#“Be perfect for a year or mediocre my whole life” | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

heliads · 3 months

Note

Hi!

I love your writing so much!

I would love to request an angsty Strollonso fic where Lance gets into a crash and the team doesn’t tell Nando how bad it was and he finds out later from another driver and freaks out and goes to the hospital to see him. Maybe Lance has to calm him down and keep him from going after his dad or something.

This is my first time requesting so I hope it’s okay lol.

If you don’t get to it, no worries! Thanks!

'didn't get the call' - fernando x lance

masterlist

It’s race week. Things always get real during race week.

One would think that a couple decades of seasons of Formula One racing would prepare Fernando Alonso for the frenzy of a long weekend spent overseas, but he’s had ample time to determine the contrary. Sure, he’s gotten better at shaking off the nerves a little, sloughing off like an old scar the urge to run or lash out, but part of it still remains inside his lungs, rattling the tissue more than he feels is necessary. It’s race week. What’s the worst that could happen?

That same sentiment, however, doesn’t seem to apply to the rest of the paddock. Everywhere Fernando goes, he seems the same sort of tension bubbling to fury underneath everyone’s skin. The few gazes that dare to lift to his are strained, the undereye bags larger than usual. Even his race engineer seems skittish, and after a year of dealing with Fernando watching live race broadcasts while making overtakes and other various misdemeanors, Fernando has assumed that nothing could shake the guy.

Fernando tries to think about what could have possibly gone wrong to demand this level of response, but nothing comes to mind. In the end, it was, truly, just another weekend. Fernando had done reasonably well– a fourth place result, while frustratingly shy of a podium, is still a good result. Aston Martin as a whole has been down as of late, and even though they would rather appreciate the points boost of a podium, fourth position is still better than the points of sixth, or eighth, or not even getting points at all.

All in all, it had been a relatively decent race from Fernando’s point of view. He’d had some good overtakes, and provided some good defense against the challenging Red Bulls until they passed him like they do against every other car on track. It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t mediocre, either. That’s Aston for you. That’s life.

In fact, Fernando had even felt so satisfied after the race that he’d gone ahead and asked how Lance had fared while he was turning his car towards parc ferme. It’s been a little indulgence that Fernando has allowed himself out of late, caring about his teammate. Call him overly cavalier, but this is, actually, quite a sign of change in Fernando, especially after the past two years at Alpine. Fernando hasn’t always been in the business of viewing his teammates as more than obstacles.

Perhaps that’s just a sign that he’s getting old, Fernando thinks fondly as he meanders towards his driver’s room. The apparently advanced age of entering his forties is making him sentimental. How charming. Then again, it’s something altogether different when one’s teammate is, well, Lance.

Lance.

Fernando had been careful when he first arrived at Aston Martin. Lance was the boss’ son, for one thing, and Esteban’s close friend, for another. Of course he would have to be careful. It’s not as if Aston Martin would be dramatic enough to fire Fernando if he let slip a critical comment of his teammate in yet another drawn-out press conference, but they’d probably retaliate with something below the belt, like a pay cut.

So he’d watched his tongue, and watched his temper. The only thing Fernando hadn’t kept in check was his heart. Maybe that was because he assumed he wouldn’t have to, that years of experience would have made him as cold as his teammate’s home country, but as it turns out, even a two time world champion can be wrong on occasion, and Fernando was wrong about Lance.

Fernando isn’t quite sure that he could put into words what Lance means to him. He’s not sure that he wants to try. Some things are best kept secret, hidden under the protective cover of supposedly forced team bonding and aggressively proud post-race interviews. Overcommitting to an overtake before you know you’ve got it can ruin a race. Spelling out in precise, heart-stopping red syllables what Lance Stroll means to Fernando could ruin his whole enterprise.

Even still, small things slip through the self-imposed barrier. Fernando squeezes Lance’s shoulders when they run into each other in the media pen and pretends he doesn’t notice how Lance’s entire body wracks the second Fernando touches him. He certainly doesn’t store that information away for later use. And, his latest vice, Fernando keeps asking his race engineer how Lance has done in the race, making it public that Fernando is interested. People know now. How daring.

This time, though, his race engineer had been surprisingly tight-lipped, mentioning only that he would have to get back to Fernando on that front. Usually, the background chatter from the pit wall is quiet so as to not distract the driver, but this time an uproar of static had cut through the engineer’s words, making it more difficult to make him out. There had been rumors of a red flag coming out on the last lap, but as it happened most cars would be able to clear without trouble, so nothing had been mentioned. His race engineer had also been silent on that front.

Who is Fernando to worry, though? If something bad had happened, he would have been informed. Fernando makes it a habit to stay aware. It wasn’t him, it couldn’t be his teammate, and thus Fernando’s capacity for caring is significantly limited. He’ll put out a somber Instagram story later if his PR agent reminds him. All will be well.

The further he travels through the Aston Martin motorhome, though, the more uneasy Fernando feels. Everyone is rushing around, all speaking to each other in terse whispers that he can’t quite pick up. Fernando feels as if he’s the eye of a hurricane, surrounded by restless whirlwinds of deep green water.

This doesn’t make sense. Eventually, Fernando’s impatience gets the better of him and he stops one of the trainers, who’s been parked in a corner of the room and frantically texting so he doesn’t get in the way. The man practically jumps out of his skin when Fernando nudges his arm, he’s so keyed up. Strange. Also unsettling.

“What’s going on?” Fernando asks. The confusion makes his voice terse, it sounds like he’s a soldier out on a battlefield. He doesn’t even feel that worried, not yet, but from the way everyone else is acting, he feels as if he should be.

The trainer avoids his eyes. “Nothing,” he says evasively.

“Oh, and that’s why you look as if someone just shot you in the leg?” Fernando deadpans.

The trainer grimaces. “Alright, but I’m not supposed to tell you. Lance, uh, got in a crash. Last lap of the race. The engineers wanted you to focus on reviewing your data so you aren’t supposed to know about it.”

This is the part where Fernando should assure the trainer that they’re both on the same page and of course he won’t say a word about it, but a complete blankness has settled over his brain, erasing the ability to think anything at all other than the same question over and over again: Lance crashed?

“What happened?” Fernando asks. He hardly recognizes the sound of his own voice. “Was it bad?”

“Not bad,” the trainer says, but he’s still not looking directly at Fernando. “We’re still checking him out, obviously, but he should be good to go for the next race.”

He coughs pointedly, and this is when Fernando knows it’s time to move on. He’s been assured that his teammate will be fit to race next weekend, and as a hardened driver, that’s all he should care about. Still, as he walks back down the hall again, Fernando can’t convince himself to let it go. Would everyone really be this worried if it was just a small collision? They would tell him, surely, if it was worse. They would have to tell him.

Maybe they just don’t know yet, Fernando reasons with himself. Maybe they legitimately have no clue until Lance returns from medical testing. Even the most insignificant fender-benders can have lingering damage if your hands aren’t in the right place or something else goes wrong. Everyone could just be stressing until they hear back for sure that everything is fine.

Fernando returns to his driver’s room and shuts the door. He sits down absentmindedly in a chair. After about five minutes, it registers that he forgot to turn the light on. He’s not in total darkness, a window is half open, but Fernando can’t quite convince himself to try and flip the switch. Lance was in a crash. Lance is hurt, maybe.

It unravels Fernando down to the last stitch. Lance had been in the bike accident in January, Fernando is not unused to being in a situation in which Lance is hurt, but for some reason this feels far, far worse. He doesn’t like knowing that Lance isn’t alright. It unnerves him, like a car running with a mismatched tire. All of Fernando’s systems are off-kilter.

His phone pings by his side, and now Fernando’s the one who feels like he’s leaping several centimeters out of his chair. Running an absentminded hand through his hair to calm himself down, Fernando reaches for his phone to check the notification, but the message he reads does little to steady his spirit.

Mick Schumacher.

Why aren’t you at the hospital?

Fernando responds immediately.

What are you talking about?

Mick’s answer is swift and to the point.

Lance.

Instantly, Fernando’s blood chills.

They told me he was fine. Why is he in the hospital?

This time, Mick takes a while. Unable to take the pressure, Fernando gets up and starts pacing back and forth in the confines of his driver’s room. At last, Mick responds.

Bad crash. He’s been unconscious but just woke up.

Fernando is out the door before he even finishes reading the text. He’s still in his disgusting race suit, but the sweat will just have to keep cooling, because there’s no way Fernando is sparing so much as a second for anything but getting to Lance. He manages to ask Mick what hospital Lance is occupying while fishing around for his keys, and then he’s off, breaking what he’s sure are several speed limits and a myriad of traffic violations while he’s at it.

Fernando bursts through the door, feeling eerily like a guy out of a rom-com his older sister, Lorena, used to watch. He’s buff enough for the role, certainly, but nothing about this is movie material. Real life is ugly. People get into crashes and don’t miraculously walk out. Beautiful boys with dark eyes lie unresponsive in hospital beds and no one talks about it until it’s too late.

Mick is already in the waiting room and stands up when Fernando arrives. He takes in Fernando’s bedraggled appearance with a raised eyebrow. “Well, I did ask you to get here fast, but I appreciate your dedication to it.”

“Of course,” Fernando says distractedly. “How is Lance?”

Mick nods, again, the raised eyebrow. “He’s been asking for you. There are a couple of Aston Martin guys here, but they just kept ducking the question whenever he brought up where you were.”

Fernando makes a low, ugly sound in the back of his throat. “They did the same thing to me.”

Some of the tension leaves Mick’s face. “They really didn’t tell you, did they?”

“Not at all,” Fernando makes out. “Where is he?”

Mick tells him the number and points him in the right direction. “Be careful,” is all he says before Fernando is too far gone to hear him.

Fernando hurries down the hall. Some of the nurses make an attempt to stop him, but he just ducks around their questioning gazes until he’s knocking on Lance’s door. He can see a vague silhouette through the half-closed blinds, but it’s not until a faint, groggy voice tells him to come inside that Fernando can decide for sure that yes, this is Lance, and yes, Fernando should have been informed of this immediately.

Fernando shuts the door quietly behind him. He walks quietly to the chair, and he sits quietly, breathing quietly, looking quietly, until Lance rolls his eyes and says, “I’m not going to die if you act normally, you know.”

Fernando relaxes a little bit. “Who said anything about dying?”

“Not me,” Lance says, that smug smile starting to surface even despite the IV in his arm, the bandages across his chest, the–

“Stop looking at those,” Lance says unexpectedly, cutting off Fernando’s train of thought. “I’m fine. Honestly.”

Fernando looks at him askance. “You sound like half your car is lodged inside your ribcage. Is that fine?”

Lance pulls a face. “Okay, I’m a little less than fine. It’s alright, though.”

“Tell me what happened,” Fernando says. He didn’t think it came out as an order, but instantly Lance straightens up even despite the constraints of the hospital bed and starts speaking, a faint blush on his cheeks. Interesting. Another thing to remember for later.

“There was a crash,” Lance begins somewhat uncertainly.

“So I’ve heard,” Fernando says, somewhat bemused. Humor is easier. It distracts him from the fact that Lance is lying here, practically lifeless, looking no more likely to move a muscle than get up and start running laps. It kills him, the inability to do anything other than sit here and crack jokes. This is not who he was supposed to be. Nothing about this is right.

Lance looks at him, playfully annoyed, and then continues again. “There was a crash. I don’t remember most of it. I was coming out of a series of turns, I think. Someone hit me. I don’t know who, steered right into me. Not their choice, I’m sure, but it took both of us straight into the barriers.”

His face contorts with confusion as he attempts to remember what happened. The lapses in memory startle Fernando more than he would like. “You must have gotten a serious hit to your head,” he says, unable to keep a grim tinge out of his words.

“That’s what the doctors said,” Lance confirms, grimacing. “I don’t really remember a lot between the crash and waking up here. They said I was out for more than half an hour.”

Fernando presses a hand to his face, dragging it roughly across the skin to try and wake himself up out of this terrible nightmare that has somehow become his reality. “All of this, and no one saw fit to tell me?”

Lance’s brow furrows. “Dad was going to make sure you knew. He told me that himself.”

All of Fernando’s grief leaves him a swift rush, replaced with blind fury. “Lawrence said that?”

At last, he has a culprit for why so much time passed before Fernando heard about this accident, and it was Lance’s own father. Disgraceful. As if Fernando hasn’t spent all of his time at Aston Martin trying to get in Lawrence’s good graces to promote the wellbeing of the team. As if he hasn’t held back on what he really wants with Lance in the name of good faith in the face of the team owner, and now this? Well. Maybe Fernando should have pulled his favorite card and simply done what he wanted in the first place.

He stands up before he realizes it. “Where are you going?” Lance asks, confused.

“I’m going to have some words with your father,” Fernando announces.

Lance’s face falls, and he starts trying to pull himself more into a seated position on his elbows. “Wait, no. He didn’t– he wasn’t trying to hurt you, Fernando, he just didn’t want you to worry.”

“The only thing I want to do right now,” Fernando informs him, “is worry.”

“Charming,” Lance says, then, in a voice verging on panic as Fernando nears the door, “Seriously, don’t. It’s not worth it.”

“What wouldn’t be?” Fernando asks, deceptively calm despite the inferno boiling between the bars of his ribcage.

He’s already at the door. Fernando can see Lawrence talking on the phone in the waiting room, where Mick is eyeing him icily– he’s on the phone while his son is in the hospital, what an asshole– and he’s about to go out there and tell Lawrence exactly what he thinks of this, bystanders be damned, but then Lance’s voice comes again, soft and quiet, and Fernando stops, fingers resting on the cool metal of the doorknob.

“Stay with me. Please.”

That’s all it takes to slow Fernando’s insatiable temper, as it turns out. Who knows how many managers and PR officers would have killed to get that information, and they’re only four words. Four words spoken by Lance Stroll, which makes the difference.

Fernando returns to his seat by Lance’s side. Lance looks distinctly pleased with himself. “I didn’t know you were so open to receiving instructions. I think I’m going to remember that.”

“You’ll forget this by tomorrow. Strong painkillers do that sometimes,” Fernando insists.

Lance’s lips curl into a catlike smile. “Sure thing, Fernando.”

Maybe he’s right after all. Fernando thinks that he might not ever forget the peace of a room when it’s just the two of them, how the heart monitor sharply upticks when Fernando reaches over to take Lance’s hand and both of them pretend they don’t notice it. Lance will be alright eventually. Wounds will heal, scars will fade, and a ferocious driver named Fernando Alonso will accept that the biggest chink in his forged-by-fire armor is a young man named Lance Stroll, and there is nothing wrong about that at all.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy, @juphey

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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lalal-99 · 2 months

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of timeless love {h.j.} | track 1

©March 2023, February 2024 by lalal-99

Han Jisung x afab!reader | trope: slice of life, coming of age | word count: 2.6k

Synopsis: You and your annoyingly adorable boyfriend Jisung move off to university, to make new friends, find a calling and learn how to live on your own for the very first time in your lives.

