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amjustagirl · 4 years ago

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CHAPTER 2 - FALLEN

Fic Summary:

The sky Oikawa Tooru’s heart seeks is a world away from the earth yours is buried in. You are a fool to trust him with your heart anyway.

Where Oikawa Tooru tries to recapture your heart.

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3

Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x fem! reader

Genre / Wordcount : Angst (7k words), cameo from MSBY 4

Warnings: One non-explicit bedroom scene.

Masterlist link here!

Tag list link here!

You catch sight of Oikawa Tooru as you bustle through the hospital’s sliding doors, your usual cup of coffee in your hand that you buy on the way to work. He’s seated in the waiting area next to a middle aged man you guess must be his manager, from the way he jumps to his feet immediately to act as a human shield as you call out breathlessly -

“T - Oikawa? What are you doing here?”

Tooru’s head swivels around to meet your gaze, and you’re shocked by the lifelessness in his eyes until you glance at the bandages wrapped around his swollen knee.

Oh.

You try not to stare, but you do so anyway. The sight of your ex-boyfriend makes you feel as if you’re seeing a ghost, a specter from some past life. You last saw him when he was twenty one, young and proud, wax wings fully spread, a speck in the skies. What a difference five years makes. His shoulders are still broad, and the tilt of his jaw is still proud, but the light in his eyes has faded to darkness, and the pallor of his skin suggests far too much time spent away from the sun.

Icarus, Icarus. Your hubris has led you to such heights, but look how far you’ve fallen.

It’s surprising there’s no news of his injury, considering he’s one third of Japan’s trifecta of setters in the volleyball scene’s monster generation. With the Olympics rapidly approaching with just over a year to go, an injury must be devastating, especially to Oikawa Tooru, with dreams of Olympic greatness and victory on his native shores.

A nurse materialises to usher Oikawa away for surgery before he can respond to the pity in your gaze. You look around. He’s alone, save for his manager. No one deserves to be wake up alone after surgery, so you call after him -

“I’ll check in on you after you’re done! Gambatte!”

He responds with a thumbs up and a weak smile.

You flip through his medical files once you get the chance.

Oikawa Tooru, twenty six. Pro-volleyball player for EJP Raijin previously, currently playing in the Argentinian league. Narrowly missed out on making the cut for the previous Olympics, but went on to represent Japan in the last three World Cups, alternating with Miya Atsumu and Kageyama Tobio. Obviously hoping for another shot at the Olympics, but that’s looking bleak from what you’re gleaning from his medical records.

His right knee has always bothered him, even during his high school days. Now, a decade later, it looks like he’s managed to tear his tendon to shreds.

Volleyball is a cruel, demanding mistress, especially for one not born a genius.

The surgery to repair a torn knee ligament is delicate work, requiring an experienced surgeon, and the road to recovery requires extensive physiotherapy. It’s no wonder he’s resorted to the modern Tokyo hospital you work in rather than returning to his native Sendai to recuperate. The downside of doing so though, is that he’d have to recover alone.

You wrinkle your nose. He may be your ex-boyfriend, but he doesn’t deserve that.

The sun is setting when you finally find the time to slip into his room.

As expected, he’s still asleep. The anesthetic will take some time to wear off. From the looks of the surgeon’s notes, the surgery was a success - though you know from the nature and extent of the injury that his road to recovery will be long and winding.

So you seat yourself in the visitor’s chair with a hot cup of tea and an onigiri to stave off your hunger at not finding time for a break any earlier. You had an awful day at work today, two of your patients puked on you, another tried to fight you when you drew his blood, and the senior registrar in the ward assigned you a mountain of paperwork that you only just managed to complete, so you give in to sleep yourself as exhaustion settles into your bones.

“Princess?”

You snap awake at the familiar nickname, ignoring the flush working its way up the back of your neck as you leap to his bedside to check his vitals, only relaxing when you’re satisfied everything’s fine.

“You’re just waking up after a surgery, Oikawa”. When his forehead crinkles in confusion at the sound of his surname, you correct yourself. “I mean - Tooru”. The corners of his cracked lips tilt up in satisfaction.

“Will you stay with me?” Tooru murmurs, eyelids beginning to droop again.

You smile fondly despite yourself. “Do you want me to?” you ask.

He manages to pout even as he’s falling back asleep. “I asked, didn’t I?”

You smooth his hair from his forehead, slotting your hand into his. “Fine, fine. Go to bed, sleeping beauty”.

He huffs an amused breath from his nose before he closes his eyes, contented. Trust Tooru to be shameless enough to cling on to his ex-girlfriend without a shred of awkwardness. You end up staying in his room for hours, watching him sleep.

The heart that you’ve locked away behind bars of bone and steel twitches, just once.

You frown when the nurse catches your sleeve. “A patient’s looking for you” she says, just as you’re about to go off on a short break.

“Who?” you reply, wondering whether it’s Sato-san who vomited this morning, or Imai-san whose blood pressure niggles at your mind. You do not expect the nurse to flush pink as she replies - “Oikawa-san”, describing the sweet young man with lovely brown eyes and such a charming voice.

You slip back into his room when your shift ends. You expect to see a shadow of a man with broken wings, and you do catch a fleeting glimpse of Tooru staring wistfully out of the window, face tilted towards the sun before he turns to you with a wide smile and a pleased - “you came!”

This is the Oikawa Tooru you are accustomed to dealing with. “Stop flirting with the nurses”, you tell him briskly, bustling over to look at his files. “They have jobs to do, don’t use them to carry messages to me.”

“But I’m boredddd.”

“I’m sure you have volleyball videos to watch.”

“I watched them all day today. ‘Sides, I watched all the matches on today already, twice – and I have plenty of time to watch them a third time. I have plenty of time to catch up with you, I haven’t seen you in so long!”

Five years since you broke up to be exact, but you sidestep that fact neatly, pouring over his medical file instead. His doctors’ notes indicate his recovery is promising. He brightens up when you tell him so, playfully complaining that hospital food is shit in a thinly veiled attempt to steal your food, a habit he’s clearly not outgrown. But you’re not all that hungry anyway, so you split your pork bun in half and hand it to him, dropping into the visitor’s chair.

“So how’re you feeling?”

“Like shit. My knee hurts so muchhhh.��

You shrug, careless. “That’s pretty expected, to be honest.”

“Hmph. I thought they’d have taught you some bedside manners in medical school”, he snipes, though the effect is rather lost when his cheeks are comically round and full of food.

You laugh, the stress from your day lifting from your shoulders.

“I seem to forget them when it’s you.”

“So mean”, he pouts, hiding the familiar gleam in his eye that appears whenever he’s trying to analyse his opponents, take them apart. “As punishment, tell me about yourself. What have you been up to these days?”

You decide to treat him like any old friend, giving him the condensed run down of your professional life, how you’ve graduated from medical school (with top marks I bet, he interjects), how you chose to stay in Tokyo instead of returning to Sendai (your parents must miss you he says, and you brush him off with an airy they have other children, they’ll survive), how you chose to work in this hospital because you’re considering a specialisation in Orthopedic surgery (because of your grandma, I bet, he says, and you choose not to correct that, using your silence as a lie).

He in turn tells you about the highlights of his career, how he’s spent a year at EJP Raijin before he was headhunted to the Argentinian league, how he spent four years overseas save for summers back in Japan to train with the national team, how he’s hopeful, even now, of recovering and fighting for his spot on the Olympic roster next year.

You already knew all of that from news alerts on your phone you never forced yourself to delete, diverting him instead with a question about life in Argentina, nodding as he reminisces about his apartment in San Juan where he gets to watch the sun set over the Andes mountains, the kitchen that he stuffed full of Japanese groceries like daishi and mirin and sake and miso in his first year there just so he has a tangible reminder of home.

You stop yourself from wondering whether he thinks about the little home he shared with you with such fondness. That time has passed.

His voice wavers as he spins you stories about his teammates - Matteo, whose family owns a vineyard and taught him to appreciate wine like a proper Argentinian, Miguel, who makes the best empanadas and gets roaring drunk every time they win a match, Gabriel, who takes him to his family’s home in the mountains every other weekend because his grandmother is convinced that a single young man without family in the city will starve if he’s left to his own devices.

It seems his wings were durable enough for him to soar across the oceans, his grit and determination the foundation of the new life he’s built, whole continents away.

“It’s funny how the world works”, you remark off hand. “I never expected to see you again.”

His eyes gleam again. “The universe seems to work in funny ways.”

You start spending breaks in his room, scarfing down your lunch and dinner while he talks your ear off about the horrible sitcoms or ridiculous game shows he’s watched today. You catch him watching a video of Kageyama’s serves and you’re amused when he practically hisses when you comment idly that his kouhai has certainly improved since his high school days.

You ignore his spluttered protests that service records aren’t everything and besides, his own spike serves have definitely won Japan a game or two last year until, with the air of a boy king, he commands you to sit next to him on the hospital bed so he can pull up a compilation of his serves and his best moments.

Years might have passed, but you’re still hopeless at refusing him. Besides, isn’t it better that you distract him from the sorry state of his knee? So you do as he says, ignoring the faint flutter of your traitorous heart as he leans into your side.

“See? I told you my spike serves are amazing?”

“Yes, yes. I already knew that. I watched so many of your practices in university, remember?”

He looks at you strangely. “Did you?” he asks, leaning his head on his hand, eyes boring into yours.

You think of evenings spent sitting on the bleachers, homework in your lap as you watch as the boy you love builds the strength in his wax wings in preparation for his eventual flight. “Yes”, you admit, sheets rustling as you shift away from him, avoiding his perplexed frown. “You were probably too focused on practice to notice.”

You already know you shouldn’t spend so much time in his room, but you’ve spent most of your life doing what you should instead of what you want to so just this once, you ignore rational thought in favour of sentiment.

After all, he’ll be discharged from hospital in a week, then you’ll never see him again.

Tooru promptly proves you wrong the day before he’s scheduled to be discharged.

“I need someone to help me move into my apartment.”

“Hire a mover”, you tell him. You don’t even look up from your notes.

“Already did”, he chirps, undaunted by your apparent disinterest. “But it’d be nice to have a friend who I know will be nice enough to help poor old crippled me put my stuff away.” Then he grins cheekily, “plus I checked with that pretty nurse – Yuna-san was it? Anyway, she told me you’re off tomorrow, so you might as well spend the day with me.”

There goes your excuse to wriggle out of having to spend your rare day off with your ex.

“I have a mountain of sleep debt to pay off”, you protest, but faced with wide brown eyes and an embarrassing wobble of his lip, you comply. Still, you manage to get the promise of a free dinner out of him, so you suppose it’ll do.

Tooru doesn’t have much to unpack, a couple of cardboard boxes of clothes and books, probably because most of his belongings are still in Argentina. He laughs and raises his hands in an attempt to placate you when you lift an eyebrow, first at the lack of kitchen equipment in his furnished apartment, second at the weights and volleyball he tries to smuggle in behind your back.

“You’re not supposed to exercise for at least a month or two”, you cluck your tongue, sighing with disapproval at the furtive look he casts at the volleyball sitting at the corner of his living room.

“I can set while sitting on a stool! Don’t scold me, my heart can’t bear it”. He throws a hand across his face, brow creased dramatically.

Icarus, Icarus. You’ve already fallen once. Will you seek out the sun again?

A string of familiarity loops into a knot over your heart. If you close your eyes and count to ten, you can imagine that you’re eighteen again, chiding the boy you love for practicing too hard. But you’re twenty six now, a full fledged adult who should know better than to dabble in sentiment again (especially when it comes to brown eyed boys who only dream of the sun), so you slash through the threads connecting you to him with a flash of your teeth, bury your beating heart deeper into the dungeon you’ve built years ago of white bone and solid steel.

“Do what you want, but your neighbours will hate you if you keep thumping that damn ball against the wall.” You say, simply, dismissively.

“No one could ever hate me”, he declares with bravado. “I’ll charm them all with my charm and good looks.”

“Ridiculous”, you huff, dumping the last of his clothing into the cupboard. “Where’s the dinner you promised? I want ramen and gyoza at least.”

“So demanding”, he lilts. “I’ll order in. Tonkatsu ramen with char siu, bamboo shoots, extra spring onions with gyoza on the side?”

Your heart struggles against its shackles. He still remembers your order.

“Yes”, you finally say. “You got that right.”

He grins at you cheekily, as if to say of course.

After you gulp down your ramen, devour your gyozas, you pack up, ready to leave. You have an early shift tomorrow, and you’re already dreaming about your soft bed whilst dreading the cup of coffee you’ll have to down tomorrow morning just to stay awake.

He catches your wrist, presses the spare key to the apartment into your hand. “Come back. I want to see you again”, he says, an order and not a plea.

You are about to make up an excuse, tell him anything but the truth that you suspect it’s bad for your heart to keep seeing him again.

“Please” - he adds with a tint of fragility to his voice.

“I’ll be back when I can”, you finally say.

“Tomorrow?” he looks up at you with hopeful eyes.

“We’ll see”, you pry your hand loose from his grasp, slip out the front door.

You stay away for two days, citing your work schedule as an excuse until he wears you down with a barrage of cutesy line stickers aimed at driving home how lonely he is and how much he misses your presence. You’re being dramatic as usual, you text him dryly, but you turn up anyway at his apartment on a Friday night, letting yourself in with an armful of reports and a bucket of oden.

“How’re you doing? Are you listening to your physiotherapist? Eating properly? Sleeping well?”

“You sound like my mother”, he grouses, rolling his wheelchair to the dining table.

You flick at his forehead, he slumps back in his wheelchair. “Stop bullying the cripple’, he wheezes through his chortle.

“You deserve it”, you retort. “Don’t run away from the question. How’re you feeling?”

“It still hurts”, he admits with a mock sniff. “It should stop hurting by nowwww.”

You push your glasses up the bridge of your nose. “That’s to be expected. Your sinews just got stitched together two weeks ago. Not sure why you’d expect any less.”

“Bah, rude. At least you didn’t say I told you so”, he grumbles, spooning oden into his mouth. “That would be insufferable.”

“Well, maybe you’ll listen to me now that I’m actually a doctor”, you inform him pertly, batting away memories of a teenage boy with hazel eyes shouting indignantly at you after practice in the Seijoh gym.

Tooru snorts. “I can’t believe my eighteen year old self was dumb enough to open my future self up to a jab like that”, he complains, chewing on a cabbage roll grumpily.

“We’re all dumb at eighteen”, you remark. “You’re no exception.”

“You were dumb enough to date me”, he teases with a mocking smile.

Your spoon slips from your hand momentarily. It’s the first time he’s alluded to your past relationship.

“I was, wasn’t I”, you say lightly, before turning the conversation to Tooru’s physiotherapy sessions.

You have no wish to delve back into the past, but you’re willing to be his friend since he seems to need one for now.

Tooru’s knee recovers enough for him to shift from his wheelchair to crutches, which he points at you playfully, mimicking a gun every time you pop by for a visit. He seems to plan his physiotherapy session around your schedule, just so he can wheedle you into paying him yet another visit when your shift at the hospital end, bribing you with a cup of coffee with a hint of chocolate from the café across the street that you’ve never found the time to visit.

“Thank you, kind sir”, you say, accepting the coffee with a laugh.

“You’re welcome, my lady”, he answers with a smirk, motioning you to follow him for yet another evening to be spent in his home sitting across him, red ink smeared on your hands as you mark up the reports in your lap.

His façade that he’s coping with his injury just fine slips every so often. You catch him more often than not watching compilation videos of Kageyama and Atsumu at the World Cup this year with a strained expression on his face, or resting his chin on the windowsill whilst staring wistfully at the birds in the sky.

He does not confide about his worries to you. You’re not sure you want him to.

But you can’t explain to yourself the impulse to purchase a bird feeder for his balcony, nor the glow-in-the-dark poster of the constellations that you cart into his bedroom until your heart has to scramble for equilibrium when he thanks you, his smile soft.

“In exchange for all the coffee you’ve bought me”, you reply, turning away to hide all evidence of your heart’s betrayal, the diffusion of blood in your cheeks.

A month passes. Then another.

The crutches get kept in the storeroom. A limp remains, but the degree which his knee can bend increases by the day. His mood improves even further, and you constantly find yourself swerving to avoid his affectionate gazes, his attempts at flirtation.

“You’re looking so pretty today!” he lilts, fitting his arm snugly into the crook of your elbow as you walk down the neon lit streets of Tokyo. He insisted on this outing, and in the custom of your rekindled friendship, managed to convince you to accompany him on your off day so he can get crepes from Harajuku notwithstanding the fact that it takes forty five minutes on the train and his knee still acts up from time to time.

“It’s my first time downtown in a month”, you tell him. “Of course I’m going to dress up.” You don’t tell him you spent far too long in front of your closet, tossing outfits on your bed until you found one that complements you just right.

He buys you trinkets, hair accessories that you’ll never wear, tries to win you ridiculous stuffed toys from the claw machine.

“You’re wasting money”, you scold, wiping the whipped cream from his mouth.

“It’s not a waste if it’s for you”, he tells you, with startling sincerity that you still doubt.

He doesn’t mean it, you tell yourself. It’s just Tooru being Tooru.

You refuse to admit what’s staring you in the face until you have to duck your head to avoid his attempt at pressing his lips to your cheek.

“Goodnight, Tooru”, you manage to say before you bolt off into the night. You check to make sure your heart is still under lock and key.

It is, but it beats resentfully. Tooru, it beats against its bars with frightening intensity. Tooru. Tooru.

You ignore it. You know what’s best for it.

You stay away from him for a fortnight, requesting for a change in your schedule without updating him, taking the other exit from the hospital so you don’t have to see him. You stay away until he manages to wear you down yet again, texting you the most ridiculous conspiracy theories about your absence from his life – you must be abducted by aliens, he texts you once, or your mother forced you to marry some stranger, I can break you out if you just say the word.

He has a guest, you hear another voice, deeper, filled with gravel and intensity, so different from Tooru’s lighter lilt. You do not mean to eavesdrop, but you don’t want to interrupt Tooru when he has a rare guest over, and there’s nowhere else for you wait save for the dusty front step, so you settle yourself in, pen poised to continue your work.

“What did the doctor say? When are you coming back for practice?”

“I’m doing good! The physiotherapist thinks I can try light exercise next week. If all goes well, I’ll be back to practice in a month.”

“Sounds promising.”

“I had a good medical team. And I’m actually resting properly!”

“Shittykawa. Stop sounding so proud about doing what’s necessary for your recovery.”

“Iwa-channnn, stop being mean to meeee!”

Ah, Iwaizumi, of course. You haven’t seen him in years, but you remember him from school, a stoic boy with a good heart. You wonder if he’s changed.

“Are you planning on heading back to Argentina?”

Tooru answers without hesitation. “Of course”, he says airily. “As long as they take me back.”

Your foolish heart shudders with disappointment. Of course. If you run your fingers down his spine, you’ll probably find blooms of wax attached to his very bone.

You are about to stand up and leave when Tooru speaks up again.

“But I’m going to enjoy my time in Japan while I’m back. Did I tell you I reconnected with my ex? She’s great, it feels like I never left.”

