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rwprincess · 3 years

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Two Worlds Collided

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A/N: Oh, an anachronistic songfic from RWPrincess? But this time it’s about John Bender! :D Inspired by Never Tear Us Apart (originally by INXS in 1987, but I particularly like this Paloma Faith version)

Word Count: 2K

Synopsis: Bender met reader at the Breakfast Club and the two seemed like opposites, but they shared a common hidden sadness. Over the years, feelings and relationships change.

CW: Swearing, sexuality, Bender being a general asshole

Bender had met her the same way everyone in the Breakfast Club had, on the Saturday detention on March 24th. He had seen her in the hallways prior to that as he was always observant. He had seen everyone in the Breakfast Club before that day; but he hadn’t given her much thought. Now, he was paying attention to little else. He had no idea why he was drawn to her; they were both so different and he could never picture himself with a goody-two-shoes like that. But the way she had reacted to his more vulnerable, real moments, how she tried to make a connection with him...that stuck with him. He knew he should have learned from his disastrous blow-up with Claire that two people who were so different just wouldn’t work out. He repeated this to himself over and over, like a mantra, but it never changed how he actually felt.

After the breakup, the Breakfast Club had a split between those who chose Bender and those who chose Claire. Of course, Andrew sided with Claire unconditionally, but John considered that as no big loss. Allison tried to play the middle ground and Johnson had sided more with him, but he was surprised at the wholehearted backing he received from Y/N. He had assumed that she would either try to be neutral like Allison, or pick Claire. She had no reason to side with him, he had always come off as an aloof ass. But she had, and he was eternally grateful for that. He had originally decided to get together with Claire because the notion had a hot, forbidden quality to it. They spent time insulting each other and making out to make up for it. It was as passionate as it was destructive, so of course it couldn’t last. However, when he was alone and reflected to himself, he had been attracted to Y/N all along. She was hot, yes, but he had plenty of good-looking girls to choose from. He was more drawn to that kind, quiet inside she had displayed that day. How she had gone out of her way numerous times to reach out to him and had been genuinely nice to him. Most of the time, someone only did that to gain something for themselves. Whether it was to use him or to make themselves feel better, it depended on the person, but with Y/N that never felt like it was the case.

Don't ask me

What you know is true

Don't have to tell you

I love your precious heart

He thought back to the first time he saw her on that Saturday, walking into the library and looking so out of place. He was already adjusting into his spot when she entered and she froze in front of all the tables like a deer-in-the-headlights, as if she had just materialized there and had no clue what she was doing. He remembered feeling both attracted to that doe-eyed look and scoffing internally at it. While she wasn’t part of the cliques that Andrew and Claire were, she had a very sheltered look to her and he was envious of that type of innocence. Her ignorance must have been bliss compared to the hell he lived each day at school and at home. She was just as out of place as the preppies or ultra-dweeb Johnson, but instead of being offended by that notion, she looked terrified. She meekly put her items on the front-row desk opposite to him and he thought about all the fun he could poke at everyone here, including her. However, the first blow did not land well. Bender loved making people uncomfortable, but he didn’t necessarily want to make them cry. He’d made some off-handed remark towards her. He had been circling her and eyeing her, employing the discomfort he liked inflicting, trying to ‘guess’ why she was in detention. “I bet you were caught fooling around with a teacher, right? Always the quiet ones that you’d least suspect…”

John Bender rarely regretted his words or actions. He knew he was an asshole and let unfiltered thoughts through so that he could be the center of attention. In doing so, he had to stand by all the shit he said, even when he crossed a line. This was one of the scattered occasions in which he felt remorse, though. She didn’t reply, not verbally, anyway, but she looked scared shitless and was rooted to the spot. Tears instantly sprang up in her eyes and she looked as if she were about to hurl right on his combat boots. He backed off after that. He didn’t apologize, because that’s not something John Bender could have on his reputation, but he didn’t target her. There was something so sincere about her reaction and he saw himself reflected in that expression. Not the tough-as-nails persona he projected, but his secret self who had seen too much too early in life and could barely stand another blow. He didn’t know what her deal was, but there was a heavy sadness behind those eyes that was far too real for him to tamper with.

When he had shown the group his souvenir for spilling paint in his garage, courtesy of his father, she must have seen that reflection back. No one in that group actually knew him. They all thought he was a lying sack of shit; what could he say? His reputation preceded him. But he caught her gaze as he backed away from the group, and the sadness in her recognized the sadness in him. He felt an odd sort of click, a mutual understanding, but he turned away from them all and trashed the library.

I, I was standing

You were there

Two worlds collided

And they could never tear us apart

That was months ago, and out of everyone he met that day, she was the one who truly stuck by him. He’d surprisingly connected with Johnson, sure. Everybody likes to get high and Bender was the supplier. And he and Allison had similar interests, but she wouldn’t give up Andrew and with that territory came Claire...there was just no going back to that. But Bender still had Y/N, and he could never understand it. The first time he had brought her into his friend circle, he tried to justify it as sticking to his word and ‘having the balls to stand up to his friends’ like he had told Claire to do. He also reasoned that it was some sort of social experiment. As much as he liked to portray himself as someone who couldn’t care less, Bender was entirely social. He craved attention and admiration for others and could read just about anyone like a book. Maybe that’s why he didn’t mess with Y/N after that first comment landed so wrongly. He felt like he knew exactly what she was thinking and feeling and decided to back off. However, it wasn’t just some ‘watch and see how she interacts’ set up; Bender genuinely wanted her there. He wanted to integrate her into his life.

She was still extremely quiet, mostly a speak-when-you’re-spoken-to type, but he started to peel back layers in her personality. He found that, despite that lurking sadness, there was an unending pool of optimism. She tried to see the best in situations and in people. She meshed incredibly well with his friends because she listened instead of judged. She would nod along like she knew exactly what they were talking about and how they felt. He started to develop an attachment to her. While he was still dating Claire, he told himself it was akin to having a pet. Y/N was like a goldfish that he could tell his problems to and know the secret would be kept. But after Claire, he realized that wasn’t the case...particularly when he sought Y/N’s comfort above all else. He divulged the entire last big fight he and Claire had to her, and she was just so...reassuring. After that day, he began to see her in a different light. He argued with himself over what his feelings and intentions actually were, but he couldn’t keep them at bay for long. She was good for Bender. He had never felt lighter.

Of course, Bender had not known stability in his life ever, and the risk of falling for Y/N and having it mean something and being accountable to one person overwhelmed him. He did what he knew best: he fought it and ran away from it. At first, he tried to avoid her, just distance himself. But he’d gravitate back; being without her was too heavy to bear. He wanted to try to actively push her away, to fuck up this relationship with his words, just like he did with everything else. But when he opened his mouth to try to lie, to say he didn’t need her or want her around or whatever, he would look into her eyes and it became impossible. He remembered the way he had shaken her to her core the first day they met, and he couldn’t allow himself to bring that sadness up again in her.

We could live for a thousand years

But if I hurt you

I'd make wine from your tears

Eventually, he gave in. While he was able to control his words to not say anything harmful, he wasn’t able to contain them from slipping up and telling her, “Dammit, I love you!” It wasn’t in a context that could be taken as joking or being said flippantly; she knew immediately what he meant and that he meant those words, wholly.

She took his face in her hands and told him, “I love you, too.” There was no turning back, and as the years passed, they fell deeply in love. He'd dug up her secrets and fears, but she seemed to trust him enough to not use them against her in any way. They both dreaded the prospect of never getting out of Shermer and falling into the same circular trap their parents had. However, he reassured her that the moment they had the opportunity, they would bust out of there. He lucked out that Claire had never asked for her diamond earring back. It was probably one of many and she had forgotten she had even given it to him as a token. He decided to pawn it to top-off the savings he and Y/N had accrued. "You're too good for me, you're sure as hell too good for this place,'' he told her. The trade-in was enough to get them out of town and start anew, but only one of them could really ‘move up’ for now. While they argued back and forth about who should get to pursue which dream, Bender rationalized to her, “I was barely cut out for high school. I can’t really do college. And that’s okay. You’re the brains in this relationship, I’m the beauty.” He winked at her and with her laughter as response, that sealed the deal of who was going to school.

I told you

That we could fly

'Cause we all have wings

But some of us don't know why

She searched the crowd, holding her diploma. Bender had supported her both financially and emotionally these last four years and now they had the degree to prove it. She felt pride in being able to take over from him and let him follow a new path. He had always been good with his hands, but despite his protests, he was good with his mind too. He was a sharp-thinker and she knew that he could make a career that he loved out of that. She’d be there to push and brace him as he had done for her. Finally, she spotted him. When their eyes connected, she felt that same crackle that she had the first day they had met, all those years ago. Before the friendship and the love, she knew there was a spark there, that they were two of a kind, even though they were so different.

I, I was standing

You were there

Two worlds collided

And they could never tear us apart

#john bender #john bender x reader #benderxreader #fem!reader #the breakfast club #breakfast club #reader-insert #80s fanfic

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howlinchickhowl · 2 years

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howl, sweet, howl. could you please mash-up 41. first kiss & 53. mutual pining for me? i’m tingling already ✨ thank you so much! xx

bee! you maggot museum (affectionate), this is such a tingly lovely sweet one! I might have ruined it with my thoughts...😬

Here are my thoughts:

Say the van kiss never happened. The whole rest of the episode goes as it goes, only Mickey chickens out before kissing Ian and is distracted by being annoyed with himself instead of giddy while they're lifting the grandfather clock and that's the reason he gets shot. DCFS, the sleepover, 3x666, everything is the same except that in this scenario, they've never kissed.

Say Ian never leaves at the end of season 3. He thinks about it. He intends to. He goes to Mickey's house and they have that heartbreaking conversation where Mickey just can't give him what he needs and he packs his bag and he kisses Liam goodbye and he walks out the door. And then he stands on the back stairs smoking cigarette after cigarette and thinking about how much he loves his family and how much he'll miss them and how he doesn't want to die in some fucking desert with people who don't know him without ever seeing Mickey's face again he just doesn't.

So he goes back inside and sits at the kitchen table drinking coffee and wondering if he was wrong about Mickey, if he really never cared about Ian at all, and trying not to cry until Lip comes downstairs and ruffles his hair and tells him he'll be ok.

But he's not ok, he drinks too much and he hangs around in boystown more than he ought and he takes pills when they're offered and starts dancing because it helps with the bills and he likes the way he feels when men watch him and he is flying, falling, living, until eventually, he crashes. Only this time he's still living at home, Fiona and Lip get him to the psychiatrist, get him medicated, he hates it. He loses his job when he can't get out of bed for two weeks and when the meds make him lethargic and sullen and uninterested, and it's pure chance that he happens to slump downstairs into the kitchen the day that Fiona is doing a hell of a self-destruct and manages to stop Liam from getting into the coke. He still feels like hell, he still hates the meds and the way everyone looks at him and the fact of his diagnosis, but it's the fastest he's moved in months and the fear is the strongest thing he's felt since the start of his episode, and knowing he can still feel something, that helps, a little. And Mickey, Mickey's season 4 continues much as we've seen it, dealing with having a wife, and then a son. Hiding in bathrooms and trying to be someone he's not, getting too drunk and asking too obvious questions and worrying, all the time about Ian, who he gets news about from Mandy and who he can't go to, can't be with, can't help, even though he's only three streets away. It tortures him.

A year goes by, two. They see each other around the neighbourhood, at the Alibi. Ian starts seeing someone, starts studying to become an EMT. Mickey gets by with Svetlana, comes to some sort of peace with the baby, and during the months when Terry is inside it's not so bad. Sure he feels hollow, and his chest hurts basically always and he has to clench his jaw to stop himself from crying a little bit every time he sees Ian out on the street, or at the store. He drinks too much. Does a lot of shit with his brothers. They beat the shit out of Kenyatta (I know he's a hundred foot tall but there's three of them and they get Jamie and Joey in on it and this is my story so I say they could take him) and Mandy doesn't leave. She hates them for it a bit, but ultimately she's glad.

She hangs out with Ian a lot, he breaks up with the guy he's seeing and they hang out together, strategically avoiding each other's homes when certain older brothers are going to be around. They don't talk about Mickey, but Mandy always makes sure he'll be out if ever Ian is coming around. She's there when Ian spins up, there when he is forced to go home from work, and she worries about him, helps him. They help each other. Sometimes he asks her how Mickey's doing and she'll lie and say he's doing fine, and Ian's glad, even though it hurts, he wants Mickey to be ok.

Lip gets out of rehab and hooks up with Brad, gets his job at Born Free, and one way or another, Mickey ends up working there too. (Again, kids, my story, my rules) and Ian and Mickey realise they can't avoid each other like they have been, if Ian ever wants to meet Lip from work or Mickey ever wants to be able to go home without checking with Mandy first, they have to find a way to be around each other.

And so we find ourselves, several years later, in a polite holding pattern of civil exchanges and unsubtle enquiries to siblings about the other's wellbeing and longing glances over beer bottles and pool cues. Monica dies, and during the wake when Ian slips outside to smoke on the back steps, Mickey is out there in the yard, debating whether or not to go in, to text Ian, to do anything. They sit on the steps and share a cigarette, talk about Monica, about Ian, about Terry, about them.

They're older now, they both have a little more perspective, they apologise to each other, forgive each other, they understand each other. They miss each other. Ian's mom is dead, and it's not like he's ready at that moment to have a Big Conversation about Love or their Relationship, but it feels good, to talk to Mickey again, to be honest with him and have Mickey be honest in return, to have Mickey look at him, openly, like he never would before.

So when they've finished their cigarette and it seems like the conversation has come to its natural end, he leans over, so slowly, and tilts Mickey's head to his with gentle fingers on his chin, and puts his lips to Mickey's for the first time. It's just a few seconds of contact, dry and warm and soft, and when he pulls back they are both smiling, and he feels like tomorrow might be a good day.

Send me two tropes and I'll tell you what kind of story I would write

#i maybe actually just wrote this one it got super long 😬#howlin atcha #🐝👁#bee bee bee thou mangy feline!#trope mashup #my writing #fic #my fic #bee I feel like this was maybe not what you were hoping for!#because usually mutual pining is like #the love is requited but no one knows #but this just spoke to me #I hope it still gives you the tinglys even though it is perhaps a bit more sadder than expected

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dr3amofagame · 3 years

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more of the mutually assured destruction duo, post-prison this time! this one was really fun, thinking about what this dynamic might be like in the future gives me SO much brainrot, im so excited. this one’s also a little dark, so make sure to read the warnings + tags !! :D

tw: implied prison abuse, starvation, toxic relationship, touch starvation, manipulation, panic attack, trauma, blood, injury

Dream hasn't been the same since he escaped prison.

And it's ironic, because Wilbur hasn't even been around, has been in hell for fuck's sake playing Competitive Solitaire for nine-odd years, but even he could've seen the self-destruction hanging like a cloud around the other's head from a million miles (and several months? years?) away. Perhaps, he thinks wryly, you can only see the signs when you've lived them, or maybe red flags don't raise alarm when you’ve painted the entire figure in blood, but it doesn't really matter, in the end, because the final result is the same.

Still, it's just a little funny when he's stopped in the middle of his journey through the Nether, not a piece of armor on him per usual and an unused netherite sword slung over his hip.

"Hello, Sapnap." The kid is standing in front of him, eyes gleaming in badly-hidden anger and desperation, smoke rising from the mottled red-black skin on his hands. "Fancy seeing you around."

"You-" Sapnap sputters, unable to speak as his face flushes red in frustration, and Wilbur smiles at him condescendingly. The expression on the other's face is one he's seen before - one Tommy had been particularly inclined to give him in the past, when his emotions raged so heavily that there was nothing for the pressure to do but build, too thick and heavy to force themselves out of his throat. "You're monsters," Sapnap manages, finally, and Wilbur quirks an eyebrow.

At least we're self-aware, he thinks, the all-too-familiar twinge of irritation at Tommy's - and apparently, Sapnap's particular brand of reckless naivety pulsing at the base of his skull. He lets none of these thoughts show on his face as he cocks his head to the side, smiles wider - and Sapnap, just like Tommy, takes the bait.

'Why are you smiling?" He looks achingly young - they all do, really, their expressions and reactions dripping with a sort of innocence and sincerity that dissolved from Wilbur's own face somewhere around the fifteen-hundreth game of poker, and it really does feel ironic, how quickly the outside world can fall apart compared to the unending constancy of the void - but he digresses.

He didn't know Sapnap well before his whole death thing, and as much as he wants to use his partner to get information on the other members of the server, he doesn't really think Dream is really even lucid enough for that - the man clearly hasn't been thinking clearly, not for a long time. It doesn't matter, though, because you learn to read people when your life becomes nothing but running the same broken-edged memories over and over again in your mind and smiling jaggedly over the same few card games - Wilbur had always been a people watcher, and Sapnap's feelings are stamped on every corner of his face.

"Monster, huh," he says, saying the word slowly, rolling it over his tongue like he's tasting it for the first time, watching from the corner of his eye as Sapnap squirms, "Interesting word you've got here. You use it often?"

Sapnap bristles, smoke curling from his nostrils - "It's what you are, dickhead."

Rolling his eyes internally, Wilbur keeps up the act, humming as he fiddles idly with his cufflink. "I mean, if you really believe that," he rocks forward on his right foot, stifling a smile at the way the younger draws back, "But really, it's all a matter of perspective." He twists himself around, pivoting around his heel, beginning to walk in an arc around Sapnap's left side, watching as he spins around, shoulders drawn up to his ears. "What do you think?"

"I think that you're full of shit," he says, voice flat, and Wilbur laughs. It's genuine, really, because well - Sapnap's different. He's fun; the entire server is, after so long in the void. You can only spend so much time with the same two people before they drive you a little up the metaphorical wall, but Sapnap's reactions are fresh and new and different, still saturated with vitality that hasn’t been leached out by the same deck of cards in the same scarred hands shuffled and reshuffled for eternity. He's interesting, and new, and most of all, predictable.

"Say, Sapnap," he continues, blowing over the other's anger, knowing that it'll only make the frustration build more. He lets his hair flop lazily over one eye, lets his smile grow wider, lips pressed together in amusement, turns his face so that it's lit eerily by the lava lake beneath them. "If we're monsters for, I don't know, setting off a few stacks of TNT," he waves his hand flippantly, watching the muscle of the other's jaw jump in poorly-hidden rage, "What does that make you for what you did to Dream?"

Sapnap's eyes go wide, and Wilbur knows he's struck the jackpot. He lets his lips part to reveal bared teeth, jagged and glinting in the light. "I'm sorry, did that hit a nerve?"

The kid's mouth opens- closes- emotions warring on his face, fists curling and uncurling at his sides, lip trembling. "We- we had to-" his hands come to his face, palms digging into his eyes, and while he's not looking, Wilbur draws his expression back a bit, becoming softer, more welcoming. When Sapnap looks back up, his eyes are shining, hands shaking still; he steps forward, then rocks back on his back foot like he doesn't know where to go. "What do you mean?" he throws the words like they're meant to be a threat, but by the end his voice has devolved into something high-pitched and keening, overflowing with desperate grief that Wilbur latches onto like a starving man (ha) with his last meal.

"I'm sorry, it does seem rather insensitive for me to assume," he resumes pacing around the other, voice lilting, soft, "I just mean, it seemed pretty obvious, don't you think? I don't think I've ever seen someone so skinny, really, but I guess that is what happens when you get starved,"

"Shut up-"

"Not to mention the whole panicking thing, I mean, he's like Tommy sometimes with all of the fucking shaky breathing and mumbling around like creepers, not that I'd know what all of that's about," he watches Sapnap through half-hooded eyes, darkly amused, "and pickaxes, oddly enough, but oh well. Who am I to judge?"

"Shut up-"

"And all of the scars - I thought they were from you, honestly, he told me about the whole 'taking his last life' thing, but then he jumped into lava one day - I guess there wasn't much to do in that cell, huh? He didn't even scream, it's really pretty fucking incredible - I thought I'd actually have to break him down a bit, but really, you've made my life so much easier-"

"SHUT UP-"

Wilbur watches with a too-wide grin as Sapnap finally, finally charges, a netherite sword appearing in his hand as he races blindly ahead, tears shining on his cheeks, his words more pain than thought as he brings the blade down-

A blur of purple, the sound of crumbling netherrack and metal meeting metal, flesh hitting flesh - Wilbur moves smoothly out of the way as Sapnap crashes to the ground, an armored figure bearing down an axe against the shield he's raised between them.

