#it didn’t work but they were so pretty-I didn’t know what the people were saying
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Every breath you take (Prologue)
Summary: There is a shadow following you. He doesn’t know what he got himself into.
Pairing: Stalker!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader
Warnings: stalking, being stalked, loneliness, a man out of time
A/N: We start slow to get to know them and their backstory. In this part it's Bucky.
A/N2: You all made me do it! Here’s the series to this random idea: Stalker Bucky & Crazy Reader
Every Breath You Take Masterlist
James Buchanan Barnes lost so much in his life that he doesn’t even know how he keeps on going.
He lost his family.
He lost his life.
He lost his arm.
He lost his freedom.
He lost himself.
He lost his best friend. Steve Rogers - the only person connecting his past with his present. The one promising him till the end of the line. Well, the line wasn’t very long he thinks ever so often.
He walks the streets in a place he doesn’t recognize anymore. In a world that is so different from the one he used to know.
Before Hydra everything was simple.
Now, strangers stare at him, whispering behind his back while others ignore him.
Bucky is not the most social person. He mostly stays to himself. Who wants to befriend the former winter soldier anyway?
In his opinion, it’s for the best to not even try. This doesn’t mean that he never feels lonely. He often strolls through town and watches people with their families.
Bucky wishes he could’ve someone by his side too. A woman who doesn’t judge him for his past, or for the issues he still has.
How does a super-soldier and former brainwashed killer find such a woman?
No woman will ever let him protect and spoil her. That’s all he wants. Find a pretty doll to take care of.
“Coffee. Black,” Bucky gruffly tells the barista his order. All the different drinks on their menu confuse the super-soldier. Why drink an iced coffee with some crazy flavor if you can have the best drink in the world? Black coffee.
The barista smiles at him. Her cheeks dimple and she batts her long fake lashes when Bucky holds her gaze for a moment.
“Thanks,” he pays and tips her well. Bucky may be a lot of things, but he isn’t the kind of person who does not appreciate other people’s work.
“Have a good day,” the woman chirps when he turns around to leave the cafe. Bucky doesn’t react. He stops in his tracks as someone else catches his attention.
“Doll,” Bucky gasps loudly. The woman passing the coffee shop by is the one he almost ran into last month. This must be fate. Right?
He walks out of the coffee shop, to follow the woman. She’s greeting the elderly owner of the bookstore Bucky discovered a few weeks ago.
The man immediately smiles and straightens his back. He makes a joke and calls her by her name. “Hello Y/N!” The man says and waves back.
“Y/N,” Bucky murmurs your name. “Wow…doll…” He’s taken aback. His heart sped up for a second seeing you again. Now that he has heard your voice, he wants it to be the only sound he’ll hear for the rest of his life.
He strolls past the bookstore and follows you along the street. Whenever you stop to look at the window display at the different stores you must pass by to reach your home, he stops too and pretends to be interested in the products he’ll never buy.
At the end of the street, Bucky tilts his head to watch you walk away. He’ll wait a little longer to follow you. The experienced super-soldier doesn’t want to draw attention toward him. He doesn't want to scare you off. All he wants is to get to know you better…
Right across the street. You live right across the street.
Bucky’s heart did somersaults when he followed you to your home only to realize that you were living in the building across the street.
He didn’t try to make friends or to get to know his neighbors. This way he missed that he could look inside your windows.
It’s five hours later that he’s sitting on a chair, in a dark room to watch you talk on the phone. You wrinkle your forehead and close your eyes.
“Hmm…I think she’s having a bad day, Alpine,” Bucky tells his cat while following your every move with his brand-new binoculars. “Maybe we should do something nice for her. Like finding out who made her sad…”
And just like that, Bucky has a new mission...
Part 1
Tags in reblog.
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#tw: stalking#stalker!bucky barnes x reader#female reader#bucky barnes x you#Every breath you take (Prologue)#bucky barnes x y/n
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ORANGE COLORED SKY 🏜️ || Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader
𐚁⊹₊ ⋆☆
My first fic about this bonafide work of ART! AKA The one and only, Cooper Howard / The Ghoul. This MAN has everyone lined up to get a taste so I am here to deliver! This is also a little surprise for @lexiway121!!! Reader is fem and in her mid-ish - late-ish 20s in this fic! This will also be a two part fic!! ..Maybe even more. SUMMARY: reader is little miss janey’s babysitter (cooper is going to need all the help he can get ESPECIALLY DURING A DIVORCE) and reader was invited to the kids birthday party (seen in the beginning of ep 1) as cooper’s plus two just to keep an extra eye on janey and the horse/sugarfoot. after the bombs were dropped and a couple hundred years of “beauty sleep” and a decade of getting use to the wastelands go by, reader is now.. a fucking ghoul.
og gif made by: @lousolversons !!
“Flash! Bam! Alakazam!”
“Out of an orange colored sky!”
The birthday party was going perfectly! You and Janey were standing somewhat near Cooper as he did his lasso tricks on his beloved horse, Sugarfoot. The birthday boy, alongside with his plethora of friends, were all staring and gasping in awe as the cowpoke twirled the lasso up and down to where he was inside of the spinning circle of rope. Cooper noticed their precious, little reactions and smiled back at his audience, a tender yet low chuckle escaping his throat.
Seeing how happy he looked and smiled as well, your cheeks became a tad bit blushed.. definitely from the L.A. heat — and that’s when Janey looked up at her and noticed how you, her babysitter, were smiling at her dad.. “Twitterpated..” -Was what the seven year old mumbled under her breath; she really needed to slow her roll on asking her dad what certain words meant. You, on the other hand, didn’t quite hear what Janey mumbled so you jokingly decided to peep out a little, “What was that, sweetie?” and all you got in response was an “innocent” little “Nothiiiiiiiing!”
After a few minutes of continuing his lasso show, Cooper got off his trusty stead and adjusted Sugarfoot’s saddle with such care while Janey rushed over to try and help her father. “Alright, birthday boy,” The cowboy said while looking at the VERY excited kid, “Let’s get a photo of ya up here on Sugarfoot.” As Cooper picked up the boy to place him on the horse while his daughter held onto the reigns, the birthday boy’s dad and his buddy, aka Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dipshit, start talking about Cooper Howard.
“Why the hell is Cooper Howard workin’ kids’ birthday parties?” The dad’s friend muttered as he held onto a bottle of some pretty cheap beer, and the dad responded with the most embarrassing answer known to man, “What else? Alimony.” The asshole said nonchalantly before he went back to nursing his shitty bottle of beer. That made Cooper whip his head around to look at the father with his mouth slightly agape, flabbergasted he would even bring that shit up at his kid’s party. To make things worse, sweet Janey popped up and asked the billion dollar question.. “What did they say, dad?”
Cooper looked down at his precious little angel with a quiet yet warm voice, “That I’m lucky to have such a good helper like you.” Poor, innocent Janey didn’t know what was going on between her Dad and Momma. All she knew was that she would have some very long weekends with her Momma and her Grandma and then she would go back to stay with her tired Dad.
Knowing what Cooper was going through and hearing those horrible words come out of that assholes mouth, you glared at the boy’s father so hard that he could fucking feel it. The dad looked back at you and rolled his eyes, pointing at you while muttering, “Some people say he cheated on his wife with his kid’s babysitter.” That was the last fucking straw and you wanted to smack the living daylights out of him. “Are you fucking kidding me, you goddamn pig-” You muttered but Janey quickly grabbed onto your hand with that same sweet smile she always had.
The anger that boiled inside of your body slowly began to simmer down into nothingness as you moved out of the way so the dad (AKA the head honcho of being an asshole) could take a photo of his son on top of the horse with Cooper standing next to him and little Janey holding onto the reigns, “All right- You ready?” The dad positioned the camera and even though the kid had a smile that was brighter than the 4th of July, the cowboy’s smile seemed.. off. Usually, Cooper would have these sweet dimples on either side of his mouth when he would smile real big for photos or when his daughter would do something extraordinary.. But those dimples weren’t there for these pictures.
Click!
After the photo was taken, the cowpoke carefully lifted up the giddy child from the saddle on Sugarfoot to the soft and lush green grass beneath them. Cooper was just about to check up on you and his daughter, but- “Hey, honey- Honey! Get with Cooper. Let’s get a picture.” -Mayor Asshat of Assville motioned the man to stand next to his wife. Though Cooper was a little awkward about the whole ordeal, he quickly posed up next to the wife and had that fake smile on his face once more.
Click!
“Aw- Coop, Coop, Coop! Do your thumbs-up.” The jerkwad ordered and right as you were about to intervene, Cooper (sorta) stood his ground and quickly responded with, “..Yeah, you know, given the state of everything, I prefer not to, if that’s all right.” But guess what? Señor Shit-for-brains wasn’t having it because being an asshole was in his damn genes. “Why not?” asked Count Fuckhead-ula, “It’s what you’re famous for.” he added right after but his wife, the one with common sense in the relationship, told “Bob” to drop it.
“We- uh.. We gotta get this rodeo on the road.” Cooper said with his head tilted slightly downwards towards the vibrant green grass beneath his worn leather boots while the boy’s mother handed him a check. Quickly, you grabbed onto the reigns that hung from Sugarfoot’s neck and clicked your tongue to get the horse to start walking. “..Well that was just fuckin’ lovely, huh Sugar?” Muttering solemnly under your breath, you walked alongside the sweet stead, tying the beautiful horse up to a tree so it wouldn’t run loose.
A good 5 minutes roll on by like a tumbleweed and You were walking around with Cooper by your side.. while the two of you were picking up giblets of trash left behind by some kids and adults. “I never thought that I was going to be doing this at a kid’s birthday party, Mr. Howard. Picking up trash after people is not what I had planned.” You stood back up after having to bend over to pick up an empty bottle of orange flavored Nuka Cola. “Oh yeah? What did you have planned, missy?” Cooper looked over at you with one of his eyebrows raised up and a smirk growing on his lips.. those gorgeous lips alongside those beautiful hazel eyes- “Uhhh- I don’t know? Maybe mingle with some of the parents and swipe myself a piece of cake. I heard it was chocolate cake.” A little smile grew on your face but your blooming happiness all went to waste when you saw “Bob the Shit Talker” staring at both of you through the window.
“But for a grown ass man to talk shit about us with his lil buddy and then having us pick up trash left by him and his guests was definitely not on my list.” You angrily sneered at the man who continued to glare at you two through the window before letting out a loud and deep sigh. Cooper, God bless this sweet man’s soul, quickly stood up and looked at you. “He did.. what? I knew he was talking shit about me but he and Mr. Clean were talking about you? ..Fuck- It was that rumor again, huh?”
The sweet-hearted cowboy looked up at the sky as if he were silently praying to God himself to smite down that piece of shit before he looked over at your slightly blushed to make sure you weren’t boo-hooing over something that wasn’t even true. He knew you didn’t have to answer him because the look of embarrassment on your face was all he needed to know.. but at least you weren’t crying.
After a few minutes of some much needed silence, you both made your way back to Janey, who was eyeing that delicious chocolate cake as she wrapped her own little lasso around her hand. You saw how Janey was looking at that cake.. and you started to look at the cake the same way the little girl was staring at that frosted piece of heaven.
“Why didn’t you do it?” Janey’s words snapped you out of your hungered staring contest with the cake. You looked down at the little girl that was looking at her father, who was now crouched down next to her. “The thumbs-up.” Oh shit.. She just accidentally busted open a huge ass can of Marine flashbacks for Cooper. At first, he tried to make her forget about it by telling her it was “grown up business” but those sweet, sweet eyes of hers were just too much for his heart to handle.
You crouched down next to the girl and gently placed a hand on her upper back, gently rubbing your thumb against the material of her button up’s collar. “Honey.. The reason why your dad doesn’t like having his thumb up is because-” Your words were cut off from Cooper clearing his throat and placing a hand on your shoulder, immediately making you shut up so he could be the one to explain it to his daughter. The older man explained what they taught him when he was in the Marines to his daughter, telling her that he and his fellow marines would hold up their thumbs whenever a bomb would drop. If the cloud of smoke was smaller than their thumbs, they had to run for the hills.. and if the cloud was larger than their thumbs, they wouldn’t even have to worry about running.
“..Who wants some cake?” You chirped out awkwardly while standing up, brushing your hands against your top before placing them on your hips. Janey’s eyes immediately lit up with absolute joy from the thought of having a slice of cake, and she quickly nodded her head with her hands clasped together. “I’ll see if I can snag you girls a couple o’ pieces, ‘kay?” The infamous cowboy stood up as well and walked inside of the house and you decided to join him to grab your own slice of heaven.
