking that today’s animation is trending towards this way, or future animation should be this way. In other words, I think a great deal about my daily life, figuring out what is lacking and coming up with desires felt by everyone else. I just happen to be a person who creates, so I vent out those accumulated desires and discontent and let them combust in my work.

My works are quite heavy in terms of cycle and tempo, whether it be “Night on the Galactic Railroad” or “Touch”. I sometimes think if this kind of heaviness is ok or not. But that is because I have a desire for this heaviness, and also because I have this easy pleasure within me. Instead of work that is borne out of being hung up just on data, I think work that is borne out of my inner natural desires is more acceptable to people. In the meantime, “Touch” will be shown as an hour and a half movie in the spring so please look forward it.

ISAO TAKAHATA (producer of “Laputa”)

(Blurb)

Movies that make the mind and body come alive are what’s important. As for me, I am trying my hand at my first live action film. I am shooting a documentary.

I think nowadays, the thing that a lot of people working in anime has forgotten is the excitement they felt watching adventure movies when they were kids, the kind of excitement that even your body moved spontaneously. In that sense, I think that works such as Hayao Miyazaki’s films should be brought out to the rest of the world and after (producing his) “Nausicaa”, I am still producing. When kids’ minds are liberated, there’s no reason to think that they won’t spontaneously move. In this day and age dominated by computer games, a lot of kids’ play involve just using the brain and nerves so I’d like them to experience things that energizes the blood and makes the body dance. The difficulty is, I think it’s a difficult time now to have a situation in place wherein you let them experience adventure. If you can’t make people believe in the world portrayed onscreen, you can’t pull viewers into the adventure onscreen.

It’s not that I’m not doing my real job as a producer. I am now producing a live action documentary movie set in Yanagawa in Kyushu. It is about how our Japanese ancestors developed towns which utilized waterways. There is also a part in the movie that has graphic illustrations using anime. It’s less than 2 hours and is slated to be shown after the summer.

MAMORU OSHII (scriptwriter and director of “Angel’s Egg”)

(Blurb)

This is a warning!! Please reduce the number of collaboration animes before Japanese animation is annihilated.

If I’m going to be severe about it, I’d say that I want all collaboration animes gone.

Those who work in big studios and places with systems in place may not feel a sense of crisis yet. But in the case of freelance animators like us who work together and put together a workplace and disperse once our anime is done, a part of our actual work is outsourced. Recently however, the small video studios and finishing studios that we outsource to are loaded with collaboration work. Japanese animes can’t compete with collaboration animes in terms of profit so when that happens, we just have to rely on the goodwill of the studio bosses, or make them feel the same way we do with regards to the contents of our work, or by chance see an opening and aim for that, or appease them or plead with them. We can’t work in just that kind of a situation. That’s why it’s almost impossible to make highly compact and solid animes in Japan now. Even without going that far, it’s almost impossible to make even decent animes in the country today. In fact, anime TV series are almost all in shambles, and I can’t even be optimistic about the video quality of the anime we have now. In this kind of situation, I can’t help but seriously think if next year, our ideas can be made into anime.

(Caption for illustration at the left side of the page)

A girl from Mamoru Oshii’s original video anime “Angel’s Egg” (drawn by Seikou Nakura). Mr. Oshii revealed that he is having a hard time because there aren’t enough animators to make even just one anime video.

YOSHIKAZU YASUHIKO (director and screen director of “Arion”)

(Blurb)

I haven’t decided yet on what I will make after “Arion”. I will not take part in the new Gundam series.

I am very busy now with screen work for the anime “Arion” which will be shown in theaters on March 8th. But as far as I’m concerned, I’m conscious of the fact that this is my anime for 1985. Therefore, I haven’t decided yet on what my anime will be for 1986. I feel like I want to take a break for a year.

“Arion” is quite restrained for an anime to be shown in movie theaters. I’m happy that this movie is being touted as “the” main animation movie this spring but conversely, it’s a shame that there aren’t a lot of big anime movies for theaters. It’s already been decided that “Arion” is going to be shown in top-class movie theaters throughout Japan. It just shows how much anime has received recognition. I’d like to wait for animes that will pick up on this trend.

With regards to anime TV series, I was in charge of character design for “Z Gundam” this past year but I’ve decided not to be involved at all in the sequel’s new series. I think it’s better to relegate “Gundam” to the younger animators, starting with Hiroyuki Kitazume, who have grown so much in their craft. Now I sincerely think, if only someone as good as Kitazume were around eight years ago to help with “Gundam”, I would’ve been saved…

(Caption for illustration at the bottom of the page)

The heroine “Lesfina” from “Arion”, which was produced, character designed and screen directed by Yoshikazu Yasuhiko. This is the drawing touched-up by Mr. Yasuhiko. As we have discussed in a series of character designers in last month’s issue, he breathes life into his anime characters, showing genius capabilities.

(Box at the lower left side of the page)

If there were animes like this I’d watch it!

MASAMI YUUKI (manga artist)

As a rule, the three things I’d like to see are: “something that isn’t originally from manga”; “robot animation that isn’t dark”; and “in one year, a collaborative anime by Osamu Dezaki and Akio Sugino for release in Japan”. I can watch TV anime while casually lying around but I’d like anime that I wouldn’t be able to take my eyes off of the screen, something that is both easy to watch and amusing. And as written in other magazines before, I’d like to see Mr. Hayao Miyazaki’s version of “Atragon”! (Translator’s note: “Undersea Warship” in Japan)

YUUKI KUDOU (actress and singer)

I’d definitely watch anime that’s fun to watch, anime that will make me happy. At any rate, I’d like a hero on the side of justice who will beat the hell out of the bad guys and put them in a bind.

RYOKO YAMAGISHI (manga artist)

If there were an anime like Disney’s “Fantasia”, I’d watch it!

Pages 48 & 49

(Article Title)

Major producers from each of the anime/production companies talk about their hits for 1986 and foresee what their companies will be producing

KENJI YOKOYAMA (Toei Animation Co.)

(Blurb)

The new hit TV show Gegege no Kitaro from the fall of 1985 which received top ratings reflects modern times.

This is what I’ve been thinking with the third conversion of Gegege no Kitaro into animation. One is the change in children’s thinking with regards to ghosts/monsters. Of course “Ghostbusters” and “E.T.” have influenced this change, and now kids consider ghosts almost as pets. So in this way I think that if you match the present mood and go in the direction of lighter anime, you’ll be able to create different things from before. Children’s lives are too managed now, so they’d want an outlet to vent too. And in a society that has too many things and where, if you have the money, you can buy anything, things like the Toyoda Company fraud scandal and shady investment journals can also be construed as monstrosities. This anime has this overall theme: In the ideal world of Kitaro, monsters, people, animals, grass and trees should all co-exist so I thought I’d have various new approaches within the anime.

As a new endeavor, our company is going into video anime. It’s called “Amon Saga” and we’re not just going to sell it in video format, (I’m also hoping) we can show it in any movie theater even for just one week otherwise it’ll just be too sad. Especially with regards to original works with names that aren’t well known, I think it��s dangerous to rely on just one production studio. After “Konpora Kid” ends, beginning February, we’re planning on animating “Kinka”, a serialized manga in the weekly magazine Shonen Jump.

(Caption for illustration on the left side of the page)

A figure from the very popular “Kitaro”. They can’t keep up with the demand for a ghost eraser that they’ve produced and now it is a hit product. It’s also been decided that there will be new movie releases for this anime in the New Year and in the spring.

EIJI YAMAURA (Nihon Sunrise Co.)

(Blurb)

Find common ground with your viewers and defeat this lethargic mood!

Sunrise has now expanded into six studios and at any given point in time, we plan to work simultaneously on two to three anime TV series, video anime, anime for movie theaters and collaboration anime. Overall, anime today is manga magazine-driven, so our question is how far can we go in staying on an original anime track. Robot animes have vastly decreased in number, so conversely, I think this is a chance for us to come out with epoch-making anime. I’d like to make anime that will allow us to seriously converse with our child viewers.

TOSHIMITSU SUZUKI (Artmic Co.)

(Blurb)

Making anime that will be understood by the whole world! The robot anime boom is shifting from transformation-type robots to robots that merge into one.

Speaking of Japanese products in the international market today, mechanical products come to mind. This is also true in the animation world since Japanese robot animes are extremely in vogue. Especially in the American market, they already have transformation-type robot animes, so animes that have robots that merge into one are new to them. We’ve already exported “Beast King GoLion”, following that, (we’re going to export) “Dancouga Super Beast Machine God”.

We at Artmic plan to make animation that can be exported to foreign markets and we also are also keeping in mind to configure these anime with universal values. The video anime “Gall Force” is the first step in that direction.

NOBUO INADA (Tokyo Movie Shinsha Co.)

(Blurb)

Our track remains the same - making collaboration animes for foreign countries but we also have new anime.

I can’t necessarily say that the present state of anime is good. But the passion for anime during the anime boom of “Gundam” and the like was an anomaly so I feel that the state of anime now is the real one.

As you may know, not only do we make anime for Japan but we also produce anime for foreign countries. It’s a difficult situation for us now to concentrate on anime just for Japan because of production costs. It can be said that Japanese anime should be improved from the very basic level.

In 1986, we plan to have “Little Nemo” and in the fall, an anime for movie theater release by the duo Desaki and Sugino. At any rate, we’re doing our best.

JUNZOU NAKAJIMA (Nihon Animation Co.)

(Blurb)

We’re aiming for improving the quality of our masterpieces and we’re also trying our hand at new anime!

As you may know, our company has mainly been making masterpiece animes for more than fifteen years but I think we’ve made a habit of making similar anime. But we’ve been able to improve on our animes’ degree of perfection precisely because of the buildup of our experience in animation. We’re also working hard on our technology, and on the authenticity of our masterpieces. At any rate, we’re trying to make anime that is still interesting to watch even after five or six years have passed. Next year, we plan on making “Pollyanna” after “A Little Princess Sara” ends, and a new SF series called “Space Sagittarius”. We’re also going to have one TV special around May.

HIROMICHI MOGAKI (Tsuchida Production Co.)

(Blurb)

Just like what we did in “Tsubasa” and “Kimengumi”, we’re adding our original flavor to animation adapted from manga!