Dream, hair tangled and long, wearing armor that is far too heavy for his skinny frame, every inch of him shaking in panic, should hardly be a threat - but this is Sapnap, weakened by Wilbur's sharp words and crippled by the shock of seeing his former best friend's face again, eyes still unfocused from the rage and tears that had clouded over them moments before, so he can do little but raise his shield as the netherite slams into it, again and again. Not a word falls from Dream's lips, but he brings down the weapon at a ruthless pace - ever since he's been free, his attack style has changed greatly from the defensive style he used to favor, even to Wilbur's untrained eye - there's no skill, no art to the way he attacks anymore, just the fearful ferocity of a dog trapped in a cage for far, far too long.

He finally kicks Sapnap down the netherrack cliff that they're on, the other man left to nurse his wounds below them - Wilbur doesn't bother sparing him another thought; Dream's far too weak to cause any permanent damage. Instead, he approaches his partner, weapon, with a smile, watching, satisfied, when he whirls around with a manic expression.

"I'm alright, see?" he croons as Dream's shoulders move up and down with his heaving breaths, eyes fever-bright, teeth bared. He brings a hand down on the other's shoulder and watches as he flinches at the movement, breath hitching, every muscle freezing, knuckles pale on the handle of his axe, before moving again, stumbling forwards, hands reaching for Wilbur's head and stopping halfway. Wilbur tips his head forward, lets the shorter brush his face with trembling fingers, checking his unmarred skin for blood through the purpling bruises already forming on his cheek, and thinks how powerful he is to have a god at his beck and call, a perfect attack dog brought to heel, death itself obediently at his side.

Dream hasn't been the same since he escaped prison, and as Wilbur runs his hand up and down his back, feeling the way his spine arches at the touch, at the fluttering pulse under the skin-and-bone wrist under his fingers, he thinks how fortunate he is to be the first to notice.

#old stuff :]#queue <3 #tw abuse #tw panic attack #tw manipulation #tw toxic relationship #tw blood #tw injury #tw trauma #tw touch starvation #mutually assured destruction duo my beloved #post prison dream brainrot always lmao #my writing :D #my asks !!

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fedonciadale · 3 years

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Hey fedon! I just wanted to say that I find it so tiring these people who throw around the word hypocrite when it comes to shipping things like Darklina whilst being anti S@ns@n etc. You handled that anon very well and I'm always impressed by your level-headed replies. With Darklina, I've sort of grappled with why I find them so compelling, and your thoughts on fanon vs canon really helped me, and I agree that it is an important distinction to make. For instance, because of the narrative/character choices, I don't "ship" Darklina in the show so much as I ship a fanon what-if version of them, but that being said, I'm still drawn to them. If I was Alina's friend, I'd be all gurl RUN, but as a viewer, of course I want to see them on screen together again because Ben and Jessie's chemistry is so magnetic!

I was thinking of what exactly that dynamic/magnetism is comparable to and... well, I don't know if you listen to Fleetwood Mac, but for me it's akin to watching a live performance of a song like The Chain, which is about the breakdown of Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham's relationship (as is many of their songs). Their relationship was evidently not good, it was destructive and volatile, and I in no way would want what they had irl, but... I enjoy the music all the same, I love it in fact. Because when they perform, no offense to Mick Fleetwood, Christine and John McVie, everything else but them falls away and you become caught up in the way they are singing at each other, years after the fact, and you can still feel all that pain, love and burning chemistry. That's sort of how I felt watching Ben and Jessie in the tent scene — I wasn't thinking wow couple goals, in fact I was feeling Alina's hurt, but still I was thinking that when these two are in a scene together everything and everyone else just falls away. So, even though I'm getting into the other "healthier" ships more and more, at the end of the day... Darklina is The Chain for me in terms of complexity, how compelling it is, how powerful it is to me as a viewer, and it's not about me wanting them to be "together", it's just about how they make me feel when they are, in whatever way they are. I mean... just look at these lyrics:

Listen to the wind blow, watch the sun rise Running in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies

And if you don't love me now You will never love me again I can still hear you saying You would never break the chain (Never break the chain)

[...]

Listen to the wind blow, down comes the night Running in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies Break the silence, damn the dark, damn the light

I'm sorry but... that's show canon Darklina for me — elemental, deeply connected despite it all, passionate, fierce, volatile, painful, nothing I would want in real life but everything I find fascinating in fiction. By comparsion, I don't find relationships like S@ns@n equivalent to Darklina because at its core... there is no mutual attraction between the Hound and a literal child, there is no chemistry, there is no suggestion of (future) equality, there is just the problematic stuff. Now, Darklina is problematic for sure, but the strength of their connection hurts me in the feels because they could have been something different — "We could have had this. All of it. You could have made me your equal." By contrast, there is no explicit equivalence of feeling in the specifically asoiaf ships that angry anons throw about as comparable. They're not comparable (to me at least). But anyway, at the end of the day, what I always try to bear in mind when thinking about ships, and characters I like, is this famous Walt Whitman quote, from his poem Song of Myself:

Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes.)

I think people in fandom, for all that we try to be conscious of real life issues and the impact of fiction... we often forget this fundamental truth that people can like seemingly contradictory things. People can like complex things and have equally complex emotions about them. That's just life and it's not something that needs to be lectured out of you! It's when people start reducing things to black and white binaries that there should be potential cause for concern. But also... fandom is for fun, so have fun people!

Anyway, sorry for this strange ramble, I'm just a bit reluctant to talk about Darklina on my own blog because the S+B fandom seems possibly more volitle that Stevie and Lindsey on cocaine at the height of making Rumours... and that's saying something, lmao.

Hi there!

Thanks for the heads up!

You know you can enjoy compelling storytelling and chemistry and that is something that might make you ship a couple!

When I first read the books I thought that Darklina was headed for disaster. I thought that Alina would get over Mal, that the Darkling would sacrifice himself for her and in an act of redemption to destroy the fold and save Alina and that Alina would marry Nikolai. Sigh!

Not a healthy ship but a compelling story. And we can like compelling stories.

I actually think that Sans@n might be headed that way : it might end with his sacrifice but without the element of reluctant attraction that is there with Darklina.

Anyway, I like this sort of chemistry. I loved all the times President Snow and Katniss Everdeen were on the screen together. A connection between the characters, something twisted but still they understand each other, compelling actors chemistry. I just loved to watch that (without shipping).

And I really like how compelling Darklina is in screen. You don't really want them together, or just in a tragic ending, but it's a good story.

That does not mean that I think they would be good for a HEA - not in canon.

I can like how Elizabeth Bennett almost falls for Wickham and I can still enjoy her getting with Darcy in the end.

Very often it is about the 'what if'.

I really think that the distinction between canon and fanon is important in that regard.

I ship these people with my headcanons as characters inspired by the canon is as valid as I ship these people because I like the dynamic/ find the dynamic compelling, even if I know it's toxic.

I think it is a bit problematic if people insist their headcanons are canon.

I've seen a bit of the SaB fandom around here and I think Darklina shippers do not claim that the Darkling is actually good.

It's different with Sans@n shippers (or at least the ones that come into my ask box). They insist that the H0und is good and that he is the best that could hapoen to Sansa. On this I will always disagree with them - at least when it comes to canon. If GRRM writes that ship (and I doubt that) it's not good for Sansa.

And yes, I agree I can like different dynamics in different ships. I can like enemies to lovers in one universe and I can think that Sansa would never love the enemy of her family in ASOIAF. Different worlds, different characters... What I can imagine for one character might be unthinkable for another. I can ship Hermione with Draco picturing him asking for forgiveness and I cannot fathom Sansa ever forgiving an enemy who is responsible for her father's death, like Littlefinger.

To me - and that's just my opinion - it is about how guilty these people are: Draco never killed anyone, he can be redeemed and live (preferably getting on this path on his own and then getting with Hermione), the Darkling can only die in the end but maybe after remorse? And in ASOIAF villains really should stay villains and not get a redemption via Sansa.

I really don't know why it is so difficult to understand that different characters and worlds also mean different shipping?

And apart from Jonsa I don't care about my ships being canon. Neither JKR nor Leigh Bardugo ever hooked me as much as GRRM. I can make my headcanons about the characters because I am just not that attached to their canon version. Both authors do not write completely consistent anyway - so it's easy to twist and experiment. With ASOIAF I cannot get behind any ship I cannot also picture in canon.

Thanks for the ask!

#ask box #Jonsa #Dramione #shipping #canon shipping #fanon shipping #Darklina #Anti Sans@n

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lucy-sky · 3 years

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luucccyyyy luuuceee if you havee timeee,,,,, i have,,,,, a zaphod request,,,,, like,,, the reader and zaphod just dancing like dumbasses in some outer space club, having fun and mayhaps it leads to a love confession? it can come from either person like in the heat of the dance (or after) they just confess how happy @ other person makes them sumn like that??? [you can 100% take ur time/do this whenever u wanna, ik u're in your shea era ;))) ]

Bri, love!!! HAPPY TOWEL DAY TO YOU!!!

Thanks so much for this request (it was highly motivating!!) and also I’m sorry - I haven’t written anything for almost 5 months so I became super rusty and it took me ages to write this small thingy.

The Longest Party (Zaphod Beeblebrox x Fem!Reader)

1,133 words, no warnings; see a couple of notes in the end.

Where did you meet Zaphod Beeblebrox? At the party, of course! Where else? It’s a good question what brought him on your planet, in your country and your town, in that same nightclub you went with a bunch of friends that night. No one can tell, even Zaphod himself. All you know is that the attraction was instant and mutual, probably because you both have always been a little bit crazy and adventurous.

He was fun and charming, and slightly (okay, not slightly) weird, but being normal is so boring, right? After quite a few drinks he decided to tell you where he’s from, and of course you didn’t believe him at first, but still chose to play along.

“This party is getting so boring, baby doll! I know a much better place for the both of us…” he said, leaning closer to you and smirking as if he was telling you a secret.

“I bet you have an eye for really good parties, huh?” you raised your eyebrow.

“I sure do,” still smirking, he grabbed your hand. “Look, my ship’s parked nearby…”

“Ship?..”

“Yeah, the spaceship I told you about! Wanna see it?”

He was truly ridiculous, that guy. But at this point you got adventurous enough to say “Why not?”

Honestly, you expected to see anything, except… the actual spaceship. Maybe you just drank too much, fell asleep at the party, and it was your dream?.. No, y/n… You simply couldn’t be that drunk. It was really happening.

“You coming, doll?” Zaphod waved at you. For a few moments you hesitated. Some of your girlfriends considered leaving the party with a stranger already extreme enough, and you were about to go to another planet with a guy you knew for only like a couple of hours… Insane! Then again… When else you could possibly have a chance like that?

“Darlin’?”

“I uh… You know, I should be at work on Monday morning,” you blurted.

“So? It’s Saturday night, doll, we’ve got plenty of time,” he shrugged. “It’s not that far anyways. Oh, and don’t worry, you won’t need to hitch a ride back - I’m a gentleman after all,” he laughed, and then extended his hand. “Come on, it’s gonna be fun, promise.”

You took his hand, not knowing yet this decision was about to change your life forever.

How many parties have you attended with Zaphod since then? One wilder than another, in different parts of the galaxy, places you could never imagine even in the craziest dreams. You sang, danced to all kinds of music until you could hardly stand, drank all sorts of cocktails, and saw so many gorgeous sunrises together. With him, it was never boring, you really enjoyed his company, and he seemed to enjoy yours as well.

Beeblebrox wasn’t perfect though. You found out very soon about how much he loved himself. You also couldn’t imagine talking to him about any serious stuff. Zaphod hated to be bored and didn’t like thinking too much. And it was okay, until you started to realize you were growing a bit too fond of him, more than you wish you were. It wasn’t good at all. Zaphod was fun to hang out with, but falling for him? Nope, he was far from being boyfriend material. You decided that if he doesn’t take anything seriously, you shouldn’t either. Just have fun while you can. You’re such a lucky girl after all! Not that many people from the Earth have a chance to see the galaxy.

The party you attended that night was by far the most epic event you’ve ever seen. The Longest And The Most Destructive Cocktail Party* - that’s how it’s called. People say it’s been occurring for four generations at least! And it started with a bunch of drunken rocket scientists - who knew the nerdy guys could party that hard?..

“So, who was that guy you’ve been talking to, huh?” Zaphod asked casually, twirling you around.

“Oh, you totally won’t believe it! That was Loki** himself!”

“Who?..”

“Loki, you know, scandinavian god of mischief. Come on, Zaphod, don’t tell me you’ve never heard of him!”

“Ah, that Loki…” He shrugged as if it was some random guy next door. “How do you know that’s really him anyways?”

“Well, he showed me how he can shapeshift, he turned into his brother Thor, and then…”

“Ugh, can’t believe you’re that easily impressed,” Zaphod rolled his eyes and you frowned.

“Hey, what’s the matter with you? If I didn’t know you, I’d say you’re pretty jealous,” you told him teasingly.

“Me? Jealous? Ah, come on! I know that there’s no one like me in this Galaxy,” he laughed.

“Yeah, of course you do,” you muttered. It’s just Zaphod being Zaphod, what else to expect from him after all?

“What’s wrong, doll?” As much as Zaphod could be a complete dumbass at times (or most of the time, to be completely honest), he was quite good at noticing the changes in your mood, so you tried to shake it off. What did you tell yourself? Just enjoy partying while you can, there’s no need to ruin it.

“Nothing,” you beamed at him. “See, I’m smiling!”

“Oh good!” he grinned back at you, reaching your chin with his fingers, “‘Cause I want the girl I love to smile, yeah?”

“Wait, what?..” your eyes widened as you stopped dancing.

“Huh?..” Zaphod seemed pretty confused.

“What did you just say? I mean… I probably misheard you, or did you say the uh… L-word?..”

“The what word?...... Oh. Oooh…” You could see the realization hit him, and for a little while you were just staring at each other, standing awkwardly in the middle of the dancefloor. “Well zark… Guess that just slipped from my tongue, doll,” he giggled a little nervously.

You blinked for a second, and then… You couldn’t really tell how it happened, who exactly made the first move, but all of a sudden your lips were on his, his lips were on yours and you kissed each other so passionately as if your life depended on that. And honestly? It suddenly felt just right.

“Zaphod,” you breathed out after what seemed like forever, when your lips finally parted.

“Yeah,” he murmured dreamily, cupping your face with both his hands.

“Are you… squeezing my butt with the third hand?..”

“Oh, that…” he giggled again, releasing you from his embrace. “I thought you were about to trip so I just… caught you.”

“That’s okay, I don’t really mind,” you smirked, taking his hand and letting your fingers entwine. “So, Beeblebrox… Are we dancing or what?..”

“We absolutely are, baby doll,” he grinned and pulled you closer, swaying to the music.

And it was just right as well.

The Longest Party kept going.

◤━━━━━ ☆. ☪ .☆ ━━━━━◥

* “The longest and most destructive party ever held is now into its fourth generation and still no one shows any signs of leaving. Somebody did once look at his watch, but that was eleven years ago now, and there has been no follow up.” ― Douglas Adams, Life, the Universe and Everything

** In Life, the Universe and Everything, Trillian met Thor at this party, so I just thought why Loki couldn’t be there too? He totally could, right?.. :)

#the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy #sam rockwell #zaphod beeblebox x reader #fanfiction #lucy tries to write

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ryukoishida · 3 years

Text

QianQiu/Thousand Autumns Fic: [Ch. 2] In which teacher!SQ and mafia leader!YWS talk for the first time.

Title: You’re a Problem I Encounter Fandom: Qian Qiu / Thousand Autumns Characters/Ships: YanShen Rating: NSFW eventually Chapter: 2/? Summary: Yan Wushi was the proud leader of Huan Yue Group, one of the most influential syndicates in the underground world, who wanted nothing more than to see the world burn. His accidental encounter with the pure-hearted school teacher Shen Qiao was a problem he didn’t expect to get entangled in. A/N: No more touching this fic until I’m done with the finals T.T List of Chapters: [1] [2] [3]

ii. No Saint

It was pitch black when Shen Qiao woke up. He blinked once, twice – endless black, deeper than the night — his breath stuttering in his throat and heart thudding against his ribcage in that strangely familiar, bitter taste of terror: the inability to perceive light, the anxiety of facing the unknown.

“You’re finally awake?”

A deep voice entered his consciousness like distant thunder, rumbling with warmth yet charged with danger.

A light to his left blinked on, cold white fluorescent flooded his peripheral vision and made Shen Qiao’s eyes sting from the sudden brightness. When his pupils adjusted to the light at last, he was able to make out a fuzzy outline of someone sitting by his bedside. The figure was mostly cast in shadow, but even in the best lighting, it would have been impossible for him to see anything further than half an arm’s length with any semblance of crisp clarity.

Driven by habit, Shen Qiao began to reach blindly to the side for his spectacles, which, of course were not there.

“Looking for these?” the man with the same deep, baritone voice asked, placing a piece of mangled metal that used to be his glasses into his hand.

Feeling the warped titanium remnants with his fingers, Shen Qiao heaved a soft sigh. He knew there was no way these could be repaired, so he’d have to endure the inconvenience of blurry vision until he could get new glasses or get his hands on some contact lenses, which had long fallen out during his rough scuffle with He Huan Group’s people.

Not that it was anything new – the cloudy eyesight – since he’d spent most of his childhood with his eyes in even worse state until he was in his early teens when Qi Fengge persuaded him to undergo surgery, which had improved his ability to see if only just slightly.

Wandering in his own thoughts though never allowing himself to be defenseless in an unfamiliar environment, Shen Qiao suddenly sensed more than heard the stranger invading his personal space – the surrounding air becoming too hot from the man’s exhale and body heat, too stifling from how close and physically intimidating the man’s presence exuded, looming over him like a hunter anticipating the taste of its prey — and Shen Qiao tried to back up as best as he could, given how parts of his body were too numb from sleep or too painful from the fight to move promptly.

The man chuckled but didn’t advance further upon seeing Shen Qiao trying to shuffle back to keep his distance.

“Are you sure you should be moving around like that?” the man sat back down in his chair, arms crossed over his chest as he continued to observe the injured man with an interested gaze.

“I’m sorry.”

Ever the polite gentleman, Shen Qiao realized that he was acting quite rude to the person who’d rescued him from a terrible situation that he very likely wasn’t going to get out of by himself. Still, his delicate frame, warm hazel eyes, gentle smiles, and soft-spoken nature all contributed to a first impression of a man who was agreeable and amiable, maybe even somewhat unassuming to the point of foolish naiveté, yet those who’d been acquainted with him long enough knew that beneath his kind and considerate disposition was someone constructed of steel bones and unyielding morals.

There was a reason why he was known to be an anomaly in the underground world, crawling with all sorts of criminals and infested with coldblooded monsters that found thrills in destruction and the fall of humanity. Shen Qiao was the adopted son of a once-famed assassin Qi Fengge, who’d retired for the last decade now but had since headed one of the largest and most formidable assassin organizations that employed the best professionals good money could hire.

“You’re a funny one,” the man commented, hint of amusement seeping into his voice. “What are you sorry for?”

“I just… don’t like it when people I don’t know well get too close to me,” Shen Qiao explained quietly, his body visibly relaxed a little once he knew the stranger had backed off. “I did not mean to be disrespectful to someone who’d saved my life.”

When the stranger didn’t immediately respond, Shen Qiao continued with hesitation, “may I know the name of my savior?”

“Yan Wushi.”

He seemed content enough to offer that, at least.

“Leader of Huan Yue Group?”

Shen Qiao’s slight frown didn’t go unnoticed by the ever-observant mafia leader.

“You’ve heard of me?” Yan Wushi leaned in just a degree.

“My father had told me about you.”

Also, Shen Qiao didn’t think it was a good idea to say it out loud, but he knew that in recent years, Yan Wushi – and really, all of Huan Yue Group – was infamous for being gutsy enough to be striding the border between the criminal world and the political sphere, and still benefit greatly from both.

“All good things, I hope.”

“Huan Yue Group mixes with government officials – specifically Yuwen Yong’s faction – and gets on their good side either by offering them financial assistance under the table or getting rid of any political opponents that stand in Yuwen Yong’s way through any means possible,” Shen Qiao recited the information like he was memorizing it from a textbook.

“It’s a mutually beneficial relationship,” Yan Wushi admitted.

Shen Qiao’s frown deepened when he continued, “several deaths and disappearances had been suspected to be connected to members of Huan Yue, but the police never found any solid evidence to arrest or lay charges on anyone.”