FLASH!
Once Cooper grabbed his daughter a slice and you grabbed your own, you two rejoined his little angel once more but instead of seeing her sweet smile shining brightly on her face, you were both met with her holding up her thumb and a horrified look on her face. Her body was trembling, her bottom lip was quivering, her eyes were tearing up, and when she spoke, she sounded like she was looking Death itself straight in the eyes..
“Is it your thumb or mine?”
…
“It’s just a fire..”
You could hear the dread in his voice and the sound of her little heart pounding against her ribcage as you followed their gazes to a.. large cloud of smoke and destruction. Your own heart start to rapidly beat profusely inside your body and your eyes widened in terror as a wave of radiation started coming your way. Everything felt as if it were in slow motion as you and Cooper both decided to crouch down to clutch Janey close to your bodies to shield her from any harm.
As the wave finally passed through, the glass windows shattered into millions of shards varying from large pieces to microscopic fragments and felt one of the medium sized pieces plunge itself into the side of your calf. “Oh GOD!!” A horrifying shriek of pain found its way from out of your body as Cooper quickly scooped both you and his daughter up in his arms, quickly running towards his much needed horse, Sugarfoot.
BAM!
Dread pulses throughout your body while your eyes darted across the scene around you — Parents with their sons and daughters in their arms, people running around aimlessly like ants after a menace of a child stepped on their nest, and the screams and cries of frightened young children wanting to go home. You’re pulled out of your frightened state when Cooper tried to push you up on Sugarfoot after he placed his daughter up on the saddle. “Cooper.. Cooper! No!! Get Janey out of here! You have to get her out of here!!” You pushed yourself away from him and stumbled back, your limp leg giving its all to keep you somewhat supported.
“Y/N- Get on the damn horse! I can’t just leave you here!” He tried to pull you back towards him but you limped back away from him once more. “You need to get her out of here, Coop.. Please.” Tears welled up in your eyes and they fell down your cheeks when they became too heavy for your eyes to hold. “Please.. Go- Get out of here!!” You pushed him away and back towards the horse, and you swore you saw him shed a lone tear.
As more bombs fell from the sky, you watched in grief as your beloved cowboy hop on his horse and grabbed on the reigns, immediately whipping them a little to signal Sugarfoot to get the fuck out of there — away from the chaos and away from the horror.. away from you. You dropped to your knees as you bawled your pretty little eyes until there were no more tears to shed.. and when you heard the faint whistle of a bomb dropping nearby.
ALAKAZAM!
This was the end, you thought. The end of the world, the end of your life, and the end of everything and everyone that you loved.. and the beginning of a new age: The beginning of a nuclear fallout. As you kneeled down on the green grass that was way too vibrant to be real, you tilted your head upwards and looked towards the sky, smiling one last time before your skin began to burn, your insides feeling as if they were being cooked at a thousand degrees, your voice becoming rasped and broken as you screamed in complete and utter agony. You took your final breath of irradiated air underneath that hideous orange colored sky.
THE END ..?
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thank you so much for reading the first chapter of Orange Colored Sky! i hope you liked it as much as i did and i hope you can excuse the.. nicknames i gave “bob” at the beginning (he deserved it though! he was an asshole for absolutely no reason.)
TAG LIST: @lexiway121
#cooper howard#the ghoul#the ghoul x reader#the ghoul x you#cooper howard x reader#cooper howard x you#the ghoul fallout#the ghoul fanfic#cooper howard fallout#cooper howard fanfiction#fallout#fallout amazon#expirednukacola
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Birthday Wish | Jung Wooyoung
-> Pairing: Jung Wooyoung x Reader
-> Request: No. This is a repost from my old account.
-> Synopsis: Wooyoung surprises reader on her birthday.
-> Warnings: Pure self-indulgent fluff I wrote for my birthday last year.
-> Word Count: 944
-> Requests: Open.
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©️ 2024 woojoongstreasure - do not copy/modify/repost anywhere. reblog instead
Likes, comments & reblogs are welcomed and appreciated, thank you.
“Happy Birthday, Jagiya!” Wooyoung screamed at the top of his lungs as he enters Y/N’s bedroom, interrupting the video call she is on with her friend who is currently overseas, working abroad for a year.
Having not heard him come into her room until he screamed, she jumped and spun around quickly to face him and scold him. “What the fuck, Woo?”
Instead of apologizing, he smiles wide, seeming proud of himself as he holds up the cake decorated with her favorite animal, which just so happens to be foxes, towards her and repeats what he had screamed a moment ago but this time more quietly. “Happy birthday!”
“Thank you,” She sighs knowing she can’t be mad at the man who had stolen her heart the moment they met during their trainee days.
He places the cake on her top of her dresser, before wrapping his arms around her and placing a sloppy kiss to her cheek. She scrunches up her face feeling the wetness against her cheek. Even though she should be used to his affection, after all the years of knowing him, her cheeks still burn red, heart racing.
“Who is that?” they hear, reminding Y/N she’s still on a video call with her friend.
“Shit,” she mumbles under her breath before picking up her phone, still wrapped in Wooyoung’s arms. “Sorry, it was just Wooyoung, coming to surprise me.”
“That’s Wooyoung?” she questions, causing Y/N’s cheeks to grow hotter as her blush deepens. Her friend on the phone is the one she always goes to when she wants to talk about him and her massive crush on him. She’s one of the two people who know about it. While Yeosang didn’t tease her about it, her only female best friend sure did.
“Hello,” Wooyoung leans on her shoulder, greeting her friend before she could properly introduce them.
“Hi,” her friend greets back. “It’s nice to finally meet you but I must go. Just remembered I have a few things to do. Make sure our Y/Nnie has a lot of fun today!”
“I definitely will!” he assures her.
“Good,” she smiles. “I’ll talk to you later, Y/Nnie,” she adds before ending the call.
Once the call is over, Wooyoung snatches her phone out of her hand and slides it into his pocket before picking up the cake and walking out of her bedroom without saying anything.
“What are you doing?” she asks, following him and sounding a little annoyed. “Give me my phone back.”
“Ya!” He growls and slaps her hand away when she tries to take it from his pocket. “You can have it back later.”
“But what if eomma calls me,” she pouts, glaring at him.
“I’ll talk to her,” he replies as they reach the kitchen. He puts the cake on the kitchen counter and turns to face her. “We both know that she loves me more.”
“Only because she doesn’t have an actual son,” she scoffs. She’s the eldest of three daughters. It’s her mother who always goes on about having no sons, unlike her sister who has four sons and no daughters. “And I’m pretty sure she loves Yeosang and Yunho more than you.”
He looks at her like she just offended him by suggesting he isn’t her mother’s favorite. He’d been the second to meet her mother, after Yeosang who’s known Y/N since they were babies, their families being neighbors since before they were born.
“If she wants an actual son, I’ll just marry you and make it official,” he says as he rummages through one of her kitchen drawers to find the matches she keeps for her candles.
Y/N freezes, her cheeks burning red even more than before, her heart thumping against her chest and her mind racing with thoughts that she’s unable to speak aloud due to not being able to speak at all in this moment.
When she doesn’t say anything, he looks at her, his face the most serious she’s ever seen it. “What do you say? Should we get married?”
“I uh... I,” her brain was malfunctioning as she tried to pull together a sentence that would make sense.
“I should probably take you on a date first,” he says more to himself as he lights the candle on the cake. He picks it back up and brings it over to her. She’s still standing there looking at him, stunned. “Make a wish,” he adds holding the cake up higher.
“Are you being serious?” she asks, finally able to speak even though her heart and mind are still racing. “You can’t say stuff like that if you-”
She’s cut off by Wooyoung crashing his lips to hers, stunning her even more. “I’m being serious. I’ve been in love with you since we met too,” he tells her, his beautiful deep brown eyes boring into hers, letting her know just how serious he’s being. “We won’t get married right away but I want you to know that if we start a relationship, I’m in it for life. That includes marriage, kids, and everything else that comes with it. Now make a wish.”
“I don’t need to anymore,” she tells him tell him before blowing out the candle. She takes the cake from him, putting it back on the kitchen counter, before pulling him in for another kiss. “I now have everything I could wish for.”
Before Wooyoung could respond, her phone lets her know she’s got a notification. He takes it out of his pocket and hands it to her. She unlocks her phone and finds a text from Yeosang.
‘Happy Birthday, Y/Nnie! Enjoy your day with Woo. Thank me later tonight.’
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Thanks to the lovely anon, here’s another sneak peak of the one shot that’s actually gonna be two lol (keep in mind this is still a work in progress and will likely be edited before posting)
Cooper Howard was deep in thought the first time he met you.
He’d been sitting on a park bench, mentally running over some of his lines for what could’ve been hours before he realized someone was now occupying the spot beside him.
It was a woman.
A pretty one.
A sad one.
Ever the gentleman, he cleared his throat, cautiously asking, “Everything alright?”
The look you gave him was a tired one, shoulders weighed down with a weight he didn’t know of. You chewed on your lip- a habit, if the way you did it unconsciously told him anything.
His eyes threatened to follow, but he refused to let them. He was an honorable man, and a loyal one. The strain is his marriage would pass, and he wouldn’t be the one to throw it away for a pretty face.
A very tantalizing, pretty face.
“If you knew the world was going to end, and there was absolutely nothing you could do to stop it, what would you do?”
He was surprised by the question, concerned even, with the state of the world. The way you asked it was so melancholy, a fact as true as the clouds in the sky.
A beat passed as he tried best to formulate an answer, your eyes trained on the park in front of you once more. It was a nice day, the kind where a calm breeze didn’t make you shiver, but the air was just as fine without one.
Peaceful, he’d say.
Not the kind where doomsday propositions were answered, but he couldn’t refuse your question- not when you gazed at him sideways, like you didn’t expect him to have an answer.
“I’d try anyways.”
You blew out a breath, nodding visibly as if his words had solidified a conversation you were having with yourself. The tenseness in your shoulders lessened, and the beginnings of a smile pulled at your lips.
“You’re the hero type, then?”
He breathed a laugh, shrugging in an almost humble manner.
“I just play one in the movies.”
The surprise on your face was evident. Clearly, you had no idea who he was. It wasn’t unheard of, but his reputation had blown up, so he hadn’t expected it.
Actor of the Century, indeed.
You hummed, a light sound that matched the birds chirping in the trees above.
“What movies?”
He raised a brow, smiling a bit at the interest on your face. You were leaning back on the bench now, arms crossed over your chest. His first assessment of you had been military, maybe.
You weren’t in frilly skirts or a smart pantsuit that frequented the local areas. Instead, you were in tight fitting black jeans and a leather jacket that looked like it’d seen better days, an armor of sorts to the outside world. Your hair was pulled back in an elaborate braid, strands framing your face like they’d fallen out on their own.
Without the forlorn expression though, you looked too young to be some grizzled general. There was something in your eyes, a camaraderie between two people who had seen some shit, but you hadn’t yet lost that youthful radiance.
“Why don’t you figure that one out,” he teased, a winning smile reaching his eyes.
“Alright, stranger,” you laughed, jumping to your feet.
The breeze blew your scent over him- honey and peaches and all the comforts of home. It was intoxicating, and he was reminded once again why continuing this conversation was dangerous.
“Next time I see you, I expect an autograph.”
He didn’t even have time to say a proper goodbye before you were walking away, newfound confidence in your gait.
The strange interaction stayed with him for the rest of the week.
#cooper howard x reader#cooper howard x you#the ghoul x reader#the ghoul x you#fallout x reader#fallout reader insert#cooper howard insert
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Harry was never really Dumbledore's man
So, in HBP Harry says himself:
“Well, it is clear to me that he has done a very good job on you,” said Scrimgeour, his eyes cold and hard behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “Dumbledore’s man through and through, aren’t you, Potter?”
“Yeah, I am,” said Harry.
(HBP, 348)
But, I'm here to argue Harry actually has many many doubts and reservations about Dumbledore throughout all books (even HBP), and I find it interesting how Harry convinced the Wizarding world (and the readers) that he's Dumbledore's man when he isn't. Not really.
(Just makes me all the more annoyed at him calling his son Albus...)
I'm going to go through some examples of Harry showing his doubts about Dumbledore way before book 7. Because Harry is an abused, distrusting boy, and Dumbledore isn't actually an exception to that until very late into the books. And even when Harry chooses to trust Dumbledore's intentions, he never fully trusts his judgment.
