#i hate this essay so much i spent like six hours trying to not make it a wall of text and managed to make it a wall of text anyway :P | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jungkxook · 4 years ago

Text

—amortentia.

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader

⟶ genre: hogwarts/harry potter au / enemies-to-lovers + fluff

⟶ words: 5,486

⟶ rating: pg-13

⟶ summary: jungkook loves everything strawberry but the simple pleasure is always kept hidden, stowed away as if some hideous secret to protect the rumours that had built up around him — until a love potion outs him.

⟶ disclaimer: this is a repost of an old fic from my old blog since i know some of you were asking about it! i hope you enjoy!!

Jungkook loves strawberries.

He remembers fondly the warm summers as a child when he would go strawberry picking with his grandmother, and revels in the taste and the memory each time he bites into a fresh berry, the juices coating his tongue in sickly sweetness; he likes the smell of all the lotions and lip balms, candles and fragrances, that carried notes of the red fruit in comforting wafts, remembering distantly a time when his mother’s fruity perfume would breathe warm life into his cold house in the middle of a dull winter; he remembers sentimental times spent at the local cafe near his home, loving and basking in the way the homely and warm aroma of a freshly baked pie and the sugary tartness of strawberry lemonade would fill his nostrils and consume his senses, leaving his mouth watering.

Jungkook loves everything strawberry but the simple pleasure is always kept hidden, stowed away as if some hideous secret to protect the rumours that had built up around him.

Ask any girl that thought Jeon Jungkook is handsome or any boy that thought Jungkook is a god and they would say he smells like the purest form of any man with a harmonious scent of musk, cedar wood, and oak; like fresh rain that soaked in the middle of a mossy forest, spices, and black coffee — but they couldn’t have been more wrong. Maybe he did smell of musk or wood or rain when he was continuously outside, practicing every moment he had with his Quidditch team, but Jungkook was more than just that. Really, though, it made sense as to why people thought that way about him when he had left such a lingering impression on the school.

You can still remember the very first day you saw him; the very moment you had, from your spot in line in front of the Sorting Hat on the first day as a first year, saw the stoic boy step forward. Made up of a nervous face and obsidian locks that fell into his equally dark eyes, the Hat had instantly deemed the boy a Ravenclaw — and perhaps the house’s reputation was what added to his mystique and strange charm. Even then, from what you observed, he had been a silent boy, making his way to and from classes usually alone, and somehow ignoring the gaggle of girls (from all years and from all houses) that trailed along behind him, giggling and clamouring over how cute he is.

As the months went on, you never witnessed much change in Jungkook safe for the friends he suddenly made in the first half of second year (a surprising mix of Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors, and Slytherins) and the smug attitude he began to develop. A rebel, they said, a bad boy at heart, the very antithesis of Ravenclaws. Someone all the girls craved for and all the boys yearned to be. And while you tried to assume that perhaps there was more to the boy than meets the eye — that maybe he was built on different layers you could one day explore — when he begins to become too conceited with the way he is praised, you grow disenchanted by him and his cocky smirks. Yet, for some reason, he finds it necessary to go out of his way to talk to you no matter what — and you were quick to learn to despise him and his constant mocking, all possibilities of trying to get to know him diffused.

In first year, you had to endure a whole semester worth of Jungkook tugging at your hair when he sat behind you in Charms class. In second year, an unspoken rivalry began in which the two of you would compete to see who could earn the better grades. You can’t quite pinpoint when or where the hatred for one another began, but the irritation that comes as a result of it only grows more adamant with each passing day.

In third year, you distinctly remember being confined to the many dusty oak shelves and rows of leather bound books in the library, your eyes constantly flickering to the ornate grandfather clock nearby you as you wait alone. An agreed time of 6 pm to meet in the library after dinner to work on a partnered assignment had otherwise vanished from the boy’s memory. Had it been up to you to decide what partner you wanted, you would have much rather preferred to pick one of your friends and not the Ravenclaw who was fifteen minutes late. With the project due in two days, and with the nearly three weeks you had to finish it, you had constantly asked to meet with Jungkook to work on it and each time he had made a different excuse.

As time crept on and the waning hours of the daylight dwindled to a dull darkness, twenty minutes would pass and it was then that you would grudgingly begin packing your belongings. The wait was not worth the trouble. Yet just as you are standing from your seat, the boy waltzes into view, coming to a nonchalant halt in front of you and placing his bag on the table, as if he didn’t know how late he is. He has abandoned his robe to wear only a grey fleece pullover on top of his white button up, his torn up Converse shoes ruining the uniform outfit with his casual flare. Your stare flickers up to meet his smug face and a frown forms on yours as you spot the other third year Slytherin girl giggling a flirtatious goodbye to the boy who winks in response. Finally, he turns to look at you.

“You’re leaving already?” Jungkook asks. “I just got here.”

“Twenty minutes later, Jeon,” You snap.

The boy quirks a brow, twisting around in his spot to look at the clock. “I could have sworn you said we should meet at six-thirty. I’m ten minutes early.”

“I remember saying six o’clock,” You say. “As well as you telling me that six was perfectly fine. Look, History of Magic isn’t my favourite either but I would appreciate it if you at least put some effort into the class and this project.”

“Shh!”

The hiss that comes from the student studying near you only makes you scowl. You turn around hotly to continue shoving your books and papers into your backpack.

“I was busy,” Jungkook says.

“Busy flirting with every living thing?” You asks.

“What?” Confusion paints his face, and then he is shaking his head furiously. “No!”

Your eyes narrow into a scrutinizing glare. You point over your shoulder at the same Slytherin girl who is still within the library, standing just a few feet away from the pair of you. She has an opened book in her hands in an attempt to look distracted but her eyes are fixated solely on Jungkook. When she catches Jungkook staring, his gaze lifting over your shoulder, she hurriedly looks away and blushes.

“So I assume she’s just a friend?” You retaliate. “You know what your problem is, Jeon? You never take anything seriously.”

Immediately, Jungkook tenses. His arms snake around to cross in front of his chest.

“Well, you take everything too seriously,” he says. “When was the last time you had some fun? Any time I talk to you, you’re always fussing about the work or about how much you hate me— it’s like you’re a walking, talking, breathing dementor! You suck the life out of everyone.”

“Shh!”

The snarl this time is much harsher, coming from yet another student who has been devoting his time to writing an essay. But now you can’t be bothered to worry about silence. You slam shut the book in your hand with a very loud thump that seems to echo around the eerily silent room and fling a strap of your bag over your shoulder.

“Well, I’m sorry that I, and this assignment, are such inconveniences to you,” You say, “but from now on I give up on making sure we both don’t fail this class. If you need me, which I assume you won’t, I’ll be in my room, far from you.”

“Excuse me!” The familiar bark of the librarian’s voice hardly makes you jump even as she comes marching down to the two of you. “This is a library, a quiet place to study. It would be greatly appreciated if you could bring your conversation out into the halls.”