Check Chapter Overview for complete list of warnings

Note: I first thought of this story about a year and a half ago. I didn't feel ready at the time, but as I got better over the years, I picked this story up again. Updates might be slow, so bear with me please

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Please don't flag as mature or repost this story - Thank You!

You, 6 years ago, wouldn’t have bought this romantic af, straight out of a fairy-tale storyline.

You going to University? With the love of your life? Like the picture-perfect couple, smiles glued to your face? Nuh-uh. Not you. Not in this lifetime and most likely not in the next dozen—if you ever were so unlucky.

Family, love, college. All of it was bullshit. Temporary.

Nothing good ever lasted. If anything, a dark twist was already lurking around the next corner at any given moment. You couldn’t imagine a dimension in which you were ever happy. Let alone content.

Your 14-year-old emo self would never grow out of the jet-black hair. Or the countless piercings decorating your face. Or those cole-coloured ripped skinny jeans you wore like a second skin. So much you knew. Past-you only ever wanted to gloom through life in a hazy blur. Depressed about My Chemical Romance breaking up and all the other hardships life had already put you through.

That girl would have despised who you had become. Hair grown back to its natural colour. Wearing shirts without some underground metal band’s logo printed on the front. That girl would have likely made fun of you for even thinking about grades. And your future? If you ever had one, your 14-year-old self knew it would include nothing but darkness and despair.

Every teenager around you went through that phase, though you were sure it was more than that. A phase. A short and survivable part of your story. You fully and whole-heartedly believed nothing would ever change about your attitude towards life. It couldn’t, not after everything that had happened.

Overcoming that horrible chapter of your life seemed unimaginable. That you even got the chance to reach out and grab your future by its horns only had one reason. One person who was to become the most meaningful part of your life. Of the same future, he was the reason you even considered having.

Han Jisung.

A boy of innocence and noisy introversion. A boy who, despite having lived through similar trauma as yourself, had a will for life toxic enough to capture you. A boy who you became sure was the closest thing to a soulmate you would ever find.

No one could have prepared you for how hard you’d fall for Jisung. You loved him at his best, worst, and everything between. And you had fallen in love with him despite his lousy sense of humour and silly persona. Or maybe, you had fallen for him because of it. Because he had a similar story to yours but an opposite look at it.

Your 14-year-old, always-depressed, doom-certain-self could have never imagined being with someone like him. Let alone being head-over.heels. All while doing what? Watching him do something so mediocre and none-life changing as buying toothbrushes?

“I don’t know. Which ones do you think?”

Jisung presented you two indistinguishable packs of toothbrushes, waking you from your daydream. Thus, the blurriness faded and your eyes focused on the tiny words on each cover.

“These,” you decided on the left option. “Those bristles are too hard for your gums.”

“Oh, we definitely can’t have that.” With a dramatically disgusted expression, he returned the wrong set to its place on the shelf. “I want to keep at least some of my teeth.”

“Thankfully,” you agreed with a snicker. His words cracked you up more than they should have.

No doubt, your 14-year-old self would have hated yourself six years later.

“Okay. What else is on that magic list of yours?”

“Microwave popcorn and some instant ramen. And we should get some notebooks and highlighters for tomorrow. That’s it.” You listed the remaining articles off the slip of paper while crossing out the products you had retrieved from the hygiene section. “Should we split up?”

“Nah. That’s how they die in horror movies. And I’m not going out in the food court of a 7/11.”

“Fair. How about the Back-to-School aisle then?”

Jisung pondered his reply as he wandered past toothpaste and mouthwash. “Too many pens for people to draw penises on my face. The cleaning section, however? That’s a whole other conversation.”

“How come?”

“Well, there’s bleach and mops already. Also, buckets. So they can simply wheel my corpse away.”

As you walked by the pasta and other canned foods, you picked up a tray of ramen each. For convenience, if anything. Had it not been for the thinness of your wallet, you would have gone for fresher produce. So much for independent living.

With an intensive focus on your absurd conversation—Jisung listing places he would most likely die in if he were a character in a horror movie—you didn’t notice a tray of stacked goods blocking the path. It wasn’t until you bumped your shin on the square-edged tower that you finally took notice.

As a wave of pain swallowed your leg, you left out a shriek. “Gosh freakin’ dang it!”

“You good, baby?” His concern was genuine, though he couldn’t help smiling at your desperate attempt not to swear. “Let me see.”

Jisung kneeled in front of you, noticing a reddening wound once he had dragged the jean fabric up your leg.

“Just a bruise.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one feeling like your skin is being dragged off your flesh.”

“No. But I can make it better.”

He rose to his feet, arms hugging your frame as he picked you up without any effort. You giggled as he heaved you into the cart, careful not to squish the food.

“What are you doing?”

“No girlfriend of mine should have to walk when she’s in pain,” Jisung explained, helping you get settled. Pushing the crushable goods out of the way, you sat on the cans. Not the most comfortable seating, but it worked, nevertheless.

“Damn, those other girls are lu-cky.”

Jisung was pleased at how casually you had joined in on his joke. A smile formed on his lips as he pushed you along the shelves of seasonal produce.

You soon reached the Back-to-School aisle. There you took your sweet time deciding on notebook formats and highlighter colours. It kept surprising you how much fun it was to go grocery shopping when done with the right people. Everything was about 50 percent less boring because of Jisung. Jisung and his ability to find something ridiculous in anything and everything.

After you had made some other critical decisions—like which folders would make organising the year easiest, the ones with dogs or flowers in front—you finished up your school-supply-run.

When you reached the cash register, you noticed the strange looks the other customers gave you. Two young adults strolling through a supermarket, pushing each other in grocery carts? Definitely side-eye-worthy.

Maybe you would have cared more had you not been so enticed by Jisung’s mindless humming of Can’t Take My Eyes Off You.

“What?” Jisung questioned your glances as he started unloading the items from the cart.

“Nothing.” You joined him, unloading all the trays of food you had picked minutes earlier. “This feels weird. Going grocery shopping together. Feels grown-up somehow.”

“We go grocery shopping once a week,” he declared with a thoughtful pout.

“But that’s different.”

After you had emptied out your purchase, he wheeled you further down the band. The woman behind the cash register seemed equally interested in you as all the customers. Soon enough, she continued doing her job.

“You mean because we didn’t have to pay for it ourselves?” He held his hand to his heart as if heartbroken. “I miss your dad, too. Always so kind, paying for all our stuff.”

You chuckled at his playful sincerity.

“No, idiot.” As Jisung reloaded the cart, you payed for this week’s necessities. “Because we’re grocery shopping on our own, living off at uni. We have officially moved out of our home, living in the big city. It’s— new. That’s it.”

As soon as you had reached the exit, you picked reached for the strawberries, unable to abstain any longer. Strolling towards his car, you handed one over to your boyfriend while sucking on your own. Like the gentleman he was, Jisung helped you jump from the car and you packed everything into the trunk.

Once you had placed the cart back by the others, you finally headed home. Or rather, the dorm room you would be living in for the next four years.

You weren’t at that point of calling it your home yet.

A comfortable silence surrounded you throughout your drive. It remained while you stacked away your half of the food back at your place and lasted until you finished. This sort of silence wasn’t uncommon these many years into your relationship—you hardly noticed it anymore.

“Man, all this talk about horror movies makes me want to watch one.” That you hadn’t mentioned this topic for over 30 minutes seemed irrelevant.

“But you’re horrible with horror movies,” you pointed out.

“Not when you’re there to protect me.”

An hour later you were sprawled out on your bed, the last sweet strawberry long gone.

With your legs entangled, Jisung’s face rested on your chest as you massaged his scalp. After minutes of fruitless discussion, Spiderman was now webbing his way through your laptop screen. In the end, it really didn’t matter what movie was playing. It never did as long as you were with each other.

Not even 20 minutes into the movie, Jisung had fallen asleep on top of you. His faint snoring was now mere background noise as you followed the plot, ehich wasn’t as simple as it sounded. Your energy was more than drained from running around all day.

Only three days ago, you had still been back home. Packing for your upcoming move to a new city, two hours from every place you had grown up in. The one thing keeping you calm throughout the stress was your sweetheart-boyfriend. To no one’s surprise. He was the only person able to keep you sane when all you wanted was to scream and cry. Had you not had him by your side, you would have drowned in all the noise your brain usually produced.

His ability to calm your nerves when you needed him to—know when to make you laugh or when to distract you from your everyday stresses—surprised you to this day. You couldn’t begin to explain how you had been lucky enough to find someone like him. Someone you loved as much as you had seen your parents do when you were younger. Let alone how he loved you the same way, almost self-destructively so.

Your 14-year-old self would have called bs. But that girl was someone else—you, but in another lifetime. You but pre-Jisung.

When the door to your room rushed open, it pulled you from your quiet slumber. You had turned off the lights earlier to set the mood but still knew the intruder was your roommate. Besides you two, only Jisung knew the code to your dorm—a decision you had previously discussed with your new roomie, of course. Seeing as he was knocked out on top of you, you could cross him off your list of possible visitors at 8 pm on a Monday.

Adapting her eyes to the darkness, she checked her surroundings before tiptoeing into the room. The light remained off as she expected you to be asleep.

“Hey,” you greeted the dark-haired beauty, making her jump in surprise at the sudden noise.

“Fu—God! You scared me.” With one hand over her heart, your roomie calmed herself from your unexpected jump-scare. Once her heart rate had settled, she slipped out of her heels and left them by the end of her bed. “Is he asleep?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, letting your finger run along his jaw to check. He didn’t move, so you knew he was most likely out for the night. “Long night?”

She gagged with an eye roll, pulling her jeans off her legs and exchanging them for grey sweatpants. “Don’t get me started. I haven’t even started writing my thesis, and it’s already kicking my ass.”

You watched her as she also changed out of her dress shirt and into an off-the-shoulder crop top. She slipped into a pair of sneakers while making her way to her dresser where she sprayed herself in a cloud of perfume.

“You’re leaving again?”

“Yup. I spent so much time at the library today, I apparently neglected,” she air-quoted with an eye roll, “my girlfriend. At least that’s what she said.”

“The things we do to keep our loved ones happy.”

“Exactly.” Unleashing her long curls from a tight ponytail, she ran her fingers through them for a few seconds. Her beach-waves veiled her face, so she pushed them behind her ears to instead frame her near-perfect features. “Anyway, I’m staying at hers tonight, so don’t wait up for me.”

“Okay,” you agreed with a yawn, your roommate replying with a deep chuckle.

The past few days, you had mainly spent in your new room, settling in and getting ready for the start of the semester. You liked planning ahead, knowing your life was organised to a T, so you could focus on the important stuff. Your studies, and your boyfriend.

Your roommate seemed to have most of the same priorities. She had gone out every night since you moved in, be it to study at the library or spend some time with her better half. However she managed to squeeze in all the partying? You had no clue. You could only hope some of her togetherness rubbed off on you. But then again, never judge a book.

“I’m going to take you out one of these days. You are not going to be sitting inside all year. Not on my watch.”

Spending the first two days inside, you must have looked like the biggest couch potato ever.

“Sounds good.”

As she waltzed towards the door, you grabbed her attention one last time. The hallway lights blinded you with their brightness, framing her curves in a halo.

“Oh, and Hwasa?” She turned to face you, looking like she had jumped straight off a Vogue cover. How she did that without trying was a mystery to you. “Can you not tell Wheein he’s sleeping over? I wouldn’t want my first warning on the third day already.”

“Babe, as long as you’re my roommate, my dorm-supervisor-girlfriend won’t dare write you up. Just don’t set anything on fire, and you’re solid.”

With that, she waved goodbye, leaving you and your boyfriend alone. Well, apart from the ever-so-handsome Tom Holland, who somehow made full-body suits look like a reasonable choice of clothing.

Not soon after, your eyes fell close, sending you off into a deep rest.

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mrsnancywheeler · 2 months

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Currently sobbing because I’m thinking about how Finnick and his sweet girl were so YOUNG when they met. (I assume she was 14 because she won the games at 17 and you said they were broken up for 2 years and they dated for a year) which makes everything more sad and tragic.

Young love is so innocent. It adds a layer to hurt when you re-read the part of Finnick bringing her flowers that he nervously picked out, he’s a 15 year old kid!

Also at that age- omg is everything so insane. emotions are just- no- they’re so much

-🌾anon

they're literally so tiny and adorable

being a young teenage girl is so interesting and adds such an interesting layer. I like to think that she's the type of girl to remind people shes technically 14 and half of 14 and 7 months or whatever because she feels like it's all happening so fast. I also think it adds an extra layer to her relationship with her family because she's 14, she's young and working at the markets all the time, she's spending her free time with a whole other family or at partying, drinking with no one looking out for her. and I think it adds a whole other layer of the idea that suddenly, the finnick odair likes her. she views herself as a lot more grown up when she is because of all of that, but like finnick is really like a fairytale. the savior from the life of mediocrity. true love is real. and he's making her feel important in ways she never has and it's sad to think about how her 15 birthday is probably the best she's ever had because it's with him, and he dedicates it to loving her. of course conway and his family loved her, but not he way finnick does because he's enticing and like a prince. maybe she thinks she's grown up, but she's not nearly as grown up as she imagines.

and finnick is just a kid with a crush on a pretty girl who went to the same school as him and partakes in the same scenes, he just wants to be perfect. going to mags to find out what a girl wants, trying to make everything 110% right. getting everything he can because he doesn't want to mess this up. and of course he approached her right away, he's an impulsive teenager. I answered an ask earlier about finnick taking his sweet girl on a date to the capitol and I think it fits perfectly with this idea of him wanting to show off to her. months into their relationship, she's going to turn 15, and he's so young with unrestricted money and influence so he's pulling all his strings to take her to dinner there.

it's so sad to think of this 15 and nearly 16 year old being the talk of the media all because he was forced to participate and happened to win the hunger games at 14 and that no one is there to step in and say that might be the most appropriate place for two teenagers to be doing. but as far as they're concerned they're basically adults, even if they're really not, so they do as they please and get caught up in it all.

oh my god and teenage emotions so insane, but like adds on to finnick post breakup saying random things about his breakup with reader to try and cover. of course he says dumb, hurtful things, he's a teenage boy. but then reader, a 15 year old girl, hearing that stuff. absolutely heart wrenching. when you're a teenage girl that's literally like a rock bottom feeling to have the person you love say stuff like that.

