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1-800-local-slut · 10 months ago

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Home Is Where The Heart Is (Or Where's There's No People)

Klaus Mikaelson x Black! Fem! Shy! Reader

Reader is Klaus's girl friend. In public, she's shy the moment they get behind closed doors there's no stopping her

I don't know if this counts as a collab, but I'm going to count it as such. I couldn't have written this without @sublimecatgalaxy writing this beautiful work. Go check it out, it's so good omg. I hope you guys like this one and thanks again to @sublimecatgalaxy for letting me write this based off your work!

Warnings: Drinking, sophisticated party, nude painting, reader is horny at the end, allusions to smut, reader is really shy in public, this is a bit short, reader is a bit questionable, smutty thoughts, reader is thick, not a warning but I don't specify what the reader is, make no mistake the reader is a black woman, even tho I lowkey bully Marcel in this make no mistake that is my man, reader teases Klaus and calls him a whore lol

(No srsly, go check out this story it was actually wonderful)

Request are also open if anyone wants to send anything!

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"I just wanted a burger." She frowned, staring at the mirror while Klaus helped slide her body into her dress. Deep sadness and exhaustion reflected in her eyeballs, the same sadness that had been ever-present since Klaus reminded her of their party.

A peace offering with Marcel, which she argued was pointless and declared she could miss. Klaus naturally needed to object! How could he show up to such an event and not bring the most gorgeous person in the world with him? That and he needed another person who could agree with (mostly) all his judgments

"Once we make our way through the riff-raff we can stop on the way home." The custom gown was slid onto her body now, and it highlighted all the best parts of her. All the parts Klaus loved.

"I won't want to stop on the way home, I don't want to go outside in the first place. I hate these parties and I don't want to see Miss Tagrot. Oh God, I can't stand that woman, why does Marcel invite her everywhere? Don't tell me he's sleeping with that thing."

He smirked, smugly, once he turned out of her line of sight to button his sleeves properly. She didn't want to be around anyone besides him and selfish as Klaus was he was overjoyed by this.

She stepped off the small platform she was on that was surrounded by mirrors after a quick look over herself. She looked stunning like she was straight out of history. The dress hugged her figure, and her wig was styled into a gorgeous updo with two pieces of hair framing her gorgeous features.

Klaus needed to call their driver. He stole a glance out of their large bedroom windows after leaving their walk-in closet. Ass hitting the sheets, he shut his eyes for a brief moment to inhale. He could still smell the mix of their scents. A mixture of sweetness and the forest. Once he grabbed his phone off the dresser he let his mind wander.

His ears focused on the sound of the cars outside in his city. The people going about their business, the vampires hunting for a meal. How many of those cars were driving to the very place he was soon to be? How many would be at Marcel's little gathering (which is certainly pointless knowing Marcel and Klaus) tonight?

Suddenly her arms wrapped around his broad chest, and she overtook him. The bed sunk as she crawled onto it, and he felt her soft, long gloves snake around him. Her scent, her feel, everything. She was whispering in his ear, pressing soft kisses to his neck.

How was a man to resist in the face of such beautiful temptation? Don't ask Klaus, he could hardly manage right now.

"Klaus, let's stay home. I'll let you paint me naked again." She whined in his ear, bringing her nails up to his head. Scratching the back of his ears, she wanted to stay home.

"You don't have to lie, I know you like it when I look at you naked." Turning his head, his eyes connected with hers. His eyes found their way to her full lips, and he knew what needed to be done. A soft kiss to her lips and the idea of missing all the possible chaos and creating issues was looking more and more enticing. Staying home and stripping that gown off her sounded so, so much better.

He wouldn't be Klaus Mikaelson if he didn't show up fashionably late, and make an entrance. Blue eyes met dark ones with a buzz of excitement. Klaus fixed their bodies onto the mattress, where she was now flat on her back and Klaus towered over her. The spark in her eyes and the smirk across her lips told Klaus that she won. She won and she knew it, the little minx.

When her arms wrapped around his neck, Klaus dipped down to kiss her again. She ghosted her fingers over the nape of his neck drawing a little pattern.

He couldn't help himself and took advantage of the slit in her dress. While he ran his hand up her thigh and gave a healthy squeeze, Klaus's mind and heart were racing. How could have even thought about going to this party when his girlfriend was here, looking like a gorgeous blast from the past? As if she came straight out of the 1920s with improvements made to the dress that suited her style.

Her hands took a small squeeze at his ass, and Klaus chuckled. Then he was lying down right on top of her, grinding his hips into hers. He could taste tongue as they continued their foreplay.

She overwhelmed his senses so well that Klaus didn't hear Elijah walking up the steps until he knocked on the door. At first, he thought he was having an auditory hallucination but then she cut her eyes sharply to the door.

"What?" She snipped. That just made his suit pants even tighter.

"Sorry to interrupt, but there's a driver here for you two." Elijah chuckled. Of course, Elijah probably heard their passionate kisses and shared shuddered breaths.

"Of all the bloody things, I can never just stay home. Tell him we'll be out in a moment." Klaus crawled off her, wiping the smears of lipgloss off his face. He certainly smears her colored lip makeup all over his face.

"What happened to just wanting to stay home?" Klaus chuckled while she tried to fix the back of her hair.

"We can't just be rude, the drivers already come. It would be different if Elijah never told us but now I feel bad. The poor man is just trying to do his job." She muttered and ran her fingers across his chest. Klaus was perched at the edge of their mattress, and she was sitting up against the pillows, pulling him in like a spider catching a fly. That wicked smirk came across her face again and she brought her face closer to his.

Her eyes met his while she admired the smeared makeup on his face.

"You look like a whore. My whore." She snickered in his ear, running a hand over his thighs just short of where he needed her. He smiled, knowing this was going to be a hard night. Pun intended.

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She gripped him like a bad habit that you couldn't shake no matter what you tried the moment they stepped out of the car. She was Klaus's girlfriend, his wild card who couldn't be tamed, a bear who was standing outside its cave. But once they got somewhere with too many people, the bear went into hibernation and slept until it was time to leave. Not from fear, but simply from sheer kindness.

And Klaus loved knowing she was only quiet for the sake of others. For the sake of not wanting to make enemies of the entire city. Sadly, that was one of Klaus's favorite things to do.

The party was a typical Marcel party. It was moderately loud, there were flashing lights, and crowds of the elite mingled. Live performers and tantalizing meals were off to the side, and Klaus glanced up at the ceiling, seeing people mingling on the upper balconies. Other vampires, of course, Marcel didn't just let anyone up there. Klaus himself finally arrived, so the party could start.

They pushed through the crowds of people. Hello's, compliments, and well wishes were exchanged though Klaus met none of them. Like always, everyone took notice of Klaus's stunning companion no matter how badly she wished they didn't.

She didn't want to be standing in the center of the room (ironic considering that she was dating the man himself, Klaus Mikaelson) but there she was.

"There's the man of the century," Marcel called, making his way down the steps. Stopping before the two, she bristled slightly.

"Marcel." She greeted him curtly. All that needed to be said was said to him. He smiled at her, his grin reminding Klaus of a hunter about to shoot his prey.

"Ma belle." He took the gloved hand that wasn't latching onto Klaus and pressed a soft kiss to it. Deep down inside, Klaus was thrilled to know that this disgusted her. How long did it take for her to allow Klaus to hold her?

"Hm." She smiled politely but took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter who she grabbed with such strength that it showed how badly she wanted to leave. The only time anyone would grab someone for a drink with such ferocity was when that person wanted to be anywhere else.

"Marcel, thank you for inviting us to dinner." Klaus joked as the three of them eyed a woman who walked past them. Klaus hadn't eaten before they left like he usually does so he could hear the thrumming of blood all around him. Marcel let out his usual hearty chuckle and she stuck closer to him.

"Speaking of dinner," Drawing the two's attention back to him. Marcel ran his hands down the front of his suit, Klaus couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. It seemed like the drama Klaus lived for was finally starting.

"Can I show you something, Klaus?" Marcel asked in a more hushed tone. It was that time of night when Klaus sadly had to leave her alone for a bit to handle business. If it were up to him, Klaus would have her superglued to his side.

But alas, sometimes even Klaus Mikaelson couldn't have everything go his way.

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Finding her again was like finding a beacon of light in a dark room. Like a blind man seeing for the first time, Klaus's heart instantly became lighter when he found his beacon again.

Marcel was still upstairs, sleeping off the punch Klaus decided he needed and Klaus happily skipped his way down the steps. His eyes cleared the room once he identified everything he needed.

A random person (or two) for dinner and his light at the end of the tunnel. Thankfully they just happened to be bunched together in one perfect little conversation circle for Klaus to wiggle into. With long steps, Klaus felt a thrill building at being close to her again.

She stood politely, sipping on her drink, and pushed a strand of hair behind her ears. He could hear her heartbeat jumping in her chest and heard an uncharacteristic giggle. Klaus could tell she'd been attempting to drink away her discomfort, the discomfort that followed with his absence.

A piece of chocolate (he made a mental at how it was the same color as her but he refrained from telling her this, as she often expressed annoyance at being compared to food) slipped into her mouth that she grabbed from the treats table, the white lights that shone around the room made her look even more like an angel.

A flash of light came over her brown eyes and Klaus felt his breath stop for just a second. She was too perfect and Klaus wanted to just grab her and go instantly.

The closer he got the happier he got to see her. Sure it was a bit odd how it made him want to jump for joy to know she didn't want to be around anyone else but who was about to say anything to him about it?

"Klaus! Oh, it's great to see you, I wasn't expecting you to come but once I saw this one I knew you couldn't be far behind." Miss Targot, the bane of his girlfriend's existence. She pulled Klaus into a friendly hug, the fur of her collar almost getting into his mouth.

Of course, that tight grip returned to Klaus's side the moment he was free. She was holding his arm once more, and Klaus shook his head slightly. Glancing down, he saw that she was on the verge of being tipsy but thankfully coherent enough to give Klaus little to no issue tonight.

But alcohol did make her more frisky than usual, so it was probably best they made their exit soon before they accidentally shamed themselves in front of all of New Orleans. Or before Klaus decided to pull her into a random room.

Either way, he heard the sound of furniture splintering, and to his left caught a view of some of Marcel's friends pointing down at him. Certainly time for an exit. After all, he still owed her that hamburger.

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"Every time I see that bitch she sounds more and more obnoxious. It's all 'Oh Paris was wonderful' and 'I just adored my trip to Dominican Republic' bitch why are you not home with your children?" Klaus barked out a laugh as she perched onto her vanity seat and slid two earrings into her ears.

She rubbed cocoa butter onto her dark skin, while Klaus placed his paint brushes into his mouth and pulled the curtains wide open to let in the sunlight.

It was the next day now, the two had slept well into the afternoon. They were only woken up by someone throwing a brick through their living room window and this turned out to be someone with some grievances with Rebekah. Now they were sitting in their bedroom, while Elijah and Hayley prepared for the cleaners Klaus sent for to come. Hiding bodies and whatnot while Rebekah dashed around the city, a woman on a mission.

It was finally time for that painting she offered Klaus last night.

In her natural form, he could see her confidence, the fire that resided within her. Barren of heavy makeup, only a touch of blush and lipgloss with some clear mascara for her lashes Klaus felt like he almost didn't deserve to be around her right now.

She was so beautiful and perfect that with all Klaus had done, he didn't deserve to have her posing for him let alone dating him.

"They're probably paying for those trips, the miserable trollop she is I doubt they want her home very often." Klaus joked as he went back to his easel and resumed setting up his paints. Red, browns, deep greens (for the fainting couch she would be lying on), and the color of her large fancy robe. Klaus thought it made her look like a really pretty bird. A really pretty bird that would take out one of your eyes without much hesitation.

After all, it would be rude to snatch someone's eye from their socket.

She snorted, as she slid seductively onto the couch.

"I wouldn't." Klaus watched her get comfortable, with her well-practiced pose (the one Klaus always envisioned in his mind) and prepare to be drawn.