“You can’t possibly blame us for the police department’s incompetence. And here I thought you’re blissfully ignorant of how our side works,” one corner of Yan Wushi’s lips twisted upwards, his interest in this frail-looking man had been elevated from indifference to modest curiosity. “It seems Qi Fengge had taught you the basics after all, despite the fact that you’re not expected to be his successor. Fascinating.”

“Father simply didn’t wish for me to be completely uninformed,” Shen Qiao exhaled, letting his eyes fall close as if he’d suddenly become too tired. “Having knowledge is a kind of advantage, though it may not seem like it at the time. I didn’t want to take over the family business, and father respected my decision, but he said even if I have no desire to work underground, the underground world will still find its way to catch up to me eventually. He was right, of course.”

He sounded exhausted, like he’d been running and escaping for years, and every time he thought he’d gotten ahead of the bloody claws of the clandestine world, it came at him snarling with gaping jaws, a cruel reminder that no matter how far he thought he’d gotten away, no matter how hard he’d convinced himself that he wasn’t part of the bloodthirst and violence, the mere fact that he was the son of Qi Fengge, the prodigious assassin’s greatest strength and weakest link, had already sealed him to a certain fate.

Shen Qiao loved and respected Qi Fengge. When Qi Fengge found him beaten and half-starving on the street and took him in one rainy night, five-year-old Shen Qiao would have never thought he’d feel the warmth of family and safety of a home again after he’d lost his parents.

He wanted to repay Qi Fengge in any way he could, but when he was old enough to finally understand what kind of organization Xuan Du was and what Qi Fengge’s real identity entailed, Shen Qiao was torn: he could – no, should – accept the position, train hard to become Qi Fengge’s next successor, and take over Xuan Du and its commitment to only execute those who were deserving of it, if only for the sake of doing what he could to show his gratitude towards his adopted father, yet his righteous moral compass and absolute belief in humanity’s good nature – borne from his education and the teachings of his father – forced him to make one of the most difficult decisions in his life.

It was ironic, how the assassination group operated under Qi Fengge’s guidance: Xuan Du Group only accepted jobs whose targets were beyond anyone’s saving and the victims’ families’ reconciling, their crimes numerous or excessive, their sins unpardonable. But who were counting the number of lives taken away by the hands of Xuan Du’s assassins?

Yan Wushi’s baritone voice pulled Shen Qiao back to the present.

“Everyone says the adopted son of Qi Fengge is different – refined, pristine, pure-hearted, a white water lily untainted by the dirty muck that brought him up,” Yan Wushi watched him closely for any flicker of emotion, “but I don’t believe that a person can truly remain unaffected by the surrounding environment.”

Yan Wushi moved so swiftly that there was no way Shen Qiao could have dodged in his current condition, so when he felt strong fingers gripping his chin and forcing him in place while the mafia leader hovered close – terrifyingly close, breaths hot and vivid against Shen Qiao’s own lips – and the other arm trapping the injured man between himself and the wall, Shen Qiao froze, eyes wide open and the only thing he perceived was Yan Wushi’s eyes.

Dark brown, but almost glowing with the rusted red of blood.

“You’re exactly the type of people I’d like to see battered and broken.”

Shen Qiao swallowed, silently willing himself in his mind to keep calm, and when he was certain his voice wouldn’t shake, he asked while maintaining their shared gaze, “then why did you save me?”

A short pause as Yan Wushi regarded the composed expression on Shen Qiao’s face, and then he barked out a laugh, roughly letting go of the other man and stepping back.

“Don’t think too highly of me, Shen Qiao. I’m certainly no saint. You were in Sang Jingxing’s possession, and I just happen to hate that man and want to fuck with him. Besides, I enjoy having people owe me.”

From this distance, Shen Qiao couldn’t see Yan Wushi’s facial expression, but years of living with vision disability meant that he’d trained his ears to pick up on the smallest nuances in the rise and fall of a person’s voice. He could almost picture the man uttering the last phrase with a snide grin.

“Regardless, I’m grateful for what you’ve done,” Shen Qiao lowered his head in a nod of thanks, “if there’s anything I can do in return in the future, please let me know.”

“Anything?”

Shen Qiao could practically hear the smile in that purr.

“Anything within the legal and ethical realm,” Shen Qiao corrected calmly.

#qian qiu #thousand autumns #yanshen #yan wushi #shen qiao #bowie's crappy writing

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phantom-curve · 3 years

Note

Mads I have to be annoying and send you another one of those prompts 😂 Platonic Alex & Reggie with "liberosis - the desire to care less about things"!

this was not the first prompt you sent in, but I had way too much fun exploring this dynamic and I couldn't resist doing this one before the others! set in the gimme a chance AU, please enjoy this deleted scene that takes place after chapter 4 ft. Alex and Reggie being completely Over It™️

liberosis - the desire to care less about things (Rated T+ for language and some slightly suggestive wording about Luke and Julie's relationship)

“Okay so like, we’re in agreement that this is just a weird thing we’re not gonna talk about, right?”

It was late. Alex had stumbled home from work completely drained and exhausted around 10 pm and Reggie had apparently been waiting up to have this conversation, work clothes still on, fingers restless as they twisted together in front of his body where he sat propped up against the couch, TV turned low and forgotten behind him. For a second, Alex wasn’t exactly sure what Reggie was talking about. And then he remembered it was Sunday. Which meant yesterday had been Saturday. And all of the stupid Luke drama he had been trying to ignore came flooding back.

“No, we’re not gonna talk about it,” Alex said firmly, meeting Reggie’s concerned gaze with a look that he hoped translated into I will literally talk about anything else but this right now. “Total radio silence as far as I’m concerned.”

“Cool, okay. Glad we’re on the same page.”

Reggie’s head dipped and bobbed as he nodded his agreement. Alex let out a sigh of relief as he hunched over to slip his work shoes off and stack them on the rack by the front door. Then, the air seemed to grow thick with some sort of unspoken tension. Alex felt it press against him like an old, uncomfortable sweater, itchy and oppressive against his chest. When he straightened once more, Reggie was waiting to meet his gaze head on. Clearly, they were gonna talk about it.

“I’m not alone in thinking it’s like...kinda weird, right?”

Alex sighed, the action bone deep and heavy in a way that only Luke’s shenanigans could make him feel. Reggie wasn’t wrong. It was kinda weird that Luke had been hiding this whole Julie thing from them. It was kinda weird that Luke had managed to pull it off at all, actually. The boy was not known for his subtlety. He had very clearly struck out with Julie the first time around, and yet somehow, he had managed to draw her back in. Alex could tell by the way Luke had stuttered and stammered over the whole thing the night before that he had been trying to keep it lowkey. As if that boy even knew the meaning of the word. Case in point: he hadn’t been able to play it cool for 5 seconds once she had started ignoring him.

“Yeah, Reg, it’s definitely kinda weird.”

“Oh, good, I’m really glad I’m not the only one who feels that way about it. Ya know, when I first figured it out, I was like, ‘okay maybe it’s just a one-time thing.’ But it’s not a one-time thing. Definitely not. And I just like...don’t understand why he isn’t talking about it? Why is he trying to pretend its no big deal? It’s obviously a big deal.”

Alex desperately wished he could go back in time and take Willie up on his offer to spend the night tonight if only to be able to avoid this uncomfortable word vomit that Reggie didn’t seem capable of stopping. If there was ever a can of worms that didn’t need to be opened, it was this one, focused on Luke’s love life and his interactions with Julie, and what all of that meant in the grand scheme of things. Alex did not have the time or patience to truly get into this right now, he really didn’t. Except Reggie was looking at him so expectantly, as if Alex would reach into his fanny pack and pull out a booklet of answers, and so he also couldn’t just leave the poor guy to obsess alone.

“Okay, so we’re gonna do this, yeah? We’re gonna talk about it? Lemme...lemme just like get some sweats on and make some dinner, okay?”

Reggie let out a deep breath that Alex hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Yeah. Yeah, whatever you need, Lex.”

Alex didn’t dawdle. This was not a conversation that was going to go away or be dismissed. Reggie needed to talk it out, and honestly, now that he thought about it, Alex kind of did, too. And not to someone like Willie who would grin and say, “can’t stop true love hot dog, gotta let them ride that wave and figure out if they’re gonna sink or swim on their own” and act all blasé about it. He needed to talk about it with someone like Reggie who, just like Alex, was in the unique position of being friends with Flynn and Carrie (which meant knowing just enough about Julie to have an idea of exactly why she would be so appealing to Luke) as well as being one of Luke’s brothers (which meant knowing him better than he knew himself sometimes). Together, they might be able to figure out if the two would be like oil and water or more like fire and gasoline. Reggie was the only person who could have that kind of discussion with him, so yeah, they were doing this.

Alex made quick work of cleaning off in the shower and switching his work clothes for sweatpants and an oversized hoodie. Reggie was still waiting on the couch, staring at the tv but not actually watching whatever was playing out on the 32-inch screen. He had managed to change out of his clothes and into some Star Wars themed pajamas though. Alex skirted around the couch edge so he could press a quick, reassuring hand against Reggie’s scalp as he made his way into the kitchen. Reggie’s eyes moved away from the screen to track his movements. Alex might be the one with anxiety, but Reggie needed more reassurance when it came to things that might end with his family falling apart in one way or another. Alex wasn’t about to let him get so worked up that he convinced himself this would be catalyst that ruined everything.

“Honestly, Reg, what are we even supposed to do here? You know he’s gonna keep seeing her no matter what we say.”

Alex tried to open the conversation gently, eyes fixed on his bowl as it revolved in circles inside the microwave. Reggie didn’t answer at first, not until the beep of Alex’s food being finished rang out in the small apartment. When he did speak, he sounded partly apologetic and partly resigned.

“I don’t know. I know I probably should have said something after last week but...he just seemed so happy. I didn’t wanna mess it up for him. But last night was weird and it didn’t feel good. I’m worried Luke’s on a one-way path to destruction and I don’t know if it’s gonna be because of Julie or because of Flynn.”

Alex tried not to let his face fall into his freshly warmed bowl of pasta as he pulled it from the microwave. He really, really did not want to think about the ways that Flynn would rip Luke to shreds when she found out what had been going on behind her back. He had learned two things about the pint-sized firecracker in the year or so that he had known her: don’t mess with Carrie and don’t mess with Julie. Luke had already kinda fucked up on one of those counts. He wasn’t super thrilled thinking about what her reaction might be when she discovered he had been messing around with the second one, and in a much bigger way, too. He turned to face Reggie, forced himself to soften his own anxiety when he caught sight of the nerves etched out in harsh lines across the bassist’s forehead. Deep breath in, deep breath out just like his therapist had taught him.

“Flynn is gonna react however she’s gonna react. We can’t control that. She’s gonna have Julie’s back no matter what so all we can do is watch out for Luke.”

Reggie was nodding along in agreement, features smoothing out now that there was something of a plan for him to follow. Alex swung himself onto a barstool, bowl in front of him as his mind turned over and over all the millions of ways this thing between Julie and Luke could go south. Reggie moved off of the couch, hesitating for just a moment before he walked over to lean against the island in the kitchen where Alex was doing his best not to spiral.

“I think he likes her. Like...like likes her.”

Reggie’s voice was quiet, like he was sharing some secret he had been sworn to silence over. Alex turned to look at him again, not entirely sure he wanted to believe it.

“Dude, we’re not in middle school. You hook up with people all the time and it never means more than a night of shared passion. Luke can do the same thing.”

The look Reggie leveled his way was nothing short of disbelieving, eyebrows raised so high they had practically disappeared into his hairline. Alex kinda had to hand it to him there. He didn’t really believe Luke actually could pull off a casual relationship, especially not with a girl like Julie who probably set every single one of his musical nerve endings on high alert. Reggie and Luke weren’t the same in that manner. Reggie wanted to give love and receive it in turn without any reservations or worries about the intent behind it. Just two people meeting in a mutually beneficial exchange and then moving on with their lives to find that again with someone else. Luke’s love was deliberate, a commitment. There was no way whatever he was doing was casual.

“Okay, okay. Put the eyebrows away already.”

Reggie’s face relaxed into something less concerned and more exhausted. Alex felt that all the way to the depths of his soul. Generally speaking, Luke was pretty exhausting. And he was even more exhausting when he wasn’t taking care of himself in order to take care of someone else, in this case: Julie. Alex scooped up his bowl of pasta and tucked an arm around Reggie’s shoulders, guiding both of them to the couch. The tv was still playing something Alex couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to, but the low hum of voices in the background made the apartment feel a little less cold and quiet. Alex shoveled a bite of pasta into his mouth, chewing slowly and deliberately before he turned to face Reggie once more.

“Look, we don’t actually have any control over any of this shit. We know how Luke is, and we kinda know what’s up with Julie, but we can’t stop them from interacting or scare them off from each other. As much as it sucks, I think we gotta just ride this one out. And if Luke gets hurt, we’ll be here to patch him up and love him through it.”

Alex blinked in surprise, not actually sure those words had just come out of his mouth. By the way Reggie was studying him, he wasn’t sure the other boy could believe it either. Then, Reggie’s lips curved into a knowing smirk.

“Willie’s been rubbing off on you. All that therapy and go with the flow shit. You’re like a whole new drummer boy.”

Alex guffawed and reached over to shove Reggie playfully, being sure to keep his now empty bowl clear of the scuffle. Reggie ducked around his outstretched arm, sneaking under to poke at Alex’s side in a way that had him twisting and nearly falling off the couch.

“Jeez, Uncle, Uncle! Fuckin hell, man, no need to go straight for the tickle spots.”

Reggie huffed out a laugh, collapsing back into the couch next to Alex. They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, the only sound the canned laughter and predictable lines of the tv show.

“Hey, Lex?”

Alex hummed and rolled his head to meet Reggie’s eyes.

“Do you ever wish you just like...didn’t care so much about everything?”

Alex’s laugh echoed above the sound of the tv. He leaned into Reggie’s side, letting the familiar comfort wash over him.

“All the time, Reg. Literally, all the fucking time.”

#I love these two so much #I also gave you a little more backstory on why Flynn hates Luke #look at me building up backstories and details literally who am I??#mads writes #gimme a chance #jatp #julie and the phantoms #alex mercer #reggie peters

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kyeungsoo · 4 years

Text

your love is what i prefer (what i deserve).

× pairing — park chanyeol + reader

× genres/warnings — boyfriend/established relationship au, fluff, chanyeol is doing the absolute most but when isn’t he, junmyeon is rich but when isn’t he

× word count — almost 2k (issa tiny drabble)

× notes — yes, the title is a lyric from single laides. yes, i did debate calling this drabble single laides before i decided to relax. and yes, i also did consider calling it 7 rings, and so what if i did.

Chanyeol stumbles into your apartment, loud and boisterous, with the excitement of a child. He’s got too many shopping bags in his hands and you’re afraid to ask how much he spent, so you reason it’s best not to even worry.

“Babe, babe, babe!” Chanyeol chants, swinging his arms and shopping bags along with it as he rounds the couch and takes a seat next to you. Only then does he shake the bags off of his arm, letting them fall unceremoniously at his and your feet on to the carpet.

He shifts slightly so that he’s facing you, knees turned in towards your body, one arm bent along the back of the couch; elbow pressed into the cushiony material to lean his face into his palm.

You take a good look at him now, blonde hair slightly out of place, chest heaving, and a dumb, wide, charming grin on his lips. Certainly your Chanyeol.

“Hi,” you giggle, reaching a hand forward to brush through his hair. Chanyeol keens, humming happily at the action. “I see you and Jun had fun shopping.”

You were willing to bet that whatever Chanyeol bought, Junmyeon had bought two of. You sigh internally, but then again, if you had even half of what was in Junmyeon’s bank account, you’d probably do the same. Or worse.

“Yeah, and babe, we saw a ring just like yours today,” Chanyeol tells you. He reaches a hand out to yours, grabbing every finger but your thumb into his grasp and pulling it to his face to inspect.

You smile, watching as Chanyeol shifts your hand around slowly, like he’s a seasoned jeweler, looking at the ring as it shimmers under your living room lighting.

“Yeah?” you ask him, still amused by his concentration, “Where?”

“Uh, that little jewelry store on the first floor of the mall,” Chanyeol replies, bringing your hand even closer, the tips of your knuckles accidentally brushing against his nose.

“The one next to the Nordstrom?”

“Yeah!” he gleams, dropping your hand in all his excitement, “It was almost identical, I swear!”

You chuckle, bringing your hand back to your lap. “It probably was, that’s where Baekhyun got this one.”

You swear you see every bit of excitement instantly evaporate from Chanyeol’s features. His entire face goes blank as he puts the pieces together, looking from your hand to your face to your hand to your face again.

He shuffles back a bit, points a finger gingerly to the object of offense on your hand, “Baekhyun? He gave you that?”

You nod. And Chanyeol’s jaw goes slack, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek.

Baekhyun. Byun Baekhyun got you that ring. The same ring he compliments you on and he used to find so pretty—suddenly Chanyeol thinks it’s ugliest rose gold band he’s ever seen in his life—because Byun Baekhyun, his best friend, and your ex boyfriend, put it on your finger.

“Oh,” Chanyeol breathes, unable to tear his line of vision away from the jewelry, “You. You wear it every day.”

“Well yeah, but to be fair I don’t really take it off.”

Chanyeol’s eyebrows crease. “How exactly does that make it better?”

“I mean I don’t like, consciously put it on everyday,” you reason with a chuckle, “It’s just always kind of there?”

Chanyeol blinks once, twice, three times, processing what you just said. You’re right—Chanyeol’s never seen you without it. Ever. Which was cute before when he thought it was something you’d bought yourself, or some kind of family heirloom, or a birthday gift of sorts.

Now that he knows it’s a memento bestowed upon you by your ex, he kinda wishes he never had to see it again. That’s not petty of him right?—That’s completely within in the normal range of emotional response when one sees that one’s girlfriend casually wears a piece of fine jewelry given to her by her ex boyfriend every single day.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” He replies with a pout.

In his head, he’s concocted at least sixty ways to get you to “accidentally” lose the ring in a casual manner. Plus a few deliberate means of destruction.

Okay, so he’s a little petty. Sue him.

“Huh? What—Chan, does it bother you?” you question, looking up at him with wide eyes, “I thought you liked it?”

Chanyeol huffs. Maybe he liked it before he realized a three foot gremlin had given it to you.

Yes, he was aware you and Baekhyun dated for some time before him and he was fine with it. The three of you got along great and Baekhyun was even responsible for setting you up with Chanyeol, but still. He does not like this one bit. Call it pettiness or jealousy or anything in between, he doesn’t care.

Besides, since when did Baekhyun know how to buy jewelry? Chanyeol knows that the fanciest piece of jewelry Baekhyun has ever worn was a set of silver dogtags that he gave to him for his birthday. So where did he learn to shop for rings—women’s rings much less!

He bets Kyungsoo had something to do with this purchase. It’s the only logical explanation; if not himself, then Kyungsoo was the most romantic of their mutual friends.

Still, this doesn’t sit right with Chanyeol, hands crossed over his chest. None of this was adding up! Not how Baekhyun knew to pick the ring, and certainly not why you continue to wear it despite having been dating Chanyeol (not Baekhyun!) for almost two years! Two! You don’t even wear the earrings he bought you for your first anniversary every day.

Granted they are a bit… ostentatious, and better reserved for a night out or special occasion, but still. He put the little Burberry bear that you gave him on his keyring—which he uses everyday, and uses the cologne you got him every morning, and the mug you got him from your last family vacation is his favorite mug of all! Out of all the mugs in his house!

“Nope,” Chanyeol replies instead, bottom lip jutting out slightly as his turns his head towards the television, “Doesn’t bother me at all, not one bit. What ring? Baekhyun who?—see I couldn’t care less.”

Chanyeol doesn’t see your eyebrow raised in disbelief, and the amused grin on your face. He doesn’t need to.

Instead, he pushes himself off the couch, pulls his phone out his back pocket and makes a quick phone call. “On a completely unrelated note, I think Junmyeon accidentally took one of my bags, so I’ll be right back, babe!”

You don’t even have time to bid him goodbye before his keys are twirling on his finger and he’s out the door. You lean back into the couch, resuming your previously uninterrupted binge watching, careful not to kick over his many, many shopping bags as you hoist your feet up onto the sofa.

Right. A completely unrelated note.

You’re halfway through your second episode of the season, when Chanyeol comes bursting through the door again; and it’s almost déjà vu. Like before, he bounces his way to the couch and sits himself right beside you. The only difference is this time, he only has one, egg blue gift bag in his clutches, which his gingerly places on his lap.