The firestorm of blood in your ears nearly drowns out Iwaizumi’s growled ‘piece of shit’ (he truly hasn’t changed after all), the clatter of glassware as Tooru protests that he’s not playing with your heart, he truly cares about you, his sullen silence when Iwaizumi demands what’s going to happen when he leaves Japan for Argentina, when he inevitably leaves you behind (yet again).

Of course.

You know his heart longs for the sky. There is no space for you.

You barely have time to react when the door swings open, Iwaizumi on the verge of storming out. You plaster a smile to your face that does not fool him, but you hang on to it nonetheless, cracks appearing only when he gives you a wide eyed look of sympathy that only pours oil onto the flaming war between your brain and your heart.

“It’s fine”, you say, and though he clearly does not believe you, he bows and leaves anyway.

Tooru stares at you, mouth open, stumbling over himself with apologies and demands for you to tell him what you’ve overheard, but you motion for him to just stop with your hand, wave aside his protest that he means what he said, he truly likes you.

Your heart screeches in delight, but your mind is firmly in the driver’s seat.

“Let’s just pretend I never heard you say that, and we can continue just as before.”

“As friends?” he says, twisting his lips as if the words taste sour in his mouth. He clutches at your shoulders.

“I want more. I want you.”

Your heart thrums in agreement, but you recall assembling the remains of your heart back into your chest whilst kneeling on the cold bathroom floor half a decade ago. The span of five years should have molded you to view your shared past with pragmatism, but your heart seems to have forgotten its lesson. You shake your head.

“There’s no way you truly want me. I don’t think you’ve only ever had space in your heart for anything but your goals.”

Your response emerges more bitter than you intend.

“That’s not true”, he weakly protests. “I care about you.”

Not enough, you refrain from telling him. “Let’s remain friends”, you do say, and he opens his mouth to object again, but at the hard look you give him, he slumps back with a defeated nod.

He tries to respect your decision, never complaining when you keep a careful arm’s length distance from him, though you can feel his heated gaze on you whenever he thinks you won’t notice, hear his quiet sighs whenever you shy away from any accidental touch. He droops when you turn down his invite for lunch with his family when they come down for a visit, citing work even though he knows you’re off for the day.

Still, it’s manageable and he says he needs you, so you return for visits, at least twice weekly, offering encouraging smiles and friendly words when he returns first to light exercise, then to rehabilitative practice a month later, just as he predicted.

He carves out time for dinners with you, taking care to ask about your day, preferring to spin you stories about the pigeons and doves and crows crowding his balcony rather than talking about volleyball or his practice. He insists on escorting you to his apartment after work when you allow him to, offering you his arm with a soft smile that disarms you, dissolves any resistance.

It’s an uneasy equilibrium, but it’ll suffice.

The careful balance you’ve maintained in the space between you and Tooru is shattered when you find you’re not the only one who’s decided to pay him a surprise visit on a Friday night.

“Tooru, ya didn’t say ya got yerself a pretty girl during yer break”, a man with bleach blonde hair wolf whistles appreciatively when you step into the apartment.

“I’m just a friend”, you reply confusedly before Tooru’s shout “Shove off, Miya” confirms that one Miya Atsumu has decided to invade Tooru’s apartment. Well, him and what seems like half the MSBY team, with Hinata Shoyo, Bokuto Koutaro and Sakusa Kiyoomi squashed uncomfortably on Tooru’s tiny sofa, long legs stretched across the living room.

It turns out the MSBY team just finished a game in Tokyo, and Hinata dragged his teammates to visit Tooru in a wholesome bid to cheer him up. You try to excuse yourself after exchanging nods with Sakusa (he hasn’t changed much from his university days) when Miya Atsumu blocks your retreat with a drawled invite for Izakaya and the promise of karaoke after.

Tooru mouths playfully at you don’t leave me alone with these clowns (you’re tempted to point out that he’s very much one himself), and before you can even blink, you find yourself dragged along to the nearest Izakaya, impressed by the amount of food each man polishes off - skewers of chicken hearts and cartilage, bowls of potato salad and rice with braised pork belly, listening to stories of their exploits on the national team together, stumbling into the karaoke bar tipsy from the beers that Miya Atsumu pressed into your hand, head heavy enough to allow him to wind an arm around your waist.

“She’s too old for you, ‘Tsumu-kun”, Tooru trills, inserting himself in between you and Atsumu, mouth taut with aggravation.

“I’m not old, just a year older”, you roll your eyes, as the blonde setter backs away, lips turned up in amusement. Tooru is not placated, muttering how the younger setter is a douche and a sleeze bag as he drapes his jacket over you like a blanket. You nestle against his side, head on his shoulder as his arm rests protectively around you.

Atsumu watches this with raised eyebrows, whistling slowly, opening his mouth to remark that he’s never seen Oikawa so smitten before when Hinata interrupts with a chirped “‘Tsum-Tsum, join me!”, handing him a microphone while bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Karaoke is the most fun you’ve had in ages. Hinata and Bokuto and Atsumu sing all their favourite anime theme songs with gusto - Atsumu even gets misty eyed when he croons Sparkle by Radwimps, reddening when everyone teases him for being a romantic sap, Bokuto shaking his hips to Western pop hits, Hinata showing off his Spanish skills. Sakusa refuses to even touch the microphone but you suppose it’s a win that he’s even in the karaoke booth with all of you.

Tooru slaps away Atsumu’s attempts at handing you any further alcohol, forcing you to down cups of water until you are no longer glassy eyed, but still tipsy enough to agree to sing ridiculous K-On songs with Hintata and Bokuto, not stopping even when Tooru whips out his phone to video the entire performance with an indulgent smile.

“Delete it!” you squeal, losing your balance when you try swiping the phone out of his hands, tripping into his lap instead.

“In your dreams, princess”, Tooru chuckles, his arms snaking around you like a vise.

“Anndd that’s our cue to call it a night”, Atsumu quips, herding Hinata and Bokuto out onto the street, Sakusa heaving an audible sigh of relief. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, kids!” he calls over his shoulder, throwing you a wink.

“I’m technically his senpai, cheeky brat”, Tooru mutters, the irritation in his voice washing away as you giggle. “C’mon, it’s too late for you to get home and my place is nearer to the hospital so you might as well stay over tonight. You can take the bed, I’ll take the sofa.”

You shake your head, arguing that you couldn’t possibly turn an invalid like him out of his bed but he huffs at the insinuation that he’s anything but well, his knee almost whole again. You give in after he convinces you that it’d be more inconvenient for him to escort you all the way to your own home rather than put you up for the night, and you allow him to loop his arm around yours and lead you back to his apartment.

It’s not the first time you’ve been in his apartment this late, not by a long shot, but it is the first time you’re over with the intention of staying over. The t-shirt you borrow from Tooru hangs off your frame, the scent of the fabric softener Tooru uses is familiar. You would’ve preferred being tipsier to dull your senses, but alcohol would only impair your logic, allow your heart to prevail, so you try to quell the thrumming of your blood in your veins by curling up on a seat by the window with a cup of tea when Tooru emerges from his shower.

“Ready for bed?” he asks, towelling off his hair, frowning when you shake your head. “It’s late, you have work tomorrow, even if it’s the afternoon shift.”

“It’s fine”, you say without turning your head to face him. “Go to bed, I’ll take the couch.”

“I’m insulted, princess. What kind of a man d’you think I am to make his guest sleep on the couch? ”

It’s less dangerous to ignore him, so you pay him no mind, choosing instead to lean your chin in your hand and look up towards the night sky. It soothes you, the moon an old friend, reminding of five years’ worth of quiet nights spent in your own flat, filtering your younger self into adulthood.

“What’re you looking at?” He takes a step forward, kneels down next to you.

“The moon and the stars”, you say dreamily. “They’re pretty tonight.”

A myriad of weather conditions must coincide to allow the stars to even be visible in the polluted Tokyo night sky, but tonight of all nights fate intervenes, the stars align. The sky is cloudless, the full moon hangs heavy, the stars shimmer and dance.

“Are they?” Tooru whispers. “I haven’t noticed.”

You finally turn to look at him. “Why’re you staring at me?”

The unconscious echo of your past - a boy and a girl, falling in love under the same night sky makes his mouth twist wistfully, eyes faded gold.

“Because you are my sun, my moon and my stars. I love you better than anything in the sky.”

Your mouth falls open, your heart suddenly roaring, pounding against its restraints.

“You can’t mean that”, you whisper. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

“I do”, he says, with heartbreaking sincerity. “And I always will.”

Nostalgia, aided by the lingering alcohol in your veins opens the gate to your foolish heart. You want to pretend that you are eighteen again, without a care in the world, indulging in the warmth of his hand on the small of your back, the caress of his breath on your cheek. Your lips beckon his, swallowing the catch of his breath when your hands slide under his shirt.

“Are you sure about this?” His eyes are hungry, almost ravenous, but his hands still hover at the hem of your top.

“Yes”, you murmur, pressing open mouthed kisses to the column of his neck. “Please, Tooru - please.”

He carries you into the bedroom, undresses you with shaking hands, chanting your name with reverence, almost a prayer. His eyes darken with desperation and need, unwilling to allow himself any release until you fall apart boneless, caged in his arms.

“Stay with me”, he murmurs, after you’ve both cleaned up a second time, tugging you into bed.

It’s laughable. Five years on, Oikawa Tooru still has the power to make your mind lose all reason (however temporarily). With a single heated look, he commands your heart to break willingly in his hands. How could you not have learnt your lesson? The conversation between him and Iwaizumi merely confirms what you’ve known all this while.

(The sky his heart seeks is a world away from the earth yours is buried in)

Even now, you can see the glimmer of golden wax feathers budding along his spine, gleaming under the pale moonlight.

You lie under the covers until his breath evens out, then you stumble out of bed. You force your heart to relinquish the keys to its freedom, handing it back to logic and rationality, pulling on your clothing, folding your borrowed clothing aside.

Tooru mumbles your name, his hand outstretched towards you. “Come back”, he says in his sleep, fragility tinting the edges of his words.

Your fingers miss the doorknob by an inch. You dash your foolish hopes against the darkness of the room, put on your resolve like armour, leave your spare key on the kitchen counter.

Without looking back, you slip out into the night.

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let-them-read-fics · 4 years ago

Text

The Finer Things

Pairing: Rosé x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~ 4,864

Warnings / Misc. -- Pining, Some Self Doubt, Fluff, Some Angst, Happy Ending

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Hey everyone! This is my first time writing for Blackpink. I hope you enjoy. Happy reading, as always! Let me know what you think.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Part 1: Partners

“Alright class, settle in now. Today we’ll be starting our new projects. You know the drill; they’ll be a quarter semester long, and you’ll have a partner to work with. That gives you 9 weeks to complete the assignment and be ready to present your creations. Your topic is “the finer things in life”. Remember: there’s no exact way to do this. Whatever that topic means, however you interpret it, just show us what you envision when you think of that. I look forward to seeing what you come up with.”

Unsurprisingly, everyone is rather excited for this project. Considering this class is an elective, your classmates signed up for it knowing what they were getting themselves into. Regardless, even the stray few that enrolled for an easy A would rather do this than Calculus and Statistics.

Your eyes scan the room, and you smile upon seeing everyone light up as they discuss their game plans. Familiar eyes meet yours from across the room, and you feel a blush begin to rise to your cheeks. You mentally curse yourself at how easy it is for her to make you giddy, but you don’t look away. The small smile that she gives you nearly makes you combust from the cuteness; you can’t help the dorky grin that takes over your features.

Before you can fully melt under her gaze, your teacher speaks up again. You silently thank the universe for that divine intervention. “Now that you’ve had a minute to brainstorm, it’s time for everyone’s favorite part: partner time! I’ve chosen your partners based on your individual strengths and weaknesses as photographers; I want this to be a true learning experience for all of you. Being an artist takes constant growth, and I see this as the perfect opportunity.”

Since your class is a fairly close-knit group of students, no one’s upset by who their partners are. Mrs. Johnson continues rattling off the pairs, and you take a moment to look out the window. It’s a beautiful day, the trees swaying gently in the breeze. The vivid red hues of their leaves are complimented perfectly by the bright blue sky behind them.

“...Y/N, you’ll be working with Rosé.” The second those words leave her lips, your eyes shoot to your partner’s. It’s an odd feeling, to put it plainly; those were the words that you were dying to hear, but also terrified of. After all, working so closely with your long-time crush would definitely prove to be nerve racking. You didn’t have much time to worry, though, as Rosé sat down at the desk in front of you, turning the chair around to face you. It was clear that she loved to see what she did to you, your reactions to her words, everything. She studied you like her life depended on it, but you never noticed. Your brain was always too busy short-circuiting to take in the ways that she watched you from afar, remembering every detail, curve, and dimple of your face.

“So, how about we meet up after school today to get some ideas going?” She proposes, and you nod. “How’s the park sound? I’d hate to miss such a gorgeous day.” Her face lights up at your suggestion, and you smile at the sight. In her excited state, she rushes out, “That’s just what I was thinking!” The two of you spend the rest of class chatting and goofing around, and go your separate ways once the bell rings. You send her one last wave, already missing her presence. To say the two of you are eager for your next meeting is a major understatement.

Part 2: The First Few Meetings

The first couple weeks are spent getting to know one another better and spending more time together -- something you definitely weren’t complaining about. Seeing her out of school, able to really be herself, was a magical experience. You often thanked your lucky stars that you decided to sign up for the class in the first place.

Part 3: You Go To One Of Her Practices

Attending school practices and games was never really your speed, but you made an exception for Rosé. Some family issues had gotten in the way of your meet-ups for a bit, so the two of you were a little behind schedule for the project. You weren’t worried (the honor student in you knew that you’d get it done in time), but Rosé asked you to stay after school for one of her cheerleading practices. “We can work on it everytime coach gives us a break, okay?” She had said earlier that day, during class. You were almost too mesmerized by the way her lips moved while she spoke to comprehend what she had said, her accent popping out in the most adorable way possible.

The memory brought a light smile to your face, and she saw it, stealing a glance at you. You looked up at her and tilted your head to the side, letting her know she’d been caught. Her eyes widened in shock and she quickly cleared her throat, clearly not expecting that.

~~~

“Ah, ah, ah,” you protested, blocking her from sitting down in the seat beside you. “Stand in front of me, I wanna take a picture.” She put on a horrified face, looking down at you. “Excuse me?? Absolutely not! I look terrible. I’m all sweaty.” You rolled your eyes at her, letting out a dramatic sigh. “I’m sorry to inform you, Rosé, but you’re physically incapable of looking bad. My condolences.” You bowed your head in mock pity, adding to the effect. “Oh shut up, you dork.” She said, pushing you playfully. “Fine. One picture; you better make it a good one.” You smiled your signature grin at her, and she got a little lightheaded at the beautiful sight. “1, 2, 3…”

Part 3.5: Could It Be?

“Rosé, I don’t know….” You begin, a grimace crossing your face. The object of your affection had spent the past 10 minutes trying to convince you to ditch work and accompany her to the local fair that was in town for the weekend. It’s not that you didn’t want to go; in fact, you can’t think of a place you’d rather be tonight than with her, getting away from the stress of everything life had been throwing at you. If you were honest with yourself, though, the work was just an excuse for something bigger; you knew that with each step closer you got to Rosé, you would eventually be taking two steps back. You had long ago assured yourself that she didn’t share your attraction, and you had done okay in accepting that fact. By okay I mean “totally not at all, even in the slightest.” You liked to pretend, though, wanting to have some semblance of control over the situation.

“Pleeeeease?” She whined into the phone, drawing the word out to torture you a little more. Surely she had to know what she was doing.

That simple question served as your command, and it became very apparent in that moment that you’d do just about anything that Rosé asked you to. You kicked yourself, a genuine feeling of nervousness rushing over you.

A sigh left your lips as you responded, “Okay, okay! But only for a little while.”

Her high pitched cheering drew a laugh from you, and you shook your head at her antics. What were you getting yourself into?

~~~~~

Rosé looked stunning, as usual. Her long blonde locks fell elegantly over her shoulders, looking just as soft as always. The pink top she donned complimented her light blue jeans perfectly; if you weren’t so enraptured by her, you might’ve gotten jealous. How can someone look so gorgeous without even trying? It’s infuriating, to say the least.

“Ready?” Her cheery accent met your ears, and you felt yourself pep up at the single utterance. Dear lord, you’re in deep. Pushing the thoughts from your head, you send her a simple smile and nod, pulling her in for a hug.

Freezing time had never been a thing that you thought about often, but it surely crossed your mind as you stood there with her in your arms, feeling her skin against yours. All too quickly she pulled away, already rambling excitedly about all of the rides she wanted to try out. You were still in a bit of a daze, her strawberry perfume making your head spin. Before you know it, she has a hold of your hand, dragging you towards the largest drop tower that the festival had to offer. Maybe this would be a good time to mention that you’re deathly afraid of heights…

~~~~

Hair disheveled and heart palpitating, you stumbled away from the ride. It was comical really, the state you were in. Rosé must have thought so, because she couldn’t contain her laughter once she looked over at you. The sound was music to your ears, and you quickly decided that you’d be willing to get back on that ride if it meant you could hear her giggle like that again.

After your laughing fit died down, you suggested getting on the ferris wheel to see all of the city lights. Everything burned a little brighter this time of year, the downtown area bustling with life and activity.

“I was just about to mention that. I like the way you think, Y/N.” The combination of the look she gave you and the way your name rolled off of her tongue made you weak in the knees. Before your mind could even begin to question if she had meant something else -- something deeper -- you stopped yourself. It wouldn’t do any good to read too far into the things she said. It was just innocent teasing, you reasoned.

You failed to notice the way Rosé had looked at you, her eyes taking in every part of you. She wanted to remember this sight; your head thrown back, eyes welling with tears of laughter. When you didn’t pick up on her flirting, though, she took it as a sign to back off a bit. Surely it had been obvious, right? She told herself she’d give it one more try, by the end of the night. No matter your reaction, she would have an answer.

With that decision made, she led the way to the ferris wheel, you trailing happily behind her.

“Two?” The worker looked to be about your age, face marked with acne scars, and attitude already unpleasant. With a simple gesture of confirmation, the two of you made your way to the nearest cart. You held the small gate open, allowing Rosé in first. The metal was cool against your palm as you closed it after yourself.

A chilly breeze rolled in, and you noticed her body shiver in the seat across from you. You could tell she tried to hide it, but you were far too observant to miss that. “Here,” you start, already pulling your leather jacket off of yourself and offering it to her. She shook her head furiously, saying, “No, I can’t. You’ll get cold up there!” Maybe it had been the slushy you had earlier, but you got a sudden surge of confidence. “Come over here, then. We’ll keep each other warm.” Her eyes shined with something you couldn’t quite place; something mischievous, perhaps.

She quickly repositioned herself next to you, snuggling up against your side. “You’re still putting this on, Rosé.” You say lowly, lips grazing her temple. The way the words left your mouth, so matter-of-factly, made her bite her lip. You rarely told anyone what to do, so this role reversal was a bit unexpected. A welcome surprise, she thought, as she slipped the warm material over her shoulders.

~~~~

If someone offered you a million dollars to be anywhere else in the world right now, you would turn them down. You were sure that you had died and gone to Heaven, with how Rosé’s body fit perfectly up against yours and the distant skyline looked as though it had been stolen from a postcard.