Even with regards to animating manga, the time when you aren’t creative when adapting something is over - just like our approach to our anime “High School! Kimen”. In manga, the fun is enclosed in a comic cell. Differing from that, we were able to bring out fun that moves freely (in the anime format). (Our decision to) put two episodes in one anime has also been well-received. We are also planning to have an anime TV series next year but all will depend on how long “Captain Tsubasa” will last. Captain Tsubasa’s storyline is that the finals will end in March, and the European leg will begin. This will catch up with the manga version’s storyline so I’m thinking of making a new one or taking a temporary break.

MASAYASU SAGISU (Eiken Co., Ltd.)

(Blurb)

Please watch the cooking scenes in the manga “Oishinbo” animated in a live-action format.

The anime “Sazae-san” is going to be seventeen years old. I think that the things that last for a long time are not manga for boys or manga for girls but manga for adults such as “Sazae-san” that has a family theme. But there aren’t many of this kind of anime today.

There has been a lot of SF space anime but nowadays it’s quite possible for kids to go to space someday. But the world of “Sazae-san” where the grandma, the grandpa, the old maid and the troubles they encounter while living together is farther than space in today’s world of nuclear families. Conversely, this makes Sazae-san’s storyline fresh.

For next year’s anime, we are developing our plans to animate Mr. Shinji Wada’s manga “Pigmalio”. We’d also like to do SF action animes, and a totally new genre - animating Big Comic Spirit’s serialized manga “Oishinbo”. Following a ten-year cycle, monster animes might come out next year but we’d like to try out new genres.

HIROSHI KATO (Ashi Production Co.)

We are developing original videos for the anime “Dancouga”

Our company has concentrated mainly on original anime and we are continuing with this direction in 1986 and beyond. Even though our animes are popular, I don’t know why we are edited a lot. Even “Dancouga” which originally had fifty-two episodes was reduced to thirty-eight and the final story was changed. We are going to sell a one and a half hour video in March and we’d like to include the real final story in it. Seventy percent of animators in Japan today are working on collaboration anime. The pay (for collaboration anime) is more than double, so we have to do something about it.

TOSHIHIRO NAGAO (Kaname Production Co.)

I’d like to see different kinds of SF anime. “Windaria (Once Upon a Time)” is the first step in that direction.

Generally speaking, I’d like to go with polar opposites - simplistic anime that has funny gags and anime that explores heavy themes. I think our company would like to take a short break after “Windaria” ends and then we’re going to do a lighter anime. We’ve also talked little by little about producing an anime TV series, but can we really do it with the present situation? Companies we outsource to are doing a lot of collaboration anime and we don’t have the confidence that we will win the price war and if we dabble in (anime TV series) incorrectly, it will be a death blow. With this situation, it seems like we will be concentrating on video anime for now. With regards to the direction of our anime, we’d like to consider doing SF anime with our own touch and foray into different parts, for example, making modern anime like “Radio City Fantasy (Machikado no Marchen)” that merges footage and music.

(Caption for illustration on the left side)

“Mujigen Hunter Fandora”, one of the original video anime from Kaname Production Co..It is said that the second part will be released in March.

YUUJI NUNOKAWA (Studio Pierrot)

(Blurb)

“Magical Emi, the Magic Star” will end in February. We’re working on the anime that will follow this.

Ever since our “Dallos” anime, anime in the video anime genre have increased, and it’s becoming more and more difficult to foresee what’s ahead. But I feel our viewer base will return to children after the continuous increase in anime fans.

In our animes’ genres, it seems that we foray into unprincipled things but through trial and error, we are at that stage where we are aiming for our own style. In 1986, we plan to stop producing transformation-style anime after “Emi” and we are now working on an anime with a witch theme, with a nod to our very first anime. We have also decided that we will make a sequel to “Rumic World”.

(Box at the lower left side of the page)

If there were animes like this I’d watch it!

MIKI TORI (manga artist)

And yet there are only a few animes wherein you can feel each anime’s distinct character. I understand that anime is a group effort, but like manga, the director’s tastes dominate. If the time comes when the writer can say “that is good but this is also good”, I think that anime will become more vibrant.

AKIO YOSHIDA (manga artist)

If I’m going to watch, I might change the channel if they’d revive anime like the long adventure animes of Toei. It would feel just like watching the movie “Mothra”.

YUKI SAITO (actress and singer)

I was in a manga research group when I was in high school so all I watched were anime from Sunrise. I like “Gundam” and “Ideon”. If there were anime in that vein, I think I’d be obsessed again.

Pages 50 & 51

(Title)

A Glance at the Anime World: The Hit men and their Predictions

SHOJI KAWAMORI

(Blurb)

It’s important to have interesting anime that will be universally accepted!

I haven’t really watched TV anime these past two years. Once you get rid of a habit, it’s not good. Once you distance yourself from anime, you won’t even be able tell which anime is good and which is bad. It’s scary to think that I’ve been watching anime by force of habit.

I also haven’t watched that many video animes to be fussy about it but I feel that video animes have become closer in form to manga. I can’t say though that it’s already at the serialized manga level, but it’s just a matter of time. But if you’re going to make video anime and you don’t make it differently from TV anime, it will be a waste. Probably change the design a bit…just like what Mr. Oshii is doing. Once your attempts go beyond the realm of attempting things and once you’ve achieved something basic, I think we’d probably be able to see the direction of video anime for the first time. If I were to create video anime, I’d like to make a short sixty minute one, something that is highly concentrated and can’t be fully “digested” in a TV anime format. Sixty minutes is too short for a movie and too long for TV, and I think it is a length that is untapped and put aside.

Compared to video, TV’s strong point is that you can make serialized anime on TV. Nicely put, TV is a medium wherein if you don’t have “ordinariness” (badly put, “mass appeal”) you won’t succeed so in this sense TV is a more demanding form of media than video. I also don’t like the trend wherein anime that don’t appeal to the masses are turned into video anime. I think that video anime should also have universal appeal.

For 1986, if there are proposals that come my way, I’ll do them. I still don’t know exactly what I’m going to do.

TOMOKO KONPARU

(Blurb)

With regards to video anime, I have “The Super Girl” and I’d like to try my hand at a new kind of animal anime.

Anime is said to be on a low note right now but I think that the number of anime being produced now is just right because there was a time when the anime that was being produced went over the production capabilities of those in the anime world. I even think that the number should be reduced by just a little bit more, but only if the quality is improved. It seems that 30 animes will be released in 1986, but I think that in terms of quality, (those that aren’t good) will be culled.

I don’t have any children yet but as a housewife I don’t think that anime has a bad influence on children. Since I was little, I myself grew up watching anime. Even now, from the standpoint of someone making anime, I don’t want to forget about the children. But on the other hand, I also think that mothers who just park their kids in front of the TV to watch anime isn’t good either.

The anime following “Hai Step Jun” will be “Maple Town”, an animal anime but I don’t want it to be anime with just “good” characters in it. I want to try making anime for young girls, which will be a new thing for me.

ICHIRO ITANO

(Blurb)

There must be anime that only young animators can do!

I think that mass media has a very strong influence on children. I want people to be more conscious of that. I feel that anime that is being made today just to make money is overly increasing - animators don’t question things, or assert themselves. An extreme example is the Lolita complex boom of late. If a person is being shown something like (a Lolita anime) from way back (from childhood), that person’s imagination takes precedence instead of the ability to adapt to another human being, and stress builds up as a result. I think we should oppose this current reality, and as for myself, I plan to try different things. I wonder what I’d be able to do before I turn thirty-five, and I also think that you can learn from failure.

MITSURU KANEKO (MK Productions)

(Blurb)

The computer is absolutely infiltrating the anime world.

It’s possible to think that in the future, the possibilities of computer graphics will first be used in the industrial fields. For example, the depth maps of the Japan Coast Guard just have numbers on them now but if you input these numbers into a computer, you’ll be able to see valleys (under the sea) that continue for miles as video images. And if this (technology) presses forward, for example, there is an (American) masterpiece special effects movie called “Fantastic Voyage” wherein they (physically) made the sets and then shot the film but in the future, you can make the movie set by inputting data in a computer.

Speaking of another side (of this technology), take the example of video images shown on large screens that have been demonstrated at an expo. Just like what was shown in the expo, video images and 3D images shown on dome-like screens can only be made using a computer.

In this way, the spotlight is now aimed at anime as a means to (showcase technology). Animation’s possibilities will also become limitless as it will need to respond to the diversification of people’s demands.

(Caption for illustration on the right side of the page)

This is Cindy, a young girl from a biker gang in the anime “Megazone 23 Part 2”. Mr. Yasuomi Umetsu’s character design is original, as personified in this drawing. This anime has a different kind of appeal compared to Part 1.

KEISUKE FUJIKAWA (scriptwriter of the anime “Once Upon a Time” or “Legend of Fabulous Battle Windaria”)

I researched and compared the recent trends, the trend in fans’ consciousness about anime and anime programs and from around last year, it seems like the age of wanting “salvation” has come. I think that in so many ways, we are being stifled and we are seeking breakthroughs. I think that how anime as a medium is going to lift this issue up is going to be important. Even “Once Upon a Time”, which we will show in 1986, takes up issues of the present times. I’m putting emphasis on what I will say to the youth of today through SF that has stories of people in it instead of just hardcore SF. For this year and the next, I’d like to dig into aspects of the youth in different ways. I’d like to make anime that makes viewers think that there is something out there that matches their present selves perfectly.

(Caption for illustration on the left side of the page)

This is Anasu, the heroine of “Windaria”. Illustrated by Ms. Mutsumi Inomata, this character personifies the pure themes of Mr. Fujikawa’s anime.

YOSHINOBU NISHIZAKI (producer)

(Blurb)

I’d like to make a video anime that will be a preview of a movie theater anime

With regards to “Odin: Photon Sailor Starlight”, I didn’t make excuses and I haven’t commented on it but there are clear reasons why that movie ended in failure. That anime was originally a one-hour program, twelve episode TV anime - in other words, it was an anime made to be aired for twelve hours. I think there was a big mistake in the producers’ thinking that they could digest this into a two and a half hour movie.