“D’you think he meant you to do it?” said Ron. “Sending you your father’s cloak and everything?”
“Well, ” Hermione exploded, “if he did — I mean to say that’s terrible — you could have been killed.”
“No, it isn’t,” said Harry thoughtfully. “He’s a funny man, Dumbledore. I think he sort of wanted to give me a chance. I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, he just taught us enough to help. I don’t think it was an accident he let me find out how the mirror worked. It’s almost like he thought I had the right to face Voldemort if I could….”
(PS, 217)
This quote above is from the ending of Philosopher's Stone and the outlook Harry, Ron, and Hermione have on Dumbledore and his behavior is the same as seen in the later books. So I wanted to talk about each of them and how they see Dumbledore because this quote really sets the tone for the rest of the series.
Ron is doubtful and distrustful. The situation is odd, and he's clever, he analyzed the situation and came to a frightening conclusion — the whole ordeal seemed planned by Dumbledore. And Ron isn't scared of voicing this question.
Hermione, while not always a rule-follower, respects Dumbledore and his authority. A lot. So, she doesn't believe Dumbledore could've planned it as it would reflect badly on his character and authority. Hermione is a very loyal person, and once she decides she respects someone she is willfully blind to their flaws (we see it with her later in the series).
Harry, while he's clever enough to notice the same things Ron did and come to the same conclusion — that Dumbledore planned for an 11-year-old to face Voldemort — he attributes good intentions to Dumbledore. Harry sees the situation and draws his conclusions, but chooses to hope/believe Dumbledore's intentions were good ones.
Harry’s brain seemed to have jammed. He stared numbly at Riddle, at the orphaned boy who had grown up to murder Harry’s own parents, and so many others. . . . At last he forced himself to speak.
“You’re not,” he said, his quiet voice full of hatred.
“Not what?” snapped Riddle.
“Not the greatest sorcerer in the world,” said Harry, breathing fast. “Sorry to disappoint you and all that, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore. Everyone says so. Even when you were strong, you didn’t dare try and take over at Hogwarts. Dumbledore saw through you when you were at school and he still frightens you now, wherever you’re hiding these days —”
The smile had gone from Riddle’s face, to be replaced by a very ugly look.
“Dumbledore’s been driven out of this castle by the mere memory of me!” he hissed.
“He’s not as gone as you might think!” Harry retorted. He was speaking at random, wanting to scare Riddle, wishing rather than believing it to be true —
(CoS, 282)
This is one of the scenes people call to to show how much faith Harry has in Dumbledore (even Dumbledore himself), the thing is, Harry says (in his mind) he's just saying things to try and scare Tom. To try and buy time, or unbalance Tom so he may have a chance at escape.
The important note is that Harry doesn't actually believe what he's saying to Tom. He's just saying what he thinks would bother Tom the most.
Harry had never shared this piece of information with anybody. He was very fond of his wand, and as far as he was concerned its relation to Voldemort’s wand was something it couldn’t help — rather as he couldn’t help being related to Aunt Petunia. However, he really hoped that Mr. Ollivander wasn’t about to tell the room about it. He had a funny feeling Rita Skeeter’s Quick-Quotes Quill might just explode with excitement if he did.
(GoF, 310)
This part about telling no one about his wand's connection to Voldemort is true. He never told anyone by that point in GoF. Not Ron, not Hermione, not Dumbledore, not even Sirius.
As I mentioned above, Harry is abused and distrustful. He's not at all Dumbledore's perfect soldier who trusts him with everything. In GoF, Harry decides against telling Dumbledore about his dreams and the pain in his scar:
“Your scar hurt? Harry, that’s really serious. . . . Write to Professor Dumbledore! And I’ll go and check Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions. . . . Maybe there’s something in there about curse scars. . . .”
Yes, that would be Hermione’s advice: Go straight to the headmaster of Hogwarts, and in the meantime, consult a book.
[...]
As for informing the headmaster, Harry had no idea where Dumbledore went during the summer holidays. He amused himself for a moment, picturing Dumbledore, with his long silver beard, fulllength wizard’s robes, and pointed hat, stretched out on a beach somewhere, rubbing suntan lotion onto his long crooked nose. Wherever Dumbledore was, though, Harry was sure that Hedwig would be able to find him; Harry’s owl had never yet failed to deliver a letter to anyone, even without an address. But what would he write?
Dear Professor Dumbledore, Sorry to bother you, but my scar hurt this morning. Yours sincerely, Harry Potter.
Even inside his head the words sounded stupid.
(GoF, 21)
Harry doesn't wish to share secrets with Dumbledore, nor does he feel comfortable to go to him with his troubles (his go-to adult while Sirius was around was always Sirius). Again, Hermione is mentioned as the one who trusts Dumbledore's authority, in Harry's head, but he's right, he knows her well.
Harry actually spends a good portion of the series purposefully trying to hide information from Dumbledore. (I'm saying 'trying ' because Dumbledore always found out, but not because Harry told him).
“He seemed to think it was best,” said Hermione rather breathlessly. “Dumbledore, I mean.”
“Right,” said Harry. He noticed that her hands too bore the marks of Hedwig’s beak and found that he was not at all sorry.
“I think he thought you were safest with the Muggles —” Ron began.
“Yeah?” said Harry, raising his eyebrows. “Have either of you been attacked by dementors this summer?”
“Well, no — but that’s why he’s had people from the Order of the Phoenix tailing you all the time -”
Harry felt a great jolt in his guts as though he had just missed a step going downstairs. So everyone had known he was being followed except him.
“Didn’t work that well, though, did it?” said Harry, doing his utmost to keep his voice even. “Had to look after myself after all, didn’t I?”
“He was so angry,” said Hermione in an almost awestruck voice. “Dumbledore. We saw him. When he found out Mundungus had left before his shift had ended. He was scary.”
“Well, I’m glad he left,” Harry said coldly. “If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t have done magic and Dumbledore would probably have left me at Privet Drive all summer.”
(OotP, 63)
Harry is angry here, true, but he doubts Dumbledore's idea of what's "safe" for him. He's actually glad for the dementors because he doubts Dumbledore would've brought him over if it wasn't an emergency.
And Harry is right to be doubtful and suspicious. He's right that he's less safe at the Dursleys than at Grimmauld Place. He's right to feel angry and betrayed at literally everyone knowing he's being followed except for him. He's right Dumbledore probably wouldn't have brought him if it wasn't for the dementor attack. Harry is correct in each and every one of his assessments of Dumbledore's character and decisions here.
“No,” said Harry, shaking his head. “It’s more like . . . his mood, I suppose. I’m just getting flashes of what mood he’s in. . . . Dumbledore said something like this was happening last year. . . . He said that when Voldemort was near me, or when he was feeling hatred, I could tell. Well, now I’m feeling it when he’s pleased too. . . .”
There was a pause. The wind and rain lashed at the building.
“You’ve got to tell someone,” said Ron.
“I told Sirius last time.”
“Well, tell him about this time!”
“Can’t, can I?” said Harry grimly. “Umbridge is watching the owls and the fires, remember?”
“Well then, Dumbledore —”
“I’ve just told you, he already knows,” said Harry shortly, getting to his feet, taking his cloak off his peg, and swinging it around himself. “There’s no point telling him again.”
Ron did up the fastening of his own cloak, watching Harry thoughtfully.
“Dumbledore’d want to know,” he said.
Harry shrugged.
“C’mon . . . we’ve still got Silencing Charms to practice . . .”
(OotP, 382)
Remember I mentioned Harry hiding things from Dumbledore? This is one of such occasions. There are more in GoF that I didn't copy, but this is an example of Voldemort-related, dangerous information Harry is hiding from Dumbledore because he doesn't trust him and doesn't feel comfortable telling him things.
“It’s lessons with Snape that are making it worse,” said Harry flatly. “I’m getting sick of my scar hurting, and I’m getting bored walking down that corridor every night.” He rubbed his forehead angrily. “I just wish the door would open, I’m sick of standing staring at it —”
“That’s not funny,” said Hermione sharply. “Dumbledore doesn’t want you to have dreams about that corridor at all, or he wouldn’t have asked Snape to teach you Occlumency. You’re just going to have to work a bit harder in your lessons.”
“I am working!” said Harry, nettled. “You try it sometime, Snape trying to get inside your head, it’s not a bundle of laughs, you know!”
“Maybe . . .” said Ron slowly.
“Maybe what?” said Hermione rather snappishly.
“Maybe it’s not Harry’s fault he can’t close his mind,” said Ron darkly.
“What do you mean?” said Hermione.
“Well, maybe Snape isn’t really trying to help Harry. . . .”
Harry and Hermione stared at him. Ron looked darkly and meaningfully from one to the other.
“Maybe,” he said again in a lower voice, “he’s actually trying to open Harry’s mind a bit wider . . . make it easier for You-Know —”
“Shut up, Ron,” said Hermione angrily. “How many times have you suspected Snape, and when have you ever been right? Dumbledore trusts him, he works for the Order, that ought to be enough.”
“He used to be a Death Eater,” said Ron stubbornly. “And we’ve never seen proof that he really swapped sides. . . .”
“Dumbledore trusts him,” Hermione repeated. “And if we can’t trust Dumbledore, we can’t trust anyone.”
(OotP, 554)
Again we see the same exact dynamic from first year. Hermione is loyal to Dumbledore, not even considering he might be wrong about something, or not have their best interests at heart. Ron and Harry on the other hand, are both open to the possibility that things aren't so simple. They don't think Dumbledore is intentionally harming Harry, but they think he's wrong about Snape. Something Hermione, Arthur and Molly would never consider.
(This is actually the most annoying thing in Hermione's character for me, her unshakable faith in Dumbledore, who doesn't deserve her trust)
“. . . so you see what this means?” Harry finished at a gallop. “Dumbledore won’t be here tonight, so Malfoy’s going to have another clear shot at whatever he’s up to. No, listen to me!” he hissed angrily, as both Ron and Hermione showed every sign of interrupting. “I know it was Malfoy celebrating in the Room of Requirement. Here —” He shoved the Marauder’s Map into Hermione’s hands. “You’ve got to watch him and you’ve got to watch Snape too. Use anyone else who you can rustle up from the D.A., Hermione, those contact Galleons will still work, right? Dumbledore says he’s put extra protection in the school, but if Snape’s involved, he’ll know what Dumbledore’s protection is, and how to avoid it — but he won’t be expecting you lot to be on the watch, will he?”
“Harry —” began Hermione, her eyes huge with fear.
(HBP, 552)
Even in book 6, the book Harry grows the most comfortable and trusting towards Dumbledore, even then, he doesn't trust Dumbledore. He thinks (and somewhat rightly so because he doesn't know of Snape and Dumbledore's plan) that Dumbledore is wrong about Snape. that Dumbledore is wrong about Malfoy. Harry doesn't trust that whatever protections Dumbledore would leave would be enough (and they weren't).
Even at the end of HBP, the point in the series where Harry has the most faith in Dumbledore, Harry still doesn't trust Dumbledore's judgment or his ability to protect the school. Even after Dumbledore calls Harry out on it, telling him the safety of the students is important to him, Harry still tells Ron and Hermione to get the DA to protect the school without notifying Dumbledore.
And Dumbledore raised Harry to feel responsible for the school's safety, Harry is doing what he was "bred" to do. But he does it behind Dumbledore's back, because like every adult, Harry deep down expects to be let down. After all, he's used to saving the school himself.
So, no, Harry never really trusted Dumbledore fully. At least, not Dumbledore's judgment. Harry does believe Dumbledore's intentions are good for the most part, even if ineffective.
“He never told me his sister was a Squib,” said Harry, without thinking, still cold inside.
“And why on earth would he tell you?” screeched Muriel, swaying a little in her seat as she attempted to focus upon Harry
[...]
Where was saintly Albus while Ariana was locked in the cellar? Off being brilliant at Hogwarts, and never mind what was going on in his own house!”
“What d’you mean, locked in the cellar?” asked Harry. “What is this?” Doge looked wretched. Auntie Muriel cackled again and answered Harry.
[...]
Numbly Harry thought of how the Dursleys had once shut him up, locked him away, kept him out of sight, all for the crime of being a wizard. Had Dumbledore’s sister suffered the same fate in reverse: imprisoned for her lack of magic? Had Dumbledore truly left her to her fate while he went off to Hogwarts to prove himself brilliant and talented?
