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ronalddear · 3 years

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Experiment.

hey! this is a little one-shot into some DH tent angst (really doesn't get better than that) this is my first time writing any fanfiction at all so bear in mind that this is very armature.

I've been thinking about this idea for a couple months now and it's officially my headcannon replacement for the Harry-Hermione dance scene in DH, which i'm not the biggest fan of. I've already rambled on a bit but please feel free to reblog and comment your opinions and possible improvements!

The ground was inexplicably hard where Ron stood, the canvas tent behind him violently thrashing through the harsh night wind. Perhaps his thin shoes were wearing out after years of being hand-me downs, or months of endless use while they aimlessly trudged around Britain.

Ron knew though, that he was just tired. He didn't know how his shoulders managed to sag with exhaustion while remaining tense in discomfort but that's how he's been since he woke up in that god-forsaken tent.

He checked and re-enforced the wards, something that he was insanely adamant about after returning, paranoia finally setting in. It was constant at this point, hunger had become somewhat familiar and his fingertips were always a faint purple.

Not that he was complaining, he had Harry and Hermione within arms and ears reach now and he could not possibly ask for anything more.

"Ron! Dinner!", Harry's voice rang through his ears, disrupting his thoughts.

Shit. He had done it. He wasn't aware how long he had been wallowing outside and he was sure the porridge he had taken his time making for the three of them had overcooked on the stove.

He could picture Hermione's look of disdain clearly and cursed himself, not wanting her to get more mad at him but also acknowledging how he had wasted their already near non-existent supply of food.

"Merlin, I'm sorry! I'll try and find something else to-" he began with pace and halted halfway through.

Harry stood expectantly in the tiny living room area in front of Hermione who was neatly sat on their tiny couch. Harry's hands were raised excitedly yet awkwardly in an 'L" shape gesturing towards the worn table where Hermione's books usually lived.

Except there was a small space cleared, and it was occupying a small plate which had about 4 stacks of bread, with jam doused in-between and on top, with the wand that he had given Harry stabbed in the middle, a tiny flame at its tip.

Bloody hell it was a birthday cake.

"My birthday already?" he mumbled, still in awe of the poorly presented but beautiful stack in front of him.

"Well-"

'It was yesterday, I checked the calendar this morning." Hermione cut Harry off shortly, her eyes shamefully anywhere but Ron.

"Oh" he said, wishing so desperately that she would just look at him.

"Come on then mate, make your wish, because I'm not bloody singing" Harry encouraged, his eyes shining fondly at Ron.

With a soft chuckle, he sat on the ground at the table, feeling Harry follow next to him. He blew out the 'candle' softly, not even thinking about his wish, there were simply too many.

Harry gave a low whoop and reached over Ron with a knife and fork and haphazardly cut the cake into thirds.

When Hermione's eyes finally reached his, because yes, he had not taken his eyes off her, his stomach gave a jolt and a small smile graced his lips. Her lips however were still set in the line that she had been giving him for the past couple weeks but her eyes were so gentle and loving, almost unwillingly so, as if she was trying so very hard to be mad. After Harry hurriedly plated their shares and they began eating, a small lump began forming in Ron's throat. He willed himself not to cry, it was just sodding jam soaked toast after all.

He looked up at his two best friends as they ate, observing as Harry scarfed down his portion and as Hermione ate slowly, taking sips of her weak tea in between, knowing it was far too sweet for her taste.

"Wish we could have given you a gift." she said so softly, that he had taken a few seconds to register that she said anything at all.

Her eyes were still on her plate.

"Don't need one", he murmured, hoping that he sounded earnest enough that it could translate how very thankful he was.

"Really?! You sure?", Harry said, and Ron swore for a second that it was eleven year old Harry speaking to him. It was evident that the boy was prone to sugar rushes, even if it was a tablespoon of old jam.

"I have all I need.", he said, voice steadier this time, flashing a grateful smile at him, which was returned.

"Really? Not even a special birthday snog Ron? Because if you want I'll do it again-"

"Harry I'm fine! Merlin's Beard!', Ron interrupted Harry's rushed teasing with loud laughter, Harry's roaring laugh following close behind.

"Wait what do you mean again?" Hermione chanced at Harry, her eyebrows furrowed inquisitively and mouth adorably agape.

Breaking their giggling fit, they both turned towards her , eyes widening at the exact same time. It was then Ron realized that there was soft music playing, presumably from the wireless that was on the table. Has it always been on?

'Nothing don't worry."

"Nothing!"

Harry had followed Ron with the most non-convincing 'nothing' he had ever heard. Sensing what was about to happen, he suddenly felt the strongest urge to slap Harry on the back of his head.

"No no, you said again" Hemione retaliated, her eyes wide as ever, it was the most lively Ron had seen her for months.

"It was once in fourth year!"

'Don't worry about it Hermione, it's fine."

Ron's head snapped toward Harry cursing the stupid sugar in the stupid jam that apparently made Harry, quite frankly, very stupid.

"Wait wait! what?!" Hermione was energetic now and had fully swiveled to face them both.

Realizing that he physically could not lie to Hermione straight to her face, he accepted his fate and both boys began rambling at the same time, Harry excitedly, Ron bracingly.

"Look after the Yule ball-"

"This is rather depressing actually-"

"Shut up Ron, you liked it."

"I don't recall saying I didn't-"

'Anyway, after the shit-show that was the ball, y'know, we wanted to see if-"

"Oh my god I can't believe we're actually- We said we wouldn't tell anyone!"

"Bit late now Ron, anyway, we wanted to-'

"To see if what?!" Hermione gaped at them both, she was clearly teasing now, after seeing Harry's frantic (and hand waving heavy) storytelling and Ron's hair to toe blush.

"Just experimenting-"

"Just for fun!" Harry interjected.

They turned towards each other, eyes wide and then proceeded to practically scream at Hermione.

"Just for fun!'

Just experimenting!"

Great. Now they've switched excuses.

Hermione burst into loud laughter, after much suppression. It was, by far, the most beautiful sound Ron had ever heard and he wished for it to never stop.

This unfortunately, did not halt his maroon blush or the clearly embarrassed look on his face, which made her laugh even more. The second he took a glance at Harry and their eyes met they erupted into an uncontrollable fit of giggles, Harry doubling over and Ron throwing his head back. Drunk on laughter perhaps, Harry leaned over to the wireless and increased the volume, a slow yet rhythmic song filled the small tent.

"Let's have a ball yeah? Like last time?' Harry said, eyebrows wiggling suggestively on the last part, causing Ron to start laughing again, completely red faced.

Hermione struggled to breathe giggling as she looked on at them clearly trying to ballroom dance and failing miserably. The form was so bad no one was sure who was leading at this point, Ron's shoulders much too stiff and Harry's hands much too loose around Ron's waist. They were jumping around madly in the tent laughing harder than ever. Hermione managed to tease once more through gasping breaths,

"Should I leave before you start snogging or-"

"Oh shut up you!", Harry exclaimed, accompanied by a rude hand gesture and Ron simply stared at her and grinned.

'Come join us then', Ron said, holding out his hand for her.

She pretended to think for a moment before getting up, the thin blanket around her laid forgotten on the couch. They rotated for a couple moments, Hermione taking turns in being spun by Harry and Ron, all three of them a giggling mess, their threadbare socks squeaking on the wood floors.

Ron and Harry began a much too rough slow dance once more and Hermione was lightly swaying on her own before standing behind Ron, wrapping her arms around his stomach and tiptoeing her furthest, her nose barely reaching his shoulder. Effectively sandwiched between the pair of them, Ron was thrashing widely in attempts to throw them all off balance, cheeks impossibly red. The lump that was in his throat earlier had developed into free flowing tears and sniffles and he didn't care to stop them.

It didn't bother him because he knew he saw Harry's watering eyes and wobbly smile and felt Hermione's soft sobs through her giggles.

It was definitely the sugar or perhaps the sheer sadness of it all but for a moment they were still children who didn't have any worries or wars to fight on their own. Hermione nuzzled into Ron's back, still giggling, and placed a shy but firm kiss on his jumper-clad shoulder. He reached behind him for her hand and gently pulled her to the front, now spinning both Harry and Hermione, his heart glowing with joy. He tugged her towards him and gave a soft, chaste kiss to her hairline. Now both giggling, they seized Harry and planted two very hard kisses on his cheeks from behind, startling him enough to let out a disgusted squeak and he roared with laughter as he wiped his face on his jacket.

It was insanely messy but it was perfect. So perfect that Ron didn't care that in the morning he would have to second guess if Hermione was even close to forgiving him or that Harry would brood all day about the Hallows and be distant from them both, a war on their shoulders. He was with the two people he loved the most and for that he was thankful.

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chthonic-cassandra · 3 years

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Some recent books, fiction (a weird selection) -

[warning for some specific discussion of representations of trauma and sexual violence]

- Frances Cha, If I Had Your Face - intertwined narratives of four young women grappling with sexism, poverty, and beauty standards in contemporary South Korea. This was vivid and powerful in parts, but ultimately didn't quite come together for me; I think it might just have been too much for one novel. Each individual woman's story could have taken up more space, and so the whole ended up feeling somewhat scattered and unsatisfying. Two of the protagonists also ended up reading as more fully realized and thought-through as characters than the others, which made the whole feel lopsided. I'm glad I read it, and will look out for what Cha writes next (this was a debut novel), but didn't love it.

- Tessa Gratton, Lady Hotspur - gender-swapped retelling of Henry IV, Part 1, set in the same vague fantasy-version of England that Gratton previously created for her King Lear retelling, Queens of Innis Lear. I really wanted to like this (it ships Hal/Hotspur and they're both women!), but it didn't work. Gratton's Lear worked as well as it did because of Lear's fairy tale elements, the formal architecture of that play which can be lifted and reset so effectively. 1HIV is a very different kind of story and not, I think, one that benefits from the vague mysticism of Gratton's fantasied England. The characterization and plot were messy and confusing; Falstaff makes no sense in this setting; the kingship stuff at the heart of the play made no sense as Gratton framed it. Alas, I can't recommend this.

- Kevin Wilson, Perfect Little World - a teenage single mother joins a somewhat cult-like decade-long psychological study on communal child-rearing. This was a weird little book, and had its problems, but I enjoyed it a lot, and it gave me a lot to think about. Wilson has a gaze on the peculiar dynamics of his characters' world which is at once curious and sharp and largely compassionate; I enjoyed his focus on the emotional and relational dynamics of the study and interest in following them through to their conclusions. There were places in which the plot was a little too contrived, though this fit the whimsical style of the novel; more significantly, the book handwaves issues of race and queerness to a distracting degree. However, I would recommend this to many people. I enjoyed it way more than I should have been able to enjoy a novel with this much focus on meat preparation.

- A. M. Strickland, Beyond the Black Door - a girl with the ability to enter others' souls when sleeping finds herself tangled up in political and mystical intrigue. This was perfectly serviceable YA fantasy with some notably strong imagery and a couple of interesting character dynamics marred by bad pacing and some poorly thought-through world-building. As far as the latter, the element which most bothered me concerned the 'soul-walking,' which our protagonist learns in secret from her mother (who can also do it) because it is criminalized and punishable by death except in highly regulated circumstances when performed by priests and priestesses. The novel treats it as uncomplicated that this law is evil and our protagonist needs to keep her abilities hidden, but doesn't deal meaningfully deal with the fact the entering someone's soul without their consent would be an enormously violating thing to do, and you actually shouldn't be allowed to do it! This is only vaguely gestured towards in one moment when a love interest asks the protagonist whether she went into his soul without his knowledge, and she says that she did but only very briefly which is apparently enough of an assurance? But then she goes on entering people's souls without asking their permission first and often without their knowledge and while I don't think the death penalty would have been an appropriate consequence this was clearly not okay and it very much distracted me.

The protagonist of the novel is asexual, a fact which was incorporated into the story in some places quite well (I particularly like the way Strickland created a villain/heroine romance that was explicitly nonsexual, the way that the villain love interest offered a type of magical connection that was alluring to the heroine because it sidestepped the issue of sex altogether), but in some places more clumsily (the scene where the priestess creates a "soul chart" for our protagonist relying on the split attraction model comes to mind). There were also some elements of the plot where behavior from characters that I read as quite sexually abusive and incestuous was treated as problematic only because it was being directed towards our asexual protagonist, and that made me uncomfortable (I think there was something messy here where the narrative was trying to be nonjudgmental about sex work, but ended up presenting as positive the deeply concerning situation of a mother offering to "tutor" her own daughter in how to practice sex work, and backing off only because the daughter is asexual, which...maybe activated some of my own stuff a little too precisely, but it was an issue).

- C. A. Higgins, Lightless - an interrogator tries to get information out of a notorious intergalactic thief who may or may not be part of a large-scale rebellion movement, while an irritated mechanic tries to fix the computer he and his partner messed up while they tried to commandeer her spaceship. This was fine, but way more bland than it should have been given its premise; the book needed to build on taut tension, and Higgins did not establish or maintain any. I kept having glimmers of attachment to the characters, and then they would slip away. I saw a review that compared this to knock-off Cherryh, and that feels accurate. And reminds me that I should be reading more Cherryh.

- Gayl Jones, Eva's Man - a woman, in prison for murdering her lover, reflects on experiences of sex and violence and sexual violence throughout her life. This was artful as Jones' novels always are, and also deeply, unremittingly unpleasant to read. I'm glad I read it, but I didn't get as much out of it as I did out of Jones' earlier novel, Corregidora, which was doing a thing with historical echoes that somehow made the bleak painfulness of the content easier to sit with. I'm glad I read it, though.

- Kiley Reid, Such a Fun Age - the relationship between Emira, a young Black woman and Alix, the wealthy white woman who employs her to care for her 3-year-old daughter, comes into focus for both of them when Emira is stopped in a supermarket on suspicion of kidnapping Alix's daughter. This was thoughtful and in many places stingingly effective; I appreciated the way Reid shows us Emira and Alix both missing each other, the moments when connection could have happened and the way that Alix's inability to imagine Emira's perspective gets in the way of that. I also especially liked the nuance of how Reid writes Emira's care for Alix's daughter, and how real that is even when Alix's actions are hurtful to her. But there were places where the emotion and the natural pace of the story got sacrificed for snappy, tv show reveals, and the characters got lost in overly specific detail about brands and status symbols. Worth reading, not revelatory.

- Evelyn Skye, Crown's Game - YA fantasy; two teenagers in a version of Imperial Russia with magic compete to be the royal sorcerer. This was really bad and really boring, like a prototypical YA fantasy with all the air taken out. Don't bother.

- Jo Baker, The Body Lies - sort of a thriller; a creative writing professor deals with the threat posed by an increasingly obsessive student. This left a bad taste in my mouth in its use of trauma as narrative device, in the vagueness of its gaze on what trauma actually looks like. I don't know. I need to sit with why it bothered me for longer; I'd be interested in hearing from other people who read it.

- Jennifer Saint, Ariadne - incredibly boring Greek myth retelling. Just so boring! At every turn always making the less interesting narrative choice! I did not understand why Saint wanted to write this book, what her angle on Ariadne's story was. Extremely disappointing.

- Carolyn Ferrell, Dear Miss Metropolitan - experimentally told narrative of three teenage girls who are abducted and held captive together for a decade. I had extremely complicated feelings about this book. I have a strong investment in stories about this kind of violence being written and treated as serious literature; I wanted to like this book and to be moved by it. However, as I was reading it two things became clear. The first was that Ferrell's sense of what this kind of captivity might look and feel like felt to me very disconnected from reality; this, I could put aside as my own pickiness and personal biases getting in the way of my reading, though it was making me deeply uncomfortable.

The second was the the book was based, with quite a deal of specificity, on the abductions perpetrated by Ariel Castro in Cleveland. I have read the memoirs of the survivors of those abductions; it was clear that Ferrell was using many very recognizable details of their experiences, but changing a lot of the salient emotional dynamics (as well as resetting the events in a different part of the country and changing the racial identities of both victims and perpetrator). The more I thought about this, the more angry it made me. I don't think it's ethical to use the stories of living people in that way, certainly not with that level of specificity. I felt very troubled after reading the novel, and kept wondering if others had the same unease; the critical response seems to be absent this kind of critique (compare this to the furor that erupted around My Dark Vanessa, a much more thoughtful trauma narrative not based around any single publicly known survivor's experience). I read interviews with Ferrell where she talked about reading about Castro's crimes on the news and being shocked, not understanding how this kind of thing could happen and go unnoticed; this seemed to me a deeply concerning place from which to decide to retell someone else's story. I finished the book several weeks ago now but I still feel upset about it.

#books #long post #trauma narratives

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secondhand-trash · 4 years

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Satin & Lace

A/N: this is what happens when I’m stressed lmao do not question the logicality of this combo of characters, this is my self-indulgent fantasy and I’ll do whatever I want with it which includes ignoring actual circumstances.

Pairing: Takami Keigo x f!reader x Shinsou Hitoshi

Description: The only thing better than one man in lingerie is two men in lingerie.

Warning: threesome, a pairing that makes no fucking sense other than the fact that I like those characters and I want to suck both of their dicks, rimming, oral (both giving + receiving), face sitting, vaginal penetration

Word count: 3569

You were, to put it quite frankly, very tired of everything right now.

Work never seemed to have an end to them. You were always smacked right in the middle between clueless as to what you could do and freaking out because you were so unprepared for everything you had on your plate. It made you guilty to not think about your responsibilities but you would probably go insane if this kept going on. The little comfort you had was going home to bickering lovers and a warm embrace that has a little too many feathers involved, those two really were the only thing keeping you grounded sometimes.

But when you opened the door of your apartment to the sound of things crashing and arguing, you wondered if this was one of those days when your little time of happiness was to be stripped off of your hands too.

Kicking off your shoes and shrugging off your coat, you let out an exasperated sigh when the noises didn’t seem to show signs of stopping. What was this about now? You pondered as your shoulders dropped with the sigh, running your hand down your face at the mere though of having to break the two apart for whatever reason it was that made them fight in the first place. The last time Hitoshi and Keigo went into a petty quarrel, you went home to feathers all over the ground and the winged man floating midair. They did make up, sure, but still it was a headache to clean up after.

You sighed as the voices, the lower one deep in annoyance and the other one practically whining, were loud in your ear as you stood in front of the closed door to your shared bedroom.

“What is it with the-” you paused in your tracks when you pushed the door open to see what the two were up to, “what is this?”

The two men froze in their respective wrestling position, slowly diverting their gaze from each other to you.

Keigo was the one to recover first, charming smile finding its way to his lips as he retreated his arms from a very reluctant Hitoshi. “You’re back early.” He cooed, the way his eyes narrowed showed that he was clearly up t something.

As if that little ensemble he had on was not enough of a sign that they planned something.

“What is this?” You eyed with interest. On the contrary to the younger man who stood with his arms crossed over his chest at the side, your lovely birdie did not seem to be bothered by his outfit or the lack there was at all. His wings expanding slightly to give you a better view of his lace-clad body. Black lace formed intricate patterns on his smooth skin, both covering and exposing his toned body to your eyes. His nipples poking against the thin fabric that had gold thread lining along the edges, the decorated lace was cut out by the side of his waist, gold lines trailing down from his sculpted torso to the skimpy panties that did very little to nothing in hiding his bulge. The print of each ridge and vein pressed against the material, his balls threatening to escape from the confines if he did so much as make a move.

“Like what you see?” He mused, white teeth on display when you brought a hand up to trace the strap of the lingerie on his shoulder. He looked great, you would not deny it and you could almost feel your own blood starting to boil at how shameless he was in putting himself on display.

Your eyebrow quirked up when you remembered the not as willing accomplice in this show he put on.

