#I did not reread this it's straight from the dome | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dewykth · 4 years ago

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SWEET SEPTEMBER.

a @periminkle and @dewykth collaboration.

synopsis. for many, september symbolizes new beginnings. but for namjoon, this month never fails to send him back into the past. though this time, something seems different.

pairing. kim namjoon | female reader contains. fluff, angst, slice of life au, ballet instructor!reader, single dad!nj word count. 7.5k+ warnings. death mentions, mature audience

dae’s note. surprise !!! this fic is dedicated to my favourite virgo karla @guklvr !! happy birthday bae i hope you enjoy this lil thing me n vira whipped up for u!! (i stress wrote a lot of this ha.) also sry for lying & keeping you up but hopefully this makes u forgive me. but i hope ur day goes amazing ILYSM DUDE !!! <333 and a huge thank you to vira for hopping on board for this idea bc i cld not have done this without her !!! pls give her all the love !!!

vira’s note. KARLAAAA!!! i always gotta scream ur name it’s mandatory to start with a good scream ykno? bUT HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIRL 🥳 i already told u this too many times today but ILYSM !! like that full day without saying a single word to u felt so weird and i kept going into our chat and rereading our mssgs and wishing I was talking to u??? which is weird to admit?? but that literally how much i missed u idk how but im addicted to u so if you leave me I will literally die :))) aNYWAY have the bestestestest day ever and i hope u love the fic bc I ignored all my uni work to finish this !!! (also i feel reallyreallyreally bad about last night sO IM SORRY AGAIN BUT I HOPE THIS IS WORTH IT) 💖

Despite the papers carelessly stuffed into his leather briefcase, the dark coffee stain on his black slacks, and his unkempt locks resembling that of a bird’s nest, Namjoon’s become accustomed to the hectic nature of his mornings.

The kitchen table is practically buried under stacks of files, yet he brushes them aside to allow one corner of the glass surface to peek through. He plops the toddler in his arms onto a high chair before racing to the counter and sloppily pouring some honey nut cheerios into a small bowl, handing it off to his daughter.

“Daddy?” her voice squeaks, a patient smile stretching across her lips. Her brown strands are tied up into pigtails at the crown of her head with pink ribbons that flutter with the movement of her tiny head.

“Yes, angel?” He scurries around to their bedroom, peeling the stained fabric off his body and threading one leg through another pair of slacks fresh from the laundry.

With Namjoon’s focus pinned on checking off the mental to-do list in his head, he misses the gentle, reassuring smile that stretches across her rosy lips. The adoration for her father is clear in her gaze. “You forgot to pour the milk.”

At the reminder, he squawks and hops back to the kitchen on one foot as he maneuvers his other leg through the pant hole. Swinging the fridge door open, he grabs the carton and sloppily pours the milk into her bowl—white droplets leaping out with their newfound freedom and forming perfect domes on the glass tabletop.

Cleaning the mess falls to the bottom of his priorities at the moment, and so he speeds off to the bathroom to ensure that his appearance is presentable for work while Dasom reaches over to pluck a tissue from the box, swiping the milky beads away before diving into her breakfast. She shoves as many cheerios into her small mouth as she can, rushing because she refuses to finish her meal in the car with their wild driver behind the wheel.

Despite her mere four years of age, she knows from experience that a bowl of cereal and a shaky vehicle is a recipe for disaster.

Namjoon races over to his briefcase with most of his hair sleeked back, only the locks of his bangs hanging out to frame his forehead. As he slips his dark blazer on to complete his form-fitting suit, Dasom scoops the last few brown rings into her mouth and slurps the remainder of the liquid.

“Did you finish your milk?” he questions while cramming the edges of the loose leaves that peek past the seam of his briefcase, hurriedly zipping it up and turning to face her.

Dasom flips the edge of the bowl up to display its empty contents, gulping the last of her breakfast down her throat. As per routine, she scans her father for any inconsistencies in his attire, landing on his odd fitting bottoms.

“Daddy, your pants are on backwards.”

His eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets, glancing down to affirm that the pockets at his sides are no longer at the front of his hips. Hastily, he shimmies out of his slacks once more and twists the fabric around to the proper orientation.

Dasom hops off her chair, her bowl and wet kleenex in hand as she waddles over to the sink and waits for him to deposit the dirty dish into the sink and the sullied tissue into the trash. Although her short arms couldn’t reach over the countertop just yet, she’ll diligently drink every last drop of her milk in hopes of growing tall enough to take some of the load off of her father’s back.

He hoists Dasom up at the sight of the red car pulling up to the driveway, squeezing into the back seat. Namjoon doesn’t have to tell the driver to book it, as the calm man in front has learned to keep his foot pressed on the pedal. The car weaves through the morning traffic with concerning speed, snaking through the other vehicles littering the road as if they were no more than stationary pylons, simply there for practice.

Dasom remains on her father’s lap with his arms looped protectively around the seatbelt over her torso. She sinks into his embrace, fiddling around with his long, slender fingers as she watches the blurs of colour speeding past the window.

“Did you put your ballet shoes into your backpack, angel?” Namjoon loosens his grip on her, unhooking one hand to rummage through his own briefcase in order to confirm that he had indeed slid his laptop within the chaos inside. To keep her entertained, he playfully extends his digits out of her reach.

“Of course!” she chirps, a wide grin revealing the gaps between her teeth. The pads of her fingertips brush against his palm and tickle the sensitive skin there when she realizes that her arms lack the length required to latch onto his hand. “I can’t wait for class, we’ve got a new teacher coming in today!”

Humming absentmindedly, he sighs in relief at the sight of the silver device and packs the crumpled papers back in. “What happened to Ms. Kim?”

“She’s teaching the older class now.” The pout on her lips can be heard within the muffled lilt of her voice when she continues, “I asked her to stay until my birthday next week b-but she didn’t.”

Namjoon’s breath hitches at the reminder, but attempts to compose himself for his daughter’s sake. “It’s out of her control, angel, plus she’ll probably swing by anyway.”

His mind starts to fog up with the emotions he thought he buried last year–they swarm his every thought and nibble away at his sanity. He knows better than to believe that they would ever disappear. September will always be an insurmountable month for him.

“I might be a bit late to pick you up later, just sit tight and wait for Daddy, okay?”

She eagerly nods in response, noticing the dull red bricks of her school coming into view. “Okay, bye Daddy!”

Namjoon unlocks the seatbelt, wistfully watching his toddler bounce out of his arms and onto the asphalt below. No matter how many times he drops her off, it’s always difficult to be separated from her bright smile, but he reminds himself that it’s all for her; it makes things a little easier to bear.

“Have a good day at school.” He reciprocates her frantic waving through the window, craning his neck to watch her adorable form become smaller and smaller with the increased distance. Her full cheeks and crinkled eyes are engraved into the back of his mind.

Before long, Namjoon finds himself rushing into his office after an earful from his surly boss about everything from the late hour to the long list of meetings scheduled to all the work he’s got piled up. With his lips pursed and his head bowed, he somehow manages to make it past another lively morning.

Namjoon has a habit of overthinking. He figures it’s normal when you have a stressful job and a four year old full of energy to balance all by yourself. Not that overthinking about his daughter does him any good, because that is far from the reality. If anything, it just makes him, what you’d call, a bit... overprotective (over worrisome if you asked Jin). But it’s something he can’t really help. Even when she had just entered his life, so small and so blissfully unaware of the awful and evil things in the world, all he wanted to do was hold her in his arms and shield her from it all as long as he could.

Though he’s very aware of the fact that it won’t be much longer, that won’t stop him from going over every single little thing that could go wrong in the meantime.

So, of course, when Namjoon’s asshole of a boss makes him stay two hours over his shift, all Namjoon can think about is Dasom. Is she okay? Has she eaten anything? Did she drink enough water today? She’s always dehydrated after her classes too. He usually calls Ms. Kim to check up on her, but his calls went straight to voicemail, which definitely wasn’t helping his hectic mind. Perhaps something had happened to her?

Oh god, maybe someone broke in and had injured Dasom?

The doors are thrown open, the sound of the doorknob hitting the wall reverberating through the room. The receptionist wearing her usual polka-dot dress jumps in her seat, eyes lifting from the intense scene on her phone to the entrance of the building. An unsure smile stretches across her ruby red lips at the familiar figure, though a bit disheveled and breathless. But before the customary ‘hello’ can even form on her tongue, the figure is rushing past her, leaving only a gust of air in his wake. The papers on her desk fall to the ground, and she sighs.

Namjoon is prepared to fight the (fictional) person who thinks breaking into a toddler ballet class is a good idea, but the scene in front of him once he pushes past the doors of the studio is one he is wholly unprepared for.

He sees Dasom first, and the relief that fills his body is indescribable. It’s far from the usual sight he’s greeted with when he picks her up late. She’s not sitting on one of the chairs in the far corner of the room. His heart doesn’t feel heavy, which comes with seeing his daughter so glum. This time it’s her laughter that greets him, not one provoked by him but by the figure standing in the middle of the room with her.

Dasom doesn’t seem to be aware of the presence of her dad yet, but the figure twirling her around turns, and her eyes land on Namjoon.

The reaction is immediate. The carefree smile that had been on your face slips off, a look of embarrassment and surprise overcoming your features. Namjoon only catches a glimpse, and somehow finds himself wishing that won’t be the last time he sees it. You let go of Dasom’s hand, quickly making your way to the stereo on the other side of the room. And that’s when-

“Daddy!”

Dasom wastes no time running into her father’s open arms, and Namjoon suddenly can’t remember why he was so worried in the first place. “Hi, angel.” he says, just loud enough for her to hear. She pulls back. “I’m so sorry for getting here so late. I promise i won’t do it again.”

But of course, Dasom holds nothing but forgiveness in her heart for her hard-working father. She does love teasing him, though. “Don't say sorry to me, say sorry to her.” she giggles, pointing behind her and Namjoon furrows his brow until he remembers they’re not the only ones in the room.

His eyes immediately move to where you stand awkwardly near the stereo, eyes moving around the room as if you hadn’t been watching the whole exchange. Namjoon sighs, realizing he definitely can’t avoid talking to you now. He stands straight, holding onto Dasom’s hand as he makes his way over to you. You only seem to grow more nervous as he nears, and Namjoon distantly recalls Jin telling him he came off as intimidating to most people. Something about his ‘beefy’ arms, in his own words. (“And that stupid and unfairly attractive face!”) He goes for a smile because it's not like he can control his physique.

“Hi, I’m so sorry about…”

Namjoon stops.

Maybe it was the overwhelming distress before, or the really shitty lighting of the studio, but he hadn’t realized how pretty you were before. But now he’s standing right in front of you and he can’t seem to form a coherent thought. Pretty can’t be the right word. He realizes how creepy he probably looks, running in here like a madman and then downright staring at the (very beautiful) woman who looked after his daughter? Not cool, man.

You clear your throat, before extending a hand to him. “Hi, I’m ____, the new ballet instructor.”

Your voice sounds just like honey.

Namjoon stares at your hand dumbly, before the sound of Dasom snickering (very discreetly) behind him snaps him out of it. But instead of introducing himself, or apologizing, or just taking your fucking hand, he says-

“What happened to Ms. Kim?”

He mentally face-palms.

Not. Cool. Man.

Your face falls, and Namjoon has never wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole more than he does now. “Uh, she’s instructing the teen class now.” you chuckle awkwardly, dropping your hand.

“Oh-”

“Daaaad,” Dasom's voice sounds annoyed, and perhaps it’s a bit silly of Namjoon to feel like he’s being scolded, but that is exactly how he feels right now. “I told you this. In the morning. Remember?”

He doesn’t. “Ah, right of course,” Namjoon scratches the back of his neck. It wasn’t like he meant to forget, he had just been too busy thinking about the other things every September would bring. “Sorry, I’m Kim Namjoon. Dasom’s dad.”

This time he offers his hand, and he thanks the skies above that you don’t seem to hate him because you fit your hand against his. Warm, like honey. How long had it been since he last made a fool of himself in front of a pretty girl?

Too long.

“I’m terribly sorry for arriving so late it’s just that my boss, who’s a huge-” Namjoon glances at Dasom, who is now in her own world, singing some song she learned in school, “jerk, decided to assign these reports last minute and the printer would just not work and then traffic hour-”

Your hand comes up to cover your mouth, but Namjoon can see the amusement bubbling in your eyes. He flushes a deep red, eyes falling to the floor, realizing he started ranting.

“It’s okay. Really.”

When he looks back up, there’s a smile on your face. Not like the one before, this one was more reserved, but genuine, reassuring. And just like that, he’s sure you don’t hate him.

Namjoon’s not sure he likes this feeling though.

“Straighten your arms out, girls!” you belt over the classical music that floods the studio’s walls, scanning your army of toddlers in tutus whose arms immediately tense at your command. Making your way through the row, you poke and prod everywhere from their shoulders to their ankles. “Arch your back more, Somin.”

Their muscles violently tremble in response to the strenuous routine you’ve introduced, facial features scrunched in concentration and a resolute will to uphold their positions despite the hyperextension of their limbs. A mix of pity and pride swells in your chest at their effort. “Keep your chins up, the annual recital is only a couple of days away.”

Cheers erupt throughout the small room, disrupting the focus and spoiling their perfect form, yet you refuse to quiet excitement because of the renewed vigour buzzing throughout the room. The next hour depletes all of their built-up energy with demi-piles, pirouettes and sautés.

A glance at the analog clock in the corner informs you of the five minutes remaining before the end of class, so you pause the speakers and instruct the girls to stretch themselves out as they wait for their guardians to trickle in. They collectively sigh in relief before dropping to the floor like flies.

You snort at their dramatics with an amused smile playing at your lips. “I said to stretch, not to lay down and nap.”

“Can’t we nap and stretch at the same time?”

Strolling over to the source of the voice, you cluck your tongue at her limp form sprawled across the wooden floor and cross your arms, struggling to keep your giggles from breaking your angered facade. “And how do you suppose we do that, little Miss Dasom?”

She flashes her toothless grin up at you. “Like this!” With one leg bent over the other and her hands looping around to hold her twisted limbs to her torso, she shuts her eyes and exaggerates her snores.

At this point, it’s nearly impossible to withhold your snickers, and the rest of the class joins in your laughter. You pick up on Dasom’s tinkling giggles between each of her heavy breaths. The lighthearted jokes continue as kids are signed out with bright grins on each of their faces.

You wait for the rest of the toddlers to file out one by one, waving goodbye and checking them off your list until, as usual, Dasom is the only toddler left. Her tiny feet still clad in her faded ballet shoes waddle up to you, tugging on your blouse.

“Your pirouette was a bit wobbly today, do you want to go over—”

“‘M tired,” she interrupts, slouching her shoulders with an adorable frown marring her lips. Her exhaustion is justified, since the routine is rather exhausting, and with their recital right around the corner, you worked them to the bone today.

The odd timing of the switch between you and Ms. Kim left you with a little under a week to tweak and perfect their current choreography. A sloppy routine is not the way you want to present your skills to their parents for the first time, thus you were stricter with the kids than normal.

Your sympathy wins out, and so you gather Dasom’s lithe figure into your arms as you head to the closest wall. With your back supported, you spread out your legs and place her in your lap.

“My birthday is this Thursday.”

“Mhm,” you hum, bobbing your head to signal for her to continue her train of thought.

Her back faces you, but when her head tips down to stare at her hands, you know she’s contemplating her words carefully. Rather than encouraging her to speak freely, you wait for her to feel comfortable enough to reveal her thoughts; and surely enough, her shell cracks open just enough for you to peep through. “Do you wanna come?”

“I would be honoured.” A giddy smile splits across your lips. “Is Daddy picking you up again today?”

She flips around in your hold, wrapping her arms around your waist and snuggling her head to your chest. Her words are muffled into the fabric of your thin shirt, but her tone indicates her affirmation.

Suddenly self-conscious of your heartbeat—that Dasom can definitely hear with her ear pressed up against you—picking up pace at the mention of her father, you suppress your thoughts with a guilty conscience. You internally chide yourself for harbouring feelings for the charming, taken, man, defying arguably one of the most important fundamental rules of becoming an instructor.