Once the cart reached the top, the ride stopped for a short while, allowing you to get a picturesque view of the surrounding area. You grabbed the camera from your bag and snapped a few pictures, not wanting to forget this moment. A quiet wow left her mouth as she leaned over you, looking like a kid on Christmas morning. Has she never seen the lights like this? The untamed beating of your heart echoed wildly at the feeling of having her so close. You prayed she wouldn’t notice the tremble that ran through you as she placed her hand on your thigh, pushing herself up higher into the air for a better perspective. She must’ve noticed something in the distance, because soon she was pointing across the city and bouncing lightly in the seat. With some help, you located what she was so excited about: it was an inflatable cat. She had been that giddy over an inflatable animal on the porch of someone’s apartment. Such a dork, you muttered. She drew in a breath, feigning disbelief. “I am not!” She started, about to defend her honor, when she turned her head. In the excitement, the two of you had pressed closer together -- much closer than either of you had realized -- and now you were face to face. Your eyes darted down to her lips, and you almost threw caution to the wind and closed the distance. You didn’t, though, still missing the signs she was sending you. Her gaze raked across your features, and she grew bold; her hand came up to your cheek, her thumb soon brushing the soft skin. She was achingly close; you could feel the warmth radiating from her body, calling for you.

This cycle continued; both of you waiting for the other to make the first move, terrified that the other didn’t feel the same. It was a wicked game of cat and mouse, and you were finally getting the courage to end it. Just as you were about to lean in, the rickety ride started back up again with a groan, and she was jostled away from you, back into the seat.

That had to be some sort of symbolism.

The rest of your night went well, soon again filled with laughter and jokes, but the two of you couldn’t shake what happened. There was an air of something uncertain now, and only something significant was capable of putting an end to this cruel arrangement.

Part 4: The Realization

“Shit!” You exclaim with a huff, realizing your mistake. “Rosie, do you have any extra film for the polaroid? I lost the last pack I had.” You mentally slap yourself for that one. When you don’t get a response, which is quite unusual for Rosé, you take that as a sign to go look for her. The two of you had chosen to work on the project at her house this time, and it was definitely more spacious than yours. “Rosie?” You call out to her again, checking the rooms as you pass them. Sniffling sounds perk up your ears, and you follow them to their source: the bathroom. “What happened, Rose?” She just sniffles again, letting out a defeated sigh. “It’s nothing, Y/N. I’m okay.” You shake your head, a pained look taking over your features. Knowing that she was hurting killed you. “I don’t believe you. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but at least let me cheer you up. Please?” You plead through the door, waiting rather impatiently for her response. Wordlessly, she gathers herself and opens it, choosing to lean against the frame and meet your concerned gaze. “It’s Joon. He’s being an ass.” You set your jaw and quickly bite your tongue, not wanting to upset her more. Her sweater is soaked and matted with tears, large stains polka-dotting the fluffy material.

Who’s Joon, you may ask? Rosé’s boyfriend and star of the football team… aka your arch nemesis. The two of you typically avoided talking about him, and dating in general. As far as you were concerned, he wasn’t deserving of the attention. A muffled sob pulls you from your stewing session, and you’re quick to step forward and wipe away her tears. You cup her cheeks, softening at the way she leans into your embrace. It’s not hard to tell that she doesn’t get the love that she deserves. “You’re too good for him, Rose. He’s never deserved you.” You say softly, tired of seeing her being mistreated. One instance of this was more than enough, and knowing that this isn’t the first time that he’s been the reason for her tears makes your blood boil. You pull her in, and she rests her head against your chest. If circumstances were different, you would’ve been terrified to have her so close; however, that’s not at the forefront of your mind right now. You’re determined to be there for her, even if it’ll never be in the way you want. “You should be with someone who values you. You can do so much better.” You whisper against her temple -- just loud enough for her to hear -- lips in the same position as they were that night at the fair. It comes out as a gentle confession, but you say it like the simple fact it is.

After a few more moments of holding her close, her sweet vanilla perfume in the air, she shifts in your arms. Her eyes find yours, and the moment seems as though it was plucked out of some cheesy, coming of age movie. Something within both of you clicks at that point, and you just know. Her slightly puffy features look especially adorable right now, her eyes sparkling. That always seemed like such a strange, poetic thing to you -- how some people can manage to look so stunning after crying. It’s as though she needed that, in some twisted way. It opened her eyes to the situation she was in, although it hurt. She knew she could get through anything, though, with you by her side. And standing there, wrapped in your warmth, she really couldn’t find it in herself to even think of Joon.

Your eyes fell to her lips, and she didn’t fail to notice. God, those lips. You thought, remembering all of the times you’ve wanted to kiss her. She somehow managed to be utterly perfect without even trying. Your heart rate sped up at the feeling of her hands working their way down to your waist, gripping your hips tightly. The atmosphere shifted, and you didn’t know what to do with yourself. “Y/N…” she says lowly, almost as if she’s trying to keep herself from doing something stupid. “Hmm?” You drag out, causing her to bite her lip in return. Just as the two of you lean in ever closer, the sounds of keys jangling downstairs interrupts your moment. Feeling brave, and not wanting that encounter to pass with nothing to show for it, you give her a sweet kiss on the cheek. You chuckle lightly at the whine that leaves her lips, and take a minute to gather yourself before leading the way downstairs to greet her parents.

----

Over the next few days, neither of you mention all that’s happened. You want to, but you have no idea how; your nerves would surely get the best of you. And what if she didn’t feel the same? How embarrassing would that be? You wanted nothing more than to have that Hallmark, fairytale ending with her, but you knew that was unrealistic. So, you did what you do best; you continued falling for her from afar, attempting to settle into this routine.

Little did you know that she hadn’t stopped thinking about it. She often found herself stroking her cheek, where your hand had been that night. If she focused hard enough, she could almost remember the smell of your tropical shampoo, too. Her feelings confused her, but she knew what she wanted. Her fear of rejection outweighed her courage, though, and she never knew how to tell you that she had fallen for you.

Part 5: An Overheard Conversation

As you made your way through the halls and towards the library, your mind wandered to a place it often frequented: Rosé. You had been so caught up in other things that you hadn’t really registered that the project would be over soon. It saddened you to think about, but maybe it was for the best. Perhaps a little distance between the two of you would make it easier to ignore your feelings. Turning the corner, you collided with someone, sending their books into the floor. “I’m so sorry!” You apologize quickly, making sure they’re alright, before helping them gather their things. They do the same, and continue on their way as you readjust your clothes.

At the sound of that achingly familiar voice, you freeze.

“I broke up with him, Jennie.”

That’s all it took for you to press yourself up against the wall, set on listening in on the conversation without getting caught. Part of you felt bad for doing that, but there was no way you were leaving now.

“Good, he never deserved you anyway.” The other girl, Jennie, said, and you made a mental note to give her a high five later on.

“He took me for granted. I’m just upset it took me so long to realize it.”

“Hey, don’t do that. You remembered your worth and didn’t let that jackass hurt you anymore. That’s queen status, if you ask me.” Make that a double high five.

The sounds of her locker being closed lead you to believe that the girls are about to walk away and end the conversation, but you soon stop dead in your tracks, yet again.

“There’s another reason that I ended things, though, and I’ve been meaning to tell you about it.”

“Ooh, do tell.”

Rosé clears her throat, and quickly checks to make sure the coast is clear before speaking again. Thank God she didn’t notice your presence.

“I’ve liked this person for a really long time, Jennie.” She confesses, before continuing. “They’re always there for me when I need them… and don’t even get me started on how adorable they are.”

Jennie chuckles at Rosé’s words, and you can see her shake her head. “What??” Rosé asks, pushing her shoulder lightly.

“You’ve got it bad. I’ve never seen you blush like that at just the thought of someone. And that’s saying something.”

Rosé hides her face in her hands, embarrassed but amused. “She’s just so incredible.”

Your heart stops, blood running cold in your veins, and your hand shoots up to cover your mouth. Does Jennie know she likes girls? SHE LIKES GIRLS?? I mean, you had thought so after that night but she’d never admitted it before.

“She?” Jennie asks gently, not even a trace of judgement in her tone. A little surprise, sure, but nothing bad. Rosé simply takes a deep breath and nods her head, waiting for her best friend’s reaction to her slip up. It’s not that she thought she would be unaccepting, just that these kinds of things were a little bit of a shock to hear sometimes.

“Well, who is she? I’ll have to do some snooping on your next potential love interest.”

Rosé lets out a giggle, and you almost blow your cover by laughing with her.

“You won’t be getting that information out of me yet, Jennie. No way.” She says, taking the other girl’s hand and leading her down the hallway, away from you.

Once alone again, you let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding. Could you be that girl?

Part 6: Presentation Day

As you make your way to your seat, you let out a tired yawn; you had stayed up late adding some last minute touches to your presentation. You wanted it to be a surprise for Rosé, so you hadn’t told her about what you had done. Hopefully she would enjoy it.

The other groups each took turns showcasing their projects and explaining what the prompt had meant to them. Some said “money”, “luxury”, “time”, etc. Your answer was a bit different than theirs, and you were excited to share it with everyone.

Once it was your turn to present, you made your way up to the front of the room, selecting the correct files and connecting your device with the projector. Rosé could sense that you were anxious, which wasn’t new for you; school presentations had always made you nervous. Silently, she took your hand within her own and rubbed her thumb across your knuckles. None of the class was paying much attention yet, since you were still technically getting set up, and you were beyond thankful for that intimate moment with her.

A short time later, you begin.

Rosé expertly introduces the different topics you chose to cover with the prompt, explaining their meaning with sincerity. Images of old couples smiling, holding one another close, graced the screen when she brought up “growing old together” as a finer thing in life. “Not everyone gets the opportunity to do that with who they love,” she said, and you noticed that her eyes went to you when she said that. Maybe you just imagined that last part, you thought to yourself. Surely so.

Other slides of animals, pets, and nature appeared as she continued her speech, followed by her suggestion that “the act of loving and preserving Earth and its creatures” is another finer thing in life.

This process continued, with you jumping in for the slides that you had chosen to take over for.

Upon hearing Rosé finish her last stretch of rehearsed dialogue, you look to your teacher, who gives you a subtle nod and smile. Rosé shoots you a confused look, but you don’t answer her with words. You move a nearby chair to face the board before bringing her to it. She sits, even more confused now, but trusting you.

You swallow nervously, and lick your lips. “Over these past couple months, Rosé and I shared new experiences,” with a click of the remote, images of your adventures flood the screen -- your trips to the lake, forest, park, and even the beach, capture the attention of the class. Rosé was right there with them, considering she had never seen some of these pictures, let alone expected you to present them. “We tried new foods, left our comfort zone, and learned more about each other.” More images popped up; some from when you went on a tour of the different restaurants around town, some from bungee jumping, cave exploring, and open water fishing.

“But as we grew closer, I realized more about myself in the process. I’m totally, utterly, and undeniably in love with you, Rosé.” The next set of candid images shows a new glint in your eyes when you look at each other; this was when you had really gotten in deep. You shyly raise your eyes to hers, your stomach in knots. Tears are quickly forming in her eyes, and she’s covering her mouth to quiet herself. “You make me happier than I’ve ever been, and life feels better with you. You are my finer thing in life.” Despite all of the emotions she’s feeling right now, she smiles at the dorky pictures of the two of you doing random things during your shared escapades.

Finally, you click to the last slide, revealing a series of pictures of you spelling out, “Be mine?”

This was the final straw; tears finally make their way down her face, spilling onto her soft cheeks. You nod at Mrs. Johnson the same way she had done before, and she swiftly bends down to grab something beneath her desk. When she returns, she hands you a single red rose. “OMG! A rose for Rosé, how cute!” One of your classmates yells from the back of the room, and you laugh aloud. That broke the tension, and soon all of you were giggling loudly together. “Well, whaddya say?” You ask, holding out the rose to her in offering. Wordlessly, she takes the flower and wraps her arms around your neck, connecting your lips in a long overdue kiss. The class erupts at this and she smiles against you.

“Mission accomplished.” Mrs. Johnson says to herself, once everyone is settled back in their seats and chatting about what happened. “I was hoping that would work out.” Confused, you decide to inquire. Reluctantly taking your eyes off of Rosé, you look to your teacher and ask, “Did you plan this from the beginning?” She gives you a curious look before scoffing, “I’m practically a matchmaker, Y/N. I saw the way the two of you looked at each other. It would’ve been a crime not to pair you up.”

Your mouth hangs agape as you look back to Rosé, finding her donning a similar expression. “I was tricked into the plan!” You realize, laughing with her. “It was destiny, then.” She says, pulling you in by your collar for yet another kiss, loving the feeling of your blushing cheeks against her own.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Thanks for reading!!!

#rosé x reader #rosé #blackpink #k-pop #k-pop blackpink #rosé blackpink #rosé x fem reader #chaeyoung #park chaeyoung #roseanne #kpop girl group #jennie #let-them-read-fics #blackpink oneshot #blackpink imagine #rosé imagine

311 notes · View notes

boxofbadaddiction · 3 years ago

Note

Uh, but She-Hulk was historically portrayed as huge a "tall, slightly muscular woman" for most of her comic history; the "savage she-hulk" and similar depictions are like, from the last couple of years at most, and showed up in a handful of comics compared to the original and earlier depiction. Do some research. This isn't some point of outrage. You can't point to a recent comic and use that as an argument.

I'm assuming you're mad about these posts. Though the first seems to be the one people are taking wrong the most so allow me to elaborate like I have several times now.

The image used in my original post I admit was not the best example to reference. Something such as this:

Would have been much more appropriate to my point however I didn't expect people to take this much of an interest in the post and was prepared for maybe like 14 notes? So I just grabbed one of my favourite images of She-Hulk. The image I used was never in response to her character only her design which I made clear in the replies of that exact post.

"dO sOMe ReSErcH" actually, stfu. I know what I'm talking about. Okay I haven't read every single Marvel comic known to the planet but I'm not ignorant to the character or story. Something, again, I've made clear in that post and several others.

"This isn't some point of outrage" I dunno what rock you're living under but literally every post I have seen regarding the new series has been nothing but slander on their choice of design and CGI. I've seen no one actually LIKE her appearance only like that they're getting a new series to consume.

Fucking cowards

Why is She-hulk so small

Marvel fans slam She-hulk

Using the word Hulk is pretty generous

Skinny CGI disaster

Literally just google she hulk 2022, all top reports are talking about fan backlash. This list took me not even 3 minutes to get together just as a few examples.

"She-hulk historically has been described as tall and slightly muscular" She's hardly tall and doesn't even border on muscular. She isn't unfit I'll say that but she certainly isn't a good representation of muscular which is where this backlash and controversy is stemming from.

Give me a good reason, and I mean a good reason, without bringing up her "original design", why Marvel could not have designed her with more of a body builders physique? Why she had to have a snatched waist, large butt and larger breasts. Tell me why she couldn't have been much larger, and I'm not talking savage she-hulk, than she is right now.

Example body 1 @ moon_in_decline on tiktok

Example body 2 Natasha Aughey, fitness icon

Here's the thing by the way, you want to say that it's a modern character design and isn't what she's been drawn as in the past, why couldn't they use her newer designs as reference? New or old doesn't matter it is still her comic depiction, which makes it valid.

The only arguments I have seen in defence of her current design always comes back to the same thing. "That's how Marvel drew her in the past" and "Her size is contributory"

You mean in their misogynist past where every superhero woman was practically naked and always skinny with big tits? That past? Right.

So, you want to see her form adapt to her mental strength? That is very do-able. Go ahead and make her smaller than Hulk then with character development have her grow to a size similar to that of Smart Hulk. That's completely valid. But that doesn't mean making her super slim and only moderately tall. Give her a larger frame, that is possible to do without damaging your precious story arch.

Marvel could have easily made everyone happy in this series, they could have stayed true to her story arch in which she gets bigger when she realises her full strength and potential while also not making her slim. This is the point I'm making.

You're gonna look at me and tell me that the current design is better than the other modern designs?

Representation in media is a very important issue and Marvel had the opportunity to do great things with this character but dropped the ball instead and stuck with their usual bullshit.

An example that is commonly brought up in the reblogs is of Luisa Madrigal from Encanto:

And I think that's a great point!

Here you had Disney taking a bold step forward in representation, they nearly didn't go with the strong woman design but because they did they've seen such high praise for the decision.

She-Hulk was another opportunity to do that, for Marvel.

#she hulk 2022 #she hulk #marvel #mcu #jennifer walters #bruce banner #the hulk #avengers #marvel movies #marvel series #marvel cinematic universe

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rpbetter · 4 years ago

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Sorry if this isn't the place to ask but I'm in need of advice. I have a canon character I truly adore, but I haven't gotten muse or any opportunity to write them at all. My blog is collecting dust and the fandom is kinda dead at this point. Not to mention, it's hard to find compatible writing partners, especially with how picky I can be. I'm honestly considering deactivating the blog (for the nth time), but I don't want to lose the writing I have. I know I could archive, but I hate having blogs just sitting around.

In short, I really want to write the muse/keep the blog but I'm not getting any incentive to do that.

Hello, Anon, it’s totally the place to ask!

I will say, though, that since finding and keeping muse can be flavored rather personally, I can’t promise that what works for me is going to work for you. I’ll even confess that in over two decades, I’ve never personally lost muse. I don’t know if it is due to underlying, neurodiverse style, fixating, or if it is due to keeping myself continually invested in both my muse and writing regardless of what else is going on. (Probably a combination of both, though, and the things I do to keep myself highly in touch with my muse I’ll be recommending.) I’m definitely happy to try to help, however.

That really is a very frustrating spot to be in, wanting to write the muse and keep your blog active, but logging in every day to be reminded of what little reason you have to do so. Since we’re drawn to the characters we are for reasons of personal appeal and writing in itself is a pretty personal form of art, it can also feel depressing on top of the frustration.

However, that’s also the good news, in my opinion, because your incentive here is, or can be, yourself.

You were drawn to this character because you connected with them. They mean something to you, you can relate to them, maybe they have qualities (good or bad) that you wish you could experience. Whatever it is, there’s a reason why you had this draw. Writing is like that as well, there’s a reason why this is a hobby that drew you, that you get enjoyment out of. Again, though all art (it doesn’t matter if it is a hobby) has personal bits of the artist in it, writing is uniquely personal. When you write, you’re exploring thoughts and feelings, giving them life in a character that matters to you. I know, all of that sounds really convoluted and hokey, but it’s true.

And it’s good! That means you always have a reason to write and that you have the tools necessary to find and keep muse without any outside push necessary.

I’d say, firstly, work on getting muse back.

Get back in touch with your muse the next time you feel a particularly strong urge to write. Instead of spending time trying to find people in a silent fandom or forcing yourself to write something you don’t want to, just do some exercises that will help you get back into your muse.

I don’t know what media type your character comes from, but especially if it is something like movie or show that you can have on in the background of what you’re doing, do that. If it’s a comic or a book, think about your favorite scene and read it over first. If you’ve ever made some playlists for writing/your muse, you can always do that instead or as well. The point is to do something passively inspiring while you actively create. Now, that creating...