Spinning on your heel, a soft gasp left your lips when you saw just what Hitoshi had on other than the mad blush on his face. “And how did he get you to agree to this?” You teased as you walked closer to him, placing your palm flat on his chest.

The fabric was cold to touch, smooth satin in the same shade of your lover’s messy hair. Your fingers found their way to the side of his chest where a small bow held the chemise together. He shuddered when your fingertips brushed cross his exposed skin when you toyed with the string. You weren’t sure if you were more pleased that the deep slit of the top had his waist and hip on display or if you were greedy for a glimpse of his lovely torso that was hugged by the satin. A thin string was all you could see just above his hips and you wondered if you could take it as an indication as to what was under the chemise.

Hitoshi sighed, darting his tongue out to wet his lips before sneaking his hand onto your waist, bunching up the fabric of your shirt. “You’ve been having a rough time and we want to do something for you,” you could feel the vibration from his chest as he held you, purple eyes gazing upon you despite the clear bashfulness the outfit had brought onto him, “I just didn’t expect this to be what he comes up with...”

You felt the warmth from behind your back as Keigo came up and wrapped you in his arms, his wings pulling the three of you in and trapping you between the two bodies. His hand went to undo the buttons of your shirt while Hitoshi leaned forward to press wet kisses along your neck, the subconscious tilt of your head pressing you further onto Keigo until you could feel something hard pressing against your ass.

“You’re always working so hard,” he murmured, nibbling at your ear from behind as he spoke while the younger male hastily tear away your shirt and cupped your breast, “let us work hard for you too, hm?”

Keigo hissed when your hand palmed his erection through the lace, the fabric rubbing at his sensitive length only had the effect of your wandering touch much more prominent. Your pants were pooling at your knees when he pushed you forward, Hitoshi pulled you right onto him as he laid on the bed, his hand on the small of your back as the other man helped you rid of those needless layers until you were left in your underwear.

The mattress dent as Keigo climbed onto the bed. Your hands gripped at the soft satin Hitoshi had one when he spun you around, his hand gripping your ass as he positioned you onto his face. Your hands bunched up the chemise just enough to give you a sight of what had been hiding underneath and you felt heat pooling in between your legs when you saw his cock pressing snugly against the small black panties that covered nothing.

You could feel him moan against your clothed slit when Keigo straddled his chest, propping up on his knees as he weaved his fingers into your hair. You grinned, leaning forward to place a long lick on the lace without him even having to say anything. His grip on your hair tightened when your tongue swirled at where his tip was. You smirked as you pulled back to observe the dark mark it had left, but your composure was not for long as you bite back a moan when you felt a tongue prodding at your cunt.

“Now don’t hold back, kitten,” Hitoshi muttered as he pushed your panties out of his way, making you shiver when the cold air hit your glistening pussy. You moaned when his fingers dug into the side of your hips, effectively bringing you down to his face until his lips latched onto your lower ones. The wet muscle sliding in your velvety walls as he moved inside you, rubbing against you in expert motions just the way he knew you like it.

Gasps and mewls fell from your lips as your lover completely devoured you, the satin being the only leverage you had when your other hand hastily pushed away the lace in front of your face. You did not waste another second before taking his cock into your mouth, a soft whine rolled off your tongue when you taste the saltiness of the precum that was leaking from his tip.

Keigo groaned when you sunk in, your noses touching the crinkled lace when he hit the back of your throat and the spasm out of reflex drew out a loud moan from him. His sinful noises only fueling you further and you could feel the heat in your core as his hips bucked against your touch.

The suggestive sound of slurping mixed with your own muffled moans filled your senses. Your eyes rolled back in pleasure when Hitoshi’s tongue traveled to your puffy clit, swirling and sucking with no other aim than to get your shaking in bliss. His grip on your hips was bruising but the subtle pain was numbed by the toe curling sensation you were experiencing.

Releasing his cock with a “pop”, you sucked the tip all while looking up at him through fluttering eyelashes. One hand holding yourself steady, your other hand reached up to smooth over the lace and down to pump his length that was coated with your spit, chuckling when you heard him whimper.

“You look so pretty like- ahh!” a choked moan cut you off when you felt a lean digit stroking your folds that were already heightened in sensitivity from the licking and suckling. Hitoshi groaned at the sight of your pussy sucking his finger in, your juices dripping down to his wrist as he dragged it along your walls in an agonizing pace. His tongue swiping across his lips subconsciously, tasting what was left of your arousal that was all over his chin.

Keigo leaned down to capture your lips in a sloppy kiss, your tongues tangling together messily while your hand moved until you could feel the aching erection hidden under the satin that had been poorly neglected. Hitoshi hissed behind you when you slipped your hand into the thin black string that held the piece up and pulled his cock out, your thumb gracing across his slit and collecting the bead of precum without even having to look down.

“As much as I love having your sweet little mouth all over me, this is about you,” Keigo whispered against your lips, a cocky smile adorning his features as he gripped your waist, “now turn over.”

With a helping hand from Hitoshi, you slid down until you were straddling his lap. Turning around to look at him square in the face, you smirked as you gave his engorged cock a hard tug, satisfied with the whimper that you got from him.

“We need to put you in satin more often,” you teased, spreading the wetness on your hand all over his length as Keigo came up behind you, golden eyes piercing onto the him and not missing even a little bit of the way his face contorted in bliss and embarrassment at your praise.

“He is precious isn’t he?” Keigo hummed in amusement as his fingers danced along Hitoshi’s inner thigh. “Protested like a startled kitten when I show him the thong...”

“Oh? But you still end up doing it? ” you tilted your head in interest, looking at the man in question who had the back of his hand to his mouth in a useless attempt to appear in control, “Because you want to please?”

He didn’t reply. His hand muffled a soft whine when you lifted yourself up to line him up against your entrance.

You pressed yourself against his chest as you placed a chaste kiss on his face, your waist slowly sinking down and rolling your hips a little to take him in, hot breath fanning his face as you sighed at the stretch.

You were out of breath as you chuckled, rocking against him as you rode his cock as you looked up at him from his chest, your hand tracing his exposed waist from the slit of the chemise. “Pretty kitty-”

Tilting your jaw up to get another kiss out of you, he moaned into your mouth as he bucked up, hoping to get you to go faster but you stopped him from jerking up with your hands on his shoulder. You laid on his chest, looking up at him with a sly smile on your face.

The sudden grip at your ass cheeks took you by surprise, unconsciously clamping down as you felt the hands prying your soft flesh further apart and making Hitoshi grunt when you stirred to look behind you.

“Keigo what are you-” you were cut short when you felt something soft prodding at your puckered hole. His tongue traced the tight rim of your asshole as his strong grip on your flesh exposed all of the view to him. The way your pussy clenched and how Hitoshi’s cock disappears inside of you with each thrust of his hips had him wondering if he could possibly add more to this sight that was making him lose all self control.

“Just relax, promise I’ll make you feel good,” he winked before dipping back down, the sharp sound of spitting echoed off the walls and made shivers run down your spine at the coldness on your hot skin, “and when do I ever disappoint?”

The push and pull within you already set your skin on fire and you searched for the chill from the silky material of the satin beneath your frame. You arched your back out of reflex as the new found pleasure of having both your holes messed with, each flick of your lover’s tongue had your spongy walls clenching and pulsing around the shaft that was bottoming out of you with every movement.

You writhed against Hitoshi’s chest, your fingers clawing at the fabric for leverage as the two man continued their ravaging on you. It was the first push of the tip of his tongue into your tight rim that made the building pleasure finally broke loose, you could feel every hair on your body stood up like you were pulled apart by threads. The man beneath you moaned when he felt you clamping down on him, his warmth sending to the rest of your body from your core as his breath hitched.

A large hand yanked your head back by your hair and a soft gasp slipped past your parted lips as your eyes rolled back in the first wave of pleasure washing over your body. Keigo held you as you tried your best to hold yourself even though your knees were starting to give in, the light tug at your scalp forcing you to snap your eyes open despite the sensation overwhelming your sense.

“Open your eyes, open them,” Keigo commanded with a pull, the rare lining of lusted induced authority made you whine, “look into his eyes while you come undone. Do it.”

Going against every fiber of your body that was drowning in the orgasmic haze, you fluttered your eyes open and felt your breath hitched when you see Hitoshi’s flushed face, his pupils diluted as he chased his own release. He could not hold back when your eyes met, the desperation in your stare and soundless screams from your parted mouth all drove him wild.

Spurts of warm cum coated your walls as he held you close, riding out your high as he stayed inside of you. Keigo groaned as he watched the stickiness leaking out of your cunt and down from where your bodies connected. You winced when you felt him leaned down and traced your stuffed lips, a loud moan ripping from his throat as he shamelessly lapped at the mixed fluids that created the mess that he got to bask his eyes in.

Gripping your ass to ease you off of Hitoshi’s cock, you whimpered when the felt the sudden emptiness and the cold air fanning against you still sensitive slit. Propping you on your knees with your face down, Keigo blew out a vulgar whistle when he saw the cum oozing out of you, the lips of your sex fluttering as the sticky substance dripped down your legs. Running the pad of his finger along your folds, he grinned when he saw how much it coated his finger and let out a satisfied hum when he gave his digit a suck, releasing with a loud pop as the saltiness expanded in his mouth.

His hand found leverage on the dip of your back, pushing you down until you were well presented to him. Hitoshi’s hand ran up and down on your arm as he watched Keigo lined up at your entrance, he was out of breath still but chuckled when he wathced your face contorted in pleasure as the winged male pushed into you with ease. Your hands gripped his biceps tightly, eyes shutting and muffling your moans against the satin as you were once again stretched.

The cum that was seeping from your pussy acted as a lubricant as Keigo started his own ruthless pounding. Lewd squelch of the how wet you were bounced off the walls. You had never felt so full with the load in your cunt that was gushing out around the cock that was pistoning at the very depth of your body. You could feel the texture of the lace that was framing his pelvis as he bottom out inside of you, the roughness of the fabric heightening your sense. The stickiness leaked from your legs and tainted his thighs, loud smacks of his balls against your ass together with the sting at your thighs made you scream in the chest you were laying on.

Unlike Hitoshi whose movements were limited, Keigo did not held back at all as he thrust up and hit that spot that he knew would reduce you into a blabbering mess. He was showing no mercy, soft moans and incoherent mutters about how good you felt fell from his lips as he repeatedly searched for his own high.

Hitoshi’s lean fingers massaged your scalp as he felt your body shake, whipping away the drop of tear that was forming at the corner of your eye. “Always so gorgeous when you get wrecked.” He mumbled lazily, his eyes drifting up to look at the man behind you. Keigo’s wings were spasming behind his back, his head throwing back as he felt you tighten around him.

“I think she’s ready for another one...” Hitoshi teased, finger tracing the dip of your spine as he watched you holding onto him for dear life.

“Yeah?” Keigo let out a choked laugh, “Ready for another load in your pussy?”

Your throat was aching, yet plea after plea still trembled out of your lips. He chuckled, hand raising before landing a sharp smack against your ass. He moaned when he felt you clenched at the sting, the jiggling of the pulp flesh made his stomach tensed up.

“Greedy little thing, always so hungry for more.” Accentuating each words with a hard snap of his hips. he gritted through his teeth. You were a whimpering mess beneath him, high pitched voice mewling about how close you were. Your sweet noises were music to his ears,

Your second orgasm hit like a storm, your vision turning white as you rolled you eyes back. Keigo’s cock twitched inside of you as his fingers dug into your cheeks, emptying his seed into you and stuffing you to the brim.

“Good girl, so good at taking our cum,” Hitoshi were cooing in your ear the whole time you came crashing down, soft praises as he held your shaking body that surged forward with each push of Keigo’s hips, “so pretty when you are getting your pussy filled up...”

You were still hazy from the pleasure when Keigo slowly pulled out, admiring the mixture of liquid that was gushing out of you. He did not pay the mess on the mattress much mind as he flopped down next to Hitoshi, pulling you down so that you were laying between the both of them snugly.

“I’ll get you a towel later...” Hitoshi kissed that back of your neck as he laced his hand with yours, “but let’s just stay like this for a while.”

Keigo hummed as he buried his face at the crook of your neck, his finger rubbing soothing patterns at your hips.

You smiled as you felt the warmth you were eloped in, grinning as you ran your fingers into Keigo’s hair that was matted to his forehead from the sweat. “You say this is for me but I feel like you two are having just as much fun.”

Hitoshi huffed. "For him maybe...”

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy getting all dolled up.” Keigo smirked, his hand reaching out to touch the strap of his camisole.

“I don’t!” He said, but the increasing heat from your back sold him out.

You laughed as Keigo rolled his eyes and Hitoshi glared at you in betrayal.

“Whatever kitten,” he groaned and hid his face at your shoulder, you reached behind to pat his head, “we are keeping the sets right?”

“I’ll hide it so he can’t throw it away.”

“I hate you two.”

#bnha x reader #bnha imagine #bnha imagines #bnha smut #shinsou x reader #shinsou imagine #shinsou smut #hawks x reader #hawks imagine #hawks smut

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cetaceans-pls · 3 years

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth Additional Tags: Momentary Vampirism, Discussion of Blood bags, Family Bonding

The one where Bruce gets turned into a vampire, and Alfred has to call in the cavalry to deal with him.

Or, Dick comes through on a Friday night to help wrangle a reluctant bloodsucker.

Bro I just kind of went off on the concept of short-term vampirism and silverware, so here’s some Alfred-Dick-Bruce bonding over Bloody Marys and the different sorts of magic. Please enjoy this pick-me-up I wrote in one weird, frizzy sitting!

On tumblr below the cut:

“I came as soon as I could!” Dick says, rounding a corner so quickly he skids on the marble floor. The text had come through almost an hour ago, but he had been on the tail end of a Zoom interview (quitting policing this pandemic has been both terrifically easy and terribly hard) so between putting on pants and getting through Friday-night traffic, this is how things lie. “How is he?”

“‘He’ is fine, Dick, thank you for concern,” Bruce says tetchily from where he’s sat in the centre of the Yellow Room, surrounded six foot deep by Wayne Manor silverware haloing out around him. The UV lights they use at crime scenes are blaring harsh violet lines around the perimeter, and further out by the edges of the room, 6 of their portable sun lamps are turned off but trained right on him.

“This is all pointless,” Bruce carries on, sweeping his arm ‘round wide in a grand gesture, hissing when a brush against a silver-plated serving trolley has his hand sizzling. “Alfred really shouldn’t have called you.”

Dick ignores him completely to turn to Alfred, who has 3 sets of rosary beads hanging around his neck and irritation hanging from his eyes. “Uhm. I didn’t read further down the text than ‘B was attacked, please come over when you can’. I’m guessing I missed something?”

“You would be guessing right, Master Richard.” Alfred whips off a rosary and hangs it around Dick’s neck, and plops three teaspoons into a blazer pocket. “We aren’t sure quite who is to blame for this latest conundrum, but Batman was struck down by something while making rounds by the Cathedral. Master Bruce appears to have become a, a…” Alfred makes a disgusted noise, “a vampire of some sort, and had insisted I lock him up in a cell till a magic-user from the League could come by and take a look.”

Dick’s ashamed to admit that on hearing the word ‘vampire’ his fist had curled tightly around a teaspoon. After all, the bluntest edge can still manifest as a shiv, if you shove it in hard enough. He’s further shamed that Bruce clearly catches his micro-movement, and he just downright hates the pleased look B has at knowing that Dick is open to bodily violence against him.

Part of the commute time to get back to the Manor almost always involves him psyching himself up to deal with Bruce, and today it looks like it’s going to pay off.

“Okay, got it.” Dick deeply doesn’t, but bluffing can be as important as actually understanding, so. “Why’s he being kept here instead?”

“No master of the Manor,” Alfred says the way a lesser man would say ‘No son of mine’,”will be tossed into some cell while in full possession of himself, thank you very much.”

“I was going to start an automated protocol to have myself manacled and emergency-signal Superman to come by and potentially put me down,” Bruce interrupts from the near distance, “but I was lured here and now I’m trapped.”

Dick catches himself halfway through a laugh; he can’t help it. If Bruce really, really wanted to, escaping this room with its myriad hazards and shining lights would be possible, especially if the situation was so urgent that he was willing to risk serious injury for it.

If Bruce really, really thought he was a danger, thought deep in his messy little heart that he really, really could hurt or injure Alfred while it was just the two of them here waiting for reinforcements, Dick knows he would have grabbed the silver steak knife closest by and, ah, taken matters into his own hands.

It’s as ingrained a response as Dick instinctively putting himself between Bruce and Alfred even while his brain was still catching up to sudden vampirism, shiv-spoon (shvoon?) at the ready.

He lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, untenses muscles that had been ready for something awful since the text had come through. “You’re finally more bat than man, B, so don’t bother pretending to be upset.” Dick spies a tray laden with soup and bread on a little coffee table and heads over, giving up guarding Alfred because their much scarier guard dog has just sprouted fangs. “Oh, man, tomato soup and garlic bread? Alfred, you think of everything.”

“I do try,” Alfred primly says, clearly satisfied that Dick is on his side. “And if you could see your way clear to getting Master Bruce to also partake?”

“I said no, Alfred!” Bruce’s voice cracks like sudden thunder across the room, and it would have been mighty terrifying with its slight unearthly timber if the UV lights bouncing off forks didn’t make the room look a lot like a rave. Even with his eyes starting to turn red, even with the harsh edges of his shape blurring into mist, Bruce can’t quite manage to intimidate.

Everyone in the room knows that it’s just for show, now, so even paranormal powers manifesting doesn’t slow down Dick’s enjoyment of soup. “C’mon, Bruce. It’s just like a blood transfusion, except you take it through the mouth. We all routinely take worse things through the mouth.” Just last week Dick had crunched on something while eating a bowl of soggy cereal he’d accidentally left out overnight, and the certainty that it was some sort of super-armoured cockroach haunts him till this day. “Is it a supply and demand thing? You can have some of my blood bags, Alfred can take some out of me while I’m here.”

“What an excellent suggestion, Master Richard. My blood has unfortunately been turned down because Master Bruce has some spectacularly backwards thoughts regarding older folk, but surely there’ll be no complaint for yours.”

“There are plenty of complaints!” Bruce roars, now up on his feet and pacing in the little circle at the centre of all the silver. “I will not eat anyone’s blood, I will stay in this space and meditate until Zatanna shows up and cures me. There is a magic user zapping vampirism into people in Gotham, and none of this will be solved by you sticking an arm under my teeth!”

His fangs are all the way out now, down almost to his chin, drawing scratches on stubbly skin. Under the native environment of the Bat, out in the night perched somewhere high, he’d be a terror.

Under the warm loving light of the Yellow Room, under the warm loving gaze of people who know him best, he’s more ‘angry hissing kitten’ than anything else.

Dick slurps the rest of the soup, and mops up the rest with the crusty bit of his garlic toast. “So, if it was me that got turned into a vampire, you’re telling me you… wouldn’t IV pump me full of blood fresh out your veins? If you lie to me I will throw a teaspoon at your head.”

There’s nothing but a mutinous quiet from Bruce, who’s huffing and misting and snarling and floating a good three inches off the ground. Good, at least he’s not feeling so pressed to the edge that he needed to lie.

“… I’ll take my own blood.”

Alfred sniffs, and it’s a dignified sound that somehow echoes in this fairly large room. “After your little altercation with Dr. Ivy last week, sir, your own supply is running unfortunately low. Two bags left, and I intend to keep them in case coming out of vampirism treats you poorly. No, sir, you’ll have a mug of Master Richard’s blood or so help me God I will tranquilise you and feed it to you myself.”

Alfred catches himself mid-rampage, and huffs a little while neatening the cuff of his shirt. “Those are your choices, sir. Pick one.”

