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morganalatina21 · 1 year

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Manipulating Death: Chapter Ten

Series Summary: When Harry discovers he has a twin sister that was hiding for years, he wants to know all about her, specially about her ability to bring people back to life.

a/n: I'm sorry it took me so long to post this one, I was trying to make it longer bc I intend to add a big time break next chapter and I needed everything to be in place, hope u enjoy it :)))

(Also, english isn’t my first language so I’m sorry in advance lol)

Last Chapter | Masterlist

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Pain.

That's all she felt.

Everywhere. Every single inch of her body was hovering and turning in pain.

Excruciating and extended.

Her eyes were blurry and took a long time to focus, and even a longer to realize where she was. The basement of her house.

And that sad figure on the stairs certainly was Sirius Black.

Felt like her brain got flipped, like someone stole and juggled around with it just to return it shaky and scared. The last thing she remembered was Regulus, standing right where his brother is, pulling her closer and closer to the living world.

Fuck, she was back.

"Holy smokes." The man said, crawling closer and closer to her, wand in hand just in case. "Are you really...?"

She blinked her eyes at him, trying to move the lips but feeling the throat ache like she just swallowed a cup of sand and glass.

"That's insane!" He shouted, a small smile on his lips. "But that's like... the eighth most insane thing that I've seen this last weeks."

The jokes were made to stop the tears from falling even though she could notice how his eyes sparkled.

Y/n was alive once more, he hadn't disappointed James and Lily again.

"Hold still, I'll grab you a cup of water." He mumbled just above a breath, and stood up, running to the kitchen. "Here ya go, mini Evans."

Pushing the liquid down her throat, she felt it burning like firewhiskey. Merlin, that hurt.

"Where's.... Reggie?" She whispered, voice breaking and exploding into coughing just as she finished her sentence. "He was here."

"He went back to the house, couldn't bare to look at you any longer." He told, caressing her hair as it slowly gained a little more color. "I said I'd stay behind to take care of your body until he was ready to give you a funeral. I offered to clean the house but he declined."

Of course he would, she thought, Regulus hated when things weren't adjusted his way. When they started living together, he finally had some control of what his house could look like and he wasn't ready to give it up.

His speech.

How he felt for her, even almost made her not regret kissing him the last time they saw each other.

"Take me to him." She pleaded, feeling her bones ache and flesh twist inside her body. "I need Reggie."

"I know you two have this really complicated relationship and shit, but right now you need to rest." He mocked, shaking his head no, like an old father who knew his kid was in love.

"Padfoot." Y/n called sternly, dropping his act. "Do you know anything about resurrecting someone? No. And I don't have strength on my own. If he finds out I came back but re-died because you didn't apparate with me, he'll murder you."

Hell, she was right.

"We'll grab the potions needed and you'll take me to him." She instructed. "Right now, we're both serious."

He choked in a laugh, looking at her in shock that she'd make that joke right now.

But he had to admit, on his early years in Hogwarts he'd tell that joke and its variants all the time, so much the marauders and the girls would already anticipate them.

And for just a moment, Sirius saw James' eyes instead of hers.

Shrugging it off, he pulled her arm above his head and helped feet after feet going upstairs, wanting to get out of there but also not forcing her in case she wasn't strong enough.

But oh boy, she was.

"Take that drawer." Y/n instructed, nodding towards the same furniture she asked Remus a couple nights ago. "And those papers and books, you can put it here." She said, opening a small backpack that was hidden under the coffee table. "It's for emergencies." She whispered upon seeing his gaze.

"Alright, what else do we need?"

The girl didn't answer, holding herself on the back rest of the biggest chair in the living room, shaky fingers gripping into the wood like her life depended on it.

Instead, she opted to whistle a light melody, looking at the main door, open wide due to the Death Eaters' forced entrance.

Sirius was starting at her like she just punched him in the face, asking what was wrong with her.

But he was surprised when two possessors came barging in, following the sound that came out of her lips.

She opened up the backpack and held it with both hands, her back pressed firmly against the wall for security.

The possessor didn't even hesitate to enter it, making their figures smaller and smaller to fit the tiny hole.

"What the..."

The biggest was Regulus' possessor, the one she ran after for the entire city they lived in two and a half years ago.

It's eyes found her pupils, just like the day she won his confidence, after two weeks of fighting each other through the streets.

Suffice to say, Regulus was less than pleased to see that thing once she came home with it, it was much bigger than the ones lying in the basement and stared holes in his face, desesperately wanting to possess his body once again.

The smaller was Luna's possessor, it was way shorter and it's eyes weren't in the slightest scary. That girl wouldn't take long to surpass the layers of the death world, so there wasn't that much work to do.

Once both were nice and organized in the backpack with the other supplies, she handed it over to Sirius.

"Ouch!" He yelled, feeling his head hit the ground and hands twist as soon as she let go of the bag.

"Careful, it's heavy." Her hoarse voice announced, almost giggling.

"Oh is it? I didn't notice!" He responded, forcing himself up and throwing the heavy backpack over his shoulder. "Anything else m'lady?"

Her eyes darted around, staring at every corner of that house, knowing she'd miss it so badly.

"Regulus already took a lot of your things, before you ask." Sirius groaned. "Like the hairbrush, the necklace and the tiara. He said you'd probably want to be buried with them."

The tiara, part of the costume Remus and Sirius got her for Halloween, the one that James died next to.

The younger Black was right. She wanted to be buried with those her whole life, but now maybe she'd give Harry the hairbrush, he had so little from their parents.

"Then that's all." She nodded, the feeling of missing it already shaking her body.

She'd miss waking up to find Regulus in the kitchen, hair pulled back in a small bun with teapot and two teacups on his hands.

Would certainly miss how they'd always want to move the furniture around the room without magic, and always ended up on the floor exhausted.

How sometimes they would feed the possessors like they were dogs.

How Regulus would always say he wanted a cat, and she'd tell him it would leave fur all around the house and he'd go mental with the animal.

That's when she realized.

Sure the house was a big part of her.

But what she missed really was him.

That obnoxiously intelligent man, she loved to mess with. She loved to see him.

She loved him.

And after literally dying, she was ready to admit that. But not to him, never.

To herself.

She could now accept the fact that the long stares when she looked at him, how she fell asleep in his arms every night, led to her feeling that way.

And it was fine.

What was not fine however was the turning and circling in her stomach when they landed right in front of the Order's house.

Her vision was so blurry she could barely see the doorknob Sirius was turning and pushing their way inside.

The Black had to hold her weight by the elbows at the mere sensation she'd fall.

He tried his best not to announce to the painting of his mother that they were back, it would be a catastrophic disaster.

"Regulus is on his bedroom, last door to the left." He instructed, helping to stand on the stairs while turning around to meet his cousin Tonks.

Y/n walked like an animal, with hand and knees, groaning in pain as it felt burning every inch of her skin.

She struggled all the path to the door Sirius mentioned, hearing him downstairs answer the girl's questions to make sure he wasn't a Death Eater.

Without any forces to get up or reach for the doorknob, she just banned slightly on his door.

No response.

Once again, she knocks three times, leaving her hand to rest on the wood, hoping for him to open soon before she passed out, backpack aching on her shoulders.

With a smooth crack, a house elf stood in front of her, his eyes held even more than just disgust.

"Master Regulus don't want to be bothered." He announced, sounding more like a threat. "And he ordered me to petrificate anyone who's behind the door if they try again."

Scoffing, she held tight to the fabric of her pants to stop her fingers from shaking. "That's very you, Reggie."

Before Y/n even blinked, the door was swung open and her numb body fell to his feet.

"For the love of Merlin." The man muttered, kneeling in front of her and grabbing those shaky cheeks, staring intensely at her eyes. "Y/n?"

"I found you once, and then did it again." She concluded, a breaking smile appearing.

Exactly what she promised she'd do, and tears welled up on his eyes before pulling her in for a tight hug.

His hands wandered around, her hair, her cheeks, her arms, all the way down to her trembling knees.

"How?!? I- I saw..."

"I was in the first layer." The Potter answered, being pulled inside by the man.

"All this time?"

"Well, you waited for me all this time."

Regulus positioned her on the bed, placing two pillows behind her head to make it more comfortable and started opening the backpack, holding her hand the entire time.

The possessors jumped out of it, looking around the house and feeling excited with the air of trauma and pain all around, running in circles around his room.

"Kreacher, can you fetch something for them to eat?" He asked quickly, unscrewing the top of a bottle and lining it up on her lips.

"Fuck this tastes awful."

"I know. I've been there."

The girl lightly mocked his comment but smiled big after it.

Regulus was so focused on taking care of Y/n, turning potions down her throat as he saw her doing so many times before, he didn't even noticed Sirius figure peeking from the door, Remus right next to him.

Both men stared at their interactions, how the Black had a faint smile on his lips after so many nights of dark stares and sad tears.

Sirius tapped Lupin's shoulder, indicating their hands enlaced together with a smile so wide. The werewolf smiled too, seeing how Y/n looked at him adorably.

And they dared to deny they're in love! They thought, shaking heads together.

Stepping out, they closed the door to give them some privacy and some alone time, knowing damn well Harry would wake up in the morning and want to spend time with his sister.

Not to mention the insane amount of questions the others would have.

A few minutes later, he fed her the last potion needed for now, eyes and face with a lot more color and it didn't seem to hurt her to breath for so long.

"Kreacher, I want you to meet her properly." Regulus called, welcoming the elf closer to them. "This is Y/n Potter, she's Harry's twin. And the one that brought me back to life."

His eyes went big, taking over his entire scrunched up face and he bowed to her. "I am eternally grateful for bringing Master Regulus back."

"Well, he brought me back too, so I guess we're even now."

We are far from it, the Black thought but decided to stay shut about.

"You need to rest now." He informed, pulling her knees so she'd be fully laying down. "Hell no." Regulus ordered, standing up and letting go of her hands for just a bit, grabbing something on his drawers.

He came back in less than two seconds, grabbing her by the calf and shoving a sock on her foot, doing the exact same with the other one, mumbling curse words in french the entire time.

"Are your trying to convert me, Black?" She asked, a smug smile on her face when she looked at her feet now covered with wool socks in the Slytherin colors. "I see your second intentions."

"You just look pretty in green." He shrugged, trying not to make it obvious he wanted to see her with the colors of his house.

"Sure, of course I'll believe that, Slytherin Prince."

"Fine, if you don't want them..."

"No!" She fought, taking her feet away from his lap. "They're comfy." Regulus rolled his eyes. "Come on, we have to sleep. Wanna be the small spoon?" She suggested, smiling at him and already turning to be on her side.

"I have a better idea."

With a tight grip, he rolled her around to be chest up once again, spreading her legs a little in a motion that made her heart run circles inside her chest.

The Black made his way to be on top of her, between her legs, to which she squirmed a little bit, a chill spreading down her spine.

He lied all his weight on her, adjusting himself in a way his head would be placed on her chest, hearing the heartbeats.

"Relax, everything is fine now." Regulus said, noticing how quick paced they were. "I'll be here if you have any nightmares."

He nuzzle against her body, not moving his head once, wanting to make sure she was there.

Alive.

With the man she was in love with holding her tight, between her legs and head so close to her breasts, it was hard to relax. But she forced herself to, falling asleep like that, close to her loved one and the possessors guarding their sleep.

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"Y/n?"

She woke up, startled, breath hitching on her throat. Regulus was hovering over her.

"Which one was it?"

The Potter felt confused for just a moment, but noticed what he was talking about. She was squirming on her sleep and heartbeat so fast like a rat's heart.

He thought she was having a nightmare.

"Uh the- the one with Abby." She lied, breathing in and out. "But it's fine now, don't worry."

"Are you really?"

Opting for nodding instead of saying it, a bad sensation of thirst in her throat.

"I'm glad. Stay here, I'll bring you breakfast."

He quickly leaned in, leaving a gentle peck on her lips and getting up.

"Oh... oh, uh- oookay." She answered as he left the bedroom, leaving behind a very confused Y/n, with possessor who groaned something to her. "Oh shut it, you two." She grunted, trying to not make her smile so wide.

With two fingers, she pinched herself, making sure it wasn't a dream. But it happened the she was wide awake.

When he came back, a few minutes later, with her favorite breakfast in hands, she decided not to address it. He made it look so casual, as if they were doing this for years so she decided to leave it like that.

Sitting on the bed, back pushed to the headboard, she took in the breakfast, with Regulus lying his head on her thighs and staring at her the whole time.

"Are you sure you're fine?" She asked after swallowing the drink. "You haven't asked me anything yet."

"Because you won't know peace once those kids wake up." He replied, drawing shapes in the fabric of her pants. "Specially those two your brother calls best friends, I was one second away of cursing them."

"You be nice!" She averted, finger pointing at him. "You weren't any better, bombing me with questions every two minutes."

"That's totally different."

She laughed, taking the reforce potion with the rest of the meal.

They just kept in silence for a few minutes, enjoying each other's presence in the warmest way possible. Once again, just the two of them. How it has always been. How Regulus wanted it to be forever.

When the conversation outside started to get more and more crowded, the Black decided to call Harry.

Everyone noticed the sudden change of mood in the heir's movement, looking a lot more light and like a gentleman in the 1800s instead of a bloody vigilante assassin.

So for that, Harry was more than suspicious and refused to go upstairs.

"You're acting weird." The boy pointed. "And nothing changed, so I'm sorry if I don't trust you like she did."

"I'm sorry to break it to ya." The voice on the stairs said, attracting everyone attention. "But we've been kind of a package deal for the last years, so he's like this personalized keychange that comes with me, no refunds."

She was holding herself tightly to the handrail and using the biggest possessor as a support.

Regulus immediately held his hand out, being her new crutch despite rolling eyes at how she described him.

"A blood traitor! Regulus how could you?" The portrait of Walburga shouted, muffled because it was facing the wall but still making itself present. "Do you have any idea what we have done for you, just so you could come back and stab us with-"

They couldn't hear anything in a second, and all eyes turned to Sirius, but he was just as astonished.

"I didn't came back to hear mother scream at me again." The younger Black answered, making his brother's eyes sparkle looking at him.

"I'm so proud... Group hug?"

"Lay one finger on me and I'll snap all of your bones in half."

Y/n mouthed something like "He won't" without any sound, knowing Regulus enjoyed this powerful dark face he had.

"I'll take a family hug." She said, removing the hand from the possessor and reaching out for her brother, who immediately ran across the living room to get to her.

They embraced each other so hard the girl felt her bones aching, and held in a huff, just glad she was one again with her twin.

"I thought I lost you." Harry whispered, body shaking from falling tears.

"I never leave my family behind."

Taglist: @intoanothermind @moonysupremacy01 @maraudersarelifee @elleraelockwood @darkenwolfie @hopesf @lukewearingbeanies @azuredgalaxies @klazina-couch-potato @goldensunshineshit @kaverichauhan @venomsvl @mrs-billyrussooo @mikadorbs @iavenderh6ze @wizardsgrace @reblog-princess @dittos-blog-dylanobrien @roroswitherose @s-we-e-t-t-ea @ok-boke @warcelia @danyxthirstae01 @b-tchymoon @lovely-maryj @adriannamirse @seesaw-it @awritingtree @regulusblackloverr @coffeeaddictednymph @quackitysdrugdealer @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @teamspideyman @the-sander-fander

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#manipulating death series #harry potter #remus lupin #sirius black #harry potter fanfiction #albus dumbledore #black brothers #dumbledore #order of the phoenix #regulus black x reader #regulus black #regulus black x oc #wolfstar

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whoree321 · 3 years

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yo can i get some tech x chaotic gender neutral reader headcanons?

(fuck yeah bestie you understood the assignment. also i kinda went on my own interpretation of chaotic so if you had something a little different in mind lmk and i can make adjustments!)

tech x chaotic!gn!reader headcanons

ok so here’s the thing about tech

he is literally surrounded by/related to some of the most chaotic individuals in the entire galaxy

like wrecker? crosshair? talk about a hot mess express

and let’s not act like he doesn’t have his own little chaotic streak festering beneath that rigid hairline

so long story short, when you come along in all your chaotic glory, it really isn’t a big adjustment for him

he might be a little surprised after he first meets you (how could someone so alluring and attractive also have that personality??) but overall your presence is simply an addition to the pre-existing insanity of the bad batch

he notices right away how well you fit in with his brothers (matching wrecker’s rambunctiousness or crosshair’s quiet nefariousness or both in your own special way) and tbh he’s a little jelly

and by a little jelly i mean he’s 100% super jealous

he watches how you joke around with them and plan pranks with wrecker and make dark commentary with crosshair and how your antics get a laugh out of echo and sometimes even hunter and how well your energy matches theirs and part of him absolutely hates it

(the other part, of course, is too busy being enamoured by the music of your laugh and the mischievous twinkle in your eye and the electric brush of your shoulder against his armor when you move past him in the cockpit of the marauder to really form an opinion on your relationship with his brothers)

despite his envy, tech is not the type to allow his emotions to derail positive outcomes (on missions or in personal matters)

he’s not gonna spoil y’alls fun or even let you know he’s upset about it. if there’s one thing tech thinks he can do it’s keep his emotions in check

when chaos ensues, he regards you with the same familiar condescension and snark he uses with wrecker (although you realize quickly there’s an amusement in his gaze when he mocks you that’s absent when he speaks to the others)

as much as he loathes the current situation, he ultimately also recognizes that it’s no ones problem but his that you are more compatible for individuals with personality types more like wrecker or crosshair

(little does he know you’ve had your eye on him and only him pretty much the whole time)

before your relationship, tech is the unsuspecting victim of a lot of your tomfoolery

you tend to mess with him the most (totally not bc you have a crush on him or anything nononono)

hiding a tool or his data pad when he’s not looking? a classic

“tech i have no idea where your wrench is i don’t even know what it looks like” “y/n you play this practical joke approximately 3.7 times a standard week I know you are lying”

stating completely made up facts about different things or places with full confidence and arguing with him when he corrects you? tried and true

“fun fact: loth cats actually have a secret fifth leg tucked up underneath them and it only comes out in extreme emergency circumstances” “that could not be more untrue” “ok well have you ever checked” “…no, but..” “see tech there’s just some things you can’t know from book learning” “*deep sigh*”

the best is when you flirt with him tho

it is bold and brash

“I need something sharp to cut through this” “just use your jawline ;)”

“the system we are traveling to is known for its extreme heat and rough terrain” “hot and rough? sounds like you in the bedroom ;)”

he chokes and blushes everytime

despite the constant torment and how much he acts like it’s a nuisance, he secretly loves all the attention you give him (even if it’s at his expense)

knowing our sweet boy he is wayyy too socially awkward to make the first move in this situation (or to even recognize there is a situation tbh)

tech is pretty confident you view him as strictly a friend and an easy target for your shenanigans

like even if you basically admit to liking him, he’s gonna think it’s another joke. plotting and scheming with the other boys to make him step up (a classic “i’m gonna pretend to make a move on them to force your hand” for example) will not work

you have to very directly confess to him and it has to be very very genuine and away from the rest of the boys in order to get it into his exceptional mind that you seriously have feelings for him

once he gets that you mean it tho, he’s over the moon

and once youre in a relationship? the rest of the batch should be WORRIED

now your focus is no longer on messing with tech, and you have a super genius on your side

he may have enjoyed being a casual observer and constant victim before, but now that you’ve allowed him on your team it’s a totally different ballgame

he’s still happy to take a backseat and let you do your thing, but he also loves to be a background player in all your hooplah

you wanna play a prank? tech is scheming and building shit and looking at diagrams to figure out the best way to execute it

hunter gets mad at something you did? tech has already figured out a way to pull focus off of you and onto one of the other boys

OR EVEN BETTER a non-batcher (a reg, a superior, a random streetgoer) takes an isssue with you? tech is launching into a full rant with them about something completely unrelated and giving you time to scamper away before they can even begin to reprimand you

tech is the kind of boyfriend that isn’t gonna overtly match your energy, but can keep up and will balance you out

you still mess with him, but now he has the confidence to mess with you right back

this also creates a really spicy sexual dynamic (I won’t go too into that but def a lot of teasing, brat taming kinda stuff)

overall i actually think tech would be really good with someone more chaotic and wild bc he can seem so rigid but isn’t actually like i think that type of relationship would really suit him

you bring out his playful side and he keeps you grounded, out of trouble, AND acts as a top notch audience/partner in crime

rip hunter tho now he’s got tech to worry about on top of all the rest of you (except echo he’s a perfect angel who could never cause trouble for anyone <3)

#the bad batch #bad batch #tbb #the bad batch headcanons #the bad batch x reader #tech x reader #tech tbb #tbb tech #tbb tech x reader #tech the bad batch #tbb crosshair #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #tbb echo #tbb x reader #tbb tech headcanons #tech headcanon #tech x you

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sp00kyjellybeans · 3 years

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Constant Pining [Mickey Altieri x reader]

A/N: part two because i think the last one deserves a follow up :> For this one, I decided to play with the fact that Mickey is a film student, so I kind of figured he would use it to his advantage. btw tho this feels super choppy and cheesy in the bad way so idk how to feel ab it:’) pls lmk what you guys think bc i might rewrite it and cut half of this out

Word Count: 3,425

Warnings: None, this is like... super fluffy

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It had been two weeks since the party and it was driving Mickey insane. He wasn’t sure what was worse. The fact that life carried on as usual or the fact that you were completely unfazed. He would have preferred if you were all over him or, hell, if you were avoiding him.

Because then he would know how you feel.

But he didn’t. The poor guy hadn’t the slightest clue. Life went on nonetheless. Some days he was able to sit next to you in Psychology (if Halley didn’t try kicking him out of her seat) and the two of you were normal during friend settings. But you never showed up to another party.

Mickey gnawed at his pencil. It was whittled down to practically nothing. He was supposed to be focused on a project that he and Randy were assigned in Film Theory but instead... You were on his mind.

“Can you stop eating that pencil and quit thinking about (Y/n)!” Randy threw a small notebook at Mickey’s head. Mickey snapped out of his daze and easily dodged it. “We need to work on this shit together. I don’t need (Y/n) clouding my camera man’s mind.”

“I’m not even-”

“Save it. You’ve been making the same face for two weeks straight now. It’s the (Y/n)-face. Sid and I coined it.”

Mickey muttered a curse word under his breath and reached for the notebook that was thrown at him. It was Randy’s film book. He flipped through some pages. It was filled with notes for class and film-analysis. Half of the analyses weren’t even assigned for class.

“What are we doing for this again?” Mickey rolled his eyes and threw the notebook onto a table. He propped up his feet and leaned back in his chair.

The two boys were in a conference room of the film school. A chalkboard had been dirtied with Randy’s ideas for their film project while Mickey was mentally vacant for the time being. The project was to make a movie, each group was assigned a different genre. They were content with being partners, seeing as Randy had the ideas and Mickey had a knack for cinematography.

“We were assigned to do a documentary.”

“Fucking lame... Everyone else got cool shit. I heard Terry Pusher was assigned fantasy... Fucking fantasy.”

“I know, hell I’d take a love story over this shit,” Randy threw the piece of chalk at the board.

Mickey paused and sat up. His expression was twisted as if he were onto something.

“Wait... say that again...”

“I’d take a love story over this shit?” Randy tilted his head.

Mickey stood to his feet and pointed at his geeky friend, an excited expression was evident.

“Exactly.”

The sea of students stormed past you. Your final class of the day ended early so you were more than eager to get back to your dorm. Your roommate was gone for the weekend so hopefully some quiet would get your mind off of Mickey.

The events of the party had been bouncing around the walls of your mind ever since it happened. A part of you thanked Halley for stepping in when she did and a part of you cursed her for it.

You couldn’t fathom dating Mickey. It was unheard of. New. Exhilarating. He was probably one of the hottest guys on campus and he had his hands on your waist.

Sure, he was a total nerd when it came to movies, especially for Tarantino films, and you could listen to his rants for hours, but the thought of him wanting you made your heart skip a beat. If he reciprocated any sort of feelings you’d be sent into cardiac arrest. Did he like you? Was that even possible?

He could have anyone at this school. He knew it, too. But it was possible he could choose you.

Before you were able to expand on that thought, a camera was shoved into your face.

“And here we have the wonderful, the amazing, the magnificently stunning (Y/n)!” Mickey’s voice imitated a sports announcer.

His sudden appearance was enough to make your cheeks go ablaze.

“What are you doing?” You winced and shielded your face.

Randy appeared behind Mickey, “Film project, you’re a part of it!”

“Puh-lease, if anything, they are the star of the film, Meeks!”

You continued to walk to your dorm in hopes of avoiding the nerds but in all honesty, you were smiling like an idiot.

“What’s it about?” You asked.

Mickey put the camera down for a second and eyed Randy. Luckily, he knew exactly what to say, or rather, what not to say.

“We’re making a documentary. We’re following around a few students, and you’re one of them. Will you watch it when it comes out?”

“Of course,” You grinned. “Just... don’t follow me everywhere with that thing.”

And follow you, they did.

The very next morning you opened your door to Mickey holding up the blocky piece of tech. He was grinning behind the lens, which forced you to do the same. But you made it a point to shove the camera away.

This went on for weeks. Mickey would ambush you with his camera everywhere. Meaning that you two were spending more time together. It didn’t matter if you were in the cafeteria or spending the night with your friends. He always managed to film little tidbits of you.

At first, you would push the camera away or hide your face behind a nearby pillow.

Then you and Mickey started to hang alone together more often. You found yourself seeking out time with him. Mickey walked you to classes (still filming you with the camera but you didn’t push it away anymore; you just ignored it), he visited you at work and stopped by your dorm frequently.

Eventually, he had the courage to trap you into a date.

“Why are you covering my face, Mickey? I know where the cafeteria is...” You groaned, aimlessly walking forward.

“That’s not where we’re eating today.”

“You had no reason to make that sound threatening, Micks... You suck at surprises.”

