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endversewinchester · 11 months

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I want mooore wolfstar on your masked!Remus universe!!! I need it!!!11 (it's ok if you don't want to or don't have the time for it, I just really really liked the story)

Heh again, thank you all so much for reading! You're in luck, anon. How do you feel about some Remus POV?

Title: The Ride

Word count: 1627

Ship: Wolfstar (Remus Lupin x Sirius Black) // Language: english.

Warnings: Slavery. Non consensual bondage (it's a mask that keeps Remus from speaking).

The Boy in the Mask series on AO3

Summary: In which Sirius is irrevocably insane and Remus can't have enough.

Sirius Black was completely insane. It wasn’t the longer than appropriate hair, the casual carelessness for rules, or the obsession for muggle music, though those also counted as evidence. No. What Remus actually meant came much earlier, when the then eight-year-old boy had chosen to cross the street and ask him about his mask.

No wizard ever talked to him like that. Other than his master, he would be thoroughly ignored by anyone that was not a servant. That had hurt a lot at first, when he still hadn’t fully adjusted to the muzzle and the rules and being away from his parents, but eventually it became the norm, and he stopped expecting any different.

The point was, to have a pureblood walk up to him as though they were casual friends had sent Remus’ soul right out of his body, thank you very much. It happened again on the train, and once more when Sirius made clear that he absolutely wanted to be friends with him despite what he was. At that point, Remus fully believed he’d grow used to the dark haired boy’s recklessness.

Except they were both 16 now, and nothing had changed.

“Where did you even get that?” James asked, apparently as horrified as Remus felt because Sirius had just rid into the Potter’s yard with a mask over his entire head and a muggle vehicle.

He’d seen one of those before. Very vague memories of one of his uncles coming to visit the family home back before he was forcefully taken from his parents appeared on his mind. He could not for the life of him remember what they were called, though.

Sirius lifted the thing on his head up, allowing it to hang over the top of his head instead. Okay. Remus breathed. Not a mask. It actually reminded him of one of the quiddich helmets, but this one seemed to protect the person’s face more thoroughly.

“Uncle Alphard sends me a generous amount of money every month, so I figured why not?” Sirius rotated the grip slightly, making the engine roar. Despite that, it did not move.

“Did you like it?” He asked, flashing both of them that shit eating grin that sent butterflies to the pit of Remus’ stomach.

“Did we like it? Pads, my parents are going to lose their minds! They won’t even know what to call it when they do”

Sirius faked his hurt, letting go of the grip with one of his hands, and placing it over his heart instead.

“This is Callisto. She is a motorcycle, and a very good one at that. Don’t hurt her feelings” James reached for his hair, clearly overwhelmed by his brother’s insanity.

“Are you even old enough to have it?”

“I’m almost a legal adult now, moons. I can do whatever I want” He adjusted his leather jacket theatrically and started the motorcycle again, riding it in circles through Euphemia’s perfectly cut grass before coming to a stop in front of Remus.

“…Including taking you for a ride” He stretched one of his gloved hands out.

See? Completely insane.

But for once, Remus actually felt tempted. Not in his usually rational, collected way. More of a “the idea of riding around with Sirius Black made him giddy” way. Except…

“Mr. Howard should be back soon.”

The old geezer actually found it really amusing that he’d been able to make friends without the ability to speak. So amused, in fact, that he’d completely prevented Remus from doing so to any of them for six years now, despite not being half as strict at home.

Fucker.

His interest on these friendships was fickle at best. Sure, he thought them interesting, in the way someone might find the friendly way their dog behaves towards others at the part interesting, but he had no real interest in making any effort for such bonds to grow. Remus was only here right now because he worked really hard for it in the previous weeks.

“Eh, don’t worry too hard about it, mate.” James shrugged, doing his best not to lose it at the wonky paths Sirius carved on his backyard. “I made a deal with my dad that if you showed up, he’d stall Mr. Howard for as long as possible”

Remus’ chest tightened. Five years had passed, and he still could barely believe how lucky he was to exist in this universe in the same place and time as the other marauders.

“You’re the best”

“Oi, I’m the one taking you on a ride” Protested Sirius, almost pouting.

Remus couldn’t help the slight twitch up of his lips. Soo dramatic.

“And I’m the one that is going to have to figure out how to undo these marks before mum comes back from the shop” Mimicked James, a tiny hint of fear on his voice.

And Remus had meant to help, really. He knew a thing or two about gardening and keeping himself out of trouble due to working around Mr. Howard’s house, and he’d actually gotten quite good at nonverbal spells thanks to school but it all faded to the back of his mind when Sirius locked his eyes with him.

“I do have a spare helmet in the saddlebag” Sirius explained, pulling his helmet down over his face again. “But with your mask… it’s best if you go without.”

Remus furrowed his brow. The idea of riding without protection didn’t really bother him, werewolf healing and all, but the possibility the adults would return while they were doing this very much did.

He glanced at the watch on James’ wrist. It had only been one hour or so since they left, and Mr Potter did say he’d be stalling...

He pushed himself off the grass, patting his pants as he went.

“Make it fast” he signed, before walking behind Sirius and sliding on what he believed was the seat. They should be fine. And if they weren’t… eh. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Took the words right out of my mouth, moony” He shifted the grip again, letting it roar louder this time. It was only then James seemed to realize his mistake.

“Wait. Pads, DON’T-”

But the motorcycle was already off at impressive speed, plunging out of the garden and onto the street, threatening to throw him off at any second like an angry graphorn. Panicking, Remus grabbed on to Sirius’ waist.

“Don’t worry, Moony! This is about to get interesting”

He bit back a curse he couldn’t express anyway because he could not let go of Sirius to signal. He very much did not want things to get even more out of control, but there was nothing he could do as the dark haired boy pressed a red button on the side, and suddenly the rocky ground disappeared.

Wait. What?

Forcing himself to open his eyes against the wind, Remus realized that 1- it hadn’t been an exaggeration and 2- they were getting really high really fast.

“I named her Callisto for a reason!” Sirius shouted through the wind, as he sped even further upwards, until James’ house was nothing but a tiny dot below.

He tightened his grip around Sirius’ abdomen, and actually felt the other boy laugh.

This was it. His crush was over. He actually very much hated Sirius Black now.

“So, how are you feeling?” Asked Sirius, almost as if reading his mind. He turned his head slightly under the helmet, hoping to face the other teen. Remus glared as best as he could.

“You just need getting used to it, that’s all”

No, you need to take us back down. He thought. At this height, it wasn’t just the adults they knew that they needed to worry about. There were muggles, creatures and airplanes. But Sirius gave no indication whatsoever of understanding or even feeling his anguish. Instead, he adjusted the bike’s angle so that they were flying forward rather than upwards, and slowed down a bit.

Remus wasn’t sure when all his anxiety melted away into pleasure, but it did. Slowly, the tension of being this high up in the air had turned into a cheerful kind of thrill, and the wind against the exposed parts of his face and hair actually felt really nice.

Now, as they slid through the clouds and Sirius dove every now and again, his fear turned into laughter. Never in his life had he felt more free, even as a young human child, and his entire being was relishing on it. Enough so that his grip on Sirius loosened.

The other teenager definitely noticed that, because he became bolder and started doing all kinds of stunts, even going as far as doing a full flip once (he’d tightened his grip on Sirius again for that one). Far too soon it was over, and Sirius was taking them down from the reddish afternoon clouds and back onto the ground. This time, he landed on the street in front of the house rather than on the yard, which James had apparently been able to fix.

“So…” Sirius said, turning the keys on the engine once he was satisfied with the spot he’d parked on. He removed his helmet next, letting the open visor slide through his upper arm, while his hair fell perfectly back into place. The only indication they had ever flown was the complete exhilaration on his grey eyes.

“Did you like it?”

It was only then Remus realized he was still holding on to his friend’s stomach. He removed his arms quickly, too busy worrying about the heat on his cheeks to notice Sirius’ smile fall a bit.

“I loved it”

The smile returned almost instantly.

A/N: Callisto is the prettiest moon in the solar system.

#my fic #remus lupin #sirius black #slave!lupin #wizarding world politics #wolfstar #poor james #marauders era #the marauders

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wheelercore · 1 year

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First off:

Context of this creel theory are in these posts: x x x

UMMMMM Alice in Henry's version of events directly mentions the word "dream":

Nah bc it's me vs Henry right now and I'm ready to throw hands for the truth.

As she speaks they literally pan over a YELLOW stained window in the background. "Dream" as in Dream A Little Dream (Victor's song, again, about a person who hopes that their lover is thinking of them when they're gone), being associated with a "fairy tale"- with the yellow lighting being associated with dishonesty.

Alice being the one to say this, of course she's being genuine, but as a watcher you know that it's the exact opposite. The usage of words like "dream" and "fairytale" with double meanings: on the surface it's obviously just unbelievably good circumstance but when you go deeper you realize that it's being used here as synonyms with delusion. Why Alice? Why is Alice being chosen as the representation of the dishonesty (again, the yellow lighting and her solid yellow outfit later on) and the (Victor's) delusion?

This isn't the first time theyve used colored lighting to portray subtext, they did the same thing with Victor, the red lighting, and burning baby or the soft reddish yellow lighting when Henry is about to start his murder spree

I think it fairly interesting because we're playing with a lot of perspectives here. We got two recounting of the same event, Victor with his rose tinted glasses on and Henry leaving out crucial details. When it comes to the portrayal of Alice's age, I think there might be some shenanigans going on.

Now look, can the duffers do math? No. Are they consistent? Also no. But 15-14=1 isn't hard and it wouldn't be difficult for them to realize "oh shit we had Victor say he came back from the war 14 years ago but yet we have Alice down on this prop as 15 years old". But yet they deliberately included these details alongside portraying Alice with a much younger actress. Think of s1 Nancy (16) with s1 Mike (12). Now compare that to Alice (15) and Henry (12):

There is a huge difference there. Alice is clearly not meant to be portrayed as 15. Either it's extremely negligent casting or it's intentional.

Now we could wonder why the writers chose to do this, or we could be a little bit less meta and ask: why does the visual representation of Alice look considerably younger than her actual age in Victor and Henry's retelling? We know Henry may be leaving crucial details out about his family (namely Virginia and Alice) and we know for sure that Victor isn't a reliable narrator at all and will straight up imagine things that didn't happen if it meant that his family looked more "perfect" than it was. Edit: fixed some inaccuracies

Well, the thing is, if Alice had been just a year younger she would have been born after Victor came back from the war. 2 years and she would have been conceived and born after he came back. Yeah it's a bit insane, but get what I'm getting at here? It could just be an illusion. Alice looks younger because that's how Victor from his jail cell could deal with the fact that Alice might not have been his, especially after believing for decades his whole family is dead.

Mind you, Victor made himself even more blind. Literally. That's a thing he did. He wanted to be "with his family", but his "family" was never more than playing pretend. Victor will delude himself, as we see repeatedly with the inconsistencies from his version of events compared to Henry's, into doubling down on that lie.

Reminder, one of the few actual voiced lines from Henry's retelling is freaking Alice herself saying that it all looks like a fairy tale and a dream (I believe we don't get these lines in Victor's version of events, but I could be wrong please correct me).

But yet Henry directly exposes all of Victor's inconsistencies with the exception of Alice? Why?

He's deliberately lying about Alice by omission. By being vague about the nature of Virginia's wrongdoings and being vague about how he tormented Alice in particular (because Henry wasn't tormenting his family for fun, he was doing it to show them a side of themselves that was imperfect), he's intentionally leaving out what he's learnt about the two of them. In a meta sense, the writers don't want to reveal to us the truth about Virginia, and by extension Alice, until next season for whatever reason.

When thinking about how Henry phrased his radicalization, he saw his parents for who they really were and it was all a terrible lie.

He deliberately leaves out Alice from that statement. Alice hadn't done anything wrong.

But yet he does torment her. For shits and giggles? We've never seen him do anything for no reason. He does leave her a dead rabbit (was it a baby rabbit? Because my god thats even more on the nose) and give her nightmares. But those scenes are never focused on Alice internally unlike Virginia and Victor, in fact they seem to focus more on them having to comfort Alice, the physical representation of the "sin" that Victor thinks their family is being punished for.

