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ofthecaravel · 1 year

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Lover Of Mine

Chapter 3 of ‘You Don’t Go To Parties’, which is clearly not a oneshot anymore

Part 1 Part 2

Summary: Sam has an odd habit.

Tags: NSFW!! SMUT!! BEWARE!! Masturbation, somnophilia (???? kinda not really, Sam’s having a sexy dream), hair pulling, dirty talk, fellatio (again, not really but technically), sleep talking, general steaminess

Words: 3.4k

A/N: I have never been more grateful that I never have to look any of you in the eye.

~~~

Danny knew that Sam was a big talker, but not like this.

As much as Sam liked to chatter, it seemed that he did even more of it when he was sleeping. Danny recalled his first sleepover with Sam in middle school where he was woken up in the middle of the night by Sam laughing raucously, muttering something about soccer practice, and then falling silent again, leaving Danny staring up at the ceiling with a confused chill down his spine. It only seemed to ramp up as they got older, with Sam sitting up and having entire conversations by himself in his sleep, many of which were egged on by Danny and the twins. There were entire folders on Danny’s phone full of evidence of this amusing habit, but Sam always scoffed and waved it off as if it wasn’t even him in the videos.

But these days, Sam and Danny were sleeping in the same bed nearly every night, which meant that Danny had a front row seat to Sam’s sleepy babbling. He didn’t mind the hour or so he lost of sleep throughout the night listening to Sam, feeling more than content to rest his chin in the crook of Sam’s neck and watch his eyelids flutter as he mumbled to the people in his dreams. On the nights that Sam had to work late and couldn’t sleep over, Danny found himself restless in the silence of the night, oftentimes turning on a podcast and burying his face into one of Sam’s shirts in a desperate attempt to replicate the experience that he now couldn’t fall asleep without. Across town, Sam would be having a similar time, pressing his back against a wall of pillows and pretending it was Danny’s firm chest, sorely missing the rise and fall of his breath that always lulled him into a deep, dream filled sleep.

For the longest time, Sam never shared what he dreamed about. He’d shrug and smile innocently when asked, enjoying the private thrill of getting to replay the events of his dream for the rest of the day. Because the truth was that the dreams that Danny was so invested in hearing about were the ones that had him in a starring role almost every night. Sam couldn’t quite remember when it started, but it had to have been back in high school when he’d woken up from that first dream where Danny had wrapped his hand around Sam’s throat and opened his eyes to a feeling he didn’t even realize he’d been harboring towards his best friend. He had been terrified when Danny had first told him he’d heard him say his name in his sleep, certain that one day he would mutter one of the filthy things he was always whining to the Danny in his dreams, but so far he’d only ever been caught saying out of context snippets that didn’t put him at risk. Considering his track record, it seemed inevitable that Sam would say something a little more incriminating, and he was waiting with bated breath for that day. Or rather, that night.

“Did you set an alarm?”

“Duh,” Sam scoffed, setting his phone on Danny’s nightstand.

“Hey, man, you’re the one who forgot to set an alarm and missed our river rafting field trip,” Danny pointed out, propped up on his elbows while he watched Sam crack his neck and shake his head in annoyance.

“Yeah, one time when we were 14,” Sam muttered. “You need some new material, Wagner.”

“I have, what, 10 years worth of material?” Danny grinned sweetly. “I’ll find something.”

“I hate you,” Sam smiled, craning his neck for a quick kiss. “‘Night. Sorry I have to wake up so early.”

“It’s fine,” Danny assured him as Sam turned the lamp off and pulled Danny’s arm around him. “I have to work at noon anyways.”

“When are you going to give me a private golf lesson?”

“You know I teach children right? It’s the least sexy job in the world.”

“Maybe I just want you to stand behind me and tell me what to do,” Sam teased, backing up further against Danny. Danny laughed and squeezed him closer to his chest, grazing his nose against Sam’s neck to elicit a satisfying shiver.

“You don’t need a golf lesson for me to get behind you,” Danny whispered in his ear, kissing the rosy shell of it and nipping Sam’s earlobe. “I can teach you any ol’ time.”

Sam grinned and reached his hand back to cup the sharp cut of Danny’s jaw, running his fingers over the miniscule stubble as Danny kissed his way up and down Sam’s neck at an agonizingly slow pace.

“You’re killing me,” Sam whispered back, pulling his hand away and tugging the covers closer around them. “Keep this energy for tomorrow night, I’m so sleepy tonight.”

“Fine,” Danny whined goodnaturedly, planting one last kiss on Sam’s cheek and curling around him protectively, wishing there was a way to hold him closer than was physically possible. As he listened to Sam’s breaths even out and his grip on Danny’s hand loosened, Danny drifted off to the thought of all the ways to keep Sam as close as he could. The word “love” drifted around them, but he let it slip away as he himself slipped into unconsciousness.

“Danny…”

Danny’s eyes opened ever so slightly, his body and mind weighed down by the peaceful sleep he was still half in. The blankets were tangled between him and Sam, whose head was pressing against Danny’s chin as he fidgeted.

“Mm?” Danny mumbled, unsure whether Sam was awake or not.

Sam giggled in response, the sound muffled in a way that clarified Danny’s suspicions of him being asleep. Danny woke up a little bit more, kissing the crown of Sam’s messy hair and pulling him closer, running his thumb along Sam’s collarbone as he waited for Sam’s next one liner.

“Danny,” Sam repeated, his lips barely moving as his unconscious self animated his sleeping body. “When did…?”

“When did what?” Danny asked quietly. He liked this part of Sam’s sleep talking, when he tried to get as much information as he could out of him so he could try and build some semblance of an idea about what was going on in Sam’s brain.

“What?” Sam echoed, giggling again.

“You’re funny,” Danny whispered, his stomach fluttering with adoration as Sam chuckled and then sighed in his sleep. The fluttering picked up when Sam’s soft sigh suddenly turned into a drawn out sigh that hitched at the end with a full body shudder that vibrated against Danny’s chest.

“Yeah…” Sam trailed off, letting out another sigh that morphed into a quiet whine that was over as soon as it started. Danny was more than awake now, laying motionless with his heart racing as Sam arched against him lazily, his backside pressing against Danny’s boxers that were quickly becoming strained.

“Sam?” Danny asked, his voice barely above a whisper, just to double check that Sam was in fact asleep. This was new, really new, and Danny was surprised at how excited it was getting him.

“There,” Sam said louder, squirming again and letting his arm flop back against Danny’s neck. “There. Yeah. Wh-no. Wow.”

His fingers twisted into Danny’s messy hair and yanked, making Danny yelp in surprise, but not loud enough to wake Sam from his dream. Sam’s grip was ironclad, and Danny panted in sudden, unexpected pleasure as he was forced to look at the ceiling, his member pressed with achingly delicious pressure against Sam as he continued to mutter incoherently and sigh. It was usually Danny with Sam’s hair twisted in his grip, but Danny was surprised at how much he liked the feeling of Sam’s nimble fingers holding him in place, even if he wasn’t awake. His body was alive with want and need, but Sam was sleeping, and he wouldn’t dare do anything without having discussed it prior, so Danny decided to just go along with whatever Sam continued to do.

Sam finally let go and brought his arm back, letting it dangle over the side of the bed as he seemed to relax, letting out a quiet sigh as Danny tried to catch his breath and calm the adrenaline rushing through him. Danny moved finally, flipping over onto his back with his arm still trapped under Sam’s head, swallowing thickly as he looked down and realized just how hard he was. He closed his eyes and started to distract himself, thinking of a blank white space as he attempted to even his breathing and fall back asleep. However, his attempts were quickly thwarted by Sam squirming again, unconsciously mirroring Danny by turning onto his back and casually stretching his arm out over Danny’s stomach. Danny turned his head to take in the look on Sam’s face, which was a soft puzzle of knitted brows and open lips with a small drop of saliva that shone in the corner of his mouth. He looked so sweet as he settled, but Danny couldn’t help but feel the tension inside him stretch even more as he kept his eyes on Sam’s moonlit profile. Sam’s lips started moving again, gently bobbing open and close, and Danny groaned and shut his eyes again to push down the feelings that imagery stirred inside him.

“Fuck,” Sam breathed, and Danny groaned again. “Please.”

“Please?” Danny asked, unable to help himself from playing into Sam’s dream scenario. “Please what?”

“Please,” Sam whined in the pitch that made Danny’s head spin. It was pure kryptonite to Danny’s usually firm will, and a sure guarantee during their most intimate moments that Sam would get whatever he wanted.

“Speak up, pretty boy,” Danny whispered, opening his eyes again to see that Sam was pouting a little. He held back a smile at the sight. He was a brat even in his sleep.

“Hmm,” Sam huffed, a dramatic sigh escaping him as his hips bucked up against the sheets. “More.”

“More?” Danny mimicked softly.

“More,” Sam asserted, his voice slurred from sleep but still as needy as he was when he begged like this usually. “There.”

“Sam,” Danny choked out, unable to say much else from the lust gripping his throat and body. This was pure torture. He couldn’t touch Sam or even touch himself without feeling weird about it, so he was forced to watch Sam writhe and moan from touches of a version of himself that he was dying to be in that moment.

“H…” The words faded, but rose again with a whine as Sam’s head tipped back into his pillow, his neck arching gracefully. “Harder…”

Danny couldn’t take it anymore. He rolled over onto his front and put a hand on Sam’s shoulder, shaking him gently, whispering his name repeatedly like a fervent prayer. Sam jolted and his head jerked forward before falling back again, his eyes snapping open and blinking in confusion as he came to.

“What?” Sam asked anxiously, sitting up and running a hand through his hair, looking around the room before turning to Danny. He read his expression in a second, his panicked confusion calming into a curious wonder. “Danny? What?”

“You were talking,” Danny started, cutting himself off by hooking his hand on the back of Sam’s neck and pulling him down into a relieved kiss, Sam’s lips warm and his sleepy breath heady. “In your sleep.”

Sam pulled back slightly, his face flickering with sudden recognition and his features flooding with instant embarrassment. He looked down at his lap and ran a hand over his face when he saw the tented fabric and small bloom of wet on his underwear, something that had gone unnoticed by Danny but rendered him speechless as Sam groaned in shame.

“Fuck, I was worried about this,” Sam muttered from behind his hands. “What did I say?”

“Lots of things,” Danny answered, moving Sam’s hands from his face and holding them to his lips, kissing his knuckles. “Mostly ‘Please’ and ‘There’ and ‘Danny’...”

He matched Sam’s cadence and breathiness when repeating his pleas and Sam groaned again, flopping face first into his pillow and letting out a muffled yell.

“I’m mortified,” Sam mumbled. “Please forget you heard any of that.”

“Is that what you dream about?” Danny asked gently, settling onto his side and running his fingers through Sam’s rumpled waves. “Is that why you wouldn’t tell me?”

Sam was silent, letting out a huff and coming up for air by turning away from Danny, facing the dark expanse of his room as Danny let out a soft laugh.

“Hey,” Danny rasped when Sam looked away, causing Sam to obediently but hesitantly meet Danny’s gaze again. “Tell me about your dream.”

“It’s not embarrassing, come on,” Danny insisted, his hand roaming soothingly down over Sam’s shoulders and side, now unable to keep his hands off of him. “It’s kind of…I don’t know. It’s kind of hot.”

Sam was silent again, but let Danny pull him against his chest and turn him onto his back. Sam smiled despite his embarrassment and put a hand over his face again to mask his flushed cheeks, but Danny grasped his wrist and held it down next to Sam’s head. He climbed over Sam and watched in satisfaction as the smile fell from Sam’s lips and was replaced by a wide eyed stare.

“No,” Sam whispered, a familiar defiance creeping into his tone.

“Sorry?” Danny asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Sam repeated, drawing out the “o”.

“Wrong answer,” Danny replied in a sing-song, grinding his hips down into Sam’s, eliciting a gasp from Sam at the friction against his still sensitive erection. “Tell me.”

“We, uh, we-” Sam stuttered as Danny casually reached down and palmed him through his shorts, the wide expanse of his palm sliding up and down slowly. “We were at my old dorm, but my roommate wa-was gone. Fuck, Dan, come on.”

“Keep going,” Danny hissed, gently circling Sam’s tip through the fabric, the sensitivity in his own erection growing by the second.

“It, well, it was that twin bed, so we kind of had to, you know, squeeze together,” Sam choked out, letting out a quiet cry as Danny added himself to his grip on Sam, their lengths pressed together.

“Like that?” Danny teased, his voice hoarse as Sam thrusted slightly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam babbled, nodding enthusiastically. “Well, I mean, you were behind me and, uh, you know.”

“Is that when you started saying something about ‘Harder’?” Danny continued on, nonchalantly freeing Sam’s dick from his shorts and shivering at the relief of skin on skin.

“Baby,” Sam mumbled, his eyes fluttering close and his mouth falling open in a silent moan as Danny kept his relentless, painfully soft pace.

“Don’t give me that,” Danny chastised, as if he wasn’t already dangerously close to his own climax. “You don’t get anything until you tell me about the whole dream.”

“I did!” Sam wailed, dragging his nails down Danny’s chest and arching further into his touch. “You’re being mean.”

“Sammy.”

“Fine, fine, fine,” Sam drew in a shaking breath and, to Danny’s surprise, opened his eyes and made burning eye contact with him. His pupils were wide and his low lids gave a sultry appearance that made Danny’s heart nearly seize. “We were fucking in my dorm. Hard, th-the way you like when you don’t even let me get all my clothes off. Like this. I was, uh, pulling your hair.”

“I remember that part,” Danny grinned, his hand starting to shake as he unconsciously sped up while recalling the moment. Sam flushed even harder than he already was.

“Jesus,” Sam laughed, his breath choppy. “Did you…like it?”

“Don’t tell me I-”

“Yep.”

“Very much,” Danny answered honestly, moving his hand away and smothering Sam’s immediate complaint in a deep, gasping kiss. Sam’s hands immediately grasped handfuls of Danny’s hair and curled his fingers in at the root, anchoring Danny’s head to his as he took control of the kiss and peppered Danny’s open mouth in fast, desperate kisses and bites.

“You had my head all pressed into the pillow,” Sam whispered against his mouth, relishing in the sight of Danny’s eyes widening in a near pleading way. “That happens a lot in my dreams. I’ll get the upper hand but never for long.”

“How…” Danny’s voice faltered between kisses, the very real possibility of his impending orgasm coming without a single touch starting to crest. “How long have you been having dreams like this? With me in them?”

“Since I’ve been loving you,” Sam breathed, his face pinching with raw emotion and sincerity as Danny searched in his eyes, his mouth agape as they panted in synchrony. Danny swallowed, his hand leaving its firm grip on Sam’s wrist to smooth the sweat slicked hairs off of Sam’s forehead and admire him for a moment. This was one of his favorite looks on Sam, when all he could do was blink up at Danny like he was the only thing in the whole world he’d ever cared to pay attention to.

“Is that okay?” Sam asked, his voice small and uncharacteristically shy.

“More than okay,” Danny promised, dipping down to give him another sincere kiss that he felt Sam smile into. He kept his lips close to Sam’s as he spoke again. “How did the dream end?”

“I don’t know, you woke me up before the good part,” Sam chuckled, nuzzling his nose against Danny’s.

“What would be the good part?” Danny asked with a wicked grin, making a show of licking his palm and taking Sam’s length back in his hand. Sam opened his mouth to answer but the words died on his tongue as Danny started working his hand on him again, his eyes rolling into his head as he zeroed in on the sensation.

“Hey, focus,” Danny scolded. “Or is this the good part?”

“Uh-uh huh,” Sam agreed, writhing under Danny as his climax built, signaling a rapid approach. “I’m close, please.”

“I bet it ended with you whining like that,” Danny hummed right in Sam’s ear, drinking in the scent of the remnants of his cologne mingling with the sweat settling on his skin. He chuckled lowly at the sound of Sam’s breathing quickening. “Like a slut. But you’re always so good for me. So sweet, my sweet boy.”

Sam keened high in the back of his throat, noises stuttering past his lips as Danny quickened his pace again and started leaving heavy, spit slick kisses on Sam’s neck.

“Give it to me,” Danny directed. “Come on, angel, finish that dream.”

Sam did just that, letting loose a stuttering moan as he rode out his climax and painted Danny’s fist and arm with his release. Danny whispered a string of praises into Sam’s ear as he calmed down, his eyes fluttering shut and smiling as Danny pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Good job,” Danny cooed. Sam snorted.

“Shut up,” he murmured, licking his lips and drawing in deep breaths. “Fuck.”

“Good one?” Danny asked as he reached past Sam’s head and grabbed a handful of tissues to clean up.

“Yes,” Sam admitted meekly, watching quietly as Danny wiped off his arm, giving him a small smile. “How are you?”

“Great,” Danny smiled back, tossing the tissues in the trash.

“You could be better,” Sam hummed, sitting and giving Danny a look up and down. “You didn’t get taken care of.”

“Didn’t you say you have to be up early?” Danny joked. He wasn’t saying no, though. He was painfully aware of the situation in his lap and the severe lack of Sam’s touch on it.

Sam shrugged, not offering a response while he maintained eye contact and slowly started pulling his hair back into a ponytail.

“I’ll be late then, I guess,” Sam smiled, pushing hard on Danny’s chest and sending him falling backwards with his head nearly hanging off the end of the bed.

“Sam?” Danny laughed, propping himself up on his elbows and feeling his cheeky smile fade as he saw the mischievous look on Sam’s face. Sam’s fingers started curling over the waistband of Danny’s boxers.

“Let me tell you about the other part of my dream,” Sam smiled innocently.

Danny started to say something witty in response, but found himself suddenly unable to speak when Sam’s head dipped down. He became immediately distracted by the motion of it and suddenly was unable to think of much else for the remainder of the night, his thoughts still hazy after they had been cleaned up yet again and eventually fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Taglist: @s0livagant @holdingup-fallingsky @t00turnttrauma @the-starcatcher @streamsofstardust @spark-my-nature @joshkiszkashusband

#gvf #greta van fleet #danny wagner #sam kiszka #sanny gvf #greta van fleet fanfiction #greta van art #PLEASE TELL ME YOUR THOUGHTS BUT I AM DEEPLY SHY ABOUT THIS #you dont go to parties #karoufiction

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mendimore · 15 days

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Cdrama Reviews/Reccs Series 01: Mysterious Lotus Casebook (莲花楼)

SPOILER WARNING!!!! PROCEED WITH CAUTION ( will be talking about the plot and the ending so if you are spoiled that if not my problem in any way)

Mysterious Lotus Casebook, led by Chengyi, Zeng Shunxi(Joseph), and Xiao Shunyao, directed by Guohu and Ren Haitao, aired through summer 2023 and was one of the most popular cdramas to come out that summer.

Unfortunately I was a bit preoccupied falling down the Boy's Planet rabbit hole after being peer pressured to watch it to serve as moral support for a friend of mine and thus, being unintentionally dragged back into my kpop phase.

It was also because I had a hellish 14-hour work/study schedule 5-6 days a week during most of that summer meaning I could only have one hyperfixtation and watching five three-minute fancams was still a lot less time than rewatching a word of honor episode for the literal 14th time.

However, I am back and despite still being busy as hell, I have pulled three all-nighters (not in a row thank god) to finish this drama because it was heavily reccomended.

And needless to say, since I was able to sacrifice another decade of my life for it, it was pretty good.

I have not read the novel it was based on, I am only going off of what is in the actual drama.

For costume dramas, out of the big three platforms in the land of cdramas, youku, tencent, and iqiyi, I would say production quality-wise I prefer iqiyi, so that was one of the reasons I agreed to watch this drama. When it comes to Iqiyi, most of the time I don't feel taken out of the story by the production quality. Usually, I'm removed from from the illusion of the story by the story itself but that is another issue, particularly prevalent in productions with script with no source material or very low-quality source material.

The skin smoothing wasn't super excessive and the general look was pretty harmonious. No props that stood out strangely and few consistently or particularly awkward camera angles messed with the storytelling elements that I can remember. Pretty good for a Cdrama. The bar is a bit low, yes, but in the grand scheme of things it's not a badly produced drama, and it's pretty evident, that the people working on it cared at least a passing amount about those storytelling elements which I can wholly appreciate. And obviously, it's nowhere near a cinematic masterpiece, it did not lack the quick cuts of slow-mo, or the wide-face shots that are a certain pet peeve of mine in dramas, though I will say, it didn't bother me as much as it usually does. It had a certain martial arts film charm to it and generally sidestepped the tacky look that kind of editing or shots usually have, but nonetheless, the production has certain things to be desired. I would say the overall look/production quality definitely doesn't hinder the watching experience.

However, there was something that did set me off a bit. I am a Mandarin speaker myself. Listening to this drama was a bit awkward at times. Of course, If I can find them I will put on both Chinese and English subtitles, if not I will at least have one language of subtitles on so I don't have too much problem understanding what is going on, and this was no exception. but frankly, spending late nights in front of my computer screen trying to read subtitles has never been my favorite way to enjoy cdramas.

The line delivery in costume dramas has certain standards that contrast with contemporary dramas making it that much more difficult and important to the scene. My first victim is Zeng Shunxi, the actor for Tianji Manor's young master Fang Duobing. From what I understand Mandarin is not Joseph Zeng's first language, perfectly fine, but the problem is, in this drama, I can tell. There are plenty of instances where his delivery is majorly awkward, particularly for a Minister's son, he's supposed to be well-versed in literature and an eloquent young master but sometimes talks like the words don't fit his mouth and other times the words come out in form fitted lines of monotony that also feel strange to native speakers and particularly costume drama viewers. It's not the worst thing and if you only read subtitles you will probably not even notice because his emotions generally still translate pretty well and it's not like he is speaking noticeably slower than other actors or like a robot. there is just a lot of be desired in that standards of voice acting. I am not here to attack this man, the fact that he could play in his own voice through the whole drama as someone whose first language is not Mandarin is impressive, particularly because it is a costume drama so there is a whole other level of difficulty, plus his line delivery was not bad enough to prevent me from finishing this drama so do with that what you will. However, for the purposes of the story, I think getting a dubbing actor could have been a reasonable investment. Our other leading actor, Chengyi also has certain issues with line delivery, though arguably not as noticeable. His character is a reserved, tired person, secretive so it's generally in character for him to be quieter, calmer, and his cadence is mostly natural, but sometimes I really couldn't quite catch what he was saying. He likes to gloss over certain words, his ending sounds such as those with ng like jing or neng get ommited some of the time, and his overall delivery borders mumbly several times. Mumbly words said under your breath are acceptable as long as the words are heard clearly, but that is the problem, they aren't. Again, it likely will not be noticeable if you are only reading subtitles and it is not bad enough to ruin the moment or scene in most instanced but there are things to work on, definitely. These two actors have the most lines in the entire show which is why I'm making such a big deal about it, but for people that don't know mandarin, that don't hear the awkward cadence or can't understand whatever is being mumbled, it wouldn't be noticeable, however it was definitely a criticism I had.

However, breaking away from the complaints I would like to point out that I generally really liked the fighting choreography. Fighting choreos can be the highlight of wuxia dramas. Many martial arts cdramas nowadays bypass having to train their expensive idol actors and actresses in fighting choreo with stuff like special effects and camerawork, but the fighting sequences and swordsmanship sequences were all pretty well done. Special mention to Chengyi's performance for the Li xianyi/Li lianhua's swordplay sequences was very nicely done. His movements are fluid and generally crisp, fitting his character and are nice to watch and capture the scene. I think my favorite was the last time he practiced his sword, in front of a fire, in the moonlight but here were quite a few pretty breathtaking moments.