Do not develop silly crushes on your student’s parents.

“Ms. ____?” her faint question snaps you out of your reverie, attention brought back to the present moment. While preoccupied, your hand took on a mind of its own, gingerly patting the space between the little girl’s shoulder blades at a slow rhythm.

She gazes up at you when you halt your rhythmic movements, sharp eyes boring into yours. “Are you gonna ask Daddy to come see me dance?”

The edges of your lips flip up in what you hope to be an encouraging smile as you nod your head. Subconsciously, you begin to stress over another encounter with Namjoon, formulating a script to hopefully avoid the stiff, tense atmosphere that lingered throughout all your previous interactions.

“Daddy’s always really busy,” she slurs, drowsiness coating her words and weighing down on her lids. Grumbling under her breath about her numb legs, Dasom crawls onto the floor beside you with her head resting on your thigh. “He’s always working hard for me.”

Your eyes soften at the fetal position she’s taken up on the ground; not only was Dasom lucky to have such a dedicated father, but Namjoon was also blessed with a caring daughter. “You don’t think he can make it?”

“It’s okay,” she whispers and you have to crane your ears to listen. You stroke the strands littering her forehead, gingerly caressing the crown of her head. “It’s okay if Daddy can’t come. I know him, he’s trying to do it all because Mommy’s not with us anymore, but it’s okay. I still love him even if I can’t see him lots.”

A knot forms between your eyebrows, a bittersweet ache forming within the creases of your heart. The painful constriction of your chest ebbs and flows with your shallow breaths that can’t seem to make it past your throat. You bite your lip to subdue the plentiful liquid gathering at your waterline.

No more than a croak escapes your lips before the door to the studio flies open, meeting the adjacent wall with a bang!

“I’m so sorry, my meeting ran late and I couldn’t—” the rest of his speech gets stuck in his windpipe at the sight of you, eyes rimmed red and sniffling, with Dasom, ostensibly dead asleep, on your thigh. “Did she…?”

You blink away your incoming tears, although your dignity has been completely thrown out the window, seeing as he believes that his four-year-old kid made a grown woman, who just so happens to be her ballet teacher, bawl her eyes out.

As you go to gently shake Dasom awake, she sluggishly lifts her head off of your lap and starts to scale your torso like a koala on a tree. Your confusion is vocalized through the high-pitched hum in your throat, but your efforts to pry off her limbs, tightly wound around the small of your waist, are futile.

“Uh, Dasom? It’s time to go home now, angel.” Despite his firm words, Namjoon’s tone is unsure and shaky; he can feel cold sweat build up in the lines of his palms. He knows his daughter, and she can be periodically stubborn and insistent the way children are at her age, thus even as you come to stand, she’s stuck to you like glue. “Would you, uh, did you need a ride?”

You mimic the sheepish smile on his face, hoping the flaming blush you feel on your cheeks isn’t as visible as it seems. “Sure.”

With Dasom latched onto you, both of you make your way to the red car outside after you lock up the studio. Namjoon courteously opens the car door for you, what with your arms supporting his clingy toddler; although, with the brute force he uses, you worry for the state of the hinges. Thankfully, they stay intact and he’s able to slip into the backseat after you.

Before an awkward silence can settle, you clear your throat and prepare to ask him about his day, but you’re interjected by Namjoon’s sudden stammering, “D-driving’s such a hassle for me so Jin drives us everywhere. Jin knows how to drive though, so, don’t worry.” He finishes with a deep chuckle that dies off nearly as quickly as it began. Oh, that’s unexpected.

“You don’t to drive yourself?” Rather than being processed in your brain and logically thought through, the question immediately enters your mouth without any prior scanning for dumbass-content. You instantly regret it, feeling as though it’s much too invasive. “You don’t have to answer that, I—”

The hearty laughter that meets your ears is “No, I do. Sometimes. But its easier raising this one like this.” His tone turns sweet at the mention of Dasom as he reaches over to pat her head, and you’re overcome with an intense desire to prod more into his personal life. Why does he have to work so much? Which shirt in his closet is his favourite? How does he like his eggs in the morning?

“I’m not sure if you already knew about the annual recital on Saturday, but Dasom’s been practicing really hard for weeks and the kids are all really talented, so it would definitely be worth your time...”

As he’s gazing at his daughter, galaxies of devotion and longing swirl within his cocoa irises. The cool light of the moon shines through the windows of the car, illuminating his sharp jawline and strong brows. You’re absolutely mesmerized by the sight in front of you. “You must be really busy, huh?”

“More than I’d like to be.”

You rip your entranced gaze away from Namjoon, willing yourself to steady your frantic breaths.

The remainder of the ride still drips with awkward tension, although with a definite lighter tone than before. Jin pulls up to your apartment with your direction and you dislodge a sleepy Dasom from your torso, which is much easier now that her limbs have gone slack with sleep. Handing her off to Namjoon, who practically engulfs her tiny form with his broad chest, you rush out of the vehicle with a quick, “See you!”

You slam the door closed before he can say anything, racing into the comfort of your home with your heart in your throat.

The last thing you had expected to do on a Thursday evening was to go to a birthday dinner. Thursdays are your days off, your in-days. The ones you spend lounging on your couch with a face mask and some wine. And yet, here you are.

When you received a text this morning, the last person you had expected it to be was Namjoon. Much less Namjoon asking you to come over for Dasom’s birthday. You weren’t going to say yes, hell, you had thought of downright ignoring it. It was weird, wasn’t it? But Dasom had quickly carved a toddler-shaped hole into your heart. Truly, you had said yes before the message was even typed out.

And so now you stare at the tall apartment building in front of you, definitely feeling more nervous than before. You knew that Namjoon had to be well-off to afford a weekday chauffeur, but damn did you not expect him to be this well-off.

It seemed today was the day to expect absolutely anything.

You enter the opulent building, signing in at the front desk before entering the large, mirrored elevator. The beating of your heart picks up the more floors you pass, and you can’t help but fidget with your appearance. Namjoon had said it would only be you three, which you guessed was supposed to calm your nerves but really, it did anything but that. The mere thought of eating dinner with Namjoon was nerve-wracking. But now you were about to eat dinner and enter his home; you had no fucking clue what you were getting yourself into.

The doors slide open, and you step into the hallway. A single door could be seen at the end of the hallway, so you quickly make your way over. You stop right in front, taking a deep breath in before pushing the doorbell. A beat, a crash, another beat, then-

The door swings open, and your breath catches in your throat.

Namjoon looks heavenly as always, but seeing him in clothes other than his usual black slacks makes your heart do a cartwheel. God, this is dangerous.

“Ms. ____!”

Before Namjoon can form a hello, Dasom is running past him and wrapping her small arms around your legs. “You came! See daddy! I told you she’d come.” her tongue pokes out of her mouth, aimed straight at her father and you stifle a laugh.

“Did he think I wouldn’t?” you ask, eyebrow arched as you glance at Namjoon, who seems to have a permanent pink hue on his face.

“He said you wouldn’t!”

“Oh, really? What else did he say?”

“He said I had to help him clean either way!”

“Alright, Dasom. That’s enough.” He says firmly, clearing his throat and trying to act as unaffected as possible. His eyes shift to meet yours. “Why don’t you come inside?”

As much as this day really sucked for Namjoon, today had been… different. Not all too much. Of course, getting up was the hardest part, but he had decided to make Dasom her favourite breakfast meal instead of her usual cereal. He had also made sure to get her all the toys she had been wanting, and planned their day out to do Dasom’s favourite things. Namjoon just wanted this day to be special for her. That was all he cared about.

But when Dasom had asked him to invite you, he had hesitated.

Dasom had never spent her birthdays with anyone else but Namjoon. Not that it was intentional, but Namjoon liked to have this day just for the both of them. Because that’s how it’s always been. He didn’t know what it was about you that made his daughter talk about you all the time. Or why she wanted to spend a birthday with you. But how could he deny her? And so, the text was sent.

And now, as Namjoon puts away the dishes while you sit on his couch, he realizes he hadn’t thought of her today. Not as much as the years before. Dinner had been so... nice. It felt nice to have someone else around. Namjoon loves Dasom, but he hadn’t realized how distant he had gotten from everything that had once seemed to be the centre of his life.

Namjoon closes the dishwasher, exiting the kitchen and making his way to the living room. He places the two glasses on the table before pouring the dark red liquid.

“I hope you like Merlot.”

“Oh, please. Anything’s fine.”

You take the wine glass, sending him a thank you before taking a drink. “So,” you lean back, “remind me how to play this again.”

“Ms.____ I told you. You have to take a block without knocking the tower over,” Dasom shows you by pushing a middle wooden block out, “then you have to place it on top, like this.'' She places the same block on top of the tower.

“Ah, right! I just need to make sure if I want to win.”

“You can’t! I’m the best!”

“Oh really? And what about you?” you turn, brow raised and eyes playful.

“Pshh,” he scoffs, leaning forward. “Who do you think she takes after?”

He doesn’t think he’s ever lost a game so quickly.

Namjoon watches as you close Dasom’s door quietly from the hallway before you make your way back to the family room. “She’s out like a light. I guess all that tower building got to her.”

Namjoon snorts. He feels oddly disappointed as he watches you gather your things to go. Was it weird that he wanted you to stay? “Do you need me to get you a ride? I can call Jin to drive you home.”

“No, it’s fine! Really! I already ordered an Uber anyway.” You grab your coat near the door. Before Namjoon can unlock the door, you touch his shoulder. “Listen, thank you for inviting me today. I know you probably wanted to spend this day together instead, but I... “ you inhale, because you aren’t sure of what you want to actually say “thank you.”

Would it be weird to say how much better you made today? Probably. “You don’t… have to thank me. I think I should be the one doing the thanking. I really wanted this day to be special for Dasom and you… you definitely helped. So, thank you.”

The door opens, and the light of the hallway fills his dim flat. “Guess we’re even then.” you smile before turning, making your way to the elevator. Namjoon shuts the door once the sight of you is gone, but the smile on his face remains

“Guess we are.” he whispers wistfully

Perhaps stopping at a flower vendor when you’re already running late was a bad idea, but Namjoon wasn’t thinking about time. He had seen the bouquet of flowers and imagined the huge smile that would stretch across Dasom’s face, and that was all he needed to swerve into the left lane.

Now, though, as he anxiously watches the cars in front of him move a foot forward after thirty minutes, he’s sure he should have just left the fucking flowers alone.

Namjoon doesn’t know how long he’s been shifting his eyes from the traffic to the watch ticking around his wrist, but by a miracle, the cars start moving. Slowly, then he’s speeding down the highway, praying to the skies above he’ll make it in time. Even if he arrives in the midst of the dance, he can’t miss this recital. He won’t.

He sighs in relief when he sees the familiar glass building, though it’s cut short when he sees the parking lot. No available place in sight. Fuck. Namjoon is sure he looks insane right now, swerving around the parking lot in search for an empty spot, or really just any fucking spot that looks like it could fit his monster of a car.

Then the clouds seem to open up, and right near the entrance is a vacant spot. Namjoon swears his mouth almost waters at the sight. Quickly speeding around the lot, he parks, but not before flipping off the angry parent who tries to beat him to it. Namjoon exits his car, quickly grabbing his coat and the large bouquets of flowers from the backseat. He runs to the entrance, practically throwing the shriveled paper at the ticket clerk.

Namjoon slows as he nears the theatre doors, taking a deep breath before calmly opening it. He had completely forgotten to book seats in advance, so he’s not surprised to see the velvet seats filled to the brim. When he looks to the stage, he’s relieved to see that there’s still time until Dasom comes on.

Now, Namjoon knows he’s not the most… balanced person. It’s common knowledge that he trips over his feet and knocks things over sometimes. (Oh, but definitely more than the average person.) Now, if you were to ask Namjoon if he pays attention to his surroundings, he'd say yes.

But if you were to ask Namjoon what he tripped over, he wouldn’t know. It doesn’t matter, because now there’s a furious mother with a horrendous bob cut glaring at him, and what he thinks to be a broken camcorder on the floor. The only thing he can manage is an awkward smile and an even more awkward apology. Namjoon offers to give her the cost for repairs, hell, even offers to buy her a new one. The woman snatches the bills from his hands but she doesn’t go back to minding her business like he thought she would. No, instead she starts to argue with him, in the middle of her child’s recital, no less!

Namjoon can’t do anything but stare at her as she blabbers on about how horrible he is for throwing her camcorder on the floor. (Not like it had much life left, that thing looked like it was from 2007.) She’s damn near spitting on his face, and causing other parents to turn around and glare at them. As if it was his fault. Who knew she had such an attachment to the damn thing!

A hand lands on his shoulder, and for a second he’s sure it’s security ready to escort him out of the building. But when he turns, he’s surprised to see it’s you. Like an angel had ascended from the clouds to save Namjoon from the wrath of a ballet mom. And just like that, you’re leading him away, taking a seat two rows before the stage. Namjoon’s eyes widen at the sight of the empty seat beside you.

It’s that feeling again, and Namjoon’s palms start to get sweaty as he takes a seat. “Jesus, thank you for that,” he whispers, relishing your quiet laughter that follows.

“Of course. She was probably a blink away from going full-blown Karen on you.” you tease.

“Oh, and that wasn’t?”

“Oh, Joon, you haven’t seen how angry ballet moms can get.” you both laugh, huddled together as if you’re sharing a special secret. It seems so natural. As if this is where he’s supposed to be. So much that Namjoon almost doesn’t catch the nickname, but how could he miss it when you say it just like she used to?

The stage lights darken, and Namjoon is grateful for the excuse to look elsewhere. He’s sure if he would have stared at you for just a bit longer, he would have done something completely and utterly stupid. “This is her.” you whisper, and Namjoon buries the thought away.

A blue hue shines across the stage before the soft melody begins to play, filling the room with the sounds of strings and keys. One by one, tiny swans begin to come into view, prancing around the stage. Namjoon catches sight of Dasom, looking adorable in her white tutu and he can’t help the proud smile that makes its way onto his face. He watches with adoration as she does her pirouettes, and maybe there’s some water overflowing in his eyes as they finish their dance, bowing towards the audience.

You both stand, clapping and cheering the loudest, uncaring of the stares from the snobby rich parents because you’re both too damn proud of Dasom to care. For a moment, Namjoon pretends that it’s different, simpler. That it’s not only his child on stage but yours. Ours. He thinks he likes the sound of that too much.

Once the show ends, you lead Namjoon backstage where the buzz of dozens of girls talking fills the air. You tell him that you need to check in on the other kids and disappear through a hallway. He spots Dasom quickly, or rather, she spots him.

“Daddy! You came!”

Namjoon lifts Dasom with his free arm, twirling her around before placing a big kiss on her forehead. Her giggles fill him with delight, and he doesn’t care that his cheeks hurt from how hard he’s been smiling. “Of course I came, angel. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He places her on the ground before he grabs the bouquet of sunflowers from his other arm. The sight of her favourite flower makes Dasom jump with joy. She takes the flowers, and Namjoon silently coos at how much smaller they make her look. Then she spots the other bouquet of flowers in his arm. She scrunches her brows together, about to ask who those are for before her eyes catch something behind Namjoon.

“Ms. ____!”

“Dasom!”

Dasom jumps into your arms, and you laugh at her enthusiasm. “You did so well! I’m so proud of that pirouette!” You twirl her around once her feet hit the ground, smiling as you watch her stumble slightly. Namjoon can’t help but smile too.

“Look what daddy got me, Ms. ____! Look!” Dasom lifts the flowers up, almost shoving them into your face.

“Wow, these are very beautiful, Dasom!”

“Look! He got you some too!” she giggles, and you look at her confusedly then at Namjoon. He sighs, looking pointedly at Dasom despite the cherry hue making its way across his cheeks. She giggles once again before running to her friends. “Dasom!” but it's futile.

If it weren’t for the consistent chatter, Namjoon’s sure there would be an agonizing silence to fill the space between you. You walk closer to him, looking down at your shoes bashfully. “Ah, these-” he takes the bouquet from his arm, “these are for you.”

You looked surprised to say the least. Eyes wide and glassy, your mouth falling ajar. “Wow, uh, really?” you ask, glancing up from the bouquet. He nods shyly.