@henrycreeltm tagging you because I feel like I'm going insane because of Alicegate or whatever this should be called and I don't want to be alone. I'm in too deep 😭

#virgina-is-a-ho-gate #idkidk #henry creel #stranger things #virginia creel #victor creel #alice creel #alicegate #i literally was writing this #fell asleep #woke up 8 hours later #and continued writing it. i saw the vidion #*vision

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self-h-rmageddon · 4 months

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i had a bad dream and it was a bad dream because it really wasnt that bad

it was about brian, he came back to me again and i. was mad but he owned up to his mistakes and he missed the attention i gave him and i missed giving it and i fucking went back to him and i felt butterflies and. i lingered too long, i wanted to stay

it makes me so SICK no matter how far i denounce him, it doesnt matter if i never think of him much, my brain cant let him go for some reason. why do you miss that? i was so miserable, i was being used. he ADMITTED that he didnt want me to be happy with anyone else and that he wouldnt try to make me happy at all so?

why do i still feel like i want him? its so hard to shake.. i do want him. i really dont, but i miss the attention, even if it was nothing at all. even if the closest thing i could get to any kind of affection was an "aw" when i was sad, i wouldve PUT UP WITH IT for him. i told him that, i told him i would deal with it if he could just.. sincerely apologize to me. for yknow. sexting a teenager!! but he didnt. he wouldnt. he said he couldnt apologize if he didnt mean it

my head still tries to make little fantasy scenarios with him, where everything turned out well and he could change and we could. what??? be happy together? yeah right. he didnt like you fat, didnt like you as a man and only entertained it longer cuz even if yr a man, you still have a cunt and thats what he wanted. annoying as fuck

i just wish i could let it go!!!!! why do i dream about him? and why are they good dreams? dreams that make me wake up with this sense of yearning, something i REALLY need to kill right away like. as fast as possible

im not going back to him i never ever will im . ive never been happier!!! when i left it felt like the end of the world and i was so depressed but ive NEVER FELT BETTER. i have people who actually love me now

and also??? he always pulled this shit talking about how i was a problem for him too, bitch?????? i was 16, you were talking to a 16 yr old with undiagnosed bpd of course im not gonna act RATIONALLY im fucking scared!!!! i was so scared!!! that first night when we met and like. 10 minutes after asking me how old i was it got sexual like IMMEDIATELY and it. felt nice but i was still scared. he doesnt even REMEMBER that conversation, but its burned into my brain. if you want a mature partner then maybe talk to an adult 🥳

i miss the attention, yes, but i dont miss how it made me feel. i dont miss the way it made my guts turn, made me shake. makes me shake just thinking about it. its the same reason i panic on fucking GRINDR, having people interested in me in that way is scary, it reminds me of him. i? i dont know.. its like whenever i get into sexual situations if its not approached gently i get SCARED, scared as if i was a kid again. it wasnt just him, after all. i wish i could just.. grow up? i wish that i didnt get so scared but i know its not my fault, i know that. whatever happened to me, i should have been PROTECTED. i shouldve been safe, but i wasnt

and it makes me so fucking angry? i never told anyone then because i knew that if i told my family, theyd blame me. and i LOVED him, i didnt want anything bad to happen to him, even if what he was doing was so horribly bad for me. i used to talk vaguely about him with my therapist and i started to frustrate her, thats why i dont go anymore. she would get frustrated because she didnt know what my problem is. I KNOW what my problem is, i just.. i was still talking to him, i was trying to approach it in a way that would protect him, even if he didnt deserve it

man. i hate being a tool for people, like genuinely. so tired of it.. yeah, tell me all about yr problems and ill be there to comfort you and listen. never ask about mine tho! never never never. you can ask me for nudes or pictures of my underwear, force me to roleplay with you even tho ive made it clear i dont really like it. ill do it to get you off! im so.

im glad i left. it was a good choice, he made me completely fucking miserable. very few times have i gone thru so much pain it literally forces me to dissociate from my body and view myself from above but! asking someone like that to apologize for uhh idk a crime? guess thats TOO FAR, tried sayin "erm well actually age of consent laws are higher in the us then a lot of countries ☝🤓" kill yourself!!!! like actually!!!!! im glad hes always miserable, i hope it never gets better for him ever

thats the worst part about it. is if it wasnt me, i would absolutely advocate for his death. because hes the kind of person i fucking despise, hes the absolute worst person to me. but i just.. i have a hard time extending that to him because he was awful to ME. he was mine and i used to love him!! i should hate him, and i do, i just wish it came as easy as hating any other predator

hated the way he acted when we argued tho, he tried gaslighting me before. you do not gaslight someone with bpd!!!!! cuz i fucking remember!! i read into everything anyone does extra of COURSE ill remember what happened. tried telling me i initiated it when i literally didnt cuz i knew better!!! i knew i shouldnt be talking to adults, but.. i did it anyways. that fucks me up a lot, it makes me blame myself. i knew i shouldnt, but the attention felt too nice, i didnt want to lose it and LOOK where it got me. permanently altered 🥳 nice job.

will NEVER let him blame me tho, cuz he started it. we separated like 4 times, and EACH TIME, he came back. am i that good? fuck if i know cuz it never felt like i was. probably missed getting his dick wet to our messages honestly. cuz when i was finally 18 he came back and immediately made it sexual again. im ashamed that i didnt stop him

i remember we argued because he thought i was irrational in thinking he would do bad things to me considering he literally told me before "so, consent doesnt matter between us, right?" ??????? im irrational for that?? do you even hear yrself? idk it just. pisses me off i hate him, i wish i could permanently kill the part of my brain that dreams of him fondly because it doesnt happen often but when it does it ruins my whole day

i just. i was too immature to be in a relationship with, but mature enough to be sexted every night? make it make sense!!!!! ik this is a lot, i just. need it off my chest so i can go back to normal. i wish it didnt affect me still but it does. i wish i could have fun!!!! wish i wasnt scared of getting sexual without randomly getting this intense sharp FEAR, fear that shoves me back and makes me run. i want to HEAL from this, i dont want to be like this anymore it fucking sucks. i feel like he ruined me. he'd roll his eyes at that

#this is kinda heavy #sorryyyyy #tw grooming #need it off my chest for now

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pan-ic-at-the-homehome · 3 years

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Golden Child Pt. 1

I literally can't remember where I found it but I read a headcannon for an angsty SBI +Reader and I loved it so much that I had to write something similar to it but I think I might have forgotten to like it, so if you know what the original is please tell me so I can credit them I was partially inspired by@helliontherapscallion's "Adrenaline Junkie" series, simply for the fact that because of them i haven't stopped thinking of inventor reader. Also let's just pretend that uh my human biology degree isn't going to waste by me writing blindness incorrectly ha ha. This is a purely fictional way that blindness works.

(REMINDER YOU IDIOT, FOR THE PURPOSES OF THIS STORY: Wilbur is 26, Techno is 20, Tommy is 16, Phil is 32, SO READER IS 22, GET IT RIGHT AND STOP MESSING UP)

As soon as Y/N's wings started developing, they were instantly the favorite child. Philza still showed his love to Wilbur, but nowhere near as much as he did to his winged child. If he had to choose between spending time with them or Wilbur, he'd pick them in a heartbeat. Wilbur was usually upset when this happened, but he had gotten used to it and had learned ways to cope with it.

This was until Techno showed up. On their doorstep. Next to a freezing Philza who had sacrificed most his warmth to the young piglin. Wilbur had his thoughts on this, yhough he kept them to himself. But Y/N couldn't be happier! This meant a new friend, AND they were right when they said that Phil was just a nice person, there wasn't a favorite child! Right?

They quickly realized that Techno wasn't their friend, as the first interaction they had together was them getting a claw to the face by the piglin. Philza just simply sighed and made sure the wound would stop bleeding before tending back to the scared pig.

Y/N was only eight at the time, they didn't know what they were feeling. But whatever it was didn't feel good.

Since that day, Y/N was the new Wilbur and 'Technoblade' was the golden child. Y/N wanted the spotlight back, so they tried hard at everything. Nothing ever worked. Nothing was better than what Techno could do. Nothing was more amazing than Techno's knowledge, or his skills in fighting, or his odd way of speaking, or those stupid things that he did, or the fact that he'd always blame it on some 'voices' in his head. That he had a God complex. That he was better than Wilbur. He was better than Tommy. He was better than you...

He was always better than you. Of course. Thats what you felt when you first met. Not amazement, not the happiness of having another friend. Of course not. It was overwhelming jealousy. But he was your brother, so you had to suck it up just like Wilbur did.

But soon enough, they came to peace with this. They moved on and worked on what they actually enjoyed, not what Philza enjoyed. Mechanics. Phil would have killed you if he learned of all the dangers that you put yourself through to consider yourself an inventor. Or.... Would he?

One day your older brother approached you with his idea to create "L'manburg". At first you couldn't help but laugh. But when it was realized that Wilbur wasn't joking and that he had already recruited Tommy, they agreed to join the fight for freedom. It was a way to pay Wilbur back for being there for them, afterall.

Y/N never imagined the true horrors that they would have to go through so they could say a 'thank you' to Wilbur. They never even truly said it to him, L'manburg was already exploded and he was killed before they could say it to him. Not even saying it to Ghostbur was good enough.

Y/N was forced to suffer through watching her loved ones go mad. Sometimes, they would try coming up with inventions that could help her friends out, and some that could help some regular problems in the world for other people. Most of them didn't work, they were only able to produce goggles that could just barely help fully blind people see. But it was a step in the right direction.

Then doomsday came. Y/N didn't want to be part of it, they didn't want to even try hurting their father and younger brother. They aren't even sure how they came to that point.

Before they knew it, they were begging the man who once gave them anything in the world for him to stop. The whole server was one big family especially everyone in the homes he was about to destroy. But what they wanted didn't matter anymore. It's what Technoblade wanted, and he wanted blood.

At the last moment, Y/N remembered Friend. Ghostbur would be devastated if Friend died.

Falling down to the ground from the small warning of TNT, Friend flooded their mind.

If they couldn't save L'Manburg, they needed to save Friend. Ghostbur wasn't the same, but Ghostbur is Wilbur. They still never said thank you. They have to show their gratitude through the miracle of Friend surviving.

And so that's what they set off to do. With no mind to their own self-preservation, Y/N got up and flew as fast as they could to save Friend. But before they could reach the sheep, a large pile of rubble fell on one of their wings, almost snapping it right off. Y/N tried to get it off but to no avail, and their whole body wasn't safe. As they saw more rubble they crouched down while covering their head with their hands and covering the undamaged wing with their body, they prepared for impact.

The last thing they could speak out was almost incomprehensible.

"Wil..... Will...... Ghosbu.............. Tommy.......... Dad............."

And then everything went black. Y/N couldn't see or feel anything. Not even after her youngest brother, the ghost of her older brother, and the three fiances of the SMP untrapped them. There was nothing.

After what felt like years for the brothers, there was finally a glimpse of Y/N waking up. But they continued to drift in and out of consciousness and whenever someone tried communicating they were completely unresponsive.

During this amount of time, it was agreed that it was in their best interest for their wings to be removed. They were both utterly useless now after being crushed and would just be extra weight with unnecessary pain that can be avoided the sooner their wings get removed. Just in case Y/N was still aware of everything going on, they were put under amnesia to lower the chance of them feeling the agony of a wing removal surgery.

Slowly Y/N began more responsive to people, but never to the same amount. Everyone that took care of them were absolutely heartbroken when they figured out part of the rock that fell on them damaged a vital organ that allowed a person to see. Luck was in fact on their side for damaging their eyesight instead of the brain, however most people didn't see it that way.

Ghostbur took it upon himself to become Y/N's seeing-eye dog. He missed having Friend nearby and Y/N was the thing he connected to the most after Friend's death.

After a few months of trying to get used to no longer having sight or wings Y/N was finally allowed back in their lab with a large amount of supervision from Ghostbur. While carefully running their hands across some unfinished inventions, Y/N comes across the goggles that they made at least a year ago. It immediately smarked a memory deep within their brain, the closest thing they had felt to seeing something ever since doomsday.