Did this drama make me sob my eyes out? Yes, several times. I do tend to cry at every little thing but I did have a long bawl about Li lianhua after I finished, and a couple of sore, dry-eye days after a long night of quietly crying in my bedroom. However, making me cry is only a facet of storytelling that I evaluate. Personally, for the story itself, I found it generally pretty easy to get roped and invested in. The case breaking stuff is usually interesting to me and this one certainly was, though I do think that the cases themselves were sometimes overly convoluted with quite a couple of logic holes because their line of reasoning was so long and complicated. The amount of hints that are thrown at you in small moments are pretty hard to keep track of, but I think that it the characters and their dynamic is charming and the resolutions to the cases and the characters' agency was still satisfying enough for me to follow them on their little detective cases, and obviously the conflict caused by Li Lianhua's identity was the main backbone of the story. Li Lianhua's attitude, his disillusionment, all very heartbreaking, I loved it. I have seen some people argue that Li Lianhua has no character development. He still pushes the people who love him away, he is still walking away from his problems, and hurts them which is true in some ways but I disagree with the fact that he has no development. He had this sudden and painful disillusionment, before the story that changed his worldview entirely and really before Fang Duobing comes along, he is hypercritical of himself, the ruthlessly unyielding, unforgiving part of Li Xiangyi is something he still carries with him. However, after meeting Fang Duobing who admired Li Xiangyi in a way that wasn't just putting him on this untouchable pedestal or making him an ideal kind of helped him remember and allowed him to go back to Sigu sect, put on those red robes and save Yun Biqiu with Fang Duobing supporting him the whole way. He ends up giving his old acquaintances and friends some closure even though he originally intended to leave it all exactly where it was ten years ago and, though, I think it was unfair the lack of closure that Fang Duobing got, in the end, Li Xiangyi resolved his story in a different way than he was going to. Of course, he still leaves everyone behind but he isn't exactly just walking away from all his problems anymore, he's helping them accept his inevitable outcome, wishing them a bright future and the life he won't get to have and that, though albiet subtle is still development.

Overall I think the cases were draggy and complicated, but not uninteresting and the real plot with digging up the main male lead's past was a pretty good point of intrigue. These episodes are like almost 50 minutes long though so to each their own. Acting, other than line delivery gets a pass for me. They were consistent believable characters with motives and consequences that made me care about them. The chemistry between the three leads was pleasant and harmonious. Their dynamic was clear, humourous, and entertaining, nothing to gawk at but seeing them fight together and interact definitely brought a smile to my face more than once.

As for the soundtrack, it was, as most of the rest of the drama, pleasant and fitting, but, nothing mindblowing. However, I am still listening to that soundtrack while I'm writing this and it has definitely grown on me.

One last thing, I did not get to the the entirety of the ending because I do not pay for iqiyi, however, I know the general idea of what it was. Personally, I am kind of glad I did not because I think the ending in the 40th video was more than enough. I know that they don't want to incur the wrath of all the emotional fans crying after the last video and believe me I was one of them, but giving him an ambiguous ending with a hint about him returning just doesn't sit right. Li Lianhua was a dead person, he spent ten years accepting his death. This story is about the freeing of Li Xiangyi from the cycles of vengeance and the death of the idle, wandering physician Li Lianhua. If Li Lianhua does not die, entanglement in the affairs of the world is inevitable and since Li Lianhua is now recognized as Li Xiangyi, they can no longer exist separately as they had been doing for ten years, because if they do, Li Xiangyi will be forced once again into the entanglements of vengeance, attachments, and worldly affairs which undermines his selflessness, self-loathing, righteousness, and bittersweet apathy. Even though this is not Di Feisheng's happy ending, and definitely not Fang Duobing's happy ending, this is Li Lianhua's happy ending, to die quietly, all his attachments to the world settled and left behind, in a small boat where he can rest peacefully and die where he was supposed to all those years ago, rocked by the current and forcing the people he has left behind to let go of him, as they should have done. He gave everyone as much closure as he could, and he gave himself control over his own death. As much as I want him to be alive, I don't think, for the purpose of the story that he should be or would be.

Anyways, I have grown way too attached to Li Lianhua, and keep rewatching the series to cope. Overall, I liked Mysterious Lotus casebook a lot, ti is definitely I would say worth the watch and even though it is not the most amazing or greatest thing in the world it has a special place in my heard and as kind of some closure for me, that is my review of the show, hope you liked it.

#cdrama #mysterious lotus casebook #li lianhua #di feisheng #fang duobing #drama review #drama recommendation #cdrama review #cdrama recs #cheng yi

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theelvishfiddler · 8 months

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Hello again!

I did this lil silly survey a long while ago :)

I wanted to ask if you would mind to answer a few of my questions again :3

If not, that's totally fine! No pressure!

How many hours do you sleep per night?

How many hours are enough to get through the day and how many are a lot for your standard?

Is caffein (in any form) part of your morning routine or your 'last resort'?

How do you feel over the day before and after consuming caffein (if you consume any)?

For example: sluggish, foggy, awake, exhausted, grumpy, just tired, etc.

Thank you a lot for (maybe) participating!

If you want, I can add you when I post the results, but I can also leave you out :)

Hello Hello! I remember you :D it was really interesting to see the results last time, thank you for all the hard work you put in!

How many hours do you sleep a night?

I do my best to get 8 hours

How many hours are enough to get through the day and how many are a lot for your standard?

I can get 4-5 hours and function just fine (For a hard limit of 5 days in a row)

10 hrs is a lot for an average day! If I go somewhere with too much constant noise, people, and interaction; I need a lot of extra hours of sleep to recover. After my last 3 day convention, I got 14 hours of sleep, was awake for an hour to eat/hydrate, and then passed out for another 10. So 24 hours of sleep is... A Lot.

Is caffine (in any form) a part of your morning routine or a 'last resort'?

Nope! I don't usually drink caffeinated stuff, especially not in the morning

How do you feel over the day before and after consuming caffeine (if you consume any)?

On the off chance I accidentally drink something too caffeinated, the answer is "I feel like I'm having a heart attack" for about an hour until I have a full energy crash / exhausted for the rest of the day. ╮(ﾟ～ﾟ;)╭

Thank you for including me in this survey! Answering this kept me entertained during long hours of printing. I look forward to seeing the results of your work!

#asks #i hate coffee (smell and taste)#i have yet to have a good tasting tea #one time this starbucks barista put 6 pumps of chocolate instead of two in my chocolate chunk frapuccino #i returned it after a few sips but whoahwoa #i could suddenly talk to all my classmates and my hands wouldn't stop shaking for hours so that was fun #(owo)b #rambling in the tags whoops

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well-fuckyouthen · 2 years

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I started a new job last week, and I was so hopeful that even though it was something kind of new for me that it would work out, but I just know it’s not the job for me. It’s kind of depressing working in an assisted living facility, so many of the residents just aren’t fully there, and it reminds me a lot of my mom- even though she’s so much younger than them, she’s got their attention spans. I’m starting to grow close to a few of them, there’s David and Alaina, they’re a cute couple that grew up on the island, you can tell how much they love each other. Alaina doesn’t talk much, I’m not sure if she can, but David always knows exactly what she wants. He was the first resident to remember my name, we’ve talked about our high schools- he asked me if I knew my alma mater and I said “who knows their alma mater?” Apparently he does, even though its been probably sixty years since he’s been a high schooler. Then there’s Waltraud, she’s younger than the rest of them, but she has a hard time remembering words for things. I like to talk to her, she reminds me of my mom in a way. She usually stumbles into the dining area well before lunch time, and is always shocked that it’s so early and if she’s the first one there- usually David and Alaina are the first to sit down, but she beats them there sometimes. “Well, now I feel bad that I’m the first one here.” I’ve heard that a few times, and I always say, “well, someone’s gotta be the first” I like to sit and talk with her before any other residents come in, even when she’s not in my section. She moved to the States from Germany in the 70s.

Then there’s Betty, she’s feisty, I like her a lot, she’s very spunky. She likes to sit in my section, and asks where I’ll be working for dinner so she can talk to me. The first time I met her, I asked what she’d like to drink, she said “You!” and I said “i won’t fit in a cup” she thought that was funny and likes to crack jokes a lot. Judy is another fun one, she drinks wine all day- I would too if I was that old, and didn’t have to drive anywhere, she sits and talks to Sam for a long time- I think they’re dating.

The only real perks about the job are that I’m getting to talk to people again, and after 2 months of not working at all, that’s a really big perk, that and the fact that I get lunch and dinner at my job, so I don’t have to cook or buy groceries anymore. During my interview, I gave them my availability and they said that they’d be able to give me the days off that I needed, but wouldn’t be able to schedule me for mornings only- which I thought I was fine with, but I’ve learned that I can’t stand working the evening. The first week I worked, they gave me split days off, and when I reminded them that I needed two days in a row, and at least one of them need to be a weekend day. Johnathan said he’d fix the schedule, now I work all weekend and have two days off during the week. I guess we’re closer to what I told them I could do, but I’m still being scheduled outside of my availability.

I just feel bad because it seems like a good company to work for, and I know that the residents need consistency, and that it’s better for them not have the staff change frequently, but I just can’t do it. Especially for only 14 an hour, that’s not enough to live off of anywhere- especially somewhere that has a stupid high cost of living. And not making tips anymore.

I have another interview at a coffee shop even closer to my apartment this week, and I know that I’ve got a good shot at it, my resume has over 10 years coffee experience on it. I think I’ll get it, and then I’ll be making decent-ish money again. Hopefully I’ll have something good before Will comes home, I feel pretty bad about myself that he’s essentially had to support me for the last few months, but I also know that’s what we’re supposed to do for eachother.

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kpopfanfictrash · 3 years

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Raise the Barre (Ch. 10)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jimin / Reader

Rating: 18+ (Eventual Smut)

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / Dance Academy!AU

Warnings: the angst continues, but this time there are glimmers of progress

Word Count: 7,221

Summary: You and Park Jimin have been rivals for as long as you’ve known one another; ever since he tripped you in the front row of your first dance convention. When you graduate from high school and enter Russet Ballet Academy, you tell yourself you’re leaving all past quarrels behind. The main problem with this though, is that your past seems determined not to leave you alone.

Worse still, the obstacles you face while out in the real world might prove more challenging than anything your enemy has to offer.

For the first time all year, Jimin didn’t show up at class the next day.

You’d been dreading seeing him, unable to sleep all night as the kiss replayed itself in your mind. You’d told Jimin you needed to think and now, one day later, you still had no idea what to say.

You’d fucked up – big time.

Cheater had never been a label you would’ve applied to yourself; but here you were, scarlet letter on your chest. Yesterday seemed fuzzy whenever you remembered it, as though it had happened to you, as opposed to being something you’d done. Each time you recalled the moment, the kiss, your heart threatened to burst in your chest. You weren’t sure if this was because of Jimin or Finn.

Finn still hadn’t texted or called you since the fight. Maybe fight wasn’t the right word to describe the knock-down, blowout match you’d had in the library. You and Finn had never fought like that before. You’d had disagreements of course but had always managed to work things out. This was the first time you’d left an argument and found yourself at a loss.

Finn wanted a more available girlfriend and you wanted to dance.

Deep down, you knew this was an unsolvable problem, but the idea just seemed so unfathomable. The idea that this would be the thing to break you up. It hadn’t been a problem back in high school. Maybe Finn hadn’t always come to your dance competitions, but he’d attended recitals and brought you flowers at nearby performances. He’d always seemed to enjoy your dancing, even if he hadn’t fully understood it.

It made your heart ache to imagine that deep down, Finn thought your decisions were foolish. When you awoke Thursday morning, you saw Finn hadn’t called and nearly dialed his number, but then you looked at the clock and swore. Ballet began in an hour.

This conversation wasn’t one to do over the phone. Talking to Finn would have to wait, so you scrambled out of bed and threw on your clothes. Noelle had comforted you the best she could the night prior, but she still didn’t know the extent of what’d happened. All you’d said was you had a fight with Finn.

Saying it out loud felt like admitting defeat. Admitting what you’d done meant you’d have to see Noelle’s expression when you explained – when you told her you’d kissed Jimin while still dating Finn. You didn’t want to see her face when she learned the truth; you were having enough difficulty confronting it yourself.

Pushing this from mind, you focused on today as you entered the classroom. You would be forced to see Jimin this morning. You’d been so worried about talking to Finn, you’d nearly forgotten about the other piece of the equation.

You had kissed Jimin, and then you’d run away.

As you entered, you scanned the room and frowned when you didn’t immediately see him. Jimin usually arrived before you and Noelle. Setting your bag down, you began to warm up and continued to glance at the clock. At one minute until the hour, you began to grow nervous. If Jimin didn’t arrive in the next thirty seconds, the door to the room would shut and that would be that.

Watching the second hand tick, your stomach twisted as the unthinkable happened. Jimin didn’t show up. Ballet on Thursdays was taught by Mr. Vlad, who was notoriously punctual and at exactly 9:00 AM, he shut the door.

You had the sudden urge to check your phone for missed texts, but there was no time. Instead, you were forced to stand at the barre as you began pliés. You knew the second you started today would be a lost cause but could do nothing about it. Your relationship with Finn was in shambles, Jimin was clearly avoiding you but still, you needed to dance.

After class, you called Finn and went again to voicemail. Standing alone in your dorm room, you swallowed and tossed your phone on the bed. Fine – if he wouldn’t answer, you’d go and see him.

Stripping out of your leotard, you tossed this in the laundry to pull on new clothes. Jeans, sweater, coat – slamming a hat on your head, you shoved both hands in mittens and threw your bag over your shoulder. You were halfway out the door when you came to a stop.

You had no idea what to say to Finn.

Shutting your eyes, you slowly exhaled. You were angry, that much was true. Furious, even – his words had been biting, you were still hurting but you also still loved him, as insane as that sounded. Opening your eyes, you glanced at your trembling hands.

You hated feeling this way – weak, irrational. You hated wanting Finn, loving him and being so hurt all at the same time. Worse still, you hated the guilt clouding your judgement and lessening some of your anger. Finn had been wrong to say what he’d said, but you’d also been wrong to kiss Jimin.

For weeks now, you’d felt something for Jimin. Maybe months if you were being totally honest with yourself. Jimin had always consumed a larger amount of your waking hours than could be considered entirely normal for a supposed enemy.

Slowly, you turned and set down your keys. Removing your hat from your head, you stared at the door. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you sat at your desk and dialed Finn’s number.

It rang several times and then went to voicemail. This time, you didn’t hang up.

“Hey. It’s me.” You paused. “Finn, listen, I… we need to talk. Things have gotten so messed up lately. So… fucked up, right? I’m pissed, Finn. I’m really mad at you, but that’s not the only reason we need to talk. I – just call me back. Okay?”

You hesitated, wanting to tell him I love you, but forced yourself to hang up instead. Lowering your phone to your lap, you released a sigh. You supposed for all your avoidance of Finn, you deserved to give him a little more time to think.

Even though sitting here not doing anything was killing you.

As stupid as it sounded, you couldn’t bring yourself to break up over the phone. That would be considered the lowest of low. If you even wanted to break up, that is. It had been less than a week since you’d first had the thought in the cab – maybe you and Finn didn’t belong together. It seemed like a foreign concept still, as nonsense to you as chopping off your own hand.

But you couldn’t ignore things any longer. Something was obviously wrong between you. You needed to talk, you needed to lay all cards on the table and decide where you’d go next.

Closing your eyes, you leaned back in the chair. Without quite meaning to, your thoughts wandered to Jimin.

This seemed to happen more and more lately. You weren’t sure when he started vying for Finn’s place in your mind. The shift had been subtle, a change you’d barely noticed at first. But no – that wasn’t entirely true. It wasn’t as though Jimin had taken Finn’s place, but rather forged an entirely new one.

What you felt for Jimin was different from how you felt for Finn. With Finn, things between you were comfortable, things – had – felt supportive and strong. Now, Finn was none of those things to you, but he still didn’t compare to how you felt for Jimin.

Jimin was like a breath of fresh air after being inside for too long. He was something you hadn’t even realized you missed until you went out. You wouldn’t feel like this for Jimin unless something were wrong with the room you were currently in.

Suddenly, you felt very tired.

You’d always prided yourself on your ability to persevere, on your talent for overcoming by simply pushing on. This though wasn’t something you could solve through sheer force of will. The mess you’d created was only made worse by your infernal stubbornness.

Opening your phone, you flipped to the thread between you and Jimin. The last text he’d sent you had been a TikTok before the night of the kiss. True to his word, Jimin had pretended to forget all about the club and instead, simply returned to being your friend. Rereading your texts, you felt your chest tighten.

It wasn’t as though Jimin had been entirely innocent.

He’d known you had a boyfriend, but you’d never done anything to push him away. You’d been the one to move closer in the club. You had been the one to kiss him first. Jimin didn’t deserve to be treated this way and slowly, you lowered your head to your hands.

It was too much. By all rights, several people should hate you right now and you had no idea how to fix any of it.

Looking up, you set your jaw and sent Jimin a text.

Y/N: you weren’t in ballet class today. Is everything okay? [3:14 PM]

It took Jimin a while to respond. While you waited, you stared at the ceiling, then the floor until you saw ellipses typing. Jimin paused, then stopped and started again. After several long minutes, you got a new text.

Jimin: was sick, sorry [3:22 PM]

Y/N: that sucks :/ [3:22 PM]

Jimin: Y/N. What do you want? [3:23 PM]

Swallowing hard, you sat back. You had no idea what you wanted, and therein lay the problem. Belatedly, you realized you couldn’t have this conversation before you talked to Finn. You couldn’t know what you were apologizing for until you knew where you stood with your current relationship.

You needed more time, which was what you had told Jimin yesterday – and then proceeded to ignore, texting him now.

Y/N: nothing. I’m sorry. I just… wanted to make sure you were okay [3:25 PM]

He started typing again, then stopped. This happened a few more times and you imagined Jimin rewriting whatever it was he wanted to tell you. Finally, he sent his text and you felt your heart sink.

Jimin: yeah. I’m fine. [3:27 PM]

Y/N: okay [3:28 PM]

Placing your phone to the side, you fought back the tears which now threatened to fall.

You’d never imagined yourself an emotional person, so you couldn’t imagine where all this was coming from. Some long-lost, pent-up part of yourself which throbbed and whispered how stupid you were. Stupid to have fought with Finn, stupid to have pushed Jimin away, stupid to have kissed him and hurt everyone in the process.

Climbing into your bed, you curled into a ball and let the tears fall until you had nothing left.

The next morning, you walked into ballet class with red-rimmed eyes. Noelle had returned yesterday afternoon, taken one look at your face and transitioned to mom mode. She thought your breakdown was all about Finn and you hadn’t bothered to correct her. In a way, it all was.

He still hadn’t called. When you woke, you battled again whether to go to Redfield and confront him in person. That hadn’t worked out so well the last time, but it was driving you crazy to exist in this state of not knowing.

When you entered class Friday morning, you saw an unfamiliar woman at the front and felt your heart sink. In the chaos of this past week, you’d nearly forgotten about today’s master class.

Maisie Vern was a renowned choreographer of classical ballet. She’d choreographed for some of the most well-known ballets all over the world, with her pas de deux choreography receiving comparisons to Balanchine originals.

You’d completely forgotten she was teaching today. Starting to panic, you forced yourself to stay calm. Just because your private life was falling to pieces didn’t mean this needed to manifest in your dancing. You could do this.

And then Jimin walked into the room and you realized you couldn’t.

He looked as tired as you felt, dark circles shadowed beneath his eyes. He hardly glanced your way as he entered, crossing to the other side to set down his things. Following him with your gaze, you watched Jimin begin to stretch at the barre. Dark hair fell over his forehead, hiding his face from view.

Forcing yourself not to look, you noticed Seokjin standing at the front. Seeing him beside Miss Vern made your stomach sink. Seokjin was in high demand as a teacher’s assistant; the only reason he’d be here was if he were assisting Miss Vern. And if he were assisting Miss Vern, this meant today’s combination must be a pas de deux.

Confirming your growing dread, Miss Vern clapped both her hands. She was dressed in a slouchy sweater, wispy bun and flat canvas ballet shoes. Effortlessly standing in first position, she glanced around the room.

“Hello,” she said. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Maisie Vern. We have a long class today, so make sure your water bottles are full. For the first hour we’ll warm up at the barre, then we’ll move to center and learn some choreography. I will warn you,” she said, raising her brow. “This pas de deux is from a ballet I’m choreographing for the San Francisco ballet, so it has never been performed live before. Therefore! A certain amount of professionalism and confidentiality is expected.”

Whispers swept the room, everyone eager for the opportunity to prove their worth. Even you found yourself awed by the moment – it was a privilege to dance in the same room as Maisie Vern, let alone learn choreography she’d yet to reveal to the public.

“Now.” Miss Vern gestured to Seokjin. “Some of you might know Kim Seokjin, my assistant for the day. He comes to me highly recommended and will help demonstrate some of the more complicated lifts. Today’s pas de deux is less about the choreography though, and more about the emotion.”

Hearing this, you froze at the barre.

“The ballet is a modern-day retelling of the Odyssey epic. Our hero, Odysseus, has just returned home and is reunited with his love, Penelope. He suspects her of cheating in his absence, so he disguises himself as someone else to test her. Penelope realizes who he is and is furious at her husband for his lack of faith.”

Your gaze darted to Jimin. He stared ahead at Miss Vern, but you could see his jaw tense from all the way across the room.

“This pas de deux is all about tension! Two people in love but pushed beyond their limits. Time and distrust have come between them. This,” Miss Vern announced, “will be the goal of you ballerinas and danseurs to convey.”

All around, a few people nodded, but most of the class seemed unnerved by the prospect. Thus far, your classes at Russet had mainly focused on technique. Even in weekly variations class, the emphasis had been on learning the choreography, rather than on how to tell a story.

This was the hallmark of a great dancer, though. Being able to act as you moved, telling a story which the audience could understand.

“It will be a challenge,” Miss Vern said. “However, I think you will find it to be enjoyable. With that said, let’s start at the barre. Pliés!”

Everyone scrambled to stand, including you and Noelle. Pressing play on the music, Miss Vern demonstrated the combination before you began. Barre passed quickly, possibly because you were dreading center so much. All too soon, the hour was up, and Miss Vern instructed the class to find their partners.

Warily, you crossed the room and came to a stop beside Jimin. He looked up as you approached but kept his face carefully neutral. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking and for a moment, felt a glimmer of resentment.

It had taken two people to kiss in that practice room.

Jimin had known you were taken, just as much as you’d known you were dating Finn. Even if you’d started the kiss, Jimin hadn’t stopped it – if anything, he’d kissed you back.

The moment you thought this, some of your anger drained away. Jimin had wanted to talk, but you hadn’t let him. Maybe you’d realized you felt something for him since then, but Jimin had never said anything similar to you.

For all you knew, he’d simply been caught in the moment. It wasn’t as though Jimin had ever said anything about wanting to be more than friends.

“Alright!” Miss Vern clapped her hands. “Ballerinas, you’ll start offstage. We begin at the end of the male solo. By this point in the choreography, Penelope and Odysseus have reunited. In her solo, we realize she knows who he is. In his solo, he’s angry to hear she’s entertained other suitors. They reunite for the coda!”

Glancing again at Jimin, he immediately looked down. The kernel of anger returned and this time, it grew larger. Although yes, you’d initially run away, you had at least tried to reach out to him yesterday. Jimin had been the one to skip class and shut you down.

It wasn’t fair for him to expect you to have all the answers. You had a boyfriend and you’d kissed. Clearly, you had a few things to work through.

Jaw tense, you separated from Jimin and went to stand on the sidelines. Miss Vern began teaching the danseurs the end of their solo, instructing the men to spread out on the floor. Unscrewing the cap of your water bottle, you took a large, angry sip.

As the music began, the male dancers followed suit while you watched from the side.

“Y/N?”

Turning your head, you found Sabrina before you.

She was dressed in her usual ballet clothes, but there was something about her which seemed different today. Maybe it was the hesitancy in her expression.

Looking at her in surprise, you wondered what she had to say. The fight you’d had on Halloween night seemed so far away but had barely been a week ago.

“Yeah?” you said as you set down your water.

