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whalienjxy · 2 years

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9:10 pm

The oil candle burns. Its illumination warms the cold hues of his office as Levi works on yet another pile of paperwork, except he’s becoming actively more distracted as the seconds go since his door opened and closed silently, and a body laid down on the leather couch to his left a few minutes ago.

He didn’t bother to look up at the intruder, then, knowing exactly who would dare to just come in like that, the familiarity of the action implanting itself as a daily habit in his brain.

Except that usually he just keeps on working, focusing on the task at hand so he could quickly finish and eventually follow up with his nightly routine with you, but today seems like it won’t allow that to happen. He can hear your light breathing, can see you from the corner of his eye, and he has to physically restrain himself from looking your way as he knows that all hope will be lost to his paperwork if he does.

It’s been a rather difficult day for the pair of you. With the preparations for an upcoming expedition getting more and more draining, everyone’s nerves start to naturally get worse. People are getting angrier at each other, you can see the cadets’ profound fear right through their eyes, and some people start spitting shit without knowing who’s listening.

And apparently, even Levi Ackerman isn’t immune to what people can say behind his back.

He knows who he is. He knows he can be perceived as cruel, stoic, inconsiderate, all sorta shitty stuff, he’s aware of it all and learned how to live it long ago without letting it bother him in the slightest. He can be called a cold-blooded killer right in his damn face and he’d agree, but when someone else is put in the narrative, and when that someone is you, it apparently changes everything.

He was unbothered at first, used to the banter thrown at him left and right, but he made the mistake of thinking about it, and his comrades could visibly see his irritation get worse throughout the day.

And they already deal with the grumpy man on the daily, it wasn't really that big of a change, except everyone started to slowly realize that he isn’t reacting like he usually does when they pick on him.

And to top everything off, you weren’t near the whole day.

He doesn’t know who was talking. Doesn’t know their names if he wanted to punish them or file for demotion, but he thinks that it barely even matters. He probably wouldn’t do anything if he could just because he thinks that maybe, maybe what they said is true.

“I don’t know how they ended up together, to be honest!” One of them had said. “They’re polar opposites! I don't know how the Sergeant handles him.”

“He ssoooo doesn’t deserve her. She’s way too nice to be stuck with someone like him.”

“What does she even see in him? He may be pretty in the face but he’s such an asshole, dude!”

“I bet he doesn’t even treat her right. How can someone like him even love?”

He didn’t need to hear that. He already had his doubts, he didn’t fucking need to hear that.

For real, how did you even come to like him back? How does anyone fall in love with someone like him? Yet here you are, sleeping on his couch, waiting for him to finish work because you can’t fall asleep unless you’re touching him.

Yet you wake up every day and look at him with that smile on your face, like he deserves everything good in this world.

He can’t help it, the constant feeling of never being enough. You’re like the sun, too bright and too warm to be contained, a gold shine forever painting the surface of your skin that he wishes he can kiss forever, just to make sure you were actually real.

You’re warm, considerate, kind, everything he’s not, his polar opposite, yet here you are.

How is this possible?

Levi loses his fight with his body and finally gazes at you.

You have an arm under your head, laying on your side to face him, eyes lightly shut. Your uniform still hugs your body, hair a neat mess on top of your head, and you make sure to keep your boots off the couch like Levi always tells you.

God, what would he do if you left? If you just realize how shitty he is and decide you don’t want anything to do with him anymore?

“You’re staring.” Your soft voice slightly startles the saddened man, his eyes widen a bit, but you keep yours closed. “Are you done with your paperwork?”

“No, not yet.”

You flutter your eyes open. “A break, then?”

Levi hesitates. He wants to touch you, wants to keep you as close to him as possible, yet feels undeserving even of that.

He doesn’t reply. His eyes do their little zoning out thing that you take notice of, and you can see what Hange was telling you of him just before you pass by. His jaw is set too firm, Adam's apple moving harshly against his delicate skin, and his eyebrows are furrowed. You don't even think that he is aware of his frown.

He only snaps back to reality when you start moving off the couch and closer to him. Something flashes in his eyes, you think you are mistaken when you take it for panic because it is wiped away from his expression as quickly as it appears.

Levi’s heart is surely going to burst out of his chest if it continues on like this. It gets even worse when your hand touches his, and you can’t help but notice when his chest trembles as he tries to regulate a healthy rhythm, and it only fuels your worry more.

You climb on his lap, his hands immediately finding your back, while yours roam from his trembling, toned chest to tense shoulders that only seem to relax under your touch.

You smile at him. You’re always smiling at him.

“Do you wanna talk to me about anything?” You ask in the softest voice you can.

Levi’s brain seems to high-wire because, once again, he fails to reply. His confused frown turns sad, turns desperate only little by little, and his arms tighten around you like you can disappear right then and there, turn into fine dust and leave him strangled with only bittersweet memories.

His usually straight lips are curved the slightest of curves downwards, and his gaze seems unable to look anywhere but your eyes.

Levi isn’t great with words, you’ve known so for so long already, so when he stays quiet, your hand finds a cold cheek. He leans in your touch, even though you can see that he tries to restrain himself from doing so, and the look on his face just breaks your heart.

Your smile fades, expression morphing into sad worry.

“What’s wrong, my love?”

My love. Your nickname to him will forever have him feeling as if he’s hearing it for the first time.

You think it’s the expedition, just like it is for all of you. He usually gets cranky before expeditions, giving you all those instructions here and there, pulling you away for some extra training even, but this is new.

The more he trains you the less worried he is about you in expeditions as you slowly but surely become another version of him minust all the extra crack, but the worry you see in his expression right now isn’t the kind of worry you’re used to before marching to your death.

Maybe something happened, something shifted, made his anxiety skyrocket, but you’ll never know unless he tells you.

Even as you hold each other like this, he doesn’t think he is loving you enough. He thinks you deserve the world, the sun, the stars, everything that shines just the way you do, everything that he is not.

You’re so good. Your love for him is way more than he deserves.

Levi shuts his eyes before they can get teary, and you’re immediately pulling him in your embrace. With a hand in his hair and the other going up and down his back soothingly, you hold him as he should be held, with all the love and care you can provide.

His arms tighten around you so much that you hear a vertebrae or two cracking, but you never let out your discomfort. You massage his scalp as he nuzzles your neck, and his breath is still shaky.

You’ve barely ever seen Levi like this.

“I’m here,” You gently tell him. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m so sorry.” His muffled words barely make it to your ear.

“What are you apologizing for?” You whisper softly, lips brushing against the top of his ear. “There’s nothing to apologize about, my love.”

There is. He thinks. There are plenty.

“Can I touch you?” His voice is small, yet dark and husky.

It warms your heart that he still always asks for that when he’s feeling down, to touch you, to feel your skin against his. It grounds him, he’s told you. Makes you feel more real.

You nod against his head and pull back to help him unbutton the shirt that lies underneath the green coat. He pulls it out of your pants, unties the binder tied tightly around your chest, and just pulls you back into your previous position again.

His lips lightly graze the skin of his neck, you fight the urge to pull away from the ticklish spot, but you’re soon distracted by the hands that roam your upper body. His touch is intimate, as if he is massaging.

Fingers trail from your stomach, to your waist, then up your back until he lovingly presses you to him by your nape with a firmer grip.

You let him do everything he pleases, letting your own eyes close as you rest your temple on the side of his head, fingers forever sinking in the raven hair. He plants a light kiss to where your shoulder meets your neck.

“You’re too good.” You hear him muffle. The feather-light touch of his fingers running down your middle soon turns into his whole hand. It trails down from your neck, between your breasts, down your diaphragm and onto your side until he settles right before your belt, and his touch turns firmer here. “Always too good for me.”

You pull away just enough to look him in the eye. Your hand returns to his cheek, and this time, you find dazed steel staring back at you, as if drunk on your touch.

What the hell could’ve happened to have him end up like this?

You pull him in for a chaste kiss, but the hand on your nape brings you closer, grip filled with need and something else, something you can’t tell, something that seems to be bubbling over him. You're pressed flush against him, bodies soon molding into one, and maybe Levi forgets his strength when he holds you like this because you’re almost out of breath.

You take matters in your own hands, then, bringing your hands up to his shoulders and you begin to massage, earning a breathy moan from the man underneath you. His grip loosens on your nape when you massage a knot away in his, and you’re given your chance to breathe when he soon relaxes enough.

You rest your forehead against his, panting slightly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your very soul could shatter at the look in his eyes, then. Because he looks up, eyes ever so glossy and oh so damn sad, desperate, scared you dare say. He tries to whisper something but it comes out incoherent, and you don’t ask him to repeat it when he doesn’t. A calloused hand falls from your nape to hold your cheek, mirroring your very position, and he pulls you in again.

It is gentler this time, slower. Your hands still massage every possible tight muscle you find, deliciously swallowing the pretty sounds he produces from the sensation.

Something clicks, then.

You pull back, his hands still roam your upper body. Levi’s lips try to chase after yours but they attach to the corner of his lips instead, to his cheek, down to line his jaw, and down to his neck. You move slow, make every kiss count, make sure that he feels your intention, make sure he feels loved.

That’s a difficult task, Levi never had anyone that makes him feel this way until you came along, and the unfamiliarity of the feeling always sends him close to tears.

There’s nothing lustful laying behind either your intentions. You kiss his scarred skin like it’s the last thing you can give him. You unbutton the first few buttons of his shirt and let your hand feel the toned muscles of his chest as you kiss away the pain, feeling his adam’s apple struggle where your lips land.

A hand slips in his hair, he tilts his head back.

“I love you so much,” You tell him, your lips brushing his skin. “So, so much, Levi. I can barely verbalise it.” Your head raises to hover above his, your free hand gently caressing where his skin is still wet with your kisses. The hand in his hair brushes it out of his face so you can take a clearer look, and it’s fucked up how you feel your own eyes water. “You’ll never know how much you really mean to me.”

“I don’t deserve this.”

“You deserve the world,” You reply instantly, teary eyes pouring emotions into his. “Walls, you deserve everything good this universe has to offer, Levi.”

The words tick him off. He tries to hide his face, tries to look away from you as he finally begins to break, but your hold is firm when you hold him still.

“I could write endless poems about every little quirk you have. About the color of your eyes. About every scar I've traced on your body, all the way down to the way you hold your damn ridiculous tea cups. I love you so much, Levi, I can barely contain it.”

A silent tear escapes the corner of his eye, and you never hesitate to kiss it as it lands down to his cheekbone. You linger there, feeling rough hands softly trace the line between your shoulder blades. You don’t notice that your own tears have been released until his thumb wipes under your eye, returning the favor.

“I wish I could love like you,” He whispers.

“Your love is already more than enough.”

#levi ackerman x you #he deserves the whole world #levi comfort #levi aot #i love him im gonna cry #aot drabbles #levi fluff #levi x reader #levi x y/n #snk levi #attack on titan #levi drabble #this is longer than i planned

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ackermonie · 2 years

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9:10pm.

(repost)

ib: love like you by caleb hyles

He didn’t bother to look up at the intruder, then, knowing exactly who would dare to just come in like that, the familiarity of the action implanting itself as a daily habit in his brain.

And apparently, even Levi Ackerman isn’t immune to what people can say behind his back.

And to top everything off, you weren’t near the whole day.

“I don’t know how they ended up together, to be honest!” One of them had said. “They’re polar opposites! I don't know how the Sergeant handles him.”

“He ssoooo doesn’t deserve her. She’s way too nice to be stuck with someone like him.”

“What does she even see in him? He may be pretty in the face but he’s such an asshole, dude!”

“I bet he doesn’t even treat her right. How can someone like him even love?”

He didn’t need to hear that. He already had his doubts, he didn’t fucking need to hear that.

Yet you wake up every day and look at him with that smile on your face, like he deserves everything good in this world.

You’re warm, considerate, kind, everything he’s not, his polar opposite, yet here you are.

How is this possible?

Levi loses his fight with his body and finally gazes at you.

God, what would he do if you left? If you just realize how shitty he is and decide you don’t want anything to do with him anymore?

“You’re staring.” Your soft voice slightly startles the saddened man, his eyes widen a bit, but you keep yours closed. “Are you done with your paperwork?”

“No, not yet.”

You flutter your eyes open. “A break, then?”

Levi hesitates. He wants to touch you, wants to keep you as close to him as possible, yet feels undeserving even of that.

You climb on his lap, his hands immediately finding your back, while yours roam from his trembling, toned chest to tense shoulders that only seem to relax under your touch.

You smile at him. You’re always smiling at him.

“Do you wanna talk to me about anything?” You ask in the softest voice you can.

His usually straight lips are curved the slightest of curves downwards, and his gaze seems unable to look anywhere but your eyes.

Your smile fades, expression morphing into sad worry.

“What’s wrong, my love?”

My love. Your nickname to him will forever have him feeling as if he’s hearing it for the first time.

Maybe something happened, something shifted, made his anxiety skyrocket, but you’ll never know unless he tells you.

You’re so good. Your love for him is way more than he deserves.

His arms tighten around you so much that you hear a vertebrae or two cracking, but you never let out your discomfort. You massage his scalp as he nuzzles your neck, and his breath is still shaky.

You’ve barely ever seen Levi like this.

“I’m here,” You gently tell him. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m so sorry.” His muffled words barely make it to your ear.

“What are you apologizing for?” You whisper softly, lips brushing against the top of his ear. “There’s nothing to apologize about, my love.”

There is. He thinks. There are plenty.

“Can I touch you?” His voice is small, yet dark and husky.

It warms your heart that he still always asks for that when he’s feeling down, to touch you, to feel your skin against his. It grounds him, he’s told you. Makes you feel more real.

Fingers trail from your stomach, to your waist, then up your back until he lovingly presses you to him by your nape with a firmer grip.

You pull away just enough to look him in the eye. Your hand returns to his cheek, and this time, you find dazed steel staring back at you, as if drunk on your touch.

What the hell could’ve happened to have him end up like this?

You rest your forehead against his, panting slightly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

It is gentler this time, slower. Your hands still massage every possible tight muscle you find, deliciously swallowing the pretty sounds he produces from the sensation.

Something clicks, then.

That’s a difficult task, Levi never had anyone that makes him feel this way until you came along, and the unfamiliarity of the feeling always sends him close to tears.

A hand slips in his hair, he tilts his head back.

“I don’t deserve this.”

“You deserve the world,” You reply instantly, teary eyes pouring emotions into his. “Walls, you deserve everything good this universe has to offer, Levi.”

The words tick him off. He tries to hide his face, tries to look away from you as he finally begins to break, but your hold is firm when you hold him still.

“I wish I could love like you,” He whispers.

“Your love is already more than enough.”

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recordmcqueen · 3 years

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not to reiterate my ‘twitter is the bane of critical thinking’ sentiment but the system of restricting post content by character limit and thread continuations only being accessible via extra clicks really butchers any of the nuance in arguments and thats why you end up with the kind of wildly reductionist discourse that honestly gets really draining

like here on tumblr its common to have customarily tagged ‘#long post’s which serves as nothing but acknowledgement cause im sure no one actually filters that tag anyway and it doesnt appear until the very end of a post

and so you read through these giant reblog chains of discussion and clarification and by the end you have - if nothing else - a wider perception of the issue at hand

meanwhile on twitter all you get a little blurb of flash information with little to no clarification or insight directly presented, so all you have to base your perception of X issue is this one tweet

it just concerns me that the younger generation getting their information from twitter is subject to this method of education cause instead of developing the ability to think critically and explore nuance, they see one (1) fraction of an issue and immediately take a position based on that

anyway twitter is the bane of critical thinking <3

#allya squawks #allya rants #ill say its better than instagram as far as my experience goes cause #insta just invokes sheer spite in me #but twitter gets so draining like i still Use it bc majority of my friends use it as their main platform #theres some great art and fan contents #but on the whole its just so polarized and it gets really draining really quickly #thats not even accounting for the social anxiety factor #being notified of your friends' interactions constantly #and seeing it on your tl right there is just another level of torture tbh <//3 #my rsd bren latches on and withers away

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butterflymar · 3 years

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DAY 2: FAVORITE BL DRAMA

I have quite a few... I can’t choose just one so bare with me lol

Life Senjou No Bokura

Synopsis According to MyDramaList: One day after school, the serious Ito and the child-like Nishi meet by chance, as each endeavors to remain walking on the sidewalk`s white line. As time goes by, Ito recognizes he is drawn to Nishi in a way that is new to him. Nishi, for his part, is frustrated that they only get to meet on the sidewalk. Ito decides to act upon his feelings and kisses a surprised Nishi, who agrees they need to walk side by side for a change. The sparks between them are undeniable as their relationship blossoms in high school, survives the college years, and matures into adulthood. A deeply moving work that bears witness to loving partners, whose unchanging feelings must co-exist within a world of changing realities.

My Personal Thoughts: I already wrote a review for this so I am going to re-share some of those thoughts here. This is one that I have watched countless times already. They went by the manga for mostly all of the episodes and I appreciated seeing that. They gave more context for certain details that may have been lost while reading the manga and translated it to screen. I think they depicted the age gaps well too. For 4 episodes only, I feel that they did a great job including the most important aspects. Actually now that I think of it, I would have loved to see more of them in their early 20s depicted on screen because that was like one of there honeymoon phases and I’m a hopeless romantic lol but that’s just a personal preference not complaining. Also, the show stopped at age 40 and they could have gone on throughout there entire lives but I understand why they chose not too. The manga is great as well!!! I think that the main actors depicted beautiful true love very well. They had amazing chemistry. Japanese BL’s have that special spark about them that I love. I also loved that it showed there relationship from high school till there later years. I don’t see that a lot with BL’s. They usually just stick to one time period. The aspect about them being connected by a line in relation to there love was a nice touch as well. I am glad that it has a happy ending as well. This is a pretty quick one to watch and a great one at that!!! If you haven’t watched it yet, I would highly recommend it!!!

I Told Sunset About You

Synopsis According to MyDramaList: Teh and Oh-aew were best friends until a boyhood line of reasoning turned them into rivals. Years later as they're preparing for university admissions, both pursuing interests in the field of Communication Arts, the two meet in a Chinese language class. Their reunion awakens complicated and unstable feelings.