Reading the room, it’s easy to tell that the hour it took Dick to get here from Bludhaven has likely been filled with that sort of tersely-worded bitching that Alfred and Bruce have down to the finest art. “A couple of pints of blood, Type D, coming right up. Bruce, I’d recommend just giving up right now. If Alfred works down the line, Jason’s coming in next, and that’s gonna end with a fist to the mouth.” Dick brushes crumbs off his hands, and jumps out of the crouch he’d been in on the arm of the sofa to head towards Alfred. “No one’s getting out of that without a broken finger or fang or both, so just take mine, okay? For us.”

Bruce doesn’t deign to actually say yes or fine , just seems to fade into shadows he’s manifesting himself, but it reads like a grumpy acceptance of defeat.

Good enough , thinks Dick. “Give us a sec, we’ll be right back. If you’re extra good, I’ll even make a Bloody Mary out of mine!”

Batarangs aren’t made of silver, but they sure do make a flashy thunk when they bite into a doorjamb a clean 10 feet away from the nearest person.

Alfred huffs a quiet laugh but Dick is much louder and substantially more insulting as they make their way down to the Cave.

The blood fridge is a thing of stainless steel tucked in a corner of the medbay, and it’s covered in magnets. The Wayne brood travel a lot, but Bats and Birds travel even more. It’s become a weird habit that got adopted like kids get adopted ‘round here; Dick looks at a cracked dinosaur magnet he’d bought at the Bludhaven Natural History Museum his first night out as Nightwing, and nostalgia hits harder than teeth in the neck. “We’re gonna need a bigger one of these soon, Alfred. We’re almost out of free real estate.”

“We shall persevere nonetheless, sir.” Alfred opens the fridge, and goes along the top row till he gets to the little placard with Dick’s face on it. The filing system remains sweetly, sweetly old-school, even if everyone knows where theirs is stored by feel alone, and each bag is barcoded with enough details to alarm even the most dedicated phlebotomist.

Looking over the racks, Dick whistles. “Bruce isn’t the only one who’s had a rough time recently, huh? Tim didn’t mention that the last Titans’ fight got him two bags down.”

For that, he gets his ear flicked. “Don’t snoop, Master Richard, it’s unbecoming.” Alfred takes a bag off Dick’s shelf and pops it into a cooler bag. He closes the door, and heads to the kitchenette in the Cave where he scrounges up a little metal straw. “Thank you for coming by so quickly. I was at my wits’ end trying to convince him to have just the littlest nibble. He tried to keep himself locked in the Batmobile when he came back via autopilot.” Alfred rinses the straw with more aggression than necessary. “I tugged on the handle, and the door was locked. A door, locked to me! In my own home!” He sounds as incensed as Alfred ever does, but he also goes to grab some tomato juice and a couple of sticks of celery, just in case.

“You wore him down for me, Alfred, I had it easy.” Dick quietly grabs another couple of bags of his blood, because deep deep down Bruce isn’t the only one hesitant about feeding on family, looks like. “Surprised you’d turn to me for this, though. Seems like more of a Tim thing, have him over with a 50-slide presentation on why vampirism’s really not that different to CPR, or something.” He swoops by Alfred’s side and picks up the cooler bag and the bucket of ice, because there are a lot of stairs from the Cave back up to Yellow, and kind men deserve kind things done on behalf of their creaking knees, thanks very much.

“You certainly have a point, Master Tim can be alarmingly persuasive with his statistics and, ah, unblinking stare.” Alfred doesn’t acknowledge Dick helping him with his things, just looks a little glad to have a hand free to hold on to the handrail, which is acknowledgement enough. “However, I have to admit that when I am at my wits’ end with Master Bruce, I always want to turn to you, Master Dick.” He pauses at the top of the stairs, turns and smiles his neat little smile at Dick who is finding balance harder to maintain than usual. “You have kept me company in my never-ending fight to care for Master Bruce longer than anyone else, after all.”

(Longer, longer, longer even than Bruce’s parents, God love them both.)

Alfred reaches out, pats Dick’s hand and nimbly reacquires his wares. “Do not under any circumstance tell the others, of course, but an old man is allowed his favourite ally.”

Dick is a whole-ass adult who’s lived through more things than people 15 times his age, he’s dressed in a smart suit and tie after an interview for a position as a flight paramedic, and he’s helped ward off the apocalypse at least on three separate occasions.

He knows enough about enough to know that their vampire-magician is deeply, deeply outclassed by Alfred’s mastery over spacetime, because right now Dick knows that if he looks down at himself, he’ll be 9 years old again, wearing oversized pyjamas as he tries not to cry because it’s his birthday and Alfred had made him a stack of pancakes the size of his head, while Bruce skulks by the door holding five separate tubs of ice cream, looking uncomfortable and uncertain and bound and determined to be a responsible parent

(like he’s bound and determined to be a responsible vampire).

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Dick murmurs under his breath, rubbing his cheek to break the spell.

“Language,” Alfred’s voice floats back towards him, as they make their way back to the Yellow Room.

There’s a bit of a scuffle, trying to get Bruce to actually drink the blood. When Dick had casually tossed a bag at Bruce, it had been batted right back at him like the world’s weirdest opening to a game of ping-pong. Another fight almost broke out then, because at least a third of all of Gotham’s collective stubbornness was sat in the room at that point, but Dick managed to force through a resolution by making a Bloody bloody Mary for Bruce, and regular Bloody Marys for himself and Alfred.

They sit where they want, Bruce in his circle, Dick perched on a windowsill, and Alfred on the sofa, and they sip at their meticulously non-identical drinks. They’re on their third round of Bloody Marys and sweet idle conversation when the message comes through that Zatanna’s on her way, and the tension in the room drains as smoothly as they do their drinks.

“Ah, what perfect timing,” Alfred says like he hasn’t worked his way through an alarming amount of vodka. “Just in time for a really early breakfast.”

It’s 3 AM, and hopefully after unraveling vampirism Z will be interested in some god-tier chicken and waffles. Dick’s stomach is already rumbling, and he’s in an unspeakably good mood. It’s a trinity of trinities, three generations of Wayne and Wayne-adjacents, three Bloody Marys each, it’s three o'clock in the morning.

There’s a father, a son, and Alfred counts as their Holiest Ghost, probably. Funny that Bruce has to become unholy to make Dick feel gently religious, though that might be the vodka and dreams of fried chicken futures. “How’re you feeling, Bruce?”

Flushed with blood, Bruce looks healthier and heartier than he does on average, which is a fight to tackle a different night. “… Better,” he admits, digging a fang into a celery stick with an expression of deep concentration. “I could fly if I tried, I think.”

Dick whoops, and nearly drops his glass. “It’s that vitamin D, bay-bee.”

It even earns a chuckle from Alfred, and Dick can feel god in this Yellow Room tonight. “I think,” Dick says with utmost seriousness, “that being a vampire is a good look for you, B. Feels good to get you something, even if it’s just a drink.”

Feels good to be able to provide for you instead of the other way ‘round, is something a more sober Dick would think.

From his corner, Alfred raises his glass in a steady-handed toast. “Just a drink is plenty when just a drink is all you need. So here’s a toast to you, Master Dick. Thank you for coming to our rescue.”

In the middle of a sea of silverware, Bruce raises his glass too, and oh, now Dick’s the one gone red in the face.

“Any time,” he says, and he’s glad to know he means it. “Honestly, this makes me feel like B should get turned into a vampire more often.” There’s a lot of magic in the Manor tonight, and only the tiniest fraction of it has to do with their rogue magician. Dick can’t remember when he last spent this much time with just Alfred and Bruce, and it feels like a loose anchor digging in juuust right.

The world’s in turmoil and his personal life has seen better days, but there’s a tether that comes off from the Manor and these two men. Sometimes, it’s a noose.

More often than not, it’s a lifeline, and what a fine feeling it is to know that that goes both ways.

Dick doesn’t know what’s showing on his face, though by how Bruce is now sat up and intensely staring at him, he’s probably revealing way, way too sopping much.

Bruce clears his throat, and his flush deepens into a rosy, rosy red. “Well. As being a part-time vampire does have its advantages, it’s. Hmm. I will discuss it with Zatanna, and see what I can do.”

And geeze, time-travel magic must be inherited too because Dick’s been forced back to his 9th birthday again, to Bruce Wayne-the-literal-Batman hovering uncertainly while holding way too much ice cream as he tries to accommodate Dick in that stupid, awkward, and hideously embarrassing way only he knows how.

“I’ll toast to that,” Dick says, ignoring the terrible scratch and crack in his voice, and he and Bruce both only nearly lose it when Alfred raises his glass again, and

quietly, quietly

murmurs, “Here’s a toast to my family”.

#batfam #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #family bonding #whale writing #bro i watched a weird japanese tv show last week #and it just left me in the weirdest most off-kilter mood #there literally way no direction for this story #i just like the thought of alfred having different niche categories #he can assign favourites too #and also vampire bruce who can turn to mist but doesn't #bc he was raised right #anyways here's wonderwall

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honestlyhappyharry · 4 years

Text

Night Changes

A/N: This is based a little more on the music video with a different ending than the song.

Holmes Chapel in the winter was lovely, anyone who had visited or lived there could tell you that. While you still didn't understand your parents' decision to move here from central London, you knew why they fell in love with it.

Unfortunately, you only got to visit a few times a year and it was usually over the holidays when you weren't busy with University. You could still remember one of the first times you were up after you'd helped them move in.

Early 2011

"Hi, dear. You must be Y/n, I was just stopping by with some casserole for your parents." You had looked up from the garden where you were planting flowers to see a woman standing near the end of the driveway with a warm smile.

You stood up and went to talk to her. "Yes, I'm Y/n. It's nice to meet you." You hold out your hand and she shakes it.

"I'm Anne, I live a few houses down. Are they in?" She had the warmest tone about her voice and a really nice smile. She was also very beautiful.

You shook your head. "I'm sorry, they just popped out to the shops. I'm sure they'll be back soon but you're welcome to come in." You could see she was thinking it over.

"Sure, there were a few things I wanted to speak to your mum about." You invited her into the house and she happily walked in. Neither of your parents had talked about her but she seemed to know where things in the house were.

"Would you like some tea?" You ask walking into the kitchen. She followed and paced the dish on the counter.

"If you don't mind." Once you'd gotten her a cup you sat with her in the living room for a while and talked. "I've been told you go to boarding school in London." You nod, that was always something you parents mentioned first to new friends. "How did you decide on that?" The usual question was how do you like it so the variety was nice.

"Well, I picked it when I was going into high school." You told her. "I had a few close friends that also went there and I guess as a young teenager I wanted to get away from my parents a little." She laughed again along with you, there was something warm about her presence. "It's such a great school and I'm very sad it's the last half of my last year."

She sipped her tea before speaking. "I've also been told you're on the leadership team there." You nod with a smile. "I suspect my own daughter had the same few reasons to go to Sheffield Hallam University."

You did recognise the name of the school. "I have a few friends in older years who got accepted and they love it." She smiled at that. "Has your daughter graduated?"

She shook her head. "No, she's on her second year."

"Y/n, we're home." Your mum said as she walked in the door, your dad following with a bag from the bakery.

They rounded the corner into the living room and both smile at Anne. You got the bags from your dad and set the table for lunch as your parents sat in the living room.

"I'm sorry, I was just bringing over a casserole. I didn't know you were having lunch." She apologised and stood up, getting ready to leave.

Both your mum shook her head. "No stay, set an extra plate, Y/n, Anne will be joining us for lunch." You nod and take an extra plate from the kitchen, putting it on the table.

That lunch you learnt a lot about Harry and Gemma Styles from Anne and your mum, who seemed very excited for you to meet Harry.

Christmas 2012

"Okay, kids pack that up dinner is on the table." Almost 2 years later and you found yourself sitting in Anne's living room next to Harry and Gemma playing Cluedo.

In those 2 years, your families had become so close you were now spending Christmas together. You had graduated from school and gone off to university in southern California and you had become good friends with both Gemma and Harry. You put your cards facedown so Harry couldn't see them and went to stand up. Both the Styles siblings following you. "You know, Y/n is such a cheat." Harry declared as you followed Anne into the dining room.

Your mouth dropped open as you turned around to look at him wide eyes. "I did not cheat once." You justify. "Harry's just a sore loser." You all took your seats, your dad and Robin at the ends of the tables with your mum and Anne sitting next to them. You sat next to Anne and Harry next to you with Gemma sitting on the other side of the table by your mum.

"Okay, no fighting you two." Anne scolded and you glared at Harry who smirks back. "It is Christmas after all."

"Fighting or flirting," Gemma said quietly as she sipped her drink causing both you and Harry to stop looking at each other and look at her.

Your mum smiled at Gemma which made you glare at her too. She had always been a Harry and Y/n shipper, even if she didn't know what it meant to ship someone. "Okay, let's eat." You said a quick grace before getting stuck into the meal. There was ham, roast vegetables and lamb. All of the typical English Christmas dinner favourites.

Like all of the other Christmas dinners, you've had this one was full of laughter and plenty of jokes. Harry was almost flirting with you, but he seemed to do that with all the girls you knew. It wasn't serious flirting or Harry being a player, it was just innocent fun between him and girls. Plus he was a cute teenage guy.

"So, got anything planned for New Year, Harry?" Your dad asked in the middle of a light-hearted conversation.

Harry gulped. "I'm actually going to New York to spend it with Taylor." Everyone else's conversations had, with bad timing, stopped at that point and all eyes were on Harry. The silence was louder than the laughter and more than uncomfortable.

You could feel your mum's eyes on you, waiting for how you would react. You weren't an idiot though, the news reports had told you long ago what was going on with them so it wasn't a surprise. You didn't even mind, Taylor made amazing music and they both needed whatever was going on for their popularity, not that you wanted to be a sceptic if it was real.

"Oh, I'm sure that'll be good." Your dad spoke before drinking some more wine awkwardly. Harry coughed also awkwardly and forced a smile and a little nod.

Eventually, the conversation got back to its normal cheerful state but you noticed Harry barely looked over at you. There was no more flirting or touching of feet. Something also felt off inside you but there was no way you were going to talk about that so you forced your mouth up into a smile for the rest of the night.

"Hey, you." Harry playfully spoke as he walked into the kitchen where you were getting a glass of water. It was nearing midnight and all of the parents had gone to bed. Gemma and you were gossiping in the lounge and Harry had gone to get some work done. "I'm sorry about dinner..." He trailed off, looking a little uncomfortable and scratching the back of his neck.

You shook your head. "Don't worry, Harry. It's not any of my business what you do." He looked sad and walked near you.

"It's a PR stunt, love." It always made your heart flip when he called you that and standing in the kitchen with his messy, long curls, plain, white t-shirt and tanned skin made him quite attractive and it was an odd mix between weird and natural to think of him like that.

There wasn't much else you could do but nod. "It doesn't matter to me whether you are seriously dating or not." Lie. It did matter because, and it was only now you were realising but, of course, you didn't want it to be true.

"I know, but we're not." He let out a sigh and sat down on a barstool at the island. There was a feeling in the pit of your stomach he was about to say something you didn't want to hear. Maybe it was the breath that he just sucked in, almost gasping for air. Pink lips falling open before he spoke. "Anyway, I wanted to ask if you wanted to go up to this ice skating rink when I get back, the 3rd."

Your head involuntarily shook but in the seconds after while you thought about what he had just asked you were thankful for it. "Harry." You breathed out his name. It was only now your vision focussed on him before it was on his face but it was all blurred as to not see his emotions. Hurt flooded his face, poorly masked by a facade of understanding. Like when you can see tears in someone's eyes with they smile. That was Harry Styles, sitting 10 feet away from you in all his beauty after just asking you out.

"Okay, I'm going to go." You hadn't realised how much analysing you were doing, forgetting to speak that filled your head. He made a quick dash to the door, a lot more awkwardly than when he came in.

You knew you had to. "Wait." As you come to terms with the news he turned back towards you. His eyes were on your face as he analysed what was going through your head even thought that wasn't fair. He had just thrown this idea out there and now he looked to be trying to figure you out.

"Don't feel obligated to for our friendship or anything. I just wanted to ask, see if you feel what it do, but you don't so now I can just leave it." He was very clear in what he was saying, even though his face still said 'sad'.

In your heart, you know you want it. Every minute of his time. Just the two of you doing couple things. You two in love. It felt like fireworks inside you, all these feelings finally lit up but in a scary way as well.

Now you had to play it cool, there was no point in trying to pretend you were someone else when he clearly felt something for you. "You already have a girlfriend." Good, your brain was still fighting the feeling. Is that good? You tried to block off some of your thoughts. Think rationally, think rationally.

Harry's face had fallen a little but he didn't look concerned, more like he was in a thinking state. Much like how you imagined your own face. He took two steps into the kitchen. Now he was closer than when he was seated. "She's not." He said with a shake of his head.

"As far as anyone outside this house is concerned she is." It came out a lot harsher than you wanted, making you feel a little bad by Harry's facial expression.

He was formulating a response. "I." He began before stopped, a hand running through his hair brought you back to the fact this was happening in front of you. "Just please come out with me." He wasn't begging but he sounded desperate.

Your heart took over for a minute. "Okay." As soon as you said it you knew it it was exactly what you wanted.

"Thank you." One last smile and he was out of the room. Leaving you there with no idea what had just happened. Harry had just asked you out. No that can't be right. Not the Harry Styles. And the even bigger question: did you like him?

"You have to trust me for this to work." Harry's soft voice was all you could hear. There wasn't anyone around you anymore. Just you and him on the ice. There was a slight chill in the air but for this time of year in Holmes Chapel, it wasn't too cold. Or maybe it was just the fur-lined coat, knit sweater, black jeans and ice skating shoes that were keeping you warm.

Fairy lights sparkled on the walls surrounding the rink and made Harry's green eyes even brighter and his lips perfectly pink. He was dressed in a black coat, a scarf and his own black skinny jeans.

A giggle left your lips as you let yourself relax a little into the date. It was a first date but it didn't feel like much of one but at least it felt like more than a friendship hanging out. "I do trust you." Your hands were in his soft ones as you move on the ice.

"Relax, baby." The pet name fell off his lips naturally and again it gave you that weird yet normal feeling, like it was something you've always needed but still new. "Just close your eyes and I'll pull you." You let your eyelids fall closed and relaxed your body as Harry gently guided you on the ice.

As you opened them he was still grinning at you as you slid over the ice. He gently let go of your hands and you felt like you were on top of the world as you glided on the ice. "I'm doing it, I'm doing it." You cheer as you propel yourself further and Harry watch you gliding.

He skated over towards you once you've stopped on the edge of the rink. "That actually wasn't too bad." He joked as he nudged you, making you giggle. At that moment you were right back to Harry just being Harry.

"C'mon, we're here all night so let's get skating." He took your hands and pulled you so you spun in front of him. Quicker than you could think and he was pulling you towards him. His hands ended up on your waist and yours on his neck.

Your faces were millimetres apart but Harry waited a few seconds, or maybe it was years, to stare into your eyes and then finally his lips were on yours and it felt like magic. Everything second seamless and perfect as his lips were on yours. It didn't feel odd anymore, just natural.

Pulling away a few seconds later, Harry looked all blushy and nervous. "Was that alright?" His gentle voice spoke with a nervous tone. He looked a little like he regretted it but his slight smile made you sure that he hadn't.

"Perfect, Harry." It really was. It was no secret that Harry was perfect anyway but standing in front of you with his perfect body, perfect hair and perfect lips after he had kissed you, he was all you wanted.

His nod and the grin adorning his face made you not need to ask how he found it.