Sabrina hesitated, seeming at war with herself. “Hey. So, I was wondering…”

Miss Vern yelled a correction at the group. Gaze darting sideways, you attempted to see who it had been directed to. After a moment, you returned to Sabrina.

“Wondering what?” you said, arching a brow.

“I was just… wondering if we could talk,” Sabrina finished lamely.

You blinked and stared at her in surprise. Out of everything, this was quite possibly the last thing you’d suspected would happen today. Before you could respond though, Miss Vern called for ballerinas to enter.

“Ballerinas!” She motioned you forward. “Your entrance will come from the top right wing. Run through the center and find your partner.”

“I – okay,” you said, realizing Sabrina waited for an answer. “Later.”

Sabrina frowned, about to respond but Miss Vern clapped her hands again, forcing you to move. Hurrying past, you hastily positioned yourself in the back of the room. With everything else that was happening, you didn’t really have time to worry about another enemy.

Speaking of whom – Jimin’s gaze hardened when you approached and in response to this, anger flared in your belly.

You’d asked him to give you time and he had agreed. It seemed this was no longer the case.

Woodenly, Jimin held out his hand. Staying carefully neutral, you took this as Miss Vern began to teach you the steps. She hadn’t been lying when she’d called the pas de deux difficult. By necessity, some of your anger disappeared as you focused on learning.

Jimin seemed equally concentrated, barely looking your way while he practiced. It took nearly forty-five minutes to learn the entire coda, with Miss Vern stopping partway for a water break. By the time you knew the choreography, both of you were sweating.

Miss Vern had also been right to call the pas de deux one about tension. At the start, Jimin’s character was testing Penelope. This involved him pulling you towards him, turning you and making you chase him – until halfway through the coda, when Penelope snapped. Choreography shifting, you began to chase him, revealing you knew who he was.

The choreography was intricate, necessitating trust between partners. Despite everything, you were relieved to find this still existed between you. When you jumped, you knew Jimin would catch you. When you fell, you knew his hands would find your waist.

Still, this didn’t mean things had returned normal. As you practiced a fouetté, turning quickly to face him, Jimin gripped your wrist harder than usual. Wincing, you pushed on towards the next jump.

The combination involved several lifts, one of which was the most psychologically taxing. It involved Jimin lifting you overhead with your front leg extended, holding only your waist. While not the most difficult move technically, it required a certain fortitude of mind to dangle, upside-down from his arms.

This certainly wasn’t helped by the fact that Jimin kept grunting.

“Will you stop doing that?” you hissed as he set you back down.

A muscle in Jimin’s jaw ticked.

“Stop doing what?”

“Grunting. I keep thinking you’re about to drop me.”

Jimin gave you a look, chest heaving for breath. “Well, it’s hard.”

“Our job is to make it look easy.”

“Yeah, look easy,” he argued. “That doesn’t mean it actually is.”

“Well –”

“Let’s just try it again,” Jimin said, cutting you off.

After a moment, you nodded and returned to your position. As you began to practice with music, you felt a familiar sinking feeling in your stomach. It seemed you’d taken several steps backwards since the start of the year. Instead of continuing to grow as partners, you and Jimin had returned to the start.

As you repeated the steps, you felt his grip on you tighten, but Jimin lifted you overhead with nary a grunt. He set you back down, your leg extended in arabesque.

“Good!” said Miss Vern as she walked past. “Try to support her lower back more, though, Jimin. She shouldn’t be falling that far behind.”

As she walked away, Jimin nodded and exhaled a breath. Once she was gone, he turned sideways to face you. Again, his gaze was unfamiliar and cold.

“Alright,” Jimin said. “Again?”

“From where?”

“Middle of the partner section?”

You nodded, taking a step backwards to catch your breath. The break in the partner section began with you running towards him, Jimin catching you around the waist to sweep you into a fish lift.

As you ran through the steps, you tried to concentrate on the choreography. Not on your partner, nor on the uncertainties which roared through your mind. Jimin certainly didn’t seem to have the same qualms you did. By all accounts, Jimin was a sharp, perfunctory, and timely dance partner.

You found this to be maddening.

Just when you’d forgotten how strained things had become, he’d grip your hand a little too tightly, or turn you a little too sharply and your eyes would narrow. After another ten minutes of practice, Miss Vern called your attention by the stereo.

“Let’s try it full out,” she suggested. “I won’t hold the first time against you, but please do your best to execute every lift.”

The class grunted in agreement; wiping sweat from their brows, they retreated to their starting positions.

Glancing at Jimin, you said, “Full out?”

He nodded. “If you want.”

Turning on his heel, he walked across the room. You watched him go, your blood beginning to reach a boiling point. Jimin was acting like a petulant child. This was how he used to be in high school, back when he was your enemy and everything had been simpler, but you didn’t want that anymore.

Now that you knew who Jimin was, you couldn’t possibly go back to hating him. The very idea made your heart hurt.

Possibly you were being unfair, or naïve. Clearly, you’d hurt Jimin, but there wasn’t time to fix things between you before the end of class. You needed to be professional, you needed to pull your shit together and you needed Jimin to do the same. Turning around, you crossed the room and reached your starting spot.

Taking a deep breath, you waited for your cue.

When Miss Vern signaled the ballerinas to enter, you ran – and felt Jimin catch you by the wrist. He wasn’t gentle, pivoting you to a penché and waiting for you to rise. When you did, he crushed you to his chest and caught your knee in posse.

Teeth gritted, you kept your gaze on him while extending á la second. Hand finding your calf, Jimin raised your leg higher. His grip was rougher than usual, making you shiver as his hand slid to your ankle.

Gaze lidded, Jimin bent you in cambré. When he pulled you upwards to face him, your noses practically touched. Your frustration, previously under control, began to unwind.

“Why weren’t you in class yesterday?” you whispered.

Jimin’s eyes flashed, as though in warning. When you turned around, he caught you deftly around the waist. Pulling you to him, Jimin’s breath ghosted your neck.

“I told you,” he murmured. “I was sick.”

“Bullshit,” you said, breaking free of his hold.

Jimin followed close behind, his feet skimming the floor. As you piqued to arabesque, he caught up and pulled you against him.

“You’re avoiding me,” you accused.

“I’m not. And it’s not bullshit,” he added. Turning you around, Jimin dipped you, only to catch you before you hit the floor. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

The next part required more footwork, both of you circling the other. Your breathing was heavier the next time you were close enough to speak.

“You’ve barely spoken to me today,” you hissed.

A mirthless laugh left his lips. Spinning you sideways, Jimin caught you against his chest, your bodies pressed together in heated silence.

“I thought you told me not to say anything?” he said sweetly.

The next move tore you apart, your feet skimming the floor before Jimin caught up and lifted you high overhead. You saw the ground for a moment, heartbeat hammering your ribs before he set you back down. Chasséing forward, you battemented and were again caught by Jimin at the ankle.

Dragging you closer, his hand found your waist.

Stubbornly, you met his gaze. “I needed time to think.”

“Oh, did you?”

Releasing your leg, he lowered you to a penché. As you rose, you managed to say, “I did. And now, I think we should talk.”

Jimin snorted. “What’s there to talk about?”

Your next battement nearly hit him in the head. Jimin’s eyes widened, but it was all part of the choreography. Timed to a change in tempo, the choreography shifted to you as the pursuer.

On pointe, you ran forward, leaping into his arms at the last second. Fish dives were difficult, since they required complete trust of your partner, but Jimin caught you easily, cradling you close to his chest.

Lips brushing your ear, he set you back down. “Are you still with him?” he asked, chest heaving behind you. “Your boyfriend?”

Meeting his gaze in the mirror, you hesitated. “Yes.”

His gaze hardened. “Then, there’s nothing to talk about.”

There was no time to respond since the next sequence involved Jimin chasséing away into a tour jeté. You followed with chainés, head whipping around to spot him every time. As soon as you were within speaking distance, you caught him by the arm again.

“I say there is,” you insisted. “Why are you making this so difficult?”

“Me?” Jimin barked a laugh as he turned. “You’re the one driving me crazy. Like you always do.”

“What the hell does that mean?” you said to him, baffled.

Jimin’s gaze cut to yours.

For the briefest of moments, you saw his façade break. All of his pain, all of his hurt and frustration shone through and you felt yourself falter. Staring at him, you couldn’t form a response.

Not that there was time. The dance hadn’t ended and class hadn’t stopped. Taking a slow step towards you, Jimin tenderly caught your attitude effacé and extended your leg. Dragging you forward, he pulled you across the floor.

As he came to a stop, Jimin swept your body to his as your fingers curled in his hair. In the choreography, the moment was one of near reconciliation between Penelope and Odysseus, a breather before their intense ending sequence. Jimin’s chest was concave with your breath, his gaze dark and lidded when he pulled back to see you.

You swallowed, disentangling yourself as you bourreéd away.

Heart pounding, you skimmed the floor with glissades, crossing the room with Jimin close behind. The final sequence was the grand reveal, with Penelope exposing Odysseus for who he is and forgiving his mistrust.

You could relate to the sequence.

Not all of it – had you been Penelope, you might have cheated while Odysseus had been away. You might have fallen for someone else; one of the suitors, perhaps. When you looked at Jimin now, you saw that clearly. There were feelings here which extended beyond a normal crush.

Still, you could relate to the dance. You could relate to Penelope’s frustration at Odysseus for being gone for so long. For leaving in the first place, for forcing her to withstand all her burdens alone. She’d been faithful to him and all he’d done was accuse her of cheating. You remembered Finn’s words to you in the library and felt your heart sink, since you’d ended up proving him right after all.

You’d also hurt Jimin though, which you hadn’t intended. Of course, he was angry – you’d repeatedly led him on, not pushing him away when you should have. And when things between you had finally snapped, you hadn’t let him speak. You’d run away.

Executing a double pirouette, you extended in attitude for a quick promenade. Shutting down your mind, you allowed yourself to be swept away by the music. Swept away by the characters, the dance and its emotions. The choreography became less important as the story came alive. Jimin’s hands were as familiar to you as your own, lifting you easily and setting you back on the ground.

Your heart ached with each step, wanting to be closer, wanting to be nearer to him than you were. As the steps slowed, you found yourself softening. Jimin’s hand slid to your thigh, settling you against his chest in a move reminiscent of the first time you’d felt a spark. Locking gazes with him, you inhaled and lifted your hand to rest on his cheek.

Time seemed to slow; you both felt and saw a muscle tick in his jaw. Jimin roughly exhaled, his chest pressed to yours as his gaze dropped to your lips.

“Bravo! Brava!”

Startled, both of you looked up.

Dazedly, you remembered you weren’t alone. You were in Miss Vern’s ballet class, most of whom had stopped dancing midway to watch. Placing you down on the ground, Jimin took a step backwards. Lacing both hands before him, he refused to meet your gaze, choosing instead to focus on Miss Vern.

“Beautifully done!” Crossing the floor, Miss Vern stopped before you. “The passion you showed! Such emotion, such artistry. My own principals couldn’t have done any better.”

Eyes widening, your lips parted. A flutter of incredulity went through you. It was unthinkable to receive such a high compliment from a teacher at Russet, let alone a choreographer as famed as Maisie Vern.

If you’d been looking for a sign to continue, this had to be it. One of the top choreographers in the world, commending your talent and somehow, her words didn’t feel nearly as good as when Jimin had said them.

Glancing at him, you found Jimin looking as stunned as you felt. The ache within you sharpened to a point, realizing how much he meant to you. How much you wanted his success, regardless of your own.

In that moment, you knew it had never been about anyone else’s perception of you as a dancer.

You knew you could do this. You knew you could make it at Russet, could make it as a dancer. Deep down, you’d always known this, despite your moments of doubt. Jimin had been right. You wanted to dance, you loved to dance and you would continue down this path regardless of what anyone else said.

That hadn’t been what crushed you about Finn’s words.

It had crushed you that after all this time, he still didn’t seem to know who you were. The fact that he could throw out those words so casually, as though you might simply stop dancing meant he didn’t see you. He might as well have asked you to stop breathing.

Jimin, though – Jimin understood. Jimin knew who you were. He’d been a part of your life for so long, he got what made you tick. He’d seen you at your worst, as your most bitter enemy and then again, as your most trusted partner.

It was part of why he meant so much to you.

You understood all this in the blink of an eye, then realized you hadn’t responded to Miss Vern’s praise.

“Oh,” you said, fighting to catch your breath. “I – thank you so much, Miss Vern. I honestly don’t know what to say.”

Miss Vern nodded, as though she were used to such a response. Beside you, Jimin was still breathing hard, but he nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “Thank you so much.”

She nodded, not choosing to linger as she faced the room. “Use them as an example!” she said, striding towards the stereo. “Seokjin and I will demonstrate, but that is the level of performance you should aim for. Again!”

The rest of the class passed in a blur, some of the fight dissipated between you and Jimin. He was still quiet, but you didn’t push him again to speak. You’d done enough for now.

As the class came to an end, Miss Vern gathered you round to give a short speech. She thanked everyone for the pleasure of teaching and, once you were dismissed, turned towards the barre.

Jimin left before you could, throwing his things in his bag as he rushed from the room. You followed him with your eyes, knowing he was avoiding you, but not blaming him in the slightest.

Sabrina wasn’t far behind and your gaze lingered on her, remembering the attempted conversation during class. You still had no idea what she’d wanted to say but honestly, Sabrina was the least of your problems right now.

Exhaling, you stood from the ground and checked your phone. Still no word from Finn.

You were trying desperately to understand, trying to give him time to think, but after your fight on Wednesday, you honestly weren’t sure if you still had a boyfriend. Finn’s radio silence didn’t seem to indicate anything positive, but you refused to let this be the way things ended between you. He owed you that much, at least.

Returning to your dorm, the knot tightened further as you imagined what he might say. Both of you had said hurtful things and now, you needed to tell him something which would change your relationship forever.

You needed advice. You needed to talk to Fin. You needed to apologize, you needed–

Plopping down on your bed, you dialed the only number you could think of to call. Noelle had graciously left to stay at Irene’s, giving you the room to yourself.

Your mom answered on the first ring.

“Y/N? Hello?”

“Mom?” you said, your voice suddenly tight.

“Oh, honey” she said, hearing your shift. You heard a soft click, as though she’d entered the next room. “What’s going on?”

“I – nothing.”

Closing your eyes, you fought to control your breathing.

“Nothing, hm?” Your mom made a gentle noise. “You’re still coming home for the holidays, aren’t you? That’s not what this is about? Your dad won’t stop talking about plans for when you get here. He just goes on and on! You’d think he didn’t have a wife.”

“No, no,” you said, opening your eyes. “I just… missed you. That’s all.”

“Well, then call more!”

When you tried to laugh, the sound came out weaker than usual.

Your mom fell quiet for a moment. “That’s not all, is it?”

“… No.”

“Tell me,” she prodded.

So, you did.

Once you started talking, you found you couldn’t stop. Everything came pouring out. The difficulties you’d had at Russet, the need for private lessons, the injury to your ankle and everything going on with Finn. The time he missed brunch, the gradual growing apart, the night he left you at the club – your mom had some choice words at this point – and your growing feelings for Jimin.

Everything had changed when you’d gone to Russet, and you’d always assumed Finn would stay the same but now, even he was crumbling into pieces.

When you were done, your mom was silent a moment, then sighed. You could picture her so clearly in your mind’s eye, seated in your dad’s office chair. This was likely where she’d gone when you heard the door click. The image made you so homesick, it physically pained you.

“Life isn’t ever as neat as we wish it would be,” your mom said at last. “People make mistakes, Y/N. People change. Sometimes the things we thought were permanent turn out not to be.”

“I know. And I know Finn and I are young, but –”

“It’s not that,” your mom said, cutting you off. “Some people meet the person they want to be with early on. That happens. Some people know who they are from the minute they’re born, but other people change and want different things.”

“I – I know. Objectively, I know but… it’s so hard to do something I don’t want to do. And I… I don’t want to break up with Finn.”

“Why not?” your mom said gently.

Biting down on your lower lip, you felt tears fill your eyes. Your answer was stupid – you knew it was. Partly, this was why you kept running away. You knew the answer wasn’t enough, which was why you didn’t want to say it.

“We’ve just been together so long,” you said, closing your eyes. “We’ve gone through rough patches before. Why is now any different?”

“I don’t know. Why is it?”

Swallowing hard, you whispered, “Because this time, I have no idea how to fix things. I think we’ve hurt each other too much, mom. I don’t know… I don’t see a way back to how we were.”

Hearing the words said out loud, you opened your eyes.

There it was. The thing you’d known for weeks but had been unwilling to say. So long as you kept it bottled in, pushed down, you didn’t have to acknowledge its presence or pain.

In truth, your fights with Finn had become so commonplace, you could no longer point to ‘the big one.’ The fight about spending time together had mutated, becoming a multi-headed dragon of differing life goals, de-prioritization and feelings for others.

Whenever you and Finn were happy these days, you found yourself holding your breath. You were waiting for said happiness to dissolve into pain. You had no clue when a relationship was supposed to end but had to imagine this wasn’t a good sign.

“I don’t think there are any easy answers, Y/N,” said your mom. “This is something you need to decide for yourself.”

“Shouldn’t it be easy, though?” you demanded, grip tightening on your phone. “When I list out everything that’s happened, I know things are bad. I haven’t been telling you things because deep down, I don’t want you saying what I already know.”

“Which is?”

“We… that we should break up.”

Your mom was quiet a moment. “It’s never easy to give up something you love.”

You wanted to respond but found you couldn’t, simply nodding even though she couldn’t see. On some level, she was your mom and she understood.

“What about the other boy you mentioned?” she said, sounding curious. “The one you’re having feelings for. Is this the same Jimin as high school?”

“Yes,” you whispered, the white-hot shame of your kiss burning you from the inside.

That was something you couldn’t tell your mom. Not now, at least. Maybe sometime in the future but for now, you couldn’t bear the shame of admitting what you’d done. You never should have let things get to this point.

“Hm.” She made a thoughtful sound. “You know, I’m not surprised to hear you’re getting along. He always seemed like a nice boy, despite how you treated him.”

“Mom!” you blurted. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am, honey.”

“Jimin used to bet I’d lose against him in competitions.”

“Mhm. And who started those bets?”

Although you huffed, you didn’t respond because your mom was right. Your bet senior year had been Jimin’s idea, but you’d been the one to start them before.

“It’s not even about Jimin,” you said, quieting somewhat. “It’s more… nothing in my life is solid anymore. I had a plan, mom. I knew exactly what I wanted and now that I’m here, nothing’s how I imagined.”

Softly, your mom chuckled. “Welcome to your twenties.”

“Mom!”

“You’re right, I’m sorry. Welcome to adulthood.”

“You’re not helping.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Her voice grew softer. “I wish I was there, so I could give you a hug. You’ve always been the type of person who needed a plan. But there’s more than one way to be happy, Y/N. What is it you really want?”

Her words were so reminiscent of Jimin that for a moment, you could only pause. What you wanted was dance, but you knew acknowledging this meant giving up Finn.

“I don’t know,” you whispered.

“Well, then. That’s probably the first thing you should figure out.”

Closing your eyes, you nodded. You stayed on the phone with her a while longer, talking about nothing and slowly calming down. When you finally hung up, you promised to call more and confirmed your plans to come home for the holidays.

Lowering your phone to the bed, heavy realization settled over you. You’d reached your lowest moment. If you sunk any further, there’d be no salvaging anything.

What else could happen? You barely had a relationship with Finn to speak of, had hurt Jimin’s friendship in the process and were so distracted, so tired, you were in danger of jeopardizing your future at Russet.

Somewhere along the line, everything had become twisted. You had too many problems to ignore any longer. Sitting up straighter in bed, you wiped tears away with your palm. All you could do was move forward – starting with Finn.

Satisfied by this, you rolled over in bed and closed your eyes. It had been a long time since you’d slept; you figured you could try and nap before you called. Finn wouldn’t be out of his classes for a few hours yet.

For the first time in a week, you managed to fall asleep before your mind could talk yourself out of rest.

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading 😊 ONE MORE CHAPTER LEFT! (and then the epilogue, but you know) New chapters of Raise the Barre will be posted weekly; dates are listed on the series Master List. Requests for updates will be deleted.

RAISE THE BARRE MASTERLIST

#bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin writing #jimin au #jimin dance au #jimin series #bts writing #bts au #bts dance au #bts series

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queenmolina · 3 years

Text

bobby was in the system

i’m going into detail about how i imagine it just because that’s what anon asked me to do - if you think this might be upsetting then i advise you to stop reading here <3

i’m going to preempt this with some disclaimers

- i’m british so my pov of the system will be wrong, i’m not even going to try and translate it

- i’m not picking out sad/tragic things to be deliberately upsetting for the sake of an angsty backstory, this is just genuinely how i choose to imagine it happening

- this is a compilation of my friend and i semi-projecting onto our shared comfort character. im more than happy to share this because i really like this take for bobby, but please be sensitive in any comments you might make in (more for other people’s sake - im comfortable to discuss any of the content)

bobby doesn’t remember his parents. he lived with them for a time and from what people have told him, they were a really happy family. his mom was a therapist and his dad was an author. there are photos of the two of them smiling happily at the camera - some even had a small, baby-faced bobby bouncing on their knee, though they called him robin. it’s on all of his certificates, all of the documents. his name is robin. it doesn’t feel right

when he’s three, bobby’s parents pass. he thinks it must have been some kind of accident - to take them both in one go - but he doesn’t get offered any explanation. he’s almost immediately fostered into a family but there’s so many kids there that it’s basically a foster home. he’s one of the youngest and is immediately babied by all of the older kids which is where he starts to be selective about physical affection/contact with other people

he stays there until he’s six. all of the kids there get moved about when their ‘parents’ (it’s what the kids were told to call them but it never really applied) decided they actually weren’t cut out to look after a dozen children and threw in the towel

six year olds are a bit middle of the range in terms of how quickly people foster/adopt them but bobby’s gained a bit of a reputation for being ‘tricky to manage’ because he’s so fussy - he’s not fussy, he just wants people to stop mollycoddling him and give him some peace and quiet. he stays in a foster home for a year until eventually a couple take him in. but it doesn’t last long - they say bobby acts out and all of a sudden he’s back on the front step with his shopping bag of possessions and they’re passing ‘robin’ back as though he’s a library book and not a child

from the ages of eight to twelve, he gets passed back and forth from one place to the next. some are better than others, obviously. there’s the malone’s where the only other kid is their 17 year old biological daughter who thankfully doesnt much care for ambushing bobby like some of the others had. there’s the harper’s where bobby’s surprised they even passed the social worker visit because the house is a tip - but the carers are nice and he has his own room. there’s the vegaro’s who he even allows himself to hug when he had to leave. the rest of them aren’t even worth remembering. they never lasts, even the nice ones always go wrong. he’s back in the foster home every time he begins to get settled

when he’s twelve, the rate at which he gets fostered slows again. he sidles along with the older kids who seem to have given up hope and spend their days causing trouble or sneaking out of the home just because they can. bobby doesn’t go with them for a few months - until he realises that it’s fine. no one will care if he disappears for a few hours. will they even care if he doesn’t come back at all?

on his thirteenth birthday, one of the carers helps him gather his stuff from his bunk and shove it all into a bag. he’s fed up of trying to find a real home so when a woman shows up to take him, he doesn’t even try for a smile

it’s his aunt. his biological family. she has the same soft features as his mother in the photos and the same dark, pin-straight hair. somehow it manages to hurt more when she wrinkles her nose at his attempts of a conversation

her husband is nice. jerry, his name is. a portly man with a receding hairline and a frequent habit for offering bobby a sip of his beer. he’s not related to bobby by blood but it’s nice to feel like someone’s on his side

his aunt hates him. she doesn’t say it out loud - not when bobby’s in the room - but he sees how she looks at him. he hears her arguing with jerry about him sometimes and saying nasty things about his mother too. she and jerry seem to fall out a lot

she leaves one day. and doesn’t come back.