“Hi, again, Chan,” you greet him, unable to conceal the fully amused smile growing on your lips.

Chanyeol, however, is all business: pinched eyebrows, steely eyes, and pursed lips. He doesn’t greet you back, instead, fishes inside the bag to pull out a flat, rectangular, velvety box. Wordlessly, he pushes it in your direction.

“For me?” you question with a raised eyebrow, carefully taking the box out of his grasp. Chanyeol nods vigorously, eagerly waiting for you to open it.

You give him one more look, slightly suspicious, but Chanyeol just stares at you with the anticipation of a small dog expecting a treat. You almost want to laugh, but you know it’ll upset him, so you swallow your giggles, and open the box slowly.

Inside, there’s multiple pieces of jewelry; a matching set. The first, and largest, is a classic Tiffany padlock on a dainty silver chain, with a small, rose gold heart tag charm attached. Above the clasp rests a pair of heart shaped diamonds set in a rose gold casing to complement the necklace.

And, of course, the piece de resistance: a ring with a looping heart design, the shapes alternating between silver and rose gold, much like the rest of the collection. What sets it apart though, is that every single silver heart is encrusted with tiny, white diamonds.

“I—you—Chanyeol,” you choke on your words, stunned as the jewelry shines in the light. Chanyeol has the most self-assured, yet angelic smile on his face, as he wordless reaches over to flip over the heart charm on the necklace, to point out, what he considered to be, the most important detail.

Because if you looked close enough, every single piece had a custom touch—a small PCY engraved somewhere into the metal. On the tag of the necklace, the backs of the earrings, the inside of the ring.

“Don’t worry it’s not a proposal,” he tells you, “I mean, unless you want it to be—”

“If it were I would say no because you’d be proposing out of spite and jealousy.”

“Jealousy?” he questions, incredulous, “I know no such thing, this is from the bottom of my heart and my wallet.”

“Okay, baby,” you placate, taking the time to look at the jewelry more closely. It’s beautiful, all of them; stunning and sparkling and perfect. “Chan, how on Earth did you do this this quickly?”

“Umm…. doesn’t matter!” he chirps, shuffling forward a bit, “Come on, try them on!”

He can barely sit still after that, helping you put the necklace on, excitedly taking your old earrings from you for you to poke the new ones into your piercings, practically glowing as he watches you slide the ring onto your finger.

He’s over the moon when he sees all of it on you, an almost teary eyed glimmer shining in his eyes, but a smug grin on his lips. You’re tempted to roll your own eyes as you watch him look you up and down, not so subtly admiring his own work.

Chanyeol takes you hand in his, kissing the finger with your new ring on it. He’s careful not to touch the other—and in his humble opinion, lacking in comparison—ring, before pulling you into a hug. “I love it, Chan, really,” you tell him, falling into his embrace, and tucking your head into his neck,

“Good, I’m glad,” he hums, leaving a chaste kiss on your shoulder, “So now you can take off the other one, yeah? Not that it bothers me, of course. Your hand, your rings, and all that.”

You scoff, but with a smile on your lips, “Doesn’t bother you my ass.”

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runnfromtheak · 4 years

Note

Darling!!!!!!!!!! I dare yo to write an alternate Deathly Hallows where Draco yeets the Elder Wand.

Challenge accepted. Here’s my first venture into HP fanfiction, I suppose. :)

“HARRY POTTER IS DEAD!”

There’s something to be said about shock.

Something to be said about going into shock, but he can’t be bothered to care at this moment. The words slip from his grasp, falling aside as worthless details and half grasped concepts.

They aren’t real, nothing feels real, because as much as he’s hated Harry Potter, as deeply as he’s despised him, he’s never dreamt of his corpse. Not once, not even at his darkest, not even with his Aunt Bella egging him on as the muggles screamed…

He’s never wished Potter dead, even if he hated himself for it.

He freezes as the Weasley girl screams, as her father grabs her tight as he can to hold her back from the Death Eater’s loud cheers. Draco can see him – the object of his envy and hatred and irritation and complete and utter loathing – in the Half-breed’s arms, draped haphazardly like a delicate princess. It almost looks like he’s sleeping, like this is all some sick joke, and the stupid prat’s Chosen One powers are about to kick in at any moment.

But then Draco looks at Granger and Weasley, looks at the shock in their eyes, the broken and haunted way the tears gather in their eyes, and he knows this is real. This isn’t school years, where his worst secret is the humiliation lingering after Potter’s rejection in first year, where his biggest concern is winning the Quidditch game just to show Potter up or the House Cup to give the finger to Dumbledore.

This is real, and it’s terrifying, terrifying in a way he’d barely tasted in sixth year, half-mad with desperation and the burden of that brand on his arm, the dark ink marking him as evil and wrong.

(“Draco, years ago, I knew a boy who made all the wrong choices. Please, let me help you.”)

He hadn’t let the old man help him, had watched Severus Snape kill him, and he feels a pang for the optimistic fool doomed to die. He never set out to make the wrong choices, but he did anyways. There were no choices, there had been honor, and duty, and loyalty, but never a choice.

(What’s the right choice when every action leads to a death? When inaction leads to death? What is the right choice when your father bartered away your ability to make them for the loyalty of a madman drunk on power?)

Malfoys don’t have choices, they have responsibilities.

He’d been damned from the start.

“SILENCE!”

No one speaks, no one breathes, not even Draco. His eyes linger on Potter, blood-spattered and dirty, as if he’d tumbled through dirt before ‘Avada Kedavra’ struck. He wonders if it hurt, if Potter had been afraid.

Potter’s a Gryffindor, so he doubts it – what they lacked in subtlety and intelligence they made up for in fool-hardy bravery.

(And isn’t that the conundrum Draco’s struggled with, surrounded by the Dark Lord’s suffocating presence, the toxic feeling lingering in Malfoy Manor – is it better to be a brilliant coward, or a brave fool? – Potter’s corpse doesn’t offer any answers)

“Why didn’t you tell her? Bellatrix? You knew it was me. You didn’t say anything.”

He’s never been ready for Potter’s death, even when the opportunity arose not once but twice – first at the hands of his family, second at the hands of his friends – he’d been so stupidly unprepared that he’d saved him, lied for him, even after the bathroom and all the bad blood accumulated over years of bitterness, years of envy and what he wishes he could call hatred.

He’d never had a choice, but he let himself have one.

His family asked him to save them, and he chose Potter, for reasons neither of them understand. ‘Understood,’ he corrects, ignoring the blathering of the Dark Lord as he glides across his field of destruction and blood, ‘Neither of us understood.’ Because it’s past tense now – hate is now hated, envy is now envied – and he still doesn’t know how to feel, even as he knows how he should feel.

Malfoys are calm, collected. Malfoys are perfect, in composure as well as pedigree. Malfoys don’t cower, nor do they fight.

As the snake strikes in the cover of tall grass, Malfoys strike in the dark, underhanded methods and crafty exchanges (money makes the bloody world spin, and the Malfoys have more money than they have emotion).

He should be happy, should be smug, perhaps, over the death of the Boy Who Lived. The other Death Eaters are – ecstatic, actually – but he’s not the same as them, even if it would be easier for his entire family if he were. Potter is the Boy Who Lived, and he’s the fool unwilling to see him dead – the boy who had no choice – stuck on the subtle tug of his gut as Potter’s heart beats, as his green eyes glimmer.

Draco hates himself for noticing that too, for not being what he should be for his family.

“Draco, come.”

His mother beckons him, lips pulled tight in a twisted mockery even he couldn’t call a grin. It’s forced, so disgustingly forced that he could scream, rage the way the Weasley girl tries to. Malfoys are calm, Malfoys are collected, and the look in his mother’s eyes – the whimper half released from his father’s throat – is anything but.

Draco walks from the right side numbly, staring at Potter’s corpse even as the Dark Lord embraces him.

He shivers in revulsion, sick as the man his family has served faithfully for so long embraces him as family. He’s stiff, goosebumps trailed down his pale – damn near translucent – flesh feels the Dark Lord’s words.

Draco is released and his mother embraces him next, but his eyes still linger on the corpse that should not be, the last person he’d ever thought would die – even though Potter was the only non-muggle the Dark Lord truly wanted to die.

No one calls him back, not that he expects them to, but he’s (mildly) disappointed all the same.

He wonders if Potter would have attempted it, self-righteous in his own beliefs that Draco couldn’t be truly evil, truly wrong, if he’d defied the Dark Lord to let him live. He probably would have, might have called him a git or pathetic, and it’s nearly enough to make Draco laugh.

How far he’s fallen, to crave the predictability and reliability in banter with his greatest rival. That mutual irritation… They got under each other’s skin in ways no one else could, even if Draco hadn’t killed anyone.

“…Longbottom.”

He ignores his surroundings, ignores his mother’s soft attempts to coax him out of his self-imposed silence, ignores his father’s whimpering and the ashen appearance that’s such a far cry from before…

Before life became real, and actions had consequences, and his choices led to death and pain for people who didn’t deserve it.

Somewhere between Albus Dumbledore’s death and Potter’s, he’d changed.

Life used to be so clear…

But his father had been abandoned to Azkaban, cast aside in his own home for the Dark Lord’s acceptance. His mother had suffered – quietly, in ways those who didn’t know her wouldn’t see – in ways she’d never suffered before. And Draco… Draco…

“…You knew it was me. You didn’t say anything.”

He doesn’t know himself anymore.

“Draco,” his father murmurs, and he pulls back, tearing his gaze off Potter for the first time since Voldemort’s loud declaration set in this cold, this numbness, settling in his limbs as if it was meant to be there.

His mother strokes his hair, nearly as tense as he is.

His father… looks pathetic. His once luminous blonde locks are stiff and dirty, as worn down and decayed as the rest of him. He’s lost weight, enough for his cheeks to appear sullen and sunken in, enough for his perfectly tailored robes to hang off him in ways not befitting a Malfoy.

He shoots his father a glare, furious at the tears he can feel prickling at the corners of his eyes.

“What?” He demands, ignoring Longbottom’s nervous words, the exaggerated gestures he makes as he speaks, drawing the crowds of right and wrong’s attention.

“We must leave, Draco,” Narcissa interjects, eyes cold and empty. There’s a kindness in her touch that her perfect face can’t convey. “Now.”

But he shoves her away, because his eyes are back on Potter – infuriatingly, stupidly, fixated on the boy turned man he couldn’t hate no matter how desperately he wanted to. Steady breath, in and out.

“…a boy who made all the wrong choices…”

He feels his mother eyes linger, demanding answers he can’t give, perhaps is unwilling to give.

Longbottom’s shouting now, speaking of sacrifice and how Harry Potter’s stupid heart had beat and bled for them all – and honestly, after all the years and pain and suffering, how could they not already know that? How could they question that, when he only hated those who aligned themselves with pain, with hatred and wrong choices.

Unexplainably, there’s a twitch.

Corpses don’t twitch, and it’s small enough for Draco to nearly brush off, to dismiss it as a fight of fancy for his not-hated rival, but he knows Potter. Knows Potter far more than he likes admitting, and he sees his right hand – the same hand he extends towards the snitch every match with that infuriating grin – twitch again.

Potter can’t sit still, never has been able to…

And Draco knows the truth before Longbottom draws the sword of Godric Gryffindor from the dirtied Sorting Hat, knows it as Voldemort laughs.

“Harry’s heart did beat for us! For all of us! And it’s not over!”

Harry Potter grunts, louder than the rapid tempo of Draco’s heart, and he flings himself from the Half-Giant’s arms to the cold stone floor of the half-destroyed courtyard.

The Dark Lord turns, smug grin turning as the gasps reach his ears…

Potter’s wild-eyed, hands grasping for a wand that evidently wasn’t there, still glaring at Voldemort defiantly.

Draco Malfoy is a boy who’s never had a choice, burdened by his family’s legacy, by the weight of expectations and tradition and self-importance piled on by his father. He’s always followed his father’s rules, his father’s ambitions…

He’s been perfect, as close as he could get.

He’s been obedient, even as it tore his soul and mind apart.

He’s been cool, even as screams scratch at his throat, demanding to be released.

But when the Dark Lord turns, when he frowns and his eyes narrow into dark slits, Draco makes another choice, ripping his arm from his mother’s grasp.

“Draco—” His father tries, but he’s already gone.

“…all the wrong choices…”

“Potter!” He shouts, ripping the wand straight from Voldemort’s bony fingers. Potter’s emerald eyes – still glimmering, Draco can’t help but notice – snap onto him, hardened and suspicious, until they notice the wand he holds in a death grip.

He tosses the wand, ignoring Voldemort’s angry shout for another wand, and Potter catches it, looking alive and confident…

“CONFRINGO!”

Nagini hisses, sent flying towards the Death Eater’s as Voldemort yells again, sending waves of flames towards Potter and – fuck – him. They both jump over rubble, ducking between pillars as they run.

“If we die,” Draco hisses, dodging another furious attack from Voldemort, “I will kill you again, Potter.”

Potter sends him a curious look, one that makes him catch his breath.

“If we die,” He echoes, lips curling upwards. “Tom won’t succeed, not this time.”

Draco blinks, nearly struck by another jet of flames he doesn’t notice.

“Who the bloody hell is Tom?”

#harry potter #draco x harry #drarry #deathly hallows #battle of hogwarts #au #based on that one deleted scene #you know which one #Malfoy saying Pottah! is practically a kink #fanfic #my writing #i might continue this #maybe #possibly #I fell into this ship #I fell into it hard #draco malfoy redemption #draco deserved better

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unfortunatelysirius · 4 years

Text

UNEXPECTED | Regulus Black, Marauders Era

「 ❁ 」PROMPT 「 ❁ 」

Request // Regulus finds something unexpected—at a Slug Club dinner party, with a girl named Y/N L/N.

「 ❁ 」AUTHOR’S NOTE 「 ❁ 」

Sorry if this sucked.

LOVE.

Even the word itself felt like a promise. It could come like a metaphor, as gentle as misted rain, or it was a broken idea, radiating animosity that maimed worse than misplaced surgical lesions. Some folks went their entire lives without knowing it, feeling it, getting the chance to embrace and relish it—while others did indeed get a taste only for it to scorch like too-hot coffee. A funny little thing, love was. As scary as it was delightful.

Regulus Black didn’t know much about love. He only knew bleak sun—and a yearning that churned his stomach like butter. If he let his thoughts wander off too far, they’d explore territory too disturbingly foreign he’d have no choice but to retreat. His parents taught him discipline and obedience, but “love” was a rare occurrence; truthfully, the only person who ever even had an inkling of understanding for it was his brother Sirius, and the bastard left Regulus to bleed under the ripe moon. He knew what hatred felt like, same with spite, same with betrayal, same with repulsion.

Then he descended on the path weary travelers couldn’t cross.

It all started at the start of his fifth year, getting worse from there. He began noticing the Gryffindor who never stopped challenging professors and requested an extension on nearly every Charms essay. Who always wore an untidy uniform with the shirt untucked, cloak rumpled, and two different stockings. Who could be more quiet than a fairy’s whisper but the loudest personality in the room. Who once punched Giovanni Rivera, some snob in Hufflepuff, so hard in the nose he stayed slumped unconscious by a knight in the open dungeon corridor for an entire night.

He noticed you.

It was entirely accidental. Regulus was not someone to dive head-first, always treading the shallow end before walking into riptides that couldn’t be foreseen. He was caution in a world of chaos. He didn’t want to know the definition of “love,” even though he thought that was what he felt for Sirius. Brotherly love. The love someone had for another that protected them, provided for them in times of need. Then Sirius was labelled the family disgrace, shunned by Orion and Walburga; the perfect little Slytherin son, Regulus shunned him too. Regulus lost that feeling and failed to find it again, even in his circle of friends that mocked tainted blood and wanted more than meager lives. They aspired for a Wizarding World cleansed of impure magic; Regulus wasn’t sure what he wanted.

He quickly became lonely. As the days turned to months then years, he preoccupied himself with his studies—working diligently to fabricate a living lie like he had any future outside of the Dark Lord’s bidding. He envied Sirius for breaking from the family so soon, forcing Regulus into a compromised position; their parents scrutinized him more carefully now and expected more than he would have had to provide if Sirius was the pride-and-joy firstborn they could have turned into a great ally, rather than an adversary. Regulus hated it, hated that whatever he liked and the little joys he had in life were useless now that he had one reason to live. There was little to his life except growing up to be part of the Dark Lord’s army. Regardless of anything, he did know what he hoped for. The only thing that truly, truly belonged to him was his hope. It was different from his aspirations, as even those were polluted by conditioned hate.

He watched you frequently. He watched you curse his own brother, Sirius, for calling you a suck-up. He admired your appearance, from your Y/H/L Y/H/C hair to your facial structure, the effortless way you stood and walked, the kindness in your expression when guiding none-the-wiser first years. You were the same year as him, fifth year, and an entire breed of your own. Regulus didn’t know when he began falling for you. Well, the idea of you. You encompassed freedom, and fuck if Regulus didn’t crave freedom. He wanted to see himself careless, able to act out and be himself inconsequentially. This was an impossibility he loved to consider, like a dreamer in a room of realists. His parents expected the most out of him and in his crystal ball, all that laid in wait was the Dark Mark etched in his skin. Death and destruction. His head dark and heavy. It wasn’t happiness that killers strived for—it was pleasure. Power, too. Regulus knew he was different from the others. He had to hide it and fight every inch of himself that wanted what Sirius had. Freedom.

Regulus wanted to unleash every idea, every desire, every unspoken dislike. A brave heart scratched from under his skin, itching to have a say.

Sirius was the courageous one, not him.

He stuck to watching from afar.

You hated Potions class. You hated parties. You hated Slughorn. Most of all, you hated Slug Club parties. Dammit, you hated your life.

“Why did you drag me here, Lily?” you complained for the umpteenth time, fidgeting in your Gryffindor-red attire. You didn’t even like this shade of red. It was one of those colors you got tired of after seeing at every waking hour. All the assholes that prided themselves in the House the Sorting Hat bellowed, uniquely chosen for them… bleh! Dawning red and gold, parading around in Gryffindor scarfs bought for a bargain. You couldn’t be bothered. Lily had begged that the two of you go in a matching set, as one of your good friends. You never envisioned yourself agreeing. Fucking Lily, conniving you into wearing a dress like looked like it was sewn from a red Christmas stocking and attending a Slug Club party.

Lily smiled innocently. “You owed me a favor!”

A favor. You wracked your brain for any situation you’d been a part of where Lily offered her help. As your honorary big sister and a sixth-year prefect, she was the one calling for damage control whenever you did something warranting of punishment… and you didn’t want to fulfill your duties as a serious student. She chastised you at your worst but boosted you up too. Your best consisted of her praise and affection. You loved her, yes, but you didn’t love what owing her favors implied. It always wound you up in some unlikable predicament, such as this godforsaken party.

“I don’t owe you shite,” you grumbled, pinning your eyes on a table of refreshments over by the door. You belatedly noticed a figure standing by it. The air went still and silent, your blood pulsating like a gushing river of red. Your eyes narrowed just the slightest bit. Regulus Black was sharply—no, impeccably dressed, standing with his glossy dark hair in a neat do and his gray eyes watching the floor indifferently. When he got too close to looking at you, you quickly turned away. Lily was already raising a brow. “What? I don’t.”

“Yeah, okay,” Lily said amusedly. As she reopened her mouth to remind you of your every last unreturned favor and escaped week of detention, she spotted something over your head and a look of horror struck; you gauged this by the way her eyes bulged at the sockets. “Oh, Merlin—why the bloody Hell is he here? I’ll talk to you later, Y/N. Try to have some fun.”

She retreated like a squirrel from a hound, her body launching at the occupied Slughorn over half a room away. As she was nearly there a bulk dressed in black dress robes followed, at a tame pace compared to Lily’s. You knew it was James only by the unruly mess of black hair you saw from his enrobed backside profile.

You rolled your eyes and snuck another glance at Regulus. He wasn’t looking your way.

Try to have some fun, my arse.

You were here. Regulus didn’t know how, but you were. He hadn’t calculated what he’d do if you attended this party, not knowing you were a member. He assumed you weren’t, a rash assumption by all accounts, and that costed him. He didn’t want to be dogged by the thought of you all night, and now that your presence was mere feet from him, his mental duties seemed like lost causes. The burning urge to stare at you, consequences be damned, was incinerating—and control failed him left and right. Fucking hell.

Regulus filled a drink for himself. A punch of some kind. He drank it in one go, hoping the taste would eliminate you from his mind. If it were bad enough he could instead be hounded by his throbbing throat, gagging like no tomorrow. That would be better than this.