My Personal Thoughts: Same as above, I already wrote a review for this so I am going to re-share some of those thoughts here. This is DEFINITELY one of my top BL shows of the year 2020. This is such a beautiful masterpiece of a show!!! I remember when the preview trailer first came out… I was already hooked!!! I was on the lookout for it and it did not disappoint me one bit when it finally started. I looked forward to seeing it every week. It made me feel all of the emotions. I was up here sitting in my room crying over everything. I don’t think any other BL has made me this emotional before in my life. The two lead actors really DELIVERED!!! I could feel every single stare, every single body movement, and every single touch. You could cut the TENSION with a knife!!! No one couldn’t tell me that there wasn’t a magnetic true love between these two. I know this sounds cliche but it's like they were destined to be together from when they were childhood friends. Also, I would love to see them in future projects!!! The cinematography in this show is TOP FREAKIN NOTCH!!! Every single scene is just so beautifully shot. The cinematography alone makes me want to cry lol I saw somewhere that someone said the filming of the show reminded them of an indie film and I totally agree!!! The writing and directing on this show was impeccable to me!!! No cringy dialogue and every single line served its purpose well. This is movie grade writing. I also wanted to quickly just say that I loved the attention and callback to details throughout like with the tutoring book that Teh made for Oh-aew that was left empty by the end of episode 4, the flower that was supposed to be colored the same as Tan’s garment but Teh colored it red because he was thinking of Oh-aew, the rubbing of Oh-aew’s back when he sniffles, the references to Teh’s favorite actor, and the use of Chinese phrases to get meaning across. I could go on and on but wow I just loved how they really connected all of the details throughout. I can’t wait for Season 2!!!

Theory of Love

Synopsis According to MyDramaList: Third is a filmology major and a member of the Savage Team along with his best friends Two, Bone, and Khai, but he has a secret. Third has been secretly in love with Khai for years. For three years, he has kept his secret love in his heart, silently supporting and loving Khai while knowing there is absolutely no future between them since Khai is as straight as a streetlight pole and also an absolute player. To make matters worse, Khai has a "no dating friends" policy. How long can Third love Khai silently while watching Khai bring a different girl home every night? Third has tried to see Khai as just a friend. But has failed time and time again. Because as easy as it is to fall in love, to stop is just as hard. Maybe even harder. That is until Third learns a secret that breaks his heart completely. But when Third decides to stop, Khai decides to start.

My Personal Thoughts: As sad as this show can make me feel at times, I love rewatching it. I still to this day think that it is one of the most well written BL’s that I have seen. Everything flows nicely and everything connects. Your not left wondering how you got from point A to point B. I thought the show had great character development especially when it came to Khai’s character towards the end of series. I know a lot of people had mixed feelings about his character due to how careless and dare I say stupid he acted at times but if he can make the audience hate him that much as a character... I would say he is doing something right!!! Gun’s acting never fails to amaze me!!! He really is one of the best actors I have seen. I know he had to be drained from all of that crying that he did throughout the show though lol It just goes to show that when you truly love someone you can’t just stop what you are feeling inside that easily no matter how the other person feels about you or treats you. As the old saying goes, love is blind. I also loved the friend group as well and Two and Bones side stories with the teacher and crush from school. They added to the shows greatness and didn’t take away from it. The friendship dynamics throughout the show was I feel something that really kept me engaged. The cast acted well together. There was no awkwardness or hesitation. I feel everyone bought there best for this drama. They incorporated the movie references so cleverly and I love how the title of each episode was the title of a real romance film. Just the overall theme of film was very intriguing to me. This drama left me filled with heartache and a rollercoaster of emotions but the ending is worth it!!!

HIStory3: Make Our Days Count

Synopsis According to MyDramaList: At first glance, high schoolers Xiang Hao Ting and Yu Xi Gu appear to be polar opposites: While Xiang Hao Ting is an outgoing, hot-headed extravert and some-time bully, Yu Xi Gu prefers to keep a low profile and focus on his schoolwork. They seem bound for totally different futures – the bookish Yu Xi Gu looks destined for academic success, while life is just a long popularity contest for Xiang Hao Ting. But a quirk of fate – and a crucial intervention by a female schoolmate – results in the two young men’s paths crossing. But there is more to both young men than first meets the eye. Xiang Hao Ting was not always this way. He started out as a perfect student until he discovered the joys of going off the rails. And Yu Xi Gu has a reason for being so aloof and studious: His parents died in a traffic accident while he was younger, and he is being fostered by his aunt. As such, he works hard to get good grades in an effort to win a scholarship and ease the financial burden on his relatives. Yu Xi Gu also works part-time at a convenience store, where his manager Liu Zhi Gang has developed a crush on a man he has met at the gym. Back at school, meanwhile, Yu Xi Gu and Xiang Hao Ting find themselves drawn together, and passions ignite. The former notices that he has the unique ability to bring Yu Xi Gu out of his shell – and becomes intent on melting his cold-as-ice exterior. What will happen when their two worlds collide? And can love be the catalyst that helps bring these two unlikely students together – as their high school days draw to a close?

My Personal Thoughts: I will stand by this notion for all of my days but this show is one of the best shows I have seen PERIOD!!! Not even best BL shows I have seen but just in general. It highkey saddens me that it is rated at an 8.1 right now on MyDramaList due to how it ended when other than that... it’s a top notch show. This was one that I watched as it was airing and I would get excited to see it every week. My clown self should have known by the title “Make Our Days Count” that some mess was about to occur but I didn’t pick up on it. Now, I just disregard the last episode (WE DON’T KNOW HER!!!). You can just tell that they had a great budget for this series. The production was on point. It had great cinematography, great storylines, and it felt realistic too. The main couples acting was OFF THE CHARTS AMAZING. I loved the whole opposites attract thing going on. Although the show was set in high school... it almost didn’t feel like it nor did it have those typical clichés going on. I liked how it dealt with topic of LGBTQ+ acceptance as well. I wasn’t so sure about the side couples relationship at first but I grew to love them as time went on. One last thing I wanted to point out was that even though I am always looking for a happy ending... I learned from this show that not everyone can get a happy ending. That’s not how life works sadly. In real life, there have been a lot of people who were truly in love and lost there partners tragically. Although it may be hard to accept the outcome, it is something that happens in real life. This is a drama that you appreciate even more as time goes on. It truly is a gem of a series!!!

TharnType

Synopsis According to MyDramaList: Type Thiwat is a handsome freshman with a passion for football and spicy food. Although he’s a friendly boy, he hates gay people because, in his childhood, he was molested by a man. His life turns upside down when the new academic year of college brings along a charismatic roommate, Tharn Kirigun. Tharn is a gorgeous, compassionate music major, who is also openly gay. When Type learns this, he is determined to make Tharn leave the dorm, as he won't live with a gay person. Tharn is equally determined not to give into Type's homophobic tantrums. With a gay guy and a homophobic guy that have to share a small space together for the rest of the year — what can possibly be the outcome of their story? Hatred? Or maybe love?

My Personal Thoughts: *Goes to hide in a corner* I know this drama is problematic and controversial as hell but it’s like a train wreck that you can’t turn away from. What truly carries the show I feel is the chemistry between MewGulf. I don’t think I would have enjoyed the series as much if other actors were cast in those roles. They just exude confidence, passion, love, and lust. In terms of the storyline, I found it to be a chaotic occurrence of situations where I just had to know what was going to go on next. Everything that occurred had me intrigued for the next episode and so on and so forth. I loved Type’s character development. One quick thing I want to touch on was I know there were a lot of problematic things that happened which I will touch on at a later date but one thing I wish people were more understanding of was Type’s outbursts, thoughts, and feelings in certain situations. He was a victim of sexual assault so I felt the way he handled certain things was in response to what he had gone through as child and I think some viewers kind of missed that and were almost too harsh on him. Everyone processes and deals with trauma differently. This show went through so many twists and turns and I honestly lived for it especially the shocker towards the end of the series. I didn’t see that one coming at all!!! Despite all of its flaws, this show still holds a special place in my heart.

Honorable Mention:

Cherry Magic: As of today, this show has 4 episodes left and I think I am just going to come out and say that THIS IS MY FAVORITE BL OF THE YEAR!!! It’s a beautiful Japanese BL and I rewatch the old episodes while I wait for new ones to come out alot. It’s such a fluffy, heartwarming, and precious Bl series!!! I love it to pieces!!!

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sylvie-writes · 4 years

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A Unique Birthday Cake

This is for @marvelinsanity . Sua, I wish you the happiest of birthday wishes! I hope you have an amazing day despite our unfortunate circumstances. Ily! Thanks for always being so inclusive and friendly!

Please send her some wishes tmrw, everyone! She is truly an amazing person!

I know your birthday is tomorrow, but I just couldn’t wait hehehe. Don’t worry, I’m gonna post your request and a lil something else tomorrow too ≧◡≦

(I swear I’m done bothering you after that lol)

Please pardon any mistakes, I’m half asleep.

This morning Wanda and Nat came bursting into your room at the ungodly hour of 7 am. To some, 7 am wasn’t early, but try having a pre-birthday dinner with the Avengers the night before and then we'll talk.

“(y/n) c’mon get up! We are going birthday shopping!”

You tiredly groaned and covered your head with Steve’s vacant pillow, in hopes of shunning the overly-peppy women away. It’s not that you didn’t appreciate their kind gesture, but birthday shopping was the last thing on your to do list, more in favor of getting some shut-eye.

“Nat, Wanda. I love you both, I do, but pleaseeee let me sleep.” Silence now filled the room and you assumed they had gotten the message.

Apparently you thought wrong.

Natasha then pried the pillow from your deathly grip while Wanda pulled back the bed covers, making you shiver, covered in nothing more than shorts and t-shirt. Steve must’ve set the thermostat to polar again.

Not all us can be fine while in the ice for seventy years, sir.

“We got teaaaa.” That’s all it took. Wanda’s tempting offer made you hop up from the bed. You passed them and made a beeline straight for the kitchen, not caring about your messy appearance.

Before you made it four steps out the door, Natasha grabbed you by the shoulders, turning you to look at her and Wanda.

“Oops, forgot to mention you have to get ready first!” Her smirk made you sick, as you scowled at her, pouting like a child on your way to the bathroom, complying to their orders.

“You two are cruel.”

Wanda and Natasha then high fived at their small victory, actually heading to the kitchen to make you tea, for real this time. By 9 am, the three of you had already made it out of the compound and to the bustling and ever famous, 5th Avenue. In all your years spent in New York, not once had you stepped foot on 5th Avenue. When you made your confession to Wanda and Natasha, you were sure they’d die right on the spot. So now, you three giddy women went to all the fancy and exquisite stores, not actually buying but just looking for your own entertainment.

You hadn’t known, but Wanda and Natasha were helping out Steve who was planning his very own surprise for your birthday.

“Guys, be serious.” Steve was now using his Captain voice, he clearly meant business.

“We’re listening, Cap.” Directly across the island counter, Bucky, Sam stood, trying to contain their laughter once more.

“How the hell do we make this cake?” Bucky just lost it at Steve’s truly innocent question. Sam quickly shot his arm out to steady the cackling man.

“Ok, whew. Step aside. Let the pros show ya.” At the confident remark from his friend, Steve stepped aside in surrender allowing the men to do their thing.

If you are wondering how Steve got here, it all started last week.

You were in the compound kitchen, helping Sam prepare a last minute dinner since it was his night to cook. The whole team had just gotten back from a long and draining mission, especially looking forward to a home-cooked meal. Unfortunately, the compound’s pantry was completely desolate, leaving Sam completely clueless as to what to do for dinner that night. Just as Sam was about to dial takeout, you and Steve strolled in. The two of you were now in a much more jovial mood after getting cleaned up and basking in the feeling of being home.

“Hey Sammy, whatcha cookin’?”

The distressed man then flung you the ragged Chinese menu and a frown made home on your face.

“Hold that thought, because there has to be something.”

When Sam didn’t get the message, you walked up to him and took the phone, ending the call.

“Why’d you do that!”

“Because we will find something to eat.”

While you and Sam had your own staring contest, Steve wandered off to the pantry, checking its contents for himself.

“Hey doll! There’s some bread in here, and a few cans of tomato soup.”

You looked away from Sam and ran to Steve.

“You're a lifesaver, babe!” Swiftly, you pecked him on the cheek, swiping the cans of soup from his arms.

“Now if we have some cheese, I’m sure we can make some grilled cheese sandwiches.” At your appeasing offer, Sam visibly brightened up.

“Sam, can you start the soup while Steve and I make the sandwiches?”

And needless to say, everything went smoothly, that is until you let Steve cook one sandwich and he burnt it to charcoal.

How that happened, you have no clue.

In the kindest way possible, you let him down gently, because he was trying his best. A sullen look crossed his face and you felt like you had just smacked a baby. Without second thought, you got on tippy toes to deeply kiss him trying to give some reassurance.

“Cooking is a tough science, don’t sweat it, darling.”

So maybe he couldn’t scramble an egg, but he sure as hell would try to learn. With your challenge still fresh in his mind, Steve thought making a birthday cake for you would be none other than the best time to show off his baking skills. That man was never one to cower down from a challenge.

Now here he was, staring at the cake recipe as if he were trying to escape Alcatraz. One word came to Steve’s mind when he thought about either. Impossible.

“You good, buddy?” Bucky looked over to Steve whose eyes were locked onto the piece of paper, clenched tightly in his hand.

“It can’t be that hard right?”

Sam and Bucky just looked at each other shrugging.

“For gosh sakes, you can fight Hydra, but the big scary cake monster is deathly terrifying?”

In mock horror, Sam brought his hands to his face, mimicking a shocked look. Steve just rolled his eyes and playfully slapped Sam on the shoulder.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

That was three hours ago.

In such a short time the men managed to make a complete mess. When Bucky said pros, Steve really should’ve known better.

The kitchen was completely dusted in the white, snow-like, flour. Sugar nestled within the powder while vanilla extract absentmindedly flowed off the counter and to the floor. Up against the oven, Sam slumped over and across from him at the sink, Bucky was trying to wash cake batter out of his hair. Steve just looked in utter shock at the scene, it looked like a war zone, and he’s seen plenty of those.

Oh and the cake…

Can it even classify as a cake?

Because from where Steve was standing, it looked like pizza dough. The whole way through Sam kept reprimanding that it’d look better in the end, decorated in frosting, but my god there was no saving this… creature.

“So about what I said earlier,” Steve looked over to see Sam staring at the ground, obviously contemplating his life choices, “I’d like to revoke my statement.”

Hell, they’d gotten this far.

Steve walked over to the frosting, which, thank the heavens, was store bought. Completely traumatized and absorbed in the whole situation, he just lathered on all the frosting. With a gel icing, he carefully penned out your name and ‘Happy Birthday’.

Really the only thing going for that “cake” was his neat penmanship.

So maybe you were right.

Unfortunately it was too late to order a real cake. Steve would just have to face the consequences and cross his fingers that you wouldn’t break up with him.

By time Wanda and Natasha had ushered you home, it was 4 pm. Today you were just so caught up in all the fun that you completely forgot about Steve which made you feel terrible. Knowing Steve, he went all out for your birthday, you just hoped you hadn’t ruined it.

As you walked into the compound, everything seemed perfectly normal, which quite frankly kind of disappointed you, until you rounded the corner to the kitchen. The lights were off, but soon came on when Sam, Bucky and Steve popped up around the table, presenting a... dough ball????

You got closer and realized it was a cake. Or was supposed to be.

“Please don't break up with me, doll.” Steve nervously bit his lip and you reached up to stop him, then full on laughing, grabbing his broad shoulders for support.

“Oh Stevie! Don’t be so dramatic. I’m actually really looking forward to what happened.”

Steve then pulled out your chair as everyone else settled around the table, where the dough baby idly was set upon.

The three men told of their tale while you ladies laughed over ice cream, a quick solution thanks to Wanda.

Sam and Bucky continued to tell their more animated version of the story, while Steve leaned close to you, wrapping his muscular arm around your waist with lips pressed to your temple.

“Happy Birthday, Sweetheart.”

#steve rogers #chris evans #chris evans x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine

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hookedontaronfics · 4 years

Text

Honky Dancer series - Chapter 8

Chapter title: Consequences Read the previous installments here: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 Rating: M Pairing: Taron x OC Warnings: Trigger warnings for a subtle mentions of an eating disorder and some medical drama A/N: A lot happens in this chapter, and it’s quite dramatic. The chapter bears its name well; you cannot outrun the consequences of your actions, as our beloved Juliette will soon find out. I hope you enjoy this emotional ride! X

Night shoots, I quickly learned, were a special sort of experience. Most of us had tried to nap before the call time, and we were all standing around clutching cups of coffee, full of caffeine and running on adrenaline. The choreography for “Saturday Night’s Alright” required every dancer that was hired, and a cast of extras simply to fill the background too. The amount of crew and the rigging required to give the number an expansive feel also added to the sheer number of people on set at the moment. The volume level was almost too much, with everyone chatting excitedly.

I was standing with my usual group, minus Markus, who was giving me an extremely cold shoulder by not acknowledging my presence at all. I couldn’t blame him, though; I’d told him to never talk to me again, after all. But now that it was the next day and my simmering anger had dulled, and I’d managed to smooth things over with Taron, I wondered if I hadn’t acted out too irrationally. Blame the baby hormones, I thought ruefully to myself.

Being on that carnival set, amongst the twinkling lights and magical atmosphere, made us feel like we were transported somewhere else. And I certainly hoped that effect would come across on film when it was all said and done. My favorite part was the massive Ferris wheel, ablaze with color. I spotted Taron, talking animatedly with Dexter, and when he looked over I gave him a small wave, which he cutely returned.

“Ugh, adorable,” Leah commented, making me smile behind my coffee cup lid as I took another sip. After what felt like a waste of an hour, we were finally called into place. We discarded our coffees and dumped our jackets and bags and went through last-minute costume checks, the costumers nit-picking over the littlest details, adjusting collars here, snipping stray threads there. We had already been walked through some preliminary blocking, but now that the cameras would be turned on, we all wanted things to be as perfect as they could be. The less takes we all had to do for each beat, the better.