Had she not interrupted your conversation with Jungkook, you would have never realized just how loud your voice had risen. Clearing your throat and tightening your grip on your bag and the book, you tear your eyes from Jungkook and stomp defiantly out into the corridors to retreat to your common room, leaving Jungkook alone. He would find you the day after in a sluggish state, his hair dishevelled and his clothes askew as if he had slept in them — or, rather, had not slept at all — showing you all the work he had finished for the assignment the night before.

In fourth year, you are leaving the stands of the Quidditch pitch on a surprisingly warm November evening. Following the slew of students back to the school after a heated game between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor — where the latter team won after a fiery race between the two Seekers for the golden snitch — the eager chatter buzzes in the air. Beside you are your two friends who are, just as many others are doing, whispering excitedly about Jungkook’s role as Seeker and his “amazing performance.”

“Did you see the way Jungkook played?” Hana asks from the right side of you. “How can someone be so attractive?”

To your left, Nayeon is practically standing on the tip of her toes, desperately craning her neck to search the crowd for the boy and his friends. “Oooh, look! There he is! He’s so sweaty! Imagine his muscles—”

“You’re ridiculous,” You sigh with a disapproving shake of your head.

Despite your condescending tone, you can’t help but glance over your shoulder to follow your friends’ gaze. Laughing in triumph with his team and friends, Jungkook stands adorned in the usual Ravenclaw royal blue Quidditch uniform, the robes somehow accentuating his tanned skin and dark hair that clings to his sweat-covered forehead. Since when had he grown so tall? And maybe Nayeon was right — since when did Jungkook start looking so muscular?

“Your staring is obvious, Y/N,” Hana says.

“And so is your crush on him,” Nayeon murmurs.

“Crush?” You burst out into laughter. “Now that’s funny. I could never have a crush on him!”

“Have a crush on who?”

The familiar voice makes you groan inwardly and the arm that is tossed around your neck almost makes you gag. Your body grows rigid under Jungkook’s touch, though he doesn’t seem to notice that or the way you carefully try to peel his arm off of you but to no avail. Joining him is his typical duo of friends. The other Slytherin boy next to Jungkook is the shy and soft Park Jimin, accompanied by their inseparable Hufflepuff friend, Kim Taehyung. The two boys smirk wolfishly down at your friends, both of whom are so suddenly at a loss for words.

“Evenin’, ladies!” Jimin says. “Enjoy the show?”

“We hate to brag but we taught him everything he knows,” Taehyung says, ruffling Jungkook’s hair.

Jungkook rolls his eyes and swats Taehyung’s hand away. “Maybe the three of you can come down to watch us practice one day.”

Your friends exchange glances and giggle nervously.

“We’d love to,” Nayeon smiles.

Your lack of response clearly doesn’t go unnoticed by your friends, nor Jungkook and his friends. As you turn your head to look away from the group, you briefly catch the sudden scent that is Jungkook and your face scrunches. It isn’t so much as gross as it is overpowering. Passed salt and sweat, you can smell something clean like freshly cut grass or some sort of lemongrass shampoo. But instead of telling him out loud what you thought, you pushed him away.

“You smell terrible,” You said. “Go take a shower, Jeon.”

“Always playing hard to get,” Jungkook sighs. “Sorry we can’t all smell like your floraly essence after playing an intense Quidditch game.”

You only hum in response, turning your head to look away from him and his friends. The act seems to earn a smirk from Jungkook and then he and his friends are parting from you, walking back to the locker rooms. After that day, your friends’ profuse pleads and begs for you to come with them one day when the Quidditch teams are practicing would eventually make you cave in. When Jungkook sees you sitting in the stands burrowed in a wool scarf and heavy robes, albeit with a frown on your face and your eyes scanning the pages of a book in your lap, he catches your attention by shouting your name and then winking at you. Seconds later, a Quaffle is thrown his way by a fellow teammate and nearly knocks him off his broom.

In fifth year, you are seated in your Transfiguration class at the back and nearly dozing off as your Professor drones on and on in the early morning about some boring lecture. Jungkook sits in the row opposite you and a seat behind but that doesn’t stop him from constantly trying to catch your attention, whispering your name. It is only when you hear a few classmates near you break out into wondrous awes that you lift your head from its resting place wedged between your folded arms on top of your desk and turn. Soaring above the students’ heads is an enchanted paper bird, its thin wings fluttering its way to you.

You gaze at it for a moment, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips, before noticing that it is Jungkook who had magicked it, wand in hand as he waves it towards you. As soon as it reaches your table, it floats around your head and lingers in front of your face, beckoning you to take it. Instead, your hands try swatting it away though it doesn’t seem to budge. When you relent and succumb to taking the bird, it is not before you shoot an annoyed glance back at Jungkook. Then, you unwrap the bird in your hand. With thin black ink sprawled out in perfect cursive writing, a single dreadful question is poised in pretty script: Meet me tomorrow at noon at the Three Broomsticks? It’ll be my treat.

“Is that from Jungkook?” Hana asks. She peers over your shoulder from beside you to look down at the paper, her voice incredibly louder than you would have liked. “It is! Is he asking you out? You know, I always knew you liked him. You’re a terrible liar— ”

You gasp. Your hand quickly covers the paper, yanking it out of Hana’s view. “I do not like him!”

“Do too!” Hana laughs. “So, what are you going to say? Huh, who knew Jungkook was so soft and cute? Have I told you how cute the two of you would be together?”

Maybe it’s the way she so suddenly begins to gush over you dating Jungkook, or the way her voice garners the attention of those sitting around you, letting other girls fawn over how cute his simple gesture is, that makes you curdle with embarrassment. But what are you so shy of? You are insistent that you don’t like Jungkook but you were certain that if word spread that you did have feelings for him, your whole life would be drastically ruined. Or maybe you were more fearful of the idea of possibly liking Jungkook in return, even if you had so profusely been lying to everyone and yourself.

“Stop it!” You hiss. “I would rather kiss the squid in the Black Lake than date him!”

Then, as if to emphasize this apparent hatred, you grab your quill and furiously write in big scratchy letters “NO” before crumpling it in your hand and twisting in your seat. Set on chucking the balled up piece of paper right at Jungkook’s smug face, you are startled when you feel the paper being plucked from your grasp by none other than your Professor. She stands before you with a sour look on her face, a willowy old lady with gray wisps of hair pulled back into a tight bun.

“Ah, Miss Y/N,” she hums, “if you have more important matters that you seem to want to discuss with Mr. Jeon, surely you can divulge with the rest of the class too.”

Your mouth clamps shut. You watch, stricken with horror, as she unravels the paper in her hands, her glossy eyes skimming its contents from beneath her half-moon spectacles. She purses her lips, and then shifts her gaze to you and then to Jungkook sitting behind you. The silence that follows as she moves towards him is near unbearable, making you shift uncomfortably in your seat.