I can't I can't I can't

I think about them all the time (yes I'm plotting the next chapter of the river, sorry it's taking so long, but these help sm y'all have no idea lmao)

❤️❤️❤️❤️

#wanda 💋#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x y/n #the lakes #finnick odair #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair angst #finnick odair x reader fluff #finnick odair x you #the river #🌾 anon

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himejoshiangels · 1 month

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batgirl 2000 reread bcs I'm crazyy...IM NUTS!!!

her and that damned rose..what does it all MEAN!!! it makes a reappearance l8r...also I missed this dynamic so so bad. me when I'm in a seeing my kids as an extension of myself competition and my opponent is Bruce Wayne

I always forget how fucking potent and tension filled the first arc of this comic is man. it's like, bcs cass can't speak or even have thought bubbles everything's communicated via her actions or the words of the ppl around her. every panel she's in has to be chock-full of emotion and every time she interacted with someone the implications and the ffUCKKKKK‼️

the atmosphere in this damn comic man

I dunno man not to "back in my day!" when it wasn't even my day. but comics these days don't trust the audience even a little. there's always gotta be paragraphs of text having a character explicitly state every detail of their motivation and like not that old comics didn't also do that but at least the words they wrote were pretty like fuck man who are they hiring to write this shit anymorw

this transition is straight out of a movie. I know we say this with literally everything but if ANY comic in the world should get an animated show it has to be this one. top contender. it's formulated like one already, it's episodic w perfect overall themes and bigger plots. even the vibe is perfect, the grainy mtv cartoon thing it has going. every day I pray for a batgirl 2000 cartoon it'd go so crazy jsut adapt the shit straight

batgirl 2000 just keeps hitting you and doesn't let up bcs in the same episode SORRY issue..where cass meets lady Shiva for the first time is also the same issue where babs first begins to address her as Cassandra

^^WHICH IS CRAZY bcs we have to keep in mind that up to this point cass is nameless, she's only been referred to as batgirl. this is one of the first times she goes out as not batgirl too tho, bcs Bruce benched her. it's GAHHHHH that whole thing where vigilantes angst and drama abt titles and legacies and their individual identities is exacerbated so so bad for cass bcs batgirl is the first name she's ever given. like it's all she ever knew and ever was. Cassandra came after and THIS

THIS PANEL RUGHT HERE ohhh my god it makes me crazy. she's only batgirl. she doesn't even have the words to explain it yet. she's only a reflection of the city she's sworn to protect its all she is and at first its lowkey all Bruce let's her be. not to mention. her relationship w babs, I'll speak on them l8r can't do it now I'll explode

a 1:1 animated series man. it's all I can think about so so many iconic moments. I don't kill but I don't lose either is already as cold as cold gets. the way the comic is formatted already fully visualizes as animated in my brain and it's so so fun to watch

LIKE LOOK AT THIS!! cinematic as he'll and it's not even moving..

both cass and Bruce hit the bullseye like....

Cass's perfectionism is such an underrated character trait of hers (in like the greater batfam fandom and more modern comics not here, never here) bcs she literally sacrifices her life about it. she's so self detrimental about how not perfect she is anymore and Bruce's nonsense doesn't help either. man sees himself reflected in a teenage girl once and looses all his damn sense. I'm just, yea we know "mediocre for a life time or perfect for a year" < god that goes hard, but the true tragedy that is cass's inability to see how unnatural and upsetting it is that her mind works the way it does at all, that she can run into bullets head on but complains that she could do it with more skill when she was 6 or whatever like girl...never evr letting myself become desensitized to her trauma, David cain when I get you...

AND ANOTHER THING AND ANOTHER THING!!! KKKKKKKKK!! the sideplots and b plots and background characters in this comic..each of them are offered so much empathy by the narrative and are written purposefully to reflect or foil whatever cass's current conflic is all while feeling like fully fleshed characters even if they only appear for one issue

^^ I have feeling abt these panels but my lawyers are advising me not to speak atvthis ttime

THFUCKINH THE ROSE!!AGAIN!!! so sure this is old news but my running theory is that it definitely ties into cass's sense of self and identity outside of her living weapon status. this whole issue is prime babs v. bruce custody battle material bcs babs wants cass to be able to have a normal life, to be someone outside of batgirl bcs where she is now isn't healthy even a little bit but bruce argues that cass doesn’t need that, all she needs is her devotion to the mission < now we don't have time to unpack all that but in this moment we see her make the choice, dropping the rose. in the very first panel of the whole comic cass does the very same thing, she drops the puzzle (representing her childhood) in favor of violence bcs at the time its all she knows THE PARALLELS HELP HELP MEEE

AND AND THIS NEXT WHOLE PANEL is so evocative of the first few issues where cass couldnt yet put her emotions into words. just atmosphere and silence. BECAUSE she's confused!!! bruce says justice is what she needs that it will make her feel better, feel normal but it doesn't!! she looks over the city and still feels..feeling!!!! she picks the rose back up and extends a hand out to barbara bcs she was right, she not Bruce, she can't sit in a cave all alone all day and feel better (<which arguably doesn't even work for him either)

in the next few issues she meets steph and tim which is soo fun bcs letting cass have friends her age opens up so much for potential dynamics. especially her relationship w steph, not just in a stephcass way but in a narrative foil way, to me at least

next post I'll probably talk abt cass's guilt, self hatred, and need for atonement but we move‼️

#and thats the first 20 issues!!#posting now so it doesn't get too long but im still going #thought bubbles #batgirl #cassandra cain #dc comics #batgirl 2000 #bonus silly moments r joker singing oops i did it again by brittany spears and catwoman putting prerecorded scooby doo marathon on the tv #2000 posting

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buckttommy · 2 months

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hi sorry i’m newer to the fandom but who is max gao 😭

I had a whole long answer to this typed out years ago, but for some reason, I can't find it or any of my Max Gao posts, which is... deeply odd because I have no reason to delete any of those posts.

But anyway, to make a very long story short, Max Gao is a "journalist" (and I use that term oh so loosely) who covers different network shows. Some years ago, he was one of 9-1-1's primary journalists, actually, and he developed quite the following for being openly and loudly into Buddie. In Fall 2021, he teased an article he was writing with Gavin's parents ("both of them," implying this article would include Gavin's birth parents and Ryan and Oliver). Obviously, everyone was in an uproar and flooded his DMs and mentions because, if nothing else, Max is a bit of an attention seeker.

Well, apparently, he teased this interview without actually, you know, confirming that Ryan and Oliver would do the interview. So when they said no, he threw the biggest. fucking. temper tantrum I have ever seen a "professional" throw. He threw Ryan under the bus, implying heavily that he was the problem, and so on. This was a particularly heinous and fucked up accusation, considering that 911twt is known for being abnormally racist and vitriolic towards him and, sure enough, when given a scapegoat, 911twt shifted the blame to Ryan and aggressively doubled-down on their bullshit. Because of course they did.

It was ugly for a few weeks; thankfully, Ryan was already off of twitter at that time so it's unlikely he saw any of it, but back in those days, if you had the audacity to even imply that Ryan wasn't a bad guy, you would get the shit (metaphorically) kicked out of you, which was not fun as someone who's been a Ryan girl since Day 1. So the fact that Max is getting Ryan's first interview after being let out of PR jail? Yeah, I hate it lol. We all do. It's not just that he's a piss-poor journalist who, objectively, has done nothing to show he has an interest in perfecting and honing its craft, and it's not just that he floats through life on a cloud of mediocrity, it's that he created a problem, cried when he didn't get his way, blamed it on someone else, and is now being rewarded for it by getting to interview that person.

ok.......................

#this is for everyone asking #idk where my other posts are ???? what the fuck #jack answers mail

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imaginesandbandfiction · 1 year

Text

Story of Our Life

A Harry Styles Imagine

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: None

A/N: This is something a little different that was inspired by a dream I had where I was singing Story of My Life with 1D in a car... Also, I made some cover art on procreate plz don't judge my mediocre art skills lmao. Hope you like it!!!!!

Masterlist

Excerpts from

STORY OF OUR LIFE

Y/N Styles

To Louis, the best chauffeur I’ve ever had.

To Liam, who keeps us all sane. Steady on, mate.

To Zayn, who always offers a shoulder to cry on (and a cigarette).

To Niall, the king of late-night chats (and snacks).

To Harry, for everything, forever.

Introduction by Harry Styles

Before she was my wife, Y/N Styles was Y/N Y/L/N. We met in 2011, six months before we would be setting out on the Up All Night tour. Even though I had been on TV, in recording studios, and performed live on the X Factor Live Tour 2011, I was still just a shy kid from Holmes Chapel who couldn’t quite believe his luck. I think I spent that whole year in a state of disbelief, afraid that at any moment, someone would tell me that it was all a joke and I wasn’t very good at singing, actually. Every time I took a shower, I half-expected Ashton Kutcher to jump out at me from behind the shower curtain. Y/N, on the other hand, walked into the conference room at Columbia Records, sat down at the head of the table, folded her arms across her chest, and asked us each, individually, if we had read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and, if so, how did we feel about it? Immediately, I knew that this girl was going to be someone special.

Her dad, Greg Y/L/N, was going to be our tour manager. When it was time for the label to put a team together, he was at the top of the list: a goofy dad with a daughter around our age who had toured with some of the biggest musicians of the 90s. He was the perfect choice for a bunch of kids who didn’t really know what they were doing: industry experience to make sure the day-to-day operations went smoothly, and the paternal instinct to protect us as best he could (we called him Papa Bear, which he pretended to hate, but we all knew he secretly loved it).

We grew up together, spent months on end traveling the world, learning algebra on private planes and sneaking out of hotel rooms to wander foreign cities in the middle of the night. Fast forward to today. While Y/N was pregnant with Willa, our second child, she spent the whole third trimester on bed rest. Eventually, she got so bored that she scrolled all the way back on iCloud. Our older daughter, Hazel, was fascinated by the pictures of me and the band, and Y/N spent hours recounting our days on tour. I told her that she should write a book, but she refused at first. We have enough money, she said. People will think I’m making a cash grab. I told her that was bollocks, but if she really felt that way, she could donate all the profits to charity. It’s perfect, really, I said. The 20-year anniversary of One Direction is coming up, and it would be cool to give the fans a peek behind the scenes. Really, there’s no one better than you, darling, because you know the real us. She agreed, but only if all five of us were okay with it, and if all of the proceeds could go to The Trevor Project. So really, it’s actually me you should be thanking for convincing her to do this in the first place.

Anyways, here it is. The Story of Our Life: Growing Up With the World’s Biggest Boy Band, written by my amazing wife, Y/N Styles.

Chapter 5

Out of all the One Direction boys, Louis was the first one to get his driver's license in America. He spent the few months leading up to the Where We Are tour with his girlfriend in California, and wanted to buy a fancy car to drive her around in. Hence, the license. So, when the tour made its way to North America, he somehow managed to convince my dad and the security team to let him drive us from the hotel to the venue a few times. Of course, the windows were tinted (and we were not allowed to open them), we were surrounded by a security detail, and there was always a bodyguard in the backseat, but it didn’t matter.

On the night of the second show in Detroit, we all piled into a tricked-out Toyota Sienna, the best minivan on the market in 2011. Louis and Liam sat up front, I was squished between Harry and Niall in the middle, and Zayn and the bodyguard sat in the way back. We had the radio blasting and were singing along to some absolute bangers, like Party Rock Anthem and Super Bass, when the first few notes of Story of My Life started playing. Louis groaned and reached over to change the station, but I leaned forwards and slapped his hand out of the way before he could, turning the volume up a few notches.

“Written in these walls are the stories that I can’t explain,” I sang along with Harry’s voice, turning to look at him with a mischievous smirk. He was mouthing along but bit his lip as soon as I caught him. Liam piped up with his part and I shook my head, laughing.

“Do you guys seriously only ever sing your parts?” I asked. Next to me, I felt Niall shrug.

“Feels wrong to sing someone else’s, even off stage,” he said, before chiming in on the background vocals as Zayn jumped in on his part.

“Well, you should do it anyway, just for fun.” Liam turns around and lifts his eyebrows in a silent challenge. Harry and Niall jumped in, and soon we were all belting out the words to every part.

When the final chorus came up, I turned to rest my head on Harry’s shoulder, singing his part back to him. He was usually the shameless one, but his cheeks were tinted pink and he stopped singing for a few seconds. His green eyes were wide, but they never once left my own. I felt his chest rise and fall in a deep, steadying breath before he began singing again.

From that moment on, Story of My Life was our song. Every time they performed it, he turned towards the side of the stage during the last chorus, where I sang along. On the rare occasions that I sat in the audience, his eyes always managed to find mine. We sang lines to each other all the time. Our favorite thing to do, much to everyone else’s dismay, was yell Zayn’s pre-chorus to each other from across a room.

“And I’ll be gone, gone, tonight,” one of us would start.

“The ground beneath my feet is open wide,” the other would respond.

“The way that I’ve been holding on too tight,” the first person would say, before we both shouted, “With nothing in betweeeeeeeen!” That line was always the loudest, and we always dragged out the last syllable until we couldn’t breathe anymore.

Chapter 9

When Harry’s solo album dropped, I was in class, taking my Algebra 101 final. My test-taking nerves were multiplied tenfold by the fact that I knew people were listening to it right now, and I wasn’t. We had kept in touch after One Direction broke up, mostly over text but occasionally, when he was in LA, he came to my house to have dinner with me and my Grandma (and Dad, if he was home).

I listened to it all the way through on the drive back home to Pasadena after I finished my exam, and as soon as I pulled into the driveway, I texted him.

I signed up for a presale code, and refreshed my laptop continuously for five straight minutes in order to get tickets for his LA show. Harry was furious with me. When I texted him that I was officially coming to the show, he called me in the middle of a meeting with his tour team to yell at me. Something along the lines of, “I put you on the VIP list, you dumbass! And invites to the afterparty were just sent out yesterday!”

To be fair, I just wanted to support my friend, and to this day I still feel uncomfortable asking for free tickets from anyone when I have the means to pay for them. I think it’s all the guilt from five years of attending One Direction concerts for free. But anyways, that next fall, I found myself backstage at the Greek Theater with a VIP badge around my neck, feeling intense deja vu as security led me to Harry’s dressing room.

“Y/N!” He yelled as soon as the door opened. I had no time to react; I was nearly knocked over by the force of his hug. His mom and sister were there, too, and I was passed around for more hugs before settling next to Harry on the couch.

“So, how’s it going? How’s school?” he asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. That’s one of the things I love most about Harry; no matter how long it’s been since he’s seen someone, he always picks back up like no time has passed. He is scary good at keeping up with what everyone else is doing, even when his own life

“Kicking my ass already and it’s only been three weeks,” I said with a chuckle. “But better than last year, that’s for sure!” Harry’s brows furrowed and he waited expectantly. “Did I not tell you that my original roommate was psycho?”

“No, I don’t think that’s come up before.” I pulled up a photo on my phone and handed it over to him without a word, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen his eyes wider than they were in that moment.

“Holy shit,” she said.

“I wanna see!” Gemma whined, leaning across the coffee table to snatch the phone from him. “Oh my god, Mum, look!” She handed the phone to Anne, who frowned down at it.

“This was your dorm?”