Still, that constant ripple of excitement and thrill ran through all of us and kept us going as the nightly hours wore on. Watching Taron in his element really felt like a treat though. How he managed to turn that energy on and maintain his performance level take after take after draining take was mind-boggling, really. And whether he was tired or not, he never showed it, and he stayed positive and kind to everyone around him. But even though the work itself was exhausting, I still loved everything about it.

The track itself was phenomenal, and Taron’s vocals were strong. I never got tired of listening to it no matter how many takes we did. Giles Martin was a genius, keeping the original integrity of the song but building segments of the different musical influences that Elton had been exposed to and incorporated into his music over the many years, and those flavors had also been used in our dance styles. The choreography was engaging, energetic and exciting, and being a part of this musical number certainly felt like being a part of something much larger than ourselves. The sequence was a crucial part of the storytelling, and needed to feel as youthful and adventurous as Elton’s life was during that time.

I had to admit that I was more than happy when they finally called that night’s filming to a close, as the first creep of dawn was just beginning to tinge the sky. I felt the exhaustion and soreness in every fiber of my body, and blearily changed out of my costume, located my bag in the pile, and wearily made my way off the set and toward the tube station before realizing someone was calling my name. I whirled around, nearly knocking myself off my own feet as I stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk.

“Juliette! Hey, wait up,” Taron said, jogging over to me and sweetly brushing his fingers over my cheek, still somehow not looking exhausted. “Clara’s with her dad and your mum has Troy. Can I just drive you over to my place?” he asked, and I was so tired I didn’t bother arguing, and nodded instead, letting Taron slip his arm around me supportively.

“How are you not completely exhausted?” I grumbled.

“Well, I’m not pregnant, so that helps,” he quipped lightly. “But I’m also just used to it, I think. Not exactly the first night scene I’ve ever been in.”

“I can think of a few,” I smiled. “Bit of a fan of your work, here,” I teased lightly.

“Well you nearly have to be, now that you’re dating me,” he smirked back, and I cracked a smile despite my exhaustion. I sank gratefully down into the plush of the car seat, fighting off falling asleep right then and there. The last thing I needed was Taron taking it upon himself to carry me to bed, as sweet of a gesture as that would be.

“I think today went well,” Taron spoke into our tired silence.

“Really well, at least on our part. It’s always one thing to rehearse a dance. It’s another to see it in the place, in the world so to speak, the lights and colors and costumes. Something about that just made everything feel much more real today,” I replied. “And you… You totally killed it.”

“I don’t know if I killed it, but I wager I gave it everything I had,” he smiled, looking over at me.

“Well, I think, from what I’ve seen, you’re carrying this whole damn thing.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said, running his fingers through his hair in the way he did when he felt humbled by something.

“Well I do,” I smiled, more to myself than anything.

“I am so ready to crash,” he yawned when we finally pulled into the drive and parked.

“You and me both,” I sighed wearily. We made our way inside, and I realized oddly that I hadn’t been in his home for a fair bit. It felt just as cozy as before as he led me to the bedroom, pulling me to him for a couple of sweet kisses before we both got ready for bed, too tired for anything more. He did his best to try and block the morning sunlight creeping across the floor, able to darken the room a bit, and we curled up together and were sound asleep within minutes, my brain for once too worn out to keep me awake.

The baby, on the other hand, had other ideas, waking me up a few hours later. I stumbled to the bathroom and wretched, hardly anything in my stomach to get rid of. I groaned slightly and splashed water on my face before returning to my slumbering boyfriend. I checked my phone briefly, scrolling through social media mindlessly, waiting for sleep to find me again, but hunger found me first instead.

I got up and, still too exhausted to make anything else, popped some bread in the toaster oven, rapping my fingers on the counter as I waited for it to be ready. I smeared some butter on, then took a few bites, chewing slowly, my hand resting on my belly. But then the part of my brain that worried about calories kicked in, and I found I couldn’t eat another bite. I tossed the rest of the toast in the trash and reminded myself I needed to stay away from carbs as I returned to the bed, not entirely satisfied but at least my stomach had stopped gurgling uncomfortably.

“Mmmm,” Taron murmured next to me, turning over and sliding his arm over my waist and nuzzling into my neck. “Can’t sleep?” He asked, cracking his green eyes open and looking at me.

“I got sick. And then I got hungry,” I smiled, as his eyes drew down to my stomach, his fingers splaying out under my sleep shirt and caressing my skin there sweetly.

“This will be worth it in the end,” he said gently, kissing my forehead. “Try to get some more sleep. Tonight will be difficult if you don’t.” I nodded at that and tried to let him soothe me back to sleep, and I eventually did end up drifting off again.

We woke with enough time to shower, make some dinner, and watch a little telly together before heading to set and doing it all over again. The second night seemed a little easier, but maybe it was just because I knew more of what to expect, the lag between scenes, the flurry of activity, the massive rigs swinging around and being readjusted constantly, the dead space where we had to try and keep our bodies warm, the constant makeup and costume retouches, the attempt to keep our energy up through the slog of what felt like a 14-hour night. We had fun with some bumper cars and there might have been more horsing around than actual dancing during that sequence.

The next two nights felt a little more laid-back, as a bulk of the large group shots were already done. The transitions into and out of the scene, with the bar and with Kit Connor, who played the mid-aged Reggie, were the focus of those days, so I spent more time sitting around than anything else, but that also gave me time to be curious about the behind-the-scenes machinations of putting a movie together. I found it completely fascinating, so different and removed from what I did on the stage when I danced professionally, a completely different set of lingo I didn’t quite understand. What was a grip? A racking focus? A polarizer? I had no idea, but hearing people talk casually about the technical aspects made me feel curious to know more.

Needless to say, I was grateful when night shoots, at least for that sequence, were done. It was kind of saddening to see the carnival get dismantled, but of course it had only been put up for the film and I knew that. I had to return to my own crazy schedule, my daughter and my own students and trying to balance that with further rehearsals for “Bitch is Back” and time with Taron as well, though the next few nights he spent at my home with me. It wasn’t even a conversation we had, he just showed up every evening, joining me in making dinner and helping Clara with her homework and walking Troy and just generally filling a space in my home I hadn’t realized had been empty. Eventually I thought it was high time he had a key, so I made it a point to make a copy and give him one.

“You’re in the special group of people who gets one of these,” I giggled as we cuddled on the couch together, long after Clara had gone to bed.

“Oh?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “And just how many people get a key to my girlfriend’s abode?” he chuckled.

“My mum, of course. Zayn, just in case something came up with Clara. Now you…” I smiled, as Taron flipped the key around in his palm slightly. He seemed a bit reserved about it, but then he’d been a bit reserved the past few nights. I chalked it up to just being knackered from night shoots until he sighed slightly and spoke my name in a hesitant manner.

“Juliette. I really need to ask you something,” he said, his eyes focusing somewhere just above the crown of my head.

“Anything, T,” I replied, even though a cold knot had formed in my stomach.

“Markus pulled me aside the other day and um, he wanted to pass along a few… things.” It was just like Markus to try and fuck everything up for me, even if we weren’t together. Even if I’d thoroughly ended things. Why could nothing in my world stay perfect, ever? I swallowed past the lump in my throat, willing my voice to not shake.

“I’m sure he wasn’t doing so out of the kindness of his heart,” I said coldly.

“Of course I took things with a grain of salt. We haven’t exactly had the best history, Markus and I, all things considered,” he said, finally focusing on my face, but the look of hurt that knitted his brows caught me off guard. “But he told me that you two were still together, that you slept with him again, when you had told me you wanted to be with me. When you were supposed to have broken up with him. And you never told me about that, and your nonadmission might as well have been as good as lying to me,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly.

“I… I’m so sorry,” I tried, my brain still processing what he was saying to me.

“I’ve been wrestling with this for a few days, whether to ask you about it or not. Whether to strike a divide between us or not. I’m forgiving, but relationships have to be founded on trust and communication, neither of which you’ve given to me, and that hurts.”

“I tried to break up with Markus. I tried to tell you that I failed. I felt so...humiliated and… ashamed. Of my history, of my weakness, of this shitty pattern I’ve never been able to get myself out of. I never meant it to hurt you, so I thought I could protect you from… me,” I said, stumbling over the words, unable to keep the tremor out of my voice. “You have to believe that, please.”

“I believe you, it’s just a misguided principle, really. Relationships sometimes hurt. Sometimes you have to be raw, and open, and vulnerable, and ugly in front of the other person, and sometimes that makes them hurt for you, because they love you. I want to accept your flaws, your imperfections, but I can’t do that if you won’t open up to me. I can’t do that if I can’t trust you to be honest with me. I can’t do that if you try to protect me from the difficult, painful bits. I can’t do this, if you won’t extend that to me,” he said into the dead silence of the room. My heart was near pounding out of my chest and I felt the need to get sick.

“What are you saying, Taron? Are you breaking up with me?” I asked softly, tears already threatening in my eyes.

“I just need...some time. To think. To know where I stand. I am hurt, and you’ve got to learn that there are consequences for your actions. But I’m not leaving you, no,” he said as evenly as possible. “I told you I loved you, through the hard times too. I stand by that. I just need you to try and earn my trust back,” he said softly, brushing his fingers lightly over my chin.

“Okay,” I sniffled slightly, feeling the shame burning in my chest.

He leaned over and set the key on the coffee table, the clink of the metal against the wood top making me cringe slightly, before he stood up and turned to me.

“I’ll see you around at the studios. We’re not going to be strangers. But there is this wedge we need to deal with, and I hope you can understand that.”

“I created it,” I said, a couple of tears rolling down my cheeks. But I couldn’t pity myself; I had done this. I had turned Taron away from me, yet again. I had made a muddled mess out of something that should have been good and pure.

“Hey, no need to cry. We will work through this, alright?” he said, tipping my chin up to look at him, but his face was fractured into a thousand tiny pieces through my tears.

“Why would you want to? Why aren’t you pissed off at me?” I asked, pulling away from his touch, his arm returning to his side awkwardly.

“I was, at first. But I try incredibly hard to not act out in anger. It never leads to anything good; it tends to cause more problems than it solves. I also know that even while you had promised to choose me, you really hadn’t, not yet. I wanted to believe I’d be enough to convince you...” he trailed off.

“Fuck, of course you are, T. You’re the best thing that’s ever really happened to me. And I keep trying to ruin it, so maybe you’d be better off without me dragging you down,” I said harshly.

“Stop, stop. I won’t let you talk about yourself that way,” he said, kneeling down in front of where I sat on the sofa, directly into my line of sight again. “Your self-loathing won’t help anything. Please see that.”

“Maybe I’m one person you can’t fix. Maybe no one can,” I said shakily, and Taron sighed deeply.

“I hope this feels better in the morning, but going around in circles on it with you all night won’t help either. I’m going to take my leave, and you should get some sleep, and we’ll figure out how to move forward together. That is, if you still want to.”

I couldn’t give him an answer so the silence between us yawned open until he stood up and placed a soft kiss on my forehead before gathering up his jacket and letting himself out the door. I’m not really sure how long I sat there, staring at nothing, thoughts whirling around my head. Time passed me by unnoticed until Clara padded barefoot into the room.

“Mum?” she asked, and I startled back into reality.

“Yes dear?” I asked, trying to push back the edges of darkness I felt threatening to overcome me.

“I got sick in my bed,” Clara said, starting to cry.

“Oh, honey,” I said, instantly sweeping up off the couch and going to attend to my sick daughter, cleaning the linens and giving her medicine and crashing in my bed with her that night, her feverish little body shivering next to me as I held her tight. At least I had this; I could look at my bright, inquisitive, beautiful daughter and know I had a hand in bringing her up in this world, hopefully teaching her how to avoid the pitfalls I’d fallen into in so many ways. I was grateful she was still young, that boys still had cooties and she was still years from her first kiss, her first love, her first heartbreak.

By the time the morning rolled around, neither Clara nor I had gotten much sleep, as much from Clara’s illness as from my dark thoughts. I called my mum to see if she could watch my sick kid while I went to teach classes and later Rocketman rehearsals, and of course my mum was all-too-kindly available to come over. I tucked Clara in her own bed, glad that her fever had come down overnight, and called school to tell them she wouldn’t be in that day while I waited for my mum to arrive. I made some coffee, desperate for the caffeine boost, and when my mum finally made it across town I blearily stumbled through my day.

I couldn’t help glaring daggers at Markus’ back during rehearsals every time he wasn’t looking, which was most of the time, but I knew that was petty. It certainly wouldn’t make him apologize for ratting me out to Taron, and it wouldn’t take back what happened between us either.

By the time I got home I was completely exhausted, but Clara was feeling better and I couldn’t just crash out, even if my mum offered. I shook my head, telling her she’d done enough already for me, and sent her home with a thank-you pound note she tried to protest but I slipped into her purse anyway when she wasn’t looking. I ended up tossing a frozen pizza in the oven, but found it difficult to choke down the calories, while Clara didn’t seem to notice how little I ate as she chowed down on her slices. We watched a movie together, and I admittedly might have nodded off a few times, the Disney songs drifting in and out of my dreams.

I was so happy once Clara was tired enough to put to bed; I even skipped a shower just so I could faceplant in my bed that much quicker. I missed Taron’s warmth next to me as I pulled the blankets tightly around me. He promised we’d be okay, but what if he found more reasons to stay away from me in this temporary absence? What if he didn’t really miss me all that much? What if I was the one that was unlovable? I shivered slightly under the covers, the darkness creeping even closer than it had before in my mind, threatening to take over as I sank into a restless, dreamless sleep.

That darkness that resided inside my brain manifested itself in my attempt to control my calories; every little thing I put in my mouth had to be accounted for, and controlling my diet seemed to help me calm my nerves. Even when everything else felt like it was spiraling out of control, this one thing I could have total control over. I had exactly one scrambled egg white and 8 ounces of a protein shake in the morning, a 150-calorie protein bar at lunch, a handful of plain unsalted nuts for a snack to sustain my energy, and usually made some fish and vegetables for dinner. Eating for two was an absolute myth; I was religious about my prenatal vitamins and making sure the growing baby inside me was still getting the crucial building blocks it needed. But overeating wasn’t going to help either of us so I stuck to my routine, obviously varying things up for Clara so she wouldn’t be bored or wrinkle her nose up at my dinners.

Over the next couple weeks of classes and rehearsals, I started to see an instant change in my arm and leg tone, and that made me at least happier. I had been needing to lose that unnecessary weight for years, and even if I couldn’t stop my belly from getting bigger, I could stop the rest of me from following suit.

As we headed full on into the summer months, the weather grew hot and sticky, as London weather was wont to do. We’d been rehearsing the Broadway musical-style choreography for “Bitch is Back” for a while in the studio, but were finally taking rehearsals outside, into the back lot to do some initial blocking. Taron was of course there, sporting some mockup cardboard wings that looked completely ungainly to manage. But somehow he did, as we danced our way through the piece and Dexter showed Taron and Matthew Illesley, who played the youngest version of Reggie, how the scene would operate.

I could feel the sweat trickling down my back, down my arms and legs, dripping off the edge of my nose. We were all allowed to wear our sunnies since it was a rare bright day in London and we weren’t officially filming yet. But when the production was able to secure the Pinner Street location, we would all need to be ready to go, so putting in this work now was important. They made us take a lot of breaks, providing Gatorade and water in massive jugs to keep us all hydrated, but I was beginning to feel rather sick to my stomach and had to fight through the nausea for the rest of the rehearsal.

Seeing Taron there, being so close to him and yet feeling far away, was painful. He acknowledged me, but it was mostly in a professional manner, and I could feel the difference in my bones. I wanted nothing more than to have him scoop me up in his arms and hold me to him, but that reality had been shattered. There are consequences to your actions, Juliette, the words popping into my brain and making my heart ache. I couldn’t run from those consequences; the only way to move forward was to accept them and move through them.

But how was I going to be able to prove to Taron that he could trust me, when we weren’t even spending time together? What grand gesture could show him how much he meant to me? I wasn’t really sure, and these thoughts hounded me throughout the day.

The next few days were much the same, the temperatures staying sticky hot and making me feel worse for wear. Pregnancy and heat did not go well together, and I found myself taking a few more breaks than everyone else, coming up with some lame excuse as I hadn’t told anyone on set I was pregnant. Only Taron and Markus knew that, and well, we all know who actually did his part to check in with me, concern written all over his face.

But then rehearsals suddenly ground to a halt, and we were left in a strange holding pattern as the production moved onto other scenes, keeping to its schedule and of course keeping Taron very busy. We had a couple short rehearsals to keep the choreography fresh in everyone’s brains, but there wasn’t much else for us to do. I focused more on teaching my classes, texting off and on with Taron when he’d ask how Clara was doing.

<She’s got a recital next week, if you’d like to go. She’d probably like that; she’s been wondering why you haven’t been around as much. I just told her it was because of work.> I responded one evening.

And be there he was, dressed in a sharp navy suit coat, a white shirt underneath, and pressed slacks, looking as handsome as he ever did. Sitting next to him was almost intimidating, stealing glances at each other, sharing awkward smiles with each other as we waited through student after student, some well-practiced, others not so much, waiting for Clara’s turn.

When she got up on the stage, I could hear a bit of an audible gasp from the crowd; my opinionated little girl had chosen to don a sequined, sparkly pink jacket over her recital dress, and she had on a pair of star sunnies too, “just like Elton!” she’d declared when I’d tried to convince her otherwise.

“That’s our Clara,” Taron grinned over at me with a chuckle, before looking down at my hand and slowly taking it in his. I sucked my breath in slightly, still staring straight ahead as Clara took a seat at the piano. “You look beautiful today,” he whispered in my ear, taking in the light summer dress I’d chosen.

“Thank you,” I said, glancing over at him, those dimples of his causing my heart to flutter again. That special thing we had, it wasn’t gone by any means. We sat through my daughter’s songs, Clara gamely making it through Bach and Debussey with only a few stumbles, before getting to play a chosen song. And of course she’d chosen “Your Song,” playing it with gusto to much applause and appreciation from the audience. She gave an enthusiastic bow after her performance and skipped off the stage, returning to us excitedly as we were still clapping for her.