Listen, he had only planned to buy Dasom her favourite flowers. But then he caught sight of these beautiful yellow roses, tips painted a light amber orange. Somehow they reminded him of you. And the way you had left him with his heart feeling lighter for the first time in years the other night. Maybe it was a way of saying thank you. He’ll admit, he didn’t think it all the way through, but the way you’re smiling at him right now makes him think it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

There’s a moment where it seems to just be you and him, despite the tons of parents and children running around. He’s only focused on you, and the way your eyes drop to his lips, if only for a millisecond. Namjoon wants to say it. God, he wants to say it so badly. “Listen I… I’ve been meaning to ask you,” his voice fades away as his eyes catch yours. Hopeful. Beautiful. Glimmering.

Just like hers.

“Do you, uh, need a ride home?”

And the bubble bursts.

You step away, looking at anything but him and he hates it. He despises it. He wants you to look at him like that again. He wants nothing more than to pull you back and kiss you senselessly, like his mind is screaming for him to do. But he can’t. He can’t do it for some fucking reason and he almost wants to cry in frustration because why can’t this just be easier? Why is it so hard to move on? You don’t deserve this. You deserve so much better than what he can offer you. And that thought keeps him still.

“Uh, sure.”

Quiet.

Say something, idiot! Tell her what you’ve been dying to say! Just fucking say it!

Namjoon hates himself for the next words that tumble out of his mouth.

“Let’s find Dasom.”

The drive to your house is just like it was before, except this time there’s no chatter to fill the emptiness. Dasom is sound asleep in the backseat. You've never seemed more distant than now, facing the window, body pressed against the door. You had almost begged to go in the back with Dasom, and Namjoon doesn’t know why he didn’t just let you.

How did it come to this? This wasn’t what he wanted. This night wasn’t supposed to go like this. Everything should have gone differently.

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever fix this. If things will go back to normal. If he completely ruined it. But he’s too afraid to ask. Too afraid to know.

Namjoon has never hated the quiet more.

The sight of your apartment complex fills him with dread. All he can think about is all he wants to say, all he should have said, all he wants to take back. God, Namjoon wishes he could take it back. If only there was a way to turn back the time. Why had he been so afraid to make a move? Why did it hurt so much? But he knows going back wouldn’t help. Not when he doesn’t know if he would have done it differently.

His car comes to a stop, and the doors unlock. He faintly catches the small thank you before the passenger door slams shut. Namjoon watches as you make your way up the pathway, feet moving briskly and it feels like he’s watching you walk away from him.

You’re shuffling through your bag, looking for your key. And fuck, is he really just going to this go? Is he that stubborn that he can’t see past himself? He can’t. He can’t let you go. Not like this.

Well do something, dumbass!

The door of his car is thrown open, and before he can overthink it-

“____!”

You still. You turn.

Namjoon shuts the door. He walks up the steps and stops a few feet away from you, but he feels like he’s miles away. You look up at him, questioning. Your eyes aren’t the same ones. Not like you looked at him before. Yet they’re still warm. Inviting. Namjoon is tongue-tied, and all those words he wanted to say are gone now.

“Are we… good?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“I just…” he scratches the back of his neck. “That moment back at the recital. I… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” you say, simply. When he looks at you, he can’t tell what you’re feeling. You’ve blocked him off. “Namjoon, really. It’s fine.”

But is it really? He wants to ask. But he doesn’t. It’s quiet again, this time the sound of the wind rustling the browning leaves above filling the space. Still.

“I… god, I don’t know why this is so hard. Ever since, you know,” you don’t. “I… I didn’t think I'd ever get an opportunity to…” he inhales, unsure of what he wants to say first.

“I just feel like I ruined it so carelessly.”

You don’t say anything for a few moments. You only stare at him, really stare at him. Like you can see through his mirage, through the walls he’s spent so long building up. You’re taking it all, but there’s nothing he can take back from you.

“You didn’t.” you whisper it so quietly, Namjoon would have thought his mind had taken pity on him. But a smile slips onto your face. Unlike the other ones. It doesn’t fill him with joy. It doesn’t give him butterflies. This one hurts.

And he knows you’re telling the truth.

“This… It might take a while.”

The wind picks up. The leaves rustle. The cold, biting.

“That’s ok. I’ll wait as long as you need me to.”

Your lips are bittersweet on his tongue.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AGAIN TO KARLA !! ILYYYY <3

#bangtanhq #btsbookclub #ficswithluv #btsguild #btsgoldnet #cypherwritersnet #namjoon x reader #namjoon angst #kim namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x you #bts x reader #namjoon fanfic

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kineticallyanywhere · 3 years ago

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got tagged by @writingondaisies!

How many works do you have on AO3?

14 (there’s one I should move from ff.net soon, but it’s not there now)

What’s your total AO3 word count?

270,817

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

In order of recencey... Dungeons & Daddies, RWBY, Red vs Blue, The Flash/Arrowverse, Danny Phantom, Randy Cunningham: 9th Grade Ninja, (back into ff.net days, Kim Possible, American Dragon: Jake Long, a Percy Jackson one-shot... another thing... Warriors)

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Mind over Matter (Red vs Blue)

Fourteen, and four thousand, years old (RWBY)

Flying, falling, stand your ground (RWBY)

The Way Out (Red vs Blue)

Washin’Boose (Red vs Blue)

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I try to for long-running fics and for especially long or intense comments, but I’m usually just so nervous ;<; they all warm my heart tho, there is not one that I haven’t read more than once

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I’m typically allergic to straight tragedy, but... I think probably Put your Stampler in a box (D&Dads), since the whole thing is a hypothetical lead-up to a magic teenager going on a rampage. Mind over Matter has a really emotional ending, but I like to think it’s more bittersweet than straight angst. Fourteen, and four thousand, years old swerves into angst, but nobody’s dying or anything so... yeah!

Do you write crossovers? If so what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Heroes Under Drinking Age is the incomplete MASSIVE thing which is supposed to ultimately crossover Danny Phantom, RC9GN, American Dragon, and Kim Possible. I hit a hard writing wall on the ADJL and KP side and just never got over it :( I still dream of finishing it

Oh I guess there’s also a TMA-D&Dads crossover I’ve put some thought into, where after s5 Jon and Martin land in Faerun to replace The Library, and they get to decompress in this strange world, meet the Likelys, and hear about the eldritch-adjacent beings from other worlds.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Nope! (knocks on all the wood) at least not if you’re not counting someone pointing out spelling stuff unsolicited or stuff like that.

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

n o p e

when I did Demons not sold separately (D&Dads) they kiss like two times and talk about the prospect of doing more, but it doesn’t go anywhere cause there’s kids nearby. I tagged it as “ace writing allos” just in case, cause boy howdy do I not know what I’m doing in that department ^u^’

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that I know of? I wouldn’t know where to start checking for that and if it’s happened, no one’s told me about it

Have you ever had a fic translated?

only in my dreams

Washin’Boose got a pod-fic tho!!

What’s your all time favorite ship?

I don’t ship too much and I slide around a lot when I do, but Clark KentxLois Lane 4ever

Whats a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Heroes Under Drinking Age, my beloved...

I’ve also got a number of AUs for DnDads, some with enough written that I may as well post some of the stuff as one-shots to maybe expand on later. One is a high school au where Hen (14) comes to Earth early, another is an exploration of what it might be like to be a sort of demi-god descendant of a chaos entity with the Doodler Cult coming back (called Puberty, ????, and You). Idk if Done Sons and Dragons counts, cause that’d be a whole comic. I’d love to publish something of at least one of these

And then there’s a half-baked idea for Yet Another Oscar Time Travel AU for RWBY, that would take place starting after v8 and would feature Oscar and Emerald traveling back to the series start (on purpose.)

What are your writing strengths?

I’ve gotten quite a few compliments on my prose and scene pacing! I like writing prose like it’s the thought process of the character I’m following, and I often find myself getting a bit poetic about it. I’m a big fan of parallelisms and using repetition for impact.

I also put a lot into trying to match the original tone of the content I’m writing fic for, and have gotten quite a few compliments on my character dialogue. I just get their voices in my brain and they don’t leave. On only one occasion have they paid rent. The freeloaders.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I bite off more than I can chew and never finish

I worry a lot over making sure emotional beats connect, and that it doesn’t feel like I’m jumping from point A to point C, and I’m afraid that makes me over-explain point B. Like I was rereading HUDA: Alpha after I posted it to ao3, and I have a lot of grace for my high school self, but some parts of that fic could have been smoothed out quite a bit. Parts of Mind over Matter are a bit wordier than they needed to be, too.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I feel like it’s best done by people who are fluent in a language. Language isn’t just changing words from A to B, it comes with cultural connotations and altered meanings and layers that are only going to come across perfectly when it comes from someone who knows exactly what they’re talking about. so like if I were ever to use more than a few words or a common phrase in another language in a fic, I’d find someone who actually speaks it to help me out.

as for how to format it... if the meaning needs to be understood by the reader, you may as just put it in the fic’s main language and alter the formatting (like with itallics) or dialogue tag to denote that they’re speaking another language. If it’s small bits, I don’t super mind footnotes at the bottom or just leaving it untranslated, like a special bit for people who speak the language or are willing to look it up.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

warrior cats! me, my best friend, and my older sister all had OCs and were part of RainClan, our OC clan. Their camp was made in the trunk and branches of a big willow tree that made a kind of sheltered dome. I didn’t even know what fanfiction was back then

What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

Mind over Matter. Hands down. For one, it’s actually done. That would put it in contest with The Way Out, which is also multi-chapter and complete, but MoM is WAY longer and took SO much more work but was SO worth it. It started as just scratching an itch and then grew into something that helped me prove to myself that I can do a long-term project, including themes and foreshadowing and narrative hootenanny and character arcs and character relationship arcs. the html coding. It was a great time, I’m so proud of it, editing it helped build one of my best friendships, and there is nothing I would trade that experience for.

tagging @aryashi, @cinaed, @hedgiwithapen, and @glowstickia

#sorry i missed this for a few days!#takes me a while to check my mentions #tag games #about me #my writing #me talking

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laisaxrem · 4 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Naruto Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Haruno Sakura & Tsunade, Haruno Sakura & Shizune, Haruno Sakura & Shizune & Tsunade Characters: Haruno Sakura, Tsunade, Shizune, Haruno Kizashi (mentioned), Haruno Mebuki (mentioned), Hatake Kakashi, Uzumaki Naruto Additional Tags: Sakura Week 2021, Sakura Week 2021 day 6: Family, Family, Family is not just blood, civilian kizashi and mebuki, civilian born sakura, tsunade to the rescue, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, i mean mental abuse, Angst, a little bit, One Shot, Tsunade doesn't give a fuck Series: Part 28 of This is Us (english version) Summary:

Sakura has never had an easy relationship with her family: civil by birth and from a wealthy family, her parents have never accepted her desire to become a kunoichi. On a rainy day, Sakura will find that family isn't always just the blood running through your veins.

Day 6 of Sakura Week.

Friday, 28th February 1680

«Sakura-chaaaan!»

Naruto’s annoying voice just outside her apartment door woke her up.

Turning around a little bit she glanced at the alarm clock that she kept on the bedside table next to her bed: it was only 7 o’clock in the morning and Sakura felt inside her the irrepressible desire to kill her friend.

For a moment she contemplated the idea of not getting up and waiting for Naruto to go away and leave her alone. Then she remembered who she was talking about and with a grunt came out from under the sheets.

Naruto was on the landing, his one arm raised to knock on the door for the umpteenth time.

«Oh, Sakura-chan, I was afraid you weren’t at home».

«If so why did you keep knocking and screaming early in the morning, you giant idiot».

«Uuh. Sakura-chan, don’t be so hard on me», he whimpered, pouting. «I felt alone at home… And my arm hurts».

The young woman sighed and stepped aside, inviting her friend to come in with a gesture of her head, then made him sit on her slightly battered sofa and placed a hand on the stump of his right arm infusing it with her healing chakra to relieve the pain. At the same time Sakura analysed the scar to make sure there were no active infections. Fortunately, everything was as it should be so the young woman sensed that Naruto had still abused his limb during training and gave him a good earful reminding him for what was probably the millionth time the indications they had given him to obtain the best chances that Hashirama-sama’s cells would take root when the prosthetic arm would be ready.

«Hey Sakura-chan, why do you still live in a chūnin apartment if you’re a jōnin?» her friend suddenly asked.

«Mmm». In fact, Tsunade-sama had offered her a new accommodation when Sakura was formally promoted to jōnin but she hadn’t thought about it too much and she had refused. «Maybe because this was the first home I could truly call my own».

«Uhh? What are you sayin’, you lived with your parents before you moved here».

«Mmm mmm».

In fact, come to think of it, exactly three years had passed since that day…

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

Tuesday, 28th February 1677

Sakura had always hated ultimatums.

That’s why she found herself wandering the streets of Konoha as if she no longer had a home. Because in fact Sakura no longer had a home.

She thought she had finally found her way, her place in the ninja world: she excelled in the medical arts thanks to the guidance of Tsunade-shishō, she had reached an excellent level in taijutsu thanks also to the help of Rock Lee, she felt useful and necessary in the hospital where she helped both shinobi and civilians too. She felt she was getting closer and closer to her goal: to bring Sasuke home. And she were happy.

Yet there she was, walking like a zombie in the rain. She sometimes hated her parents; they had never supported her desire to become a kunoichi and in fact they had often even done what they could to get in her way. She remembered as if it were yesterday how much they had fought to not sign the forms for the admission to the Academy. In those days at the Haruno compound there had been screams, tears and slamming doors. Kizashi and Mebuki had believed they could discourage her with their denials and their constant postponement; it was evident that they did not know her at all.

Some times she could still hear their words in her ears. “You are still too young”, they told her, “you will fail and then you will come and cry to us”; or, when they tried to change her mind using logic, they used arguments like “we are not ninja, the Harunos never were. Trying to be what you are not will only make you feel worse”. Sometimes instead they decided to use the sense of guilt: “and if something happened to you what would become of us? Don’t you think about your poor parents? We didn’t educate you to be so selfish”. But in the end she had won and enrolled in the Academy even if almost a year late. She had hoped that her parents would accept her choice but that had not happened. Whenever she found herself having some difficulty in an exercise, or a test didn’t go more than perfect, her father looked at her with disappointment and with an expression on his face that said he expected her to fail while her mother pointed out that they had told her that this was not her way, that she had to live as a civilian like they did. During that time Sakura had fallen asleep crying many times.

Years had passed and she thought that by now her parents had hurt her in every possible way. She was wrong; how wrong she was.

Her father had told her at dinner that evening that they would be moving to Hana no Kuni soon and that she would go with them.

Sakura had vehemently protested telling them that in Konoha she had a life, friends, a career and that she didn’t want to leave everything to move to the other side of the world. “You’re a Haruno”, her father had yelled as he slammed his fist on the table, “and it’s time for you to act like one. You will come with us, you will forget all this nonsense and you will get married with the nephew of the Daimyō! Everything has already been decided”.

So Sakura had ran out and slammed the door, ignoring the fact that it was pouring with rain outside and that her light civilian clothes were not suitable for a walk in the rain.

It was now more than an hour and Sakura knew she had to go home and talk to her parents, reason with them and make them understand that she really couldn’t leave the Village, even if they were asking her, and sure as hell she had no intention of accepting an arranged marriage. Because inside her she knew she would slowly wither away if she gave up kunoichi’s career. Yet, even knowing this, even the idea of setting foot in that house again made her nauseous and no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t find within herself the resolve to go back there.

Eventually in her wandering she found herself at the edge of the forest where a large black tombstone stood proud in the rain. Sakura knew that place well and she knew what that stone represented and she was not too surprised to notice that a tall and slightly curved figure stood in front of it.

«Kakashi-sensei», she greeted him as she slowly approached the cenotaph.

«Hey, Sakura-chan, we haven’t seen each other for a while», he greeted her with a small smile, which can only be guessed from the fold of the one visible eye.