The punch didn’t work its magic. He looked again at you and calculated the inevitable penalty of making an approach.

Cursing his luck or lack thereof, he felt less inclined to drown himself in the punch bowl upon the appearance of a bloke he had in Potions, Terrence something. He was a Ravenclaw know-it-all, but he was Pureblood. He could go overlooked conversing with the fellow. Regulus was a master of mimicry and had his haughty Slytherin performance down pat.

The bloke asked too many questions and was evasive on topics Regulus had no interest in discoursing, but he was a well-welcomed distraction. Or ill-welcomed. Regardless of the reception, Regulus’s ambivalence towards you transitioned to an annoyance towards Terrence. Annoyance, that he could work with. He felt it most days. It was familiar territory. A stroke of olive on a canvas of emerald where you were lavender.

It worked. It worked until Terrence bid a hasty farewell, trailing after some quiet, expressionless brunette from Slytherin.

Regulus subtly scowled. Out of the corner of his eye he looked at you, surreptitious in a way he remembered from parties he went to hosted by well-known Pureblood families. You were in mid-conversation with some Gryffindor he knew from a mutual class the three of you shared. It was a bloke whose mouth seemed too keen on keeping a conversation going and hand was swaying too closely to your waist. Regulus’s eyes hardened without his meaning to, and before he knew it, his feet were in complete control; he walked to the two of you with renewed purpose.

You were ready to unleash your inner ugly. Random people kept coming up and trying to talk to you, each of them more mentally-taxing than the last. First there was Cornelius, an absolute walking disaster, then there was Dave, who went on tangents without checking to see if you were listening. Then Kala, then Paisley, then Travis. Finally, there was Justin. Justin was a compulsive flirt. You politely tried to get him to fuck off, but he just wasn’t catching the hint or acknowledging your blatant apathy in what he had to say. He wouldn’t understand discomfort on the part of his conversational partner if it slapped him in the face.

It was like a blessing and a nightmare when Regulus Black, wearing a cold expression and marginally more perfect up close than he was from a distance, appeared.

“Can I borrow you for a moment, L/N?” he asked, something off about his voice. Your eyes narrowed. If you had to garner a guess, you’d say he was straining to maintain a calm disposition, truly angry. The cold in his expression was cracking, giving way to heat. Had he noticed your wandering eye and wanted to clarify with you that he had no interest except to exterminate your muddy self from the Wizarding World? You were unsure; it was a common ideology among extremists, the hatred of non-Purebloods, but Regulus didn’t give off that ambiance. He didn’t feel like a future monster.

“Sure,” you said, sneaking a glance at Justin. Justin’s face wasn’t aggravated at the interruption, just confused that Regulus Black had been the one to interrupt. Regulus kept to himself usually… and he hated anyone who wasn’t pure of blood, supposedly. “Sorry to cut this chat short, Justin. I’m sure there’s plenty of other birds to talk into a stupor around here…”

Justin’s eyes lit up, disregarding the annoyance in your voice. “You’re right! Thanks, Y/N.”

You raised your eyebrows at him but bit back a less subtle remark, following Regulus when his hand prompted you at the shoulder.

“So, what was that back there?” you boldly asked, trying to avoid smirking. It was almost adorable, the way he swooped in and rescued you from a dolt. He couldn’t have approached you just to chastise your invasive stare or threaten you with death. You were taking a chance in assuming he came to save you the burden of dealing with Justin Doley’s bland chatter, but you didn’t care. You really didn’t. It was a sweet gesture if that were his true intention, but a niggling suspicion refused to believe it was. “Thank you, by the way. I was ready to lock my knees just so I could escape.”

Regulus’s face blanched, a tinge of hot pink flooding his cheeks. His brows made a cute little furrow that gave the impression of a natural unibrow. “Why would you lock your knees?”

“When you lock your knees, the blood stops circulating and can lead to fainting,” you said. Now you smirked. “Trying to avoid an answer? I’m hurt.”

He frowned at you. “I’m not trying to avoid anything. It was nothing. You looked uncomfortable…”

“I was more annoyed than anything,” you said, a correction you weren’t obligated to make. Seeing Regulus squirm was a pleasure on its own. He would already squirm, caught willingly communicating with a Gryffindor, but you had a tendency to go over and beyond in putting others on the spot. It made you a childish shade of giddy both inside and out, not that he would be able to tell. “You don’t have to keep talking to me, you know.”

“Oh,” Regulus said but didn’t move. He stayed rooted where he was, watching you with a piercing gaze. Now that you were close enough to reach a finger across the distance and graze those gaunt, knife-sharp cheekbones, you ogled him. You knew he was gorgeous from the brief times you interacted and the long, solitary moments you took to dissect him outside lessons, but being so close and with no time limit, you took a chance. Your chance was a rescue mission disguised as a private discussion.

A smile tore at your lips. “You clean up nice,” you said, your ogling session finished. You could stare at Regulus much longer than you deemed appropriate and actually did, but he was a moment and moments had the ability to pass you swiftly by. In this case, he’d leave without you getting to properly know him. Opportunistic as you were, you wouldn’t let him leave without taking what you could.

Why would you even want to know him? you asked yourself. He’s probably a Muggleborn-hater. The heart wanted what the heart wanted, try as you might to logicize.

Regulus frowned. “Thanks,” he said. He hesitantly snaked his eyes up and down your figure, stopping on your neckline. A beautiful necklace with your favorite gemstone adorned it, a gift from a Muggle relative. He cleared his throat aggressively. “You do too.”

He’s a shy bugger, isn’t he?

You inched closer, moving on a whim and putting your hand on his arm. Your fingers tightened around the material of his sleeve. He drew closer, like it was instinctive, and your eyelids fluttered as you basked in his perfumed, intimate proximity. You’d regret advancing on a Slytherin, especially one as admired and esteemed yet dark and dangerous as Regulus, but he just had this air about him. Like going from an altitude that took your breath away to one that had enough air to burst you at the seams. Like a butterfly with clipped wings, a scorpion without its stinger. He was tempting, but beautifully broken.

I know. I just know.

“When you came over, I thought you were going to confront me on how I haven’t kept my eyes off you all night,” you murmured. You met his gaze evenly, ignoring your pounding heart and fluctuating nerves.

Regulus froze immediately. “What?”

“Oh, did you not notice? Silly me,” you said, flaPping a hand like it never mattered in the first place. Truth was, your thoughts were frozen and fixated on his ignorance—ignorance you had just given a reality check. There had been no point, absolutely no hidden objective, in admitting your inability to overlook Regulus. Yet you had—and now he was staring at you like you had turned the color orange and horns magically sprouted from your head.

Then, like a switch went off that had full control over Regulus’s emotions and the way he expressed them, he smirked. It wasn’t a full smirk, just apparent enough you noticed it. All the tension contorting his face flattened, leaving him like he was relaxed, the opposite of how he looked mere seconds ago. Always the skeptic, you stared at him with narrowed eyes, scrutinizing him from head to toe. He didn’t lose the smirk, his arms crossing over his sleek robes in a devil-may-care fashion.

“Presumptuous of you to think I ever notice you in the first place,” he said, in that pompous voice you were used to hearing from Sirius’s favorite Slytherin, Severus Snape.

You laughed at his audacity and, hearing the music change tone and tempo, reached out a hand. You forgot your wit and lost all possible responses to give his arrogant retort. “Dance with me, Black,” you said softly, “before your brother comes to ruin my night, like the prick he is.”

Regulus raised his eyebrows, but he didn’t deny you. He interlaced his fingers into yours and his free arm, moving at whim and ease, came quickly to your side, enveloping your waist in a delicate embrace. A formal embrace that bespoke of the distance between you, the invisible rift. The dance he swept you in was unfamiliar, but it was simple enough that you could match his pace without tumbling over your own feet.

You felt everyone staring, but nothing mattered more to you than the feeling of his hand on your waist and the deep, unreadable waters of his foggy gray eyes. He was an enigma that swept coast to coast, tainting the sand with his attendance but leaving wild imaginations to run rampant wondering why he was there, what he did, who he was. Everyone knew of him, but no one knew him. You couldn’t deny you also didn’t know him. Really, you knew nothing about him except that he was a Slytherin in your year, the younger brother to Gryffindor’s infamous playboy, and a supposed Pureblood extremist. You were curious, though, and wanted to know all the dismissive facts that made up his mind and crafted a mental narrative even you found ambiguous. He had consciousness, and there was no way in Merlin’s sodding Hell he was a host to someone else’s thoughts, opinions, and interests the way so many other future killers seemed. Every now and then he showed you something unusual—a mannerism individual to him, words you recoiled back at hearing from his mouth. After he smirked at you and accepted your demand to dance, you lost yourself in the shock of his dismal composure cracking at the folds.

You never really believed in love.

Regulus never really believed in love.

But if you wandered too far into the bittersweet fantasy of happy endings…

Regulus could get lost.

The song changed again; slow and calm it became. Pressing your cheek to Regulus’s chest, you let the soft fabric of his dress robes sway you into an admittedly false sense of security. The hawk eyes following your every move disappeared with every cyclic step Regulus took. You were hypersensitive to his heartbeat now. It pounded against your cheek like a drumstick, a vibrato of epic proportions. You felt delirious with delight, yet a piece of you was stuck to the path your half-conscious feet made through the slow dance. It’s like you left a trail, and you’d have to pick up the pieces once Regulus became sick of your pathetic antics.

“Are you asleep?” he asked amusedly, his chest vibrating against you. It rattled you enough to awaken some semblance of nerves.

“No,” you said, shaking yourself out of the daze. You pulled back from him, bridging enough space to look him in his eyes. He had beautiful eyes a silly girl like you could get lost in. Any girl really. They were pools of fog made of spring mornings and forest hues. You just wanted to kiss his eyelids. What a strange desire, but you felt it all the same…

Regulus blinked and you were drawn back in the moment. He had said something.

You hummed in question, your eyebrows raising.

He shook his head, his face flattening until it was expressionless. “I have to go,” he said. You knew what lies looked like. He was a good liar, but you were a better observer. “I have a matter to discuss with Slughorn.”

You laughed. “That’s too bad,” you said, voice coming out like a purr. Your hand rose until it settled on his chest; your fingers curled around his robe, until fabric was fisted and cupped into a swirl. “We could have had some fun.”

“No,” Regulus said firmly. Almost too firmly. His hand jerked up to meet yours and his larger fingers interlaced yours, tugging in an attempt to prompt your release. Your refused to let go. “Y/N.”

“I like it when you talk all authoritative,” you said teasingly.

His face blanched and it was enough of a shock to make him lose all incentive to fight the good fight. You took this chance and drew him in, his feet stumbling in a clumsy attempt to regain balance. “Y/N, I—”

“What are you so afraid of?”

Regulus was afraid of a lot of things. He was afraid of what his parents would do if they figured out he didn’t despise tainted blood the way he was raised to. He was afraid of his peers shunning and scorning him for being caught dead with a Half-blood. He was afraid of losing himself in the moment just to sate his deadened hope and watching you get killed in the crossfire of his foolish, self-indulgent mistakes. He was afraid of many things.

He would never dare utter those fears aloud.

You watched the conflict flit across his face, erasing itself seconds after.

“What?” you innocently asked, noting that he had gone stiff. You were unaware to how deep his issues ran. You knew from Sirius’s running mouth that Pureblood households were devoid of tender moments and affectionate caresses. You wanted to imagine an alternative for them, but Sirius was a hellish hailstorm when honest; his feelings were subjective, but his experience was likely to ring alarmingly true. Regulus was quiet and allowed things to fester, so no one would ever know how he felt.

He looked at you now, a lock where his mouth was. No key in sight. His eyes were piercing and unquestionably inscrutable.

He had to leave before he lost control of his mouth. He couldn’t afford to involve you in his mess. He was a hurricane and you were summer rains. He would destroy you.

“I have somewhere to be,” Regulus said, no room left for an argument. His arms disappeared from around your waist and he tore his eyes away, like it was physically painful to do so.

You grabbed his wrist before he could melt into the dancing crowd. “Regulus, wait,” you said. You hated the way you sounded. You didn’t know him, but you felt strongly anyway, like he mattered more to you than was plausible for a girl and boy from two separate worlds. You couldn’t explain why you cared; you just did. He hid himself under the pretense of a rich, spoiled Pureblood who stood above the rest. He was hypnotically beautiful and bathed in greens and silvers. He was brilliant in ways Gryffindor House could only aspire to be.

Regulus didn’t respond to your plea. He stared at you, waiting briefly to hear what you had to say.

You didn’t have anything to say. You had something to express—and words weren’t always the best at expression.

You reached up to his face and palmed his cheeks, finding little skin and mostly bone. His cheekbones jerked underneath your grip. His eyes went slightly wide, like he disbelieved you had taken physical initiative with him. Your fingers didn’t dig or tear at his skin, nor did you impulsively decide that you had him in your grip and now was the time to hurt him. You didn’t want to hurt him. You wanted to show him that he didn’t have to be risk-aversive; he could fall clumsily into risk with you and the two of you would make it work. As long as he felt this bizarre, unnatural connection same as you did.

You’d find out.

You pressed yourself flush against him and drew your lips until you were a breath away. Then you kissed him.

The room and its occupants disintegrated, leaving only Regulus and you. Regulus dissolved into putty. His arms went around you again, one of them circling your waist entirely and a hand gripping your hip tight like letting you go would mean you never came back. His lips were soft if slightly chapped, moving against yours like they belonged there; there was no hesitation, no anxious energy. Regulus had lost himself in the moment, same as you. He wasn’t a Pureblood and you weren’t some Half-blood Gryffindor who had spent half the night pinning after a Slytherin who would keel over dead before wanting you. Regulus was different, and you hadn’t failed to sense it.

Regulus abruptly remembered his place and pulled from you. Your eyes were still fluttered shut, and it took several seconds before you noticed he was no longer wrestling with your lips.

You stared. Regulus wiped all emotion from his face, refusing to let you know he wanted a second kiss. You were not a good deceiver and every emotion you felt showed on your face, from confusion to lust to apprehension.

“That should not have happened,” Regulus murmured, glancing around. There were people staring; even some of your Gryffindor friends, like Lily Evans and Marlene Mckinnon, were aghast, eyeing the two of you like you had just committed a murder.

“Why?” you said confrontationally. “Did you regret it?”

Regulus glanced at you but didn’t say a word.

You could feel your heart plummet to your gut. “Yeah, okay,” you said, shaking your head. You knew he was being dishonest, but that didn’t stop you from feeling hurt at his blatant favoring of his reputation over a chance at this… this relationship. You jerked out of his slackened grip.

You fought tears as you walked away.

Regulus watched you go.

He knew what it felt like when towers crumbled and empires fell, as it happened frequently. His life fell apart more than it came together. He missed you the moment you left but he knew this was for the better. That kiss had meant more than Regulus would ever admit. He felt the connection and he knew there was a future that would happen if he allowed it, if he chose not to intervene. He was the inhibitor of a lot of good things, but he would rather see himself drown than another person swallow their breath underwater.

So he stared at your retreating back, wishing things were different.

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mesmusae · 3 years

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Severus: Lily

I know what Fandom says and thinks for the most part. And I know what Rowling has said. Both of which I reject. I don’t like this narrative that Severus was stalkery obsessed with Lily. I am disgusted at the “it’s a good thing harry wasn’t a girl who looked just like his mother” discussions. So let’s break down how I view their friendship.

Let’s start with them meeting. A lot of people take him watching Lily and Petunia at the park as creepy but here’s a few reasons why it’s not. 1) People watching. Literally everyone does this some. If you’re in a public place, you’re going to watch the other people there, see what they’re doing. 2) Shyness. Severus is clearly not a social person. He’s very introverted. Plus, we know he and his family are quite the social pariahs in the neighborhood. They’re looked down upon for being poor, and it seems that perhaps their family life isn’t so private either. He’s not just going to feel comfortable or safe approaching two girls who are from a much better off family. 3) Lily was doing magic in a public setting, in broad daylight. On purpose. For Severus, that’s quite impressive. And likely what caught his attention as well as being how he built up the courage to talk to her. He was like her, and it was clear he had answers that her family didn’t.

And that is how their friendship is born. It is born of this mutual thing they have in common. And Severus is getting to tell Lily everything he knows. She listens, she talks with him, asks him questions, everything. This is likely everything he doesn’t get at home. Lily has become a refuge. Which is perhaps unhealthy, but at this stage, she’s his friend.

Their first obstacle comes at the sorting. It’s clear that Severus wants Slytherin. He is starting to believe the toxic pureblood rhetoric at a young age. But then again, two thirds of his interactions with muggles are extremely negative. You have his father, who resents Severus and Eileen for what they are. He punishes them for it. And then there’s Petunia. Who is envious of Lily (and likely Snape on the magic front if nothing else) and lashes out because of it. There’s also the muggles around him, in which he gets only pity and a blind eye from as well as sneers and jdugement. And he knows he’s more powerful than them. But he can’t do a damn thing with that. So unlike most prejudice against muggles wizards, his prejudice lies in his real life experiences as opposed to people like Draco who are just raised to believe that muggles are scum and wizards are the elite but have likely never even interacted with a muggle.

He also wants Lily to come with him. Because he thinks she’s different. (Not a healthy mindset at all. But to him, she is the exception to the rule). Slytherin would not be a safe place for Lily (nor the safe place that he is expecting it to be for him). Though, I think if she’d been in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff it would have gone over better to him than Gryffindor.

The rift here begins, I think for a couple of reasons. 1) James and his group are now trying to interact with lily. With James of course later in the years growing romantically interested as well. And while we know that Lily is rejecting James’ friendship and romantic advances throughout school, Severus has a lot of mental health issues. Thus, I think his issues stem more from jealousy and fear. Fear that Lily will one day decide that he isn’t worth her time. Maybe she’ll think that James and his gang are in fact better. And that would leave him alone again because 2) Slytherin is not the Sanctuary he thought it would be. Slytherin was supposed to be his home away from “home”. He’d be amongst his kind. Except that Slytherin is a pureblood and very rich house. Most of the purebloods come from Old Money. Classism is a massive part of that. So not only is Severus not a pureblood, but his family is poor. He wears hand-me-downs that are often described as feminine blouses, meaning they’re probably coming from his mother. Add to that, his only friend is a muggle-born. Which he is obviously judged and mocked for. But he’s loyal to Lily. To a fault, honestly.

So he’s not only severely separated from his only friend from the start, but bullied by both the marauders AND his own housemates in Slytherin. And unfortunately, Lily is the cause to some degree on both sides. (that is not to say it is her fault. IT IS NOT HER FAULT. James’s decisions were his own, as well as the actions of those in Slytherin around Severus. And Severus’s actions in response are his own).

Now at some point, his feelings turned romantic. And unfortunately, Severus did not have many sources to look at for what it really means to love someone. Because his parents certainly aren’t the answer. And everything else would be at a distant. Also, again because he has so little and because of those fears of losing her, he is slightly possessive about that. He sees James as a threat.

And he’s having to find some way to fit in when it comes to Slytherin. And he finds that with potions. A particularly difficult class, but he didn’t struggle. And he was quite adept at defensive magic as well as dark magic, thus starting to give him value to his peers. And he of course starts to fall into the classic “bullies are often people bullied themselves.” He starts to partake in bullying the muggleborns, using the word, mudblood, etc. just to fit in amongst his own peers. And Severus is not stupid. He’s also not blind (well, in some ways he is). He is bound to see that pureblood rhetoric against muggleborns is bullshit. His issues lies with muggles themselves more so. And still a lot of wizards. At this point in his life, he’s become bitter, quick to anger and defense. Anyone who does him the slightest wrong is against him. He’s learned not to really forgive.

So let’s talk about the event. Snape’s worst memory. Where James is tormenting Severus, yet again. When Lily comes to his defense, and James tried to blackmail Lily into a date by using tormenting Severus, in a moment of weakness he lashed out at her. He used the term mudblood in regards to her. (And was then publically humiliated and shamed for it by James and the group).

Yes. He waited in the hallway all night for her outside the Dormitory. To apologize. Regardless of anything, he did not want to hurt her. So he apologized. And when she rejected him (Which i think had less to do with him using the word against her and rather the fact that there had been a rift growing for years and this was just he last straw). But he accepted that. I think he knew their friendship was over and had been for quite some time. He left her alone, and thus was completely intergrated into Slytherin and those who were molding him and shaping him.

Now. Just because they stopped being friends, doesn’t mean the caring stopped. They had their childhood memories they formed together. Severus was always going to have those feelings for Lily. It does not make it obsession. And I think of it like this.