“For all of three days, yes,” you answered. “I’m not sure what creeped me out more, the life-sized cardboard cutout of Harry watching my every move, or the fact that she threatened to blackmail me if I didn’t introduce her to you.” Harry was doubled over with laughter with tears welling up in the corners of his eyes.

“What are the chances of you, of all people, rooming with a crazy One Direction fan in college?” he asked, struggling to breathe enough to support his vocal chords.

“The school investigated and they found an invoice for a private investigator on her computer in a folder with a bunch of my personal information and photos of me that looked like they were taken from behind bushes and trash cans. Apparently, she gave him that paparazzi photo from the week we were in London during On the Road Again and he was able to track me down.”

“He was able to figure out your identity from that photo?” I nodded, and Harry looked impressed, yet mildly disturbed. “She must’ve paid a fortune.” The photo in question features all five members of One Direction on their way into the O2 arena, and in the background, you can see the blurry back of my head as I slipped into the back door ahead of them.

When it was time for Harry to get ready, a security guard led Anne, Gemma, and I to the VIP section and we settled in for the show. He killed it on stage, and it was great to see him back in his element, joking with the fans between songs and waving to everyone he made eye contact with. He performed What Makes You Beautiful and the cheers were so loud, even in the small-theater setting, that I knew I would probably have trouble hearing tomorrow.

“Alright, now normally I’d go straight into Kiwi, but there’s someone special in the audience today and this next song means a lot to the both of us, and she was the one who told me to sing all of the parts even though it feels weird, I hope you’ll forgive me for making you wait a few more minutes,” he said with a smirk, knowing that no one was going to complain about an extra song. My smile widened and Anne wrapped an arm around me, squeezing my shoulder, to acknowledge how special this moment was about to be. Just like old times, Harry looked straight at me as the intro music started to play.

“Written in these walls are the stories that I can’t explain,” he began, and immediately tears started welling up behind my eyes. I joined in, leaning my head on Anne’s shoulder for support. When he got to the second pre-chorus, he yelled out “And I’ll be gone, gone, tonight!” and held out his mic for the audience to sing the next line, but I caught an almost-imperceptible wink as he smiled up at me and I knew that he could care less if anyone else chimed in.

“The fire beneath my feet is burning bright,” Anne, Gemma, and I screamed, hoping that we were loud enough for him to pick our voices out of the crowd.

He sang the next line, and so did the audience, but I kept my mouth shut and joined in on the last line. He dragged out “between” so long that he had to jump back in on “I take her home.” I was the only one still singing along with him at that point, and the audience let out confused laughter, looking back and forth trying to figure out why he wasn’t moving on yet.

Chapter 11

We’ve never talked about how we got together, and once the gossip magazines found out that I was the daughter of One Direction’s former tour manager, they just filled in the blanks themselves. I try not to read those things, but I do remember seeing a few headlines like “CHILDHOOD SWEETHEARTS RECONNECTED!” over that grainy paparazzi photo of us in Holmes Chapel before the Manchester Love on Tour stops. Others spun the fact that I was doing PR on the tour into a fake “HARRY STYLES KISSES EMPLOYEE” scandal, and it just spiraled out of control from there. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

When the pandemic hit, I was at home in Pasadena with my dad and grandma. We had no other “bubble” because my grandma was immunocompromised. Needless to say, I got very bored very quickly. It got to the point that I would cycle through the contacts on my phone, Facetiming everyone in alphabetical order by last name until someone picked up. Harry was one of the only people who answered every single time. We ended up calling each other almost every day, sometimes to chat, or just to have someone there, in the background, while we went about our days. He was with his band, working on what would eventually become Harry’s House, and I spent many days listening to them work through different lyric and melody combinations while curled up in my childhood bedroom with my work laptop. He even interrupted a Zoom meeting I was in, once, excited to play part of “Music for a Sushi Restaurant” for me.

I was working remotely for a PR firm, after graduating college in 2020, my options were limited and, in the end, the place only gave me an offer because they worked with Columbia Records and knew my dad. I mostly wrote copy about movies to be put on Wikipedia or IMDB, which was super boring, so Harry seriously saved my life by letting me listen in on his studio sessions, or to the audio of whatever show he was watching and his commentary.

By the time he was able to start prepping for Love on Tour, I was working at the firm’s office building on Sunset, just about ready to quit my job and sell foot pics online.

“Come on tour with me,” he said, (seemingly) impulsively, during one of our Facetime sessions in which he patiently listened to me complain about how Mark from accounting wouldn’t stop coming over to my desk to “chat” every hour on the hour.

“What?” I answered, laughing a little.

“Seriously, Y/N, it’ll be just like old times! We can race on the dolleys they use to bring the speakers in, and I’ll even let you win this time.” I rolled my eyes.

“It’s not really winning, then, is it?”

“Okay, fine, I won’t let you win. But I am serious, Y/N. You should join me on tour.”

“What am I supposed to do, just follow you around the world like some sad, desperate groupie?”

“I mean, you are a bit sad and desperate.” I flipped him off, to which he responded by cackling with laughter.

“I’m sad because my job sucks, and desperate to get away from Mark, not to get into your pants.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be my mistress, you’d be doing PR for the tour, obviously.” Harry’s cheeks flushed with the slightest hint of pink,

“Well, maybe you should have led with that!” I started laughing, too, and it took a while for either of us to be able to speak again.

“Okay, sorry, I’ll start over.” He took a deep breath to calm his giggles, but still couldn’t manage to keep a straight face. “Y/N Y/L/N, I would like to formally request that you join me as my PR Manager for Love on Tour. My publicist is about to give birth, like, any day now so she obviously can’t go gallivanting around the world. Really, you’d be doing me a favor, and who better than someone who already has my dressing room requests memorized since half of them are actually yours.”

“You still have the same dressing room requests?” I gave him a skeptical look.

“Old habits die hard.” He shrugged. “And even though I don’t drink Diet Coke, having it in the fridge makes it feel like you’re there with me.” The pink was now red and I bit my lip to keep myself from smiling too wide.

“Alright, Mr. Styles, you have a deal.”

Like he said, old habits die hard, so even though we were now adults and my dad wasn’t on tour with us, we still fell into our old routines. Back in the day, I was never allowed to be alone in a room with one of the boys, but we had our ways around it. Usually by walking through the hallways of the floor of the hotel everyone was staying on, checking in with the guards stationed at either side on every loop. So while we could have hung out in our rooms, more often than not, we walked through the hotel hallways in circles just like we used to.

The night before the Pittsburgh show, Harry showed up at my door at 10pm with a bag of sour gummy worms.

“It’s not Haribo, but it’s close enough,” he said with a shrug, flashing me his trademark “Harry Styles” grin. And just like that, we were off to wear a hole in the carpet, or so I thought. We hadn’t even made it through one full loop before he pulled me through a random door marked “Employees Only” and dragged me up three flights of stairs.

“Are you taking me somewhere private so you can murder me?” I asked as we trudged through the dirty stairwell.

“Something like that,” he answered. But when we reached the top, he opened another door and we were on the roof.

The view was gorgeous, the moon was bright and cast a cool glow on the Pittsburgh skyline. I turned to Harry with wide eyes.

“Scoped it out earlier,” he said with a sheepish smile on his lips. “Just thought we could use a change of scenery.”

“It’s perfect,” I said, reaching out to squeeze his hand in thanks. “As much as I love hotel hallways, this is better.”

We sat on the edge of the roof, dangling our legs over the top of the building next door, and passed the bag of gummy worms back and forth as we talked. We were out there for so long that my eyelids started to get heavy and our conversation slowed down. I leaned my head on his shoulder and he wrapped his arm around me, huddling closer for warmth (or so I thought).

“Wanna listen to some music?” He asked. I nodded and he pulled his Airpods out, sticking one in my ear and the other in his own.

Story of My Life started playing and my heart rate sped up, pulsing adrenaline through my body. Suddenly, I was wide awake and hyper aware of every place our bodies were touching (thighs, hips, my shoulder to his chest, his shoulder to my head, his arm on my bicep).

I lifted my head up and turned to look at him.

“Do you ever get sick of this song?” I asked. My voice was quiet because I wasn’t sure I actually wanted to know the answer.

“No,” he replied. His voice was low and raspy and it made my stomach flutter. I felt myself leaning in, unconsciously, as he continued. “It reminds me of you, and I could never get sick of you.”

He brought his free hand up to my face and rubbed his thumb in soft circles on my cheekbone, and his eyes flickered down to my lips. The distance between us closed as if we were replaying something that had already happened in slow motion. Eventually, I could just barely feel the soft brush of his lips against mine. My mouth fell open just a bit in anticipation of what was to come, but Harry paused.

“It’s you, Y/N,” he whispered.”It’s always been you.”

Feel free to cross my name out and write in your own, I won’t be mad. I get it; what really happened was better than any self-insert fanfiction.

Chapter 17

I’m going to keep most of the details of our wedding private, but I will tell you about our first dance, because it ties into a lot of the other stories that I’ve written about. If you haven’t noticed by now, Story of My Life is sort of the underlying theme of this book, and that’s because it’s been the underlying theme of my life, the soundtrack to my relationship with Harry.

After dinner, and some absolutely mental toasts, Harry and I were eager to get the party started. Even though he’s not the best dancer, I have never met anyone who dances with as much joy as Harry does, and I love getting pulled into his wild, spontaneous routines. But our first dance was different. The fairy lights surrounding the garden were twinkling in the moonlight, and Niall, Liam, Louis, and Zayn stood on the sidelines to sing, you guessed it, Story of My Life. We swayed in circles, gently, without trying to put on a show or impress anyone else. It was a beautiful, full circle moment, and the boys even dragged out “between” just a little bit to tease us.

Life is funny. One minute, you’re sixteen and screaming “The fire beneath my feet is burning bright,” at your best friend and you think that this is it, you will be touring the world with your friends forever, and the next you’re twenty-seven and in a wedding dress, leaving mascara stains on the shoulder of his suit. But I wouldn’t change a thing, because I think it was written in the walls all along.

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elfwreck · 1 year

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The age thing's a little relevant too. I'm approaching my mid 30's and I just feel adrift, and lost. Nothing in my life's really worked out, I made bad decisions, I missed opportunities, I lost potential. I don't want to live another 40 or so years like this and then die a nobody. I know the "gifted kid" thing is a meme now but everyone thought I had so much potential, including me. And that just makes me feel even worse than if I'd been a loser from the start.

It gets... better? Sort of?

Take everything you have heard about "your potential" and throw it in the trash.

"Potential" is a myth we tell to small children to encourage them to study and work on projects. "Potential" is a way of giving kids a direction and a reason to focus on their interests. Small children have no context for understanding what they could be doing a year, five years, twenty years from now - they just know what they can do right now, and that it doesn't include "build a whole car" or "paint beautiful sunsets" or "write a book" or "be Mayor of Can Town" or "overthrow the Dark Lord and put his minions in wizard-prison" or whatever.

So we tell them: You have potential, which means, You share some personality traits and innate talents with people who have done these things. It gives kids something to aim for. "You have a lot of potential" means "you share a lot of traits with people who are famous for doing these things."

At no point does anyone tell you how many not-famous not-rich just-muddling-by people also have those traits. At no point does anyone say, "You have a terrific singing voice and perfect pitch so you could be a famous musician OR... you could be like Mrs Thomson who plays piano and leads the church choir in a tiny church with 37 weekly attendees and gets paid a $40/week stipend for it, and she also works 5 days a week in the chicken-packing plant."

By the time you are an adult, that is no longer meaningful. You know how to assess your skills, and what kinds of skills you might like to develop, and which of them you'd be good at. (And by "good at," I mean, "good enough to enjoy practicing them and get results that make you happy." I assure you that I am a mediocre cook at best, but I have the level of cooking skills I want, and I know I could develop more if I cared to.)

It's also easy to get intimidated by the people around you, who've developed expertise in areas you have not, especially in areas that you'd like to have more skill.

I promise you that you have expertise in areas other people want. (Because. Here you are, in your 30s, talking to strangers on the internet, and trying to figure out what to do next with your life. THOSE ARE SKILLS. Really. Even the "try to figure out" part; there are people who feel absolutely stuck in life and have no idea why, don't even know how to realize they want something to be different. And I'm betting you have other skills that aren't apparent in an anonymous ask.)

Ignore your "potential" and focus on what do you want to do?

Maybe throw a few thoughts towards "what kind of world do I want to live in, and what would I do if I were living in that world?" but don't put a lot of energy into fantasies about "if we had clean energy and robust anti-capitalist legislation and UBI and..." (I mean. Spend all the time you want on those. But those aren't part of sorting out "what do I do with my life now?") So: if you want to live in a world where neighbors welcome each other to the community with a casserole, then go talk to your neighbors, even if you feel awkward about it. If you want to live in a world with active, thriving libraries, go borrow some books from your local library. If you want to live in a world where you own your digital purchases, learn how to strip the DRM from ebooks. And so on.

If you're running into self-worth issues, consider who the Republican party is running for office, and remind yourself that you are not worse than them, and if they "deserve" money and power and fame, you at least deserve to be comfortable. (Whether they "deserve" what they have or not, they have it, so you might as well decide you deserve some friends and some entertainments and a job you don't hate.)

If you're running into "but all that seems like a lot of effort and I don't know if I have the energy" - pick something smaller as a first goal. Don't write the novel; write one scene that's stuck in your head, one bit of dialogue that makes you want to tell the story around it. Put it in a private file just for you. Start a collection of story fragments.

tl;dr umm...

We're all just muddling along. Really. We're stuck in a capitalist hellscape together. Find something you care about and let yourself be obsessed with it. Give yourself permission to be bad at it. Give yourself permission to just do the 5% you enjoy.

Don't count your achievements by starting with a list of things you haven't done.

#anon asks

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c0s-lettuce · 2 years

Text

sunrise - cal kestis x reader

gender non-specific, set before the events of fallen order

a/n: cal might be my favourite star wars characters of all time. and i'm totally not trying to manifest him making a cameo obi-wan kenobi ;)

word count: 1044

Sleep. It's a marvellous sensation. There's nothing better than retreating for the night after a day of work. You also loved dreaming. They could take you anywhere, where anything is possible. You loved less the more bizarre dreams, such as getting chased by a Wookiee with a flaming stick. Not that you had anything against Wookiees or flaming sticks, you just prefer not to get chased by them.

The dream you were having was peaceful. It felt like a memory. And maybe it was; a long lost memory of your old life, hidden deep inside your mind. You were in a large room. It was clean and open, warm and-

"Hey!" a voice whispered sharply.

You woke up suddenly, immediately leaving behind the comfort of your dream. Groaning, you tried to make sense of your current situation and place a person to the voice that just woke you up.

"Hey, wake up. I want to show you something," the voice said again.

"Cal?" your senses came to, and you finally focused on the person in front of you. It was indeed Cal Kestis, and he had a big smile on his face.