"You wouldn't want to be anywhere with her." Adjusting his easel, it was almost time for him to truly focus.

"No, I don't want to be anywhere without you. You literally know I don't like people, you make them tolerable. I know I'll have an eyewitness to the absurdity I see. Now enough about her, draw me like one of your French girls." Her brows wiggled and they both took a pause. Silence and then laughter.

The line from that ridiculous movie that Klaus was really mad that he actually enjoyed (and that admittedly turned him on) made him and her cackle. His sides hurt and the sides of his eyes crinkled. She was trying not to roll off the couch from how hard she was laughing, cackling actually, so loud that it was probably heard down the street along with Klaus's loud bellows.

The sound that came from their bedroom so often, usually induced by her, eventually settled from Klaus's doubled-over form. She somehow rolled onto her stomach and they both calmed down.

Eventually, the silence settled and they fell back into their usual conversation. Things about the baby, when she would be born, how much she liked snacks, Klaus teasing her and her telling him to lick her ass, Klaus of course thrilled to do so.

His pencil ran over the easel, the first sketch being perfectly designed while his mind wandered. She began to sing (horribly off-key though intentional) and Klaus lightly scolded her to hold still.

She was Klaus's girlfriend. His girlfriend who, for the sake of others, held her tongue in public but when it was just the two of them she was a shining star. A force of unstoppable grace and nature. His girlfriend, whom Klaus could just be a regular guy with and just laugh as loud as he pleased at nothing in particular.

Above all though, she was Klaus's. And deep down inside nothing else mattered more to him than that.

#black reader #x reader #x black reader #fem reader #klaus mikealson x reader #klaus mikaelson x black reader #tvdu #the originals #requests open #pls send request #multifandom account #elijah mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson #hayley marshall

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imaginejamesandsirius · 4 months ago

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Could you do one where Sirius is a Gryffindor outcast after getting sorted and gets attacked/bullied by Gryffindors and Slytherins alike and James defends him :D

Sirius is a child, but he's not an idiot. He knows that, in addition to his parents being unhappy about his Sorting, Slytherins are unhappy about his Sorting. Gryffindors too. He's pissed off his parents-- and all the extended family-- a fair few times by age eleven, but it's something else entirely to have people his age upset. The adults in his family would get mad, but he knew exactly how to deal with that anger; the other students are cruel, and he's lost as for how to handle it.

Like he said, he's not an idiot. He knows that there's nothing he can do to make the other students like him. With his family, if he went to another room and waited half an hour, they'd be fine. With his peers, waiting doesn't seem to do anything except-- maybe-- make them think he's weak. He doesn't understand how trying to give someone space to stop being angry counts as weak, but when he gives them space, the next time they see him, it's twice as bad like they're having a contest with themselves.

The bright spot in all of this is James. They became friends on the Hogwarts Express, and when he Sorted into Gryffindor, it cemented their relationship as best friends. James is sticking with him and hasn't faltered, not for an instant.

When Sirius finds a massive nest of snakes in his bed, James helps him clean it up without a second thought-- though he, like Sirius, isn't thrilled about picking up so many snakes. They're both visibly nervous about it and pretending otherwise, and neither one pokes fun; if they both pretend that it doesn't bother them, maybe that makes it true. When ink explodes in his bag, coating everything in it and ruining his homework, James is right there beside him, telling the professors that he completed it and shouldn't be punished. When one shoe of every pair in his wardrobe goes missing, James lends him a pair of his own.

It goes on and on, these things charitably called 'pranks' by Professor McGonagall. Sirius thinks it's more mean-spirited than that, and while they don't talk about it, he knows James thinks the same. It's not happening to everyone. It's not happening to all the first years or all the Gryffindors, and it's not happening to all so-called blood traitors; it's just him. It's just him, and everyone's in on it except his dormmates, so no one even tries to hide it when they're the guilty party.

One day-- after cleaning up a bucket of bugs someone dumped on Sirius's head-- James turns to him with a grin, teeth glinting, and says, "I have an idea."

Two hours later, O'Connell and Smith scream and run out of their dormitory, sending Sirius and James into peals of laughter. They don't get detention for it, even when the two fourth years go to Professor McGonagall with their accusations; "It's a harmless prank," she says dismissively, and Sirius likes her more knowing that it's how she responds to everyone, not just him.

"Mission one was a success," James says, chest puffed out in pride of a job well done.

"Mission one?" Sirius asks. "Is this going to be a habit?"

"Of course. We can't let them get away with it, the arseholes."

Peter and some bloke named Remus are the only dormmates in the room with them, and it's obvious they're listening, though they are pretending not to.

"The first one went off without a hitch. We make a good team," James says, elbowing him companionably. "And there's eighty-one more people we need to get. Well- maybe more like sixty?" he amends. He pulls a sheet of parchment out from his bedside table and squints at it. "Some people are on here more than once."

"You kept track?"

"Of course."

He's endlessly charmed by that, by how James cares so much about him that he's been keeping track of this from the beginning and never once faltered in believing they'd get revenge one day. Sirius peers over his shoulder at the list; it's not just names. "You wrote down the date?"

"And the offense."

Ink. Shoes. Snakes in bed. Bed is underlined three times. Paint-- red. Maggots. Snake-- one, big. Paint-- black. Dead mice. Black bird. Paint-- green. On and on the list goes, some with details, like the colour of the paint or the location it happened. Sirius skims the whole list and can't think of a single one that's missing. "Wow."

"What do you think-- chronological, or by severity?"

"Random," Sirius decides. "I don't want anyone to know if they're next."

They share a grin, an expression that promises not just revenge, but a puzzle that needs solving-- what exactly they should do for each of these, what will make the punishment equal the crime. They don't have time to plan before supper, which is a shame.

Sirius has it in his head the revenge is how they're going to operate, so he's surprised when-- after a passing upperclassman 'accidentally' spills burning hot soup down his back-- James flings a handful of green beans at their face without a moment's hesitation. Then, apparently deciding that wasn't enough, James throws mashed potatoes, which make a comical splat as it covers their eyes. It's enough to have Sirius laughing, forgetting for a few moments the pain prickling along his back.

James gets detention for that-- so does the second year instigator-- but he's unrepentant and winks at Sirius the moment Professor Grubbly-Plank looks away. Warmth blooms in Sirius's chest, bright and resilient and addictive. He wants it to be like this for the rest of his life.

#prongsfoot #fanfic #sirius black #james potter #hogwarts time #filled #pre-slash #pre-marauders friendship if you can believe it #siriuslystarbucks

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tocomplainfriend · 1 year ago

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Funny thing (not really) I’ve noticed is that Viv has always fetishized m/m relationships. There’s obviously Stolitz, but it goes back way further. There’s Addison from Zoophobia being shipped with a guy who works at his high school, but to mention that Viv has drawn NSFW of them despite Addison canonically being a minor. There’s also Autumn and Rusty, the former whom gets bullied by Rusty cause Rusty is secretly in the closet. Ten years later and she’s still weird about m/m relationships.

TW: fetishizing Queerness

I tried to search a little for Addison's age. In the wiki, that I know Viv did not write it says he is 18, other post say 17- there are people saying the age got changed too? I know almost nothing to zoophobia- if anyone knows about this claim, share your knowledge and importantly evidence of the age thing in specific? I do know about those snake drawings. And also was Viv 19? Have no clue-so I'm not gonna super talk about it without knowledge.

About the Rusty thing, I don't think Viv is a good enough writer (of relationships especially, cause Stolitz mainly) to pull that relationship or story. I don't think she can pull the idea of the closeted bully, purely by the fact that she doesn't understand or acknowledge the problems Stolitz has. If she needs to put down characters to make Stolas seems better and try to justify the power imbalance. I don't think she could write this if she wanted to. This closeted gay bully is such an old trope, too. I think the worst you can do (also as a non-amazing writer) is actually tried to make a romance out of it? Cause a lot of these tropes are more like "HAHA THE BULLY IS GAY HAHAHA", rather than "aww the bully was just sad and gay all along". I don't like it. (also this includes when the bully doesn't bully his romantic interest)

youtube

A lot of problems in mlm stuff Vivziepop does is similar to those Yaoi fetishization shit. Where there are also power imbalance. Also, this treatment of the characters like Moxxie? Like he is bi, and with Millie- and his treatment is so shitty. The hole thing of MILLIE PEGS MOXXIE, and that funny cause is less manly of him? Or where the succubus sexually assault them and that is funny??? (that one is not even Blitz being an asshole to him, it's made to act funny). As soon there is something viewed as feminine from him, the show makes fun of him. His feminine appearance in Unhappy campers also leads to make fun of him. Where he is the most vulnerable and insecure is that episode. He is more objectified in a feminine appearance.

Just the entirety of Stolitz is literally a lot of yaoi-sh problems. Also, I do see a lot of red flags in how they wrote Fizz and Asmo'. Because Fizz was insecure af, that he needed the approval of Mammon as an imp. Mammon was using the power that he had over Fizz to use him to get money. He got his approval from Asmo another sin in a higher position of power. (The power imbalance is not the problem vibes). Plus, The Big dominant protector and the sub small uwu cure relationship. Fizz, compared to the first time he appeared, he is so vulnerable and acts so cutesy. Like, the confidence he had during the S1, disappeared so bad. Acting so nice to Glitz and Glam, felt like cutting out all attitude to "uke-fing" him into needing a savior. They make him so powerless

Fizz, a quad amputee, was put in a vulnerable situation related to his trauma and where he lost all his limbs and horns. All to make Blitz "redeem" himself and make them friends again... THAT SUCKS.

Also, there was the fact of how over-sexual all the male mlm characters are, too. Like, Chaz was so much more sexual than Verosika as a succubus.

IT JUST SUCKS.

#vivziepop critique #vivziepop critical #helluva boss critique #helluva boss criticism #helluva boss critical #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critique #zoophobia criticism #zoophobia critical

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twisted-tales-of-all · 7 months ago

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Until We Meet Again

Summary: Although San is left alone to watch the shrine after his friends move onto the next plane, he faces someone who reminds him of his past love. Pairing: Naga!Choi San x afab!reader Genre: Fluff, one-shot, event, rated PG Tropes: reincarnation, fated lovers Word Count: 3.5K Contains: discussion of death and past lives, sense of not belonging due to bullying/othering (essentially racism) A/N: Apologies for the lack of banner and poor editing. I've been in quite a slump recently, but wanted to ensure I finished up this piece for the spring event. Please check out all the other pieces submitted as well!

Although he's grown accustomed to the lack of visitors, San finds himself exceptionally bored as the cold weather melts away into the beginnings of this spring. Decidedly, he exits his usual post within the forgotten shrine for a walk in the nearby gardens. Despite donning his human form, people can clearly tell that he's different. Feeling everybody's judgemental looks, he tries his best to focus on the well-trimmed stylized bushes and the pruned bunches of flowers that dared to bloom this close to winter's edge.

"Mommy, why are his eyes like that?" A child asks far too loud for their mother's liking, who rushes away with them quickly.

With a sigh, San brings a hand to his temple. Immediately greeted by the cool touch of scales, he only grows more frustrated by the clear differences between him and the humans. Despite his intense respect towards the deity who made him their shrine guardian, he cannot help the feelings of resentment in giving him this specific form. So often, guardians get beautiful animal forms - cats, foxes, dogs - but his deity did not follow these typical choices. Instead, San got the powers and form of a snake. Thanks to various stories about evil snake monsters - Quetzalcoatl, Leviathan, nagas, lamias, gorgons, etc. - most humans steered clear of the shrine for fear of a malevolent deity.

Finding his attempt at a calming walk frustrating, San turns on his heel and heads back towards his home, unaware of the pair of curious eyes watching the whole ordeal. Unlike the judgemental glares of most people in the garden, you look on with an almost naive sense of genuine curiosity. You've heard stories of the guardian spirits of shrines, but this is your first time seeing one. Guided by your urge to learn more about the stranger, you secretly follow his path to the shrine. You witness him drop his human disguise to reveal a far more snake-like appearance before phasing through the closed panels of the shrine, disappearing completely from view.