In fact, he was right. After Naruto had left with Jiraiya-sama for his training, all that was left in Konoha of the Team 7 were Kakashi-sensei and herself, who had begun to educate herself under Tsunade-sama’s guidance, so their team had been temporarily dissolved. Sakura knew that Kakashi was constantly engaged in A-rank or even S-rank missions and it didn’t surprise her at all: after all, her ex sensei was probably the most powerful jōnin in the Village and since Suna and Oto had launched the attack that had led to the death of the Sandaime and many other brave shinobi, those who remained were forced to face one mission after another, both to prove that despite everything Konoha was still strong, and to bring some money into the coffers of the Village. Kakashi in particular, perhaps also because of his fame, was tremendously in demand and in the last year and a half he had spent more time on mission than inside the walls. In fact, Sakura knew that Tsunade had given him a three-week rest period after he returned home for the umpteenth time with the chakra reserve at a minimum for the abuse of his sharingan.

(Sakura had once witnessed one of their squabbles because Tsunade had wanted to teach her how to heal people with exhausted chakra. It had been both fun and embarrassing to see her ex-sensei being scolded and treated as if he were a five-year-old kid).

«How is your enforced rest going?»

«Maa, maa, I feel like they’re holding me in a glass dome. I think I have reread Icha Icha Paradise at least a dozen times», the man complained, shrugging and pulling out the orange book long enough to show it to her before putting it back away from the rain.

«Honestly, sensei, I really don’t know what you see in those books. They are not even anatomically correct».

«You say so, Sakura-chan».

«No, the human body says so».

«I will not discuss about Icha Icha with you… And about the fact that you have read a book forbidden to minors under eighteen», he teased her, the light tone of one trying to pull a smile out of someone. «What would your parents say if they knew?»

Ouch. This hurt.

Instantly Sakura felt that weight that she had forgotten during the last minutes of conversation with her sensei return to her heart. Maybe Kakashi noticed her eyes darken as he turned to her just enough to look her straight in the face. The young woman could not hold up that dark eye that scrutinized her and lowered her face.

«Sakura, why are you here in the rain?» She didn’t answer, her throat tightened in a vice. She hated it when she felt this way and someone was nice to her because she felt like she could explode at any moment. The fact that it was Kakashi was even worse. «Sakura». This time Kakashi’s tone was harsher, the tone of voice that he would have used on a mission to get his companions to obey and Sakura found herself unwittingly straightening her back and getting to attention. «Look at me». She obeyed as if she couldn’t do anything else but she felt her throat tighten in a knot. «What happened? Has someone hurt you?»

She couldn’t help but shake her head. She wouldn’t cry, she absolutely wouldn’t cry. She was a kunoichi from Konoha, she was an adult, and she wouldn’t cry just because her parents were selfish.

«Did something happen to your parents?» Kakashi-sensei insisted and Sakura was surprised when she felt one of his hands resting on her shoulder, a reassuring anchor in that storm of emotions. «Come on, let’s go. I’ll take you home».

Sakura wanted to protest but lowered her head and followed him out of the field into the streets of Konoha. She didn’t even look where they were going, her eyes fixed on the jōnin’s feet, blindly trusting that he wouldn’t allow her to crash anywhere. Inside her she was already ready for the second part of that skirmish and she was trying to harden her heart just enough to allow her not to give in under the emotional blackmail of her family. But she actually didn’t know how she could do it. After all, she was not yet fifteen, and although genin far younger than her had been living alone from years, she was not an orphan and as an only child she was expected to follow the wishes of her parents.

Half an hour later Kakashi stopped and in a cheerful tone said: «Here we are».

Sakura looked ahead and realized that they were not in front of her parents’ garden but the door she had in front of her was the somewhat ruined one of Tsunade-shishō’s apartment.

«Oh».

She wanted to say something, ask Kakashi-sensei why he brought her there and not the house where she was born and raised, but he was already knocking on the door and a few seconds later it opened on Shizune.

«Yo», Kakashi greeted her, raising a hand. «I found a lost kitten in the rain and I thought it was yours».

«Sakura! What have you done? You’re completely soaked», her senpai scolded her before grabbing her wrist and dragging her into the house. «Hurry in Kakashi or you’ll let all the heat go out».

The girl did not turn to check but she heard the door close and light footsteps following them along the narrow and dark corridor, a sign that in fact Kakashi-sensei had obeyed the order.

The Hokage’s apartment was pretty damn small, certainly more than one would expect from the most important person in Konoha. It was completely unusual and against tradition and the Elders and the Council had tried to force Tsunade to move to the Senju neighbourhood or at least to accept one of the countless houses that had been offered to her and which, they said, were more appropriate to her role. Naturally, the Godaime had firmly refused, asserting that her small, damp and bare apartment was more than enough for her and Shizune, considering that she spent most of her life in her office at the palace.

Tsunade was sitting on the sofa in the living room, a small ceramic glass in her hand and an open bottle of sake on the low coffee table. In the other hand she was holding a large tome of medicine but when she saw them enter the room she closed the book and her blond eyebrows arch, creating a wrinkle between them.

«What’s the matter with you girl? You’re socked to the bone».

Sakura would have liked to reassure her and say that everything was fine, that there was nothing to worry about, lying and claiming that she had simply forgotten her umbrella on leaving the house. But maybe it was Shizune’s warm hand on her back, or the feeling of Kakashi’s eye on the back of her neck because Sakura couldn’t find the strength to lie.

«My parents have decided to move to Hana no Kuni next month and they want me to go with them», she let out in one breath, her voice low but calmer than she expected.

Her revelation was greeted by a moment of stunned silence, then Shizune blurted out: «What the hell does that mean?»

Sakura blinked like an old owl, amazed, because this was probably the first time she’d heard her senpai swear.

«They said I have to leave my life as a kunoichi and start acting like a Haruno», she continued in that cold and detached tone, as if explaining which procedure she would choose to undergo a certain operation on a patient. «They said it’s time I got to know the activities of the clan and bring honour to the family by finding a husband who can broaden the circle of our acquaintances».

As she spoke, Sakura couldn’t look her shishō in the eyes. As she repeated the words of her parents she felt her nausea and anger grow within her; how was it possible that they expected this from her? How was it possible that they did not understand her feelings in the least even though they were her parents, blood of her blood?

Sakura felt her eyes sting but never, never would she cry, not for that.

«Very well, let them go where the hell they like», Tsunade suddenly snapped, forcing her to finally raise her eyes. Her shishō was gripping the arm of the sofa so tightly that cracks were already starting to form in the wood and for a moment Sakura felt her heart break because she really hoped she would protest and fight to get her parents to stay. But after all, they were her blood family and Sakura was nothing more than an apprentice to her, so why should she protest? «But you won’t move from here», the Sannin added suddenly, the tone of her voice angry, while the wood gave up under her fingers. It was evident from her livid face that what she was about to say was the word of the Hokage and that she would not take no for an answer. «I didn’t waste the last year of my life teaching you everything I know to allow two ordinary people to drag you to the other side of the world to marry you to some preppy rich idiot».

«Tsunade-sama…»

«Don’t “Tsunade-sama” and “Tsunade-sama” me, Shizune», growled the Hokage. «I’m tired of those two. Not once did they give her the support she deserved so I don’t see why she should support them now».

Sakura would have lied if she said she didn’t fully agree with the woman, and hearing those words come out of her mouth took away some of the weight that oppressed her chest.

«And tonight you’re going to sleep here», Tsunade added. «In the morning I will take you to them and communicate my decision to Kizashi and Mebuki».

«Shishō, I can’t…» she tried to protest. Because, as touched as she was by Godaime’s feelings, the truth was that her sense of duty prevented her from considering that solution. And she knew that leveraging her good heart would do no good, not while she was in such an altered state, so she tried to use some logic even though all she wanted was to accept the invitation, lie down on the sofa and sleep until the following morning. «I don’t have my clothes or uniform or something to sleep with me…»

«Kakashi…»

«I’ll drop by and get what you need, Sakura-chan, don’t worry about that», came the prompt reply of her ex sensei who in a flurry of leaves disappeared from the living room, evidently headed for her bedroom in her house.

«You are my apprentice, Sakura», Tsunade continued, as if she had not just silently asked one of her jōnin to break through a window into the home of a member of one of the most powerful civilian families not only in Tsuchi but also in other Countries of the continent, including the Land of Fire. «Before being a Haruno you are my apprentice and I don’t intend to let you go like this». Suddenly the expression on her face softened and, after getting up and going to meet her, she placed her hand on her cheek with more tenderness than she had ever seen. «Don’t worry, little girl, I won’t let anyone take you away without your consent. This I can swear to you ».

Sakura nodded and allowed herself to lean on that rough hand as Shizune approached and placed a hand on her back. And for the first time since she was just a little girl dreaming of becoming a kunoichi, Sakura felt like she really had a family.

#sakura week 2021 #day 6 Family #sakura haruno #tsunade #shizune

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strangebrews · 5 years ago

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perfect complements

chapter two // on ao3 // chapter 1 // chapter 3 // chapter 4

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Tommy had gotten divorced the year before, the papers making it official arrived a week after he had moved into this new house.

He did not elaborate on who it was, only said that they were the one to make the decision. “Claimed I was too cold—too distant and emotionless. Being with me was more of a challenge than a pleasure.” His tone was nonchalant throughout it all—whether that was because of genuine indifference or a refusal to reveal his pain was unclear.

They were sitting on Alfie’s back porch, sipping on warm apple cider and listening to the crickets sing. The complaints Tommy’s ex had were understandable. He was reserved and his scarce enthusiasm could be interpreted as rude, but the silence was misleading, Alfie had learned. Tommy simply expressed his appreciation in tiny spurts—you had to know what to look for.

Eye contact was the most common. He would stare straight into Alfie’s eyes when he spoke, nodding along with the rhythm of his words, entirely expressionless. It was robotic, seemed like he had tuned out somewhere in the middle of the third sentence. Yet Alfie knew that was not the case, because Tommy filed all of the information away carefully, referencing it in different situations. Or sometimes he would take a day or two to digest before returning to the topic, prompting it with “You know, I’ve been dwelling on what you said…”

Another month had passed and their relationship blossomed further—Tommy now prepared a teapot every Saturday morning in anticipation of Alfie’s visit. He’d been shopping for an extra chair, a few more plates and some utensils—everything necessary to make their little routine as comfortable as possible. He bought precisely what he needed, never in excess.

It took a batch of shortbread cookies, a carrot cake and 3 sourdough loaves—Tommy very much liked those—for him to finally ask Alfie to help him haul the mattress up to what would become his room.

Patience —that was the main requirement for a bond with Tommy and Alfie was brimming with it.

The task was more taxing than they had anticipated, but when they had finally succeeded in rolling the mattress over onto the bed frame, Tommy dusted off his jeans and said, “I want to plant a garden. Some flower beds or…..or vegetables.” He was directing his words to the floor, which, Alfie presumed, were supposed to deflect onto him.

It was mid-November, the morning air was growing frostier with each day—hardly the time to start planting anything, but Alfie scanned the room. It was just as plain and gloomy as the rest of the house. A winter in this setting would be horribly somber.

“You could start with some house plants, until the seasons turn again. But you’ll need more shelves or stands—places to put them. Curtains to regulate the light, depending on the kind you buy.” he would have continued, these were necessary details, but Tommy was staring at him now, eyes growing wider with each word.

“Ah...right.” he kicked one of the metal legs gently. “It was a stupid idea anyway.”

“I can help you, I’ve done it all before.” It slipped out before Alfie had enough time to evaluate whether that would overstep another boundary, but Tommy had replied with his Ok before he had time to overthink that as well.

They visited one of the smaller flower shops in town. Alfie was a regular, knew all of the workers by name, but it took this trip with Tommy and the chorus of Alfie ’s in the entrance—all from elderly women—for him to realize how long it had been since he’d spent a considerable amount of time with someone closer to his own age.

Tommy was particularly drawn to the succulents, brushing their stems with the pad of his thumb. He chose two large, bowl-like pots of assorted kinds—mini gardens, one of which had a ceramic gnome poised in the corner, right next to his mushroom hut.

“I thought it’d be nice….to have someone else around—you know?” he explained it sheepishly, catching Alfie staring at the figurine, his voice hitching at the end.

But Alfie wasn’t judging, he was simply fitting this piece of information into the Tommy puzzle.

“I think you’re right.” and he assumed his smile was successfully reassuring, because the strain in Tommy’s jaw vanished.

Alfie made the rest of the suggestions. A few varieties of orchid, one blooming peace lily, a sword fern growing in a hanging pot, and some African violets—for some color.

Tommy did not refuse any of the choices, instead lined them up in neat rows within their cart and made the occasional “Hm...yes.”

A watering can was added to the purchase—because, just as the food liked when the cook was dressed up, Tommy reasoned flowers would appreciate not being watered with some chipped mug he’d abandoned in the back of his cupboard.

And Alfie, suddenly choking on the sentiment, for once had nothing more to say.

It had started to drizzle lightly by the time they returned. They’d taken Tommy’s car, engine now idling in the driveway.

“The shelves and things will be easy to find, just buy whatever furniture you think will fit best for your vision.” This single shopping trip was enough. Alfie didn’t want to overindulge in their time together.

He turned the door handle, but a hand on his upper arm stopped him. Tommy jerked it away quickly once Alfie had turned back. His mouth was open. Then closed. Open again.

“Um...what if we—I mean I—” closed again. He blinked rapidly, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. So incredibly pretty.

The raindrops had grown heavier, sky darkening around them. He opted for “I’ll let you know once it’s ready,” instead.

It played out much less romantically than the thousand and one scenarios that Alfie managed to fabricate in the span of that minute. Tommy sounded defeated. Or disappointed. Perhaps a combination of the two.

But Alfie only nodded his agreement, rather than grieving on the lost opportunity, and escaped before his own mixture of reactions could manifest themselves on his face—and other places.

He dreamt of meadows and butterfly lashes that night.

The setup was ready the following week, when Alfie arrived on the doorstep with a plate of coconut custard, in the shape of a mini dome. “Something new for a change,” he shrugged, hoping inwardly that it would be an omen for other things.

Tommy had done quite a lot of work, his plants now decorating the newly arranged stands in his living and bedroom. The fern hung from the ceiling at the end of the kitchen, one of the violets soaking in the sunlight on a windowsill.

“And the gnome garden?” It would be the centerpiece of his coffee table, Tommy explained. A simple black one, still packaged.

A bit out of place, Alfie thought, but Tommy was glowing with pride so he agreed it was the perfect location for it.

The home, in general, was still quite drab, but visibly happier with the greens and purples and yellows vibrant against the white walls. Tommy was visibly happier—the creases in his forehead had smoothened out a bit, his skin no longer a sickly pale.

It was good. Nice, even, to see the smiles reach his eyes more often.

Nice was of course an understatement, but Alfie had to restrict his choice in adjectives to resist the overwhelming urge to hug him.

The flowers had created another visible change: Tommy talked more. Still less when compared to an average person, but he asked questions and appeared on Alfie’s front porch unannounced.

They were all regarding the plants—he’d grown very preoccupied with their well-being and, inexperienced as he was, kept requesting that Alfie come over and check on their condition.

He was tending to them well—much better than the flower Alfie remembered in the front window the first day. Perhaps a leaf or two had browned slightly, but nobody could avoid that. Though Tommy kept returning with the same set of worries, questions rephrased, and Alfie addressed them gladly.

This continued for around two weeks before Alfie began to struggle with balancing the visits with his own work. So he developed a system, terrified that if he mentioned the difficulties, Tommy would retreat entirely.

When they’d been moving the mattress, he noticed a window at the end of Tommy’s hallway upstairs—within clear view of and identical to the one on the side of Alfie’s home.

“Write your questions here and I’ll respond as soon as I see them.” He gave Tommy a stack of white papers and a thick, blue marker—the assortment of things Tommy owned and did not was entirely random. Alfie could spare a few sheets.

Tommy accepted the idea with what could have bordered on excitement.

There was a question waiting for him, taped to the glass, virtually every day.

One of the orchid heads has fallen off….what now?

The grey succulent—you know, the spiral one, beside the gnome—I think it’s gotten greyer. Is that even possible?

Can I keep the violets over the heating vents? They look a bit cold.

The first snow had fallen, third week into December. Alfie wrote out the NO in big, block letters to emphasize his message, then added the (you can knit some pot warmers) underneath, beside himself.