“Lovely job, sweetheart,” I said happily, giving her a huge hug.

“I think Elton himself would be very proud,” Taron added, making Clara grin so big she was showing off her toothless gaps.

“Yeah, if only he’d been able to watch it,” she sighed, making us both laugh.

“He’s a very busy man, but maybe some day you could play for him,” Taron said, as I playfully slapped his arm.

“Don’t promise her that!” I hissed slightly under my breath, but Taron waved it off.

“I’m sure I could get it arranged,” he said, as Clara fairly begged Taron to stay around for dinner. He obliged, and it turned into a really decent evening, the first one I felt I’d had in a bit, even after Clara commented “ewww, fish again?” when I served us dinner. He stayed long enough to tuck my daughter into bed, but said he probably shouldn’t wear out his welcome, though we lingered too long at the doorway, unspoken words and feelings passing between us.

I was actually at the academy when I got the phone call that the Pinner Street location had been secured, and that we’d be needed on set within a few hours. I scrambled to get my afternoon classes covered and made sure mum could pick up Clara from school before heading over to the studios, arriving just in time to get through hair and makeup. We changed into our costumes and were all boarded onto a shuttle and driven across the city, dropped off on a suburban street where crews were already busy setting up rigging for the cameras.

The place was an absolute blur of activity as us dancers huddled in the shade of some trees, trying to stave off the bright sunlight. We used each other to stretch and warm up, a steady hum weaving through the shimmering air as directions were shouted loudly, people running frantically to and fro. I hadn’t imagined this much chaos as the rest of the production had always been incredibly orderly. But I supposed this could happen with locations in the streets; it probably was a pain in the ass to secure city permits to shut entire blocks down for filming. When the city gave you a window of time, you had to spring into action; there would be no dragging feet here.

This sequence, of course, was an important element of the story that brought Taron into the picture as a sort of segue from rehab into his childhood years. It involved the other patients in rehab and the counselor, a brass band, and Taron in a bright orange neoprene Elvis-inspired devil costume with massive wings. The first time I saw him in it I nearly tripped over my own feet. The costume left very little to the imagination, but it was also somehow fitting to the vision of Elton that Dexter and Taron had created for the film. Elton at times played the devil, but he could also be the angel, and in many ways he was neither and both at the same time in his own story.

I loved the energy of this part of filming; the heat, not so much. The makeup crew constantly had to step in and powder us all between takes, and I’m sure our costumes weren’t going to smell very nice by the end of it. The filming day was kept short, as there were heat advisories and the production certainly didn’t want anyone to pass out. The heat sapped the strength right out of my body, and I wondered at how weak I felt as I made my way home, knowing I’d have to fight through the next few days in the same way.

The weakness in my body didn’t really abate the next day, and was joined by more nausea. Even if I didn’t get sick, I still felt turned inside out. I could barely stomach water, but I made myself push it down nonetheless. If my performance suffered for it, no one said a word to me. The third day, the dizziness hit me like a sack of rocks, making me stumble into another dancer and completely ruining the take. I mumbled my apologies and tried to concentrate the best I could. My muscles knew the motions; my brain couldn’t keep anything straight so I tried not to think too much and let my body do the work it knew by memory.

But some things you cannot win against, no matter how hard you fight. Weeks of undereating had caught up to me, leaving me emptied out; spots began to dance across my vision, my skin flushed cold despite the heat, and I found it difficult to breathe. I vaguely thought someone was calling my name, but I couldn’t hear them over the rushing in my ears. The music continued on, but my body did not; I dropped to the ground and stayed there. I don’t remember hitting the pavement, but I came to with my face burning, pressed against the hot surface. I was dimly aware of people gathered around me, and I thought I heard Taron yell at someone to “get these bloody wings off” before bright orange swam into my view.

“Juliette, can you hear me?” he asked as he knelt down beside me, the material of his costume stretching taut over his thighs. I don’t know why my brain focused on that, but I couldn’t move my head enough to look up at his face. The crystals glittered almost painfully bright in the sun as my vision went in and out of focus.

“She’s probably got heat stroke,” one voice said.

“Give her some space,” another added.

“Where’s the fucking medic?” someone else in the throng of voices shouted, my brain picking these out amongst the murmurs.

Did I really look that bad? I wondered, unaware of how crumpled I must have looked. Someone brought over an umbrella and at least shielded me from the sun; someone else tried offering water but I could neither hold the bottle nor swallow when it was poured into my mouth, vomiting onto the pavement instead, a strange thought that I should be embarrassed weaving its way through my brain, too wispy for me to grab onto.

I felt my body being moved as my pupil reaction was checked, my pulse taken, my body fussed over. Words were said that I didn’t understand and then I was being lifted through the air on a stretcher and pushed into the back of an ambulance. I flicked my eyes around at the faces staring down at me, the hands pushing IV lines into my arms, everything blurry and strangely in slow motion.

And then I felt the sharpest pain in my abdomen, making me cry out. I instinctively tried to curl into a ball but the straps held me down, and I started to feel panic rising in my chest as another sharp pain wracked my body. I clutched at my stomach, gasping out something incoherent; this wasn’t right, and I knew it could only mean something terrible was happening.

“Oh god, the baby,” I heard Taron say, his voice sounding too loud and tinny to my ears, my secret spilled out for everyone within earshot to hear.

What was happening to my baby?, I thought, as more hands poked and prodded me, more needles stuck into my flesh, more words were said I couldn’t make sense of. All I could understand was the shivers that shook me, the pains that tormented me, the blackness that threatened to overtake me. The noise was too loud, the siren, the beeping machines, the medics’ voices, the rattling of wheels over roads as we sped toward the hospital, the hush of the cast and crew we left in our wake, growing in a cascading crescendo inside my brain until, mercifully, there was silence.

I began to float into the void, the absence of noise, of feeling, of the physical realm, detached from what was happening to my body. The darkness came up to meet me, soothing me, warming me, easing me into slumber, the medicine working through my veins, easing the fire in my body. And then everything, everywhere, went black, and I was gone.

This is not the end of the story. Read Chapter 9 HERE.

#taron imagine #rocketman fanfiction #taron egerton #taron fanfiction #taron x reader

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tharroswrites · 6 years

Text

Tiny Brilliant Suns

Kacchako Week 2018! Day Zero: Rainy Days (Posting a smidge early because I’ll be too busy tomorrow)

Read on AO3

“What the fuck are you doing?”

The words slipped out of him the way they always did around her—easy, unintentional, and infuriating as hell because it made him look like he cared.

It was Sunday and he was making his way back to the dorms from a solo training session in Gym Gamma, umbrella cocked above his head and blocking the worst of the heavy summer rain. She, on the other hand, had no umbrella, and stood in the downpour like she was egging it on—face turned upward and padded fingers splayed at the sky. Pools of rainwater hung suspended in the air above her, and she continually added to them, drops splashing against pink pads and sliding off, but upwards as her Quirk took effect. Her hair was plastered to her rosy cheeks and her shorts and tank top clung to her and made Bakugou warm all over in a way that had nothing to do with the humid heat of May.

She grinned when she saw him, like she was actually happy that he was there, and waved him closer.

And in spite of himself, Bakugou took a few more steps in her direction.

Magnetic.

It was really the only way to describe her. She was likeable, sure, and bubbly in the way that Ashido and the invisible girl (whose name, even after a year and a half, escaped him) were—’here-comes-the-sun,’ Kirishima called it. But with Uraraka, there was more. A polar opposite ferocity that shook him and thrilled him and always left him wanting more.

If Bakugou believed in things like fairness, he would say that this was not. He didn’t have a positive side, and he would never be the whole that she deserved to attract.

Without invitation, Uraraka ducked under his umbrella, her body almost pressing against his in the small space. She pushed her wet hair out of her eyes, still grinning as she looked out and up at her work.

“Practicing,” she said brightly, in answer to his original question. “It’s a good way to gradually raise the weight I’m lifting. This is better suited for upping my weight limit than going all out all at once, you know?”

“Sucks that it only works in shitty weather.”

Uraraka shrugged, unfazed by his negativity. “Nah. It just makes bad days a little brighter.”

He gave her his signature, derisive ‘tch’ and shook his head, leaving her there and making his way back to the dorms.

She deserved a whole, and she’d already found it in shitty Deku. They’d been dating for more than a month, and the whole class was over the godsdamned moon about it.

So Bakugou returned to his room and pretended not to think about Uraraka Ochako.

—

The next time it rained he watched her from the window. She was glowing and in her element and grinning like All Might as she struggled to lift just a bit more.

And Bakugou, secretly, allowed himself a smile, too.

—

The time after that he made an excuse to be outside—a trip to the supermarket that wasn’t entirely necessary as there were only two days left before summer holiday.

She was puking in a bush when he approached, her inevitable limit reached. He had shopping bags in one hand and his umbrella once more hanging lazily above his head as he slowed his walk just a tick in the hope that she’d be up by the time he reached her (because if he stopped while she was puking, it would make it look like he cared, and he was still working rather pathetically to convince himself that he did not).

She did straighten, pushing wet hair from her face and draining the water bottle in her hand. She wiped her mouth on the back of her wrist and turned, shaking herself and preparing to try again as clear drops ran down her face and trickled from her chin.

Heroes always try again.

It was something All Might liked to tell them when they failed.

And Bakugou, because he was an idiot, fished an apple out of one of the bags.

“Oy, Uraraka,” he called, getting her attention and tossing the fruit to her. “Working on an empty stomach won’t get you anywhere.”

Her eyes widened a bit and the corners of her mouth, which had been pulled down in concentration, tilted upward as she caught it. And, perhaps, she knew him a bit too well, because she didn’t thank him, didn’t comment on the novelty of the gesture. Instead, she bounced over and peered into his other bags as she took a big, crunchy bite from the apple.

“Are you cooking tonight, Bakugou?” she asked thickly; chewing and swallowing were an afterthought in the wake of her question.

“Haven’t decided yet. Does it matter? I don’t share.”

Uraraka quirked an eyebrow and took a second, pointed, bite from the apple.

“Tch. You know what I mean.”

She had a challenging glint in her eyes that made Bakugou’s mouth go dry.

“What would it take?” she asked, prodding him in the shoulder in a way that sent crackling electricity through him from the point of contact. “To get you to cook for me?”

He should have told her to fuck off. He should’ve said that there was nothing she could do, that there wasn’t a chance in hell.

But he was out in the rain because she was, and he didn’t think he could really deny her anything.

“Stop enough rain that I can walk from here to the dorm without getting wet. When you can do that, I’ll consider it.”

Uraraka looked from him to the building several meters away. “Who’s to say I can’t do that right now?”

“Can you?”

“No…”

“Then get to work.”

—

He didn’t see her during summer holiday, though when it rained, his thoughts drifted to pink cheeks and bright eyes and a strength that could move mountains.

—

Word through the grapevine was, or Tsuyu-told-Yaoyorozu-told-Jiro-told-Kaminari-told-Kirishima (no grapeface involved), that Uraraka and Deku had split.

The way Kirishima brought it up, showing up randomly at the Bakugou house under the pretense of wanting a training partner, made Bakugou wonder just how observant the spiky fucker was.

“You think I care, shit-for-brains?” Bakugou had grunted.

Face and arms visibly hardening, Kirishima smiled. “I think it wouldn’t be a bad thing if you did.”

—

When they started the second semester, her spark hadn’t dimmed. If anything, she threw herself into training with more wild intensity than she had before. Sometimes, during practical lessons, he could hear her muttering things like, “Be dedicated like Deku!”

That didn’t sit particularly well in his stomach.

But she kept trying, kept pushing herself, kept holding back the rain.

And Bakugou kept finding reasons to watch.

—

In December of their second year, Deku noticed.

Noticed the way Bakugou always seemed to ‘have plans’ when the sky turned grey. Noticed that Bakugou, who notoriously hated the rain, found reasons to go out during storms.

This noticing culminated, as it often did between them, in a messy, all out fight-slash-screaming-match that leveled more than half of Ground Beta and earned them both a bed in Recovery Girl’s office and a week of cleaning duty and suspension.

But the truth of all of it was, Deku hadn’t been trying to stop him.

“You’re better than me, Kacchan!” Blood and tears ran down his face even as he aimed a roundhouse kick at Bakugou’s head. “You’re better than me but you’re too much of a coward to admit how you feel about her. If you can’t do that, you’ll never deserve her!”

Bakugou dodged the kick, barely, and pivoted with a right hook at the ready. “The fuck do you know about how I feel?”

Deku, infuriatingly, let himself be hit. He staggered, doubled over, looked up at Bakugou. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

“You just think I want whatever you have and you’re fucking wrong—”

“No.” His voice was hoarse, a ragged croak filled with more emotion than Bakugou was willing to acknowledge. “I saw so much in her because of you. The rest of us, even me, sometimes wrote her off, but you never did. You never let her kindness or her size fool you. You...you see her like the hero that she is, and it helped me see that in her too. It didn’t work between us because I think I somehow made her feel...less. I think with me she felt like she was always in my shadow. But you...you can share the spotlight with her and neither of you are dimmed because of it.”

“I don’t share—”

“Not with most people, no. But her...a true equal...you just build each other up and I’m sorry I ever got in the way of that.”

—

When the rain lashed at the windows of classroom 2-A, Bakugou sometimes thought he could feel her eyes on his neck as he watched it fall.

—

It was a month into their third year when she did it.

The rain started as a languid, icy mist that seeped from the February sky like a dying breath. It quickened, thickened, cold fog condensing into a freezing tempest.

Only two students were crazy enough to brave it. One, training. The other, pretending to do the same (“You should practice in your weakest environments,” he’d growled at Kirishima with less conviction than he would’ve liked).

Bakugou watched her from across the yard as he shivered and tried, at least, to sweat.

Uraraka danced through the downpour like some sort of ninja/ballerina hybrid, her hands moving above her head so fast he couldn’t follow them. And the rain parted around her, floated upward as soon as it reached her outstretched padded fingers.

“Bakugou!”

He tore his eyes from the graceful curve of her spine, along the thin, wired muscle of her arms—arms that, despite their size, contained an infinite sort of strength. The past two years at U.A. had melted away her baby fat, leaving her slim and chiseled and full of sharp edges where there used to be roundness, but her voice had never lost its easy warmth. It was a tone that he’d used to hate, until he’d learned how quickly it could become a wicked, challenging battlecry.

His eyes continued upward, passed the rough pads of her fingers (he remembered the feel of them from a few sporadic Quirk combination lessons and the uncanny way she had of touching him at random moments—a hand on his arm to get his attention, both hands on his cheeks as she squished them together in stupid attempts to get him to smile, her fingers woven through his when she thought he was knocked out on a bed in Recovery Girl’s office after she’d managed to drop a building on him during an in-class spar).

His eyes, moving upward still, found what she’d been trying to show him.

There, suspended in the air a few meters above her head, was a massive, cohesive bubble of rainwater, and he saw the path to the dorms was sheltered by it.

It was an effort, fighting the grin that threatened to spread across his face.

“The real trick,” Uraraka said, smiling triumphantly even as her teeth chattered against each other and she wobbled a bit with the stress of holding up so much. “Was figuring out how to get the new rain falling into the bubble to absorb in a way that keeps my Quirk active on both the new and the old, rather than the new stuff falling straight through.”

“It’s badass, Uraraka.” And it was.

Her eyes, somehow, lit up more than they had already, the stormy sky splashing them in silver.

“Come on then, let’s get out of this godsdamned cold before my fingers fall off and I can’t hold up my end of the deal.”

“You’re cooking tonight?” She raised her eyebrows as she wrapped her arms around herself and fell into step beside him. They walked under her anti-gravity umbrella, soft light refracting through it and making the space seem a bit surreal.

In spite of the cold, Bakugou’s face heated. He tried to play it off, shrugging and shoving his hands in his pockets. “I knew you’d do it eventually, so I’ve been buying extra.”

“Really?” She nudged him with her elbow, her whole face beaming like inside her lived a tiny, brilliant star. ‘Here-comes-the-sun,’ indeed.

“Why would I lie about dumb shit like that?”

“You wouldn’t,” she said, still grinning as she pulled open the door to the dorm building. “Your confidence surprised me, though.”

“Your regular routine is to practice until you puke and then keep going, dumbass. I’m not going to doubt a work ethic like that.”

He wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment or the sudden temperature increase upon entering the dorms that caused Uraraka’s cheeks to go from pink to red, but either way it made the corner of his traitorous mouth twitch up into a half smile.

She was staring at him, her brown eyes slightly wider than normal as she continued to grin. When she realized this, she shook herself a bit, blushing deeper.

“Uh...I’m going to go find some dry clothes.”

“Good idea.” His voice was rougher than he intended, and he cleared his throat, nodding toward the giant water bubble outside. “You putting that down?”

“Oh! Right!” she went to the window and pressed the tips of her fingers together. “Release!”

The water crashed to the ground, splashing up against the door to the dorm and forming a small crater-like lake on the grounds. Uraraka winced.

“Oops.”

Bakugou shrugged. “Good thing you’re not interested in becoming a landscaper.”

She laughed. At a stupid joke he’d made. If Kirishima were here he’d probably pinch Bakugou to prove it wasn’t a dream. Uraraka bounced off to the girls’ staircase and he, hands still in his pockets, trudged up the boys’, feeling a warmth burning inside him that could make him sweat in spite of the icy damp of his clothes.

He returned to the kitchen first, his sweatpants and tank top warm and dry against his clammy skin. Uraraka appeared a few moments later as he was digging out a large pot from the back of one of the cabinets. She wore leggings and a sweatshirt—grey with Ryukyu’s blue-winged emblem emblazoned across it—and had her hair pulled up in messy twin top knots that came undone a bit as she hoisted herself up to sit on the counter and watch.

There were a few other people throughout the common area—Tsuyu, Deku, and Iida glanced in their direction briefly, sharing secret smiles that would’ve pissed him off on a different day. They soon gathered up their things and went up the boys’ staircase. Yaoyorozu and Jiro were on one of the couches, much too involved in each other to notice what was going on in the kitchen, and Todoroki sat reading a book in the far corner. It was almost like being alone.