I have a friend, who was more the Snape to my Lily. She was kind of an awful person, awful friend, and there came a point we cut each other out. (I’m not saying i’m entirely innocent in the destruction of that friendship. But I do view her actions as far more Severus’s toxic side than my own. But that’s besides the point). I did not stop caring about her altogether. Especially not immediately. Especially not right out of school. I still think of our friendship often. I think that if she came to me needing something, I would likely help her, even if I have a feeling she wouldn’t do the same for me.

So that is what I view Severus’s feelings towards Lily. Except stronger. Because Lily was the only light in his life. She was the only good thing. The only positive influence he really had. Adults were never on his side. His peers were rarely on his side. So losing Lily, he clung to what little he had. The death eaters who took him in under their wings over the years. Those who were promising him power and control, something he rarely had in his life.

But that care is what got him. He heard that part of the prophecy, and of course he kept track of his friend. Wizarding circles are small anyway. It probably spread without intent. He was scared for her. So he did his job, reporting the prophecy. But begged for her life. In his fear he didn’t think about James. The man that ruined his life and tormented him every chance he got. And he didn’t think about her child, not born yet. Because his reactions were emotional in knowing that Lily’s life was in danger.

So he went to Dumbledore to have her protected. And yes. Then her family was brought to his attention. And he did not hesitate to agree to keep them safe too. Listen. If Snape really wanted Lily for himself. If he really didn’t care about her at all, it would have been a fight to protect, at the very least, James. He would have argued against it. He instantly agreed because someone reached to the logic in him. And he agreed to risk his life to be Dumbledore’s spy. He signed on to do that for the rest of his life. He signed on to do whatever it took to protect Lily and her Family. So when it was just Harry left, he did everything he could. (that doesn’t mean he went about it right. But he did do his best to protect Harry). Until his very last breath. If it was just about Lily, he would have stopped the moment she died.

None of this was about sleeping with her. None of this was about winning her over or having her. He accepted that he fucked those things up. He accepted he had no place in her life. This was about making up for his mistakes. Or at least, trying to feel like he could. I don’t think even if he lived to see Harry win and everything, that he would think he had. But he certainly seemed to be trying to show he knew he was wrong, and trying to do the right thing. Total change was never possible for Severus. But the fact that he was even able to admit he was wrong in joining Voldemort and turn to the right side, is a massive step for him.

#[severus headcanons]#[severus about]#listen #snape is a tough character #he's morally grey #he's an asshole #he did not make the best decisions in his life #or treat people the best #but it isn't so black as he's a bad guy #and if you have questions or thoughts #send an ask #POLITELY

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procrastinatorimagines · 4 years

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Babysitting

Fandom: Chicago Med / One Chicago

Character/s: Will x Reader, Nat, Maggie, Owen

Warning/s: none

Word Count: 1,610

Request: Hello, first I hope you are having a good day! Second, could I please ask for a Will Halstead x Reader? Him and the reader, they are a couple, are taking care of Natalie's son and It's funny and fluffy? Thank you!!

Summary: Will and Y/N agree to babysit Owen for the night so Nat can have a much needed night to herself.

“Really? I- Okay, no I’m sorry of course, okay, thank you, feel better soon, bye.” You heard Nat sigh in frustration as she hung up the phone, standing off to the side as you waited for Will to finish getting changed from shift, Maggie stopping in her tracks in front of her to see what was going on.

“Everything okay Nat?” She asked as Nat rubbed her temple. Both women were dressed up for a night out, the first time in a long time they’d managed to make it work around work and home. Will headed out the door and the two of you started walking, overhearing more of the conversation as you approached.

“It’s- the sitter just cancelled, apparently she has a temperature and doesn’t want Owen to catch it, and now it’s too last minute to call someone else- and Owen isn’t great with strangers anyway-” Nat rambled, clearly exhausted and in serious need of this night with Maggie.

“Nat it’s fine, I understand,” Maggie reassured her, “we can do it another night,” she sounded disappointed but supportive, Maggie hadn’t had an easy time this year and she’d told you this night out was the first time in a while that she was feeling like her old self.

“I know, it’s just it took so long to find the time tonight and we haven’t really spent quality time together in such a long time,” Nat apologised as you and Will caught up to the two women.

“Need someone to watch Owen?” Will asked and all three of you looked to him, “I mean, we could, you deserve the night off Nat and Owen does know me.” Will looked to you and you shrugged, nodding as you turned back to Nat.

“Really? If you guys had plans-” She began but you waved her off.

“Nonsense, we’d be happy to, you both look like you need tonight to yourselves a lot more than we do,” you laughed and Nat smiled in appreciation.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said, clicking her tongue in thought, “er spare key’s where it’s always been, I left instructions for the sitter on the fridge, his granma’s are dropping him off home any minute, I’ll call her to let her know you’re coming then.”

“Sounds good,” Will replied. You knew him and Nat were back to being just friends, but he still missed spending time with Owen, and from what you’d seen when Owen came to daycare at the hospital, the feeling was mutual.

“You guys are sure?” Nat double checked before her and Maggie headed off.

“Yes, yes we’re sure, now go, enjoy your night,” you practically ordered them away and Nat nodded at last.

“Come on Nat, Owen’s in good hands,” Maggie told her as their taxi pulled up behind them, “besides, it’ll be good practice for when they decide to have some little redhead’s.” Maggie laughed and Will shook his head, practically shooing them into the car with promises that Owen would be fine, and that they had a night to get started.

They drove off quickly and Will turned to you with a slightly embarrassed smile. You’d been dating for over a year now and you’d never actually talked about having kids, you’d just kind of assumed Will did; the way he was around child patients and the way he was with Owen, he’d definitely make a great dad, but you hadn’t really given it much thought.

“Well, what are we waiting for? Owen’s going to the thrilled to see you,” you linked your arm in Will’s and the both of you headed towards you car, trying to brush off Maggie’s comment even though it was in the back of both your minds.

You probed Will on the drive over for everything you’d need to know about what Owen was like, what he liked and didn’t like, that sort of thing. You’d met him plenty of times, but you’d never actually taken care of him, but you’d spent enough time with your sister’s son to know what some kids could be a little bit more difficult than others.

Will was finishing the story of his black eyes by the time you arrived at the house, and you entered to find Owen playing in the living room while Helen watched over him, looking up when you both entered.

“Will Halstead,” she said with a smile, embracing him in welcome and kissing both his cheeks, “it’s been too long.”

“Yes it has, you look well,” he replied and she thanked him, turning her attention then to you. “Oh, this is my girlfriend, Y/N, Nat might have mentioned she was coming with me.”

“She did, it’s lovely to meet you,” she told you as the noise of building blocks toppling over drew your attention to the little boy barrelling out of the front room, over his creation, and straight to Will, a big grin plastered on his face.

“Will!” Owen yelled, practically slamming into him as he wrapped his arms around his legs in a big hug.

“Oof,” Will steadied himself and picked Owen up, “wow, you are getting so much bigger, soon I won’t even be able to pick you up!” He laughed.

“Okay, well, you’ll only need to watch him a couple of hours before he needs to go to sleep, he’s been fed and Nat left instructions on the fridge, as I’m sure she mentioned,” she informed you both, turned back to Owen and kissing him goodnight.

“I’ll see you very soon sweetheart,” she waved goodbye and he waved back as she left, Owen quickly getting Will to put him down and dragging him by the hand into the living room.

It was only when you were all in there that Owen seemed to notice your presence. “Who are you?” He asked, tilting his head a little as he sat in front of his toys and pulled Will down with him.

“I’m Y/N,” you told him, crouching down to join them.

“Do you know my mommy?” He picked up a block and held it out for you as Will watch on with a smile.

“Yeah I do, she’s a really good friend of mine,” you said, accepting the block with thanks as you shuffled to sit cross-legged on the floor.

“Will’s a really good friend of mine,” Owen informed you excitedly, pushing a giant pile of blocks in Will direction with the instruction to start building.

“Best friends aren’t we buddy?” Will suggested but he shook his head instead.

“I wouldn’t say ‘best’ friends,” he grinned and Will feigned insult as you laughed.

“Yeah he’s not all that great is he?” You joked and Will turned to you and mouthed ‘traitor’. You winked at him in response as Owen burst out laughing.

You were just starting to think that you had this whole kid thing down when you felt a whoosh of air pass your face. Blinking you realised that Will’s hand was in front of your eyes, a building block that Owen had just thrown inches from making contact.

“Oops, sorry,” he told you with a frown, “I thought you were going to catch it,” he explained, sliding you another one towards you slowly.

“We’ll be alright,” Will told you as he split some of his pile with yours. “How about I help Y/N make one? The two of us won’t nearly be able to make something as good as you.” He double checked with Owen, who just nodded, suddenly engrossed in his building.

The night consisted of a lot more building and a lot more destruction as you and Will played Owen’s game, which was either called ‘bulldozer’ or ‘explosion’, it changed each time but honestly they were both as disasterous as each other. But still, he was happy, and he was getting much better at balancing and building, he just had a tendancy to like watching them topple down, as children do.

Eventually it was time to put Owen to bed, something he was very reluctant about, you’d barely convinced him to put his pajamas on when he decided to climb onto your back, hiding from Will, who was getting his tooth brush ready so he could brush his teeth before bed.

Once you’d finally convinced him to get fully ready for bed he had sat with his arms crossed on his sheets and refused to fall asleep, which was more adorable than annoying given the fact that he was out like a light 15 minutes and a short story from you and Will later.

You both crept out the room once he was out, shutting the door lightly behind you and all but collapsing into each other as you leaned against the wall in the hallway, laughing quietly to yourselves.

“Wasn’t so bad,” you told him after a minute, smiling as he took your hand and laced his fingers in yours.

“No it was not,” he replied, kissing you sweetly. You stood together again in silence, oh that beautiful silence, before Will spoke again. “You’d make a good mom.”

You blinked at his comment, and took in the uncertainty on his face as he waited for you to response. Kissing him again you told him: “well, you’d make a good dad.”

A smile spread across his face as he ran his thumb over your hand. “Are we really talking about having kids?” He laughed quietly.

“Yeah I think we are,” you realised, “and I guess it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if we had them together one day.” He brushed the hair out of your face and looked into your eyes.

“One day,” he promised.

#will halstead #chicago med #one chicago #will halstead imagine #chicago med imagine #will halstead imagines #chicago med imagines #will halstead one shot #chicago med one shot #one chicago imagine #one chicago imagines #one chicago one shot #one shot

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ruubles · 3 years

Text

A Bundle of Crimson Roses (Pt.2)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Pairings: Chuuya Nakahara x Reader

Warnings: Cursing , Alcohol , Suggestive Themes , Gore , Blood, Violence

Word Count: 7,234

“It has been quite some time since I was last in this room, four years if my memory serves me correctly.” (Y/N)’s hands entwined themselves with one another, nails digging harshly into the subtly soft skin along the back of her hand. Across the table were numerous pairs of eyes trailed along every movement as if at any moment she would seize the opportunity to kill. If it had been back before her leave, then perhaps she would’ve taken the gamble and gone for such a kill; But time has its way of weakening even the strongest of wills

“I believe you’re right. The last meeting you attended was just before you had taken the position in Russia.” There was no helping the sharp laugh that scratched through her throat, bleeding into the air as if it were a snarl from a wild beast. Ogai quirked an eyebrow as he took his rightful spot at the head of the table, it was as though he hadn’t remembered that day the same as she had.

It had been merely a week after Oda’s passing and without Dazai, Mori knew of no way to keep her ability under his control: Everyone in the Port Mafia was under high pressure with the sudden disappearance of an executive. The people under her command during that time must have informed Ogai of a sudden increase in impulsive decisions because before there was time to fix it she had been called to his office. There wasn’t room for objection when he informed (Y/N) of her new position, a reassignment to the Russian wing of the mafia effective immediately. That same night she was on a plane flying two thousand miles away from the only home she’d ever known.

That was four years ago and the most that had been heard from the boss were small orders spread thinly across the months, each one less and less specified until he had eventually stopped communication all together. It had been for the better benefits of both parties, without Ogai constantly looking over her shoulder she was truly able to help the mafia flourish and even go as far as berading the Russian Mafia into equal standing. Without the threat of her abilities looming in his ranks, Mori had taken over a large deal of the weapons smuggling in Japan which in turn had nearly doubled the yearly profits.

“Taking the position would imply that it had been offered, where I am certain it had been ordered. You hadn’t given me the choice to stay or to go before you handed me an executive order and told me to make my way to the headquarters.” Their gazes met from across the table, his eyes as cold as the continuous fall of snow that occured on a daily basis in Russia. Her words seemed to have sparked a memory in his steelin eyes, glossing them over as he recalled what the happenstance for her leave had been.

Russia wasn’t that bad of a place, it was actually quite the opposite once she had managed to sort through the chaos that was the mafia. It had only taken a month to reclaim almost all of the Far East and once that area was under her command, SIberia was quick to follow suit. Though Ural had been a warzone for a year before they managed to snuff out any traces of the Russian Mob, but by defying odds, they managed to come out of it with the lesser amount of casualties. As of now there are attempts to make connections in Volga, though it is slow moving since the mob seemed to know every move that had been planned to make. The northwestern, central, and north regions are still under the unwavering control of the mob: People loyalties didn’t seem to change even as they watched the rise in strength of the Port Mafia.

Southern Russia was a whole different tale for both sides. It was a no man's land filled to the brim with rats. No matter how long they fought with the mob, both sides had come to terms with the liabilities faced with the presence of such insullant people in what had been claimed as their land. Both could kill each other ruthlessly for months, but in the end they’d both agreed that the destruction of Dostoevsky was to come first and foremost: He posed a greater threat even with such slim numbers.

“My apology, it must have slipped my mind at some point since your departure. It was quite a hectic time for us all.” Ogai lowered his gaze, no longer holding that insufferable chill but instead what resembled some sorts of regret. For the seven years (Y/N) had been working under him, she hadn’t seen him hold such a sorrowful look since the Dragon’s Head Conflict. Even then it was more ruth than regret, he hadn’t been sorry for the lives that were lost but for those who survived to hold their memory. Ogai Mori focused on the future and honored those that had paid for it with their lives, he hadn’t time to mourn their passing.

“Hectic is an understatement. It was chaotic.” Her hands fiddled with the fork, a chunk of chocolate cake still sitting soundly on its tip. It had nearly forgotten as they’d moved to a topic she’d tried so desperately to forget. Now it seemed to be the only thing that could capture her attention. “Any word on Dazai? Last time he and I spoke was before Oda’s death and then he was gone.”

“He resurfaced two years ago working under the Armed Detective Agency.” Ogai seemed delighted to change the topic, but he wanted even more to return to why she’d been brought back to Japan. He wouldn’t be as rude as to force the conversation to go back to it but eventually they'd need to delve deeper into the issue they were facing. For now, a sense of normality should be rebuilt to keep everybody in the organization calm.

“Yukichi been giving you a hard time Ogai?” Yukichi Fukuzawa and Mori Ogai had both done a large favor for her shortly after she’d agreed to work under the mafia’s guidance, though the two fought for opposing goals. Her situation had managed to bring them to a mutual point of interest- one that brought reward for both parties involved. If it hadn’t been for their aid then both her and Isaac would likely be far different people than the ones who work so diligently to protect the few things they’d managed to so selfishly cling to for these years. “That old man is as hard headed as ever I assume. It must be difficult for any of you to make any progress in furthering your goals.”

Ogai nodded and with nimble fingers took off his gloves, the white material slipping off digit after digit to reveal the pale skin that seemed to radiate with a grim promise of light. If it wasn’t for the blood that stained them red he would surely be seen as an angel. Usually Mori preferred to keep his gloves on, but in the presence of someone who could now be considered of equal status it was more so a show of distrust. This was his motion to return the conversation to the topic that has been standing still in the room, even if we diverted the people’s ears to something else their minds would still be clouded with the possibility of losing their abilities. A simple gesture that spoke so much if you had the skill that was required to read the motions of other people. She had been taught that skill for longer than I could remember, it had become more of a curse than a blessing.

“Everyone’s been briefed on the bare minimum of the situation we’re facing and I’d like to know if you could add anything to it (Y/N).” Mori had already given as much as he knew of what they are up against and finding more was difficult to say the least. Information brokers had their loyalties but fear outweighed even the motion of getting paid for a job, but that fear gave hints as to who exactly could manufacture a drug like this one.

(Y/N) put the final piece of cake down, it had been on her fork for several minutes and yet she hadn’t found the heart to take the final bite. So many thoughts had found their way into her mind and dug into scorned memories that it made it difficult to even consider stomaching the delicious sweets from Ms.Young’s bakery.

Information was an important detail when it came to dealing with any affair, but finding any regarding this new threat would be more difficult than anyone could have thought. Assumptions made by (Y/n) always had a habit of playing out in one way or another. but with something so dangerous threatening to cut at our numbers, it was important that they worked more on fact than fiction.

“I’ve contacted seven brokers in the past twelve hours, none of them have any news on this drug you’re talking about. If it actually does exist then it’s a miracle you even found out about.” She grabbed the papers she’d brought with her and pushed the near finished plate of cake to the side. Fingers ran along the edges of the sheets filled with useless nonsense that wouldn’t help formulate even the simplest of plans. “Mori I need you to be honest with me, how did you find out about this drug.”

“One of our members got shot during a raid this week.” Her eyes moved up from the paperwork to the elder man sitting by Koyo, Ryuro Hirotsu. The black lizards were skilled members of the Port Mafia so being able to take down one of their members was an accomplishment to say the least. “Whoever manufactured that type of bullet knew what they were doing: She had completely lost her ability within five minutes of it being administered.”

“Where are they now?”

“Gone. Assassinated in her own home last night .” Everyone in the room could practically feel the anger radiating from Tachihara, his fists clenched the edge of the table as he gave his enraged answer. The Mafia was seen as cruel and heartless but even they cared for the lives of their members, their friends. Even people like (Y/N) who hadn’t found a close comrade would still take the time to learn the names and faces of those they would be working with: She herself had taken several hours to do so last night in hopes of knowing the majority of the people who would be attending this meeting.

A deep sigh rasped through her chest, chipping at the calm demeanor she’d managed to hold to since her return. Her head fell back and a loud smack was heard as it came into contact with the wooden back of the chair. Things never seemed to work out in favor of the young executive: You could see as such by the way her (E/C) eyes flickered with such hopeless pain and then returned to their usual gravely glare.

Chuuya watched his new partner with interest, his curiosity from last night now coming to a peak as he learned new bits of information about the woman who he’d only briefly spoken with. It seemed as though she was on good enough terms with Mori but that still didn’t gain his trust: In his line of work, it was important to hold his hand close to his chest as to not allow any scurrilous people to see who he’d become close with. For now he would hold his complaints with an overstrung tongue until she did what he expected from anyone who came close nowadays; Leave him to rot without a second thought as to how much of a pain it would be to fill the void they’d created.

“Have you moved the body?” Her head still remained laxed as she asked the question, addressing it to anyone who had an answer to give. It was as though such simple words had deflated her hopes, jabbing at any resilient confidence that she’d held to throughout the restless night.

“No.” Tachihara was quick to answer with a stern but simple response that left no room for doubt.

“There it is.” (Y/N) leaned forward, (H/L) hair masking her face in a cascading shadow. Her eyes trailed along the table as though she was placing pieces of a puzzle together, each one falling into its designated place as all those sitting around Mori’s table awaited her explanation. Chuuya leaned forward in anticipation to hear what this new comrade was saying. “The first lead.”

Around the table people collected their ideas and made harsh implications as to who exactly this mystery executive was. Out of the dozen people sitting solemnly in the room, only three had any prior knowledge of her and they made the correct decision not to hold a crude attitude towards her. Mori had, of course, known of (Y/N) for the longest time of the three: Having met her when she was only fifteen, several months after he’d taken the place of the former boss. Kouyou had shared little words with her but knew of her abilities to maintain such a high position in the mafia with what seemed to her as little effort. Hirotsu had merely known her name and had been tasked with keeping her under guard until this meeting, though he had ultimately failed, seeing as she managed to slip away only an hour after their first conversation.

(Y/N) pushed her chair away with a loud screech that seemed to push away the silence still filling the room. Her hands made deft work of the paper, their corners aligning in mere seconds as she ran her hands along their sides. The final piece of cake still laid untouched on the plate that now sat abandoned atop the table. Without a second glance, she turned, (E/C) eyes set sharply on the door, feet moving with gentle clicks of her heel; Her motions could be deemed practiced as she so confidently strode away from some of the most heinous criminals in the city. “Do you fear me?”