A few hours later, a new paper awaited him. I have no idea how to knit—can I buy them online?

Sarcasm—that was the one thing Alfie forgot Tommy had difficulty grasping.

I don’t think this will come as a surprise, but I don’t really have anywhere to go for Christmas this year either. If you make the fruitcake, I can provide the tea and music (:

Alfie had mentioned that he spent his holidays alone—seeing as he was an only child and both his parents had died—but it had been in passing, he refused to dwell. Tommy Shelby, always listening.

He read and reread the words, letting each one soak into his memory, chest tightening each time he reached the smiley.

Walnuts or no walnuts?

#tommy x alfie #alfie x tommy #sholomons #tofie #tommy shelby #alfie solomons #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #mine #anyway this is literally just fluff but i suppose this is my Humble Offering for #all the angst i've been force feeding you for months

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aeris-blue · 5 years ago

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I have a question about the season of grillster. 👀 If I recall correctly grillby was going to send a break up text but later on delete it. How would the plot be affected if he did send it?

Ow... Ouch! That hurt! Haha whelp I’m sure you mean this as a hypothetical but here’s just under 3000 words on the matter!

“All that’s left is the message,” Asgore smiled as he cooed over the bright orange flower under the glass dome. It was to prevent any accidental recordings since this would only work once.

Gaster fidgeted with the tails on his suit jacket before he took a step forward. He pulled out his phone and tapped the play button: “I love you.” It was his voice unperturbed by his natural Font. The idea of Grillby being able to hear that to really understand that he’s saying it made his soul so light he wondered if he was actually touching the ground. This whole venture had been so much prep work but it was definitely going to be worth it!

Asgore gently lifted the glass from around the flower, “We’re back dad!” Papyrus called cheerily and Asgore quickly clamped the glass back down.

‘Thank you boys so much!’ He turned around to see Papyrus’s knees and fingers coated in dirt from placing all of the echo flowers. ‘What happened to the tools Asgore lent you?’

“They are all tucked away securely in my inventory but something this important must be done by hand! Nyeheheh!” Papyrus put his hands on his hips as he laughed.

“You could say he left no stone unturned,” Sans winked as Papyrus groaned. Even Sans had a bit of dirt around the knees of his black pants which meant he’d done more than provide transportation like he said he would.

He had two glorious sons who wanted nothing more than to see him happy. Without much of a thought he wrapped his arms around the pair, “Thank you,” he whispered, hoping the harsh sounds of his Font were more tolerable at a lower volume.

“When you put so much effort into something even I can’t sit back and do nothing,” Sans smiled as he patted his dad’s back.

Gaster’s phone buzzed in his pocket and Papyrus practically pushed him away, “That’s Justin!” He practically squeaked, “It’s go time! Ah! I wish I could see Grillby’s face!” Gaster chuckled as he pulled out his phone: one missed message from Justin. This was it, all that was left was to put the message in the flower and go up the mountain! His magic spun circles of excitement in his narrow bones as an almost manic smile excavated his teeth.

Another buzz, this time from Grillby. He opened it without a moment of hesitation: Hey Gaster. It’s pretty obvious you have a lot of things to catch back up with after what all happened to you. My work schedule isn’t the most flexible of things either so maybe we should just call this whole thing off? Spend time with your friends and family.

Some carnivorous creature entrapped its’ fangs around his soul then after rereading it the wretched thing bit down hard enough to feel every incisor straight back to the molars. That was… this was fair. Yeah, yeah, he should have actually known this was coming. It was easy to see if he just took a moment to think about it.

Grillby had finally had enough of garbled memories and a partner that didn’t know the first thing about a relationship. One with a broken skull and malformed--just about everything else. His wonky ugly Font coming back was just the icing on the cake… A fruit cake even. A disgusting amalgamation of fruit and batter too much of a mismatched mix to be anything more than a once a year torture.

Was he shaking? He felt like he was shaking.

Of course his short stint at a relationship was over. This was why he’d always avoided such things right? Even if someone could take the time to look past his scars, his wounds, they’d just find a battered bore underneath it all. He was nearly incapable of kindness how on earth did he think he could manage love? How stupid. He was a being of logic. That’s what he was for: to make and do things for others. That’s how he’d prove he was good and that he wasn’t a mistake. He wasn’t a mistake. He wasn’t a mistake.

“Dad?” Papyrus squeaked.

“You’re crying, what’s up?” Sans’s eyelights pointed up into his one fully functioning eye.

Family and friends. That had always mattered to him more than trivial pursuits of clumsy half capable romance. Friends and family. He loved them. Those bonds were the only way he was capable of love. It was foolish to try anything more than that he’d never felt anything more than that.

Grillby had him all figured out. He always had. OKAY, he responded. He took a shuddering breath then picked his hands up to sign. They shook more than he was expecting, trembling like leaves at the ends of his twig like arms, ‘I am so sorry for wasting everyone’s time. It appears things are over between Grillby and I.’ If that’s what Grillby wanted then who was he to deny his feelings?

Damn it, damn it, damn it, Grillby paced back and forth behind the bar like a tiger in a cage. His shoes smacked against the wooden floor as he took sweeping glances at his phone resting so uncaringly atop the counter. He hadn’t meant to hit send, he didn’t want to hit send, he wanted to talk to Gaster about disappearing first, now he seemed like a moody teenager. Over and over the thought crossed his mind to text him back that he sent that in error but it was out there now.

Finally, after what felt like an agonizing eternity his phone lit up. He pounced atop it eager to here Gaster’s counter but… the word ‘okay’ was displayed in caps lock instead. Okay? Okay! That was it? Everything they’d been working towards was over and all he could say was okay?! His flames blistered white as a deep rootted rage built in his chest. So he meant that little to him?

“Woah,” Justin held his hands up as he exited the backroom, “you uh… Got something on your mind?” Justin’s glasses were a sheet of white as they caught Grillby’s reflection in them. He needed to calm down, he knew that, but he couldn’t! His flames were a wicked storm across his form licking gently through his clothes to lash out against the whole world if they had to.

“I’m fine,” his voice was a snarl just short of a roar.

“Hey uh, I know I’m just your GM and you’re the owner but… Do you need the day off? I’m here, I’ll cover for you,” he slipped his hands in his pocket.

This human didn’t understand what he was looking at or he wouldn’t be so casual. He was an indestructible force of nature and right now he wanted nothing more than to return to his roots. Burn the whole bar down if he had to. He needed to do something to exert this toxicity billowing around him and harness it into-- something. “No,” he decided on finally, “I need to work.”

Fisher, one of his regulars, sauntered through the front door it only took a moment for the monster to cock his brow in confusion. If Fisher was coming in for the morning he just wanted something light to tie him over before he left for his construction job. A glass of juice, some mushy egg toast, and a few veggies. Easy enough he’d been doing this for years.

Grillby reached under the counter for a glass. In the short amount of time it took to place it atop the bar the glass shattered in his grip, the remains melted against his palm while he was left looking dumbfounded at the shards around the store. Right. He was too heated for glass at the moment. Stupid. He was always so stupid.

How long had Gaster known that his favorite book was at the intelligence level of a preschooler? That sentimental smile across his teeth had been mocking him. It wasn’t from affection at all, how could someone so smart find anything but amusement at that?

Okay.

He said okay.

It was that easy for him to just throw him away. He laughed audibly but didn’t care. Of course it was that easy! Grillby was just a little toy soldier after all, you just tossed him out when you were done playing with him. The only good Eternal was one that obeyed. Well fine. He’d be the good little flame everyone wanted.

Gaster says it’s over. Okay. Gaster doesn’t even want to talk about it? Okay. Gaster thought he was a boring washed up unintelligent relic from a time gone by? Okay.

“Hey, B,” Justin put his hand on Grillby’s shoulder. Grillby immediately recoiled, no one should touch him when he’s angry, no one should even be near him, he’ll hurt them. Humans. Monsters. It didn’t matter! They shouldn’t touch him they shouldn’t--

In that second it took to blink something cold settled over his hearthstone and sunk straight down into his soul. Soot danced freely from him as he stared with his mouth agape at Justin, “Did… Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Justin showed him his hand, “I’m fine. You wouldn’t hurt me.”

He had no idea what hurt Grillby was capable of.

“Please B, even if it’s just the afternoon crowd I think you need to go home and rest a bit.”

Soot settled lazily atop the shattered glass, his flames dimmed from white, to yellow, to orange, and down into a dingy red, “You’re right.” He swallowed hard, “Yeah. If you need me I’ll be upstairs don’t hesitate to ask.” With a disheartening pop of the stitches he tore his bow tie off from his neck, “Sorry I’m leaving you with such a mess.”

“No worries B just take care of yourself okay?”

“Yeah.”

Even the late nighters had left the bar by the time he stood with a fit of butterflies in his ribs outside of the door. Deep inside he knew it was wrong of him to be here, to be so close, but… He couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t rest, and he’d grown tired of his cocoon of blankets. Gaster wrapped his hands around the door handle but could not muster the nerve to move it.

Ever since crawling out of that black pit he’d had to work exhaustively to balance between what had happened in the past and connecting with who his friends were in this new present. Seeing his friends, his sons, with the painful knowledge that everything he had built with them was gone had been more than crushing. Everyday any conversation was a constant game of chess against himself where he could only lose.

So why did this hurt worse than that? Why did it feel like at any second his soul was going to dissolve into dust under the weight of fangs far stronger than he? His mind had proven incapable of thinking of anything else but that didn’t change it was Grillby that had been the one to call it off. He couldn’t deny Grillby’s feelings but every attempt to crush his own had been futile.

The key turned to lock the door and Gaster tugged it open to come face to face with Justin. He blinked stepping back quickly in surprise, ‘J-U-S-T-I-N?’

“Ah man you’re a sight for sore eyes,” he rubbed his eyes whether for emphasis or actual exhaustion Gaster wasn’t sure. “It’s two a.m. what are you doing here?”

‘I could ask the same of you,’ Gaster signed quickly perhaps too quickly as Justin didn’t seem to piece the Hands together.

“It has been a very long day, so please, go upstairs and talk to him like an adult.”

‘I will,’ he signed but his ribs stuttered. Stars, he really didn’t want Grillby to be angry at him for showing up but he couldn’t just let it end like that. Of all the monsters, of all the friends, the family, the memories, Grillby was the only one that it didn’t really feel like he was starting over with. They tried the dating thing and maybe that voice in the back of Gaster’s head had been right all along that it was doomed from the start but he wasn’t about to lose his best friend.

With one last unsteady breath in his ribs he marched up the stairs to Grillby’s home above the bar but by the time he was staring down the door he had already lost his nerve. He’d promised thought hadn’t he? That he wasn’t the little skeleton that ran away anymore… He hadn’t been that monster for a long time. Before his strength could leave him again he knocked on the door twice.

There was some fumbling on the other side of the door before it opened to a swirling mess of hot reds and purples. A pungent bitter fruit smell wafted through the air as wide white flecks studied his face, a deep orange line cut across his face, “Okay,” he practically giggled.

‘You’ve been drinking?’ Gaster raised a brow.

“Wine, it’s classy,” he gestured vaguely to the living room as if inviting him over to it but he just leaned against the half wall that framed the entryway.

‘Why don’t you burn some of that out of your system?’ Why was Grillby so upset? He was the one that sent the text. Still, he found it difficult to be angry, if there was anything Gaster could sympathize with it was being sloppy drunk.

“Why didn’t you fight at all? You just,” he gestured in what might have been an attempt at hands, “said Okay. You didn’t even care.” He leaned heavily to Gaster who wrapped his arms around him and carefully maneuvered the door shut behind them. “Why didn’t you care?”

‘I--’ He tried to sign but his arms were full of churning flames and he had a sneaking suspicion that was done on purpose. With a painful familiarity he pushed his shoulder further under Grillby’s to force him to lean against him. The two stumbled their way onto the living room couch where Grillby splayed his arms across the bad and swung his legs wide. For a moment Gaster wondered if he passed out but the large white flecks returned tainted with a bit more yellow than he thought.

“So? Do I not matter to you?”

‘What? No! Grillby you are and have always been one of the most important monsters in my life!’

“Then why did you say okay?” He batted away at the tears that were floating about his glasses.

‘I thought-- it sounded like you were done, I wanted to respect your feelings! Breaking up is the opposite of what I want but if that’s what you wanted I wasn’t going to fight about it.’

“Why not? If you wanted to stay together, why didn’t you say so?”

‘Because,’ he tapped his fingers together, ‘I’m not supposed to… that is that I don’t… I stole so much from everyone I don’t really… I shouldn’t be,” he rubbed at his sockets as his teeth started to chatter. He didn’t deserve to be happy. Straight down to his soul he knew this but he couldn’t help hoping, he couldn’t help dreaming, and knowing this just made it so much easier to accept whatever ill came his way.

A warm violet and orange arm wrapped around him then lead him to another one. Pressed firmly against Grillby’s chest he felt so safe, so warm, and so stupidly happy. He pressed his fingers against Grillby’s shoulder blades as if he could compress himself into the rolling flames. “I love you Gaster, I love you so much, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to send that to you I was just angry.”

‘You deserve to be,’ he still wasn’t sure what Grillby was upset about but he had no doubt he had every right to whatever emotion he wanted to feel.

“No! I wanted to talk! I wanted to work through it like we’re supposed to,” he squeezed tight enough for Gaster’s back to pop, “I hit the wrong button. Then you said okay and… I didn’t want to talk anymore.”

‘That’s okay I forgive you,’ he looked him in the eye, ‘do you forgive me?’

“Of course! A thousand times over! I shouldn’t have put you in that position at all!”

‘And I shouldn’t have--’ Well, he probably shouldn’t apologize if he didn’t know what it was for. ‘Let’s talk,’ he leaned back and held Grillby’s hands tight to his chest while a pair of hand bullets finished his thoughts: ‘let’s talk about anything and everything.’

“So you still like me?” Grillby’s voice was just short of a whimper.

Gaster smiled softly then pressed a kiss to his temple, ‘I love you.’ He said it, maybe not as grandly as he wanted but he finally told him exactly how he was feeling. If anything this whole ordeal had merely confirmed for him how true the statement was.

“You love me?” His flames stoked into their usual orange and yellows as he sat up proper.

‘I love you with everything I am.’

Grillby lunged forward in a crippling bear hug that sent both of them squealing to the floor where they laughed in the face of everything they’d been feeling. Their laughs were infectious to one another and it seemed everytime one stopped the other just started up again. They could talk later but for now, this was what they needed.

#writing side of things #seasons of grillster #ask and answers #so the only major changes here are:#Grillby probably wouldn't call him Bun at least not until way later #Gaster didn't get his bold declaration of love #They probably talk about a couple of things sooner #but overall #the two dorks still love each other #and that's what matters #angst #hurt and comfort #I literally was shaking writing a couple parts of this

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lilyjcollins-news · 6 years ago

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Nicholas Hoult, Lily Collins and the love story that inspired J.R.R. Tolkien’s writing, by Emily Zemler.

(click here to see the photoshoot and here to go to the website.)

The early years of J.R.R. Tolkien’s life play out very much like fiction in Dome Karukoski’s biopic of the famed author. So much so that Karukoski doesn’t really consider “Tolkien,” in theaters Friday, to be a biopic at all.

The film, which stars Nicholas Hoult as the “Lord of the Rings” author and Lily Collins as his wife, Edith Bratt, recounts Tolkien’s young life, from the loss of his parents to his school years to fighting in World War I. Much of that personal saga is unknown, even to super fans of Tolkien, a category in which Karukoski puts himself.

“I didn’t know anything about his younger life,” the director said during a recent press day in London. “When I started digging it was surprising. It was this fable of emotions he had experienced that are so readable in his own books. ... It’s a story about youth and love and friendship and exploring his mind. It’s quite stunning that this story hasn’t been told.”

Hoult, who also grew up reading the author’s works, looked for fine details and nuance in his research, pulling from books and video interviews Tolkien did later in life. His goal wasn’t to do an impression of Tolkien, but to try to get inside his head and capture his essence.