I used to say that after 1955, there wouldn’t be a hit anime made for movie theaters. The same thing is about to happen in the video anime world. If the overproduction of low-quality anime continues, there will definitely be a backlash. It seems that the most basic idea during planning anime has been forgotten. And this basic idea is this: things expressed through anime must rouse people’s imaginations.

We’re planning on releasing an anime for movie theaters on July 9, 1986 based on “Desler”*. But before that we’re planning on selling a promotion video about the movie in April. In making this video, budgetary issues, which have always been a concern in video animes, have been set aside so I’m planning on making it in the same high-quality as the movie. I’m also thinking of releasing a trailer of the movie at the same time.

*Translator’s note: Desler is a character in the anime “Space Battleship Yamato”.

(Box at the lower left side of the page)

If there were animes like this I’d watch them!

FUJIHIKO HOSONO (manga artist)

I like the works of Mr. Hayao Miyazaki. I heard that he said that he wanted to make an anime about the Period of Warring States (in Japanese history) so if that anime is made, I’d definitely want to watch it. Personally, I’d also like Mr. Miyazaki to make ninja anime. With regards to other animators, I like Mr. Mamoru Oshii, the one who made “Beautiful Dreamer.

SHOJOTAI (a singer/actress trio)

Reiko: Among animated characters, I like Peter Rabbit. I’d like Peter to guide me into a dreamy nature scene.

Miho: I really like Phillips. I’d like to plunge into a world adventure with a kitty cat.

Tomo: More than anything, I like Snoopy. I’d watch any number of animes with Snoopy in it. I’d like to watch happy animes.

#anime #newtype #21 prophets of anime #translations #translation #translation project

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cafedanslanuit · 4 years

Text

I always wanted to marry rich || Jumin x MC (2/2)

genre; angst pairing; Jumin Han x MC notes; part two of two. read part one here. I finally wrote the last part! Honestly I had to rewrite it a couple of times because I wasn’t happy with how it ended. Now I finally do. Hope you like it! <3

~ ~ ~

“check your email”

Jumin didn’t even bother opening Seven’s text. He just read it on the notifications bar and opened his email app. He found a file with her future wife’s name and opened it. Two seconds later, his battery died out of the blue. Jumin sighed. The phone was charged, maybe it was starting to malfunction. He opened his laptop and his email. He printed the document Seven had sent so he could look over them more comfortably. Jumin poured himself a glass of wine and sat on the kitchen table.

MC’s bank account was rather small and the incomes where what he expected, savings from her last job she had told him about. She purchased small amounts in makeup stores, coffee places and other things. She had graduated top of her class at university in her homeland with a scholarship.

There were some pages about her estranged father. He was living in Spain and had remarried. He had two kids, ten and twelve. He hadn’t been in touch with MC or her mother apparently. There was a file about her mother. She was a teacher in South America and worked at a school. Jumin didn’t want to know how Seven got access to her bank account, but he had. She didn’t have much either and the purchases weren’t suspicious at all, MC seemed to send her money every chance she could.

Seven had even traced MC’s tweets back in her uni years. She had made some light-hearted jokes about being broke but nothing that made it seemed like she was planning something. Seven had been kind enough to write down some notes about those tweets not meaning a thing.

The last page was a message with Seven’s messy handwriting.

“Stop stressing! There’s nothing fishy about her”. There was a small drawing of a fish. Of course. “Happy wedding!”

Jumin sighed and crumpled the documents in his hand. Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe it was an inside joke? Tons of possibilities were roaming around his head when he heard the door opening and MC’s heels making their way into the penthouse.

She quickly appeared in the kitchen and smiled at him.

“Buenas noches, amor” she teased him with a grin.

“Why did you say you always wanted to marry rich?” Jumin blurted.

MC’s smile fell abruptly.

“What? When did I--” her eyes went sideways, trying to remember. Then she opened her mouth in realisation. “Oh, okay. You listened to me and my mom. Okay” she sighed.

She left her purse on the kitchen table and sat in front of her fiancé, who was looking at her sternly. Never before had he looked at her that way and it made her feel really small. Like she had gotten herself in trouble. She took a deep breath before she could start explaining.

“Okay. You know my mom had serious money issues when I was growing up. So, since I was little she would always tell me to find a wealthy man, seduce him and marry him. That she didn’t want me to live poor all my life, not knowing what it was to not worry about not having enough money to pay all the bills at the end of the month.”

“So, that’s what you did” grunted Jumin, crossing his arms.

“Let me finish, please” MC asked. “Jumin, I’m not marrying you for your money. Let me finish my story, but you need to understand this more than anything. That’s not why I’m marrying you. I didn’t even want to get married in the first place!”

Jumin raised his eyebrows in surprise. MC covered her face with her hands.

“Shit, I’m only making it worse. I’m sorry, I-”

“There’s nothing to discuss here, then” he said, picking up the documents from the table and getting up. MC stood up in front of him quickly, preventing him to leave the kitchen.

“No. No! You’re going to listen to me. You owe me that, at least”.

“I don’t owe you anything”.

“Listen to me!” she pleaded, raising her voice, her eyes filling with tears. “Listen to me. Yes, that was her plan for me but I turned fifteen and decided I didn’t want to become anyone’s wife or depend on anyone. I didn’t want anyone to leave me like they left my mom! So I started studying, got a scholarship to a good university, graduated with honors. I was in between jobs when I joined the RFA. I wasn’t looking for anything. So yes, I didn’t want to get married and then I met you!” she cried.

MC’s face was now full with tears, messing up her make-up. She took another deep breath and wiped her face with the back of her hand. Jumin’s expression softened and embraced her, burying his face on her hair. The soft strawberry aroma broke his heart, how could have he thought this woman, who had shown nothing but love to him was capable to feign that love because she only wanted money?

“But you changed my mind” MC kept talking, her face against his suit. “You changed my mind about wanting to spend the rest of my life with someone. It was not about they money, it was never about the money” she softly pushed Jumin away and looked up at him. “I don’t care. It’s okay, I’ll sign anything”.

“Sign?” Jumin asked, confused.

“Yes, those are from a prenup agreement, right?” she said, looking at the documents Jumin still had in his hand. “C’mon, it’s okay. I’ll sign them right now, I don’t care”.

She took the documents from Jumin before he could stop her. Right when he was about to take them back from his fiancée, her face changed drastically.

“Is this… my bank account?” she asked softly.

“MC, give them back” Jumin said, taking a step forward, but she took a step back.

Her eyes went back and forth the documents, searching through the pages she had in hand. She noticed Jumin trying to get them back, so she quickly walked to the living room. The information on them was correct, but why on Earth did he need to see all of this information? Was this about the comment he had overhead? Why did he-- Before she could comprehend what was happening, she saw a face she hadn’t seen in a long time. She didn’t recognize him at first, but after reading his first and last name -her last name-, there was no mistake.

She stopped, letting Jumin take the documents back from her. If Jumin was talking she couldn’t hear him anymore. Everything had gone silent in her head.

She startled a bit when she felt a hand on her shoulder, shaking her softly.

“MC, my love. Say something, I’m sorry, I--...”

“My dad had more kids?” she asked, in a broken voice. Jumin looked at her, furrowing his eyebrows.

“You didn’t know?”

“No, I… I haven’t heard from him since he left us. I didn’t know… He had more kids?”

MC walked to the sofa and sat down, still trying to process what she had learnt, tears falling down her cheeks in silence. Jumin sat by her side and put an arm around her shoulders, not knowing what to do. He hated himself for making herself feel like that. Her face showed how broken she was, how much weight the news had had for her.

Jumin hugged her, putting her small frame against his chest. He muttered countless apologies. Seven was right. He shouldn’t have dug up information that wasn’t his. He had hurt her more than he thought he could. MC cried in silence for a couple more minutes before she raised her head again to look at him.

“Why do you have this?” she asked, her hand grabbing his shirt and looking at him confused. “Why do you even have this information, I-- I don’t--... Was it too hard to just ask me? Would you have believed what I just said if it didn’t match up with these things?” she looked at the documents Jumin had left on the couch.

“I’m sorry” Jumin said, not counting how many times he had said that already. “I panicked. You know how many times my father has wanted me to marry someone that only wanted me for my money or my position at C&R. I… I certainly didn’t think this through. I’m sorry, I really am. There’s no excuse. I was scared, but I didn’t act like a man. I had no excuse to look into your family history, none”.

MC looked at the dark eyes of his fiancé and sighed. She pursed her lips and took his hand in hers, squeezing it softly.

“I’m still mad at you” she said, her voice a little hoarse from crying. “And hurt. But I’ve already talked to my therapist about this thing with my dad so… I’m hurt, yes, but honestly… it’s water under the bridge, now. I don’t want to talk about him. What I really want… no, I really need my fiancé to bring me a cup of tea and stay with me tonight. You think you can do that?” she asked.

“Yes, I can” Jumin nodded and stood up quickly, grabbing the documents from Seven’s investigation and crumbling them in his hands.

“Wait, one more thing” she said and Jumin turned to her, expectantly. “You need to trust me, okay? I may not be always the best wife once we get married. But I will always tell you the truth. I meant what I said before, I will sign a prenup so please call your lawyers and tell them to prepare one for you, okay? Can we do this together?”

“No” Jumin said, turning around and making his way to the kitchen. MC felt a sharp pain on her chest.

“What do you mean no?”

“We’re not getting married with a prenup. I trust you. Even though tonight’s events may make you think otherwise, I do. And I want you and everyone to know that. So we’re not getting married with a prenup” Jumin explained from the kitchen. MC chuckled as she heard the sound of the electric water boiler starting.

“Okay” she muttered with a soft smile.

They were days away from the wedding. But somehow, instead of making her more anxious, it made her feel calmer. Jumin was going to mess up again. And someday, she would be the one to mess up. But if they could still find a way to love each other at the end of the day, maybe it was a good idea to get married after all. Honestly, she would have agreed to sign a prenup if Jumin had asked. She knew it wouldn’t have been for personal reasons, but mostly to protect C&R and all the years of work Chairman Han had given the company. But if he was willing to show her how much he trusted her by going against it and refusing the idea that she signed it, it definitely showed how much trust he was willing to show her.

MC saw Jumin coming back from the kitchen with a cup of tea and a bag of her favourite biscuits. She smiled and patted the spot next to her in the sofa.