After a few blinks to reassure yourself that you aren't in a strange dream, you head back to the garden as you think about how to meet him again. As you pass by the flowers he admired earlier, you notice the winter jasmines and smile.

"Elegance and graace; symbolizing good fortune." Repeating the text from a book you read on flower symbolism, you decide exactly how to approach the interesting snake man.

Carefully reviewing your notes over the next few days, you coax a flower away from its friends, thanking it for blooming beautifully to help you. You bring it with you as you make your way to the quiet shrine. Despite not knowing anything about the deity honored there, you respectfully perform a basic prayer to them. After, you feel the presence of someone - or, rather, something - there with you. Trying to hide your smile, you present the carnation upon the stone slab resting between you and the shrine.

"I don't know whether you know the meaning of flowers, but I think it must be fate that you were admiring the winter jasmines. I have a feeling you are similar to them: elegant and graceful. Even if nobody else can see you as anything but a monster because you look different, I refuse to judge you like that. If you'd please, I hope you accept this flower as a testament to my fascination of you. I'd like to get to know you more. Maybe a name, to start."

He doesn't greet you, but you pique his curiosity with your flower knowledge. Peeking through the shutters while hidden by invisibility magic, he commits your image to memory. However, he doesn't have to go searching for you like he expected, as you return to the shrine the following day. For the first time in over a decade, San opens the shutters, allowing you to see the representation of his deity.

Very androgynous, the long-haired figure stands there, dressed in an ornately decorated red and black hanbok. Next to them, a small dragon reaches the height of their knees, threatening whoever it may be. You study the visual, trying to locate anything that might identify what kind of god they are.

With the same intensity, San studies you, wondering whether you have ill intent in coming to the shrine. Today, as well, he remains hidden from you, but he quickly chooses a plant for you. Using his powers, he commands a breeze to drop the mint at your feet.

After a chuckle, you pick it up and question the choice, "This could mean so many different things. I wonder which you thought of when choosing it for me. Are you suspicious of me, or maybe openminded and interested in me? Or maybe you just think I'm a stroke of good luck! Have I healed your loneliness? Give me some more information here!"

Before he realizes it, a smile creeps across his face. Your knowledge and playfulness entice him. Moving out of view and lifting his invisibility, he walks out of the shrubbery and clears his throat to get your attention. As you turn, you're greeted by his human form once again.

"Nice to meet you. You don't have to put up that disguise, y'know. Just be comfortable; I'm not scared. Oh, I'm Y/N, by the way."

"How...? You- How are you so nonchalant about it?"

Tilting your head in confusion, you remind him of a small puppy, naive and trusting in a horribly untrusting world. He can't help but laugh, at your naivety and at himself for suspecting you of ill intent.

"You can call me San. That's the name Bo-in gave me when they took me under their wing."

"Nice to officially meet you, San. Is Bo-in the name of your deity? What did their powers entail?"

"Balance, mostly. Water to fire; earth to sky; shadow to light. Ensuring nothing overpowered its counterpart. They brought me and Soo-ah to their temple, teaching us and granting us our own powers after some time. When it was time for Bo-in to move on from this world, they knew that dragons would soon be hunted, so Soo-ah remained by their side while I stayed to watch over the shrine."

As he talks, his disguise slowly fades away, showing his growing comfort around you. He continues by explaining that Bo-in gave both pupils more unique creature forms than typical spirit guides. Although he doesn't mention why, you assume that it was another attempt to balance things out. From choosing one man and one woman, giving them names that balance, and bringing one while leaving the other, everything was truly done in the name of balance.

While you enjoy learning everything, you have to get home, as the sun has almost made its full path through the sky. As you say your goodbyes, you promise to return another day in the near future.

"Y/N," he calls after you've taken a few steps. "Thank you."

"Hm?"

"Just... thank you."

He'll never say it aloud. Never admit that you remind him of her. If he admits it, he'll have to acknowledge his feelings once again, after all this time. He'd have to recognize that he thanked you for returning to him and repairing his trust in humanity. That he can feel Bo-in looking down on him and smiling as everything goes according to plan.

"Y/N isn't Soo-ah." He says it aloud to convince himself and snap at his god for planning it.

When he rises the next morning, a bright red flower rests beside him. Since nobody has access to his magical abode, he immediately deduces it as a message from Bo-in. Wiping the residual sleepiness from his eyes and sitting up straight, San picks up the crimson petals to identify them. Camellia.

"Is this a joke, Bo-in? I only know two meanings behind the red camellia: love and a graceful death. What could you-?"

As it hits him, the words stop flowing. There's no way that's what they mean, right? But what else could this particular flower mean? Is it really a confirmation of Soo-ah's return? Hers is the only graceful death he can think of. Not to mention his love for her over all these centuries still holding strong.

The next time you go to meet San, you want to bring out another plant, but you can't figure out any that stand out, so you ask the local florist to choose a meaningful flower for you, essentially leaving the choice up to fate. When he comes back with a bright red flower that you don't know the meaning of, you find it quite a good match to your new friend, whose hair radiates a similar tone. Especially so after the florist explains that camellias are often used to symbolize overcoming adversity. After learning his story the day prior, you decide that this flower fits perfectly. Thanking him, you pay for the flower and begin heading towards Bo-in's shrine.

As you arrive, you're shocked by how grim the area feels. Usually bustling with greenery and a freshness in the air, you become overwhelmed by the thick, heavy air. Looking around at the bushes, it appears as if a tornado had focused its chaos upon the small pavilion. Dropping the flower, you rush to the shrine, tearing the shutters open and calling out for San.

"Quit your yapping."

Hearing a voice above you, you search the trees for a sign of him but cannot find one.

"San, come here. What happened?"

Plopping down behind you, he answers vaguely, "Bo-in is testing me."

With the momentum of the spin to face him, you nearly trip over your own two feet. Expecting to find his face at its normal height, you look around confused when that isn't the case.

"Down here."

You feel a light pressure on your foot and look down to find a red and brown snake atop it. Your gut reaction is to jump and kick it away, but you manage to stop yourself knowing that the creature is your friend.

"I can't change. Bo-in left me a flower, and, after a few hours, I felt my control over my powers weakening at a rapid rate. Now I'm here."

Squatting down, you hold a hand to the snake to bring him up to your level again. He wraps his scaly body around your arm, keeping his head near your palm. You try not to smile at his appearance, but it creeps through anyway.

"Laugh all you want." He huffs.

"I'm not laughing! I just think you're cute like this, that's all."

If a snake could blush, you're certain you'd see it right now. Tripping over his words and looking anywhere else but your face, San fails to respond to your comment. Your comment clearly flusters him, so you make a note to compliment him more in all of his various forms.

"So, what do we have to do to get you out of this form? It isn't some 'true love's kiss' type thing, is it?"

Although you were joking entirely, the silence that follows makes your heart drop a bit.

Eventually, he answers, "I sure hope not." Turning away from you and constricting more around your arm, he adds, "Let's try anything else before we assume that's the solution."

"You... don't have a clue?"

"No. Bo-in left the flower and then this happened. Nothing else. No clues."

Suddenly reminded of the flower you brought him, you look around to find it. He catches sight of its vibrant hue and everything immediately clicks in his mind.

"That's a camellia, isn't it?"

You hum in agreement as you bend down to pick it up, adding, "I didn't know much about it, but the florist told me that it's a sign of overcoming adversity. After hearing your life story, I-"

"That's the flower Bo-in left me."

"How strange. Do you think it means something?"

"Y/N." He pauses, and the emphasis in his voice sends a shiver up your spine, "That flower screams Soo-ah. It means perishing with grace, and symbolizes a strong, long-lasting love."

A strong gust blows at you, harshly ripping a few petals from their pistil. San carefully watches where they land, hoping for a coincidence rather than another part of Bo-in's scheme. Despite his wishes, however, each petal lands precisely in the center of the place it softly floats to the small pond, the shrine's entrance, and the zen garden.

"Water, earth, and air. With a flower as vibrant as flames."

Slowly, you approach the petal at the entrance. Looking in, there's now a cloudy but reflective surface in place of Bo-in's engraved likeness. Focusing on your reflection, you find a completely different image. Rather than you holding a snake, you see two people holding hands. You quickly identify San despite the longer dark hair and wedding-style suit, but you don't recognize the other figure who matches in an elegant white dress with red and gold jewelry. As you move, she moves with you, but this definitely isn't your own reflection.

"That's Soo-ah, isn't it?"

"You're Soo-ah, Y/N." Another booming voice responds before the snake in your hand gets the chance.

Quickly, you spin on your heel. There, just as androgynous as the carving, stands Bo-in. Despite the initial shock, standing there together feels normal. Comfortable. Familiar.

"It's like San says. Although your memories have been wiped upon reincarnation, you were once Soo-ah. Somehow, you were drawn back to this place despite my best attempts to keep you away. Therefore, as I promised you before approving the reincarnation, I will offer my explicit approval for your love. As a gift, I can also return your memories to you, should you want them back."

"Bo-in, revert this magic." Annoyed, San blurts out, interrupting the conversation. "I'd like to change this form again. It is awkward to stay like this while you both have physical human forms."

Despite the interruption, Bo-in appears unfazed, holding out a hand for San to slither onto. A dim light radiates from their palm and surrounds the small snake. Shortly after, San returns to a humanoid form. This interaction buys you some additional time to comprehend the situation and figure out how to answer such a difficult question.

Bo-in returns focus to you, "Have you decided, Soo-ah?"

A shiver runs up your spine, making you twitch from the discomfort. Although you understand that you're Soo-ah's reincarnation, being addressed by her name irks you. You haven't been Soo-ah in decades. You've been yourself all these years, not her. Meeting San was coincidental, even if there might've been outside forces influencing you to do certain things.

With this revelation, you decide, "I appreciate your offer, Bo-in, but suddenly acquiring memories from a past life feels like something that the human mind cannot handle. It'd likely send me down a spiral about my identity. I have to reject your offer."

A smile creeps onto Bo-in's face as you talk, but it's San who speaks first, "Man, you really ARE the same person."

Confused, your wide-eyed gaze hops back and forth between the two people in front of you. Neither cares to give any further context, and Bo-in confuses you even more by breaking out into bellowing laughter without comment. San quickly joins, and soon their laughs are too contagious to avoid. Although you can't pinpoint the reason for the laughter, it lightens the load in your heart.

Shortly after the laughter settles, Bo-in says goodbye and wishes you both luck. Leaving you and San alone, the air tenses again. You quickly go to apologize for not reviving Soo-ah's memories, thinking that may be why things feel awkward. However, before you can say three words, you feel lips on yours and hands cupping your cheeks. Your face heats up from the sudden affection, but you also melt into the sensation. You've been on your own for so long that you didn't realize how much you longed for someone to kiss you.

The interaction feels quick, but San pulls away with a heavy breath. The air is thick and warm between you, and you can't find the words to say after such a sudden interaction, but the silence that follows feels fresh, as if the kiss extended into the depths of your souls. When his breathing returns to normal, the silence finally breaks.

"I'd apologize, but I actually don't regret it."

You can't help but laugh. His confident aura lends to the cockiness of his comment, but he fully jokes. Despite his words, you know he's sorry for the sudden invasion of your personal space.

"Don't worry, San. I enjoyed it. You don't need to apologize."

"Okay, good. I mean, surely it must've felt like all those plays describe, right? Where you're swept off your feet by the man of your dreams."

Rolling your eyes, you refuse to give him the satisfaction of any answer whatsoever. Instead, you change the subject, asking him to adapt a little to the current culture. Although he finds current technology difficult to manage, you convince him to trade in the flower-passing messaging for a simple flip phone.

After suggesting that you'll be back next time with a phone, you give him a hug and take your leave. He kisses your forehead, and you think about it the whole trip home. You can feel the smile etched across your face. It's not just your lips either; you just know there's a twinkle in your eyes and more light on your full face. Although unusual, you rationalize it with the thought that it's simply because it's been too long.