“Nowadays, even if you don’t know someone’s work you seem to know them, just through how much news is covered and through Twitter,” the actor reflected. “You seem to know a lot about a lot of people’s lives. And this is someone who I was a fan of and when I read the script I was like, ‘Wow, I didn’t know any of that.’ It was ... lovely to get to go back through his work and learn about what inspired him and the relationships that meant something to him.”

The actor prepared while shooting “X-Men: Dark Phoenix” and spent time between takes — in full costume and makeup as Beast — painting watercolors in Tolkien’s style.

He added, “You do all this research and then hopefully in the back of your mind, when you’re on set, it’s subconsciously there. Detail is where it all comes from.”

Collins had less to work with because Edith and her life aren’t well documented. A few photographs, including some of the couple together, do exist — the actress sensed a cheekiness to Edith, which she brought to the performance — and Collins was able to research what it would have been like for women during that period in general.

She also learned piano for the role, since it is known that Edith played very well. Ultimately, though, much of Collins’ performance is drawn from knowing that Edith inspired Tolkien to write the characters of Luthien and Arwen.

“With a real person I feel, even if they’re not alive anymore, a karmic responsibility to do them justice,” said Collins. “We don’t know much about her and this is a chance to tell a story of a woman of the period that wasn’t told before. I would want to feel represented in a way she would be proud of. But ... there was only so much I could do. The rest of it was based on me thinking about the characters she inspired and me loving magic and fantasy. I wanted to formulate a person who would have all these qualities and be inspiring.”

While the film is ultimately not about Tolkien’s writing (there are very few moments where the character actually sits down to put pen to paper), a key scene reveals Edith dancing in the English forest, an instance that apparently inspired the author to base those characters on his wife. To find the right free-spirited vibe, Collins convinced Karukoski to let her dance to an actual song: Florence and the Machine’s “Dog Days Are Over.”

“She is magic when you watch her,” Collins noted of Florence Welch. “That was the one person I thought made sense to be inspired by. I just went crazy dancing.”

“Tolkien” balances these magical, light-hearted moments with heavier ones, eventually leading the characters into World War I, where the author served as a communications officer. Tolkien and his group of close friends from school, which the film suggests inspired the fellowship in “Lord of the Rings,” all enlist, but only two of them come home.

To better understand the horrific impact of the war, Hoult listened to 25 hours of Dan Carlin’s “Hardcore History” podcast on the subject. Karukoski didn’t want to present a straight-forward depiction of the trenches, however. He intersperses the images of war and gunfire with hallucinations of the sorts of fantastical beasts that appear in Tolkien’s stories.

“He’s a genius in building worlds, so wouldn't I want to see the inspiration for those worlds?” the director said. “Throughout the film he’s sketching his masterpiece — he sees a line over there and a line over there. It’s yet not the thing it will become. ... Watching an author create I wanted to avoid. It’s a story of growth, of how he became an artist.”

In order to tell this story well, Karukoski noted, it was necessary to make a few adjustments to the timeline and the events. For instance, the love story between Tolkien and Edith is somewhat simplified and compressed, and a few of the years are changed. But the director met with numerous researchers during the preparation for the film to ensure the scenes and characters resonate with authenticity.

“The film is very truthful in emotions,” he said. “We’ve taken artistic liberties. ... But the events are emotionally true. We were very, very accurate with the characters, but you have to find your interpretation of everything you discover about them.”

The Tolkien estate, which was not involved in the making of the film, recently released a statement that it does not “endorse [the film] or its content in any way.” Karukoski said he’s not bothered by the statement, especially since no one from the estate has actually seen the movie.

“I’ve approached them myself to arrange a screening,” he said. “I would love to sit with them and hear their thoughts and explain why some artistic licenses have been taken. The statement itself is not actually hostile — it’s more like they had to do it so that journalists wouldn’t call them. It was actually quite respectful. But I’ve given them the opportunity to watch the film with me and they haven’t responded yet. And I understand if that never happens.”

He added, “This film is done with huge respect. It’s not demonizing [Tolkien]. We can stand by the beauty of the story. We wanted to celebrate his life.”

The celebratory aspect is compelling to Hoult and Collins as well, who have both found a new respect for Tolkien’s life and work since making “Tolkien.”

“It’s really important to see this side of the story,” Collins noted. “To see what came before the actual stories. Maybe now people rereading the books or rewatching the movies will find little Easter eggs. Those unexpected beginnings are really fun to know about.”

“He changed literature and inspired so many things we love nowadays,” Hoult added. “It’s so ingrained in culture that it’s remarkable. I’d sit around trying to be as imaginative as him, which is impossible. You go around in circles trying to do that.”

Vía LA Times.

#lily collins #nicholas hoult #tolkien #la times #interview

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arbane235 · 6 years ago

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So You Want The Burning Man Experience At Home

Kal Spelletich

August 21 at 10:21 PM

Once again!

Since it is Burning Man Hate week, YOU! Can Do BURNING MAN AT HOME 1. Pay an escort of your affectional preference subset to not bathe for five days, cover themselves in glitter, dust, and sunscreen, wear a skanky neon wig, dance close to naked, then say they have a lover back home at the end of the night.

2. Tear down your house. Put it in a truck. Drive 10 hours in any direction. Put the house back together. Invite everyone you meet to come over and party. When they leave, follow them back to their homes, drink all their booze, and break things.

3. Stack all your fans in one corner of the living room. Put on your most fabulous outfit. Turn the fans on full blast. Dump the contents of a vacuum cleaner bag in front of them.

4. Buy a new set of expensive camping gear. Break it.

5. Only use the toilet in a house that is at least 3 blocks away. Drain all the water from the toilet. Only flush it every 3 days. Hide all the toilet paper.

6. Set your house thermostat so it's 50 degrees for the first hour of sleep and 100 degrees the rest of the night.

7. Before eating any food, drop it in a sandbox and lick a battery.

8. Spend thousands of dollars and several months of your life building a deeply personal art work. Hide it in a funhouse on the edge of the city. Hire people to come by and alternate say "I love it" and "this sucks balls". Blow it up.

9. Set up a DJ system downwind of a three alarm fire. Play a short loop of drum'n'bass until the embers are cold.

10. Make a list of all the things you'll do different next year. Never look at it.

11. Have a 3 a.m. soul baring conversation with a drag nun in platforms, a crocodile and Bugs Bunny. Be unable to tell if you're hallucinating. Lust after Bugs Bunny.

12. Cut, burn, electrocute, bruise, and sunburn various parts of your body. Forget how you did it. Don't go to a doctor.

13. "Downsize" last year's camp by adding two geodesic domes, a new sound system, art car, and 20 newbies.

14. Don't sleep for 5 days. Take a wide variety of hallucinogenic/emotion altering drugs. Pick a fight with your boyfriend/girlfriend.

15. Spend a whole year rummaging through thrift stores for the perfect, most outrageous costume. Forget to pack it.

16. Shop at Wal-mart, CostCo, and Home Depot until your car is completely packed with stuff. Tell everyone that you're going to a "Leave-No-Trace" event. Empty your car into a dumpster.

17. Read "Dhalgren" by Samuel R. Delany. Read "The City Not Long After" by Pat Murphy. Cut off the bindings, throw all the pages up in the air and shuffle them back together. Reread "The City After Dhalgren" by Samuel Murphy. Burn it. Read the ashes.

18. Listen to music you hate for 168 hours straight, or until you think you are going to scream. Scream. Realize you'll love the music for the rest of your life.

19. Spend 5 months planning a "theme camp" like it's the invasion of Normandy. Spend Monday-Wednesday building the camp. Spend Thurs-Sunday nowhere near camp because you're sick of it or can't find it.

20. Walk around your neighborhood and knock on doors until someone offers you cocktails and dinner.

21. Bust your ass for a "community." See all the attention get focused on the drama queen crybaby.

22. Get so drunk you can't recognize your own house. Walk slowly around the block for 5 hours.

23. Tell your boss you aren't coming to work this week but he should "gift" you a paycheck anyway. When he refuses accuse him of not loving the "community".

25. Search alleys until you find a couch so unbelievably tacky and nasty filthy that a state college frat house wouldn't want it. Take a nap on the couch and sleep like you are king of the world.

26. Ask your most annoying neighbor to interrupt your fun several times a day with third hand gossip about every horrible thing that's happened in the last 24 hours. Have them wear khaki.

27. Go to a museum. Find one of Salvador Dali's more disturbing, but beautiful paintings. Climb inside it. Wake up covered in vomit with an IV in your arm.

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televinita · 6 years ago

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Library Triage

Speaking of my incompetence, I managed to accidentally check out an avalanche of super-awesome-looking/hotly anticipated books with fairly restrictive deadlines toward the beginning of a 10-day hell period at work where I had no time to start them. I am almost out of it now, but they are basically all due by or before the end of June and my brain is spinning out trying to fathom how I am going to organize my reading schedule without rushing and ruining the books for myself, SO, time for project Talk It Out Concretely!

(or. you know. even more ramblingly than usual)

Starting with an achievement: Last night I finally had time to finish Fanny Fran Davis’ Everything Must Go, an absolutely delightful romp which was on its final renewal and only a week away from being due. Prior to that I was working on it in 15-minute breaks at work and 1+ minute stoplights on the commute to work. (seriously. thumbs up to its format.)

SO, HIGH ON THAT:

1. A & L Do Summer - Jan Blazanin: This is a book that Goodreads has been recommending to me for 5 years. I always thought it looked cute, but maybe not substantial, so I kept putting it off because it required an ILL request. But next week’s Top Ten Tuesday prompt is “books to read by the beach,” and I saw this on my recs list again and went, “You know what? This is exactly that kind of book. This is exactly the right time of year to finally read it. I want juvenile cuteness that lets me vicariously be 15 (17 apparently?) again with months of freedom ahead to enjoy in a rural Midwest setting.” I’m struggling with whether to read this or the next book first, but I think this one will go quicker. Due 7/2, like the next two.

[edit: I waited until the day before it was due, for some reason, but it was everything I wanted it to be!]

2. Like Mandarin - Kirsten Hubbard. Another book GR has been recommending to me for 5 years, another one that needed an ILL request. I figured I’d send away for them both together because of sort of similar themes in girl-bonding and rural locales, though this looks much more serious. It’s always caught my eye; there’s just something about the "young high schooler latches onto/idolizes Cool Senior High Schooler" concept that appeals to me -- oh, and only JUST NOW did I realize it's by the same author as my beloved Wanderlove! Definitely loving it now. Definitely.

[edit: accurate]

3. Heart-Shaped Hack - Tracey Garvis-Graves: After rereading The Island for the first time in 6 years and remembering how much I loved that romance/had anticipated more work from her, I saw this and immediately went, “I could cast Waige in this.” I am coming to the conclusion that this is untrue, because Mr. Hacker is turning out to be way too cocky for any character I’ve ever liked, but if I re-calibrate my expectations for what is actually being offered, I still feel like I will love this. And if that’s the case...there is a sequel. (which unfortunately would have to come rather far down on this list)

[edit: really should have waited for the sequel in hand! I think it will be better; this was good but rather more, uh, adult-romance-y than I expected so I’d like to at least see them in a higher stakes plot]

4. Going Geek - Charlotte Huang: technically due first, on 6/23 and it’s an ILL so getting it back is tough. BUT I am less interested in it than any of the 3 above, so if I don’t through at least 2 of them first, I’ll let this one go with no remorse. I only requested it because it seemed similar to Life in Outer Space, but that one was wholly satisfying on its own. This does look like a solid YA novel, but it doesn’t have a special hook, and I am up to my ears in Hook Books.

[edit: I made time! Glad I did; it was better than I expected it to be]

5. The Broken Girls - Simone St. James: Not a specific craving right now, but I have been on a wait list since it was released and mentally waiting since November because I love a good thriller with a mystery from the past & an abandoned building -- and then I forgot to suspend my hold and it came in before I was ready. Also due 6/23, and still hotly requested. I am probably gonna lose my shot to read this on time and have to wait another 4-6 weeks, but at least it’s in my home system.

[edit: I made time! Barely took me 10 pages to get addicted; SO WORTH IT.]

6. Learning to Stay - Erin Celello: This popped when I was looking for novels with brain-damaged spouses. I was looking for Waige-related reasons, and with the veteran angle this isn’t going to work for them, but its premise is irresistible to me and I have a suspicion who it’s perfect for: Barbie/Julia (with begrudging thanks for season 3 of Under the Dome for actively showing me what it could look like). Not due until July 8 and will probably delay it until after #7, actually, because I’m having trouble focusing on other ships right now, even ones I adore.

[edit: well done, though I couldn’t keep my characters straight because there was an annoying lot to match up with my original pick, so I kept unintentionally running everything twice.]

7. Shine Shine Shine - Lydia Netzer: All right, full disclosure -- this one is my final, brightest and best attempt to find Walter/Paige (complete with a Ralph!) in a novel. I am setting myself up to fail, in part because the premise includes the idea that the central female character is kind of off in her own way. But like. How else* was I supposed to react to “genius engineer husband whose wife has 'taught him to feel -- helped him translate his intelligence for numbers into a language of emotion‘ + autistic son”???

(*alternate option for how else: I’ve got Happy in my back pocket: As children, the temperamental Sunny and the neglected savant Maxon found an unlikely friendship no one else could understand. Even the ironic name fits!)

This one just got here and I’ll pick it up in a few days. It’s a home system request, but we only have one copy and I already had to wrestle it away from someone who kept it 2 days overdue* so we might tussle again. (*you might be asking yourself why I did that, given the state of this post. I don’t know either. I was in a feverish delirium of reading desire by that point and every book I found online looked more imperative to get immediately than the last, but I was stuck waiting for all of them).

[edit: it was beautiful and I have so many favorite quotes and I cried a lot and it was worth it even if only one character lined up well; the pair won my heart on their own merit.]

8. 45 Pounds (More or Less) - K.A. Barson: a cute YA novel about an overweight girl trying (or at least being pestered by her mother) to lose weight. I’ve been saving it for motivation for when I actually attempt to exercise / not eat like crap this summer. This, like the remaining books, has essentially no due date since no one is likely to request them out from under me even once I return them.

[edit: tossed back unread for the time being. too many shiny new things appeared.]

9. Voracious: a hungry reader cooks her way through great books - Cara Nicoletti: this is either going to help the above plan or hurt it, but it’s such a great premise, especially as someone who once considered starting a side blog devoted to highlighting passages in books that describe great meals. I am not actually sure if I will finish it at all. But I’d like to try.

[edit: see above.]

10. Shelf Discovery: The Teen Classics We Never Stopped Reading: this book was mentioned in a review for one of the lesser-known books in it; I forget which one, but it intrigued me because there are TONS of titles in here that aren’t usually mentioned in online lists like this, and I love when people talk about books I have actually loved instead of pretending that Catcher in the Rye and The Perks of Being a Wallflower are the best examples of universal YA literature we can find.

(What’s most likely going to happen is I’m going to read 3 chapters and then wig out about how many I haven’t read and put it back until I have, so I can enjoy the comparisons in our reactions instead of being unduly influenced, but... )

11. Sixteen: short stories by outstanding writers for young adults: Absolutely lowest priority, probably will never get to it, but if I had no other reading responsibilities right now? I would be reading it now. I spotted this when I went to pick up the above, and I don’t even usually like short stories, but this is a compilation of outstanding writers for young adults IN THE 1980S. And there is a very specific style to young adult books from the 1980s that sometimes, I just absolutely crave. Let me give you more of its description: Stories dealing with teenage concerns, written especially for this collection by well-known authors of young adult novels such as the Mazers [that would be Harry and Norma Fox], M.E. Kerr, Robert Cormier, Bette Greene, and Richard Peck. Biographical sketches for each author are included, as well as follow-up activities for the reader. Me, gesticulating wildly at basically all these names: I KNOW THEM! (as authors, I mean. Once upon a time the library’s teen section was full of their work and I devoured it as voraciously as the newer stuff)

[edit: it was short, so I read it and am glad I did.]

========

AND AS PREVIOUSLY MENTIONED: THERE ARE STILL MORE I WANT, but I can’t think about them right now.

#reading triage #library checkouts #aw crap I just realized I forgot another two I actually have checked out #but I have been checking them out since April and still haven't gotten to them so IDK if I will bother

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libralita · 7 years ago

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Reread Review!