They could do this. She knew they could.

#mystic messenger #jumin han #mysme #mysme jumin #jumin x mc #jumin x reader #mystic messenger fanfiction #fanfiction

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wilwywaylan · 4 years

Text

The Artist above and the Revolutionnary below - Part 4

Fandom : les Misérables

Modern!AU, Enjolras x Grantaire, 3473 words

Last part of the fic for the Same Prompt Challenge ! Finally, it’s done !

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Also on AO3 !

Step one : wash self. It would do no good to present himself to Enjolras looking like some kind of cave troll. So Grantaire took a shower, taking great care to wash his hair and untangle the curls. Once mostly dry and dressed in clean clothes, he aimed for the kitchen. Not for the coffee, even if he started by making himself a nice cup, but for something far more ambitious : he was going to cook.

Four hours later, his kitchen was a mess, every horizontal surface was covered in flour and there was even some sticking to some vertical parts, the sink contained more dishes that he believed he owned, and he was in dire need of another shower. But there was a whole plate of cookies in the oven, and it smelled quite good. Not that Grantaire wanted to brag, of course. He didn't have any time for it, anyway, he was way too busy watching the biscuits by the small window. He didn't want...he couldn't mess them up. He didn't have the courage nor the ingredients to start again.

But luckily for him, the cookies got out deliciously golden, and absolutely perfect. He transferred them into a metal box, resisting the urge to eat one himself. After a second shower that got rid of most of the flour, he went to sit at his easel. Now came the third, and most important part. Cookies were a nice touch, but he wouldn't be forgiven just with this, Bahorel's super secret recipe notwithstanding. No, he needed to find the perfect present that would melt Enjolras' anger like a cube of ice during summer. And nothing could be more of a perfect present than something handmade, or in his case, hand-drawn.

The white page was almost intimidating, at first, more than during one of his assignments, even. Assignments, he could bullshit his way through them if inspiration didn't strike. But this.... this was way more important. Okay, no, maybe not. He couldn't claim a cute boy was more important than his studies. It was important in a different way, but he couldn't just pretend he knew what he was doing. He needed to know. He needed to make it perfect.

The first strokes were hesitant, almost shy, barely scratching the surface. But as he went, the picture in his mind grew clearer, his gestures became more assured, and he started working faster.

When he finally moved, the sun had set, his neck was sending jolts of pain up his skull, his fingers hurt, and his hoodie had lost all pretention to be an actual color. He stretched, sending his arms above his head, only realizing now that his stomach was growling. Probably loud enough to wake his neighbors up. But he didn't care. He felt well. The painting on his easel was probably one of his finest works since... oh, several years. Enjolras stood in the middle of it ; Grantaire had painted him dressed in a XIXe century style, with a red jacket with a cockade pinned on the lapel, a black cravat resting undone on a white shirt under a black waistcoat. There was a smudge of blood on the cheek, but he was brandishing a red flag above his head. The whole sky behind him was a brilliant whirlwind of pink, orange and yellow, and a timid sun was stroking Enjolras' face with gold rays. Any critic would have dismissed the piece as "overly pompous" and "pretentious", but Grantaire felt a mix of pride and anxiety watching it. It certainly was fine, but didn't he exaggerate, making Enjolras' face softer than it was ? Maybe his eyes weren't fierce enough, not full of fire enough ? And what if Enjolras didn't enjoy a portrait of himself ? Oh well, too late now, it was done. Tomorrow, he would make his move. But for now, he wanted nothing more than sleep. He made his way to his room, abandoning his clothes on the way, and dropped on the bed. The remnants of Bahorel's impromptu breakfast were still on the nightstand, and he devoured the rest of the croissants. Once sated, he wrapped himself in the blankets and just laid there, content and sated, for the first time in days. Maybe things were looking up, after all.

~*~

Next morning saw Grantaire up earlier than he'd been in months. He'd woken up almost with the sun, and had been since tossing and turning under the blankets, trying to keep himself busy until it was a decent time to put his plan in motion. He didn't know about Enjolras' sleeping habits, and didn't want to wake him up. That wouldn't put him in good dispositions. So he browsed the internet, trying to distract himself until it was time to move.

At around 10 AM, he decided to act. He rolled out of bed and got ready, going through the motions with application, concentrating on each gesture to ignore the way his heart seemed to try to get free from his chest. He took the box of cookies, the painting, and snuck out into the hallway. It was dark and deserted. Perfect. He went down the stairs, his socked feet silent on the tiles. Still no one. He managed to reach door 32 without a hitch, without any nosy neighbor opening their door to see who was playing spies in the hallway. He carefully put the painting down, put the box beside it, with a small message he'd spent at least fifteen minutes writing. Nothing fancy, just a heartfelt "I'm sorry I've been an ass". No need to start babbling on writing. Good.

He rang the bell... and ran away, up the stairs, almost falling down and hitting the ramp in his hast. He had barely reached his story, when he heard a door open. There was a moment of silence. And a thought hit him right between the eyes : what if Enjolras decided to climb here to see who put the presents on his doorstep ? He'd see him crouching behind the railing like an idiot. He dashed inside his apartment, closed the door, then opened it a tiny sliver. No Enjolras materialized on the landing, but there was a rustling. Like things being picked up and carried inside. So he had found the presents. Very good.

Grantaire retreated inside, pondering on the next move for a second. He could start working on his assignments again, clean a bit of his flat, maybe scrub his bathroom. Things would go back to how they were before all these guitar shenanigans. But that wasn't what he wanted, right ? So he needed to follow the plan.

He needed to rummage a little (a lot) through the mess accumulated under his bed and in his cupboard, but he finally unearthed an old, battered case. The guitar inside had lost a bit of its shine, but the intricate patterns on it, flowers and clouds, were still as vivid as always. He took it back to his window and sat as comfortably as possible. It was out of tune, of course, after so much time in storage, but the gestures came back to him easily, and soon, it was fit to play. He stroked the strings, just enjoying the sound for a few seconds, then started to warm up. The notes flew by the window, carried by the wind, soft and round at each vibration of the strings, climbing the scales up and down. His fingers were dancing, almost on their own, modulating the melody almost perfectly.

Under him, a window opened. He didn't hear footsteps, but he imagined them all the same. Time to go to step five. Or six, he didn't remember. He abandoned the scales for real melody. Still no noise coming from under him. Oh well, he could still play for himself, couldn't he ? After all, he did like this song. And so, he started singing softly, almost under his breath.

Lay down in the stars, my bonny lass Lay down in my arms, we'll make it last The senses aspire to this far greater time As the rivers flow your heart will be mine

He played the song from start to finish, enjoying how easily it was all coming back to him, the lyrics and the melody, how delightful it was to play again. The last notes fled outside, fading slowly as the strings stopped singing. Grantaire leaned on the guitar, feeling the vibrations stop under his fingers. The silence after a song always had a special quality, soft and serene, like it was another part, something that completed the song.

- Are you there ?

Enjolras' voice cut the silence, made him jump so hard that he almost dropped the guitar. He did call for him. Enjolras wanted to talk to him ! Do not ruin this, play it cool. He walked to the window and leaned out. Enjolras was peering up at him, and Grantaire's heart gave a little tug at the beautiful eyes fixed on him, so large and so blue that they seemed to hold the whole sky. He also noticed that he didn't look as angry as yesterday. Or perhaps he was very good at hiding his feelings. Grantaire composed himself a friendly smile, and answered :

- I am, yes. Hello, Enjolras.

- Hello. I heard you playing, so I wondered....

- If it was me, or the ghost of Christmas past ?

Enjolras frowned, and Grantaire remembered that he was supposed to be nice and friendly, not rile him up again by making fun of him.

- Sorry, he added. What can I do for you ?

- Someone put a box of cookies and a very nice painting on my doorstep, and I was wondering if you knew something about it.

The urge to roll his eyes was stronger than ever, but he refrained heroically.

- Why yes. Do you enjoy cookies, at least ? Because I didn't really ask...

- Oh, so it was you ?

- Yes ? I mean, I signed the note, so....

Enjolras frowned again, more perplexed that angry this time.

- Yes, but.... you.... didn't really introduce yourself. Your friend called you "R" that time, but I didn't know that it stood for "Grantaire", so...

This time, Grantaire facepalmed. Count on him to be so stupid he forgot to officially introduced himself.

- Sorry. I'm Grantaire. Pleased to meet you.

- Pleased to meet you too.

Grantaire tried not to smile too wildly.

- So, what do I owe the pleasure ?

- I heard the guitar. Were you playing ?

- Ah yes, I felt like getting it out of storage and tickling the strings a little.

- That was really great ! I didn't know you were such a good player !

He really needed to stop complimenting him, because Grantaire wasn't sure he was going to maintain his composure for long.

- It's been a while since I've played, but....

- Do you think you could... come down, and we'll play ?

What ? Did he hear right ? Was he....? This was a dream. This could only be a dream. Did Enjolras really ask him to come back ? But he was watching him with his beautiful eyes, and still looking expectantly up at him, and pinching himself didn't suddenly wake him up. That was reality.

When the information reached his brain, Grantaire grabbed his guitar and, once again, ran all the way to Enjolras' door. As he knocked, he suddenly realized that he had bypassed shoes entirely. Too bad, Enjolras was already opening the door, his cat in his arms. Grantaire scratched the little head between the hair, refrained from doing the same to Enjolras.

- So, he said instead, I heard you wanted to play ?

Enjolras lead him to the balcony again, where two cups of coffee were waiting, smoking quietly. Grantaire was both oddly touched by the welcoming gesture, and impressed at how Enjolras seemed to be sure that he would come done. But then again, maybe Bahorel was right and his crush *was* visible from space.

- Anything you want to play ? Grantaire asked once he’d sat down on the rickety chair.

- Can you play Wonderwall ?

- Of course, I taught you. Together ?

Enjolras picked up his own instrument. He carefully placed his hands as Grantaire had shown him, tuned it a little, then turned to face him. Grantaire counted the rhythm as he had taught it, careful of not going too fast.