“If you would have much rather preferred to flirt with Miss Y/N than listen to my lecture, feel free to leave my class, Jeon,” Your Professor says. She drops the paper onto his desk with a flourish. “Though, it’d be in your best interest to stop your daydreaming and pay attention to my class because I’m afraid her answer was no.”

Your eyes widen as you twist in your seat to look at your Professor and a startled Jungkook. And, maybe, if you looked hard enough and passed the smug smirk, you could see his conceited stare falter as a look of hurt flashes across his eyes. A few murmurs and giggles break out amongst the students, making your cheeks burn hot and forces you to turn back around and away from Jungkook.

“And I suppose that now neither of you are busy tomorrow, you wouldn’t mind spending it in detention with me,” Your Professor says. Then she was rounding on her heel, marching back to the front of the classroom and restarting her lecture.

After the torturous detention where Jungkook suddenly refuses to look or talk to you after what had happened, and a week after the missed Hogsmeade trip, you would find Jungkook walking the halls, hand-in-hand, with another Ravenclaw girl. As they pass you, seemingly unaware of your lingering presence, you see the girl stop Jungkook and lean forward to kiss him, his own hands resting on her waist and tugging her closer to him. Though you tell yourself you’re free from his constant flirting and mocking, you can’t help but feel somewhat let down as you walk away that day.

In the beginning of sixth year, when all the students had found a moment to themselves and a much needed break from all the sudden stress of homework, you would wind up at a party being held in the Room of Requirements. Though you weren’t quite sure how the students were able to smuggle alcohol into the school, you remember drinking until you are blissfully numb and without a care in the world. Most of the evening had been spent chatting to Nayeon and Hana but when they become distracted with flirting with their crushes, you are left alone. It isn’t much long after that you stumble into Jungkook. Drunkenly dancing to the upbeat thump of music that reverberated around the room, you had, somehow, lost your footing. As you fall into the thick crowd, a pair of strong hands reach out to swiftly catch onto yours arms and hold you up. Jungkook’s surprised when you don’t bother pushing him away and let him help straighten you up. Clearly, you’re much too drunk to function, and he makes sure to hold you at a comfortable distance away from him. Then, there, under the dim lights of the room, you are met with his typical smirk tugging at his luscious pink lips (which you find yourself gazing at for longer than necessary).

“Ah, if it isn’t Jeon Jungkook,” You rasp. You sway dangerously in his hold and nearly fall to the floor again. He tightens his grip on you and catches you once more before you can slip away. “What do you want from me tonight?”

“Hey, you bumped into me. I’m just being nice and making sure you don’t face-plant the floor.”

“Yeah, but of course you had to be right beside me. I think I’d rather have face-planted the floor.”

He quirks a brow. He feigns dropping you, momentarily loosening his grip just enough for you to come flailing forward with a yelp of surprise. He doesn’t let you fall too far, though, and catches onto you swiftly once more, hooking his arm around your waist. When you meet his stare with a scowl, he grins. “You were saying?”

“Do you remember that one time you told me I never have fun?”

“Not really.”

“Ah, well, you say a lot of shit to me,” You say. “But that stuck out the most. You called me a dementor. A dementor. My thirteen year old self never forgot that.”

Jungkook winces at how carefree you seemed to say it, at how you still remembered it three years later. His hands drop from you once you’re steady and he runs his fingers through his locks, softly pushing them up and out of his eyes before they ultimately fall flat against his forehead once more.

“I didn’t mean it,” he says. “I mean, look at you now. You seem to be having a lot of fun. How drunk are you anyway?”

“It’s not fun when it feels like I’m trying to prove a point to you,” You sigh. “But I already know you don’t care about me.”

“That’s not true,” Jungkook says. “You’re the one who doesn’t care about me.”

You burst out into a fit of mocking laughter and shake your head at him. Swaying forward, almost precariously close to him, you tap the tip of his nose with your finger. “Jeon Jungkook, you can be real oblivious.”

And then you are kissing him, pressing your soft lips to his. He doesn’t push you away, albeit however incredibly surprised he may be. Instead, as he feels your lips move against his, he finds himself basking in everything that is you. All he can smell is your floral perfume and, passed the liquor that stained your lips, could taste your peach lip balm and the bubble gum you had been chewing earlier in the night. He hates how much he loves it. His hands lift to rest on either side of your face and he gently brings you closer to him, his tongue laving at your peach flavoured lower lip. He hears you moan softly in content as you melt against his chest, your fingers suddenly tugging desperately at the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s then that you realize that all you can smell is the scent of freshly cut grass and his lemony shampoo, but all you can taste is something warm and sugary that feels all too comforting.

You come to the conclusion in your drunken mind that you would have loved to keep kissing him. That, maybe, kissing Jeon Jungkook wasn’t so bad. But then just as suddenly as you had kissed him, he is pulling away from you, sending you crashing and burning down from your reverie. With swollen pink lips, wide eyes, and dishevelled hair, Jungkook shakes his head abruptly and mumbles a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

He flees from your grasp and from the party before you can stop him — and it is in that moment that you began to hate Jungkook, but not more than you hate yourself for actually enjoying the way it felt to kiss someone like him. You would never learn why he had left so soon until much later when he tells you that he didn’t want you to regret anything you did drunk — didn’t want you to regret kissing someone like him when you had seemed to hate him for years prior.

In the second half of sixth year, when you begin to fail Potions, your Professor does what he thinks is best and pairs you with Jungkook, the smartest student in his class. Hearing that Jungkook, of all people, is remarkable at Potions doesn’t come as a surprise. You are quick to learn just why he had been placed into Ravenclaw, carrying their impressive ambition and intelligence. If anything, you are almost jealous of how easily he seems to pick up on things and can reproduce them at top notch quality.

Your friendship with him is still strained and is perhaps even worse than it had once been ever since the night of the party. Neither of you talk about the moment and, from what either of you were concerned, both of you had long since forgotten the night had ever happened. Unbeknownst to you is that when Jungkook sees how cold and distant you become in the days after, he refuses to tell you the truth that the kiss is always on his mind. So, when you are forced to work with him for any assignments or in-class work, most of your conversations end in constant bickering. Miraculously, somehow, your grades do gradually begin to pick up.

One day, when you both walk into class, you are greeted to the sight of a smoldering cauldron placed neatly on top of your Professor’s desk, a beautiful scent filling the room that seems to be coming specifically from whatever has been brewing. The liquid contents within contains a mother-of-pearl sheen and clear smoke spirals from it in wisps. As soon as everyone is seated at their desks, your Professor steps forward and begins his lecture.

“Good evening, class!” he chirps. “Today we have a very exciting lecture that has to do with what is currently sitting on my desk. Now, can anyone tell me what exactly it is?”

A few shouts of guesses are tossed into the air but all are wrong as your Professor simply shakes his head. Jungkook raises his hand casually and your Professor points enthusiastically at him.

“Yes, Jungkook?”

“It’s Amortentia,” he says.