"Ghostbur, what color are these?" "Oh, they're blue. Blue's a really nice color, it reminds me of Friend. Do you remember Frien- Why are you looking down at those like that? Would you like some blue, it takes your sadness away! Wait dont put them on, the glass has cracks!" Y/N snickers as the ghost tries to take them away from them without being super forceful, "I'm already blind, what's the worst it can do?"

"Dont say that!" Ghostbur gasps, "We will find a way to get your vision back, those goggles might make it impossible!"

"I made these around the time you first showed up. I ran multiple tests with them and I was able to help a blind person see the world again. Sure, it was very blurry, hard to distinguish a lot of colors from each other, we have a different kind of blindness, and its been more that a year since I last tested them, but they might still work." Y/N explains, then they turn their back to Ghostbur and put the goggles on. This time, Ghostbut only makes a sound in protest.

Blinking, Y/N could feel the stimulation in their brain that they lost along with their eyesight come back. They moved their hands from the position they were in to put the invention on to Y/N's line of sight, and they could see their hands again. Fuzzy, shapeless, hands with a few bandaids and many scars on them.

"So, are they working?"

The voice of your brother brings Y/N back to reality and they turn to look at him. They had completely forgotten what Ghostbur looked like, only remembering vaguely what child Wilbur looked liked and a brief description of how Ghostbur's appearance differed for Wilbur's.

Y/N wraps their arms around the Ghost, not actually hugging but just doing the motion to where they would hug a person they could actually touch, as they tried to not cry in front of him.

(WOOOOOO THIS ENDED UP A LOT LONGER THAN I EXPECTED AND I'M NOT EVEN DONE YET, SO I SEPARATED IT INTO TWO PARTS)

#sbi family dynamic #sbi x reader #slight angst #gn reader #gender neutral y/n

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imagining-in-the-margins · 3 years

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Here to Misbehave (Pt. 22 | S.R.)

Summary: Things are changing for the better. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Content Warning: Adults w/ Age Difference, Sub Drop, vague mentions of trauma/dissociation, PTSD (mostly comfort) Word Count: 7.25k

MASTERLIST

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The dulcet, bustling sounds of the Dulles International Airport were more soothing than I expected. Normally, the massive crowds and constant barrage of information would make my brain go into overdrive, but there was something about Spencer being there that made it all turn to white noise. If I had to guess, I would say it was the feeling of trusting someone to take care of you.

I still hadn’t gotten used to it.

“Hey, I got you something.”

Even then, when he’d approached me from behind and gingerly placed the bag on my lap, I barely even flinched. I smelled the contents of the bag before I noticed the logo or managed to open it, but once I confirmed it was what I thought it was, my eyes immediately teared up.

“Oh my god,” I keened, pulling out the familiar blue cup holding a much too sweet, much too large cinnamon bun. Although my mind was running with a million things to say to express just how appreciative I was, I took a bite out of it before I said anything else.

“I love you so much,” I mumbled around a mouth full of pastry.

Spencer tried to respond, but after one glance at me, fingers and face already covered in frosting after only a few seconds, he burst out laughing.

“You’re a complete mess,” he chastised, trying to cluck his tongue but failing in his laughter.

I just smiled back, not even bothering with the plastic utensils and enjoying the indulgence with absolutely childlike joy. It wasn’t even just the sugar or my fingers pressing into the warm, sticky dough that made the morning seem so much better; it was the way Spencer watched me.

With one arm leaned against the chair, his whole body was turned towards me. It was clear from the slightly glassy look in his exhausted eyes that he was also stuck trying to find the right words to say to express just how grateful he was that we could still have moments like that.

Those same eyes roamed over my figure with such an overtly intimate gleam that it almost made me blush. If he’d touched me, I definitely would have. But he kept his hands to himself, and eventually, buried them into his carry-on bag. I didn’t even look at what he was doing, too lost in the sweetness of being cared for.

That foolhardy trust was a mistake. Because, it turned out, Spencer Reid was a monster.

Without any warning at all, a cold wet wipe was dragged over my cheeks. I flinched back, only to find Spencer’s hand holding onto my head and stopping me from turning away. The madman even had the audacity to smile as he gingerly wiped the frosting from my cheeks and chin. Of course, considering the fact I was thrashing wildly away from him, it ended up mostly on my lips.

“Pfftbtb! Spencer!” I spit and whined, earning confused looks from basically everyone in the vicinity. What they would find when they looked over was him in a fit of laughter, continuing to try and clean my face, which was still covered in sugary frosting despite his best efforts to remove it.

“I thought you enjoyed the taste of alcohol,” he teased.

“First of all, no one does, and second—” I started, only to be cut off with a kiss over my much too clean mouth. I smiled, but only because it used to be my move. I wondered when exactly the tables had turned, and it became his job to shut me up with a kiss.

“I know,” he whispered, licking his lips just to cringe at the taste he’d forced on me, “I’m just joking.”

I decided then that the sight and shared disgust for ethyl alcohol were enough for me to forgive him for the time being. I let him clean the rest of the evidence of my greed from my face but decided to clean my fingers myself. I popped each one into my mouth in what I’d imagined was a very non-sexual manner, but Spencer still seemed to enjoy watching me as each digit was cleaned. Granted, he handed me another wipe seconds later. Damn germaphobe. Like he didn’t shove his tongue in my mouth on a daily basis.

The rest of the treat was shared between us, with utensils this time, in a relative quiet. Brief giggles or sighs were all there was to be said. Once there was nothing left to fixate on, I was left only with my thoughts and Spencer’s eyes that still watched me like a horribly affectionate hawk.

“I’m really sorry,” I mumbled without realizing. I’d almost hoped he wouldn’t even hear it, or let it go without a conversation, but of course, he couldn’t do that.

“For what?”

“For making you do all of this,” I explained with a heavy sigh, “I feel like a big baby.”

Spencer’s hands came to brush away the stray strands of hairs from my face. They weren’t actually in the way of anything; I think he just wanted to make a better view. That alone was enough to make me smile, but that only seemed to make him feel guilty.

“Don’t apologize for this. This is my fault,” he said just as quietly. I mirrored his motion, running my fingers through his hair and watching as his mouth dropped open in a pleased smile.

“No, it’s not. You’re wonderful,” I said through my own. It was only a little bit sadder than his, but wasn’t that usually the case? I could only imagine what would happen the day we were both overflowing with nothing but joy. Before, that thought might lead me back to the bank, the place that ended our last purely happy encounter, but…

I looked at Spencer, with his mouth still slightly open and his head lolling back and forth with the little weight of my hand, and I couldn’t bring myself to think of anything bad. So I just thought of the picnic, instead. I thought of him licking my hand as we rolled in grass, and of his own hands working through my hair to make it into something besides a mess on my head.

I looked at Spencer, and I saw beautiful things. And the longer I played with his hair, the more relaxed and content he became. Of course, I would never be satisfied. His smile was the most beautiful thing to see, and I needed it to deal with the guilt still sitting like rocks in my stomach.

“Besides, it’ll be so much easier putting down my work and actually getting sleep when you’re waiting for me,” Spencer slurred, his neck relaxing to drop the weight of his head against my palm.

“I hope not too easy. The world needs you, Dr. Reid,” I kindly reminded.

His eyes fluttered open, trapping me in dark honey irises filled with pure adoration. “You need me, too,” he whispered.

“Arrogant bastard.”

Naturally, he took it as a compliment, his smile growing into a smirk as he answered, “A little bit.”

He should have known better than to give me that look, though, because within seconds my hands fell from his hair. A small whimper came from the pitiful man at the loss. It was quickly followed by a sharp inhale when my hand grabbed his thigh.

“You think I’ll actually let you sleep?” I whispered.

Aside from the obviously tense quadriceps beneath my palms, Spencer showed very little response to my suggestion. Well, rather, he showed little arousal to it. There was a reaction— just not the one I expected.

He looked... nervous.

“I actually wanted to talk to you about that...”

“What?” I shot back immediately, my hands withdrawing and tugging on my shirt while I instinctively tried to hide from him. I was trying to look less guilty, but I was acutely aware that my actions screamed the opposite. So, I tried to combat my obvious anxiety with a voice that was far louder than it needed to be. “I swear I’m on all my medications. I haven’t missed a single therapy appointment, either!”

Spencer’s hands were gentle and cautious when they came to my wrists, gently pulling them away from my chest. “I know. I trust you,” he said with a sad but still genuine smile, “I just wanted to ask you how you wanted to handle this.”

“What do you mean? I’m fine.” The words tumbled out of me in the least convincing manner. Spencer was too smart to fall for them, although I could see a playfulness bloom through his features.

“No offense, but you just cried over a cinnamon bun,” he said, unable to stop a few chuckles from mixing with the words.

“It was just really good, okay?” I scoffed, tearing my hands away from him and feigning offense despite his little disclaimer. From there, I sank down in the shitty airport chair and refused to look up at him. I could still feel his cheeky, arrogant little grin watching me.

Eventually, after I thought we’d suffered enough and I could already feel my legs going numb, I weakly conceded, “Fine. What are my options?”

“Well, basically anything. But the main thing to consider is...”

He paused. It was one of the sure signs that he was taking the situation very seriously. Usually, he would just spout out whatever came to mind and sort out the details later. But this time, he spoke slowly and purposefully. “Majority of our relationship has been based on physicality. Whether it was sex or healing or hurting and I... I want to give you the option to not do that. At least, not for a little while.”

A feeling of dread filled my blood that I could suddenly hear rushing through my ears. I didn’t tell my heart to beat faster, but it did. My hands that had once again crossed over my chest suddenly itched to hold him.

“Why would I not want to?” I asked, fiddling with the buttons on my shirt and occasionally glancing up at him only to realize that he wasn’t looking at me, either. I tried not to read into it. After all, he was the profiler— not me.

“It’s not a matter of avoiding it. I just need you to know it’s not expected of you.”

Without shifting my body at all, my eyes were glued to him. The strain of the angle and the sound of those words caused them to burn, but I refused to let tears fall again. He wasn’t rejecting me, right? He was telling me that he loved me. There was no reason to be scared.

I wasn’t used to that yet, either. But I wanted to be. And judging by the way his hand cupped my face and guided it back to his, I think Spencer felt those anxieties. He tried to will them away by pressing his forehead against mine and letting his thumb ghost over flushed cheeks.

“Don’t be scared. I just need you to know that we don’t have to have sex for you to be worth my time and attention.”

The tears grew bigger under his scrutiny, but they didn’t fall until he closed his eyes. I think that was why he did.

“I love you,” he assured me with a whisper, “I’m not going to deny you affection or intimacy if that’s what you want. I just need you to know that it is always an option.”

Normally when Spencer pulled away, the air felt cold in his absence. For so long, my body had felt lonelier and less than without him. But in that busy, bustling airport, I felt just as loved even when his hands fell away and he sat back up in his chair.

For those who might’ve been watching, they would just see two lovesick idiots whispering sweet nothings in a flagrantly public display of affection. They wouldn’t have heard the weight of the words or felt the way my perception of the whole world shifted from them.

Spencer smiled again, still nervous, but also clear and authentic.

“I’m sorry,” he told me with his eyes fixated on my hands in my lap. He made no move to hold it, although I could tell he wanted to. I suspect he wanted me to focus on the words, so I tried my hardest. I almost asked him what he was sorry for, but he answered first, “I don’t think I’ve ever told you that before.”

A lump quickly formed in my throat that I tried to swallow. When that failed, and I felt the telltale signs of tears filling the sides of my eyes, I did the only thing I could think of to hide. I threw my arms around the only thing that never failed to make them better. I buried my face in Spencer’s neck and laughed along with him as my eyelashes and breath tickled the soft skin.

After a brief second of listening to our hearts settle into a matching rhythm and letting our body heat sink into the clothes between us, Spencer groaned, “How are you still sticky?”

—————————————————

A couple weeks prior, the thought of being alone in a hotel room waiting on Spencer to finish work for the day would have instilled the fear of God in me. I would have done just about anything to avoid the exact situation I found myself in now.

But honestly? It wasn’t all that bad. It was the perfect opportunity for me to force myself to slow down. Granted, that mostly just meant that I would watch bad TV in a bathrobe with overpriced food, but... like they say, change is as good as a rest.