“Whatcha making?” Uraraka asked, her eyes following him as he put the pot on the stove and went to the refrigerator.

He shot her a look. “Not telling.”

“What if it’s something I don’t like?”

Blankly, hoping it sounded like a simple, everyday observation, he said, “You like all food.”

She smiled, a hint of wickedness in it that caused his heart to stutter.

Before she could say anything, Kirishima came down the stairs, whistling, with Kaminari and Sero in tow. The latter two were arguing,

“Bastion took out White Wolf with his signature Ion Doubletake,” Kaminari was saying. “Not the Electron Wave. He debuted that move a year later in his fight with—”

He was cut off as Kirishima, without the faintest hint of subtly, slapped a hand across Kaminari’s mouth, jerked his head in Bakugou and Uraraka’s direction, and began trying to drag both of them back up the stairs. Sero caught on first, and helped Kirishima carry a confused Kaminari out of sight.

“What was that about?” Uraraka asked, though her cheeks had gone a bit pinker. “Uh...Bakugou? Did the cutting board insult your mom or something?”

He looked down, starting a bit as he realized he was digging the tip of his knife into the aforementioned object. “Idiots,” he said, because they were. And not just because they were getting heroes mixed up, but he could pretend that was all that irritated him. “Top Gun beat White Wolf. Bastion’s suit is modeled after the one Top Gun was wearing in that fight, but Bastion was still in school when White Wolf went down.”

A chuckle, a low rumble that rolled out of her like thunder, and then she was laughing, laughing as if all of his knife-wielding hostility was nothing but a gentle patter of rain in the face of her obliterating sunlight.

“What’s funny?” he asked, not able to look her full in the face for the brightness, and settled instead on her hands, which clutched her knees in her mirth, as he began chopping carrots.

“I just forget sometimes how much of a dork you are.”

“Oy!”

“Not in a bad way!” She pulled her hands from her knees to wave them in front of her face, grinning. “Besides, Kaminari was just wrong on all counts, Bastion debuted the Electron Wave first. He’s had more success using the Ion Doubletake, so people think he’s always used it, but he actually used the Electron Wave in his very first public fight as a sidekick versus—”

“Whiplash,” Bakugou finished with her, focusing intensely on his carrots and swallowing the sudden urge to kiss her or fight her or both. “And you call me a dork.”

She laughed again, lightly, and the corners of Bakugou’s mouth ached from fighting a smile. He dared a glance at her face as he pushed aside the carrots and started on potatoes, and found a soft smile there as she watched him. Her eyes darted away when he met them, her cheeks red again, but the smile remained.

The silence between them was easy, if a bit charged with a host of emotions that Bakugou knew he was feeling, though he couldn’t speak for her.

Part of his brain echoed back to him the words he thought the first time he’d seen her practicing in the rain—you’re not a whole. She deserves better.

The voice in his head that sounded like Deku countered with Coward.

“What’s with the face?” she asked, her voice a bit softer now as Bakugou dumped all the vegetables into the pot, adding broth, herbs, and chunks of beef for the spicy stew he hoped would chase away the wretched cold that still pounded against the windows—more ice than rain now that the sun was setting.

“Face? I always look like this,” he said, rearranging his features into his usual scowl as he placed the lid on the pot and went to stand beside her, his back leaning against the counter on which she sat, her knee just grazing the elbow of one of his crossed arms.

“Nuh-uh,” she argued, poking him in the shoulder. Finger pad on bare skin sent a shiver through him, though if she noticed, she ignored it. She didn’t press the matter, thankfully, and sniffled a bit as she said, “On a scale of one to Bakugou, how spicy is this going to be?”

“I’d call it a solid Uraraka,” he said automatically, feeling his face heat up again.

She beamed.

“That’s ah—”

“What?” he asked as she stopped mid sentence, a weird, scrunched up look on her face.

“It’s ah—ah—ah CHOO!”

The force of it must have activated her Quirk because it sent her to the ceiling, top knots flying out of their ties as she spun wildly heels-over-head-over-heels.

And Bakugou couldn’t hold back.

He was laughing. Cackling, howling. The doubled over, hands-on-your-knees-just-to-keep-you-upright kind of laughter that he rarely indulged in.

And soon, she was laughing too.

“Get down, dumbass,” he said a few moments later, though there was no bite in it at all as his breath was short and his voice didn’t sound quite right. “You don’t need to be getting sick.”

“It’ll be my own stupid fault,” she said, still chuckling a bit as she released her Quirk and dropped back down to the floor beside him. He pushed her toward the now-empty couches, and she allowed it, plopping down cross legged and grabbing the blanket he shoved at her.

When he returned to the kitchen to check the stew, she watched him over the back of the couch, her chin resting atop the cushion.

“I’m not gonna spit in it, you know.”

“Well I wasn’t even considering that until now,” she teased, and Bakugou could hear the smile in her voice even as he was turned toward the stove. “But this is a once in a lifetime opportunity! I don’t want to waste it.”

He didn’t respond to that, wondering if he should tell her that he didn’t want it to be the only time they did this. He could come up with some excuse, some higher bar she could meet to make this happen again, but he thought she might see through it.

A few more minutes past, and Bakugou deemed dinner ready, spooning the thick stew into two bowls and bringing them to the couch. He sat beside her, mirroring her cross-legged posture, and she un-cocooned herself from the blanket just enough to stick her arms out and take the offered food.

It was quiet, save for the rain on the windows, and dark, save for the light still spilling from the kitchen and the single lamp Jiro and Yaoyorozu had forgotten to turn off when they left. Bakugou worried, a bit, if she could hear the way his heart thundered in his chest as he realized that Todoroki had left too, and they were utterly alone together.

“This smells amazing, Bakugou,” Uraraka gushed, taking her spoon and blowing on the first bite. Her lips, pursed and a little chapped, drew Bakugou’s gaze, and he was thankful she was too focused on dinner to notice. She popped the spoon into her mouth. “Mmm,” she said, her mouth full. “So good.”

“Swallow, Uraraka.”

She shot him a playful look, but did as he said, smacking her lips a few times as she tested the aftertaste. “‘Uraraka Spice Level’ is perfect. Enough of a kick without ruining the other flavors. How did you know?”

“You’re one of the only other people who uses the hot sauce at the condiment bar in Lunch Rush,” he said. The truth. “I’ve seen how much you use.”

Her knee brushed his and she hid another smile behind her spoon.

The rain turned to snow, falling thick and fast beyond the window. Uraraka watched it, lost in thought, and Bakugou, for the hundredth time, wondered exactly what had led them to this—which events along the way added up to this uncertainty. Because he knew what he wanted, but he also knew why he didn’t deserve it (and that was saying something, as Bakugou had been raised believing that he deserved just about anything he wanted). And Uraraka...was she just being her usual nice self? With the smiles and the laughs and the—fuck all he hated not understanding something. He hated not knowing what to do.

He hated that he didn’t hate her for making such a mess of him.

“Weird to think this is our last year, huh?” Uraraka said this quietly, eyes suddenly downcast, the manifestation of whatever it was she’d been thinking as she looked out the window.

“Shit, it’s not like anyone’s dying.”

“No...but I mean it’s not like we’ll all see each other everyday anymore. It’s not like we’ll all be living together.”

“Eh, it’ll be fine.” This, with more confidence than he felt. He knew she’d be fine, at least. And he would too. He’d be Number Fucking One. He just hoped that alone would make him happy.

“Mostly...mostly I worry that you won’t stay in touch.”

His heart faltered at that and he tried to keep it from showing on his face. “Me?”

“Yeah. It’s not like you really like any of us. Why would you want to spend time with us if you weren’t being forced to?” She was looking into the bowl in her lap, one knee bouncing nervously as she chewed on her bottom lip.

He watched her, a wry smile cracking across his mouth as he waited for her to glance back up. When she did, he took a slow, pointed bite from his stew. “You proved me wrong about sharing. I’m proving you wrong about liking some of you dipshits.”

She smiled, but was quiet for a long moment, and Bakugou continued. “Besides, you shouldn’t worry about me. There are plenty of better people here you’d be happier hanging out with, even if most of them are shitty extras.”

It was her turn to take a pointed bite, using her eyes to gesture to the limited space between them. Her voice was little more than a breath as she said, “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Their eyes locked, and such a fire burned in hers that Bakugou wondered if it had been there all along. If he’d missed it by spending so much time avoiding her face for fear of the sun that resided in it. A small, hesitant half-smile tilted at the side of her mouth as she took a shaky breath.

He was blazing, scorching as he had the first time he’d ever fought her, his nerves vibrating and his blood singing at the steel and nerve and challenge that shone from her eyes like a searchlight.

And the uncertainty inside him snapped.

He grabbed the bowl from her hand, slamming both hers and his onto the coffee table with enough force that he heard one of them crack, but he didn’t care because his hands were on her face, pulling it to his. Rough, calloused fingers grazing across pink cheeks. His lips found hers, and a hungry sort of growl ripped out of her throat as she twisted her hands into the front of his tank top, pulling him closer still as she came up on her knees to tower over him. The moan, low and satisfied, that came from his own throat surprised him, and he slipped his hands from her face into her hair, rolling forward onto his own knees as her mouth opened up to him. He pulled her bottom lip between his teeth, sucking on it and caressing it with his tongue, and Uraraka’s resulting gasp brought a grin to his lips.

Her hands moved from the front of his shirt to his shoulders, nails digging into the muscle and holding him in place. He finished with her bottom lip, and she immediately imitated him, slipping his between her small teeth and running her tongue along it.

“Gods, Uraraka,” he groaned against her mouth, and she smiled, biting down a little harder as she did so. Her hands, like they wanted to be everywhere at once, slid into his hair, twisting it between her fingers like she was clutching a lifeline.

They pulled apart enough to breathe, hard and shallow, foreheads still pressed together, and her hands moved to his face, index fingers behind his ears and padded thumbs moving across his cheekbones.

“Don’t…” Bakugou started, wanting to say it and not wanting to at the same time as his own hands gripped her wrists, keeping her close. “Don’t kiss me just because you’re afraid of losing me.”

Uraraka’s eyes, which had been closed, fluttered open, still burning as they searched his. It surprised him, then, when she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him at every possible point. Her hand on the back of his head guided his face into her shoulder, and he didn’t resist.

Her own face was in his neck as she said, “I wouldn’t do that to you. Honestly...I—I’ve kind of wanted to kiss you since first year.”

“What?” He pulled back, his hands on both shoulders, holding her in front of him so he could search her brilliantly red face. “What about Deku?”

She shook her head, bit her lip, smiled like a single ray of sunlight through thunder clouds. “It just felt like that was what I was...I don’t know. What I was supposed to do, maybe? And it didn’t feel wrong, really, liking him. But there was always this sort of nagging at the back of mind...that maybe ...maybe it should’ve been you. But of course I talked myself out of that because what would you ever see in me?”

“What—”

“But then you did see something in me,” she said, cutting him off and bringing her eyes back to his. Her hands twisted back into his shirt, both as a means of comfort and as a symbol of her resolve in what she was saying. “You always took me seriously and treated me like an actual rival and that...it inspired me and it made me want to be better, to prove you right. You made me better, because you always believed I had the capacity to be better. And that was just such a...a positive influence for me. It meant more than anything anyone else ever did to help me grow.”

There were bright tears in her eyes as she smiled, and Bakugou crushed her back into his chest, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face back in her shoulder because he, for once, was at a complete loss for words. In a few simple statements, she’d destroyed the one argument he’d been having with himself all along. In a few words, she made him whole.

“Ah—ah—ah CHOO!”

Like a shift in the axis, the room was suddenly tilted and spinning end over end as Uraraka inadvertently sent them both to the ceiling with her second sneeze. Bakugou used a small pop of his Quirk to stop their whirling, his arm around her waist and her fingers in his shirt as they stopped upside down in the air.

He would’ve laughed, but her lips sealed themselves over his again, clearing his mind like a slate. And it didn’t really matter that they were floating upside down in the common area as he wrapped his other arm around her and brushed his tongue across her mouth. It didn’t matter that if he wasn’t sick already, he probably would be now as she tilted her head back and parted her lips, her own tongue dancing out to war with his.

And, annoyingly, it was like Deku had said. Bakugou and Uraraka weren’t dimmed at all by sharing a spotlight. Instead, the sun inside her seemed to multiply in his presence.

And they fucking glowed.

#kacchako week #bakuraka week #kacchako #kacchako fic #kacchako fanfiction #katsuki bakugou #uraraka ochako #bakugou x uraraka #kacchako week 2018 #rainy days #tharros #bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bakugo #uraraka #kacchan

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johannas-motivational-insults · 6 years

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Joniss Babysitter AU

Here’s the third instalment of this cutesy story inspired by @polar-biscuit and @frostbite883 and the @jonissheadcanons babysitter au thread. I’ve made a couple minor changes to the earlier chapters for grammar and clarity, but nothing major other than specifying the years in which they took place. If you haven’t read them or you need a refresher, you can find Part 1 here and Part 2 here.

Part 3: 2005

Puberty drove somewhat of a wedge between Johanna and Katniss. In retrospect, Jo knew it was mostly her fault, but at the time it seemed inevitable. Her interests changed as she started to notice boys (and girls, though she didn’t talk about that). Her body changed too, and suddenly the height gap that had been shrinking grew again. Not by much, as Jo stopped growing at 5’4, but it was enough to annoy Katniss because it made her feel like a little kid again. Jo didn’t help with that, to be fair.

Though she had a couple flings and the odd kiss in her early teens, Johanna only got her first real boyfriend in grade ten. They met at the skatepark the week before school started, when Jo finally got the nerve to go after receiving a board for her fifteenth birthday a couple weeks earlier. She’d been practicing on the street but didn’t want to make a fool out of herself and get made fun of by the boys. Blight was there that day, and far from making fun of her, he offered to teach her some new tricks.

Jo’s attraction to him was instantaneous. He carried himself with confidence and had beautiful eyes, and despite being sixteen he already had muscles and a beard. Jo was a fan of that, and of him. Katniss was not, though. To be fair, she didn’t really like most people, but she especially had it in for Blight. She only saw the guy twice, but had nothing but scowls for him. Not that Jo could blame her, given the circumstances.

The first time Katniss saw him was when Johanna took her and Prim to a park a little farther away than the one they’d usually go to. Jo claimed she was taking them there because it had an astroturf field, but it was also the one with the skatepark. Needless to say, she had ulterior motives. Prim had followed in Katniss’s footsteps and was playing soccer that fall as well, so once Jo got the sisters to start passing around she moseyed over to the skatepark. Blight skated over when he saw her leaning against the side of the halfpipe, hopping off his board with a brilliant smile that set off butterflies in Jo’s stomach.

“Not skating today?” he asked, seeing she was lacking her board.

“Nah, I’m working. Babysitting my mom’s coworker’s kids.”

“That’s a shame,” remarked Blight. “Tomorrow, maybe?”

Johanna cocked an eyebrow. “Is that an invitation?”

His eyes sparkled. “Not that you need one. But yeah, I’d like it if you came.”

“Maybe I will,” Jo tossed back, willing herself not to blush. Feeling heat starting to creep up her neck despite her best efforts, she nodded at the field and told him, “I should get back. Don’t wanna get fired for slacking off, now.” Before turning away, she fired off a wink.

Just as Jo was coming up on the sisters, Katniss booted a hard pass off course. While Prim turned to chase the ball down and retrieve it, Jo opened her mouth to tease Katniss for missing her target so badly. Before she got the chance, Katniss wheeled to face her, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Who was that boy?”

“What?” Johanna blinked hard, thrown by the question and the venom behind it. “Just a guy I know.”

Unsatisfied, Katniss grilled her further. “Your boyfriend?”

Deciding to turn the tables and make Katniss the uncomfortable one, Jo pulled on a sly smile and winked. “Not yet.”

That earned Johanna the harshest glower she’d ever seen from Katniss. Before she could comment on it or ask what was wrong, the ball came flying over and hit Katniss in the thigh. Glancing over to a grinning Prim as she trotted back their way, Jo settled on, “At least one of you can aim.”

Barely looking her way, Katniss huffed, “Shut up, Johanna.”

That was the first time it occurred to Johanna that maybe Katniss had a crush on her. But maybe not. She could be jealous of the time and attention Blight was bound to get from Jo, the same way Jo was still jealous of Prim sometimes. It didn’t have to mean that. But the thought stayed in the back of Jo’s mind after that and reared its head every once in a while.

Like the second time Katniss saw Blight, for instance. Though in her defense, she had much more of a right to be upset that time.

A month or so into their relationship, things were starting to progress between Johanna and Blight. And she wanted them to progress faster. When the schoolbell ended their lunchtime makeout session one Thursday, she was especially riled up and frustrated. She couldn’t bring him to her house, she’d get grounded if they got caught kissing there. And the skatepark was no more private than the school. But there was one place…

“Hey, you wanna come over this afternoon and hang out?”

Blight’s eyebrows arched. “Your parents won’t mind?”

“They won’t be there,” she assured him. Of course, she neglected to tell him that it wasn’t her house.

Both Mr. and Mrs. Everdeen were working late that day. Jo’s instructions were to cook dinner and make sure the girls did their homework. Upon joining the kids at the house, she started with the latter, sending them up to their rooms. She said they could holler if they needed any help, but sincerely hoped they wouldn’t.

Blight knocked at the front door about ten minutes later, and Jo dragged him inside and into a kiss by the front of his hoodie. Walking backward, she guided him down the hall and into the living room at the back of the house. Before she had a chance to pull him down onto the couch, he scooped her up and placed her on the cushions, covering her with his body. Even better.

Things got heated quickly. Within minutes, their shirts were off and Blight was lacing kisses across the tops of Johanna’s breasts. She could tell he was teasing her on purpose, and had half a mind to rip her own bra off. Before she had the chance, though, they heard a door open upstairs, followed by footsteps. As they rushed to pull the discarded shirts back on, Katniss’s voice echoed down the stairs. “Jo, I’m done!” she called, eager feet quick on the stairs. “Wanna play Sonic and get your butt kicked?”