“Right you are, my boy!” Your Professor beams. “Five points to Ravenclaw! This is, in fact, Amortentia. Now, for those of you who do not know what it is, that is perhaps all the best. But as it is, it’s important to educate you on the various effects each potion can have on a being and why someone should, or should not, administer it. Amortentia, simply put, is a love potion.”

Gasps of awe and murmurs from certain students circulate the room as your Professor carries on.

“And not just any love potion — the most powerful love potion in the world,” he says. “If anyone were to receive such a potion, it would cause an intense infatuation and obsession on the drinker. However, the potion must be continuously administered to the drinker or else the effects will wear off and the drinker will regain his or her conscience and free will. Now, if you ever wanted to know how to identify Amortentia, you can rely on its very distinct smell. Differing on the person who smells it, it will always morph into the scent of whomever you desire most. For instance, I smell lemon drops, toothpaste, and parchment paper. You may all smell something different.”

A handful of students lean forward in their seat, desperately moving closer to the cauldron and the potion that carried such charming scents. Despite not wanting to show your immediate interest in something as strange as a love potion, you sit back in your seat but inhale a slow, deep breath of air and the scent that makes your heart skip a beat. It would pose as an obstacle to focusing on the lecture as your Professor carried on, though you find you’re not the only one so easily distracted by it. Halfway through the class, he stops his lecture and informs the students of their task for the evening: replicating Amortentia perfectly with the help of the partner sitting next to them.

So, you and Jungkook immediately head to work, beginning the tedious process of preparing ingredients and brewing the potion. Naturally, your own potion brewing goes faster than others as Jungkook seems to know what to do with everything. For the most part, you sit back and watch, as Jungkook refuses your help any time you offer, claiming you would only just slow him down. When it’s done, and the entire class is still halfway through theirs, you fold your arms over your chest and look up at Jungkook, noting the way his eyebrows scrunch together as he peers down at the glistening potion.

“I can’t smell anything,” You say. “Did you even do this right?”

Jungkook grimaces, though his stare falters. He doesn’t admit it aloud, but he worries for a moment that maybe he isn’t as good at Potions as he thought he was. In the next second, he scowls and shoots you a look.

“What kind of question is that?” he asks. “Of course I did it right! I followed everything properly. It even looks perfect.”

“Well, obviously it isn’t perfect if neither of us can smell anything,” You say.

“Well,” Jungkook says, irritated, “maybe if you didn’t bathe yourself in your ridiculous floral perfume, I could smell something.”

“Me?” Your mouth drops open in an appalled gap. “Now it’s my fault? You’re one to talk. Did you have practice this morning? All I can smell is grass and your stupid lemon shampoo or whatever it is. It’s disgusting.”

The bickering continues on between the two of you until you’ve seemingly grabbed the attention of the entire class. Near the very end of the period, it’s Taehyung who finally says something, leaning back in his chair to look at the two of you.

“Jungkook didn’t have practice this morning,” he says. “He also didn’t shower because he slept in late. Or did you forget that, Jungkook?”

“And Y/N?” Nayeon chimes in from beside you. “Didn’t you run out of your perfume last week?”

Jungkook clamps his mouth shut. Your own heart stops. Suddenly, your face is burning intensely and Jungkook’s own cheeks are pinched a bright red as, slowly, the realization seems to dawn on the both of you. Chuckles emit from your friends as your Professor signals that the time is up. You don’t dare look at Jungkook as your Professor grades each potion, and then anxiously await the chance to dash out the door when your Professor claims yours and Jungkook’s potion was done just perfect. As soon as he moves on to the next pair, you have gathered your belongings and have darted out the room. You are nearly halfway down the corridor when you hear Jungkook calling after you, begging you to stop.

“Y/N! Hey, Y/N! Wait up, please!”

Your feet quicken in pace as you round the corner. Just when you think you’re free, you feel a hand clasp around your wrist and pull you back into a hardened figure. Jungkook. He’s standing so incredibly close to you now, his gaze softening as he looks you once over. You can only avoid his stare, though your eyes fall to the distraction that is his hand clamped around your wrist.

“I really am not in the mood to talk right now, Jungkook,” You mumble. “Just leave me alone.”

“What else did you smell?” Jungkook asks.

His question makes you stop. It’s what causes you to carefully lift your stare to look at him.

“What?” You stammer. “What does it matter?”

“Just tell me, please,” he says, his grip tightening around your wrist. “I need to know.”

You could have shaken your head at him, pushed him away and walked off, but the longer you stare at him, the faster you begin to cave. Your mind is instantly brought back to just moments ago and the love potion that had filled your senses. As you think about all the lovely things you could smell, you whisper the answer in a sheepish voice:

“Strawberries.”

There is a split moment where all you can see is Jungkook’s beaming grin before he is pulling you toward him for a kiss that nearly sweeps you off your feet. You collapse against his broad chest, your hands flying up to bundle in his shirt and pull at him tightly as he kisses you and kisses you. You wonder why he had done so spontaneously but then it seems to hit you.

All you can smell on Jungkook, all you can taste, is lemon, grass, and strawberries.

⟶ Feedback is always appreciated!

#btsbookclub #jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader #bts #bts fluff #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagines #jeongguk fluff #jeon jeongguk #jeon jeongguk fluff #bts fanfic #bts oneshots #bangtan #hogwarts au bts

2K notes · View notes

drarrily-we-row-along · 3 years ago

Text

Pride

Dear nonnie who requested that I write something for Pride month, I'm so, so sorry! Somehow this got lost in my inbox and I didn't see it until I started working on 'Bargain' this afternoon. Please accept this humble ficlet and my deepest apologies. <3

I'm kind of nervous about this one. I know coming out is a deeply personal experience and I'm not sure I wrote it terribly well. Please know that you are loved, valued, cherished, and accepted just as you are. I know for many people the struggle is so much greater than what I wrote in this ficlet. You are all amazing. <3

cw: Internalized homophobia, homophobic parents (happy ending)

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

June 12, 1999

"Hey!" Harry said, bursting into Draco's room like it was his own.

Draco looked up from the essay he was writing, the last one he needed to finish for his eighth year at Hogwarts. "Hi," he replied and he couldn't help but admire the dimple that stood out on Harry's cheek as he smiled at him.

"Some of us are heading down to Hogsmeade for the pride celebration they're having there tonight," Harry said. "Did you want to come?"

His brow furrowed, "Pride? Like house pride?"

Harry laughed but not unkindly like it would have been prior to this year, "No, like gay pride. It's to celebrate people who are lgbtq+, to affirm their dignity and worth as human beings, you know?"

Draco felt his cheeks flushing hot, "I'm not," he managed through the way it felt like someone had closed off his airway, shaking his head, "I'm not gay!"

"Err," Harry said, scratching the back of his neck, "Right, I wasn't trying to imply anything. Just," he shrugged, "I think I'm bi, and there's GInny and Luna," he continued, stumbling over his words.

"But I'm not!" he protested

"Right," Harry repeated, brow furrowing, "We just thought..." he trailed off, "Ron, who's like as straight as they come is coming too, to show his support."