It was weird, playing together like this. Enjolras did lack a bit in rhythm, forcing Grantaire to adjust, but nothing he couldn't deal with. He didn't dare sing at first, rather enjoying Enjolras' voice, but after the first verse, he just let himself get carried away. It was great, moving like this, in unison, almost like they were two halves of the same thing. Grantaire didn't want to read too much into the situation, but it was... exhilarating. It felt like flying. Like being, for a few seconds, at the top of the world, with him.

It ended, because of course, it had to end, leaving Grantaire disoriented, and a little breathless. Probably the singing, of course. But Enjolras looked as affected as him, so maybe he hadn't imagined the connexion they shared for a minute or two. He tried to play it cool, picking at the keys to retune the strings. Enjolras watched him do with interest.

- Can you play something else ? he asked suddenly.

- Of course. What do you like ?

- Anything you want.

Anything ? Grantaire didn't have to pick his brain to find a song. Of course, that would be a very daring move, but Fortune favored the bold and all that. What did he risk, except a slap and being thrown over the balcony rail ? (probably not). He started playing the chords, softly at first, then seeing that Enjolras didn't run away, launched into the song.

Wise men say only fools rush in But I can't help falling in love with you...

It was a good thing he knew the words by heart, because Enjolras was so close their knees were brushing, and Grantaire had great trouble stopping himself from jumping each time he touched him. His heart was beating fast, so fast, and he was sure he could hear Enjolras', beating in tune. Or that may just be wishful thinking.

He didn't know how he got to the end of the song without running away or bungling anything. He was ready to jump out of his skin at each light touch. And as he lifted his head, it was to discover the beautiful blue eyes set on him, pinning him in place. He couldn't turn his head, he couldn't say anything, he could just look at him, and hope his eyes would do the talking.

Suddenly, Jude jumped on his master's lap, almost knocking the guitar over, breaking the spell. Enjolras patted him as he kneading his pants, and asked :

- This song...

- Yes.... Did you like it ?

- A lot... It's very pretty.

- Very, yes.

Perfect. When did they land in a potboiler and get turned into shy teenagers ? Grantaire would have slapped himself if he didn't fear looking like an idiot. He'd always hated that genre, so to suddenly find himself like this, babbling and muttering, incapable of speaking his mind... They'd never get there, not like that. Someone needed to take the reins of the conversation for something to happen, anything. He opened his mouth, but Enjolras beat him to it.

- Did you choose it for a reason ?

Ah, short and to the point. Enjolras certainly didn't embarrass himself with subtleties. But now, he was expecting an answer. And this meant Grantaire needed to think very hard about the answer he was going to give, and quick. And Enjolras was still looking at him, so he needed to focus extra hard to not say anything stupid or incriminating. And he needed to think, and to think quickly, instead of being sidetracked like this.

- I....

Great start, Grantaire. Now say something, or he's going to lose his patience, and maybe his temper. But what could he say ? That he really, really wanted to kiss him ? Hold his hand and the rest too ? Set his life at his feet ? Well, yes, this was what he wanted. But he couldn't say it, or Enjolras would run away. But he needed to say something now. Anything.

- I like it.

Oh great. This time, he hit his head against the guitar, lightly, of course.

- Is that the only reason ?

Grantaire took a deep breath, lifted his head. There they were. No going back now.

- I....

It didn't want to come. He was ready to say it, that was the best moment, the only moment, it was perfect, the atmosphere, the guitar, everything, and he couldn't say it. Count on him to be so stupid he couldn't confess his feelings.

A hand closed on his and squeezed gently. He looked down at their fingers, then back at Enjolras' face, who kept his eyes down.

- I don't want your whole life, he said, but I could... take your hand, if you want.

Grantaire was a bit tempted to laugh, but he refrained.

- Would you, really ? He asked, very low.

- I want to try, at least. If you want to.

He was looking at him, now, with such an open expression that Grantaire almost wanted to scream and tackle him. But no. Act like a normal person. He lifted the hand Enjolras wasn't holding, stroked his cheek, very slowly. His movements were measured, to give him all the time he needed to move back. But Enjolras didn't move back. Not when Grantaire bent down, very, very slowly to kiss him. It was soft, almost too much. Clumsy, too, like Enjolras wasn't used to being kissed. They just kept like this for a moment, barely moving. Not enough for Grantaire, he wanted more, way more, he wanted to ravish him, to leave him red, breathless, to hold him tight and never let go. But it was perfect none-the-less.

They parted for breath, and because Grantaire's neck was starting to hurt. Enjolras was looking at him, his cheeks a little red, his smile a little shy. Positively adorable. Without letting go of Grantaire's hand, he moved his chair a little closer, until he could lean against his shoulder. It was not the most comfortable way to sit, but Grantaire wouldn't have let go for anything in the world. Still, he felt compelled to ask :

- Are you sure you want this ? I mean....

Enjolras moved a little, and he wanted to hold him back, but he didn't step aside, not even a little.

- What do you mean ?

- Well... I'm me, and....

This time, Enjolras shifted to be able to look at him without leaving his shoulder.

- Yes, I know.

- Are you sure this is what I want ? Because....

- I am sure, yes. I know what I'm getting, and what I don't know, I will discover. And I'm sure I will like it.

A very large emotion got stuck in Grantaire's throat, effectively cutting all the words he could have used. So he just held Enjolras' hand tighter, and twisted a little to be able to lay a kiss on his forehead.

They sat like this for a moment in silence, watching the sparrows fly by. Grantaire's thumb was stroking the soft skin on Enjolras' hand, very gently. Suddenly, Enjolras asked :

- It wasn't... too awkward, was it ? When I said... (He gestured vaguely with his free hand.) About your life, and....

- It was, Grantaire chuckled, but that was adorable. It's very... you.

Enjolras laughed a little.

- You better get used to it, it seems that I'm very clumsy at speaking my feelings.

- Don't worry, I like it a lot.

- Good. Now would you maybe play that song for me again ?

Grantaire let go of Enjolras' hand with a hint of regret, and took his guitar back. Immediately, Enjolras settled back against his shoulder. Grantaire didn't know if he could play with someone against him like that, but he certainly wasn't going to ask him to move. Certainly not. He stroked the strings again, and started the song a second time. Enjolras was warm and heavy against him, and it was perfect. The notes started to fly above the roof, to tell everyone listening that they had finally found each other.

Songs are True Life Song by Jon Anderson, and Can’t help falling in love with you by Elvis Presley

#les miserables #enjolras #grantaire #enjoltaire #same prompt challenge #dorks #such dorks #they are so dorky #I love them

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emotionalcello-makefanfics · 5 years

Text

Your Tears in My Dreams (DamiJon) Part : 1/2

Rating : General Audiences

Summary :

His best friend always has that smile. Bright and refreshing like a can of cold soda on a hot and humid summer. But one day, when they were walking down the halls to class. Jon stopped, and for once in Damian life, he saw Jon cried. ---- Dick cleared his throat, his darting eyes finally landed on his jade eyes, “Why do you want to know now?” “Curiosity,” Damian shrugged, “I’ve never seen him cried before, that was the only time he did and I forgot why he did.” “You think it’s your fault?” “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

Inspired by this beautiful art of Jon crying and Damian not knowing what to do by @glitter-dc

Read on AO3

Click Keep Reading to read on Tumblr.

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Jon was his best friend and the only friend that ever counted, but their relationship didn’t start smoothly. As a privileged nine-year-old boy that only knew about the expectation he’s meant to fulfill in a world of adults, Jon’s sincere friendly approach was extraterrestrial.

Yet, no matter how much Damian pushed, Jon insists. To Damian, Jon is nothing more than his father’s journalist best friend’s son. Damian had understood the political need to befriend each other, but Jon never sees it that way.

Jon who’s always as bright as the sun when he smiles. All his frontal teeth would show, and the one teeth on the top right that bent inwards sticks out more than the rest. The apple of his cheeks became prominent whenever he’s too excited, and blush just like roses in full bloom whenever they were running, or if it was a hot day. His eyes would shine like clear lakes under the high noon. Strands of his raven-black soft curls bounce cheerfully and swept through the wind like feathers whenever he moves.

Always, Jon would smile through the rain, through the bad scores he gets, and through the wounds that he gets whenever they’re playing too rough.

His best friend always has that smile. Bright and refreshing like a can of cold soda on a hot and humid summer.

But one day, when they were walking down the halls to class. Jon stopped, and for once in Damian life, he saw Jon cried.

It was the first and the last time Damian saw him that way.

The memory comes in as a dream, played like a slow-motion clip that lasted forever. Long enough that at one point, Damian asked why Jon cried, which of course, Jon in his dream didn’t make a sound any other sound than sobbing. But when Damian woke up, it felt like it lasted a second. Like every dream, Damian thought he’ll forget it after a few seconds being awake. But this time, the way Jon looks at him with his sorrowful eyes and downturned lips, stays the whole day, and the day after that, and so on.

Damian can still feel chills down his spine at how deeply Jon’s eyes pierce through his soul. The details of how strands of his black loose curls tossed around because he just took a nap at break time. The way his tears sticks to his lush lashes and glisten like morning dews on blades of grass under the light of dawn. His tightened jaw as if to hold his voice. Bawling with a heavy stream of tears rolling down his red apple cheeks.

Every detail of that moment would never be forgotten, but only that one frame, in that perspective that felt prolonged forever. Damian can’t remember anything more after or before that.

To be expected of course. After all, that happened ten years ago.

++++++

“Ah, Master Damian, I didn’t expect you for another day,” the family butler, Alfred, called from the library where he’s been cleaning. He takes off his usual suit and only wears his white button-up with sleeves rolled.

“Sorry for the unexpected arrival, I’ll clean the room myself.”

“Was there something urgent sir?” Alfred is as sharp as ever, Damian missed that about him.

“Yes, I’ll ask you about it later.”

Then Damian continues to walk down the halls and into his room. The room is still fairly clean, he’s touched that Alfred cleans his room even though he never stays the night in the manor for years. Whenever he has business trips in Gotham, he always stays in a nearby hotel, and only came for a quick dinner together, only if that family was in town.

It’s been forever since he last enters this room, just by the whiff of scent already felt like a blast from the past.

Back when the politics of his country were heated and dangerous, Damian was sent here to seek refuge. His family’s company, the League of Al-Ghuls, were caught between the heat. Though now that he’s older, he knew that his family participates in that political war. That’s why Damian’s life was in danger.