The hardest part about it was actually just convincing myself that I deserved the rest. While I was taking naps and trying to do anything to unwind, I knew what Spencer was doing.

Well, I had some idea of what he was doing. Reality was probably worse than my imagination— it usually was with his job. At first, I had let that guilt get in the way, but at some point over the nine hours, I realized that I would have to find a way to cheer myself up. Because as soon as I heard that small beep of the keycard, I would have to find a way to remind him of all the beautiful things in the world.

No pressure, right?

The sun had already started to set, and I hadn’t heard from him in hours. We’d started the day out with a constant line of contact, but over time he became too busy. Which, again, just meant that I would have to work even harder when he finally arrived.

Luckily for me, by the time Spencer had arrived, there was no need for a pep talk or acting of any kind. My heart immediately started to race the second I heard his voice down the hall. I had already bolted from the bed and positioned myself just far enough from the door that I could jump forward the second it opened far enough to fit me.

And when it did, I pounced.

“Spencer!” I cheered, throwing myself into his arms that had fully been expecting me. Still, the two of us crashed back against the frame and I heard the breath be knocked out of him from the impact.

“Hey, little girl,” he managed to laugh with empty lungs that made it impossible to forget how tired he was. His arm eventually settled at my lower back, lifting me slightly so he could move us from the door’s path. But when we were out of harm’s way and the latch clicked softly in place, Spencer didn’t let me go. In fact, he tossed his bag into the chair at the desk and wrapped his other arm around me, too.

“How was work?” I asked, afraid I already knew the answer.

“You know...” he muttered with a crackling voice, “awful.”

If that hadn’t given it away, the way he buried his face in my neck certainly did. His hands were even more insistent, pressing into my back as he led us both to the bed.

I had to laugh, though, as the realization dawned on him that he’d have to let go of me if he didn’t want to track filthy shoes in our bed. A heavy sigh fell from his lips when he finally released me, practically throwing me onto the terrible mattress before taking his seat next to me.

“I missed you,” I announced in the ambient noise of the cheapest hotel that the government could justify using.

Spencer looked up at me, but the words took a little longer to register. I could only imagine how busy his mind must’ve been, and the guilt quickly came creeping back.

“I missed you, too,” he returned, albeit with a tint of sadness in his tone. But the longer we stayed there, the calmer he seemed. It was such a powerful effect of our proximity that by the time he did lay down next to me, he seemed like the man that had wiped frosting from my face in the middle of a busy airport.

Spencer must have noticed the shift, too, because no sooner had his head hit the pillow than he had flipped over, throwing his leg over me to pin me down against the bed.

My initial reaction was to keep laughing, but the noises were muffled by the persistent kisses he gave. They started at my cheeks and over the bridge of my nose but landed on my lips. I felt the tension leave his shoulders as he lowered more of his body weight against me, and I reveled in the feeling of his presence.

“God, I needed this,” he growled just before his tongue slipped into my mouth.

Everything we’d talked about at the airport felt a lifetime away, and as soon as I felt his erection pressing hard against my thigh, I only had one goal in mind. I forced my hands between us, trying to remove his tie with the hope that it would shed some of the thoughts he’d brought back from work.

But then it all stopped. Spencer had pulled away, grabbing onto my wrist and pinning it to the bed beside me once more.

“No, we don’t need to do that. I just wanted to kiss you,” he panted through heavy breath and swollen lips. I couldn’t stop staring at them long enough to answer, but it was clear from the look on his face that any plea I gave would be for naught, anyway. “I’m honestly way too exhausted to give you the attention you deserve.”

I believed him. Even when he hadn’t slept for nearly two days, he still looked livelier then. I had a sneaking suspicion that it had less to do with sleep and more to do with emotions. I wanted to help him with that, too, like he did for me, but I didn’t know how. So, I did the only thing I did know how to do well, which was to place a soft peck against his lips until they turned up into another smile.

“Get some rest, old man,” I murmured, “I’ll be here to kiss again when you wake up.”

“Let me hold you,” he answered immediately, nuzzling his face against my neck like a puppy seeking any shred of attention. I couldn’t tell if I was laughing because of the way his hair tickled or because it was so strange to see him so vulnerable while still in dominant, albeit disheveled, work clothes.

“Fine. Only because you asked nicely.”

Continuing the trend of being remarkably adorable, Spencer giggled as he rolled onto his side. I was almost tempted to turn towards him, but he had already wrapped his arms around me before I could decide. He pulled me as close as he could before his lips once again settled against the column of my throat.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he stated absently. It was so quiet that I’m not sure he’d actually planned on me hearing it. But when I reached a hand up to run through his hair, he spoke with a shaky, relieved whine, “I can’t believe you’re here.”

A gentle, warm exhale breezed over my skin as he continued, “I love you so much.”

From that point, any words he might’ve whispered were muffled through sloppy, sleepy kisses over my neck and shoulder. His hands, though slow, were still rough and purposeful as they pawed at me in a way that was only vaguely sexual. It was more like he was trying to prove to himself that he was actually here with me, and my breasts just happened to be the first thing he could grab.

That still didn’t stop my mind from running wild. The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention as I focused on the way his breath felt against areas still wet from his kisses. And when I arched my back, I felt his hips press harder.

Eventually, when I could trust myself to speak without whimpering, I asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to...”

I peeked back at him before continuing, having noticed a lull in his kisses. Sure enough, Spencer was fast asleep, his lips still attached to my shoulder. I had to chuckle at the sight, but my heart did hurt for him. I couldn’t imagine how tired he must have been to fall asleep then, and still in his clothes, much less.

The guilt over being the main cause of his tiredness was enough to keep me still for at least two hours. I spent that time slowly inching to a more comfortable position, only to be squished seconds later by Spencer. Even in his sleep, it seemed he was terrified of the prospect of me slipping from his arms. He was just being dramatic, though. It’s not like I had anywhere to go.

Wait, that sounded wrong. Truthfully, there were many places I could go, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay with Spencer, tangled in his long limbs and tickled by his hair that had grown long enough to gracelessly flop onto my face regardless of position.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t want to leave at all.

But I did. Inch by inch, I carefully slipped from Spencer’s arms. Against all odds, I managed to maneuver through the death grip he had on me and plop down on the ground beside the bed. My mind found that to be the perfect time to recall the lecture he’d given me about how suitcases, and more specifically, their wheels, were the most dangerous bacteria-laden aspects of traveling, but I dismissed the thought shortly after I stood again.

I didn’t want to leave Spencer’s embrace. I’m not really sure why I did. There wasn’t even really a particularly angsty reasoning for it. I just had this feeling, this tingling on my skin and a weight in my stomach that told me I was meant to be doing something different.

The only problem was that I had literally no idea what the fuck that something different was.

So, naturally, I did what every young child does when their parents had grown tired of their restless children jumping on the hotel bed. I grabbed the keycard and the ice bucket and set out on a very thrilling journey to find the vending room. The first part was the hardest. It was shutting the door to return the room to darkness, knowing that Spencer was alone in bed.

It was hard, but it wasn’t impossible. I slipped from the room into the horrible yellow lighting of the halls with the dizzying wallpaper and patterned carpet without another thought. I’d hoped that the walk might bring me answers to the mood I was currently wrestling with, but I was wrong. Because it basically only took me three doors to find the room that I was looking for.

Great.

I threw the door open haphazardly, actually contemplating grabbing the ice and returning to bed no wiser than I had left it. But when the door swung shut behind me, the humming from the machines bled into my brain and started to cover all the other thoughts. It was warmer than my room, as well as smaller and quieter. Of course, it was also remarkably less private, but it was also like 2am. If someone came in to find a strange girl sitting on the floor next to the ice machine, that was their own fault.

In a strange way, it was the most peaceful I’d been in a long time. As much as I loved being with Spencer, these circumstances made it hard for me to not feel like I didn’t belong. Probably because I didn’t. He was here on work, a life that he’d tried very hard to keep away from me. I didn’t blame him for that, either. I was sure he’d gotten a number of questions from Morgan and Garcia about my presence, but he hadn’t shared them with me. I’d even asked him, just so I could concoct my own retaliatory questions for the nosiest of them, but he just laughed the question away.

Maybe that was it. Maybe it was just the realization that Spencer had a life of his own and I was just starting to see it for the first time. I was learning so much about him and honestly… None of it was bad. Most of it was just downright silly. Things like prank wars and physics magic and careful, chemistry-based improvements to shitty coffee. I was just too busy realizing that I was falling even more in love with Spencer to notice anything else.

Including, apparently, the sound of the door to the room opening. Trust me when I say that was saying a lot; the presence of Aaron Hotchner was not easy to miss.

“Can I join you?” His voice filled the room despite its low volume, and I followed the sound with a small smile that grew at the sight of him in casual clothing. It wasn’t something that happened often, but it sure did make him less intimidating than our previous encounters.

“Sure,” I said as I pulled the still-empty ice bucket into my lap. Once he took his seat beside me, I rolled my head toward him to try and figure out what exactly he had planned. But after another few seconds of silence, I realized that he was doing the same thing I was.

Improvising.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” I asked, insistent that it wasn’t my job in this scenario to come up with the advice.

Hotch seemed equally lost, and with a slight shake of his head, he explained, “I only heard the door open once. Figured it was worth a trip to get some ice to check.”

He held up his matching ice bucket, to which I lifted mine to knock together like the worst kind of toast. It at least succeeded in making him laugh, although the sound was short-lived. We both recognized the shoddy attempt at humor was just masking the things I didn’t want to talk about.

“Why can’t you sleep?”

He had never really been a beat-around-the-bush sort of guy.

“Freakin’ profilers,” I affectionately muttered back, which only earned me a playful warning glance that I, for once, didn’t choose to ignore. “I don’t know. I’m guessing it’s probably the 3-hour nap I took when we got here.”

Then, deciding that still didn’t describe the situation well enough, I tagged on, “You know, while you all were working and saving the world and what not.”

Unfortunately, I’d forgotten the cardinal rule of the BAU: Do not ever speak poorly about yourself. Not even an implication.

“Rest is important. No reason for you to suffer for us,” he returned without pause.

“You sound like Spencer,” I said through a half-hearted laugh.

Hotch shared my laughter, causing them both to grow in volume as he snarkily replied, “And who do you think taught him?”

“Right. Sorry.” I held my hands up in surrender, but we both knew it would be harder than that.

But that was okay. He came prepared.

“So, what else is wrong?”

“So persistent, you lot,” I chuckled. I half expected him to let it go, but he just turned to stare at me with that usually stoic face contorted with an obvious reprimand. I swear, I didn’t even realize his eyebrows could move that far. But there were, raised up his forehead as his cheeks dimpled from his little, knowing smirk.

“I don’t know,” I sighed, “Just thinking about things and I was scared I would wake up Spencer. Like he would feel my anxiety in his sleep.”

“What’s making you anxious?”

I paused. For a moment, I thought about lying. Not the kind of transparent lie that you do when you say that everything is fine. The kind of lie that also contained the truth. There were many things that had happened lately that would explain my anxiety, and they would be believable enough because I did still feel them.

“Everything. You know. The usual,” I said softly, attempting to stall.

Because that wasn’t what the problem was that day. The problems that day were… complicated in a different way than the usual angst. So, I let the thoughts marinate for a moment, considering the different outcomes and deciding which I really wanted.

I hadn’t let myself want things in a while. Maybe that realization was why I decided to just tell him the truth, despite how embarrassing it felt.

“It’s not bad anxiety, necessarily. It’s just this realization that… I don’t know.”

“Take a guess,” he pressed, feeling the hesitance as I stood at the brink of what I really wanted to say. The real answer to why I was sitting on the floor of an ice machine vending room with my boyfriend’s boss, who also happened to be our shared adoptive father figure.

I took a deep breath, clutching onto the ice bucket so tightly that my knuckles blanched and the edges imprinted on my hand until I blurted out, “That I think I’m ready for something else. Something more.”

We both stopped then, enjoying the noises of machinery and the barely-there echo of my words.

“Something more, huh?” he repeated more clearly.