"Yes, it's me. Get up and meet me outside."

"Now? What time is it?"

"Uhh.. early. But it's worth it, I promise."

Rolling over, you grumbled your best attempt at an agreement. Cal seemed happy with your response before leaving to wait outside. You caught a glimpse out the door and realised it was still completely dark. Cal certainly wasn't lying. It really was early.

Disgruntled by the fact that you both had work later today, you had no choice but to go out and see what the hell Cal woke you up for. Throwing on a jacket, you made your way outside. It was still dark, and moisture remained from last night's rain.

Bracca is, by all means, a mediocre planet. It's cold, damp and dark. Being a scrapper is not what you had imagined your life to be. But you imagined many people shared the same sentiment.

Once Cal saw you had walked out, he gave you no opportunity to ask questions. Instead, he immediately set off, beckoning you to follow. You sighed. 'Typical Cal', you thought.

------

The two of you have been climbing for a couple minutes now. Cal is still full of excitement while you're starting to get tired and pissed off.

"Ok, last one," Cal says, pulling himself up on the final platform.

Cal is one of the most agile people you know. He can leap and scale walls without breaking a sweat. You... less so, especially not after a rude wakening before dawn.

You heave yourself up, "Cal, I swear if you don't stop and tell me what's going on, I'm going to-"

You don't finish your sentence. Instead, all of your attention is directed to the horizon. Cal has brought you high up, above a lot of the infrastructure. The position gives you a perfect view of possibly the most beautiful sunrise you have ever seen.

"Woah," you manage to say after a few seconds.

"Yeah, that was my first reaction too," Call tells you, "It only looks this good for a couple days every orbit."

"All the years I've been here, I never knew this place could look like this."

"I only found out last year. I wanted to show you then, but it was too late."

You look over at him, "You've been waiting for a whole orbit to show me this?"

"Yeah," Cal shrugs nonchalantly, though you notice he seems a bit embarrassed.

"Huh, no wonder you wanted to show me so badly," you smile.

You take a seat on the ground. Cal sits next to you.

You still remember the day Cal crash-landed in Bracca. It was the day that your life significantly improved.

"You know, I barely remember my life before Bracca. I know I had one. I just can't remember it," you say.

"I seem to be better off forgetting mine," Cal replies.

"I guess no one has an easy life. Not around here, at least."

"Yeah, well, we just have to make the best out of everything, right?"

"You're just about the best thing in my life right now. You and this sunrise."

"Wow, I've got competition with the sun?" Cal asks.

"It is one hell of a view," you tell him.

Cal laughs, "Well, no doubt for me, I would miss a million sunrises to be with you."

You're taken aback. Cal has never said anything like that before. You pray that the sun's light masks the pink on your face.

"Thanks, Cal. You're very charming," you smile at him.

"I try," he smiles back.

You look back at the horizon, the light getting brighter by the second. As the day begins, the colours of the sky begin to fade, leaving behind a great sense of melancholy. The one beautiful thing about this planet is already going away.

"I don't know how much longer I can stay here," you say after a while, "I know we're lucky to have work, but it just feels like I'm drowning."

"Then we'll leave," Cal tells you, "I'll save up enough credits, and we can get out of here."

"Cal, I can't ask you to do that just for my sake."

"Yes, you can. I've already been saving. And we can probably find a good ship somewhere around here. Plus, getting off this planet would probably do good for me too."

"What if something goes wrong? Or we can't find jobs?"

"We'll manage. I know we can."

You don't know how to respond. Cal sounds so sure, so hopeful.

He continues, "Besides, an adventure with you? Sounds like a dream come true."

You stare at Cal in response, wondering how you ever got so lucky to have him crash into your life. Seeming to have run out of words, you scoot closer to Cal and rest your head on his shoulder. He reciprocates by placing his arm around you.

Maybe one day, the two of you will leave. Or perhaps you'll be stuck on Bracca forever. There's no way to tell what the future will bring. But all that matters now is the present, here with Cal watching the sunrise.

➸

#star wars #cal kestis #cal kestis x reader #cal kestis x you #jedi fallen order #star wars jedi: fallen order #jedi survivor #star wars jedi: survivor #star wars x reader

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sweetbillwriting · 10 months

Text

This Is Bad, Billy

Part 5 - The Gray Building

Characters: AU Bill Skarsgård, here called Billy. He's inspired by real life Bill but also the character Clark Olofsson in the Netflix series Clark. AU Landon Liboiron.

Setting: This story is set in the 60s L.A, New York, and a smaller town close to L.A.

Warnings: 18+, historical preferences, mental health problems, mental illness, abuse.

Why did I invite him? Why did I think it was a good idea to take the car with him? Hang out with him alone for two days?

Landon sat next to me and played on his harmonica. He had done so for several hours after his nap. Before his nap he had played on his ukulele.

"Landon? Landon?" I said to make him stop playing. It was soon his turn to drive and I wanted to do something to make the time go faster. He stopped playing and looked at me with tired eyes.

"How long have you known Billy?"

"Ehh… Like twelve years?"

I looked at him a bit shocked. I didn't know why, but I didn't think they had been friends for such a long time. Landon smirked at me, he probably saw what I was thinking.

"He had just been in America for like six months when we got to know each other. Being extras in a movie together."

I glanced at him quickly while he looked out from the window.

"How was he then,” I asked carefully. “Did he miss Sweden?"

"Hell no!" Landon laughed. "And he was cocky. Didn't take any shit."

I furrowed my brows, sure Billy was a fighter, probably a bit cocky when I wasn't around but hearing it from Landon it sounded like he was untameable.

“Can't you tell me more?" I asked with caution. Landon smirked at me and hit his harmonica against his thigh.

"I thought you two had an amazing love affair?"

I gave him an irritated look.

"We did! But there were so many other things that happened that we never had time to talk about our background!"

"Or you were just a groupie? Maybe I shouldn't let you meet him? Maybe you're dangerous?" He joked and gave me a teasing smile but I wasn't amused. He didn't know anything about Billy and I’s relationship. Landon gave me a friendly smile when he realized I took offense.

"Sweden wasn't fun for him either. Sweden is a fucked up country," he said, taking out a cigarette from the pocket on his shirt.

"How?" I just knew what Daniel had told me and then it sounded like the socialist democratic dream.

"We can say they don't like people that are different. They had more contact with Germany in the war than they want to confess. In a perfect country there isn't a place for criminals and sick people."

I swallowed hard because I didn't know Sweden was like that.

"It's better now, the young don't tolerate it but when Bill lived there… They wanted to sterilize him."

I reacted in shock and was afraid I would lose control over the car.

"Why? Why? I mean… Billy isn't…"

"His whole family is a bit wild but the police started to watch him. That was when he took the boat to America."

I sat quietly for a while. It was heavy stuff. Private stuff.

"What does he think about you talking about this?"

Landon made a sound of indifference.

"I don't think he cares, he has been locked in a looney bin for ages and you obviously think he's charming even if he has hundreds of diagnoses."

I nodded and thought about a question I had thought earlier but was too private to ask.

"Has he been with many girls?"

"Like slept with them? Hundreds. Threesome, foursome, oral, anal…"

"Stop, stop, stop! I don't want to hear that!" I interrupted him.

"You asked!" He said with a laugh.

"No! I didn't ask what he did to them!"

I looked out with a pissed expression. I really didn't want to know. Billy was still the most exciting lover I have had and I wanted to believe the lovemaking with me was special. Landon made me feel unspecial and mediocre.

We sat quietly for a while until Landon started to play his harmonica again.

"Hey! Stop playing!" I said annoyed and hit his arm. He continued to play with a teasing gaze.

"Tell me more about Billy instead!" I said to make him stop playing but also because I wanted to know more. Landon stopped playing with a sigh and looked at me, waiting for a question.

Landon told me little by little about Billy while we drove to New York. About his bohemian Swedish family, his crimes in Sweden, mostly car thefts and drunken fights. He told me about Billy's love for food, spirits and girls. About the fiance he had when he was 23.

She was rich and beautiful, only nineteen but they broke up the day he got locked up in a mental hospital. They locked him in after he had been in a drunken fight with a director's son and then finding out about his background in Sweden. They also claimed they had victims saying he acted strangely while filming, probably had the director told them so. After that he was going in and out from different institutions. A short while he was even in prison but his manager succeeded to hush everything down.

Billy did sound at all like the guy I've met and I was mostly impressed that he was so collected after everything that had happened to him. Most would have had a breakdown from everything he had been through instead Billy seemed to be the most sane person I've heard of.

When we were almost in New York Landon turned towards me. He sat behind the steering wheel now while I had just woken up next to him. My neck was sore and I felt uncomfortable when I realized I smelled of sweat.

"It was your father, right? That had him locked up for good?"

I looked down at my hands, I wanted to denying my own part in the story but it was my father who had accused him of raping me.

Landon gave me a look but probably understood why I behaved like I did.

"Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you protest?" I heard in his voice he was forced to control his anger. Landon wasn't the person to hold a grudge against someone but there was anger towards me he hadn't shown before.

I just sat with my head low and felt my chest hurt and how a burning feeling grew in my throat. It wasn't me you should feel sorry for. There weren't any sympathies to give, I knew that but still I felt like Landon didn't need to ask me that.

"Huh?" He said with even more annoyance. If he could he would stare me out but was obligated to look at the road.

"You will not understand…" I swallowed my tears back.

"No! I don't understand! And now you think you saving him will make up for that? Fucking hell, like yeah! You owe him to do that but you owe him so much fucking more!"

I laid my hands over my face and cried. I didn't want to cry because that would make Landon believe that I just felt he was mean but I couldn't stop it.

Landon sighed and scratched his scalp and down to his beard.

"Do you want him? Do you want him romantically?" He asked calmly and it made me take my hands away from my face. I looked at him with red eyes and wet cheeks and nodded carefully. Landon nodded as an answer but didn't say anything else. I could only guess what he thought of me but I hoped he could understand I would fight hard for Billy.

×××

When in New York we asked around to find the way to the mental institution. There weren't a lot of people who knew where it was and most of the people gave us strange looks. Maybe they believed Landon would be admitted, I couldn't believe they thought that about me. Even though I have been dressed in the same dress since we started the trip I was meticulous with my makeup and hair. I had learned in my years as a model that everything was easier for you if you looked clean and healthy. Even better if you were good looking. Landon was good looking but didn't really look that clean.

After many questions and a greasy burger we had finally found the institution. It was a big gray stone building with fences located on the outskirts of the city. It looked sad even if there actually were patients outside who smiled. They didn't look at all as sick as the ones who had been at the ward I had worked at and I wondered if any of them were sick for real or were just being punished for not being able to fit into society. A nurse in a white dress and blue cardigan looked at us when we walked up to the gate but lowered her gaze again like she wanted to pretend she didn't see us.

"Hello little lady?!" Shouted Landon towards her and I hushed him down in panic. It was important to act collected, like they could trust us.

"Eh, excuse me? We would like to talk to someone in charge?" I said with a loud but polite voice. The nurse looked at me but then looked towards another nurse who sat on a bench with an old man. I hadn't noticed her before but she looked up at us with a strict face and stood up with a sigh.

"Now you let me talk, okay?" I said with a low voice to Landon who nodded. He also probably had understood it was better that I spoke. I could feel how the nurse looked at us, Landon's jeans, my mini skirt. We probably didn't look like people she wanted to talk to. She walked up to us without giving us a smile.

"Yes?"

She was in her late forties but looked older because of her unmodern updo and tired expression.

"Are you in charge here? We want to talk with someone in charge?" I tried to sound like I was a person of importance but the woman just looked at me with a hard gaze.

"What is it about?"

"One of your patients. I have new information that I think is important for you to know."

"Who?"

"Mr. Skarsgård."

Her tired face changed when I said his name but I couldn't say how, only that her eyes looked bigger. She was quiet for a few seconds and looked down at her shoes. She seemed to have lost some of that strictness after I had said his name.

"Come with me, we will see if the chief is here."

She locked the gate behind us and Landon gave me a triumphant expression but I didn't feel as sure. There was something strange with how the nurse had reacted to Billy's name.

We walked up the pavement to the building behind the nurse, discreetly I looked at the patients outside. It was just men, men of different ages but all of them looked healthy and sane. Or at least it looked like it with an unaided eye. I walked closely to Landon to be on the safe side.

The nurse took us through gray but bright corridors. We could hear sounds but it was hard to say if it was loud voices of happiness or anger. It sounded like it could be a fight.

"It's just guys here?" Landon asked as he looked around.

"You’re wondering if there are just male patients here? That's correct. All of them are here because they have a mental illness but also have committed a crime."

The nurse sounded authoritative and walked fast through the corridors. It felt like she wanted to make herself more important than she actually was.

She locked up a door and then one more after a short corridor. Then she walked up to a door and carefully knocked. It looked like her whole demeanor had changed while standing in front of the wooden door. I looked around the room we were in. To the left stood a desk and a typewriter, probably for a secretary but the chair stood empty. When my gaze left the desk I saw a man at the door. He was dressed in a white doctor's jacket and looked neatly dressed underneath. He reminded me of Humphrey Bogart and I wondered which one of his characters would this doctor remind me of.

"They want to talk to you about Bill Skarsgård," said the nurse with a low voice, like she was excusing herself for her existence. Humphrey Bogart looked at us and stopped with his eyes on my legs.

"You mean the rapist?" He said shortly as he played with his gray tie.

The nurse nodded a little and looked down at the ground.

"Or should I say… The lover?" He said and smirked. The nurse continued to look down at her feet then she turned around and walked away without looking at us. Landon looked after her then at me with raised brows. I knew what he was thinking. I thought the same but with other emotions. One more nurse.

"Come in, come in. Let us talk about Mr. Casanova," said the doctor jokingly and sat down behind his desk. He pointed towards the chair in front of him to Landon but Landon made a move towards me to say that I could sit down so I did with wobbly legs.

"My name is Joan Woods. I think you can find that name in your journal for Billy, I mean Bill." I really tried to sound self-assured but calm. Landon stood next to me and I was both annoyed but also comforted.

"Never heard that name," said the doctor and continued to play with his tie. I cleared my throat and read the sign in front of him. Dr. Coltrane.

"Dr. Coltrane, can you maybe read his journal?"

The doctor sighed like a bored child and stood up from his chair and moved to the cabinet on the left side of his desk. With a bored expression he took out a journal and started to read it standing up. His bored expression morphed slowly to a confused one and he dragged his hand over his mouth and jaw over and over.

"The victim…" he said to himself but I chose to answer it anyway.

"I was never a victim. My dad made that up."

The doctor looked up at me and yet again, my legs.

"You're saying…" he said with furrowed brows.

"That he had consent. Yes. I wanted to… be close to him." I felt my cheeks heat up but I wanted to sound determined even if I obviously felt ashamed talking about my lovemaking with Billy. I didn't look at Landon but I heard him exhale deeply. The doctor sat down by his desk again and looked through the journal.