“Yeah, yeah, you can open your eyes now.”

You opened your eyes to a sprawled out assortment of food on a picnic blanket.

It was a typical picnic blanket sat under one of the largest trees on campus. It was wide and comfortable. Mickey thought to bring plenty of drinks too. The look on your face filled him with glee as you studied the setting in front of you.

Just last week both of you were talking about your favorite underrated scenes in a romance movie. His answer was the kissing scene in Titanic, but you argued that wasn’t underrated. Your answer was the picnic scene in Armageddon.

Mickey managed to make it come true. If it were sunset, it would have hit the nail on the head.

“Oh my...”

“Do you like it?” Mickey jumped into your line of vision, he looked hopeful. “You said you’ve never been to a picnic before when you mentioned Armageddon and... well that’s just a part of the American dream so I figured- ‘Hey, they shouldn’t miss out on something so fun and peaceful’ so... I made it happen.”

Mickey’s rambling had you smiling wide. Underneath that smooth exterior, he was a nervous wreck around you.

“Thanks, Micks...”

The food was delicious. You guys talked amongst the meal and the conversation never stopped. Hours passed but you guys continued to laugh and talk. You were having the time of your life. Mickey brought your favorite fruits and snacks, but best of all, animal crackers. You held up the bag excitedly.

“Like from the movie!” You cheered.

Mickey leaned forward to grab a cracker but you leaned back, smiling mischievously. You loved teasing him.

He furrowed his eyebrows and went to grab again but you leaned back even further. Mickey paused, chuckling, and you thought you won. You reached your hand in to grab a cracker yourself and instead, you felt his body collide into yours.

You yelped in surprise and fell on your back. The Animal Crackers flew across the blanket and Mickey groaned in defeat.

“Now look at what you did...” You laughed.

You guys were side-by-side laying on your backs, staring at each other. The blanket was soft. If you weren’t so giddy, you could have fallen asleep right there. Mickey’s body heat enhanced your comfort, the need to lean into him was excessive.

You giggled at the man, biting the nail on your index finger. Mickey stared back at you, he looked pleased.

“What?”

He shrugged and continued to stare. You faced your head forward to look up at the branches of a tree above you.

The shade kept you both cool from the sun. Rays of sunshine illuminated your skin, the eccentric shadow of leaves were printed on your face. A breeze flew by, causing your baby hairs to wave in the wind. Mickey couldn’t pull his eyes away.

“Baby-” You said, snapping him out of his trance- “Do you think it’s possible that anyone else in the world is doing this very same thing at this very same moment?”

You slowly turned your eyes back to Mickey, hoping he’d catch on. His toothy grin spread across his cheeks. He thought back to the movie line, hoping to get it right.

“I hope so...” He mumbled but you heard it perfectly. “Otherwise... What the hell are we trying to save?”

His face was an inch away from yours. You could feel his breath hitting your face. It was sweet. It smelled of the strawberries you shared moments before.

A few strands of his hair hung in front of his eyes, separate from the rest of his slicked-back locks. His large brown eyes were looking at you sincerely. They were inviting you in. Mickey’s lips twitched upward as if he were tempted to make a move.

But he didn’t.

You wanted to reach toward his face and pull him closer. You wanted to feel his lips meld into yours, allow the moment to overtake you. You wanted to feel his unshaven face press against yours and tickle your cheeks. You wanted to feel his hand wrap around your own. You wanted to feel him, to touch him.

But you didn’t.

Two weeks later Randy and Mickey announced their documentary was done. The finished product was ready to be viewed. You were invited to come to see it.

During those two weeks, you spent time wondering how you could finally make a move. You were sick of this. You wanted this to end and to have a new beginning. You were sure that Mickey had feelings for you. It had to be true. You needed a leap of faith.

On the other hand, Mickey spent the same amount of time wondering where he was going wrong. Why couldn’t he pluck up the courage to kiss you? Making the first move always worked well for him. Why couldn’t he do it now? More than anything, he hoped that perhaps this documentary will give you an idea of his feelings. It had to.

So here you were, nervously fiddling with a blocky device in your jacket pocket, avoiding the eyes of Mickey, who sat on a stool in front of Sidney’s TV. She opted that they show their documentary in her and Halley’s room of their sorority house. Surprisingly, they were the only ones with a good enough TV.

Mickey couldn’t pull his eyes off of you. It became a nervous habit. He wanted to know what you were thinking almost 24/7, he was beyond pissed that he wasn’t a telepath.

“Alright alright alright...” Randy strolled up to the screen. “Is everyone here? Does everyone have their snacks and their drinks? You all need to enjoy this to the fullest extent so snacks are a must.”

Everyone glanced at one another, drink and popcorn in hand. You glanced back to see Sidney all over her boyfriend Derek on the couch. You gave a half-grin, wishing that could be you and Mickey. Halley sat on the opposite end of the couch, happily munching on popcorn.

“Well... without further ado-” Mickey began.

“Wait isn’t this a documentary? This better not be boring as hell...” Halley lifted her hand and we all nodded in agreement.

“Trust me, guys, this is good stuff. Probably our best yet,” Randy reassured us. “I’m going to play it now...”

We fell silent as Randy placed a tape inside of the VHS. He then turned out the lights as the intro began. Randy’s voice came through the TV.

“Love...” Tidbits of students on campus flashed across the screen. “What is love? ...And no, I don’t mean The Haddaway song.”

A few chuckles sounded around the room. Mickey held his glance on you still.

“Falling in love is one of the most complex things a human can do... The psychology is even more complex. Certain chemicals are released that explain those butterflies in your stomach or why you get sweaty palms around your crush. Well, many scientists believe that humans are wired to fall in love...” Randy’s voice faded along with the screen.

The sound of talking college students came through and the camera was poised onto Derek in the cafeteria.

“What do you love about Sid, Derek?” Mickey said through the TV.

The camera was far too close to Derek’s face, who looked insanely annoyed.

“Bug off-”

“Just answer the question.”

Derek thought for a moment, then smiled, “Her smile and eyes. I can’t choose one. They just... go hand in hand. They’re gentle, kind, sweet... Like her.”

A chorus of ooh’s and aw’s rang throughout the room and we threw popcorn kernels at Derek. Both he and Sidney were blushing profusely.

The next clip was of Halley walking on the sidewalk. You could hear Mickey again.

“Ms. Halley, please explain to us what you are doing right now.”

“I am going on a date, which I do not need you two dorks coming with me-” Halley shoved the camera away and the camera didn’t see her again.

There were a few more scenes like this, the guys asking random couples on campus what they love about one another.

You were never asked anything while you were filmed, so you were confused, to say that the least. What was your role during this?

At times, you would lock eyes with Mickey. He looked frazzled but stared at you all the same.

Randy posed another question to each of the couples, “How long does it take for someone to fall in love?” The screen was black as you heard the answers,

“Weeks-”

“Months, maybe six?”

“Years,” Someone said.

And you appeared on the TV.

It was when Mickey first filmed you. There was more than one clip of you, too, each a few seconds long. The first five contained you shying away from the camera but after that, you could see yourself growing more comfortable around him. You were never looking at the lens but always at the cameraman.

The screen went black once more and another question was asked, “What’s your ideal love story?”

“Something like a Nicholas Sparks book. Tragic... yet romantic.”

“If we hated each other at first, but then we learned to love. The buildup is fantastic.”

“Childhood friends turned to lovers. Something about that constant pining has me reeling...”

You snapped your eyes towards Mickey. You couldn’t read the expression on his face. You looked back at the screen to see yourself once more.

“Micks... come on and watch this movie-” You were sat on a couch with a bowl of popcorn. You shoved a handful into your mouth when suddenly you noticed the camera sitting in front of you, “You left your camera in here! ...Hey- are you filming me?” You lifted the device to your face and stuck out your tongue.

You could hear Mickey chuckle in the background.

Another clip played of Mickey and you sitting on the floor. It was a different day, you guys were laughing hysterically over something. You’ve never seen Mickey so happy.

More and more clips of questions and answers paired with you played. It was matched together perfectly. Realization dawned on you. Was this a confession from Mickey?

Mickey’s sweet voice played once more. But this wasn’t for any of the couples. He was sat on the couch, asking you.

“Think about a cheesy but underrated romance, okay? What is your favorite romantic scene from that movie?”

You were only a few inches away from him, head rested on your hand on the backboard of his bed.

“I’ll go first, I think the kiss during Titanic is spectacular.”

“It’s good but it’s not underrated Micks.”

“Alright, then what’s your choice?”

“...Armageddon. The picnic scene. I’ve never been on a picnic so something like that just seems so... tranquil.”

“You’ve never been to a picnic?”

“Yep... is that weird?”

“Completely and utterly, (Y/n).”

You laughed loudly in the documentary. The next scene was of Mickey setting the camera up someplace. He looked nervous. When he stepped away from the camera, it was a perfect angle to film the picnic he set up for you.

You knew the rest. The next couple of minutes showed your guys’ picnic together. Including the movie quote.

The end of the film was nearing, and Mickey’s anxiety was through the roof. It was far from romantic but once his project stopped playing he was going to confess to you. He was going to confess in front of all of his friends, for you. Just a few minutes left and he was going to do it.

And then you left.

Mickey finished the quote from the movie and you left instantly. Mickey’s jaw dropped as he stared at his friends. They looked equally confused.

“Go after them, dude!” Randy yelled.

It took a while but eventually, Mickey found you. You were on the porch of the sorority house, leaning against the railing and staring at the sunset. There was a cool breeze and parts of your hair waved in the wind. You had your arms wrapped around your body, pulling your jacket close. Mickey could see the orange glow illuminating your face when he joined your side.

“Are you okay?”

You didn’t look at him. His heart dropped. He messed up.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to-”

You shushed him. He fell silent.

“Come here... close your eyes... Step up... No peeking”

“I’m not...”

You pulled on his arm and forced him to stand behind you. You guided him to stand on the lower bar of the railing with you, his body nearly wrapped around yours. He stumbled a bit but he followed your movement blindly. The lack of distance between you two had him trembling.

“Just a sec...” You whispered and pulled a walkman out of your pocket. “I wanted to get this right...” You said and pressed play.

The instrumental of My Heart Will Go On began to play and Mickey barked out a laugh.

“What in the world-”

“Put your hands on my waist, Micks,” You grabbed his hands. “You can open your eyes now.”

Just like the movie, Mickey thought.

“I realize we can just see more of the campus... not the ocean,” Your words were gentle. They came out like honey. “But I wanted you to see... how you make me feel like I can fly.”

Mickey stared at your adoringly. Your scent filled his nostrils and he wanted nothing more than to stay like this forever. His hands ventured from your waist to lift them, like in the movie. Mickey leaned forward and whispered, “Come Josephine my flying machine going up she goes...” His hot breath tickled your ear and you could feel as he intertwined his hand with yours. “Going up...”

You turned to stare at him just as the music of your cassette player swelled. You hesitantly reached his face, and Mickey leaned in instinctively. Your hand comfortably rested on the back of his neck as his lips gently pressed against yours.

They were hesitant, hot, gentle, almost hungry. His skin was a burning touch. Your hand melded against his skin, touching the curve of his jaw. Mickey’s fingers danced around your body, wanting to explore every crevice for the first time. Mickey had been unknowingly craving the touch of your skin and lips for so long, it felt like euphoria took control of his body.

He poured himself into you. You were willing to drown in his touch.

#mickey altieri #mickey altieri x reader #scream #slashers #ghostface #ghostface x reader #mickey altieri oneshot #scream 2 #randy meeks

232 notes · View notes

sukiglycerin · 3 years

Text

dolce (sweetly, softly, gently)

* pairing: accompanist/violinist!katsuki bakugou x violinist!reader (gender neutral!) ft kamijirou

* genre: fluff, kinda angst, enemies to lovers, classical musician au hehe

* words: 9.5k (holy crap, this was a rollercoaster to write)

* warnings: swearing bc not only does bakugou exist, he is a prominent character, brief viola/second violinist jokes (reader’s words not mine), poor rosins being dropped :(

* a/n: SO this is very late for @prettysetterbaby‘s v-day collab!! pls check out all the other talented writers involved >< jj is an ANGEL for putting up with me being late T_T there’s some violin terminology in here but it’s fine if you don’t understand it! more notes at the end aha

* playlist (spotify in source link): violin sonata no.9, op.47 in a major “kreutzer” (beethoven) ; liebesfreud (kriesler) ; violin partita no.3 in e major (bach) ; duo concertante for 2 violins no.3 in d-sharp major, op.57 (beriot) ; clair de lune (debussy) ; duo for 2 violins in d-major, op.67, no.2 (spohr) ; 24 caprices op.1, no.24 in a minor (paganini)

* synopsis: being a soloist is not made easy by your new accompanist, bakugou. you step on each other’s toes when playing - but that’s alright, he’s just a pianist. you’re separated in your two worlds of musical instruments, until one day, you’re not. bakugou traverses over realms like a simple string crossing, and there’s a lot more he’s brought with him.

a double stop in violin is a technique in which two notes are played simultaneously. played correctly, one violin playing two notes should sound like two violins playing separate notes. if your life was a violin, you only needed double stops to play it. you'd perfected the art of being alone, playing the parts of two in your sad solo sonata. you were so, so sure you could compose and play for the whole orchestra - a symphony that would surely please the audience.

you were wrong. after all, a double stop has its limits as well, impossible to play with an interval of larger than a tenth. you were content with your double stops and playing by yourself. this was how you won countless competitions - what good would changing anything be?

you were born a soloist, or that's what your parents would say. you never followed the crowd, sticking to your own mind and doing what was true to you. you never worked well in an orchestra setting (and who knew what would become of you if you ever landed in second violin!). thus, you became a soloist, determined to keep the spotlight on you. it was you and your perfection that kept the eyes of the audience transfixed; you were desperate to keep their focus enraptured by every slight movement of your bow, every shift in finger position on the fingerboard. you wanted them to follow every dynamic and tempo change like their life depended on it, feel their emotion spark the moment your bow pressed a string. you were the only one on stage, an entertainer and an artist to the audience. you brought joy and sorrow through key changes and wonder through glissandos and held suspense with every tremolo. the audience was yours for an entire piece, for a story, for a lifetime.

oh, and there was the accompanist. what was his name again? batsugou? bakugou. the last part was a joke, of course. you'd never forget the man who ruined your first recital overseas.

katsuki bakugou was quickly made your accompanist after the previous one quit last minute and schedule clashes between any other potential candidates rendered them unable to travel with you. no one in their right mind would've come along on a plane to play a piano accompaniment for you. indeed, bakugou was not in his right mind. his name was prominent locally, an orchestral prodigy with the gift of perfect pitch since the tender age of thirteen. he never ventured internationally, though given the chance multiple times to do so. you could never understand why he never took any of the opportunities. you'd jump at any chance of expanding your musical horizons and performing for a larger audience, so it frustrated you to see someone with such potential to throw away possibly beneficial opportunities. not that you really paid much attention to him, anyway. bakugou was a pianist, and you were a violinist. you only cared about competition, not those with blessings you could only dream of achieving.

the months leading to your recital, bakugou had gone quiet. well, you didn't know him personally, so it was news of him that had gone practically radio silent. he was no longer featured in news articles or even pinned on bulletin boards for upcoming recitals. there were no updates from him on social media, too. not that you really paid attention, anyway. he was a prodigy, gifted naturally with talent, and you were a violinist.

an ambitious violinist, at that. you had dreams to perform anywhere out of the stifling air of japan. even to fly a short distance to south korea would be amazing, because it meant you'd be outside of japan. you worked towards this goal tirelessly. you dreamed of stepping on a plane, violin case in your right hand and your dreams in another, to fly to another country and perform. you wished to see the talent beyond your own bubble and feel the music resonate in an auditorium in a different way than it did in japan.

one day, that dream was realized. your violin case in one hand and dreams in another, you boarded the plane flying out of japan full of hope and the faith that good days were coming. while yes, you didn't expect to step out of that plane with anyone but your old accompanist, momo, bakugou's presence comforted you in the foreign atmosphere. for the first ten minutes, he said not a word to you but made it a point to speak to everyone else he could in what seemed like very convincingly fluent english.

to which you finally mustered up the courage to say, in japanese, "i thought you didn't travel internationally."

his japanese voice was a comforting sound. "i don't. this is my first time out of japan."

you stared at him like he just said he ate babies for breakfast (which seemed just as astronomically insane as him never stepping foot out of japan).

"but-" you stuttered. "your english is so good?"

"only because you can't understand it."

to be fair, he had a point. you could only say the basics, like, "hi," "how are you?", "i'm fine, and you?," and the ever-so useful, "do you speak japanese? my english is not good." he appeared to never use any of these phrases, so he was a god in english compared to you.

it was a miracle you navigated out of the airport with your luggage in hand and a general idea of how to get to the hotel you'd booked. you're not going to talk about the events in the hotel, though. sharing a bed with bakugou was a whole different story that consisted of him complaining about your phone usage at eleven pm and you complaining about his lack of sufficient english skills to be able to get the right hotel room (which he'd retort by saying "at least i speak english!").

the path to your first international competition was rocky, so understandably by the day of the performance, your metaphorical feet were sore and you only had water on your metaphorical mind. that is to say, you hadn't practiced with bakugou once until the day before the performance. said rehearsal was cut short due to misunderstandings as a result of bakugou's apparent not-so-fluency in english. you felt bad for him at this point.

and then you were up on stage, violin in one hand, bow in the other, and arms full of your childhood aspirations. also, definitely not prepared enough. you glanced once at bakugou before beginning and he looked confident enough. the lesson you learned that day was that looks can be deceiving.

something you could remember quite clearly was the way the spotlight shined on the varnish of your instrument as you held it, propped between your chin and shoulder. you focused on this shine before taking a deep breath, closing your eyes, and praying muscle memory would take over and you'd play the piece faithfully to the score.

you liked to think your playing was accurate. you, the soloist, were the main focus of the piece. the accompaniment made the piece richer and fuller, complementing the violin beautifully while keeping attention on said violin. the thing was, bakugou, like you, played like a soloist.

the performance was like a fight, and sadly not the graceful kind you'd see in a ballet. it was gory and a nuance to the ears, melodic tinkling of the piano becoming tears of a soldier dying in combat. at parts, you clashed by overshadowing the other by playing too loudly. sometimes it was you, and sometimes it was bakugou. it was a merciless game of tag; bakugou would be running to keep up with your playing; once achieving so, you were forced to start chasing after him. you can't exactly remember if he played well, though. for certain, he was not in sync with you, but you were mainly too preoccupied with your own playing to pay attention to his. listening to the recording of the performance, you were unable to evaluate his quality of playing properly, and thus, he remained your accompanist even when you returned to japan.

(actually, the biggest reason he stayed your accompanist was because of your classical musician friends' nagging. they were all in complete awe that the famous soloist, katsuki bakugou, had offered to be your accompanist, and begged for an autograph. of course, you declined.)

you figured that like you, bakugou was a soloist. he wasn't fit to assist your playing, far more suited to his own solos to entrance the audience with only his playing. being a soloist, he played like one too - that's simply how things worked. this understanding of him, though, still couldn't stop you from harbouring a small grudge against him for ruining your international debut.

and then there was the man himself, all standoffish and rough in words and persona. obscenities had no hesitation coming (thrust!) from his mouth. he yelled brashly and frequently and it astonished you that he was a classical musician, as most of your friends of the classical music profession were typically on the quiet, softer spoken side. those that were extroverts were optimistically so, in far contrast to bakugou, who you'd expect from looks alone to be playing in some heavy metal band. it was scary to hear his renditions of debussy's dreamy, serendipitous pieces when over your earbuds, he was yelling at some guy named "shitty hair" on his phone. you were curious how he looked recording the piece.

you didn't typically communicate, though. conversation, which only ever existed during rehearsal, was a question from you and a clipped grunt in response. there was nothing else to your relation; he played his part, and you played yours. sometimes you did this simultaneously, but it was as if you were playing two completely different things. performance, according to your friends, was now stilted. this was partially the reason you stopped listening to recorded performances. it wasn’t even like you’d ever derived pleasure from listening to them - you only nitpicked your mistakes.

your old accompanist, momo, on the other hand, was an absolute angel. she was kind, polite, and skilled on the piano, fingers dancing over the keys like a graceful ballet. you fit well with her; each performance was like a delightful conversation between friends, pleasant on the ears and twinkling with joy and laughter. with her, every performance felt like something resembling victory, even if it wasn’t a competition. to you, winning the audience’s gaze was enough.

then again, you didn't feel that you could judge quite yet. momo was your accompanist for years, and you could barely remember how the two of you sounded when you first started out. bakugou had been your accompanist for mere months (though it did feel much, much longer considering how frustrating he could be). you couldn't understand why he became your accompanist at all.

opposites. it was an accurate representation of your relationship with bakugou. he was a pianist, you weren't. he was a prodigy, you weren't. he was blessed with talent, you weren't. there was nothing to talk to him about, obviously, because of these dividing factors.

the longer you knew him, the more your disdain for the man grew. at rehearsals, it always felt like your performances were about him, him, and him. he was the star piano player, of course. he hadn't volunteered to be your accompanist as a sense of "stepping down"; no, no, rather, he was flaunting his piano playing with a violin playing in the background. he played perfectly. for a soloist.

as time passed, these frustrations with him became more and more apparent. you became acutely aware of how his performance would outshine your own, and it sickened you. slowly, the quality of your own performances took a nosedive. if the piece was originally pianissimo, you'd take it up to piano (then, if bakugou increased his volume, forte). if the tempo was andante and he was playing moderato, you'd play allegro. it was a competition at this point - instigated by him, of course. you were just upping the ante, even if it meant sacrificing your own artistry.

a lot of people warned you of what would happen, but you ignored them. the fierce competition you felt between you and bakugou caused your own downfall as a musician. slowly, gigs stopped trickling in, like a faucet being shut off. you blamed this on bakugou. ("i was international before him. now, i can barely get a gig in musutafu! why does everyone think he's so great?" you had fumed over the phone to jirou, your old roommate from university. she asked you if you had even listened to him play.)

you were scrambling for places to perform at this point. (“fire him,” the very unhelpful hagakure told you. you didn’t know what you were thinking when you asked her, a violist in a local orchestra. it wasn’t like she ever got a solo.) you’d seriously considered doing so, but came up empty when looking for another accompanist. online forums and friends’ connections could only do so much. they were all either unavailable during rehearsal schedules or inadequate in terms of adapting to the music given.

“you need to try working together with him,” jirou advised you one day over the phone.

“yeah, say that to yourself and kaminari,” you muttered bitterly under your breath. kaminari was a guitarist in jirou’s band who hadn’t quite gotten along with jirou well. jirou made fun of the lightning bolt streak in his hair. when you first met them, all they did was bicker day and night; now, according to the other guitarist, tokoyami, they still did this, though on a smaller scale.

she heard you. “well,” jirou said, slightly ticked off, “we get along better now. because of communication. look- i’m not saying you need to be best friends with bakugou or anything, but you need to talk to him about what’s working and what’s not. respect him as another musician, y’know?”

“i’ll… try,” you said begrudgingly.

you heard a muffled yell from the other side of the call. “kaminari, you idiot!” jirou called, voice a bit far. “what did i tell you about plugging in the amp? i said not to-” she cut herself off. “sorry, y/n, i need to go now. kaminari’s back to his normal antics.” she sighed, but it sounded more endeared than irritated. the call ended.

respect bakugou as another musician. you could do that. bakugou was only a pianist. you were a violinist. he was your accompanist. he was to support your playing. you’d forever be separated from him, doing your own thing. he, certainly, couldn’t understand the woes of being a violinist. not the intonation nor the techniques; you were sure that if you handed him a violin on the spot, he wouldn’t be able to even hold the bow properly. the notion of bakugou, piano prodigy, struggling to make a decent sound on the violin with a bow clenched in an ungainly grip deeply amused you.

these thoughts kept your relationship with bakugou afloat and restrained you from strangling him every time he stepped a toe out of line during rehearsals. ploddingly, with as minimal communication as you could manage, you tried to play with bakugou together, as a duet rather than as two soloists playing simultaneously. you swallowed your pride to play accurately to the music, patiently explaining any qualms you had with bakugou’s playing.

eventually, you found yourself building up your performances to the quality they had once been with momo. it was still far from the pristine playing that led you to an international invite - but it was an improvement, and that was all that mattered to you. innately, you were slightly ashamed of the thoughts that allowed you to keep working with bakugou. they were thoughts that told of your superiority to him, because he was playing piano for you. that’s all he was; an accompaniment to you. you told yourself that having these thoughts on the inside was better than fighting with bakugou.

somehow, along the strings of notes slurred together and shifts of fingers from one spot on a string to the next, you found yourself experiencing a strange joy gliding your bow against the strings of your violin. the rich sound of your instrument, withering and blooming with every stroke of vibrato you performed, fulfilled you unlike how it ever had before. up until now, you’d been playing for the audience, rather than yourself. the melody reverberating in the hollow body of your violin was never for your own ears to enjoy, it was for the audience’s satisfaction and listening pleasure. for it was their own enjoyment that won you competition after competition, playing with a blank face. on some occasions, you’d open your eyes during the applause to see some audience members crying, which ultimately confused you. how you were able to draw emotions from them with your playing when the music was unable to render you anything but indifferent?

you knew it in yourself, though, that the happiness you felt was hollow. delightful notes supposed to boast joy and love echoed in the rehearsal room, falling flat on your ears.

you were a soloist, though. you couldn’t let thoughts like these get to you. you could only play, for both your pride and your audience. these woes were for you to shoulder, on top of the violin you held between your chin and collarbone.