I didn’t appreciate the way the words were practically sung through a clever grin, and before he could take that train of thought any further, I stopped him with an answer too loud to not be deemed defensive.

“Not like that! Not like, let’s run off and elope and have lots of babies tomorrow!“ He didn’t look convinced, so I continued with a much more believable promise. “Don’t worry, I’m not sniping your genius.”

“Thank goodness,” he replied sarcastically. I appreciated his ability to keep things lighthearted, and for a second I did have to laugh at the fact he was such a different person when he wasn’t at work. He must’ve taught Spencer more than I realized. And, in turn, Spencer was teaching me. I just wasn’t sure when the lesson would be over, or if it had already ended.

“I’ve just held onto my independence and this… heavy bullshit for so long, and I’m a little worried about what that means,” I thought aloud.

Again, Hotch had read my mind, or at least, my body language, and demanded the answer he saw written across my features. “What do you think it means?”

“Do you always give fatherly advice like this to whiny girls in ice machine rooms?” I shot back with my first attempt at a glare. It only lasted until he flashed me a toothy smile and his own clever retort.

“No. Now answer the question.”

“I had to try,” I grumbled, only to be shut down again in an instant.

“I’ll forgive you when you answer.”

With a begrudging sigh, I tried to do what he asked. But I only barely got through one word before they turned to a lump in my throat. I choked on the words strongly enough that tears I hadn’t anticipated began pooling on my eyelashes. The power of a profiler, I guess, to know I was on the verge of an emotional catharsis before I did.

“I know we all change. I know that no one stays the same. We all go through things and they change who we are. And that can be good, right? But…”

Once the words started, they wouldn’t stop, turning and tumbling from clumsy lips still chapped from incessant biting. But teeth and willpower couldn’t stop the feelings that caused them, and if Spencer had taught me anything, he’d taught me that speaking a feeling into existence was half of the battle to let it go.

“But sometimes it’s gotta just be bad, right? Like, we’ve got to acknowledge that sometimes we change in an irreparable way that’s just bad for no reason.”

“Right,” he very eloquently returned. Normally, I would have bullied him for giving such a simple response to such a complex question, but at that moment I was just grateful that I could continue. Heaven knows Spencer wouldn’t have let me.

“So, what if that happened to me? What if one day I wake up and finally find out the answer to the question I’ve been asking myself?”

When I turned to the man then, I saw a genuine confusion for the first time that night. I couldn’t tell you where I’d lost him, but it was clear that he heard something in me that alerted him that some deeper rooted issues were just now finding the light of day.

Of course, in this situation, it was really just a flickering fluorescent bulb.

“What question is that?” he whispered, like his voice would intrude in the thoughts.

But the truth was they didn’t feel like they belonged to me, either. That was the problem. I’d spent so long with memories that felt like a dream. I saw them playback when I closed my eyes, just to open them and find the same images reflecting in Spencer’s. I knew they were real because they were written into my skin, yet my mind rioted against them so hard that instead, I just started to think that this body wasn’t mine, either.

“How much of me died that day?”

The question sat with us, taking form in the reflection on the metallic surface that hummed a somehow somber tune. And even though I knew I was looking at myself, it didn’t feel that way. When I saw Hotch move in the background, I turned to him just in time to feel his hand resting over mine on the metal pail in my hands.

“Can I tell you what I think?” he offered.

“I’d like that.”

I felt the warmth flow through him, bringing life back into a hand that suddenly started to feel like me again. His voice shared the same rejuvenating quality as he quietly but confidently answered, “I think… it’s much less than you think.”

As tears slid down my face, they felt less like the beginning of a downpour and more like the drizzle that follows the storm. I let them fall without wiping them away, hoping that as they fell away, they would take the fear with them.

After they did drip from my jaw, I laughed. I couldn’t hold it in because it seemed so silly how much lighter I felt after losing just a few droplets of saline. But, realistically, I knew it had more to do with his hand still holding mine.

I dropped my head to his shoulder, selfishly stealing his body warmth as I croaked, “Thanks for talking to me. I know I must sound like a stupid kid to you sometimes.”

“Not at all,” he said with that tone that was difficult to discount, “You sound just like you should.”

“Can I tell you something now?” I asked between sniffles.

“I’d like that,” he mirrored.

“You’re like… a really good dad.”

It was his turn to shed tears, then, which he did. They were much manlier and less silly than mine, but they were there. I almost accused him of creating them just to make me feel less embarrassed, but before I could, he’d enveloped me in a hug that was way too genuine to question it.

As I hugged him back, I realized just how badly I’d missed moments like this. I’d fooled myself into really believing that loneliness and independence were the same things for so long that when I was granted the support all human beings need, I didn’t know how to respond.

But that was the beauty of family, right? You don’t have to try to earn their love. They already thought you were worthy.

So I hugged him harder, ignoring the clanking of the machines and the sounds of crowds of people stumbling back from bars in the hall that could walk in any moment. I wasn’t embarrassed to be sad anymore. I was just a person. It happens sometimes.

“Speaking of, it’s well past your bedtime,” Hotch said finally, gracelessly shattering the moment in a very dad-like fashion.

“I walked into that one.”

Following that trend, he continued with a gentle bump of his shoulder against me, “If you don’t want to go yet, you can talk to me about that something more.”

I practically shoved him off me, huffing between chuckles and shaking my head in the hope that he wouldn’t notice how it flushed.

“Please. Spencer talks about that stuff, but he’s all talk.”

At first, Hotch just nodded. But after a few wayward glances, he confessed, “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

That time the warmth I felt came from within, carried by butterflies that had burst in my stomach at the thought. I almost asked him what he meant, but then felt the familiar, creeping embarrassment that came along with loving someone a little too much.

“Yeah, right,” I scoffed.

I knew he was reading my expressions, but I couldn’t hide the smile, no matter how hard I tried. He still had the decency to ignore my blatant displays of excitement, instead asking the question we both knew the answer to already.

“Is that something you’d want?”

“I…” Such a simple syllable still seemed like too much, and I stuttered it a few more times before I landed on an answer that wasn’t too humiliating. “I guess he’ll have to ask and find out.”

“I hope it turns out well when he does,” he said, pausing to correct with a sarcastic, “Sorry. If he does.”

“Yeah, me too,” I sighed heavily. It was a last ditch effort to hide the way my cheeks were still stuck in a full-faced smile. I turned to see him with a very similar expression.

I knew just how to change that. When he stood up and offered me a hand, I took it and let him do half the work for me. But once we were on equal footing, I placed my hand on his shoulder with a complacent pat.

“You know, if it doesn’t turn out well, you’ll have to figure out how to comfort the both of us.”

“The horror,” he jokingly cringed with a shake of his head.

I almost left then, but thankfully he’d remembered the actual purpose for the room we’d had our impromptu surrogate-father-daughter moment in. He grabbed my ice pail from my hand and dropped it under the dispenser without saying anything else, letting the chaotic crunching signal the real end of the moment.

Once it was over, I looked down at the now freezing bucket in my hands that suddenly felt warm. Then I looked back up at him and saw a pride that I wasn’t expecting.

“Goodnight, Aaron,” I said as the last remaining bit of tension fell from my shoulders.

“Goodnight,” he answered, opening the door and watching as I padded down the hall. He waited until I slipped back into my room before his door clicked shut, and mine quickly followed.

That tiny sound was just enough to wake the man in the bed, and when I turned to him, the sight took my breath away. Because there was Spencer, the man I loved, reaching his arms out into the darkness and grabbing the empty air as he whined, begging me to come to him faster.

And I did. Tossing the bucket onto the table, I rushed over to him and threw myself into the bed beside him without any grace. With a similar restlessness, Spencer wound his arms around me as soon as I was within his reach, pulling me as close as he could without sacrificing all the air in my lungs.

“I missed you,” he mumbled against my hair.

“Don’t worry. I’m back,” I whispered back. The words were lost in his shirt, but he somehow heard them well enough to ask, “Where did you go?”

I didn’t know how exactly to describe what had happened, so I told one of those lies I’d contemplated earlier. “To get ice,” I said. It wasn’t exactly a lie. It was just a very inefficient summary.

Spencer didn’t care, either. In fact, he giggled at the thought, nuzzling his face down into my neck and tickling me with his lips as he mumbled, “Let me warm you up.”

It did succeed in warming me up, but only because it turned into a fit of giggles and more intense tickling. His fingers danced along my sides and his whispers turned back to the same kisses that we’d started the night with.

But it couldn’t last forever. The poor guy still had only had a couple hours of sleep, and I felt the excitement wear off all at once, leaving him only half-awake on the pillow beside me. He still found the energy to look at me like there were stars in my eyes.

“Where did you really go?” he asked again, dragging his hand over my cheek like he could see the tears I’d shed just a few moments before.

“Just ice. I promise,” I answered, ending the thought with a quick kiss on his palm. When I could tell that he didn’t believe that, I brought my hands up to his face as I snickered, “See? Cold hands.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t flinch. Instead, he just leaned forward, letting our noses touch and pulling me in to him again. His eyes fluttered shut, and I could almost see the way his body started to return to sleep as he barely muttered, “No cold feet, though?”

It took me a moment to register the words, and once I did, I still couldn’t believe them.

“Cold feet for what?” I whispered back.

Spencer’s answer only came in the form of a dreamy laugh. He didn’t open his eyes again, instead choosing to drop his face back into my shoulder just like he had before. This time there were even fewer kisses against my neck before he went still again.

Once again, I was left with my thoughts. Only this time they weren’t scary. Because marrying Spencer Reid was not the worst thing to imagine by far. In fact, there were very few things I’d ever wanted more.

—————————————————

| Part 23 |

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid series #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #spence reid #spencer reid request #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction

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m-aster-of-spinjitzu · 3 years

Text

golden power; never wielded

my first work for @ninjago-angst-week! prompt - abandoned (16/08) Lloyd's never known what it's like to share his heart with another, linking two lives together as if one had found the melody to their chorus, now a song in perfect harmony. If he’d always felt like he was invisible; wondered if there was something fundamentally wrong with his inability to touch others’ hearts, then, well, that was no one’s business but his own. Of course, that was before he quite literally fell for someone - the first person, actually - who seemed to care. Of course she was too good to be true. Or, the S8 angst I've been wanting to write about 'game of masks' and the aftermath. trigger warnings - suicidal thoughts, brief mention of implied self-harm, not really a warning but it talks a lot about loneliness. "How did you know?"

"It's an Oni Temple. It's safe to assume that only an Oni could take it."

"No. How could you know that I was part Oni?"

How could you know that I was part Oni?

The question repeated itself in his mind, echoing into the blizzard.

Sometimes, he wondered what would've gone down at the temple if he hadn't been so observant.

Well, he thought bitterly, probably not the temple itself.

The walls collapsing, he'd caught a glimpse of his terrified face as the room filled with swirling inky blackness, freezing him to the bone.

But the real pain came from her words.

Ah. Your emotions. You can't get rid of them, can you?

No, he'd wanted to yell, staring listlessly at the shaking grey semblance of sky.

He'd always felt like he wielded the element of light; invisible, trapped behind a barrier that no one cared enough to break. Isolated; locked away from the world. Longing for - yearning for - a single soul to want to know his heart. Pain that almost felt tangible, bleeding into every motion, every day.

Everyone else seemed to find it so easy - so effortless - simple as breathing, taken for granted like it was ingrained into their bones. Everyone else seemed to have given away a little piece of their heart - to their parents, friends, or lovers.

The fact that his was, and had always been, entirely whole?

He was either cursed, the venom from the Great Devourer passed down to him, or there was something fundamentally unlikable coursing through his veins.

By this point, he assumed it was the latter.

Maybe, if anyone had ever cared - wanted to know him - he'd never have felt like it was pressing down on his chest like a casket; a useless block of ice that no one wanted, not even the unfortunate owner it'd been given.

If no one would know his heart, he'd thought, grabbing a forgotten map, he'd strike fear into theirs - until they knew what it was like to sob into invisible barriers, to gaze upon the world with a weary eyes and a heart heavy with the knowledge that if they vanished, no one would even notice.