Christmas 2020

"Come on, Aud," Harry called as he stood on the ice across from where Audrey was sat down in her winter coat, peach coloured jeans and jumper with ice skates on her feet. Harry was still in black jeans, all these years later as well as a long coat and knit sweater.

There were small snowflakes falling on you and everything around just looked blue. It was only a few days before Christmas and there was no better time of year.

"Ahhh!" Noah squealed, your attention turned to him as he started sliding on the ice very slowly. His feet were pointed together so he wasn't moving very fast but the expression on his little face was enough to make all of you laugh. Like his father, Noah was in his own pair of black jeans, a puffer jacket and a jumper.

"I'll help you, Noah." Anne shuffled over to Noah and took his hands in hers as she attempted to help him. All these years later and Anne still looked as young as ever, despite losing Robin. "Come on, you can do it." She encouraged as she pulled him over to his twin sister.

Audrey had finally gotten onto the ice and was reluctantly standing with a much older but still beautiful Gemma.

"Why do you insist on putting these five-year-olds on ice?" Gemma asked looking over at Harry with a frown. He skated over past Gemma and to you where he took your hands and pulled you on the ice, spinning you in a circle before standing behind you and wrapping you up in his arms. The warmth you felt in his arms would be able to warm the coldest days up.

He kissed your cheek and pulled off with a grin. "Because ice skating is why we have this." He motioned to everyone standing around.

"Not really, we'll always have this. You two are the reason we have Audrey and Noah." She fired back. They were still so totally Harry and Gemma.

"Alright you two, let's just skate." Anne scolded them both before you continued to skate.

"Sorry, we're late!" Your parents were suddenly on the ice with you all of the rest of you. And at that moment your family was complete. Maybe with the addition of the baby you'd just found out you were pregnant with.

#Harry Styles #harry #harry edward styles #Harry Styles Fan Fiction #louis and harry #harry styles fiction #harrystylesfanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles fan #one direction #one direction fan fiction #one direction imagines #one direction imagine #one direction things

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exhausted-joy · 5 years

Text

INTO THE WOODS [YANDERE!JIMIN] [03]

CHAPTER THREE.

SYNOPSIS: Park Jimin is your needy, clingy, summer camp cabinmate that both creeps you out and makes you regret ever trying to be socially engaged during your summer break. After submitting truckloads of request forms to switch cabins and getting rejected, you realize that you must swallow your pride and get comfy with your new cabinmate. He hates it and so do you—at least, that’s what you thought.

NOTE: This fic is now being co-written with the lovely @/Luciole on Quotev! Please show her some support, she is amazing. (-:

Want to be the first to know when I update? Add yourself to the tag list!

━━━━━━━━━

It’s amazing to think that you can memorize a tree based on the unique pattern of its bark just by seeing it a few times.

“Jimin, haven’t we seen this tree before? I swear we have.”

The boy glances up at you with an almost deadpan look, and lets out an inaudible exasperated sigh. His usual lack of response only unnerves you further, and although you would normally just accept that he was capable of nothing but one-syllable comments, while wandering around cluelessly in an extremely dense forest in the sweltering summer heat, his communicative malfunctions made you want to shake him until he’d spew out a proper, or at least mildly helpful reply.

Opting for another intense stare at the map, you exhale forcefully in a half-groan, half-sigh, your arms and the map along with them shaking as you did so. After trying and failing to convince yourself that there must be some correct information of any kind on the crumpled piece of paper, notably for the fiftieth time in an hour, you were about as helpless as the time you wrote your first chemistry test.

Jimin, on the other hand, looks completely unbothered, if not even disinterested. If you were being honest, you were growing tired of taking the initiative on everything. Maybe if Jimin had spoken up, none of this would have happened. It was your first time at this camp and your roommate’s been coming here since presumably his younger days, so you expected him to know these trails like the back of his hand. However, you weren’t going voice your bitter thoughts just yet; you didn’t really know Jimin like that and you definitely weren’t down to getting shanked in the middle of nowhere.

Folding the useless map up, you shove it into your back pocket and cross your arms. Maybe you just needed to retrace your steps. How far away could the camp possibly be? It’s not like you were wandering for miles and miles - at least, that’s what it felt like. Turning around to face the direction which you came from, you can’t help but furrow your eyebrows as you glance past Jimin’s unkempt head of black hair. The gears in your brain turn and grip onto each other so forcefully you could swear you are feeling the blood rush to your head and past your cheekbones, making your face a flushed mess. But you can’t help it, no matter how hard you try, what angle you look at it from and what little definite impressions of your trek this far you call to mind, the green behind you still appears the same as the one in front of you, and your heart beats a bit quicker as a slight uproar of panic tightens your chest.

“This is hopeless,” you mutter, screwing your eyes shut and sinking into a crouch. You let your fingers comb through your hair nervously.

You raise your head and shoot your supposed treasure hunt partner an evenly hopeful and defeated look. “You’ve been to this camp before, right Jimin?”

His heart threatens to pound through his ribcage the way your eyes search his. He puts a little more effort than usual into maintaining his stoic impression and only musters you as if not quite sure just what you want from him. Keeping his intense gaze locked on yours, he soaks his lips and furrows his eyebrows before shrugging nonchalantly.

“...Every summer, yeah.”

A small flicker of hope ignites in your chest and you quickly rise back up to a standing position. With a newly revived gleam in your eyes, you beam at Jimin, the thought of getting away from the miles upon miles of trees that surround you taking you to a happy place.

“So that must mean you know this place pretty well then, huh? Do you know where we are?” Your question doesn’t exactly catch Jimin off guard, per say, but it somehow makes him feel hesitant to answer. Of course, he knew the woods like they were the back of his hand. Where else could he have run off to when the bullying got particularly nasty? The forest is his refuge, his own little safety blanket - it was a part of him. But for some reason, he feels that if he leads you out of the labyrinth of trees and back to camp, his time with you will be cut short and things will go back to you only talking to him because you have to. He didn’t like the idea of that at all, and he hates the painful twinge of his heart when you aren’t paying attention to only him.

How could Jimin pass this opportunity up? Simple; he can’t. And he doesn’t.

“I don’t know.” He replies after a few moments of silence and strongly resisting the urge to smirk at his scheme.

And just like that you are sent back into the dark spiral of unknowingness. You consciously breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth as calmly as possible with closed eyes, yet you wind up sucking in as much air as your lungs can hold in a shaky gasp just to cough it out half a second later as if it was laced with acid.

Watching your unsuccessful attempts at calming yourself down, Jimin feels his heart drop. Of course, he wanted to stay with you for as long as possible, but seeing you in a state like this was worse than not having the chance to spend possibly the day with you…

But what if there was a middle way? Could he spend time with you while also somehow leading the way back to camp? It sounded stupid, even in his head - how could he possibly pull off a stunt like that? Something had to go wrong, something had to happen and he just had to jump in and save the day. Glancing at your trembling form, he bites his lip and shuffles his foot in the sticks and leaves that blanket the forest floor.

And suddenly, there was an arm around your shoulder and a warm form wrapped around your own. You jump at the sudden contact, quickly zipping your lips closed before an embarrassing squeak could escape. Jimin’s hands awkwardly pat your back while your face is squished against his chest. While the gentle embrace does distract you from your previous trauma, it instead replaces it with utter confusion and shock.

Was Jimin actually trying to comfort you right now? It was bad enough that you were lost in the woods with him, and now you have somehow broken him?

Clueless as to how to handle the situation you simply stand there, welcoming Jimin’s awkward back-patting and admittedly nice warmth as a useful way of slowly calming yourself down. Your previously tensed muscles relax allowing you to just concentrate on the slight shifting of your head every time his chest inflates with breath.

Ten seconds and two awkward pats later he slowly peels away to step back a small pace and look at you.You feel slightly chilly at the missing feeling of warmth.

“They’ll probably notice we’re missing...”

The ‘probably’ drives a pang of insecurity through your heart, but you wipe it away quickly. You had already allowed yourself enough drama today.

“Yeah, you’re right.” You straighten your spine. “We’d best stay here, it’ll make it easier to find us if we keep to one spot.”

Jimin nods silently in agreement, his dark eyes scoping out the very green clearing. It was better than nothing; he’d have half a day sooner than none with you any time, little as it may be.

Meanwhile you shift uncomfortably on the spot. Lord knows how long you have to wait for someone from camp to notice two of so many participants missing.

Deciding to lean against the nearest tree, you carefully muster Jimin out of the corner of your eye, not wanting to be too obvious or creepy. He doesn’t seem panicked at all, his face almost automatically re-assumes his usual passive expression.

You decide you’d just have to pass the time, so you slide down the tree trunk to a sit. Jimin hesitantly follows your example, seating himself across from you, and once again the most awkward of silences settles. Not that you’re not used to it by now.

The summer heat is still sweltering, so you opt to fan yourself with your hands while you ponder on starting a scientific research on how it was possible for someone to survive these cooking temperatures dressed in several layers of black clothing, and even though you are dying of fluid-loss by sweat in the shadow of your tree Jimin barely seems affected in all his hooded glory.

You stare at him, sitting barely three feet across. He stares back at you. You both look away. No one says a word.

Maybe you should scratch your last will into the trunk of a tree in case you have too much time on your hands. You heave out a sigh, and the wind almost seems to mimic you when a light breeze ruffles the trees.

“I guess we’ll have to uhm- pass the time somehow”, he pokes aimlessly at a pile of leaves with a stick. “You know, until they find us…”

After stuttering out the words, Jimin has to strongly resist the urge to pat himself on the shoulder. He’d actually talked to you- by himself not to mention.

His voice is barely audible and some of the words got stuck in his throat, yet you have to keep your eyes from widening to the size of saucers. The most antisocial person you’d ever known just tried, even if poorly, to start a conversation with you, and considering you were literally deep into the woods you weren’t one to miss a chance at possible human interaction.

“Yeah,” you follow his example and look around the forest floor for a stick, “So uh, for how long have you been coming to this camp exactly…?”

Jimin runs a hand through his messy black hair. He doesn’t answer right away, though he listens intently to every word.

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It would be safe to say that your plan failed pretty epicly.

It’s currently just past dusk, and still no sign of anyone beside you and Jimin.

Speaking of whom, to your great surprise he’d actually managed to start a small campfire inside a ring of stones he found somewhere off between the trees. When asking him where he’d learned it, he only scrutinized you for a moment before solemnly answering “Camp.”.

You still sit across from him, only there’s a fire between you now.

Jimin speaks up. “...You should sleep.” You shoot him a quizzical look but his face stays passive as always.

“Yeah…” you mutter tiredly. “But what about you?”

He looks up at you in almost puzzled admiration. Not only had you just considered his existence, but you genuinely seemed to care cared for his well being- and he decides he likes it.

“I don’t sleep much.”

In any other circumstance his monotone replies would strain your nerves to infinity and beyond, but at the moment you’re just too tired to care.

You bring your head down to rest on your folded hands and shift on the dry leaves, for what must be the twentieth time, before finding a mildly comfortable position without having any stick or root poke at your back and creating any more bruises than you already have from the less than enjoyable day you had gone through.

Yet, somehow, while laying in the middle of the fallen leaves and grass, with your back to the small pile of burning wood your not so antisocial cabin mate had somehow crafted, you couldn’t help but quietly sigh in what seemed like content. You feel a certain tiredness surge through you, numbing your limbs as well as your senses, like that after spending a long day playing outside and climbing trees as a child.

In any other given moment it would seem crazy to think about a day lost in the woods as enjoyable, but as the small fire spreads warmth across your back it is the last thought that shoots through your mind before you become too weak to keep your eyelids from fluttering shut.

Just when your mind is about to go blank and give itself away to the sweet promise of sleep, you feel a soft fabric being placed over your torso in a blanket-like fashion, enveloping you with its comforting scent reminiscent of home. All your muscles relax and your conscious tiredly shuts down as you slowly descend into the welcoming arms of slumber.

Through your sleep hazy stupor, you hear Jimin rustling around a little bit away and, soon after, you think you can almost hear the familiar faint tapping of an electronic keyboard drifting through the comfortable silence.

But this time, as you somewhat contentedly lay on your bed of itchy sticks and stones, you are strangely okay with it.

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#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere bts x reader #yandere park jimin #yandere park jimin x reader #yandere jimin x reader #bts #bts x reader #park jimin #anime #kpop #kpop x reader

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cashmereminter · 5 years

Text

I Think I’m Going To Puke (Simon Minter)

requested: Yes! Thank you! Requests are open Hi, there love! Can I get Simon & number 11 xx 11.“I think I’m going to puke…”

who: Simon Minter (Miniminter)

word count: 1,980

This is edited but poorly and also maybe this is a part one? I’m willing to do a part two of this if someone is interested in me writing that!

I’m not sure how I feel about this lmao. ________

You stared at the plastic stick in your hand in shock. You couldn't move. The only thing you could do was hold the stick in your hand. Even breathing seemed harder than it should be. You took the test as a joke. You were hanging out with Freya and Kirsty, Kirsty had a scare, and after buying about ten tests (and only using two to make sure she definitely wasn't pregnant (just late)), both you and Freya thought it would be jokes to take a pregnancy test. There was no way either of you could be pregnant. Of course not, you were safe, on the pill, and always made sure Simon was protected as well. You weren't dumb. But apparently, you had messed up somewhere because the little test in your hand said, in big bold letters, pregnant.

"Y/n! What's it say!" Freya called through the door, laughing with Kirsty in the background. The blonde was joking, but she didn't know your test didn't read out a big N O. You snapped from your thoughts and tossed the test in the trash can and left the bathroom hastily. The two girls looked up at you with bright eyes, ready to laugh and joke about how yours was negative too, and Kirsty was simply overreacting about being two days late. "Well?" Freya asked jokingly, raising one of her perfectly done eyebrows at you.

"I-I'm feeling ill. I think I should really just go home." You said, reaching to grab your bag. The two girls just looked at you with confused glances, but you just shook it off, grabbing your bag and your phone and leaving Freya's apartment without another word. You didn't bother getting an Uber home, as you just wanted to be alone with your thoughts for a while. You were nowhere near ready to be a mother and you were almost certain Simon felt nowhere near ready enough to become a father. You were both young and had only been together for about a year and a half. Sure, you loved him dearly, but children didn't have a place in your five-year plan. He was going to continue working with the Sidemen and making videos on his own. It was what he loved and you didn't mind. Even though sometimes there would be times where you couldn't see each other for a while, that was just apart of being in a relationship with Simon. As for you, you wanted to work on your career and just be young. You wanted to go out with friends and get drunk. You wanted to do the things a young person should be able to do. And now you were being tied down by something growing inside of you. You didn't notice the tears in your eyes until you stopped to look at yourself in a shop window. It was then that you decided you should just get a taxi home. You were way too tired to be walking anymore, and your apartment was quite a ways away. You don't know what you were thinking when you started walking in the first place.

Once you made it to your apartment, you walked inside and dropped your keys on the counter, sliding down against the wall and running your hand through your hair. How were you even supposed to tell Simon? 'Hey! We're having a baby even though we've never discussed this and our futures really don't have space to put a baby.' It sounded almost like a joke to you. Then a thought hit, maybe it was just a defective test. You pulled out your phone and did the only logical thing you could do at the time. Opened your Postmates app and postmated five other tests to your door. You locked your phone afterward so you couldn't rethink your decision. About fifteen minutes later there was a knock at your door. You opened the door to see a poor guy holding the bag nervously. You paid hastily and grabbed the back, shutting the door in the kids face so you could hurry into your bathroom.

With shaky hands, you waited for all the tests to be finished. The toilet seat was extremely uncomfortable, but so was the sinking feeling that you may be a mother. Soon, the timer went off o your phone signaling you to look at the rest of the plastic sticks. Tapping your fingers against your thigh, you bit your lip and finally stood up, deciding it was better to get it done and over with. Sure enough, all five tests read prominent plus signs, two lines, and just straight forward, the word pregnant. You sniffed but nodded your head. You just had to let it sink in. You needed to figure out what you needed to do. Who to tell. What to do. Just as panic was starting to set in, another knock was at your door. This time you had no idea who it could be since you hadn't ordered anything else and you definitely didn't invite anyone else over in your state of mind (though the idea of Freya coming over sounded lovely. She could always calm you down). You walked out of the bathroom, sticks in hand, and to the front door, not bothering to look through the peephole before throwing the door open, ready to curse out whoever it was.

The sight of your boyfriend at the door made your heart, stomach, and confidence drop to the floor. He stood with a bag of his own, but you could see it held flowers, candies, and a movie rental. He must've stopped at the store. You slowly looked up at him, noticing the concerned smile on his lips, and how his hair was messy. He probably was editing before he decided to come over. He looked tired, meaning he probably hasn't slept yet and wanted to fall asleep on you. That's what he always did. Overall, Simon looked like the boyfriend you were in love with, and that somehow made your heartbreak.

"Y/n?" Simon spoke. You shook yourself from your thoughts and looked up at him properly, realizing he must have been sleeping to you. "Freya said you weren't feeling well, but you didn't text me or call me. I was worried." He said, making his way into your home and closing the door behind him. You simply shuffled back, gripping the necklace you had on tightly, trying to swallow all your fear. "Are you okay? You look really pale?" He asked again, stepping closer to you this time. That's when he noticed the tests poking out of your grip. "A-are those pregnancy tests?" He asked, dropping the bags on the counter.

"I think I'm going to puke." You said, avoiding all the questions, dropping the tests onto the ground and then running to the bathroom for the second time. Simon followed after you, walking into the bathroom and grabbing your hair to hold back whilst you threw everything you ate lately back into the toilet. He rubbed your back softly, at least tried too. You noticed how shaky his hands actually were at the moment. You finished, flushed the toilet and then sat on the ground, not looking up at him until you felt him move to sit beside you. "I'm sorry." You whispered.

"There's no reason to be sorry Y/n, it takes two people to do this. We both should have been more careful." Simon said quietly. He was nervously tugging at his hair now. You hadn't even said the words, yet you both knew what the situation was. You were pregnant, with his child, and you didn't know what to think.

"This isn't how this was supposed to go." You whispered back, turning your head to look at him. The rims of his eyes were red as if he wanted to cry, and you didn't blame him for that. He reached over your lap and grabbed your hand, rubbing the back of it softly with his thumb as he brought it over to his lap. His hands were huge compared to your own, which was always something the two of you liked to joke about, and now the only thing you could think of was the fact that a babies hand would look much tinier in his hand. You were shaken from your thoughts as you felt his lips touch your knuckles. He looked into your eyes now, trying to read what you were thinking, but even you weren't sure. With everything racing around in your head it made you dizzy.

"You're right, it's not how it's supposed to go, but we can figure it out." He breathed out. "Things can't always work out perfectly, and sure our story is going to be out of order to some, but this is just how it was meant to go for us." He said. He wasn't sure if he was convincing you or himself, but somehow it was working. His hand dropped yours into his lap, letting you grip the edge of his shirt nervously as if you were holding him down so he couldn't run away from you. His fingers trailed up your arm and then down to your stomach where they danced around a moment and then he stopped and laid his palm flat against your belly. The movements made you tense, but the feeling of his warm hand against you made you melt almost. It was calming to feel him touch you in this stressful time. You were not far along at all, not even showing at this point, so Simon wasn't going to feel anything, but it was a warm sight to see.

"Parents." You said out loud after a moment of him just touching your belly. He nodded in response, looking away from your torso and up to your face. "Can we do that Simon. I don't want to stop you from pursuing your career. I don't want to change things. I love you, I don't want you to leave." You rambled nervously. Simon furrowed his eyebrows and shushed you silently. He moved his hand from your belly now, instead of placing it on your cheek to make you look up him me. When you looked up, his lips caught yours, making your heartbeat return to its normal pace.