“you’re here early,” bakugou commented one day, opening the door to your shared rehearsal room. tucked under one arm was his folder of sheet music. he caught you in the middle of practicing one of the pieces for a gig - liebesfreud, by fritz kreisler.

it was true. the morning sun basked the window sill and laminate flooring, warming the particular spots it shone through. you’d arrived an hour or so early. pleased by the bright nature of the morning, you pulled up the blinds. typically, you ran late, arriving ten minutes after bakugou’s text of “you’re late again, idiot” with a coffee and a bagel in your hands. those mornings, you were really grateful for having a case with backpack straps. if you hadn’t the time to eat your bagel on the way to rehearsal, it was cold and hard by the time you had a lunch break.

thankfully, today was not one of those days. whether it was the sun or the title of the piece (“love’s joy,” how wonderful), you’d woken up and decided that today, you’d have a warm and soft bagel for breakfast. you had a coupon for a free coffee and surprisingly, the commute to rehearsals was more punctual than usual. thus, you arrived an hour early, a smile on your face as you opened the door. you opened your case with extra care and rosined your bow with extra zest, humming a tune you heard playing on the radio. bakugou would’ve had a heart attack had he saw you then.

you ignored his entrance, only peeping one eye open at the man and nodding your head toward the piano as you continued on with the piece. you allowed yourself to become immersed in the music, following the soft pace bakugou set in his playing. closing your eyes, you saw the audience before you and felt your fingers sliding and pressing the strings. time flew while playing the piece; you’d barely noticed that the piece was nearing its end, playing its familiar melody one last time before opening your eyes. a glance at the rosin dusted in between the bridge and fingerboard of your violin satisfied you, like salt on caramel. you surely played just as sweet, smooth and saccharine like the gooey texture of a caramel confection. you relished in the sunlight streaming through into the room, ignoring the shuffling of papers behind you (from bakugou, no doubt). that was how you should play.

“something’s off,” you blearily opened your eyes to the sound of bakugou’s gruff voice. he was frowning, eyebrows furrowed in a not atypical manner.

“what,” you said flatly. “it sounded fine to me. i didn’t mess up or anything.”

“no,” he replied, deep in thought, crimson eyes darkening a shade. “we don’t have proper… emotion in the music.”

“huh?” you felt a comical question mark rising out of your head. “i played it perfectly to score. it conveys the composer’s emotions to a t,” you said, getting annoyed with the pianist. your grip tightened on your violin’s neck.

“well- yeah,” he gritted his teeth. “but what about your emotions?”

“who cares about my emotions?” you said. “all that matters is that my playing is perfect. the audience feels the emotions, not me.” why else had you been plucked into violin lessons when you were five? surely not for your own enjoyment.

“idiot, that’s definitely not how it is.”

“it’s just violin playing!” you snapped. “it’s not complicated with- with emotions! it’s the same as anything else!”

“you’re wrong,” bakugou coldly answered.

“what would you understand?” you seethed. “you’re just a damn pianist. you follow my lead.”

he ignored your remarks. “why do you play a fucking instrument, then? why bother to enter competitions or recitals?”

“to win, like any other normal person!”

he let out a clipped, exasperated breath. “fuckin’ explains it, then.” he didn’t elaborate. dismissing the topic, he said, “whatever. play the piece from the top. actually try to look at me this time, so we can stay together. put more emphasis on the downbeat at the start.”

“it’s not like you even heard me play the beginning,” you retorted, but made sure to accent that note even more during the replay. pianists. they always were on their high horses.

something you looked forward to every year was the valentine’s recital. the organizers, an old couple, had known you since you were a child, and thus developed a soft spot for you. you were a shoo-in for the event, relied on to learn the music on a short deadline. last year, you played preludio, from bach’s partita for violin no. 3. this year, though, the catch was weird.

“the letter says it’s a violin duet?” you said to jirou while video calling her. “i don’t have a violinist on hand, just a pianist. it’s not like bakugou can suddenly master violin.”

jirou looked at you with a surprised expression. “you don’t know?”

you stared back at her. “know what?”

“he plays violin, too.”

“huh?” you must’ve misheard her.

she nodded. “he’s pretty good, too. have you not seen the videos?”

“videos?" your eyes widened as you soon realized the implications of bakugou harbouring an aptitude for violin. "i’ve… i’ve got to go.”

“he’s as good as you, y/n,” jirou said with a knowing smile. you were quick to press the hang up button.

five seconds into teenage bakugou’s rendition of one of paganini’s caprices, you exited youtube.

the next day, you kicked open the door to the practice room.

“you,” you pointed a finger at bakugou, who sat at the piano midway through a piece.

“what is it now, dumbass? you’re late again.”

“shut up,” you grumbled. “that’s beside the point. you- you play violin?!”

he shrugged, not avoiding your piercing gaze. “i’ve dabbled in it, yes.”

you shut the door behind you. “and why did you never tell me?!”

“tch. you never asked, did you?”

“you’re my accompanist, i should know these things!”

“you know i play piano, and that’s enough,” bakugou said stubbornly. “i only play piano with you.”

“not anymore.” setting your violin case down, you shuffled through the pocket that held your sheet music. flipping out a packet of sheet music, you thrust it in bakugou’s direction. “here.”

he grabbed the sheets from you, skimming the title. “duo for two violins in…. fuck,” he muttered. “why didn’t you just say no? who even is this from?”

“valentine’s recital. the pay’s good, bakugou, and we need it.”

“you need it,” he mumbled bitterly, holding the sheets out for you. “i don’t.”

“it’s not like i’m happy about it either. since when were you a violinist?”

“since when was it any of your damn business?”

"you're supposed to be my pianist! not anything else!"

you didn’t understand how he could be so musically inclined. you blinked, and your sight smeared, blurring the sight of your feet with the laminate flooring. this wasn't right, you thought as you felt a telltale heat creeping up you. why were you crying now?

if there was one thing you prided yourself on, it was your violin playing. it seemed to be the only thing you were good at as a child when academics and athletics failed you. sure, you hated it at first (as most children did when their parents forced them to do something), but as time went on, the applause of the audience and the title of "winner" rewarded you enough. you were no prodigy, so you worked endlessly every day to prove yourself worthy. you never understood how you'd worked so hard only to be in the shadows of others so naturally gifted who surely would never understand how much you practiced to become better.

when it came to bakugou, he was never supposed to be better. he was your pianist, talented in a completely different musical realm than your own, so he could never be superior to you - and now he wasn't. he never was. here you were for the past year or so, looking like a fool in bakugou's eyes. on the days you struggled so hard with fourth finger vibrato, he was probably laughing at your inadequacy at violin. as easily as he played the violin, katsuki bakugou played you like a fool.

everything collided when you stepped out of the room, leaving a particular golden haired boy alone to stare at the sheet music you tossed him. your head throbbed with the groggy sensation of almost-tears and anger coursed through your veins.

you couldn't back out of the recital now. you couldn't.

you couldn't stand to look back into the vermillion eyes of katsuki bakugou now. even more so now, you couldn't.

your solution?

"hey, what's up?" jirou's collected voice filled your ear, your phone pressed to it.

"hey, kyo, i… kind of did a bad thing," you said, feeling jittery as you sought a commute home. you'd already made up your mind that your sorry-ass wouldn't be able to look bakugou back in the face for the rest of the day.

"...again?" she asked, tone concealing a hint of surprise. "don't tell me it was with bakugou. don't you usually practice now?"

"...usually, yes…" you sheepishly shuffled your feet, standing outside on the sidewalk. "i'll be resuming it again, 'course, when i get home…"

"why aren't you with bakugou right now?"

"that's… that's a long story," you laughed nervously.

"i can wait," jirou coolly replied. "kaminari got his foot stuck in his guitar case - don't ask - so i have time."

you considered asking about kaminari, then thought better of it.

"you know about the valentine's day recital they have every year? well, this year…" you recounted the events that led you to now, standing outside on the phone with jirou.

"where are you going to find a violinist?"

a silence found itself opportune as jirou waited for an answer. "i'm, uh, not…?" you said, deflecting the question back to jirou.

"well, you can't play both parts in the duet, can you? actually, don't answer that. i know you'd try. didn't you try that one time in-"

"what's done in uni stays in uni," you hushed her before she could recall that one time you tried to play a sonata with a recording of yourself. "aren't you going to tell me to try to make amends with bakugou?"

"no," she said thoughtfully after a pause. "you've tried before, and it's not working for you. i don't think you should be forced to do something you obviously don't want to do. i just think," she continued, "you need to find someone to do the duet with, if you don't want to work with bakugou. but objectively, he's your best bet."

as jirou always was, she was right. you thanked her for her advice not before hearing a distraught kaminari shouting for jirou in the background, and then she ended the call.

you repeated her words in your head once you got home, sliding your bow back and forth on your small block of worn rosin. the score for the duet was spread next to you on the floor. it wasn't that you didn't want to work with bakugou. or was it? had you been that selfish all along, sabotaging other performances because you didn't like him? if even jirou had noticed it, had bakugou noticed it too?

your sigh let out a thousand burdens piled up in your mind, blowing air out like dust accumulating on your tribulations. you picked up your violin and bow thoughtlessly, testing out the strings and plucking a couple with your left hand.

was it really only you with the contempt for working with bakugou? you'd assumed mutual hatred with him after your international debut, but had it really been so? had you been the only one picking fights during the time you'd worked together? as you backtracked, your fingers slipped into a familiar position. you began a piece you knew positively by heart, an absolute favorite of yours for years. you played mindlessly, serenading yourself with familiar notes and string fingerings as you thought long and hard about bakugou. how much shit had you given bakugou? he hardly complained, too, but why? why hadn't he quit after you'd been so ceaselessly difficult with him?

why were you so angry at bakugou, a gifted prodigy since childhood? the answer found itself as the composition descended into an array of complicated fingerings and string changes, sounding like an incoherent chaos somehow strung together by the music. you pretended you didn't know the answer.

it was much, much easier to leave bakugou as just a pianist. respectable in his own field, and incomparable to you. it was too good to be true, obviously. all your life, you played to win, and couldn't allow anyone else to surpass you. violin was about winning, winning, winning. how were you supposed to cope when all those hours of practice were easily overcome by someone with innate talent?

the piece eased your tension with a fermata, drawing out your vibrato to think. bakugou's perfection infuriated you, you concluded. knowing this, though, didn't help with anything. you almost screeched the last note as the composition came to an end, unsettled by thoughts of bakugou. you really couldn't stand him.

in an attempt to distract yourself from your dilemma, you decided to start practicing the recital composition. you pulled out an old portable music stand, bending the parts into place and stacking it up. carefully, you placed the sheets on the stand and skimmed over the music, bringing your violin up to your collarbone.

your eyes followed one measure ahead of what you were playing as you sight-read the piece. ahead, ahead, was all you could think as your fingers fumbled the notes, eyes moving from the score to the fingerboard. bakugou was far from your mind as you caught up to the music, too preoccupied with the sharps and flats you'd forgotten and the time you had to keep. you were busied by the shifts and the repeat signs in the music over anything else. your priority lay here for the time being, after all. the sight-reading was almost enough to make you forget you only play one half to a duet. there was still still an emptiness that lurked between the rests and the redundant beats that even your stilted practice couldn't mask. you tried not to worry about that, though.

time floated by as you repeated the piece over and over, playing for accuracy first. it wasn't enough, but you pretended it was. the metronome on your phone ticked away like time, endless and impatient, until you couldn't stand it anymore and packed away your violin.

the proceeding day was filled with more of the same practicing, working on tweaking hesitations and polishing up your playing. it was kind of convenient, practicing at home rather than waking up early to practice with bakugou. you missed the bagel the most.

you were definitely not playing your best, and it was clear by the way your bow occasionally screeched and how you fumbled the fingerings when you were particularly negligent. the piece just didn't sound right without the second part. (bakugou was definitely not the second part missing. not at all.)

by the third day you gave up and admitted to yourself that yes, bakugou was the second part missing. you were only a little bit miserable buying your usual bagel and coffee and rushing to rehearsals fifteen minutes late, aware that you'd be unable to eat it before practice. you were substantially less miserable than how you were the day previous, practicing alone.

you weren't surprised to see bakugou already there, sitting on the piano bench and tightening his bow hairs. he acknowledged you with a grunt as you set down your breakfast and beverage.

"showed up, huh?" he said finally, voice rough. he stood up, setting his sheet music on a stand. you stared at him, awed by his nonchalance. he picked up his violin and bow (which, by the way, looked super expensive) and propped his violin up by his chin. it felt so foreign to see him in position to play violin, fingers already expertly in first position and wrist beautifully curved, yet it inexplicably clicked. the scene in front of you looked like he'd done this everyday, as it was always supposed to have been, his back confidently straight. his fingers arched over the fingerboard and his bow appeared mathematically parallel to the bridge, held delicately between his fingers. you'd never carefully watched him play piano (probably due to your distaste to him and lack of knowledge about the percussion instrument), but he made the violin look like an instrument of the gods. he hesitated, though, bow moving a centimeter then back. he frowned at your idle silence and turned back to you. "well? are we doing this duet or not?"

"oh," you reacted intelligently. "yeah. yeah." it kicked in what you were doing by the time you'd started tuning your violin, first bowing your a string. after tuning your violin (with the help of a tuning fork and none from the perfect-pitched bastard bakugou, who appeared to be watching you with a triumphant gleam in his eyes as you struggled to tune your violin properly), you set your sheet music next to bakugou's.

"ready?" you asked, as if you'd been the one waiting for bakugou all this time.

"ask yourself that," he snorted. "i'll do the count."

you nodded.

"one, two, three, f-"

"wait, wait," you said, squinting at your music. "isn't it supposed to be a bit slower than that?"

"it says allegro," bakugou said, tapping his foot. "need an italian lesson? lively, briskly."

"i know what allegro means," you gritted. "seems too fast, when paired with dolce."

"maybe for you," he smirked.

you narrowed your eyes at him. "and that means what, exactly?"

he opened his mouth to reply some smug, smart-ass answer, but you stopped him.

"nevermind," you said. "do the count again, at the same tempo. i can do it."

you were bluffing, of course. since when was allegro this fast? you wondered as the opening notes sped by you in a musical blur. already familiar with the melody, you messed up dynamics the most. of crescendos and diminuendos? it wasn't like bakugou would notice, too preoccupied with his part.

the ending of the piece took your breath away, storming toward you in a whirlwind. adrenaline filled your veins as you raced to the last measure of the music, overcome by the tempo and the music. this time, full of energy and exhilaration, the piece felt complete. your and bakugou's sound surrounded the two of you, overflowing the room with a saccharine melody. it felt right simply standing beside him playing a two part piece, chest heaving from the piece's energy. you could only hear your breathing, a gentle encore to your playing.

"your playing is sloppy," bakugou said bluntly. he leaned over to your sheet music, starting to point at dynamic markings.

you swatted his hand away before he could say a word. "yeah, well, i just got the music three days ago," you interjected.

"you also had two of the three days off, so i'd say you're not doing enough." he glanced back down at your score. he pointed at a measure. "this is a crescendo, moron, why didn't you get much louder?"

"just- pay attention to your own music!" you said. "besides, it's dolce. i can get away with playing softer."

"that wasn't very dolce to me," he argued. "nothing sweet, soft, or gentle about that," he mumbled.

"i can be sweet, soft, and gentle if i want to!" you retorted.

he raised a brow, as if a challenge, scarlet eyes glinting in the light. "tch. i'm sure you can, but your playing damn can't."

“it can, too! listen,” you said, impetuously raising your violin and bow again. you slowly started to play a d major scale, impatiently scrunching your nose and squeezing your eyes shut to concentrate on making the music soft and gentle, tampering with different degrees of vibrato and bow pressure.

“... that’s just piano,” bakugou said, moving to you as you bowed an a. your bow came to an abrupt halt, making an unpleasant squeal, as bakugou positioned himself behind you. you felt his body warmth radiating behind you as a sweet, homely scent wafted around you. he brought his arms around you, hands overlapping where you held your violin and bow.

“you need to be,” he murmured into your ear, gentle tone almost slurring the words together, "fragile when you play dolce." he angled your bow slightly, moving your hand. "bow closer to the fingerboard." the smooth baritone of his voice resonated within you, becoming lost within the violinist's embrace.

"most of all," he said, dropping an octave to an intimate tone, "you need to feel it. you can attempt to play it, but without feeling, it's fuckin’ meaningless."

"feeling?" you repeated blankly. “the audience’s, you mean.”

he stepped away, a gesture that made you breathless, and shook his head. he crossed his arms over his chest, unintentionally accentuating their volume. “your damn feelings. what do you feel when playing the piece?”

there’s a pause for perhaps a second too long, as you mulled over different answers in your head.

“tch.” his eyes don’t leave you, gaze a laser burning into you. “‘s what i thought. why do you play violin?”

you held your tongue from answering my parents. “to win. i play to win,” you stated.

“and that’s the damn problem,” bakugou said, releasing a breath of frustrated air. “you win to play.”

“that means…?” you were starting to get impatient with the man, who seemed to be stalling and dragging out your limited time.

“you win competitions to play more.”

you almost scoffed, but his words were plausible. “what’s the purpose in playing more if not to win?”

he made a scratching noise in his throat, cool demeanor shifting to that of the bakugou you knew. “l-l-” he coughed, “love.”

“love?” you repeated, the word a surprise to swallow.

he nodded, gagging on his reply. you couldn’t see bakugou as the romantic type - the same bakugou who called all of his friends demeaning nicknames and could barely say the word love out loud. he was explosive, maybe, and talented, sure - but acquainted with love? you pursed your lips at the stuttering man trying to advise you.

“whatever,” he dismissed, voice oddly hoarse. “just play it from the top. fix the dynamics.”

weeks passed in a blur, though bakugou’s advice was left unforgotten. it had, for the most part, faded from your mind but lingered like a ghost in an abandoned attic, stirring up dust in complete silence. it was valid criticism on bakugou’s part, but the problem was that it was criticism you couldn’t digest. it was a ghost that you could not rid of, whispering and lurking until your music played over it.

four weeks before the performance, you had the piece almost entirely memorized other than a few flukes here and there. you managed most of your dynamics, playing in sync with bakugou by your side. three weeks and the piece was mostly smooth, foregoing all sheet music and practicing in the middle of the room with bakugou tapping out the tempo on the honeyed floor. any mistakes were recovered from quickly, and you were pleased to say that the amount of bakugou’s slip-ups equated to yours. at two weeks, though, he brought up the pest bugging your mind.

“play with more emotion,” he sighed exasperatedly, letting out a huff as you played for him. “start on f sharp again.”

you’d tried time and time again, but the longer you’d replayed the same few measures (followed by his criticism for the nth time), the only emotion you felt was frustration. your bow would push too hard or your vibrato would lay on thick, immensely irritating bakugou. you didn’t know why he even tried.

the air felt stale and the lights shone obnoxiously bright. the pads of your left hand fingers had hardened by now, indented with a pair of parallel lines from your unforgiving violin strings. you inhaled rosin dust and occasional bow hairs miserably dropped to the floor. your arms were tired, sore, and sick of playing; your ears painfully endured the same tune again and again, the originally fluid and sweet notes becoming high frequency static.

“i can’t do this.” you were tempted to flop onto the ground, hopelessness pouring over you.

“you can,” bakugou insisted stubbornly. “you just need to try harder.”

“harder?” you would’ve snapped (and you were surprised your e string didn’t already by the repetitive motions on it) if you weren’t so exhausted from rehearsing.

he nodded like it was obvious. “try harder.”

you shakily inhaled, trying to smooth your voice over. “i’m sorry i can’t be a prodigy like you.”

he stiffened, tense to the point of trembling. “whatever,” and it was a strained word pulled from his mouth. it was very atypical for him to give up like this, but you didn't care. you avoided his eyes as you restarted the piece, unable to bloom anything from it.

outside of your rehearsal time, you practiced. arguably, your solo rehearsals were more rigorous. you forced yourself to add emotion to the piece, sometimes playing for jirou. she agreed with bakugou (though was a great deal less irritating), stating that your playing was somewhat hollow. (you restrained yourself from knocking on the instrument and saying that yes, indeed, violins were hollow.)

"how… how do you get any emotions from playing?" you asked jirou at one point, watching one of her band's rehearsals. they were on a break, chatting idly and taking sips from their water bottles.

“well…” jirou started, glancing back at her band members. “i think about the feelings i want the audience to feel because of my songs. i think about how the song makes me feel, then i put that into how i play.”

“how do you…” you shifted uncomfortably, “know what to feel?”

she looked at you, taken aback, but replied easily. “you don’t. it just… happens.”

her response was vastly different than what you’d been taught a child. emotions? sure, there was perhaps a time where playing evoked a feeling in you, plucked something melodical from your heartstrings. it was when you were a child, though, so it was irrational and erratic, an outburst in the middle of your otherwise level playing. your violin teacher didn’t approve when you’d follow how the music made you feel. she said it made you stray too far from the original piece and would make you lose competitions. no matter how you pushed back against her, her advice haunted you over and over every time you got anything other than first place.

your performance is the audience, she’d told you. you didn’t understand what she meant at first, but she made sure you did while practicing for your next rehearsals. the audience, she quipped with thin lips under her sharp eyes, is everything. if the audience wasn’t satisfied, your performance was worthless, no matter how well you played technically. you play for them and you win - it was that plain. there was nothing more than you wanted but to win, at the time. you wanted a trophy, a medal, a certificate stating that you were better than most. it was palpable evidence that you were good enough - for your parents, your peers, anyone. like that, you practiced, a servant for approval. you weren’t a prodigy, but you sure as hell would try to play like one. her advice worked for over a decade, soundly racking you up with countless awards that filled your otherwise desolate self-esteem.

you didn’t say anything else to jirou about it, instead thinking about the bits and pieces of human feeling you could extract in between your piece’s accidentals and eighth notes. perhaps there was a possibility, through the phrases of notes and dynamic markings, you’d find a word that said love. a renewed interest sparked itself when jirou’s band continued their rehearsals, finding yourself to be a normal audience member (maybe even crying at the end. maybe).

you returned home to practice, practice, practice, coercing any hidden message in the music to vibrate in your violin and echo around your room. you watched other renditions of the piece to find something you were missing, but imitating them didn’t seem right. this continued for the following weeks, hiding any potential development from bakugou (or trying to, at least). you knew you’d be disappointing him if you failed after trying so hard. it was only safe to play what you knew, secure in the written parts of the composition and keeping it at that.

by the time the performance came around, you were glad bakugou never found out about your secret efforts. if he had, you knew he’d be sorely dispirited by your lack of tangible progress, your sound just as hollow as the soundbox of your violin. you failed, you knew, and as crestfallen as you were on that cold february morning, the show must go on.

the performances were held in an auditorium, warm compared to the snowy wonderland outside. it was typically couples comprising the audience, all romantic and pepped up in the spirit of valentine's day (white day was no different). some arrived early, finding seats in the empty auditorium and chatting amongst themselves (or sometimes making out, which made you want to throw your violin at them and gag). bakugou’s and your performance was last; it quite the heavy honor to play the finale to the recital.

backstage was a vast contrast to the hushed atmosphere settled over the assemblage. hovering over the staff and performers for the day was a sense of panic, hurry, and hecticness. bits of rosin were scattered on the ground where you prepared for your rehearsal, some belonging to your block and others not. your pack of extra strings lay next to you on the sofa you sat on, arm resting on the side of the seat. similar to your violin's strings, spun tightly over pegs to be kept in place, you felt high-strung. the buzz of energetic excitement flitted in your head, knee bumping up and down and jerking your violin in the same motion. it was hard to calm when you tuned your violin to absolute perfection, relying on bakugou's perfect pitch to do so. the fine tuners on the end of your strings probably hadn't had a harder time in the years you'd owned your violin.

"you're shaking the entire sofa, idiot," bakugou deadpanned next to you. “some of us are trying to rosin our bow, unlike you.” he glanced at the floor, where amber shards of rosin lay amidst white dust (also made of rosin).

“to be fair, most of those aren’t mine,” you pointed out. you reached into your violin case, finding the rectangular case of rosin and opening the top. "mine's only chipped in a couple corners, and the rest is just worn on the edges from my bow."

you leaned over to look at bakugou's rosin, two stubs in its case. "and i'm the one dropping my rosin?"

his ears turned a deep red, matching the velvet curtains on stage. "that's different," he muttered, putting the lid on his rosin and putting it away.

"you ready?" you watched him swallow before speaking, not looking at you. you could hear one of the presenters speaking, introducing the first piece to be played (an ever-so romantic rendition of clair de lune), but the voices felt distant and muffled over the sound of your own nervous heart beating.

"yeah," he replied. he turned to look at you, scarlet eyes meeting your own. "what, you're not scared now, are you, dumbass?"

you gulped. "no… just excited," you said. in truth, you felt disappointed in yourself for being unable to find any emotion in your playing - thinking about the piece, you were devoid of anything but the measures and the notes. what was the piece trying to say in the white space between staff lines? after the clef at the beginning of the music, where did the emotions start and everything else end?

quiet notes, twinkling from the piano on stage, met your ears. you took a deep breath. how did they make you feel?

…not very good, because this pianist was certainly a beat or two off tempo. a large hand on your knee startled you out of your trance. its warmth was surprisingly comforting. you followed the arm connecting to the hand to meet bakugou's concentrated face, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched.