You want to do something that requires you to think about your muse so you can get in touch with them, not something that is going to make you feel overwhelmed and shut down. So, maybe don’t pick writing prompts for this - you can work up to that. Try out headcanon and character development memes and other question lists instead for right now. Things you can scroll down a list of, find questions that jump out as interesting (or even simply answerable to you at this point, you’re jump-starting a dead battery, it’s alright) and answer them. You can also do something as simple as write down what you like best about the character or their story, or put down the basics of filling in missing information that has always bugged you.

The beauty of this is that it is all on your own terms, your only objective here is to answer what you want, as much as you want. You can stop any time, but you can also answer a single question for three hours, making it eight pages long if the inspiration strikes you. It’s only about recharging your inspiration and establishing a connection with your character again. (This is also going to help you with getting back into writing, or approaching it for the first time, with a more internalized focus of interest.)

When you feel like you’ve done that, you can branch out on these exercises more. Answer the memes more in-depth, answer more of them/the ones you don’t have immediate answers for. You can also try writing out scenes from the character’s canon from their perspective, if it wasn’t already so, adding in their thoughts and feelings, or changing the scene in some ways that would be interesting to write out. This is the point where it’s a good idea to try a writing prompt or two, as well! Take the prompt as a sort of starter sentence from a mutual, you’ve got the situation, fill in with your muse.

Write when you feel like writing. The RPC is great at saying this when it comes to muns not wanting to write, but kind of ignores the other side of the equation. The side where you want to write, have the inspiration and muse to do so, but it might not be the best time. As in, you’re not home/wherever you usually write, with whatever device you tend to write on accessible. No, you’re not going to be able to get as much done, but you can write without the usual situation and device regardless. You can write a scene or ideas down using your phone or tablet, or go old school and use a notebook. If you’re at work and your job isn’t applicable to being able to get down a single sentence, that still doesn’t mean you have to wait 8+ hours to get home; while you’re taking your break, write a little bit. It is a break, and writing is your hobby, it isn’t work. It’s good to do things you enjoy on breaks, and far more fulfilling to have also accomplished something you happen to enjoy.

Not writing when you have the drive to do, putting it off and holding it in until “the perfect moment,” is a great way to lose your inspiration and never actually have that moment. If you feel like doing it, that means it is the perfect moment. Life is restricting, don’t impose even more restrictions on yourself by having to be at home, in a specific spot, with a specific device, at a specific time, on a specific day. Was that annoying repetition? You’re right, it was. And that’s how your creative mind processes all the crap piled onto it that doesn’t allow for creativity.

Now, the other problem, the fandom situation.

There isn’t anything you can do about that, to be absolutely honest. I’m not going to blow smoke and tell you to be positive, wait it out, maybe the fandom will spring to life again. You know, maybe it will...but you could be waiting literal decades for that to happen. Not cool. Please, take my word for that, it’s personal experience that it blows even more than you imagine it will.

What you can do is take the matter into your own hands in other ways; putting yourself out there with more availability in multiple ways.

Are you a single-fandom blog, or are you crossover friendly? If you’re not crossover friendly, try to think of a single, relatively popular fandom that you enjoy. Don’t look at it like a hassle, but rather, just another creative exercise. A serious pitfall of creating alternate universe versions of muses is to take the simplest route, merely picking something you want from that other universe and applying it to your muse with no relevant changes that would naturally occur from it. It isn’t just reductive as hell, it’s not remotely creative, it’s like sticking a sticker on your muse’s forehead and saying that’s a whole different muse. It’s neither attractive to potential partners nor going to sustain your own interest for long. You want this to be a passionate investment on your own end, for yourself.

What not to do:

Let’s say the fandom you picked to do crossovers with is based around magic, the main characters are witches, and they are divided into factions based on how their magical talents display and develop. Not only do you decide to make your muse a witch, you pick the most badass faction. It’s the one full of assassins and action and (metaphorically or literally) sex appeal. Well, that’s also going to be the most popular faction in the fandom. That means there will not only be plenty of big name canons there but also that there’s going to be a plethora of OCs designed just for this universe...and other crossovers from other currently active fandoms.

While that might sound like it’s great for maximizing interaction chances, it’s really not when you’re just starting somewhere new with a character from another fandom that might not be known or liked. It can also take a minute in another fandom’s RPC to identify where the good partners are. Every now and then, it is the most popular and over-populous era/faction/etc., but most of the time, it isn’t. People who write with considerable dedication and talent fairly rarely are in the popular kids club even in their fandom choices. By inserting yourself into that area, you might be bypassing (and being bypassed) by better partners on the assumption that their characters are simply going to bore you to death since they’re not within the scope of your focal point.

It’s not a situation of not being allowed to be picky, you not only have that right regardless of your situation, you also should be. This is not a “beggars can’t be choosers” situation, you’re not beholden to anyone on the basis of being new and bored. However, some of my best, and longest lasting, writing partners over all 23 years I’ve been RPing didn’t/don’t fit with all the exact surface details that automatically draw my interest. It is as true within my own fandom as it is in dealing with crossovers. Opposites (with enough similarities) really do attract and work out well together!

Don’t judge and write people off for anything that isn’t an issue of compatibility with your muse, your writing, or yourself. Decline someone because they do one line only and you are novella, they write topics that are upsetting to you, you can see no way your muse and theirs can interact without instant murder, or because you cannot stand writing with someone who is pulling 90% aesthetics and purple prose. Not because their muse is a witch who uses life-based magic, loves nature, is a healer, and into their health...while your muse in this AU is all about the death, only appreciates an urban environment and is grossed out by animals, kills as an occupation, lives on cheeseburgers and caffeine. You see what I’m saying? Don’t limit yourself unnecessarily!

What to do:

Did you consider if, in that hypothetical idea of a fandom, your muse based on their purely canon self would even fit into that faction? Or is it just something you wanted to see? If you didn’t consider this, or it was the latter, fix that. That’s bad.

If you’re not absolutely dead set on that and only that, think about what really does fit the muse better. Maybe, they would be better as a healer, someone who messes with the very fabric of reality, or someone who manipulates natural elements at will. Then again, they might not even be a witch. They could be more mundane in terms of power, but more accurate and interesting as a normal, human (or whatever). They could even be greatly opposed to the use of magic and witches. Use your muse’s original canon as a base to decide these things.

If you are absolutely dead set on it, though, you have a lot of work to do making the character into what amounts to a markedly different one while still retaining some recognizable aspects of themselves. Consider what events, in this new universe of fandom, might have happened to alter the character thus. Keep in mind that even small changes can have great consequences in a character’s development, and you might need to think about the myriad ways in which that can display, how it changes still more things for this character.

While that job becomes so much more intense when you haven’t planned out a path that matches your muse’s canon characterization at all, it is still an important part of constructing an AU, of any kind, in general. Ask yourself what experiences led to the character you know as you already know them (including your own headcanons, yes). Then, find similar possible experiences within your new fandom verse that can have the same effect. Again, though, it’s important to understand that you are never going to have an identical set of experiences, so you need to explore relevant changes still.

When you do this, you’re allowing your muse to more seamlessly fit into this other universe in a fleshed out, interesting way. Interesting both new partners and yourself.

Okay, next obnoxious question from me! Do you have multiple verses, or are you single-verse?

Whether you are already exploring new fandoms or not, by creating a variety of verses for others to interact with, you’re increasing your chances for interest and activity. When you have a verse from a different fandom you can then, additionally, advertise your presence in both that fandom’s tags when you do a promo or applicable open starter and on active RPer lists for that fandom.

Every popular fandom has such lists. You can get on them by messaging/sending an ask to the blog or by reblogging their post to be added, following the directions. I haven’t seen one yet that doesn’t allow for crossovers. You simply have to tag it as stated in the post, such as “your canon’s name here - original fandom name - crossover.” By tagging your open starter or promo as “-insert fandom here- rp” and “-fandom here- open starter” you allow people in that fandom to find you to interact. Either way is excellent for getting started in totally new places with a character others might be unfamiliar with.

Please remember that if you tag a promo as “promo,” it’ll not show up in searches off of your blog. You know, where it actually needs to be searched. Thanks, tumblr, for being janky! Being more specific as to the fandom and character will help others actually find you. Don’t shoot yourself in the foot by tagging it as “promo.”

Make your verses accessible on your blog itself, in the nature of those verses, and how you set up your page or post that lists them.

Don’t put any page behind an impossible or complicated aesthetic. You really shouldn’t anyway, but when you’re needing interactions, it’s actively hurting your chances. Many people don’t want to have to play a game with your theme, it’s a turn off. Try a pinned post that lists all of your links to important pages like rules, verses, and bio instead. It means that, even from the dash, that information can quickly be found while other muns are first interested, and also that anyone who might be using the app can access it more expediently. (I’m genuinely not a fan or big supporter of doing google docs for rules, verses, bios, etc., as it forces people off site, so I can’t personally say, in good conscious and honesty, that I’d recommend it, but you do you!) You want to keep things quickly accessible is the idea here; when people are interested, you want to catch them right then and there before they have a chance to forget and lose your blog.

As to the nature of the verses themselves, give people real options. Don’t have 20 verses that all read same way. Same themes, plot possibilities, and backstories, or incredibly similar names. Have a diverse list of verses that can act as foundations for a variety of different muns. As many fandoms as you can reasonably have a good portrayal of, and different types of fandoms; not all the same genre (all fantasy, all horror, all scifi). Verses where your muse has substantially different goals, occupations, and other life situations that will involve another muse; don’t make your muse A Warrior™ in every verse, you can keep plenty of those aspects without being that literal. People love “modern” verses set in our own universe and, usually, in our own era. That doesn’t mean you have to go stereotypical or otherwise bore yourself by doing the standard “high school/college verse,” for instance. You don’t even have to designate that sort of thing, let alone make it the focus; simply create the verse by considering what your character really would be like if they existed within your reality.

As a final note on verses as pertains to this point, when you’re doing crossover verses, it’s alright to do some verses where your muse from their own canon existence somehow ends up teleported or whatever to another fandom’s reality, or even our own. Just don’t make every verse like this, it puts the onus of a great deal of creativity and effort onto the other mun by default; your muse has cluelessly dropped into the universe, and while it is high drama time for you, the other mun has to babysit, educate, deal with fallout, etc.

On making the list of your verses accessible, you want to focus on ease of browsing and not being overwhelming. People tend to look through a verse page and not read every verse listed, rather, they look at the titles and breakdowns to see if it is of interest, then read it. Don’t try to make everyone read them all, it isn’t going to happen, and shouldn’t change your effort any as the right people are going to find the verses that interest them...if you make it clear and easy enough.

Have a basic format you stick to, firstly. I do it this way: small verse banner, title of verse (linked to its overall tag so that muns can look through the tag at headcanons, aesthetics, pictures of the FC, and threads), muse age/age range, small blurb, possible triggers found uniquely or just heavily within this verse. In that order, one following the other in a simple, but pleasing way. Below that, is a more in depth breakdown of the “verse canon.” Sometimes, that is giving a brief rehashing of canon itself and anywhere my muse differs, be it in this verse only or overall, ending with where my muse is in this verse. Not literally where. I mean their present occupation, emotional and general state in life. At the very end, I provide any other relevant links and/or an expansion on the triggers mentioned at the top of the verse description if they’re that serious/recurrent so that muns can decide this isn’t the verse for them. I happen to have a potentially triggering muse, triggering verses, and writing triggering topics, though. That’s not something everyone needs to do.

Secondly, group your verses in a sensible way. I do my short list of default verses first. (And, I do mean short, you don’t want this be any more than four or five, it is overwhelming right out of the gate.) For me, that is two default verses of canon at different points on the timeline, one default AU that is a bit of a reversal of canon, and one default “modern” verse. Then, I list the verses that are in line with the altered canon one, just different possibilities, changes, points in history. After that, the different “modern” verse options. Then, verses for other fandoms, the crossover verses. And so on. This way, a potential partner can find the type of verse that might appeal to them and have an easier time picking from those possibilities and getting ideas.

Lastly, don’t be so succinct that you give too little information and underwhelm, but also don’t be so excessive that it takes all of the mystery of interaction away and overwhelms someone. It can be a difficult balance to strike, and some verses require more information than others, just experiment a bit. Additionally, it’s fine to link to pertinent information for the other mun to view aside from this, but don’t just link people to a fandom wiki as your “description/bio.” That isn’t giving information on how you write this muse, approach this fandom, or what another mun can otherwise expect. Keeping your descriptions interesting is important, you’re not giving a boring lecture, you’re trying to inform someone while making them hyped for their choices. It’s more interesting, and informative, to read if you do them with an ear to the “tone” of your muse in that verse. Is it a sad one? Sound that way. These can, indeed, function as snippets of your writing, so be sure you are writing them with the same care you should be giving your replies; spellcheck, good word flow and use, mind the grammar, and read over what you’ve written for common, easy mistakes.

Again, by giving a genuine variety of verses to choose from, you’re allowing for a greater reach in potential partners. Everyone from those still in your original fandom to those in new ones, all the way to fandomless muses will be able to interact with you this way.

Finally, in regards to what you can change or do when you’re in a dead fandom and seeking interactions; make sure you are increasing your reach by using proper tags, being honest about what and how you write, and don’t wait for others to stumble across you.

When you use tags properly, you’re increasing your chances of being seen at all. Every time you post something at all applicable on your blog, tag it with relevant things. Tag as described above with whatever fandom it is and “RP,” your character’s name, “open RP,” character name and RP, indie RP, open starter, and so on. Be sure you are optimizing your tags by placing the most relevant to finding you in the first four, those are what show up in site-wide searches only. Anything after that isn’t going to appear in a search across all tumblr.

By tagging your character’s name, as a canon, you should know that you are likely to get personal blog interaction. I’m pretty against being nasty to personal blogs for no reason, as I don’t appreciate personal and fandom blogs being shitty to me for the sole reason that I am an RPer. Please, use clear, short, attention getting directions for them. If you want no interactions with them, put right in the description of your blog “RP blog, does not interact with personal blogs.” When you say things like, “personals dni,” or “personals blocked,” you’re not doing anyone any favors. Personal blogs often don’t even know what the hell a personal blog even is! They do not denote themselves this way, to a personal blog, they’re just a blog. By designating first that you are an RP blog, you’re making it clearer that they’re the personal; they’re obviously not an RP blog, so that must make them a personal. Follow this up in a pinned post, right on top. Give a note to personal blogs that describes them as “any blog that isn’t an RP blog” first, then either tell them in brief what they can and can’t do or that you don’t interact and will block.

I don’t recommend taking your blog off of being findable, however. That’s alright once you have the RP activity you are looking for, but until then, it’s working against you. Other RP blogs cannot easily find you either, they will only find you if you’re on a list or appear in their recommended blogs, if you interact with a mutual, or are recommended by a mutual. You’re not just lessening your chances of personal blogs finding you, so if you have that turned off, turn it back on.

Don’t entirely rely on others finding you regardless, though. You can’t be 100% passive when you have no interactions, and by relying solely on serendipity you’re far less likely to get them. I know that everyone here is terminally shy, but seriously, you have to do more than put your silent will into the universe that someone perfect find you. You have to make this happen. Once you get a few people, you can afford to be more passive. Not only do you have some people to write with, you will be more visible to their mutuals, and more established as a presence. I’m not saying this is easy, or that it will become easy, not awkward or stressful, if you have a legitimate issue behind the shyness. Just that it is the only way to really proceed, and I believe you can do it!

So, go looking for interesting blogs. Be crossover and OC friendly (again, this doesn’t mean “accept everyone,” there are valid reasons for not accepting people you won’t work out with that have nothing to do with their fandom or being an OC), and search those fandom’s RPCs, following any blogs you think you might work out with upon reading their rules and other pages. Search for fandomless OCs and do the same thing. Fandomless OCs aren’t just floating around in the ether, they just weren’t created expressly for a particular fandom and within its confines. What is excellent about that is their ability to have a wide variety of verses and many possibilities to fit into any fandom or verse. So, don’t count them out solely on the basis of being an OC and fandomless. It doesn’t mean what people seem to think it does!

Do not stop at having followed 50 blogs. I mean, other than that you probably should stop following people for a bit. That you should do, as you need to be building writing relationships here, not following so many people that you cannot get to them. Don’t just stop at the follow, though. Since you’ve read their rules and information like a good RP partner, you should have some idea of what their interests are and where they align with yours, as well as how they prefer to be approached, if they accept memes right away to start, need plotting, have a rules password. When they’ve followed you back, proceed with interaction!

Ask if they’d like to plot when they have time, you’re really looking forward to writing with them. But...have some idea of a plot, please. It is a serious turn off to have someone message you wanting to plot, only to reply and get “lol I don’t have any ideas, anything works for me/whatever you want to do.” That isn’t plotting, it’s one party coming up with ideas and constructing a plot while they’re being told “I’m fine with anything.” That may be true, but it’s disheartening and a red flag for many people. If you genuinely can’t come up with anything, pick verses that match up well and suggest doing something within them.

“When you have the time, would you be interested in discussing writing? I was looking at your verses, and I think your verse -name- and mine, -verse name-, would mesh well.” Is a good way to start. Once you have a discussion flowing about the verses meshing and the muses, it’s typically easy to organically develop some plot ideas to go off of.

If both you and the other mun are alright with plot-free interaction and memes, you can send a meme any time. If you can’t find any memes on their blog, look for a wishlist or navigation page that shows you the tags for memes/wishlist. Still can’t find it? Ask them if they’ve got a wishlist or meme tag you can look through.

Additionally, if open starters are a thing you both do and are alright with, find some of theirs and respond. Post your own, tag it appropriately to be found in general and on your blog, and reblog it once or twice. Don’t excessively reblog it, and don’t get upset on the dash if no one interacts with it or any memes you reblog. Both are demanding to outright guilting, and not a good way to get partners. Just provide them with the ability to easily interact by making the posts available in the first place and by making them findable on your blog search and navigation.

Provide something for potential partners to see. Since you said you already do have writing, that’s great! That’s content on your blog that your partners can view. However, since you’re also having the issues you’ve stated, it’s likely that you haven’t many new posts. Show that you are active, interested in being here, and how you write your muse (and in general) by posting some newer content. For original content, do a headcanon or some meta, or post about new verses you are adding, the changes on your blog, a promo. For reblogs, things pertaining to your muse like canon imagery, fanart, quotes from canon or that generally express your muse, and aesthetics relevant to your muse are all excellent things to queue.

Use that queue. Not only do very few people appreciate having dash spam of similar content for the comparatively short time you might be around, but also, running these things on a queue means you spread that out for maximum view. While there are hours of heavier activity, you’ll have mutuals who are on at unusual hours due to their life and preferences or their timezone. This way, you’re not appearing inactive, if not outright invisible, to those mutuals. It’s not a bad idea to use a queue tag so that people know if they interact with a post that’s been queued, you might be here to quickly respond.

Ultimately, to fix your fandom and lacking partners problem, you just need to up your availability and reach beyond that fandom alone. Be proactive in following and approaching, decline blogs based on not working out only, utilize tags and fandom RPer lists, have everything on your blog easy to follow and not overwhelming, and have your verses meet as wide of a range of people as possible while also not being overwhelming.

Try updating your promo, as well, by the way. They’re not dead, they just really tanked when people kept making them based solely on aesthetic principle instead of being at all informative about the muse. They do seem to be coming back, so it’s a thing to consider.