So, he was sent to a place owned by a father he never knew he had at nine years old. It was not expected that he had grown fond of the place and elongated his stay until his mother demanded him to come back to have proper education for her standards.

Ever since he was a child, he’s meant to continue the family business. Now he’s considered perfectly weaned and being trusted to have good judgment for the benefit of their empire. It is how their family is. It is what Damian had excepted with consent. Then life just swept Damian away.

The last time he was in this room, he was 15. There’s a picture of him and Jon by his desk. A thin layer of dust accumulated at the top of the frame. It’s a picture of them on a school trip to Ocean City. Jon had many friends beside Damian, but he wanted to take a picture together first.

Damian cracked a smile, seeing little Jon wearing his dad’s bright blue bucket hat on top of his awry hair, and a smile bright like the sea on their background.

He looked for his old stuff. Pictures, diaries, books, anything that can give him a clue. When he’s checking one of his bookcases, there’s a row dedicated to journals, textbooks, and sketchbooks. He recognizes some of the journals’ spine. When he takes it out, his heart raced.

It’s his diaries, not just any diaries too. He used to exchange them with Jon. They’ll write about their day and give them to each other once a week, or sometimes once a month. It was Jon’s idea from an old Japanese comic he bought from a discount box. It was ridiculous and Damian had thought it was intrusive.

Damian doesn’t know how Jon can talk him into sharing his personal thoughts with someone. Saying his feelings out has not been his strong suit, but writing it is another story. It’s easier to tell his secrets to inanimate objects that’ll never judge him. But what really made Damian went along with it, was because Jon’s diary is entertaining and fun to read. Usually filled with dad jokes his father told him and things he gets in trouble at. The way Jon writes it is just like how he talked with all his quirks and slang.

The tradition doesn’t last their whole friendship though. Some time into their teens, they stopped exchanging their diaries.

Though Jon never asked for his diary again, Damian kept writing out of habit. His brown covered journal, the last one, is a diary he never gave to Jon.

Flipping through the pages, he noticed that he didn’t write them on a regular basis. Some are days apart, some weeks, even months. Most of them are from 2009 to 2010, and the only content in there is frustration, anger, and self-pity that he’s too proud to tell anyone else.

Right at the last entry that stops in the middle of his journal, he finds the one he’s been looking for.

‘17 November 2010

Something absolutely bizarre happened today. Jon cried. I was lost for words at seeing him cry for the first time since I have ever known him. Jon is not one who cries easily, or ever. He’s strong and he had pulled through a lot of misfortune that happens to him with only a frown or anger. He had a very deep wound on his forearm from scrapping it upon a loose nail on a plank, he bled a lot but he just hissed and screamed in pain, in that process, he shed a tear, but it was not ‘crying’. Even when his father scolds him badly after we went to town till 4 AM, all he did was frown.

We were just talking as we head to our class. I didn’t ask why at first. He was terribly sad and I’m afraid of saying the wrong words. So, I just pat his back and took him somewhere people won't see. I don’t want him to feel embarrassed if someone sees him like that when he clearly needed to cry. Maybe he’s been holding back something that he didn’t tell me.

It was also the first time I ever missed class. Of course, my mother will be more upset about this more than father, but I did not feel regretful. Jon needed me for once, and the consequences are light compared to the situation. Though I will not enjoy the incoming international call.’

And that’s it.

Damian sighed in defeat and disappointment with his fifteen-year-old self. He admits, he was not the most emotionally intelligent child back then. Even so, this means Damian is worried over Jon’s well being more than what caused it. Jon was precious to him at a point, even more than his duty as an Al-Ghul.

Since his own diary doesn’t reveal what he’s been looking for, he would need to ask from someone else.

++++

‘I’ll be staying in the manor for approximately a week, I hope it’s okay.’

‘Of course, you’re more than welcome. I’ll be home for dinner.’

‘Alright, I’ll tell Alfred to anticipate you.’

“Who’re you texting with?” his older brother, Dick came to the living room with a big jug of tea. His hair is a mess as always whenever he’s back home, and a wardrobe just as hideous. It’s six months too early to be wearing an ugly Christmas sweater, and Dick paired it with a skimpy boxer.

Damian had come to terms with it, only because Dick is his favorite brother.

“Is it a speeecial someone? Maybe someone... who is not your wife?” Dick raised his eyebrows scandalously and takes a loud slurp of his tea.

Damian scoffed up a chuckle, “You know my relationship with my wife is strictly business, she has her own set of lovers.”

“I still can’t understand what’s the point in marrying, if all it was is for business.”

“Politics in an Al-Ghul family is different from a typical American one. It’s why my mother became a Wayne for a short yet beneficial time before their scheduled divorce, and conceived me, just as she planned.”

“I... still can’t get my head around that. Family isn’t politics.”

“I’ve come to know that thanks to you, and this family.”

Damian gave him a thankful smile while Dick melts with eyebrows downturned. Really, they’ve come a long way. The one that really thought him the meaning of love and family is the Waynes.

“Then where are your own set of ‘lovers’” Dick looks ups and close his eyes dreamily.

“And why would I told you about my affairs?” Dick gasped, putting a hand on his chest, again, this particular sibling always able to make him crack a smile, “I was texting father, in case you’re still wondering, he’ll be home for dinner.”

“Good to know you’re on good terms! When did that happen?”

“Ironically, by being his business partner I get to see him and talk to him more than I was just his son.”

Dick burst a fit of a laugh, almost spilling his hot tea to his bare thigh.

“So, I heard you wanted to talk to me.”

“Yes, I hope I’m not taking your time from work.”

“No! Tomorrow’s Sunday, and I do visit on weekends when I can.”

“And the others?”

“Well, you know our siblings, they came when they can, but they’re all busy doing their own thing. Jason’s on tour. Tim won't be back for a year, a project in France. Duke’s with Doctors Without Borders. Steph...” Dick trails and made a face.

Damian’s jaw hits the floor, “Don’t tell me, she married him?”

Dick chuckled, “Yup, now she’s in the middle of a jungle in Indonesia, teaching anyone that needs it.”

Damian shook his head with a defeated smile, “Last time I was here, even the mansion feels crowded with... was it six of us? Now it feels a bit empty.”

“Well, little hatchlings ought to left the nest sooner or later,” Dick rubs his head. “So, you wanted to talk to me, but it’s not about reminiscing the past, isn’t it?”

Damian smirked, ever the detective.

“On the contrary, it does have something to do with that, but not about our family,” Damian takes a deep breath as quietly as he can, “You’re the one I talked to the most when I was a child.”

Dick squints his eyes, “Yeeees?”

“I was wondering if I ever said anything about Jon in particular.”

“Jon? As in Jonathan Kent? Your bestie?”

“Yes, Dick, Jonathan Kent. Is there something wrong?”

“No no! Just... it’s been so long since you talk about him.”

Damian just shrugs.

Dick put his cup of tea down on the table and narrowed his eyebrows, “Alright? What do you need?”

“I believe I had a fight with Jon, or maybe I made him so upset that he cried. Did I ever talk about these things with you?”

Dick sighed and tips his jaw to the side and raise his eyebrows, already at loss, “You were totally mega best friends with Jon. Honestly, I can’t choose, you were complaining about him a lot.”

“Only at first,” Damian chuckled, remembering again, “He was not the friend I asked for, but among all the wrong button he pushed, once when he pushed the right one.”

“And that is?”

“He treats me like a child, but as an equal, and expect nothing of me. Most of all, he’s incredibly patient.”

Dick is making a face, biting his lips from smiling too widely. Damian rolled his eyes and his older brother keeps him to himself.

“Ahem, did you know when you made him cry?”

“My diary said it was November 17th of 2010.”

“I think I was in Barbados with Barbara then, for the honeymoon?”

“That’s right, I wouldn’t have called you then.”

Dick cleared his throat, his darting eyes finally landed on his jade eyes, “Damian, why do you want to know now?”

“Curiosity,” Damian shrugged, “I’ve never seen him cried before, that was the only time he did and I forgot why he did.”

“You think it’s your fault?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

++++++

“As in Jonathan Kent?”

“Yes, Alfred. I don’t think I befriend any other Jon. Or any other person,” Damian chuckled lightly.

“I have not heard you talk about sir Jonathan in a very long time.” Alfred grabs the plates, and Damian grabs the utensils.

“Dick said that too. It’s just something I’m curious about.” Damian puts the spoons and forks on the sides of the plates on the dining table.

“When did it happen?” Alfred asked as he gets a bowl of salad with beans while Damian grabs a bowl of baked creamy mushroom penne.

“We were 15.”

“That’s ten years ago, Master Damian, why does it matter now?”

The question stabs through his chest like a dull knife, “No, it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m not late to dinner, am I?” walked in a man with a suit in his hand, loose tie around his neck and an opened button at the collar. The middle-aged man smiles when he sees Damian there.

“I’m impressed you’re not,” Damian put his hand on his hip.

“I’ve missed eating dinner with you a lot. I’m not gonna miss you again when you finally decide to visit your old man.”

“I’ve seen you a lot, father.”

“As Bruce Wayne, a business associate, not as your dad.” Bruce put a hand on Damian’s had and rubs it. As annoying as it is that his father ruined his coiffed hair, it always feels comforting to be patted on the head. The sensation will remain a mystery.

“I’ll put my things away and get Dick,” Bruce announced and walks out of the kitchen.

There’s a pulsing throb in his chest. His eyes are on the door his father walks out from but his feet stay rooted in their place. Damian has gone this far, it’ll be a waste not to try. So, he chased his father out and meets him in the hallway.

“Father,” he called, and Bruce turns around, “There’s a reason I’m visiting.”

“I figured. You don’t usually stay in the Manor if it’s not for the holidays, and our conference will only take two meetings.”

“I took a few days off after we’re done with the trade.”

His father knits his thick eyebrows together, looking concerned, “Why are you taking days off? That’s unlike you.”

Now Damian felt foolish. The matter feels even more trivial now, Damian finally sees that. He flew over for a conference that could’ve been done by his close peers just so he can ask his family about his ‘dream’. His father is right, this is unlike him. How did he even get here? Damian had hesitated before. Brushing off ever coming back to Gotham unless it’s for business purposes. Even at holidays, he’ll never force himself to spare the time to come, and if he does, it’s never longer than two days.