"don't shake your knee like that. also, why are you so damn cold?" he moved his hand away, leaving an imprint of heat on your knee. you hadn't noticed the physical manifestation of your nerves prior to bakugou's words.

you left his question unanswered, staring at your violin in your lap. you traced the patterns in wood, fingers following the shape of the f-hole and thumbing circles on your chin rest. how were you supposed to be able to pull living, breathing life in the form of emotions from an inanimate object? what sorcery were you supposed to manage to satisfy yourself and the audience?

you thought back to bakugou's words. what was it had he said you were supposed to be playing for? love, the irrational and sentimental flaw of life - somehow expressed from the symbols on a sheet of paper and through strings on hollow wood. what sort of miracle was bakugou creating with his music?

what was violin, if not just a task to do everyday? what was it, out of competitions and tests of skill? what was the sound reverberating within its vacant body, recording every shift of fingers on the fingerboard?

you looked past your violin to the rosin on the floor. friction, your violin teacher had explained to you. you put rosin on your bow so it creates friction with the strings, and thus creates sound. it was strange how friction caused the smooth sound of a violin. too much friction, added by pressure on the bow, made a creaky sound on the strings. without rosin, the bow would be too smooth on the string and make no noise at all. the happy medium of not too much and not too little created the familiar rich tone on the strings.

a happy medium, you mused. in between too much friction and none at all. maybe that was how you were supposed to feel, in between trying too hard and not trying at all. that's what feelings were in the end, right? a natural human instinct, spurred by life. could you breathe life into the music?

the stage seemed almost too big for the two of you, spotlights centering you on the wide, wooden platform. the crowd's eyes were on you and your fellow violinist, some watching with drooping eyelids. they felt far, distant under the shadows. even so, the question still besieged you - would you please them?

you teared your eyes away to bakugou, who started the count. everything was silent until he nodded to you, your cue to start the piece. it felt too fast when you began but it was the same allegro you’d been practicing with. muscle memory took control now, your fingers finding their places easily.

your fingers and bow took all your attention. everything else fell away - the lights, the crowd, the stage - until it was just you, your violin, and the music. you could practically see the score in your head, playing the notes you'd come to know so well.

you heard your music echo and resound off the walls, but that's all it seemed to do. it touched everyone in the room, looking for a place to stay, and diminished in an empty space alone. it frustrated you that it wouldn't resonate - where was the love bakugou had so told you of? this auditorium was no different than your room, where sounds bounced off walls and landed nowhere. you weren't reaching anywhere or anyone, lacking emotion and any true substance.

love - what was love if not a hindrance? how could bakugou expect so much out of you? love - had you ever felt it for the violin? dolce told you to play sweetly, softly, and gently, but what was sweet about the violin? what was so sweet about the imprints of strings on your fingers, fragmented rosin at your feet, and bruises on your neck from long hours of practice? what was gentle about the arduous replaying of the same measure, the ringing in your ears after playing to master a simple phrase? what was soft about the forte that rang in your head, the fortissimo that filled a performance and clouded your senses?

dolce filled you like an epiphany, euphoric in your eyes that finally opened and awakened. dolce was in bakugou's eyes, soft velvet like the crimson curtains onstage, downcast at his violin. dolce was in his sound as his bow skittered near the fingerboard, in his fingers sliding back and forth on his a string. dolce was in his grasp of his bow and violin, in the very essence he played the violin with. dolce contradicted everything you knew, reminding you of bakugou's soft hands over yours, guiding your fingers and bow. dolce was the morning light streaming into the practice room as you argued with bakugou over tempos and notes, the light glinting on shattered shards of rosin as you anxiously rosined your bow. dolce was the curve of your violin scroll, the bend of your fingers over your bow's frog. dolce was the white space in between staff lines on your sheet music and through half and whole notes. dolce was everything in between the rough of your violin experience, the laughter and smiling gone forgotten during sleepless practice sessions and violin evaluations.

what was dolce, if not a rebellion? what was it, if not a rebellion from the years of work and pain you'd endured in the name of musicality? what was it, if not laughing in the face of your violin instructors and the strict score you adhered to?

when you opened your eyes to meet bakugou's, whose carmine eyes dripped with a burning passion and the essence of souls, you finally felt. it was the so-sought over love, scorching every note and stroke of your bow and bursting life in every movement, breath, and echo of your performance. it was exhilarating, living through every slur and chord you played. when you finally met his eyes he understood, a satisfied smile tugging on his lips as his gaze never left yours. this was it - this was dolce, humming sweetly, softly, and gently in your ears and reflecting in the audience's heart. this was dolce, making you realize that you never wanted to play violin alone again.

you picked up a rose that had landed at your feet at the end of your piece, holding it next to bakugou's confused face. in doing so, you reached your second epiphany of the day - perhaps the more important of the two. bakugou's eyes bloomed redder than the rose, deeper than the lowest note on a double bass, and maybe it was he that was the true dolce you were looking for.

notes!!

if you’re reading this, congrats !! this is my longest fic on my account (the record will be broken soon), so i really appreciate you reading this :> (spare a reblog, perhaps?)

first, explaining the playlist:

beethoven’s kreutzer - this was played in the anime, “your lie in april,” and i simply think it fits the “fight” reader and bakugou have. this was played at reader’s first international recital that did not go so well.

kreisler’s liebesfreud (love’s joy) is in the same series as his piece called liebesleid (love’s sorrow), also featured in “your lie in april.” i personally really like the piece. of all of these listed, i think you should listen to this one the most.

beriot’s duo concertante was the other contender for reader and bakugou’s duet piece!

debussy’s clair de lune is simply a favorite of mine. it’s the first piece played at the valentine’s performance (and i like to imagine reader’s listened to bakugou’s recording of the piece)

spohr’s duo for 2 violins is the piece reader and bakugou play! it’s the second part of the duo in allegro, and i once tried to listen to it while following the sheet music. i was so confused every time i did so; i’d get lost and such, and figured my musicality was declining. nope. i was reading the wrong part. so, i started freaking out because oh god the dolce is in the first part, not the second, and thankfully, there’s a bit of dolce in the second part too! however, it did take me a while to decide whether to use the first part instead.

also, spohr invented the chinrest on the violin! crazy :D

paginini’s 24th caprice is considered the hardest out of all 24 caprices. imagine,,, teenage bakugou playing this,,, doing the left hand pizz and all T^T pain

there’s a lot i wish i could cover in this! a lot of reader’s own flaws (ahem, viola jokes) and development were something i couldn’t cover. bakugou’s arc as well! he had an arc a bit before this story takes place :)) tl;dr i’m very tempted to pick my violin up again and start playing

the frog of the bow does not, sadly, go ribbit. it’s the part violinists hold the bow by!

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed this :)

#bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou fluff #bnha fluff #katsuki bakugou x reader #bnha x gender neutral reader #bakugou angst #bnha angst #luna's writing #violinist bakugou

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leia-imogen · 3 years

Text

aaron & the family he's found all by himself; vol. 1 // vol. 2

( ft. the first meeting & the first family game night )

okay, rundown of his first meeting w the vixens!

the vixens don't really like the foxes. they cheer at their games and all, but outside of that, they mostly stick with the football players

bcs, well, the foxes are,, intimidating and most of the vixens don't get how or why katelyn started dating one

especially one half of the terrifying duo that is the twinyards. like these tiny blonde angst goblins have absolutely zero chill, and this is the backliner one, the one that shattered the nose of a dude basically twice his size

they may be short as fuck but they're scary, and the vixens are worried that he might break katelyn's heart

but katelyn's sure about aaron minyard, and when cleo softly asks, "is he worth it?" she knows her answer is a yes

savannah and the rest of the girls aren't convinced tho, so she asks aaron if he'll meet them for one of the afterparties they have after games

he agrees after seeing the hopeful look on her face

and surprise, surprise, it isn't a complete disaster!!

see, aaron has a habit of mirroring the nature of the person he's with. in the book, we mostly see him as an asshole bcs it's from neil's pov, and neil, as much as i adore him, is an asshole

i think that when he's with nicky ( someone he loves and trusts ), he's like, nicer. it's not in his nature to be cheery or anything but he's less,, hostile? and way more relaxed

and katelyn's been nothing but sweet and polite to him, bcs katelyn's sweet and polite till you give her a reason not to be

so he's sweet and polite back, or at least, sweet and polite as aaron minyard can get.

yeah, he's definitely interesting enough, clever and quick-witted enough, respectful and loyal and insanely talented enough, that katelyn decides he's worth it. doubts he'll ever get boring

and yes, she knows this is a big risk, bcs she knows the foxes' rep, knows how fucked up he must to secure a place on the psu foxes, notices how aaron flinches when she makes any sudden movement

but you know what? fuck it

so when aaron tells her his strange, twisted little deal with his brother, katelyn's willing to fight for him

and after nearly 2 months of this, she drags him to the vixens with their fingers interlocked and a hope in her heart that they'd play nice like she's asked ( practically begged ) them to

aaron's buzzing a bit with nervous energy. it's very endearing, how his eyes had lit up at the sight of her, then how she felt her anxiety about the night melt away into excitement

sav tries, bless her, tries to engage aaron in half-hearted conversation about exy ( which she hates ) and aaron tries back, but that fizzles out bcs for someone on a full-ride exy scholarship, aaron doesn't like exy at all

thank god that marissa, who's been trying to be less of a bitch all night, bless her too, lets it slip that sav detests exy

"okay, i can't anymore. minyard, savannah actually hates exy and she hates the foxes too, but we're hoping that you're an exception."

aaron, holding back a laugh: honestly? same.

sav: oh thank fucking GOD we have something to talk about then

"yeah, the entire sport sucks, doesn't it? i literally play it at college level and i still have barely figured out the goddamn rules."

"exactly! and my entire family's fucking obsessed for some reason, it's so annoying! ugh and the foxes suck even more, they're all so goddamn rude for no reason. except maybe the cute goalie."

". . ."

"eww not your brother, i meant renee walker,, and maybe you're not too bad either, minyard."

"you flatter me."

katelyn watches their exchange with more than a little amusement. aaron's not smiling, but his features have softened and he's flushed from the alcohol he'd had and she can't rly believe that this is the boy who they all thought would break her heart

bcs later when aaron comes up to her with a cookie dough cupcake ( her favourite ) she didn't even know was served at the party, leans into her so his face is buried in her neck, whispers "thanks for taking me", when she takes in all her friends laughing and chatting and waving at her, when sav gives her a thumbs-up and nods to aaron, she's never felt more whole

like she was part of something bigger than herself

then aaron starts hanging around them more! yeah he saw the look on katelyn's face and he was going to TRY for her or so help him- usually just with katelyn, sav, and cleo

she invites him to the "family game night" sav is making them have, and he's like "sure why not."

he knocks on the door of sav and cleo's dorm and sav lets him in

"yo, minyard! glad you make it, katelyn's out on a donut run but she'll be back soon."

okay,, okay. so he'll,,, what? interact w people?? hell fucking no

then he realises that it's only cleo in the dorm, plugged into her headphones, playing mario kart, and thanks katelyn for ensuring there would only be ppl that like, he didn't mind

the other vixens were okay, but way too LOUD, and aaron wasn't rly up for spending a whole night w them

cleo hands him a controller, an invitation to play, and he takes it gratefully. he and cleo hadn't talked that much at the party, but she was perfectly tolerable so far, which was a good sign

and mario kart was a part of his childhood, one of the only few that nicky's parents had owned, so he and his cousin had spent hours curled up in front of tv trying to beat each other

even tho he beats nicky most of the time, cleo absolutely destroys him. he mentally tries to brush it off as him being rusty ( which he definitely is ) but damn, cleo's good. still, she brushes off the compliment when aaron blurts it out

okay so then katelyn comes back with like way too many donuts and they start playing monopoly gathered around the coffee table

sav insists on putting on some music. wannabe starts playing. she winks at aaron and aaron winks back, still not smiling. cleo snorts and katelyn kisses his cheek

listen, cleo is a monopoly master. soon, she owns over half the board and it's pretty clear she's gonna win, someone ( savannah riley jameson, everyone ) flips the board

"jameson, what the actual fuck."

"shut the hell up, minyard."

"come on, sav, i was winning!"

katelyn's trying to pick up all the pieces and aaron bends down to help her, shaking his head at sav, who pouts and joins them while cleo grins, headphones slung around her shoulders while she perches herself onto the arm of the settee and hums to wake me up before you go-go

next, sav begs them to play twister. cleo's great at most games, but she has a particular dislike for twister, so she's out quick

katelyn is super bendy, bcs she took gymnastics for years, and aaron holds his own surprisingly well, considering the fact that he's short as fuck

sav: katie, right hand red

katelyn, ending up right on top of a blushing aaron: okay, you're doing this on purpose, aren't you?

sav: i stopped spinning like 15 turns ago, i'm surprised you didn't notice sooner

eventually aaron collapses and katelyn is hailed as the queen of twister and they spend the next 10 minutes just calling out random spots for katelyn to try

she gets all of them, and aaron is actually smiling now and it doesn't matter that it's only a tiny quirk of his lips, it's something and katelyn cherishes it

they play some sort of surgeon simulator thingy next, and aaron "gonna be a future neurosurgeon" minyard is awesome at it, bcs duh

katelyn's not very good at this. her hands get SHAKY okay

cleo also sucks at this, bcs she keeps getting nervous and having muscle spasms. sav's just doing the dumbest shit bcs it's bringing aaron closer to the edge of cardiac arrest

aaron: jameson holy shit what are you DOING

sav, slicing open the spinal cord: okay so what if i take out the lungs through the back haha

and now sav is sulking over the fact that she hadn't absolutely murdered the others at a game

so she brings out the ultimate game. the game of bastards, one that tears families apart, sets friendships on fire, starts wars too gruesome to be started by anything other than this wretched, cursed artefact. . .

s c r a b b l e

aaron's already having war flashbacks. katelyn groans and goes to make popcorn, bcs this shit's gonna take FOREVER and she knows it. cleo, an english major, is preparing herself for battle with the force of nature that is savannah

"the fuck do you MEAN fergalicious isn't a word???"

"savannah, please."

"no, here, listen to this."

"sav, we were listening to that!" katelyn complains. sav sighs and switches the song back to her "90's bops" playlist, then changes it to "hell yeah feminism" which instantly starts playing run the world ( girls )

katelyn happily starts singing and aaron's not even reluctant to hum along

sav and cleo are still arguing. this has been going on for so long. sav looks ready to flip over the board again, so cleo does it first

katelyn: cleo what the heck

cleo, the tired mom friend: don't fucking curse

aaron is also tired, but in a good way, in kind of that soft lazy droopy way

he falls asleep leaning against the sofa and katelyn's shoulder, with god is a woman playing in the background while sav and cleo continue arguing. cleo is standing on the coffee table. it's true anarchy

he wakes up on the sofa with a blanket thrown over him and sunlight streaming in through the lacy curtains and katelyn making a complete mess of the kitchen in a futile attempt to make breakfast. sav and cleo are draped across each other on the floor

katelyn, struggling to pick up burning toast: morning babe, how did you sleep?

aaron, calmly using a pair of tongs: pretty well. who wants pancakes?

sav, instantly shooting up: DID YOU SAY PANCAKES

so he makes pancakes! nicky taught him as soon as he'd gained custody of the twins, so he's pretty much an expert. he tries to teach katelyn, but then just gives up bcs she's clearly not listening in favour of staring at him

and they all gather around the coffee table and cleo's humming along to the song on her headphones and wow these pancakes are rly good omg

while aaron is chatting to cleo about what video games they should play next, sav whispers, "kate finley, if you don't marry this boy just for his god-tier pancakes, i will."

"sav, you're a lesbian."

"not anymore, i've decided that i am pancake-sexual."

aaron hears all of this btw, bcs cleo stops when she hears them talking. he blushes, and smiles, just a little bit

( if anyone actually cares about this, tell me! shoot me an ask if there's any particular ask you want to see with these characters, or just the foxes! )

#aaron & the family he's found all by himself #yes i’m aware that no one cares #and that this is horribly written but i’m exhausted so. . .#i pinky-swear the next one will be sort of better #hopefully #aftg headcanons #aftg #all for the game #the foxhole court #aaron minyard headcanons #the vixens #aaron minyard #andrew minyard #twinyards #nicky hemmick #katelyn aftg #katelyn finley #sav jameson #cleo magdalene

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dirt-cup-draco · 4 years

Text

Edmund x Reader- I’m Sorry

Could you please do an Edmund x reader angst in which he won’t let you to go on any missions with him, something you had been doing much longer than you had been with him, which makes you frustrated. Could the reader say something like “I won’t be here when you get back” and he doesn’t believe her bc she’s “said that before” but to prove a point she does run away to a friends in a village. Ed returns home, panic ensues. You’re found, loads of angst. You can choose the ending. Sorry that was long

You nearly screamed in frustration as you watched Edmund strap his sword to his side. “I am more than capable! Let me come with you!” You begged for the millionth time in the past hour. He was being unreasonable and you had about had it.

“The answer is no! We don’t need any more than we already have, it’s a simple visit west,” Edmund reasoned but you could tell he was frustrated. His cheeks were red and his teeth clenched. He was tired of this conversation but so were you.

“Fine!” You shouted, “I won’t be here when you get back!”

Edmund scoffed, walking past you as he left your shared bedroom. But not before yelling over his shoulder, “I’ve heard that before! It’d be a miracle if you did leave, then I’d finally get a break from you!”

Your heart sank as the door shut quickly. You sank to the floor, back pressed against your bed as your fiery mood was extinguished. “Asshole,” you cursed softly at your husband who was probably already at the stables now, leaving you behind again.

You were sick of being stuck inside. You wanted to adventure, you wanted to help if he needed it. You didn’t want to be seen as a useless wife. Marrying Edmund had been one of the best things you’d ever done but for some reason he had grown more protective. He absolutely detested the thought of you going with him when he was on official business, as if there would be trouble.

Sniffling, you pulled yourself together and packed a small bag. If he wanted a break from you then he would get one.

Edmund arrived as the sun was setting, back aching and mind numb. He just wanted to have a nice meal, curl up with you, and go to sleep. It had been a useless journey, a messenger finding him and his company of men three quarters done with their travel only to report that the representative that was expected to meet with them was ill and couldn’t make it. Why would you possibly want to come with him?

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he returned his horse to their stable, thinking about the fight you two had had. Edmund knew he shouldn’t have said what he did but he had just gotten so frustrated with you. He worried about your safety constantly, you were the most important person in his life and he couldn’t bear being without you.

On the off chance something did happen one of these days, he didn’t want you to be caught in the crossfire so time and time again he said no.

“Y/N?” He called out as he entered your bedroom, the low light of a still burning candle casting menacing shadows on the wall as he ran a hand through his stiff hair, wincing as his fingers caught on the unruly mess. “Y/N, come out please, I’d like to talk!”

Edmund made his way towards your bathroom, assuming you were taking a bath as you usually liked to do to relax when the both of you got irritated with one another. But, to his surprise, you weren’t there. He supposed it wasn’t very odd, you liked to wander around the castle because you could never stay still for long.

“Lucy!” Edmund called out as he found his sister leaving the dining hall. “Have you seen Y/N?”

Lucy shook her head, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “I thought you knew, didn’t you see that her horse was gone when you got back?”

Edmund paled. “W-what do you mean her horse is gone? Where could she have gone?”

“I don’t know!” Lucy squeaked back as Edmund started to get nervous. She never liked seeing her brother upset. “I thought you knew, I’m sorry. I’m sure she’s just gone out for a bit,”

“And I’m sure she hasn’t...” Edmund groaned, wringing his hands together, “I-I said something before I left today and oh god...” He couldn’t finish his thought as he raced back to the stables. “Lucy send some men out to find her, I want her home tonight!” He ordered over his shoulder, his sister more than happy to comply. She was worried too, you were family.

Edmund’s stomach churned with every minute that passed. He hadn’t meant it! Of course he didn’t want a break from you, he just wanted you safe. It seemed he had forgotten that he wanted you to be happy as well. You were his peace of mind after a long day and now that you weren’t home he was going insane.

He didn’t care if you stayed out late or accidentally got caught up in a book, forgetting to come to dinner. It was fine that you lived your life, but he surely wanted to know when you left cair paravel! It wasn’t safe this time of night for anyone to be traveling on their own. Edmund had seen the horrors of the world and even if it was a time of peace, he couldn’t help but fear for you.

The more time passed where he didn’t know if you were okay or not, the more he worried, his mind running wild. What if your horse had been spooked and tossed you from their back, injuring you and running away? What if you had taken a walk after tying up your horse, rolling your ankle somewhere or slipping and hitting your head? Or worse, what if you had been attacked by bandits? What if his sweet wife was laying somewhere, alone and dying?

His chest was tight, the hairs on the back of his neck standing tall as he worked himself up. Everything felt hot and suffocating despite the wind that rushed past him as he raced throughout the surrounding land, calling your name.

“Your highness!” Came a voice on the wind and Edmund immediately halted, heading straight for the soldier who stood tall in his saddle. “I have found her,”

“Take me to her,” Edmund demanded. “Now!” He stressed as the poor soldier stalled. It was understandable why the young king was so distressed.

Edmund followed the nervous soldier to a small town on the outskirts that he hadn’t even thought to gone to. Your horse was tied to a dainty home, chewing at the tall grass.

“Y/N!” He shouted, jumping from his horse and pounding fiercely at the door, even as his knuckles ached at the force of it.

You sighed at the sound of your husband’s voice, your friend rolling her eyes as her story was interrupted. “I told he’d come,” You tried to keep the pride out of your voice.

You opened the door and you were expecting a proper fight now, positive that Edmund would be angry with you. Instead, he shoved past the threshold and gathered you up in his arms. His body shook as you held him back, nearly toppling over with the force of him.

“Please don’t ever do that to me again,” He croaked, voice hoarse from calling out your name as hours had ticked by without answer. Your lungs constricted with guilt as Edmund pulled you impossibly tighter, heart nearly bursting from his chest and limbs tense with panic.

“Edmund I-” You began but he pulled back, interrupting you with a toe curling kiss.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Edmund sighed, forehead pressed fervently against yours. “Can we please go home and talk? Or not talk? I just want you home, I’ll do anything,” His voice cracked and your heart broke.

“I thought you’d like to have me gone...” You admitted as your bottom lip began to quiver.

“Never, never in a million years,” Edmund promised as your eyes grew misty.

“As much as I love that you’ve gotten over your little spat, Y/N, I don’t really like having the whole king’s army outside my front door,” Your friend laughed, pointing to the few soldiers who had gathered out front, neighbors peaking their heads out of their doors in curiosity.

You laughed, head falling to Edmund’s chest. “Of course, we’ll get out of your hair,” Your promised as you wished your friend goodnight.

“I’m sorry too, I shouldn’t have left,” You sighed against Edmund’s back as you two made your way back home, the soldiers taking your horse ahead for you as you wanted to ride back with your husband and have a talk.

“I shouldn’t have made you feel like you couldn’t leave.. I don’t want to trap you, I just want to keep you safe,” Edmund admitted, slowing his horse to a steady trot as you trailed light kisses from the nape of his neck to between his shoulder blades.

“I love that you care so much, but the world isn’t as scary as it used to be,” You promised, rubbing his chest to remind him to take a deep breath. Edmund relaxed immediately under your touch.

You fell into a comfortable silence, eyelids heavy as Edmund helped you down from his horse, leading you to your room. Helping each other from your clothes, you fell into bed with a content sigh, tangling your legs with Edmund’s.

“I love you Ed,” You mumbled, kissing his chest as you tucked your head underneath his chin.

“I love you too,” Edmund spoke but you heard the pause. “A-and next time, you can come with me,”

You were too tired to do much but smile.

Edmund and you held each other a bit tighter that night but when you woke in the morning, you both felt better than you had in quite some time.

#edmund x reader #edmund pevensie #edmund pevensie x reader #ask #request #anon #fluff #angst #anon ask

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common-blackbird · 4 years

Photo

Started!

This is my Inquisitor (so overjoyed you can be a qunari), her name is the default Herah and I decided I’m going to approach this game by staying true to a character and not looking to do everything and be on everyone’s good side u_u

I want to make a good background for her so i’m not telling anything. Yet. I’ll just say she’s a qunari mercenary and prefers using two-handed weapons.

Highlights from today:

Studying history does pay off! This was a reference to the famous book in environmental history - Guns, Germs and Steel by Jared Diamond. So proud i recognised it x)

Also i don’t have a good shot of solas but he cracks me up so much.. The guy has a posture of the typical retired grandpa (the only thing missing is to have him walk with his hands on his back). And there’s a scene where the party sees the rift and there’s the inquisitor facing it, cassandra bracing herself and solas... just standing like an old man

On a side note, Cassandra is so gorgeous and good and i already love her, i just keep taking shots of her TAT

As for varric, it’s so different than from da2, this is so much more “official” and you can see he’s the same as ever, but you’re not hawke, hawke’s not here, the gang’s not here and there’s nothing casual about the whole situation T-T

And lastly, my inquisitor has a horse now, i didn’t know that was possible in the game ;__;

played some more...

Let me start with.... The advisors! (+ cassandra... or is she also an advisor too?)

What a bunch. I love Cassandra’s and Leliana’s faith having a crisis bc they believe that Inquisitor is the Herald of Andraste and the way they deal with it. It’s really interesting. Leliana is completely opposite than what she was in origins and i’m surprised it doesn’t bother me at all! I love seeing this whole darker side that was only hinted at in origins, though it’s also sad when i think how she used to be. I wonder how she’s gonna overcome her doubting of faith.

Josephine is a delight. I keep using her for almost every war table mission for now. She radiates capability. She reminds me of those bureaucrats that are super nice and helpful and chill and even if you’re doing everything wrong she’ll just smile and say “it’s ok, we can fix it” and then goes and fixes everything herself (and you feel this insane amount of gratitude you send a whole separate email to thank her for her patience and help )

As for Cullen... It’s interesting... I got impression from what i saw in the fandom that he’s supposed to have had his allegiance changed and him rejecting the templars should have been him ultimately siding with the mages (or at least being anti-templar(?)), and that turning point that could have been a great way to show his character development during the game. Which i agree, only... i did not get that impression from the game so far at all. I mean, so far everything that i can remember him saying is totally smth he’d say in da2... He didn’t leave kirkwall bc of his disappointment with the templar order, he doesn’t seem to have any issues with the templars except those who go full war mode instead of trying to balance the situation. And it’s a really chaotic situtation, i love how they did it.

This line was amazing, i wish there was a special cutscene for that.