The room's quizzing thoughts seemed to come to a stop all at once, everyone’s eyes drifting back to the woman who was only inches from the door. Chuuya was prepared to follow her from the room, as they were now partners, but he stayed still with a significant interest in what she was saying. Of course she hadn’t meant to address any of those around the room as they had seen nothing of what abilities she truly possessed; Mori had.

“With your vehement skills I doubt there are many who do not fear for their life in your presence. I’ve been lucky to keep your loyalties under my reign, so I will not make the mistake of giving an answer to this question.” Mori stood, gloved hands folded behind his back in an almost arrogant manor. “I must commend how powerful you are (Y/N). Far beyond what I’d expected when I’d first had the pleasure of meeting you.”

Her laugh was gentle, like the crimson petals of a rose dripping with fresh morning dew in the fields of Elysium. It was a pleasant sound that caught any person’s ear and forced their head to her. “You are far more reserved than many of the people I’ve met in my lifetime, but I quite like that quality. Mori Ogai, may your rule over the mafia be beneficial to this city.”

Without another word, she left.

~ x ~

Chuuya hesitantly looked over to the passenger of his car, his vermillion eyes trapped by her hunched figure. (Y/N)’s eyes scanned over the passing city, lights twinkling in the gloomy darkness of the night. The two hadn’t spoken to one another since (Y/N) had made her departure from the meeting; Their current situation had come about when she’d seen Chuuya leaving and he motioned for her to join him. He’d had a plan to speak with her but the silence that followed his gracious offer had swatted away that idea near instantaneously

This scenario hadn’t gone to either of their likings, Chuuya had wanted to go alone without the burden of another partner weighing him down. Yet when he saw her standing still in the setting light, waiting for something, he had the urge to strike up what would hopefully be another exhilarating conversation. Perhaps that was his desire to know who he’d be working with in these coming days in fear that they would become someone similar to his last partner.

On the other hand, (Y/N) didn’t mind either way if he were to accompany her or not. She’d been standing before the mafia’s headquarters waiting for a car that Mori claimed would pick her up soon, but after ten minutes she’d given up hope and decided instead to join Chuuya. Personally, she’d wished to make her way to the scene as soon as she’d left the meeting, but Mori hadn’t given her the go ahead until the sun began to set. It had been an annoying situation in her opinion but with the added hours of recreational time she’d managed to check-in with the mafioso who’d taken to running the Russian portion of the Port Mafia in her absence. Everything was going according to plan, which would mean that hopefully she’d be flying back to Russia within the week.

A quiet ring fluttered through the stifling silence but neither of them made a move for their phones. Chuuya could see his dark screen, without any sign of contact from his underlings. He knew it had to be her who was receiving a call but never did she move to answer; Instead her eyes, hollow and void, stayed trailed on the passing buildings. Soon those towering works of architecture would turn to natural tree’s of a forest as they neared their destination. After several minutes, the phone’s ring stopped only to start a moment later.

Sighing, (Y/N) reached into her pocket and pulled the phone to where she could see it. Her hands made quick work to silence the ringer but she didn’t ignore the call. Instead she pressed the answer button and brought the device to her ear. “What’s up?”

“Where are you?” Isaac was quick to the point, annoyance obvious in the way his loud words stabbed through her ear. Chuuya heard mumbled shouts through the line but couldn’t quite make out what was being said. “Dinner’s ready and I’ve yet to even receive a message from you, so I’m going to make the assumption that you haven’t even left the office yet.”

“I’ve left the office.” (Y/N)’s eyed the street as Chuuya made a sharp right turn, it was a clean motion that made it clear he was well acquainted with his car. “But I don’t think I’ll be able to make it in time. Mori has me doing some recon with a new partner.”

“Are you fucking kidding me!” Isaac snapped through the phone, she could only imagine the look of anger that had likely appeared on his face from her honest claim. Her plan had been to take her time checking out the scene then be back to town in time for Isaac to take her home, but Mori had put her in a bit of disposition. Instead, it was late and she wouldn’t be back in town for a while. “If I had my ability connected to you then I’d drag you here myself, but I guess this can’t be helped. You better make it up to them though; Disappointing me is a usual occurrence for you but they deserve more than that.”

Chuuya felt a bit bad as he could see the tiredness on her face and he knew that whoever was shouting on the other end of the line wasn’t helping. He watched as she took a deep breath, chest beginning to rise and fall in a pattern. “I’ll find a way. Have a nice night.”

Not long after she’d wish him a nice night did Isaac hang up the phone, two beeps signaling the ending of the phone call. She pocketed the device and leaned into the window once more, heat from her body causing fog to slowly creep along the once clear glass. Chuuya opened his mouth as if he wanted to ask a question, but there was little he could think to say as he watched her dissociate from her surrounding environment. Part of him believed she was naive, joining him in his car without even asking a question and the way she trusted him enough to turn her back to him in such a confined space, but he didn’t see her reflection. Though the latter was far different, her eyes had been glued to his reflection in the window from the moment she’d situated herself in his passenger seat; She waited for the moment he’d make an attempt to do something, anything, but it never came.

“Thank you for the ride.” It had taken a half hour for either of them to brave past the awkwardness inside the car and her tone was quiet as if she didn’t truly want to say them, but Chuuya took the moment to continue on.

“It’s no problem, I’d just finished up some paperwork and thought you could use a ride if we’re going to the same place. We are going to the same place, right?” The sudden realization hit that he hadn’t a clue where she wanted to go and he wanted to be sure that their destination was agreed upon. “The crime scene?”

(Y/N) chuckled at his distressed words, “That would be correct.”

Once again a silence overtook the car, their momentary conversation coming to an end after only a short share of sentences. (Y/N) had taken to her phone, it's screen alight as she scrolled through what seemed to be countless messages. After several minutes of reading she began to click away a very sternly worded message to one of her subordinates. Chuuya went back to driving, his eyes ever so often glancing at his GPS to ensure he was still driving in the right direction.

“You never answered my question.” (Y/N) slammed her phone down on her lap and Chuuya pretended not to notice her obvious anger. Chuuya quirked a brow at her question, head turning to meet her (E/C) eyes in the darkness. She was obviously tired with the way her eyes sunk into her skull and the bags presented them self so sternly. “Did you enjoy the wine?”

“Oh. Yeah, I did. It was quite the bottle, didn’t think I’d be drinking anything that fancy last night.” His face turned sour at an unpleasant memory. “Also didn’t think I’d be drinking as disgusting as the one your friend offered me.”

“In Isaac’s defense, I did ask him for the shittiest bottle he had on the shelf. Apparently it’s the one he gives to people he doesn’t like.” She smiled and turned her phone over when a message made the screen turn on once again. “Might explain why he gave it to me.”

“I thought you two looked close, was my assumption of friends not correct?”

(Y/N) dropped her head, skull smacking against the headrest as she let out a bitter laugh once again. “Isaac and I are a lot more than friends, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t hate him a majority of the time. He’s quite pretentious.”

“You’re different from that woman I met last night; More uptight, scrutinous. That woman who stole my hat wouldn’t have asked a mafia boss if he was scared of her.”

“What can I say, I have many different faces. Same could be said for you Mr.Nakahara.” (Y/N) jabbed at his last name, using a formality that he didn’t truly enjoy. Not many called him by his last name, though it was seen as informal in Japan, and he preferred it that way. “You seem a lot more relaxed than when you were yelling at that young man in the hallway this morning.”

Chuuya’s face fell as he recalled this morning's events: The hangover had only heightened his senses and formed a brutal knot that attacked his head throughout the day. While on his way to the meeting he’d had a run-in with a newer mafioso who had purposely bumped shoulders with Chuuya thinking he was better than the executive himself. That had ended in quite the outburst on the executives half, it had been loud but it got the point across. Disrespect was intolerable in Chuuya’s eyes and the ache in his head had only been nurtured by the yelling he’d done, so of course his anger at the newer member only increased as the day went on. He knew it was wrong but there was little he’d have done differently.

“He was a little punk.” Chuuya grumbled.

They both fell back into a silence, but it no longer rang with an unsaid tension or insatiable curiosity. Instead it seems to flutter with a peaceful wisp of camaraderie as both parties came to a mutual understanding: Neither of them wanted to be partners but until they could find a way out of this arraignment, they might as well do the bare minimum and get along with one another. It would be better not to build any new alliances to the core of the port mafia considering as soon as this was solved, (Y/N) would be flying back to Russia and likely wouldn’t maintain contact with anyone she’d met during her time here.

Finally, after what seemed to span the length of hours, Chuuya made the final turn into a large driveway. Whoever had passed was surely paid well during their time at the mafia. The driveway was circular, encasing a large tree with withered branches that seemed to scratch the star filled sky. Two cars were parked in front of a large house that seemed to hold remnants of classical French architecture, several hints of Japanese style building melded nicely with the classical look. It stood tall, enclosed by shorter surrounding trees, but it was still welcoming; Every part of it held a feeling of home as if someone had spent their whole life building wonderful memories inside the building.

(Y/N) was the first to leave the car, not waiting for any gestures of chivalry from the man who had been kind enough to drive her so far from the city. She’d realized quite a long time ago that people would do the bare minimum to help you but would ask for the world in return. Chuuya was quick to follow her lead, hand working to take the key from the ignition before leaving his car and being sure to lock it. The two walked fairly far from one another, their eyes wandering in case there were any unwarranted guests still lurking in the area.

The steps to the front door were quickly scaled, Chuuya using an unnecessary amount of his ability to propel himself up the half a dozen stone stairs. (Y/N) took the steps in pairs and in a moment was standing beside her newly assigned partner: Her eyes began to wander along his body, gathering every bit of his appearance to her memory- from the choker wrapped snugly around his neck and down to the slight heels of his boots. A light red coated his feet for a moment before eventually dissipating; She was left to assume it was his ability, Gravity Manipulation.

She’d spent her night researching the many new people who’d been taken to working under Mori in her absence; Many of them had dark and depressing tales, but she didn’t judge for her’s wasn’t much better. Instead she took note of which part of their past might have pushed them to be considered a vain and villainous member of the Port Mafia: Motives often told if someone would inevitably betray you. Yet the most elusive of them all seemed to be her partner himself, even if he were an executive she should still have had access to any documentation of his early life. Nothing. No mention of a family, no close friends, no reason to live a life like this.

All she got from an hour of scouring documents was his ability, an address, and several mission reports that when looked at through her perspective made little to no sense. Perhaps if she had been closer with Dazai around that time frame then some parts of it would have made more sense: King of Sheep, Arahabaki, Rando. Her only connections to Dazai during those few years were their shared title of executive, several miniature missions during the Dragon’s Head Conflict, and Oda. None of it had made for long, friendly conversations; She was much like him in some ways, never attending the meetings where she might have met Chuuya, but unlike him she never was one to take to a partner or a trainee. Another person would only get in her way.

She was a shadow, faceless to all but those closest to her, feared by those who knew of her power: Mori made sure that her true identity remained furtive. One thing every person opposing the Mafia knew was that trust was never an option, it would only take a single wrong assumption before they’d be stabbed in the back by what was thought to be their friend. Once the Dragon’s Head Conflict had come to an end anybody who knew of her true identity had gone missing under what is still considered ‘Mysterious Circumstances’, of course there were several who still knew what she was capable of but those were the people that there was no need to kill: They were either an ally or to far in her past to matter during that time.

Lost in thought, she was only returned when Chuuya attempted to open the door, soon to realize that it remained locked, a disappointed groan rasped through his chest. He had thought that whoever had been here last might’ve had the common sense to leave it unlocked for when the next investigators were to arrive. The house didn’t officially have an address so supposedly the only people who knew of it were those in the mafia; Well now that list would also include whoever had taken her life. Perhaps it was best that they didn’t have a way into the building, it was very late and (Y/N) seemed to be tiring rather quickly. Chuuya was in a similar stance, his vermilion eyes sunken with the pain of an unending headache.

“Well this is a major bust.” Chuuya made a turn and began to make his way back to his car, its black nearly hiding it in the darkness of the night. After a moment he realized that the presence beside him was missing as (Y/N) still stood rooted to her spot before the large doors. The two waited in silence, Chuuya’s eyes on her and her eye’s on the door blocking her from completing the job.

(Y/N) reeled her leg back, jumpsuit clutching to every inch of her body except for her hands and face- (S/C) fingers balled into fists as she prepared for the incoming impact to the door, face rigid with seriousness but still being just as beautiful as it had been gleaming in the bar light. She was the definition of perfect with a body handcrafted by whatever god pulled the strings of life, it was strange to see how all her little imperfections came together to make something so stunning. Chuuya hadn’t time to admire any of that, instead his focus remained on the fact that she had only the need for a single kick to take the doors down. Their hinges creaked under the force before the doors well flat to the ground with a loud thud.

“No need for a door if she’s dead.” Her words would come off as heartless to anyone, but Chuuya understood what she meant by it. To the latter it was merely her way of saying that they’d come this far and without anyone living inside the building there wasn’t much of a need for a door anymore. Perhaps he should have been angry with the way that she’d worded it, so cruel to a fallen friend of his, but there wasn’t a need to strike an argument over something so trivial. He understood well enough that people in this line of work weren’t ones to usually feel remorse at the loss of a life.

She was first to enter the house, not waiting for her partner to say anything more as she set out to find the truth as to what exactly was the reason behind her return. Mori had given her little information and no broker in the city seemed to know anything so the last hope was dissecting the body of their fallen comrade. Of course she felt forlorn, she hadn’t known this woman but yet was asking her to sacrifice her body for the sake of others. (Y/N) had killed, there was no denying that, but even after all the lives she’d taken, she still wasn’t numb.

Numbness would only succumb when the light of her own eyes dwindled from its constant flicker to a mere ashy stare. Hundreds have died at her hand and she felt little remorse, but every person was like a scar- digging their scared nails across her skin as she killed without mercy. The first scratch always hurts the worst but with every new person falling to their knees before her, the pain slowly begins to fade; But it was still there, in the very depths of her mind. After so many years she might as well just be considered numb; Her dither long since gone and any guilt for the torutre she’d put people through had slowly leaked from her mind as if it were an open drain. Their lives meant little to her, only stepping stools to allow her to climb to her status at the top.

The house was dark, itching with a silence that crept along the corners in fear of being smothered by rattling steps. Chuuya noticed the uneasy air as he walked mere steps behind (Y/N), it was as though the silence itself had taken a conscious form and was preparing to strangle them in a single moment. Their steps mixed to one in a dance of paired solitude and both their breaths seemed to do the same: In seperate bodies they became one to make the sounds of their presence near indistinguishable. In that moment their minor disagreements had faded and they became a team made in heaven but fallen to the hellish life of the mafia. If anyone were to still be in that house then their life would likely soon be ended.

(Y/N) was the first to come to the end of the hall, her steps coming to a halt in a matter of seconds as she scanned the large open area. The hall they passed through had only been twenty paces through the door, meaning that whoever had broken in to commit the crime had either been very quiet or came in via a different route. They had passed several doors along their way but nothing inside them had caught her attention; An office in pristine shape with papers stacked high atop its glimmering wooden surface, a closet only half full of shoes and clothing that likely belonged to a mixture of genders, and a bathroom with a set of standard mission clothes laying on its tile floor. In her mind (Y/N) could see what had happened that night: She had entered her home and quickly stripped from her blood soaked clothing, as for the rest she would likely find more the further she explored the house.

Whoever this woman had been, she had quite the taste in architecture. The hall led into an area that seemed to act as a living room of sorts, a couch and television situated by a large wall of windows. On the other side of the glass was a large garden with paths leading further into the depths of its secrets. To the left was a floating staircase that led to the second story and to the right was a kitchen, only separated from the living room by a marble island.

“I’ll search upstairs and you can take it down here.” Chuuya pushed by (Y/N) as he spoke, his voice low enough so that only she could hear. He doubted that anyone was still in the house, even if there were then they likely knew of their presence, but being cautious in these times would not only keep himself safe but his partner as well. “If you need help then don’t be afraid to call.”

He didn’t wait for a response as he climbed the stairs and disappeared into the depths of the darkness. Standing alone in the center of the house made her surroundings feel so much larger, the space behind her was no longer radiated with warmth. Upstairs she could hear the creak of the floorboards as Chuuya walked down the halls, (Y/N) focused her sights on the kitchen and slowly crept over. Her hand ran along the smooth white walls and finally, upon stepping foot on the kitchen tiles, she felt the light panel beneath her fingers.

She flipped the switch and the light hanging from the ceiling lit the room with a brightness that not even the moon could provide at this hour. Without the darkness lingering through the air (Y/N) was finally able to properly see the area around her. It was sparkling and clean, pristine as though it had been cleaned thoroughly the day before. No blood, no body, and certainly no danger. It was almost peaceful.

Almost.

(Y/N) could see the splatter of blood drenching the cushions of the light gray sofa, the red looked almost black from so far away but she knew the truth behind it. When blood is dried then it darkens and the stain is likely to never be clean from the surface. The woman had rid herself of her blood stained clothes and used a towel to wash away the visible streaks on her skin (It was impossible to erase the ones along her soul) and had rested upon the couch to recuperate from such a burdensome mission; Then she had been killed. Mori had said the body would be covered with a sheet in preparation of dissection, but yet there was no sheet in sight.

Someone had been here long before their arrival, and that person was no friend of the mafia. Whoever had come here and disturbed the scene had taken the body as to prevent any information from being extracted: With the blood having been left out for so long there was likely little remaining information to be collected from it. The body was gone and so were any of the leads that had been left with it. The only hope they had now was if those that had discovered the body before them had been wise enough to at least collect some samples of their DNA.

(Y/N) sighed and left the kitchen, light still fluttering throughout the bottom most floor of the house. Her feet clicked gently against the wooden floors as she slowly walked towards the blood stained couch. The blood clashed violently with the white cushions and it was obvious that her death had been the cause of blood loss, one large pool and several surrounding droplets proposed the idea of a knife wound rather than a gunshot.

She turned away from the stain in an almost defensive manner and scanned the rest of the area, eyes clawing through the darkness searching for something that wasn’t quite there. “Did you find anything down here?”

“Missing body. Cause of death likely a knife wound.” Chuuya jumped down the last two steps and stalked towards her, hands in his pocket. He walked past her and to the couch, his hand trailing along the top of the cushion and down to the stain.

“You figured all of that out from a couple of blood stains?” He nearly chuckled at the confidence that laced itself through her analyses.

“If it were poison there wouldn’t have been a blood stain. Gunshot wounds would be more splattered and less centered around a focal point. Whether it be a stab or a slice across the neck, a knife would cause the blood to drip to a specific point. It’s simple enough logic.” (Y/N) wasn’t paying attention to Chuuya as she spoke, her explanation dripping methodically from her mouth as her (E/C) eyes locked onto something.

The back doors gleamed with reflections of the kitchen's light, but through that bright light were shadows. Dark and dripping with mystery they encased the gazebo in an unnatural darkness. Chuuya continued to talk about what they were to do now, but his words fell on deaf ears as (Y/N)’s hand reached for the door handle. With one hard pull the door slid to the side and made an opening more than large enough for her to pass through. It seemed as though Chuuya hadn’t noticed as he continued to look around the lower floor to look at the stains on the couch.

With little hesitation, (Y/N) left the warmth of the house's walls and stepped into the cold breeze of the autumn outdoors. Her shoes had a different click as they went from the hardwood floor to a pathway of large rocks. The backyard was large and spiraled with countless flowers that danced in the moonlight, hundreds of bushes that still seemed to bloom even in the coming winter. Rows of Lilacs scatter around, their purple clashing violently with the numerous roses bushes scatter about, the red petals dancing with the color of blood and making (Y/N) cringe. They were such beautiful flowers, but they lulled people in with their beauty and then painted their petals red with their victims blood.

The closer she stepped to the gazebo, the more she noticed the shadows retreating as her eyes adjusted to the environment. Finally she was able to see what she had actually caught sight of from the house.

A head, severed from its body laid in a small pool of dried blood, far less than there should have been. It was clear that the head was from the victim, her long hair was matted with blood and the area where her neck met the concrete had gnarled skin and cuts that had scabbed with dried blood. Her eyes were open, glossed over as though she were still alive and trapped in a trance. Her mouth was slightly agape, trails of blood running from the corners of her mouth and down her face.