Yes, make it visually appealing, it will draw people to reading it. No, do not just use a song lyric or quote with words highlighted linking your rules, verses, bio. Tell people basic info like the age of your muse and yourself, if you are multiverse and multiship, your muse’s canon verse and a couple of big interest verses of other major fandoms or themes that tend to be of interest to people, and what kind of RP you write - one line/para/multipara/novella. Absolutely give links to rules, verses, bio, and either memes, wishlist, or open starters, but give them just like that; make it very clear what this link is to. Put a very short statement of interest on there denoting that you’re expanding to new fandoms and looking for writing partners.

Do not sound desperate, demanding, or devaluing of yourself. Don’t say shit like “because my fandom is dead,” “trying this before I give up and delete my blog,” or “I suck at interaction/writing/ooc interaction/being a person but welp giving it a try, so follow and hit that heart.” (Conversely, calling yourself derogatory things and implying that your partners are too, such as the “we’re all just losers here” shit.) All of the above are not attractive, and they’re not even surprising enough to stand out anymore. It’s another reason to scroll right by that promo because nothing at all was different or of interest.

And as a wrap-up/rehash of the first topic, getting muse back: try starting over at the beginning by approaching the media involving your muse that has really stuck with you emotionally over the years, and exploring and developing your muse again.

Don’t tell yourself you can only write, for example, at home, on the laptop, after 7pm, and with a pop toy staring at you. The best thing about writing, as opposed to so many other hobbies, is that you can do it anywhere! So, do that. Do it any time you both feel the inspiration to do so and aren’t going to get fired or expelled for it. This isn’t work, it’s something enjoyable that does take effort (like literally all creative activities and skills do), but approaching it as though you need to follow novel writing advice from someone who has never published anything of note and isn’t you on the internet, with strict rules for success makes it feel that way. So does being frustrated with a dead fandom, no interaction. It’s disheartening, feels as annoying and fruitless as work often does. You probably need to break out of that mindset, and you can only do it by beginning to allow yourself to be creative on your own terms, entirely for yourself.

Do write simple things at first that you are inspired to do (you can’t get a scene out of your head, or a bit of dialogue), and/or headcanon/character development memes and question lists. Build from there as you get back in touch with your muse, writing things primarily or entirely for yourself still. Expanding on headcanons, doing some meta, or maybe writing out a missing piece of canon or what you’d be interested in seeing happen in canon if some event was altered.

Doing this sort of thing, you are getting in touch with your muse again and back into the real spirit of writing creatively, simultaneously.

Whatever you find most inspiring, do it. If it’s watching the movie or show again, do that, have it on while you write or simply think on the character’s actions, thoughts, and emotions during those scenes. If it’s reading the material again, do that, and read snippets of personal importance before you write. Maybe it’s some past playlists you can have on while writing, or even while you’re cleaning, walking the dog, driving or riding somewhere. It could even be your own previous writing! Go ahead and re-read that, it sounds like you still appreciate it, and that’s truly promising. If you find that you’re horrified by some of the things you’ve written in the more distant past, hey...that’s not just valid as hell, it’s natural. You know what else it is? An inspiration. You can clearly see that you could do better, that means you now know how to do better and are ready to do so. Validate yourself, prove it to yourself by rewriting or fixing something.

Don’t delete the blog or archive it. It is unpleasant to have a dead blog around, but don’t keep it dead. Use the same blog and simply transition it into wider things that will net you more partners and the interactions you deserve.

Look, even if you weren’t the most popular blog in your fandom before it went quiet, you really appreciated the blog, muse, and writing you were doing. You’ve defined that it wasn’t something you did to cause this situation, you just had the shit luck we all run into eventually of being in a fandom that ran out of material or interest. People are really fickle, so by taking a wider approach and fixing on the writing and muse instead of fandom now, you’re stopping this from repeating. Seriously, on a long enough timeline, every fandom dies or goes into hibernation. If you make a whole new blog with a different muse, it is going to happen again eventually.

So, don’t feel like you’re ridiculously clinging to the past and need to move on, you’re just sticking to something and can continue to stick to it through the next five fandom deaths. Just because it is the most popular thing to do to drop muses, constantly add new ones, and have this attitude that you can “blog refresh” your way out of recurrent, and inherent, problem doesn’t mean it is actually the right thing to do. It’s not even the most sensible, and certainly not the best thing to do with anything you’ve spent time and effort on.

That’s your incentive; yourself, the time and care you’ve put in, and your continued interest in writing and the muse. You’ll find good people, and bluntly, everyone else can fuck right off when you’re incentivized by yourself. It becomes a self-fulfilling activity at that point, I swear, and it feels really nice.

Just get back in touch with your muse and writing itself so that you can begin to expand and start interacting again!

#rp advice #rp problems #rp help #muse loss #dead fandoms #rp better #Anon E. Mous #answered

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twentiethcenturymoviesandtv · 4 years ago

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The Goonies: A Product of the Times

Released in 1985, The Goonies came along right smack in the middle of a decade well-known for its movies centered on youth. While there are plenty of fond memories of the ‘teen oriented’ films like The Breakfast Club, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and Adventures in Babysitting, Hollywood of the 1980s was focused on more than just the teenagers: it was also pretty heavily focused on what it was like to be a kid.

From Flight of the Navigator, The Explorers, and The Monster Squad to E.T., the Extra-Terrestrial, a lot of the films of the 1980s were about the adventures of people under the age of 14: children. Ranging from sci-fi to comedy, to horror, to adventure, the movies about kids during this decade of the new and untested were getting as big as everything else: more and more impressive as an entire subgenre of children’s movies starring up-and-coming child stars (Drew Barrymore, Fred Savage, River Phoenix, Corey Haim, and plenty more) sprouted up out of the ground, playing the gambit of genres and allowing children to act in ways that hadn’t been deeply explored before. These weren’t adult films with roles for children: a lot of these were movies about kids.

Instead of movies like The Champ or Aliens, starring children in side roles, films like The Goonies, Return to Oz, Stand By Me, and Time Bandits starred kids in the main roles, carrying the stories themselves with incredible performances, broadening the horizons for adventure films about kids, for kids.

Such is The Goonies, a film that really could only have been made in the 1980s.

How do I know that?

Simple.

As we’ve discussed before, no film ever made is separate from the culture it was created in. Every single movie, television show, radio broadcast, book, newspaper, comic or song ever made has been directly impacted by the culture and other pieces of media surrounding it.

This seems pretty obvious: after all, a product made by people living in a certain kind of culture is going to reflect that culture. No film is an island, and while that seems pretty self-explanatory and without much need for discussion, in an era with more and more pieces of media debated as to their worth to a modern viewpoint, it leaves those of us who enjoy older movies with a very important question:

How ‘dated’ is too dated?

It’s not as easy a question to answer as it might seem.

See, ‘dated’ is an interesting term.

Typically, the word ‘dated’ is used to apply to anything discernibly created in a specific time period. It’s synonymous with ‘old fashioned’, when applied to a film, it carries the implication that the movie is less understandable by those looking from outside that particular culture or time period, worsened by the cultural drift. This would be a film that hasn’t ‘aged well’, most often describing contemporary films of the day. By contrast, a film that’s considered ‘timeless’ is the exact opposite: a film that remains completely understandable following a change in the culture. This is a film without a cultural footprint or identity, without any actual context, able to be enjoyed no matter how much time has passed.

These are words that get thrown around a lot in the film world. There are plenty of arguments over which films are timeless, and which are dated, whether Die Hard shows its age too much to be enjoyed, or whether Commando is too ridiculously ‘80s to be watched in any other context, but the fact is, the argument is a lot more complicated than it seems to be boiled down into.

We’ve talked a lot about definitions, but the fact is, by strict definitions, no movie, or any piece of media ever made, is actually ‘timeless’. Every film is a product of its times, but that does not mean necessarily that they are defined by their times. With this in mind, films like The Terminator and Predator, while set and made in the 1980s, are not exactly dated, because they are not defined by the 1980s. Anyone with the slightest understanding of the idea that times change can accept things like hairstyles, music changes, and special effects. Like I said, a film is considered ‘dated’ if it is less understandable or enjoyable in hindsight, from a place outside of that specific culture, and things like the movie tips and tricks of decades past are fairly easily forgiven.

Less easily overlooked are ideas.

If a ‘timeless’ film is a movie not defined by its own times, then a ‘dated’ one is a film that is defined by its culture, typically in a negative way.

So, the question is: which is The Goonies?

Timeless iconic kid’s adventure film, or dated ‘80s flick?

Well, it’s kind of hard to say at first glance.

By externals, there’s no question. The way the kids are dressed and Mouth’s use of the word ‘gnarly’ pretty clearly set this film in the mid 1980s, as does the fact that nobody has a cell phone to call their parents. But as we’ve already established, there’s a bit more to it than that.

The cast is fairly typical of its day: all white except for Rosalita, the Spanish-speaking housekeeper, and mostly male. The two female Goonies do allow for a little more range than is sometimes portrayed in kid adventure films, with a Tomboy and Girly Girl dynamic that normalizes more than a standard Token Female per group, and even Mama Fratelli (although by no means a role model for young girls) balances out by being a memorable villain, bringing the gender ratio a tiny bit closer to even than a lot of contemporary films. With that said though, there isn’t really anything that I’d argue idea wise in this sense that dates the film terribly badly, aside from a series of fat jokes at Chunk’s expense and a moment where Andy is given the unfortunately expected treatment of having her date try to look up her skirt, which was considerably more shrugged off at the time (although she does get him for it later, offscreen).

And there are other elements too that indicate that this film is from a different time:

A PG in 1985 for a kid’s film was very different from a PG now, and it shows. The language used by a lot of the kids, as well as the violence, drug jokes, and other material has proven to shock more than one fan who went back to watch The Goonies as an adult. And that’s not all: the basic concept of kids banding together in this way, while making a resurgence in the form of Stranger Things, hasn’t really stuck around for very long.

After the 1980s, the ‘band of kids’ adventure story somewhat died out. By the 1990s, the ‘kid’ adventure stories calmed down, with lower stakes and less danger, and while the trope still appears in ‘retro’ nostalgia pieces, for the most part, we simply don’t see it anymore, and the idea still tends to bring to mind stories like Stand By Me, The Monster Squad, and even It.

It’s just a statement of fact, and not nostalgia, to look at this film and remark: “They don’t make them like this anymore.” Because they don’t.

In most movies today, kids don’t run around in tunnels, having a blast and looking for buried treasure without their parents or any adult supervision, with their lives in danger, all the while quirky, peppy music assures the audience that everything’s going to be okay. That’s not necessarily good or bad, it just means times have changed, and that the way that The Goonies was made was directly influenced by the types of movies coming out at the time.

However, while that style may bring to mind the 1980s, that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s specifically enjoyed in that era.

As a matter of fact, there’s a lot about The Goonies that’s like that.

The basic premise of the story, while not necessarily common anymore, is still understandable to people decades later. Just because we no longer dress or talk like 1985 anymore doesn’t mean that the core essentials of the film are rendered completely unrelatable. Kids still become friends and don’t want to move away from them, that much is understandable. Even though the style of filmmaking has changed, the characters really haven’t: we all know a Data, or a Mouth, or a Chunk, or a Mikey, sometimes we even are one of them. Kids understand the danger they’re in: not just losing their lives, but their homes, their friendships. These characters and their story still ring true decades later, even if there are things about it that point to its creation being set in the mid ‘80s.

In short?

No, The Goonies probably couldn’t have been made today. But that doesn’t mean it can’t still be enjoyed today.

There’s surprisingly little that actually harmfully dates the film itself, and the film is, in many ways, just as exciting and fun as it was when it was first released. Honestly, there’s the possibility that due to the lack of movies like it made today, the film actually has a larger impact and is more unique and memorable now than it was in 1985.

And while the quality of the film has not shifted, as the time around it does, I think we’ll find that as the film gets older, more audiences will continue to discover it, forty, fifty, sixty years later and find that the movie still tugs at a nostalgic part of them and makes them feel like children again.

The Goonies is a fun, exciting, charming story that has remained beloved so long partially due to nostalgia, but also because people genuinely love the story and characters, proving that a film is ‘timeless’, not because you can tell what decade it was made in, but because it has endured, because people still enjoy it after the culture has changed.

If you can watch The Goonies and love these characters and enjoy their adventure, it doesn’t matter that Mouth is wearing parachute pants or that some of the character cliches haven’t been used in thirty years. In the end, a film’s quality has little to do with how easily we can tell what time the film was made in, and a lot to do with what it’s about, and how well people remember it. If that’s the criteria, then The Goonies is pretty timeless.

The Goonies has lasted this long as an ‘80s staple, and an adventure movie classic in general because no matter if it’s 1985 or 2085, people can understand it, enjoy it, and relate to the characters and themes. And that’s the reason it will continue to endure.

It’s been over thirty years since those kids first trekked into the caves to save the Goondocks, and the audience for this film has done nothing but grow since then. The characters and the heart of the film have gone unchanged since then, still entertaining and even touching audience members who remember what it was like to be a kid and want ‘their time’, and they will continue to endure for decades.

Thank you guys so much for reading! If you have something you’d like to add or say, don’t forget that the comment box is always open! I hope to see you all in the next article.

#The Goonies #The Goonies 1985 #80s #1985 #Film #Movies #PG #Adventure #Comedy #Family #Sean Astin #Josh Brolin #Jeff Cohen #Corey Feldman #Kerri Green #Martha Plimpton #Ke Huy Quan #Richard Donner

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whump-tr0pes · 4 years ago

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HB4-31/Whumptober day 9

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3.

AO3

Masterlist

She’s here.

Content warning: emesis, mention of dissoci@tion, PTSD, unplanned pregnancy, mention of consensual sex, description of birth, past torture

Ellis lurched forward, their hand covering their mouth where they sat hunched over the puzzle. They leapt to their feet and dashed from the living room.

Finn stared after them, concern pinching their mouth. They glanced at Vera where she stood in the kitchen, framed by the half-wall, a cutting board full of chopped potatoes held aloft in her hand. Tori stood at the counter. Her arms wrapped tightly around her own chest and she shrank slightly towards Vera. She looked towards the bathroom. Her eyes were fogged and distant, and her lips pressed into a thin, nervous line.

Not Tori’s worst day. At least she knew where she was today.

Finn got to their feet and made their way across the living room and down the hall towards the bedrooms, pausing just outside the bathroom door as Ellis vomited loudly into the toilet.

“Oh, babe,” Finn murmured, dropping to their knees beside Ellis and gently pulling back their short black hair from their face. “I’m so sorry.”

Ellis dry-heaved, their stomach empty after throwing up on and off for the past two days. They groaned, slumping against the toilet seat. Finn smoothed back Ellis’s sweaty hair with one hand and rubbed their back with the other.

“What the fuck,” Ellis groaned. They reached for the handle and flushed the toilet. They got up on one knee and pushed themself to their feet. Finn helped to stabilize them as they leaned over the sink and washed their mouth out.

“I’m sorry,” Finn said softly, gently rubbing their hands up and down Ellis’s arms. “I don’t know what it is… Maybe it was something you ate, but… we’ve been eating the same stuff…”

“It’s fine,” Ellis said, already sounding better. “I think that was the last of it. Although, that’s what I thought yesterday…” They drew their hand over their face. It still shone with sweat, but the color was back in their cheeks. “Sorry that’s so gross.”

“I’ll try and get more Zofran from town tomorrow,” Finn murmured, and drew Ellis into a hug. “Although I hope this is over by then.”

“Probably will be, babe,” Ellis said with an awkward shrug as they pulled out of Finn’s grasp. They gave Finn a tired smile and walked out of the bathroom, back towards the living room. “I really am feeling a lot better.” Finn followed right behind.

“Still feeling sick?” Tori said. Her voice sounded thin, frightened, but… Finn heard the shadow of the person she was before. Ever since they escaped, Tori had been slowly, slowly emerging from the wasteland that had been made of her mind. She had only been able to be coaxed out by two people: Vera, and Ellis. Under the fear, Finn could hear the person who’d kept them all safe and cared for them for months as they all recovered from Gavin. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her muscles pulled tight under her skin. Always ready to run. Always ready to hide, or just stand there and take the shocks.

Three weeks later, and she still had days where she waited for the shocks. Finn blinked and shook their head to clear it.

“Yeah,” Ellis griped as they crossed to the couch and sat down again. They pulled the blanket around their shoulders and took a sip of their tea.

Vera covered the pot on the stove and turned it down to a low heat. She walked to Tori’s side and wound an arm around her waist, looking into the living room at Ellis. A wry smile twisted her mouth. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were pregnant.”

Finn froze. Ellis’s head snapped up and they stared at them with wide eyes.

“Oh, fuck,” Finn breathed.

The silence pounded in Finn’s ears.

“F-Finn,” Ellis whispered. “I am late. I thought it was just the, um, the stress, but…” Their hand drifted to their stomach and rested there, almost unconsciously. Their mouth hung open, their eyes unfocused. “Yeah,” they rasped. “I’m a week late.”

The room lurched around Finn, and they thought they might throw up.

“But I…” Finn stared at Ellis, dumbfounded. “But we…” They thought back over the last three weeks, the sex they’d had every day – multiple times a day, in every position they could think of and a few Finn had never even heard of before – since they and Ellis had been reunited. They’d gone through several boxes of condoms, blushingly having to go ask Gray to bring them more with every trip into town. They’d worn a condom every single time. Finn fell back a step, looking up in confusion as the walls moved around them, zooming out and zooming in at the same time.

A bolt of realization hit them and they met Ellis’s eyes, and Finn knew they were having the exact same thought.

“The first morning,” they said at the exact same time.

“Oh, god,” Finn whimpered, tearing their hands through their hair. “Oh, god, oh, fuck, I, I don’t…”

“Holy shit,” Ellis whispered from the couch.

Finn couldn’t focus their eyes. There wasn’t enough air in the room. “Oh, god, oh, what if I, if I, oh god, I don’t know how to, to be a fucking, parent, Ellis, what are we gonna do, I… oh, holy fuck…”

Ellis appeared in front of them, and Finn clutched at their arms. “Oh, Ellis, is this… is this okay? I’m sorry, I… I didn’t… mean to…”

Their eyes focused, and they realized Ellis was grinning. More than that, their joy was radiating off of them, crinkling their eyes, pulling their lips into the biggest smile Finn had ever seen on Ellis. Suddenly, tears were streaming down Finn’s face.

“Oh, god,” they babbled, sobbing in Ellis’s arms without being sure when they actually started crying. “Oh g-god, Ellis, we, we talked about it… so long ago, and I know that… so much happened, and I don’t… I never… I didn’t think it would, would happen, and, oh, god, are we ready?” Finn fumbled for Ellis’s hands and they squeezed. Ellis’s hands were so warm, and Finn realized their hands were freezing. “I mean, is this… do we… I mean, a baby? Oh, Jesus Christ, I… I don’t know how to…”

“Finn,” Ellis said gently, tilting Finn’s chin up until they met their eyes. “Shhh.”