It takes a while for him to adjust to the phone, but once he does, you'd be easily convinced that he never puts it down. Multiple calls daily make you glad you didn't teach him how to message people. Meetings become more frequent and in new places as you show him some of your favorite places. Slowly but surely, he begins adjusting to the lifestyle you've known.

Although he's had a few slip-ups, calling you Soo-ah a few times, he immediately corrects himself and apologizes each time. You understand that you likely resemble her in numerous ways, so you don't get upset. And, just as you intended by refusing your past life memories, San begins falling for Y/N rather than simply seeing Soo-ah in you. The name swaps happen less and eventually completely fade away. You feel it in his demeanor, too. Rather than being restrictive and apologetic about his feelings, his confidence soars, and his actions towards you feel fuller, more genuine and complete.

A few months pass; the next season comes. You barely even notice before San points it out.

"The colors of spring are wonderful, but there's a serenity that comes with the beginning of summer. Don't you think?"

Caught off-guard by the sudden question, you look around so you can respond. Expecting the cleanness that comes when all the flowers of spring fall to the ground and get whisked away by the wind, you actually find yourself stuck staring at a rarity. Once something unrecognizable to you, your eyes catch onto a camellia. However, this one isn't as striking as the red one from before. Rather, as if someone stripped the color clean out, this lone flower stands a bright white, still managing to stand out against the browns and yellows of the season's transition.

Shocked at your silence, San follows your unwavering gaze to the bush. When he catches sight of it, his eyes widen, and he curses under his breath. Even without knowing the specifics behind the various color meanings of this flower, something about the striking white feels haunting to you. You remind yourself that the flower means long-lasting, mutual love, but San's words ring in your head: it means perishing with grace. Is it a bad omen? Bo-In hasn't interfered since that day, so there's no way they'd speak to you now, right? Is it a warning? Are you overreacting?

"San..."

"They don't bloom this late. It shouldn't exist." Flatly, your boyfriend declares, a poorly-hidden concern painted upon his face.

Standing up from the bench, you approach the flower with San trailing a step behind you. Reaching out and touching it, the whole thing falls apart. Characteristic of camellias, the petals and sepals all collapse together at the slightest touch of your finger. With your arm frozen in position, you turn your head to the boy on your left, shooting him a concerned look.

Placing an arm around your shoulders, he files through a dozen statements to try and reassure you both that it's pure coincidence with no meaning. Even though you're certain both of you have worries in the back of your mind, you drop your arm and the topic all at once. Bouncing back into a happy state, you begin walking away and finally answer the question from earlier to segue into a new conversation.

"Summer really gives off that sense of a new beginning. Everything is changing, just like us. I think it's really appreciated in the cycle of seasons."

"Just like us... You're right. Here's to our new start with the season change."

#codn: spring24 #cultofdionysusnet #mfu-net #wonderlandnet #cromernet #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez #ateez choi san #choi san #choi san scenarios #san scenarios #choi san fluff #choi san imagines #ateez fluff

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frostycatblr-fandom-files · 4 months ago

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I can no longer answer this ask...

If someone is friends with Pineapple and has the means to get in touch with her outside of Tumblr, would you please do me a huge favor or two?

Could you send her the link to this so I have some way of telling her how devasted I am to see her deactivate her account in the time it took me to open the ask from when I first saw it this morning? To tell her how fucking sorry I am that people have been so shitty as to accuse her of sending anon hate to folks she's had a falling out with?

And to thank her for sending me this ask either just because, or in response to the awful day I had yesterday.

I don't use Discord for Tumblr communities following my own falling-out back in 2018. A falling out that, frankly, traumatized me.

Long story short: I wrote a fanfiction based off of a popular fanartist's work back in the height of Detroit: Become Human's popularity. A fanfic that had been praised to my face, but was belittled and torn apart over the smallest of fucking mistakes. BEHIND MY BACK. And word got back to me because the person who this artist was shit-talking my work to was a far more decent person than the artist. (An artist who had too much of a fucking ego to say a single kind thing about other artists' artwork, as well.)

It's not my only instance of cyber-bullying I've experienced in my life, but it's among my worst.

It's part of why I'm so fucking reserved and hesitant to make deeper connections with the often wonderful people in this niche. That experience in 2018 has forever affected me. Has forever made me feel small, and worthless, and frightened of putting my hard work out there again when there are so many creative giants out there with 1000+ followings.

It took me YEARS to be brave enough to not just participate in fandoms again, but to put parts of my fucking heart and soul out there in the fanfiction I posted for folks to read. Folks as accepting and unconditionally kind as Pineapple were part of the reason I felt comfortable enough to stick around. To tread in the same paths as these creative giants. To start putting out ART again, which was another part of myself that I shelved following that 2018 Discord bullshit.

Now Pineapple has been driven into such a deep corner that she chose (or felt forced) to deactivate her account because of multiple, malicious accusations.

And now our community is a little darker for it.

To those who believed Pineapple would send hate mail, and to those who were actually responsible:

If you think she would be the sort of person to stoop so, so low as to send hate anons to someone, even someone she's had a falling out with, you have it so fucking twisted.

I can only assume you have some kind of agenda borne out of jealousy for someone so genuine, someone who treated people so fairly. Which, is frankly too much a fucking rarity these days in fandom. (Yeah. I see some of y'all with your clique behavior.) You ought to be fucking ASHAMED of yourselves.

I know all too clearly my voice does not carry a lot of weight in this fandom because I'm a writer and fanartist with a humble following of 210 people. That's it. But I will be VERY blunt all the same when I say that there is no fucking place for you here. Snake-like behavior, like this, will not be tolerated.

It will never be tolerated.

#frosts fandom freakouts #(semi personal editon)#I'm not putting this under a cut because it is too damn important to hide #fandom drama #has got to stop #If you're an adult: ACT LIKE IT.#Pineapple sent in a request for a follower event that I'm no longer sure I can fulfil because assholes have nothing better to do -#- than make up petty drama and attack her character

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neverenoughmarauders · 11 days ago

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Peter Pettigrew

Thinking about my writing this year, no chapter took as much out of me as writing Peter Pettigrew's POV. Everything in this chapter is based on two very similar home situations - one which I witnessed closely, and one which I read about after the child in question had grown up to become a mass murderer. The other child, my former childhood friend, is doing fine, btw (not suggesting it's a recipe for killers).

I did not want to give Peter a background that would try to excuse why he did what he did, but I wanted to give him a home situation that IF Sirius and James had paid a little closer attention, maybe they would have known more about their friend. Not necessarily: He would betray us kind of stuff, but just more about Peter, and the challenges he faced. To me, Peter and JamesANDSirius is the story of the bullies' downfall. James and Sirius were bullies and therefore attracted people who later would seek Voldemort's protection. And having Peter face some challenges they would continue to be blind to, fitted well with that.

It's the only Peter POV chapter I've written, it can certainly be read standalone and it's set as 1971 closes and 1972 begins, meaning it's a New Year's chapter, very fitting for this time of year!

It's a short chapter, I couldn't bear to make it longer, and you can find it all below the cut (or on AO3) :)

Chapter 33: The snake and the lion

There had been times at Hogwarts when Peter had really missed his mother. The trouble was that Peter still missed his mother at home. Or rather, he missed the person his mother had been before his father had passed earlier this year. Now, it felt like he lived with a stranger. Actually, it felt like he lived with two very different strangers.

There were days Peter would wake up to find that his mother had not gotten out of bed. When she eventually came downstairs, she barely spoke a word. She'd sit in an armchair and smoke muggle cigarettes the whole day. She wouldn't read, or eat, or go outside. Those days, Peter often went over to his neighbours Mr and Mrs Powell, as they always seemed pleased to have him for dinner. He'd come home and his mother wouldn't ask him where he had been or if he had eaten anything. Peter would go to bed, and leave his mother with her cigarettes in the otherwise empty living room.

There were other days where his mother would wake him up, making him breakfast, and if he wanted to go outside, she would make him put on two scarfs and the warmest jacket she could find. This mother would worry if he wasn't back exactly at the time they had agreed, she would fuss over him at dinner, force him to eat all his vegetables and insist on hearing everything about Hogwarts, while at the same time, she would worry about whether he'd choke if he ever started speaking before he had swallowed his food.

Empty mother and worried mother. Peter tried not to be too disappointed when he woke up to find it was an 'empty mother' day. After all, while he preferred 'worried mother' because she at least seemed to care about him, neither felt like home. Neither was the mother he had grown up with.

New Year's Eve was the closest he felt to being with his mother again. They were standing outside in the snow-filled garden, watching the fireworks.

'Come,' his mother said smiling, lifting her wand, 'let's send up some sparks of our own. The muggles won't know the difference.'

Peter could have told her he wasn't allowed to do magic outside of school, but he was sure his mother knew that already. Instead he lifted his wand too. He was sure Sirius and James would have been able to produce stronger and brighter sparks, but he felt he was doing alright as he watched the red sparks explode out of his wand tip. They raced up to the sky next to his mother's green ones.

'You are my little lion, aren't you?'

Peter noticed his mother looking at him intently.

'You don't mind?' he asked. They hadn't really spoken much about his sorting.

His mother was prevented from answering as the air around them exploded from all the fireworks which lit up the sky brighter and louder than before. The clock must have struck midnight.

'Happy new year, darling,' she said, bending down and kissing his cheek.

'Happy new year, mum,' Peter whispered into her ear.

'It'll be better than the last, I promise,' his mother said, wrapping her arms around him. She was thin - too thin. 'Come, let's go inside where it's warmer.'

His mother made some hot chocolate ('one mug, and then straight to bed, understood?'), and they sat down at the kitchen table.

Peter was nervous his mother had forgotten the question - or didn't want to talk about his sorting. He wondered whether to bring it up again. Then again, this evening was going quite well, and he didn't want to push his luck.

'Your dad would have been proud,' his mother said, breaking the silence.

'About what?' Peter asked his mug defeatedly.

There was truly nothing to be proud of. He was not particularly good at school, he wasn't good looking like Sirius, nor was he talented on a broom like James. And both at the top of their class too. They were effortlessly smart and funny and increasingly popular. As for Remus, he seemed to understand everything, and Peter often felt like he understood nothing.

'Of you learning magic, of your strength to carry on despite everything, and certainly, my darling, of you being in Gryffindor.'

Peter looked up at his mother. Her face was as gaunt as it had ever been, but her smile was warm and familiar to Peter.

'But you were in Slytherin,' he said. Slytherins and Gryffindors hated each other.

'And your dad would have been in Gryffindor, had he had magic.'

'Why did you marry a muggle?' Peter asked, realising he had never asked this before.

'Because there are many types of magic, darling.'

'Oh,' Peter said. He wasn't sure he understood what his mother meant.

'Would you have married him had he been a Gryffindor?'

His mother laughed: 'Of course I would. I understand - the house rivalry feels very strong at school - but that changes once you leave Hogwarts.'

Peter wasn't sure he believed that. He couldn't imagine Sirius or James ever befriending a Slytherin. But Peter didn't argue the point. Instead, Peter finished his chocolate and said good night. As he lay in bed, he wondered what kind of mother he would wake up to in the morning.

'He abandoned us, you know,' his mother said the final evening before Peter went back to Hogwarts. It was the first words she had spoken to Peter the whole day.

'Who?' Peter asked.

'Your dad.'

This confused Peter as much as it hurt him. That was a lie.

'He died. He didn't leave us.'

His mother let out a thin, humourless laugh. Peter knew she had been drinking. Drinking and smoking and not eating.

'He could have lived.'

'The doctors did everything they could.'

'We could have gotten a healer, you know that, darling, don't you? The healers at St Mungo's would have been able to cure him, and he could have lived to see you grow up.'

His mother got up unsteadily and walked over to the kitchen, pouring herself another glass and taking a seat at the small kitchen table.

'Sit down.'

So Peter sat down. He didn't like what was happening. Not at all.

'He could have been here, right now, instead he made the decision to abandon us.'