for once, bobby doesn’t get sent back to the foster home. if anything, he feels more welcomed once his aunt had gone. he and jerry feel like family - a little strained but bobby thinks that must be how all families feel. they watch tv together and even share hobbies. jerry even bought him a guitar, something brand new and for bobby and not second hand. bobby was worried he would have to give it back when the time came for him to return to the home but that wasn’t something to worry about right now. he meets jerry’s friends and family and for once, bobby feel like he has a family of his own

this is also the longest he’s ever stayed at one school. he thinks he might be making friends (he can call them friends this time, they’re not allies. they’re friends)

when he’s fifteen, jerry passes. he hadn’t been very well, it had been getting worse. bobby had seen that it was coming and had half-packed a bag before it had even happened

his new friends from school come to the funeral and sit with him on the front row of pews. alex - who was a foot taller than the rest of them - cowers a little from all of the attention. luke pulls at his sleeves and collar, clearly uncomfortable in the fancy get up, but he offers a sad smile whenever bobby catches his eye. reggie isn’t sure what to make of the whole thing but he can see that bobby’s upset and their shoulders knock together whenever reggie wants to remind him he’s not alone. at one point, bobby even takes reggies hand in his. he would be embarrassed or uncomfortable at the contact except he’s lost his family and he’s probably going to lose his friends too

instead of going back to the group home, he’s asked to move in with jerry’s mother, althea

she has a pretty big house and a garage which she converts into a space for bobby to hang out. he’s still unused to having his own room so to have two feels a little overwhelming. he invites his friends over to fill the space and when luke asks to start a band, bobby allows him to convert the garage into a makeshift studio. althea doesn’t mind, in fact she encourages it.

bobby isn’t the best at putting his thoughts into words but he can put them into action so when the boys start having trouble at home, he makes one thing very clear: the studio is their home. the studio belongs to all of them and if they ever need a place to stay, they should stay here. this is their home, where they’re loved and looked after. bobby tells them this in fewer words but he hopes they understand

(he’s not sure why the boys are so upset about their home lives - bobby would do anything to be with his parents. that is until he sees alex stifling hot tears or luke choking up over his test results or reggie knocking on his bedroom window at two am, desperate to escape the noise. then he gets it)

luke moves in and bobby starts carting his dinners to the studio to eat. althea pretends not to notice that there’s another boys clothes in her laundry loads and just starts doubling bobby’s food portion to make sure they both get enough

then it goes wrong. and bobby loses another family.

althea teaches him things to keep him distracted. she shows him how to knit, teaches him more tagalog, more recipes. it does nothing to make him feel better but he could never tell her that. he’s grateful for every moment she spends with him. she didn’t owe him anything and yet she took him in. the least he could do is try to smile and forget about his boys for a moment. for her.

she’s the one that encourages him to keep creating music, to make them a legacy they can be remembered by. it doesn’t work out that way in the end and she’s the only person that understands how the guilt weighs him down quite so much

years later, when he’s told that he’s going to be a father, his first thought is to run. he can barely cope with being responsible for himself, let alone another person. but it wasn’t his choice, she was going to have the baby. he was going to be a father

carrie is three when her mother leaves. it feels like another cruel twist of fate, like a knife in his gut. he always wondered when it would be his turn to go. he’s 29 and maybe he should’ve gone 26 years ago with his parents, or 14 years ago with jerry, or 12 years ago with his boys. but he would not let carrie have his struggles. so he cries to althea alone and puts on a brave face for his daughter

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imonthinice · 3 years

Text

The Criminal Psychology Majors, Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Part 17/?

Word Count: 3.8k

Author’s Note: Y/N - Your name.

So, when I started this, I didn’t expect it to become what it is, or for it to really be taken seriously. I wrote it because I wanted to get better at storytelling, and now I’m averaging 20 notes a day. That’s insane to me.

Warnings: Eludes to sex, mentions of trauma, mentions of court system, victim blaming, mentions of injuries, swearing, No beta bitch we die like Jason Todd

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18) (Part 19) (Part 20)

Waking up next to Jason was becoming something of a routine for Y/N. It had been 4 days in a row that she woke up next to him or with him in arm’s reach. She loved that about their relationship, how quickly they both could fall asleep with each other.

She rolled over in her bed and realized Jason was sweating and clutching the sheets. She leant over him slightly and turned on the fan, hoping he would sweat less so he could be in less pain.

She didn’t know what would actually stop the pain, she didn’t actually know if he was in pain. She reached out to stroke his back, just trying to comfort him, it seemed to work. He didn’t exactly reject her advances to rub his back. But he did jump a bit when she touched him.

She didn’t want him to be hurt by her touching him, so she did attempt to wake him up. He didn’t answer her though, so she got up from her bed and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked rough like she had been crying all night about the trial. Makeup running, eyes puffy, bloodshot. But what else did she expect after that trial? She didn’t remember anything.

She decided to shower, in her own shower. It had been 3 days since she last showered, which was okay but it wasn’t something she was used to.

She got into her shower and just thought. She was fucked up. She had been fucked up this entire time, she had hidden secrets from Jason, from everyone. She thought it was selfish, immature, and irresponsible that she did that. But she also didn't know how to talk to them all.

How do I even start that conversation? Hey, I’m fucked up, help me. I’m sorry, I messed up, she thought, I can’t do that, I can’t.

She got out of the shower and glanced at the clock like she would normally, it was 4:00am. That’s new, she thought, I didn’t know it was this early, maybe I should not have showered.

She smiled to herself a bit and took care of her face, doing a facial routine, just trying to calm herself and come off that high she was on for the majority of the day before. She knew she had to take care of herself to help her become stable again.

She knew what she did yesterday was linked to trauma, she just knew it. She didn’t know what it was, or how to combat it. But she knew she would probably not be mentally capable of watching the rest of the trial, and that was okay with her, she didn’t want to watch the rest of the trial. She would ignore her professor if he asked her to write anything about the trial. She knew he likely couldn’t because of her connections, but she wasn’t going to get mad at him.

She didn’t want to get mad at anyone for this. Opinions about the trial, asking her to talk about it, anything, she didn’t want to hate.

Jason was still asleep when she reentered her room. She smiled at him, wishing he was awake with her at that moment. She went to her notes at her desk and sighed, she guessed she would sit down and do some work. She pulled out her journal and wrote;

To each member of my family, somehow we reached here,

I’ve ended up with people wanting to hurt me,

Here we see the pain of there,

Maybe three.

I guess I can’t write poetry,

Maybe it’s all I see,

The pain, the torture, the people who hurt,

What am I doing?

She scribbled down a dying rose. She didn’t know why she did all of that. Normally she didn’t feel like that. Poetry was a good way to get all of the emotions out. Her journal had a lot, a lot, of insane writings and drawings of things she felt.

She guessed she was fucked up. But she thought the things wrong with her would make her art better. She needed therapy, probably. She was going to look into that, she decided in those moments. Therapy may help her cope with a lot of the stuff that she dealt with.

Or was she aware that she’d never be fixed?

----------------------------------------------------

She sat at her desk after making a quick coffee. It was still only 5:00am, and she was organizing her notes, just thinking. Maybe she’d paint something. Maybe she’d get a picture of the Wayne Manor Gardens and paint it. She just wanted something to fiddle with if she was going to be harassed if she left the house. She probably wasn't going to be able to leave the house for a while.

She was fine with that, she didn’t like it but she didn’t hate it either. She just wished for the trial to be over, even if the man was found not guilty of the charges.

And the longer the painting project, the longer she could spend locked away from the media. That was just all that she wanted, to walk away from the media while still keeping Jason.

He was still sleeping. She didn’t notice because she was so entranced in her own art, but he was struggling at that moment.

And then she noticed.

She got up and went to her bed and sat beside his head on the floor. She stroked his hair and tried to comfort him when he woke up.

“Hey,” she whispered.

He didn’t answer.

“You alright?” she asked.

He turned his back to her, so she stroked it.

“It’s okay if you’re not alright, baby,” she said, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

She crawled into bed with him and became the big spoon for a bit. She didn’t say anything to him, he didn’t say anything to her. He was sticky and sweaty, but she didn’t care.

Silence was killing for most people, but she sat through it and allowed him to be quiet.

She wished for the stories behind his scars, but she didn’t want to push for them. They hadn’t been together for long enough for her to ask about it. But she loved to trace his scars with her fingers, just letting him know she knew about them. She didn’t know how he felt about it. But she tried to be kind and loving towards his scars.

Some were small holes. Some were small lines. Some were long lines. One was Y-Shaped on his chest. One existed on his cheek and she couldn’t make out what it was.

She didn’t think that he was lesser because of his scars. He thought he was lesser for his scars.

“Hey, Jay. Do you want to eat breakfast? It’s 6:00am, we can dip to get food?” she asked, trying to make him feel better.

“If you don’t mention the nightmares, sure.”

“I won’t.”

He rolled over to her and smiled before kissing her.

------------------------------------------

They got up a couple hours later, clothes strewn across her room, boxers and pants torn. She laughed, hoping he would still have clothes to wear.

“Don’t laugh, I might have nothing to wear!”

“I hope you have something to wear, babe.”

“And what if I don’t? We were pretty messy.”

“We were, but still. If you have nothing we’re kind of fucked,” she said, glaring.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re cute. Just stop staring at me like that! It takes two to tango!”

“The forbidden horizontal tango,” she said between laughs.

“The forbidden horizontal tango is now the only way I am going to refer to sex.”

“I mean as you should.”

“My family is going to kill me for calling sex that.”

“I mean as they should,” she laughed, “Did you find clothes?” she asked, having already gotten dressed.

“Okay that’s unfair, you can’t wear new clothes when I’m stuck with ripped boxers.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have worn them in the first place,” she said, laughing, “And to be fair, Jay, I’m the one with clothes and you didn’t follow your own suggestion for an overnight bag.”

“Okay, listen, first of all,” he grabbed her, “That’s obviously my fault but shush, secondly, you’re dressing very black today,” he observed.

“Felt I would look the part of dating a Wayne.”

“No one’s going to see you.”

“That’s the point. I’m an invisible partner of a Wayne.”

“Well, I think you look nice.”

“I’m glad,” she laughed, “How ripped are your clothes?”

“Decently. Not noticeably, but decently.”

“Fun! Shall we go?”

He laughed and grabbed her arm, pulling her lightly to the car and getting in to drive.

“You ever think the vigilantes around here have complex lives?” she thought aloud.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do they have crazy, fulfilling lives like us, or are they just there to be heroes of the night? Are they sitting there wondering if they’re going to come home to their partners or if their parents are worried about them?” she questioned.

He sat there, looking forward. If only you knew. If only you knew what I go through, what everyone goes through. He managed to laugh and blow her off, “Maybe they’re just robots made to fight crooks in alleyways.”

“I’m serious. What if they’re all out there worried they’re going to die?”

“C’mon now.”

“Jay! They’re people!”

“They’re probably okay, baby. I doubt they’re out there almost dying.”

She wanted to say ‘You almost died’ but she bit her tongue, “That’s probably true. But it’s always something I thought, even when I lied in Metropolis with god damn Superman. I always wondered if he had a home to go to.”

“Who knows. Who knows.”

“They would. Maybe I should get a job as a reporter, interview some of them. Say ‘Fuck it’ and know if they have homes.”

“That’s dangerous.”

“How?”

“My Aunt, Iris, Barry’s wife? She’s a reporter. She’s on the frontlines for the supervillains and the small-time crooks of the world.”

“So anything and everything in between? Festive.”

“Well, that’s the life of a reporter. Journalists? Like my Uncle? He deals with a lot less bullshit unless they link him to Bruce. Iris is a reporter so she’s constantly there, Clark is usually never there.”

“Well, we at least know the elusive reporter and journalist have families,” she joked and he laughed.

“The elusive reporter and journalist in their natural habitats, my favourite National Geographic episode.”

She looked out her window at the streets and the people. She hadn’t been outside at night recently on the streets of Gotham, and she missed it. There was always something about it that made her keep coming back. Maybe it was the orphaned kids that she would go and make sure were okay. Maybe it was the fact that she watched one of the vigilantes swing to another roof.

She still remembered that moment well. She thought it was amazing, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for her to have experienced. She wished she knew more, even if she just knew which one they were. So she could go on the forums and ask if people had spoken to them. Maybe it wasn’t a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, maybe others had witnessed what she did, but she wouldn’t know if she did not know which it was.

“Hey, random question, do you know the vigilantes' names in the city?” she asked Jason.

“Uh, yeah? Why?” he responded.

“Okay so, the first night I walked home from your house after my car got towed right? I saw one of them. I’m not familiar with the vigilantes of the city, so: Do you know which one is the one with the blue bird symbol on their chest?”

“Oh, that one’s Nightwing. He seems cool, I don’t know, never actually met the guy.”

“Don’t Wayne Galas get attacked by villains on the regular though?”

“That doesn’t mean we get to talk to them,” he laughed, “It would be cool if we did, though.”

“Yeah it would. Would be a killer story for your Uncle and Aunt.”

“They are the only tabloids I liked because they leave us alone.”

“No reports from the Daily Planet about the Waynes?” she joked.

“God, Dad would probably half-jokingly sue Clark over that. Like sue him for 3 dollars or somethin’ levels of jokingly suing him.”

“Now, that, that would be a story for the tabloids.”

“Remind me to tell Dad about that, maybe it’ll get the press off your back.”

“You say that like your extended family cares about my trials.”

“They do, they wonder how you found yourself wrapped up in 2 crimes in the span of 2 weeks.”

“I wish I knew how I did that.”

He laughed, “If only we knew.”

“I guess we go get breakfast now, fast food?” he asked.

“Obviously, I’m not eating in a restaurant with this high of a profile recently, my god,” she laughed.

“Alright, anything in particular? I can just order for you if you’re not up to talking to some people.”

“Go for it.”

“Alright.”

She didn’t pay attention while he ordered, instead she opened her lovely cellphone. And there they were, the tabloids click baiting the trials she was involved in. She rolled her eyes, knowing most of them were wrong, when she saw the article written by Clark Kent about it. She was tempted to read it, to know what Clark said. She figured he’d be an unbiased source fo information, but also likely more on her side than the defendant’s side. She didn’t even know the defendant's name.

She tapped on it and began reading.

The Case of The Court Versus David Brown.

Brown is a man known to the courts of Gotham, and the county jail of Gotham. When he was accused of assaulting a young woman, Ms. Y/N (Last name), not many members of the Gotham Police Force were shocked.

On the first day of the trial, Brown was asked to plead, to which he said, “Not guilty, your honor,” which is under a lot of scrutiny of those who have seen the video of Ms. (Last name) running from Brown in the alleyway where she head-butted him.

The prosecution opened their case,

“Ms. (Last name) was assaulted by the defendant, there is no question about it. The question here is if his motive was for the ransom Ms. (Last name) referenced in her interview with police after the event. The defendant very clearly went after Ms. (Last name) because of her ties to the billionaire Bruce Wayne, who would have easily paid the ransom for her if she hadn’t escaped.

The defense opened their case,

The question of whether or not my client assaulted Ms. (Last name) is not up for debate, he did assault her. However, it was in self-defense. She had assaulted him first, pulling him into the alleyway and attempting to make advances on him. She twisted the story in her on words to include the head-butting incident, in reality, my client punched her for her advances.

The people who watched the first event of the trial have noted being “Disgusted” and “Annoyed” at the practices that the defense brought to court, “Slandering the name of Ms. (Last name) when she is the victim.” many people are upset with the defense in this trial.

The next day of the trial should take place within a week. Until then, the questions are not going to be answered.

She looked at the defense's argument numerous times. She was in shock that they would accuse her of such bullshit. She was terrified that they would get away with this, when Jason pulled her out of her thoughts with a coffee.

“You shouldn’t get so involved in the tabloids right now, love.”

“Sorry, if it makes you feel better your Uncle wrote it. And thank you.”

“Anytime. I guess Clark wrote it well, but you watched the trial?”

“I don’t remember it.”

“You’re probably not going to watch more of it, are you?”

‘No way,” she said while drinking her coffee as they drove back to her house.

“That’s fair. No one expected you to be able to be able ot watch it.”

She nodded and kept drinking, “They made up so much bullshit.”

“They did, oh my god, I was pissed, baby. I was so god damn mad. Because what the fuck do you gain from lying?”

“Don’t even put that question in the universe, you know they’ll try to answer it the next time they’re in trial.”

“God you’re right,” he laughed, “Got you a breakfast sandwich. At least the dammed tabloids can’t take that away from us.”

“Thank god,” she laughed, “Thank you.”

“Seriously, anytime. It’s worth it.”

“You’ve spent so much money on me.”

“Pocket change.”

“Well, duh. Trust-fund baby.”

“Ouch.”

“I’ll take you somewhere when I’m less high-profile. Maybe we’ll fake a breakup to keep everyone off my ass so we can go somewhere.”

“Fake a breakup? Wouldn't that just make you hated?”

“I’m already hated. I’m a gold-digger, a whore, a cheater, a statistic, a suicidal maniac, a homicidal maniac, a psychopath, I can go on and on about the shit being said about me.”

“Man, people need to keep their mouths shut.”

“You could say that again- don’t actually. But like, what the fuck did I do to deserve this, honestly? All I did was go on a date with you to get bombarded, yes, I do treat the press unfairly, but I do my best to never say a bad word about them publically, just jokes,” she joked, “I hate this,” she laughed.

“I hate tihs too,” he laughed, “You’re worth it though.”

“Oh man, a week into dating, two weeks into knowing each other and we’re here.”

“We should be anywhere else but in the midst of these terrible circumstances.”

“It’s unfortunate.”

---------------------------

Drinking her coffee on her bed with Jason beside her was something else, it was probably the most they had branched out in 4 days. The silence was lovely now that neither of them were having issues. They ate and drank in silence. They didn’t need constant conversation to prove that the enjoyed the presence of each other.

She took a minute to take it all in, the messy shelves in her bedroom, the place on her desk where her laptop belonged, the broken handle to her bathroom door, the sheets on her bed which had been pulled and ruffled from Jason and her having fun.

She looked out her window and looked at the rain starting to pour and decided to cuddle closer to Jason. He was warm but had a presence of underwhelming coldness to him, like he gave off fake body heat. She didn’t know what it was, but the extremes of his body were something she enjoyed but hated.

The exposition between his black hair to his white tuff of hair, the rough eyebrows to the small and delicate freckles, the blue of his eyes which seemed to glow green. The way it was like she was driving down a road, full speed ahead, and crashed into a wall, that was how it felt to be with Jason.

But who doesn’t love to die in a fiery accident into a wall at 500mph?

She laughed internally at her own joke about him before grabbing his hand and yanking him into the living room and past her roommate, A/N. A/N did not question it, because there was a new life to her roommate recently.

She dragged him out into the rain, to which he protested.

“What the fuck, respectfully?”

She laughed, “Don’t be respectful, and trust me. I’m going to make a movie moment.”

“I’m getting wet.”

“That’s my job,” she joked as she turned on a slow song before going to Jason and dancing with him.

“Well, can’t say I’ve done this,” he said.

“I don’t think most couples do.”

“Then why are we?” he asked

“Uh, yolo? You only live once, might as well dance in the rain with one of your lovers?” she retorted.

“One of them? Am I not the only one?”

“Oh no, you are,” she laughed, “But who knows, maybe we’ll fuck monogamy up the ass,” she joked.

“Probably not.”

And they danced for a few hours. Twirling and dipping in the rain. Watching the clothes they were wearing get more and more wet until the the white parts of Y/N’s dress were see-through, which took a while considering how small they were.

Their hair was soaked and her makeup was running but they didn’t care. They were having fun, and no one was going to stop them, not a villain, not a vigilante, no one. He would wipe away her makeup since it was basically already off her face and laugh.

“Your makeup looked nice before we came out here.”

“I bet! The rain’s probably washing it all way, did I look like I was crying?”

“You looked like you were sobbing.”

She laughed, “You love to see it, you really do.”

The music was basically drowned out by the rain. It was on her phone, so it was probably water damaged from the rain, but no one cared. They just wanted to have fun.

But the dancing got tired because of the fact that Y/N was in heels, so she went and picked up her phone. It wasn’t damaged. She looked at her recent texts while Jason tugged her lightly to the bathroom, to see that Bruce Wayne, Jason’s dad, had paid off her car and it was being driven back to her house.

“Hey baby?”

“Y/N?”

“Did you tell your dad to pay off my car?”

“Oh, yeah. I figured it’d get impounded and my dad could just wait a while for you to pay back. It getting impounded was going to cost you more money.”

“God you're right and I hate that.”

He laughed and kissed her before turning on the shower.

--------------------------------------------

That was the second time that day that they had had sex. It was impressive that they had had sex that many times, and that many rounds. They thought it was fun as all hell to have sex whenever they had the chance.

Maybe they were saying “Suck it” to Bruce, or maybe they were just having fun. Maybe it was both.

“You look so cute with my hand around your neck,” he said behind her before lightly grabbing her neck and pulling her head back to his chest. He buried his face in her shoulder.

“He says while looking down,” she joked.

“I’ll squeeze.”

“Jay, we just showered. C’mon. Keep it in your pants.”

He groaned, “No fun,” he tilted his head into the crook of her neck and started leaving little kisses.

“Jay, C’mon.”

He sighed, “Fine. Fine, fine, fine. I guess we can stop,” he jokingly-whined at her, “At least we can kiss.”

“That’s true, but get dressed.”

“Get dressed!” he whined to her, “In this economy!”

“God dammnit,” she laughed, “Stay naked then and I’ll eat your food.”

“Don’t you dare.”

#dcu #dceu #dc #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd fluff #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x fem!reader #red hood x y/n #red hood x you #red hood fluff #male oc #female oc

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pterodactylterrace · 3 years

Text

Guys Like You Chapter 16

Title: Guys Like You

Chapter: 16

Chapter Summary: Meet the family

Rating: 18+

Warnings: None for this chapter

{Prologue} {Chapter 1} {Chapter 2} {Chapter 3} {Chapter 4} {Chapter 5} {Chapter 6} {Chapter 7} {Chapter 8} {Chapter 9} {Chapter 10} {Chapter 11} {Chapter 12} {Chapter 13} {Chapter 14} {Chapter 15}

"How well does she do on flights?" Henry asked quietly, nodding for Faye to slide in first to take the window seat.

"She gets sick on longer flights." Faye explained as he sat down in the aisle seat, resting the snoozing child in his lap, her chubby cheek pressed against his chest as a small bit of drool tumbled from her lower lip.

"It's a little under an hour, do you think she'll be ok?"

"She didn't get sick until after the third hour when we came to England."

"Hopefully she'll just sleep the whole time." Henry sighed, smiling fondly at the child snoozing on him. To say he was excited to introduce his girls to his family was an understatement. He had been practically vibrating with giddiness for the last two days. That in turn wound up Kal and Briar, which meant no one wanted to go to bed. Faye had counted herself lucky to get the child tucked into bed and finally asleep before 11pm the night before. Certainly not enough time for any sort of decent rest before their 6am flight. She could also tell Henry hadn't gotten enough sleep the night before, the dark circles under his eyes a dead giveaway, no matter how many times he insisted he was fine.

Maybe they could all catch a nap during the flight. That sounded incredible, though Faye wasn't sure if her nerves would allow her to actually sleep. Henry had assured her over and over that his family would love her, but she had a nagging voice in the back of her mind that kept asking her 'but what if they don't?' Would Henry leave her if his family didn't like her? What if they didn't like Briar? She could be a bit much at times. Maybe they would think she was an awful mother who couldn't control her child. She just had to keep reminding herself that Henry wasn't like that. He wasn't a controlling abuser. He wanted to see her happy. He actually loved her and she was slowly learning how to be loved in return.