#bungou sd #bungou stray dogs chuuya #bungou stray dogs kouyou #bungo stray dogs dazai #bungou stray dogs #chuuuya #chuuya nakahara #tw alchohol mention #violence #blood #gore #xreader #reader insert #bsdxreader #mori ougai #port mafia #chuuya x reader #chuuyaxreader #chuuya nakahara x reader

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thebibliomancer · 3 years

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Essential Avengers: Avengers #233: The Annihilation Gambit!

July, 1983

“Up against... the BARRIER!”

Pretty cool cover!

So here’s the thing. This is a crossover with Fantastic Four. John Byrne even gets a credit for breakdowns and co-plotting.

I’m not going to completely cover the related FF issues but I’ll dip into the relevant parts of them.

For example, let’s discuss Fantastic Four #254 which coincided with the ending of Avengers #232. The thing with the fleeing crowd that didn’t know what they were fleeing and the invisible wall She-Hulk bonked off of? What’s the deal with that?

Allow me to summarize.

The Fantastic Four went off to explore the Negative Zone and had a series of weird and silly adventures. They left Alicia behind to babysit Franklin but Annihilus popped out of the portal and took them captive. This happened back in #251 so he’s had the run of the place for a while!

He’s been making modifications to the Negative Zone Access Portal and adapting the generators. For whatever reason, switching the machine on sends out potent fear waves which causes everyone to flee the area of the Baxter Building. There scene where She-Hulk and Wasp see the fleeing crowd and bonks off an invisible wall repeats.

And that’s all you need to know! Annihilus is messing around, potent fear waves, invisible wall, Avengers!

Now let’s get to the Avengers part of this crossover.

The Avengers issue of Avengers starts with Captain Marvel booking it over New York musing about what an eventful day she’s had as a full-fledged Avenger.

What with having to rescue President Reagan after he was taken hostage by soggy swamp men. Then Eros (Starfox) showed up and insisted on joining. Then Monica, Starfox, and Thor went off to catch Plantman who engineered the presidential hostage thing. All of that in only six hours!

Monica Marvel Rambeau is on her way to the mansion to give her report when she too bonks into something.

Captain Marvel: “It was as if I bounced off some sort of invisible wall! But that doesn’t make sense!”

Yeah, it really doesn’t!

As Monica herself points out, the wall is invisible ie light is going through it. So her light form should be able to go through it too!

Its a very selective invisible wall, apparently. And it gives her a weird ominous feel to touch.

But she’s not going to let sleeping walls lie and decides to try different energy forms to see if anything can get through.

Annnnnnd. Radios, cosmic rays, electricity, infrared, x-rays, and even gamma rays can’t get through. Although, Monica has the feeling that the wall gave a bit under the gamma, but not enough to matter.

Monica detours around the wall and heads back towards her original destination. AVENGERS MANSION!

When Monica arrives, cool team leader Janet the Wasp van Dyne is talking with the police. Obviously the police aren’t equipped to deal with an invisible dome.

At the least, though, Jan uses the NYPD data-link to figure out where the giant dome is centered.

Also, Wasp has another new outfit. This is the same day.

But its pretty snazzy black and purple so I won’t complain.

Monica tells Jan that Big Trouble is brewing and Jan is basically like ‘oh god now what’ but thankfully Monica and Jan are on the same case.

MEANWHILE, Steve Rogers’ modest Brooklyn Heights apartment. Where Steve Rogers is not having a conversation about his feelings with his girlfriend Bernie Rosenthal because his feelings are classified!

Steve Rogers: “In a way. It’s Avengers business!”

I’d mock this but what has Steve bummed and pacing like a caged bear is that Tony Stark, his good pal who he’ll never Civil War with, has quit the Avengers, gave Iron Man up to someone else, and is trying to drink himself to unconsciousness.

Which is very concerning! But also something you can’t really share the full details of without revealing a lot of secrets that aren’t yours to reveal! I feel like you could at least say ‘I think my friend is an alcoholic but won’t accept my help’ without spilling secrets but shrug.

At least Steve is open with Bernie. Yeah, she knows he’s Captain America!

Truly, the man is a role model. Not just as a superhero but also on dating.

Steve gets a BZZZT on his snazzy cool radio wristwatch, possibly the coolest thing to wear on one’s wrist ha ha don’t think about Avengers wearing Apple Watches.

Anyway, Jan updates Steve on the invisible - and expanding - dome. And that weirdly, there doesn’t seem to be anyone trapped inside because everyone ran away from it because its inexplicably spooky.

So Steve rushes off to Save The Day, stripping mid-run because that’s the kind of casualness and comfort you can have in a relationship where you’re open and honest.

See how Steve didn’t have to make up a half-assed excuse? Maybe think about that, Spider-Man. You’re not in this scene but maybe think about it.

Meanwhile again, the Baxter Building.

Where thankfully for people not reading Fantastic Four, we get an echoed scene where Annihilus motive rants at captive audience Alicia Masters.

Basically, Annihilus is feeling very bummed that Blastaar stole his Cosmic Control Rod in Marvel Two-in-One #75. For one thing, it really tied his whole outfit together. For another, without it, Annihilus isn’t immortal and he’s freaking out about dying. And not dying eventually, he’s apparently got Doom-level messed up face now from how he’s degrading.

So really the only real way to come to terms with mortality is to destroy two whole universes so you don’t die alone.

Annihilus broke Reed’s Negative Zone Access Portal and used its power core to power his own impenetrable NULL-FIELD. Which I guess is the invisible dome.

Annihilus: “How wonderfully ironic -- that a device which once produced a gateway between two universes should provide the power to utterly destroy them!”

I’m missing some middle steps here but basically invisible dome -> ??? -> destruction of the Negative Zone and the, uh, Positive Zone.

A MEEP MEEP from a computer which may be a roadrunner gets Annihilus’ attention and he sees to his shock that She-Hulk has planted her feet and is trying to bodily hold the dome back.

It’s not working but its slowing it almost imperceptibly and even that’s supposed to be impossible.

Annihilus: “What manner of creature is this?!”

I’d guess gamma-powered She-Hulk is having a tiny bit of luck against the dome for the same reason that Captain Marvel did when she tried gamma radiation.

Wasp, Captain America, and Captain Marvel show up to help She-Hulk.

She-Hulk tells the other Avengers that the invisible dome keeps “oozing over everything inanimate” but that she(-Hulk) can’t stop it.

Cap suggests using his shield despite the risk of losing it inside the dome.

Because, when Captain America uses his mighty shield, all who oppose his shield must yield. So maybe he’s onto something.

She-Hulk plants the shield in the ground in the path of the dome.

So good news/bad news.

The dome doesn’t swallow up the shield. But the dome just pushes the shield, carving a little furrow in the ground.

That cracks me up a little, I will not lie.

I don’t know why Cap’s super cool shield is exempt from getting schlorped up by the null-field but now they have a good idea where it is without having to bonk!

Speaking of bonk, Thor and Starfox come to join the party and Starfox runs right into the invisible wall.

Hee hee hee.

He also drops right into She-Hulk’s arms and they have a mutual banter moment.

She-Hulk: “Hmm! I’ve never had anyone fall for me like this before!”

Starfox: “I assure you it was totally unplanned... but rarely have I fallen into such open and inviting arms!”

If I recall correctly, they do hook up at one point and then years later She-Hulk beats seven kinds of shit out of him when the question arises of whether his powers influenced her into it.

At least Starfox is receptive and she’s not stalking Ben Grimm.

Anyway, Thor tries his hand at busting the null-field by shooting a bunch of lightning at it. Even though Captain Marvel tells him she already tried electricity.

Thor gotta Thor though.

And when the field stands firm against all the lightning, he gets pissed and hurls his hammer into it.

Mjolnir flies into the field, loses steam, and just pitches gently to Earth.

Bit confusing. I wonder why Cap’s shield can’t go through the dome but Mjolnir can.

BY THE WAY, THEY LEFT CAP’S SHIELD JAMMED AGAINST THE DOME.

They don’t comment on it but you can see it still gouging up the pavement. I guess they’re using it to mark where the dome is?

Amazing.

Anyway, Thor marvels at how Mjolnir left no mark on the invisible barrier and how its not returning to his hand like it should. Clearly there’s some weird property of the barrier interfering with Mjolnir.

Cap points out yeah thats interesting but isn’t there something that happens if you have Mjolnir out of hand for too long?

So Thor runs away and turns into Normal Doctor Donald Blake in an alleyway where nobody can see it happen.

Again: amazing.

Thor is basically out of the story because Normal Doctor Donald Blake can’t do anything to affect the barrier and he can’t get Mjolnir back while its up. So he’s just going to be twiddling his thumbs.

MEANWHILE, at Cross Technological Enterprises.

Hawkeye tries to cajole inventor Jorge to build some contraption for him but the man protests that he designed it in his spare time but if he builds a working model on staff, CTE will own the invention.

Unless someone approves a sub-contractor waiver that will let him keep the rights but who would do such a thing for him??

Hawkeye decides that as head of security he’ll do such a thing. I don’t know if head of security has any kind of sway like that but I imagine that won’t stop Hawkeye from insisting that he does.

Then Hawkeye hears about the Avengers dealing with the dome thing and gets sad that he can’t be out there with them.

Hawkeye: “Blast it, I oughta be out there with the rest of the Avengers! But, as long as my leg’s in a cast, I’m a liability to ‘em... until I prove otherwise!”

Maybe focus on letting your leg heal!

I don’t know what nonsense you’re brewing up and I know that months is forever in comic book time but maybe just take the time and let your leg heal up!

Back over at the Avengers, Cap and Wasp now justify to the others why Thor took off. Claiming that they sent him on a scouting mission. Captain Marvel objects that scouting is her specialty, what with the lightspeed dash, so Cap claims that brute force isn’t helping so its more important to have Captain Marvel’s versatility here.

Leading She-Hulk to snark that brute force not working doesn’t give her a lot to do.

Starfox has become instantly bored with the plot because he’s here for adventure dangit, so he wanders off to go flirt with an EMT.

Because Starfox.

A Quinjet arrives, because Wasp has put her true superpower to work.

The power of NETWORKING!

Aka, she placed a call to Vision and Scarlet Witch and they just showed up to help.

Wasp explains the situation and Vision decides he’s going to intangible through the field.

Vision: “Interesting. It does have an oddly unsettling ‘feel’ to it!”

Then he walks through and instantly collapses face first into the asphalt.

The Avengers’ bumbling attempts to deal with the null field are almost farcical really.

Scarlet Witch is alarmed by her robot husband faceplanting so tries to use her plot-resolving probability powers on the invisible barrier but to no avail.

OH NO HER DOES ANYTHING POWER DID NOTHING!

She bangs on the invisible wall yelling Vision’s name but Cap tells her “that won’t do any good!”

True but c’mon. Her robot husband just collapsed. Have some understanding.

Although I wonder what’s going on here.

The field goes over inanimate objects but doesn’t let Cap’s shield through. Mjolnir and Vision can go through it (although Vision does the intangible) but lose power shortly after entering.

Then again it is called a “null-field.” It probably does whatever it wants.

I’m just wondering whether Vision counts as an inanimate object or not. He’s very animate but he’s not strictly speaking biologically speaking alive.

Meanwhile, in the Baxter Building, Annihilus is laughing up a storm at the Avengers’ silly hijinxes. But mostly in the ‘they thought they could stop me’ sense.

Annihilus: “Lesser beings such as these are helpless before the genius of Annihilus! They do not deserve to live -- just as I do not deserve to die! I curse the fates which have robbed me of my rightful immortality! But even though life slowly ebbs from the dissipated body within my exo-skeletal armor, still shall I be Annihilus... still shall I be He-Who-Annihilates!”

And he pulls the Big Dramatic Lever.

Outside, Starfox is still flirting with the paramedic while she asks whether he should be helping the other Avengers?

Starfox: -squishes her face- “Alas, I am not a full Avenger. I am but a trainee, at the others’ beck and call! If they want me, they will call.”

And then he tries to make out but she’s distracted by the Baxter Building suddenly glowing with an awesome power.

And Starfox freaks out. He freaks out so much that he realizes that now is not the time for making out. That’s how alarming things suddenly are!

Paramedic: “Brighter than the moon... glowing like there’s no tomorrow...”

Starfox: “I fear your choice of words is most apt!”

And then he wanders back on over to the Avengers to tell them how messed up everything is.

Something occurs to me.

The Avengers don’t really have a Smart Guy TM currently. Tony left them in the lurch in that regard. And they tried to recruit Hulk again (apparently in Incredible Hulk #285).

Cap(tain America), Captain Marvel, Wasp, She-Hulk, and Thor are great. But they’re not people who can look at a thing and instantly jump to a correct conclusion about which technobabble will keep things from bad.

I think... Starfox may have become the Smart Guy TM of the team by default because he does have advanced space learning even though I’m pretty sure he napped through advanced space learning science class.

My god, the state of things.

Anyway, Starfox directs the Avengers’ attention over to the Baxter Building. Within the invisible field, there’s a second glowing field. And based on Starfox’s brains, the invisible field is a null-field (yes, that’s true) which cancels out all energy within, except at its focal point. Uh, sure. I think if all energy was cancelled out, we’d see way wilder effects but sure.

The glowing field is positive energy. And when the glow meets the invisible, it will cause the universe to merge with the Negative Zone AND THEN DESTROY THEM BOTH.

See, this is something that’s known on Titan. They just study ways to destroy everything apparently, nbd.

Starfox even mentions that his brother Thanos knows about this but “not even my brother Thanos was mad enough to test it!”

I dunno. I feel like Thanos is exactly mad enough to do that. I also feel like Starfox doesn’t know his brother was well as he thinks. So, yeah.

Hence, they’re all doomed. I mean, unless there was some way to penetrate the null-field BUT WAIT, Starfox says, didn’t Captain Marvel feel the field give slightly under gamma radiation? THEN THERE STILL MAY BE HOPE!

Yeah... Yeah. Starfox is the Avengers’ Smart Guy now. God.

Its like a reverse-Beast. He came to be a smart guy but the Avengers’ had plenty of those so decided to be the fun guy.

Starfox came out just to have a good time and he has to use his space brains to save reality.

(Also, its because of Same Face but Starfox even looks like Reed while he’s transitioning from doomsaying to figuring out the whole thing just by panicking and explaining things)

So after the Avengers do some calculations and preparations, Captain Marvel blasts off into space!

Cap(tain America) estimates that they only have twenty minutes and that a lot can go wrong.

Then a giant shouty bug man appears in the sky to shout.

Annihilus: “PEOPLE OF EARTH -- HEAR NOW THE WORDS OF ANNIHILUS! YOU ARE HELPLESS BEFORE ME! I AM YOUR DEATH!”

“The destruction of all that lives has ever been my goal -- but never have I had the means to kill so many! The time of universal death is at hand! I see among you those who are known as the Avengers... those who you would call heroes! Hah! They cannot save you! They are as helpless as the accursed Fantastic Four!”

“There is no hope for anyone this day! This is the day that Annihilus dies! And as I die, I shall reach out and I shall shake the very foundations of two universes! AND ALL SHALL PERISH WITH ME!”

Not gonna lie.

That’s a damn good villain speech.

You’ve got the villain head in front of an apocalyptic pink sky. You’ve got evil gloating. You’ve even got some dunks thrown at the superheroes because you just know that average civilians will be like ‘the Avengers will save us!’

Pretty good rant, Annihilus.

“Meanwhile, in the vacuum of space, the lightform of Captain Marvel has already flashed beyond the orbit of the moon”

Amazing.

Simply amazing.

Captain Marvel nyooms past the moon and traverses 93-million miles to go to the sun.

Which, even at lightspeed, takes over eight minutes.

A helpful reminder that even the ability to go as fast as light doesn’t necessarily mean you can get everywhere instantly. Cosmic distances are vast.

Captain Marvel nyooms around the sun, so close that even in the form of a light, she can feel the Sun’s gravity.

This is all some great stuff.

Then, Captain Marvel melds with a coherent light beam fired from solar satellite Starcore-One and transforms it and herself into a gamma ray laser beam NYOOMING right at Earth.

Blasting through the null-field just in time to interrupt more of Annihilus’ villain ranting.

Annihilus: “Prepare to make your final accounting, mortals! These are your last wretched moments of... eh?”

And then with a SKRAKATA SKRAKATA BOOM, the null field and positive energy fields are neutralized.

She-Hulk who was casually leaning on an invisible wall FLUMPS to the ground.

Wasp assembles the Avengers still milling about and tells them to move on the Baxter Building since Annihilus might still have tricks up his sleeve.

With the null field gone, the terrified crowds of onlookers are now just confused onlookers and want to get back to what they were doing before they started panicking.

Normal Doctor Donald Blake has to reach through the crowd of legs to grab Mjolnir so he can become Thor and rejoin the Avengers.

Y’know, before someone starts pondering why they haven’t seen him in a while.

Scarlet Witch notices sudden Thor and since everyone else ran off without paying any mind to Vision (geez, what the hell, the Avengers? He’s your good pal chum!) she begs Thor to help.

Scarlet Witch: “Thank heavens, you’ve returned! The Vision was injured somehow by that null-field! I... I can’t find any vital signs! His synthetic body is too different for the paramedics to do anything! Help us! Please -- !”

Thor slings Vision over shoulder exactly like you’d expect a buff Norse god to do and reassures Wanda that they’ll find someone to revive Vision.

At the Baxter Building, the Avengers very courteously go in through the front door because there’s just a lot of defensive systems that may or may not be active. And anyway, Wasp has a key to the special elevator.

Apparently, Wasp is such good friends with Sue Storm that she was given one of those special lasers incorporated into her new costume that opens the elevator doors.

I’ll have to check with my friend who liveblogs Fantastic Four to see if Jan shows up much. Because Sue has shown up a couple times in Avengers to build the idea that she and Wasp are good friends after their cool brunch but I haven’t heard of the reverse.

When the Avengers get to the 34th floor to confront Annihilus, they find that it’s been taken care of off in Fantastic Four.

The caption tells me for the full story to see that issue #256 and for once, I will.

(Interestingly, while Byrne got a co-plotter credit on this Avengers issue, Stern doesn’t get the same in the corresponding FF issue which really suggests who the driving force of the story was.)

Over in FF #256, the FF are stranded in the Negative Zone for reasons but have also noticed the null-field and positive field thing going on. Reed works to limit the effects of the fields merging to only the Baxter Building instead of the whole universe, which will also help the FF return home. He also hopes that someone on the Earth side of things “an Avenger perhaps” is also taking action.

Which, yeah. Captain Marvel’s whole thing where she launched herself at the Baxter Building from the Sun.

While she’s doing that, the thing that Reed is doing starts shorting out the circuity that Annihilus is using.

Then, Captain Marvel’s appearance causes the console Annihilus is working at to explode in his face, destroying his life-support armor.

Annihilus tries to activate the ‘destroy the universe’ thing manually but because of Reed’s machinations, the Fantastic Four get pulled back into the universe and Annihilus gets booted into the Negative Zone.

Its implied that Annihilus dies here but ha ha ha no he’s going to show up again without explaining how he survived. What a dick.

The Fantastic Four pop back into the Baxter building with the colors in their outfits changed because of technobabble. Reed instantly accosts Captain Marvel for being someone he doesn’t recognize but Thing tells him who she is and defuses things.

Thing runs off to take Alicia to the hospital, Sue runs off to look for Franklin, and Reed and Human Torch put out all the fires.

And that’s where the books sync up so back over to Avengers.

The Avengers meet up with the FF and compare notes and Reed starts trying to technobabble explain the change in uniforms when Wanda interrupts and asks someone to help Vision.

Reed examines Vision and comes up with some good news.

Vision is, more or less, okay. When he entered the null-field it drained his energy and disrupted his synapses but there shouldn’t be any permanent damage. The robot coma is Vision basically fixing himself up but Reed could speed up the process and help him recover faster.

And then Sue comes in with an unconscious Franklin.

Everyone drops everything to immediately rush off to the hospital, leaving Wanda and coma-Vision alone.

I mean. Kinda rude. Its entirely fair for Reed and Sue to run off. Its their son. And Johnny flies ahead to alert the emergency ward. But does the situation really need Starfox, Captain America and She-Hulk?

(The FF issue actually shows that Captain Marvel stuck around. She barely knows Wanda and Vision and she’s actually being courteous to them. Geez.)

I’ll give Thor a pass because he can turn into a Perfectly Normal Doctor. But really? Everyone is just leaving Wanda alone? Just like they left Vision just passed out in the street?

The Avengers are being dicks to Vision and Wanda today!

Follow @essential-avengers and like and reblog perhaps. Because I wouldn’t leave Vision lying passed out in the street and I haven’t even been his friend for years. Just saying.

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