(DH, 135-137)
And in Deathley Hollows, Harry is very quick to start questioning and doubting Dumbledore. Especially when compared to Hermione:
“Harry—”
But he shook his head. Some inner certainty had crashed down inside him; it was exactly as he had felt after Ron left. He had trusted Dumbledore, believed him the embodiment of goodness and wisdom. All was ashes: How much more could he lose? Ron, Dumbledore, the phoenix wand . . . “Harry.” She seemed to have heard his thoughts. “Listen to me. It—it doesn’t make very nice reading—”
“Yeah, you could say that—”
“—but don’t forget, Harry this is Rita Skeeter writing.”
“You did read that letter to Grindelwald, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I—I did.” She hesitated, looking upset, cradling her tea in her cold hands.
(DH, 311)
Harry is hurt, he feels betrayed, because while he never 100% trusted Dumbledore's judgment, he trusted his intentions. He trusted Dumbledore was good and cared for him. He feels cold and betrayed, showing trust in his intentions. But his readiness to accept Skeeter's and Muriel's accusations so quickly shows he always had his doubts about Dumbledore and they never really left, even if he wanted to trust him, he never did, not fully.
Hermione, on the other hand, who was always loyal and trusted Dumbledore (both his intentions and judgment) 100%, tries to rationalize Dumbledore's actions and convince herself everyone who says bad things about him is lying.
Harry doesn't. Because out of the Golden Trio, Hermione was always Dumbledore's woman, Ron and Harry... not really. Not as much.
“That old berk,” muttered Aberforth, taking another swig of mead. “Thought the sun shone out of my brother’s every office, he did. Well, so did plenty of people, you three included, by the looks of it.”
Harry kept quiet. He did not want to express the doubts and uncertainties about Dumbledore that had riddled him for months now. He had made his choice while he dug Dobby’s grave, he had decided to continue along the winding, dangerous path indicated for him by Albus Dumbledore, to accept that he had not been told everything that he wanted to know, but simply to trust. He had no desire to doubt again; he did not want to hear anything that would deflect him from his purpose. He met Aberforth’s gaze, which was so strikingly like his brothers’: The bright blue eyes gave the same impression that they were X-raying the object of their scrutiny, and Harry thought that Aberforth knew what he was thinking and despised him for it.
“Professor Dumbledore cared about Harry, very much,” said Hermione in a low voice.
“Did he now?” said Aberforth. “Funny thing how many of the people my brother cared about very much ended up in a worse state than if he’d left ’em well alone.”
(DH, 478)
More of how Harry thinks about Dumbledore, showing, again, how he always had his doubts and reservations but he chooses to trust Dumbledore's intentions because otherwise, he doesn't think he has any hope to defeat Voldemort. He chooses to keep following Dumbledore's path because he has no real choice but to trust what he sees as the only path that'll lead to Voldemort's destruction. But Harry has plenty of doubts about Dumbledore.
Hermione, on the other hand, has little to no doubts. She doesn't allow herself to doubt.
And this pattern, of Harry doubting Dumbledore again and again, never truly trusting him, just trusting his plan will kill Voldemort... like, how does that lead Harry to want to name his kid 'Albus'? I just don't get it...
TL;DR
Harry likes to say he's Dumbledore's man, but he always had his reservations, even when he choose to ignore them since trusting Dumbledore's plan felt like his only chance at survival. Hermione is much more trusting of Dumbledore than Harry is.
#harry potter#hp#harry potter thoughts#hp thoughts#harry potter meta#hp meta#hollowedtheory#hp theory#harry james potter#harry potter analysis#albus dumbledore
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Summary: For Josh, home is where you are. | Standalone in the Cabin Fever universe
Pairings: Josh x Wife! Reader (Josh POV) | Genres: domestic fluff, angst, hurt/comfort | Word Count: 3k | Warnings: a little mention of spice
A/N: I loved Josh's most recent insta caption about the stage being his ethereal living room he gets to share with us, but I also love hurt/comfort, so I made it angsty and fluffy for Josh and Baby. I hope you like it! ♡
“The stage is your ‘ethereal living room’?”
Josh looked up from the charcuterie board he was meticulously arranging to see you on your phone, presumably scrolling through the concert pictures he’d posted half an hour ago. He smiled.
“Yeah, you know.” He tapped a row of crackers into line until they were perfect. “The shows are a place where people come together to enjoy each other’s company. Somewhere that feels like home.”
You didn’t say anything. He glanced up at you again.
“Ethereal means — ”
“I know what ethereal means, Josh.” Your face went pink. “It’s just not usually a word you use to describe a living room.”
He was a little surprised at your tone; it bordered on sounding upset, but maybe that was just because he’d embarrassed you, though he certainly hadn’t meant to.
“I was just trying to help, baby,” he said gently. He tried for some humor. “And you’re right, it’s not usually a word you’d use to describe a living room. Definitely not our living room in the state it’s been in lately.”
That had the opposite of the intended effect, and he wished he could take it back when your face fell. “You don’t think it’s ready for tonight?”
“No, no,” he said quickly. “It’s ready now. Everything looks great. I just meant that we haven’t been as good about tidying every night, so it’s been a wreck recently.”
“Right,” you said, but it was doubtful and tense. “Well, I tried to get most of it done while you were at work — ”
“I know, baby.” He felt that he’d botched this conversation pretty badly, but you also seemed much more sensitive than you usually were. “It was a huge help, and I’m grateful that you did most of the cleaning when we made the mess together.”
“I didn’t make it quite as ethereal as a concert, though,” you said, and your laugh was a little strained.
He wondered at your fixation on the wording of his caption, but maybe you were trying to make it into a running joke.
“The Kiszkas wouldn’t know what to do with a living room too perfect for this world,” he teased. He set the board on the other side of the island and went hunting for the wine glasses. “Could you grab me the corkscrew, honey?”
You did as he said, but there was a pensiveness to your body language that made him worry. You’d been in a great mood all day, his happy bubbly girl, spending the day shopping and tidying and preparing for the dinner party you were hosting. Jake, Sparrow, Sam, and Danny were due to arrive any time now, and Josh had thoroughly enjoyed spending time with you after work getting your home ready for your family. He didn’t know what had brought on this sudden change in mood, and he racked his brain for what could have caused it and what he could do to fix it.
“Dessert smells really good,” he said sincerely. “Did you end up putting the strawberries in there too?”
You handed him the corkscrew and stood uneasily as he opened the Riesling, toying with the sleeve of your pretty dress.
“No,” you said quietly. “It’s just regular blackberry cobbler. I didn’t think you’d mind.”
A frown tugged at his features. “I don’t,” he said. He popped the cork out. “Of course I don’t mind. That sounds great, honey.”
“It’s not very exciting,” you said apologetically.
He didn’t know where this was going. Surely you weren’t upset about the dessert you’d made, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what you really were upset about. He decided to stick with his usual strategy, which was mostly just continuing to be sweet to you.
“I don’t need exciting, baby,” he said, kissing your cheek. “It’ll be perfect. I can’t wait to try it.”
Working together, but without your usual quips and jokes back and forth, you and Josh put the finishing touches on dinner before the doorbell rang. Josh put his dishtowel over his shoulder and went to welcome your guests in, and he was happy that you joined him.
“You look beautiful, baby,” he said. “I love that dress on you.”
You touched a hand to the neckline of your summery black dress patterned with little red cherries. “Oh, well, it’s only a sundress. But... thank you.” The usual enthusiastic enjoyment of his compliments he loved hearing was nowhere in your voice. He wished he could wait to open the door and ask what was bothering you, but the doorbell was now accompanied by rhythmic knocking the type of which only a drummer could deliver.
“I’m telling you,” Josh said, trying one last-ditch attempt to coax a smile out of you. “This ethereal living room business — it’s better if it’s just our plain old living room with these hooligans.”
The smile you gave him was clearly only for his sake, not even reaching your eyes. Discouraged and unable to stall any longer, he turned the door handle.
“I didn’t mean to push this on you,” you blurted. Your expression was anxious and regretful. “I’m sorry, Josh.”
By the time he’d processed what you’d said, the door was already open, and your family was coming inside full of laughter and bearing gifts of wine and appetizers and card games to play. He wanted to jump right into the festive atmosphere his brothers and sister-in-law brought with them, but he was completely preoccupied by your blurted-out apology for... what? What could you have to be sorry for? He looked across the foyer and felt his heart twist when he saw your strained smile as you welcomed your family inside.
“Alright, Kiszkas,” he said with more levity than he felt. He ushered everyone into the living room, pointing out the drinks and snacks on the kitchen island. “Eat, drink, and be merry. Dinner’s almost ready.”
He asked Danny to watch the sauce simmering on the back of the stove, wanting to try and get a moment with you before dinner. He left Sparrow and his brothers chatting and snacking in the kitchen and found you in the dining room, double-checking the place settings you’d already made perfect an hour before.
“Baby,” he said gently. “What did you mean, you’re sorry for ‘pushing this on me’? Did you mean dinner?”
You bit the inside of your cheek. “I should have asked you before I planned it.”
He leaned against the doorframe. “You did ask me. Didn’t you?”
“I don’t think so,” you said sheepishly. “I think I just told you I was doing it, and you went along with it.”
“Oh. Well, I don’t mind,” he said sincerely. “I’m glad you planned it.” He debated giving you space or pressing a little deeper, and he risked the latter. He came around the table to the side where you stood.
“I’m glad we’re all spending time together,” he said. He took your hands in his. “I’d like to enjoy it with you, too, but I wouldn't be happy if you were unhappy.”
“I’m not unhappy,” you lied.
“Baby,” he chided tenderly. “You’ve been out of sorts for a little bit now, and I want to help you get back into sorts. I just don’t know how.”
You looked up at him. “Are you sure you’re happy with... all this?”
He raised a brow. “Dinner? Or, like, the universe as a whole?”
You sighed. “No, I mean... do you like being home? Maybe it’s a little lackluster after touring.”
“That could not be farther from the truth,” he said, without a moment’s hesitation. Was that all that was bothering you?
“Silly girl,” he said with a smile. “Of course I like being home. I love being home.”
“But it’s... it’s just... me,” you said lamely. “Just our house.”
“I’m still not seeing a problem,” he said, affectionately teasing. “I love you, and I love our house, especially when it has all the people we love in it drinking all our wine.”
You didn’t say anything for a moment. Then — “Are you sure?”
For a moment, he couldn’t think of anything to say. He felt a surprisingly sharp flash of hurt at your doubt. He tamped it down to focus on you, his sweet wife, who apparently felt that his homecoming had been spent wishing he was back out on the road.
“Yes, I’m sure,” he finally said. He cupped your face in his hands, reading something sad and needful in your expression but unable to figure out how to fix it. “I love being home with you, baby. I miss you so much when I’m away. You don’t know that?”
He saw your eyes sparkle with tears and wished desperately he could understand how it had gotten this bad, wished he could figure out how to fix it.
“Hey,” he said softly. He kissed you. “I love you. I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
“But it’s not — ”
“It’s perfect,” he said, gently cutting across your protest. “And though I love the way you open our home to our family, even just being with you, eating takeout in our pajamas, would have been perfect too.”
You gave him a watery smile at that, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
“There’s that smile,” he said tenderly. He brushed the tears from your face. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you weren’t enough, baby. You're everything to me. You’re my heart. You know that, don’t you?”
You nodded and kissed him, and he was so happy to have helped even a little. He’d probably ask about it again, try to understand what had made you think such a thing so that you'd never have to think it again. For now, though, your family was waiting, and you seemed eager now to get back to them.
“Don't tell them I was crying,” you said, running your hands over your cheeks, trying to hide the telltale signs. “Tell them we were having a quickie or something.”
He chuckled. “I'm not sure I’m skilled enough for that to be believable, baby. Less than five minutes is a lot to ask.” He kissed your cheek. “And I won’t tell them you were crying. That’s between you and me.” To his way of thinking, a husband's job was to protect his wife at her most vulnerable, not to expose her. These moments between you, the words and soft touches and intimacy you shared — those were just for the two of you, and Josh treasured the privilege of being the one you shared yourself with when you needed a little extra love.
You took his hand, and when he was sure you were ready, he led you back out to where your family waited.
He saw you return to your usual self as the night went on, and he loved to hear your laugh and watch your smile light up your face as you spent time with your family. Sam, Danny, Jake, and Sparrow — they never failed to bring warmth and light with them wherever they went, and Josh knew that there was no better medicine than their terrible jokes and affectionate bickering and safe, easy love. You were always beautiful, but joy made you ravishing; you shone as brightly as the sun when you were happy, and he felt a weight come off his shoulders as you came back to yourself.