Henry reluctantly slid the child from his lap and into her seat before take off, buckling the now grumpy toddler in while Faye gave Briar her stuffed bunny in an attempt to pacify her for the time being. That only resulted in the rather amusing image of an incredibly angry looking toddler hugging a very well loved stuffed bunny, glaring daggers at the seat back in front of her. The second the fasten seatbelt sign went off, Briar was back in Henry's lap, smugly snuggling back into his chest with her bunny tucked under her arm.

"I swear, she likes you more than she likes me." Faye sighed, shaking her head at her daughter.

"I never tell her no." Henry shrugged, giving the child a small squeeze.

"I've noticed." Faye grumbled.

"How do you expect me to say no to that face?" Henry challenged, nodding down to where Briar was already sleeping on him, her cheek squished up against his chest, more drool slowly soaking into his shirt.

"What if she wants to do something dangerous?"

"That's why I have her wonderful, strong, beautiful mother nearby." Henry smiled at her, chuckling at her annoyed look.

"So what are you gonna do with any future children?" Faye shot back, not missing the way Henry's entire demeanor lit up.

"I'll just have to follow your lead." He offered, trying to tame the smile from his face. This was the first time she had mentioned any more children since their scare, and just the thought was enough to make him dizzy with excitement.

"Breastfed that kid for a year and a half, and this is the thanks I get." Faye grumbled to herself, moving over to the middle seat to use Henry's bulky shoulder as a pillow.

"As much as I'd like to say I'll help you every step of the way, I'm pretty sure I'm going to be useless when it comes to that."

"Such a shame, your tits are bigger than mine."

"They are not." Henry scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"Mmhmm. Mine only look nice when I roll them up into a bra so you can't see how deflated they are."

"They're the perfect size for my hands."

"And your tits are still bigger."

"Fine, but I still don't think I can breastfeed a baby." Henry relented, his face heating up when he realized the flight attendant had made it to their row with the drink cart. Her look of confused horror was one Faye would remember for years to come.

"I think we're good." Faye half laughed, Henry dropping his head in embarrassment. Sometimes people just walk up at the wrong time in a conversation.

Faye was apprehensive at first when Henry told her his brother would be picking them up from the airport. What if he instantly didn't like her? Would he just leave her there or something? It would make for a very uncomfortable car ride to say the least. Thankfully Niki and his wife turned out to be just as nice and accommodating as Henry kept assuring her they would be. Naturally, Niki stuffed his younger brother into the back seat, allowing his wife to stay up front in spite of her half hearted protest. Faye had the feeling this was an ongoing thing between them.

The sight of a toddler seat in the back, hooked in and ready to go made a strange happiness swell in her chest. Faye was grateful they had taken steps to keep her daughter safe, while Henry was slightly annoyed that he was now crushed even more. With a simple look from Niki's wife, Faye understood that this was just how the brother's were, antagonizing each other whenever possible. Niki wasted no time filling Faye in on a few stories from Henry's childhood, telling her about the time he brought a turtle home and tried to keep it in the bathtub to hide it from his parents. Then he moved on to the time he split his pants at his cousin's wedding when he was fifteen and spent the entire reception trying to talk to the bridesmaids with his underwear showing. The last one he squeezed in before his wife stopped him was when they were all younger and buried him in the snow, having convinced him that's how an igloo was built.

No one hesitated to get out and start unpacking the car once it was parked in front of a rather quaint looking house, Niki tossing Henry's bag at him, Henry 'accidentally' shoulder checking him into the back of the car good natured retaliation. Niki's wife had already gone inside to announce their arrival, giving Faye a chance to talk with her daughter before meeting everyone.

"Now remember sweetie, we need to be on our best behavior for Papa's family today, ok?" She reminded, crouching down and straightening out her daughter's jacket.

"I a good girl." Briar stated firmly, nodding her head in self assurance as she grabbed her mother's hand with her mitten covered fist.

"Yes, you've been a very good girl, even though I can tell you're really tired. I'm very proud of you, sweetheart." Faye praised, giving the child her stuffed bunny before leading her after everyone else.

"And then-" Simon wheezed, pausing to catch his breath through his laughter. "And then Henry comes back inside, covered in mud, sticks in his hair, and he's just like "well, he's not under THAT bush!'." Faye wiped a tear from her eye, holding her aching stomach. She had lost count of the stories that had been retold, everyone seeming to take a turn at ribbing each other. Henry even told the story of Faye accidentally gluing her hand to a makeup brush when she was trying to apply prosthetics. It felt almost too easy settling into his family. He had been completely honest, they were very accepting.

His mother was warm and inviting, pulling her in for a hug and whisking Faye off to the kitchen, putting a glass of wine in her hand before she had even said hello to anyone else. It felt so good to be around a family again. Faye had been close with her parents and her siblings, especially her twin sister, and it was times like this that reminded her of what she had given up to chase her dreams. She had promised to try and be home for Christmas, but life got in the way of her going back the year before. Now it was coming up, and she was wondering if Henry would be alright with going all the way across the ocean just to meet her family. Were they really that serious? She knew they were pretty serious, having moved in together, but she didn't have any prior experience to compare her current relationship to. Would he want to spend Christmas with his family? They were all really nice and probably always spent the holidays together. Would she be interfering with a tradition by asking him to spend Christmas with her family?

"So how did you two meet?" Marianne interjected, everyone suddenly shifting their attention to the couple.

"Uhh... met at work?" Faye offered up, turning to look up at Henry to see if he had anything else to add. Always the eloquent half of the pair, Henry had plenty to tack on, telling them about how this sassy little makeup artist wouldn't give him the time of day no matter what he did to get her attention. He'd tried talking about her tattoo's: nothing. He'd tried talking about the show: nothing. He'd tried to ask her about her life: nothing.

"It wasn't until Briar's birthday that I got anywhere. I swear, if you weren't such an awful baker, you would have never even looked my way. Poor Briar made sure everyone knew you were no good at it too. Briar!" Henry called, smiling when the little girl came running in the room, a dinosaur in one hand and the other covered in a sock. "Briar, how's mummy's baking?"

"Yucky." Briar informed flatly, the adults roaring in laughter while she rushed off to go play with the other children again.

"She's actually managed to simultaneously burn and completely undercook a tray of brownies once. It was amazing."

"Wasn't that also the time I mixed up the salt and the sugar?"

"It was." Henry confirmed, pressing an adoring kiss to her temple.

"That reminds me of the time you accidentally used garlic powder instead of nutmeg in the apple pie one year." Piers turned toward his wife, laughing at her loving glare.

"Alright, alright. Enough." Simon jumped in. "We all know what needs to be discussed. Who is stronger, Superman or the Incredible Hulk?" The entire family seemed to groan in unison; this must be an age old debate.

"Superman, obviously." Henry scoffed.

"No way, the Hulk is indestructible!" Niki threw back.

"So is Superman." Charlie pointed out.

"A little bit of kryptonite and Superman is useless." Simon intervened.

"What are the odds of having kryptonite on hand, though? If we're going to be using weaknesses, when Banner couldn't shift into the Hulk during Infinity War should definitely be brought up." Faye countered.

"But we're not talking about Banner, we're talking about the Hulk, as in he already shifted." Niki complained.

"Didn't the Black Widow have some lullaby thing that turned him back?" Charlie mused.

"Come on, Faye. We all know you're just siding with Superman because you're sleeping with him." Simon teased, Faye rolling her eyes in response. She had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

By the time they returned home just two days later, Faye was utterly exhausted but filled with joy. His family was so warm and inviting. They actually liked her. They didn't look down on her. They didn't question why Henry was with someone like her. They just accepted her and her daughter as one of their own. Two more to add to the Cavill Clan.

Now that they were back at home, it felt almost empty compared to the jam packed house they had just been in. Kal was all too happy to meet everyone at the door, his food bowl still full from the last visit from the dog sitter while their mail was stacked neatly on the kitchen table waiting for them.

Henry left the bags by the bottom of the stairs to take up later, sorting the letters into two separate piles. A large envelope addressed for Faye caught his eye, curiosity prompting him to bring it straight to her.

"What's that?" Faye asked, tossing the clothing from the bags into a laundry basket.

"I don't know. Looks important. Maybe it's informing you that you just became Queen a small unknown country."

"I've always wanted my own country." Faye chuckled, ripping the envelope open and pulling out the papers inside, her face falling more and more with each passing second. Her blood ran cold as teardrops stained the paper.

"What? What's wrong? Faye, you're starting to worry me. What does it say? Is something wrong?"

"My ex... my ex is trying to sue me for custody of Briar."

@weallhaveadestiny @lunedelorient @summersong69 @mis-lil-red @lharrietg @amberangel112 @mansaaay @nostalgicb-txh

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #guys like you #guys like you fic

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katherinewilliams221b · 3 years

Text

For A Greater Good 15/18

not my gif just the text. Origins

Summary: Kate Williams, young healer and member of the Order, joins Durmstrang’s staff at Dumbledore’s request. Her mission? Find a Death Eater and survive long enough to tell the story. Set in 1996.

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x ofc/mc

Masterlist

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]

[Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10]

[Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14]

Her pulse failed every time she held a quill to write to Charlie; her eyes stung whenever she closed them. At one point she started to feel a constant pressure on her right temple, and it didn’t abandon her during the next weeks that followed her discoveries.

Kate lay on her side in bed, with her arms tucked against herself, protecting the cursed paper that was causing her nightmares, and curled up in a ball. That was her default position every day since then.

She stared at the candle on her table, the only source of light in the room and in her mind. The fire danced and twisted, hypnotising, captivating.

She thought of being somewhere else, with someone else.

What kind of person you must be to fool one of the greatest wizards alive? Dumbledore wasn’t any saint of her devotion, but… he must have known, right? He had to… or perhaps not.

Her breathing was slow and even, she concentrated on it; in and out. In and out. If she kept her eyes opened they stung, but if she closed them… it was worse.

And just like every other night, the candle consumed itself, leaving Kate in total darkness.

“Don’t give up hope.” She had told her students when they saw that none of the umbrella flowers had teeth. “We still have time.”

“We don’t have time! Exams start on Monday and the AEDA is in less than two weeks from now!” Jon had exclaimed.

“What have we done wrong?” Greta had asked.

“Focus on your exams. Remember that you can have your notebook with the greenhouse notes, so make sure it’s complete. I’ll take care of the flowers.”

She didn’t know how. The migraines had intensified, the parchment she hid under her uniform burned her skin every day, every hour, it was a reminder that she had to get out of there as soon as possible. But she had made a promise, and she had to keep it: those plants would have teeth like her name was Kate Williams.

And there, lying in bed unable to see around her, she discovered what had gone wrong with her project: Dark Arts.

After that revelation, Kate went to the library daily to visit the botany section. Corentin deliberately avoided her, being aware of the rumours about them. They had spent a lot of time together these past few months, and inevitably, the castle residents would wonder why.

Deaf to the gossip, the bat kept one eye on the library and one on Kate. Unaware that her friend had her back from above, the young witch devoured pages and pages about crossbreeding, the only activity that kept her from thinking about the list.

The day before the Herbology exam, Kate was sitting at her usual table going over all the ingredients for the potion she had found. With Jorgensen's help, maybe she could grow those fangs.

Voices made her look up. Before long, an unusual commotion where they were standing deafened those looking for a quiet study area.

She saw Corentin, in his bat form, swiftly descending towards the shouting, and followed his path with her eyes. Two of her students, Vivien and Jon, were arguing heatedly, surrounded by their friends. The librarian didn't have to say a word; he just transformed into a human right in the middle of the two, glaring disapprovingly at them until the children dispersed.

Unwilling to perform her duties as an authority figure and scold her students for misbehaviour, she dipped her quill into the inkwell and began copying down the ingredients she would need. She had barely written two of them when movement out of the corner of her eye distracted her.

At a glance she recognised Vivien, who was deep in thought, and pulled a book out of her backpack grumbling to herself. The girl dropped it on the table with a thump.

"Has he been bothering you?" Kate couldn't help but ask. She didn't look up from the page she was reading. She managed to catch a few words in Vivien's mind, but they blended into each other in a swirl of acidity.

"He's been hounding me all week to study with him. He won't leave me alone." Kate put down the quill then and watched as Vivien pretended to read. "I hope after this he gets the idea."

"He won't bother you anymore today." Kate said after a while, "Remember the exam will be in class 82. You'll do fine." Vivien nodded as Kate gathered her belongings.

After asking Corentin's permission to take the book, she walked over to the table where Jon Hopkins was ogling Vivien in the distance, surrounded by his friends.

"Gather your things," she said without greeting, "You've found a study partner."

The boy looked at her as if she had six arms and as a protest began to form on his lips, Kate interrupted him, "It's non-negotiable. Come on, I don't have all day."

The group around Jon pitied their friend as he reluctantly advanced in front of the young teacher outside the library.

"I have to study." He complained as they made their way down the hallway.

"You will accompany me to see Professor Jorgensen and then to the greenhouse. You will study there while I experiment."

"What if I don't want to study?" He challenged. Kate just shrugged.

"Much better. You'll help me with my duties in the greenhouse and with the umbrella flowers. I recommend you find the will to study. I have a lot to do today."

"But why?"

"Maybe then you'll understand what it feels like to have unwanted company."

Kent Jorgensen gave Kate the ingredients without complaint. She had expected more resistance from him, had even prepared a speech to get the professor to agree, but it hadn't been necessary. She supposed he would want to maintain some diplomacy between them with a gesture that wouldn't set off the time bomb that could destroy professor Angelov's career and life.

Once in the greenhouse, Jon sat in the seat furthest away from her and leaned his elbows on the table pretending to read his notes while Kate waved her wand back and forth.

An array of pots, bottles and boxes surrounded her and with a sigh she set about preparing her potion.

The concoction was composed of a mixture of compounds of both plant and animal origin that Kate had never used before and when mixed together, it flooded the greenhouse with a putrid smell.

After two hours, a small explosion of a suspicious liquid, one miscalculation and several incorrect consistencies, Kate managed to obtain the muddy-looking concoction, which she had to leave to steep for fifteen minutes. It was time for the key part of the process: introducing the desired characteristic into the potion.

Jon looked up from his notebook wearily and watched in disgust as Kate cleaned the inside of a geranium's mouth before pulling a fang out of one of them with forceps.

"Why did you say 'sorry' to it?" The boy asked. Kate looked at him in confusion, waiting for him to elaborate further. "You apologised to the geranium." Kate tsked.

"Well, I just knocked his tooth out. He must not have been amused." She set the tusk down in a glass bowl and proceeded cleaning her workbench.

"You're strange... I mean..." Jon stammered out a few words at the look on Kate's face, who misinterpreted her frown as anger. "It's just... you're good. And kind. Like Professor Mawut." Kate smiled.

"Thank you very much, Jon." She raised an eyebrow and added, "But you're not getting rid of me today." He pursed his lips and returned to his notes.

Movement through the glass of the greenhouse caught her attention and squinting she caught a glimpse of Mer Yankelevich hurrying over the bridge towards the forest. Libor Marek was at her heels.

Marek grabbed the teacher's arm and something he said stopped her in her tracks. After a while, Mer released her grip and retraced her steps towards the castle, leaving Marek watching her from a distance.

"Professor Marek is very brutish." Jon commented, having seen the scene as well. Kate tilted her head, agreeing with the comment, and proceeded to grab the fang with a pair of tweezers. She dipped it into the potion and waited as the tooth disintegrated on contact.

"What do you think of Professor Yankelevich?" She asked absently. Jon grimaced and shrugged.

"She's okay, I guess. She's been pretty angry lately, though."

"Angry with you?" Jon shrugged again. He glanced over to where the two teachers had been having the conversation and turned back to Kate. "Professor Marek has been arguing with her a lot," he whispered, "I don't know why... it's almost lunchtime..."

"Great. I'll finish this and we'll eat together." Jon let out a frustrated sigh and rested his head on his fist. "We shouldn't pry into their business." Kate grimaced hearing herself say that.

She swirled the potion with her wand six times to the left and then eleven times to the right. With each twist, the liquid grew thicker and thicker until it hardened so much that the wand had become trapped inside. But she was not to let go of it, no. The instructions clearly stated that there had to be contact with the wizard for at least five minutes.

Practically breathless, she watched as the stone began to crack from the centre of the wand, slowly breaking into a brown powder. She sighed in relief at the desired result and wiped her wand on her overalls.

After adding water, the end result was a bowl of what appeared to be, but nothing could be further from the truth, soil.

She excitedly sprinkled some of it on all the pots of umbrella flowers, and after watering them, covered them all with a leather tarp.

"Tomorrow we'll know if it worked."

Kate watched her students work through the test she had prepared for them. After nearly an hour and a half, she stood up to relieve her stiff muscles. She walked between the rows of children sitting individually and checked out of the corner of her eye that they were only looking at their parchment. A small, fleeting smile broke out on her face, proud to see that most of the pupils were writing with admirable concentration. Some of them, like Micael Angelov, had supplemented their writing with small sketches.

When she reached the end of the class, she went the other way and leaned against the door.

“You have fifteen minutes left,” she remarked, glancing at the clock.

Young Angelov was the first to stand up. Securing his backpack over one shoulder, he handed the parchment to Kate with a shy smile.

“How did it go?” She checked that he’d written his name and looked up waiting for his response.

“Pretty good.”

Kate nodded with a smile and stepped away from the door to make way for him. A voice whispered her name behind her back and Vivien appeared to hand her her exam paper. Kate repeated the question.

“Very good! It was easy... although I didn’t remember you were going to ask about our herbarium... but I was able to answer them. Professor Williams, are you coming to the Glow-bug shower?”

“What’s that?” she whispered, indicating to Vivien to do the same.

“Professor Rhode explained to us that every year thousands of glow-bugs appear and light up all the mountains. It’s Thursday night. According to her, it’s very exciting.”

Apparently, Astrid was right. In her healer’s uniform, spelled to withstand the cold, and her hood hiding her ears and forehead, Kate made her way through the crowd in one of the castle towers. She found a gap near the stone wall overlooking the quidditch pitch and rested her hands on the stone.

It was the one night of the year when students were allowed to roam the castle at midnight, on the occasion of the very particular event that was about to take place.

She raised her hand to her neck, adjusting her cloak to protect herself from the cold, and looked up. A blanket of infinite dots stretched above them. The stars guarded the terrain from high above, and with no clouds, they were perfectly visible from any point. Despite the voices and the shouting, there was something about watching the sky that left Kate in awe and isolated from the rest of the world.

She took a deep breath, imagining Charlie next to her, stretched out, side by side on the lawn of the Burrow, hands casually brushing and competing to prove who had been paying more attention in Astronomy.

“It’s bright out tonight,” a low, husky voice brought her back to the present, “At least it’s not a full moon, in which case they’d be unnoticeable.”

She looked down to find Professor Marek standing next to her. She raised her eyebrows, “I didn’t think seeing glow-worms would interest you, Professor.”

“There are many things that interest me, Miss Williams, not just winning duels.” he replied in a monotone voice. “I didn’t know you‘d be interested in this sort of thing... always stuck in that greenhouse of yours with dirt on your fingers. Have you had enough of flowers and leaves?”

Kate huffed, but didn’t take the bait. She merely averted her gaze to her left, where another tower of the castle contained the same number of people as there were around her. Marek also looked around, but didn’t move his feet from the ground. Kate suspected she would have an escort during the event. The question was, why?

The torches on the stone walls around them suddenly went out, raising the murmurs and impatient exclamations of the children. Kate and Marek turned their heads as they heard Professor Yankelevich’s shriek, pleading for silence.

“I remember you were good with protective spells,” challenged Marek

“I can defend myself.” The professor nodded and looked at the tower next door waiting for the signal. A light from a wand announced the teachers were ready to begin.

“We’re going to create a bubble around us, make sure it’s not too high.”

Numerous wands rose into the air, coming from different parts of the castle. A silvery layer began to form over their heads, spreading at full speed through the air from the highest point of the castle to the ground. Once every stone and corner of the place was encircled, the colour of the dome faded until it was completely transparent, invisible to the human eye.

There was a collective urge to hold one’s breath. The anticipation was beginning to be palpable, and even Kate noticed how her body leaned forward, as if to concentrate better.

A tiny spark came into view in the mountains. It was an intense white light, but very small, so small that after a few seconds it disappeared. The general disappointment dissipated as dozens of lights began to scatter in the distance, then hundreds, and before long, the stars seemed noticeably extinguished by the cascade of glow worms drifting in the wind.

Kate had only ever seen one glow worm in her life; in a Care of Magical Creatures class where Kettleburn had brought one inside a jar to show how some people used to use them as lamps. The problem was, and also the reason the teachers conjured up a protective bubble, glow-bugs were deadly.

“Takes your breath away, doesn’t it?” commented Marek without looking away.

She nodded, mouth half-open, gawking at the scene before her eyes; the glow-worms were slowly approaching through the air, carried by the breeze to their heads. The creature comprised a transparent shell that resembled the shape of a Muggle light bulb. Inside was the worm, curled in on itself and emitting an incandescent light.

Several of them bounced off the invisible barrier, creating an almost hypnotic effect on the onlookers. The entire castle was under such a blinding spotlight everyone was forced to squint or shield themselves with their hands.

The worms had scattered within moments; some had strayed into the forest, some into the mountains, and the rest had descended the cliffs, leaving the castle in its usual gloom.

Kate turned to Marek the moment the torches were lit again. A particular, never-before-seen gleam decorated the professor’s eyes, which, as the seconds passed, transformed his gaze into a deep, watery unhappiness.

Marek pulled himself together quickly and as much as Kate longed to know the reason for such emotion, she kept her mouth shut and waited patiently for some dry, cutting remark to ease the tension.

“I don’t know my parents. They died when I was very young.” He proclaimed instead. She stood still, afraid to shoo him away like a bird perching in one’s window to say hello. Despite there being so many people around them, the rest of the teachers were ordering them back to the dormitories, giving them some ironic privacy. Marek was staring off into the distance, “But I have a memory, a very vivid one, of a situation like this. It’s like an anniversary for me, I don’t know what, but that’s how I see it.”

A cruel idea flashed through her mind, one that she was dying to spit in his face, but for the sake of their diplomatic relationship she held back inside her. Her eyes began to burn, and she cursed to herself for being so emotional lately. She carved a frown into her forehead to keep her tears from spilling.

“My adoptive parents never knew where I got such a story...”

“And despite...” she couldn’t hold back, her words would be hurtful and she knew it, but she blurted them out to his face all the same, “And despite not knowing your origins, which may well be non-magical, you make a point of despising those who are different from you. You could be a muggleborn.”

Marek peeled his eyes from the mountains and looked at her with his characteristic sternness. The facade had returned to his face and his heart was shut tight.

“No,” he hissed, “my blood is clean.”

Mer Yankelevich was pushing the last student into the building when he made eye contact with Kate. Surely she had been watching the entire exchange, she thought.

Professor Jorgensen appeared through the door at that instant, averting his gaze to Kate and Marek and then to Mer, intermittently. He closed the door behind him and both professors approached them.

“You’ll never be completely sure of that.” Kate shook her head at his comment, wondering why she’d been so concerned about his feelings. The professor turned sharply and without a goodbye, stomped off to enter the castle and disappeared from sight.

“Is Libor all right?” asked Yankelevich.

“He looks really obfuscated, but that’s usual.”

Kate took a step back, suddenly feeling irrationally cornered.

“He’s been acting strangely for some time now, and an unpredictable Libor can be dangerous.” said Mer.

Jorgensen turned to her, “To my mind, Libor is not an irrational creature...”

“Believe me, I know him well. We should stay away from him for a while, let him clear his head.”