"I can't," Draco said. "I've got all this work to do, I just-"

"It's okay," Harry said, shaking his head and holding out a hand, "Totally fine, sorry to have bothered you," he added as he quickly fled the room before Draco could say anything else.

(Continue reading below the cut)

He stared after him, still feeling panicked and full of regret at the same time.

Malfoys aren't gay. Malfoys aren't gay. Malfoys aren't gay.

And in spite of the fact that he'd told Harry he needed to finish his essay, he spent the rest of the night trying to get his heart to slow down, his breathing to come easier, and his mind to stop spinning.

The essay remained untouched.

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

June 9, 2000

Draco was having murderous thoughts.

They had a tradition on Fridays that everyone who lived in Grimmauld sat down together for dinner and if you were dating someone, you were allowed to bring them home with you for dinner. Draco never brought anyone home because the women he dated were so unattractive to him that he just couldn't bring himself to see them for more than a date or two.

Harry, on the other hand was always bringing someone home. He had men and women there with him every week. Usually, it was a different person every week and that didn't bother Draco all that much. But he'd been seeing Conor for six weeks now and the way the other man was always clinging to Harry, always laughing and batting his eyelashes at him; it made Draco feel ready to kill him.

"So I was thinking," Harry said when there was a lull in the conversation, "The Leaky is having a Pride Night celebration tomorrow. Maybe we should all go together?" he asked hopefully.

There were murmurs of approval all around the table and Draco dropped his gaze to his plate, his palms started to itch. Malfoys aren't gay. Malfoys aren't gay.

"What about you, Draco?" Conor asked, all toothy smiles as he rested his arm around Harry's shoulders.

He couldn't help but look over at Harry who was suddenly watching him in that way that made him feel like he was being held under a magnifying glass. People thought that Harry was oblivious but Draco knew they were wrong. Harry knew everything about Draco just from watching him.

Draco swallowed, "Yeah," he managed. "Yeah. I can come for a bit."

Harry smiled at him then, soft and sweet, his dimples showing, "Yeah?" he asked.

And Draco was fairly certain there was nothing he could have said no to when Harry asked like that, so he nodded.

"Great!" Conor enthused and the moment dissipated like fog in the sun. "It'll be so fun to have all of your friends there, babe."

"Err," Harry said, looking over at Conor, "Yeah. Totally." Then he turned back to look at Draco once more, "Yeah," he said again.

-----------

June 10, 2000

Draco had made a mistake.

Malfoys aren't gay. Malfoys aren't gay. Malfoys aren't gay.

"Hey!" Harry said, appearing out of nowhere and wrapping an arm around Draco, "I'm so glad you're here."

"Me too," he lied.

"Come on," Harry said, "Let me introduce you to some people."

Draco spent the next hour meeting all sorts of people, he listened to people telling their stories, people who were claiming their own lives and destinies, and all he could feel was loss.

Every person he listened to felt like another stone tied around his neck, their joy and freedom made him feel even more trapped. Harry went to fetch drinks as he listened to a trans woman named Jocelyn talking about how difficult it had been to come out to her family. And it was the final straw, he lost it. Tears slipped from his eyes and before he could do anything, she was hugging him, "We've all been where you are," she whispered.

He shook his head and pulled back, "I'm not-" he covered his mouth, he couldn't quite force out the lie.

She nodded knowingly, "We've all been there, too."

"I've got to go," he managed, rising on shaking legs and making his way out of the bar as quickly as he could.

When he got outside he bent over, resting his hands on his knees and trying to catch his breath.

"Draco!" he heard as the door opened and he wasn't ready for this.

"Don't," he said, standing up and holding out his hands to stop Harry from coming any closer.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, eyebrows furrowing in concern and Draco hated it.

"Malfoys aren't gay!" he exploded.

"What?" Harry asked as though his words hadn't been perfectly clear.

"Malfoys aren't gay," he repeated.

Harry tilted his head at him, "Alright."

"So you can stop this," he said, gesturing at the door. "I don't need help coming out. I'm not gay," he spat.

"I'm not trying to help you come out," Harry said, his voice measured and calm in a way that told Draco just how hard he was working at not getting emotional. "I just wanted to introduce you to-"

"Bull shit," he hissed. "Every person you 'introduced me to' told me about coming out."

"It's Pride, Draco. They're," he stopped and corrected himself, "We're celebrating coming out. We're celebrating not hiding who we are anymore. If you think it's about you, well," he shrugged a shoulder, "You probably have more in common with us than you want to admit."

"I'm not gay!" he shouted, shoving Harry away from him.

There was a flash of hurt across Harry's face before he put his hands on his hips and that fire that Draco so remembered from Hogwarts filled his eyes. "No one said you were!" Harry shouted back. "And if you were so afraid of having people think you are, why did you even come in the first place?"

"I guess I shouldn't have."

Harry took a step back away from him, shaking his head, "I guess not." He turned on his heel and stalked back into the bar, leaving Draco standing on the sidewalk, shaking as the adrenaline flooded through him.

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

June 11, 2000

It wasn't quite morning when Draco heard a soft knock at his door.

With no small amount of effort, he reached for his wand and cast a spell to open it. Harry was standing in the doorway and Draco huffed, "I've already packed," he said. "I'll leave in the morning."

"What?" Harry asked, sounding panicked, "No!" he said, stepping across the threshold of Draco's room and moving to the chair across from Draco's bed. "No," he repeated. "Draco, please don't leave. I'm sorry. Alright?" Harry said. "I shouldn't-"

"You're sorry?" Draco asked, sitting up and staring at the other boy, "No, I'm sorry," he said, quickly. "I was awful and I didn't le-"

"No," Harry said, shaking his head, "It's my fault. I shouldn't-"

"I'm gay," Draco blurted and then realized what he'd just admitted. He covered his mouth with his hand and his eyes filled with tears.

"Hey," Harry whispered, climbing onto the bed next to him and pulling Draco into his arms, "It's okay."

Draco shook his head but couldn't manage any words around the sob that was choking him.

"It's okay," Harry soothed, stroking his fingers through Draco's hair and rocking him. "I've got you," he breathed. "You're safe," he said, "You're safe," he repeated. "You're loved and you're accepted," he told him, "I've got you."

Draco sobbed, all of the fear, and the guilt, and the shame was built up high in his chest and he felt like he couldn't breathe around it.

"Okay," Harry soothed, "Slow breaths with me, yeah? Just try to match your breathing to mine," he said, his hand rubbing soothingly over Draco's back.

He sucked in a deep, gasping breath that burned all the way down into his lungs.

"That's it," Harry encouraged, "You're alright."

He continued breathing slowly and Draco tried to mirror it until his sobbing was just the occasional hiccup and the tears were just trickling out of his eyes.

"Okay," Harry breathed. "Better?"

Draco nodded and pulled back, "Sorry," he murmured, then he caught sight of Harry's shirt covered in tears and snot and wished that the earth would open up and swallow him, "Salazar, I'm sorry," he said, reaching for his wand and casting a hasty drying charm followed by a cleaning charm.