When Katniss bounded into the living room, she stopped short, face draining of color. Johanna and Blight were fully dressed again, but still rather cozy on the couch and looking frazzled and guilty. And Katniss was naive, sure, but not a total idiot. That much was clear from her reaction. Mouth hanging open, some cocktail of emotions was welling up in her eyes.

Overcome by embarrassment, Jo demanded, “Don’t you know it’s rude to stare? Get the hell outta here!” When the girl didn’t move, she pointed to the front door and insisted, “Are you deaf, brainless? Outside. Go climb a tree or something.”

Finally, an emotion she could readily recognize crossed Katniss’s face. Hurt. Her mouth moved like she wanted to speak, but no words came out. She settled for shooting Johanna a scathing glare and walking away.

“Who was that? Your sister?” Blight asked as Katniss stormed down the hall.

“Forget it,” she said, waving him off. “Just one of the kids I babysit.”

Blight’s eyes grew wide as he put the pieces together. “And this is their house? You’re supposed to be babysitting?” Jo nodded and he chuckled in disbelief. “Someone’s a bad girl. That’s hot.”

“How hot?” she asked, sliding his hand back under her shirt. She heard the door slam a moment later, but was too preoccupied to care.

Prim didn’t finish her homework for another half an hour, and that was enough time for… things. Not everything, but some things. A few minutes before she came downstairs, Jo saw Blight off with another kiss and fondle of his chest at the door. When Prim appeared and asked where Katniss was, Jo remembered what she had done and felt a faint pang of guilt. A faint pang was all she could register at the time, thanks to the high she was still riding. But that didn’t stop her from worrying, so she suggested she and Prim go ride bikes and look for Katniss outside. Well, Jo didn’t have her bike with her, but she had her skateboard.

Turns out Katniss had taken Jo’s orders quite literally, perched in a tall tree in the park a few blocks away. Prim spotted her first and peeled off that way, biking across the grass. Jo hopped off her board and chased after her on foot. “Katniss!” called Prim when she got to the base of the tree. “Katniss, come down and play with me! I brought the ball!” she added, plucking the soccer ball proudly from the basket on the front of her bike.

Katniss barely bothered to look down. “I don’t wanna play soccer, Prim.”

“You always wanna play,” countered Prim. Confusion clouded her face as she turned to Jo. “What’s wrong with her?”

“I dunno,” murmured Jo. It wasn’t exactly a lie. She wasn’t entirely sure what about the situation had set Katniss off or how she was feeling. Only that she was hurt over something. She didn’t get a chance to ask until she had to take the kids home and start making dinner. Even once Prim coaxed her down from the tree, Katniss avoided speaking to or even looking at Jo the whole time they were at the park. Prim noticed too, Jo could tell, but she opted not to get involved, trying to cheer her sister up in other ways. It didn’t work.

When they made it back to the house, Johanna held Katniss up at the front stoop as Prim climbed the few steps to the porch. Prim looked back long enough to see what was happening, then smartly disappeared inside. Once the door closed behind her, Jo tried once more to make eye contact with Katniss.

“What’s wrong?” Still Katniss refused to acknowledge her, glaring sullenly at the ground. Johanna sighed. “Look, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings when I yelled at you.”

“What do you care?” growled Katniss. Finally she lifted her head, eyes blazing. “I’m just the kid you babysit.” Planting her hands on her hips, she steamed, “You’re too cool for me now?”

Forcing a grin onto her lips, Johanna threw the sass right back at her. “I’ve always been too cool for you, Katniss.” Katniss scoffed in disbelief and started to stomp up the stairs, but Jo held her back once more. “Hey! Come on, I’m just teasing.”

“It’s not fucking funny!” Clearly agitated, Katniss had a hard time forcing those words out. It worked out for Johanna, who needed a second to blink away her shock at the profanity. It was not at all something she was used to hearing from Katniss. There was no question, she was pissed. Gathering her wits, Katniss pressed on. “I thought we were friends.”

“We are,” Johanna assured her calmly, hoping it would rub off on her. It didn’t work.

“Really?” snapped Katniss. “I don’t humiliate my friends to make myself look better.” She cocked her head, eyes narrowing. “You wouldn’t want to look dumb in front of your boyfriend, would you? Being friends with a middle schooler.”

Johanna waved her off. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“No,” stated Katniss. “I don’t think I will.” Then she turned and stormed inside, once again slamming the door behind her.

Once the hormones and embarrassment had time to wear off, Jo actually started feeling really bad about this. It bothered her all evening and all day Friday, distracting her from school and from Blight. The guilt was bad enough that she decided she had to fix this as soon as possible. So that afternoon after school she grabbed a couple spoons from her house, swung by the corner store, then skated over to the Everdeens’ house again.

Katniss answered the door, as Jo had been hoping for. The younger girl gave her a few seconds of side eye before starting to close the door in her face, but Jo stuck her hand out to block it. Opening her backpack, she pulled out two pint-sized cartons of ice cream. “Peanut butter chocolate, your favourite.” When Katniss continued to silently glare at her, she tipped her head and implored, “Please, let me make this up to you.”

The girl’s voice came out stilted and sharp as she finally spoke. “You think you can buy me off with ice cream?”

“No,” Johanna answered quietly. Pausing a beat, she flashed Katniss a charming, disarming smile. “I know I can.” She nodded outside as Katniss narrowed her eyes, trying to fight off a smile of her own. Finally Katniss shook her head and sighed, joining her on the porch. She willingly sat beside Jo and took the carton and spoon offered to her, but refused to make eye contact. So Jo stared into her pint of moose tracks as she said, “I’m sorry about yesterday. That was a real douchey thing to do.”

Despite her efforts to look away, Katniss’s eyes flicked over inquisitively. “What’s ‘douchey’ mean?”

Johanna took a second to rephrase. “It was not a very nice thing to do. I wasn’t thinking with my head.”

“What were you thinking with?”

“Not my head,” she repeated pointedly.

Picking at one of her bitten-off nails, Katniss murmured, “Your heart?”

That led to another awkward pause. “No. Not really.” Wanting badly to get off that topic, Johanna quickly continued, “I won’t bring him around again, okay? And I won’t fuck off to the skate park. When we’re hanging out, it’ll just be us.”

Katniss snorted. “You mean when you’re babysitting me?”

“You’re eleven, you don’t need a babysitter anymore. I’m just taking the money because they keep offering it. If I can get paid to hang out with you, that’s a bonus.” Johanna had a feeling the Everdeens kept paying her to babysit because Katniss had so few friends and they wanted her to socialize, but obviously she didn’t bring that up.

Unconvinced, Katniss squinted her way. “It’s not because you have to?”

“Of course not,” Johanna declared, playfully knocking knees with her.

This seemed to satisfy Katniss, at least for the moment, and they ate in silence for a bit. Katniss was halfway through her carton when she suddenly asked, “What’s it like, having a boyfriend?”

Johanna almost choked on her ice cream. “What?”

“I mean, how does it make you feel?” clarified Katniss. Eyes on her carton again, she confessed, “There’s a boy in my class who likes me, but he doesn’t make me feel anything.”

Johanna shrugged and pointed out, “You’re kinda young, still.”

“I guess.” Katniss said nothing for several moments, apparently lost in thought. “Do you ever think…”

When she failed to continue, Jo prompted her, “Think what?”

Giving her head a little shake, Katniss mumbled, “Never mind.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Given her previous suspicions and the content of their conversation, Jo couldn’t help but wonder if Katniss was trying to ask her about girls. Laying a comforting hand on Katniss’s knee, she assured her, “You know, you can talk to me about anything.” Katniss twitched her mouth but didn’t accept the invitation, parting her lips only to shovel ice cream inside.

Johanna shrugged. “Okay. Your loss, kiddo.” Katniss shot her another glare, and Johanna remembered. That was no term of endearment to her.

#comic/jhc adaptation #writing #joniss #fanfic #femslash #thg #au fanfic #polar-biscuit #frostbite883 #jonissheadcanons #babysitter au

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writings-of-a-crazy-lady · 7 years

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The Black Heart & Enchanted Tattoo

Chapter Four

The train ride passed rather quickly and as we pulled up into another station, I felt a sense of relief. Sirius and Remus both had entertained us with tales of adventure from when they were students and as much fun as it sounded, I couldn’t focus. And my dear sister had to make fun of me the whole time in subtle ways. Even giving me the look of “wait until I tell Aunt Vanessa.” Which I wasn’t looking forward too. But now here we were, stepping off the train for Hogwarts and seeing several other students follow suit.

“Where do we go?” Hazel asked as we followed the kids along the platform. We didn’t have to wonder long as a tall brute of a man stood at the end of the platform. He held a large lantern in his massive hands, waving out toward the students.

“First years! First years with me!” he hollered. Hazel and I exchanged a look before going straight toward him, ignoring the looks from several of the students.

“Excuse me, sir?” I spoke loudly, gaining his attention.

“Oh, yer must be the students McGonagall told me ‘bout. The twins,” he said before we could usher a word. We both nodded.

“Well, it’s mighty fine meetin’ yer at this time. Just give me a minute to collect the other students and we’ll be off before ye know it,” he muttered to us before continuing his hollering. Hazel and I just passed the time by pointing out different people and naming them possible friend or foe. It was just a game of course, though childish. Then again, we were allowed some fun…weren’t we?

“Alright, is that all of ye?” the man spoke after a minute, looking over all the heads. Hazel and I stood near the back, allowing the small kids a chance to see the tall man.

“Alright, follow me. This way to the boats,” he turned, walking away. We still remained at the back, occasionally helping a kid keep pace. I don’t know why we decided to do so, but we thought it best to at least seem semi nice in this school. Especially since we would be here for a year.

“Why would they send us in boats?” Hazel whispered to me as we went down a path to a dock. Every one of us clambered inside one before taking off. Hazel and I were sitting in a boat with only one other student. The little one was a boy, who stared at us with wide eyes.

“What’s your name?” I asked, watching the boy start.

“D-David.”

“Don’t be scared, David. We are nice,” I added, elbowing Hazel in the side. She grunted before nodding in agreement. I just had to make sure she wasn’t going to scare the poor boy to death on his first day at school.

Before I could say something else, I was stopped by a sight that had me point so the boy could turn around. He did so before doing the same as us, jaws dropping in astonishment. The castle was huge and magnificent, lights shining from windows and so forth. It was a majectic sight and one that I knew I would never experience again in my lifetime. But the sight disappeared as we entered a tunnel, arriving at a hidden boat docking location. We each clambered out of them, me practically almost falling in, before going up a round about set of stairs. I stood halfway while sis took the bottom of the stairs, ushering the kids up. Again, had to be nice.

As the last of the students got to the top of the steps, Hazel joined my side at the back of the group. At the top was an elderly woman, a classic pointed hat on her head. We didn’t bother to listen to her words, both of our eyes scanning the tops of the children’s heads…until we heard our names being called.

“Hazel and Iris, it would be best for you to listen to any instructions given,” the woman stated. I avoided her gaze, giving a cough as Hazel met hers.

“Forgive us, Professor, but my sister and I have been well briefed by our Aunt and Uncle. Follow rules and do great things, receive house points.”

“Break rules and do bad things, lost house points.”

“And the house with the most points at the end of the year win the house cup,” we spoke in unison, which received a blank stare from the woman. Her fist clenched but she remained stoic other than that, no words spoken. She turned around then, going through a set of doors.

“Think we over did it?”

“Nah, I don’t think so,” I whispered back to Hazel. She giggled but quickly changed her facial expression when the woman returned.

“We are ready for you now,” she spoke. And it was then that we were ushered (with us convincing the shy ones to move) into a Great Hall. The surprise that overcame our features had to match those of the younger students, looking about at the stained glass and…floating candles?! The best, I had to admit, was the ceiling. It looked like the night sky, nary a cloud to mar its beauty. I could gaze upon that ceiling forever if I had the chance.

We received several stares from students that were sitting at long tables, some whispering as to who we were. But they didn’t have long to wonder as the woman who had lead us stopped at the top of three steps, next to a stool with a ragged looking hat.

“Settle down everyone. I have a few announcements to make,” she spoke loudly, earning silence. “For those of you who don’t know, I am the Headmistress of this school. But you may call me Professor McGonagall.

In other news, some of you may have noticed several adults joining us this year. They will be attending the school to finish their education and have gone to their respective houses. There are, of course, some exceptions which will be sorted here in a moment. Now, I ask that each of you show respect. They have gone through some rough times.

Other news is we have several new instructors for the year. Many of you remember Remus Lupin,” she paused, allowing the man we had met earlier stand up. There was a collective cheer from the room before the other man with darker hair stood as well. “And Sirius Black. They both will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year. We also have Hermoine Granger and Neville Longbottom. Ms. Granger will be teaching Arithmancy and Mr. Longbottom will be the new Herbology Professor.”

I bit my tongue at the name Longbottom, trying not to laugh with the other students. The teachers each gave a wave to the students, some receiving cheers louder than the other, before sitting down. But not before my gaze found his and I received another wink from him. He really enjoyed tormenting me, didn’t he?

“When I call your name, you will come up to this seat and I will place the sorting hat on your head. Once sorted, you will join your collective houses, understood?”

“Understood,” every last one of us responded. And so began the calling of names. I kept myself occupied by looking around, sometimes checking on the group before us. The group got smaller and smaller, which lead to me believing we were the last to be called. Which I was right, considering that when the last little one bounded past us, all eyes were focused on us.

“Girls, I know you have helped with the students and I want to thank you for that. But it is also a bad habit to be ignoring or daydreaming when important announcements are being spoken,” McGonagall folded her hands before her, keeping eye contact. Well, for Hazel. I had ducked my head, glancing up at the two from earlier. They looked to be enjoying the scene far to much.

“Now, will you two please listen from now on?”

“Yes, Professor McGonagall,” we both said at the same time.

“Good,” she nodded, glancing up toward us for a brief moment before looking at the scroll again. She was going to say our full name. I just know it and sure enough, when she called Hazel first, I watched as my sister flinched.

“Hazel Anne…Snape?”

A collective hush came over the entire room and I found myself looking around. My sister slowly approached the stool, avoiding looking at anyone as she sat in the stool. The hat was placed on her head but I didn’t pay attention as I looked toward the teacher’s table, noticing each one staring at her in shock or horror. I went down the line, noticing every face, including the two amused ones…which they no longer looked amused. It wasn’t until I got to the end that I felt all color drain from my face.

At the end of the table was a man that I recognized. I never had met him before, but I knew him without even guessing. He had shoulder length black hair and near black eyes. His nose was large and his skin pale as pale can be. But that isn’t what caught me off guard. It was the fact that my sister shared some similarities with him. Her dark hair and long face. She was beautiful with her pale skin. But the rest came from mom, save the eyes. That was just part of the family. But in fact, she was a perfect representation of both.

His reaction was one of shock but then curiousity as he waited for the hat to sort my sister. Which I had to admit was taking quite a while. But he seemed unaware that I existed, which told me that he was never told that there was two of us.

“Gryffindor!” I heard the yell but never took my eyes off of him. He did a small smirk, grabbing his goblet for a drink. Must have expected the sort, especially since mother was a Gryffindor. So of course she would inherit mom’s house. I, on the other hand, had a feeling that my house would be completely opposite…

“Iris Eileen Snape.”

The man choked on the liquid from his goblet, covering his mouth with a napkin before looking at me. I met him gaze for gaze, watching as his eyes widened in total disbelief before going to the stool. His choking, of course, gained the attention of certain people at the tables. But I didn’t look long for I turned around then, sitting on the stool. I barely felt the hat touch the top of my head when I heard it shout out...

“SLYTHERIN!”

Of course. The complete polar opposite of my sister. She would get the brave one and I would get the cunning one. Never ceased to amaze me at how life would always point out how different we were meant to be. The hat was removed and placed away as I stood from the seat. I barely got to the bottom of the steps when I felt a hand grip my wrist before dragging me down the space between the tables. I noticed that Hazel was following in the same fashion before we got out of the Hall, standing in the corridor outside of it. We were released when we arrived, the man walking away from us a few steps before turning around, his black robe flowing behind him until coming to a rest.

“Are you…” his words died as he studied us, going over our faces.

“Hey, father,” I spoke with a false confidence, while my sister covered her mouth in shock. Of course she would be happy to see a man whom we hadn’t seen in over 20 years. But then again, he was doing dangerous work, wasn’t he? Maybe I’m just being a little damaged…

“So, you are. You’re Annabelle’s daughters, though, I was never told of there being 2 of you,” he cleared his throat. I sighed before rolling my eyes.

“Listen, if you don’t want anything to do with us, I get it. We got old on you and you never loved mom,” I bit out each word, watching him flinch. Which to me was odd.

“As much as I would like to…agree to your terms, I find that I cannot,” he said, meeting us eye for eye. “Annabelle and I tried towards a relationship but I did not harbor the same feelings. I cared for her, yes. But I did not and could not love her.”

“So? What does that have to do with us?”

“I made a promise to Annabelle to try for a relationship when you became older. I will do just that, not only for her sake, but for mine,” he didn’t approach or give anything emotionally away, which made me like him just a tinsy bit more. “The war is over, Iris. I don’t need to hide anymore. I can be there for you now.”

“Yeah, we will see,” I grumbled. Hazel, on the other hand, hugged him immediately , screaming out Daddy like a toddler. Leave it to her to accept and forgive. But I guess that is just my fear of being left behind and broken…like mom.

#severus snape #snape's daughters #au hogwarts #post harry potter #au harry potter #sirius black #remus lupin x oc #lupin x oc #black x oc #twins #enchanted tattoo #the black heart and enchanted tattoo #just random stuff on my computer #iris #hazel #older students #in hogwart

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kjack89 · 7 years

Text

The Time of Love Should Last Forever

I love open-ended prompts since I can always twist them to my nefarious purposes. But in this case, Nonny, I think you’ve got a pretty straightforward fic here.

Dedicated to my parents, who are celebrating their 35th wedding anniversary today, and whose marriage is essentially the polar opposite of Enjolras’s parents’. Title is from the Brick.