“I don’t understand what you mean, Professor,” Kate said, a little upset. Mer walked over to her, holding her gaze.

“If you spend more time with us, you’ll understand that it’s better to give Libor his space. By the way, the year is coming to an end. Will you still be the Herbology teacher next year? From what I hear, Rhode is thrilled with you.”

“And so are the kids.” Jorgensen pointed out, also interested in knowing Kate’s response.

“I haven’t discussed it with Rhode yet...”

“But you’d like to stay on?” insisted Yankelevich.

“It’s been an interesting opportunity, of course, but...” The conversation was entering swampy territory and as eloquent as Kate could be, she was struggling to find the right words. In the end, following her mother’s advice, she opted to speak a truth. “I’m very lonely.”

“Ah,” nodded Jorgensen, “That’s the effect Durmstrang can have, yes. I bet you’re eager to get home as soon as possible, wherever that is.” Kate nodded slowly, recognising a small, complicit smile on the professor’s face, making her remember their talk months ago.

“Exactly.”

Yankelevich hummed, inspecting Kate closely. Uncomfortable with the interrogation and impatient to regain the safety of her room, she said a hasty goodbye and headed for the door leading to the stairs, leaving Jorgensen and Yankelevich in the starlight.

[Part 16]

A/N: Not a very exciting chapter I know, but still important. The end is near my friends.

Tag List: @eldritchscreech @meteora-fc

@cazreadsstuff

@the-navistar-carol

@am-i-space

#charlie weasley #charlie weasley fanfiction #charlie weasley x mc #charlie weasley x ofc #charlie weasley/mc #charlie weasley/ofc #charlie weasley x jacob's sibling #durmstrang #kate williams #hphm #hphm fanfiction

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pl-panda · 4 years

Text

Damienette arranged marriage: part 15

Three in a row. I’m on fire tonight.

Credits: Miraculous Ladybug team for the elements I take from MLB show. DC for their characters, @ozmav for the AU, @maribat-archive for giving me access to so many different stories to have take inspirations from, @thyladyanput for idea for Chat Damian and me for the plot.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

Part 12 Part 13

part 14

Damienette arranged marriage: part 15

-------------------------------------

Damian slowly approached and took Marinette’s hand. He leaned over so their faces were only centimeters apart.

“I am sorry.’

------------------------------------------

Damian hesitated. He still was not sure of this. Back in the league his grandfather always told him that emotions are for weak. Kissing someone like that was just a tool to exploit them. His mother had a bit more… romantical approach. That this is part of loving someone and a symbol of commitment. Of course he was five back then so she probably spared him some details. But this was only reinforced when he left the league. It was always symbol of affection and girls at school kept babbling about how magical it would be. He never bothered to really listen, but he did suddenly remember all the talking. And there was Marinette.

She told him that she didn’t like being kissed. There was this one instance with Felix where she legitly punched him. She told him that she was waiting with her first kiss for the right moment. Well, she admitted she had to kiss Chat Noir once to save him, but it was just a peck on the lips. That would work… Just a peck… But he still couldn’t do it. He didn’t want to ruin it for her. Damian, deep down, wanted it to be mutual thing.

In the far corner of the room, Tikki, Ryuko, Viperion and Jon stood awkwardly. It was like watching Sleeping beauty, especially with Marin in this dress and her hair low. But the image was broken by her pain, so visible on her face, and the eerie green glow around her chest. Also, all except Tikki were silently processing other revelations. Excuse us, what the hell?

Damian finally straightened. He couldn’t do it. He wanted to. He wanted to ease her pain so much. But he could not do it that way. He had to do it, but his whole body rebelled against him. He knew her for twenty-four hours and she already meant to him more than he would ever admit. Maybe it was because they were married, but she did not treat him like anyone but himself. She did not distinguish between Robin, Wayne, Al Ghoul. She just saw Damian. And she gave him a chance. She opened in front of him and he was not about to abuse this. He didn’t want to be like Chat d’Amour who just saw her as his property. She should be allowed to make the choice herself and not be forced.

“You need to do it.” Tikki finally urged him. “She is so much pain. I don’t know how long her heart will survive.”

Damian sighted. He leaned again and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. “I am so sorry.”

He was about to kiss her properly when suddenly her face turned from the expression of pain into… calmness. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at surprised Damian with recognition. Tears formed in her eyes.

“I am so sorry! I didn’t want to kiss him. I swear. I tried to stop him but he was just so strong…”

“What are you talking about?” Damian asked bewildered

“Chat… He… he kissed me… And then there was the pain. And all the time this scene kept replaying in my mind… I am so sorry…”

Damian pulled her into tight hug and started to whisper to her ear. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It was not your fault and I would never blame you. I am the one who should be sorry for what my mother did to you…” All the time, he kept stroking her hair, smoothening them after they turned into the mess when she wriggled from pain.

“B-but… I… He… We… You…” She couldn’t form an intelligible sentence at the moment.

“I do not care. It was not your fault. You did your best I’m sure.”

They sat there in peace. It was surprising for everyone gathered (including now awake Chloe who was still trying to process everything that happened. Given the amount of news and emotions in one day, she was doing fine. Finally, Marinette stopped crying.

“If you say ‘I’m sorry again’, I will go out there and not come back before I bring you skin of that envious bastard.” He threatened. “You are not at fault and I will not let you blame yourself.” He said in stern voice.

“T-thank you... “ She said weakly.

“Now we have to sort out a bit of a mess that formed.”

“What mess?” Marinette asked curiously.

“You are Ladybug…” Chloe stated, finally regaining the ability to speak. She still sounded like she was not fully there. “You are married. Your husband is Damian Wayne. He is also Robin. You are Ladybug!” The last sentence was shouted.

Kagami looked around and decided that secret identity was not as important as comforting her only friend. “Longg! Open Sky!” The Kwami left her choker and floated next to Tikki. “Mari-san. I honestly have no words to even start describing this situation, but I trust your judgement.” The fencer then turned to Damian. “That being said, I feel obliged to challenge you to a duel to test your worthiness to court my friend.”

“I like her.” Chloe commented.

Luka also decided to just drop his costume. “Sass! Scales rest!” He was now dressed in his usual garments. “I would challenge you for a duel as well, but I think if you can beat Kagami then I will pose no challenge. Beware the Sabine though.” He half-joked, half warned the poor boy.

“Can we tell them everything?” Damian asked, looking at Marinette.

“I… Fine…”

--------------------------------------

When they finally sorted this mess out and left, they decided to take a stroll through the park.

“I… thank you.” She finally said after walking a bit in silence. “I just… I mean we… And he… You… we… Ugh! Why is this so hard!” Marinette threw her hands up in the air and accelerated the pace until Damian stopped her and cupped her hands with his.

“tt. You did nothing wrong. You are perfect to me. My own Angel.” He said, trying to comfort her.

“You… You think I am an Angel?” She asked shyly.

“You know how my brothers call me demon spawn. I… Earned this. I was awful. And it didn’t help that others always saw me as either Robin, Wayne, Al Ghoul or just Demon Spawn. You just saw me as Damian. I should be the one thanking you.” He said honestly.

Marinette blushed, becoming the color of her dress. THey just stood there as the sun set behind the buildings.

“Just to be clear. I do not care if he kissed you. It was wrong and I will still skin him alive for that.” Receiving a glare from her he huffed, but continued. “But I want to make sure that you understand. You are not the one to blame. If he tries something like this again, there will be no place in heaven, hell or earth that he will hide. That I can promise to you.”

Marinette was silent, taking his words in. A smile was plastered on her face. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would do without you. I…”

“Shhh. I know. I am also happy.” He paused for a moment. “But if we already revealed the marriage to your friends, I think it is time to reveal it also to your parents.” He stated. “Otherwise they might learn from a different source and I do not wish to be at war with them.

Marinette agreed and they walked back to the bakery, hand in hand. They entered and Marinette led him to the living room. She could hear the talking and got curious, but shrugged it off as a TV playing.

“Maman! Papa! I am home! There is someone I wanted to intro…” She walked into the living room, still holding Damian by his hand. The sight was as scary as it was amusing.

Sabine was standing next to Talia Al Ghouls who sitting there… tied with heavy ropes.

——————————————————————————————————–

Taglist (sorry if I missed you)@pheonixashtree @sassakitty @unabashedbookworm @vixen-uchiha @maggiecc12 @actualdisasterwoman @tired-butterfly @shizukiryuu @floralfi @imanerddealwith @northernbluetongue @krispydefendorpolice @toodaloo-kangaroo @dast218 @bluesoulblueheart @theatreandcomicfreak @disneyfoxuniverse @mindfulmagics @alwaysnumberonetruth @nyaabinch @jardimazul @lenamau @rosep16 @dramatic-squirrel @sonif50 @daminett4life @lulutheawkwardess @weird-pale-blonde-person @mooshoon @jeminiikrystal @mochegato @moonlightstar64 @dragonflyswing @silverwhiteraven @shamefullove @magic-miraculous @valeks-princess @heaven428 @mlbchaosqueen @winter-gardenflower @spicybelladonna @emo-elaine13 @vetilora @karukofox21 @my-name-is-michell @sturchling @lokiifriggasonn @redscarlet95 @melicmusicmagic @interobanginyourmom @the-fusionist @razzledazzle247 @miss-mysterys-blog @darkthunder1589 @i-is-mysterious @catthhay @the-one-woman-army @zestyzealot @dahjokester @write-for-your-life2 @mermaidreject @peachedpocky @sassakitty @dahjokester @crazylittlemunchkin @novicevoice @justafanwarrior @eliza-bitch @schrodingers25

#mlb #mlb x dc #marinette x damian #maribat #maribat au #maridami #arranged marriage au #guardian!marinette #order of the guardians #league of assassins #batman #redeemed!chloe #miraculous lb #miraculous ladybug #evil!adrien #damienette

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the-voltage-diaries · 4 years

Text

Pulcherrima Rosa Me - Taki Kozaki

‘Pulcherrima rosa me’: Latin for ‘My beautiful rose’.

Disclaimer: Office AU, Hanahaki AU. Now, since it’s Hanahaki, of course it will be angsty. So, time to fasten those seat belts and sit tight.

Word Count: 2225

Author’s note: My first open-ended fic, lmao. Originally was supposed to have smut, but things changed here and there, so you see.

P.S.: Special thanks to @akaiiro-yume for being my proofreader and amazing fangirl buddy

14 years.

That’s how long they had known each other.

To be precise, that’s the number of years they had been the closest of friends.

Never more, never less.

Just two individuals who over time had, step by step, closed in on the gap separating them, narrowing it so much that barely any space remained. They became so used to being around each other that the thought of sharing the tales of their daily life, no matter how embarrassing, bitching and moaning about work and clients, laughing together without bothering to care about how weird they looked seemed like the definition of normal. But that’s the thing ; no matter how closely their paths collided, an invisible line always kept their journeys divided. Most people called that line “friendship”. Taki and (Y/N) had never been anything more than friends.

They never knew how to be anything BUT friends.

So then why was she the only person on Taki’s mind while his eyes shut to bear the pain of throwing up while he hunched over the sink, coughing up a handful of what looked redder than blood, albeit was anything but?

“I want this done by the morning,” Taki told the finance head, handing him the proposal for the project they were planning to bid for. “And when I say morning, I mean I’d like to see it on my table by the time I walk in. Is that alright?”

“Yes, sir,” the man responded, picking up the papers and giving him a quick bow before making his way out, muttering a quiet ‘good night,’ to which the CEO gave him a nod of his own.

Taki then turned in his chair and peeked through the thick glass wall of his cabin in search of his secretary. Once his eyes landed on the familiar raven up-do, his lips, though very quietly and only for a moment, lined up in a hint of a small smile.

There she sat on her table, her eyes focused on her laptop screen while her fingers typed away at the keyboard, not noticing the gaze a pair of dark brown eyes fixated on her.

Instead of calling her immediately to discuss the day’s schedule with her, Taki took a moment to admire the woman who had been at his side for the last two years, professionally speaking. For, beyond the walls of the office, he had known her for more than half of his life.

His eyes made their way across her form; slowly drinking in the way she every so often took a moment to stretch her back, roll her shoulders and her neck before getting back to the task at hand, how one of her delicate fingers came up to push a strand of hair behind the perfect curve of her ear, how she bit her lip in concentration every time she worked against time. God, was she beautifu-

The clang of a pen rolling across the table and falling to the floor startled him back to reality, and he shook his head, rolling his eyes at his carelessness before bending down to pick up the pen.

“(Y/N)!” He called, turning back to his laptop and opening up his schedule. He heard the familiar click-clack of her heels and soon enough, the door opened with a low creak. Taki didn’t even need to look up from the screen to know she was here. “Do we have anything else on the agenda for the day?”

“Yes, actually.”

‘We do?’ Taki thought to himself, his eyes giving his schedule a once-over. He didn’t see anything else on it that needed to be done today, so what was (Y/N) talking abo-

“You have a meeting with the board at 9 AM, then a site visit scheduled at 10 AM, a business call with the head of the Ichinomiya Group at 12 PM regarding the construction of their new hotel in Auckland, another site visit for at a different location at 1 PM, and th-”

“Wait a second, why don’t I see all of this anywhere on my schedule?”

“Because you’re viewing the schedule for 3rd November.”

“Yes, and as far as I remember, today IS 3rd November.”

“No, sir,” (Y/N) said, and it was then that Taki looked up to see the smirk on her face, “I’m pretty sure it’s the 4th today.”

He took a quick glance at his watch and saw that the smaller of the two hands had passed the 12 o’ clock mark, and it was, in fact, 12:30 AM. Which meant that it was, in fact, 4th November.

It also meant that they had worked beyond the designated office hours for the fourth straight day in a row.

“I’m sorry for making you work over time again,” Taki muttered, pursing his lips.

“Nah, that’s okay,” (Y/N) shrugged, sending him a playful wink, “Apart from that cute little pout, you’re paying me for it. Rather handsomely, too, so I’m chill.”

“Firstly, I’m NOT pouting,” Taki muttered, rolling his eyes when he heard his secretary whisper the word ‘denial’, “And secondly, Ms. (L/N), is that how you’ll be talking to your boss now?” He smirked. He would be straight up lying if he said he didn’t enjoy this amused change in the atmosphere. In fact, he welcomed it after the long day he’d had.

“Mr. Boss,” she immediately responded, stretching out the word ‘boss’, to which Taki couldn’t help but scoff, “The office hours are over. I’m under no obligation to kiss your ass anymore.”

And oh, he tried.

He tried so hard to stop that laugh from escaping when (Y/N) made a kissy face at him, but alas, he lost and let it erupt with a low rumble from deep within his chest when she lifted two tiny finger hearts to go along with the flying kisses.

And you know what they say, laughter is contagious. Soon enough, (Y/N) too joined Taki in his wonderland of chuckles, and it wasn’t long before they both laughed so much that their stomachs hurt because each time they’d try to stop, all it’d take is one glance at each other’s faces to lose their shit again.

“Pfft,” (Y/N) scoffed, trying to come down from the rush of euphoria she’d just had, “You should be thanking your lucky stars for having the privilege to get as fun a secretary as me. You have NO idea how lucky you are, I tell you.”

‘I agree,’ Taki thought as he took a moment to calm down, letting a rush of air fill his lungs as he took a deep breath in. He relaxed into his chair and glanced back at the magnificent woman standing before him, truly thankful to have her close by. But as soon as he adoringly grabbed on to the memory of the laugh they’d just shared, another sensation latched on to him, stopping him from thinking any deeper by dragging his attention to the ache building up deep within his chest.

Taki paused, shifting uncomfortably at the unfamiliar sensation. All remnants of humor left him at the way something seemingly gripped at the base of his lungs, squeezing hard. He felt like he couldn’t breathe for a moment, and his discomfort only grew with each passing second as a painful cough arose in his throat, blocking off any passage for air.

“Argh,” he groaned, his fingers pressing at the space between his collarbones, trying to massage the area into creating some sort of a path through the dark fog building up in his throat, so unforgiving that he almost saw black for a moment.

“Taki?” (Y/N) called his name, all her remaining laughter immediately dying down the moment her gaze washed over him. “A-are you okay?”

And just like that, as quickly had the discomfort come, it died down.

It vanished into a thin breeze, leaving Taki gasping for some much needed mouthfuls of air.

“Y-yeah,” Taki responded, still in a daze. He had no idea what just happened, and it seemed so surreal that he almost brushed it off as a hallucination, but the concern in (Y/N)’s eyes told him whatever transpired wasn’t just a figment of his imagination. He took a moment to compose himself, before following up with a much more self-assured “Yes, I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“But I feel fine.”

“... Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Are you like, sure sure?”

“No, actually.” He looked up at her, an amused grin floating on his face. “I’m not sure sure that I’m fine.”

“See? I KNEW you weren’t okay. Should I call for a doc-”

“You’ve got it all wrong,” he interrupted, stopping her halfway on her mini-panic spree, “I’m sure-sure sure I’m fine.”

“… You’re a jerk, you know that?” (Y/N) huffed, sending a scowl in Taki’s direction. “One of these days I’m gonna stab you with- with…” her eyes quickly scanned the room, looking for an appropriate object to finish her statement with while Taki tried to control his smirk from spreading any wider, “… with a sticky note.”

“A what?”

… well, it was too late to go back on words. So, grumbling under her breath, (Y/N) repeated, “With a… sticky note.”

“Pfft.”

“Mr. Kozaki.” (Y/N) narrowed her eyes at the man, giving him her least scary glare, “did you just ‘pfft’ me?”

“Yes,” he replied confidently, placing his forearms on the table top, “Yes I did.”

“Watch your back. I really will throw the sticky note at this rate.” (Y/N) turned around, her fingers grasping the doorknob, “… and soon.”

Taki watched her step out of his cabin, an amused twinkle in her eye. “Gee, I’m so scared,” he muttered, mostly to himself, before shaking his head at their childishness and turning back to the work at hand.

But even as his eyes swam across the screen, processing the words and formulating appropriate responses, the back of his mind couldn’t let go of the strange inquisitiveness that poked at it, seeking answers to just one question.

What was that fleeting, deadly little coughing fit all about?

He got so focused on his work that he didn’t notice the diligent finance head step into his cabin again only 30 minutes later, quietly keeping the finished proposal on the glass table before walking out just as quietly, so as not to disturb his concentration. He didn’t notice the same guy stopping by (Y/N)’s table, offering her a steaming mug of coffee and giving her the gentlest of smiles while offering to help if needed. He didn’t notice any of it until he heard the pleasant sound of her laugh, passing through the gaps in the glass walls before bouncing off of them on the inside, creating the most melodious of echos.

His eyes left the screen for a quick second to focus on the scene outside, and what he saw made a strange anxiety rise up within him like tiniest of dew vaporizing and stretching its fingers to reaching out to the sky - slowly rising up from the depths of his stomach, travelling up to his chest and finally solidifying just beneath his lips.

Right in front of him stood (Y/N), her fingers clutching an arm that didn’t belong to Taki, her lips turning up into the brightest of curves, shining so bright one would almost go blind, as she laughed along with the damned finance head about something or the other.

And that’s when Taki felt like the (Y/N) who had been standing just within an arm’s reach this whole time was about to slip away from his very fingers, and the feeling that he wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop it pricked at him, rendering him in a state of confused speechlessness.

‘Wait. Shouldn’t I feel happy for her, considering she’s finally seeing a guy?’ he thought, taking a deep breath. ‘Yeah. It’s a good thing. But then… what is this insecurity I’m feeling right now?’

The answer to that question seemed only a heartbeat away, and the moment he reached out to grasp it, his body jerked backwards, falling onto his chair while his breathing quickened. The somewhat familiar feeling of his throat being clawed at came back to him - much stronger this time. It all happened quick; his brow furrowed into a deeper crease as moisture pricked at the back of his eyes, his world going back for a moment. Taki’s mouth leaped to suck in a croaked breath - which sounded more like a painful gasp at this point - while his fingers gripped at the collar of his shirt, looking for any way to free him of the sudden pain growling in his chest. He felt a powerful cough coming, preceded by short, painful ones.

“Ah,” he let out a breathy moan, the tears finally making their way to the front of his eyes, followed by a few more. With him standing on the thin line separating sanity from delirium, his body lurched forward, finally finding solace in the way his throat forced out tiny balls of red while the moisture building behind his eyelids finally broke apart to slide down his cheek in one, straight line. The second his gullet felt free again, his body shook with need as he gulped in mouthfuls of air.

Once the dark haze clouding his mind finally started to part, he turned his eyes to look at the red chunk his trachea had shoved out. His eyes widened when his fingertips came in contact with the soft, silky skin of the petals - redder than the darkest of rubies.

The petals of the one flower which finally made him piece together his feelings for the woman standing beyond the see-through walls of his cabin.

… Remember how he wanted to know what his coughing fit was all about?

A rose.

Well… guess it’s about time he found out.

#my little crumbcake~#Taki Kozaki #Kings of Paradise #KoP #Voltage Inc #Otome Romance #Love 365 #Love 365: Find Your Story #Kings of Paradise Taki #KoP taki #Kings of paradise fanfic #kop fanfic #taki kozaki fanfic

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guardmesherlock-rowan · 4 years

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So Enola Holmes... is... alright.

I definitely think I set myself up for disappointment by reading the first book however. Then again it wouldn’t be the first time a movie adaptation failed to live up to my expectations, and it didn’t wander off from the novel as much as other movies have (that I still haven’t forgiven).

This will contain some spoilers, and I’m still not sure if all my mental ducks are in a row. And if anyone who has read the rest of the books can explain some of the additions to the movie please do!

Rant below.

When it came time to watch the movie I thought I would make notes while I was watching it, stayed up till it released at 2am my time, got some popcorn and prepared. Though I honestly felt like I was not prepared for a nearly 2 hour movie. The set up for her family dynamic was off from the get go. Book wise, the issue was that her mother gave birth to Enola so late in her life that to others it was a scandal like how could this woman avoid having a child for so many years between Sherlock and Enola. The way the movie presents it, it’s no different than me not knowing my youngest sibling well because I went off to college when he was 4. It’s presented in the movie as the boys got busy in their own lives and never visited, and Mycroft had put an time limit over his mother’s head that she could live there until Enola became 16. To make him look like an even bigger jerk. In the book this was presented as an unfairness that Mycroft took ownership of the home after their father died due to being a male heir, but that he was still leaving the care of it to his mother. There was no threat of possible homelessness after a while.

Adding this detail where the guys simply moved on with their lives, and removal of this potential scandal, removed the fact that Enola’s mother told the guys not to come around. Which showed her mother plotting this escape for a long while, and now just shows how if the brothers had just spent more time with their family they would’ve realized what was happening. Also making it their fault they don’t have a relationship with Enola, and not her mother’s.

In the book Enola’s mom:

Left Enola alone to teach herself.

Left Enola alone most days so she could wander (she would bond over art)

Told Enola she was fine Alone, which can be a form of gas lighting when you combine the mother’s absentee behavior to the fact that

She told the boys not to come visit, creating a wall between her children

It’s highly understandable, being the only family Enola’s known, that it would be important to find her mother. But also why it wasn’t a big leap for Enola to start living on her own with the time came.

The only connection Enola had with her brother was through the articles about his cases. Which makes the cute scene with Lestrade later in the movie where they compare knowledge of Sherlock Holmes very odd. Adorable, but odd. Though Lestrade in this also has me a little ruffled with his henchmen like behavior later when he breaks down a door on a mission for Mycroft.

Mycroft deserved better, but at least he got to act like a shady government big brother character, it was entertaining.

They made comments about how Sherlock and Enola are more gifted than him. They also made comments about he was a jerk and cruel to Enola and their mom with what he said about them staying until Enola was 16. And I have a feeling they put in the finish school scenes so she could have the blow out with Mycroft as he brought her there. Which would of course also include a space where Enola could be semi-rescued by her now love interest, and give reasoning to Mycroft later washing his hands of her, despite his adamant belief that he is responsible for her.