“Do we even have the, the facilities? I mean, risk of complication is—” Finn cut themself off with a choke, paling, their eyes going wide and staring sightlessly at Ellis. “No. No no no no no no it’s okay, it’s okay, it’ll be okay, oh my god, delivering babies is a BLS skill, delivering babies is a BLS skill…” Suddenly, ridiculously, a perfect recall of Finn’s OBGYN chapter in medic education training flashed across their vision. A cross-section diagram of a uterus, the baby drawn almost comically placid as it slid out of a disembodied pelvis – squeezing a bowling ball out of a garden hose, their mother used to say. Finn felt a sudden lash of grief, thinking about their mother and the eternal question: is she still alive?

Then, just opposite of that diagram was an actual picture of a woman giving birth, a tiny head looking absolutely massive as it poked out from between the woman’s legs, steadied in the doctor’s hands like they were handling a football. Instructor Grant had told them to skip that chapter, since it wasn’t relevant to combat medicine… but the students had flipped to it just the same, with giggles and groans as their friends whispered ‘oh my god, there’s a naked woman on page 278’, only to discover that, yes, she was naked, but she was also pushing out a bloody, purple, wrinkled baby head, who looked very upset about the whole thing.

Oh, god. I should have read that chapter. I should have read that chapter and not just looked and gotten grossed out. Oh, god, oh god, oh god, oh god…

“Finn,” Ellis murmured, and gently took Finn’s hand. They laid it gently against their abdomen, right over where the baby was growing. Just a zygote, really. Probably no bigger than a few hundred cells right now, maybe the size of a grain of sand. Maybe? God, why don’t I know this?

As Finn’s hand settled against Ellis, gently pressing against the waistband of their sweatpants, Finn stopped. Every breath, every thought, every fucking cell of blood in their veins froze in place. They could feel the warmth of Ellis’s skin through the fabric, but more than that: it was as if that little bundle of cells, that baby, Finn’s baby, was shining through, reaching its little light out for Finn, shining warmth and strength and love right into their hand and into their body. The baby inside Ellis, their baby.

Finn crumpled to their knees and wrapped their arms around Ellis’s legs.

They sobbed against Ellis’s stomach, pressing kisses against the waistband of their pants. Finn’s face shone a smile, joy flooding through them, so hot and sharp it was almost painful. Ellis’s fingers stroked through Finn’s hair and Finn leaned their cheek against Ellis’s stomach, happy tears streaming down their cheeks and soaking into the hem of Ellis’s shirt.

Ellis tilted Finn’s head up, and Finn nearly crumpled again at the look of disbelief, of fierce joy, as Ellis looked down at them. It was as if years had been shaken off their face, as if, for a moment, the pain that laced through every moment of their life was lifted.

“We made a baby,” Finn rasped, their voice breaking.

“We made a baby,” Ellis whispered back. Then they laughed, and the sound went through Finn like a knife, and they loved the ache.

Finn glanced towards the kitchen. Vera stood motionless in the doorway. One arm wrapped around Tori’s waist, and her other hand covered her mouth. Her eyes streamed tears she looked at Ellis, then Finn, then Ellis again.

Tori’s eyes were focused, her shoulders squared, her hands laced under her chin. Her eyes shone as she looked at Ellis. Then, slowly, she stepped out of the protective circle of Vera’s embrace, and walked to Ellis’s side. Finn stumbled to their feet and swayed, dizzy.

Tori placed her hands on either side of Ellis’s face, her smile matching theirs. Their hands went gently around Tori’s wrists and they laughed together a moment. Tori didn’t shrink or cringe away, but laughed, quiet joy cutting through the fog of pain that shrouded her every day. Her eyes focused entirely on Ellis, and Ellis on her. The moment hung in the air, suspended, like a glass just before it shatters on the floor. Finn sucked in a breath, waiting for the crash.

It never came. Tori threw her arms around Ellis and held them as they wept.

They felt Vera at their side and they jumped. They turned to her, stunned. Vera practically tackled them in a hug.

“Congratulations,” she murmured, and she choked up on the word.

“Oh my god,” Finn whined softly, grinning, gasping for breath.

Vera pulled away, and Tori folded into Finn’s embrace. “I’m so happy for you,” she said softly, her voice warm, steady, and even. As she leaned back, Finn’s mouth bobbed open and closed, grinning like a fool.

Then Ellis was back in their arms, and they stayed. Ellis squeezed Finn tight, nearly crushing them in their embrace, as if they were an anchor against the roaring tide in their ears. Ellis was in their arms, living, breathing, here, alive, pregnant. For three weeks, Finn had been in agony, trapped with their family but alone. For three weeks, they’d been helpless, useless, branded as a medic while the rest were collared and tortured as playthings. It was as if Finn could feel the scar on their brain.

But Ellis… Ellis was here. Ellis was alive. Finn pulled back and stared at them dazedly, disbelieving. Their hands locked around Ellis’s shirt as they pulled them closer, pressing their foreheads together so hard it almost hurt. A tear fell from their chin and into their shirt.

Finn wet their lips. “I…” Ellis leaned back, that smile still so radiant, so beautiful. Finn blinked. “I hope it looks like you. I hope… oh… I hope it has your eyes.”

“I hope it has your brain,” Ellis said softly, and kissed them on the nose. “God knows we need another genius in this family.” Ellis laughed, and there was no snark, no anger.

Finn giggled, their voice shooting up an octave. “Oh,” they whimpered. They thumbed away the tears on Ellis’s cheeks. There was something rising in their throat, words that they could barely comprehend. Words they’d never once imagined in this order:

“I’m gonna be a dad,” they whispered.

Ellis’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Yeah, babe,” they said, and cradled Finn’s face. “You are. You’re gonna be a dad.”

Continued here

@untilthepainstarts, @womping-grounds, @free-2bmee, @quirkykayleetam, @walkingchemicalfire, @inpainandsuffering, @redwingedwhump, @burtlederp, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @whatwhumpcomments, @cursedscribbles, @whumpywhumper, @stxck-fxck, @omega-em-z-02, @whumps-the-word, @justwhumpitwhumpitgood, @justplainwhump, @moose-teeth, @slaintetowhump, @finder-of-rings, @inky-whump, @thatsthewhump, @orchidscript, @insanitywishes, @this-mightaswell-happen, @newandfiguringitout, @whumpkitty, @pretty-face-breaker, @cinnamonflavoredhugs, @inaridriscoll, @im-just-here-for-the-whump, @endless-whump, @grizzlie70, @oops-its-whump

#honor bound 4 #whumptober2020 #no. 22 #do these tacos taste funny to you?#OC #fic #emesis tw #mention of dissociation tw #PTSD tw #mention of consensual sex #birth description tw #past torture #Iris #IRIS! IS! HERE!#Fillis #Fillis baby #morning sickness #HMS ToriVera #delivering babies is a BLS skill

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banashee · 4 years ago

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Part 13/25 of my second round of @badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: Ear injury

Warnings for blood, violence and past child abuse, please check the tags!

Suddenly, there is silence

Suddenly, there is silence. The sounds of the fight that is still going on around him are no longer noticeable to Clint. All there is, is a stabbing pain that feels like his skull is about to explode.

He is gasping for air, trying to get up from the concrete floor. Why is he even down here in the first place? Quickly he finds that getting up is nearly impossible. There is blood gushing everywhere, and fuck, is that his own?

Clint doesn’t make it all the way up, but his balance is shot to shit, so he staggers and falls back down again. The pain is getting more and more intense, and when his head hits the floor, there are two arrows next to him, covered in blood. Neither of those arrows is his own, but he still recognizes them. It’s been years since he last saw his brother, but he knows his signatures when he sees them. Ice cold dread is running down his spine when that thought hits him.

Oh, Fuck.

Before Clint can say anything, like calling for help or looking where his attacker has fled to, Clint starts passing out. His comms are going crazy, what with his teammates calling for him, but he can’t hear it.

He can’t hear anything. All there is is silence, and it surrounds him while he slowly drifts away.

*+~

In between unconsciousness and being awake, Clint remembers that fateful day nearly 30 years ago when the world had suddenly turned silent for the very first time in his life.

The really sad thing? He doesn’t remember what set Dad off that day. If he messed up somehow, or if Dad had been too drunk to think straight. Logically, Clint knows that none of this is his fault - never had been. Years and years of therapy have pounded this into his head, and he may or may not believe it now, but it doesn’t change the fact that he always starts this particular thought with “I don’t remember what set him off that day”.

He knows it’s the alcohol - he knows it was his dad being angry and frustrated at the world in general, and nothing Clint did or didn’t do could have changed anything about that.

Unfortunately, Harold has always taken it out on his wife and kids.

Barney might have remembered the few and far between good times with Dad, but Clint never got to know that man. All he knows is fear and pain and hiding, when thinking of his father.

Clint doesn’t know what set Dad off that day.

All he remembers is that he was suddenly being grabbed from behind, shaken hard enough so that he dropped the glass of water he had been holding at the time. The breaking glass and the mess on the floor only made Dad more angry, and then he lashed out.

Sadly, even at 6 years old, Clint was used to being his fathers punching bag, and he knows that it’s best to remain silent - don’t talk back, don’t scream, and most of all, don’t cry. Don’t ever fucking cry, or it’ll get so much worse.

So, Clint remained silent that day, hoping that Dad will stop soon, hoping he’ll move on to something else when he is done here. Only, that day, that is not what happened.

Harold Barton was hollering at his youngest son, inches away from his face, so that stinking breath that reeked of alcohol and flying droplets of spit hit him straight in the face. And then, suddenly, Clint’s head collided with the coffee table.

Dad stopped yelling, but then again, there was no other sound either.

There was a pain in his head, different from anything else Clint had ever experienced, even in the sorry circumstances he spent the majority of his short life in.

Out of pure instinct, he touched the sides of his head, over his ears where the pain was worst, and his tiny hands came away covered in blood - Clint was terrified. And because he was so utterly scared, he momentarily forgot the two most important rules when it comes to Dad - Don’t scream, don’t cry.

He was sobbing from fear and pain, and he couldn't make out even part of that, even though he must have been loud enough for half the street to hear. It terrified him even more, and Clint didn’t dare look at Dad, didn't want to see his red, angry face yelling at him any more.

Harold grabbed him by the shoulders, fingers gripping hard enough to bruise. He was still shaking him as if that would stop anything, and he kept doing so until Mom came running and forcefully pulled Harold away. She was shrieking at her husband,

“What have you done?!” but Clint couldn’t hear that, either.

At this point, he was about to pass out from the pain and blood loss, and really, it was a relief.

*+~

Clint wakes up to bright lights and scratchy sheets. There is a sharp, distinctive smell of antiseptic in the air that tells him that he is in a hospital. His head is heavy, as if filled with cotton, but there is no pain. Other than that, the world is still utterly silent. Sometimes, there is a muffled bit of something that makes its way through, but it is over just as quickly as it came.

With a groan, Clint opens his eyes. The light is blinding, way too bright, and he almost flinches away from it. Too much. It’s too much. His dream is lingering, but he is too tired to deal with that.

A warm, gentle hand rests on his arm, fingers tapping a short but familiar rhythm - Clint relaxes at once, because only two other people use this form of communication with him. Originally, they came up with that in case they can’t talk out loud during missions and when hand signs would be too obvious - Clint, Nat and Phil are fluent in each other's micro expressions, but sometimes, it’s nice to be able to say something.

`You are safe. I’m here.` is what the tapping rhythm means, and really, just moments later, the lights are dimmed a bit, which is an instant relief. Then Phil steps into his line of sight. Clint manages a small smile.

He is happy and relieved to see him, and Phil seems to be just as happy. Slowly, he reaches out for his hand and Clint happily lets him. With his other hand, Phil is brushing away a few strands of blond hair from his forehead, and Clint leans into the touch.

“Hey. What happened?” he asks, and this time, he isn’t surprised at all that he can’t hear himself. There is a fear in the back of his head, old memories that are coming back to the surface, but he manages to hold that off for now. He is safe, and Phil is here - he can figure out the rest as it comes.

Phil taps his shoulder, and Clint opens his eyes again to look - oh, right. Communication and all that. His head is still cloudy. But lucky for him, his partner is prepared as always. He hands him a notepad, where he has written a few short, blocky sentences. It’s far from his usual small, neat handwriting. This was written with someone dizzy and exhausted in mind.

Hi. Good to see you awake.

You are safe now, but you were attacked in the last fight.

Stabbed ear drums. Hearing loss.

Might be permanent.

Doctors say a little might come back over time.

Can’t say anything for sure yet.

Clint takes that in, and has to swallow a lump in his throat. The word “permanent” is burned into his brain, and it makes him think of a doctor’s visit many many years ago, where these exact words had been written down for him - Hearing loss, possibly permanent.

Clint remembers feeling completely numb at the time, only nodding to indicate that he understood. He didn’t know what his parents told the doctor back then, but there is no doubt that they’d gone the “clumsy kid had an accident” route like they always did.

Clint had been long used to that, too, and he wouldn’t dare say anything. He was way too afraid of the painful consequences if he did.

His hearing had returned over time - mostly. It hadn’t been great ever since, but he’d managed well enough.

Now, things look quite a bit different.

Now, as an adult, Clint nods to the explanation, trying to keep all of the thoughts and memories at bay. Phil seems to know that he must be struggling, so he leans over to press a kiss against Clint’s temple. Clint leans into the touch, and is happy that Phil is scooting closer so they can keep up the physical contact more easily. Then, he flips over to another page on his notepad.

How are you feeling?

Clint considers this for a second. Then he shrugs.

“I don’t know. Tired. Dizzy. Can’t hear anything.”

Talking feels funny, too. He says as much, and Phil nods in understanding.

Pain? , He scribbles down under his first question, and Clint shakes his head - just the tiny bit of movement makes his head spin. It takes him a while to answer because of that.

“No, I think they gave me the good stuff. Just, my balance must be shot to shit.”

This time, Phil writes a little bit more.

Yes, that is normal for now, from what I’ve been told. Doc will come by later to explain.

With a long sigh, Clint nods again.

“...Okay.”

There really isn’t much else he could say right now, and despite having questions, Clint can feel the exhaustion pulling him back under again. While he settles back into a more comfortable position, he can feel Phil sitting down on the edge of his bed. He reaches out, carefully, and Clint happily accepts the offer. He drifts off into sleep while leaning into the warmth of his partner, leaning into the touch while he slowly strokes his hair until Clint is out cold again.

When he wakes up again, nothing has changed. He still feels the same, and thankfully, Phil is still with him. They don’t talk much, although the notepad is still close.

I was worried about you.

Do you need anything?

Natahsa is coming by tonight.

The team might join us later, if you’re up for it.

and

I love you.

are the only things currently written on it, but the `I love you´ is written a lot bigger than everything else. Phil has underlined that sentence more than once and he even drew a few lopsided hearts floating around it.

Clint can still feel the flush that crept up his neck, but he also hasn’t stopped smiling since, despite everything else. The amount of love he feels for Phil is hard to put into words, and sometimes he can’t believe how lucky he is that Phil feels the same for him. But he does, and he only leaves Clint’s side to shower and change, or to pick up food from the cafeteria. Other than that, Phil remains close, happy to write small notes for Clint or to hold him while he sleeps, occupying himself with a book or paperwork.

Clint is happy, and more than a little thankful for the distraction. This whole situation still terrifies him, still makes him think way too much of the first time his world has turned utterly silent. All that is a can of worms he doesn’t want to open right now, so he takes any distraction, any happy thought he can right now.

Maybe, when he is out of the hospital, he might tell Phil about it. He knows that he would be willing to listen at any time, happy to help him sort through the thoughts and memories. He would be there , to support him in any way he needs, and Clint loves him for it.

He doesn’t fool himself - he knows that the rough times will hit as soon as the fog has left his head and things are more clear. The memories and old trauma will hit him then, no doubt, but he also knows that he won’t have to do this alone. Sometimes, he doesn’t know what he ever did to deserve Phil.

But for now, he is happy to doze off with his head pillowed on Phil’s legs, happy to let him keep watch for a little while longer.

Prompt: Ear Injury

#banashee writes #Bad things happen bingo #marvel fanfiction #tw blood #tw violence #tw past child abuse #mind the tags

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towerofgod-blogposts · 3 years ago

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#494. S3 Ch.77: 52F - Battle Royale (3)

Naver Endnote: White’s power turns not only Bam, but also the author into a giant corrupted flaming black dragon...

Tdoay’s drawing is White. As White can swing his longsword freely with just one of his wrists, there is little need for him to take stances found in human swordplay, so that's something that disappoints me sometimes. It would be fun if he would actually put some effort into swinging his swords and such, but he swings them like they're some sticks hehe. So I drew White handling a sword as if it's heavy for practice..

The reason White is so obsessed with Baam I think is something that's inevitable. Anyone who becomes a Slayer hates Zahard and the 10 Families, so in a way Baam is someone to hate for every Slayer. Wouldn't it be nice if they Slayers were actually nice to the rookie ^^;

Recently, I've been drawing a lot of animal-people and animals, and it’s hard for me to draw all by myself, so the staff has been helping me a lot. I am always thankful to those who work with me. We are always recruiting staff, so if you're interested, always feel free to shoot an email to [email protected] with a copy of your resume and portfolio (surprise?)

The weather's getting hotter, and while my particular area didn't rain a lot, I heard there are other regions that received a lot of rain. I hope nobody got hurt from it.

COVID-19 is also getting worse again, so everyone please take care of yourselves. I thankfully work from home, but I hope those of you who work in person at cafes, restaurants or other shops, stay cautious and stay strong.

Especially at times like these I want to do my best and make fun comics, but I never know if I'm doing well. Everyone says I'm hard working, but... It may not be easy, but I will work harder. I wonder how many more years this wretched body must draw for it to feel more confident.

I hope you guys have a healthy week filled with good events. Thank you, stay happy^^

Ah, also in regards to the physical book release last week, https://smartstore.naver.com/webtoonfriends/products/5687981102 📷 [단행본] 신의탑 Vol. 7-8 세트 (한정판) : WEBTOONFRIENDS [WEBTOONFRIENDS] 네이버 웹툰프렌즈 smartstore.naver.com

You can buy the pre-order here. It feels like you have to buy them as soon as possible since it says limited edition, right? It feels like you have to buy all the previous volumes because it comes with a box, right? haha. I wasn't aware of the exact schedule, but apparently they go on sale starting 14th of July. I mean that's it. If you buy a lot of them I'll put that money to good use and also buy good food for myself as well hehe.

Now, I'll really be going _ _

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

#baam #white #bam #siu thoughts #tog worldbuilding #tankobon #weapons #assistants #covid

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mcrmadness · 4 years ago

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Madness draws: my dä fanart from when I had my (arts) comeback in 2018

For years I didn’t draw anything because of a personal (art crisis) and because I simply was studying and working so much I just had no energy left for arts.

In 2018 I was done with schools and studying and dropped out of the school I was in at that moment, and also the horse stable I was working at (school related stuff) was sold and closed its doors so also my work ended. For the first time in almost 5 years I was actually free. The longest holidays I had has was 3 weeks summer holiday in 2016, I think. I had another in 2017 but of that I actually was having health issues (nothing serious) for 2 weeks and then had to be in school for the 3rd one, after which I even got the flu.