"It's fine," Harry said, reaching out to still Draco's motions. "It's fine," he repeated. "Look, I didn't mean to pressure you into coming out," he said. "I won't tell anyone," he added hastily.

He shook his head, "It's eating me up inside." Draco wiped the tears off his face, "I'm going to die alone."

"Don't say that," Harry said.

"Well it's true!" he said, "What am I supposed to tell my parents?"

Harry took his hand, "It's up to you," he said softly. "I won't pretend to understand the challenges you're facing. My parents are dead."

"Oh, thanks. Play the dead parent card."

Harry huffed a laugh, "Shut up. I'm trying to say that I can't imagine how difficult this is for you. It's not an easy decision and I want you to know that I am here for you, that I support you, no matter what."

His eyes filled with tears and he let out a groan, "Stop it."

The other boy wrapped his arms around him, "No."

"What is this?" he asked, from where his face was buried in Harry's neck.

"Affection."

"Disgusting," he murmured.

"Want me to stop?"

He shook his head because when Harry wasn't hugging him everything felt a little too big and a little too close.

And he had no idea what he was going to do but when Harry was holding him it didn't seem quite so scary.

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

A few weeks later, he and Harry had started dating in secret. Harry was very sweet, very patient as Draco struggled against years of deeply ingrained negative thoughts. Draco still felt like he was a bit of a burden but Harry always insisted he wasn't.

Just over a month after that, Hermione had figured it out on her own, Pansy had tricked him into confessing, and Ron had walked in on the two of them making out on Harry's bed.

And the world didn't end.

Slowly, over the course of the next seven months, they told all of their friends. Everyone was supportive. Everyone was happy for them, happy for him that he'd decided to walk in the truth.

Truth be told, he was happy too. His anxiety still got the worst of him some days and his fear was sometimes bigger than anything else but he got through those days and those days slowly became fewer and fewer.

He got comfortable with Harry; comfortable holding hands, comfortable with casual kisses, comfortable with bickering that turned into flirting, just comfortable in his skin.

One chilly March morning, he and Harry were out to breakfast and they were laughing and teasing each other, like they always did and Draco was happy all the way down to his toes.

He looked across the table at Harry, "You've got whipped cream on your mouth," he laughed.

Harry stuck his tongue out and missed completely.

"Here," he said with a laugh, "Let me," he added as he grabbed the front of Harry's jumper and pulled him close so he could kiss it off his grinning face.

He was pulling back to check that he'd gotten it all when he heard a gasp that he would have recognized anywhere. Draco would never be quite sure what his face and body language were saying at that moment but Harry was instantly on alert, scanning the room for danger. "Shit," he breathed.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy," his mother hissed. "What in Merlin's name do you think you are doing."

"Don't make a scene, mother," he said and even he was surprised at how calm the words came out.

"I don't think that I am the one making a scene, Draco."

"Mrs. Malfoy," Harry said, "Why don't we go somewhere more private for this conversation."

"Oh no," she said, "I don't think there is any conversation to be had. Draco, we'll be leaving. Right this instant."

Draco looked at her, at the woman who had dried his tears, who had sacrificed for him, who had given him life and his heart yearned for her. He longed to reach out and hold her hand like he had when he was young, to let her reassure him that everything would be alright. And it could be. He knew if he walked away with her today, he'd go back to living the life that had been planned for him.

But then he looked at Harry and all he could see was freedom. His heart expanded as he remembered the late nights talking over a bottle of wine, the early mornings as the sun filtered in through Harry's window and painted him golden. He remembered the cuddles on the couch and the evenings spent cooking dinner together. And he knew that he could never go back. He could never live a life of duty and obligation knowing that this one was possible.

"I love you," he said softly as he stared at Harry.

The other man blinked before his mouth curved up in a grin, his dimples showing, "I love you, too."

He reached for Harry's hand to ground himself as he turned to his mother, "You know that I love you," he said to her, "but I can't live a lie. I can't be the boy that you wanted."

"Draco you are being ridiculous."

"Maybe," he replied. "But I never knew what it was like to be free before these past few months with Harry and I won't give them back."

She cast a belated muffliato. "There are plenty of Purebloods who are gay, Draco," she said, keeping her voice low, "You still have your obligation to have a pureblood heir. Marry a nice girl and take a lover if you must, but you will continue your bloodline."

He laughed, it sounded a bit hysterical even to his own ears. "Do you hear yourself?" he asked. "The Malfoy line can die with me. I'm not marrying some woman just to please you."

"Draco-"

"No," he said sharply. "No. I can't do this, mother. I can't be what you want me to be. I'm done." He shook his head, "You can accept this, accept me or not. Either way I am done."

She straightened her spine and smoothed the emotions from her features and Draco knew the decision she had made before she started speaking. He clasped Harry's hand tighter in his. "Very well, then," she said. "Good day," she murmured before she walked away without a backward glance.

They sat in silence for a moment before Harry asked, "Are you alright?"

"I don't know."

"What can I do?" he murmured, squeezing Draco's hand again.

"Can we go home?"

Harry nodded, "Yeah, love. Of course."

He apparated them back and they spend the afternoon cocooned in Harry's room until their friends came to find them for dinner.

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

June 9, 2001

This year it's Draco who asked about going to the bar to celebrate Pride.

Harry smiled and pulled him in for a long kiss before nodding and getting dressed.

When they arrived, Draco slipped his fingers through Harry's holding his hand tightly; proud of Harry, proud of how far they've come, and proud of himself for how much he's grown and how brave he's become.

Several of the people he'd met the year before remembered him and are quick to congratulate him and welcome him again. The night was full of music and dancing, of listening to stories and starting to tell his own, it's everything Harry had made it sound like.

And he thought he might be happy, in spite of that little bit of his heart that always ached for his parents.

They're about to head up for another round of drinks when Harry tugged on his hand. "Look," he murmured, pointing to the door.

Draco followed his pointing and saw that there was a woman standing in the door who looked remarkably like his mother. "What?" he managed.

But Harry was already waving to her and nudging Draco forward.

"What?" he repeated when he was standing in front of her.

Without a word she wrapped her arms around him, enfolding him in the comforting feel and scent of his childhood.

"Mummy?" he whispered.

"Yes, darling," she replied, voice equally thick with tears.

Harry cleared his throat, "I'll fetch us some drinks. What can I get you Narcissa?" he asked.

"Whiskey neat," she replied without releasing her hold on Draco.

He pulled back after one more moment, "What are you doing here?"

"Where else could I be?" she asked. "When we didn't see you for your birthday last week," she shook her head. "Well, I knew that I was making a mistake."

Harry returned handing them their drinks and nodding toward a table nearby.

They headed over and she sat next to Draco, "You're my child, Draco," she said. "And I love you more than you can imagine."

He nodded once but didn't say anything. This sounded too much like the start to one of the 'I love you and if you love me, this is how you should act' talks.