"I think you should get a lawyer in that case. I can't just let him out," said the doctor with a softer voice, it actually sounded like he maybe believed us.

I nodded and tried to come up with how to solve it all.

"Can we see him? Bill I mean?" Landon suddenly asked. I looked up at him. He looked hopeful but nervous.

"I'm afraid not… He has electroconvulsive therapy today. Maybe he didn't rape you but Mr. Skarsgård still has his problems…" It sounded like the doctor wanted to defend their treatments. Landon and I looked at each other and took in what the doctor said. What kind of treatment had he gotten over the years he had been locked in?

×××

Landon and I sat on the hood of the car. Neither of us said anything and instead had an inner conversation with ourselves. What was the next step?

A lawyer. After that? Contact a judge. Present my evidence that my father had lied. It wouldn't be easy. I was a twenty six year old model while my father was a man, a doctor.

"Do you have money for a lawyer?" Asked Landon carefully. I sighed and looked down at my feet. One more problem.

"You know, Billy has money. I don't know where but he has money."

I gave him a look and he looked back with the same thinking expression.

"So we must talk with Billy first? What if they don't let us?"

"They will. I read a sign in the doctor's office and they see themselves as a new sort of institution where health and social interaction is important. They even have real therapy."

I nodded a little and felt a glimmer of hope.

"Maybe they are good to Billy?"

Landon hadn't time to answer because a man next to us cleared his throat. I couldn't believe my eyes when an older but healthy looking Samuel smiled towards us.

"I wondered when you would come and save him," he said to me and walked up to us. He laid a hand on my shoulder but I hugged him instead. He had helped Billy before, maybe he would do it again.

"What are you doing here?" I said accordingly and to my surprise Landon hugged him too.

"Samuel, buddy," he said and hugged his shoulders. Samuel smiled warmly towards us both and looked towards the institution.

"I work here. I moved to be close to my children and by accident I started to work at the same place Billy had moved to."

I nodded happily and heard Landon say a low "awesome".

"Is it good here? Is it a good place?"

"It's better than the one you work at. In a way… He has more freedom."

"But in general?" Asked Landon.

"It is good for him. Just that some of the doctor's are evil men."

I swallowed hard and didn't dare to ask further but Landon did.

"They do it while he is awake… Otherwise he seems to have less anxiety."

"Who fucking cares? Everyone has anxiety!" Landon exclaimed but Samuel just gave him a fatherly look.

"Billy has his problems. He isn't completely mentally stable but he shouldn't need to be locked in for it. It isn't such a problem."

I bit my lip and crossed my arms. I wanted to ask more but Landon asked the same question I had.

"What kind of problems?"

"Anxiety, he is paranoid, imagining things, can't control his impulses, shows lack of understanding for others feelings. But he is a good man. A really good man." Samuel said it with a big smile like he wasn't worried but to me it sounded like a bonafide mental patient. For a few seconds I felt that we should turn back around, that Billy should be at the mental hospital but Samuel's words made me think differently. Samuel, who had worked as a caretaker for a long time didn't think Bill should be there, he just thought he was a great man.

"Is it worth trying to get him out?" I asked Samuel and looked towards the big building.

"Absolutely. I can say hello to him, from you."

"Can you say that we need money for a lawyer? I know he has money," said Landon excitedly. Samuel nodded slowly in deep thoughts. He was quiet a bit too long that made me start to worry.

"I can help you with that. If Billy says yes. I know where his money is."

×××

After another night sleeping in the car we met Samuel the next day with a thick pile of cash. I had never seen so much money at the same time and wondered where Samuel had it. Or was it hidden somewhere else?

We walked New York's streets until we found a lawyer's office and got a lawyer with the unfortunate name of Tom Thomas. He was tall and skinny and looked through my evidence.

"Oh, this will not be hard to win. Your words will absolutely have people interested but the other evidence will make them believe you. How did you get this?"

"It wasn't me, it was my mother. She sent it to me," I said with a hammering heart. This would maybe affect my father's life forever but I couldn't think about that when an innocent man, my first life, was imprisoned because of his lies.

"I will contact a judge and present it to him, if you don't want a trial to get compensation for his time imprisoned. Landon shook his head.

"Just solve it fast."

"How long have you had those papers?" Landon asked while we were walking towards the car. He still had the same clothes on as he had when we left L.A. but I had changed and freshened up. I didn't think the lawyer would take me seriously if I smelled like sweat and fried chicken.

"Like a year. I didn't know what to do with it until now, when my husband wanted to go to L.A. I felt forced."

Landon didn't say anything, he probably thought that I should have done something sooner but it was my dad, it wasn't that easy.

"Why did your mother do it?"

I shrugged my shoulders and looked down at my baby blue flats.

"She has always been a good person. Always wanted to do the right thing but with a husband that cared more about success…" I didn't say more, I didn't know how to phrase it and Landon probably understood anyway.

When we sat in the car Landon turned to me with furrowed brows.

"How do you think Samuel got that money?"

I looked at my makeup in the rearview mirror and thought about his question.

"They are friends?"

"So close friends? So close friends he would give his money to him?"

"Are you accusing Samuel of something?” I became upset and turned to him.

"No! I just… I don't know, it feels like Samuel didn't tell us everything."

×××

We met Samuel in the evening outside of the institution. He had just ended his shift and would take his pickup home to Brooklyn. He walked slowly towards his car, playing with his keys but didn't say anything to us. Just as Landon I started to have a bad feeling and in the darkness it felt even more worrying.

"I think you can meet him tomorrow. I take him out for a walk after lunch, so be here then. But he is… Fuzzy in his head. He has lost some memories of his treatment." Samuel said when he had unlocked his car. Me and Landon nodded a little.

"Is there something we need to know?" Landon was obviously trying to get him to talk, to tell us something he didn't want us to know. Samuel shrugged his shoulders and sat down inside the car.

"I think Billy will tell you everything you need to know."

"Do you think there’s anything more we should do? Something we should bring to him tomorrow," I asked and scratched my back, the polyester my yellow dress was made of itched against my skin.

"Nah, just talk with that judge and get him his freedom."

#bill skarsgård #bill skarsgard #fan fiction #writing #story #bill skarsgård writing #bill skarsgård fanfiction #fiction #clark #landon liboiron

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leahnardo-da-veggie · 1 month

Text

Everyone here loves competition, I'm sure. Why else would we be here? But I doubt any of you love it more than me. I've been through 15 competitions this year alone. The thrill of pitting yourself against another, the triumph of doing well and the pride of receiving your reward in front of the whole school. It was exhilarating, heady, and addictive. And I was happy, for a while.

Then I started yearning for more. To get more than just participation, more than just honorable mention. I did good, but I wanted to better.

So I signed up for more competitions. I went for anything the school offered. Every competition dangled in front of me, every little opportunity to show off.

But somewhere along the way, my competitions stopped being about showing off and started being about proving my worth. Pride turned to insecurity and joy turned to anxiety and self-hate. Silver? How dare I not get gold! I was furious. I felt like a letdown. I won an entire competition, and I felt nothing but frustration at being near the upper end of the age limit. In my anger and hurt, I took to... More competitions. Anything to prove I was really, truly perfect.

That was a mistake. The parasite of perfection had glutted itself on my not-quite-wins, and it was not enough anymore. It was never enough. And now a bronze was worthless, and made me worthless. A silver was dissatisfactory. I had to get a gold, in everything and against all odds. In retrospect, it was getting ridiculous. Unattainable. But I had the bit of victory between my teeth, and I simply could not let go.

But all highs must become lows, and my high tower of obsession and desperation came crashing down eventually.

You see, my life had become a competition, and my happiness the grand prize. Or so it seemed to be at least. But that was just a lie. I would never be happy. Not with a silver, not with a gold, not even with all the golds in the world. I was not perfect, and I would never be the best in everything. Trying to convince myself otherwise was an exercise in futility. So I hit the brakes. Decided enough was enough. I was done with crying over being less than perfect. I had done enough. I had done well.

I will be frank here. Acceptance is hard. It feels like giving up, surrendering yourself to a life of mediocrity. It feels wrong, weak and cowardly. But every time I cursed myself for being a gutless wimp, I remember the alternative. I remember the insatiable greed of the parasite, feasting on my hopes and dreams. I remember that this is not giving up.

It is saving myself before it becomes too late.

I didn't change immediately. I sulked over every 3rd and 2nd in class I got. I grouched over every trivial error I made. But the anguished agony of imperfection faded to a disgruntled ache with time, and I found myself, if not accepting my imperfections, then at least tolerating them. Maybe someday, I will get a silver in something and feel nothing but triumph. Because then I will truly have understood:

I am not perfect, and I am not the best, but I am good enough.

#my writing #I wrote this for a public speaking competition and figures you guys might like it #imperfection #Accepting yourself #Vent #my work #writeblr #writing #creative writing #writerscommunity #competition

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noturprobiem · 10 days

Text

A little piece I wrote, this one may become a start of a little series

It's dark and quiet. In front of me is a cathedral so tall it drowns in the night sky. I know its walls are red, although there's no reason for me to be so sure of it, as the only light on the scene is an unnatural glow of the moon. Below me, the ground is paved with uneven stone and wet from rain. The air is damp and fresh, but there's no wind.

I have no memory of how I got here, but I'm where I'm supposed to be. The cathedral wants me to open the wooden doors and step inside, and I obey without question. Inside, daylight shines through the stained glass, biblical characters follow my every move with their empty eyes. In front of me and behind me are thousands of golden pipes — a massive organ, little angel figures staring at me from its impressive height. I sit in the front row. The music starts without any warning. Tears stream down my face the second I hear the low, slow hum of the instrument.

I know the song, although I've never heard it. It makes me remember the night of our wedding, the moment on the balcony when I, cigarette in hand, looked at the city below. The air was stiff and heavy, it smelled of ozon. It was a calm and quiet night. Above and below me, other smokers stood in some kind of silent solidarity. I waited for joy to overwhelm me, for everything to finally click and make perfect sense, but it never came. Instead, that night I accepted the truth I've been denying for years: marriage could not make me feel whole, it just made me a liar. There was no running from it, the craving in my heart would never be satisfied with a person. I was to live as I am, incomplete and grieving the life I never had, until death takes my pain away.

The organ doesn't stop to let me reminisce. My tears don't concern it as another song starts playing. It's the song my heart sang the moment I chose to become a lawyer. Then, I thought, I would be able to afford to keep music as a hobby in my life. And I was. There was a piano in our house, but I hardly had the energy to play. It didn't feel right to disturb it for ten minutes of mediocre performance.

It shifts into the song I dreamed of playing on the big stage in front of my family, the song I imagined every time I thought of a life that was stolen from me. The cherub figures start moving, playing their fake instruments, mocking my useless attempts at creating music with their little pantomime. At first they can only robotically repeat the same three poses, but slowly their movements become smoother and more complicated. It terrifies me to think of what they are, but I can't look away, even for a second. Whatever happens, I'm determined to stay until the concert ends. There's no bigger insult to a musician than walking out during a performance.

The angel that previously sat, unmoving, above the pipes, slowly turns its head to look at me. Its beautiful golden hair shines in the sunlight as it jumps down. The building shakes from impact, but there's no damage to the floor.

The angel gets closer, its glossy nose almost touching mine. Its eyes look just like hers. They were so big, so dark, so beautiful. They looked at me with love and adoration, and I looked back with empty smiles. The angel puts its hand on my shoulder, and I gasp when it touches my neck, hard and cold. Her hands were so pale you could see veins through the thin skin. She played piano, too, which was why I chose her. When she played for me in the quiet of our apartment, I loved her back. There was nothing more intimate between us than those hours of playing to each other without saying a word, the silent understanding hanging between us that nothing could ever compare to what we have with our instrument. I was jealous of her, of course. The thought of her caressing the keys when I wasn't around made blood boil in my veins. I couldn't fully accept that she had the same relationship with music as I had, couldn't bear to believe that her passion ran as deep as mine. And her love for me was proof that her heart wasn't fully in it. It filled me with a sense of pride, to be the thing that ruined her perfect harmony with our passion.

The angel takes my hand, its movement stiff and shaky. It leads me somewhere, but never breaks our eye contact even for a moment. When my hand slips from its, I find myself in front of the organ console and the angel is back in its original position, frozen like it never left. There's nobody there. I knew it already. This is my place, the organ begging me to join it and become a part of its complicated mechanism, to become its brain and beating heart. And I obey. I've always been better with piano, but practice makes perfect, and I have all the time in the world.

just_phlox on ao3

#phlox writing #amateur writer #creative writing #writing #mystical horror #original story #original horror #small story #writers on tumblr #writers on ao3

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dellalyra · 1 year

Text

✵ Records ✵

Satoru x Reader

Part of…

✵ Pixie’s 1.5k Follower Celebration ✵

Request from @luckimoon

Sweet! Tysm :D♡

May I request a moodboard or playlist with Satoru Gojo. (Romantically)

I'm fine with anything you'd like or feel comfortable with, no pressure, hehe. 😂

If I'm missing anything, please let me know, and I'll be happy to help 🥰

A/N: OKAY I REALLY HOPE YOU LIKE THIS AND THANK YOU SO MUCH I HAD A STUPID AMOUNT OF FUN WITH THIS <3

Summary: You and Satoru’s relationship, categorised and immortalised through songs, with drabbles and scenarios for each one. NSFW and MDNI 18+ only

‘Til I Found You - Stephen Sanchez

I said, "I would never fall unless it's you I fall into"

I was lost within the darkness, but then I found her

I found you

The life of sorcery is teeming with horrors and Satoru’s Atlas shoulders and the sadness you’ve both encountered can sometimes be a lot. But then, you have each other. You two are the definition of soulmates, you once said to him you think the universe made you both as halves so you could be one whole puzzle piece together - to which he wholeheartedly agreed.

Yes to Heaven - Lana Del Rey

If you dance I'll dance

I'll put my red dress on again

And if you fight I'll fight

It doesn't matter, now it's all gone

I've got my mind on you

You two never faced any challenge alone. Since day one, you’ve been a team. Higher ups? You both hate them, it’s a date to argue with them. Curses? Let’s do it together, baby. Stray children? They’re our kids now. Grief? Shouldered by both. The weight of the world? Lighter on two sets of shoulders.

Stargirl - The Weekend ft. Lana Del Rey

A vision of my nails in the kitchen

Scratching counter tops, I was screaming

My back arched like a cat

My position couldn't stop

You were hitting it

Your man just never failed to hit that perfect little spot, and how could he not? Your tight warmth was made for him. Sex with Satoru was never mediocre - there was nothing that made him feel stronger than having you writhing and screaming him name beneath him, his perfect princess.