'The healers couldn't help him, he was a muggle. It's not allowed -'

Peter didn't like speaking up to his mother, but she was wrong. Over the last few months, he had gotten used to Sirius and James standing up to people, and the idea that he, Peter, had to do that now felt terrifying. But there was no Sirius and James. And his father didn't deserve this. His father had been brave. And good. And fair.

'Nobody would have known,' his mother continued, and Peter wasn't even sure she'd heard him. Some job he was doing, defending his father. 'I could have brought a healer here, and nobody would have known. But no, Andrew was determined to do what was right. That's what bravery and doing the right thing does to you, darling. It gets you killed.'

Peter didn't know what to say. What he could say. What he dared to say. So he remained quiet.

But one thing was painfully obvious. His mother did mind his sorting, after all. Peter felt his eyes burn as he tried to blink away tears.

'Hey, now,' his mother said, cupping his face. 'I am still here.'

Was she? Peter wasn't sure.

'And you, my darling son, you can be as brave as you want, as long as you remember to stay alive. Okay? Stay alive for me... and for your father. He was an idiot, but he loved you. And I love you too.'

'I love you,' Peter said, aware he was fully crying now.

His mother swayed a little as she slid down from her chair and knelt before him. Peter threw his arms around his mother and they remained there, on the floor, hugging. He didn't agree with her, his father had been brave and had done the right thing, but it didn't matter. She was hurting, and he loved her.

#Peter Pettigrew #New Year's story #Not a happy one #I solemnly swear #Marauders era #Marauders #MWPP #Harry Potter fanfiction

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let-us-cultivate-our-garden · 1 year ago

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Do you thinks kids were afraid of Luz and that why they bullied her and why she doesn’t have any friends

It's possible but the problem is that we're only told that Luz is bullied and never shown why so you could just as easily assume that people simply didn't like her just as you can argue that people were afraid of her.

Now, does the show have to have a flashback scene demonstrating how Luz was bullied? That's how most kid shows do it right? Well, you don't need a whole flashback but you have to do more than just have Luz tell us when she doesn't really act like someone who is bullied for her interests.

Instead of being shy about Azura she celebrates it fully and it's popular enough that they're making movie adaptations of them. It's like being a Harry Potter fan at the peak of its popularity.

She also makes friends rather easily at Hexside so she's not socially awkward and she's certainly capable of standing up for herself. So why was she bullied?

Because it makes her relatable.

Nearly everyone can relate to being bullied and it's very easy to make a character likable and have the audience connect to them when you give them experiences that mirror their own.

The problem with Luz is that the show never goes into her bullying at all, which is bizarre since she feels more at home in the Boiling Isles than in the human realm. You would think that her feeling like an outsider at home would be explored more and how the BI makes her feel accepted. It would also make her line about "always wanting to be understood" a natural end for her arc instead of coming in out of left field.

Instead, what we're shown makes it seem like Luz never even tried to make friends: Vee met Masha at the camp Luz was going to go to, which means that if Luz actually did go to that boring camp, then she would have met someone to share her interests with. Luz freaks out and has a pity-me speech in front of the whole class and afterward, two random kids commend her for how brave she is! If you really wanted to hammer home that Luz is an outsider, then have those two kids call her a weirdo or something, not validate her (which she barely acknowledges, btw).

It's also quite telling that Vee-as-Luz managed to make friends while Luz did not, which tells me that the opportunity was there for her to find her community in the human realm but chose not to for whatever reason.

The most we get is in the first episode when she brings live snakes to school and a firecracker that she plans to ignite. Cue the principal recommending summer camp for her where she can (shock!) learn to socialize better. This is a great setup for a kid who needs to learn to separate reality and fantasy better but a terrible one for a kid who is being bullied and is treated so poorly that she'd rather live in another dimension. Even season 3 doesn't fix this because it spends more time on Luz's grief over Manny and how she's failing school not because of being bullied but because the subjects are boring.

So, Luz is not an outsider; we have no evidence of this in the show other than it simply tells us that she was. Actions speak louder than words, and Luz's actions show me a person who is too caught up in her own fantasies to think about how that might affect other people.

#asks #the owl house #toh critical #toh criticism #luz noceda

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quibblyisme · 12 days ago

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Spiders and solitude

It all became too real for Spencer. He was always an aware child. He wasn't normal. IQ of 187, eidetic memory. He wasn't looked at the same as other kids.

As a child he feared taxes and the constant rise of the housing market; other children feared snakes and spiders. Every time he heard a kid say they were scared of spiders, he'd say something along the lines of, "Well, actually the most common spiders here are cellar spiders a-and wolf spiders!" They're actually very friendly!"

The spiders were his only friends. Spencer took every dead spider right to the heart. The one time he'd get close to having a friend, they'd be ripped from his grasp as soon as he saw them kill a bug.

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

High school didn't treat him any better either. He was 10 in a class for 15-year-olds. He was constantly bullied. His homework stolen, copied then Ripped. He was shoved into lockers filled with old failed tests and moldy sandwiches.

Sometimes he would be left there for the whole day, leaving him with the tiny ventilation holes to breathe.The few times he made friends, they were fake. They used his innocence and trust for test answers.

At that point Spencer didn't even care. He had a friend. Even if it was temporary.

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

College was a better time for him. He didn't have his teachers pressing him into making friends, no teachers giving him a homemade recess "grade" (F). All the people in the lecture hall with him were either too hungover or uninterested to interact.

He loved writing essays and doing research. Most of the things he already had stored in his brain. He had spent hours hunched over his computer writing pages on pages about grass patterns based on climate and fertilizer.

Because of his youth, he didn't have to share a room with an adult. He had the freedom to blast his classical music and lounge in his boxers. He felt free. The first taste of joy he had in years.

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

After he had graduated college, coming out with 3 PhDs in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering, as well as a B.A. in Psychology and Sociology. His smarts and impressive education landed him a job at the BAU.

It was a bit hard fitting in at first. He was seen as a kid and doubted his knowledge. He was often dismissed, and Hotch had to force the team to listen to him.

He didn't feel like he belonged there... until you came.

You had been on the team for a few years before he joined. You weren't there when he started due to a mission, but it was like you had a magnet pulling him to you. He was drawn to you; he relied on you. You were the only person he felt safe around, enough to ask where the bathrooms were.

Your bond strengthened quickly. Morgan would often tease him, saying that he looked like a puppy following you around. He pretended that he didn't like the comment, but in the back of his mind, he wondered if you liked puppies. If you did and he was like a puppy, did you like him?

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

Morgan was quick to notice Spencer's habits around you. The "accidental" touches. The glances followed by sighs of longing. The blush every time he made eye contact with you. Morgan knew exactly what was going on, deciding to push Spencer's buttons. He strolled up to Spencer's desk.

He leaned on the side and shot Spencer a smirk.

"Hey, pretty boy! Over here! Lost in Space?... or lost in their eyes?" Morgan teased him, earning a glare from Spencer.

"Shut up, Morgan! I do not like Y/N!" He huffed, turning his chair away from Morgan.

Morgan was too stubborn to end the conversation there. He spun the chair back around to face him. Spencer looked like a scolded child.

"Go on, pretty boy, ask em out. What's the worst that could happen?"

"W-ewhats the worst that could happen!? What if they don't like me! That's the worst that could happen! I can't lose our friendship!" Spencer panicked; suddenly his shirt felt too tight.

"Well, if you aren't gonna do it, then I will. I'm asking Y/N out for you." Morgan chuckled before walking towards where you were sitting at your desk.

Spencer panicked; he started to get out of his chair before stopping himself from looking like an idiot.

He buried his face in his arms and let out quiet tears. A light tap on his shoulder made him stop and sniffle.

"Leave me alone, Morgan..." He didn't bother looking up. His voice sounded weak and defeated.

Suddenly he was being picked up and moved. He felt softness under him and the warmth of arms wrapped around his body. He looked up to see you holding him.

"Y/N...?" He buried his face in your chest, wrapping his arms around you.

Your gentle hands moved his face away from your chest, forcing him to look at you. You gently caressed his hair.

"I like you too, Spencer..." You placed a gentle, delicate kiss on his forehead. You touched him like he was a fragile doll. Spencer was shocked but didn't react. He simply nuzzled into your chest like a kitten.

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

That day had blossomed into a long, loving relationship. You had moved in together and spent every second holding each other. You knew of Spencer's past, and you promised you would hold him one second for every wrongdoing one has done to him.

You came up with traditions. Some little things, like how he'd leave a sticky note in your lunch. Or how he'd place a chocolate on your pillow. Your favorite was when you'd sing to him.

Every night Spencer would curl up to you, blankets covering his body, hair spread out across the pillow, hand on your heartbeat, listening to the steady rhythm.

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

Then you'd start singing. Always this song. He couldn't sleep without it. You prerecorded it, so if for whatever reason he couldn't be there with you, he'd have a piece of you.

"And even though I know how very far apart we are,

It helps to think we might be wishin' on the same bright star.

And when the night wind starts to sing a lonesome lullaby

It helps to think we're sleeping underneath the same big sky."

It never failed to make him fall asleep. Spencer was a blanket hogger. He'd wrap himself up like a burrito then sleep like a log. You personally froze every single night and hid a blanket to take out when he inevitably stole yours, but to know that he was comfortable made it all worth it. Soon Spencer... changed. He became closed off. Sleeping more, working less. You worried. You knew Spencer's every move and routine like the back of your hand. You knew how he'd sing "Uptown Girl" in the showers when he thought you couldn't hear. You knew how it'd take him exactly 13 minutes to pick up his daily coffee. This wasn't him anymore.

This was a shell of the man he used to be.

For Spencer this was his midlife crisis, only not midlife. He began to doubt his choices and abilities.

"What if I chose the wrong job?"

"I could be doing more."

Those thoughts replayed in his mind like a broken record. Soon it consumed him.You tried to help him, support him, but you were pushed away. You knew he'd snap if you kept on pushing, so you let him be.

You had to watch his slow mental decline from a distance. It hurt. He grew distant. You didn't see him anymore.

He'd lock himself in his room and didn't come out unless he needed food or water.

That's why today was different.

Spencer walked out of his room sluggishly. His hair was unwashed, and skin was pale. He was wearing a stained shirt and some crusty pajama pants.

For the first time in a while, he laid his head in your lap and nuzzled his head into your stomach. He looked up at you with tired, dark eyes and spoke,

"Can I just give up for a bit...?"

#spencer reid #fanfic #criminal minds #angst

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kyberphilosopher · 2 years ago

Text

Pass the Dutchie

Word Count: 7908 Requested: Nah Warning[s]: 4/20 special, so drug and substance abuse, crude language, crude humor, adult themes, not my strongest piece ever probably, long, Billy sticks to character sorry, general fanfiction cringe warnings. When Billy assumes you might sell to him, you get back at him by stealing his stash. But after you realize he's not so unbearable, your relationship with each other, and even yourselves, seems to change.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The summer months came quickly, even quicker than the actual summer. The crisp April morning, tainted with spring rain that left the reek of petrichor hanging in the air for the rest of the day, had given way to a dry and beating heat. Not enough to make you sweat, but enough to fill the school with shorts and skirts over the typical swarm of bell bottoms. You almost felt like you'd missed the memo that day in your own denim jeans, but you were comfortable, and that was what mattered.

You wouldn't miss highschool, you thought, but you might miss senior year. By now, everyone around you had almost completely grown out of bullying. Why continue it? Everyone was about to graduate. You were all adults now. There was no point in nastiness. Mostly, it seemed your class had a fondness for sex and drugs and rock n' roll and not much else. There wasn't much to complain about there. All the popular kids were too wrapped up in all that to harass you at work anymore, or to spread rumors that you were a drug supplier and addict. You're more than thankful for that as you stare at the bouncing, burnt orange basketball being dribbled up the court by Billy Hargrove.