After dinner, you found a spot on the couch; as Josh went to fix glasses of wine for both of you, he watched the drama unfolding in the living room. Catty corner to you, Sam and Jake were playing guitar, Sam casually and Jake with characteristic seriousness; Sparrow sat perched on the arm of Sam’s chair, and Danny sat on the floor.
“Watch him,” Danny said, slipping a hair tie from his wrist and aiming it like a slingshot at Jake. “I bet he won’t stop playing.”
“No, Danny!” Sparrow giggled around the straw stuck in her wine glass. “That would be so mean to my poor Jakey.”
“He wont’ even notice,” Danny said, unable to hide an impish smile. “Watch.”
He shot the hair tie at Jake, and it popped him on the forehead before tumbling down the guitar and landing on the floor. Jake didn’t miss a beat.
Danny and Sparrow dissolved in uproarious laughter, and Jake merely rolled his eyes with a telltale smile.
“You’re all idiots,” he said.
“Not me!” Sam protested. He watched Jake’s fingers, invested in learning the tune now. “I’m trying to play with you, but geez, can you dial it down from rock god so I can figure it out?”
Jake slowed his playing, talking Sam through the notes, and good-naturedly accepted a kiss on his forehead from Sparrow. Danny tried to find the hair tie again and hit Sam with it when he did, earning himself a nudge with Sam’s foot that made Danny laugh and lean his head against Sam’s knee in apology.
Josh brought your drinks over to the couch and handed yours to you. “For you, baby.”
You accepted it gratefully and patted the spot next to you. “Thanks, honey. Come sit with me.”
He did, draping one arm over the back of the couch behind you, pleased when you scooched closer to him. He gave you a sweet, chaste kiss.
“Feeling better, baby?” he asked gently.
You couldn’t help a dull blush, but you gave him a bashful smile. “Yes. I’m sorry I was so... tearful earlier.”
“That’s alright, honey. Would you mind telling me what it was that got you so upset?”
You ran the pad of your thumb over the bottom of your wineglass. He was patient as he waited for you to gather your thoughts.
“It’s silly,” you said finally. “You’ll either laugh or be annoyed that I made such a big deal about it.”
He considered that. You usually took things in your stride, and neither of you made a habit of being offended or upset over trivial, accidental things. Whatever it was, it had hurt you, and he would validate that feeling no matter what it turned out to be.
“I promise I won’t laugh,” he said. “And I don't think I’ll be annoyed.” He really just wanted to know what it was, and he told you so.
Your nervous, wandering fingers found his, and he was content to let you play with his wedding ring. You brushed your thumb over the shiny gold surface.
“It was your caption,” you said. “You know, for those pictures you posted.”
He was bemused for a moment. “Oh. Really?”
“Yeah,” you admitted quietly. “There’s no greater feeling in the world than returning to the stage. It is my ethereal living room. A place where things feel lighter than air. I love you.”
If anyone had asked him to recite from memory the caption he’d written himself, he couldn't have done it. The fact that you knew it word for word told him you must have been saying it over and over again in your head since you’d read it.
He thought of the wording in light of your feelings and saw how it could have hurt you. It had been their first show back after a long break spent at home, and while you were in your plain old living room at home and missing him, he’d apparently been away in a much better living room doing much more exciting and wonderful things without you. Of course he hadn’t really been comparing a concert to the home he shared with you — it was only an Instagram caption, after all, and not a serious commentary on his life. But even though he felt it was reasonable for you to have known that, he also knew that sometimes the heart wasn’t reasonable.
He twined his fingers with yours. “Sweet baby,” he said. “I’m sorry it hurt you. It wasn’t my intention at all. I don’t know if it helps, but I wasn’t thinking about our real life living room when I wrote that. I just thought it sounded clever.”
“I know,” you said. You gave him a wobbly smile. “It was clever. It’s sweet. And the fans deserve a little love note from you. I just...”
“You just missed me,” he said, brushing his knuckles over your cheek. “I know, baby. I missed you too.”
“I’m sorry,” you said. “I’m sorry I made such a big deal out of it. I could have just been honest that I was upset. But really, I should have just taken it like you meant it and not started catastrophizing, thinking you weren’t happy at home.”
“Well, sometimes our imaginations run away with us,” he said, patient and kind. “For the record, I am happy at home with you, baby. You in your old sundress making regular blackberry cobbler is the kind of thing I dream about when I'm away from you. And if I could only have one, I’d pick our less-than-ethereal living room and be glad to share it with you for as long as I lived.”
You touched his cheek. “Why are you so sweet to me?”
“Because I love you very much,” he said simply. He kissed you. “Tell me you know that.”
“I know that,” you said softly, tenderly. “Of course I know that. I love you very much too.”
He kissed you again, taking his time, drawing you closer to him. You tasted like sweet wine and sounded so pretty when your breath caught, your fingers brushing through his curls, your heartbeat light and fast under his hands, almost ethereal.
From the other side of the living room, there was a vague commotion and contagious laughter from Sparrow and his brothers.
“Should we check on them?” you asked, your voice muffled and smiley as you kissed him.
He chuckled. “They’re fine. Hush and let me kiss you.”
You did, and when you threw your arms around his neck to pull him even closer, he decided you weren’t ethereal after all. The two of you together, surrounded by the ones you loved, laughter and joy and music filling your home — it was something better than ethereal, something earthy and imperfect and steady. For all he loved his work, this right here was exactly what he wanted.
“I love you, Mrs. Kiszka,” he said gently.
You smiled and set everything right in his world. “I love you too, Joshy.”
@wideminded-dreamer and @spark-my-nature were particularly excited for this one so hey here you go <3
#i'm gonna do a taglist rb later hopefully with the new list from my new form! yay#also i hope this is not a case of a fic where the header is better than the story dkhjbfhb it's just a short sweet little fic :')#i do like this header tho :)#josh kiszka fluff#josh kiszka x reader#josh x baby#cabin fever fics#greta van fleet fanfiction#gvf fanfiction#maddie writes stuff!
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the service
pairing: aurelia mcavoy x trent frederic
word count: 2.5k
warnings: swearing, it’s my fic, there’s always swearing
authors note: hello and welcome to another series that I hope I can finish (lol). hope you all enjoy!
Trent pushed open the door to the garage, feeling as though he was somewhere that he shouldn’t be. Charlie had recommended this garage as it had the best reviews for Porsche maintenance and was where he took his car. But it didn’t seem right. All he had to do was see if ‘Peanut’ worked here and if he did, then he would know if he was in the right place.
A gruff looking man with white hair and a long beard sat behind the counter and now Trent felt as though he really shouldn’t be here.
“Charlie McAvoy said I should come here for my car’s service?” He weakly asked, really feeling as though he was in the complete wrong part of town.
“Freddy with a Porsche?” He man behind the desk asked, after flicking through a few pages of the large diary that sat in front of him.
Trent nodded, feeling slightly more relaxed that be was definitely in the right place and that Charlie hadn’t sent him on a wild goose chase around the city. That wouldn’t be the craziest thing to happen to him.
When he was a rookie in Providence, the older players told him that they were having after game drinks at a bar. A bar that didn’t exist in Rhode Island. It was in California. Trent was pissed but ended up channeling his anger into a fight in the following game.
“Peanut will be with you in a moment, they’re just finishing up on a vintage 911,” the man explained.
Fuck, a vintage 911. How Trent wished he could own one of them but the upkeep on it would be more than he could handle. Especially when he had no clue about cars. But fuck, if he knew someone who knew their way around a car, his first purchase would be a vintage 911.
“Okay,” Trent replied, swinging his car keys around his finger as he wandered over to the notice board on the other side of the reception. The Bruins key ring hit against the plastic of his car key as he kept himself distracted waiting for Peanut.
“Freddy with a Porsche Cayenne?” A distinctly feminine voice with a strong Boston accent called out into the reception. Trent looked around, realised he was the only person in the room and then figured out that it was for him.
“That’s me,” he replied, spinning around to be greeted with a short woman with an imposing stature. Her dark hair was tied up in a ponytail behind her and Trent had no inclination of who she was except for the name Peanut. That surely couldn’t have been her name. But it was the name that was stitched into her dark blue overalls.
“I’m Aurelia but everyone here calls me Peanut. You met Gramps,” she pointed at the older man sat behind the counter, who offered Trent a wave. “It’s dad and I who are working today but occasionally you’ll get Adam who’s my brother working when he’s not at collage.”
Trent just nodded, that was more of an info dump that he expected from his mechanic but it really did feel like a family run business the way they treated him.
“Sorry for the run down,” Peanut apologised, most people here are regulars and know all of us. But you’re new, so you get the speed rundown. So, your Cayenne, what we needing for it?”
The hockey player thought for a moment. Why did he actually come here again? Oh crap yeah.
“Just a yearly service,” Trent got out, slightly in awe of the pretty girl standing in front of him. She was beautiful, he hoped that Charlie hadn’t mentioned this garage to any of the other players as he wanted to call dibs on her. Well, if that was still a thing that people did.
“I can’t sweet talk you into an engine upgrade, car wrap or new rims?” Peanut giggled as she headed out to the front where Trent had parked his car.
You could sweet talk me into anything, he thought but did say that. He just apologised and reaffirmed his need for a service and nothing else.
Peanut shook her head in mock disgust. “Damn, I always try that with the cute ones and it never works,” she laughed once more as she squatted down to look at the brake discs and callipers for a quick first inspection. “Left hand side looks good, from first glance but let me check the right.”
Peanut zipped around to the other side and did the same tyre and brake check confirming her initial thoughts that there probably wouldn’t be anything wrong with them.
“Looks like you don’t need new tyres but I can’t confirm that until I properly check them,” Peanut smiled. “So I’ll just need your keys and it should be a few hours.”
“Sounds good, do you need my number?” Trent asked, not realising how it sounded.
“Well,” Peanut raised an eyebrow, “my personal phone is missing the number of an attractive Porsche driver.”
A faint blush tinted the hockey player’s cheeks as it clicked in his head what he said and how it could be interpreted.
“Not like that,” he quickly backtracked, not wanting to make it seem as though he wasn’t interested but he was. He had placed himself in a sticky situation.
“Don’t worry,” Peanut explained. “Gramps will take your details before I drive it around the back. He’ll also explain how much it’ll cost. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to move my car out of the way.”
Peanut skipped back to the garage and opened the roller shutter doors. A white Porsche 911 Carrera from 1973 backed out of the opening and the same person who he was envious of earlier happened to be Peanut as she reversed out of the garage and into a spot on the side of the road.
She jumped out of the driver’s side door and invited Trent back inside to fill in all the paperwork that they needed before they could get started on servicing the car.
“Right, I’ll leave you with Gramps to get all the boring stuff sorted and I’ll be in the back, see you later!” Peanut waved and stormed through the door at a speed that had Trent concerned for the door.
“Don’t worry about my granddaughter, she’s always had this sort of energy,” the man that Peanut called Gramps explained. “That will be 300 dollars for the service and if Peanut finds anything else, it’s labour hours plus parts. All good?”
Trent nodded again before handing his keys over to Gramps and calling an Uber to take him back.
“You’ll call me when it’s good to pick up, yeah?” Trent asked, just making sure that he knew what was going on.
“Sure thing,” Gramps replied. “Should be done sometime this afternoon, provided no hiccups.” Trent nodded in appreciation before making his way outside to jump in the Uber to head back to his place.
Trent sat in front of his monitor, playing a solo game. He didn’t want to risk being involved in an online game with some of his teammates when he got the call to pick up his car. He felt limited in what he could do as Tuesday afternoons were usually the days he went food shopping, as long as he was in the city and not on a road trip. It was a slight change to his routine.
The doorbell went and Trent paused. He wasn’t expecting anyone or any deliveries so it must have been one of the guys. But why would any of them be visiting him on a random Tuesday afternoon?
He stood up and walked across to look through the peephole. Charlie was stood outside his door, hands in his pockets looking awkward. Trent had no idea why the defenceman was at his apartment when he knew Trent’s car was at the shop.
Trent opened the door and Charlie barrelled his way into the Boston apartment. He walked straight over to the kitchen, grabbed a glass for himself, filled it with water and drank the whole thing in one go. Water dripped from Charlie’s mouth but he quickly used his sleeve to wipe it away.