I’m loving the way they made this huge religious organisation in crisis have a complete collapse with the death of a key figure. I love the concept of inquisition and problems that it poses. I love you can see everyone’s reasoning and doubts reflect their background, but also see why inquisition can be understood as another power-grasping organisation trying to topple the templars, the mages and the chantry. Everything is divided. We got templars leaving the chantry, seekers leaving the chantry(?), rebel mages, loyal mages, rebel mages gone rouge, templars gone rouge, and suddenly there’s another organisation forming that you can totally believe is just another powerhungry force trying to get the piece of the cake by taking advantage of the power vacuum left by the sudden lack of the religious authority. (and only we know we’re The Good Guys). I love that we have characters who need to believe in the greater plan, characters who question the greater plan, and characters who want to utilise the power of belief and characters who don’t care for divine plans. The chaos is real and it feels real. I love that the centre figure of the whole holy business is a heretic of another culture. For the chantry this is the lose-lose situation (unless the inquisitor becomes religious by the end of the game). Which is why this line works so well.

Ok, now shorter updates:

Red Jenny! I know it’s not her actual name but it is in my head. Where’s that box i delivered ages ago >_> Anyways, she makes my brain work on 150% capacity. I can understand what she means only after i go over it for 5 times.

Forgive me but oh my god, i can’t believe that i can recognise one voice actor and now i have another mental image whenever he speaks. Like, he’s really good at bringing out a new character, but when he gets more casual he sounds like kanan jarrus from star wars rebels and i’m just “what are you doing here, space dad” ;__; Hopefully it’ll get old and i’ll be enjoying more iron bull. he seems nice...

Vivienne on the other hand is like a reverse Josephine(?) She seems insanely capable but hates customer service, however somehow she likes you very much and will do everything you need for reasons you can’t fathom. Have a screenshot. So classy. I already feel humbled.

and lastly, BREAKING NEWS: aveline finally hired carver ;__;

Tbh Kirkwall is still a mystery and i have so many questions but i don’t think i’ll get any answers... If a powervacuum of the divine cause this much chaos, how’s kirkwall faring without a new viscount? Like, yeah, aveline can keep in check, but umm it’s in a very vulnerable state which makes it a good target for any invasion... didn’t sebastian promise bloodshed?

That’s all for now, bc otherwise i’ll start writing an essay on cassandra.

We befriended a bear in the hinterlands!

lets start with this cool shot

so, i have been to the mages and to the templars and... i sided with the templars.... First i was all for mages since they offered negotiations while the seeker just walked away, but then it turned out that was a trap, there’s also tevinter mages there (which is a red flag for my inquisitor) and then there’s some time magic involved (which is a big no for me), and i just walked out. Felt bad for the mages but my inquisitor comes from a culture where mages have their tongues cut so...

Also this guy deserves a medal for putting up with corrupted superiors and annoying nobles.

And i met cole ;__; Where are Rhys and Evangeline ;___;

the templar mission was ok i guess... I was surprised that red lyrium was apparently circulating around for some time, not sure if that means since meredith or even before. I love the stories of corruption tho and to imagine what it’s like to be trapped in this organisation that just keeps breaking everything it stands for

As for the important mages, i’ve Dorian twice since i bailed out on him in Redcliffe :I I love the guy, he seems arrogant yet so kind (like, no one would have carried that annoying priest and yet he did, after he ran from his own people to warn us after i ditched him in Redcliffe? man ;A;) Every time i go with “ok the inquisitor fears tevinter and distrusts this rando who just popped in” i am marinating in guilt.

and then we fight some mages and die several times but we succeed and we meet the bad guy...

Is it an unpopular opinion to say that i like him as a villain so far? i saw so many jokes on his incompetency. Idk, i like that part where he said that he reached the fade in someone’s name, it makes me think he’s not just power-hungry person(?) who’s just evil,but was originally serving someone, and he said that the gods were either gone or corrupted and he spent hundreds of years thinking what to do with whatever happened so he seems like he knows what he’s doing and maybe(!just maybe) he is trying to fix things that are wrong but we can’t see that? And of course he hates the inquisitor, he has to redo his stuff all over again, i’d hate the inquisitor too. im probably looking too much into it. My wish is that, if he’s evil, he became so gradually, but originally had good intentions? Or there’s more to things going on that we just don’t know and he does... Maybe this was his tragic attempt to fix things but he would ultimately fail and be branded as a villain etc etc. I’m getting carried away

If it turns out he’s just evil for the sake of being evil then feel free to tell me so now so i don’t embarrass myself further with plotting myself lol.

A side note, is he the Architect? Or the same? In DA2 he says he’s a tevinter magister, right? and he ceased to be a human. Also in DA2 it seemed like he was the boss, and here he said he reached in the name of someone (probably more important than him). But what is the Architect then?

And with that we reach the skyhold.

in skyhold

I didn’t know you meet hawke so soon ;__; i thought that was like, somewere more to the end of the game, since the big decision and all. But the mission is already opened and i am going to procrastinate on it until i finish every side mission :<

Also he is so sad ;__; i understand, but at the same time... all that humour now bitter sarcasm :’(

(also, very shallow remark, but i really really prefer his looks in da2 than here... it’s like they softened him. He’s more...oh god idk bearish(???) than hawkish(????) you know what i mean? the nose isn’t as sharp anymore, the beard is... what is it with the beard... anyways i get the game has its limits so it’s fine. it’s fine! fine.)

then there was the fight that i remember since twitter >:D

It’s what made me want to play dragon age and i finally reached it T-T so good! I love how you can see the both sides and everything they say is true but they’re so angry at themselves they’re taking it out on each other TAT

Cassandra later says Hawke probably wouldn’t have joined the inquisition even if she found him, and i wonder now if that’s true... At first i thought, nah, Hawke has too much of a hero complex, he would feel too responsible to just say no. Besides, he’s with the inquisition now (tho i can’t find him anywhere anymore!). But at the same time, the way da2 ends was such an iconic walking away from everything, and not taking into account the hocus-pocus rift stuff, i can imagine him refusing, especially seeing how bitter he is now. It’s also a question of how much would have cassandra told him i guess. idk, what do you think? Would he lead or nah?

another person i want to find but can’t in skyhold are the templars with ser barris. i can use them on war table missions but otherwise they’re non-existant? i forgot to talk to him back in haven but now i wonder if it was even possible and if he was even available there, since he isn’t here. I spent hours just running around skyhold looking for the guy :(

and then everything becomes unimportant bc aaaaa!! she! is the arcanist! Dagna! im so happy and proud(?) she went and reached her goals x)

anyways that’s all for now, laters

some random updates:

so i did the halamshiral and gave up to my “stick to the character” mode, and nothing went my way, but that’s life. Met morrigan! i almost forgot she appears lol. And, despite also jumping on the wagon of give-morrigan-better-clothes train, i have to admit seeing her in her old clothes was a relief after that dress at the ball. It’s not the way the dressed looked, but the way she moved in it... god im shallow

i also initially didn’t like morrigan being at orlais court of all places, but after the conversation that’s supposed to explain why she’s there i’m kinda ok with it. I mean, i still need some more info. Wouldn’t Tevinter be better? she’d practically become a magister overnight if she got this good in the game so fast. It’s also unconvincing how everyone knows everything in orlais but somehow nobody connected that the random kid that has no bakcground whatsoever with morrigan who keeps checking on him? But at skyhold she’s just “hey i have a kid, he’s no trouble, right?” but hey, it’s morrigan. She can do anything. I’ll just have another story idea in my head.

Then there was news of the new divine that could be either cassandra or leliana and i don’t honestly know whom to choose. I’d prefer leliana over cassandra simply bc cassandra is more of a military mind, while the position of the divine would be more political. But lately every mission with leliana was spy spy, kill kill... Do we really want that for a religious leader? On the other hand, it would nicely round up her story from origins to inquisition... But cassandra is more of a public figure than leliana is...

when cassandra said:

“I want to respect the tradition, but not fear change. I want to right the past wrongs, but not avenge them. And I have no idea if wanting any of them makes them right.”

great moment. She’s usually so convinced and rash, i forget she’s more doubtful and open minded than what she looks like. Everything about cassandra is different from the impression she gives ;__; I love her so so so so much. (when she says she considers the inquisitor her friend i melted, next time varric pulls up the “seeker has no friends” joke, my heart will no longer be breaking).

I did a bunch of personal missions. Some were cool, some were ????. Also there were war table missions with zevran, that was cool. Also i love the codex entries in skyhold. The archery competition with varric banned? Dancing lessons failing bc lace harding is on the move all the time? Perfect.

And i met chargers, i like them, and aaah that staff-bow from the trailer is such a cool idea ;A;

What i don’t get with bull’s chargers is - they’re a mercenary group right? But isn’t swordselling seen as the complete misunderstanding of the qun? I get only bull is qunari, but he’s the leader of them? How is that not frowned upon?

And lastly, i don’t think i’ve said this, but i love that they added codex entries in the loading screens. love it.

update

After months of procrastination, i have faced my fears and have met alistair. it was very anticlimatic beating 11 level monsters when i was level 21...

but.. ALISTAIR TAT He’s changed... but not changed... but changed! Like, his personality is the same, but he’s more serious, doesn’t run from responsibilities, isn’t as bitter as hawke (also, why do i get impression that i am supposed to get the impression that they’re friends? they’ve met like, once, and talked for less than a minute.. whatevs. let’s pretend they’ve met again when on the run), i really love the inquisition alistair ;;__;;

Also, i managed to get that awkward demon baby family reunion :D

know that morrigan says the vaguest generic thing “i told him his father was a good man” bc of various world states, but i also think she’s come a long way not to mock alistair, and then when he notices that she didn’t use the opportunity he mentions that the kid changed her and she’s like “pfft, yea right, you wish”....

... when she was the one who said that in the first place ;;__;;

Awwww :> I love that they bicker but softly. Kids have grown up :’) Anyways, when will alistair start paying alimony

The only weird one is Leliana bc when morrigan was introduced she was like “danger danger” (smth i’d sooner think alistair would do), and when alistair is (supposedly) in skyhold, Leli doesn’t even mention him, only hawke. bruh, what were they to you, you almost died together ;;__;;

oh i also slayed a dragon. I didn’t even want to fight that dragon. It was a hillarious feat of inquisitor, solas, cole and blackwall, all on level 21, having to chug all the health potions right at the beginning while fighting a dragon that was... level 13, after which i just let go of controls and suddenly everyone was hella good at fighting and slayed it (only cole needed revival several times).

And, befitting the wild-dream feel that it had, when i got back to skyhold and visited companions, suddenly i was drinking pelin with iron bull, and he’s reminiscing on that fight with the dragon and i’m like

it was awful and you weren’t even there.

i forgot to update

but last time i was playing i finished the hawke/alistair sacrifice and all the torture i went through with deciding whom to sacrifice vanished bc frankly, at one moment, i wanted to sacrifice both of them, but in the end it was much more easier to sacrifice hawke bc inquisition hawke just didn’t feel like hawke to me, while alistair improved since the origins!

and now i remembered why i didn’t update, in the same day cassandra rejected me so i was sad and didn’t continue playing since then (i think last time i played it was around easter?)

new update

BLACKWALL!! or should i say Thom Rainier? Wow, what an arc! It was also so fun bc i was all strict mode, picking the third option, telling him his life is in inquisitor’s hands and all that, but in the end i set him free. He’s so good, a true knight T-T

Also i romanced sera. we’ll see how that goes.

Also, fave point in the game so far, i wanted, for so long, to sit at that val roeayoux (can’t spell) cafe and finally did it with cole’s personal mission. THANK YOU COLE YOU TRULY CAN READ PEOPLE’S MINDS.

another interesting thing was that after specialising as a reaver, cassandra said that drinking dragon blood makes you grow scales and become mad. Iron Bull said that inquisitor smells better bc dragon blood and that qunari generally smell better than humans. So i’m guessing qunari have fractions of dragon in them? ok...

and now i started that mission with morrigan and the puzzles are killing me lol, i am this 👌 close to just go chase calpernia and give up on a well of sorrows.

#it's a terrible time to start a dragon age game but it's the only time #meet me at val royeaux with my pal cole fixing people's lives every sunday 5 pm

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taxicabinmemphis · 4 years

Text

Prince Charming - Chapter 5

chapter one - chapter two - chapter three - chapter four - chapter five - chapter six

Word count - 3,332 Pairing - Intrulogical, Prinxiety, Moceit (I’m deleting the pre bc I have decided to have a chapter with them getting together) Warnings - some characters are a lil insensitive in spots but I wouldn’t call them unsympathetic, creativitwins angst, swearing, food mention, self-deprecation bc they’re all wrecks, pining, and then there’s Remus-typical behavior (body horror mentions, sexual innuendo/mentions of sexual stuff, and other stuff heh), if there’s anything else that should be tagged or put in the warnings, tell me!

After a hearty and delicious meal of spaghetti and meatballs with a side of broccoli, the sides had all retired to get ready for bed. The adventure had gone terribly late, so dinner was later than they’d ever had it.

Logan stopped when he reached the door to his room. Yes, he knew that the next logical course of action would be to enter his room and get ready for bed, perhaps read a book as his stomach digested dinner, but he couldn’t help but remember how quiet Remus had been at dinner. He was never quiet.

His mind flashed back to what Roman said to Remus when they left the Imagination, and Logan clenched his left hand into a fist. Roman, while always striving to do what he saw to be the correct course of action, could also be awfully insensitive. Especially when he didn’t even know he was doing it.

Logan promptly turned on his heels and walked towards Remus’ room.

He ended up meeting the side in the hallway outside his room. Remus was walking alarmingly slow and seemed to be contemplating something.

“Remus,” Logan called, a good fifteen feet behind him.

The creative side jumped in surprise. He turned to face Logan, eyes widened. “Oh, uh, Logan! What brings you to the dark and hellish end of the hall?”

Logan fiddled with his tie nervously. “I came to ask you about something, Remus.”

Silence followed Logan’s statement, prompting Remus to speak. “Well? Fire away, my sexy robot!”

A pink dusted Logan’s cheeks at the nickname. “Yes. Umm...are you okay, Remus?”

Remus blinked. “Of course I am, Nerdy Wolverine!”

Logan frowned. “I believe that’s a falsehood, Remus.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Really? What can I do to convince ya? Rip my heart out and dissect it?”

Logan shook his head, adjusting his glasses. “No, none of that. Just...I remember what Roman said back when we exited the Imagination. It wasn’t kind, but he also had no cruel intentions. However, I could see that it...affected you. Are you okay? Do you require someone to...talk to?” Logan hoped he was doing this right.

Remus sighed and threw his hands in the air in resignation. “I might be okay. Does it matter?”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Remus. It does. You are a part of Thomas’ mind and it is important that you are functioning properly.”

“Functioning…” Remus gave a bitter laugh and shook his head. “Look, Logan. Ultimately, I am fine. I can intrude on everyone’s well-being just as I could three hours ago. You can go to bed, you don’t need to worry.” He paused. “Why do you care, anyway?”

Logan frowned. “You are a side, essential to Thomas creating and acting like himself.”

“You don’t know that,” Remus disagreed, shaking his head.

Logan closed half of the distance between them, concern written all over his features. “Of course I know that. I can logically ascertain what exactly your worth is as a side, especially considering I spend a significant amount of time with you.”

“Maybe all that time you spent analyzing my contributions in preparation to shoot them down has clouded your judgement, Logan,” Remus replied, spitting out Logan’s name like it repulsed him—when in reality, it did nothing of the sort.

Was that really how Remus thought of Logan? Someone who only listens so he can later tell someone else why everything he said was wrong? Logan tried to be kind like he did with everyone else, and many of Remus’ ideas interested him. He gave him honest opinions, criticisms, and scientific observations on anything Remus pitched him. But did Remus only see him as an instrument of the intrusive side’s demise?

“Remus…”

“No, Logan, please,” Remus interrupted. “Don’t pretend to care.”

“When did I ever say anything about pretending?!” Logan exclaimed abruptly, widening his eyes and putting a hand over his mouth when he noticed his volume. Logan did his best to erase the surprise from his face and compose himself, clearing his throat and making sure to lower the volume of his voice before continuing. “I apologize for the outburst, Remus. However, you seem to have perplexed me with everything you have said so far during this conversation. Presently, I believe the statement to question is your most recent one and I will state that I am unaware of any action I took that would give you a reason to think I was engaging in a deception at your expense.”

“Oh, Logan, you know. Just drop it and go to sleep,” Remus said, turning around and waving his hand in dismissal.

“No, Remus, I’m afraid I don’t know,” Logan said honestly. “That troubles me. Could you elaborate, please?”

Remus turned around slowly. “Maybe you think you don’t know, so I’ll enlighten you.” He took a deep breath. “You’ve been assigned to listen to me. You have to listen to my crazy bullshit whenever I think it up. In return, I listen to your criticisms, opinions, scientific analyses, notes, whatever. Even when you go insanely far in depth into a topic I might’ve brought up with one of my...contributions, as you call them. It’s a trade, a deal. You have to listen to me and then I listen to you because it’s the least I can do. Neither of us would’ve chosen it on our own, we both hate it, and you know you have better things to do. Don’t pretend to care just because some extra time together allows you to know more about me than you should.”

Logan processed what Remus said, staying unmoving only with the exception of blinking. This is what Remus thought of their arrangement? That he hated it, that he thought Logan hated it, that he forgot Logan was the one to suggest the arrangement in the first place? Janus’ words at the end of their sword fight rang through his head. Logan had been scared that Remus, the one side who listened to him, only did so out of courtesy. And he did. Logan’s fear was a reality.

“You forget that I suggested this...arrangement, as you call it. I was the one who pitched it to Thomas. I chose to do this, and do I have anything better to do? That’s subjective, so I don’t know. I am sorry this arrangement you hate so much has ended up being a prison rather than a way to save Thomas distress while not repressing you at the same time, so if there’s anything I can do to make the experience more pleasurable, I am open to hearing it. However, you are also mistaken that I hate it. I do not, I am incapable of such emotions. Though--”

“No you’re not,” Remus said, voice having a shocked tone caused by Logan’s previous statements and admissions.

“Sorry, what?”

“You’re not ‘incapable of such emotions’, you’re not some heartless robot without a soul. You have feelings, Logan, and I’ve seen them,” Remus elaborated, shock slowly dissolving from his tone.

“That’s ridiculous, you even called me a robot-”

Remus shook his head. “No. I’ve seen you interested by anything remotely scientific I bring up, I’ve seen you as burnt as black toast after I’ve talked to you for a particularly long time, I’ve seen you immediately after a conversation with the others when you have a desperate need to be listened to because they refused to, I’ve seen you embarrassed, I’ve seen you flustered—yes, I caught you burying your face in your hands today—and you just said you care about me. Even though that likely isn’t true, you have demonstrated care for Patton, Roman, and Virgil as well. Even just one of those examples is enough to prove you have feelings.”

Logan was silent for a few seconds, his weight shifting from foot to foot, looking everywhere but at Remus himself. Accepting that he couldn’t argue with most of Remus’ statements without communicating a falsehood, he decided to argue over the only one he could. “I do indeed care about you. It’s not just Patton, Roman, and Virgil. How could it be, considering only you listen?”

“I…” Remus tried to think of a good response. “I bother you. I wear you out. I give you all these terrible things to go through, forcing you to pick them apart like a medical examiner does with a rotting corpse, despite how disgusting and terrible they may be. I occupy way more of your time than I should, and I guess I’m sorry for that, so how could you care? I wouldn’t.”

Logan didn’t quite know how to respond. He wasn’t aware Remus thought so lowly of himself. He contemplated his reply.

“See? It’s not that hard to-”

Logan raised his hand as a demand for silence. Remus shut his mouth, only complying out of surprise. He waited as Logan carefully pondered what he would say next.

“Falsehood,” Logan said gently, starting his response. “None of those things are true. You shouldn’t be suspecting such things either, considering you have no way to know your effects on me. I want to say I wish you hadn’t said that, but I couldn’t do so with honesty, since my real wish is for you to never have thought—much less, believed—those falsehoods in the first place. However, I am considering your previous behavior and would postulate you do not believe me as I have not done anything to prove your statements are falsehoods. Would I be correct in saying this, Remus?”

Remus took a moment to respond, still processing Logan’s response. “I..uhh...yeah.”

Logan nodded. “First, you do not bother me. To bother someone is to trouble or annoy someone by interrupting or causing inconvenience. Considering that I volunteered to be in your company—which immediately debunks anything related to interruptions—and that my time with you makes you cause less inconvenience, you neither cause interruptions nor inconvenience to befall me. You don’t trouble me either. I spend time with you so don’t trouble anyone. And, everyone annoys me. So even if you did, which I don’t find to always be true, you wouldn’t be alone in that regard. You don’t wear me out too often either. Working with you only requires my ears and my brainpower, neither of which take much out of me since you rarely say anything that troubles me or forces me to contemplate problems that drain me. When you do, the reasons are typically seeded in my scientific curiosity for something you might’ve brought up, which is something I can in no way blame on you. To be candid, your company can be a relief, especially after dealing with the others.”

“That makes less sense than glow-in-the-dark lungs.”

“I’m not finished,” Logan stated, trying to be as kind as possible. “But if you would like me to restate what I just said-”

“No,” Remus shook his head. “I understand what you said...it’s just...how? How is that the truth?”

Logan’s face softened. “I am Logic, Remus. Many things that would normally affect a person or another side in a certain way will affect me in different ways or not at all. Your contributions don’t bother me as I am aware of their detachment from reality and get less disgusted at them than the others. And you listen to me, which is a far cry away from being a nuisance.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Remus said, shrugging.

Logan gave a small smile. It was hardly visible, but to Remus, it was as if Logan was grinning. Remus relished in the sight, hoping he could see it again soon and wishing it was something he could gaze at every day till the end of time. Logan never smiled, and Remus causing it made him all the happier.

“I am pleased to hear that you understand that I care for you,” Logan said, voice quiet and gentle. “Now, back to my original question. Are you okay?”

Remus turned his head to the side. “I was hoping you’d forget about the question.”

“Yes or no?” Logan pressed.

Remus took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “No.”

Logan nodded, taking a small and cautious step forward. “Do you require someone to talk to?”

Remus opened an eye and peered at Logan. “I don’t need anything, Pocket Protector.”

“Would you like someone to talk to?” Logan rephrased.

Remus shook his head. “You shouldn’t have to listen to me.”

“I already do.”

Remus gulped. “Alright. Yes, I suppose I would.”

Remus took a moment to gather his words, facing the floor but eyes flicking up to look at Logan every other second.

“Well, you were right,” he started. “About Roman, I mean. It was his comment. I know it’s kind of silly-”

“It’s nothing of the sort, he was out of line.”

“-But it still hurt. And yeah, he said none of us besides him were heroic and charming or whatever instead of just me, but still. It was directed towards me, and...he’s not wrong. I’m the resident villain. He’s the hero. I’ll never be heroic, or charming, or romantic while he can go and sweep Virgil off his feet. I guess his comment was just a wake-up call,” Remus continued. “I know he didn’t mean it to be mean and he’s just nowhere near being self-aware enough to take note of his insensitivity, but I still let it affect me. I shouldn’t have, but I did.”

“It’s fine if his comment got to you, Remus,” Logan said, taking another small step forward. “Roman says things like that sometimes without knowing what their consequences could be, and so it likely did mean nothing, but that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be able to hurt you, or that you’re wrong for letting it. But you also have to acknowledge that he’s wrong, and not view it as a wake-up call of sorts.”

Remus frowned, making eye contact with Logan. “What do you mean? I’m the evil murdery green side who will pull your teeth out and string them on a necklace if you’re not careful. Of course he’s right.”

“I suppose it’s a matter of perspective. Anyone can be a villain in the eyes of someone else. However, any establishment that a certain person is a villain ‘factually’ would be incorrect as the concepts of good and bad are arguably meaningless and any action can be seen as wrong or right in the eyes of another human. There is no truth in opinions, only preference.”

“So what you’re saying is…”

“You may be a villain in Roman’s eyes, you can be a villain in your own eyes if you so choose, however, there is nothing that can or will establish you as a villain for everyone forever.”

“So to Roman, I’m a villain,” Remus said slowly, trying to understand.

“Maybe, he could have just been exaggerating,” Logan said quickly. “He also sees everything as very black-or-white, which I imagine contributes a great deal as well.”

Remus nodded slowly. “And I can see myself however I want.”

“Though I’d prefer that you see yourself positively or neutrally. A negative self-image is never good.”

“And you…” Remus trailed, raising an eyebrow playfully.

Logan’s eyes widened. “Oh, I don’t care for labeling those types of things. I do see you as a positive influence on my existence if that was your question.”

Remus grinned brightly. “That answer is better than fermented semen!”

There was an awkward silence between them.

“Do you honestly believe you can’t be heroic, charming, and romantic?” Logan asked quietly, not wanting to scare off the intrusive side.

Remus stared, surprised by Logan’s question. “It’s not an opinion, Logan, it’s fact. I’m a duke, not a prince.”

“And royal status dictates those traits?”

Remus shook his head. “No...I’m just not those things.”

Logan frowned. “Do you want to be?”

Remus took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to reply without confusing the nerd. “No. I know none of them fit my personality, and I don’t want them too. Especially charming. But...it might be nice to experience once. To prove Roman wrong and that it isn’t impossible for me to have the traits of a hero.”

“There are no specifically assigned traits to heroes, Remus,” Logan said, tightening his tie. “However, you can act however you want within the bounds of acceptable reality.”

“I can?” Remus asked, a smirk on his face. He started to take a couple of steps closer to Logan but stopped a good four feet away.

“Yes, you can,” Logan replied, voice quieter at Remus’ confident advance. The logical side shuffled his feet back, only moving a couple of inches.

“Do you think I’m heroic?” Remus raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Do you think I’m charming?” He took a step closer.