"Fortunately, your Mr. Potter has sent quite regular correspondence."

"What?" Draco said, whipping his head around to look at Harry.

He nodded once but before Draco could question him his mother continued.

"He invited me to come tonight," she continued, "To support you. And I've missed so much already, how could I say no?"

"This isn't a phase," he said. "I'm not going to change my mind or be cured one day."

She nodded, "I know."

"Does father?"

She hummed, "We're getting there." She took his hand in her's, "For now, won't you introduce me to some of your new friends?"

--------

Two years later, when he and Harry got married, both of his parents were there, sitting right in the front row and cheering them on.

---------

Thanks for the prompt! I don't quite know what you were hoping for so I hope this is okay! <3

#100 drarry drabbles in 100 days #pride #drarry #drarry ficlet #drarry drabbles #love #learning to love yourself #cw:internalized homophobia #cw:homophobic parents #happy ending #but read with care if you have triggers related to internalized homophobia or homophobic parents #you are loved-valued-and accepted

186 notes · View notes

fybillielourd · 5 years ago

Link

I grew up with three parents: a mom, a dad and Princess Leia. I guess Princess Leia was kind of like my stepmom–technically family, but deep down I didn’t really like her. She literally and metaphorically lived on a planet I had never been to. When Leia was around, there wasn’t as much room for my mom–for Carrie. As a child, I couldn’t understand why people loved Leia as much as they did. I didn’t want to watch her movie, I didn’t want to dress up like her, I didn’t even want to talk about her. I just wanted my mom–the one who lived on Earth, not Tatooine. I didn’t watch Star Wars until I was about 6 years old. (And I technically didn’t finish it until I was 9 or 10. I’m sorry! Don’t judge me!) My mom used to love to tell people that every time she tried to put it on, I would cover my ears and yell, “It’s too loud, Mommy! Turn it off!”–or fearfully question, “Is that lady in the TV you?” It wasn’t until middle school that I finally decided to watch it of my own accord–not because I suddenly developed a keen interest in ’70s sci-fi, but because boys started coming up to me and saying they fantasized about my mom. My mom? The lady who wore glitter makeup like it was lotion and didn’t wear a bra to support her much-support-needed DD/F’s? They couldn’t be talking about her! I had to investigate who this person was they were talking about. So I went home and watched the movie I had forever considered too loud and finally figured out what all the fuss was about the lady in the TV. I’d wanted to hate it so I could tell her how lame she was. Like any kid, I didn’t want my mom to be “hot” or “cool”–she was my mom. I was supposed to be the “cool,” “hot” one–not her! But staring at the screen that day, I realized no one is, or ever will be, as hot or as cool as Princess F-cking Leia. (Excuse my language. She’s just that cool!) Later that year, I went to Comic-Con with my mom. It was the first time I realized how widespread and deep people’s love for Leia was, even after so many years. It was surreal: people of all ages from all over the world were dressed up like my mom, the lady who sang me to sleep at night and held me when I was scared. Watching the amount of joy it brought to people when she hugged them or threw glitter in their faces was incredible to witness. People waited in line for hours just to meet her. People had tattoos of her. People named their children after her. People had stories of how Leia saved their lives. It was a side of my mom I had never seen before. And it was magical. I realized then that Leia is more than just a character. She’s a feeling. She is strength. She is grace. She is wit. She is femininity at its finest. She knows what she wants, and she gets it. She doesn’t need anyone to defend her, because she defends herself. And no one could have played her like my mother. Princess Leia is Carrie Fisher. Carrie Fisher is Princess Leia. The two go hand in hand. When I graduated from college, like most folks, I was trying to figure out what the hell to do with my life. I went to school planning to throw music festivals, but always had this little sliver of me that wanted to do what my parents pushed me so hard not to do–act. I was embarrassed to admit I was even slightly interested. So when my mom called me and told me they wanted me to come in to audition for Star Wars, I pretended it wasn’t a big deal–I even laughed at the concept–but inside I couldn’t think of anything that would make me happier. A couple weeks later I went in for my audition. I probably had never been more nervous in my life. I was terrified and most likely made a fool of myself, but I kind of had a great time doing it. I assumed they would never call me, but after that audition, I realized I wanted to give the whole acting thing a shot. I was definitely afraid, but as a wise woman once said, “Stay afraid, but do it anyway … The confidence will follow.” About a month later, they somehow ended up calling. And there I was, on my way to be in motherf-cking Star Wars. Whoa. Growing up, my parents treated film sets like a house full of people with the flu: they kept me away from them at all costs. So on that fateful first day driving up to Pinewood, I was like a doe-eyed child. I couldn’t tell my mom, but little sassy, sarcastic, postcollege me felt like a giddy, grateful middle schooler showing up to a fancy new school. On that first day, my mom and I sat next to each other in the hair and makeup trailer. (Actually, she wasn’t really one for sitting, so she paced up and down and around me, occasionally reapplying her already overapplied glitter makeup and feeding Gary, her French bulldog.) Between glitterings, the hairstylist crafted what was to become General Leia’s hairstyle, then it was on to me: little Lieutenant Connix. Funnily enough, my mom had more to say about my hairstyle than her own. Even though she complained for years about how the iconic Leia buns “further widened my already wide face,” she desperately wanted me to carry on the face-widening family tradition! Some people carry on their family name, some people carry on holiday traditions–I was going to carry on the family hairstyle. So after we tested a few other space-appropriate hairstyles, we decided to embrace the weird galactic nepotism of it all and went with the mini–Leia buns. She stood in the mirror behind me and smiled like we had gotten matching tattoos. Our secret-handshake hairstyle. On the first day of this thing I could now call “work,” I walked into the Resistance Base set for rehearsal and J.J. Abrams, the director, told me where to stand and what to do–basically just press some pretty real-looking fake buttons. But I have to say, just pressing those buttons and observing the rest of the scene was one of the most fun things I had ever done. I had no lines in the scene, but my mom kept checking on me like I was delivering a Shakespearean monologue. “Are you O.K.?” she asked. “Do you need anything?” I scoffed at her maternal questions like a child embarrassed by her mother yelling goodbye too loud in a carpool line: “Mommy, go away! I’m fine. Focus on you, not me!” In the moment, I was humiliated that my mom was moming me on my first day of work, on the Star Wars set, of all places. But now I realize she was just being protective. Sets are extremely intimidating–I was too green at the time to know that–and she assumed I would be scared as hell. But weirdly, I wasn’t. At risk of sounding insane, something about this bizarre new world made me feel right at home. I had found a place with an empty puzzle slot that perfectly matched my weird-shaped puzzle piece. That night, on the long London-traffic-filled ride back from set, she turned to me and smiled. “Bits,” she said. “You know, most people aren’t as comfortable on sets as you were today. Especially on the f-cking Star Wars set, of all places!” (Excuse my language, but that was her language.) “This might be something you should think about doing.” At first I laughed, assuming she was kidding. But she continued to look me straight in the eye with no inkling of irony in sight. My mom was telling me I should act–my mom? The lady who spent my entire life convincing me acting was the last thing I should do? It couldn’t be true. But it was. I haven’t had many moments like this in my life–those aha moments everyone talks about. This was my first real one. My mom wanted me to be an actress. That was when I realized I had to give it a shot. She used to sarcastically quip that she knew all along what a massive hit Star Wars would be. As with most things, she was kidding. She was absolutely and totally beyond shocked by the massive global phenomenon that was the first Star Wars trilogy. It changed her life forever. Then, when it happened again almost 40 years later, she was even more absolutely and totally beyond shocked. It changed her life yet again. But that time, it changed my life too. I thought getting to make one Star Wars movie with her was a once-in-a-lifetime thing; then they asked me to come do the next movie and I got to do my once-in-a-lifetime twice. On our second movie together, I really tried to take a step back and appreciate what I was doing. I couldn’t tell her because she’d think I was lame, but getting to watch her be Leia this time made me feel like the proud mom. Watching the original Star Wars movies as a kid in my mom’s bed, I never imagined the lady in the TV would get older and get back in the TV. And I definitely never imagined we would end up in the TV together. But that’s where we ended up. Two little ladies in the TV together–Leia and little Lieutenant Connix. We wrapped The Last Jedi a little less than six months before she died. I went back to L.A. to film the show I was on, and she stayed in London to film the show she was on. One of the last times we spoke on the phone, she talked about how excited she was that the next movie in the trilogy was going to be Leia’s movie. Her movie. She used to say that in the original movies, she got to be “the only girl in an all-boys fantasy.” But with each new Star Wars movie, the all-boys fantasy started to become a boys-and-girls fantasy. She was no longer a part of a fantasy, but the fantasy herself. Leia was not just a sidekick one of the male leads had on his arm, or a damsel in distress. She was the hero herself. The princess became the general. My mom died on Dec. 27, 2016. Two days after Christmas, four days before New Year’s and about a year before she was supposed to appear in her final Star Wars film. Losing my mom is the hardest thing I’ve ever been through. I lost my best friend. My little lady in the TV. My Momby. And I inherited this weird, intimidating thing called her legacy. Suddenly I was in charge of what would come of her books, her movies and a bunch of other overwhelming things. I was now the keeper of Leia. About a year later, J.J. called me into his office to talk about the plans for Leia. We both agreed she was too important to be written off in the classic Star Wars introductory scroll. This last movie was supposed to be Leia’s movie, and we wanted it to remain that, as much as possible. What I hadn’t known–and what J.J. told me that day –was that there was footage of my mom that they had collected over the years that hadn’t made it into the movies, footage that J.J. told me would be enough to write an entire movie around. It was like she had left us a gift that would allow Leia’s story to be completed. I was speechless. (Anyone who knows me knows that doesn’t happen very often.) J.J. asked me if I would want to come back as Lieutenant Connix. I knew it would be one of the most painful, difficult things I would ever do, but I said yes for her–for my mom. For Leia. For everyone Leia means so much to. For everyone Leia gives strength to. For my future kids, so someday they’ll have one more movie to watch that Mommy and Grandma were in together. So they can ask me about the lady–now ladies–in the TV and tell me to turn it down because it’s too loud. I grew up with three parents: a mom, a dad and Princess Leia. Initially, Princess Leia was kind of like my stepmom. Now she’s my guardian angel. And I’m her keeper.