So I was SO excited when I finally was free the first day of November in 2018. After I had got enough sleep and rest, I started to find my creativity again. And I started to “daydream” before falling asleep every night, I started to write fanfictions in my head and I started to draw, too. Partially it was also because for the first time in years I had an online friend I enjoyed talking with and we had similar interests, aka dä and Bela/Farin, and that inspired me a lot to draw even more - but unfortunately that friendship did not work out in the end and we’re no longer friends.

Anyway, most of these drawings are very much Bela/Farin related again because I talked about that a lot with this person and I often asked what they’d want to see and then drew it if the idea was something I could carry out.

This is not the first one I drew but maybe the 4th or so. I’m just putting this here first because it’s the most “innocent” aka not too much shippy stuff rubbed into the faces of my followers who don’t care about that. There’s 5 different drawings + 1 comic behind the read more link. All of these, apart from the comic, where drawn into my old sketchbook.

About the drawing above - I didn’t use pencil for these first ones at all yet, I just drew them with the fineliners as I was still a bit rusty as the last time I REALLY drew anything was in 2013 aka over 5 years ago from 2018, so I had to actually look at my old comics and drawings to even figure out how to draw these characters anymore. And I think the last actual time I drew in this style was in 2011 even. And that is very visible from the first 2018′s drawing I did! ↓↓↓

This is the one - and wait, I have an explanation!

So with this person I mentioned, we just constantly had this playful debate over whether Bela is “bottom” or not - and honestly I couldn’t care less about that because I no longer read any fanfics. I do write fanfics - or a fanfic - but only for myself and as an asexual I have never been interested in writing about certain themes so I never need to think about the whole top/bottom stuff anyway. I used to read smut before until I one day just realized it’s SO BORING and uninteresting to read, started skipping all smut scenes and wanted to read fluff but all the fluff was so quickly and badly written because everyone wanted to write smut only, that I was left with absolutely nothing to read. So it was the old story again: I started writing/drawing the stuff I wanted to read and see.

However, back to the top/bottom topic, I always base my opinions with everything over how things are in real life and with these guys, if you look at how they are in interviews and on stage, the dynamics are not just plain black&white. I’ve never seen there anything that would indicate that just one is “top” or “bottom” whatsoever which is why I kept saying imo they’re more like just switching if you listen to their jokes. Remember: I don’t read any fanfiction and don’t give a fuck about smut (lol at the pun) and honestly, even tho I understand those jokes they do and say on stage, I wish not to have any visuals about any of that “activity” in my head.

So, to support my “they switch!” opinion, I drew this, just for fun. And it is the official first drawing I did in 2018. I just needed to fire back bigger than I could do with simple text messages :D

***

Moving on. The person in question was very fascinated by the idea that Farin would be a vampire and not Bela (to support their top/bottom views...) which is why I drew this:

Also a very quick one, without sketching anything before drawing with fineliners. This and the first image of this post both are very small in real life actually, the signature is about the same size in every drawing so you can see from that that they are actually pretty small.

Talking of the signature: The funniest thing to me about this IS the signature. Because I was so rusty I didn’t even know how to write it anymore :DDD You can compare it to the signature in the other drawings because in them it’s better. Why it’s so funny to me is because it should say “Aada” but it looks more like “Hella” which means “stove” in Finnish.

***

Next one was something I saw in my head and wanted to draw - I think this one was also done without sketching it at first:

Kinda simple, right? :D I just wanted to draw something with heavy shadows and they’re meant to be watching TV at night. I guess it came out pretty okay.

***

The next two I drew based on one of my old fanfics I wrote years and years ago. I’m a bit annoyed that I decied to draw these into my SKETCHBOOK when I could have used just paper I use for drawing but I guess I didn’t know yet where I was going to end up with these and drew them into the sketchbook because of that. I thought I didn’t sketch these at first but I have found photos of these with sketched with pencil so that means I started sketching my drawings at this point.

So, back to the fanfic, it’s one of the longer ones I wrote (but still not that long even) and set to happen in the late 80s. There was some drama in the story because of Bela’s drug use and Farin was very harsh and Bela left altogether. For some time they had no idea where each of them were but then one very rainy night they both were on a walk at the same time and happened to stumble upon each other for the first time in weeks or so. I can still see those scenes so vividly in my head and here’s my artistic view over those scenes:

Yes. I love drawing stuff like BRICKS.

I have used my Promarkers with the second image, the paper was not the best for them which is why the black looks awful.

What comes to the image... it really annoys me to look at that because how the FUCK that is something I have drawn? And it’s legit based on something I have written. ME??? Like wtf. My aroace ass just can’t handle me writing/drawing fluff like this. I have days when I need to see fluff more than anything and then have to produce the content because can’t find it from anywhere else and my brain is simultaneously like “flufffff 8))))” and “boohoo whyyyyy how staaaaaph D:” because I am so afraid of being connected to what I draw. Like. If I draw or write fluff, it doesn’t mean I would be a romantic person nor allosexual nor alloromantic, right? Because I can also draw a comic or write a story about a murderer and it doesn’t make me a psychopath either. It’s the exact same thing.

And in fact: I had a comic book character who was called Micro the Insane Murderer because that’s what he was. Also I once wrote a story about a serial killer but she was also insane. But for whatever reason it’s much harder to show people fluff I have written or drawn than my fictional serial killer stuff... I guess people just easier assume that you’re an allo, thanks to anormativity, but usually don’t think you’re a psychopath just because your OC is :D

***

The last one is the comic that has a Halloween theme as it was around Halloween and the person I talked with still wanted to see/read something where Farin is the vampire instead. So here’s something that was my first B/F comic in 7 years. I didn’t remember how to do pretty much anything anymore and the coloring is a bit off, and I was really still just trying to figure out how to do all this again :D

At that point I think my head was still filled with fanfiction stuff so the comic also is full of (hurt/comfort) drama - and a long-ass “backstory”. You can see that from this on I have moved to more humorous stories. Sometimes I draw occassional fluffy comics when I’m really on that weird mood (usually 1-2 days/month thanks to the uterus and hormones), but my main focus is on the humour and I wish to make people laugh.

But that’s about it. I think I have now posted everything here, the newer ones I have posted here after drawing them since 2019 but this post is the “missing link” between those old old comics and the newer stuff :D Then I of course have all the other traditional art like potraits and such I did in 2009-2012 which I have never shown here. Maybe I should post those too?

#mcrmadness draws #my dä comics #my fub comics #my dä drawings #dä fanart #die ärzte #belafarin #my OLD dä fanart

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liang-rexy · 5 years ago

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Sam. (I wanted to explore a bit of the base colours. ) (I only post one of the above to Instagram😂)

I wasn't satisfied with her gesture, so I drew some more Sam (although not full body).

Sam does have long sharp canines here. And I wanted her to have some more unique clothes, but I'm not really good at designing clothes. Honestly, I don't know much about goth, but I tried. 😂😂😂 (Her hair was so Interesting to explore, and I like to exaggerate stuff, hahaha)

Additionally, I attempted to draw Tucker as well. His face shape was (not really easy to draw).

(I really like the shock expression on the left. His mouth and eyes(technically, his whole head shape…) are exaggerated, and this is actually quite challenging to design. I think the neck could be a bit longer though)

And Daniel.

Also, I made sth to encourage myself.

His words are more like a greeting (or a blessing), and basically means "be happy and healthy this year". The words are too straightforward, and sometimes they are used to greet the other person on some specific occasions (like the Spring Festival. I celebrate the Spring Festival, you know. And the picture was drawn on 27th Jan., when it was during the Spring Festival holiday. I wasn't in the mood for drawing Spring related stuff like I did last year, and drawing ghostly contents was a better choice). In most common/ daily conversations, it's in fact pretty weird if you say sth like this to other people. Others might suppose, sth bad happened to you or sth's wrong, and will be confused. Although, in this case, it's more like self-encouragement or a self-reminder, so it's okay. I don't like to be really straightforward, but I need to remind myself. I'm not really as positive as I act on the Internet. 😂😂😂 (So here, the words also means "I hope I can <still> be happy and healthy this year")

Anyway, I'm at home and I'm glad that me, my family and some friends are alright.

The situation in my country is quite complicated, and of course I am scared (but not panic). There are many tragedies happening, which is really sad. And I also saw fake news and rumours on the Internet (platforms like Instagram and Twitter) (Some posts are really horrible, but I'm not surprised) (讲真，微博都有唔少乱七八糟嘅嘢。而且，表达观点同埋提出猜测，与恶意发嘢，区别唔细…… 对于有啲可怕嘅言论行为，我了解到就会比较失望), and I don't know what to say about that. I think I'll read more of WHO's tweets. There are also some good news.

The pandemic COVID-19 is dangerous, and I hope you guys are well, and that you are in a safe place. (已编辑，2020.04.17.)

I'll have classes next week, but I don't have to go to school (There's one COVID-19 case in my university, and I don't know the current situation of that patient) (We students are told not to go to Wuxi, not to go back to school, unless the university informs us about the exact time to go there). I mean, I have online classes. I'll have oil painting classes and I don't have tools to paint. (I can try to paint digital painting, but I don't think digital art is allowed) (it's not a very good idea to paint oil painting at home…)😂😂😭 Another thing is, I now know that my translation class is in reality, interpretation (I didn't expect this). 😭I read my text book, and I realise it's difficult to interpretate. Speaking of translation, I haven't really finished translating the comic Doppleganger… It's a nice story, but very challenging to translate. (I'm too lazy🙄)

(Update: I have been having online classes. I will not go to school in May, because I think this will be too risky. 2020. 04. 17. Fri. )

——————Rexy's 40th original post. (发布日期：2020. 02. 22. ) (于4月17号，已编辑部分段落)

#danny phantom #au #wings of the ravens #渡鸦之翼 #character #sam manson #tucker foley #danny fenton

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kalypsichor · 5 years ago

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five’s a crowd [ beatles x reader ] chapter nine

summary: George fancies himself to be Sherlock and drags you along with him, determined to figure out why Ringo’s been acting so weird lately. What you find changes everything.

warnings: 2.7k of an emotional rollercoaster

i’m sorry. notes at end of chapter

You float through the next few days on a bit of a cloud. George doesn’t see Maureen again, which you know you should be bummed about since he’s your friend and all, but… okay, you admit it. You don’t like them together. It’s nothing against Maureen, of course, and everything due to you being a shitty friend.

Wait… that’s it. You’re sitting on the steps leading up to your building and, jumping up, you almost hit your head on the railing. That weird, acidic feeling that sat in the pit of your stomach and reared into your throat whenever Maureen had laughed or George had put an arm around her… that was because you didn’t want to lose George’s friendship. It all makes sense now. And sure, although you admit that it’s not healthy to be so possessive of a friend, it’s better than the idea that you could possibly be… possibly be in…

“Love? What’re you doing out here?”

You know who it is before you turn around. Still, your heart catches in your throat, and you can’t help feeling like you were just caught doing something you shouldn’t be.

“Just enjoying the nice weather,” you say, smiling at George as he joins you on the steps. Are you smiling too wide? Is it too forced? Fuck, you’ve forgotten how to smile, what’s happening to you??? “How ‘bout you?”

George bumps his shoulder lightly into yours. “Was wonderin’ where my friend went. Have you seen her? She’s about yea high, can’t play Clue for shite-”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that I’m very good at Clue. Better than you, at least.”

“Hm, but who was it that won Monopoly at Game Night?”

“You were cheating!”

You grin at each other and it’s so… natural. Yes, this is natural, this is just good ol’ banter between good ol’ friends. And being so jealous of Maureen had been stupid; how could you have possibly doubted the bond between you and George? The bond which has kept you together through thick and thin, through all your ups and downs…

Ever since that first night you met him.

***

Uni was nothing like the movies.

For one, there were no cliques or anything like that. People were generally nice and welcoming.

Which made the fact that you were feeling so out of place at this party even more pathetic.

Your roommate, a bubbly theatre performance major named Jane, had convinced you to come—well, her exact words were that you needed to “stop sitting on your arse and get out of the dorm a little”—and you weren’t having a bad time. You just weren’t having much of a good one, either. The music was loud yet also unintelligible and the flat, which belonged to some third years, was stuffy and packed with way more people than should be legally possible.

So, there you were, nursing a cup of Sgt. Pepper and trying to find somewhere that didn’t smell like B.O.

People kept on bumping into you, making your drink slosh around dangerously close to the top, and you kept on apologising for some fucking reason. Eventually, a set of double doors caught your eyes. It led to a porch of some sort, and just the thought of fresh air was already making your breathing easier. With quick, careful steps, you made your way through the throng of people and into the warm summer air.

It’s so dark out that you don’t notice there’s someone else on the porch until he turns, melting right out of the shadows and startling you a little.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you…”

The stranger just blinked at you, looking as though he was about to scowl but suddenly forgot how.

“Er, I’ll just find somewhere else to, uh, sulk.”

You made to leave but froze at the feeling of a grip on your wrist. Your gaze followed the long, almost elegant fingers to a tense shoulder. A bobbing Adam’s apple. Dark eyes which widened comically when he suddenly snatched his hand back as though burned.

“Stay. Sorry. I thought you were someone else.” When he noticed your shocked expression, he quickly backpedaled. “I mean, you don’t /have/ to stay. You can. I’m not tryin’ to tell you, uh… I’m…” The boy sighed and slumped forward, his next words more to himself than you. “Jesus Christ.”

Normally you’d sprint the other way if you accidentally found yourself alone with a complete stranger, but something drew you to join him, drew you to stand shoulder to shoulder and drape your arms over the railing. Something, something… you weren’t sure what. You would figure it out eventually, probably.

“Well, it’s an honor to meet you, Jesus. I’m a big fan of your work.”

His head turned slightly, dark mop of hair shifting and parting in the breeze. When your eyes met, you both started laughing, the sound carrying over the din of the party behind you.

And when he told you his name, and you told him yours, they fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

***

George brings you out of your reverie, calling your name softly. You shake your head and try to swipe away the cobwebs of that fond memory.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about something.”

He grins and shoves a hand in his pocket, bringing out his phone. “I’ve been doing a little thinking of my own, too. Have you noticed how Ringo’s been sorta sus recently?”

Huh. You think back to Ringo's odd behavior last Sunday, and how he’d come back from supposedly walking dogs with a grin that lasted til dinner. Dogs are cute, obviously, and you’d die for one in an instant, but you’ve never seen them have that kind of an effect on Ringo.

“Yeah, I guess. Do you know why?”

“No, but!” George accentuated the ‘but’ with an adorably excited wag of his finger. “I know how we can figure it out… using the wonders of technology!” George’s phone is shoved in your direction and you blink at the familiar yellow app glowing right back at you.

“... Snapchat?”

“Ringo left half an hour ago to do some more ‘dog walking’,” cue air quotes, “and I was thinking we could try and figure out what he’s really up to.”

It takes your brain a few seconds to process this. “Wait, but—shouldn’t his location be turned off?”

“Yeah, it should be. I tell him to do it all the time, 'cept he doesn’t know how. Anyway, it’ll come in handy now.”

“Wait wait wait.” You bring up a hand and slowly move the phone out of the way so you can meet George’s eyes. “You’re talking about stalking your friend.”

“Our friend,” George corrects. “And it’s not really stalking if he’s so easy to find.”

“Say that a little louder, Geo, I don’t think the police heard you.”

“Listen, there’s no harm in it. If Ringo’s really telling the truth, we’ll get to see some cute dogs. And if not, we can catch him red-handed doing… something sketchy!”

You want to say no, partly because this is a crazy plan and partly because you weren’t too keen on spending your afternoon on a wild goose chase. But with your exams over, you really haven’t got anything else to do.

Also, you just can’t bring yourself to let down that adorable anticipation on George’s face.

“Fine. But!” This time it’s your turn to jab a finger in his direction. “If it’s the mafia or something, I’m using your skinny arse as a human shield.”

George frowns. It’s more of a pout, really, and you privately think that it puts Paul’s to shame. “First of all, it’s not skinny. Second,” he grabs your hand and starts pulling you along the sidewalk, “we’re losing daylight! The game is afoot, dear Watson!”

You can’t help but laugh, even as you’re being unceremoniously dragged along. “Why do you get to be Sherlock?”

George lets go of your hand (you are not disappointed, you’re not) and turns up the collar of his jacket, sending you a sly grin. “It’s the cheekbones. Benadryl Cucumber could cut glass with those things, y’know.”

As you look at George’s side profile, platonically admiring his sharp jawline and defined nose, you can’t help but agree. Personally, though, you think that his cheekbones put Beelzebub Cabbagepatch’s to shame.

***

The problem is that Ringo keeps on moving. Sure, you have Google Maps, but you can’t exactly put in a destination because Ringo doesn’t even seem to have one. George isn’t any less directionally challenged than you, so for the past half hour you’ve both been just walking in the vague cardinal direction of Ringo’s last location.

“Consider this,” you say, huffing a little from the endless walking. Okay, so maybe you should get out of the apartment and, god forbid, exercise more. “What if he’s actually walking a dog? He’s moving around enough to be doing it.”

George comes to a sudden stop and you smack right into him, nose squashing momentarily against the back of his jacket before. Before you can withdraw from the warmth of George’s body, though, you catch a whiff of something—clean laundry, fresh linen, George—and you’re overwhelmed by a sudden, ridiculous urge to press into him again.

“There’s got to be something going on,” he insists. “Ringo can barely wash his hands with that cast on, much less walk dogs. Don’t you think?”

You nod, but really only because you’ve suddenly forgotten how to speak.

“Wait, look! He’s walking around in circles now… think he’s at some sort of park. Come on, before we lose him!”

And then George is taking your hand again, sprinting across the street with no warning. You can’t bring yourself to mind. His palm is so warm against yours, fingers intertwining perfectly as though they were made for each other. He lets go when you reach the sidewalk, of course, which is absolutely normal. Friendly. Your fingers don’t suddenly feel cold, not at all.

God, you wanna hold his hand.

You get to the park pretty quickly, which the stitch in your side is grateful for. It’s your run of the mill ordeal: benches, trees here and there, a nice duck pond in the middle of it all. Before you get the chance to look for Ringo’s mop of hair, though, George pulls you into a clump of bushes. Your knees hit the dirt and send a jolt of pain up your leg, making you hiss.

“What the hell, George?”

“Sorry, sorry!” He gives you an apologetic look and his hand finds one of your knees, rubbing little circles where there’s a smear of dirt. Suddenly, you don’t care at all about falling down. “Just wanted to make sure we wouldn’t be seen.”

You huff and glance around. Thankfully, there aren’t any passersby to give you weird looks. “This Sherlock thing is really going to your head. Don’t you think we’re making a big deal out of all this?”

George goes to make a retort—looks a little sheepish, though, so you’ll give him that—but then he freezes. He doesn’t even have to say anything for you to know that he’s spotted Ringo… and that something’s wrong.

Ringo’s walking around the bend of the path that circles the pond, laughing about something. He looks so happy, his laugh so lighthearted, that your own lips twitch upwards at the sight. But then you see what’s making him laugh and the grin disappears.

It’s Maureen.

Ringo’s got his arm around her and they’re looking at each other like nothing else exists. You’ve seen that look many, many times, having to suffer through it whenever John and Paul get very, well, JohnandPaul. It’s not friendly, like you and George, it’s… it’s like love.

You want to pull George away, cover his eyes, anything that could possibly undo this, this… whatever this is. But the damage has already been done. You can see it in how his jaw clenches, how his eyes flash vulnerable before settling on guarded, and how his posture is stiff when he stands up and walks right through the bushes you’re crouched behind.