“You okay?” Trent asked, very confused as to what had just happened.
“Please tell me why my cousin just called me to say that Fit Freddy’s car is ready and that I should bring him to the garage?” Charlie growled, slightly concerned at what Aurelia had said on the phone. “And why she really wants your number?”
“It might help if I knew who your cousin is?” Trent replied, trying to make sense of the situation. He was racking his head to see if he knew an Aurelia.
“Aurelia McAvoy, short, dark hair, sounds like she was raised in a barn?” Charlie explained, hands flailing around as though he couldn’t keep control of them. “You know, the cousin I consider a younger sister?”
Trent still looked confused. He didn’t know any Aurelia McAvoy… wait…
“You mean the mechanic?” Trent questioned. “Your cousin is Peanut?”
“Yes!” Charlie exclaimed. “My cousin is Aurelia. You went to my grandfather’s garage and my cousin is the one who has fixed up your car and supposedly given you the friends and family discount that no one outside of the actual family gets?”
Trent could see steam coming out of his teammates ears as he tried to make sense of the situation and also diffuse it. Playing mediator wasn’t his usual role on the team but he needed to today.
“Charlie,” Trent started, “I don’t know why she said that but if my car is ready to pick up. Maybe we should go and grab that.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Charlie responded before grabbing his keys from his pocket. “Let’s head out, see if Gramps can explain what’s going on. Fucking hope he can.”
The drive to the suburbs was painful for both hockey players. Charlie was still fuming that Trent had been flirting with his cousin, he couldn’t have Aurelia dating one of his teammates. As much as he loved his teammates, he did not want any of them dating someone he considered a second sister. Aurelia could absolutely deal with one of the Bruins, but she deserved better in his head.
Trent was slightly annoyed that Charlie thought he was flirting with his cousin. He didn’t intend to flirt with her and if he did, he was only responding to her flirting. Maybe she flirted with all the customers to try and get as many extras sorted as possible. That had to be it. She must also have been riling up Charlie. This could be one of the things they did growing up and Trent was now just a pawn in their game.
The drive was quiet, just the sounds of a local radio station in the background. But Trent could see that Charlie’s ears were still red so he was still angry.
Charlie turned the steering wheel and parked up outside the garage. He had tried to use the drive to calm down but it really didn’t help. It didn’t help when the recipient of his anger was in the enclosed space with him.
“Let’s get this shit over with,” he muttered under his breath before opening his door and then slamming it shut. Trent followed suit but didn’t use the same amount of force as his counterpart.
Charlie stormed his way into the reception area of the garage and Trent was hot on his heels. He just wanted his car back, he didn’t want to get in the middle of a McAvoy family argument, but it seemed like he would.
Aurelia looked up from over the counter to see her cousin looking at her with angry looking eyes. Crap, she thought, have I gone too far with this one? It was no secret that she fancied Trent, but it was something she didn’t want to share with Charlie as his rule since he started playing hockey was that she couldn’t date any of his teammates or opponents. Which she understood at the start when they were all teenagers.
But then he started playing in the big leagues. And he was playing against Mat Barzal, Nathan MacKinnon and Sidney Crosby. The latter was the first player that Aurelia had on her wall when she used to play hockey, before she moved onto racing cars.
But Trent was Charlie’s teammate. One of Charlie’s friends. Charlie was the one who took Trent under his wing and showed him around the city. Trent was also the only teammate who Charlie had sent to her garage. Well, Patrice Bergeron had also been there, but he was no longer a teammate to her cousin.
“What can I do for you, dear Charles?” Aurelia asked as she stood up, spinning Trent’s car keys on her index finger, just to provoke her cousin slightly more.
“Trent is here for his car,” Charlie pointed to the forward standing next to him. “Gramps can show him the car. You and I need a little chat.” Aurelia rolled her eyes but handed the keys across to Gramps who took Trent out to the back to explain the costs and how much he owed.
It was silent and the tension between Charlie and Aurelia was high.
“Peanut,” Charlie groaned as he ran a hand through his locks. “Please tell me you didn’t give him a friends and family discount?”
“What if I did?” She retaliated before popping a piece of chewing gum into her mouth. “He’s a friend of yours, so he’s a friend of mine. You didn’t get like this when I gave the discount to Bergy?”
“You gave the discount to Bergy?” Charlie questioned. “That’s the first I’ve heard of this.”
“Whoops,” Aurelia shrugged. “So what, I’ve had a crush on Freddy since he fought Tanev. Makes sense I’d give the guy I fancy a discount, right?”
“Fucks sake,” Charlie had to sit down to control himself. “You fancy Freddy? That’s breaking rule one.”
“No,” countered Aurelia. “Breaking rule one would be if I started dating him.” She blew a large bubble with the gum in her mouth. “Today is the first time I’ve met him. Did I flirt with him? Yes, I mean who wouldn’t. Would I date him? If you let me get to know him, yes.”
Charlie opened his mouth to speak but Aurelia raised his hand to shut him up.
“But do I trust your opinion and reasoning as to why you don’t want me dating your teammates? Yeah, I do.”
Charlie understood where Aurelia was coming from. She wasn’t the young girl he remembered. She was 25 now. Ran the family business and had a successful racing career on the side.
“Peanut,” Charlie started. “I just wanna protect you. I won’t give you Freddy’s number just yet.” To that she rolled her eyes. “But if a load of us are hanging out with our partners and you’re free, I’ll invite you. How does that sound?”
“Significantly better than keeping me in my own bubble,” she replied. “Can I go and get Freddy sorted now? And can you fuck off until family dinner.”
“You got it peanut, just don’t make too many mistakes.”
Aurelia saluted before tacking her cousin before he was ready and took him down to the ground.
“Pfft,” she exclaimed. “NHL defender my ass.”
#ahockeywrites#trent x aurelia#nhl imagine#hockey writing#nhl fic#hockey fic#hockey story#nhl fanfiction#nhl writing#trent frederic fic
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School Stories: In the Closet
Gojo Satoru/Original Female Character
Pre-Relationship, Bickering, Teenage Shenanigans, Baby Panda Plays Matchmaker
1,806 words
Also posted on AO3
Summary: Yura was just trying to get her chores done at the end of the school day, too bad that a young Panda suddenly decided to take matters into his own hands regarding a certain matter involving her and Gojo...
Hey everyone! I bring you another work in the Satoru/Yura series, and this time I actually plan to make School Stories a series of its own with quick oneshots set during their school days! There'll probably be no plot-related stuff here, mostly just slice of life and early SatoYura shenanigans, because that's fun to revisit every now and then, hehe.
If you just got here and haven't read any of the previous installments of this series, and all you want is some Gojo/OC slice of life shenanigans, then you should be able to read this as standalone! All you need to know is that Yura and Gojo are in the same year, and he was a massive asshole to her at beginning lol. They've since come to a sort of understanding and become friends, but they still bicker a lot.
“Who put the mop behind everything?” Gojo asked, and Yura only crossed her arms with an impatient sigh.
“Hurry up,” she called, watching the white-haired teenager rummage through the supply closet. It was the end of the school day, and they were supposed to clean up their classroom—Yura and Gojo were on mopping the floor and wiping surfaces duties, while Shoko and Geto were left to take out the trash and tidy everything up. However, Yura couldn’t even get started on her own chores until they were able to fetch all the supplies from this closet, which Gojo was taking forever to do.
“I’m trying,” he called, immediately tossing an empty bucket out of the supply storage, and Yura scowled at him making a mess. “But someone decided to bury all the supplies behind a bunch of junk.”
Yura tapped her foot in irritation, unable to help and hurry things up as the closet was way too cramped for two people.
As Yura was about to shoot another retort, a flash of black and white passed by her peripheral vision, and she turned her head to look. It was Panda, peering at them from behind the corner.
“Panda,” Yura greeted him. “Didn’t know you were stopping by today.”
The small, not-quite-a-panda creature would occasionally visit the school with Yaga, and Yura had long since become acquainted with him. She still wasn’t sure of all the details regarding Panda’s existence—something of a mutated cursed corpse created by Yaga that could function on his own, and that had apparently gotten Yaga into a lot of trouble back in the day—but Yura ended up deciding not to worry too much about it and simply view the small panda as Yaga’s sort-of son. He was pretty cute, as Shoko would repeatedly say as she’d try to squish the small-sized not-a-panda in a hug, and surprisingly smart for what was technically a five year old child.
So it was a little weird when Panda didn’t answer her, only stared. He could talk—and sometimes he would talk a lot—but for some reason he only stared at them with his eyebrows-area furrowed in concentration.
“Panda?” Yura called again, as Gojo still fumbled with all the stuff inside the supply closet.
Without a word, Panda suddenly marched up to them, halting his steps right next to her. And he stared.
“Wakatsuki,” Gojo suddenly called from inside the closet. “Don’t just stand there.”
“We can’t both fit in there,” she replied, tearing her eyes away from the small, furry creature to shoot another scowl in Gojo’s direction. “...Mr. Special Grade that can’t even get a mop out of the closet.”
She heard Gojo huff, disgruntled. She bit back a grin.
“Here,” he suddenly called out, briefly pulling back to hand her a mop. “Here’s that damn mop, now I just need to get the other stuff.”
Yura stepped closer to grab the offered item, and that was when the closet door suddenly swung closed, pushing her into the small, cramped space.
A garbled cry of surprise escaped her mouth as she stumbled forward, her hands scrambling to grasp at anything in front of her. Anything turned out to be a warm, not-that-soft body, her own body immediately colliding against Gojo’s as she fell into him.
“Wakatsuki, what the hell—” he let out, and she felt an arm wrap around her waist to keep her from falling further and, especially, face-first into the closet’s wall. However, something was pulled from the higher shelves with the movement, a pile of (thankfully) not too heavy stuff immediately falling onto them and pushing them closer together.
And in the middle of it all, there was the distinct click of the lock behind them, and what she could only describe as giggling fading away into the distance.
“Panda!” she called, the only possible culprit for quite literally pushing them into this situation. But it was too late, and there was only silence outside. “Shit...”
Yura’s hands tried to find purchase somewhere, anywhere, but the only solid surface she could find was Gojo himself.
And he was too close.
Yura let out a series of expletives as her feet couldn’t find solid ground, too much junk scattered around their legs for her to actually find somewhere to step. “Stop—Stop that,” Gojo said as she kept struggling.
“You stop—” Her fingers tightened on Gojo’s uniform as her efforts only made her slip further, her weight dropping against him. His arm around her was the only thing keeping her from fully falling on top of the scattered junk.
He grunted. “Quit moving—” he said, and she felt his arm suddenly tighten around her. That did make her more secure in place... but that also brought her even closer.
Closer—way too close.
Yura froze.
For a long moment, all she could hear was her breathing in the small, dark space. Well, her breathing, and his. And not just hear, but feel—her chest was pressed against Gojo’s, so she could feel every time it heaved up and down along with hers. And it was like her mind slowly took stock of every single spot their bodies touched—which was almost everywhere. One of his legs was pushed up between hers, hitching higher every time she scrambled for purchase, his arm firm around her waist and keeping her there.
“...Uh...” Gojo let out. His breath puffed over her face.
Was it getting hotter in here, or...?
“...Door,” she suddenly called. It was dark, but she thought she could see his brows furrowing. “Get the door,” she explained.
Gojo was quiet for a moment, and then he suddenly moved. Yura briefly realized his weight had been leaning against the wall as his upper body surged forward, taking her with him—but she supposed this was nothing for him with his ridiculous strength. She was able to find a little bit of purchase on the ground as he straightened them both up, but not enough, and as his arm unwrapped itself from around her to reach for the door, she was forced to hold on to him tighter.
“...It’s locked,” he said, the sound of a jiggling doorknob filling the closet.
She grunted. “Fucking—"
Gojo let out a huff. “Did Panda really lock us in here?”
Yura also let out a huff. “Yep.”
“I’m gonna tell Yaga that his little experiment is turning into quite the little shit,” he grumbled.
And Yura couldn’t help herself. “...Well, you’re one to talk,” she half mumbled.
Gojo huffed again, turning to look down at her face... and then immediately looking away as they were still too close.
Yura let out a breath as she too looked off to the side. “Now what?” she asked. She was pretty sure she had left her phone back in the classroom with her things, but maybe Gojo still had his so they could call someone to get them out of there. If not... “Do we scream for help or something?”
“I mean, I can teleport.”
Ah. Right.