"The only thing this is going to change is the fact that there's going to be more to love." He said, nodding slowly. "I mean, I'm sure other things are going to change, but I'm still going to be with the boys and filming. It's my job, I can't stop that. And you're going to continue with school and work." He said. It amazed you how easily he was taking this. He was obviously trying to be calm for the two of you and somehow it was working. He was good at this though. He really grounded you and helped when things got to be too much. "It's going to take some getting used to. And we have some things to talk about and discuss but we can do this Y/n. I promise you." He said confidently. Instead of answering you simply pressed your lips to his once more, wrapping your arms around his neck in an embrace. Once you pulled away he rested his forehead against yours and caressed your cheek with his thumb. After another moment of silence Simon pulled away and looked down at your stomach again, placing his large hand over your belly button (a habit he caught onto almost instantly after finding out).

"Family channels are banging right now actually." He said, trying to lighten the mood. His famous smirk rested on his lips making you giggle. You smacked his arm and scowled, shaking your head instantly.

"Simon Minter I am not exploiting our unborn child for views."

"Worth a shot."

#sidemen #sidemen imagines #sidemen imagine #sidemen one shot #sidemen concept #sidemen writing #fan fiction #miniminter #simon minter #mm7 #youtube #youtube imagines #youtube imagine #the ultimate sidemen #the sidemen #miniminter imagines #miniminter imagine #simon minter imagines

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anneapocalypse · 5 years

Text

Matt Hullum made the announcement in a journal entry today that Rooster Teeth is laying off 13% of its staff.

Variety has an article up about the downsizing, mostly the same info that's in Matt's journal, with a few other facts—notably to me, a mention of the fact that WarnerMedia (RT's parent company, all under the AT&T umbrella) also swallowed up and effectively killed the Machinima brand. In fact, it turns out a few Machinima properties were shuffled under the Rooster Teeth umbrella when that happened.

I was unfamiliar with Machinima the YouTube Channel and Machinima.com (as opposed to machinima, the medium) until Quinton Reviews did a Fallen Titans episode on it recently, and I'll admit I was kind of hoping he'd have more to say about Red vs. Blue as it's... really the only machinima work I care about, but his video was mainly about the Machinima brand. Still, it is informative if you, like me, know nothing about Machinima!

Anyway, from the second Variety article above, there's also this:

Warner Bros. acquired full control of Machinima in November 2016, and put Machinima under its Warner Bros. Digital Networks group. AT&T closed its $85 billion deal for Time Warner in June 2018 and since then has consolidated or killed off several digital businesses. Under AT&T’s ownership, WarnerMedia shut down FilmStruck, from Turner and Warner Bros. Digital Networks, and WBDN’s DramaFever. In addition, Turner shuttered its Super Deluxe studio.

Mm....hm.

Yeah, so AT&T seems to have an unsurprising pattern of acquiring and quietly destroying small web-based companies, particular those centering around streaming content for a somewhat niche audience.

I don't want to be a doomsayer, and it's not like I think Rooster Teeth is going to be shut down tomorrow. I do feel like this doesn't exactly bode well for the AT&T conglomerate's investment in this relatively small studio.

There are certainly other factors to be considered. Only a couple months ago Matt was responding to criticisms of Rooster Teeth related to crunch and their animation pipeline, and announcing that Gray Haddock would be stepping down as head of animation. Of course, downsizing the studio by more than 10% seems... not a strong step toward reducing crunch, unless they're drastically reducing or delaying content in kind.

In terms of content itself... this is purely speculation, but I do have some concern that gen:LOCK was not the hot property Rooster Teeth hoped it would be. I like gen:LOCK. I like it a lot, and hope we see many more seasons. But I don't exactly think it's taken off as the kind of viral hit RWBY has been for the company. gen:LOCK is a subscribers-only show. If you don't have a FIRST membership, you can't watch past the first episode... and that just might not be enough to get people hooked enough to subscribe.

Going back a little further, one of my personal favorite RT shows is the live-action apocalyptic drama Day 5. It's got high production value and some really excellent acting talent, both from Rooster Teeth regulars and outside names. It has a compelling story and great characters. And it barely has a fandom. The last post on /r/dayfive is two years old. The tumblr tags are barren. And good luck even finding a twitter hashtag. Day 5 has seven works on AO3. The show debuted three years ago.

Production was put on hold after season 2, while the show was syndicated on the El Rey network, and the episodes were temporarily removed from the Rooster Teeth site while it aired on El Rey (they're back now). But even while the show was airing, as a fan I found it was tough to find other people actively watching the show and talking about it, even among fellow Rooster Teeth fans. I didn't see gifsets pouring down my tumblr dash; I didn't see meta, or episode reaction posts.

I suppose I should've seen the writing on the wall, even then. Day 5 has not been cancelled as of now and I really hope we get a season 3, because I love the show. But I'll admit I am nervous for its future.

I bring up these examples because I think the subscribers-only content model is demonstrably not working for Rooster Teeth. And to be clear, this is not me saying that people shouldn't have to pay for things. I've had a Rooster Teeth subscription since it was called a "sponsorship" and being a sponsor meant getting episodes of Red vs. Blue a thrilling two hours ahead of the general public! And I've been lucky, because for all these years Rooster Teeth has had a policy of letting longtime subscribers be grandfathered in at their original price, which means I've been paying about a third of what an annual subscription now costs. Recently it was also announced that the grandfather policy would be coming to an end. I'm in no way surprised or angry; I figured this would happen eventually, and I sure enjoyed this gravy train while it lasted! What I will probably do, once my current pay period runs out, is subscribe month-to-month only when there's something airing that I really care about. I'm not even sure if that's going to be RvB when season 18 rolls around. (But if they announce season 3 of Day 5 I will be there with bells on.)

Anyway the upshot of all of this is:

A Rooster Teeth FIRST membership ain't as cheap as it once was.

One free episode tends not to be enough to get people hooked on a new property unless it's kickflip bananas amazing.

With fewer people watching a new property as it airs, and short seasonal runs (Day 5 had six episodes per season; gen:LOCK premiered with eight), there just isn't enough buzz to create a hit on the level of RWBY.

Without that buzz, you don't get the kind of FOMO atmosphere that the FIRST delay creates. When RT first went to the one week gap between subscribers and the public, fans were largely upset, on the grounds that this would divide the fandom and make it difficult for non-subscribers to interact with the fandom on the same level, cutting them off from discussions and general hype around each new episode. And they were right—that was the point. That's why it worked.

Day 5 and gen:LOCK are good shows. There are valid criticisms of both, of course, and both are niche genres that won't be for everyone, but they're by no means bad products. RWBY's first volume, by contrast, was messy, poorly-paced, and looked unfinished. It had charm, absolutely, but it was objectively a bad product and the show still managed to draw a huge audience in its first three volumes—because anyone could watch it. But if you subscribed, you could watch it first, and you could be one of the first to comment on it, make gifsets, theorize and speculate. You wouldn't miss out.

I mean I fully understand why Rooster Teeth didn't want to make an expensive live-action show and give it away for free. I do get that. Same with an expensive polished animated series featuring big-name voice actors. And I'm as sad as anyone to see that those shows haven't grabbed the kind of audience RWBY has.

But something's not working here, and I think the modest reception of their two most-hyped subscribers-only shows plus this layoff makes that clear. I don't know what the answer is. I wish there were an easy answer. There probably isn't.

I really do hope Rooster Teeth survives as a studio and is able to keep making cool, creative stuff. I've had plenty of criticisms of RT and their properties over the years, but at the end of the day I'm still a fan who's pulling for them. The pattern of global media conglomerates swallowing up and disappearing small, independent, web-based content makers doesn't exactly bode well, and that's... well, that's late capitalism for you. Still, I do hope they hold out for a while.

At least long enough to get us a third season of Day 5.

#rooster teeth #sad news and some thoughts on it #i am pulling for them while trying to be realistic #it's a tough mood

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softmakoharus · 5 years

Text

makoharu fanfiction - catalyst

Summary: Haru wakes up on a Saturday morning, prepared to spend the day with Makoto like he usually does. It also happens to be Valentine's Day, and Haru is reminded of an important memory of the holiday from when he and Makoto were children. This fond memory, however, disrupts his entire plan for a normal Saturday. Haru tries to regain control of his feelings as he hurries to make chocolates for Makoto before he arrives. Words: 7129 Rating: General Additional tags: Fluff, Mutual Pining, First Kiss Link: AO3

In science, the chaos theory refers to the unpredictability of the universe. According to the phenomenon known as the butterfly effect, a butterfly can, inadvertently of course, cause a natural disaster, be it typhoon or tornado, thousands of kilometers away simply by flapping its wings.

It may sound improbable, but the idea is that even the smallest change in a system can have a huge impact. In essence, the future cannot be predicted.

Or at least that’s what it says on the 365 Days of Butterflies calendar sitting next to Haru’s bed. It's an unnecessary addition to his life, but it was a going-away present from Rei, so Haru makes sure to use it. Typically, the calendar just says different things about butterfly colorings and migration patterns. Today’s page leaves Haru uneasy.

He suddenly feels as though he’s at the mercy of the universe, specifically the brimstone butterfly of Central Europe. Everything is ultimately out of his control. And for someone who knowingly manages to avoid change as much as possible, the thought of such an inescapable instability is rather disconcerting, especially first thing in the morning.

Haru scoffs at himself, blaming his witless just-woken brain for the unnerving thoughts, and uncurls from his sleeping position. His limbs always require a good stretch in the morning, so he rolls onto his back and lifts his arms over his head, palms nearly touching the low ceiling of his loft, while flexing his feet to work his calf muscles. He relaxes and lets his arms rest naturally behind his head.

And then he waits for the alarm on his cell phone to go off, like it always does ten minutes after he wakes up. A predictable start to a predictable day, butterflies be damned.

He takes this time to run through today's routine in his head. It's Saturday, or as his teammates teasingly call it, Makoto Day. It didn't take them long to discover that inviting Haru out on Saturdays was useless because he always had plans with his childhood best friend. He knows they’re reading too much into it, but really, it wouldn’t be a big deal at all to tell Makoto not to come over; it’s just easier to let the pattern repeat. That’s all it is.

Like every Saturday, he'll go for a quick jog, not straying too far from his apartment building, followed by a shower, breakfast, and laundry. This weekend he has a little bit of homework to finish up, but other than that, he'll have plenty of time to relax until Makoto shows up for a late lunch.

Haru turns his head to the wall closest to him. Another needless calendar hangs there, another going-away present, this one from Nagisa. He’s not really sure what it is about him that makes people assume he needs or wants calendars, but the one from Coach Sasabe was wildly inappropriate and ended up in the trash.

This one, though, is quite nice to look at.

The pictures for each month are all interesting architectural pools from around the world. February displays a Singaporean hotel with its outdoor pool raised on top of the building. The photo itself is beautiful, the twilight sky glowing pink and orange; what could certainly be called terrifying instead looks warm and inviting. That's probably why Makoto, whom Haru thought would be scared of the daunting two-hundred-meter height, said it might be nice to go there. Haru was pleased by that revelation, for some reason or another.

The calendar also has markings on all of their birthdays and holidays—most of them real, but he supposes that National Send Nagisa a Cake Day is probably made up. It currently being February, Nagisa drew pointed teeth along the top border of the second day’s square to signify Rin’s birthday.

And then there's today, February 14th, with clichéd hearts surrounding a badly drawn winking face with its tongue sticking out. Haru centers in on the date. It's just a normal Saturday, he assures himself, trying not to think too deeply about why he needs the assurance.

Right on schedule, his phone starts its quiet steady beeping, drawing attention to Haru's increasingly irregular heartbeat. The reliability of his alarm, though, gives him an odd comfort. While most people abhor their alarms, Haru finds it relieving, a sign that everything is going as it should be, and his heartbeat slows to its normal pace.

He turns it on to shut it off and checks his messages. Sometimes Makoto will send him some random thought after Haru has already gone to sleep. This morning, though, his only missed messages are the four from Mrs. Tachibana.

His heart beats extra loud, just once, just to nudge him as if to say, "Hey, this isn't what you were expecting, is it?" He considers ignoring the message and asking Makoto about it later, but ultimately gives in, just in case she needs something important.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Nope, not important at all. He continues reading anyway.

Last week, Ran and Ren were really missing you and Makoto, so they wanted to look through some old photo albums. We came across these pictures of Makoto from Valentine’s Day when you boys were six years old and he made you chocolate. You might not even remember, but you were both very happy that day.

Haru recalls it immediately. He can clearly picture himself opening the front door to greet Makoto, who held a small white box filled with messy little chocolate cubes that were very obviously made without much interference from either parent.

For some reason, the white box is what stands out most in his mind.

Makoto drew all over it with markers for decoration and explained to Haru what all the poorly drawn symbols meant. “The hearts are because I love you,” he said as if it was the easiest most sensible thing to say. “And these are stars because we like to look at them at night. And this is us and we’re holding hands because that’s nice. And this is the sun because it’s what you said I remind you of!” Makoto smiled widest at that, Haru still remembers, blushing at the awareness that even now, Makoto still shines very brightly.

The whole idea of giving chocolate to Haru originated from their teacher at the time. She told the class that people used Valentine’s Day as an opportunity to give the confection to "those who were closest to their heart." And Makoto looked so happy when he told Haru, repeating it word for word, that he was that person.

Haru ate the chocolate without hesitation, even if it was too sweet. And that was the last time Makoto had given him any. The next year, the two of them found out that their teacher had neglected to mention to the class that it’s the girls who give the chocolate to the boys. As a result, Haru never gave him any chocolate, either. He’s briefly overcome with remorse for never getting to make Makoto as happy as he remembers being back then.

He scrolls up before the text message to see the three photos Mrs. Tachibana sent along, too: Makoto at the kitchen counter stirring a bowl of melted chocolate; Makoto holding the finished box; Haru accepting the box from Makoto, both of them with smiles on their faces.

Sudden chaos.

A storm swirls in Haru’s heart.

He thinks about Makoto, and his chest aches and rumbles with what he can only identify, somewhat reluctantly, as longing to be with him. It’s not the first time this has happened, and it’s not the first time he thinks, as a result, about how spoiled he was by their time in Iwatobi.

Before they came to university, he and Makoto saw each other nearly every day. He knew all he had to do was walk down the stairs and Makoto’s house would be there; Makoto himself was just as reliable, always by his side, well within reach. But now they’re forced apart, and for the first time, Haru knows what it feels like to really miss his best friend over and over, more and more with each passing week.

Even though they message each other every day, reading words on the screen can’t come close to Makoto’s presence. Sitting beside him, seeing his smile, hearing his thoughts about everything. When he’s with Makoto, he’s lying on the heated sand back in Iwatobi, arms resting at his side, a sunny day—always a sunny day—letting the warm waves wash over his legs up to his fingertips.

But if there’s one thing Haru knows he’s good at it, it’s suppressing his feelings about Makoto. He recognizes how precious he is to him, there’s no subduing something rooted so deeply in his core, but once it begins to go beyond that into something more explicit, the moment his heart swells and starts to overflow with emotion, the quick instant when he imagines telling Makoto how much he cares about him, he gets scared of his own thoughts and manages to ebb the flow before it can spill over into something tangible.

Right now, though, he’s having trouble escaping those thoughts. His heart is in turmoil, heavy with havoc, too heavy to get up and out of bed. He rolls over to go back to sleep, knowing it will be futile, that he’s only delaying that inevitable moment where he gives up trying to silence the voice in the back of his head telling him that Makoto would appreciate some Valentine’s Day chocolate.

For the time being, he’ll lie in bed and convince himself he can sleep it off. These feelings will subside, like they always do. Makoto will come over, like he always does. It will be the same as last week and every week before that. There’s no sense doing something as entirely excessive as buying him chocolate before he comes—or worse, making it for him. It’s the girls who give boys chocolate. It doesn’t matter what happened when they were kids.

Haru’s entire day has been thrown out of order, and he’s annoyed and angry but still completely in control of the situation and his emotions.

Or so he stubbornly wanted to believe.

Five hours later, the inevitable arrives.

Haru held out as long as he could but ultimately gave up, as time dangerously approached Makoto's scheduled arrival. He rushed to the store to buy some nice Valentine’s Day chocolate in hopes it would at least temporarily silence the storm in his heart. But then he saw the silicon mold of a dozen little fish and it made him smile, which of course made him imagine Makoto’s face lighting up, and he felt compelled beyond all reason to buy it.

And now, as Haru struggles to remove the hardened chocolate pieces from their fish-shaped molds, he panics. It’s a feeling he’s all too familiar with. That quickened heartbeat sounding loudly in his ears, a shuddering unsteady hand, lungs hung heavy with cement. Past memories of Makoto appear unwillingly, instances where he can still feel the fear of losing the person who means the most to him.

But despite those recollections that continue to throb painfully in his heart, a smile sneaks past Haru’s lips. For someone who has the ability to put his mind so effortlessly at ease, Makoto sure is good at making him worry.

“Idiot,” he mumbles under his breath, not sure if he’s talking about Makoto or himself.

He finally manages to get the second of the twelve fish loose and can’t help but admire his accomplishment. The chocolate is slightly glossy, and the etchings of the scales show up very visibly. He moves on to the next one, trying to be careful in completing this self-inflicted last-minute task while also hurrying to finish before Makoto arrives.

A rational person would probably tell Haru he’s overreacting, he realizes. It’s just chocolate, and Makoto is incredibly easy to please when it comes to his favorite food. That same person would probably ask why Haru’s even going to the trouble to make his best friend chocolates for Valentine’s Day.

Haru thinks that person needs to mind their own business.

At last, the final fish pops out of the mold. “There we go,” he says to himself, exhaling with relief. As he sets it inside the green tin to join the other perfectly formed chocolates, his phone buzzes. He unlocks the screen and smiles at Makoto’s two messages.

First: I just picked up the pizza, so I’ll see you soon!

Second: a picture of Makoto smiling, holding the pizza box up to his face, as though Haru needs proof that the pizza has in fact been acquired.

Easily one of the best things that happened since coming to Tokyo is Makoto’s ongoing obsession with taking pictures of everything and sharing them with Haru. Living apart and going to different schools, there’s a greater variety in the things they see on a daily basis compared to their lives in Iwatobi.

A small smile emerges as he saves the photo to the album completely dedicated to all the ones from Makoto, photos of cute cats and lovely sunsets and that one blurry photo of Makoto’s face that he accidentally sent and demanded Haru delete immediately.

The pizza place they occasionally visit is only about a five minute walk from Haru’s apartment, so that’s how much time he has to clean up and hide all the evidence of this ridiculous task. Luckily, he’s able to quickly wash and dry the dishes. Now he just has to figure out what to do with the box of chocolates. When should he give them? What should he say? How does he stop his face from flushing every time he thinks about it?

He decides to carry the tin out to the living area. His panic from before slowly transforms into a nervous energy as he realizes he’s finally about to repay Makoto for that chocolate all those years ago. What outcome are you expecting from this? he asks himself. Is it the same as the outcome you’re hoping for?

He’s not sure, or rather, Haru chooses to ignore the introspective question and busies himself with setting the tin on the table in a way that looks like he casually tossed it there. He sits down and tries to make himself look just as casually placed, but he’s suddenly aware of his hands and specifically what to do with them. He has forgotten how to do anything remotely casual, so it’s a startling relief when Makoto knocks lightly before opening the door and puts an end to his uncommon bout of clumsiness.

Makoto walks inside and smiles when he sees Haru. “Ah, it’s such a nice day. Warmer than I expected. I probably didn’t need my jacket, but I was already wearing it so I left it on,” he explains a little too thoroughly. He removes his overnight bag from his shoulder and sets it down in front of the door. “Did you go outside at all today?”