A gust of outside air sweeps through the highschool gymnasium from the double doors to your left. Sunshine leaks through the gap, straining your eyes when you look at it. It makes the rest of the gymnasium appear shadowed in a darker and far more boring grey than it really was. It might've looked exceptionally creepy if it weren't for the few kids such as yourself who decorated the bleachers, and the group of boys playing basketball just a few steps away. The students gave the school a bustling, warm atmosphere that you were more than willing to admit to now that you'd outgrown a lot of your younger angst and cynicism. The air from through the doors smells like your childhood- and something else in the distance.

"Yo, Y/N," a voice from behind you calls.

You let your eyes fall closed in instant exhaustion as you exhale a breath. You already know who it is. "Yeah?" you practically wince.

Ronnie Waters slithers up beside your ear like a snake. You don't hate him- he's funny sometimes. Sometimes. What, with his mousy mullet and sparce beard hairs around his crooked teeth, but mostly he likes just yanking your chain. "Smell that?" he questions, chip breath hitting your nose like a freight train. "Smells like dope outside, man. You gonna celebrate the 20th this year? You selling?"

A common misconception. You'd first smoked pot in the girls bathroom sophomore year and ended up getting busted- without the three other girls who had been smoking the blunt with you. You were quickly labeled as a pothead since then, which snowballed into being a full blown dealer in junior year. Funny how everyone who had previously never spoken a word to you, now threw themselves at your feet for some bud. Sometimes you'd play the prank of handing them a bag of oregano, but for most people, the answer was the same: 'Not selling.'

"I don't sell," you tell Ronnie, not even bothering to look over at him. He still hovers by your side like a bee.

"Come on," Ronnie whines and prods. "I just need some flower for the 20th... please?"

You turn towards him, tone becoming firmer but not angry. "I don't sell."

Ronnie pouts a frog faced frown, mutters a "whatever bro", and slithers away back to his group of snickering friends at the top of the bleachers. Your eyes turn back to the basketball game ahead of you, not really invested, just in time to watch Billy Hargrove dunk a clean one over Steve Harrington's head.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Ronnie Waters wasn't the only one who prodded you for an April 20th deal. Back in the locker room, Connie Rachel tossed her blond curls over her shoulder before batting her eyes and taking a 20 out of her bra. You'd felt bad about rejecting it.

Most seniors had partial days from completing all their required credits early on, leaving little classes in the days for them. You were one of the lucky ones who made the cut, which had honestly helped your fondness for senior year. The freedom you felt hopping in your car, waving a polite and quiet goodbye to your fellow classmates was a dignified one. Ronnie Waters, the little rat face, couldn't take it from you. Your feet pick up the pace as you exit the building, rounding the brick corner, converse to asphalt.

It did feel like summer. The sun, the wind, the scent of rain and flowers. The great boulder that jumped out at you causing you to flinch back.

You stumble a few steps, raising your head to see in front of you. Then your brows crease. It was no brick boulder at all, it was just Billy Hargrove. Well, you supposed that was the same thing. He certainly was a great rock of a man.

You weren't close by any means- you know each other by few interactions and by name. You don't hate him, you don't love him. You've seen him break Tommy's kegstand record and become Keg King, shove freshman to the ground in PE, and charm the teacher out of actually teaching the class through pure flirtation. So, he seemed fine in your book. A very upstanding young man.

"Woah," Billy smiles charmingly- a smile you've seen him use before on others- and an annoyance bubbles in anticipation. "Hey there. Watch where you're goin' much?"

You just want to get to your car. You can see the cherry red paint from here, glistening in the sun. But it won't be so easy. Billy Hargrove was pretty popular. Obeying to highschool politics, you couldn't really be rude to him without him using his influence to tarnish your reputation. In a small town like Hawkins, that was certainly something to consider. When Nancy Wheeler and Steve Harrington had called it quits, he'd plastered her name all over the Hawkins movie theater, complete with profanities. Not only that, but you were fairly unpopular. You didn't have any close friends who could come and save you out of nowhere, or even defend your honor. Now, you weren't hated by any means. But you were a loser. This was just one of the cons of being so.

"I'm just heading to my car," you get out.

Billy looks you up and down, still smirking. You hate it. You could tell what he's thinking from his mouth alone. "Red one, right? The 79'? Nice ride."

So, he's watching you in the parking lot now?

"Thanks."

A minute of silence. A breeze, similar to the gusts in the gymnasium earlier, sweeps through the air. It turns back to spring within the instant, rustling Billy Hargrove's cinnamon brown curls. His eyes light up in the sun like ocean water, rippling and dancing florescently with every movement. He looks nice for a moment, almost boyish with his dimples and muscle tee, still sweaty from the free period gym.

"I heard you might have something I'm looking for," he says. "I was hoping to maybe take it off ya', if ya' catch my drift."

Your eyes flit around the scene. You see the other seniors walking towards their cars ahead of you, pulling out of the parking lot, some disappearing into the trees nearby in walking groups. Did Billy have enough credits to be on a partial schedule? You could've sworn you'd seen him pull out of the parking lot at the same time as yourself a couple times, but he'd been a transfer student. He should've still been catching up technically.

You answer him very calmly, tiredly, monotone. "What's your drift?"

Billy's smile fades, his eyes returning to a wide shape as his face sinks. Another blow from the wind makes his curls dance. His maroon shirt ripples, tanned skin shining. You hadn't seen many men that were quite like him, you realized-whatever you meant by that. When Billy Hargrove doesn't answer you, you question again. "What's your drift, Billy?"

His face is stone, as you're reminded. Billy's tone is a little more annoyed, in his voice and on his face. He must never have been challenged, dared, outright shut down many times in his life. "I wanna buy some dope."

Should you give him a bag of oregano? Tell him you'll come by later and leave it out on his doorstep? Maybe drop a crumb of the real thing in it so it smells just right? You rub your palm up and down the strap of your backpack, thinking. Billy Hargrove sees as you look him up and down. He resembles an angry bull, you the matador. Should you?

"I don't sell," you say, looking down at the pavement under you. "You'd have bought from me already if I did."

You start walking once more, keeping your eyes down. You can hear the younger kids playing in the fields, the other grades practicing soccer, the cars leaving the lot blasting Scorpions and Madonna. Billy says nothing as you shuffle your way past him. He doesn't say anything until you're a few steps up the hill from him.

"I don't believe you!"

You roll your eyes and walk faster, worried suddenly that you may be run down by a familiar Camero.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Billy Hargrove wasn't great, you knew that. But Billy was far, far from the worst. He was cool, you liked him. You wanted to be out of highschool as fast as possible, which kept you from holding grudges or holding hatred. Billy was probably the same way about it at this point. But man, man, oh man- oh, man- did you find yourself wanting to put Billy Hargrove in a room with no windows or doors alone. The little prick really thought he could charm his way into some weed- weed you don't even possess. You've been buying your shit from the super senior Eddie Munson since last summer. It's all based on one nasty rumor.

Billy Hargrove was smart enough to see that certainly. Yet, he chose not to for his own ideas. He knows it is a nasty rumor but plays into it anyway. Why? Because he wants to? Because he has to? Neither? Both? Maybe you should've knocked that smile right off his face. Once for thinking you'd be easily manipulated, and twice for really accusing you of dealing.

No, perhaps not.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The next day was smoother. Air conditioning wouldn't be brought into schools for another few years, making the school hot and stuffy, but the library was so empty it was cooler. You spent your free period there instead of the gym, doing nothing of great importance. The joint you had in your car at lunch break was mostly faded from your system. With 4/20 right around the corner, you would need more. It was in- what? A week? The nug you had sitting in a carefully wrapped napkin in the cup holder was a rather small nug.

Eddie would have a sale. You knew that much at least. Of course, that's what you're thinking of when you see him standing by your locker.

Not Eddie, of course. His hair is too light, arms too thick, body too tall. Eddie would never carry such a natural and tired smugness to his face. As soon as you see Billy leaning against it, you feel your heart drop to your stomach. An odd anxiety washes over you, one you're not quite familiar with. But Billy hasn't seen you yet- you could turn around and walk away. You can wait it out in your car and circle back for your things.

You don't do that.

"Locker," you only say to Billy after he notices you approaching. That's all you need to say apparently, as he slides his back from its position against your metal box.

"You're a charmer, aren't you?" Billy says sarcastically, a bored expression on his face. "Very chatty."

You open the door and slide your backpack from your person, twisting it around so you can switch out a few books and grab your jacket and keys. "What do you need Billy?" you ask tiredly, wrapping your oversized hunting jacket around your shoulders and adjusting the hood.

He looks you up and down, but not lustfully. Just observantly. Judgmentally, somewhere in there. Billy's eyebrows are creased in a dull annoyance you recognize on him. He is the stone man you think of. You wonder, are his lips always so ever so slightly pursed when he's thinking? Or is that just the natural, bitchy look of his face? His handsome doll face. "Can I help you?" you repeat.

Billy's ocean blue eyes land back on yours. Through the dark eyebrows, they create a strong contrast. "I wanted to apologize for yesterday," the boy drawls out. But... he feels genuine. "Maybe I was a little too aggressive. With the 20th coming up I think it's easy to understand why I might be a lil' antsy."

You blink.

"Walk out to m' car with me. I'll treat you to a sesh."

You blink again, harder this time. Then you blink again, slightly faster. Billy's lips are in a thin and serious line. You realize, somewhere in the moment, that he has this disposition with you because you saw through his guise of charisma. He saw he couldn't get in your pants and let that way go. This must be the realest Billy's been to anyone since he arrived at Hawkins high.

Your fingers find the door of the locker, close, and lock it. Then you follow Billy, you slightly behind him at his side, to his car. The air smells like leaves and grass. "You're not stopping at your locker?"

Billy's tone is slightly more exasperated than usual. "Why would I?"

You say nothing.

Through the parking lot, you catch a few stares. Billy was just so popular- you should've known you'd see at least one pair of girls giggling. You watch as he unlocks his car- a blue 79' Chevrolet Camero, and the two of you bend inside in unison. Even your doors close at the same time.

Billy Hargrove's car smells like a mix of several, but very recognizable, smells. A musky cologne, the familiar stench of weed, cigarettes... sweat? Must've been old workout clothes littered somewhere in the car.

Billy Hargrove's head rolls over to you, the back of his pretty mullet getting mussed against the headrest.

"Nice car," you offer dryly.

Billy is still stone, offering no reaction to your words. "I apologize for yesterday. Open the glovebox."

An apathetic sounding apology directly followed by an order. How charming.

Still, curiosity overpowers everything else. Your hands do as the man says, undoing the glovebox and letting it fall open. It's stuffed to the brim inside, random papers spilling all over your feet. A single loose cigarette joins them. "Pick that up," Billy Hargrove tells you, though he doesn't sound so stern or demanding just then.

"The papers?" You begin to gather a few of them up- just a few statements about the vehicle and math papers that must've never found their way to the teacher.

"Nah," Billy gestures towards the white and orange cylinder. "Just the cig'."

You're slightly flabbergasted, but quickly muffle the feeling with, indeed, leaving the papers on the floor and instead offering him the cig between two fingers. Billy slips it into his mouth and lets it hang towards the side, as you're sure he's done a thousand times over already. "There's a lil' plastic baggie in there," Billy continues. "Get it."

Turning attention back towards the glovebox, you root around for a second or two before finding it. Instantly, you know what's inside. Pulling it out into the light only confirms your suspicions, if you could even call it that. You're careful to keep it low and out of sight through the windows, deciding to sit it on the surface between you two.

The bag has to contain two 1/8's, minimum. Inside, the bag does little to contain the stench of the dope, which is somehow strong enough to make you feel a little buzzed just looking at it. Most of the nugs inside are a dark green- but there's more colors than just that. Lime green, deep purple that's practically black. When Billy Hargrove picks up his bag of goodies after a classic man-spits-loogie-out-the-car-window move, the nug he picks out is a forest green with tiny orange veins running up it, spreading all around.

"Having a sesh?" you question, somewhat quietly, all while keeping your eyes fixated on the nug.

"Yeah," Billy rolls the nugget over in his fingers. His eyes are stuck on it too, making him sound just as far away as you are. "If that's cool?"