He'd realized far too late that he had unleashed an evil that couldn't be controlled - or one that could only be controlled by his- by someone else that had sunk beneath the darkness until no light remained-

He'd escaped from the crumbling casket, energy and eyes blazing - only to find that Har- she'd already escaped with the mask.

The Oni Mask of Hatred.

As they had steered the boat through the river, her sweet smile hiding lie upon lie, he'd thought it was somewhat ironic - two lovers, seeking a literal manifestation of hatred.

He'd laughed bitterly; no mirth in the sound.

After his first crush had - well, literally tried to crush him, he didn't think that this day could get much worse.

Until she dropped him into a contraption that was the stuff of nightmares - leaving the others with a seemingly impossible choice.

He'd wanted to yell, scream, that they should save his mother - he'd hurt enough people over the course of his short life, as evidenced by the grief-stricken orphan yelling a foreign language right in front of him.

I'm the expendable one! Maybe she was right - it was my fault the Serpentine were able to release the Great Devourer. And it took thousands of lives - but never the life of the one who was to blame.

He'd grabbed the vengestone bars, the faint sense of numbness they brought a welcoming relief from the storm of emotions that- he honestly had no clue what to do with.

i could drown, he had thought briefly, fleetingly. what if i drowned and i never hurt anyone again-

you have a responsibility, even though you've pretty much failed to uphold it so far

"Clotho venge! Clotho decer! Clotho haeed!"

Shoving the thought to the back of his mind, he'd gripped the bars tighter, ignoring the sting of the metal against skin.

If anything, he'd welcomed the sting.

Any pain was better than the agonizing reminder that his heart was, and had always been, entirely whole.

He didn't even realize he was trembling until he heard his father's voice echoing from the vortex.

His father hadn't asked to be bitten by an evil snake, the venom coursing through his veins for years upon years. He hadn't asked to be dumped at a boarding school for bad kids, spending what he had left of his childhood hiding in empty classrooms or yelling empty threats as his classmates snickered.

Against all odds, they'd been reunited. Evil snakes, Fangblades, even Jade Blades - none of it had stood between them.

Just when he thought they might have a future - he might have a- a family - the Cursed Realm decided to curse them all.

His father with imprisonment, him with a life devoid of a father he'd loved, at the end.

Now H- she wanted to resurrect him?

His father had been so much more than the Oni blood in his veins. So was he.

But if he was completely Oni-

Lloyd didn't like their odds. He kind of hated them.

"Clotho venge! Clotho decer! Clotho haeed!"

---

A few chaotic hours later... they'd won? They'd won.

The Sons of Garmadon (he'd always thought the name was kind of ironic - he, the only son of Garmadon, wasn't in their crazy biker gang) had been imprisoned by courageous, if a bit overzealous, taser-wielding policeman.

Ninjago was celebrating - everyone was; he should be, too.

Should he really revel in their victory, though? It was his fault that she'd been able to snatch the last mask, all the safeguards the Oni had put in place practically worthless because of his stupid feelings-

H- Harumi had been thrown in one of the police vans.

"You're right - this isn't me," she'd started, her meekness almost convincing him that she really was the girl he'd fallen for - the girl who'd been forced into a mask she never wanted to wear, but someone who still cared about the world... and- and about him.

"Stop."

He'd cut her off, the venom in his tone surprising both of them.

"Save it for someone who cares," he'd forced out, the hurt welling up his chest almost as painful as their unceremonious descent into the jungle, (the descent she'd orchestrated, he'd thought fleetingly, squeezing his eyes together) unable to believe that this- this liar was the same sweet girl he'd fallen for.

With that, he slammed the door of the van, locking her in - wishing that locking his memories away could be easy.

She'd never cared about him; simply needing to use him as if he was nothing more than the power he wielded.

He watched one of the policemen drive her away, the tired-but-enthusiastic cheers of his teammates nothing more than background noise; static.

Vaguely, he realized that his heart wasn't quite whole - he'd given a piece of it to someone whom he had thought would link theirs together in harmony, the melody to his chorus; what he'd been searching for ever since he'd woken up screaming in a 'boarding school' that seemed more like a prison.

She'd taken more than what he'd given - draining the light from his entire being as if she was the Overlord, stealing his golden power without a shred of remorse.

That failure was practically painless, compared to her-

An almost unfamiliar emotion slowly stated to replace the ache in his chest that he'd grown used to for all those years; it'd become comforting, even. Watching the world go by with a heart that seemed more like a curse, he briefly, fleetingly, wondered if he'd be better off without one.

If there was ever a problem that presented itself to Nya while she worked on the Bounty, she used to joke that it'd be easier to just dump their entire hard dive into the sea.

Destruction seemed to be easier than fixing, he conceded - the van now just a glimmer of bright light; one of the many that made up their vibrant city.

"How did you know?" he heard, yet again wondering how he felt so disconnected from his own role in the memory.

How had she known?

The whisper of a voice long gone bled into his consciousness, his hands shaking at his sides even as the city celebrated.

Why had he even asked that?

Plastering a smile on his face as he walked over to his teammates, the question repeating itself in his mind, echoing into the blizzard.

FSM - she didn't need to be leader of a biker gang to know that.

Who could ever give their heart - the epitome of human connection; golden power all on its own, albeit of a different kind - to an Oni?

Maybe he wasn't the one trapped behind an invisible wall, built on tears and loneliness and yearning and heartache and a lone question - why? Why could no one seem to look past the cage he felt himself trapped in, observing the world rather than playing a part in it.

He hadn't been a- abandoned by everyone, he realized, a weary sense of clarity and shadowed eyes not sure to accept it or push it into the back of his mind like the hours he'd spent there, as if he'd ever want to have hurt his teammates like he did, the twisted ghost-

He trailed behind his teammates as they sang - horribly off key, his mind pointed out, forcing a small smile onto his face - lost in the figurative blizzard, despite the fact that the sun's rays had only vanished a few hours ago.

If no one would know his heart?

FSM - could he really blame them?

(if you read this far, thank you so much, you’ve made my day:D)

#lloyd garmadon #ninjago angst week #harumi #sons of garmadon #ninjago fic #ninjago #lloyd

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kingstylesdaily · 4 years

Text

Harry Styles — ‘It’s about bringing more music to Manchester’

The One Direction band member and solo star on launching into his first substantial business venture.

But the star hasn’t joined me on a Zoom call to discuss traumatic haircuts. Instead, we’re discussing what’s being billed as his first venture into the world of business. Styles is the public face of a new arena to be built in Manchester, which will be one of the largest indoor venues in the UK when it opens in 2023.

It’s being built by the US entertainment company Oak View Group at a projected cost of £350m. The capacity will be 23,500. Following a link-up with the Manchester-based business The Co-operative Group, it will be called Co-op Live.

“It feels like full circle for me to be doing this,” Styles says, speaking in what looks like the stainless steel confines of his LA film trailer. He grew up near Manchester, in a village in the neighbouring county Cheshire. “My first job was with the Co-op, it was delivering papers for them,” he recalls.

Manchester was where he went to gigs with friends. It was also where he auditioned for the television talent show The X Factor in 2010 when he was 16, singing an unaccompanied version of Stevie Wonder’s “Isn’t She Lovely”. It led to him joining the boy band One Direction. Transcending their talent show origins (they came third on The X Factor), Styles and his bandmates became a global phenomenon. They were the first band in US chart history to have their first four albums debut at number one, outdoing even The Beatles. With his newly shorn hair, a green jacket with big stitching, a T-shirt with blue palm trees and a cross dangling from his neck, Styles manages even on a visually unflattering Zoom call to look the part of the teen heart-throb. But, whereas other boy band singers have struggled to establish themselves as individual acts, Styles has made a handsome success of it. He launched a solo career in 2016 and has released two accomplished hit albums. In 2017, he made his acting debut in Christopher Nolan’s war film Dunkirk. He’s currently shooting Olivia Wilde’s horror-thriller, Don’t Worry Darling.

Diversification from the evanescent world of teen-pop continues with his involvement in the Co-op Live arena. It links him with two big names in the US entertainment industry. Tim Leiweke, former CEO of the concert promoter AEG, and Irving Azoff, former CEO of Ticketmaster, run Oak View Group, the company building the arena. Azoff’s son Jeffrey Azoff is Styles’s manager. “This is a big project and it would be a lot scarier if I was with people I didn’t know,” the singer says.

He has a financial stake in it as an investor. “I didn’t get into music because I wanted to be a businessman,” he says. “I got into music because I love music. That’s always going to be a first for me. But when an opportunity like this comes up, for me it feels so much about what I can bring to it as a musician, and also as a fan.”

Construction of the arena is due to begin in November. Styles has a vaguely defined role as an adviser in its design and decor. “Obviously I’m not an expert architecturally, in terms of building an arena,” he says. “I guess the weight of my involvement falls into the idea of what you want backstage as an artist. People operate in different ways after a show. Some people like a quiet space, some people like a place where you can invite all your friends.”

Arenas have a reputation as soulless venues, the kind of interchangeable setting where a forgetful star can get the name of the city wrong (as happened to Bruce Springsteen in 2016 when he cried, “Party noises, Pittsburgh!” during a show in Cleveland).

Even at the tender age of 26, Styles is a veteran of these cavernous spaces, which he refers to as “rooms”.

As an artist, it’s rare to find that if you’re touring for months at a time, to go in these big rooms and feel that comfortable.” Manchester’s new arena is being designed to maximise sightlines between performer and audience. “That’s usually the first thing that you miss when you go into big rooms,” he says. “There’s a point when you’re doing shows and you can see the whites of people’s eyes and you can have that connection with people. It’s easy to lose that if you can’t see people’s faces.”

The first time he sang in public was in the canteen of his Cheshire school, for a music competition. He recalls the feeling of exhilaration: “You’re so used to sitting in the classroom and looking up at your teachers. All of a sudden everyone’s down there and the teachers are looking up at you.” He gets the same sensation when performing for tens of thousands of people. “It’s obviously on a different scale but that feeling is very much the same,” he says. “I think it’s the same chemical. It’s just like such an unnatural thing. It’s kind of like — this isn’t supposed to be like this, this isn’t how life works. That kind of adrenalin I think is just something that you wish you could share with people that you know. It’s a beautiful thing, it’s a really special moment.”

The coronavirus pandemic poses an existential threat to venues. “It’s such a strange time to be talking about live music, because right now it just doesn’t exist,” Styles says. He insists that the Co-op Live is designed to enhance Manchester’s live infrastructure, not overwhelm it. (The city already has one of the UK’s largest indoor venues, the AO Arena.)

After its projected completion in 2023, Co-op Live will be able to welcome its celebrity investor on stage (“If they’ll have me. I’ll have to speak to someone and ask about that”). In the meanwhile, Styles is due to embark on a world tour next February, although the pandemic has cast it in doubt.

“It’s one of those things of just seeing how things go,” he says. “I don’t think anyone wants to be putting on a tour before it’s safe to do so. There will be a time we dance again, but until then I think it’s about protecting each other and doing everything we can to be safe. And then when it’s ready and people want to, we shall play music.”

via the Financial Times

#kingstylesdaily #Harry Styles #hs: financial times #hs: article #October 2020

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rogue-durin-16 · 3 years

Text

FIREWORKS AND STREAMERS

Request: I have been insecure about my curly hair lately and was wondering if you can you write something with one of the weasley twins where the reader is insecure about her curly hair and one of the twins makes her feel better.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Hufflepuff!Reader

Genre: fluff

Tags:

Requested by: @wildcat1434

Fred Weasley: @whiskeyn-rain @lumos-solemn

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog

Warnings: none

A/N: So like, incoming fluff bc this idea was cute and sometimes I do be needing fluff, that's about it, enjoy <3

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

The relationship between me and my hair had always been... Bumpy, you could say.

There were periods in which I would find it quite lovely; during those times I would let my curls free, showing them off with a proud demeanor, knowing my hair was unique. Those times began to turn less and less usual since the middle of third year, though they were still there.

However, after the summer prior to my sixth year, those moments had banished; I only wished to hide my hair, and my friends ended up noticing. They told me surely there would be a spell or potion able to change my hair.

As if they had summoned it, the next day in Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall introduced us to what seemed like my salvation; Crinus Muto, an advanced spell that modified the caster's hair with no restrictions.