Of course I went out, Haru thinks. He had to rush to the store to buy chocolate and a mold that was innocuous enough that it wouldn’t be misinterpreted as romantic—even if it did happen to be the correct interpretation—and an ugly chartreuse tin that he’s sure is identical to the one his grandma used for recipe cards, but it was the first thing he saw and he didn’t have time to stand around contemplating various containers. “Mm, I went for a walk a little bit ago,” he lies without technically lying.

Makoto goes to the kitchen counter to set down the pizza box. “It smells good in here,” he remarks. He smiles, his eyes sneaking around to look for any evidence of sweets while his heart starts to beat faster. Surely Haru knows it’s Valentine’s Day. “Were you baking cookies or something?”

Haru stands up and makes his way to join Makoto and the pizza in the kitchen. “Why would I do that?” he answers a little too angrily, but he is angry at Makoto’s keen dog-like sense of smell. He grabs two plates and two glasses out of the cabinet and sets them down by the sink.

Makoto’s not sure why Haru’s upset by the question, but he doesn’t want to pry, so he simply unzips his jacket and smiles. “Got it. Maybe one of your neighbors then, or something.”

Haru watches Makoto’s face fall in disappointment and can practically see his poor puppy dog ears flatten against his head. Shit, maybe he should have baked cookies. At least then he could have played it off as being an unintentional Valentine’s Day gift. Chocolate is so painfully obvious. He wonders if it’s too late to fake being sick and send Makoto home.

But before Haru can give a feigned cough, Makoto takes off his jacket, and Haru doesn’t want to ever send him home because damn it, he’s wearing that navy flannel button-up that somehow makes his green eyes glow even brighter. It’s just a bit too tight across his chest, and Haru knows the brave button that’s doing its best to stay attached is fighting a losing battle, and he hopes he’s around to see its demise.

And then there’s that same heather gray shirt that Makoto always wears underneath, and damn it he mentioned that it’s warm outside, so there are probably light sweat marks across the back because Makoto’s back is always the first place to start sweating, and Haru hates himself for knowing that and not being able to do anything with the information except blush furiously.

While Makoto hangs up his jacket by the front door, Haru desperately distracts himself with their drinks, pouring water for himself and milk for Makoto. He hears Makoto walking back toward him, so Haru opens the fridge and moves things around for no other reason than to give himself a chance to bend over, because Makoto deserves some retaliation for wearing that shirt.

And maybe Makoto doesn’t notice, or worse doesn’t care, but Haru’s wearing his black joggers that are almost too fitted in the hips with a seam up the backside cut just right to really make his ass look good, and if someone were to suggest he wore them on purpose because Makoto was coming over today, he would never confess to such an absurd accusation.

“Haru, I’ll have milk if you—oh, you already poured me some. Thank—“ Makoto almost manages to finish his sentence until he gets to the kitchen and sees Haru in the fridge and completely forgets what words even are, let alone how to speak them.

He can’t help but notice Haru’s pants. They hug his body in all the right places, especially his butt, and even though he has seen Haru’s bare legs more times than he can possibly count, there’s something that he finds particularly alluring about them being covered up, knowing what’s under there but not being able to see it. And the best part about these particular pants is that they’re just thin and tight enough that sometimes Makoto can make out the faint outline from the hem on Haru’s boxer briefs along the top of his thigh, and thinking about it makes him want to shove the entire pizza in his mouth.

He manages to remain calm and opens the pizza box just as Haru finishes whatever it was he was doing and closes the fridge.

Haru stands next to Makoto and waits for him to finish piling up his plate. “Leave some for me,” he jokes.

Makoto laughs and grabs his fourth and final piece. “I’m hungry! I haven’t eaten all day.”

“Whose fault is that?” Haru shoots back. “Don’t make me starve because of your bad decisions.” He takes two slices for himself and follows Makoto to the small table, disappointed when they sit just barely too far apart for their knees to touch.

And Makoto won’t say it, but it is kind of Haru’s fault. When he woke up this morning, he opened his phone to find a message from his mom. He laughed fondly when he saw the attached images. As the story goes, on that Valentine’s Day when he was six years old, Makoto came to his mom holding the small glass jar filled with his life savings of approximately 750 yen. He looked up at her with big worrying eyes and asked, “Mommy, how much does chocolate cost?”

She assured him that he didn’t need to buy his own chocolate and offered him a piece from his dad’s supply in the cabinet above the sink.

“No, Mommy,” he replied. “I mean the special valentine chocolate. Is it very much?”

Makoto explained that wanted to buy the special valentine chocolate for Haru-chan. His mom told him she could help him make his own, because that would be even more meaningful. Some would probably say that he and Haru were too young back then to understand the implications of the chocolate exchange, but sometimes he thinks he understood his feelings better then than he does now.

And that’s when Makoto realized the weight of his heart, nearly bursting with every thought and feeling for Haru that he shoved in there over the years—his entire life, really—refusing to let them escape. He further realized that this would be the first Valentine’s Day they spent alone together. He even thought about bringing Haru chocolate, like he did that time when they were just little kids.

But things were easier then. The older he and Haru got, the more awkward it seemed to tell him things like I love you, even though he cared about him more deeply than anyone, himself included, could ever understand. And the more difficult it became to give him any sort of physical contact aside from offering his hand, even though he wanted to embrace him in a tight hug and never let go. But the thing that hurt the most was how much it ached to be apart from him. He thought it would get easier, that he would get used to the distance, but he never did.

He considers that he’s reading too much into things, but it seems to be the same for Haru. He was the one who first suggested that their Saturday evening hangouts begin a little earlier and end a little later, until it was just expected that Makoto would spend the night. It didn’t matter if Haru had early practice Sunday morning; Makoto would sleep in and wait for him to come back. If one of them was swamped with homework, that was fine, too; it was still better to be with each other. Listening to Haru’s voice, laughing along with his teasing, being completely unabashedly himself. When he’s with Haru, he’s lying in bed wrapped in the softest blanket, warm and comfortable and safe.

So when he woke up today and recalled that childhood memory, his body was heavy with emotion and expectations. He managed to somewhat divert his attention to deep cleaning his apartment, and before he could even calm down enough to eat anything, it was time to leave to pick up lunch.

And now here he is with Haru, together on Valentine’s Day, sharing that lunch. It only takes Makoto ten seconds to notice the green tin in front of him. It reminds him of a certain container that Haru’s grandma had, but he never recognized it here before, so it must be new. “What’s this?” Makoto asks, poking the tin to gauge how heavy its contents are.

Haru’s eye twitches; he knew Makoto would notice the gift sooner or later.

Panic, panic, panic. What if Makoto says he can’t accept the chocolate? What if he correctly assesses the situation but doesn’t feel the same? What if Haru really loses Makoto this time? The storm in his chest grows suddenly violent.

He wants to run away before giving Makoto the chance to do it, but he manages to respond. “Oh, that’s for you. If you want it. After lunch.” He speaks in short sentences to try and keep his voice from cracking.

Makoto doesn’t even know what it is, but his eyes and mouth go wide with excitement. Was Haru lying about the cookies earlier to keep it a surprise? He tries not to get his hopes up with speculation, so instead he eats as quickly as possible, trying not to make it seem too obvious.

He wipes off his hands and his mouth and then reaches for the tin, but Haru grabs it first.

“Oi, I’m still eating.” He holds it behind him out of Makoto’s reach.

“Haru,” Makoto whines.

“It’s nothing worth getting that excited over.”

“Then let me open it!”

Haru moves the tin to his lap. “After lunch.” He secretly hopes Makoto will refuse to comply and attempt to take it from him anyway. Then he’ll playfully grab Makoto’s big strong arms while Makoto gently pushes him to the ground. His heart beats faster, and he can almost hear it laughing at him for even thinking such things.

Makoto sighs, exaggerated, and says he understands. He wonders if it would be silly to try and grab the box, but he doesn’t want to disrupt Haru’s meal. Still, the thought of trying to wrestle it from him makes him feel suddenly warmer. The problem is, he already took off his jacket, and he can’t take off his shirt because he can feel the slightly wet fabric of his t-shirt clinging to his back, and the last thing he wants is for Haru to see something that unattractive.

He opts for rolling up the sleeves to at least let his skin breathe a little more. Flannel probably wasn’t the best choice for today, considering the temperature outside, but it just so happened to be the shirt he saw first when he opened his closet, and it's definitely not like he has purposely kept it at the front of his closet ever since that time Haru said he liked the color on him.

Haru looks up from his pizza and cannot even believe Makoto has the audacity to come into his home and expose his forearms like that, muscles tight against the rolled cuffs.

Makoto folds his arms on the table and tries to start a conversation while he waits for Haru to finish eating. “You know, the girl at the pizza place looked at me so pitifully when she handed me the food. She probably thought I was spending Valentine’s Day all alone without a date.”

It sounds to Haru like Makoto is implying that this is a date, but surely he’s misunderstanding. “That’s exactly what you’re doing, isn’t it?”

“That’s true.” So it’s definitely not a date, then. It was too much to hope Haru would call it that. “But I’m not alone.”

“You should have played it up more, and maybe she would have felt bad and given you our food for free.”

Makoto brings his hand to his chin and thoughtfully considers. “Well, she did look like she wanted to give me a hug. Maybe I should have let her.” He watches Haru for a reaction and swears he can see him clench his jaw.

Haru takes another bite of his final slice of pizza but has found he lost his appetite. He stacks his plate on top of Makoto’s and hands over the box as promised. It’s best to just get it over with, lest he lose Makoto to some pizza girl who would take pity on his broken heart.

Makoto quickly pulls off the lid and identifies the chocolates as unmistakably handmade. His face drops when he realizes what they mean. “Oh, did someone give you these?” He smiles, hurt but trying to pretend like he’s not. He wonders who it was. A girl from class? A girl from the swim team? A random girl he met earlier today on his walk who has everything in common with Haru and was also carrying a tin of chocolate just in case she suddenly met the man of her dreams by happenstance?

Haru’s chest tightens at the thought of giving Makoto secondhand chocolate, and he almost calls him out for even thinking he’d be that insensitive. “No, Makoto, they’re for you. I made them for you.” He speaks as seriously as he can so there’s no more confusion about where the gift came from, and his face blushes as further proof.

He keeps his composure even though his insides are screaming and dying and also on fire somehow. Probably not literally on fire, although he thinks it’s likely his face is going to burst into flames at any moment from embarrassment.

I made you Valentine’s Day chocolate, he’s saying. It’s a coward’s confession, because he’s not really confessing. He’s just putting words out there and leaving Makoto to interpret them however he wants.

And he hopes he interprets them how he intends. Maybe that’s not fair, but it’s what he hopes. It may look like chocolate, but Haru feels like he wrapped up his heart and placed it in that tin.

Makoto thinks he’s an idiot for jumping to conclusions. Of course Haru would never give him a gift that someone else gave him. It just seemed out of the realm of possibilities that Haru would purposely make chocolate, specially for him, on today of all days.

He’s overcome with gratitude and looks up to meet Haru’s eyes, staring deeply into them just for a moment before speaking. “Haru… thank you.” He marvels at the cute little chocolate fish, trusting that they don’t contain any actual fish flavor. “They’re almost too nice to eat!” All of his feelings come together to yell at him that his best friend just gave him handmade Valentine’s Day chocolate. He takes a piece and swallows his feelings along with it, trying to keep them from jumping to more conclusions. “It’s really good! You put caramel in the center? Amazing…”

“It was easy. I’m glad you like them.” And he is glad Makoto likes them, but for all he knows, Makoto is just happy for his friendship chocolate and so happy to be Haru’s friend and happy they can be together today as friends, and Haru has never hated the word friend as vehemently as he does right at this moment.

Makoto picks up another piece and holds it up. “Do you want to try one?” He smiles as he moves it closer to Haru’s mouth. “Here!” The exhilaration of the action incites the acceleration of his heartbeat. But Haru didn’t leave him any other choice. He can’t figure out what he wants, so Makoto just needs to push him a little to see how he reacts.

Haru’s still not sure if Makoto is just being his same naïve self or if he’s ruthlessly acting on emotions that Haru wants to believe he feels because he can no longer deny that he himself feels them, too. He opens his mouth and lightly flicks his tongue over the tip of Makoto’s finger as he accepts the chocolate. It tastes salty almost, as though his hands are sweaty. It’s unusual. Even after swimming, his hands are always warm and dry. Could he be nervous?

Makoto watches Haru eat the chocolate, and he can’t stop himself from staring at his lips. He tightens his hands into fists, finally finding the fortitude to ask permission to kiss him. He hesitates just once, just to make sure he's ready, and recounts the entire day: his own feelings, the chocolate gift, the way Haru's looking at him right now, the fact that he definitely just licked Makoto's finger.

It’s not just his imagination that Haru will reciprocate his feelings. There’s no way. “Haru…” he starts.

Makoto’s heartbeat thumps loudly in his ears, so deafening that he almost doesn’t hear his phone chime to tell him he has a message. He and Haru both jump, startled, as the tension around them breaks into a billion tiny worthless pieces. Haru wants to pick up the phone and throw it against the wall and leave it just as worthless, but he doesn’t think Makoto will appreciate that.

Before Haru can see whom the message is from or what it says, Makoto grabs the phone. However, Haru does manage to notice the pink heart emoji. It’s a big heart with a smaller heart next to it, and he can’t even fathom what it means exactly, but it is a heart and there’s really only one reason to use that. No one says innocent things like, "Did you finish the worksheet yet?" followed by a heart emoji.

A smile spreads slowly across Makoto's face, which is usually the best sight Haru has ever seen, but right now he feels rejected before he even got to tell Makoto how much he means to him, how much he’s always meant to him, and how desperately he wants to kiss him. The message probably says something like, "I hope you enjoyed the chocolate I made for you!" because of course Makoto probably got chocolate already, better chocolate, imported from Switzerland and not shaped like stupid fish.

Makoto returns his phone to the table and glances at Haru; he looks irritated. Is it because the text interrupted the moment they were sharing? Or does he think it’s from someone he’s prepared to fight to win Makoto’s love? Makoto blushes at the thought and thinks it’s best to clarify. “That was just a mass text. Check your phone. You probably got it, too.”

Haru furrows his brow in confusion, but he does as he’s told and pulls out his phone. Sure enough, there’s a single missed message.

Thinking of you today, Valentine!!

It’s from an unknown number, which can only mean one thing. He rolls his eyes and looks at Makoto. “Ki—?”

Before even a second syllable from Kisumi’s cursed name leaves his mouth, Haru is able to stop himself. He’s aware of the terrible timing and what it would sound like he’s saying to Makoto. This wouldn’t be the first time his name caused such awkward confusion, and he bets it’s something that brings Kisumi unmitigated glee. Haru absolutely wants to kiss Makoto more than anything right now, but he won’t give Kisumi the satisfaction of being responsible for it.

And then he notices Makoto staring at his mouth. Haru realizes how dry his lips feel and absentmindedly licks them.

“Do you want me to?” Makoto asks quietly, blush appearing across his cheeks. And because he doesn't want Haru to assume he's only asking because of something as frivolous as Kisumi's name, he clarifies, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. "I was about to ask you, before... that. So, do you want me to?"

Haru doesn’t know how to respond because he still doesn’t believe this is real. “Want you to what?” He regrets his response immediately, certain that his hesitation is going to scare Makoto away.

Luckily for Haru, all of Makoto’s doubt has dissolved into determination. He smiles, sitting up on his knees to scoot closer until they lightly touch Haru’s leg. “Do you want me to kiss you?” He smiles faintly and stares into Haru’s eyes. He can tell Haru’s not sure, that he’s probably struggling in the same way Makoto has been, and that gives him hope. He hasn’t said no yet. “Haru, please. I can’t do it unless I know it’s ok. Otherwise I would have done it already, a long time ago.”

Haru can’t remember the last time he blinked or breathed, and his heart is vibrating so fast it must be humming inside his chest. There’s a full-fledged hurricane raging inside of him, dangerous and turbulent, and he wants to scream over the noise and tell Makoto to just kiss him already, but he can’t speak the words. He manages to drop his chin, once and then twice—the best nod he can give. He starts to close his eyes just as Makoto leans forward to place their lips together.

And instantly, the storm inside of him comes to an end.

The clouds clear, making way for the sun. And it shines incredibly, giving light to every bit of love and adoration he feels for Makoto. It’s an overwhelming sensation, like he’s been holding his breath his entire life and is finally exhaling for the first time. But before he can thoroughly enjoy the kiss, Makoto pulls away.

Haru opens his eyes to see Makoto’s beautiful blushing face and can’t help but ask, “Is… is that it?” It comes out much ruder than he intends.

Makoto stutters in embarrassment, unable to form any real words, and covers his face with both of his hands before burying it in Haru’s chest. He lets out a muffled apology. Haru laughs all the tension out of his body and puts his hand in Makoto’s soft, fluffy hair.

“Don’t apologize. I just… wanted to kiss you longer, that’s all.” Haru supposes it’s fine to say embarrassing things now. He supposes they’re going to be saying a lot of embarrassing things to each other from this point on.

Makoto nuzzles against his chest and Haru swears he really is just like a big puppy, his imaginary tail starting to wag again. Makoto leans back from Haru’s chest and smiles, face still bright red, before leaning in for another kiss. Haru moves his hand down to the nape of Makoto’s neck, rubbing it gently with his thumb. Makoto finds his other hand, sliding his own fingers between Haru’s and sliding his tongue past Haru’s slightly parted lips.

They open their mouths just a little at first, then wider, their tongues meeting naturally between them, soft and slick and tasting of chocolate. Even if they hadn’t been indulging minutes before, Haru thinks Makoto would still taste just as sweet.

Haru lets Makoto take the lead, doing his best to match his movements and follow his pace. His heart beats so fast he thinks it must have stopped, like time itself has stopped around them, and he can’t contain his voice when Makoto puts his other hand on Haru’s waist and around his back, eliciting the smallest most involuntary moan from the back of Haru’s throat.

They allow their tongues to try and figure things out a little bit longer before separating their mouths, letting their foreheads rest against each other for a moment, breathing heavily. Makoto plants a light kiss on the side of Haru’s neck and leans forward into his chest again in total embarrassment.

Haru can’t contain his laughter; Makoto is so adorable and he feels ok thinking that. “Are you going to do that every time we kiss?” And then, because he wants to know how it feels to say it, “It’s adorable, you know.” He laughs softly and speaks in a whisper. “You’re adorable.”

Makoto blushes at Haru’s words and the thought that they will kiss again, of course they will. They can kiss each other any time they want to. And he thinks it’s going to be hard to stop himself from doing it all the time. He laughs along with Haru and wraps his arms around him.

Haru reaches forward to grab Makoto’s phone off the table. He holds it out in front of them and tells Makoto to turn around so they can take a picture together. Makoto is surprised, but he loves that idea so he doesn’t argue. He rests his head against Haru’s chest and keeps his arms wrapped around him while looking into the camera.

Haru snaps the photo and is in awe of how cute they look together, both of them quite obviously embarrassed but smiling, happy. Haru will have to remember to send himself that photo later. But first, he starts typing.

Makoto laughs, peeking over the screen. “What are you doing?”

He watches as Haru sends the picture to Kisumi, with a follow-up text.

He’s my Valentine, not yours.

He finds that same heart emoji Kisumi used and inserts it three times at the end of the sentence, just to mock him.

Makoto laughs even louder. “He’s going to send that to everyone, you know!”

Haru shrugs and leans back to lie on the floor, folding his hands over his stomach. “Good. It saves us the trouble of having to tell them ourselves.”

Makoto lies down on his side next to him, bending his arm to prop his head up on his hand. “That’s true. Do you think anyone will be surprised?”