“I-I don’t-”

Remus took another step, a larger one, closer to the logical side. There was likely only six inches between them. He stared deep into his eyes, a fiery passion for the visually impaired nerd burning hotter than any star Logan could name.

“Do you think I’m romantic?”

“I…”

Logan’s words died in his throat as he met Remus’ eyes. Remus, who was intrusive, offensive, bad to the bone, impolite, occasionally funny, interested in certain sciences, and strived to learn whatever Logan could teach. Remus, the only one who ever listened.

“You can if you want to be,” Logan said quietly, finally able to speak but never louder than the volume he was currently speaking at.

Remus hummed and pulled Logan flush against him by the waist.

“Remus?” Logan asked nervously.

“What is it, my bashful brainiac?”

“Do you really hate our arrangement?” Logan asked quietly, the question so painful to ask but the answer was something he needed to know before anything else happened. “And do you only listen out of courtesy?”

Remus sighed, running his free hand through the logical side’s hair. “Not one bit. And you are the most interesting person I’ve ever spoken to.”

Logan let another small smile cross his face and glanced at his feet.

“So I can be romantic, hmm?”

Logan nodded.

Remus smirked. He swept Logan into a dip—one arm around Logan’s thigh, lifting his leg into the air, and the other arm around his shoulders. Remus gazed lovingly into Logan’s shocked brown eyes and admired the red face of his nerd, giving the side a second to process what he did. He then dipped his gaze to Logan’s lips and flicked his tongue across his own.

“May I?”

Logan gulped before nodding.

Remus immediately crashed his lips against Logan’s; the simple nod of Logan’s head acting like a lamp that just turned on and Remus’ lips being their loyal moth.

Logan was still shocked from previous events when Remus’ lips met his, his eyes still open. Remus didn’t hate him, which was a plus, and now Remus was expressing romantic interest in him? He couldn’t believe it.

Yet, it was still happening. Logan closed his eyes, put a hand on the nape of Remus’ neck, and deepened the kiss.

It was something both were desperate for, something they had both wanted for ages—no matter how long they were aware of their romantic feelings for the other.

And so they dissolved into the other: Logan melting wherever Remus’ hands met his body, and Remus putting his desperation and need for Logan on clear display as he kissed him like he never would get to again. Remus got to be romantic, Logan was treated like a beautiful princess, and they both felt so incredibly loved.

The kiss eventually had to come to end, so when they both remembered they had to breathe, they pulled away and opened their eyes. Remus kept Logan in a dip and looked down at him like he was the loveliest thing to ever walk the earth. This only reddened Logan’s cheeks further. Remus gave him the fondest, most loving smile he could muster.

“I suppose I can be romantic.”

Taglist: @the-sympathetic-villain @justanotherhumanstuff @thistledown15

This was technically the end of this story, but I do have a Moceit themed sequel that I have decided will just be chapter six. After that, hopefully it’ll be done! Hope you liked this chapter. Sorry, I meant to get this to you on Thursday but homework piled up and I just had a bad day Saturday so it’s coming to y’all now. (Also um you may have guessed but the image of Remus dipping Logan popped into my head and inspired this fic. It was 18k longer than expected)

#intrulogical #ts fanfic #remus #logan #romantic intrulogical #prinxiety #moceit #prince charming #roman #remus sanders #logan sanders #fic #kill writes #swearing tw #self deprecation #food tw #food mention

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enzo-zzz · 3 years

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A vent on the fandom + cg

If you dont wanna hear any negativity, please just ignore this post. It includes dissatisfication on the yttd fandom and ongoing belief in it. I'm not going to use very kind words here, so just ignore this post. 3b spoilers included.

I like yttd so much, but the english fandom, i cannot interact because how toxic it is. Even the smallest different of which route you choose, will attract anyone to abuse, harrass, ridicule or humiliate you. And to be truth, there are many of them who are so judgemental, to the point that there is only one thing that are right and the other are wrong. Black and white mindset. The term "canon route" is what fans created itself. I guess there are many of them who are teens or kids, since most of kids who havent grown up yet tend to lean towards black and white mindset, even if they believe they are not. If you find people who keep arguing especially on social media, you can bet that its teens. Adult are too tired to involve in things like fighting with strangers. There is one time when the poll asked your age and the age range quite small to teens age. I guess thats why i think so.

OTHER THAN THAT, THERE'S ONE THING I'M ANNOYED WITH. ABOUT THE CG AND HOW THE FANDOM DECIDES THAT THE MORE CGS, THE MORE CANON IT IS. To be perfectly honest, i'm the one who came up with the analysis that on certain route 2-2 ending the cg is more. But people really use it the wrong way and now thought that anything that has more cg is the canon route. The word canon route is wrong in itself, who tf come up with the term canon route in yttd? Is the reason for creating two route is for one to be canon only, or for sparing different characters, or for having different storyline? (I personally think that on different route, the story will change and the ones who got to live at last is probably different ). Now i see those who misuse that information everywhere. "In sou route 2-2 ending evil joe AI dont even have new cg but in kanna route he has. See how biased the devs are? he should have drawn more if he really meant the route to be the canon one. Kanna route will get happy ending, sou route is bad ending." I think thats stupid. B*tch, he keep reusing his old art here and there. You can check for yourself. Joe and midori has same hand based on the cg? He's just reusing the hand art. The arm in 3b and 1-1 is the same arm he reuse. Sou and kanna 2-2 ending basically use the same sou drawing, he just changed it a bit. Sara in 2-2 kanna ending use the same cg as when keiji try to calm her in front of computer, he just changed the face. Midori and sara on the 3b game screen cg basically use the same cg in the 3b content, but changed a bit. So i can think why need to create new cg when joe is still malicious as the hallucination in 2-2 sou ending? If i want to create something i will also reuse this to save my time.

So if you wanna really use this cg argument, then maybe you can consider why alice memory game got so many more cg than reko's? and how ranmaru gone insane has so many new sprite and pose with the hair like that. And why when dummy is dead they got cg's. Especially the ranmaru dying one, he got moving cg's and how it was put more effort into that. Then that means dummy dying is actually the canon route since when they alive they got no addtional cg? This is my assumption, but i think the devs just do as many cg as it takes depends on how impactful the scene he's working on, not because its canon, thats really a lazy take if he is actually unwilling to do extra route but still forcing himself to do it anyway. Imagine if dummy is dying but no cg, instead a message " ranmaru/mai/anzu died ". Do you think that will really give impact to you? This game clearly hinting that joe is going to be the spotlight of the game, even in 3b. So when sou set the real joe ai in kanna route for sara, the script is written for the real joe to genuinely react to sara. of course thats going to be heartwrenching since joe himself is the very important part of sara's life. When the script is made that way, lacking of cgs will hamper down the storytelling nankidai genuinely want to deliver. All i can say is it come from the heart of the author himself. If it is just only text for something as tearful as that moment and no cgs, it wont really touch the feeling isnt it? It is the same with alice memory game that tells about how alice "kill" midori. I'm not sure how many it is but atleast there is 3 cgs with one of them has variant. The story of how alice kill midori is also important and should have impact, thus the extra CG's. I can say its about being passionate and indulged in the storytelling.

I dont even know if joe will ever heal sara in sou route, but based on how the story still keep joe relevant til the end, then there must be something that need to happen between them in the end right? Nankidai even made sure that sara see the dog keychain in 3a if player probably choose to not ask gin about the dog keychain he's hiding in ch 2. Its also for relating ranmaru and joe. Having closure or conclusion with joe in the middle of game is still valid, and having a closure with joe at the end of the game is still valid. Imo, having closure with joe at the end of the game after all of those suffering involving him makes the better climax or impact for sara chara development since the game build up to highlight joe and mr. Policeman, it can be even better if all of it are to be pull together in the ending.

Even if the devs has route he prefer, he's not abandoning any route he less prefer, only if its true that he ever have a route he prefer. Plus you dont know which route he's prefer if any. He's taking his work seriously, it just some "fans" looking down on him, even to the point calling him biased, he's punishing the one who take another route, treating like he only use his career for egostatiscal reason (it somehow clearly mirrors that you are the one who egostatiscal to the point of wanting to find any excuse to punish other, you just using the devs name to validate your mindset). If he's dislike people who chose that route that much, then why create that route? If he know its tiring to make alternate route, then why still make the choice to let 3 dummy alive route at the end? It will make more work. I can only assume its out of passion, or just that he deep down wants the character to be alive atleast in a route ( idk if this is correct, i just read google translated version of his public fanbox that he's actually very reluctant at first when the time comes and "crying" so hard when he had to kill joe in chapter 1. So the part where he wants to spare some character is only my assumption ). By this punishing logic, shouldnt he not make alice die when you push reko ai to spare gin, and only do it to those who dont push the ai to save gin by killing real reko? I am more sure that the variants is to tell a different story or who to spare, and specifically for who sara actually was.

Happy endings? I'm not sure. I've expected that once from story with a lot of deaths, wishing for atleast the protagonists alive. Anime or story with a lot of death is definitely my jam, but from what i see, most of them has bittersweet ending, it depends on how the author wants it to be. Some author dont mind killing them all till the end, and some author just easily kill them all because they plan to revive them later. And everyone sense is different. Some japanese people sense in storytelling is a bit different imo. As the one being the audience, happy endings is the most common wish the audience wants. But its all up to the sense of the author. This is why i'm annoyed with some kids from overseas who rarely watch or play many things that involves a lot of death from japan suddenly says that this "one happy ending, this one bad ending! Everyone will survive in this route, everyone dead in this route"

Just play any route you like, nothing wrong with that. Whats wrong is to start this war of ridiculing others or have that irritating attitude towards those who play their own first route and start bad mouthing or desperately throwing bad assumption that one route will end very bad just for the sake of feeling better for your choice and to scare others.You do know that when you read a book, you'll only know if the overall story is good or bad until you know the ending right? The ending will conclude everything that happened. What happening in the fandom is now like, you only read 3/4 of the book and already expecting that this one will have good ending and bad ending. What if its not about the binary, but for the difference in direction? Its not that bad if the story of the book is kinda predictable, but with how plot twists become the main part of yttd's charm, its getting more difficult to predict how it will end. There's a lot of story which was masterpiece in every part as seen by fans, until the ending hits. Its what the author wants, but its not what the fans wants.

If you pick fights with others, even passively, the consequence is all on you. Good luck taking care of your mess.

Thats why i'm reluctant to publish any theory because the fandom will always use it as an excuse to pick fights with other and say " i'm more right bcs i got this proof" . U see in my caption i dont want any of those harasser to even digest my theory. If you are one of them get out of my blog.

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thompsborn · 3 years

Note

Happy FFWF! What's your favorite title you've given a fic? Why?

okay so i looked through ALL of my posted fics, including my ~secret identity~ and my it account, and i’m too indecisive to pick a FAVORITE favorite, so here are the ones i can’t choose between, in no particular order

• sea green, see blue

this one isn’t marvel, it’s my ron/harry one shot that i’m still planning to write a sequel for eventually, but this title just HITS me okay?? i love this fic a lot too, like i put say more thought and effort into this bitch than i needed to, and i spent literal HOURS of my time trying to think of a name for it, and then i found this song while listening to a playlist of music that was on how i met your mother, because himym is one of my favorite shows and had so many great songs in it and oftentimes i’ll find such good lines in those songs—case and point being this one, which, while the lyrics don’t FULLY fit how i think of ron/harry, the title of the song fits the fic PERFECTLY, because the entire central point and theme of the fic is the two of them seeing each other—how they think, how they act, how strong and smart the other is. it’s all about their perception of each other and harry, green eyes, seeing ron, blue eyes, who sees harry right back. it’s just. i love it. SO much.

• when healing hurts

this title is kind of self explanatory and not hard to grasp, but i still just love it a lot, especially since it perfectly grasps the main part of why i wanted this fic to be in this series and why i wanted to write it in the first place. peter’s healing factor is incredible and is written about a lot but i just always think about how there are situations where his healing would be agonizing, and i’ve read fics that explore that but i wanted to write my own version of it that fit into the series, and the title gives the two main points of the fic—healing and pain, and how they can go hand in hand. idk i just think it’s nice and suits the fic really well!!

• the portal closed

again, self explanatory title once you read the fic, but that’s kind of the entire point of it! this is a fic about a different version of the mcu, one where everything changed due to a singlilar event going differently—tony not making it out before the portal closed. and this is an exploratorion of everything that follows from that point. it’s simple but it’s exactly the purpose of the title and i get so excited whenever i open the doc to work on it (which i need to do since i haven’t updated in a hot minute) and it’s just v satisfying to me!!

• hold me (like the night sky holds the moon)

lol so ~secret identity~ (even though anyone i’ve been in a marvel discord server with knows this) but this is my other account where i post anything that includes ~spicy~ content just bc i like having it completely separate from my main fics since a majority of my fics don’t actually include explicit content, HOWEVER i love this fic and the title and wanted to include it anyway! this entire one shot was directly inspired by three songs written by anson seabra and i don’t even remember how i got the idea but i rememver listening to those three songs (especially broken, which i still listen to very regularly) on repeat and busting this fic out in like a day or two, and the title comes from one of those songs (this one, specifically) and it just. it captures the point!!! the point of the fic!!! is peter going from “fuck it i ruined my life and i’m still ruining it and now i’m just living what’s left of it and that’s just what it is” and then making it to “this is still hard and i’m scared and i’m sad but you helped me see what i wasn’t seeing before and i’m so grateful for you and i want you to be here and me to be with you even though that scares me even more” and the song is just AAAAA !! the title is so poetically lovely and from the song that CAPTURES THE ENTIRE POINT and just. wow.

anyway.

• butterflies and storms and ooey-gooey feelings

i have no justification for this other than i think it’s a really cute title for a really cute one shot

• fall into your blue

so this is also a lyric from a song (any jon bellion fans? anyone? hello?) that i was so grateful to realize fit this fic because this was also a fic i remember spending HOURS trying to brainstorm a name for, and i just happened to be listening to jon bellion and this song came on and i was like,,,, wait. this fic isn’t complete (but i did recently get back into my it fics a little bit and started rewriting the second part) but the premise behind the fic is these guys, two different separate people, who are in their senior year of high school and who are getting ready to become adults and have their whole futures ahead of them but they can’t do that yet because there is so much behind them that they need to address and deal with, and they meet and they fall into each other and help each other and end up being the people they needed to help them through this last year of really being like a high school student.

they’re both sad—aka blue. they fall into each other. hence, the lyric fall into your blue being literally the PERFECT lyric for this.

• empty world

i’ve mentioned this fic before on this account because it is still my favorite thing that i’ve literally ever written so far in my life, but the title is also very important to me and to the fic. it has a double meaning!! this fic is three parts, right? part one is richie being forced to grow up in a world that is literally empty—he doesn’t know why, but everyone else is just gone, in the blink of an eye, and he’s alone, and it slowly gets more and more apparent that this loneliness gets to him and all he wants is to see his friends again, to see eddie again. part two is eddie growing up in a world where richie is “missing” and they can’t find him no matter how hard they try, and he runs on empty hoping that richie will shownup one day, and bases so much of his life around the fact that he knows a huge part of it is missing, and he may have the rest of the losers and he may go to college and get a job, but he still feels empty because he knows that a vital part of him is just gone. part three is the reunion and the aftermath and how they try to process the fact that all of this happened in the first place and the fight against pennywise and all of that, and then they win and that emptiness is gone because the losers are all together, eddie and richie are together, and they get to have the rest of their lives like this. there’s so much meaning packed into the words empty world that it’s insane!!

plus i wrote a literal song in order to have good names for the chapters, as well. so

part one — “i have not seen your face in so long” aka richie and being alone, doing everything he can to never forget the losers and eddie and trying to picture what they might look like as he gets older since he never got the chance to see them grow up with him

part two — “but i will never forget your name” aka eddie doing what he can to live his life after having to accept there’s nothing else he can do to try and find richie but in every single thing he does he remembers the boy he loved anyway and it constantly weighs him down

part three — “without you, this is an empty world” aka they feel that emptiness in them start to fill up and heal once they’re together again and they get their happy ending

• an old heart, a new home

another one that feels a bit self explanatory once you’ve read the fic, but it’s a reddie fic and this is a marvel blog so i doubt anyone has or will pfjjf, but the title captures the fic! an old heart (eddie, due to being cursed to live forever until blah blah magic magic i can’t remember the specifics—and to an extend, richie, too, since he is a reincarnation of the man eddie originally fell in love with) a new home (the apartment building, each other). plus this is a fic series that i’ve been considering taking down and turning into an original book for a while now, and if i did i’d keep the name the same bc i feel like it fits so well !!

and that’s it :D i listed too many but oh well !!

#ffwf #happy friday!!#my writing

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himbowelsh · 4 years

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Well now I need touch starved Liebgott something! I always imagined Webgott to work the other way around. Y'know Web being unused to hugs and Lieb having no sense of boundaries. But I'm really intrigued by a concept of switching it up.

hello i’m in tears bc this took so long to write, but... enjoy an extremely touch-hangry boi. be warned, for copious amounts of obscenely soft cuddling.

Long story short, it goes like this.

David’s just finished an article, two hours ahead of the frankly unreasonable deadline sent by his editor; he collapses on the couch, promptly kicks his sock-clad feet up on the coffee table, and slumps against Joe’s side.

Joe goes very still.

At first, David thinks it’s because of his feet. Joe can be weird about things like that; he values cleanliness, and “not acting like fuckin’ animals in the house, Jesus, Web”. All the things David was never allowed to do growing up in his family’s Manhattan penthouse --- like leave dishes out or discard his clothes in messy piles --- are exactly the sort of things that drive Joe insane. He kind of relishes doing them, just to see the twitch Joe gets by his eye, and for the way he grips his hips roughly when he growls at him to “quit leaving your shit everywhere”. David’s natural sloppiness leaves Joe needing an outlet for his frustration… and their shared bedroom is kept very clean. It works out great for both parties.

So, sure, it’s probably just the feet on the table… he thinks for a grand total of eight seconds, before looking up to catch Joe’s eye.

His boyfriend’s gaze has gone impossible soft. It takes David’s breath away, a little, because Joe isn’t like that as a rule. He’s sharp edges and broken glass, jagged teeth and bladed grins. He’s harsh as sandpaper and smooth as steel. He’s frustrating, and his gentle moments come and go like fickle summer storms.

To be fair, impromptu cuddling on the couch isn’t like them either… but David needs it tonight, and stepping outside the bounds of their normal relationship can’t be the worst crime in the world. He holds Joe’s gaze for a moment, questioning and careful… but, instead of pulling away, Joe just takes a moment before sighing. His arm wraps around David’s shoulders, pulling him close.

“Rough night, Web?” he asks, an undercurrent of implication in his voice. This ain’t like you. You alright?

“You have no idea.” David rests his stubbled cheek against Joe’s chest, sighing deeply as the tension slowly drains from his muscles. Joe is hesitant to react; his actions, even as he rubs up and down David’s shoulder, lack his usual fearlessness. Joe can grab his ass in the middle of a crowded bar, or ruffle his curls just to get on his nerves… but this casual intimacy is uncharted territory for him.

He needs a distraction from his own head. David’s got just the thing. “How would you,” he sighs, “like to hear about the plight of Heteractis anemone? Because I just wrote four thousand words on it.”

“Heter— huh.” Joe sighs into the crown of his head, ruffling his curls. “Pretty sure Guarnere caught that once.”

“Knowing him, he’s still got it,” David replies. When Joe laughs, it reverberates in his chest, a low rumble in David’s ear.

“Yeah, alright, Web. Tell me all ‘bout your anemoles.”

“Anemone.”

“Yeah, what’d I say?” Joe presses his grin into David’s hair. “Amenemes.”

“Anemo-- damn it,” he mutters, burying the words against his boyfriend’s chest. Joe laughs even harder… and, like it or not, the sound it a balm to David’s frayed nerves. Even better are the strong arms which wrap around him, fully encompassing his shoulders and pulling him against Joe’s body. It’s… more than he was anticipating, more than they probably need, but it feels nice, and he doesn’t want to pull away. David melts against him, curling his legs with Joe and letting himself drift off. Fingers card gently through his hair; his boyfriend’s warm breath caresses his temple… and being this close feels so good that he forgets to remember it isn’t ordinary at all.

If he looked up at that exact moment, he might have found Joe enjoying it even more than he was… but David, as usual, preferred to sail away.

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

That really should have been the end of it… but after their night of unexpected intimacy, it’s like a dam has broken.

Joe does it at unexpected moments. While David is flipping pancakes in the kitchen, he comes up behind him and wraps his arms around his waist, chin looping over his shoulder. They just sort of… stay there. David is so surprised that he ends up charring the pancake, which Joe eats anyways, because he’d inhale charcoal if he was hungry enough… but while his boyfriend is wolfing blackened pancake lumps down his throat, no explanation is offered. David doesn’t know how to ask.

He’s brushing his teeth; Joe comes up behind him and holds his hips, just staying there for a few minutes. He’s reading a book in bed; Joe lies down, curling into his side like an automatic reflex. They’re watching whatever B-rated action flick Joe just insisted on going to see at the Cineplex, and Joe holds his hand the entire time.

Calling it strange is an understatement. It’s fucking bizarre.

Which isn’t to say Joe’s been shy about physical contact before, because he hasn’t. He’s just always been measured with it. Joe doesn’t hold back from touching people, grasping their shoulders or clapping them on the back… but he never goes overboard with it. His touches don’t linger. He’s a handsy person by nature, but David never considered before that he weighs every touch before giving them out.

If that’s the case, what’s changed? Why has he suddenly become so free — even apparently craving — touches he’s never asked for before?

David doesn’t know much about the scientific method, but any good journalist can test a hypothesis as well as a lab tech. Early one night, before either of them have gone to bed, he sits down next to Joe on the couch and sets the remote in his boyfriend’s lap.

“Anything but reality TV,” is all he says, and Joe smirks as he turns the station to some late night show.

He’s paying attention; David is not. Instead, his attention is fixed firmly on Joe, not even trying to hide it. The curve of his profile, the shadows along his neck and collar, the way he always lounges when he sits… like he’s trying to take up as much space as possible. Something about him seems inexplicably, undeniably lonely.

David leans over and wraps an arm around Joe’s shoulders. The reaction is expected; Joe goes tense, like he’s trying to figure out what the hell is going on. David counts back in his head: ten… nine… eight… seven…

Before he gets to five, Joe’s relaxed into him. Easy as that — it’s like teaching a puppy to eat food, or a baby to cry. Joe and touch go together like authors and caffeine. Touching is easy for him, but being touched is the most natural thing in the world.

A flame kindles to life within David’s chest, and soon it’s warming him from the inside out. He can’t keep a fond smile from his lips. After a moment, his hand strays up to Joe’s hair, threading gently through the well-maintained strands. Joe’s always had a weakness for having his hair touched, and tonight is no exception. He makes a tiny, content noise and leans into David, the tension slowly draining from his body. It doesn’t take long before he’s leaning against him, head balanced against David’s chest. Arms still around him, David holds Joe tenderly, caressing his hair while occasionally pressing kisses to the crown of his head. Joe’s heartbeat is steady, his muscles lax. David charts the gentle rhythm of his breathing until he’s sure his boyfriend has dropped off to sleep.

When he looks down, a wave of tenderness washes over him. Joe Liebgott with every guard down is a thing to see. He so rarely looks peaceful. There’s something restless about Joe, a relentless hunger thrumming just beneath his skin, determined to break free. He’s always had an edge of urgency to him… but now, dozing against David’s chest, he looks without a care in the world.

He ought to be this way all the time. He deserves to be happy all the time. God help him, if David has any say in it, Joe will be.

“Is it my birthday or something?” Joe asks, when David, completely unprompted, begins massaging his shoulders. “Shit, don’t tell me I’m another year older and just forgot.”

“Not for another few months, old man,” David replies. On reflex, Joe tries to twist and grab him, but David’s massage doesn’t let up; after a minute, he relaxes into it, slumping further back against David’s chest.

“You been acting weird lately,” Joe declares — as though David needs to be good, and as though he wasn’t the one acting weird to begin with. “Everything fine at work? You didn’t… gamble away our savings to the mafia, or promise Sobel our firstborn kid or something? If you got news for me, Web, I can take it without a bonus massage.”

“Why do you think — wait, we’re going to have kids?”

“Head in the game, Web. What’s going on?”

At once, he’s glad Joe is facing the other way, because David’s not sure what he could say otherwise. He frowns at Joe’s back muscles, kneading into them with a bit more force than necessary. Sure, he’s been… more physically affectionate these days. Joe no longer has to seek it out, because he gives it willingly… and even if touch doesn’t come naturally to David, the obvious way Joe eats it up when his touches linger in public or they draw close to each other in private makes it all worthwhile. Joe seems happier nowadays, so clearly it’s working fine.

Why’s he getting interrogated now?

“Am I not allowed to touch you?” he asks. “Just because I want to touch?”

“You ain’t a touchy-feely person. Never have been.”

“People change.”

“Not you.” Joe’s observation is too neutral for David to justify flaring up at it. “Come on, Web. What’s going on?”

He’s silent for a long moment before summoning a reply. “I want you to be happy,” he declares, finishing off Joe’s back massage with a caress of his neck. “I want you… to feel loved.”

Joe is silent for a beat before turning his head to look back at him. “That’s all, huh?”

“Yeah,” David huffs. “That’s all.”

It’s hard to make out Joe’s expression when one half of his face is cast into shadow, but David spots the amusement in his eyes… and something else, too, something softer that he can’t put his finger on. It sparks a familiar warmth in his chest, and he smiles.

“Well, don’t stop on my account,” Joe sighs. There’s no warning before he’s leaning back against David’s chest, but David’s ready this time. He opens his arms, embracing him as they go. Slowly, Joe relaxes into the comfort of his touch, and the world feels a little warmer.