E/R, Modern AU, established relationship, mostly fluff with like a smidgen of angst.

“Honey, I’m home!” Grantaire called, letting their apartment door close behind him with a slam and thoroughly expecting Enjolras to look up sharply from wherever he was inevitably perched with his laptop to either scold Grantaire for letting the door slam or for calling him ‘honey’.

A whole year of dating and Grantaire still felt like it was going to be an off night if it didn’t start with Enjolras scolding him for something.

Clearly, tonight was going to be one of those off nights, since Enjolras was sitting on the couch and staring at the TV, which was blaring MSNBC, and only acknowledged Grantaire’s presence with a small, distracted wave, a glass of amber liquid on the coffee table in front of him. Grantaire frowned. “Hey, drinking alone is my purview,” he jokingly complained, mostly to hide his concern as he crossed over to Enjolras and bent over to press a kiss to the top of his head. “I mean, I know you’re devastated that Scaramucci didn’t even last two whole weeks, but…”

He trailed off expectantly, waiting for a smile or a scoff but Enjolras just shrugged and Grantaire sighed, dumping his backpack on the ground before settling in on the couch next to him. “Are you gonna actually talk to me and tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to guess?” he asked, grabbing Enjolras’s glass and throwing back its contents in one gulp.

For the first time, something flickered on Enjolras’s face and he scowled at Grantaire. “That was mine,” he said.

“I can always pour you another if you really want it,” Grantaire said, making a face. “But since that tasted like exceedingly watered down whiskey, I’m assuming you’ve had it poured for long enough for the ice to melt without actually drinking it.” He fixed Enjolras with a pointed stare. “So how about we make this the part of the conversation where you tell me what’s going on?”

Enjolras sighed heavily. “Today is my parents’ 35th wedding anniversary,” he told Grantaire, his expression souring.

Grantaire blinked at him. “Uh…congratulations?”

If anything, Enjolras’s scowl deepened. “Yeah, 35 years of misery is the kind of thing that people should be congratulated for,” he muttered.

“So, I mean, not to try and ruin this delightfully foul mood you’ve created for yourself here, but even if their marriage hasn’t exactly been butterflies and rainbows, first and foremost, why do you care, and secondly, well, why do you care?”

Enjolras’s brow furrowed and he was silent for a moment before he huffed a sigh and shrugged, running a tired hand across his face. “Honestly, I don’t know why I care,” he said quietly, staring off into space. “I made my peace with their misery a long time ago.” He hesitated. “Only – they’re the closest thing I’ve seen to a functioning marriage, and it’s not exactly something I want to emulate.”

Grantaire raised both eyebrows at him, still trying to follow Enjolras’s line of melancholy. “So…you’re worried that you’ll end up emulating your parents and spending 35 years married to someone you hate out of some kind of bizarre obligation?”

“This is why I wanted a drink,” Enjolras muttered. “Because I know it sounds stupid.”

“Insane, more like, but luckily, insanity is something I can work with,” Grantaire said, flashing him a smile. When Enjolras didn’t smile, Grantaire sighed and reached out to rest his hand on Enjolras’s knee. “Look, if you’re planning on telling me that you secretly hate me and yet somehow feel obligated to keep dating me, just get it over with. I can handle it, I promise.”

Enjolras glared at him. “Of course I don’t hate you,” he snapped, jerking away from Grantaire’s touch. “I mean, I kind of hate you right now, because you’re being an asshole, but I don’t hate you. I love you.”

“And I, you,” Grantaire said calmly. “So then what is this really about?”

Enjolras heaved a sigh and shrugged again, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he sank back against the couch. “I don’t hate you, but…sometimes I worry that you’ll end up hating me. And staying with me because, well…” He trailed off and shrugged once more. “Because you feel like you have to.”

Grantaire stared at him. “Why, exactly, do you think I would feel like I had to stay with you?”

“I don’t know,” Enjolras shot back, clearly frustrated with his lack of customary eloquence. “Just…I know I’m not the easiest person to be with sometimes, and I know you like to joke that you’re only with me for my body anyway, but–”

“What, you think that because you’re the hottest piece of ass I’ve ever had that I’m gonna stay with you forever just to keep you on my arm?”

Grantaire was clearly joking but Enjolras flinched, the guilty look on his face showing that the thought had indeed crossed his mind. “I mean, when you put it that way…” he mumbled, trailing off when Grantaire glared at him.

“Listen, I don’t know what high opinion you have of yourself,” Grantaire started with dry incredulity, “but between your arrest record and the fact that your trust fund is being held in escrow and everything else, if our friends weren’t so biased they’d probably tell me to run, and fast. You’re not exactly a catch.”

Enjolras gave him a disgruntled look and Grantaire smirked, letting him stew in that statement for a moment before adding, “You’re not a catch to anyone but me, anyway.”

Though Enjolras rolled his eyes, his expression softened slightly. “By all accounts, my parents were happy when they got married, and I just don’t want us to look back 35 years from now and see that we made the wrong decision to stay together.”

Grantaire shook his head. “Your problem is that you’re looking at it all wrong,” he said, as patiently as he could manage. “Your parents may have been happy 35 years ago when they got married, but that doesn’t mean that they had what we do.” Enjolras didn’t look convinced and Grantaire shifted, forcing Enjolras to meet his eyes. “Listen, if you can tell me with a straight face that your parents’ marriage was anything other than a marriage of convenience, then I might actually share your concern, but I know for a fact that you can’t.”

He said it with such confidence that Enjolras managed to relax slightly, and Grantaire reached out to lace their fingers together, rubbing his thumb comfortingly against Enjolras’s hand. “What is this about, anyway?” he asked gently. “Why are you even worrying about 35 years from now when I know that you’re probably going to try to get yourself killed at the rally on Saturday?”

It was an old argument between the two, and Enjolras just rolled his eyes, not rising to the bait. “I was just thinking about our future.”

Grantaire searched his expression for a moment. “Ok…” he said, clearly aware that there was more to it than that.

Enjolras took a deep breath and told Grantaire warningly, “I’m not asking you now, especially not on today of all days, but…”

And he pulled a ring box out of his pocket and set it down on the couch between them.

Grantaire just stared at it, all color drained from his face, and Enjolras watched his expression for a long moment before telling him, quickly, “I’m not asking now, I just – this is where I see this going. I get it if it’s too early or whatever–”

He reached out to grab the ring box, but Grantaire stopped him, his hand resting lightly on top of Enjolras’s. “It’s not too early,” he said softly. “This has been a forever thing for me from the beginning. You know that. I just – I didn’t think you wanted that.”

“Which part?” Enjolras asked, his brow furrowed. “Marriage, or forever?”

“Both.”

Enjolras shrugged and did pick up the ring box then, cramming it unceremoniously back into his jeans pocket. “Well, now you know,” he said, a little uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” Grantaire said, a grin spreading slowly across his face. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

Enjolras’s expression softened and he reached out to tug Grantaire to him, automatically reaching up to run his fingers through Grantaire’s dark curls, smiling when Grantaire leaned his head against his shoulder. “We’re not your parents, Enjolras,” Grantaire told him, his voice muffled slightly against Enjolras’s shirt.

“I know,” Enjolras said, kissing Grantaire’s forehead. “And thank God for that.”

Grantaire snorted at that and pulled away from Enjolras, his expression suddenly turning serious. “You know, when you do decide to ask, my answer will be yes. So make sure that when you ask, you’re ready to hear that.”

Enjolras leaned in to kiss him, his lips curving into a smile against Grantaire’s. “I will,” he promised, his voice low. “I am.”

“Yeah?” Grantaire asked, grinning again, and Enjolras rolled his eyes and kissed him once more.

“Yeah.” Enjolras tilted his head slightly. “So make sure you’re ready as well.”

It was Grantaire’s turn to roll his eyes. “If you’d stop fellating your beer bottle for a moment and actually pay attention, you might learn something,” he said, his expression wry.

Enjolras stared at him. “I’m sorry, what?” he asked, baffled.

Grantaire laughed lightly. “I’ve been ready to marry you since the day you said that to me.”

Enjolras blinked in surprise. “But I said that to you…” He trailed off, searching his memory. “I said that to you on, like, the third day we met.”

Grantaire shrugged. “What can I say, when you know, you know.” His eyes twinkled mischievously. “Besides, I knew from that moment that I wanted to spend the rest of my life making your cheeks turn that delicious shade of red.”

Enjolras blushed, his cheeks turning that exact shade, and Grantaire laughed and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Just like that,” he whispered, before nodding at the ring box in Enjolras’s pocket. “When did you know?”

“Our first date,” Enjolras said easily, like he didn’t have to give it any thought, and Grantaire blinked at him.

“Really?” he asked, clearly skeptical.

Enjolras nodded. “Yeah. We went to that Italian place, remember? And the waiter asked if we wanted to see a wine list and I said I didn’t but that you were welcome to get wine if you wanted, and you just smiled at me and said that when you were with me, you didn’t need wine.”

Grantaire blinked. “Uh, ok, but if memory serves, I went on to order a bottle of wine anyway.”

Enjolras shrugged unconcernedly. “Well, it’s the thought that counts,” he said, grinning. “Besides, I think it was the first time you had said something to me without even a trace of sarcasm or cynicism, which told me there might be hope for you after all.”

“There is that, I suppose,” Grantaire muttered, but a smile was stretching across his face and he was looking at Enjolras as if he had never quite seen him before. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” Enjolras told him. “And 35 years from now, I know that I’ll love you just as much. Because we are nothing like my parents.”

Grantaire clearly wanted to make a glib comment at that but he settled for leaning in and kissing Enjolras. “I know,” he whispered, echoing Enjolras’s words back to him as he snuggled up against him and laid his head against Enjolras’s chest again. “And thank God for that.”

#enjolras x grantaire #exr #enjoltaire #enjolras #grantaire #les miserables #fanfiction #modern au #established relationship #fluff #I figure at this rate if I fill one birthday prompt a month I may actually finish by the time my birthday rolls around next year #anyway #hopefully this foots the bill nonny #long post for ts

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dominodebt · 7 years

Text

Darting Blow

“I had so much I wanted to say to you…How did it end up like this?”

Alm makes his way down the winding staircase on unsteady legs, eyes unfocused, head a muddled mess.

First the liberation of the castle, then the return of Celica—Celica, his Celica, after all these years she still remembered, she’d looked for him—

And then it had all gone horribly, horribly wrong, and Alm descends the steps, numb to the world.

It had all unraveled so quickly—she’d misunderstood his words, he’d taken her flippant remark too close to heart. They’d both recoiled like cornered alley cats—hackles raised, fur bristling, teeth bared.

And now she’s gone. Alm crosses the floor back to the throne room, listening to the distant cheers of the ongoing celebration. Such a polarizing feeling—the highest high he’s ever felt suddenly plunging down into the lowest low he’s ever experienced. Emotional whiplash. He feels deeply, spiritually unbalanced—like his very soul is lost, meandering around his body, still in shock over all of it—

A movement in the shadows and Alm’s sword clears its sheath with a crystalline ring as he levels it at a man lurking beneath a pillar.

“Who are you?” he demands, the adrenaline from the fight still singing in his blood. He squints, trying to make out the man’s face, but all he can see is a cocky smirk and an eye patch. What?

“At ease, hero,” the man drawls, lazily lifting his hands in a casual display of surrender. “No need to get so excited.”

“Your name,” Alm demands. “You’re not with the Deliverance, I can tell.”

“Oof.” Alm watches with a scowl as the man feigns a blow, wincing in theatrical pain, apparently unbothered by the sword poised at his throat. “Watch it with the insults, kid. I could wipe the floor with half of your Deliverance pals.”

He tightens his grip on his blade. “Your name,” he says again.

His tense tone draws a smirk from the man, and he flashes Alm a crooked grin, good humor apparently restored. “Name’s Saber. I’m with the High Priestess herself.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder towards the main gates. “You know, the one who just left here in tears?”

Alm grits his teeth. He thought he’d seen the sheen of tears in Celica’s eyes before she’d turned away…still. Saber? A sellsword?

“Please, Celica would never travel with a mercenary,” Alm argues.

Saber barks a laugh at this, and Alm watches warily as he leans against one of the grand pillars supporting the throne room before slowly lowering his sword and sheathing it once more. Lying or not, this man would be mad to attack him here—with half of the Deliverance just two rooms over.

“Maybe not the Celica you knew,” Saber agrees casually, apparently apathetic to Alm’s decision to sheath his sword. “Though the way I hear it, you were only kids then. The Celica I know hires anyone who will help her chase off some pirates, and then ends up leading the charge herself.” He rolls his eye, but there’s a fondness and familiarity in his tone that sets Alm on edge. “Crazy priestess,” he adds with a shake of his head.

Alm glares. Crazy priestess? “And just how long have you known Celica?” he demands.

Saber chuckles. “Easy there, lad. No need to get any greener than you already are. She’s my employer—nothing more.” A pause. “Well, maybe not nothing more. Seems she roused some old paternal bone of mine that’s been rotting away all these years.”

“Paternal bone?” Alm deadpans, eyebrow arched dubiously. “I didn’t know mercenaries had those.”

The man just shrugs, apparently unruffled by Alm’s curt words. “I didn’t either, to be honest. If ya really wanna know, I was only hired to see her through some pirate-infested waters and maybe cut down a seadog or two. Technically, our contract’s up.”

Alm scoffs. “Then why do I get the feeling you’re not leaving her anytime soon?” he asks, dully annoyed.

Saber flashes him another grin. “’Cause you ain’t stupid, boy. I’ll admit it—I got a bit caught up in the grandness of it all.” He waves a hand through the air, as if crafting some magnificent epic. “A warrior priestess traveling to Mila’s Temple, determined to bring peace back to an admittedly pretty shitty country.”

Alm’s expression sours at his description, and Saber’s hoarse laugh returns.

“What can I say? She’s an inspiring lass, hard to say no to.” Saber quirks an eyebrow. “Though you didn’t seem to have much trouble with that, did ya?”

Alm works his jaw. He had his fill of this Saber fellow the moment he saw him. “That’s between us,” he grits out.

Saber chuckles, shaking his head. “I know, kid, trust me. There ain’t a lot I won’t do for Her Worship, but getting in between a lover’s spat’s not really my style.”

Color rises hot and fast in Alm’s face and he physically recoils from Saber’s words. “What? A lover’s—? No! No.” He clears his throat, willing his flush away. “No. Celica and I—we’re—it’s just a tiff, okay? Nothing more.”

Saber snorts, giving him a long, dubious look with his good eye. “Sure, kid. Take it from someone who’s eaten a fair amount of crow in his life—shit’s vile. Better to be honest when ya can be.”

“I—This doesn’t concern you, anyway,” Alm tells him fiercely, still scarlet. “Did Celica send you here to—to interrogate me?”

Even as he says it, Alm knows it’s not true. Celica’s just as fiercely private as he is—she wouldn’t bring anyone else into an argument that was just between them. But the words are already out, and Saber’s already laughing.

“Celica?” He shakes his head, amused. “’Course not, kid. She’d be mad as hell if she knew I was talkin’ to you. Girl’s got a stubborn streak in her long as my arm and twice as wide. ‘Sides, she wants us to ship out of here quick as we can. Had to twist her arm just to spare me a second to come find ya.”

Alm gives him a flat glare. “Well? You’ve found me. Did you have a goal besides petty insults?”

The mood turns—swings like a pendulum into a dark new direction—at his words, and Alm feels himself tense as Saber shifts his weight, good eye glittering in the near dark of the shadows.

“Look, I’ll be honest,” Saber begins, and there’s a sudden bite of solemnity to his voice that makes Alm find the hilt of his blade.

“I ain’t tryin’ to undermine your relationship with Celica—she could do a lot worse than you, that’s for sure—but as it stands, I know more about current Celica than you do. The lass I traveled here with—fighting pirates and casters and dragons, mind—ain’t the lass you know from wherever you know her, got it?”

Alm goes still at his words—his whole body snapping taut as bowstring. Current Celica. Celica the dragon slayer. Celica the liberator of the seas. Celica the priestess of Mila. It had only been seven years, and yet, the girl he knew in Ram Village…the girl he….

“I believe in Celica,” Saber says, voice sharp as the dagger Alm knows he has within reach, forcing him to snap to attention. “When she rushed that dragon—y’know, that winged monstrosity that’s only been eatin’ folks for what? Ten millennia? Twelve?—she ran at it with some kinda fire in her eyes that I’ve never seen before. There was this glow to her armor, like Mila herself was blessing the girl.”

Alm hesitates, recalling the way Celica’s eyes had shone back on the balcony when she’d recalled her tale. How brightly she’d seemed to burn in that moment, the blessed sword at her side almost glowing from within its sheath—

“No one has heard from Mila for years now,” Alm argues, dredging up the argument he’d used against Celica like bile in this throat. “She hasn’t answered anyone’s prayers, her shrines only house thieves and Terrors, we can’t just sit around and hope, we have to fight—”

“I’m a mercenary, lad,” Saber cuts him off flatly. “I’ve been fighting since I could hold a sword, and I’ve never stopped. You don’t believe Celica? Fine. I probably wouldn’t either, if I was ten-and-eight and had just been given control of an army.”

Alm feels himself bristle. “It’s not like that—!”

Saber steps forward then, shifting out of the shadows he’d stood in, and Alm feels himself instinctually back off as the sellsword looms above him, light spilling upon corded muscles and bone-white scars.

“So believe me when I say that fighting won’t get you what you want—not forever. You start fixing your problems with the sword and you’ll never put it down again. You forget how to untie knots and just start to cut the whole string in half.”

Alm can only stare. It isn’t…it’s not…he’s not…

Celica’s plea rings in his ears, her insistence that both sides could work something out if they’d only try—

Saber gazes down at him, expression hard and set like the headstones he’d seen in Mila’s Turnwheel.

“There’s a goddess in this world, hero,” Saber tells him lowly. “And she’s in Celica’s corner for sure. And if anyone’s gonna convince the Earth Mother to lend a hand to this sorry continent—it’s the priestess you just sent packing.”