Title: The Bands of Mourning

Author: Brandon Sanderson

Summary: Now, with The Bands of Mourning, Sanderson continues the story. The Bands of Mourning are the mythical metalminds owned by the Lord Ruler, said to grant anyone who wears them the powers that the Lord Ruler had at his command. Hardly anyone thinks they really exist. A kandra researcher has returned to Elendel with images that seem to depict the Bands, as well as writings in a language that no one can read. Waxillium Ladrian is recruited to travel south to the city of New Seran to investigate. Along the way he discovers hints that point to the true goals of his uncle Edwarn and the shadowy organization known as The Set.

Rating: ★★★★★

Original Review

Review:

Besides Secret History, I’m finished rereading Mistborn! I liked this book a bit more on the second read through. I’ve decided to change the rating from a 4.5 to straight up 5 stars. I know such a big difference but it deserves it! Because I have my knowledge of the cosmere, things made a little more sense so I had a more pleasant experience. This is a reread review so there are spoilers for other books in the cosmere so I recommend reading my original review. I really loved this book and I can’t wait to reread Secret History!

“‘Could you…maybe order a few of the others to befriend me?’ he found himself asking, ashamed of how weak it sounded to say the words.”—Page 23

Wax, my poor child.

“‘I’m sure you did your best,’ Steris said, taking his arm. She was warm, and even trembling. Steris might be reserved, but unlike what some assumed, she wasn’t emotionless.”—Page 42

My cutie.

“‘I’m all right,’ he said to Steris through clenched teeth. ‘But God should have known not to come for me. Particularly not today.’ ‘Your life is…decidedly odd, Lord Waxillium.’ ‘I know,’ he said, moving again, stepping with her beside the last door before they entered the dome. ‘Ready?’ ‘Yes, thank you.’ Was she…teary-eyed? It was an expression of emotion he’d never seen from her. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Forgive me. It’s just…more wonderful than I’d imagined.’”—Page 47

First, in the grand scheme of things, it’s not really that strange. Second, Steris is such a sweetie, god I love her.

“‘For being nice. For being willing to subject yourself to, well, me. I understand that it is not a pleasant concept.’ ‘Steris…’ ‘Do not think me self-deprecating, Lord Waxillium,’ she said, sitting up and taking a deep breath, ‘and please do not assume I’m being morose. I am what I am, and I accept it. But I am under no illusions as to how my company is regarded. Thank you. For not making me as other have.’”—Pages 51-52

Steris, stop making my heart hurt. I would love your company.

Oh yeah, this is the book where I want to punch Wayne in the face for the wedding mishap.

“‘Now, what kinda talk is that?’ he demanded. ‘You’ve given up? Is that how the Ascendant Warrior was? Huh?’ ‘No, in fact,’ Marasi said. ‘She walked up to the man she wanted, slapped the book out of his hand, and kissed him.’”—Page 56

Pretty much, yeah.

‘See, there’s how it is!’ ‘Though the Ascendant Warrior also went on and murdered the woman Elend was planning to marry.’”—Page 56

Okay, to be fair Shan was trying to kill Elend in the first place. Also you forgot the part where she did it in her underwear. Or did history conveniently forget about that part?

‘Gruesome,’ Wayne said in an approving tone, then took another swig of sherry. ‘That’s not the half of it,’ Marasi said, leaning back on the counter, hands behind her. ‘You want gruesome? She also supposedly ripped out the Lord Ruler’s insides. I’ve seen it depicted in several illuminated manuscripts.’”—Page 56

That’s is just false, Marasi.

“Tell me, Miss Colms. What do you know about the nature of Investiture and Identity?”—Page 58

Ugh, fuck me. Investiture makes my head hurt.

“‘Image project,’ VenDell said. ‘They call it an evanoscope. By next year these will be commonplace, I should think.’ He paused. ‘Harmony implies that if we find this wondrous, it will really burn our metals when the images start moving.’ ‘Moving?’ Wax said, stepping forward. ‘How would they do that?’ ‘We don’t know,’ MeLaan said with a grimance. ‘He accidentally let it slip, but won’t say anything more.’ ‘How does God,’ Marasi asked, still staring at the image, ‘accidentally let something slip?’”—Page 63

Movies will be great! Sazed is a horrible liar.

Okay so Investiture is the raw power of Allomancy and Feruchemy. So each person has their special Investiture and that’s called “Identity” which is why Feruchemists can only use their metal minds.

“‘What is it about you,’ Wax said, ‘that makes me want to punch you, even when you’re saying something helpful?’ ‘None of us have been able to figure it out,’ MeLaan said, waving for Wayne to toss her a walnut. ‘One of the cosmere’s great mysteries.’”—Page 69

Haha. Also, ugh it’s so creepy how VenDell has Breeze’s hands. Why would Breeze give his hands to VenDell?

What are the Lady Mistborn’s knives and the Lance of the Fountains?

“‘There are four individuals,’ VenDell said, ‘who, to our knowledge, have held the power of Ascension. Rashek, the Survivor, the Ascendant Warrior, and Lord Harmony.’”—Page 70

More foreshadowing.

“‘Four hours?’ Steris said. ‘I need to send for the maids! And the valet! And…’ She raised a hand to her head, looking faint. ‘And I need to make a list.’”—Page 80

Oh Steris.

“He was completely shocked, then, when the page didn’t contain a historical description, but instead anatomy sketches. Along with long descriptions explaining…human reproduction?”—Page 103

Oh god my poor child. This is probably the most relatable scene ever. Like Steris just wanted to know how sex worked and she so worried she won’t be able to do it correct. My poor child, I just want to hug her.

“‘If it eases your mind,’ Wax said as she tucked the book into her suitcase, ‘we won’t need to be…involved with any real frequency, particularly once a child is provided. I don’t imagine your research will be necessary for more than a dozen or so occasions.’ As he said it she wilted, shoulders slumping, head bowing.”—Page 105

Well, that was the wrong thing to say. Steris is horny af and she wants her Wax.

“Wax crossed the train car, then sat next to her, resting his hand on hers. ‘I don’t like this talk from you. Or from me. It’s become a habit for us to pretend this relationship is nothing more than titles and money. But Steris, when Lessie died…’ He choked off, then took a deep breath before continuing. ‘Everyone wanted to talk to me. Speak to me. Blather about how they knew what I was feeling. But you just let me weep. Which was what I needed more than anything. Thank you.’”—Pages 105-106

Aw, I love these two so much.

“Steris’s teeth chattered audible, and he glanced at her as he finished winding, expecting to see her frightened and miserable. Instead, despite being dripping wet, she had a stupid grin on her face, eyes alight with excitement.”—Page 138

Steris, you dork, I love you.

I can’t believe MeLaan and Wayne had sex during the train attack.

“‘’Sides, I didn’t get to stomp none of them, on account of some untimely snogging.’ ‘At least it was a good snogging,’ MeLaan added. Then, to Marasi’s glare, she added, ‘What? It was. Poor guy hadn’t had a proper snog in years. Had a lot of pent-up energy.’ ‘You’re not even human,’ Marasi said. ‘You should be ashamed. Not to mention that you’re six hundred years old.’ ‘I’m young at heart. Really—I copied this one off a sixteen-year-old that I ate a few months back.’”—Page 151

You ever read something and you’re like “God, this is weird. And the fact this all makes sense to me, makes me weird”?

Guys, you’re so mean to Aunt Gin.

“‘She assumes’ Wax said, ‘that our detective style isn’t normally the punchy-punch, stabby-stabby type.’ ‘To be fair,’ Wayne said, ‘it’s usually a more shooty-shooty, whacky-whacky type.’”—Pages 168-169

You all need some rest.

‘Oh, my lord, I know it, I do.’ The beggar laughed. ‘I own the place, technically. Now, regarding those coins for old Hoid, my good lord…’ He pushed his hand forward farther, eyes staring sightlessly.”—Page 173

First, Hoid often pretends to be blind on Scadrial. Second, why were you drinking cologne, Hoid? Or did you just forget you were wearing it? Were you on a hot date or something? Third, Apparently Hoid has been to this estate multiple times. Forth, Hoid!

Where did Hoid get that storming coin? And why give it to Wax?

“‘Is your cousin well?’ ‘Valette? Most certainly. We are all please with her new marriage. I’m sorry your relationship didn’t work out, but the man who courted her after you was dreadful. When titles are part of a union, it’s always unpleasant to see what crawls out from the mists looking for a bone.’”—Page 188

Wax it’s time to punch this man in the face.

“However, as he did, a different woman slid into place and grasped his hand, towing him into the dancing and away from the perimeter. He was so surprised that he let it happen. ‘Excuse me?’ Wax said. ‘No excuses necessary,’ the woman said, ‘I won’t take but a moment of your time.’ She looked to be Terris, judging by her dark skin—though hers was darker than most he’d seen. Her hair was in tight braids, streaked with grey, and her face bore full, luscious lips. She took the lead in the dance, causing him to stumble.”—Page 190

Hello, Khriss!

“Infant mortality on Scadrial is not as bad as some regions, but still shockingly high.”—Khriss, Page 190

Wax, are you going to ask what the heck Scadrial is or at this point in time has Scadrial actually gotten it’s name? Also, why is infant mortality on Scadrial high? I mean I get that they’re in industrial revolution times so it’s not the greatest conditions in the world but Roshar is like…in a giant war.

“She produced a card and handed it toward him. ‘Please experiment with this further and send me word. Thank you. Now, if I can just figure out why there’s no redshift involved in speed bubbles…’”—Page 191

Wait, Khriss gave Wax her card? Bro! Call her! What’s redshift?

“‘To the Roughs,’ Devlin said, dismissive. ‘What’s beyond them, Waxillium? Beyond the deserts? Across the seas? Nobody cares.’”—Page 204

Chocolate.

“‘I know you, lawman,’ Devlin said. ‘And I can tell you, the group you chase, you don’t need to worry about them. They won’t be a danger for decades, perhaps centuries. You’re ignoring the bigger threat.’”—Page 206

So I guess in the next book the Set will not be completely taken care of and they’ll be around in Era 3 and 4. Also, I’m assuming the Devlin is a worldhopper.

“‘Were you ever insecure?’ Marasi asked. ‘Or did you always know what to do? Did you get jealous? Frightened? Angry?’”—Page 211

Ahahaha, yes, Vin was very much insecure, jealous, frightened and angry for a majority of her life. The concept of Marsh not beating Kell was foreign to her.

“…time to show those in Elendel that their tyranny is not only unjust, it is against the will of the Survivor, who died in the name of freedom…”—Lord Severington, Page 219

Yeah, I think Wax should be more concerned with this civil war that’s brewing. Perhaps New Seran is gathering up an army and will attack Elendel.

“Do Your Metal Tools Speak to You? Your neighbors probably don’t want to hear about it. But WE do! Visit 27 Ralen Place. Ask for K or N. Bring the talking metal with you.”—Page 225

I see Khriss and Nazh are looking Nightblood.

“A few more speeches like this one, and Severeington will have the entirety of the Basin whipped into a frenzy. Completely ignoring that Elendel has us outmanned and outgunned.”—Kelesina, Page 232

I guess Elendel does have an army of some sort.

“Wax dropped to the floor with a thump, leveling his gun at the people inside the room. ‘He’s right here.’”—Page 233

A bit overdramatic, wouldn’t you say?

“Steris grabbed him with, he noted, no small amount of eagerness. She really did enjoy this part.”—Page 240

My ship is being prepared to set sail.

“Wax looked down at her as she held to him while trying to stare in every direction at once. He suddenly found something burning in him, like a metal. A protectiveness for this woman in his arms, so full of logic and yet so full of wonder at the same time. And a powerful affection. So he let himself kiss her.”—Page 241

SAIL!

So, it’s all come full circle. Kell started out seeking the legendary atium to become rich beyond anyone’s wildest dreams and now people are search for a secret stash of Kell’s riches.

Wait a minute so you can use a speedbubble if you’re on something big enough and they’ll move with you. So that means when Scadrial invents airplanes, you’ll always want to travel with a Cadmium misting to make the time go by faster.

“‘It takes the metal one is burning,’ Wax said, ‘and somehow…extends it. You saw. It Pushed your metal away, as if a Coinshot were there near you. The cube used Allomancy.’”—Page 256

This is such a great, ‘holy shit’ moment because on the one hand this technology is cool and think of all the ways you could use it. On the other hand, holy shit the bad guys have this tech.

I love how Steris is like, “Wax, I’m crazy but I’m not that crazy”.

“‘I’ve got an idea,’ Marasi said. ‘How crazy is it?’ ‘Less crazy than tossing Wayne off a cliff.’ ‘Not a high bar, but all right. How do we start?’”—Page 273

Those two usually set a low bar in the sanity department.

‘My thigh,’ MeLaan said, twisting the doorknob with a click, then pushing the door open a crack. She nodded, standing up straight. ‘Your…what?’ Marasi asked. ‘You said my head might hold the key,’ MeLaan said, striding into the chamber beyond—a small, surprisingly well-furnished room. ‘It’s actually my thigh, right now. A kandra stores its cognitive system through its entire body, but my memories right now are in a solid metal compartment in my thigh. Safer that way. People aim for the head.’ ‘So what’s in your head?’ ‘Eyes, sensor apparatus,’ MeLaan said. ‘And an emergency canteen.’ ‘You’re kidding.’ ‘Nope,’”—Page 286

I…this book is weird.

“‘Please,’ he whispered, tears in his eyes.”—Page 294

My poor baby.

“‘Great Metallic One,’ the masked man said, glancing at Waxillium, ‘I, of course, wouldn’t dare give orders to one of your stature even if you wear your bare face out at all times. Who am I to judge? Even if you look equally crass as these others—even the cute one—I’m sure you’re not. But, if I may be so bold as to suggest—’ ‘What?’ Waxillium asked. ‘A little Push,’”—Pages 312-313

He is so cute.

“I found no trace of him, and though no one witnessed his fall, a young white-haired man was there and offered to tell me a story. I declined.”—Page 314

That was a mistake.

Allik Neverfar, I’ll need to remember that.

“‘North,’ Wax said, pointing. The little shelf at the front of the vehicle—like the dash of a motorcar—had a compass set into it. ‘If you head west first though, and find the river, we can—’ ‘No.’ Telsin seized Wax by the arm. ‘We need to talk.’”—Page 318

Don’t trust her!

‘The Sovereign was our king from three centuries ago. He told us he was your king first. And your god.’ ‘The Lord Ruler?’ Waxillium said. ‘He died.’ ‘Yes,’ Allik said. ‘He told us that too.’”—Page 325

King? I mean god, I’ll give you that but you didn’t rule over the people, Kell.

“‘I’m sorry, great Wise One,’ Allik said. ‘You are obviously very knowledgeable about this, and know things that none of us would ever think to try. How could we be so foolish as to not realize that we could simply—’ ‘Shut it,’ Waxillium growled.”—Page 328

I love Allik so much, he’s now my child.

“‘Deniers of masks? Like us?’ ‘No, no,’ Alliks said, laughing. ‘You’re just barbarians. The Deniers are really dangerous.’”—Page 329

I’ll add that to the things to be addressed in the future books.

“There were other groups though. One gave a mask to each child, and those only changed once, when they reached adulthood. Allik claimed that these people—called Hunters—even grew into their masks somehow, though Marasi found that difficult to believe.”—Page 332

I’m guessing that’s where that one woman is from that showed up in Words of Radiance.

Leras was Ati’s wife and sister according to the South’s religion.

“What kind of metal explodes if you put it in water?”—Marasi, Page 336

*Quick Google Search* Caesium?

“There are those from my lands who might find your Basin up here…tempting, with no defenses against attack from above.”—Allik, Page 336

Oh great so Elendel will have to deal with a civil war with New Seran and a hostile airships.

“‘Clever, but it won’t work on you.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Because we’re in your lands,’ he said. The visitor always has to wear the medallion. It’s filled with Connection, yah? Blank Connection, to no place. But Connection can’t just be connected to nothing, so when you tap it, it reaches out and connects you to the place where you are. Makes your soul think you were raised in this place instead, so your language changes.’”—Page 338

So, it’s like rewriting the soul like in Emperor’s Soul.