Of course Mycroft’s reaction, Enola’s mother’s change of focus, and the new family dynamic set up for another change in Sherlock Holmes. Now we have the middle child who was not as cruel as his brother, but was still at fault for not visiting. But he remembered some things about Enola from the time they lived together that he would bring up to show he cared. Would even be used as ammunition against her mom in their last scene together. (though it is a fair not to be distracted by the far past kind of shut down instead of an accusation that her mother didn’t care)

Instead of being on the opposition of Enola, he seemed to be on her side. Even in the last moment where he tried to trick her into coming to see him, it didn’t seem completely malicious. He appeared to be proud of her when she beat him to solving the mystery, though he had not been active on it where she had been because he was busy trying to find her. Not because she was curious and got herself involved, but because the guy was stowing away in her cabin and got her involved. It was definitely her choice to step into it, but she had already turned away once before so she would meet her train.

This love interest character is not my favorite. In the book we have a kid who had some romanticized notions of seafaring and had his mistaken beliefs squashed by reality, hard. He became determined to go home and actually talk it out with his mom how she was babying him. Now we have a guy who is about Enola’s age (16, which was 14 in the books), who is knowledgeable in wild plants, willing to be adventurous, and even a little wild with Enola. Even changing it up where his interest in being a sailor was a cover to send people in the wrong direction of the fact he would want to work with flowers.

This all leads into the new piece of the Enola story. The mystery. Instead of a child running away, attempted kidnapping and ransoming, we have one murder and one attempted murder. Which also ties into the big political part of the movie regarding voting. It is revealed that there is a domestic terroristic plot due to not everyone having the right to vote (not said outright but hinted that this about giving women the right to vote). It would be voted upon by the lords later.

~~Politics~~

Which leads to a bit that gets me a touch upset. There were a lot of ties between protests and this bomb making lab that were not said, just indicated with flyers and other signs. Enola is later confronted about how they don’t have to set off the bomb because they thought they would have to make noise to be heard -rewatching that ending scene right now to make sure I remember it-

“You have to make some noise if you want to be heard. Oh, it’s funny. I thought I was the one that was going to change the world. The reform bill, is it true what you did?”

This part got me so angry. What Enola did was save her love interest who just happened to have a seat of power in which he could vote and help sway it in their favor with his one vote. In a certain light it felt like they were saying that believing in those with the power to change will change is better than protesting. The line is not wrong, but it felt like they were putting the bombs on the same stage as protests, which they are not.

It feels like they used the political aspect to help propel a more compelling mystery, which was definitely better suited for the big screen than the earnest story in the book. However, I can’t help but feel that it was muddled and poorly done. The fact they used politics doesn’t bother me as much as how they used it. Politics is used in stories all the time. Law making, what is just, what isn’t. Driving to the grocery store and what I see there, who I see there. It affects day to day life. However, if they want to focus on the element of protesting versus voting for change there is a debate there that I have feelings on, but not in a position to debate it.

Though it was very odd that they would want to talk about politics in the time frame and not show them as much in the movie as they did in the book. Keeping politics effects on life at arms length enough to use political shouting and protests without the more compare and contrast which THEY COULD’VE done with the love interest if they felt more inclined. But while the book version of him actually seems to have learned more about the outside world, this one just came in mint woke condition and only needed saving from the murderer and some mild convincing to go back and vote because they didn’t want him to.

~~Less Politics~~

Which also brings in the humorous political and societal norm that was ignored in the movie but brought up in the book. Women’s clothing. Enola’s mother uses it as a mean to hide her essentials while running away, and Enola does the same. She also does a good many things while dressed up as a woman, not bribing men to change clothes with her as often. The clothes that Enola once had despised at the beginning of the book she would grow to appreciate, especially the corset whose ribbing protected her from death with a knife caught on it. Honestly same though, it’s funny when a piece of sturdy material you’re wearing saves your life and stops a blade (personal experience, mine was metal).

It felt like a dishonor to change that thought process, especially when Book Enola also didn’t disguise herself as a guy because she thought it would be too obvious. Where as a lady, or a nun, or a widow would make better disguises when they only see a child when they look at her and presume she doesn’t care for womanly attire.

It is probably better to go book to movie in this case. You get a different story that is more exciting for the screen. Whereas going movie to book might be disappointing without the literature equivalent of jumping from a moving train..

The book was a fun read, Enola was a strong young woman who definitely feels like she is a Holmes without having to subject herself to them.

The movie is exciting, with a fractured family feeling with some political commentary.

Each of the pieces have their own positive traits and negative traits. I can see why certain changes were made. Though I may not agree with them.

#not gms related #enola holmes #rant #long post

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thorne93 · 4 years

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Inside the Criminal Mind (Part 25)

Prompt: You’re married to Dr. Spencer Reid of the BAU, and are a distinguished doctor yourself on the team. You’re sent down to Miami, Florida for teaching and as a side request from the FBI, to investigate a string of missing persons. When you think you’ve figured out who the unsub is, your life becomes more complicated than you ever could’ve imagined.

Word Count: 3716

Warnings: (throughout the fic –>) death, blood, gore, killings, language, disturbing mental notions, mentions of rapes/murder/etc (You know, Dexter and Criminal Minds related business)

Notes: Thank you so much to @arrow-guy, @carryonmyswansong, and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo - without each of you, I couldn’t have finished, written, or properly navigated this story. Each of you helped me fish out details that were incredibly important to me. Beta’d by @carryonmyswansong and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo… Aesthetic by @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo

This is a crossover of Criminal Minds x Dexter. First time writing Dexter.

Also, the timeline is after Season 1 of Dexter, but during season 14-ish of Criminal minds into Season 15. Enjoy!!!

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

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Spencer sighed as he threw his ready bag on the floor next to the bed in the hotel.

“I know. I’m sorry,” you apologized.

“What were you thinking?” he demanded, looking at you with such anger it baffled you. You didn’t think you’d ever seen that look.

You frowned. It seemed to come out of nowhere. Spencer was understanding. Ever since you’d made your peace he hadn’t had one negative thing to say towards you. Now he was suddenly accusatory again?

“I told you what I was thinking,” you reiterated. “We’ve gotten inside the minds of these people for years… I just… I wanted to stop them for once.”

"We’re supposed to think like the unsub, not become them!"

“Don't tell me that after fifteen years of getting inside their heads the thought hasn't run through your head to just stop these people, dead in their tracks. No way to keep wreaking havoc on society."

He raised his voice, responding, "An errant thought is one thing but you buddied up with a serial killer!"

You stared at him for a second. "What do you want me to say? Do you want me to say I'm sorry? Well I'm not," you all but growled. "I'm sorry I lied to you. I'm sorry I betrayed our trust. But I am not fucking sorry for the lives I saved by getting those scumbags off the street. You of all fucking people should understand that."

“I thought you picked him because he’s supposedly so good.”

“Well he’s killed over thirty people without raising suspicion,” you reminded evenly.

“Yeah, except for the nearly twenty bodies tying both of you to the murders,” he countered.

“How could you keep me in the dark? Could you really not trust me?” he asked, anger and disbelief in his face and voice.

You frowned. “You didn't trust me enough to tell me our colleague, our friend, is in love with you. How in the hell could I tell you the truth?" you asked, exasperated. A look of frustration crossed your face as you threw your arms out beside you.

“Those are two completely different things, Y/N,” he firmly stated.

"It's not two different things. I hid my secret from you, and you hid yours from me."

He pressed his lips together in a hard line, clenching his fist. This meant he was past the point of pissed. "I didn't tell you because I was worried about how you'd take it. But why didn't you tell me about all of this? Did you really not trust me?"

With a hopeless look in your eye, you responded, "Did you honestly expect me to?"

“Of course! I thought we were the type of couple who told each other everything.”

“How could I? You kept JJ from me, not to mention telling you I’m a serial killer? What exactly do you think I was supposed to say?”

“Keeping JJ from you was entirely different.”

“You keeping the JJ thing from me is far worse than me killing some people."

“How can you even say that? How does it even compare?" he demanded, his hands waving wildly.

You held your hand up, ticking things off your fingers. "Check the history. We've both killed in cold blood. But only one of us hid a romantic secret with our coworker."

“I can’t believe you’re actually comparing the two. Has the gravity of the situation even hit home for you yet? Do you realize what kind of danger you’re in? That I’m in?”

“It’s fine. Dexter will handle this, and anything he can’t handle we’ll divert the team's attention.”

“What, so we’re just supposed to lie to people we’ve worked with for a decade?”

“Yeah, I mean… we both have,” you quietly said. “It shouldn’t be that hard.”

“I don’t like this. I don’t like what he’s made you,” he retorted, pointing at you.

“He didn’t make me this way. Don’t blame Dexter.”

“Oh? Then who should I blame?” he snapped.

“Why do you need someone to blame?” you cried out.

“Because I can’t believe the sweet, compassionate woman I married is capable of this. What I saw out there… those bodies, mutilated. I can’t imagine you approached someone like Dexter and actually asked him to show you how to do that. I just… I can’t wrap my head around it.”

“Yeah, well when you dosed those drugs in the jail with poison without a second thought, I was taken aback too. Guess we’re both capable of things the other one never imagined.”

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and clenching his fists. “Look, I just… I’m just upset because if you had told me before… If you had told me you wanted to this… I don’t know, maybe I could’ve stopped you or made sure you were at least doing it as safely and effectively as possible.”

“I know. I know you want to protect me. I’m sorry for putting you in this position.”

He gave a slight half smile, almost as if thinking of something humorous to himself.

“You know, I never have understood it.”

“Understood what?” you wondered idly.

“You and Dexter were meticulous, right?”

“Yes.”

“You told me about all the plastic, the dumping, the erasing of paper trails--”

“Right,” you prompted, hoping he’d get on with it.

“So why, when I suspect you of something, did you fold immediately? I mean, why put in all that effort, time, attention to detail if you were just going to tell me the moment I could tell something was off?”

You looked at him, an amusement in your eyes. “You honestly don’t know?”

“No,” he stated firmly, shaking his head.

“Because the thought of losing you to anything but the truth was unbearable. The idea that you could think I was cheating was heartbreaking. At least if you left me, it would be for the right reasons, for things I actually did. If it was anyone else, Emily, Rossi, Matt… I could’ve lied right to their faces.” Before you knew it, tears were in your eyes and you buried your face in your fists. “I’m so sorry, Spence. I didn’t mean to get you involved.” You raised your head, swallowing some of the tears and the lump in your throat. “If we get caught, promise me you’ll feign ignorance.”

“What?’ he asked, baffled. “No, I won’t--”

“Spencer, there’s no reason for both of us to go down over something that was my choice. If they find out I was involved, I want you to pretend like you never knew. If you got punished for this, it would break my heart. Please…”

He nodded for a moment, pressing his lips together in contemplation.

Spencer looked at you with a look of… love. That’s all you could describe it as. The same look you saw on your wedding day, the first time you made love, when you were found safe after an unsub had taken you hostage. He put both hands on the side of your head.

“I love you, so much. I’m going to keep you safe and protected, alright? I won’t let them get to you.”

------------------------

“Any updates?” you asked as you met the team in the morning, tossing your bag down.

“No, but that’s why we’re gonna look at the victims,” Rossi announced.

“Oh,” you said, trying to calm a shaking voice. “Yeah that makes sense. Let’s get an idea of how this guy operates with the victims in the last hours,” you agreed. You were holding on to remembering that this needed to be a case like any other. You had to be a profiler, not a serial killer on defense. Well, to be fair, you really needed to be both. But in order to fool your colleagues, you had to be the best profiler on the team still.

With that, the BAU team, Batista, Masuka, and Debra walked outside to the large tent where the bodies lay. A forensics technician stopped all of you before handing you paper aprons and gloves, a signal to suit up before entering.

Why did your heart feel like it was about to explode? Your gloves were soaked on the inside. You kept flexing your hands, opening them then closing them, hoping it would soothe you or calm your nerves. Nothing was helping though. You were about to be face to face with these bodies, some of them your victims.

All of you walked forward, past the plastic curtains and suddenly eighteen bodies were in front of you.

Someone just sucked all of the oxygen out of the room.

Nausea hit your gut like a wrecking ball. And it wasn’t because you were disturbed by the bodies, sadly. It was being face to face with how close you were to marching down death row yourself.

Everyone slowly dispersed into the room. You wanted to chance a glance at Spence, but decided against it. He was probably focusing on the bodies anyway. Either to study them for his own curiosity, or to keep anything from throwing up a red flag.

You followed suit and walked in casually, eyeing the victims. Most of them stood out to you.

Berry Cooper - you studied his case before meeting Dexter. His body was unidentifiable, at least just by looking at it. But the name cards helped after they were identified with dental records.

Kevin Mott - you helped Dexter lure this guy to his death. You could still tell who he was. He was instantly recognizable to you and the evening you helped get him away wasn’t one you were incredibly proud of. You pretended to be a drunk girl “looking for a good time” when you enticed him out of a bar and into a dark alley where Dexter was waiting. Guilt and pride swelled unusually within you as you stared at him. You wanted to look away, but you knew if you grimaced, the team would notice.

Shannon Reynolds - She was one of your victims. Her...well you couldn’t feel sorry for her. She did awful things to innocent creatures. You cut her up yourself, Dexter’s insistence. He said you would need to know how to do this when you got back to Washington. Although clearly that plan fizzled out.

You heard your team and the Miami team talking but you were tuning them out. So many bodies… So many… pieces of evidence.

“Why did the killer cut them up like this?” Batista asked.

“Ease of disposal,” Masuka suggested.

“Or for fun,” Debra added. “You don’t kill this many people because it’s a chore. You do it because you like it.”

“What kind of sick puppy likes this?” you muttered, hoping it would add to the narrative that you weren’t any part of this. “Alright, well that helps the profile,” you added before huffing out air.

The lot of you finished your rounds looking at each body before you went inside. You pretended to work on the cases and not know intimate details of the case for hours before you went and found Dexter. He was in the break room.

“Hey, got a sec?” you asked as calmly as you could, so no passersbys would get suspicious.

“Sure.”

He walked towards you and you leaned into him. “So I’m seriously freaking the fuck out,” you whispered. He glanced down at you before looking around.

“Do you think you could get away from here for a bit?”

You glanced down the hall into the conference room. “Yeah, they’re hitting brick walls. I think I could excuse myself for dinner.”

“I’ll grab my keys. We’ll go to my place.”

“Okay.”

You followed him to his lab, he grabbed his things, and you two left in his van.

“Did I tell you how much I love your new car?” you joked.

“No, not yet,” he said before laughing. “It actually has a lot of cargo room that comes in handy.”

“I bet,” you said, your tone loaded.

You rolled the window down and let the heat and ocean breeze waft into your face. You tried to let the drive calm your nerves a little bit, but your shaking leg said different. Once you were inside, dex offered you a beer, but you declined, shaking your head.

“They took us in the tent,” you began.

Dexter nodded, leaning against his counter, eyeing you as he drank.

“They were all there, Dex,” you continued, your throat getting tight as your chest began to constrict. “Your victims, my victims. I… I didn’t realize until now… We’re fucked. You know? This isn’t some lazy investigation. This is the BAU, we haven’t found a case we couldn’t solve. I found you all by myself. I tied you to these disappearances long ago.”

“You’re better than your team, you know this, I know this.”

“But they’re going to find out. If I can do it, they can. They’ll follow the trail back to you, and it’ll lead back to me. I just…. I didn’t think about it until they were all right there, right in front of me. They’re all evidence of what we’ve done. Physical, cold, hard, proof in your face, evidence.”

Dexter put his beer down before looking at you. “What can they prove other than some people were killed with various tools and instruments?”

“I don’t know but--”

“But nothing. We’re fine. We’re gonna be fine,” he assured. He took a step towards you and smiled at you. It wasn’t the fake smile you usually saw that he put on for so many people. This was genuine.

“Really?” you asked, your body still wracked with nerves.

“Absolutely.”

---------------------

The next morning, you and Spence met with the team to go over any new leads. You, Spence, and Dex needed to discuss what happened if some form of evidence did turn up, how you would divert it, but at this point in the game, all you could do was wait. So far, they had confirmed that thirteen of the eighteen bodies had felony records.

Great. This meant they would be down the same rabbit hole you were soon. It was very difficult to walk the thin line of “smart enough to be a profiler” but “stupid enough to not be the killer.”

Rossi announced this and Matthews responded, “Organized crime.”

“No, no organized crime or affiliation with gangs,” Rossi countered. “However, we do have one thing. They were all either tried for muder or suspected of murder.”

“Well, we already knew that,” you reminded, frowning. “How does that help? I already questioned everyone here in Miami PD. I thought it might be a vigilante but…”

“Then we need to dig further into the profile,” Luke offered. “What else would want to make someone be a vigilante, if not for their involvement with the law enforcement?”

“It might be a county policeman, or maybe even a state policeman,” Spencer stated.

“Or, it could be someone who had a loved one murdered,” Rossi said. “Maybe they’re trying to exact revenge for them.”

You asked, “Want me to have Garcia get the last unsolved murders going back fifteen years in Miami?”

“Make it twenty,” Rossi stated. “We’ll start there.”

“On it.”

You called Garcia, trying to keep the smile off your face. If you could keep leaving breadcrumbs like this, maybe you could lead them away from you and Dex.

“Speak and be heard, oh wise one,” Garcia greeted, and you had her on speaker.

“Hey, sugar,” you said with a warm grin. “I need you to get me the last twenty years of unsolved murders in Miami.”

A pause hit the phone line.

“Garcia?”

“You do realize that will be an extensive list, right? Like… this is Miami we’re talking about here. Crime is--”

“72% higher than the national average, and In Miami you have a 1 in 22 chance of becoming a victim of any crime,” your handsome husband interjected. You peered up at him with a look of impressiveness and adoration.

He smiled back at you, thankfully, the notion warming your heart.

“Right, thank you boy wonder for pointing out the terrible and the obvious. What I’m saying is, it’ll take a long time to get you that list.”

“That’s fine. Just get it to us,” you assured.

“I’m already on it. Garcia out.”

The line cut off and you grinned at Spence. “What are you going to do?”

“Geographical profile,” he answered simply.

“Ah, I’ll be right back then,” you said.

You headed back to Dexter’s office.

“What’s up, doc?” you teased, walking in and handing him coffee you picked up on the way in.

“Nothing much. Analyzing some blood from a crime scene this morning. Oh, and get this,” he said.

“Hmm?” you hummed after taking a sip of coffee.

“Rita thinks I’m a drug addict and is forcing me to go to AA.”

You frowned. “Uh, come again? How does--”

“The late nights, the shifty way I act when I come over. She caught me in a lie. She actually thinks I might’ve killed Paul or had something to do with his death.”

“What the fuck?” you whisper screamed. “And how the hell is AA going to help this situation?”

“It’s fine. She thinks we got into it over some junk. I lied and said I’m an addict. The group is actually helping. I just plug in the word ‘heroin’ for ‘killing’ and speak about that.”

“You realize this is absolutely mad,” you said, shaking your head. “There is no way this isn’t going to blow up in your face. You don’t even have any needle marks for God’s sake. How does she miss that?”

“Rita is… obtusely perceptive.”

“So I noticed…” you muttered.

“How’s the chase going?”

“Slowly. I’m putting Garcia on some leads,” you explained. He stopped and stared at up at you, forgetting his microscope altogether.

“Are they--”

You shook your head, signaling this would put both of you in the clear.

Just when you were about to speak again, Masuka came running in. “Dex, FBI chick, you’re not gonna believe this. I got a huge break in the Bay Harbor case.” He smiled before running toward the conference room.

You and Dex traded a look of sheer terror before you all but threw your coffee on his table and followed Masuka.

“So I found algae,” he began and you stood next to Spencer, incredibly close. Your knees felt weak. Your world slowly crumbling again. Every step Miami and the FBI got closer to the truth of this case, was another crack in your foundation. You were so close to your husband your arm was pressing against his. You knew he could feel the need to be comforted resonating out of you, but if he held your hand in a professional setting like this, it would set off alarms to your team members.

“Algae?” you questioned. “How does that help?”

“It’s microscopic, and there are over hundreds of thousands of kinds, right?”

“Alright,” Luke said, shrugging. “So you think this type can help tie us to the murderer?”

“It’ll tell us where he at least keeps his boat. It should narrow down the marinas,” Masuka explained.

“That’s great work,” Rossi complimented.

“Thanks. I just need a marine biologist to come in, confirm some things on this, then we can start the hunt.”

“Great news,” Luke said.

With that Masuka left. You wanted to run to Dexter, to tell him to get his boat the hell out of the dock. Hell, burn the sucker down, because the noose was tightening. But you couldn’t. You had to wait. If you ran to Dexter right now, or any time soon, it’d look fishy. You two being friends was one thing, but hanging around him, whispering in corners already raised unwanted attention, you didn’t want to do that again.

“Alright, well while we wait on that, I think we need to figure out what the link these last five victims have,” Rossi stated. “They weren’t officially tried for murder, but maybe their families or friends may know something we don’t. I’d like us each to reach out, see what we can find.”

All of you nodded and mumbled some form of agreement before heading out.

Of course you knew what you’d find when you went to talk to your victim’s family. Dexter had explained each of his past kills to you. It was part of your training. You tried to pretend to pull information from them rather than fill in the information you shouldn’t know. It was rather easy. They cracked pretty simply.

Spencer met you back at the station.

“Let me guess,” he started, “that was a waste of your time?”

“Not a complete waste,” you commented jovially. “But I didn’t learn anything new. And you found out your vic is suspected of murder.”

“Yep.”

“So we need to tell the team.”

“You know they’re close to a profile, right?”

“I know,” you said. “But we’ll deal with it… right?” you asked, peering up at him, worry starting to trickle into your veins again.

“Absolutely.” He took your hand and kissed the back of it.

-------------------------

The shift ended and you and Spencer were walking to your car when Dexter jogged up next to you two.

“What’d they say?” he demanded.

“Hello to you too,” you said with a sly smile.

“Is this funny to you?” he asked.

“No, but I’ve never seen you flustered,” you noted with a grin.

“Algae,” Spencer deadpanned. “They found aglae on the bodies. They think they can identify specific regions it comes from.” He stared straight ahead, a look of subdued anger on his face. You’d seen it before, a few times. Right now, you hated that it was aimed at Dexter.

“So...if I can ruin the evidence…” Dexter began and you peered at him, waiting for him to continue. “Then… that’ll kill one lead.”

“Essentially,” you stated. “Got any ideas?”

“A few… I’ll see you later, okay? Thanks for the tip.”

“Any time.”

Dex went his separate way towards his car, and you and Spence walked towards yours.

“What do you think he’s gonna do?” he asked, watching as he walked away.

You joined him in peering after him. “I don’t know, but it’s probably brilliant.”

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

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#inside the criminal mind #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #dexter #dexter fic #dexter morgan

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hlupdate · 4 years

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Here he comes, one of the planet’s most conspicuous young men, stepping out of the London drizzle and into a dusty suburban pub. If there was an old vinyl record player in the place it would scratch quiet. Instead, the two-dozen punters turn hushed and intent, as if a unicorn has just trotted in off the street, and nobody wants to scare it off. “That’s frickin’ Harry frickin’ Styles,” whispers a young man at the bar, “in this pub.” The pop star is asked what he wants to drink and in a voice already inclined to undertones, quietly orders a cup of tea.