But this time, before he gets to hesitate, he was already on the way here.

“It’s alright, Damian, you can ask anything,” His father comforted, already treating it seriously.

With a heavy heart, Damian raises his shoulders, “It’s just.... something that incites my curiosity, it’s nothing to be concerned about.”

“Let me judge that after you tell me.”

Damina bites his lips, crossing his arms and hold onto his elbows tightly. Eyes darting around, before he finally just let it out.

“It’s about Jon.”

Bruce raised his eyebrows, lips parted open and eyes widen, “Jon,” the man breathes. “As in that Jonath-”

“Yes, Jonathan Kent, son of your best friend Clark Kent,” Damian cleared with a firm and irritated voice. Sighing, he cleared his throat, “Something happened when we were kids. I know Jon. He’s always bright and happy, but I remembered that he cried in front of me once, and he looked devastated. I don’t remember if I ever asked him why. That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

His father’s sharp eyes soften as he noticeably holds his breath, “Damian...” he called gently, “You know what happened when you were kids.”

Damian paused, breathing mindfully as if to stay calm, and he managed to squeeze out: “This is before that... in 2010”

“That’s ten years a-”

“I know,” Damian raises his voice, frustrated. He knows it’s silly of him to ask around an uncertain memory from ten years ago, but... “I just wanted to ask if I ever told you about Jon crying. Please just tell me if you remember or not.”

Though Damian already knows his father wouldn’t have known anything. Bruce was a distant father when he’s a child. His friends were only Dick, and Jon who he thought was a beneficial ‘friend’.

It doesn’t hurt to try to ask, Damian thought. Somewhere in his childhood, he forgot when, he and his father tried to mend their rocky relationship. Even though they don’t share the same last name, they’ve been family.

“You did mention it to me,” Bruce said, and Damian’s heart jumps.

“Do you remember what I said?”

“Yes,” Bruce chuckled, “You were in a sour mood. I thought it was because of something I’ve done again.”

Damian huffed with the corner of his quirking up, “We weren’t always rainbows and roses, but this one is not because of that, right?”

“No, you told me about Jon. You’re upset with him, not angry or irritated. You always know what to do, but that time, you don’t.”

“Me? Upset with Jon?”

“Not as in at Jon. You told me that Jon is keeping secrets from you, and you’re upset because of that.”

“Now can you tell me why you cried?”

Jon finally stops crying, and his deep frown turns around, but this smile is not the same. His red-rimmed eyes look at Damian with his clear blue irises pooled in tears like overflowed ponds.

It feels like the world stopped in that quiet gymnasium they snuck into.

“I don’t think I can ever tell you why,” Jon’s voice croaks weakly.

“What? You don’t trust me?”

“No, Dami...I’m just afraid.”

“Of what? What could’ve scared you enough to not let me know?”

“I can’t tell you! Just, drop it! Okay?” Jon burst, and immediately looks guilty. He folds his arms and leans away from Damian who’s left puzzled.

Damian is angry, but mostly, disappointed? He thought Jon is close enough to lean on him, but it certainly doesn’t seem so. Even in anger, Damian doesn’t have it in him to leave. After years writing diaries, it doesn’t feel as heavy now to tell at least a snippet of sentimentality to Jon... In vocal form.

“Fine, keep your secrets, what is a man without a few? But know this Jon. You are a person that is dear to me, dare I say even more than my family. You’re the most treasured friend of mine, and I only wish to ease the pain that you’re feeling.”

Jon wails even louder that his voice echoes in the empty gymnasium. He can’t believe Jon’s still able to shed even more tears after the previous wave of pouring rain. Damian hold his breath and leans away, the guilt makes him uncomfortable being this near to Jon. He might just make things worse. Let’s never say his feeling out loud again, he had learned his lesson.

Just as Damian was about to scoot away, Jon loops his arms around Damian and squeeze tight.

“Stay with me for a bit. I know your mom’ll be angry, but can you skip class?”

Damian scoffs, Jon asked as if Damian would say no, which is absurd. Damian put his hand on top of Jon’s while the other is on his back, rubbing them gently to comfort. A wet patch is growing on Damian’s chest where Jon pressed his shut eyes. Warm stuttering breath felt through the shirt and onto Damian’s skin. Closing his eyes, Damian buries his face on Jon’s soft black curls.

Jon smelled like the sun.

“Yes, I can Jon.”

The memories come slowly, it’s not as clear as the dreams, but it’s one puzzle pieces among many, and this one fits where it should be.

“Did I say anything else?” Damian leans closer.

“I asked what would you do about it, but you just shrugged. You’re quiet for a few days and then Jon started to come over again.”

Damian sighed a breath he didn’t know he’s been holding. Now he remembers what happened after, but he still doesn’t know why Jon cried. Jon couldn’t have started crying out of nowhere. Must’ve been something he saw, or something Damian said to him.

“Why does it matter now?” His father asked, rubbing salt on his wounds.

Damian clenches his hand, “I dreamt it, I thought I’ll forget it later, but I didn’t,” he confessed, “I couldn’t sleep... I feel restless remembering that I had done him wrong, that I had made him cry and not knowing why. I wanted to seek the reason and say I’m sorry.”

“Then why don’t visit the Kents?”

Damian’s whole body tensed, “No, I can’t. Something this trivial, I can’t possibly-”

“It certainly isn’t trivial for you if you can’t sleep because of it.”

“It’s my own fault, I shouldn’t bother them for something like this.”

Sighing, Bruce puts his hand on Damian’s shoulder, “They’ve asked about you whenever I met them, they care about you enough to worry. They’ll be delighted to see you.”

Damian bites his lips, still hesitant, “You think so?”

“I know so, I’ll call them to expect you.”

“It’s okay, I’ll do it myself. They still live in the same apartment?”

“No, they live in their farmhouse permanently now.”

“Thank you, I’ll call them after our deal is done,” Damian stated.

“They’ll welcome you, there’s nothing to be nervous about.”

Even so, Damian can’t stop the uneasiness piled up in his chest, “I hope so.”

tbc

#damijon #supersons #supersons fanfic #Damijon fanfic #Jondami #jondami fanfic #super sons #super sons fanfic #jonathan kent #damian wayne #no powers au #they're the same age #maybe angst #who am I kidding of course it's angst #romance #no sex #not dangerous?

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sellmedoves · 4 years

Text

my college experience

College. I started college in 2016. I was excited that whole summer because I got to have a fresh start and leave high school behind me. I moved into a dorm with 3 girls I didn’t know. I chose to live with random girls that year because I wanted to meet new people. I rushed a sorority at the beginning of the school year, and I met a lot of fun and kind people throughout that week. I got into a seemingly great sorority at the end of rush week and then class began the following week. I really liked my schedule; I didn’t have any 8am classes and I didn’t have any classes at all on Friday’s. It felt like I was finally moving on and starting a new, positive chapter of my life. There was always something in the back of my mind that I felt like was holding me back, though…

I was extremely homesick. My school was only about 30 minutes away from my hometown, but I’m so close to my family, especially my mom, so it was hard for me. I have 3 half siblings, but I grew up as an only child, so it was a difficult transition from always having privacy and my own space to having to share my space with 3 other girls, random girls at that. They were sweet and I actually feel lucky that I got paired with normal people, but it was still hard regardless. I began coming home on weekends and then going back to my dorm during the week. As the first semester went on, I began to isolate myself more and I didn’t have as much ambition and excitement as I used to. By the time I came back from Christmas break and started the second semester, I lost touch with most of the friends that I made, and I felt as if I was the loneliest person in the world. I ended up leaving my sorority right before spring break, isolating myself even further.

Aside from being homesick and lonely, something else I was struggling with was a fear of gaining weight. I was terrified of gaining the “freshman fifteen” that year. I feel like I’ve always had a warped perception of what my body looks like. I’m not sure why that is. Anyways, because of this fear, I barely ate. And by barely ate, I mean I would eat one of those “on the go” sized cups of Cheerios during the day, and that would be it except for when I would go home on the weekends where I’d eat real food with my family. I would look in the mirror and I was never satisfied. I don’t want to say I had an eating disorder as I feel like it’d be disrespectful to people who struggle with life-altering eating disorders for years, but I think it was a result of genuine misery and extremely deep depression. I lost almost 20 pounds that year.

I finally made it through the year and summer began. I was able to move back home, and I got a job. I loved that summer because I was finally free from my freshman year shackles. I began to see a therapist to talk through what I went through mentally and emotionally in the past year and it seemed to have helped me for the time being. I also got diagnosed with ADD that summer which makes...too much sense. I’ve struggled in school my whole life and because of the diagnosis, I now understand why. I have over-focused ADD with OCD tendencies. I tend to obsess over and hang on to things well after others have moved on from it. I’ve been that way my whole life, and now I had an answer as to why. It also causes me to experience mood swings but the Adderall (a God send) I was prescribed helped me to control them, Anyways summer passed by quickly, and I ended up moving into an apartment with 3 girls I was friends with from high school. Sophomore year started and it was great. I was so happy, and it felt like my horrific freshman year was a lifetime ago. There are no “buts” coming about this year. It truly was a wonderful year in my life and it’s something I’ll always cherish when I look back on my hellish college experience as a whole. The next year, though, is a different story.

It’s a story I’m not going to get into. It’s personal and it involves others besides myself, but I respect their privacy and lives since we’ve moved on, so I won’t be going into detail. What I will say is that I have many regrets from this year. I did a lot of things that I’m not proud of and would give anything to go back and change them. I didn’t like the person I was that year looking back, and I still don’t understand why I began to revert back to my misery, maybe it never truly went away like I thought it did. Instead of taking it out on myself like my freshman year, I took it out on others. I now take full responsibility for what I did and the people I hurt as a result and that’s something that I feel like took me a long time to do. It was cruel and it’s something I don’t and won’t try to justify anymore. I’m proud to say that I learned from that experience and the person I was then, isn’t who I am now.

After my junior year, I got an internship working at a consulting company. I LOVED this job. I loved the people I met there and made more friends there than what felt like I had in the entirety of my college experience. Real friendships where we could actually bond over something other than just being in the same class like at school. I realized that I was much happier working in a professional environment than I had ever been at school which made me even more excited to graduate. At the end of the summer, the company offered to extend my internship throughout the school year, and I was THRILLED. I was so happy that I was going to be able to leave school and go somewhere where I actually wanted to be during the week.