You mutter a response with only half a thought to it. "Reeks like shit."

Billy Hargrove's nostrils flare, and he rolls his head along with his eyes back over to you. It's brief, however, as he quickly rolls them back ahead. With his right hand, he leans forward to snatch a pack of rolling papers from the dashboard. "Fuck outta my car then," he mumbles.

Your reply is immediate: "No."

Billy Hargrove's mouth curves up into a smile as he scoffs. "Alright," he starts, his voice devoid of all anger. "Hold this. Now, this is the shit from California. All kinds of stuff up there."

He gives you the nugget, and takes the cigarette from his lips to place behind his left ear instead. You inspect the weed yourself now, noticing a faint sparkle from somewhere deep within it. The stench is certainly... potent. Being so close certainly can't help it. But there's something else you can smell too. Something fruity?

"Had no idea," you say.

"Here, you crush that up while I roll."

Your eyes switch from the dope in your hand to Billy in the drivers seat. Your brows crease slightly in shock and confusion as you look at him, and you realize in the back of your head that this is the closest you've ever been to each other. You know he's noticing your face- he has to. Something about that throws you off. Something about Billy Hargrove specifically noticing it- having this moment in his memory forever- makes the sides of your face feel hot. "You don't have a grinder?" you ask in disbelief.

Billy's orbs flicker between your own. His face is back to something like grumpiness again. "You talkin' about that little twisty thing?"

"Y... yeah?" you say. "It makes crushing up weed way easier. It catches the kief?"

Billy Hargrove somewhat resembles an agitated bull about to charge. You can see the gears twisting in his brain, however, and you know what he's thinking. He thinks you're playing a prank on him, or trying to make him look stupid. "I'm not shitting you," you say quickly.

With an annoyed breath he turns back to the paper in his hands. It goes quiet, uncomfortably so, so you turn back towards the nugget too. You take a paper that fell from the glovebox from the floor- an old science quiz that he'd managed to score a 79% on- and wrap it over the nugget. It's not the biggest nug you've seen, but it's more than enough for one joint split between the two of you. You simply begin smashing it carefully inside the paper, then opening it to pick out any loose pieces of stem.

It's once you've practically finished the task that you hear Billy's gruff voice from beside you. "You think you're so smart, huh?"

What?

You turn to him, catching the humored smile on his face as he continues rolling. He's shaking his head slightly all the while.

You're not upset. On the contrary, you're relaxed. You let the paper, now swarmed with little weed crumbs all piled messily towards the center, sit gentle on your lap as you lean back. "Not really."

Billy Hargrove does pause for a second, so fast you would've missed it with a blink, but you see it. "Could've fooled me," he mutters. Then he gestures for the substance in your lap. "Here."

You pick up the paper gently, with two hands, the way a child might hold a dinner plate. Billy Hargrove meticulously picks the crumbs between his two fingers, lips slightly pursed and brows furrowed in concentration, and lays it in the dip of the rolling paper.

"Promise it's not laced?" you whisper out hoarsely.

Billy freezes again, before a smirk takes up on his mouth. He turns to you, eyes wide, and leans forward. Although his hands are filled, he still finds a way to wiggle his fingers at you. "Oh, scared?"

Your face drops into sarcasm. Really? your face asks him. "You think so?"

Billy Hargrove turns back to the joint, and finishes packing after a few seconds. "Clearly," he snarks. He rolls his head back over to you, face suddenly very, very pretty. "You want the first hit?"

"If you're actually offering," you decide slowly.

Billy passes the joint to you as you reach into your pants pocket for a lighter. With a bit of wiggling, you manage to pull it from the fabric. "Here, I'll light," he says. So, you switch hands. Billy giving you the joint, you giving Billy the lighter. Billy fucking Hargrove.

With one final suspicious glance around the parking lot, you place the joint between your lips eagerly before leaning down. You can practically taste the hemp on your tongue. Billy Hargrove follows suit, leaning down out of sight of the windows and flicking the lighter to life.

"It's pretty strong shit," he tells you as his hand wanes closer toward the paper. You pray he doesn't decide to blue ball you right in that moment and fall back into typical Billy Hargrove fashion, and he doesn't. The end of the joint lights up orange and yellow, dancing and sparkling right before your eyes. The inhale is smokey and sudden, hitting the back of your throat like a train. You can only take it for two seconds before squeezing your eyes shut, at which point Billy grabs the joint right from your mouth.

You feel it fill your lungs, stilling yourself before letting it expel from you. It comes out through your mouth in a gentle stream, and when your eyes turn to Billy, smoke is pouring from his nose for a second longer than yours. Then you both lean back into the seats of the car.

Billy dips his head down and stares out into the parking lot before reaching down and rolling the window up. He glances to check if yours is closed before bringing the joint to his mouth again.

You watch him inhale. Already, you feel your eyes fall half lidded. You're certain the turning of your head is ungodly slow, more snail like than anything. But you don't care about that. You're watching Billy Hargrove's adam's apple bob once with the inhale, then your eyes wander up to his jaw. His nose shape isn't half ugly. Well, actually now that you're here, it's sort of cute. Has his hair always been so curly?

Billy Hargrove breathes this hit out of his nose again, eyes falling closed. He lets his head fall back against the car seat so that his face is pointed towards the roof, relaxed but still Billy.

Cautiously, your fingers dance towards the smoking joint still in his hand that rests on his lap. It's the closest you've been to physical contact with him, which would surely end in you getting your shit rocked if you make one wrong move, so you're sure to move slow. Almost comedically slow.

When the man feels the joint ease out of his grasp, his eyes snap open with a breath. Billy's blue orbs roll down to see your hand greedily try to snag it from his own, but he just lets it happen. He doesn't even look like he's going to rock your shit. Not even one little punch. His hand simply loosens until you pull the jay away for yourself.

"Light."

Billy side eyes you somewhat as he lifts the lighter up to the joint for you once more. "Good shit, right?" he lulls, face and eyes empty of emotion. He looks grumpy again.

You nod lazily, closing your eyes and taking your second hit. It's more bearable this time, and you manage to inhale for three seconds instead of two. You hold it for a moment in your lungs before letting it go, breathing out through your nose and mouth. "Can't remember the last time I hotboxed," you manage to drawl, though you immediately forget doing so. You're almost confused when Billy Hargrove responds.

"I probably do it..." he swallows and lets his eyes close again. "Probably every day."

"You're stronger than me."

"My tolerance is probably fuckin' crazy," Billy says as his eyes peel open. "My hit."

You pass it back to him.

"So you got any plans for the 20th?" he asks, and suddenly you're moved at the contribution he gives to continue the conversation.

You shrug. "Smoke."

Billy nods his head with a smirk, mid hit. "Yeah, that's the plan," he says after breathing out. "You gonna have any special deals that day? Any, uh, discounts?"

Your brows crease as much as they can through lazy senses, which isn't a lot at all. "I told you I don't sell."

Billy's eyes flicker between your own for a moment- again you can see the gears turn inside him. "You were serious about that?"

You nod. "Yeah, I'm not a dealer."

Billy Hargrove's eyes look you up and down for a second, again so missably quick, pretty and blue and distracting. (Distracting? How strong is this strain?) "So where'd you get your shit from then."

"Eddie Munson."

Billy's face splits into loud humor. Eyes light up, go big, mouth scoffing in disbelief. "The super senior?! You're fuckin' with me."

You playfully throw up your palms in mock surrender. "He has good stuff."

"But isn't that guy like, fuckin' crazy? He's always playin' that dumb nerd shit."

"He's pretty nice to me," you offer. "But, dude, he never plays Kill Em' All if we smoke?"

Billy takes the joint right from your hand, just how you did to him. His dark brows furrow much easier than yours as his eyes fall to you once more. "The Metallica piece?"

You nod.

"You're shittin'."

You shake your head.

"Jesus," Billy puts the joint in his mouth and holds the lighter to it. "What a fuckin' loser."

You can't help it. Really, you can't. Billy's words aren't that funny- probably aren't funny at all- but the laugh that escapes the back of your throat comes out in a scoff-snort combo that causes even Billy Hargrove to remove the joint prematurely to cough out smoke.

It's a nice moment. You don't find yourself resenting him or judging him and if he's doing so to you, you can't feel it. At all. You're just two idiots getting high in the car, being idiots high in the car. Billy's presence is welcomed by you, shockingly enough. It shocks you twice over- once, because it's Billy Hargrove. Twice, because for the first time in a while, you feel like you might just have a friend. Just for the moment- just for the moment.

"Ah, shit," you hear Billy break. "Fuckin' idiot."

You pull yourself a little closer to the present (as much as you possibly can as your body seemingly floats to the sky), and turn your eyes out the windshield. Through the hazy white mist that's settled in the car, you can make out a large and annoying figure by the name of Tommy, waving his arms over his head and grinning like a dull fish. His girlfriend, Carol, follows a few steps behind him, similar smile plastered to her face as her brown curls bounce.

"Damn," Billy Hargrove's face drops. "Just when I was startin' to enjoy it." He moves to open the door, and that's when you say something that makes him falter and look back to you.

"I gotta take off anyway."

Billy can't decide between taking a step forward or taking a step back it seems, almost like he's glitching. The boy leans down, turns his head to you. If you hadn't just smoked with him, you might not be able to tell he was high. His eyes aren't red, just pulled into that sarcastic, grumpy, pursed lipped look he's always wearing. "You sure?"

You shrug. "Yeah, don't worry about it."

Billy holds your eyes for a second more, jaw clenching. He decides not to say anything, however, and closes- a soft slam, really- his door closed. You watch him strut out to greet Tommy and Carol as Tommy points to you in the passengers seat with a grin you just loathe.

Quickly, you gather your backpack up from the floor. Out of courtesy, you find yourself quickly and inexplicably pulling the papers on the floor into a stack to place back in the glovebox. You click it closed without thinking, turning to leave when you stop.

The baggie still sits in the cupholder. Unattended, California bred and strong. You know how dumb it would be to take. You're not stupid enough to steal from Billy fucking Hargrove. But a few nuggets? Billy wouldn't notice. Especially not now, high off his ass, talking it up with Tommy about probably fucking nothing.

So, a nug or two wouldn't hurt...

Your brain convinces you you're a ninja. You swipe two medium sized nuggets, one dark green and one light, and cram them deep into your pocket. You're sure to zip the bag back into place to avoid suspicion as a rain of confetti seemingly falls around you.

The guilt is already washing over you somewhat, but it's deep, deep down inside. You almost can't even recognize it. You open the car door, sling your backpack over your shoulder, and watch the smoke ooze from the vehicle like a thick cloud. You must look like Zeus right now.

After the door closes, you're quick to walk away. Luckily, the lot is small, and you can see your car from here. Your foggy brain almost forgets about Tommy and Carol, who can somehow still see you even through your fast pace. "Hey!" Carol calls. "Hey, I'm talking to you!"

You just walk faster and keep your head down. You feel two things just then- Carol's laughter filling the air, and Billy Hargrove's eyes on your back.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Much to your own surprise, you do not grind up and smoke those two nuggets that night. Nor do you do so the day after, or the day after that. You highly consider it on the third day, though Billy Hargrove manages to completely deter your mind from it.

He doesn't do anything outright ruining- oh no. Billy just so happened to hold eye contact with you in the lunch line after rolling his eyes at something. It only lasts two, maybe three seconds. But it's enough to turn you off from smoking his-your- weed.

On day five, two days before the 20th, Billy Hargrove receives a test back in math that makes the right corner of his lips twitch up. You know, because you watch him very carefully from your corner of the room.

Billy tries to disguise it, of course. The man of rock and stone is always cautious to keep up appearances. Always frowning, always angry, always too good for something. But whatever he got on that test was, and is, worth more than that little mask. In your head, Billy Hargrove is proud of himself. He worked hard for something and he got a reward for it. Just like you, just like the people you admire, just like everyone else on the planet.

And you stole from him.