A former teen star who is now 25, a happier and rockier solo artist since his boyband One Direction split a few years ago, Styles has hidden himself inside a large, swamp-green parka. He’s tall, around the 6ft mark, and carries himself with a slight stoop. If Styles could only do something about his appearance from the neck up (elfin brow, wide Joker smile, a face that’s recognisable across multiple continents) you sense he could drink in pubs like this anonymously enough. As it is, cover blown, he removes the parka. A woolly jumper beneath has a picture of the planet Saturn on it. Maybe they’ve heard of Styles there, too.

We take a seat in the corner. On nearby tables, conversations start to sputter as people try to keep their own talk ticking along on autopilot while straining to hear what Styles says. I ask him about the sheer strangeness of this and other aspects of fame. Full stadiums, swooning admirers, an excess of opportunity and cash. Why isn’t Styles an absolute ordeal of a human being by now? Keith Richards, at a comparable stage, imagined himself the pirate leader of a travelling nation-state, unbound by international law. Elton John was on vast amounts of cocaine. Meanwhile, here’s Harry, known in the music industry as a bit of a freak, medically, having maintained abnormally high levels of civility in his system.

Styles tilts his head, flattered. There are others, he promises. “People who are successful, and still nice. It’s when you meet the people who are successful and aren’t nice, you think: What’s yer excuse? Cos I’ve met the other sort.”

Styles read Keith Richards’ autobiography a while back, and he recently finished Elton’s, too. (“Soooo much cocaine,” he marvels.) We talk for a bit about whether extreme dissolute behaviour and artistic greatness go hand in hand. Styles, who has just released his second solo album, Fine Line, the penultimate track of which is called Treat People With Kindness, has to hope not. “I just don’t think you need to be a dick to be a good artist. But, then, there are also a lot of good artists who are dicks. So. Hmm. Maybe I need to start scaring babies in supermarkets?”

A couple of lads hustle over to offer drinks. A photo is requested; they say they’ll wait. I’m weirdly anxious about Styles’s phone, which is slung on the table in front of him. What must be the black-market value of that thing? If fans were to get hold of it, would they want to open Styles’s music app first, to listen to tracks from the new album, or rush to see his messages and calls, to find out who Styles has been flirting with late at night? The interest in his music has always run at a ratio of about 50/50 with the interest in who he is dating.

It’s a ratio Styles tries to adjust in favour of the music by being vague about his ex-partners, real and rumoured (Taylor Swift, Kendall Jenner, Parisian model Camille Rowe), diverting to discuss his songs about failed relationships. A year ago, when Styles was floating around near this pub in north London, where he lives, and California, where he tends to record, looking for inspiration for the new album, his close friend Tom Hull told him: “Just date amazing women, or men, or whatever, who are going to fuck you up… Let it affect you and write songs about it.”

Styles, who writes in collaboration with Hull and producer Tyler Johnson, sounds as if he took the advice. The new album, Fine Line, is at its best when capturing late-hours moments, drunk calls, “wandering hands”, kitchen snogs. A golden-haired lover recurs. There are up tracks, down tracks, some with the trippy delirium of harpsichord-era Stones, others with the angsty Britpop swell of strings. While I listened, I couldn’t help scribbling down names, possible subjects. On the lyric “There’s a piece of you in how I dress” I wrote: maybe Kendall? In a song about a lover “way too bright for me”: surely Taylor.

Styles says he keeps to a general rule: write what comes and don’t think about it too much afterwards. The only time he worries about an individual lyric is if it risks putting an ex in a difficult position. “If a song’s about someone, is that fine? Or is that gonna get annoying for them, if people try to decipher it?” Has he ever got that judgment call wrong and taken a bollocking from an angry ex? Styles raises an eyebrow. “Maybe ask me in a month.”

I quiz him on something I’ve often wondered about. Why are the very famous so inclined to hook up with the very famous? From the outside it looks twice the hassle, with twice the odds of ending badly. “Don’t we all do that, though?” Styles asks. “Go into things that feel relatively doomed from the start?” I ask him why he doesn’t date normals. He seems tickled: “Um. I mean, I do. I have a private life. You just don’t know about it.”

Styles doesn’t particularly like being asked about his love life, but is amused all the same, as he is about most things. When I ask about the logistics of someone as well known as him dating someone anonymous (“Do you need to give them, like, some sort of primer?”), Styles snorts with laughter.

“Uh-h-h. Like any conversation, I guess, it’s easier if you’re honest. But I try to let it come up when it comes up. Cos that’s a weird thing to talk about, y’know? If you’ve just started seeing someone, and you’re, like: [he adopts a throaty, mission-briefing voice] So! This is what’s gonna happen!” Styles holds out his hands: no, ta. “I don’t wanna have that conversation, man. It would be fucking weird.”

And not very sexy, I say.

“Not sexy,” Styles says, “no.”

A quick aside about his accent, which is hard to capture in print. (“Nat sexy, no.”) After a workout in a hotel gym recently, Styles says he was taken aback (“taken abeck”) to be asked by a stranger whether he was speaking in a fake voice. He was appalled. But after so long crossing borders and time zones, living and working between England and the US, the accent has undergone a jazzy remix, and tends to get farthest from its Cheshire roots when he’s around strangers. Once Styles begins to get comfortable in the pub, the flatter, no-nonsense sounds of his youth return. Nowpe he says, for nope. Fook, for fuck.

“What the fook are they?” This was the response of his childhood pals, he remembers, back in the village of Holmes Chapel, when little Harry had the gumption to show up in the playground wearing Chelsea boots instead of the approved chunky trainers. Styles’s parents had separated when he was very young, but there is no origin-story trauma: he has always stayed close to both. His mother, Anne, would praise his singing voice in the car, and when Styles was 16 it was agreed he could audition for a singing contest on TV.

“The craziest part about the whole X Factor thing,” says Styles, who auditioned for the ITV reality show in 2010, “is that it’s so instant. The day before, you’ve never been on telly. Then suddenly…” Suddenly you’re a piece of national property. “You don’t think at the time, ‘Oh, maybe I should keep some of my personal stuff back for myself.’ Partly because, if you’re a 16-year-old who does that, you look like a jumped-up little shit. Can you imagine? ‘Sorry, actually, I’d rather not comment…’ You don’t know what to be protective of.”

By the winter of 2010, Styles was a fan favourite, a key member of One Direction, a five-piece that enjoyed enormous national exposure and gathered millions of fans before any music had been released. Cameras filmed every part of their rise. There wasn’t any time in the dark to practise, test things out, mentally brace. “We didn’t get to dip in a toe,” Styles says. “But, listen, I was a kid, all I knew was: I didn’t have to go to school any more. I thought it was fucking great.” He remembers having a lot of fun, and being well taken care of. He jokes: “Maybe it’s something I’ll have to deal with a bit later. When I wake up in my 40s and think: Arrrggh.”

In February 2012, One Direction were feted at the Brit Awards, hours before they were due to fly to the US for the first time. On TV that night they looked young, silly, chuffed – on the precipice of something huge, and with no clue at all. Their subsequent wonder-run (five platinum albums, four world tours) had its foundations in their ridiculous popularity in the States. Right away, Styles remembers, “We were fuelling a machine. Keeping the fire going.” He remembers it as a stimulating time; maybe overstimulating. “Coming out of it, when the band stopped, I realised that the thing I’d been missing, because it was all so fast paced, was human connection.”

I first met Styles in 2014, around the time the lack of human connection was starting to bite. One Direction were promoting their penultimate album and I’d been commissioned to write about themthe Guardian. Management felt the boys were so exhausted that my minutes in their presence had to be strictly counted. Inside a circle of cripplingly hot lights, while someone ran the stopwatch, we interacted as humanly as we could.

I remember how jaded the best singer in the group, Zayn Malik, seemed. (Malik was weeks away from quitting.) I also remember how flattered and bewildered the others were to be asked a few grownup questions – and not what Louis Tomlinson would later describe to me as “who’s-your-favourite-superhero… all that shit”. Styles was watchful and quiet that day. By total chance, a week later, we were in the same London cafe and he tapped my shoulder. He was having lunch with friends. “Will ya join us?”

t struck me as a quietly classy move. I was fascinated to see him interact with mates he’d chosen for himself. Styles was dry and funny, older than his years. After lunch we said the usual things about keeping in touch, and followed each other on Twitter. I kept an eye on his updates, about leaving One Direction, releasing an impressive, self-titled debut album in 2017, playing for 36,000 people in Madison Square Garden in New York, acting in Christopher Nolan’s Oscar-nominated war movie Dunkirk. Meanwhile, I did my best to manage the mess that had been made of my own account after Styles’s Twitter follow ignited a small explosion of teenage longing in my mentions. For at least a year I received weekly, sometimes daily, pleas from people who wanted messages conveyed to “H”. Still now, every few days, fans in America, Asia and Europe follow me to “see what H sees” in their timeline.

He has around 50 million social media followers, and with that comes the ability to ripple the internet like somebody airing a bedsheet. I’ve noticed, though, how rarely Styles directs people to support specific causes, last doing so in 2018, when he encouraged people to join a march against gun violence. Why don’t you use your influence more, I ask? “Because of dilution. Because I’d prefer, when I say something, for people to think I mean it.” He runs his fingertips across the table. “To be honest, I’m still searching for that one thing, y’know. Something I can really stand up for, and get behind, and be like: This Is My Life Fight. There’s a power to doing the one thing. You want your whole weight behind it.”

It’s one of the things that sets Styles apart, the way he puts his whole weight behind the different aspects of this strange job. If you watch footage of him as a guest host on Saturday Night Live last month, Styles plunges in, fully inhabiting the silliness of every sketch. He has good songs in his repertoire (2017’s ballad Sign Of The Times stands out), and would probably admit to some middling songs that attest to his relative inexperience as a writer. But whichever of his songs Styles performs, he goes all-in, trusting that his zest and energy will hold an audience’s attention. He approaches this interview in roughly the same spirit, not enjoying every question, fidgeting, pleading for clemency once or twice, but giving everything due consideration.

I bring up something Styles joked about earlier: the possibility of waking up in his 40s with deferred mental health problems.

“Mm,” he says

Have you thought about therapy, I ask, to get ahead of that?

“I go,” he says. “Not every week. But whenever I feel I need it. For a really long time I didn’t try therapy, because I wanted to be the guy who could say: ‘I don’t need it.’ Now I realise I was only getting in my own way.” He shrugs. “It helps.”

Lately he’s been reading a lot (Lisa Taddeo’s Three Women stood out). He’s watched a lot of Netflix (crime thrillers and music docs). He recently cried through Slave Play on Broadway. I sense in Styles, at 25, a pent-up undergraduate hunger, maybe a desire to make up for lost time. “I’ve definitely been wanting to learn stuff, try stuff,” he says. “Things I didn’t grow up around. Things I’d always been a little bit sceptical about. Like therapy, like meditation. All I need to hear is someone saying, ‘Apparently, it’s amazing’, and I’ll try it. When I was in Los Angeles once, I heard about juice cleanses. I thought, yeah, I’ll do a juice cleanse.”

How messy were the results?

“You mean…?” Styles raises an eyebrow, recalling the poos. “They were all right. I was just hungry. And bored.”

One notable feature of Styles’s solo career has been his headlong embrace of unconventional clothing. A 2017-18 tour could have been sponsored by the Dulux colour wheel: mustard tones in Sydney, shocking pink in Dallas. In a more serious sense, some of Styles’s choices have fed into an important political discussion about gendered fashion. In May, as a co-host at the Met Gala in New York, he stepped out in a sheer blouse and a pearl earring. One evening’s work challenged a lot of stubborn preconceptions about who gets to wear what.

He says: “What women wear. What men wear. For me it’s not a question of that. If I see a nice shirt and get told, ‘But it’s for ladies.’ I think: ‘Okaaaay? Doesn’t make me want to wear it less though.’ I think the moment you feel more comfortable with yourself, it all becomes a lot easier.”

What do you mean, I ask?

Styles is leaning forward, hands folded around his cup of tea. “A part of it was having, like, a big moment of self-reflection. And self-acceptance.” He has a habit, when he’s made a definitive statement, of raising his chin and nodding a little, as if to decide whether he still agrees with himself. “I think it’s a very free, and freeing, time. I think people are asking, ‘Why not?’ a lot more. Which excites me. It’s not just clothes where lines have been blurred, it’s going across so many things. I think you can relate it to music, and how genres are blurring…”

Sexuality, too, I say.

“Yep,” says Styles. “Yep.”

There’s a popular perception, I say, that you don’t define as straight. The lyrics to your songs, the clothes you choose to wear, even the sleeve of your new record – all of these things get picked apart for clues that you’re bisexual. Has anyone ever asked you though?

“Um. I guess I haaaaave been asked? But, I dunno. Why?”

You mean, why ask the question?

“Yeah, I think I do mean that. It’s not like I’m sitting on an answer, and protecting it, and holding it back. It’s not a case of: I’m not telling you cos I don’t want to tell you. It’s not: ooh this is mine and it’s not yours.”

What is it then?

“It’s: who cares? Does that make sense? It’s just: who cares?”

I suppose my only question, then, is about the stuff that looks like clue dropping. Because if you don’t want people to care, why hint? Take the album sleeve for Fine Line. With its horizontal pink and blue stripes, a splash of magenta, the design seems to gesture at the trans and bisexual pride flags. Which is great – unless the person behind it happens to be a straight dude, sprinkling LGBTQ crumbs that lead nowhere. Does that make sense?

Styles nods. “Am I sprinkling in nuggets of sexual ambiguity to try and be more interesting? No.” As for the rest, he says, “in terms of how I wanna dress, and what the album sleeve’s gonna be, I tend to make decisions in terms of collaborators I want to work with. I want things to look a certain way. Not because it makes me look gay, or it makes me look straight, or it makes me look bisexual, but because I think it looks cool. And more than that, I dunno, I just think sexuality’s something that’s fun. Honestly? I can’t say I’ve given it any more thought than that.”

In our musty corner of the pub we’ve somehow passed a couple of hours in intense discussion. We’ll lighten up, before Styles heads home, with some chat about clever films (Marriage Story), stupider viral videos (the little boy who’s just learned the word “apparently”), that favourite-superhero stuff that, after all, has its place. He talks about the curious double time scheme of a pop star’s life – those crammed 18-hour days and then the sudden empty off-time when Styles might find himself walking miles across London to buy a book, afterwards congratulating himself: “Well, that’s an hour filled.”

Before we stand up I ask if he’s minded any of my questions.

He pushes out his lips, possibly recalling them one by one, then shakes his head. “What I would say, about the whole being-asked-about-my-sexuality thing – this is a job where you might get asked. And to complain about it, to say you hate it, and still do the job, that’s just silly. You respect that someone’s gonna ask. And you hope that they respect they might not get an answer.”

I tell him I do.

“Cool.”

Styles has to find those lads who wanted a photo. He scoops his phone off the table and flicks his thumb around the screen. Lately, he says, when he messes around on his phone in an idle moment, it’s mostly to look at videos – clips that his friends have sent him, in which their kids sing along to music he’s made. “Never gets old,” Styles says, beaming.

A few years ago, when he emerged from the boyband, blinking, shattered, he set himself three tasks: prioritise friends, learn how to be an adult, achieve a proper balance between the big and the small. Full stadiums, provocative outfits – Styles genuinely loves these things. “But I guess I’ve realised, as well,” he says, “that the coolest things are not always the cool things. Do you know what I mean?” He grabs his parka and his phone and, a little stooped, heads for home.

#harry styles #the guardian #stunt mention #131219

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 4 years

Text

He Gladly Stopped For Me: A Bruce Banner One Shot

“Baby, you better back the fuck back. I am not the one.”

It was the growl in your voice. Fierce and feral. It jolted Bruce out of a dead sleep. Like a rattlesnake rattle. Worse than that, like raised hackles on a lap dog. Danger. You crackled with energy. He could feel it. Even with you in the hallway. What he didn’t know was who you were speaking to. He could see you in profile. In the shadow on the ground. Time slowed to a trickle and he knew. HE KNEW it had been a fraction of a second but it felt like a full minute as you raised your arm, pistol in hand, bracing to fire. Bruce wanted to call out to you. He wanted to stand between you and the intruder. The gun the man had was bigger. The Hulk was bulletproof. He could protect you. But he couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t breathe.

If there was a reply, the gunshots that rang out drowned it out. The Muzzle flash was blinding and... and then. Silence.

Bruce sat bolt upright in bed, panting and covered in a fine sheen of sweat. His heart was hammering away in his chest and he could feel the Hulk lurking at the edge of this consciousness. Assessing for threats. But there is no threat. There’s only you. Fast asleep, your face obscured by your hair, sprawled comfortably on your belly, arms and legs akimbo, like a child had thrown on the floor and forgotten. One arm was thrown around your beloved stuffed dog. The one Bruce had tucked into your arms when he tucked you into bed.

The room was dark but for a shaft of moonlight that shimmered gracefully through the gauzy curtains. The house was quiet but for the small creeks and pops of old wood and brick. Things settling and adjusting to the changes in temperature. Nothing amiss. No reason to be alarmed. That’s good, Hulk decides as he recedes below the surface. When the other guy decides that you’re safe, Bruce takes a deep breath.

He’d like a glass of water. A glass of water and a dry shirt. One that isn’t drenched in sweat but he can’t manage to leave you. Not yet. Every night this week he’s watched you die. Unable to stop you. Unable to protect you. Every night, someone you knew well enough to call “baby” shot you to death in the hall. Shot you to death while Bruce lay sleeping. Bruce leans over and kisses your head before tucking the blanket around your shoulders tenderly, making sure you’ll be kept warm. He smiles tenderly when you stir sleepily and pull your stuffed dog closer.

He was a bit jealous of that stuffed dog if he was honest. Sleeping in your arms while he was tossing and turning, working in the lab. Comforting you now while he was awake. Bruce watched you sleep for a moment, letting his heart rate return to normal. You’re asleep. Asleep and safe. It was just a dream.

A dream.

Right.

That’s what he was going to tell himself. Especially because he couldn’t tell you. Not because you’d laugh at him but because you’d take it seriously. Very seriously. Dreams were as real to you as he was. They were way finders. Markers on a forest path.

The spirits way to tell you what you already knew.

Bruce wasn’t sure what he believed. He genuinely did not know, or care, if the dream was prophetic. All he wanted was for it to stop. He toes into his slippers and padded across the floor, groping blindly in the dark for the basket of clean t-shirts for a fresh one. Once he had one (one that was his and not yours) he tossed the sweat-soaked one in the hamper and pulled it on. Baby steps.

He already felt better even if he wasn’t sure he’d be going back to sleep tonight. Water. He needed water. His throat was starting to hurt, probably from breathing through his mouth. Bruce glanced back towards you, not for the first time envious of your ability to sleep through anything. Or fall asleep moments after your head hit the pillow.

Bruce knew it was partly because just living was exhausting for you anymore. Magic was exhausting. Every use of it took a little more. Used a little more of your life force. And, after your time as an active Avenger, even with ways to replenish it, you had paid a price to save the world. A price that left you with chronic pain and not much stamina. Still, he had work to do today, not limited to helping you in your garden.

Though the actual casting of spells was prohibited to you now, that didn’t mean that you didn’t maintain your studies. Or your garden. Or the practice of teaching. You just happened to need some help with the heavy lifting. Something Bruce could give you, even if he had to go green to do it. It wasn't as if he minded. The Hulk didn’t either, carefully tending rows of fragile plants, minding the delicate buds and casting weeds over his broad shoulders. In the spring, hoeing rows and pulling up stumps and stones at your quiet direction. It was nice. Having the Hulk less destructive.

He couldn't help it. He leaned on the door frame and watched you sleep. He’s thankful. Thankful that you’re getting rest. He remembers how you used to be. The early mornings and late nights. Tireless. Now you need 12 hours of sleep just to function and sometimes, more and more days that go by, 12 is not enough. 14, 16, 18 hours. Whole days you just can’t get out of bed. It exhausts you just to brush your hair. Hair that, day by day grows a little more white. Lifeforce pours from you like blood from a wound. From a gaping hole that HYDRA has left in your soul, trying to extract the magic you swore to serve others. To pervert it. And no matter what anyone has done, no one can stop it.

You’re dying.

Dying in slow motion.

Fading like flowers in a vase. But Bruce tries not to think about that as he lopes down the stairs for water. He tries not to consider the life you could have had with him if he’d been able to keep you from HYDRA. The children and the adventures. But Children would kill you faster and there was some small pleasure in retirement. Having a house away from it all. Day trips to wineries and apple orchards. Quiet days in a hammock reading books.

He put the water glass in the sink and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at the clock. It was 4:30 now. No sense in getting back to bed now. By the time he got back to bed you’d be up. Or about to be. And he didn’t know what you’d need. Not today.

“Bruce?”

Your soft voice makes him turn and he braces to catch you.

“Baby,” he says, steadying you on your feet as you lean heavily on a cane, “It’s early, let's get you back to bed.”

“Are you alright?” you ask him, frowning, touching his cheek with your free hand.

“Fine,” he says, kissing your hand. “Just couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d make breakfast.”

‘Bruce,” you repeat sternly.

“Y/N,” he said kissing your palm again, “Stay out of my head.”

“I’m not in your head, you’re a bad liar,” you pout.

Bruce chuckles and wraps his arms around you gently, tilting your chin up to kiss you.

“What did you dream about?” you ask him, brow furrowing.

“Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about,” he answers gently helping you into a chair. You haven’t slept enough. Or eaten. You shouldn’t be out of bed. Let alone have come downstairs. There’s a fine sheen of sweat on your face from the exertion and it makes his heart twist unpleasantly. It hurts today, moving. You’re exerting will to keep from bleeding life force. A gambit you only rely on when- when you need him not to worry. And it hurts.

“So you did dream,” you press.

“Yes,” he rumbles, kissing your cheek and smiling a little. “About how much I’d like a lazy day in bed with my wife.” The implication in his voice as he brushes his thumb across your lips sets you to blushing furiously. He chuckles again and kisses your cheek once more, “Let’s get some breakfast in you first though.”

“Bruce,” you sigh, “Please. Please don’t do me the indignity of lying to me. Please.”

There’s something in your tone. Telling him without telling him that you can feel the sword hanging over your head. You know you’re dying. Every minute of every day. You can feel the useless fight to keep going. It hurts to know that you know. Even with him trying so hard to keep you from finding out.

Bruce took a deep breath and knelt in front of you holding your hands, “I dreamed that you died,” he sighed.

“Is that all?” you ask, brushing hair out of his eyes.

He can’t help it. He snorts. “It was how you died,” he murmured.

“Shot to death in the hall and I couldn’t... I couldn’t get to you.”

You smile a little, “Sweetheart,” you murmur, “It’s no small wonder. You can’t stop this. No one can. I am going to die. A little at a time. All we can do is make me comfortable and try- try not to dwell on it too much.”

“It felt real,” he said softly, “You talked to the person who shot you.”

“What did I say?” you ask him softly.

“Baby, you better back the fuck back. I am not the one.”

You smile a little, “How many times a day do you think I tell myself that?” you ask him.

“So you’re not gonna get shot?”

“No,” you tell him lovingly, “Probably not.”

“But you’re still going to die?”

“Yes.”

Bruce hung his head and rested his forehead on your lap, “Please don’t go.”

You blink back tears and pet his hair gently, “You’re stuck with me for a while yet, love.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“You’ve stopped doing magic right?”

“Until the dishwasher stops working.”

“Y/N” he snuffles, smiling a little.

“What? You scared my Brownies away.”

He shook his head and stood slowly, “What do you want to eat, baby girl?”

He couldn’t keep thinking about you dying. He’d rather think about the rest of the day. About things that would make you happy and try to stem the tide of what you were bleeding. He knew it was a losing battle, but that wasn’t going to stop him trying.

“French toast?”

“Perfect,” he said, kissing your head. Maybe he couldn’t stop death, but he could delay it. Just for one more day. One more breakfast. He scooped you up carefully and cradled you to him to carry you to the porch. One more sunrise. One more memory to keep him company when you were gone.

#Bruce banner x reader #bruce banner #hulk x reader #hulk #death #acceptance #angst #hurt/comfort

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