You Can Be The Boss - Lana Del Rey

You can be the boss, daddy

You can be the boss

There’s something about having this immense man take complete control of you that will never fail to have your panties damp and begging for his attention. Knowing you’re his, just for him, all for him, is fuel to both your fires. He loves to have you, so fucking pretty and so fucking powerful, under his control, willingly doing as he pleases, that will never not have him straining in his pants. He is wholly devoted to you, worships you like a goddess, and god does it feel so good.

Young God - Halsey

He says, "Ooh, baby girl, you know we're gonna be legends

I'm the king, and you're the queen, and we will stumble through heaven

The Strongest Sorcerer, the honoured one throughout heaven and earth, the first to wield both the six eyes and limitless in 400 years, head of one of the three big clans - he was the closest thing this world had to a god. You - powerful in your own right, a cursed technique and innate abilities passed down through generations of your family for a thousand years, supposedly descended from legends yourself - the strongest, just below Satoru. Together - you were unstoppable.

Lucky Ones - Lana Del Rey

Every now and then, the stars align

Boy and girl meet by the great design

Could it be that you and me are the lucky ones?

Everybody told me love was blind

Then I saw your face and you blew my mind

Finally, you and me are the lucky ones this time

Mariner’s Apartment Complex - Lana Del Rey

You lose your way, just take my hand

You're lost at sea, then I'll command your boat to me again

Don't look too far, right where you are, that's where I am

Unconditional. That’s the love you and Satoru have. There’s nothing that can’t be dealt with by each others side. No matter what - it’s you guys against the problem.

Don’t Blame Me - Taylor Swift

Don't blame me, love made me crazy

If it doesn't, you ain't doin' it right

Lord, save me, my drug is my baby

I'll be usin' for the rest of my life

There is nothing that you two wouldn’t do for each other. You’re the definition of each other’s ride or die. Satoru’s feral side is most prominent when you’re in the path of danger. You’re his to protect and defend, and nothing - will ever change that.

Sway - Michael Bublé

Other dancers may be on the floor

Dear, but my eyes will see only you

Only you have that magic technique

When we sway, I go weak

There was a big Jujutsu society soirée to celebrate something or rather that none of you were paying attention to, all you guys knew was champagne and dancing. Satoru and Suguru in full tuxedos as per the black tie dress code and you and Shoko in the finest of gowns. Mei Mei, Utahime, Nanami and Haibara were there too - everyone dolled up to the nines. Satoru’s jaw nearly dropped to the ground as you came down the stairs in that delectable blue satin gown, arm in arm with Shoko. Your skin became clammy and flushed at the sight of Satoru in a tux because god did he look delicious. At the height of the party, Satoru suavely asked you to dance when this song came on and pressed you against him, around slightly too low for ‘just friends’ as you liked to say and your eyes lingering slightly too long on the pale expanse of the column of his throat. Shoko and Geto looked on, and she slipped him a twenty that you two would finally hook up that night seeing how intimately you two swayed together. She lost the twenty that night, it would take another month or so.

My Girl - The Temptations

I've got sunshine on a cloudy day

When it's cold outside

I've got the month of May

Satoru definitely sang this very passionately at karaoke one night not long after you both finally got together, your blushing face hiding behind Geto’s shoulder as he just laughed at you both.

She’s Always A Woman - Billy Joel

She is frequently kind and she's suddenly cruel

But she can do as she pleases, she's nobody's fool

And she can't be convicted, she's earned her degree

And the most she will do is throw shadows at you

But she's always a woman to me

I can picture this song playing as the soundtrack to a scene of Satoru looking through his office window at you training the students on the field - your raw cursed power visible and amazing the kids looking on your demonstrations. He loves every part of you. Your heart, your warmth, your kindness, you intelligence, the wicked smile when you’re exorcising curses and the mirthful laugh you let out in a fight. You’re the perfect woman to him.

Falling in Love - Cigarettes After Sex

When I hold you close to me

I could always see a house by the ocean

Last night I could hear the waves

As I heard you say, "All that I want is to be yours"

Your head was on Satoru’s bare chest one night, in his dorm room, you were both almost 19 now and finishing high school, and deciding your next step. He asked you what you wanted and you said is all you wanted to be was his, to which he responded forever. You had decided on moving in together, somewhere peaceful, he thought. Removed - and safe. Somewhere pretty, with a garden for you. A place that you could maybe raise kids one day. Somewhere where he’s not the strongest and you’re not the heir to a mythical jujutsu clan. Where you’re just Satoru and Y/N. Yeah, that sounds pretty good.

Pretty Boy - The Neighbourhood

Even if my heart stops beating

You're the only thing I need, ooh, with me

Even if the Earth starts shaking

You're the only thing worth taking, ooh, with me

You two go through so much craziness and so many battles that there is no relationship more solid than you, built on unwavering trust and almost telepathic understanding. You soon learn that all each of you needs is each other, that’s when the world feels most okay.

I’ve Got You (Under My Skin) - Frank Sinatra

I've got you under my skin

I've got you deep in the heart of me

So deep in my heart that you're really a part of me

I've got you under my skin

This was your first dance song at your wedding. Something with a happy tune and god the lyrics just fit. Satoru in his navy suit and you in that beautiful cream gown, close family and friends cheering along as you both hum along in each others ears, giggling and swaying along on the dance floor of your rooftop wedding. A moment, truly, crafted by the gods.

#pixie’s 1.5k follower celebration #submission #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #jjk #gojo fluff #anime #dad!gojo #gojo smut

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linnoya-writes · 2 years

Text

Zutara sleepover “borrowed friends/borrowed books” Modern AU

Zuko, Haru, Teo and Sokka met when they were 11-13 years old, on a summer camping trip with their local Boy Scout troupe.

Jet was the tall, charming, model scout leader on that two-week-long expedition in the Canadian Rockies, and Zuko and Sokka immediately bonded over their mutual dislike of the guy. After that trip -- before September officially drives his friends away to their respective schools -- Sokka invites the boys to his backyard for an impromptu camping trip.

11-year-old Katara had gone on a trip that summer as well, volunteering with Habitat for Humanity for two weeks. She had no problem making friends with her bunkmates: Suki and Yue and little tough-nut Toph after talking about the trip leader’s son, Aang. It was annoying but cute, seeing how this 9-year-old kid had been trying to charm his way into Katara’s heart while not doing squat on the actual trip. When Aang surprises her with a kiss one day on her morning walk, Katara is stunned. She immediately goes to tell Yue about this: her first kiss. How it felt kind of... wrong... and dry... desperate, and childish...and Yue comforts her, saying how it’s okay to feel this way, how Aang should’ve asked her if she wanted to be kissed, and how first kisses aren’t usually perfect, anyway. Suki steps into the conversation, agreeing, saying how she still gets nightmares about saliva after her own kiss last summer. And Toph chimes in, her 9-year-old mind grossed out at the thought of kissing anyone. The girls laugh, and Katara feels happy, like she’s made some life-long friends over a mediocre first-kiss experience.

She invites the girls to her house for a slumber party before summer ends.

And as it turns out... it’s the same weekend as her brother Sokka’s backyard camping trip.

Katara and Sokka protest this to their dad, and Hakoda says that it wouldn’t be fair to cancel someone’s plans over another’s.

“Fine,” Katara side-eyes her brother, “but leave me and my friends alone. No funny business!”

“Fine by me,” Sokka mutters. “We’ll just be in the backyard.”

When the boys arrive for the that sleepover, Haru is the first one to take a notice of the girls arriving in their cars one-by-one and greeting Katara at the porch.

“What’s going on?” Teo asks as he unloads his arm-crutches.

“My sister’s having a… slumber party.” Sokka crinkles his nose in disgust.

“We should invite them to camp with us!” Haru suggests, already waving to the girls, but Zuko -- who was too busy unloading the giant tent box from his uncle’s car to pay any mind to the girls -- frowns.

“My sister has slumber parties all the time,” he rasps cautiously. “We should stay away-- unless you want to wake up with a face full of makeup”

Sokka slaps Zuko on the back, glad that they see the same way.

It’s only when Yue shows up that Sokka suddenly forgets what they were talking about.

“Hey! What’s this I hear?” Toph’s squeaky voice perks up from the patio. “Are there boys in front of this house?”

Katara scoffs, “Yes… but don’t worry. They won’t be bothering us.”

She expects her brother to snap back at her, but to her surprise it’s the sullen boy with the scar who jumps in.

“Oh— we don’t plan to,” Zuko quips to her, easily. “Enjoy your fancy makeover, Princess.”

The last thing Katara expects is that unfamiliar, husky voice to come full swing at her, on her own patio, and Katara’s practically lost for words.

It’s Suki who chimes in. “Excuse me-- who’re you calling a princess, Prince Pouty?”

Zuko doesn’t back down, looking annoyed. “Isn’t that what slumber parties are for? For princesses?”

Yue stands next to Katara, almost protectively as she says “for your information, we’re doing a lot more than makeovers.”

Sokka still says nothing to ease the tension; he is practically drooling over Yue, to the point where Haru elbows him.

Teo attempts a smile, “um... well… if you guys want to roast marshmallows with us, I brought plenty!”

Toph raises her hand instantly. And that’s when Katara speaks.

“Toph— no! We had a whole night of activities planned.”

“So what?” Toph exclaims. “They seem fun!”

"And they brought a volleyball net,” Suki mutters. “I have an idea--”

Katara braces herself.

“Hey, Pouty!” Suki shouts, loud and proud to the boy with the scar. “How about some boy-girl three-on-three volleyball action?”

Zuko stares at the girl’s stance, incredulously.

“Forget it; this was meant to be a boys’ night.”

It’s when her friend gets thrown off by Zuko’s quip that Katara finally rolls up her emotional sleeves and throws back.

“Oh come on, Mister Stuck-up Snob.” Katara smirks. “Are you scared to play against some spoiled, dainty little princesses?”

Toph, Haru and Teo laugh. Sokka eventually does, too.

Zuko’s brow rises. He feels his heart racing, and immediately starts to wonder if being Sokka’s friend is worth having to deal with this annoying girl. Zuko can already see his sister becoming the bane of his existence.

And Katara feeds that brewing, competitive fire. “Loser makes the winners s’mores?”

He clicks his jaw. “You’re on.”

Katara wasn’t expecting that determined look to show up on his face-- it catches her off-guard. She almost misses the high five Suki gives her. It’s then that she decides this new friend of Sokka’s will is the bane of her existence.

Of course, Katara, Suki and Yue easily crush the boys in volleyball. Zuko and Sokka argue like old ladies about who should’ve spiked the ball when. They’re both so red faced and Haru just tries to keep them together in his shy, awkward demeanor. Teo and Toph seem to hit it off easily on the sidelines, forgetting that they should be monitoring the game for points.

Zuko sneers at Katara’s winning smirk, but when she puts her hand out for “good game” he holds it firmly... but then, the hold goes soft. It just happens. Why, they’re not sure. But she notices his face, how close Zuko suddenly is to her. She sees the lining of his scar. He sees the tiny freckles on her nose.

It’s awkward. She hates that. He hates that, too.

Haru then says something to Katara, and her hand flinches out of Zuko’s. Toph then punches Zuko’s arm affectionately- “How does it feel to get your ass handed to you by some girls?”

He mutters “girls are crazy” and returns to setting up the tent.

When Hakoda pops out saying that he’s going to order pizza for the girls, it’s Sokka who looks at Yue and bravely says “how about we all just eat out here?”

Zuko and Katara whip their heads in unison to Sokka, with a resounding “what?!”

Suki joins in. “Yeah! It’s too nice of an afternoon to be cooped up inside a house all day.”

“But… what about the movie night?” Katara attempts meekly. “And manicures? And facials?”

Toph laughs. “Can’t we do that out here? Maybe give the guys a complimentary facial?”

Teo raises his hand instantly. “I volunteer!”

“And um…” Sokka looks at Yue as he speaks, “we have a projector we can set up to play the movie.”

“That would be nice!” Yue beams, but Katara frowns.

“Sokka— it’s a romcom. You hate romcoms”

“Whaaat?” His eyes bulge, nervously, playfully over to Yue. “That’s not true.”

“And if the movie gets too lame,” Teo turns to Toph, “I brought my guitar. We can sing in front of the campfire.”

Suki smiles, “You play guitar?”

But Toph punches her without warning. “Back off— I got dibs on him!”

Everyone seems to be laughing and enjoying the idea of a joint camping/slumber party. Everyone except Katara and Zuko. But being outnumbered, they swallow that bitterness and just roll with the night barely exchanging any words to each other.

On the cookout, Zuko handles the burger flipping, and gives Katara hers medium rare as she requested, doing all he can to avoid any more quippy things from her. She says nothing to him anyway. Not that he cares.

During the impromptu facials, Haru nervously tries and fails to secure a wet mask onto Katara’s face and she sneezes from the cloth... and when she turns her eyes to Zuko for a moment, she can see him glancing away.

It sounded like he had been laughing. Chuckling, really. But it must’ve been her imagination. This guy didn’t seem the type to smile... much less laugh.

By the time sun has disappeared and the projector has successfully beamed up for the movie, everyone is exhausted but still willing to payi attention to whatever is happening between these Lara Jean Covey and Peter Kavinsky characters.

“Booo!— he’s too preppy!” Sokka teases while he, Haru and Zuko finally complete their assembly line of s’more-making for everyone.

Katara takes a s’more without looking at Zuko, fully engaged with the movie. Sokka and Yue snuggle closely as they look at the projector screen. Haru is trying to keep his eyes open. Meanwhile, Teo and Suki are quietly teaching Toph how to play guitar with her nervous fingers.

As the movie continues, Katara can’t help but notice how Zuko stares at the screen sternly, and she finally grunts: “Okay. It’s stupid. I know.”

Zuko turns over to her, and just shrugs. “It’s not as bad as Twilight.”

And Katara perks up, not even missing a beat.

“Oh my god-- nothing is as bad as Twilight! That whole dynamic-- that complete and utter devotion to each other— is so toxic!”

“How that whole thing became the staple for teenage romance is beyond me.”

Katara laughs. “How do you even know about Twilight?”

“My sister read the books, and then my mom. I couldn’t get away from it.”

“Ugh-- I’m so sorry.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Zuko shifts his weight more comfortably on the ground. “This isn’t so bad. The Peter guy isn’t obsessive. And he has a life.”

“Yeah. And Lara Jean gets to be herself. She does things outside the relationship!”

Zuko raises his brow. “You mean, the fake-relationship?”

And Katara feels the grin on her face. “Oh. Right. You haven’t read the books—never mind.”

Zuko stares at her. “You’re telling me they actually become a thing?”

“Not saying anything!”

By the end of the movie, Katara has already made the trip to her room and brought down her copies of the books for Zuko to read, in case he wanted to.

He says nothing, but takes the books with a small smile.