“They’ll probably say things like, ‘Oh, it’s about time.’” And Haru smiles because he thinks the same. He’s a little irritated with himself for taking this long to finally confront his feelings, but there’s no point in being upset about the past. Whether they started years ago makes no difference now. He couldn’t be happier in this moment.

Makoto clears his throat. “You know what would be nice? If we could make cookies tomorrow.”

Haru sits up and turns back to glare at him. “I worked hard on that chocolate!”

“I know and I love it! But it really did smell like cookies when I walked in!” He laughs, watching Haru try to hold back a smile. “I can’t stop thinking about them.”

Haru resumes his position lying on his back next to Makoto and smiles. “Of course we can do that.”

Makoto places his hand over Haru’s, dropping his other arm so his head can fall right next to him. “It’s funny, isn’t it?” he asks.

“Hm?”

“After all these years, you’re still the one who’s closest to my heart, Haru-chan.”

Haru blushes and leans over to kiss Makoto’s forehead. He’s right; they’ve been connected to each other from the beginning, as far back as either of them can remember. The bond between them is unbreakable, and Haru knows that it will keep them together for the rest of their lives.

Just hours ago, Haru thought that today would be a day like any other day. But as it turns out, even a small catalyst can spark large consequences. He thinks he has found a new appreciation for the unexpected, and maybe it's all right not to have control over everything.

Makoto shifts onto his back, and Haru slides closer to move his head against his shoulder. Their hands find each other easily between them, fingers interlacing while they stare at the ceiling, taking a much needed moment to process the day's events. Haru allows his heart to gently overflow, warming his insides, as those familiar waves float over the both of them.

#free!#makoharu #omg i forgot how long this one is #for me anyway lol #my posts #valentine's day #kelly's makoharu fics

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askblog-with-the-vampire · 5 years

Note

Hi Louis! I haven't sent anything in a while so I just wanted to pop by. Not much has been going on with me. Went to see a few movies (Endgame mostly and a scary one with my best friend). Oh! A cat has showed up and hasn't left our porch so I guess I have a new cat now. I'm excited for summer to get here. Do you like summer? I would think it's a bit less fun for you since there's so much daylight?

Endgame! I saw Endgame as well. Lestat and I keep time in cultural events like that. Elections, movie premieres, album and collection drops. We love them. I thought the movie itself was rather glacially paced and poorly written, but there were a group of amazing women in our theater when we saw it who were dressed as the avengers, plus Loki, in beautiful formalwear. It was terribly creative. Human creativity like that is so inspiring to me. It reminds me why you're all such wonderful creatures.

And congratulations on the cat. That's your cat now. That's how cats happen. You don't plan for them, they just show up in your life, and then you fall in love and keep them. (Except for Gabrielle's tiger. She intentionally went out and adopted a tiger.) Paul and Beatrice say hi!

(That's Lestat's messy vanity. You can tell because he still uses an obscene amount of aquanet and also has thrown all his things EVERYWHERE claiming he has nothing to wear.)

And I actually love summer. The shorter days are a trade off I'm perfectly willing to make for the glorious privilege of basking in real. Actual. Heat. Not this "Oh its 60 degrees out! Isn't it nice?" stuff that these northerners call heat. No. 60 degrees is not nice. Its brisk. And I still need a coat. I mean true 99 degrees and muggy heat. Swamp heat. Plantation heat. The heat I grew up in and reveled in. Lestat will tell you that vampires dont feel the cold....that is a LIE. He is just a provencal Frenchman who LIKES the snow. I feel the cold. I hate the cold. Thank God for summer. Shorter hours are worth it because the quality of those hours are vastly improved.

It was good to hear from you, dear friend. Stop by again soon.

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squadlessgeek · 6 years

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"I thought I loved you, but I guess I was wrong"

heeeeeeeeccccccckkkkk, coming right up my dude

Title: I Was Wrong

Summary: Deceit and Virgil angst, post Accepting Anxiety and Can Lying Be Good. The more time Virgil spends with the “light” sides, the more he realizes his worth and how poorly the “dark” sides—especially one in particular—treated him. Deceit just does his thing.

Warnings: Deceit (fanon Deceit is a warning in and of himself tbh), abuse, negative self-talk sorta, cursing, terrible portrayal of Deceit UGH im sorry

Word count: 2172

Pairings: past Virgil / Deceit (Anxceit ?? is that what it’s called?), maybe LAMP if you wanna read into that?, Moxiety at the end

Tag List: @monikastec @persepinecone @horsesquid @sassy-and-messy (let me know if you’d like to be added!)

In most instances, he came at night. Just like Virgil did with Thomas so often, keeping him from sleep, worrying him about anything and everything he could think of. The irony was cruel; Virgil couldn’t help but feel like he deserved it.

At night, when the mind is at its weakest, when anxiety is at an all time high, when lies are easy to believe, when questionable decisions are made.

Deceit could be present without actually, physically being present. He could whisper to the mind, whether the whispers were sweet or sinister. And at night, with no distractions or reassurance that lies were, in fact, lies, he was at his strongest.

Virgil never tossed or turned, but instead he laid in bed, on his back, staring up at the ceiling fan slowly turning above him. He was used to this; the lack of sleep, the heavy eyelids, the racing mind that refused to shut down and just rest already. There was no doubt that, even if he did manage to get some sort of sleep, come morning he would still be exhausted, still visibly weary, still a stick in the mud, boring, gloomy, downer, annoying, worthless, worthless, worthless.

The motions of the ceiling fan were beginning to make him dizzy, and a dread settled in his stomach that he knew wasn’t just nausea. Virgil closed his eyes and attempted his usual breathing exercise, shooing the thoughts away to the best of his ability. He repeated to himself a short mantra that Patton had taught him, that usually helped at least a little bit in situations like this.

I am capable. I know who I am and I am enough. I am whole, healthy, and strong. I am deserving and worthy of all good things. I know the people in my life truly care about me, and I care about them too. I am capable. I am enough.

He repeated it to himself a few times over, the phrases memorized now due to how often he had to use them. But his heart continued to beat at a pace that was entirely unnecessary, his mind continued to reel, and he could no longer keep up the regular breathing.

I am capable. I am enough. I am capable. I am enough. I am capable. I am—

You are

Worthless.

He sat up suddenly, pressing his palms to his face and breathing in sharply through his nose. Not tonight. Please, not tonight. Before tears could begin to form, he threw the covers off and stood from the bed, arms wrapped protectively around his middle. In bare feet, he left his room as quietly as possible and tiptoed down to the kitchen, all while the thoughts persisted.

Waste of space. Waste of time. Waste of air.

With shaking hands, Virgil opened a cupboard and reached for a glass. Water, he just needed water, it’d be fine, it’ll be fine. His hands were slick with sweat, unstable, and the glass slipped from his grip as he pulled it from the cupboard. Despite his efforts to catch it, it bounced off his fingers and hit the ground with a loud shatter. He instinctively jumped back from the broken glass, hissing, “Shit!”

He pulled at his hair, gritting his teeth, hoping that no one heard, hoping that no one else was awake to see him like this. The last thing the others needed was another one of his stupid dilemmas, something they’d already worked through. It was pathetic, that even with the daily reminders from his friends about his importance, his purpose, how much they really cared, he still felt like this. He still struggled with his own worth, he couldn’t even manage to sleep right, he couldn’t even hold a cup without screwing everything up.

It was pathetic.

You are pathetic. You are worthless.

“I know!” He whisper-shouted, sucking in a sharp breath as the tears began to fall. He sunk to the ground, dangerously close to the shards of glass, but he didn’t care. He sat with his back against the counter, legs tucked underneath him, all energy leaving his body.

His eyes were closed, but he could feel him there, hear the tapping of his shoes and the shuffling of his obnoxiously hideous clothing as he crouched in front of Virgil, crushing the glass further beneath his feet.

“Go away,” Virgil managed, his voice wavering, thick with grief. I can’t take this anymore.

Deceit laughed under his breath, quiet and yet chilling to Virgil’s core. He kept his eyes shut tight, jaw clenched.

“Refusing to look at me won’t do you any good, dear, you know this.”

A lie. All he does is lie. Everything he says is a lie. Virgil shook his head, resisting the urge to look. He treated Deceit’s unwanted visits like he would a bad dream. Look away, refuse to give it any power, it can’t hurt you unless you let it. A soft hum, and then Virgil felt gloved fingers gripping his chin. His eyes shot open to their own accord, his heart pounding so quickly that it was almost painful in his chest. He froze, caught like a deer in the headlights, though instead of headlights it was a pair of eyes that weren’t really a pair at all. Mismatched. One eye of a human, one eye of a snake. His breath shook, terror filled him from his fingertips to his toes. He had to remind himself, over and over again, they’re all lies.

He’d imagined scenarios like this, in which he would confront Deceit, or one of the other “dark sides” (as Roman called them). Tell him to shove his lies somewhere not so pretty, maybe even deck him for old time’s sake. But when it came down to the real thing, Virgil was frozen, trapped. Cowardly. Pathetic. Worthless. He couldn’t even protect himself from the lies, how could he expect himself to protect any of the others? To protect Thomas?

“Look at you. I’ve always thought you were quite pretty when you cry,” Deceit cooed, leaning in much too close for comfort. Virgil tried to turn his head away but the other side’s grip tightened and he hissed with pain, instead directing his eyes anywhere but at the snake before him.

“Stop it,” he breathed. “You can’t do this anymore.”

“Oh, but I can. What did you expect, that I would simply cease to exist once you left? Hm? That I would just give up on you? You are much too important to me for that, my little storm cloud.”

“Bullshit,” Virgil hissed, showing a bit of courage that he didn’t think he actually had.

Deceit ignored his accusation and tried to meet the other’s eyes, growing visibly frustrated when he didn’t get what he wanted. He let go of Virgil’s chin and clicked his tongue, leaning back. He picked up one of the larger shards of glass and turned it over between two fingers as he spoke.

“What do you hope to gain from them?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. A half-smile settled onto his lips at the confused, hurt, scared look in Virgil’s eyes.

“Not everyone develops relationships with people just to gain something from them,” he said through clenched teeth. He could handle being told that he was worthless, he could deal with being used over and over again, but as soon as Deceit spoke badly about his new friends, his new family, Virgil grew defensive. Protective.

“They don’t actually care about you, dear. You must know that.”

“What, and you did?” he spat back, fists clenched at his sides.

That seemed to take Deceit by surprise. He tilted his head to the side and pursed his lips, setting the shard of glass down on the tile beside one of Virgil’s hands. Virgil pulled his fingers away from it and flicked his gaze towards Deceit, unsure of what he was planning on saying or doing. Part of him wanted to regret talking back, maybe it would just be better if he sat there and took it, just listened and nodded along obediently, it sure seemed to work enough for Deceit in the past, it could work again now. But as the snake moved closer once again, the angry fire rose in Virgil’s chest. Being this close to him again disgusted Virgil, made him want more than anything to crawl into a hole and decay. Or maybe push Deceit into a hole to decay. That sounded wonderful.

“Anxiety—”

“That isn’t my name, and you know it—”

“Of course I care about you,” the man insisted, ignoring the other’s words, pulling Virgil away from his thoughts. The gloved fingers returned to his face, this time tapping one by one against his cheek.

Virgil swatted them away before he could second-guess himself, muttering, “No.”

“No?”

“No. You don’t. You never did.” Virgil grew more and more defiant, now leaning forward instead of recoiling, jabbing an accusatory finger at Deceit’s chest. It was the snake’s turn to recoil, to have a deer-in-the-headlights sort of expression, though he quickly hid his shock with a sly smirk. “You said you— you loved me, but that—… that was another lie. It wasn’t true, any of it, and it still isn’t.” Virgil sucked in a stabilizing breath and forced himself to keep going, rising to his feet and looking down on Deceit. He was no longer in control. Virgil refused to give him any power. “This, what you do, it isn’t love. What the others do, that’s love. I thought I loved you, but I guess I was wrong, because what I feel when I’m around Patton and Roman and Logan is nothing compared to what I feel when I’m around you. You make me afraid, you heighten my anxiety, you tear me down piece by piece until I’m just a little fucking plaything for you to toy with. Well I’m done, alright?!” He clenched his fists and pressed them to his shut eyes, keeping his jaw tight and refusing to let anymore tears slip out. “I’m done.”

Silence.

All he could hear was his own ragged breathing, but he didn’t dare open his eyes to see if Deceit had gone. He didn’t dare open his eyes to see if it was all a dream, or if he was in for the emotional manipulation of a lifetime, or if anything. He just stood there like that, for what felt like hours, breathing, breathing. No thoughts of self deprecation intruded on his breathing. He was hesitant to take that as a good sign.

“Virgil?”

He jerked, moving his hands from his face and looking with wide eyes to see who had spoken. Patton stood, barefoot and in his cat hoodie and pajama shorts, in the entrance to the kitchen. Last time, there were several indications that gave away Deceit’s disguise; the return to an old sweater that Patton had abandoned, the sudden and intrusive entrances rather than Patton’s usual giddy and (sometimes) well-timed ones, the blatant disregard for the discomfort of others. Unless Deceit was getting better at mimicking the soft concern in the moral side’s voice, the tired confusion in his eyes, or even the wardrobe choices, this was Patton, really Patton. There were no telltale signs that may have convinced Virgil of otherwise.

The anxious side breathed a sigh of relief, letting himself relax. Just as he was about to greet Patton, though, maybe give him a reason for his being up so late, Patton’s eyes were drawn to the tile in front of Virgil’s feet. He gasped and entered the kitchen carefully, kneeling down beside the glass to begin delicately picking up the bigger shards. Virgil returned to the floor as well and helped the best he could. The two threw away everything they could pick up, and then Patton finished up the rest with a small dustpan.

Once all the glass was gone, Virgil was ready to head back to bed without another word, but Patton’s worried touch on his shoulder stopped him.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” the moral side said, a sad smile on his lips. “But it isn’t hard to tell when… well, when someone or something is bothering you.” He scratched at the back of his neck while Virgil blatantly avoided meeting his eyes. “But hey, we’ve got you, kiddo, alright? Don’t forget that. What are you?”

Virgil looked up, confused by the question. “What?”

“What are you? Remember? I am capable. I know who I am and—”

“I am enough,” they said together, Patton giving Virgil a beaming smile as they finished the mantra.

“There. See? It’s true, all of it.”

“Yeah,” Virgil sighed, grateful for the reminder of what was truth and what wasn’t. “Thanks, Pat.”

“You’re welcome, kiddo. Come on.” Hand in hand, the two returned upstairs, stopping outside of Virgil’s bedroom. Patton pulled him into a tight, warm embrace, whispering “Lies are just that, Virgil; lies,” before they parted ways and Virgil finally got the rest he so desperately needed.

Lies are just that.

Lies.

#heck dude #angst #my writing #cursing #long post #fic #prompt #anxceit #abuse /#bad characterization ugghhhh #im sorry lmao #deceit #virgil #patton #moxiety

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thoughts-on-musicals · 6 years

Text

The SpongeBob musical

Before I started to even listen to this I had the worst expectations, and those low expectations weren't even met. The SpongeBob musical isn't nearly beyond words, but the words that do stick out to me whenever I think of it is uncreative, confused, and boring. I heard one of the songs for the first time a few months ago and hated it from the get-go. This was a bad idea and I knew it. I saw it was nominated for Tony and was very disappointed. And the second song I heard from it was at the Tony's. I was less than thrilled. I decided I can't have a proper negative opinion about something before I've listened to it. So without seeing the stage show, I'm giving my review on the SpongeBob musical. I do acknowledge that some people really like this, and if you do, please enlighten me on the aspects that make you such a big fan, because I think there's only one song I "like" in the whole musical. Nonetheless, I went through this catastrophe and reviewed song by song, what I kinda liked and what I didn't. So without further Ado, my review of the SpongeBob musical. (I feel like that one sentence made more sense of the show. )

Here's a quick synopsis. So SpongeBob is having a nice day in Bikini Bottom, going to work etc. He meets all his friends along the way and themes the discovery of volcano is going to happen and that everyone is going to die if they don't fix it. So they stop the volcano and everything is happy. The end. Fun story right? (I thought it was stupid, frankly? So volcanos erupt underwater, I know that, but wouldn't the water immediately cool the lava down? That's how islands are made? The sea creatures shouldn't have a fear of lava, more of getting boiled alive. They could just... Swim away, but that's... Kinda addressed in the musical? Anyway. Onto it. )

"Prologue"

I really did forget the announcer was French. Kudos to them for finding a fake French accent.

"Bikini Bottom day"

So the singers in this musical aren't bad. I genuinely like all of the actors' voices. I think they're all very talented, but the stupid cartoon voices they put on made my head hurt. The rhymes are uncreative a messy. Lyrics Always balance the thin, thin line of being creative or random. SpongeBob the musical bounces back and forth between either, and the good creative parts are few and far between. The uncreative Rhymes are accompanied with an uncreative score. This song did make me laugh once or twice though. Good for that. I got some enjoyment. I do wish they could have spiced things up more in this first number. Like SpongeBob having the Bikini Bottom day little theme. What would have made it a little better for me is if the characters all had themes? Like Patrick has some Bongos in a cute little rhythm, maybe Squidward has some classical music nods, they did Sandy good with the banjo, which I liked. I wish they did more of that through the whole thing? I think it would make it better. We see excellent examples of those types of things in some amazing musicals like Les Miserables, Wicked, Into the Woods, Company, and more!! Anyway. It's excited poorly. Plankton and Squidward's voice is super, though. Like WOW. I do hate how Mr. Crabs has... Such a light voice. I wish they got a deeper one, honestly. It really sets the tone of a money grabbing crab man FOR SURE! I really cannot get over Squidward’s voice WOW. He’s too good for this musical. I give it this- it can be kinda fun. I see it too. Plankton’s voice is good too, but. He works pretty good as a bad guy. Can I have Spongebob’s little monologue on a plaque? This is way, way too silly. And apparently, the sun shines down, because they say it ten times, but I digress.

“ No Control “

Honestly, I kinda like this one. Like, it's nice. I like how menacing it is. Like, the protagonists' parts, and that’s the parts I don’t really like. PLANKTON IS SO GOOD THOUGH! The little rounds at the end are something I dig too. I do think that its a good set up for the main plot too. I also like the no control emphasis it has. I didn’t know that this musical was smart enough to do that. I just really like this song, though. That’s going to be a first and last.

“BFF”

It sounds like a song that a camp leader would make that all this four-year-olds want to shoot themselves over. The talent is good, though. Got good singers. I do think it’s not very creative. This song can’t get more repetitive. That is also a common theme for this musical. Repeating things so you get bored enough to listen to the poorly crafted different parts. It makes you think the differences are important and interesting when it’s just the opposite. I feel like this musical is treating me like I don’t know anything. I know this was most likely aimed at children, but kids have brains and can listen to a good musical. This song is just stupid. Again, an occurring thing

“When the Going Gets Tough “

Plankton rapping makes me laugh. The first time I listened to this was at 3am and I was laughing like an idiot when this came on. It was insane. I didn’t see it coming. That’s another thing. This musical doesn’t know what I want to be. It has so many different things. It’s trying to be diverse and has an interesting score, but I feel like it should have a coherent theme. Like I said about “Bikini Bottom Day”. There should be themes to tie things together. It’s weird how they try and give up at the same time. I’d love to be a fly on the wall in the writing room to see what was going on all these peoples’ who wrote this minds, But I do like this song. I REALLY LIKE IT. But the “It’s time to get lost” part is bad. they should have thought about that a little more. These things rapping unironically is good though wow.