But then she narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you dare teleport away and leave me here all alone.”
She heard him bark out a laugh. “Scared of the dark, Wakatsuki?”
Yura turned her head to him with a scowl, about to retort—and then her nose bumped his chin and she quickly turned away again. “Just get us out of here.”
-
Yura almost felt relieved at the feeling of Gojo’s teleporting encasing them, the cramped-up space giving way to some actual room to move around. Darkness turned into light, and Yura’s feet finally found their footing, but then she looked to the side and immediately locked eyes with Shoko’s questioning gaze.
...Hold on.
Yura was frozen for a moment, her brain still trying to make sense of the sudden change of scenery. Gojo had teleported them both out of the closet—straight into the classroom they had been using. The one where Shoko and Geto were.
“...Satoru,” she heard Geto’s voice suddenly drawl out, and her eyes shifted to look at him. His lips were tilted up in a sly smile aimed straight at her and Gojo. “You guys been having fun?”
Yura blinked. And her brain suddenly processed the fact that they hadn’t actually moved after teleporting so Gojo still had his arms around her... with their bodies still pressed together.
Something snapped inside of her.
“G-Get off!” she suddenly exclaimed, pushing Gojo away as hard as she could. It seemed to have sent him stumbling backwards, but Yura was too busy to congratulate herself for catching him off guard when her cheeks felt like they were bursting into flames.
“Ow, Wakatsuki, what the hell...” Gojo grumbled.
Yura eventually raised her gaze, meeting Shoko’s eyes again. Unfortunately, Yura did not like the look she found on the other girl’s face.
“You two were supposed to be fetching the supplies,” Shoko said, amusement hiding behind her impassive tone. “Not cozying up together.”
Yura’s cheeks were still burning, and she refused to look in Gojo’s direction. “That’s not—!”
“No!” a different voice suddenly yelled from the doorway. It was the culprit himself—Panda—standing there in shock.“You weren’t supposed to be out so soon!” He paused. “Go back!”
Gojo snapped his head towards the doorway, his eyes shooting glares at the mutated cursed corpse even from behind his glasses. “You pulling pranks now, you little furball?” he gritted out. He took one step towards the young not-panda, who seemed to have sensed what was to come and immediately bolted. “I’ll get ya and teach you a lesson, come back here!”
As Gojo ran off chasing after Panda, the other three students were left alone in the classroom, and Yura tried to get her flushed cheeks back in control. And in the meantime, she refused to make eye contact with neither Shoko nor Geto... who had turned his gaze to her, amused.
“So...” Shoko eventually started. “What just happened?”
Honestly, Yura had no idea.
-
Bonus:
“You locked them in a closet?” Yaga asked, his face incredulous as he stared at his small creation.
Panda only nodded, eyes big and wide and with seemingly no regrets.
Yaga let out a sigh. “...Why?”
Panda didn’t miss a beat. “They need to kiss.”
Yaga raised an eyebrow high up. “They need to what?” he asked.
“Kiss,” Panda replied. “They gotta kiss.”
Now, where the hell had Panda gotten this idea from, Yaga had no idea.
He sighed, rubbing his face with a hand.
“Masamichi,” Panda called, and Yaga peered down through his fingers. There was more? “You need to try it sometime.”
“Try it? Try what?”
Panda nodded. “Locking them in a closet,” he stated. His small face became thoughtful. “Just have to make sure Satoru can’t teleport...”
End notes: My personal headcanon is that Panda is an unusually perceptive person, and hey, it's actual canon that he likes to play matchmaker!! So let's say he started early, echoing the thoughts of a lot of commenters in this series saying they wish they could lock Yura and Satoru in a closet to sort things out lmao. Too bad Satoru can teleport...
(Basically I wrote a mention of Panda locking them in a closet in one of the main story's chapters and I felt like I had to actually write out the incident lol)
Anyway, thank you for reading, and let me go back to writing the main story now
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#gojo satoru#jjk fic#gojo x oc#gojo fluff#gojo satoru fic#my fics#satoyura#here's some fluff to tide you guys over until the next chapter of the main fic!
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When a Villain’s “Villainy” Dismisses Their Valid Argument For Change (Or, Marvel)
Marvel stories aren’t the only ones that pull the whole “this villain has a very valid and justified stance on something socially acceptable but actually terrible and- oh, nvm, they’re a murderer, thus they’re totally bad,” schtick, but they’re the loudest voices.
Pop Culture Detective did this deep dive into how the “Avengers” really are “Avengers” (as opposed to “Prevengers,” like Tony points out) because they don’t have any initiatives or social stances that promote change, they just stop villains from making change. Most damning example of this character is Killmonger.
Excellent deep dive, go watch it. I won’t regurgitate it here. Instead, I’ll talk about how these villains are also attempts at having depth and nuance and are very hit-and-miss about it.
So. Villains with nuance: How to write a character with something to say, while showing that their way of going about it is wrong, while also still agreeing that they were right.
—
This isn’t actually that hard, y’all. Marvel doesn’t do it because they don’t want to piss off the rich people or be “woke”.
So say I have my antagonist named…. Wilson.
Wilson’s goal: prison reform/dismantling the for-profit punitive “justice” system that works to keep people in the system instead of helpful rehab.
Wilson’s motivation: that his dad got incarcerated for possession of drugs, and through a series of Very Bad and Corrupt Legal Practices, Wilson’s dad spent 45 years in prison and died there.
Wilson’s plan: peacefully protest, then when that doesn't work and he's exhausted all other legal avenues, systematically blackmail every cop, justice, and prison employee that he deems corrupt, racist, etc, on the grounds of either “just following orders” or “that’s how it was” isn’t good enough in effort to get them fired/ruin their lives. Doesn’t matter how involved in his dad’s incarceration these people are, Wilson wants to make a statement, and he’s going to make it as loud as possible.
Enter the hero: Sarah.
She’s the seasoned detective trying to catch him because crime is crime and he’s done a lot of it.
Marvel’s hypothetical version of this story: Wilson joins and organizes several peaceful protests and marches and nonviolent gatherings, gathering a vocal following that’s concerning to local, then national, government officials when he gains more power than they’re comfortable with. Around halfway through the story, Wilson breaks and starts randomly murdering these same people just so the audience doesn’t start to root for him.
Marvel’s solution: Wilson ends up in prison, or dead from a high and ambiguous fall, due to his own actions because murder is bad and he’s done a lot of it. Prison reform, what?
Or: Wilson ends up in prison because he still committed violence against a lot of innocent people and the punishments he enacted didn’t fit their crimes. The populace remains horrified by his actions, mourn the corrupt government people, and claim this is exactly why the prison system is the way it is. Sarah, however, understands that Wilson was right, and works for the rest of her career on enacting prison reform.
You know, Zootopia did this pretty well, for a kids’ movie, by having Judy publicly admit that what they’re doing is wrong and try to change it, while also simultaneously botching it entirely.
Ironically, Marvel does have a property that tries its damndest to do the “villain actually has a point, he’s just going about proving it the wrong way” and that’s X-Men. Their best efforts aren’t the ‘ha ha CGI explosion of cool mutant powers’ but the social commentary these characters were meant to reflect.
You can write a villain with a point. But if you’re going to go far enough to make a polarizing statement in your work, knowing it will piss people off, commit to that message and don’t abandon it the second you’ve made them “irredeemable”.
That, and, like Zootopia, it gives your hero so much more nuance when they can admit their staunch, heroic worldview is flawed and needs growth, or complete dismantling, and that hard life lessons can come from anywhere, not just their heroes—particularly when they themselves are an archetypical “hero”. (also killing this complicated villain instead of giving them the chance to see the proper enactment of the change they want to see in the world is a huge missed opportunity).
Not limited to superhero stories, either, or hot button issues like prison reform. Do it in fantasy with fantasy bigotry. It doesn’t have to be a huge global plot either. “Critical voice is painted as the villain and resorts to unsavory-to-illegal activity to stay alive and/or promote their cause” also fits plenty of war stories big and small.
Heck, go even smaller, with lower stakes, and you could write about a high school bully victim who goes too far in trying to get justice/catharsis when the law doesn’t do enough about it. Write about a dysfunctional family. This trope is so flexible it’s disappointing how rarely it’s done well.
Whatever the case:
Make a problem in the world of your story that the society/powers that be of that story doesn’t actually think is a problem, or isn’t doing enough to solve
Make solving this problem the villain’s goal
Make the villain’s plan to solving this problem deeply flawed and the wrong way to do it
Make the hero (and the narrative) recognize that their intentions are in the right place, the actions aren’t, but the villain’s plight was heard, and the hero, presumably with the social and political power to enact real change, resolves to make that change.
The villain loses, but they also still win.
I am sick and tired of throwing the whole character out and trying to eat your cake and have it, too, pretending to have a deep and nuanced narrative that ends up saying nothing more than “crime is always wrong no matter the circumstances if the governing bodies aren’t paying you to commit those crimes.”
I’m not a huge fan of Black Panther (I think by that point my Marvel fatigue on all these new characters was starting to creep in), but they really did Killmonger dirty, didn’t they?
#writing advice#writing resources#writing tips#writing tools#writing a book#writing#writeblr#character design#character development#writing villains#heroes and villains#marvel#erik killmonger
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please yap about dip and pip's relationship with pj, I want to know more
FUCKING YESS!!! WHOO HOO!! I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS DAY!!!
Okay so I haven’t brushed up on my PJ lore in a while, so correct me if any of this is wrong, but I’m sticking with the basics.
What gets me about their friendship is that they’ve been through it all together. Once again, correct me if I’m wrong, but him and Phil were friends before Dan started making videos, correct? It could’ve been after. Point is, he was there pre youtube era, bat shit insane era, and out era. And there’s proof they’ve stayed close through it all. I cannot imagine the pressure of maintaining a normal friendship under the circumstances they were under. I will fully admit myself I am one curious mf first thing I would ask is if they were together. And to have a bunch of 13 year olds yelling at you to do so, I can’t imagine just seeing all of that and then casually heading out to see a movie or get dinner.
I have a head cannon which I feel like I have enough reason to treat it like cannon and that’s that dnp only were close to YouTubers who didn’t care about their sexuality/relationship. You had to be there, but the 2014 british youtuber boom, dnp were making collabs with people who just were so different and it showed. And I don’t think people will understand if they weren’t there how big of a thing “phan” was. They were described usually something along the lines of “those friends with the matching hair that fans think are together.” So when you mix personalities that, to no one’s fault, just don’t blend, mix it with the pressure of five million thirteen year olds, and mix it with people who one has a lot wrong with them, that’s a really bad mixture to set up a friendship. I believe other than Louise and PJ, who dnp knew before hand (pretty sure louise, might have been at the start of their career), tyler oakley and Anthony seem to be the only creators they seemed comfortable around. I forgot why I started talking about this. Oh, the conditions in which friendship had to stand under.
I truly don’t know how to explain how insane the phandom used to be. And how widespread. As someone approaching the age they were when they started to blow up, I am amazed they didn’t leave the internet.
This whole long rant is to say that it was overwhelming to even be in the vicinity of dnp. The amount of pressure is something I truly cannot describe. And it’s hard to explain if you weren’t there, but I cannot imagine an outsider maintaining a relationship with the two of them with the pressures both within the relegation ship and outside. Because let’s also not forget Dan’s mental health and trauma was triggered every time a “phan is real” comment happened. It was truly such a chaotic time and I think the reason they didn’t have a lot of friends was because they couldn’t.
So it’s just that it must have been so fucking hard. And they must have a very close bond to have survived what their friendship endured. It was such a unique scenario to be pulled into and deciding to come along for the ride is something I find so admirable.
I also think PJ has been a part of their journey with sexuality and how public they were about being together. From what we know, Phil and PJ filmed together back when it was just millennials. To as recent as filming April Fool’s. That experience of watching that dynamic rise and fall and having to just follow and work with must’ve been crazy
If you look at a lot of the credits in dnp’s more professional videos, PJ is often in the credit and often has a big role. Really, it’s mostly the same people who dip and pip work with which gets me the most. It’s obvious they feel comfortable and genuine around him. We’ve seen behind the scenes how they discuss ideas. It’s just very relaxed, which is something dip and pip were deprived of as soon as they started blowing up. Everything had to be planned and thought through. And I think having an old friend who they were likely open to about their relationship and sexuality probably kept them sane. I do believe they are a lot closer than they put forward online and good for them. I think that’s why they’ve stayed friends for so long.