#webgott #david webster #joe liebgott #joseph liebgott #my writing #Anonymous

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years

Text

Subterfuge

Part 8/finale in Getaway Series

Warnings: nonconsensual sex (vaginal ntercourse, violence), angst, general assholery.

This is dark!(nomad)Steve and explicit. 18+ only. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. I mean it, I’m not gonna tell you again.

Summary: The reader makes her move.

Note: Alright, so this is the final part of this series and I’m shocked that I’ve finished it bc I was struggling boo. But here ya go. I hope you all are ready and I dunno if you’ll like it, but this is the end.

Anyways, let me know what you think as always with a reblog and/or some feedback. Love ya <3

...

You watched your mother as she set the casserole dish in the middle of the table. She hadn’t said much to you since your arrival. She avoided it as she distracted herself with the family dinner. Your sister sat across from you, she meant to say something but had yet to find the gull.

Your father was the only who was unfazed by your presence. Never the talkative type, he at least looked away from his book for more than two seconds to acknowledge you. He greeted you with a hug and asked after your day.

The tension of thoughts unspoken kept you silent too. You waited at the table and resisted the habitual urge to take your phone out. That would only be a reminder. Of how terribly everything could go. Your last hope were the texts you quickly erased upon reading. The emails deleted within minutes of receiving them.

Tony Stark had a plan and it all hinged on you. And Steve. Agents were in place to descend on your apartment the moment you sent the code word but their target had been absent for almost five days. Just like his presence, it made you anxious. He had been away for longer before. You should be relieved to be free of him, but you knew it was only temporary.

Your mother served everyone before she sat. You twirled your fork but even the savoury aroma of her family recipe couldn’t rile your appetite. You may not know when Steve would show up next, but you knew the end was imminent. All you had to do was send the word. One word and he was done.

“So, honey,” Your mother’s voice was hesitant. “How have you been?”

“Working,” You replied. “You know, the same old.”

The sound of cutlery against the plates filled the silence that followed.

“And how’s Nick?” Gia asked suddenly. You looked up to her grin and narrowed your eyes.

“I wouldn’t know,” You said.

“Gia,” Your mom warned.

“Oh come on, the last time we saw her, her ex was tryna fight her new boytoy.” Gia trilled. “Our family can be dramatic but that was--”

“He’s not--Nick is just...Nick.” You interjected. “Jesus, I came here to be with all of you and you’re treating me like some...pariah. Should I have worn a scarlet letter for our dinner?”

“We’re worried,” Your mother intoned. “We don’t know this Nick very well and after what happened with Ethan--”

“Ethan hates me. He has every right to.” You snarled. “What do you want me to say? He was right, I’m a slut.”

“Language,” Your mother reproached.

“I’m an adult! I’ll use whatever language suited to the situation.” You dropped your fork and crossed your arms. “Why aren’t you saying anything to Gia as she dates a man nearly two decades older than her, hmm?”

“We love you, we just want to make sure you’re okay,” Your mother protested.

“Then leave her alone,” Your father spoke up as he swallowed a mouthful of casserole. “Pete’s sake, she’s told you a dozen times. Let her make her own mistakes. Judgin’ her’s not gonna do her any favours.”

You blinked and looked to your dad as he leaned back in his chair.

“This Nick boy causes any trouble, I’ll deal with him myself.” He shook his head. “Just like I dealt with Ethan.”

“What?” You lifted a brow. “What does that mean?”

“I had a talk with him after the barbecue. Told him to leave you alone. He’s angry. Hurt. But I told him it’s no sense hounding you and making you both more miserable than you already are.” He sighed. “It will pass. All of it.” He looked to your mother pointedly. “So let it pass and be nice.”

You mother sniffed and stared at the table. Gia glared at you over her plate and you tapped your fingers along the wood. You nodded and slowly stood.

“I’m not hungry.” You said. “Besides, I didn’t come here to eat. I came here to spend time with you. I thought, stupidly, that we could be friendly.” You stepped out from between the chair and table. “I love you. All of you. I just think I need some time.”

“Honey,” Your mother stood, “Please--”

“I’ve got work tomorrow,” You neared her and forced your arms around her. “I’ll see you.”

You let go of her and patted your sister’s arm as she sulked in her chair. Your father stood and hugged you in turn. He clung to you a moment before he held you at arm’s length. His wrinkles deepened as he considered you.

“Take care of yourself, kiddo,” He said.

“I’ll try, dad,” You slowly parted from him and his hand fell from your shoulder. “Bye.”

You grabbed your coat and jacket at the door and looked back into the dining room. Your dad watched as you opened the door and disappeared out onto the street. Well, there wasn’t as much at stake as you thought.

‘Dear Mom, Dad, Gia, or whoever finds this letter,

If I'm missing or dead, I want this to be a record of why. If this man gets the best of me, I want there to be a chance that someone might get him.’

Your hand hovered over the paper as you thought. The small book light lit your words as you sat in the dark. The mattress was lumpy, its time on the floor had worsened its springs. You flicked your pen against your lip and bit the cap. Slowly, you pressed the ballpoint to the paper again.

‘It happened up north, on vacation with my friends, Kaya, Camile, Milani, and Corette, as well as my sister, Gia. They do not know what happened but they can confirm that they left me alone for several hours to visit the beach. During which I was accosted and assaulted by the fugitive known as Steve Rogers. He was bleeding and left me bleeding in turn.

I returned at the end of the week to the apartment I shared with my boyfriend, Ethan. For a few weeks, my life was the same as it was. But then he appeared again, broke into my apartment, and assaulted both me and Ethan. He made Ethan watch as he raped me and this led to the end of that relationship.

Thereafter, living on my own and without witness, I was visited almost weekly by Steve Rogers. He introduced himself to those I knew as Nick and coerced me into hiding his identity. If you capture him, you will find footage of at least one of his assaults on his phone. You will also find that he once more assaulted Ethan at one of my family’s events.

You will also note my correspondence with Stark Industries. They can provide you with a full transcript as I have erased all evidence on my end to keep myself safe. If they have failed to aid me in capturing the fugitive, then this letter will be of use to you. I only hope that he is caught before he can do this to someone else.

In the event that this letter is read, I want my family to know that I love them. I am sorry I didn’t tell them the truth but it was for their own safety.’

You leaned back against the pillow and re-read the letter. You shivered and folded it up carefully. Your last testament. All that would remain of you should this all go to shit. You got up and tucked folded the paper up so that it fit behind the upholstery of your jewelry box. When Steve arrived, you’d text your mother your hiding spot. You only prayed Steve didn’t discover it first.

It was your day off. You didn’t sleep and so you showered and dressed early. Unsure of when the bell would toll, you determined to make what could be your last day to yourself entirely self-indulgent.

You spent an hour in the bookstore. It was ages since you visited the familiar aisles, browsed old titles and new. You still hadn’t read the last haul of books you’d taken home with you. You weren’t sure you ever would but the smell of paperback comforted you. It reminded you of a time before; the alphabetized spines were the only order in your chaotic life.

You paid for a collection of Poe’s stories and made your way to the cafe next door. Many of the bookstore’s patrons ended up here. It was bustling that day but many took their coffee to go. You ordered a tea and sat in the corner, a round-backed armchair with another beside it. Empty.

It was easy to feel lonely these days. With a secret you couldn’t share with anyone; a torment you faced on your own. You left your tea to cool on the small table between the chairs and opened the book. Many of these tales you’d read before but each time you read them, they felt new again, though the sense of horror was nothing compared to that you faced outside the pages.

“You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded –with what caution –with what foresight –with what dissimulation I went to work!”

You began to slump in your chair as you read the descent into madness, the almost inhuman insanity did not seem so fantastical anymore. Perhaps, Poe’s horror wasn’t fictional, but a reflection of the depths of humanity. Of how low one could sink when their soul is corrupted.

A shadow moved beside you and a cup was placed next to yours. The book fell closed around your finger as you let it rest in your lap. You stared over at your villain. Steve sat down heavily and smirked over at you.

“Is this what you do with your free time?” He asked as he ran his hands along his thighs, smoothing the wrinkles from the worn denim.

You pulled your finger from the pages without marking your place and set the small volume behind your cup. You took your tea and sipped as you looked around the cafe. “It’s what I’m doing today.”

“It’s been a while,” He remarked as he picked up his own cup and cradled it just above his lap. “Do you think this will save you?”

You turned and squinted at him. You drank again. The tea was lukewarm and acidic. “Save me?”

“All these people,” He glanced around. “Do you think that will stop me?”

“I know it won’t,” You replied and took another gulp before setting aside the dregs to cool entirely. “So what are you waiting for?”

He laughed and raised his mug to his lips. He drank the dark coffee and placed his mug next to yours. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“And neither do you,” You countered.

“I don’t,” He said as he leaned over the arm of his chair. “And let me assure you, I’ve dealt with people far more formidable than you, girl.”

You nodded. This was what he did. He enjoyed it; taunting you. “I’m sure you have.” You examined the lines of your palm. You itched to grab your phone but could not make it so obvious. “Where have you been, anyway?”

“Doing my valiant duty. Saving the people who need saving.” He said smugly. “You know, the ones I was outlawed from helping. This world seems to have forgotten that without me, they’d be in ruins.”

“Is that how you make it okay in your head?” You looked at him. “Hmm? This?”

“This is what I’m owed. You. A single life for the millions I’ve saved.” He reached over and touched your arm, his fingers danced along your shoulder. “I’m fucking hard already.” He pulled away and pushed himself to his feet. “Meet me in the mens’.”

He turned and strutted away as you watched him. His broad shoulders disappeared down the narrow hallway that led to the facilities. You sighed and grabbed the book of horror stories from the table.

You stared at the cover, the silhouette of a raven. A bad omen; a harbinger of warfare, of death. You grabbed your purse and replaced the book on the table. You didn’t need horror stories; you were living one of your own.

The walk along the hallway seemed longer than six steps. The clinking and steaming of the cafe kitchen disguised your footsteps. You passed the ladies’ and stopped in front of the mens’. You didn’t knock but stepped inside with resignation.

Was this the climax of your story? How then should the denouement bring you lower?

Steve reached over your head and pushed the door closed as you entered. His hand slipped down and turned the lock with a loud click. He grabbed your arm and yanked you away from the door as he turned you to face the small sink. You dropped your purse as you gripped the porcelain.

You looked in the mirror at yourself as he let go and hastily undid his fly. “Come on,” He tugged your shirt up and grabbed the waist of your jeans.

You flicked open your fly as he shoved your pants past your ass. The heat of his body surrounded you. You looked up. Your eyes weren’t yours. They were dark and haunted. Your features were marred by shadows. You felt hollow as his hand brushed against you and he pushed your shoulders forward.

You closed your eyes as he entered you. It hurt. You were dry and he was impatient. It took him a few thrusts to reach his limit. His hand went to the back of your neck as you shuddered and grasped the sides of the sink. He crushed your hips against the porcelain as his hushed grunts floated above you.

“Fuck,” He swore as he slipped his hand around your front. He felt between your folds and rubbed your clit. “I should’ve come yesterday.”

You bit your lip as you hung your head forward. You kept your eyes shut as each thrust came harder than the last. The cold porcelain grew slick beneath your palms. You slid forward, your face closer to the mirror. His hand crept around your neck and your back arched as his fingers tightened at your throat.

Your breath whisked from you as the sounds of the cafe crept in beneath the door. You felt yourself slicken around his cock. Your body worked against you. His flesh slapped loudly against your ass. You couldn’t stifle the heat as it flowed through you.

You gasped as he sped up. Your hands slipped as his left your neck. He caught your arms and held them back as he fucked you.

“Open your eyes.” He growled. You shook your head and he jolted into you painfully and stopped. “I said open your eyes, girl.”

Your jaw set and you slowly opened your eyes. His blue eyes were cavernous as they stared back at you in the mirror. He began to move again. Your body rebelled and continued its ascent. You breathed through your nose, trying to muffle your pleasure as he ripped it from your flesh. You squeaked and trembled as you came. He watched, pleased at your surrender.

He pulled you away from the sink. He dropped your arms and wrapped his around your middle as he rutted into you. You reached back to touch his thighs, pleading wordlessly for him to slow down as each thrust sent a ripple through you.

He jerked against you and spasmed as he threw his head back. He hissed as he came and rocked his hips slowly as he spilled inside you. You were weak as he released you and you stumbled forward as he pulled out.

He chuckled as you caught yourself on the sink and his cum dripped down onto your panties and jeans. He edged you out of his way as he grabbed a paper towel and turned the faucet. You took some toilet paper and turned away from him as he cleaned himself up. You tried to do the same but still felt dirty when you were done.

“I’ll be out there,” He said as he zipped his fly up. “There’s an alarm on the fire escape so let’s not play games.”

“Alright,” You grumbled if only to get him to leave.

The locked clicked and the door opened and closed. You wiped off your panties and jeans as best as you could and pulled them up. You locked the door and grabbed your purse off the tile. You dug around and found your phone buried in the mess.

You leaned against the wall as you typed in the single word. You stared at it as your thumb hovered over ‘send’. Once it went through, you had less than an hour before agents descended on your apartment. You sent the second, the one for your mother and shoved your phone away.

However this ended, Steve would no longer be your personal scourge.

The car ride was silent. It always was with him. It was better that way. The only words he had for you were cruel. You kept your eyes forward and watched the road through the windshield. Play it cool. This was the hardest part. The anxiety. The impatience. For your doom or his.

Your building was a spectre against the grey sky. A storm was moving in. You got out and he followed. The usual smack on your ass. You pulled out your keys as he pushed himself against you. He was hard again.

“We’ll have some fun on your day off,” He teased as you unlocked the door. “Better than your books.”

You stayed quiet. He didn’t expect an answer. He knew you wouldn’t. This routine had become too familiar. Too rehearsed. Too easy.

You led him up the stairs. With each, your heart beat just a little quicker. The keys jingled in your hand and you realized your were shaking. You stopped in front of your door to gather yourself and find the right key on the ring. He leaned against the wall and ran a finger down your side.

“You’re...excited,” He mused. “I can hear your heart racing.”

You looked over at him, the key poised just before the lock. “You can?”

“Yeah. I hear a lot, you know? Your heart, the blood flowing through your veins, your breath before it rises,” He smirked and you slid the key into the bolt and turned. “Serum gave me a lot more than muscles, didn’t it?”

He flicked your chin playfully and drew away. You held back your retort and stepped inside. Your apartment was as you left it, not a single speck of dust missing. You blinked as you entered the small living room. A furtive glance to the windows.

Did they get your message? Were they really coming?

Steve walked around the room as he stretched his arms above him. You watched him as he strolled around the small space. He neared the window and looked out, his figure a wraith against the grim sky. He twisted the plastic rod and the blinds closed.

He turned back to you and his hands went to his hips. That classic stance you’d seen on posters. Captain America. The saviour of the world. He laughed.

“You’re heart is still going,” He slowly inched across the room. “Faster now. Fuck, you’re gonna have a fit, girl.”

You swallowed, your mouth dry as you gripped your purse. You looked down and saw your phone through the open zipper. You couldn’t just pull it out and check. You hadn’t felt a vibration.

He neared, his shoes decisive against the hardwood. He was like a hawk circling. You looked up and backed away as he came closer.

“You really think Tony Stark would believe some small town girl?” Steve grinned and your chest clenched. “Hmm? You think you’re some spy with your code words and your covert messages? Your plan to have them storm your pathetic apartment?”

Your lips parted in shock as if you’d been slapped. No… Your flesh turned to stone as you met the wall and pressed yourself to it.

“I’ve faced real spies. Let me tell you, Hydra was a lot more intimidating but I tossed them on their asses. But you, you think you can bring me down?” He chuckled as his hand came up to grip your chin. “What do you think I could do to you?”

Tears rose along your lower lids and your lip trembled. You should’ve known. It was too easy. Another trick. A bug on your phone; your computer, too. He knew it all and you were too desperate to think. Stupid.

“Think of what I’ve already done,” He leaned in so that his nose was almost touching yours. “Of what I’m going to do now.” He pressed his forehead to yours. “It’s over, girl. Just like you wanted it.”

He pulled away, his hands balled as he glared down at you. His chest rose and fell as his jaw ticked. You wiped away the tears before they could fall and sniffed. You stood straight as you looked back at him defiantly.

“Fine,” You declared. “Then end it.”

You were stunned as his fist met your jaw. Your stumbled back and your head hit the wall. You slid down slowly as your legs turned to jelly and the room faded slowly before your eyes. You gripped your pounding skull as the strength drained from you. You looked up at Steve as he loomed over you and your vision swam with stars.

“You really thought you could get away from me?” He knelt as your eyes began to roll back, his voice floated in your ears and into the void.

When you awoke, the world was moving. When you awoke, you were shocked. Were you really alive or was this the purgatory you’d always denied? Your head lolled and you stared at the driver of the car. No, you were still painfully alive.

Steve’s features were limned in sunlight. It was either a new day or a new place. His blue eyes bore into the winding highway ahead. Your jaw ached terribly and your head felt like it was full of cement. You babbled weakly.

Your hands were tied together. Your ankles too. The seat belt was buckled around you and kept you from sliding down the seat.

“I really thought I might’ve killed you,” He said. “I hit you a bit harder than I meant to.”

You grumbled. No words would come.

“That’d be too easy. I’ve been too easy on you and you didn’t appreciate it at all. I let you stay in your shit hole apartment, let you see your family, let you live your life when it’s not your life. It’s mine.” The steering wheel groaned as he gripped it tighter. “You’re mine.”

You mumbled and felt the sting of tears as the world closed in on you.

“It’s all over now, girl,” Your eyes closed again. “You don’t even know how good you had it.”

His words were scribbled across your dreams as you sank back into unconsciousness. You dozed and woke at intervals. He allowed you a drink of water from a bottle and a piss on the side of the road. You barely recalled the stops as your world was clouded in shock and pain.

You were shaken awake for the last time. Your door was open and Steve felt along your jaw roughly.

“It’s not broken.” He stated and unbuckled the seat belt. “See, another thing to be thankful for.”

“Steve,” You rasped. “Please…”

“Please, shut up,” He spat and pulled you out of the car. “Come on, hop, bunny.”

He tugged you forward and you were forced to hop on your bound feet. There was a farmhouse just ahead; long-abandoned and slanted. The fields were overgrown with weeds. This was where he’d leave you.

“Just get it over with,” Your words were clumsy through your swollen jaw.

He didn’t reply and continued to drag you towards the barn. He slid the door open enough to angle you through. He led you to the corner where a pile of rotted boards rested. He let go of you and you wobbled on your feet as he began to move the rubble.

Beneath was a small hatch. This was tornado country. These vaults were built decades ago to keep families safe when the sirens sounded. Except the hatch was more than the usual wooden door; it was metal, shiny and new, a bolt on its face.

He took a key out and unlocked the hatch. He turned and bent to pick you up. He slung you over his shoulder and your head spun. He slowly carried you down the steps. He put you back on your feet and you wavered.

The light from above lit the shadows. There were shelves along the far wall, illegible packets and cans lined the middle shelf. A bed sat a foot from the shelves against the wall; a metal frame with a thin mattress. A toilet was attached to the wall along with a small sink. A single lightbulb hung from the ceiling.

Steve untied your hands and your feet. He stood and shoved you towards the middle of the room. You caught yourself on the bed frame and turned back.

“Welcome home,” His smile was sinister in the dim.

“No,” You gasped and neared him. He pushed you back easily and you fell on your ass. “Please, don’t do this. Just kill me, please.”

“Kill you? I never wanted that,” He scoffed and turned to set his foot on the bottom step. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back to check on you. Now and then.”

He started to climb the steps and you got up unsteadily. As he reached the top, you grabbed onto the stairs and tried to come up after him.

“I’ll throw you back down,” He warned as he pulled on the steps and slowly raised them. You clung to them as he tried to wriggle them away from you. “You’ll be worse off if I break something.”

“Steve, you can’t--” Slivers embedded in your skin as he yanked the steps free from you and raised them up after him.

“Now, now, girl,” He knelt and looked through the hatch at you. “Is there anything I can’t do?” He slowly lifted the door as he spoke. “Don’t you worry, I’ll keep an eye on the family for you.” He taunted as he slowly closed the door, the light draining away inch by inch. “Be good and I’ll let you know.”

He dropped the door entirely and it clanged shut. The lock turned and you were left in darkness. Tears rolled down your eyes and light sparked in your blurred vision. The light bulb crackled to life above you, a small beacon in the pit. You could hear him moving the boards back onto the hatch.

You turned blindly and fell onto the bed. You were poked by the corner of a familiar shape. You sat up and grabbed the book from atop the thin blanket. The silhouette of the raven shone beneath the wire. The book fell open as your sight came clearer through the tears. The world clearer through the dark. The scraping and steps above faded away.

“Then silence, and stillness, and night were the universe.”

596 notes · View notes

iamindeeddistressed · 3 years

Text

Fic: Dean rescues Cas from the empty (repost bc i think ppl need it)

1900 words

They find the spell in a book buried deep in the Men of Letters’ library.

“I should go with you,” Sam says.

“No, Sammy. No sense in both of us dying. Besides, maybe you can help maintain the spell. Make it last longer.”

“Maybe,” Sam agrees doubtfully.

“We got everything we need?” Dean grabs his gun and his machete; they’re useless toys against the Empty, but they make him feel safer.

“Yeah. Just gotta work the spell. Dean, are you sure—“

“Of course I’m sure, Sammy.”

“I just, we could try praying to Jack again—“

“Jack told us the deal, Sammy. He’s out. Now, I’m not leaving Cas alone in there for a second longer than I have to.”

Sam swallows. “Right. You’re right.” And he begins to compile the components for the spell and read the latin. It’s a long one; Dean is sure he couldn’t have done it himself. It takes over an hour, without breaks, without misreads. Sam does it on the first try.

A rip in time and space opens in the bunker kitchen.

“You’ve got a minute and a half,” says Sam hoarsely. “Good luck.”

Dean is already plunging forward.

“Cas!” Walking through the empty feels like walking nowhere at all. It’s impossible even to know that he’s progressing, except by glancing now and then at the glowing rift behind him, slowly shrinking as he moves forward. “Cas!”

Cas is asleep, but not regretful. He has paid penance already, many times over, for his sins. Now his only regrets are things that could never have happened; things he never would’ve had. They are bittersweet, a mixture of fantasy and loss. It’s not bad, exactly, but it is lonely.

Cas is awakened by a shout. He’s groggy, confused. It takes him a moment to recognize the noise he’s hearing as his own name. He looks up and there’s Dean Winchester, smiling at him. Impossible.

“Dean?”

“Cas. Come on, I’m breaking you out.”

“This is real?” Cas stares at Dean’s smile, at his outstretched hand. He looks real, but it is so similar to his dreams.

“'Course it is, Cas. Come on. We don’t have time. We’re gonna have to run for it.”

Maybe good things do happen. Cas steps forward. Dean is only another step away.

“Why are you so loud,” complains a voice from all around them. Cas blinks. There he is— another Cas, this one angry, with a hand on Dean’s shoulder. The Empty tightens its grip on Dean and his face suddenly contorts in pain. His neck turns black.

“Dean. Let go of him!”

“I don’t think so,” says the Empty with Cas’s voice. “He’s another one of them. Another one who doesn’t play by the goddamn rules.” Dean gasps and veins of black pulse beneath his skin.

“You said he’s loud,” says Cas desperately. “If he bothers you, just throw him out.”

“Oh, no. I know what’s going on in there.” The Empty grimaces and gestures toward Dean. “—That flurry of pitiful little emotions. If I let him go, he’ll just try to come back again. When will you people learn that you can’t just walk in and out of this place?”

Cas can only stare helplessly. Behind Dean is a point of light, a rift, where they must’ve been running to. As Cas watches, it winks out. They’re trapped here. Dean is going to die after all.

It’s all Dean can do just to breathe, much less speak. He has to force his chest open and closed like a bellows. Each breath feels like it tears his throat. It feels like he’s been stabbed through the heart, through the soul. All that time he’d spent over the last few weeks thinking about words, agonizing over them; well, he’s finally face-to-face with Cas and they’re useless to him now. All he can do is stare at Cas.

The Empty flexes, and with a roil of pain Dean is sent back, back, twelve years back, to a barn in nowheresville, Kansas. Sparks are flying and there’s a being that he doesn’t yet trust telling him to have faith, that good things do happen. Dean smiles despite himself. This is where it changed, he thinks. Chuck’s plan. None of them knew it yet. Dean watches himself, defiant, defensive. Castiel stares at him, realization in his eyes.

“You don’t think you deserve to be saved.”

“Fuckin’ hypocrite,” Dean mutters under his breath. He’s surprised to find he has a voice here, in his memories.

The memory of Cas keeps talking, tells him he has a purpose. They were so young. So stupid. Believing all of Chuck’s lies.

“I’ve figured it out, Cas” Dean says, his voice ringing clear with practiced words, “the truth.” The memory doesn’t react.

There’s a wave of pain and Dean is brought back to the Empty. He can feel it, crawling up his back, into his lungs. He can’t feel his feet at all.

“SHUT UP!” It’s shouting, in Cas’s voice. “SHUT UP, SHUT UP!” Dean doesn’t bother to look. He stares straight forward, at the real Cas. His Cas. Dean still can’t speak for the pain. He can only mouth Cas’s name, reach a hand out to him. Cas is crying. Fucking hell, Cas is crying.

“You idiot,” says Cas, and grabs Dean’s arm. They hold on to each other. They both know there’s no escape. The Empty is crawling up Dean’s legs and it’s rolling down his scalp and it’s turned his blood black. This is it, they think, staring into each other’s eyes.

Pain stabs Dean through the heart and he’s sent back again, into himself.