My senior year started soon after this and it was just…fine. Not bad but not great either. Just fine. Like I said, I was just grateful to be able to have somewhere to go after class that wasn’t just my apartment or somewhere on campus because of my job. My job began to be where I was the happiest, but, of course, school had to FUCK me over one more time. My class schedule for the second semester was Hitler on paper. I had signed up for the maximum amount of classes my school allows students to take, and just looking at it was overwhelming. I wanted to graduate on time in May and this was the only way to do it. I was forced to quit my job that I loved, and I was devastated. I continued to work there all of Christmas break up until the very last weekend before school started. I hugged my friends at work goodbye and began what would be the hardest semester of my entire life.

When I say this is the hardest semester of my life, I don’t mean it’s been hard like my freshman year was hard. I mean that my entire life is consumed with CLASSES. I feel like I never get a break and I’m always dreading tomorrow. I miss my job, and I miss when my thoughts weren’t filled with overwhelming amounts of assignments and due dates. I guess I should say I MISSED these things actually considering that all of my classes have been converted to online because of the virus terrorizing our planet. As sick as this may sound, if I could choose any semester for something like this to happen, I’m glad it was this one. I hate that a virus that is affecting so many people had to be the reason though. I’m typing this THESIS the day after my school announced it was converting to online classes and it feels like a 10,000-pound weight has been lifted off my shoulders. It felt like I was two assignments away from having a legitimate breakdown. This wasn’t at all how I imagined my last day on campus would be like, but…I’m (kinda) done with college. At least in person. Wow.

I’m not exactly sure what prompted me to write this. I think I wanted to do it for myself as a way to finally let go of the of pain and anger I’ve experienced through college. I want to move on with my life now that I’m less than two months away from graduation and stop hanging on to things from the past and regrets that I’ve had that I just can’t change. I tend to act like I have a tough exterior, but behind that, there’s been a lot of pain and insecurity. Some of which I’ve kept to myself. Sometimes, I look back at that 18 year old girl who was burdened with so much sadness and cry. However, I want to let go of all of it. I have to. I also wanted people to know that not every college experience is the same and they’re not always going to be like what people tell you they are or what you see in the movies. I wish someone would’ve told me that. The lows I’ve felt throughout my time in college are things I wouldn’t wish on anyone especially young people experiencing their freedom and independence for the first time. I hope anyone that might read this who hasn’t started college or who is already in college make the most of their time there. Don’t compare yourself to others and don’t allow yourself to wallow and fall so deep into a hole that you feel like you can’t get out. Get help if you need it, there’s never any shame in doing so. I’m proud of myself for pushing through and I’m ready to start the life I’ve always wanted for myself. Thank you for making it through a 2 and a half page paper of my woes.

Xo,

Dani

#college #college experience #personal

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tozierpunks · 5 years

Text

(7) Days and Counting of Stanley Uris

Commission for @tinyarmedtrex, some Stanlon fluff set in a classic coffee shop AU. I hope you enjoy!

(1)

On the first Tuesday of the month - April, to be exact - Mike Hanlon walked into his local bookstore with two objectives. First, he wanted to purchase the new fiction of the week. Second, he wanted a coffee from the Stone Oak Brew next door. The store came up in Derry when he was a kid, offering a home away from home. For years he came into this establishment, eager to read and sometimes write. He didn’t ever plan a story or poem; the words came to him with the day.

This first Tuesday of April - overcast and dreary, as he recalled - happened to be the first day on the job for Stan Uris. He worked as a barista in a Starbucks two towns over, but when he moved to Derry for community college, he needed a replacement job. While wandering through town, he noticed the “help wanted” sign, and the rest was history.

When Mike walked from the glass tunnel connecting the two stores, catching sight of Stan for the first time, his heart skipped a beat. His books slipped from his hands, landing on the floor with a loud thump. Stan turned on the blender, just as they hit the ground, missing the sound entirely.

He wanted to order his coffee and say hi, but instead, he whirled around and left.

(2)

Mike withdrew money from an ATM for the first time in possibly a year, solely to leave a tip for the cute, curly haired barista. He broke the crisp twenty dollar bill into fives, planning out his next few trips. If he didn’t say anything today, he could at least be the guy who left a good tip. When it came down to the last five dollars, he’d have to nut up or shut up.

Approaching the counter, he smiled when he saw the nametag reading “Stan.” Clearing his throat, he opened his mouth to speak, realizing he planned nothing to say.

“Lousy weather today, huh?” he began. Stan chuckled, looking outside and nodding.

Wanting to scream, Mike kept his smile plastered on.

The weather. THE WEATHER! The good Goddamn weather, Mikey, you idiot, he thought, pulling his card from his wallet.

“How can I help today?” Stan asked, pulling Mike from his chastising.

“Huh? Oh- yeah- um... Just a cappuccino. I’ll come back for touch ups every now and then,” he answered. Stan nodded, ringing up his order. His eyes flickered to the tip jar as Mike slipped the five dollar bill inside, his lips curling into a different kind of smile. This one was real, not just obligatory customer service.

“Thanks,” he said. “Any chocolate shavings or whipped cream? My treat.” Mike held up a hand and shook his head, turning to pick out a table in one of the corners.

His back against the wall, he took out his journal and pen. Biting off the cap, keeping it between his teeth, he scribbled a few notes in the first empty corner he saw. Stan came over with his coffee a minute later, sliding a muffin beside it. He didn’t stay long enough for Mike to properly thank him, with the words getting caught in his throat as his mind short-circuited being so close to Stan.

More customers came into the store, and Mike sighed, feeling around his pockets for the second tip.

(4)

“You’re an idiot genius, Hanlon,” Richie Tozier, Mike’s best friend and roommate, said. Blowing out a puff of smoke, adding to the heavy marijuana smell in the apartment, he handed the piece of paper back. Mike reread his letter, pride swelling in his chest. He was going to leave an anonymous love letter in the tip jar, along with another five. Perhaps Stan would connect the dots and give him a call. “A genius cause there’s no real risk to you, and an idiot cause what if someone else opens the letter?”

Mike snatched the joint from Richie’s fingertips, laughing as his friend whined.

“Now who’s the idiot? I’m gonna address it to Stan,” he explained. “I’m the one who’s anonymous.”

He was halfway out the door before Richie called out, “What if he thinks it’s from someone else?”

Immediately, Mike froze, thinking of Stan fantasizing over a Prince Charming who wasn’t him.

Grumbling under his breath, Mike stormed back to his room, wadding up the letter and throwing it in the trash.

(5)

Leaving ten dollars in the tip jar the next time he ran into Stan at the coffee shop, Mike thought for certain he would say something.

“Hi, I’m Mike Hanlon and I’d love to take you to dinner.”

He could be smooth like his dad was; of course if his mom had anything to say, she’d adamantly deny he was charming in any sense of the word. Mike wanted a love like theirs so badly, and he could picture it with this barista he hardly knew. Sure, it sounded crazy out loud, but he knew what he felt. He believed in love at first sight, and soulmates, and all the rest of the gooey lovey-dovey junk his friends laughed at.

Richie would’ve seen the flyer for an open mic night and disregarded the event as a hotspot for hipsters.

Mike looked at it and saw an opportunity.

“You write, don’t you? I’ve seen you, when you come in. You should sign up,” Stan said, wiping one of the tables near Mike. He blinked, looking from Stan, to the details on the neon orange page. Before he could ask (and try his hand at some classic Hanlon charm), Stan added, “I’ll be here. Fortunately not working.”

Pocketing the flyer, Mike nodded and said, “Good to know. I’ll see you there.”

(7)

Walking up to the tiny stage, nervously clearing his throat, Mike scanned the crowd for Stan’s face. However, before he could find it, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. It was now or never. No chickening out this time.

“I wrote a poem for a boy, but I didn’t know it,” he began. The room was silent. “I wrote a poem for a boy when the stars were clear in the sky, above my childhood home. I wrote a poem for a boy when I got drunk for the first time. I wrote a poem for a boy when I lost my father to cancer. But I did not know it. I wrote until I didn’t write for a year. Then I dusted off my journal and started writing again. I don’t know what this boy did while he waited for me to finish my poem, but I want to. I want to walk up to him and ask, “Hi, how are you? What’s your name? How’s your life?” I want to tell him I wrote the lines as follows: His walk is champagne and I will get drunk on his steps. His eyes are the only Christmas lights worth hanging. I want to live in the creases of his skin, where my anxiety won’t set in, and I am comfortable again. I want to do more than leave five, ten, and sometimes fifteen dollars in the tip jar until he remembers my order. Hi, I’m Cappuccino with Chocolate Shavings and Extra Whipped Cream. How are you? What’s your name? How’s your life? I wrote a poem for a boy, and it only took my whole life to get it right. I wrote a poem for a boy, and I only know his first name. I wrote a poem for a boy, and I hope he has an incredible love story. I wrote a poem for a boy, and I hope I share it with him.”

Mike stepped back from the microphone, and the crowd applauded him. Smiling sheepishly, he stepped off the stage, walking towards the counter. His knees were shaking; as prepared as he came to recite his poem, he didn’t expect the rush that hit him. Caffeine surely wouldn’t help, but he needed the drink.

The barista prepared to take his order, but another voice spoke up.

“Two cappuccinos please. Extra whipped cream and some chocolate shavings. Caramel drizzle on one,” Stan said. He slid his money across the counter, smiling at Mike. For a moment, neither of them said anything. The knowing look in Stan’s eyes said enough. Of course, Stan knew if he didn’t say something first, Mike probably never would. At least not until the next poetry reading. “I was wondering when you’d finally ask me out. You technically still haven’t, but I’m willing to work with what I got.” Mike chuckled, his shoulders slumping with relief.

“Good to know,” he replied. Glancing at the barista making their drinks, he added, “Why don’t we drink these outside? I’ve been trying to talk to you for a week.” Stan clicked his tongue, nodding.

“No kidding?” he asked sarcastically, before slipping his hand into Mike’s, lacing their fingers together.

#stanlon #commission

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