With Haru already passed out after the movie, it seems it’s time for the girls and boys to part ways. Zuko puts out the campfire to give Sokka and Yue some final time, and he sneers in disgust over at Katara’s direction while she and Suki clean up their facial/manicure things. Toph makes a fist-bump with Teo, promising more guitar lessons in the future before he goes to his tent, and she and Suki head inside to Katara’s room to hit their sleeping bags. Yue plants a kiss on Sokka’s cheek before leaving, and Sokka looks so smitten and blushed he escapes into his tent.

Zuko and Katara are the ones to stay behind and finish cleaning. It doesn’t take too long, and with the only light now coming from heated coals in the campfire, they can barely make out each other’s faces.

Still, they stay. Zuko squints as he flips through the first book Katara gave him, quoting parts of it with a weak attempt at a teenage girl voice. It makes Katara laugh and punch him, and he fakes a weep.

“Alright-- “ she starts. “What kind of books do you like to read, Mr. Stuck Up Snob?”

Zuko puts a blanket over his shoulders, looking up at the sky. “I just finished the last Percy Jackson book, about Greek demigods and monsters. Now, I’m trying to get through War and Peace, with my uncle.”

Katara blinks. She doesn’t laugh. After a moment, she speaks quietly.

“I’ve been trying to get through Pride and Prejudice for years.”

“Hmm. Never heard of it.”

“Shut up.”

He chuckles. Not only is this a revelation for her-- hearing the boy actually laugh, knowing she hadn’t imagined it earlier... but it’s also strange. It feels like she’s already gotten a grasp of his sarcasm.

They stay out there in the darkness, laying out on blankets… talking about their time at Scout Camp, at Habitat for Humanity… how annoying it is to have a perfect little sister, a know-it-all older brother… and, after a long quiet moment looking at the sky and hearing a chorus of distant crickets… they get to the other things.

How she lost her mother, how he got his scar.

How their families fell apart. How they’ve managed, since.

It’s too dark to notice, but their frames slowly shift towards each other at arm’s length as they talk. They fall asleep out there, under the stars and blankets in the backyard.

Then, at the crack of dawn, birds chirping, Katara opens her eyes to Zuko fast asleep, so peacefully next to her… and without moving, she studies him. His dark hair. His frown, softened. His nose twitching by a light breeze that passes by.

And then she realizes how this looks, a boy and a girl… the two of them sleeping like this, outside, together. She panics, heart drumming against her chest. Katara frantically heads inside the house… thanking the gods that Suki, Yue, and Toph are still fast asleep. Katara quietly sneaks under her own untouched bedcovers.

Zuko wakes up alone, to the ice cold rush of water thrown on him by Sokka and Haru.

“Enjoying the slumber, sleeping beauty?” Sokka quips. “It’s breakfast time!”

Zuko rubs his eyes; he had not had such a peaceful sleep in forever… and for a moment, he’s convinced that it was all a dream, being out there with a Sokka’s sister, talking through the dead of night. But when he looks up at Katara’s window— the girls are all gathering and gossiping as they awake up in sleepy faces. And Katara glances over to him through the window, just for a second as she makes her bed… and that’s how Zuko knows: it was not a dream.

He pinches his nose, wiping the cold water from under his eyes.

He wonders what the girls are talking about, what Katara is telling them; if she’s saying anything about staying out all night. With him. Probably not.

But Zuko doesn’t frown at that, exactly.

Hakoda makes enough scrambled eggs, pancakes, bacon and toast for the eight kids… and while the boys and girls talk about volleyball and good songs for beginner’s guitar, Zuko and Katara only say a few words to the table; nothing directly to each other. They steal a few glances, though, and it’s Hakoda who notices. When Sokka hears that Zuko got on the waitlist for the newest Zelda game, he perks up and says “Hey, Dad!” with a mouthful of egg. “Can we do a video game night next month?”

“Heck yes!” Suki says happily. “I will most delightfully enjoy kicking all of your butts.”

Sokka gives Suki a puzzled look.

Hakoda laughs. “Alright— Katara, how would feel about that?”

She looks up, unprepared. “Oh… I mean, it’s not really my thing, but sure.”

Zuko looks over at Katara, and she grins, but they say nothing.

When they all pack up to go home, Zuko barely looks over Katara’s direction, and it’s only when he leaves that he manages to face her.

“Not the worst slumber party I’ve been to,” Zuko mumbles, hands in his pockets.

Katara tries not to laugh at that, holding her arms to her frame.

“Yeah. Um. Let me know what you think. About the books, I mean.”

“Sure. I might not even read them.”

Katara rolls her eyes. “You want to. Just admit it.”

He frowns dismissively, watching the car pull up. “Whatever.”

“Fine. Just bring them back to me, okay?”

Zuko scoffs. “I promise I won’t use them as doormats, Princess.”

She jabs him, and Zuko ignores it.

He heads straight to his uncle’s car, waving to Hakoda. “Thanks for having us over, Mr. Kuruk.”

“It’s Hakoda, son.”

“Okay. Bye Sokka.”

“See you soon, buddy!”

In the car Zuko is quiet while his uncle pulls out of the driveway.

“Did you have fun?” his uncle asks.

Zuko just nods, sternly, looking down at the stack of books on his lap.

Iroh notices those books as well, wondering what’s inspired Zuko to suddenly read the things Azula likes… but not questioning it.

Instead he says “I’m glad that you’re finally making friends.”

Zuko just shrugs, and carefully opens the first borrowed book to begin reading.

When the car rolls out, Hakoda notices Katara, looking out to the car almost as if she were in deep thought.

“He’s cool, right?” Sokka says to their dad.

“Yeah.” Hakoda agrees. “He seems like a good kid.”

Katara shakes her head, arms folded in. “He’s weird.”

Sokka and Hakoda turn to her direction, oddly, and all Katara does is go straight to her room and falls asleep as her head sinks into the pillow.

Her brows furrow as she sleeps… trying to think of anything other than a certain boy’s raspy voice, stern face, warm hands.

And that’s how it starts.

A month later, during the big video game night, only Zuko, Teo and Suki show up… but Katara and Yue are knee-deep in a science project for Mr. Pakku that they only run downstairs to grab a quick snack from the pantry. As they does so, Sokka greets Yue sweetly asking about the project.

“Who’s winning?” Yue asks.

“I am,” Suki chimes in proudly.

“But not by much,” Zuko mutters, and Suki laughs which makes Katara turn to see them playing together. Suki is edging her shoulder teasing against Sokka’s, rather than Zuko’s, and something about that eases a knot in Katara’s stomach.

It’s only then that she notices all of her three borrowed books returned, as promised... stacked neatly on top of each other at the kitchen table.

Zuko glances over Katara’s direction and acknowledges her with a nod.

It’s not enough to say whether or not he indeed read all the books… and Katara decides she doesn’t want to know. At least, not then.

Before a blush crosses her cheeks, she grabs a bag of chips and apple with one hand and quickly waves a hello to Zuko as she heads back up the stairs.

His heart skips a beat. He wasn’t ready for it. Her smile.

At the end of that night, when Sokka says they should play video games again, Zuko nods in agreement. But in his mind, only the face of a certain girl passes by. He sees her competitive smirk, her kind eyes, her soft hands. It’s not much, really… but it’s enough for Zuko to wonder just how much of him was excited to go back to Sokka’s house to actually play video games.

The next time he comes over, Katara isn’t studying.

She has managed to join in on Super Smash Bros brawl, patient with Sokka’s instructions on how to play, despite how much she says the activity seems “mindless… just a bunch of digital characters throwing punches at each other.”

Zuko fights back a chuckle from that, and his jaw clenches when she throws him a competitive stare… but he stays focused on the game. He wins, and the look on Katara’s face says she’ll look forward to playing him again. He doesn’t mind.

It’s not until the third time he comes over for video games that he and Katara go to the kitchen to grab water together... and they finally, finally talk about the books.

And school.

And other things besides the fact that they’d once stayed out all night, talking in the backyard.

A year later, when Sokka gets a smartphone, Zuko happily accepts his Instagram invitation and “Boy Scout” group chat invitations… and he chuckles whenever Katara steals her brother’s phone to text Zuko a quick greeting from cyberspace.

Another year later, when Katara finally gets her own smartphone... the girl doesn’t wait a minute before accepting her best friend’s Instagram invitation and they text each other at their respective schools throughout the day, almost every day.

Another year later, and they call each other... almost every night.

Another year later, and it’s on exceptionally rough days that Zuko finds himself showing up to the house. It’s alright. Hakoda has already welcomed him. It starts with watching some after-school SciFi thing with Sokka, happily eating a snack that Hakoda may offer him, and then... it’s her.

Katara feels the smile form on her face when she sees him.

The rough day may be about her, or him (they tend to be interchangeable, at that age), but in any case, the day always ends with them together. Doing homework quietly on the kitchen table... sitting on the patio chairs, talking about things... laying out in the backyard just to look up at the evening sky.

And it’s on one of these days when, without words, Zuko bravely asks his best friend if he can kiss her. Without words... she says yes.

And that’s how it starts.

#zutara #zutara fanfiction #zutara fanfic #zutara modern au #zuko #katara

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artemiseamoon · 5 months

Text

Still stuck on this Decided by Fate finale, sorry to my 1-2 darlings who are waiting 😩. So I’m using my writing time today to flesh out and hopefully finish this oneshot i stared early October. Listing to one of my many vampire playlist is really fueling the fire 🔥 plus it’s rainy and cloudy out. The vibes…( plus a long sneak peak below)

Made some revisions in my draft, not reflected below. It’s coming along nicely. I might be able to share the 1st one shot of the universe soonish.

In three months Ambrosia’s life did a 360, no, screw that, more like a 720. A month ago she was divorced, 20 pounds heavier than she was 2 years ago, living alone, and jobless, minus the trickle of money from her novels.

When that asshole left her, leaving the divorce papers on her writing desk, her world imploded, like that goddamn tower card, and all this just months before her 39th birthday.

Ambrosia’s life wasn’t perfect, and that asshole John was picked for her. She wasn’t even that attracted to him, but everyone kept pushing them together and eventually, after a run of shitty luck in love, she chose the security and familiarity of John, who also made a shit load of money and told her to just write and create, to not worry about working. That alone was the biggest selling point.

Sure she worked, more out of need, you had to in this life. But if she could just focus on writing and creating without a 9-5 ,that was a dream, and being married to boring, semi attractive John gave her access to that dream.

On the outside, John was sweet, the all around good guy type, but he was also a passive aggressive asshole, mediocre in bed, and a whole list of things she just dealt with for the last 12 years because he gave her room to live the life she preferred.

Ambrosia never fell in love with him, the words spoken at the wedding were empty, and the attraction was strongly onsided. John was very into her. She thought of leaving so many times, but dragged her feet. Then 12 years and 5 months in, John divorced her. She was pissed.

Once the settlemnt was over, he left her with a nice sum and the house. But eventually, that money would run out and she had to figure out a plan. At 39, after 11 years of not working in the professional world, trying to figure out next steps was anxiety enducing.

Ambrosia was looking for jobs related to her degrees when she found out about this. It started with a late night search, related to the current books she’s working on. It seemed unreal, an escort service catering to vampires, like a story good enough to read, and that's what led her to look deeper.

A week later, after some shady searches and conversations she was led to a secret website and found out one of the women who works for it, lived in her area. It was a risk, what if the woman was a killer, or a creepy man? But this was too good to stop tracking down. They talked for a couple of weeks, then met in a bookshop, and that conversations changed her life. Though there was a lot the woman couldnt say, she said enough.

Ambrosias curiosity peaked for several reasons. Vampires, of course, and second; a secret fantasy. While she was tucked away in her perfect (on the outside) marriage, she secretly fantacised about sex work, about life as an escort, down to her name, her wardbrode and her clients. It was something she never spoke aloud or intended to act on. She applied on a whim, as a joke, then nearly had a heart attack when she was picked.

In the Immortal Doves, there were three tiers of escorts. The highest level was Vampire Couteasan, they were for feeding and sex. The Mistressess, a level under, were for company and feeding, no sex, unless a vampire paid a heafty price to upgrade his mistress. Third was the Sweets, they were for feeding purposes only, even if a vampire wanted to upgrade, he couldnt and the Immortal Doves took security and the rules, even with vampires, very seriously.

Once a woman applied, she started at the Sweets level and either stayed there, or worked her way up. Some were immediately upgraded to the higher levels if the owners saw potential. Ambrosia was fine with the third level, this was an experiment, she just wanted to see what it would be like and it was sort of comforting to know she didn’t have to sleep with anyone, yet.

But Antonio and Adaris loved her instantly, and she did exceptionally well in all her studies, so they elevated her to Mistress level just a week ago, and tonight would be her first job.

The women sat in the larivsh waiting room, music playing in the background and red pillar candles lined the matal place and tables. To the left was a love chair, where Ravana sat. Some of the women in the group have been here before, and talked a little about it in the limo ride over.

As the doors opened, one of the most commanding, alluring, interesting people she’s ever seen walked in. Dark brown skin, bone structure and cheek bones to die for, tall and fit with sleek muscles and dressed in some sort of white draped dress fit for a goddess.

“Madame Kimora, “ Ravana stood and presented the women. “ the 5 Doves as requested, it is an honor.”

Kimora offered a slant nod at her, then sauntered over, her penetrative stare studying each of the womens faces.

“I am Kimora. This is the home I share with my husband. You are guests for a very special occasion, some of you have been here before. For those of you that haven’t, you have been hand selected by a guest tonight, each of you is the ideal treat for one of our vampires, including my husband and I, we will share one of you.

In a minute, I will play a video, pay attention. Follow these rules and this night will be as pleasurable for you as it will be for our vampires. Once the video is over,” she passed all 5, turned, then walked the other way, making direct eye contact with each of them, “you will be led upstairs to bathe, what is in your bath will depend on your vampire’s tastes. Then, you will be led to your dressing room. Afterwards, we will have dinner before tonight's festivities begin. Each of you will have a curated, light three course meal, as requested by your vampire.

When addressing me, you may call me Madame, or Madame Kimora. I prefer They/them over she. Please use it. I will see you shortly, do enjoy the quality clothing, adornments, and perfumes that await you. Not all of you will have makeup or perfumes as your vampire did not desire it so. I have handpicked everything myself to best accentaute all of your features and forms.”

As she left the room, Ravana quickly had all the women on their feet and led the way to the second floor baths where attendants waited. Ambrosia was led to the third bath, in a room mainly lit by candles.

As soon as Ambrosia and her assistant stepped in, they were met with the scent of the most exotic, sensual smelling rose she’s ever smelled, petals of it were littered across the water.

“You will find your soap there, it is the same Rose. In 15 minutes, I will return for you, then lead you to your dressing quarters.”

“Thank you.”

Ambrosia watched the assistant step out, and closed the door. She wondered if they were human or vampire. In her pre-event instructions, she was told what and what not to say and ask, and though she was very curious who her vampire was, she bit her tongue, and kept the question to herself….

#max Phillips #vampire story #Arte writes #fic: first bite #Arte original story #vampire max Phillips #artes moodboards

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