Alm feels empty—drained. Like he can’t place himself in time or space, he’s lost his anchor to the here and now and damn it all, he should have listened, should have choked down his damned pride—

“Go fight your war, Commander,” Saber says, and Alm blinks at the sudden exhaustion in his voice. “You think you can beat Rudolf? Fine. I wish you the best.” He turns to leave then, and Alm just watches him go.

“But me and my shitty luck are on Celica’s side.”

-0-

“You…you stubborn jerk!”

Celica trails after Mae and Boey, feeling a thick, suffocating haze hanging like humidity in her head. She’d been angry—so angry, so righteously, furiously angry—and for what? Because Alm wouldn’t listen to her? She’d shown up unannounced after seven years and ruined the greatest day of his life simply because he didn’t agree with her? What kind of childish nonsense is that? In Mila’s name, she is a Priestess!

Had she simply grown used to the easy agreeability of her friends? Had she forgotten what it felt like to reason out differences, to give and take and make things as equal as possible? To hear out every side before…before flying off the handle?

A cool breeze blows in, and she distantly hears Mae’s complaints, but keeps walking, feeling numb. What kind of person argues for peace so…wrathfully?

“Pardon me, milady.”

Celica hardly hears the polite call over the sound of Mae and Boey’s squabbling and her own churning thoughts, and it’s truly only the flash of brilliant scarlet armor that catches her eye. She jerks to attention, seeing a young man standing a respectful distance away, patiently waiting to be addressed.

“Oh, um, hello,” Celica greets him, hoping he hadn’t been standing there long. Shame burns high in her cheeks. How is she supposed to reach the Temple of Mila in this state?

Get it together, Celica, she chides herself. Now is not the time to fall apart.

Behind her, Mae and Boey have gone quiet, and she feels a sudden warmth at her sides as her friends step up to flank her.

“Oh? Who’s this? Another friend?” Mae asked, poorly disguised anger in her voice. She glares at the knight, temper still hot from seeing the result of Celica and Alm’s argument. “You seem to have a lot of those here, Celica.”

“Peace, Mae,” Celica murmurs. She offers the knight the best smile she can muster. It’s hardly more than a tilt of her lips. “May I help you, Sir?”

He gifts her with a gracious smile that’s leagues kinder than hers. “I was hoping to have a quick word with you, milady, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Sorry, but we were just leaving,” Boey tells him, and Celica feels his aura flash as flames flicker at his fingertips. “No hard feelings.”

The knight raises his eyebrows at the—to be honest, uncalled for—aggression, and Celica just sighs.

“Go see if Saber’s concluded his business,” Celica requests, turning to glance at her friends. “I’ll rejoin you shortly, and we’ll leave for the mountains. Understand?”

After a moment of unhappy frowning—Celica loves her friends dearly, and she knows she’s visibly upset, but in Mila’s name she’s not a child—Mae and Boey set off to do as she asked. With them gone, she turns back to the knight, expectant.

“I’m Lukas,” he introduces himself. “A member of the Deliverance.”

Celica’s mouth goes taut with displeasure. “Ah,” she remarks. “How wonderful.”

A wry smile plays at the man’s lips—here and gone so fast Celica wonders if she imagined it.

“You are well within your rights to dislike the Deliverance’s use of violence, milady,” he replies. “But I assure you, none among us are bloodthirsty in the slightest.”

Celica sighs. “That isn’t what I meant, I’m only trying to avoid more pain and suffering for everyone—Zofians and Rigelians.”

Lukas bows his head in acquaintance. “And that is a noble cause, milady, truly. But I promise you the Deliverance’s goals are no less noble.”

A hard glare darkens the Priestess’ features. “Did Alm send you?” she demands suddenly. “Because if so, that is so out of line, that was a private conversation—”

“Please, milady, it’s nothing like that,” Lukas hastens to explain, holding up his hands in a sign of placidity. Celica just arches an eyebrow, and he continues.

“I’ve no intention of interfering with your…discussion.” Every word the man speaks seems carefully chosen and deliberately phrased. Celica tries not to think about how helpful such a cool head and measured tongue would have been some twenty minutes ago. “But I didn’t want you to leave thinking ill of Alm or the Deliverance.”

Celica frowns. “Forgive me, but I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” she tells him bluntly.

That amused smile again—quick as a flash. Celica would find it charming if she weren’t in such a state.

“Alm did not ask for this, milady,” Lukas reasons. “Just as, I imagine, you did not ask to undertake the task you seek to complete.”

Celica bristles. “It is my honor and my privilege to seek communion with the Earth Mother—” she begins hotly.

“And is it also your honor and privilege to rout out bands of pirates?” the knight asks smoothly, lifting an eyebrow. “Five pirate raids in a little more than three weeks with the impressive bonus of a slain dragon. That’s quite the accomplishment for a priestess.”

Celica feels her face flush at being called out so calmly. The nerve!

“Those pirates brought the battle to us,” she insists. “It was the only way to reach mainland.”

Lukas just gazes at her evenly. “Forgive me, I may be misremembering, but I thought I recalled the pirate Barth’s hideout being well out of the way of the route to the mainland, requiring a direct trip in order to reach his island.” He lifts his eyebrows, giving her a somewhat pointed look. “So if someone were, say, purely by example, on a staunchly peaceful pilgrimage, they would have no reason to engage Barth’s men, and yet…”

Celica just glares at him. A geography expert. How marvelous.

“That was one battle with one band of pirates!” she argues, distantly realizing she’s raised her voice again. Control yourself, for Mila’s sake! “What Alm is proposing is all-out war!”

Lukas inclines his head. “You are correct, milady, and I never implied the two scenarios were a perfect match, but my point stands. You are a woman of the cloth, and have seen more of the world’s terrors than some of even the most seasoned knights. I know you do not believe that everything has a perfectly peaceful solution.”

Celica grits her teeth, distantly feeling herself losing ground in this argument but refusing to bow out.

“Of course I don’t—we don’t live in a perfect world,” she retorts, words forced through gritted teeth. If such a world existed, she never would have left Ram Village, never would have left Alm—

“But war is not always the answer either,” she argues. “Valentia is blessed by Mila, and I will not have her name trampled under the hooves of warhorses, or lost in the ringing of steel.”

Another breeze blows in, and Celica feels the winds of their discussion turning with it.

“Knights stand for more than war, milady,” Lukas explains quietly. “Yes, when there is a battle to be fought, we will be there in a moment to defend our land and countrymen. But…this is a necessary duty. If we could all lay down our arms and be sure that we would never need to pick them up again—that Mila would personally watch over us all, and all that we hold dear—I assure you Alm’s sword would be the first one in the pile.”

His calm words strike a deadly blow against Celica’s temper, and the Priestess feels herself drawing up short—Alm’s promise of return to Ram Village ringing in her head, if only the lost princess would return…

“I believe in the Deliverance, and in Alm. I only hoped to share some of that belief with you,” Lukas goes on. “That you may see Alm in some of the light that I—and truly, all of Zofia—see him in.” He gives her a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I have lost many friends to this war, milady—some of them before we could right wrongs, or apologize for brash words.”

Celica’s breath catches, and he hastens on. “Please, I do not mean to upset you, or guilt you into changing your actions—you were only half of the argument, and I know Alm well enough. I’m sure he said regrettable things as well.”

The statement draws her up short. I know Alm well enough. Could she make such a claim? At one time, perhaps, but now…she feels she hardly knows him. Alm of Ram Village, now Alm of the Deliverance. How similar are the two?

“I am not a man of faith, milady.” Lukas’ measured voice draws her out of her thoughts, and she glances up to see him gazing intently at her. “I am a man of action. I trust the lance in my hand, the men at my side, and the Commander before me.” He gives her a look of such stark intensity it draws gooseflesh across her bare arms, and Celica shivers slightly in the receding sun. “I stand with the Deliverance in order to bring about what change I can—be it large or small—by my own hands.”

Celica can only stand there—still as a statue, eyes a million miles away and nowhere at all. She should have listened, she should have put her own righteous pride aside—

“I wish you luck on your journey, Priestess,” he tells her, and Celica bites her lip. His voice burns with sincerity.

The numbness that had plagued Celica since her argument with Alm suddenly seems to melt away, and the cold of the evening air rushes in, chilling her to the core. She gasps suddenly, eyes going wide. She’d ruined everything—everything—and for what?

Lukas gifts her with a final smile and polite nod of his head before turning to leave. Celica can only stare after him.

“But as much as I hope that you can find a peaceful solution to this war, I walk with Alm and the Deliverance.”

WHAT’S GOOD I’M BACK IN FIRE EMBLEM HELL IT’S LIKE I NEVER LEFT

This scene started because hi I love Saber to the moon and back and it was originally only supposed to be him and Alm, but I added Celica and Lukas because this game is all about duality and like idk it’s kinda a stretch to imagine Lukas actually going after Celica but the boy does love the Deliverance that much so maybe it’s not a stretch?

I hated their reunion because a) I knew it was going to end in an argument and was fucking dreading it and b) I feel like Celica came in real hot which is kinda out of character for her? Idk like I know she’s very passionate and it wasn’t from a place of anger really it was more her just stressed because like technically she’s the princess and this is kind of her problem and her being very concerned for Alm and it just came out kind of…abrasively. Also they’re like 18.

Also I know technically neither Saber or Lukas knew anything about Alm and Celica but I always headcanon there being much more time in the campaigns than what the player sees so I think it might have come up vaguely in conversation and then when Saber/Lukas saw Alm/Celica they were like “oh okay this is the person now I get it”

Sorry this is kind of just a jumbled mess I wrote it in like four hours I’m literally still mid-play through but I’m actually live-tweeting my adventure if that sounds like something you’d be into (fair warning spoilers abound)

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originaldetectivesheep · 6 years

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A Life of Riley Part 1 - The Problem With Grinckles ch 1

As these things go, at least this time of the year, around here, this wasn't far off a perfect day. The sun was still coming up, but there was enough light that Wybert Avenue was a pure riot of orange and red and yellow all the way down the long hill out of West Campus to the slough where the old rail trail crossed, and there was just the right amount of cool, damp autumn fog in the air to give the smell of the fallen leaves the right zing. It was a good feel – the kind of day you hoped your classes were light, that you didn't have a lab due, that there was a good game on late, that one of your un-tenured profs might want to come out and invest a couple pitchers in good reviews at the end of the semester, that somebody on scholarship might have a spare roll of quarters for the pool table. It was as good a fall day as you could ask for; nearly good enough to make up for the fact that I was up and walking through it at seven in the morning on a weekend, or that I'd gotten kicked out of bed because of having to get up – or more accurately, of who I had to go and see.

I couldn't really blame Fred – hookups are kind of like this – but he could have stood to be a little nicer about it. I had my pants half on and was trying to jam a foot into one of my boots when he rolled up on an elbow and rubbed me on the shoulder. "Leaving so soon? Do you really have to? Can't you stay a little longer… and then we can go get breakfast somewhere after?"

I thought a little, and set my boot back down on the floor with a clunk. "Yeah. I can stay. We can stay in for a little. I do still have an errand I have to run this morning, but I can do it after, on the way over if we want to go to Rhoda's Cafe on the other side of the eng campus. It won't take a second – I just need to go up to the AP lab and check in with a friend there about this wire-run list." I set my hands on my belt to push my pants off again, but when I turned all the way around, Fred was backed into the wall, his mouth hanging open in shock and horror as if I'd said "I lied about not having herpes" or something, not "I need to go run an errand sometime".

"AP," he said, struggling to speak, his thin beard and moustache twisting around into rope-lasso contortions. "AP – the Applied Physics lab?" I nodded. "And your friend, your friend who asks you to check their harnesses, your friend is Riley Kannacheskis?" I nodded again, slowly. None of this was news to anyone – Riley was probably the most-well known lab head on campus, and if you asked some rando freshman linguistics major or whatever to name a specific lab, they'd probably say "Applied Physics". But that was kind of the problem – it was why Riley, and the AP, and the stuff they got up to were infamous all over campus that was the problem.

Fred leaned past me and picked up my boot, then shoved it into my lap. "I'm sorry, sweetie," he said, "but if you're really involved with those AP people you're going to have to go." Now it was my turn to sit there dumb and shocked, mouth hanging open. "Don't get me wrong, Leo, I like you, you're still a cutie, and the sex was good, but I'm not going to stay hanging around with you and risk getting attached and then worry when you get roped into something mega-stupid and might get killed. The sex wasn't that good. And I definitely definitely don't want to hang out with you and get involved myself. No way. Period. Those people are too weird, and anyone who gets too close to them gets stuck in their weirdness too. I had a fun time, but this is it for us." He raised an eyebrow, and pointed over at the door.

That was that, and so here I was out too early in the morning without a kiss goodbye and a half-lie to maybe do it again sometime or even so much as a goddamn cereal bar, but even though I was still sore about it, you had to admit that Fred had a point. The AP lab was a weird place where weird people built very, very weird machines, and Riley as lab lead had a weird personal magnetism that without fail, always drew lab members, their friends, and any innocent bystanders who got too close in to the very heart of whatever fundamentally bizarre problem the lab had created for themselves, or decided to tackle for some desperate no-hoper.

Because that was the Applied Physics lab's thing: they applied physics, and built machines. Weird machines, but sometimes amazing ones – like the quantum-state dislocator that should probably have won Riley and Yuping a Nobel Prize if the power supply hadn't slagged itself into a slurry of molten copper and burning motor oil the third time they turned it on. But because they weren't an engineering lab, and thus not always building really practical machines, they had a hard time getting funded, and so Riley was always on the lookout for some kind of back-channel, back-alley deal for parts, or favors, or just future goodwill to stretch the lab's budget and let them keep doing cool experiments. But because the AP lab was what it was, and Riley's solution to virtually every problem seemed to involve doing something extremely weird, usually with a machine that was liable to explode or set itself on fire or polarize everyone's dental fillings in a three-block radius, it pretty quickly got to be that only the very, very weirdest and least solvable problems got brought over; everyone else did something more productive and less likely to result in major property damage, like calling the police or lighting a candle to St. Jude.

The last time that I'd gotten involved with one of the Applied Physics lab's problems, back in the spring, I'd ended up face down in the mud of a drained pond while Riley fired a DIY autocannon over my head at a giant lizard cosplaying as a washing machine. And this wasn't a one-off: there was that time where I'm pretty sure I mugged myself and stole my own wallet in the state dislocator, and that time where Carolína went to deliver some notes and got like stuck inside someone's math problem for three days, and if that thing where Remy's ex-girlfriend drank a gallon of ham and had to get her stomach pumped wasn't strictly an AP lab thing, he had been doing something for Riley when his bike – which we were fishing for when the lizard thing happened – somehow went into the Horse Pond, and he still hadn't really told me what the hell was going on with that at all. I could go on. This was the kind of lab where they ought to have "Abandon All Hope of a Normal Life, Ye Who Enter Here" over the door, instead of just "Danger – High Voltage Equipment In Use, Knock Before Entering".

And yet, here I was still going over there. It's not like Riley and the rest were bad people, not really, and nobody'd gotten badly injured or permanently poisoned yet, and Carolína was able to get herself out of that demogorgohedron pocket dimension or whatever, and nobody'd even gotten arrested after that cannon thing, which had to be like a billion times illegal each way. There was never a dull moment around the Applied Physics crew, and usually everything was safe enough; Fred had freaked out over nothing – he probably thought I was going to beg out of treating for brunch – and was worrying about nothing at all.

I followed the bike path off the street, keeping to the side as it wound its way through the Back Yards of cheap dorms, un-managed woods, and half-maintained rec facilities in towards the main engineering campus, idly looking over the flyers and stuff posted to the trees and lampposts, which always got thicker once you got onto actual campus again. Learn Serbian Today with the Jevrem Obrenović Society. Sydney Pollack complete filmography marathon at the A.T. Burlton, continuous running no readmittance. A protest from yesterday against the validity of the last Kenyan presidential election. Volunteers wanted for an experimental scabies treatment. When you really got down to it, there was a lot of weird stuff going on at this school that didn't have anything to do with the Applied Physics lab. I hitched my shoulders up, thumbs in my belt; I was coming up on the Horse Pond, re-flooded and lizard-free, but still a reminder of how unrelated weirdness could quickly become the Applied Physics lab's weird problem.

The pond was looking healthier for the cleanup, but was ringed in a whole array of new signs, one after the other like those flipbook ad posters you sometimes get in the subway: University Property Sensitive Habitat Please Respect; Vulnerable Wetland No Dumping; Please Do Not Dump Active Nuclear Materials (This Means You Riley, someone had scribbled onto that one in laundry marker); Clean Up After Your Pets; Do Not Use Pet Waste Bags To Dispose of Grinckle Offal; Do Not Re-Release Caught Grinckles. The last couple looked new, and there were a couple buzz-cut freshmen from China or Vietnam squatting by the water's edge with fishing poles and a bucket – so at least somebody thought that the grinckles had gotten over here too.

I'd been working over the summer, back home, and nobody I was friends with from school was really interested in fish or fishing, so it was kind of weird, getting back on campus, to find this weird thing happening where there were these grinckles, which I guess was some kind of spiny invasive fish that I'd never heard of before, in all the ponds and lakes that nobody had ever cared about before, let alone ever found any fish in back in the spring. But now like every third email alert was about grinckles, grinckles as a wading hazard, grinckles possibly contaminated, do not just throw piles and piles of grinckle guts into your dorm trash bags. There was a rumor that they tasted like rutabagas, but I'd never tasted one of those either, had never seen let alone tasted a grinckle, and had no interest in ever doing so. I was just glad that this was an inextricably weird thing at school that was never going to come up in the AP lab; I mean, it was a fish. It's biology, not physics, and it's just a stupid fish, even if it's getting in somewhere it shouldn't. It was someone else's problem, and it was going to stay that way. I checked my phone as I cleared the last bunch of trees onto the eng quad; too early for the bagel stand, but maybe, if Riley had been working overnight, I could borrow something for breakfast at the lab along with my circuit diagrams.

Chapter 2

#nanowrimo #alifeofriley #fiction #so glad hypertext is a thing and i don't have to do comic-book-style callback notes

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