A lot of this is pure speculation. But it must be so cool to have watched your close friend go through the journey pip did, all the while being with someone he loved. But also helping them through it and helping them express themselves within their own boundaries.
That’s what I was yapping about at the start. I think the few YouTubers dip and pip remained close to Anthony, Louise, and Tyler, is because they seemed to like dan and phil because they liked dan and phil. There was no ulterior motive and they genuinely didn’t give a shit their relationship or what fans said. If I were dnp, I would have become very guarded with my emotions. But, at least from what we’ve seen, they seem very comfortable with Pj and his gf I forget her name but she’s so pretty.
When I think of friendship I think of what Peej has with dip and pip. There was so much obvious discomfort for so many years and being able to adapt to that is something special. Balancing public versus private. And just having such long history together. Once again, I’m not up to date on my lore, but I’m pretty sure Phil and Pj knew each other before Phil knew Dan. Or at least it was very close. Like they have been friends from the start. Pj was there for every stage. Every stage. And having a friend who remained neutral during it all probably really helped dip and pip not go nuts.
I truly cannot put into words how out of control the phandom was. Like I don’t even know how to phrase it. It was such a unique phenomena that I have never seen anything even close since. So it’s hard to really get across what it meant sticking with dip and pip during the height of their career, but it must have been so fucking hard on all sides.
And to just see after that chaos that they are still close, that they still film together, that they just hang out,,, I just find that very neat. And admirable. And I’m so curious to know more about it.
I’m not rereading any of this so enjoy the typos
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Could I ask for Rosie x a new delivery guy (reader) who gets adorably flustered whenever she compliments (and eventually flirts with) him? He eventually works up the courage to start complimenting her back.
(Maybe she occasionally gives him tips in the form of kiss marks that turn him into a bumbling, lovestruck fool?)
If you like what I’m doing consider tipping me for priority requests & access to characters I don’t usually write for such as Charlie, Valentino, Carmilla, and more.
When you got a job at the Helluva Post, you never would have guessed that your afterlife was going to change in the best way.
You were one of the only people willing to venture into Cannibal Town for deliveries.
At first, it was purely because you’d get paid extra since no one wanted to go there and then it changed.
It changed when you were delivering a package to Rosie’s Emporium.
That’s where you met Rosie with her huge smile and shining, captivating dark eyes.
Her hand gently brushed against yours as you exchanged the package.
“Thank you, darling. I try not to have stuff delivered too often, I know you all don’t like coming out here, but I’ve been so busy I haven’t had the time to leave.”
You blushed and blinked several times. Your skin tingled just a bit.
“No problem, it’s a pleasure.”
You were hooked since that day.
You always tried to catch a glimpse of her when you delivered things to her town from that moment on.
Rosie didn’t pay it too much mine until you entered her emporium during a delivery.
You didn’t talk to her. She was too busy helping her people but you did look around. You didn’t buy anything but you felt like you knew her far better now.
Then she started ordering more and more packages.
She always started a bit of small talk—
“The weather’s real nice today.” “So, is that a uniform or just your style? I’ve got some clothes I’d think would look real spiffy on you.” “Did you hear what happened in the media district?”
—and you always fumbled with a reply.
“It’s been real. . . sunny recently.” “Um, yeah, it’s a- a uniform. But I could. . . I could, um, come over?” “No, I don’t really keep up with the news. What happened?”
She was a real pretty woman. You can’t be blamed for being flustered.
The interactions became common.
Once she asked you to come inside and set up a radio for her that she’d gotten costume made but didn’t know how to set up.
You’d gotten a look around her home and it was beautiful. You said as much and her smile was addicting.
That’s what encouraged you to say your compliments aloud.
She always got a smile so sweet on her face.
Slowly, your confidence began to build as you complimented her.
Then it was all shattered when she placed a kiss on your cheek and you were once again reduced to a flustered mess.
If you like what I’m doing consider commissioning me for canon/canon stories AND personalized canon/reader stories.
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I remember seeing different fishes as I grew up
#when I was very young in Mexico they took me to these waterfalls and I remember the silver lines of the tiny fishes and I was so so#scared#I thought the wanted to eat me#when I first started kindergarten in the us they showed me some fish trying to calm me down#it didn’t work but they were so pretty-I didn’t know what the people were saying#I remember going to the creek when the walking trail was still there and catching the fish in old plastic bottles people would#toss into the field#we did this so many times and I always had a horrible feeling it was going to be the last#one time we brought the fish back-my sister and me poured them into the pool#eventually even frogs showed up#my first time at an aquarium was spectacular#everything was dark and blue#my family owned so many fishes throughout my life but the only fish I remember are#the black moor goldfish
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❗️NEWGLASSANIMALSGLASSANIMALSGLASSANIMALSGLASSANIMALSGLASSANIMALSGLASSAN-
#glass animals#honestly i wore out dreamland sm my brain took a lonnng break from expecting anything from them?? idk i’m just huh????#like….. when i say wore out#i cannot describe how much i listened to it#i usually have some vague idea even if it’s a ridiculous number#like 52 times in a month for an album or something (has happened)#i cannot recall w this#gonna say bc 2020 & they were Literally the last band i saw live. next morning everyone found out about everything annd lockdown. no joke#so it was big dreamland time when it dropped and revisiting their past albums when i broke out of its spell lmao#(pretty sure before that like january was when i listened to déjà vu 100+ times in a row tho so oop. it was a tough day lol)#anyway seeing this aww man. i really have had this band with me for a long long time. 🥹 i remember hearing gooey on the radio one night#driving home from work late @ night in 2014. the drive was so short i couldn’t be arsed to fish out my ipod & plug it in#sometimes so just popped on a good station i had preset. started the car and heard this *voice* and i was like who????#had to check the station bc it was an alt station and i thought i had it on another one which was fine i was just v confused#it was in the middle of the song & i was immediately anxious to know the name hoping i’d hear it & it wouldn't just flow into the next song#then the dj would pile the names together after x number of songs played bc i was tiired (but woulda stayed in the car ngl). got lucky &#ran inside to find it then yelled at my roommate the next day that she HAD to listen to it during a smoke session after work#(i was right & it blew her miiind)#god. what a fucking time. what a fucking band. idk what the disc horse is surrounding them now since they blew up via tiktok#i’m sure people are v quick to say they’re overrated bc of that but idk & i’m glad i don’t know. they’ll always be this#highly inventive incredible band i stumbled upon for the perfect night drive home after a long long shift#a band that came back from a Horrible accident that should have ended 1 of their lives & somehow didn’t & should have ended them#as a band (like still cannot believe Joe was drumming in 2020 & i saw it with my own eyes like how tf???!?)#a band deserving of all of its successes. glass animals forever
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They’re calling my baby Gojo, Joseph Joestar now
#rambling#the diff is that Gojo did apologize after being called out and face to face with his racism whilst Joseph literally befriended nazi’s 😵💫#and there was never any explanation from araki as to why he’d even wrote German soldiers in the shit in the first place like that was#absolutely jarring as hell to read for the very first time back when I’d gotten into jjba#well I watched it first but you know#like Joseph really thought fondly of Stroheim as this stand up guy even though he’s first of all#a Nazi#and second#the first scene that we were introduced to was of him sexually harassing a Woman#it’s……. 🗿#still to this day I wonder if araki had ever addressed this because lord#Joseph was just happy to get the help I guess but that felt so ooc for him from what he’d seen 🗣️#happily receiving the help of a Nazi and calling them a nice guy ahhh Joseph-#Gojo would never sjjsaj#my boo boo is a little prejudice but he’s working on it 🗣️#I still think that gege was trying to have a ‘racism is bad’ moment but again#the execution was pretty awkward and it felt out of place considering what had been currently going down in the manga#like the Racism was pretty random but it was swiftly put to a stop which I can appreciate even if it shouldn’t have been a point of#conversation to begin with since why couldn’t Miguel just exist as a character instead of him being the now token negro#who everyone sees as instantly more frighteningly powerful than everyone else like this didn’t even need to be brought up wllssldk#idk gege was trying to be ‘woke’ 😭. sorry nbs and wp ruined the term for me but like basically lol#gojo’s pretty intelligent and extremely gifted but he’s never been perfect lol#it’s just that idk why gege chose to talk about antiblackness in Japan out of nowhere about the only black character on screen hehhhhhh#like gege tried but lmfao#this is so funny to me#at least it didn’t drag on putting Miguel in an even more awkward situation than he already was and it was nipped in the bud quickly#Gojo isn’t one to dwell on things but when he’s face with new information and is taught something he does try to reflect and do better and#I’m sure he probably started to become even more aware of what he’s saying especially when talking to Miguel in an honest way since that’s#always been the kind of character who he was despite the horrors#the only ppl who’ve been kinda annoying about this are nbs and white people as always 🗿
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It’s funny how some things can just instantly transport you back to the times you felt small and helpless. Getting iced and ignored in a group/ group chat. Struggling to understand something. Feeling lonely. Getting weird looks. Being laughed at. Suddenly I’m back in elementary school wondering why everyone picks on me, middle school wondering what’s wrong with me and why I can’t make friends, high school being pushed and shoved and ostracized. And I know I’m an adult now, and if people want to act immature and treat other people like garbage then it’s their loss not mine, but it always shocks me that for all of those things I repeat to myself, for my years of working on my self confidence and growth and understanding, how quickly I can be brought low from others. The little kid that felt like no one would ever care about them is still there somewhere. Realizing the struggle will never be over is depressing
#vent#bro this is why I don’t like servers with people I don’t know we’ll#*well#someone asked me a question bc they were interested in something I said and I responded with a slightly long message explaining#then for two hours there was just absolute silence in that channel. finally everyone just pretended the convo didn’t happen and moved on#edit: actually checked and it was almost four hours.#there is 95 members in that group chat#it’s so fucking stupid. it shouldn’t make me feel that way.#I feel like an over dramatic bitch feeling hurt from it#I was wondering why the hell I felt so down about it and couldn’t just move on and it occurred to me#that it was probably bc i haven’t exactly healed from that happening growing up#at least one of the reasons I mean#hell I’m grown and it STILL happens everywhere#and sometimes I just get so tired not knowing what I did to get that sort of response. I get so tired#at work someone summed me up to another person by saying I’m ‘pretty awkward but work hard’. I thought I got along w them pretty well#least I thought we were cool until he said that. made me realize that I was still too weird for him#the reason he likes me is just because I bust my ass trying to actually work. it’s not because of anything outside of that#I learned to be outgoing w my coworkers bc otherwise they project stuff onto me and speak for me#I still got the ‘you’re a little too quiet and don’t involve yourself with the group’ talk from my manager#i keep to myself. then I’m creepy and no one knows me well enough to care when I do speak#and then the moment I say more than two things I’m talking to much#realizing that the struggle never ends even outside of school fucking sucks man
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Constantly regretting not joining a local Cyberpunk Red game when I had the chance.
#I’m bored! I’m boring!#I need to get out of the house more#so anyway months ago someone advertised online that they were going to start a game in town#which would be awesome. cool. I even applied (filled out a cute little survey)#buuuuut I never responded when they tried to get back to me#I still have so much anxiety about my hearing loss#I’m afraid to join a group of strangers and just feel awkward and humiliated the whole time if I can’t hear them#big scaredy cat#of course my therapist would say (and has said many many times) not to reject myself before someone else has a chance to#or whatever. you get what I’m saying?#I should have at least tried to talk about it with the person#TO BE FAIR! tbf tho I was going through a big move and my mother’s health issues so it probably would have been so shitty keeping up#BUT who knows. maybe it could have worked out. we’ll never know bc I didn’t try#so I guess the moral is… I dunno. shit MIGHT be shitty in the end but it could also be great… so… do it… I guess…🤷🏻♂️#that sounds so fun tho. joining a ttrpg group#I used to play homebrews with my friends in high school and it was so fun#just hanging out in the garage. lots of snacks. playing d&d. good times.#I tried to play d&d (dnd?) with my brothers before but they were pretty young back then#anyway… yeah… might look into finding a group to play with#I don’t have a laptop that can really use for online play but who knows. there are a few game stores in the area. gotta be people out there#don’t let your dreams be dreams#anybody play ttrpgs in central arkansas?#that’s not a weird creep I mean#is that mean? I mean I’m weird and maybe kind of creepy. who am I to judge.#I just don’t want to play with a group of assholes or whatever#okay okay sorry I will play with you creeps and weirdos. I’m sorry.#ok I love you goodbye forever#you can ignore this#text
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