He remembers discovering something greater, but not trusting it until Cas was the only hope he had left. He remembers praying for the first time. He remembers trusting Cas at last, walking with him through a rainy street, laughing together. Touching. He remembers Cas leaving after the apocalypse, something never quite feeling right after. He remembers Cas coming back, only to hurt them. That betrayal had hurt worse than Hell. It had hurt worse than this. At least they’re together now.

Dean grips Cas’s arm. Cas is gripping him back. He can’t see anymore. He’s gasping for air. How the hell is he supposed to tell him without words, without sound?

Dean remembers forgiving Cas before the end. The lake. The grief. He remembers Cas returned, insane but still kind. Useless but gloriously present. He remembers Cas leaving him that first night in Purgatory. Fighting to find him. He remembers praying. Praying every night. Praying all day.

“STOP IT!” The Empty shrieks, but Dean has it now, he thinks he’s figured it out, and he reaches his other hand out to Cas, grabs on to him, and starts to pray.

Pain is pulsing through his eyes, through his lungs, through his memories and his feelings, and where there isn’t pain there is nothing at all, and so Dean doesn’t have words to pray with, not now, but maybe he has enough. He’s clinging to Cas’s arms and he’s praying with feeling, only feeling, and so much of that feeling now is pain, but so much is love, too.

“Dean.”

The feelings are too much, and other memories are coming to him quickly now, of being apart again and again and again and each time just as painful, but he also remembers being together, raising a son, feeling affection, anger, forgiveness, he remembers Cas telling him he is good and they are real, finally believing him, Cas saying ‘I love you.’

“Dean, don’t stop.”

There’s a wailing surrounding them, beating at his ear drums. It’s ripping him apart. He’s dripping with Empty, suffocating in it. Half his body is numb and the other half is ripping out of him. He can feel sleep coming.

Dean gasps a shuddering breath and tries to do as he’s told. The Empty takes, and Dean lets it. Feelings pour out of him. He regrets. Cas is gone again, for the last time. It hurts just as much as it did every single time before it. Jack is gone, too. They’re free now, finally free, but what does that mean, without Cas? What purpose did he have, without Cas there to love? The pain of losing Cas is overwhelming, so much worse than the Empty. Dean lets himself feel it, lets pain soak and rake through him in large sobs. The wailing is inside his head, his throat, his chest, his stomach. He feels like he’s about to explode. He prays.

The Empty takes him.

It’s quiet.

Dean is remembering a dream, sitting on a small dock on a lake that doesn’t exist. It’s a rare moment of peace. Birds are chirping, but the fish aren’t biting. Everything is still. And Cas is standing beside him, crying.

That isn’t right, he thinks. It isn’t the right Cas. It’s my Cas, he realizes, not a memory. His Cas, who’s clinging to him now, who he made cry. Dean stands, takes Cas’s hands.

Dean speaks.

There’s an unholy scream and light erupts around them. They are thrown to their knees and back to reality, still clinging to each other. Dean can’t see through the bright light; he’s coughing up slime, crying thick tears of ooze. His throat, his entire body feels as though it’s been drained and sliced into jerky. Cas lets go of his arms and Dean realizes they were almost dead with lack of circulation. He forces his own shaking fingers apart, feebly tries to rub life back into Cas, but collapses to the floor instead, still coughing.

“Dean. Just breathe.”

Cas, Dean wants to say, Cas, Cas, Cas.

Cas’s hand cradles Dean’s face and Dean can feel familiar warmth passing through him, stitching him up, refilling him where he’s empty.

“Cas,” Dean whispers.

“Shh,” says Cas. “Just rest. Sam! Are you here, Sam?”

Dean blinks in confusion before realizing they’re in the bunker. They’re in a hallway, Dean’s face is resting on cold grey tile. Sam comes around the corner.

“Cas, Dean! Is he alright?”

“He will be. Would you get him some water? I’m going to get him to bed.”

“Yeah. Got it.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

Cas’s arms engulf him and Dean’s in the air. He doesn’t protest, he’s so tired. He rests his head against Cas’s neck. It’s warm.

Dean is asleep before they reach the bedroom. Cas cradles him gently and places him in the bed. He removes Dean’s shoes and then, sitting on the mattress, one by one finds Dean’s weapons and puts them on the nightstand. Cas brushes a bit of muck from Dean’s forehead and considers kissing him there. Sam enters with the water.

“Hey. It’s good to have you back, Cas.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

“How is he?”

“Tired, but well.”

“And… are you doing okay? I mean, you’re back in one piece?”

“I’m sublime.”

“Wh—What happened in there? The spell we used ran out of time. I thought— I thought you both were trapped there forever.”

“So did I,” Cas admits. “But your brother—“ A proud smile breaks out on Cas’s face. “the Empty— he filled it.”

“What?”

“We should let him rest.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Sam leaves the room first and Cas takes the opportunity to give the kiss he’d been thinking about. He pulls up the blankets. Dean looks peaceful. Cas can’t stop smiling. It’s hard not to smile, when he knows he is loved by Dean Winchester.

#supernatural #destiel #destiel ficlet #destiel fic #spn #deancas #deancas ficlet #distressed drabbles

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cheydoesfandom · 4 years

Text

ZoSan fic for SetSailExchange

So this is my entry, written for @thisisaonepiecesideblog

I’m posting kinda last-minute bc I was procrastinating. I hope you enjoy it, it’s not exactly what I wanted to write, but... Here it is!

This is definitely pre-ship, I hope you like it!!

zoro POV, 1200 words, I don’t have a title, sorry

Sanji was a flirt, that much was obvious. Any time a girl crossed his path, he became something like a wet noodle, flailing and tripping all over himself in an attempt to compliment and impress. Sometimes it was kind of funny, watching the idiot make a fool of himself. Some women ignored him, continuing on their way with hardly a glance. Some tittered in an irritating way, allowing him to shower them in pretty words and empty promises, before Sanji was dragged off by one of their own crew (usually Nami, harping about wasted time).

Zoro was decidedly not sociable in the same ways. He liked to keep to himself most of the time, especially when they made port. It often resulted in him wandering off alone, only catching up when he was most needed, stumbling upon his friends all but accidentally. Sometimes he would end up in a bar, drinking the whole time. Sometimes he wound up in the woods on the outskirts of whatever village they were visiting, and when he could find someone or something worth fighting while he was out, it just made the day better. Zoro loved a good fight, any chance to test his skills.

But sometimes, Nami would assign partners. To keep track of each other, keep everyone on task, and minimize what she referred to as “destructive distractions”. Basically, she wanted them to babysit each other, which never worked as well as she would hope.

It wasn’t uncommon for Zoro and Sanji to be sent to the market together. Which was fine, Zoro could carry more than the cook, and he enjoyed proving it. Of course, the moment even a whiff of competition was in the air, Sanji took it as a personal affront. Yelling and cursing and both of them loaded down with bags, they each forgot about how they usually spent their time, focused entirely on each other and their one-upmanship.

Sanji often went with Chopper, as he could find medical supplies among the food stalls, and could carry plenty on his back, but today the doctor was with Robin, searching the local bookshops for… Well, fuck if Zoro knew, honestly. Medical and history books, he supposed, but he certainly didn’t recall any details. Nami was wrangling Luffy herself, and Usopp was keeping watch on the Merry, patching her up as best he could, which left the swordsman and chef to get the food.

They headed for the heart of town, and Zoro rolled his eyes every time the cook became sidetracked by any remotely pretty face to pass by. The third time, Zoro finally grabbed his arm and dragged him away. “We’ve got shit to do, cook,” he growled when the blond finally stopped calling his farewells and turned to complain. “And it’s not exactly fun to watch you fall apart just because a girl looked at you.”

And then Sanji was off on a rant about how he couldn’t just let a ~mademoiselle~ go without knowing how beautiful she was and Zoro was just a rude, uncultured swine to do otherwise and blah, blah, blah, Zoro didn’t care. What he really didn’t get was why Sanji insisted on flirting constantly. What did he even get out of it?

When they got back to the ship, Usopp took the opportunity to explore, Sanji started putting everything away, and Zoro took up watch while starting his daily workout routine on deck. He might have considered offering to help, it wasn’t like there was an insignificant amount of food to put up, but the cook would just bitch and complain about how he did it before kicking him out, so he didn’t bother. He was ready for some time to himself, anyway, and figured Sanji would rather do it himself, to make sure it was all exactly the way he liked.

After an hour or so, Sanji emerged from the galley and stood for a moment, stretching in the sun, long arms reaching high over his head. “Oi, mosshead,” he called, turning in Zoro’s direction. “I’m heading back out, don’t wander off.”

“Going to bother more innocent ladies?” Zoro asked, putting his weights down.

“I am not bothering them!” the cook insisted. “I am simply making sure they know how lovely they are, and if that--”

“What do looks even matter?” he interrupted. “What does telling a stranger how they look do? Why should they even believe you?”

Sanji seemed flabbergasted by the suggestion. “Everyone loves being complimented! What are you talking about?”

“Genuine compliments, sure, but about your looks?”

“Well, you have to open the door somehow!” the cook exclaimed.

“Why are you even flirting with someone you don’t know?”

“Because they’re beautiful!”

“That doesn’t mean they’re nice, or good, or interesting!”

“Well, what do you look for in a woman?”

“I don’t,” Zoro answered with a snort.

“Don’t… what?”

“I don’t look for women.”

“Well… No wonder you don’t get it!” Sanji cried, waving his hands dismissively.

Zoro rolled his eyes, picking up his weights again.

“What about in men, then?”

Zoro dropped the weight and looked up in surprise. “What?”

Sanji clicked his tongue and started making his way closer. “I asked what you look for in men, then. If the fairer sex isn’t your taste, then what is?”

“I…” Zoro had never been asked so casually about his taste in men before. Well, maybe once, but that was in a brothel bar.

“Come on, marimo, it’s not a trick question. First thing to pop into your head when you think “hot guy”.”

“Strong,” Zoro blurted out.

“Okay, okay, that’s something! What else?”

“...Brave?”

Sanji sighed, dropped to sit beside him. “Okay, that’s good, but not exactly what I was looking for. Looks, Zoro. What does a hot guy look like?”

Zoro wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know. That… that doesn’t have that much to do with it.”

“What?” Sanji chuckled.

“It’s more important that he’s smart and strong and brave than how he might look.”

Sanji narrowed his eyes at Zoro, leaning in for a moment. “You do know the difference between beautiful and ugly, right?”

Zoro scoffed, shoving his hand into Sanji’s face. “I’m not blind, I just don’t care. But get your ugly mug outta my face!”

“I am not ugly!” Sanji shrieked, kicking back, but with hardly any force.

Zoro laughed. “Oh no?”

“No! What sort of insane standards could you have if I’m ugly?”

“Nonexistent?” Zoro replied, shrugging.

“You are impossible!” Sanji shouted, throwing his hands in the air and standing up. “I’m trying to help you out, here!”

“Help me what? Flirt?”

“I… Maybe! I don’t know! I don’t know why I bothered, either!” Sanji turned and started off across the deck to head out. “I’m leaving, you keep watch!”

“Okay,” Zoro called after him, shaking his head. It was really too easy to work him up, half the time he didn’t even have to try. Watching him go, Zoro had to admit to himself that Sanji really wasn’t that bad looking. And he was strong. And brave. And smart, too.

But he was also a pain in the ass, so what did any of that matter?

#setsailexchange #thisisaonepiecesideblog #zosan #zoro #sanji #one piece

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jungnoir · 4 years

Text

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡!𝐛𝐭𝐬;

bts but as witches in a coven. discuss

𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤𝐣𝐢𝐧: the supreme

ok not quite but he’s the most experienced in magic out of all the boys

his mother was a witch and she taught him everything he needed to know from birth to adulthood

his whole family is blessed with magic save for a few who didn’t get the gene but every family reunion they all dote on jin and talk about how powerful he’s become and how proud they are of him

the coven house where all of the boys stay is actually jin’s ancestor’s home from a long time ago

the place has brought up witches of all generations and jin was very eager to inherit it

while there’s definitely a lack of witches he’s been able to recruit, he loves his family of six so it doesn’t really bother him

he acts like he’s all serious but in reality he’s always casting spells on the youngins as tests (read: for fun)

jimin: why tf did you give me green skin

jin: if you had been paying attention during lessons you would know how to fix it :)

has definitely said this out of context more than once: ”any witch worth a broom handle knows how to get rid of poisonous snakes! you know back in my day…”

wears the flashiest outfits, but little do people know that they’re all homemade. he has a serious creative eye and seeks to make what simple human designers wish they could (taehyung is very eager to learn this talent from him)

goes all out on halloween with this talent too, creating uber realistic costumes

no he didn’t make a costume out of real human bones that year he went as a scarily realistic skeleton what are you talking about

no graves were robbed in the making of this outfit

if you couldn’t tell, his specialty is in glamours

honestly the guy should just tattoo “i’m a witch” across his forehead, he makes it so damn obvious

he openly practices magic too like it gives yoongi stress pains bc!! there’s still ppl who would very much like to burn witches still to this day!!! where is the self-preservation!!

jin doesn’t care. he’ll burn them right back. checkmate bitch

honestly charms anyone that comes in contact with him which is one of the things he never has to try at

the guys think he uses magic to do it but he’s honestly just, as jin would say, “born with it”

𝐲𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢: the right hand man

*namjoon voice* and who do we got here right now??? ˢᵘᵍᵃ!!!

when it comes to magic, yoongi is pretty neutral

an awfully interesting feeling to have given that seokjin has appointed him the heir of the coven in case anything happens to him

he’s not obsessed with magic like tae, hobi or kook

he doesn’t spend his time learning everything about it like namjoon

and he’s not playful with it like jimin and jin

yoongi just… acknowledges it. its like it exists as something he can do and he’s proud but he doesn’t really care if that makes sense

most of his friends outside of the coven are human too and he has no reservations about telling them what he is bc if they cause trouble he is more than prepared to take care of it

they’re usually like “wow so cool! i wish i was a witch” but yoongi really doesn’t care lmao

with or without magic, yoongi is the same: he loves music, he loves making music, and he loves being a musician

yoongi, however, is guilty of having used magic to make his music just right before

sometimes a note just doesn’t sit with him right and it’s driving him insane

or maybe the bass doesn’t hit hard enough

he charms his music in a way that when one listens to it, they feel exactly what yoongi wants them to feel

people are always telling him he has a real gift in music and while he most certainly does, he feels he has to give credit to his magic for helping him along sometimes

but then seokjin will be like “isn’t magic your talent too? aren’t you just exercising it when you charm your music? it’s not like you can only make music well. you should give yourself props for your magic too”

it’s just. weird to him because he’s seen how much magic can corrupt people in much higher positions than himself and it’s Terrifying

he wants to know that no matter what he makes, it’s his and his alone, not attributed to any otherworldly advantage

this just kind of contributes to his need to be as detached from magic as possible

he’s too cheap to buy one of those coffee makers that automatically start brewing at a certain time in the morning and just uses magic to do it instead

“yoongi do you want me to buy you a new coffee maker for your birthday? they have ones that do all the work for you now-” “no”

he has to be extra, okay namjoon

jimin teases him sometimes but yoongi knows it’s all out of love

jimin understands yoongi in a way, and while the others are always like “yoongi you should have more fun with your magic!” jimin is always like “no no no, let him be”

besides yoongi could probably smoke all of them in a battle of magic if it came down to it lol

𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: the perfectionist

HERE HE IS!!! ITS HE

hoseok is probably one of the most talented witches in the coven

hoseok is a perfectionist to a t so if he feels insecure about how he’s doing a certain spell he will do it over and over and over until he’s got it right which makes him a pretty formidable opponent

like even the boys wouldn’t go up against him bc they know they’re just gonna get their ass handed to them

he’s a sweetie tho and very light-hearted and he never lets his power get to his head

he mainly uses it to bother the others tbh

also uses magic to give himself and the boys cool ass hair colors

currently he’s obsessed with this orange he’s got going on

calls it “pumpkin spice” bc it angers yoongi

“it really brings out the burnt sunset hues of a pumpkin ya know? or like a mix of changing fall colors, like golden crisp and warm crimson” “it’s fucking orange” yoongi can be heard chiming in from somewhere else in the house

but don’t get me wrong, hoseok loves himself some yoongi and vice versa

yoongi taught hoseok directly bc yoongi was the one that found hoseok

he was just an average college student and wasn’t really finding a will to live outside of paying off his student debts

he didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life and was pretty dead inside, working at a cafe and serving coffee to other dead inside college students when yoongi came in and sensed his strong magical aura

yoongi kinda forced hoseok’s magic out of him by tossing a cup of steaming hot coffee to the floor, causing hoseok to freeze the entire cafe in time, save for the two of them. yoongi told him what he was and the rest was history

now that it’s been so long hoseok still gets upset that yoongi was willing to break one of the cafe’s mugs to prove a point

because of course, when time unfroze, the mug fuckin shattered all over the place what a fuckin jerk guess who’s going to have to clean that up does he really have no respect for retail workers seriou

seokjin also was opposed to yoongi’s method but since it resulted in hobi joining their coven, he can’t be too mad

it was hoseok’s natural ability that yoongi was able to help hone, and when hoseok found a love for it, he took it upon himself to be the absolute best witch he could be

hoseok’s power of stopping time is uniquely his own and he’s worked hard to perfect it

sometimes he just stops time to stop it

hob: *freezes a movie theater right before something dramatic happens on screen* hold on yall I gotta piss real quick

freezing time is also super helpful during *cough* stressful exams* cough*

𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐧: the scholar

he knows…. everything

not only did he do the reading, he did an 8 page analysis on it and corrected a few mistakes too

namjoon was aware of his witchy nature even from the moment he was a little kid, and his parents were both human and a bit scared for him since they didn’t know how to handle it, but they gave him the option of pursuing magic or not. they made sure to do all their own research into where witches could go to hone their craft just in case

in the end, namjoon grew curious and started reading books about magic and magical things

tho he didn’t actually start using his power until his mid teens

by then he was a bit shaky with it, but he knew a lot and was very determined so he got the hang of it very quickly

rarely uses his magic outside of it being necessary tho bc he’s gone so long without having to use it that he doesn’t rely on it for anything

he also likes to be independent from his magic in a way

while magic is very much a part of him and his being, he doesn’t want it to be like a crutch, you know? his biggest fear is losing his magic, bc he’s heard it can happen

he’s also aware that some witches lose important life skills and miss out on opportunities to build their character bc they’re so used to being able to just magic their way out of a situation

went from student to teacher real quick

teaches the other boys how to properly say incantations

“its levios-ah not levios-ar”

actually?? a pretty scary dude when it comes to using his magic for real

don’t put him in a situation where someone is getting hurt because he will not go easy on the aggressor. the other boys can attest to this too, having been saved by him far too many times than is acceptable in namjoon’s eyes

basically dont fuck with namjoon’s boys or u gon die

does cute things for the boys on their birthdays with magic

one time taehyung was sad that it wasn’t snowing on his birthday so namjoon made it snow for hours

may have fucked up the climate a lil bit

yoongi almost lost a toe

namjoon frequents a library and whenever a lil kid is struggling to reach a book he uses his magic to drift the book down to the little kid and when the kid looks at him in awe he just presses his finger to his lips and winks at them

flirts using his extreme wicca knowledge, of which is either a major turn off or a major turn on. you decide

𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧: the reluctant

jimin loves magic, but it wasn’t always like that

jimin kinda struggled with accepting his magical abilities at a young age bc he was really confused

like why wasn’t he just like everyone else? why did he have to be a witch? why did he have to have magic when he could’ve just been normal?

he often rejected it, never bothering to learn anything even to impress the family at reunions

but as he grew older, his parents grew worried he’d hate his magic and never use it again, putting him in a vulnerable position if his magic were ever to just come out when jimin isn’t in a place to control it, so they let him meet a slightly older witch that could help mentor him

his parents would’ve done it but jimin hardly ever listened to his parents about magic and they wanted to show him there were witches his age that were amazing people and embraced it, that it didn’t take away from jimin’s life but in fact added to it

in comes yoongi

yoongi, at first, really pities jimin

he understands the struggle between wanting to be normal and dealing with a part of his identity that won’t ever go away

where yoongi is concerned, that struggle for him was that he wanted to be himself regardless of being talented in magic. jimin... just hates it

but then jimin starts bashing magic and witches and he’s about to get angry at his parents for trying to force him into being a witch when yoongi just,,, slaps him upside the head

jimin’s shocked and yoongi is just like “respect your parents kid, they’re looking out for you. just because you don’t use your magic doesn’t mean people won’t know you’re a witch. its dangerous for a witch to go around with magic and not know how to use it”

jimin is shocked. he never thought of it that way

jimin feels embarrassed all of a sudden and apologizes and then yoongi cracks a smile and he’s like “no biggie kid, i’m just here to teach you the basics of magic and then i’ll be out of your hair”

jimin finds that learning magic with yoongi is really fun and soon he’s asking to be apart of the coven and embracing being a witch

he becomes carefree with it, like it’s another part of him, and he’s still kinda inexperienced, but he’s learning a lot from yoongi and namjoon

loves playing with temperature

the boys make him freeze their drinks for him, or ask him to heat up some popcorn while they’re all sprawled out on the couch on movie night bc no one feels like waiting two minutes for it to cook in the microwave

makes the water in the shower cold whenever one of the boys is taking way too fucking long in there which is Everyday

also jimin: *hitting on someone at the bar* *makes the room slightly warmer* “is it hot in here or is it just you?”

relates everything he learns back to naruto in some way, much to everyone’s complete and utter confusion

he just really kins the guy i guess

100% owns every single witch pun shirt known to man

“witch please” “witches do it better” “this is my resting witch face”

jungkook: by all means jimin why don’t you just burn us all at the stake yourself

it’s ok tho bc it’s his own little way of owning his identity, and if you want to avoid having your fingers frozen off, you’ll be sure not to step to him any kind of way

𝐭𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠: the transcendent

my favorite witch!!! i wrote this whole thing for him

tae is like jin in that his whole family is magical and he grew up surrounded by magic his whole life

in fact, he’s so familiar with magic that he’s kind of sick of it (no he isn’t (most of the time))

taehyung is unique with his magic bc he’s actually able to transcend realms oooh~

the information on how many realms and parallel universes and such are limited as hell so taehyung actively helps broaden that knowledge as he travels, a very Dangerous and Scary job to anybody else

but to him he’s like!! fuck yeah astral projection!

basically, he’s able to put himself into a deep sleep where he moves through different realms, some more or less magical than the others

he’s so good at it that he can project himself into someone else’s dreams too

he’s basically capable of seeing more than most magical beings, and he can perceive spirits easily, as well as being able to actually see a magical aura around someone

so for instance, if a witch who didn’t know they were a witch walked into a bar, he’d know what they were instantly. besides the general intuitive feeling that most witches get, he can see the auras physically, like swarming tendrils of smoke unique to every person

each aura feels and looks different than others which makes it easy for him to point out shape shifters and vampires and werewolves and all the other guys pretty easily

bc of this ability, taehyung also likes to mess with the boys like everyone else lol

“tae, i just saw the most beautiful-” “they’re actually an ogre in disguise” “WHAT”

“man my english teacher is a witch” “she actually is”

in case you couldn’t tell tae’s favorite victim is jungkook

casually tells people he’s a witch just for the #reactions

if you’re wondering, no. nobody in this coven cares about keeping this shit a secret

since he’s more sensitive to dreaming, a lot of his dreams leave him incredibly emotional because sometimes he really is there

he once had a dream where all magical beings were universally accepted in the world and were loved and happy and woke up sobbing into jimin’s lap

also nightmares take a HUGE toll on him so his sleep pattern is fucked for real

usually ends up eating cake with jin in the dining room at four am and talking about life together to get the nightmares off tae’s mind

tae uses his magic on humans in a different way. like he doesn’t prank them that much, but rather manipulates their moods. he tries to charm anyone he comes in contact with to make them happy or to make them giggly

he wants to use his magic for good, because it often leaves a very painful burden on him in turn

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤: the prodigy

honestly i feel like if jungkook was a witch he’d probably be an underdeveloped one, you feel?

he finds out his power late bc either his family didn’t know (they’re all human) or they just didn’t tell him in hopes of him never becoming one

but jungkook is being bullied by some guys in his grade and they corner him after school one day and jungkook gets so frustrated that he just,,, makes them all start uncontrollably burping

as dumb as it is, those kids never bother jungkook again

when he does get a hang of it, jungkook probably uses his magic for fun more often than not

jungkook is recruited by jin for this very reason. he catches jungkook messing with old people at the park on his afternoon runs and he’s like this kid is such a brat. i want him

jungkook is SUCH a fast learner holy shit

he goes to namjoon for every little question, to the point where namjoon is positive he’s become a better witch simply because jungkook has prepared him for any fuckin scenario known to man

he also makes himself float upside down in the kitchen at night so when hoseok comes down for a glass of water he almost pisses himself

“haha did i scare you”

cue hoseok making jungkook fall down as he mumbles “little shit” under his breath

halloween is his favorite time of year and he likes to pull harmless pranks on the kiddies while scaring the mean teenagers ruining all of the children’s fun

like he sees this guy in a deformed mask holding a plastic knife about to scare a little boy so Jungkook just gives the dude a wedgie with his magic

all the kids are laughing at him and jungkook just smirks

honestly he doesn’t like reading about magic as much as he likes just doing it from intuition/namjoon’s instruction. he’s a lot like hoseok in that he has a lot of natural talent but not a lot of proper training when he first starts honing his ability

since jin yoongi and namjoon are in charge of teaching magic they all hound on him like “did u do the reading”

jungkook maybe glosses over everything and then just over-performs as compensation

they get on him abt it but there’s no lying about it, jungkook is a strong witch on his own

he hasn’t gotten a special manifestation of his magic Just Yet but he only gets stronger as he goes. the more he applies himself, the stronger he grows

#majwrites #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts headcanons #bts au #witch!bts #witch au #bts #been in the drafts for far too long

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