“George, wait-”

It’s too late. Ringo’s head turns to the sudden commotion and his smile slips away so quickly it’s like it’s been slapped off. He stops in his tracks. Maureen is a second behind, takes another step forward before jolting back when her partner doesn’t move. And when her gaze lands on George, who’s barreling towards them, the emotions on her face are so visible that you almost cringe. Shock, fear, and then, overwhelmingly, guilt.

You don’t have to see Ringo to know he looks the same.

Your feet are carrying you towards them before your brain can catch up, but something stops you a few feet away from the scene. It almost feels like you’re eavesdropping because this has nothing to do with you. Except, you realize, everything concerning George concerns you, too. Because you care about him.

So much.

“Ringo! We were just walking through the neighborhood!” George gestures in your direction and Maureen’s eyes snap to you. You flinch, partly at the motion and partly at the false cheeriness George has inflected into his voice. “You know, she said to me, she said ‘well isn’t that Ringo?’ And I thought, no, it couldn’t be. My best friend wouldn’t go behind my back and take out the girl I was seeing.” His voice cracks halfway through ‘best.’ You know that George notices, because his cheeks have turned a furious, embarrassed pink. “But I guess it really is you.”

Ringo’s eyes stay on George the whole time. They’re really so, so blue and light enough that a part of you fancies you could see George’s reflection in them. They don’t look away, not when George points at you, not even when he’s done speaking. You know, then, that Ringo really cares about George. Loves him, even. And George must know that, right?

“George.” Quiet, restrained. “How did you find us?”

It’s like George doesn’t hear a word. “Did you already have your eyes on her at the bar? The morning after, you were already texting her, right? God, you took her out. The morning after.” His voice breaks again at the last sentence, catching on something sharp and stumbling out of his throat.

There’s nothing to say. Everyone knows the answer, really. It’s obvious—yes, yes, and yes. The silence that stretches between George’s shuddering intake of breath to Ringo’s next words is heavy.

“Did you follow me?”

The atmosphere becomes paper-thin, now. Changes so quickly you feel the breath rush out of you. And George tears right through it.

“Does it fucking matter?” You’ve never heard George sound like this and you know you’ve got to stop it, got to slam on the brakes before it all breaks. But how?

“George-”

“Stop. Just stop, Ritchie.”

That’s when something cracks in Ringo’s eyes. Only his closest friends call him that, Ritchie, and hearing George say it like that, practically spitting it out… even Maureen feels the venom in his tone. She takes a half step forward and Ringo stops her, hand grasping her arm and tugging her back. George sees it and his face falls.

“I’m sorry, George, he was just—being nice to me, that’s all.”

“Nice? Is that what you call it?” George laughs bitterly. “God, I couldn’t even keep you for a day, huh? This is pathetic. I’m-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, takes a deep breath instead. Runs a shaky hand through his hair. George is angry, trembling with it, but for some reason you almost feel like it’s more towards himself.

“I guess you really were dog-walking, Ritchie. Just didn’t think she’d be a bitch.”

Whatever holds the four of you in place shatters. George stumbles backwards and the regret is already painted all over his face, the shock evident in his wide eyes. Maureen gasps, tearing her arm away from Ringo’s hold to clasp a hand over her mouth. And Ringo—Ringo doesn’t stop her this time. They both know he doesn’t mean it, even you do, but the word still hangs in the air between them. Ringo has always been the slowest to anger, the hardest to rile up, but this time is different. You see a fire rise to his eyes, a line harden around his mouth, a subtle change in his stance.

Still, nothing prepares you for when he rears back and strikes George right across the face.

- - -

notes: 1) i know nothing about college (or i guess “uni”) in england, so some of this is probably so wrong. Like i guess you guys only have three years?? And apparently NO GPA??? So, that was def a mistake on my part in ch six. Also, I guess midterms aren’t a thing. That brings me to 2) this story is taking place during the first semester of their third and final year at uni. Which means they are in… the middle of October! IDK i’m making this tf up rn. Mostly bc I really wanna write a halloween chapter (dee here! We’re making an executive decision to set this before halloween because we NEED christmas feels)

taglist: (wanna be added? dm me or @spaceyantique!)

@1-2beeble @beatlevmania @theclassicsl @withthebeables @thasbooooooi @geostarr @report-abuse

#george harrison x reader #beatles fanfic #the beatles x reader #ringo starr x reader #john lennon x reader #paul mccartney x reader #five's a crowd #kalwrites #i will timezone rb this later #but i just wanted to post now #need it get it outta my system

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lord-explosion-baku · 5 years ago

Text

Like Ghosts In Snow

Midoriya x Reader (Vampire AU)

Warnings: Blood mention, death mention, suggestive themes, light yandere??? (idk bro he was pretty much a yandere throughout the fic)

A/N: This is the last chapter I’ll be adding to one of my first fics and I wanted to share it mostly because I am actually proud of it, but also because after I posted this chapter, I went back and reread the first few chapters and... woof. All I can say is that I’ve come a very long way. It’s kind of a good reminder that all writers start out from somewhere. I know I’ve said this on my blog dozens of times, but I cannot stress this enough: in order to get better at writing, you need to W R I T E. I want to guess that I’ve written at least 500 pages of story in the last year and a half, and though I pride myself on my ideas and certain one-liners, not everything is very pretty. I can admit it. It be like that. I’ve grown since I first picked up the pen (or if we’re being literal, the phone) and it’s okay! I’m happy with where I’m at and I’ve even more excited to see how I’ll improve within the next year, too! Anyways, read this if you want! There are major plot spoilers in this last chapter, obviously, but if you wanna learn what happens the chronological way, you must brave my writing circa 2018 :’). I wanted to say thank you all for joining me on this wacky, messy, bloody journey and I hope you enjoy.

“We’ve got The Cramps, Joy Division, The Doors…” Izuku hummed shifting through another stack of cassette tapes. “Oh! How about Bowie?”

The sounds of clattering pins rang in Izuku’s ears. While he was looking through music to listen to on the upcoming journey, you were looking for accessories— different pins and patches to place on yours and Izuku’s jackets and bags.

“Bowie?” You asked with obvious interest. “What album?”

“Low.”

“Ah… Grim and ethereal… sounds that make the listener think about their own mortality, and the inevitability of non-existence…”

You took a pensive pause, considering the album. Izuku loved that you thought about music so thoroughly. All Might’s comic book store has become home to you just as it had been with him. He loved the comfort he felt with you around. He felt home with you here.

“Perfect for driving through the desert,” Izuku mused, fingering the tape.

“Exactly,” you said, and Izuku could hear the grin in your voice. The two of you were exactly in sync— perfect for each other.

Music played on a record player the two of you decided to leave at the store as Izuku neatly placed the cassette with the rest he’d collected. He looked to you. You were slowly swaying your hips to the rhythmic beat that bounced around the second floor to the comic book store. Izuku’s eyes grew heavy as he silently watched you, appreciating the way your body moved even when you didn’t think you were being watched. He dropped the bag to the floor.

Izuku looped his arms around your waist, closing his grasp on your stomach. He leaned into you, inhaling your aroma; it was sweet like wildflowers and jasmine. Izuku closed his eyes and hummed, “dance with me…”

You let out a light chuckle, a sound Izuku adored, a sound he could never get enough of. “How many times are you going to ask me to dance with you until we finally get this show on the road?”

“Not enough.” Izuku kissed the back of your neck and you shuddered. He did so again, pressing a hand against your stomach, and you finally turned to face him, your cheeks lightly dusted in familiar warmth. He grinned and took your hand into his, bringing it up to his lips so he could peck your strong knuckles, looking up at you through thick, dark lashes. “Dance with me.”

You brought your arms around his shoulders and grinned. Izuku grew warm when you closed the space between the two of you, your soft body against him making him pulsate in all the right places. “How could I say no when you show me a face like that?”

Triumph coursed through Izuku’s now active veins as the two of you danced in circles inside the closed space. Your beautiful laughter battled the music as he twirled you around, relishing the moment you came back into his arms and buried your head into his shoulders. He had you. He had you, because you chose him. You came back from a plane unknown to live the rest of your undefinable days dancing and hunting with him. Not Todoroki and certainly not Kacchan. Him.

“What song is this?” You asked into his shoulder.

Izuku pursed his lips. He’d certainly heard the song before, but he couldn’t recall its name, nor what band was playing. For once in his life, he was at a loss for information, because nothing in this world existed outside of you. Hell, all the best songs in the world could be renamed after you if he had any say in it.

Izuku muttered something indecipherable, knowing too well that you didn’t actually want to know the name of the song, you merely wanted to add conversation to battle against the inevitable.

His hands slid down your back and he could feel your heartbeat pickup against his chest. At one point of his second life, the sound of your heart working to push blood through your veins would have sent him to the absolute edge, throat scorching and body aching with lust and need and thirst. Now that thirst was replaced by something less like famine and more like a greedy craving, the lust he kept for you and only you as prominent as ever. You gazed up at him and bit your lip. Your hand ghosted across his cheek, drifting to the back of his neck. Your touch was a whisper in a language he knew very well.

You loved him. You wanted him.

You stood up in your tiptoes to brush your lips across his. It was a simple peck— one that intended to be sweet, but one that didn’t fail to make Izuku even more desirous, wanting more. Whenever he had a taste of you, he’d always need more. You knew that. And so Izuku moved.

He pushed you back against the lapel pin counter, kissing you urgently as he wedged his knee between your thighs. You sighed into him, allowing Izuku to roll his tongue over yours, tasting you, basking in all that you were willing to give. A cool hand made its way under your shirt. You moaned as Izuku peppered kisses towards your neck, laving his tongue across one of the few scars that stayed present even after both of your changes. The scar was cool underneath his tongue. Your fingers knitted into the back of his curly locks when he bit down on a place that remained untouched, and you moaned again, lips tightly pressed together in hopes to not give yourself away to the man downstairs. Still, your legs wrapped around Izuku and Izuku sucked harshly in an attempt to break your resolve, because to him, there was no man downstairs; there was only you, and he wanted to hear what he could do to you.

“What if he catches us?” You whispered in a low, breathy way, your voice breaking at the word ‘catch.’ It was adorable when you tried to keep yourself a secret. It was hot when Izuku revealed that secret.

“He won’t.” Izuku quickly retorted, again latching his lips to yours while he fumbled with the buttons of your blouse, although, he couldn’t know for sure. He just didn’t care. He kissed your collarbone, your right breast, then your left, pausing only to peek up at your flustered expression and while he listened to the rapid pace your heart took. Your pupils were blown, probably mirroring his. He loved that— your mutual hunger for one another. Izuku knew he had won when you lightly pushed his head farther down, and Izuku happily obliged to take your unspoken demand.

“KIDS!” A familiar bellow shook the room even though it seemed light years away.

Izuku rubbed his cheek on your soft thigh, licking his lips as he took in you. His fingers pet you through thin cotton materials and he could nearly keel over a die when he felt the saturated evidence of your desire. He wanted so badly for you to say, ‘ignore him and play with me. I need you, Izuku. I need you now.’

“Izuku—“ you objected as his thumb teased circles around your peak. Defiantly, his tongue ran up your thigh and he pressed deeper against you, hoping that with his touch, you’d be just as lost in him as he was you.

“ARE YOU DONE?!”

“Yeah!” You called back, and Izuku’s head fell onto your leg. Betrayal, defeat, anguish. Izuku huffed.

“Awww, c’mooon,” you cooed, lifting Izuku by his chin to meet your face, “don’t be pouty! We’ll have plenty of time to continue this on the road!”

“Like in the back of the Jeep?”

You pressed your lips together. Izuku could only assume what you were thinking. You didn’t want to sleep with him in that red Jeep either because it would be disrespectful to your late, adoptive-father, or the thought that your father may have done the do in that exact spot back in his prime was a serious turnoff.

“Erm. Maybe like a motel or a tent or something.”

Izuku huffed again. You grinned, your eyes crinkling at the sides and he could only assume what you were seeing. Instead of a seductive vampire with heavily lidded eyes that drew lust out of his victim with a simple flick of his tongue, you were seeing a grumpy puppy, cheeks puffing out and skin blooming pink because he wasn’t getting what he wanted. Oh, how his face betrayed him. Oh, how he missed being one hundred percent creature of the night. There was nothing cute or sweet or childish about a man who’d stalk you in a dark alley in order to satiate his need. There was only fear, lust, and sex.

That didn’t mean that creature was completely lost to him, though you didn’t yet have to know just how much vampirism still resided in Izuku. He would show you, of course, but that was something he’d have to do little by little to keep you from fretting. It was something he could do now.

Izuku squeezed your thighs and looked you straight in the eyes. “Say that you love me.”

“I do, Izuku-“ one of your hands went to cup his face “-I love you.”

Izuku mimicked your motion, his sweet voice lowering into a darker octave. “Say that you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you whispered back, and Izuku was keenly aware of how your heart fluttered in your chest. “Forever and always.”

Izuku leaned into you, but kept himself bare centimeters from your lips. He watched you part for him, expecting a kiss, but instead he stayed there and watched you struggle to get what you wanted. He pushed his pelvis against you, and you let out a slight gasp when you felt just how much he wanted to ravage you, then and there.

“‘Zuku,” your voice was almost a whimper, a tease for what he’d be expecting later on in the night or very early in the morning. Your nails dug into his shoulder as he dragged his tongue across your lush, bottom lip. He eyed you and waited for you to start your own list filled frenzy. When you did, Izuku stepped away from the table, right when you were about to shove your back lips onto his.

“Okay!” He chirped merrily, knowing too well how his face could change into that of devilish innocence in a blink of an eye. “Let’s get this show on the road!”

You scoffed. “That’s not nice!”

Izuku smirked and headed towards the stairs. It only took a couple seconds to get you bounding after him, latching onto his hands and muttering profanities under your breath. Izuku could laugh. Even when he loses, he wins.

All Might was sending the two of you on your first hunting trip together. It was exciting for several reasons: you and Izuku were going to be alone together, the two of you were the vampire slayer’s apprentices (although, Izuku still held the claim of being a slayer prodigy) so you had everything a hunter’s heart could desire, and, again, you were going to be alone together.

All Might slammed a duffel bag onto the store’s counter, the motion letting out clinking, metallic sounds. It wasn’t cassette tapes and enamel pins in the bag that All Might prepares for you. Izuku wondered if you were nervous. He’d gone on trips before, but this was your first time. Of course, you had nothing to worry about. Izuku was never, not ever, going to let anything hurt you. He’d already made the mistake of letting that happen once when he had his back turned to you on Hizashi’s cliff, and he would not be letting that happen again.

All Might bid the two of you farewell with some tips and tricks that Izuku had already known. You looked so cute absorbing all the information you could though and Izuku was jealous. He’d make sure that he became more of a teacher to you while you were on the road.

You insisted on carrying the duffel bag to the Jeep, explaining that you weren’t fragile and that you could hold your own. Izuku insisted that he would drive, explaining that he could see better at night, although he left out the part that he really wanted to carry your sleeping body into your shared motel room.

You clambered into the passenger seat, nearly bouncing up and down from excitement. You’d expressed plenty of times how badly you missed being on the road, and it was clear to Izuku as you sifted through all your borrowed cassette tapes how good this was going to be for you. Your good mood was infectious.

“What should we listen to first?” You asked, pulling out your top three choices.

“Whatever you want!” And Izuku meant it. There was still so much to learn about you and though you both had plenty of time on your hands, Izuku was impatient. He wanted to know everything. You seemed to choose something at random, but when you popped open the cassette player, you saw that there was something in there already.

“Oh,” you said, looking wistful. Whatever it had been, it was Aizawa’s. Izuku struggled to read your mood.

“What is it?” He asked.

“Mix tape.”

Boldly, he suggested, “we could… listen to this first…”

“Yeah…” you paused before pushing the tape back in. There was a click. Izuku started the engine and watched you. A soft smile found your face when an old sixties rock band started playing. Izuku pet your hair back and you leaned over to smooch his lips. “I can’t wait!”

“Me neither.” Izuku grinned and backed out of the parking spot. The two of you waved to the proud looking All Might and sped down the Santa Carla streets.

While Izuku drove, you sang softly to each song while you sewed patched and stuck lapel pins into yours and Izuku’s clothes. He was impressed that you knew the lyrics to nearly everything on the track and he even joined in singing during his favorite choruses. Driving with you was heaven on earth.

When Izuku got to the desert, he became a little wary— cautious of both things that lurked in the night, and secrets that he wasn’t yet ready to tell you. He was thankful that you had your own activities to keep you preoccupied, because the secret he was keeping happened to surface, but it was one that could only be seen had you been looking out for it.

Dabi and Toga, two members of his misfit, makeshift coven, had been waiting by the side of the road to see Izuku off. He knew that they, too, were like him. He was never officially apart of Selene’s coven, so when her soul was finally sent on to the next plane, Izuku didn’t quite change back exactly like the rest of the kids whose faces painted the walls of Santa Carla.

Izuku gave them a curt nod as he drove past them and when he did so, he saw that there was a new addition to their miniature coven: Ochako Uraraka. Izuku didn’t care much when he discovered her untimely demise, but knowing that she finally got half of what she wanted brought a smile to his face. He could feel happy for one of his ex-best friends, especially since he, himself, got all of what he wanted.

Izuku kept his left hand on the steering wheel, while bringing his right to your thigh. You hummed in appreciation right as ‘People Are Strange’ by The Doors came on. You gasped, and for a split second, Izuku thought it was because you loved the song. He recalled that the very first conversation he had with you was about Jim Morrison and how Izuku hinted that he was a vampire, but then you cursed under your breath.

Izuku’s brows knitted together. “What is it?”

“I pricked my finger,” you said, and turned to shuffle through things in the back. “Is the first aid kit up up here or in the trunk?”

“Are you bleeding?”

“A little,” you said bashfully.

Izuku snickered. “We’re hunters, you know. We heal in a flash.” Then Izuku smelled you. It was rich, sweet, delicious… just so you and Izuku felt that very familiar and very prominent aching.

“Let me see it.”

Izuku hoped you couldn’t hear the stern depravity in his voice. He’d let you know later on just how desperate he was to have you listen to his demand at this very second, but for now, his very hungry heart would just be thankful that you were so ready to comply. You stuck your finger out to him. Izuku was a great multitasker and he didn’t expect anyone else to be on the road at this time of the night, so he was able to take in the absolute treasure that was your crimson splendor.

He guided your finger in between his lips. His tongue rolled out and lapped at the wound, swirling around your finger. You let out the softest gasps, right before biting your lips. Izuku eyed you as he sampled your magnificence. You seemed to be enjoying yourself, but there was no chance that you liked this as much as him. Still, he adored seeing the flush of your cheeks and that faraway look you were giving him. You wanted him to devour you.

Izuku recalled promising you that he was going to savor you, and savor you he will, but for now, he would let himself indulge in the seraphic flavors of honey… sunshine…

Ambrosia.

#im actually really sad this is over #gis #midoriya x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #bnha x reader #bnha yandere #mha x reader #reader insert #bnha reader insert #yandere male #vampire au #bnha au #bnha imagine #yandere!izuku #yandere!izuku midoriya

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