My best friend advised me against using it, claiming it wouldn't help my insecurity— if only, it would worsen it.

I really wanted to do as she had told me and completely dismiss the spell's existence, but two nights after I had a big mental breakdown about it, caused by the most stupid thing ever.

"Is Weasley staring at you or am I blind?" One of my friends whispered, her eyes trained on the Gryffindor table.

I didn't even bother to look up, not wanting to know whether it was true or not, before responding with a quiet "You're blind."

"I mean, it's hard to tell with two rows of students between us but," She nudged me, urging me to avert my gaze from my dinner and redirect it to Fred. "it kinda looks like he's... staring."

Curiosity killed the cat, I guess. My eyes finally left my plate and were, in fact, met with Fred's brown ones. As soon as they met, though, he looked away, pretending to be focused on his food, just like I had been doing seconds ago.

"Of course he's staring." Hannah Abbot, who sat right in front of my friend, commented with her mouth full. "Have you seen your hair?" She swallowed her food, looking me up and down before adding, "No offense, but it's an absolute mess." My eyes opened widely in shock at her bluntness. "You should take care of it, really."

"Has someone ever told you you're an ill-mannered bitch, Hannah?" I heard my friend talking back at the younger girl while I got up and started to make my way out of the Great Hall.

Of course, I didn't see Fred shooting up and attempting to go after me; ultimately he decided to stay in his place, since he saw my friend walking out too.

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

I was very aware of all the pair of eyes that had been laid on me the very moment I entered the greenhouse where we would be doing the Herbology tasks.

When I had met my friends at the Hufflepuff common room that morning, I had received divided opinions about my straight hair. At first I had been very convinced that it looked way better than my curly hair, but seeing my friends' reaction, I wasn't that confident about it anymore.

I didn't have time to undo the spell before class, so I decided to go along with it and see how the day unfolded.

I took a deep breath, my eyes trained on the ground as I made my way to an empty seat; maybe there weren't that many people staring, maybe it was just my anxiety.

I finally gathered the courage and looked up, nervously scanning the glasshouse so I could shake off my fears.

There was only a couple of my peers staring, which would have put me at ease, if one of them wasn't Fred Weasley.

On top of it, of course, he wasn't even trying to be subtle, it was almost as if he wanted me to notice his judging eyes; I could feel his gaze on me for the entire class.

The instant Professor Sprout dismissed us, I shoved everything in my bag and left the greenhouse, thanking a couple of Gryffindors who complimented my hair on my way out.

Again, I didn't notice Fred leaving the class as soon as he could to run after me.

I threw my bag against a tree near the lake shore and, as I fell against it, I heard someone jogging in my direction.

"In a hurry to sit by the lake, Y/l/n?" I followed the tall ginger with my eyes while he circled me and sat down by me. "You alright?"

"I just needed a break from... People." I vaguely explained, focusing on the water instead of on the boy besides me.

"Understandable." He hesitated for a second before adding, "Do you want me to leave?"

"No, it's fine." I surprised myself at how calmed and collected I sounded, as if I wasn't chatting with my crush.

"What happened to your hair?" His genuinely curious inquiry took me aback, and I struggled to find something to answer.

"Why?" My heartbeat picked up, anxiety inundating me once more. "You don't like it?"

"It looks weird." Fred looked at me up and down with a grimace. "You don't... Look like yourself." I was about to enter fight or flight mode, but he seemed to notice, and panic made its way to his face. "But it doesn't matter what I think," he was quick to add, his eyes wide open as if he knew he had said something he should have not. "I mean— I think it shouldn't matter, if you like it, that's great— I mean, you don't need my opinion about that either!"

"Calm down, I understand." I tried to reassure him, before his rambling drove the both of us crazy. "Can I tell you a secret?" He nodded with pursed lips, surely afraid he would fuck up if he spoke again. "I've been very insecure about my hair lately— like, very." I sighed. "My best friend told me not to straighten it, but last night I got a not so nice comment and—"

"So that's why you left?" I nodded, tugging my sleeves. Fred went silent for a moment, and then cleared his throat and scooted closer to me. "I know this won't do much, but I really love your hair. Kinda reminds me of fireworks and streamers." He gestured around his own head, mimicking the fireworks' movement. "Dunno I think is fun and pretty awesome." I raised my brows at him in surprise. "Like you."

"Aw, that's very sweet." He offered me a sheepish smile as I felt my cheeks blushing. "It does a lot, actually." I confessed, fidgeting with my rings. "I guess I kinda needed to hear something positive about my hair."

"Well, whenever you need to hear something positive about your hair," he pointed at himself. "I'm your man." He winked at me and I let out a chuckle. "I can also tell you positive things about you in general, but that has a price."

"And what is it?"

"You'll have to let me buy you a drink at The Three Broomsticks this Saturday." I tried not to let panic slip through my recently eased demeanor; was he asking me on a date? "And give me a kiss after." He wiggled his brows at me and my face turned red. "the kiss is negotiable."

I casted my gaze down, fixing it on my shoes, not sure of what I was supposed to say at that. His foot tapping mine snapped me out of my thoughts.

"So?" My eyes traveled to him once more, only to find his studying me already. "What do you say, Y/l/n?"

"Well," I shrugged, trying in vain to play nonchalant. "Seems like an affordable price, so it's fine by me."

"I'll pick you up after lunch, yeah?" Before I could agree, he gasped, his eyes going wide. "I'm a genius."

"Come again?" I frowned, confused as his sudden frantic behavior.

"Don't mind me, love." He jumped up and jogged towards the castle, leaving me puzzled in there. I was about to grab a book from my bag when Fred rushed back, crouched down and pecked my cheek. "Your hair's amazing." He assured me. "See you!" My fingertips graced my now flushed cheek as he headed off.

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

I was finishing my lunch when two towering redheads entered the Hall running; while George, slowed down, Fred made a beeline to the Hufflepuff table, his casual clothes already on.

"Ready?" He asked breathless.

"Yeah— you didn't have lunch, did you?" I pointed out, getting up to stand in front of him.

"No, but I'll eat something later—" his eyes roamed over my carefully picked outfit before stating, "You look... very pretty."

"Why, thank you." I offered him a smile and looked over my shoulder at the Gryffindor table, where his friends were very attentive to all we did. "You sure you don't wanna eat something?"

"Hundred percent." He tilted his head towards the gates. "shall we?" He prompted to walk before him, and it was then that I realized he had his hands behind his back. Once we were out in the yard, he tugged my hand and made me turn to him. "I made something for you."

"You didn't have to." Was the first thing that came to my mind when I heard his words. Then the wording dawned on me; he didn't get me something, he made me something. "What is it?"

"So, you know that I told you your hair reminded me of fireworks and streamers?" I nodded, not quite knowing where he was going with that. "Well—" he then showed me what his back was hiding; a delicate, tiny firecracker with my name written on the side. "George helped me so I could finish it on time."

"I'm—" at my loss of words, I could only let out a happy laugh. "This is so cute— am I supposed to ignite it?"

"Duh!" I gently pushed his shoulder in response to his teasing. "Do you know how to do it?"

"I've seen you do it plenty of times." I admitted, grabbing the firecracker with one hand and my wand with the other; it looked so pretty, it was a pity I'd have to ruin it.

With a brief firemaking spell, the firecracker set off. Fred pulled me back slightly before it happened, though.

I was in awe at the beautiful fireworks before us, which looked like a color-changing, expanding version of my hair.

When the colors died out, I turned to Fred, whose attention was already on me, awaiting for a reaction. Surely, he was not expecting the kiss he got, but he didn't complain either; while my hands rested on his chest, his traveled to cup my cheeks before I could pull away.

"So you liked it?" He questioned quietly against my lips.

"I loved it." I whispered back with a wide smile. "You're a sweetheart." I pecked his lips before retreating. Holding his hand in mines, I made my way back into the castle. "We're not leaving until you have lunch."

"You are a sweetheart." He responded, following my lead without offering resistance. "By the way, your hair looks gorgeous." The corners of my lips twisted into a bigger smile at the sweet words he spoke only for me to hear as we went back into the Great Hall.

Maybe my hair wasn't that bad after all.

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stylesnews · 4 years

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Harry Styles — ‘It’s about bringing more music to Manchester’The One Direction band member and solo star on launching into his first substantial business venture

Two weeks ago, the stark phrase “HE CUT HIS HAIR” began trending on social media. I can confirm its truth: the One Direction member turned solo star Harry Styles has indeed cut his hair. The usual curly tresses are gone, scissored into a tousled, swept-back look. It’s for a film role he’s currently shooting in Los Angeles. But the star hasn’t joined me on a Zoom call to discuss traumatic haircuts. Instead, we’re discussing what’s being billed as his first venture into the world of business.

Styles is the public face of a new arena to be built in Manchester, which will be one of the largest indoor venues in the UK when it opens in 2023. It’s being built by the US entertainment company Oak View Group at a projected cost of £350m. The capacity will be 23,500. Following a link-up with the Manchester-based business The Co-operative Group, it will be called Co-op Live.

With his newly shorn hair, a green jacket with big stitching, a T-shirt with blue palm trees and a cross dangling from his neck, Styles manages even on a visually unflattering Zoom call to look the part of the teen heart-throb. He launched a solo career in 2016 and has released two accomplished hit albums. In 2017, he made his acting debut in Christopher Nolan’s war film Dunkirk. He’s currently shooting Olivia Wilde’s horror-thriller, Don’t Worry Darling.

Even at the tender age of 26, Styles is a veteran of these cavernous spaces, which he refers to as “rooms”.

“There’s a lot of cold rooms that you can play in,” he says. “You definitely remember being in the ones that sound better, the ones in which you can create some sort of feeling of being at home. As an artist, it’s rare to find that if you’re touring for months at a time, to go in these big rooms and feel that comfortable.”

Manchester’s new arena is being designed to maximise sightlines between performer and audience. “That’s usually the first thing that you miss when you go into big rooms,” he says. “There’s a point when you’re doing shows and you can see the whites of people’s eyes and you can have that connection with people. It’s easy to lose that if you can’t see people’s faces.”

He gets the same sensation when performing for tens of thousands of people. “It’s obviously on a different scale but that feeling is very much the same,” he says. “I think it’s the same chemical. It’s just like such an unnatural thing. It’s kind of like — this isn’t supposed to be like this, this isn’t how life works. That kind of adrenalin I think is just something that you wish you could share with people that you know. It’s a beautiful thing, it’s a really special moment.”

“The purpose is not in any way to try to monopolise the city in terms of music,” he says. “It’s about bringing more music to Manchester, wanting to bring more artists there, to use this building as a reminder of why it’s such a great music city, not trying to wipe out other venues.” After its projected completion in 2023, Co-op Live will be able to welcome its celebrity investor on stage (“If they’ll have me. I’ll have to speak to someone and ask about that”). In the meanwhile, Styles is due to embark on a world tour next February, although the pandemic has cast it in doubt.

#harry styles #oct20 #article #ft #cooplive

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writing-on-standby · 3 years

Text

time of dreaming (pt one)

Summary: Soulmates meet in their dreams from the age of 16 until they meet for the first time. Once they meet, they share their physical and emotional feelings with one another until they die. Tom Holland was just starting to learn how to take over the family business and ignore the urge to find his soulmate when everything changes and he’s found face to face with you. You’ve always wanted to meet your soulmate and spend the rest of your life with them, until you actually meet yours and life changes forever.

Warning: blood, language, violence, angst (this story is gonna be dark so prepare yourself)

part one: the encounter

Tom knew from a young age that his family’s business was dangerous. He knew that he needed to keep what his family did a secret because his family could get hurt if outsiders knew. His father engrained it into Tom’s head that the family business went ahead of everything ever since Tom was a kid. Tom vividly remembered the time he asked his father to come to Career Day at his school. Tom’s father had never hit Tom harder.

When Tom turned thirteen, his father began teaching him how to conceal his identity in dreams in preparation for meeting his soulmate. Tom knew never to argue with what his dad wanted and instead started to train with his father and experts in the field of dream manipulation. He learned from a young age that even though he wanted to meet the person he was destined to be with, he couldn’t, not unless he gave up his family’s business, but he wouldn’t turn his back on his family. It was all he had.