On day six, you find, once again, that Billy Hargrove has made himself at home against your locker. Again, you do not run away. From deep, deep in you, you're almost happy to see him. Almost.

"Billy," you greet flatly. The boy once again slides away from your locker so that you can open it, sly as a fox.

"Y/N," Billy greets back. He watches your face as you trade some books and binders, packing your bag to go home. You might be worried about him confronting you about his missing nuggets if you didn't know any better. No, Billy Hargrove was a hot headed bull. If he had noticed, he would've said something by now. Hell, you'd probably have a broken arm or something. "Still planning on smokin' tomorrow?"

God, don't bring it up. "Yeah, hoping to." You close the locker and clutch your jacket in your arms. Billy walks in time with you, neither of you acknowledging the accidental bumping of shoulders that's brought about through the crowded hallway. "Why do you ask?"

Billy Hargrove doesn't look at you. He looks straight ahead, almost as if he's in pain from what he's about to say. He looks like this is some great task for him, saying whatever he's about to say. Taller than you, you watch his sullen eyes as he speaks. "Was wonderin' if you wanted to smoke in the car again."

Your brows crease for a split second. "Tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

The sun illuminates you both as you walk through the open doors and out the side exit of Hawkins High. The spring breeze dances with the summer air gloriously. "Any particular reason you're asking me and not Tommy?"

Billy wastes no time in responding. "Tommy's a fuckin' idiot."

The laugh almost spills out of your mouth, but you manage to catch it with a cough. "Oh, okay. Yeah, he is."

Your walking slows as you approach your car, which catches the glint of the bright, bright sun. Billy turns to you, watching with his usual casual swagger as you fumble to get your keys out. "So you in?"

I stole your weed! you want to blurt out. I stole it and I actually feel kind of bad about it!

Instead, you glance down at your shoes, instantly giving away your poker face. "Oh, uh, maybe."

Something washes over Billy's face, but only for a second of a second. Maybe not even. Disappointment? Whatever it is, it's replaced by his usual expression. Pursed lips, unimpressed eyes, and the feeling that he's cursing you in his brain. "Well," he glances around the parking lot. The sun bounces off of him too, but in a way that looks better than it does on your car. It looks like it's meant to bounce off of him. "Let me know. You've got a phone book." And then he's already walking away with his back to you before you can say anything more.

You don't like watching him go. Sure, Billy's ass did look fantastic in the jeans he typically wore, but it did little to negate the odd feeling of despair and loneliness you suddenly felt. But Billy Hargrove wasn't your friend. He wasn't anything- you weren't anything to him. He just wanted weed out of you anyway. Ironic, considering.

It was true, you could always look up Billy's last name in your home phone book and come clean. You think about this as you seat yourself in your car, which feels and smells like a microwave from the oncoming heat. You knew you should really just call him. Just take your beating and get on with it.

But there was a little voice in your brain that said otherwise. It was that voice that gave you the idea.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Billy Hargrove lived on 4819 Cherry Lane, in a little pale house. It was cute, only one story. Very family friendly. It looked like his mother had taken a great bit of care in taking care of the family's plants, which bloomed in shades of poppy red and cherry blossom pink in the bushes right outside. You felt some guilt in thinking that Billy didn't deserve this.

It looked too juxtaposing compared to him, even in the dark of night. It looked too quaint, too warm and nurtured. But you knew better. Even though you're about to commit breaking and entering- or preferably just entering- you know better. There's something in that house that hardened Billy Hargrove. His mother? His father? Something buried deep under his bed? Whatever it was, now wasn't the time to poke.

The leaves crunch under your shoes with every step, but the hum of the cicadas drowns it out for the most part. You round the house so you're at the right side, relieved that all the lights are off. You can see through the little half sliding window, covered in dust and pollen, that it leads to an empty hallway with more pale walls.

There's no doubt in your mind. You're already committed. One hand on the window and another against the house's siding for support, you push the window apart. It comes off easier than expected, wheezing from friction as you slowly ease the panel open. No going back, there is still no doubt in your mind. Returning Billy's weed is the best thing you could do for him. And would you look at that- can anyone really call it breaking and entering if you haven't broken anything?

Both palms clasping the edge of the window, you vault yourself up and over. Exiting the summer night air and entering the Hargrove home comes faster than expected, but your shoes touch down nonetheless. You'd say it feels like a dream, but it's too fast to be a dream. The wooden floors are too solid, and the smell of Billy is too strong.

Billy Hargrove's bedroom isn't far from the window you climbed through. It's a few steps forward from your position down the hallway and then to the left. You expect to see the door closed, probably locked, which was why you'd brought two long and thin hairpins to pick it open, but the door is open. Every single light in the house is off, and Billy Hargrove's room is dark.

Silently- and bravely- you peak your head into the room. Again, you expect to maybe see him in a limp heap on the bed, but yet again, it's empty. Better for you, you suppose. Easier to get in and out unnoticed.

You see the Metallica poster by his bed, the laundry shoved into the corner of the room. You see the plain blue curtains with the little tiny hole burnt into the fabric, the unmade bed, the bottles of cologne and hair product and combs. You see the closet, hastily left open. Even with the lights off, you see it all. You see Billy Hargrove's life.

It moves something inside of you. You're not sure why. But then you only use it as an incentive to not be weird, to not be a creep anymore then you've made yourself into. Hastily, eyes already adjusting to the dark, you pull the two nuggets of Billy Hargrove's strong California weed- one light green and one dark- and quickly walk over to the boys bedside table. There's nowhere to leave it organically really, so you opt for just placing it by the little table lamp. Not sure what Billy Hargrove has that for, you can't imagine he's doing much reading before bed.

And then it's done. The weed you stole is returned. All is well.

You back away slowly, almost as if the nuggets were cursed objects in a horror movie. Then you turn around, practically flying back down the hallway and launching yourself back through the window with ease. Maybe it's the anxiety, or the adrenaline, but you're quick as a cat and silent as a mouse. Your shoes crunch the grass once more and you feel the warm nights breeze caress your face, protecting you from any danger. You turn around and slide the window back shut until you hear the hissing turns into a final click.

Your shoulders soften, and you turn away from the house. The crickets are loud tonight, you realize, and the cicadas. They tell you that you did the right thing. They tell you that you did it out of something good instead of fear. It's enough.

When you come back to the front of the house, you expect to see the same emptiness you'd seen before. The street, some trees, the darkness and the moon. But you're met with the opposite.

Billy Hargrove stares at you. He leans against his blue car parked on the street right outside 4819 Cherry Lane. Cigarette in hand, he raises it to his lips and takes a drag, but his eyes never-not once- stray from your own. They're just piercing into yours yet again, daring you.

You are so fucked.

Billy takes the cigarette from his lips and breathes the air out. He reaches a finger out to you and pulls it back towards him in a 'come here' motion.

All you want to do is run away before he beats your skull into the dirt and breaks your arm. But if you imagine he's leaning against your locker instead of his car in the dead of night, suddenly it's not so scary. You swallow, and begin towards him.

When you're finally there, right in front of him, Billy's the one to speak first. His voice is low, but his face isn't outright fuming. You can't tell if that's better or worse. Billy Hargrove plotting doesn't exactly sit right with you, but you're not sure how much experience he has in that realm anyway.

"You broke into my house?"

"No. I didn't break anything."

Billy holds your stare. His face is the stone man once again. "You're funny," he says, in a tone that makes you believe you're not really all that funny at all. The pretty brunette takes another hit. From this close up, you realize it's not a cigarette at all, but a blunt. A skinny one sure, but the smell and shape is more than familiar. "What are you doin' in my house, L/N?"

Nope, don't say a word, your brain says. You obey. "Just browsing."

"Browsing?" Billy deadpans.

"Browsing."

It's silent. His blue eyes flicker back and forth between your own, digging out the truth. He'll find it sooner or later, you know that for sure. "You know, I've had some crazy girls do some crazy things for my attention," Billy Hargrove starts. "But this might just be the craziest."

The word slips out before you can control it. "Gross."

Of course, it wasn't gross. Billy accusing you of wanting his attention? It was half true. Maybe you cared for him just a little. You mean, he'd been sort of welcoming to you, hadn't he? That day in the car? And yesterday, at your locker?

There's another minute of silence. Billy Hargrove's eyes are still dancing between yours, and you're still holding it. There's no anxious pit in your stomach. There's no desire to take a step away. If he swings, he swings.

Instead, he says, "Want a hit?"

Your brows furrow in confusion. "I- I mean, yeah?"

"Take it." Billy takes a short hit himself before practically cramming the joint in your hand. "It's 4/20."

You observe the jay carefully, twisting it around in your fingers as your eyes scan it. It's not laced or poisoned, at least, given that it looks like Billy's been puffing on the thing for a while. But there's no reason at all for him to share with you. He did, after all, just catch you in a blatantly illegal act on his property. Simply informing you that it's April 20th isn't enough.

"You really want to smoke with me that bad?" you ask, tone genuine as you hesitantly raise it to your own mouth.

Billy shrugs.

"Thought you'd be more pissed," you only say instead. Then you accept your fate, inhaling the still light cherry.

It's much easier on your throat than the other time, not as harsh. It fills your lungs with peace, sucking up any last remnants of anxiety that might've lingered. When you open your eyes, Billy Hargrove is just as pretty as he was before you closed them. With all that effort going into his appearance, you guess he'd have to be. But Billy Hargrove probably would've been pretty no matter what. If he kept his hair long or short, messy or tamed, skin tanned or pale. Oddly enough, you really believed that. You really, truly did.

You pass the joint back to Billy. "Where's your parents?"

Billy shrugs once more, this time mid hit. "Hell if I know," he replies. "Vacation, I think? Little brat's off at a friends house til Sunday. Place is all mine."

His tone is easing up already, which you think to take as a good sign. When you open your hand, Billy passes the joint back to you with no hesitation. "Lucky," you offer back, taking your hit.

"Gonna need to light it again soon," the boy says. "Got a light here."

Sure enough, Billy produces a little metal lighter from his back pocket. Different from the one he used before, but smoother on the flame. He raises it up to the blunt, and you eye him for a moment before leaning in.

This hit is better than the last few. You want to smile after this one. "How'd you even know I was here?"

Billy Hargrove crosses his arms and settles back into his lean. "Divine providence," he drawls with a roll of his eyes.

"Don't be fuckin' lame."

"I'm sorry?" Billy's dark eyebrow quips up attentively. "Who just broke into who's house?"

You smirk a little- just a smug little twitch that you find you can't help. Whether it be the bud or the conversation, you stifle it best you can to no avail. "I already told you I didn't break anything."

"Mm," Billy hums. His face is full of sarcastic disbelief as he snatches the jay right out of your hand so fast, it burns the tip of your finger.

"I promise. I'd never."

Billy takes his hit. Both of his eyebrows raise in thought before he makes a point to blow the smoke in the exact direction of your face. Immediately, your eyes flutter close at the impact, which rivals that of a brick wall. Even your nose twitches at the force. "You think I'm going to trust the word of a criminal?"

You look at Billy Hargrove. Curly taupe hair. Big, blue, dollface eyes framed by perfectly full brows. A cute button nose. Tanned skin basking in the summer anticipation. He wasn't so bad, you supposed.

You can't help but dip your head as you smile, shaking your head as you find yourself growing shy.

Unknown to you, Billy smiles a little too, before raising the joint back to his lips and inhaling.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

I HAVEN'T POSTED IN YEARS LMFAOOOOO. Hope everyone's doing well. This is just a little treat for you guys for the holiday if you celebrate. If not, just enjoy Billy. I actually kinda liked this pairing. I'd make a part 2, and I actually mean that. I do intend on getting back into posting but I need to do it at my own pace. I'm gonna close requests again so I don't get overwhelmed and just move slow. I am, as always, apologetic for any spelling errors I may have missed, and grammar errors, and I apologize if this at all feels rushed even though I've been working on it for the whole week. Sorta felt like I had to speed it up at the end since there is a word or paragraph cap on tumblr and i was getting hella nervous about hitting it. Anyway, stay safe, take care.

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