“The Lord Ruler was run through with three spears, by the Lord Mistborn’s testimony. ‘Once stabbed by a beggar, for the poverty he brought. Once stabbed by a worker, for the slavery he enforced. Last stabbed by a prince, for the lords he corrupted.’ The spears didn’t hurt him.”—Marasi, Page 347

What?

“He wrapped the big spearhead, which was as large as his palm, with a handkerchief to keep it from freezing his fingers off,”—Page 348

So without that handkerchief Wayne would have the power of the bands of mourning. I don’t think anyone realizes how close the cosmere was to being completely destroyed that day.

“‘I have now been to hell,’ he said. ‘These mountain will rise all the way there for certain.’ ‘You think hell is in the sky?’ Steris asked, standing close to Wax, practically clinging to him.”—Page 349

First of all, aw Steris is staying close to Wax for warmth/comfort. Second, what is your version of hell? Is it like the Christian hell? Tell me!

“Waxillium sought justice. He had an open heart—he’d spared Wayne’s life all those years ago, after all—but in the end, he sough to uphold the law. That was shortsighted. Marasi wanted to create a world where law enforcement wouldn’t be needed. Was that why she was so annoyed with him lately?”—Page 354

That’s an impossible utopian world, Marasi.

Well, Steris, the way to become more useful is probably get a gun of some sort and be able to fire it.

“‘And then,’ Steris said softly, ‘perhaps I came along because of the way it feels…’ Marasi looked sharply back at her sister. ‘Like the whole world has been upended,’ Steris said, looking toward the ceiling. ‘Like the laws of nature and man no longer hold sway. They’re suddenly flexible, like a string given slack. We’re the spheres…I love the idea that I can break out of it all—the expectations, the way I’m regarded, the way I regard myself—and soar. ‘I saw it in his eyes, first. The hunger, that fire. And then I found it in myself. He’s a flame, Waxillium is, and fire can be shared. When I’m out here, when I’m with him, I burn, Marasi. It’s wonderful.’”—Page 356

My heart! That is so beautiful.

“‘You actually love him, don’t you?’ Marasi asked. ‘Well, love is a strong emotion, one that requires careful deliberation to—’ ‘Steris.’ ‘Yes.’”—Page 356

I love Steris and Wax so much.

“He looked at Wax and smiled. ‘Apparently these symbols spell out something the Lord Ruler would have understood.’”—Page 369

What? Survive? The trick is to never stop looking, there’s always another secret? I hate noblemen?

“Wax spun, whipping out his gun. He pointed it not at Edwarn, but at his sister.”—Page 373

Goddammit Telsin.

“Marasi turned to Steris, who was still dazed, eyes wide, still looking at the hole where Waxillium had fallen.”—Page 378

Oh god she thinks Wax is dead.

“Lady Sequence?” Lame.

“Beyond that hung a haze of red. All around, pressing in upon the world. He could feel it choking him, a miasma of dread and destruction.”—Page 393

Trell.

“‘I am sorry,’ Harmony said with a gentle voice, ‘for your pain. I am sorry for what you did, what we had to do. But I am not sorry for making you do what had to be done.’ Wax opened his eyes. ‘And when I hold back, staying my hand from protecting those below,’ Harmony said, ‘I must do it out of trust in what people can do on their own.’ He glanced toward the red haze. ‘And because I have other problems to occupy me.’”—Pages 394-395

This section always gets me for some reason.

“Even the most careful of the Series would be distressed by the prospect of being technologically outmaneuvered.”—Page 400

Suit, Sequence, Set, Series.

“At times this seemed to flicker, and for a moment he saw the radiance inside of each person and thing. It felt as if he might be able to move those too. An awed voice in the back of his mind whispered, They’re all the same. Metal, minds, men, all the same substance….”—Page 406

Interesting.

“‘Rusts!’ she said, looking at it. ‘What is this?’ It was sweet, thick, warm, chocolaty, and wonderful. ‘Choc,’ he said. ‘Sometimes it is a man’s only succor in this frozen, lonely world, yay?’ ‘You drink chocolate?’ ‘Sure. Don’t you?’”—Page 415

The people in the Basin are clearly the barbarians.

Malwish, that’s their name. I need to remember that.

“Aradel grunted. ‘Senate’s had my balls over the fire for two days straight, screaming about war and irresponsible leadership. As if I ever had any influence over you people.’”—Page 428

I love Aradel.

“‘I was wondering, Steris,’ Wax said, ‘fi you’d be willing to be my bride.’ ‘I’ve already agreed—’ ‘Yes, but last time I asked with an expectation of a contract,’ Wax said. ‘it was the lord of a house asking a woman of means for a union. Well, that requests stands, and thank you. But I’m asking again. It’s important to me. Will you be my bride? I want to be married to you. Right now, before the Survivor and that priest. Not because words on a paper say we have to, but because we want to.’ He took her by the hand, and spoke more softly. ‘I’m painfully tired of being alone, Steris. It’s time I admitted that. And you…well, you’re incredible. You truly are.’”—Page 431

This goddamn book keeps on making me cry.

“The Set had Faceless Immortals of its own.”—Page 434

So is Trell or the Set possessing people or is the beggar a kandra-like-being?

“Thank you for your service; it has been accepted. You will be allowed to serve in another Realm.”—The Set’s “Faceless Immortal”, Page 435

So is Suit being transported or killed?

“They’d stayed here in the penthouse through the honeymoon, rather than returning to the mansion.”—Page 435

That’s nice and all but quick question: What’s a moon?

“That arm…That arm. Lined with a network of scars layered atop one another, as if made by scarping the skin time and time again. The haunting word he’d spoke echoed in Wax’s mind. ‘Survive.’”—Page 437

God…I need the next book…

#bands of mourning #brandon sanderson #wax and wayne series #reviewsdaytuesday #reread review #2017 reviews

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xfandomimagines · 8 years ago

Text

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST (AU BARRY ALLEN IMAGINE) - PART ONE

Summary: When Barry Allen gives up on love, he gets turned into a hideous ‘beast’, and must find love before the last petal falls. When Y/N comes across his hideout, can she break the spell?

Gender: Female

Notes: I saw Beauty and the Beast for the second time tonight and I got this idea. I changed a few things up from The Flash to make it fit, for example, Henry dies in prison. Also, I didn’t make Barry an actual beast, but rather I went with his appearance is turned beastly, and I was slightly inspired by the “beast” in Beastly when describing his appearance. And the reader is Harry Wells daughter.

{REQUESTS ARE OPEN}

Prologue

“You’re sure you’ll be okay getting home?”

“Yeah, I just want to be alone for a while.” Barry replied, sending Joe a small smile. Joe nodded and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, before walking away and leaving him too it. Barry turned back to where he was looking previously.

RIP Henry Allen

1965 – 2016

Loving husband, father and friend.

Barry wiped away the tear that was trickling down his cheek. Now he had no family left. Henry, his father, dying in prison for the murder of his mother; a murder he didn’t commit. Everyone Barry loved left him, what was the point in it anymore? Loving was useless. All it left you with was heartbreak and despair. No warmth, no happiness, just darkness.

“Why did you leave me?” Barry whispered, before finally turning away from the grave. Suddenly, a man was standing in front of him. He was short with curly hair and a mischievous grin.

“Ah, Barry, nice of you to finally notice me!” The man said. Barry stared at him, not wanting to deal with this, today of all days.

“How do you know my name?”

“I know a lot of things Mr Allen, like the fact you have given up on love. Which I have to say, I find quite disappointing.”

Quickly, Barry’s mood went sour. This guy didn’t know him, how dare he say what he was feeling was feeling was right or not? He’d just buried his father less than an hour ago and now some stranger was lecturing him on his life choices.

“Who are you?! And what right do you have to tell me how to live my life?!”

“Barry.” The man gave him a pitying look. “I really wish I didn’t have to do this, but it’s going to be for your own good.” Suddenly, pain shot through Barry’s body and he screamed, curling in on himself. His body felt like it was on fire, his skin visibly rippling and he stared at his arms in terror as thick, rigged scars slithered around his arms and down onto his hands, ending at the tip of his middle finger. On his head he could feel his hair falling out in clumps, small scars appearing on his face and around his skull.

Finally, the pain ended and Barry straightened back out, staring down at his new appearance in a mixture of horror and disgust. “What have you done to me?!”

“What needed to be done, I’m sorry. Just one more thing.” The man apologised, turning to a rosebush nearby. With a flash blue eyes, a rose trimmed itself and a large glass dome surrounded itself around the beautiful flower. “You have until the last petal falls to fall in love and be loved in return, or you and your friends will stay like this forever.”

“My friends?! Wait, stop!” Barry yelled as the man turned and walked away. He chased after him but as soon as he put a hand on his arm, he evaporated into smoke.

Part One

You kissed your father, Harry, on the cheek as you headed out of the house and down the road, your nose stuck in your current book. The bag on your shoulder was also full with completed books which you were currently on the way to the library to return.

You loved reading. Being able to transport yourself away to exotic lands and faraway places, learning about the characters and their stories. You were the only person in your small neighbourhood who enjoyed reading, everyone else preferring to watch reality TV and discuss trivial celebrity gossip than educate themselves with a good book. Because of this, you were bullied a lot at school, and even now since you’ve returned from college, and you were quite lonely. It always felt like someone was missing from your life that you couldn’t quite remember.

Finally, you reached the library and you closed your book, marking the page you were on. The librarian, Felicity, smiled at you warmly as you reached the desk and placing your bag on the surface.

“Returning your books?”

“And checking some more out.”

“Of course.” Felicity chuckled, taking the books from you and scanning them. The library was a small building, with only a minute collection of books, and it was never very busy. You, Felicity and the part-time worker were pretty much the only people who ever set foot in the building. However, it was very cosy and you loved the feel of the place.

“Do you have any new books in?” You asked, walking over to shelves now that the returned books were all sorted.

“Unfortunately not.” Felicity frowned. She walked over to the shelf next to you and started to put the books back. “I really wish they’d give us funding to buy some more, but it doesn’t look like it’ll happen. The main library in the city centre should be donating some more books next month though.”

“That’s great.” You smiled. “But anyway, guess I’ll just have to reread my favourite.” You grabbed Y/F/B and walked back over to the desk, waiting for Felicity to finish.

“Just keep it. You’re the only one who reads it, so no one will miss it.” Felicity offered.

“Really?” She nodded. “Thank you so much!” You ran over and pulled her into a tight hug in thanks. Felicity just laughed and hugged you back.

“It’s no problem.”

“Honestly, this is amazing. I can’t thank you enough.” You said again. “I better be off, I’ll be back in a few days to return some more books.”

Felicity waved to you as you exited the building, and you headed in the direction of the supermarket down the road, hugging the novel to your chest. You loved this book so much, the story, the characters, everything about it was just perfect in your eyes.

Your good mood quickly turned sour as you reached your next destination and found Oliver and his friends in the car park, leaning against Oliver’s sports car. You immediately started walking faster, hoping that you’d get inside before you were spotted, however, that wish was short-lived.

“Y/N!” Oliver called out, running over to you. You tried to ignore him which only made him run over to you quicker. “Wait up, don’t you want to see me?”

“You know, I don’t think that was on my list of ‘things I must do today’” You retorted, sarcastically. Oliver either ignored your distaste or was completely oblivious to it as he followed alongside you.

“So are you busy tonight?” He asked, slinging an arm over your shoulders. You shrugged it straight off.

“Nope.”

Oliver grinned. “Would you like to accompany me on a date?”

“Nope. Goodbye Oliver.” You said, dryly, slipping away from him and into the store.

Ever since you returned from college last year, Oliver had been chasing after you, trying to get you to date him. Every single time he asked you, you said no, but he wouldn’t take no as an answer. The man was infuriatingly arrogant. He thought he was handsome and loved himself, and also loved women. Every single week he had a new woman hanging onto him, though none of them lasted. The longest you’d seen him with someone was Laurel Lance, though that ended as soon as she found out he cheated on her with her sister, Sara. Sara also didn’t last much longer.

On top of that, Oliver and his best friend, Tommy, seemed to throw parties every single week. Whether it was at his family’s mansion or at the local club, every Saturday night you could find them both drunk out of their minds making out with some girl.

This was one of the reasons why you always said no to him. You didn’t want to just be somebody’s latest conquest. If you dated someone you wanted it to at least be with the intention of possibly being serious. Plus, you also found Oliver completely repulsive.

Luckily, once you finished your shopping, Oliver and his friends had left, so you could head back home undisturbed. You got back home to find Harry at the kitchen table, finishing up his recent scientific research before he headed out to Mercury Labs to present his work to their scientists.

“Hey dad.” You greeted, kissing his cheek on your way into the kitchen. You placed the grocery bags on the counter and began unpacking them. “When are you heading out?”

“The taxi will be here in five minutes, I’m just quickly finishing up this research.” Harry answered, not looking up from his work. He scribbled down notes as fast he could, not having much longer to finish. You continued unpacking until you heard a car horn from outside, signalling that Harry’s taxi had arrived.

“You organise your notes, I’ll go and grab you suitcase from your room.” You told him, exiting the kitchen and going down the hall to his bedroom. You grabbed the suitcase from the doorway and walked back to the entry room, where Harry was putting his coat on.

“Thank you.” Harry said, hugging you goodbye. You held him tightly, knowing that you wouldn’t see him again for several days.

“Good luck. You’ll be amazing.” You complimented. “I’ll see you when you get home.”

Harry kissed you on the forehead and picked up his suitcase. “Bye sweetheart.”

You watched as he went out the door and waved at him as the taxi drove off with a smile. Just as you were about to head back inside, you were stopped by someone calling your name and you groaned at the voice.

“What do you want now, Oliver?” You groaned, folding your arms over your chest. Oliver jogged up the path to stand in front of you. In his hand was a bunch of flowers, which he held out for you, and he tried to give you a charming smile.

“Well, I knew you were alone for a few days so I thought you might want some company. I brought you flowers, shall I come in and we can cook dinner?” Oliver asked, hopefully. You rolled your eyes.

“I’m perfectly fine by myself. I don’t need your flowers, and again, I certainly do not need a date with you. Now Oliver, please leave.” You went to open the door but you were stopped by Oliver’s hand on the handle. Sighing, you turned around to face him.

“Just one date, come on, Y/N. You know you want this as much as I do.”

“I really don’t. Now please…” You pulled his hand away from your door. “Go. Away.” Before Oliver could react, you slipped back into the safety of your house, making sure to lock the door so he couldn’t follow you in.

The next morning, you were awoken by a knock on the door. You’d fell asleep reading the night before, so you were on the sofa with a book on your lap and still in your dressing gown. You rolled the crick out of your neck and stretched as you got up to answer the door.

“Y/N Wells?” Outside the door was a man in a police uniform, looking at you gravely.

“Yes?”

“Officer Alto Meister, may I come in? It concerns Harrison Wells.”

Your heart felt like it stopped beating. Numbly, you opened the door and allowed the officer in, leading him over to the sofa. As the officer told you what happened, you cried, head in your hands. They found the taxi your father had left in wrapped around a tree, only the driver still in the car, dead, and one of the back passenger doors wide open. They’d searched the surrounding area all night for Harry but had no luck, not even a clue as to the direction he’d gone in. Immediately, you demanded to head out to help with the search, but the officer advised against it.

Not listening to what the officer had said, as soon as he left, you got ready and headed out to search for Harry. You boarded a bus which went to where he was originally heading and you looked out, hoping to catch a glimpse of where to start. Luckily, if you could say it was lucky, the bus drove right passed the crash site. As you saw what happened, tears welled up in your eyes as you thought about all the bad things that could’ve happened to him, and the fact that you may find him too late.

Once the bus reached the stop after the crash, you got off, and headed through the woods, near to where it happened. After a few minutes of walking you found a small side path, and on closer inspection, you saw a sheet of paper laying on the ground. Tentatively, you picked it up and saw it was from Harry’s research and you clutched it tightly as you headed down the path, oblivious to what laid next.

#barry allen imagines #barry allen imagine #barry allen fic #the flash imagines #the flash imagine #dc imagines #the flash #barry allen #beauty and the beast

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