On Tom's sixteenth birthday, he prepared to see his soulmate. He tried to ignore the butterflies that he felt as he fell asleep, excited to see the person who he'd meet every night. Despite knowing that he could never be with his soulmate, he was still shamelessly excited for the possibility of having a friend in his dreams, no matter what he did when he was awake.

He didn't meet his soulmate that night.

In fact, Tom didn't meet his soulmate until a couple months after he turned eighteen. He figured it was due to an age difference, but he didn't care to focus on the why or the logic of dreams. All he could focus on was the excitement of meeting his soulmate even though he knew he shouldn’t feel anything.

"hello?"

Tom felt as though he was floating. He knew he was standing on the familiar pink floor he always stood on when he dreamt. His dreams were lonely, but tonight, he heard you for the first time. He knew that your voice wasn't distorted and he had to ignore the slight flutter he felt when he heard your timid voice. He focused all of his available energy into masking his voice. "Hi."

He turned around, looking for you. His dream world was always the same, but he never knew how to describe it other than being in a soft pink cloud. He stood on a flat pink surface and was surrounded by a warm pink haze. He turned, one more time, and stopped when he saw his soulmate standing in front of him.

He couldn't make out details, but he didn't care. He could see your hair cascading around your face and falling beautifully. The color of your hair was fluctuating and your face was foggy, but he could see your vague features shift into a smile. "I can't believe you're here," you whispered.

"Likewise," Tom spoke, but he didn't recognize his voice. He knew it was the voice you heard, yet it still sounded weird. He ignored the slight tinge of guilt that rang through his heart at the thought of disguising himself from you. He knew he had no choice, but it still hurt him.

"I've been waiting for this moment for years. What took you so long?"

Tom did his best to ignore the ding his heart echoed. He tried to ignore the sadness that ricocheted out of your vocal cords and into his heart. "I've been here."

A soft sigh escaped the vague lips Tom could see. "Me too."

Tom awoke the morning after first meeting you in the best mood he'd been in in what felt like years. He had to physically fight the urge he had to smile as he walked down the stairs for breakfast. He felt light, airy, and happy. Your voice was angelic and the conversation you had echoed around his heart for the rest of the day.

The two of you didn't always meet every night. Tom chalked it up to different sleep patterns or just not being able to remember every dream he had. He could tell that you wanted to meet him, but he kept brushing those hints off. Usually the two of you were only together enough to say a few sentences back and forth, but he cherished his time with you just the same.

It had successfully been almost six years since you first appeared in his dream without meeting you. Tom had officially decided that you didn't live in London. You couldn't have, he reasoned, but the nagging thought in the back of his head reminded him that your accent was exactly the same as his.

Tom eventually came clean to his family that you had met in his dreams. Tom's father was stressed, but Tom assured him that the pair would never meet, despite every part of Tom's body aching to touch you. Tom knew that his family and his business came first. It also wasn't a secret in the Holland Mansion that the reason why his father was so adamant against soulmates was because of the death of their mother, but no one talked about it.

No one talked about anything.

Tom was just starting to learn how to take over the business when everything changed. He was barely getting the hang of ignoring the pain of getting his ass beat. He was barely getting used to ignoring the guilt of killing enemies and breaking the law. He had just figured out how to ignore the thought of one day meeting you and had just stopped craving the small interactions he'd get with you every night.

But the universe was funny in that way.

"Tom," Harrison breathed, heavily. Tom looked up from the computer he was typing on and looked at his best friend. His blue eyes were burning into Tom's. "It's your dad."

Tom knew the tone was too distraught to be anything good. He knew Harrison wouldn’t barge into the study without reason. Tom ran his rough, calloused, and dry hand over his face with a sigh. He tried to prepare himself for the news he expected to get ever since he had started taking over the business. HIs body grew stiff and cold as he tried to prepare for what he knew was coming, but it wasn’t that easy. Life was never that easy.

“He’s dead.”

“I saw him again last night,” Jazmin hummed as she carefully stabbed the lettuce in her bowl. Her brown hair fell over her shoulders, despite her being on call for a shift at the emergency room, downstairs. Her brown eyes looked up to you as she smiled. Her eyes were always warm, but somehow always pierced through the defense layers you built. “Have you seen yours in a while?” She carefully raised one of her arched eyebrows as she waited for your response.

You rolled your eyes, not wanting to remember the fact that you hadn’t seen your soulmate in three weeks. “No,” you whispered. “I know he doesn’t want to meet me. Every time I ask for any information, he leaves.” You picked at the leftover pasta you brought for the impromptu date you and your best friend could fit in your busy schedules. The nagging voice in the back of your mind reminded you that not only did your soulmate refuse to give you information to find him, but he also was hiding his face and his voice from you. It wasn’t uncommon for soulmates to be able to hide parts of their identity, but it was difficult to master the ability to disguise both your face and your voice. When you noticed that your soulmate had disguised both features, you reciprocated by disguising your face to the best of your ability. You hadn’t told any of this to Jazmin, though, because you were embarrassed at the thought of your soulmate refusing to even show you his face or his voice.

“I know he wants to meet you, y/n. Why wouldn’t he? He’d be absolutely lucky to have you,” she spoke, matter-of-factly.

You shrugged. You had always loved the idea of having a soulmate and being meant to spend the rest of your life with someone. It was always a goal of yours to be able to meet your soulmate, but after the first few dreams with your soulmate, you could tell that this wasn’t his intention. The two of you rarely met and it was usually once a month that you would have an overlap in time and meet. “I don’t know, Jazmin. I just -“

Before you could finish, you were interrupted by the scream of an ambulance. You looked out the window you sat by and sighed. By the time you looked back at Jazmin, she was already getting called into her shift. The two of you had both started internships at the same hospital, but in different departments. You usually had a laidback schedule in the Psychiatric Ward, but Jazmin was always busy with her shifts in the Emergency Room.

“Sorry, y/n. I’ll see you later, okay?”

You nodded and began packing up your things. Your shift ended thirty minutes ago, but you stuck around to be able to spend time with your best friend. Once all of your belongings were stuffed into your purse, you stood up and began walking to your car.

Since you worked downtown, you almost always had to park a couple blocks away from the hospital. You usually welcomed the walk as it gave you time to prepare for your shift and decompress afterwards.

Tonight, the sun was setting over the horizon, painting the world a hazy pink. You smiled, softly, thinking of the dream world you always seemed to meet your soulmate in. Every place that soulmates met was unique to the couple. You were shocked when you met your soulmate in a beautiful, warm, pink world. Seeing the real world mimic your dreams caused a tug in your stomach.

As you entered the near-empty parking lot where your car sat, you noticed a tense exchange occurring. Three men stood, facing another man not too far away. You saw your car on the other side of the group of three and began making your way towards them. You pushed away any feelings of anxiety and tried to push forward to your car. It was a long enough day and it didn’t need to be longer.

“Tom, now is not the time or the place,” the man on the left spoke. He had piercing blue eyes, but you quickly looked away from the group and instead pretended to send a text.

“I don’t care,” the man named Tom snapped. You could hear the pain in his voice, causing your eyes to find him. You recognized the grief that screamed through his words. His large brown eyes were bloodshot and tears were stained on his cheeks. His hands were clenched into tight fists and you noticed the blood caked on his knuckles. Your heartbeat sped up as you slowly walked closer.

“What’s wrong, Tommy boy? You not ready for the crown? Pathetic,” an Irish accent mocked from behind you. You were close enough to the group to now be in the middle of the commotion. You tried to pick up your pace, not wanting to be in between this intense exchange.

“Shut the fuck up, Luke,” Tom growled as he took a step forward.

“What’re you going to do, Tommy boy? Shoot me? Try. I dare you,” Luke chuckled. Before you could register what was happening, rough hands gripped at your arms and you were pulled roughly against the Irish man, identified as Luke. Fear danced from the man’s fingers and up into your chest. Your heart pumped the fear through your veins and into your bloodstream. The man gripped you tighter as you felt a cold metal dance along your arm. You tried ignoring it, but the fear was bubbling up your throat and into all of your thoughts.

You closed your eyes, trying to think of the man you had met in your dreams. The man you were destined to spend the rest of your life with. The man that was your soulmate. “Let her go, Luke.” Your eyes opened and your gaze was locked with the man named Tom. His eyes were cold and calculated, but you noticed that him and his two friends took a step closer to you. Your heart was racing and you tried to say something, anything to get this man to let you go, but the fear swallowed any attempt to speak.

“Come and get her, Tom. Or are you going to let another poor innocent person die today?”

Before you could process what was said, a searing pain exploded from your chest. You looked down and saw a large and deep gash that started from the center of your chest and followed the line of your collar bone to your shoulder. Blood began pooling out of the wound as you cried out in pain. Your head began growing lighter as you shut your eyes in pain. You heard the men in front of you yell various threats and insults to the man who was holding you hostage. Your brain began to process that you were in a life-and-death situation. Without thinking, you threw your foot into the stranger’s knee and kicked as hard as you could. The man groaned as his grip loosened. You threw your elbow back into his stomach, causing his grip to completely disappear. You took a few steps away from him, but your brain was clouded with the pain of the massive gash on your chest. Blood was dripping down your arm and onto the cement, but you didn’t care. All you could think about was getting as far away from this man as fast as possible.

Despite moving as fast as you could, the man caught your right shoulder and yanked you back. You heard a pop as more pain erupted from the same shoulder he had cut. You knew it was dislocated, if not broken. Panicking at the thought of being killed, you started throwing your fists at this man, but your vision wasn’t focusing on anything as the blood was pouring out of you. You knew that it wouldn’t be long before you lost enough blood to be damaging. The man gave you sickening laugh as you felt his knife sink into your stomach. You screamed in pain, feeling his knife pierce through your skin and into your organs. You had enough training in the hospital to know that pulling the knife out would cause more damage, but your hand still groped the handle of his knife as you stumbled back. A warm feeling danced up your throat as you coughed blood on the cement.

You turned and stumbled further away from the group, but your feet were heavier than cinderblocks. You began to fall to the cement. Before your shoulders and head could hit the ground, you were caught. You looked up at the man who had stopped the impact and saw those blue eyes you had connected with earlier. You blinked a few times, growing tired and pained. “Hey, hey, look at me,” the man whispered. “It’s okay, you’re safe. Just focus on me and nothing else, okay?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but you were instead interrupted with another cough. You knew it was blood so you turned your head and spit onto the cement. Sure enough, a dark sticky substance hit the ground next to your head. You looked back at the man in front of you. Your head was spinning and you were struggling to ground yourself in reality. You lifted your hand and put it on the man’s cheek. You noticed the blood that covered your hand and your arm. You gasped at the sight and dropped your hand to your side. The man chuckled, but the sight wasn’t comforting since you had covered half his face in your blood. “It’s okay, hon. I’m Harrison, what’s your name?”

“Y/n,” you croaked. Speaking hurt, breathing hurt, everything hurt. Your eyelids slipped shut and you heard the man above you asking you to open your eyes. You forced your eyelids apart and looked back into his piercing blue eyes. “So hard. So sleepy.”

“I know, y/n, help is on the way, okay?”

You looked up at Harrison’s blue eyes and felt safe. You nodded, slowly. “I never met my soulmate,” you murmured. “I don’t want to die.”

“You won’t,” Harrison spoke with a smile. “We won’t let you.”

You slowly nodded. Before you could respond, the man referred to as Tom sat down next to you and Harrison. “EMT’s are about a minute out. Luke’s taken care of.” Tom’s voice was beautiful and strong as he spoke to Harrison. He looked at you with his bloodshot and pained eyes. “You’ll be okay.”

You sighed and slowly gave up on the fight to stay awake as your eyelids slipped shut. Maybe you would meet your soulmate. Maybe you wouldn’t.

part two

#tom holland #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfic #tom holland au #mob!tom #mob!tom holland #soulmate au #soulmate!tom #soulmate!tom holland #soulmate fanfiction #soulmate fanfic #au #tom holland fan fiction #tom holland fanfiction #au fanfiction #au fanfic #writing #writer #time of dreaming

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