“ [Just a] Simple Sponge “

I like the guitar riff. I can tell in the first five seconds I know this song is so stupid. Chorus you’re about to hear a trillion times. The score is OK? It sounds nothing like the rest of the musical. (Ahem. have a solid theme ahem). This is really stupid and not good. Jesus Christ. It’s the least motivational motivation song I’ve ever heard. RAP AGAIN THAT WAS GOOD AND WOULD FIT TALKING AROUND HIS FRIENDS AND TIE INNN THE MUUUUSICCCCAAAALLLLLLL!

“ Daddy Knows Best “

This was the first song I heard before I actually sat down and listened to the soundtrack. I hate the song, but the tune is way too catchy. I was looking through the youtube comments while I was listening to this and the second one was “ the shit dad trope meets the capitalist agenda “ and I thought it summed up the song. also boring. It’s uncreative lyric wise and score-wise. I want it to get 0.5 seconds faster every time it says money.

“ Hero is My Middle Name “

It’s pretty upbeat, but it needs to be more hopeful score-wise. Sandy is amazing though. Her voice and her jokes. Talent is amazing in here, REALLY! I do love the voices! The chorus is annoyingly repetitive. I want more energy to this. It’s too slow paced, but it’s an okay song.

“Super Sea Star Savior”

This sounds like a gospel chorus, which I think they’re trying to go for? I guess Patrick is Jesus? The beat is... okay? It feels very generic. I expected more from this musical this “diverse”. This is another pointless song that doesn’t really advance the plot. The talking voice of Patrick is different than the singing one, that really bothers me. Don’t like it.

“Tomorrow Is”

I’m kinda ready for the musical to be over after that song, maybe one more song and then it being over. Too bad that it seems we’ve not really even gotten into act two yet. This sounds like an end of act one song. If this weren’t about SpongeBob, it might be a bit better and worse. I don’t like how ambiguously “I only have tomorrow to succeed “ thing the first verse is. Squidward is singing in the second verse and I more than love his voice. I haven't seen any of the actual stage play, and do not intend to, but I like to think Squidward is having a little epic about himself trying to be a famous clarinet player, but it not working out. PLANKTON IS BACK I LOVE. It’s too happy. It's supposed to be more depressing, come on. I thought the music was going to change for a second, but it’s just that same tune over and over and over. I like this nice, little, last part, though.

“Poor Pirates”

Okay, I love this song. it’s good and amazing and has no flaw. I’m assuming that this is the beginning of act two! it’s halfway done!! I do like how self where this thing is. It’s a good catchy and I wish the rest of the musical had this theme. It’s funny and clever and a good thing to listen to and kinda stupid, like SpongeBob. it’s good and I want the musical to be like this.

“Bikini Bottom Boogie”

I hate this song. the little electric guitar is fine and kinda cool to listen too, but really. Didn’t the Plain White T’s write this? Where’s David Hasselhoff? That was the good part about the first SpongeBob movie. I don’t want to talk about the rest of them. it’s stupid and repetitive in the wrong ways and doesn't match the rest of the musical. Diverse, not randomness. COME ON PEOPLE.

“Chop to the Top”

Sandy is my baby. I lover her. I remember this chorus was annoying, and it is. I like that usually when Sandy sings there’s a banjo. It’s good, that’s one of the only things I like about this song. I don’t like how literal it is with how scared SpongeBob was climbing up the mountain. This thing has no subtly.

“[I Guess I] Miss You”

Is the little SpongeBob Patrick makeup. This song is annoying. I hate the pacing and the words and everything. this song really reminds me of the Bully Sized Hole song in Phineas and Ferb song. It’s stupid and can’t end too soon.

“I’m Not a Loser”

This was one of the first songs that I heard from the Tony’s and I don’t like it at all. I’m just going to skip this one because I don’t want to mess up the amazingness of Gavin Lee’s voice.

“Best Day Ever”

Okay, I think this is the song from the first movie, but Tom Kenny isn’t singing so it isn’t going to be half as good. I’ve been pretty bored since the beginning of this. Maybe that’s why I like poor pirates so much? at least it’s not boring. Also, this song fooled me at the start. I was thinking it was a new, cool song because it doesn’t sound too bad, but then it goes into the actual song. Sure, it puts a more sad tone to it, like a more optimistic thing to it-or reason for optimism. I appreciate that. It’s still a boring song, but still.

“Finale: Bikini Bottom Day Reprise”

I hated the first one and don’t need a second one. Won’t this ever end? Thanks for the recap of everything we just witnessed. It’s not like we just watched it. I sat for over an hour and I know what’s happening. I’m not five... But I guess that's who you’re pandering to.

Okay. I didn’t like it all and it was a waste of time. I have two catchy songs that didn’t go to the point of annoying. It’s clearly just another way to make more money for Nickelodeon. I don’t like it and it was a waste of time. I don’t see how anyone would pay to see this. No one should spend money on that, but that’s just me? IT’S CRAP.

THE END YOU’RE WELCOME

#musicals #spongebob #spongebob musical #broadway

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fluffymonsterklk · 6 years

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Far From Perfection

I feel as if I should contribute to this Ignis fluff/love week because this week is not like any other. I normally do not share my writing. But my heart is not ready for the events to come and sharing Ignis love with the many other aching souls on this site is something I need to do!

I hope everyone enjoys this short fic I wrote awhile back and I wish you all good luck in these few short days leading up to depression!! ❤️

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A sigh bubbled from her throat as she slowly shifted her weight, leaning into the makeshift counter Infront of her. "Everything alright Luciana?" Ignis glanced down at her, watching the rays of sun kiss her softly upturned lips. Rays of gold sparkled off her hazel eyes, giving them a bright glow. The ever present breeze brushed her hair from her face, revealing the slight crinkles from her flexing cheek muscles.

"Everything is perfect." She breathed, her eyelids fluttered shut as her smile grew, revealing the beautiful white teeth beneath. He couldn't help but feel a warmth spark in his chest at the sight of her happiness. He followed her gaze to the small pond, catching a glimpse of Prompto and Noct on a nearby dock that wasn't far from the haven. Prompto was taking many pictures of the Prince while he casted out his line. "Is it selfish of me to pray that time will freeze. And we can just stay in this moment right now, never leaving it?" Her quiet voice caught his ears forcing his eyes to glance down at her as she began to mince green peppers.

"I do believe everyone can have a taste of selfishness." He assured a smile of his own reaching across his face. He gained a small giggle as she moved the minced peppers to the side of the cutting board before getting to work on an onion.

"I can't imagine a selfish bone in your body Scientia." Luciana smirked, her eyes meeting his. He broke the eye contact before adding seasoning to the broth boiling in the stainless steel pot. He chuckled a little before sturring in the ingredients. "What?" She questioned while mincing onions.

"Nothing love." He claimed while fixing his glasses on his nose. He pulled a notebook from inside his jacket and flipped it open, examining his neat handwriting before shutting it. With careful fingers, he slipped it back inside his jacket and scooped the green peppers, sprinkling them in. She bit her lip before scraping the onions to the spot where the peppers use to be. "You, Ignis Stupeo Scientia, are a very mysterious man." Luciana sneered while stepping away from the cooking space, pulling her long Auburn hair into a messy bun. "I'll go gather everyone and let them know dinner is almost ready." She sighed. Ignis watched as she slowly began to walk away, purposely toying with him. Her swaying hips intentionally trying crack his demeanor.

"Shifty one aren't you?" He grumbled.

"Only because I care." She informed looking back at him, a sly yet adorable look on her face. He turned off the stove before slowly approaching her, his eyes scanning the area for any wandering eyes. Noct was focused on fishing, Prompto was on one knee, his back facing the haven. And Gladio talking on the phone is back to them as well. Ignis was in the clear.

"You should know better then to toy with me." He muttered as his pace quickened slightly.

"And you should know better then to leave my questions poorly answered. I'm a woman of detail and you know that." She smirked as she whipped around to face him, she inched back watching him approach her.

"Unfortunately I know all too well." He made it arms length away from her, before grabbing her and hoisting her up, having her wrap her legs around is waist.

"Unfortunately? I think you picked the wrong word dear." She teased removing his glasses from off his face, while wrapping her arms around his neck. She peered down into his green eyes, the sun once again glowing off her face, giving her that radiant look. "I'll ask again Scientia. This time I expect a more detailed answer... What was so funny?"

"I hold selfishness. Undoubtedly. I am a man, and as a man I hold flaw." He began making her smile deepen.

"Oh?"

"Indeed. I find it rather amusing, you pin me as a selfless man."

"You are." Luciana complimented.

He felt love burn in his chest to the point it started to hurt. "I wish I didn't hold such duties, so I could spend my time with you." He confessed, the words left his tongue and added a weight on her chest. "I would like all that time that was used, back, and give it all to you. I wasn't present as much as I should've been. And now, after the fall of Insomnia, everything has been altered and I cannot have those times back." She bit her bottom lip as the weight he carried fell from his shoulders and onto hers. He was undoubtedly right. The Past can't be changed.

"You are right." She whispered pressing her forehead against his. Their noses grazing against one another's as they both closed their eyes. "We can't take back anything. However," she paused, kissing the tip of his nose. "We can embrace the moments the future holds." Her voice was soft as one of her hands found its way into his thick tawny hair.

"This is probably the best advice you have ever given." Ignis teased making her roll her eyes in retaliation.

"You're an ass even when you're cute. What did I get myself into?"

"Trouble." He responded playfully.

"Apparently." She agreed as she dipped down, capturing his lips on hers. "To much trouble." She murmured as they separated, their lips still lightly touching. He closed the distance once more, tasting her sweet lips, feeling her hands knot themselves in his hair. He drank up the moment, savoring the small kisses and soft smiles and the sweet smell she left on his clothes and skin.

"Dinner won't cook itself."

Ignis smirked at her soft comment.

"That's quite unfortunate."

#ignis scientia #ignis stupeo scientia #ignis x oc #episode ignis #ffxv #final fantasy xv #dec 13 #crippling depression #ignis #gladiolus amicitia #noctis lucis caelum #prompto argentum

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irinapaleolog · 4 years

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What is Star Wars about, really? It’s a good question, one we’ve pondered for 42 years. Star Wars is so broad, so dense, and at times so frustratingly transparent, that you can graft just about any sort of meaning onto it. And yet, its mass appeal is often distilled to one word: Star Wars is about hope. But what does it mean to have hope?

Everyone will offer a different answer. Hope can mean defiance in the face of adversity. It can mean happily ever afters. It can mean togetherness, family, friendship–those little things worth fighting for, even knowing they’re temporary. At its best, Star Wars captures that, freezing tiny moments of hope in amber. Luke, Leia, and Han hugging after the destruction of the Death Star. Anakin Skywalker clutching the face of his pregnant wife, Padmé. Finn and Poe escaping the tyrannical First Order.

Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, the final film in this epic saga, is meant to tie a bow on the franchise, which began with A New Hope. Reasonably, one would expect those messages to come through more elegantly and emotionally than ever before. But the result is instead a sad case of confused identity. It’s a film that thinks it’s doing what it needs to, while ultimately delivering a series of rushed, soulless, and ill-defined points of logic. It’s “hopeful” if your idea of hope is tragic and cyclical to the point of feeling regurgitated. There are moments of optimism immediately staked through in heart in favor of “the next big set piece.” It’s a cruel and unsatisfying ending to a forty-year legacy, and one that feels openly critical of itself and everything it stands for, but shrugs its way to the finish line instead.

The Disney era of Lucasfilm was fit more for profit than integrity from the get-go, and the need to rush out a new episodic film loaded with the original’s stars felt as bankable as it was inevitable. Suffice it to say, the Star Wars sequel trilogy attracted critics, but the first two films shuffled through a variety of production woes to successful, appealing conclusions. J.J. Abrams’ The Force Awakens paired a new cast of characters with our legacy trio–Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill), Han Solo (Harrison Ford), and Leia Organa (Carrie Fisher)–creating a spark of whimsical magic that overshadowed its derivative setbacks. Rian Johnson delivered a wild animal of a sequel with The Last Jedi , a surprising and frankly revolutionary studio blockbuster that turned the series’ larger story on its head. It was as divisive as it was fertile with big, new, promising ideas. The film ended with the Force decentralized from a few exclusive bloodlines and democratized, reigniting hope in the galaxy.

Unfortunately, The Rise of Skywalker picks up on none of those loose threads. The film begins with a flippant dismissal of many if not all of The Last Jedi‘s themes. The opening crawl explains that Emperor Palpatine has inexplicably returned (and I do mean inexplicably–we never learn how), and has been orchestrating the First Order experiment from the beginning. Somehow, he groomed Ben Solo into Kylo Ren from afar, and now locks his sights on Rey from Jakku, our unruly, orphaned Force user and Kylo’s counterpart. From the outset, Abrams shrinks the Star Wars universe back down to a more immediately interconnected, even insular size. Palpatine is back because, uh, sure, why not?

The story plays out as antagonistically as that. Abrams, returning as co-writer/director to replace Colin Trevorrow, demonstrates a bewildering sense of his audience’s wants and needs. Does he think we don’t care about the mysterious resurrection of the saga’s most selfish and mystifying villain? Is he purposely leaving gaps in the story for canon material to fill in? Did he think a single thing out beyond “looks cool, feels OK, boom, bang?” Who knows. But the movie opens with the reintroduction of Palpatine, them immediately launches us into the Millennium Falcon, where Finn (John Boyega) and Poe (Oscar Isaac) quickly discover that there’s a mole in the First Order. We’re then teleported to a new Resistance base where Leia trains Rey (Daisy Ridley) in the ways of the Force. Before we’re oriented in this location, we’re shuffled into another adventure jam-packed with MacGuffins, whirlygigs, and ultimately dead ends.

The adventure is poorly defined and confusing, but Abrams doesn’t expect us to be smart. He’s content to race through every would-be meaningful moment at the quickest possible pace, exploiting that whiplash effect to distract us from the story’s garbled plotting. We know that our heroes are on a race to find Palpatine, and are looking for something called a “wayfinder” that will lead them to his location. There are only two wayfinders, and Kylo Ren finds the other one in an opening scene. Abrams creates a sense of urgency, but we don’t really know why, and no one seems convincingly terrified that the universe is on the brink of absolute annihilation. At least the original trilogy only featured one Death Star at a time, and developed centralized locations that defined personal stakes and brewed emotion. This film has a whole army of planet-destroying ships, locations with no names or personalities, and characters previously emphasized who are here utterly left to the wind.

And that’s the real failure of The Rise of Skywalker. It mishandles literally every character, except, arguably, C-3PO. Rey gets tacked onto a legacy story that erodes the entire thematic heart of not just The Last Jedi, but even Abrams’ own The Force Awakens. By some disgusting leap of imagination, she’s Palpatine’s granddaughter. Rey’s parents weren’t actually alcoholics who sold her for drinking money (a bit never reconciled), but good people who loved her enough to protect her from Gramps, and apparently, themselves. Finn (John Boyega) is suddenly and inexplicably Force sensitive, which is a nice little treat and possible nod to the end of The Last Jedi, but is only really employed to detect when Rey’s in peril. Outside of one nice moment with Jannah (Naomi Ackie), a fellow defected stormtrooper he meets on the road, his arc from indentured villain to Rebel hero goes largely unaddressed. Worse, even his relationship with Poe feels weirdly underdeveloped.

Poe (Oscar Isaac), meanwhile, is very much “present,” but that’s really all he is. He became something of a de facto leader at the end of The Last Jedi, but Abrams fails to hint at any sense of real authority or growth here. He bickers with Rey and continues to act like a self-important flyboy, echoing a roguish Han Solo-esque fearlessness, but where his presence is maximized, his importance really isn’t. His story and Leia’s should be more interconnected after she taught him a valuable lesson last time around, but the loss of Carrie Fisher unfortunately obstructs his development as a character. Using a mishmash of unused footage from The Force Awakens, they try to conjure her spirit elsewhere, but it doesn’t totally work. That said, the movie at least attempts to do right by her legacy.

Further, Leia’s death in the film helps create two of its best moments. She uses a last ounce of strength to send Kylo Ren (Adam Driver) a memory of his father, Han, who reappears with some paternal advice. It should be a silly moment, but tonally it absolutely works, sold completely by the fine work of Ford and Driver. As father and son reconnect, Kylo Ren finally transforms back into Ben Solo–he tosses his jagged lightsaber into the abyss and goes off to save Rey, who he loves. This whole sequence is preceded by a lightsaber duel where Kylo is left mortally wounded; Rey heals him, and confesses her feelings for the man he could be. Love–and hope–seem temporarily destined to win.

And they do… sort of? The third act is where The Rise of Skywalker totally loses sight of everything it’s trying to be. Rey is drawn into Palpatine’s lair, and there’s a lot of business about Sith and Jedi that doesn’t really make sense. Above them, the war between the “Final Order” (Palpatine’s new name for the galactic baddies) and the Resistance rages, a total lazy mirror to the end of Return of the Jedi. Palpatine wants to funnel his strength into Rey via some ancient ritual, but Ben shows up. Ben and Rey fight together against Palpatine, Rey summons the spirit of all of the Jedi who ever lived, and she beats her grandpa with his own superpower (in a very Harry Potter-esque showdown) before dying. Ben uses the last of his life power to resurrect her–a nice mirror of their Death Star scene earlier in the film–and they kiss. But he then dies, leaving Rey once again as the galaxy’s only real Force of hope. She temporarily reunites with the Resistance–who defeated the Final Order with the help of Lando Calrissian (Billy Dee Williams), appearing in the movie just long enough to serve as a deus ex machina–before jetting off to Tatooine. And finally, Rey takes on the last name Skywalker and sees Luke and Leia’s Force ghosts. The end.

Unbelievably, a lot more happens than that. Abrams introduces Zorii Bliss (Keri Russell), a fun, masked ex-fling of Poe’s who’s super cool but completely inconsequential to the plot. Kelly Marie Tran’s Rose Tico effectively takes a Resistance desk job, which feels particularly insulting after everything she accomplished in The Last Jedi. There are more “Force Skype” scenes between Rey and Kylo, and Rey confronts her own inner darkness, manifested in “Dark Rey,” while Abrams introduces a cute new droid named D-O, and throws a lot of other random things at the wall that never stick (like a visit with the ghost of Luke Skywalker during a temporary detour to Ahch-To). It’s as messy as it is ambitious, and Abrams and co-writer Chris Terrio’s deserve some credit for spinning such a clotted web that you’re frequently distracted from all of the holes in it.

But then there’s the whole hope thing. And there’s really no cohesive sense of it here. As a series-ender, this story should resonate more than it does. The Last Jedi contends with the past more, and better, than Skywalker does; it wrestled with the sins of the Jedi and Sith, and kicked open a bigger door for generations to come. Skywalker says nothing about where they, or we, go from here. It ends with Rey abandoned and alone, except for her Force ghost friends, on another desert planet. The one person in the galaxy who ever understood her dies. And he evidently doesn’t redeem himself successfully enough to become a Force ghost. Is death really the only avenue to peace and purpose? Effectively, Han Solo, Luke Skywalker, and Leia Organa all died to save Ben, who then died to save Rey. What is her next step? The movie doesn’t say, or seem to know. It’s a domino effect, with nothing but tragedy at the end of every spill.

That idea could work if the moments in between felt rewarding, or the losses served larger narrative or thematic ideas. But in this story, meant to be a conclusion to a single film, a trilogy and a nine-film saga, they don’t. Rey, Finn, and Poe share only a superficial sense of camaraderie. Their future adventures will lead to moments of happiness and enlightenment along the way. But why does Abrams ignore or de-emphasize those feelings? In The Rise of Skywalker, hope is little more than a ghost. And after more than 40 years, it’s one that Star Wars is still chasing, with no real end in sight.

#the rise of skywalker #star wars

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