#billie lourd #interview #star wars #Carrie Fisher

21K notes · View notes

thefinalcinderella · 3 years ago

Text

Kaze ga Tsuyoku Fuiteiru Chapter 10 - Shooting Star (Part 1)

We finally made it...we’re in the endgame now...

Full list of translations here

Translation Notes

1. My Grandfather’s Clock is a popular song written by Henry Clay Work in 1876. The 2002 version by Ken Hirai was especially popular in Japan

Previous | Next

January 3rd, 5 a.m.

Yuki was in a dimly lit room in the Ashihara Ryokan. He changed into his Kansei University uniform and jersey and picked up his bench coat.

Two hours had already passed since Yuki woke up. After breakfast and a bath courtesy of the ryokan that took place at a time that could be better called late night, Yuki returned to the room where he had spent the night once the food in his stomach digested properly.

It was a night where he wasn’t sure if he had slept or not. However, his mind was clear and lucid. Excitement and tension became sharp blades that pared his body, and he felt somewhat light.

My energy is high, Yuki thought. He had felt the same way when he passed the bar exam. He read the questions for the essay exam and wrote his answer. It was almost funny how the meaning of the questions soaked into his brain, and before he could even think about how to answer them, the answer sheet was filled with words; it was just like automatic writing. He had never been able to output so smoothly what had been inputted into him until that moment, as though his consciousness had become clear and his sixth sense was working.

He knew that the same moment of elation and focus was about to visit his body and mind.

The return leg of the Hakone Ekiden started at 8 a.m. Yuki would slowly warm up over the next three hours, in order to build up his energy levels. It was Yuki’s method to relax and relieve his nervousness for two hours, and then concentrate on warming up for the remaining hour. Ever since the time when he was confronting his bar exam, Yuki preferred to increase the intensity of his concentration at this pace.

The six-mat guest room was completely occupied by the three futons laid out on the floor. Shindou, wearing his mask, was breathing faintly in his sleep. Yuki gently put his hand on his forehead and found it was still a little hot. The landlord was grinding his teeth as he slept soundly.

Yuki lightly folded his futon and put it in a corner so as to not wake them. Standing by the window, he quietly pulled back the curtains: the cozy garden of the ryokan was covered with a light dusting of snow, and ashy snowflakes continued to fall from the dark sky.

Yuki had never been skiing before. He didn’t understand going to the trouble of sticking boards to your feet in a cold place in a cold season. He thought it would be better to spend that time on one’s studies, and more than that, living with a single mother, they had no money to spend on fun.

Can I run down a steep, snow-covered slope? I can’t say I don’t want to run in the sixth leg at this point. Should I have at least experienced skiing if it’s like this?

The window was immediately fogged up by Yuki’s breath. The room was slightly warm from Yuki, Shindou and the landlord's combined body heat.

It’s not just me, Yuki reminded himself. In the past few years, there has never been snow on the roads of Hakone at New Year’s. Most of the runners—no, maybe all of them—have never gone down the mountain roads of Hakone covered in snow. Everyone lacks experience. I can run. I can run.

Chanting that in his mind as though to convince himself, Yuki picked up Kansei’s sash from the alcove. It seemed to still be damp from absorbing the sweat of the five people who had run in the outbound leg.

After carefully folding the sash and putting it in his jersey pocket, Yuki quietly left the guest room.

He walked through the corridor to the front door and saw the ryokan’s proprietress holding a newspaper.

“Oh, you’ve already changed?”

“Yes. I’ll be warming up from now on.”

“Outside?” Looking at the still-dark front of the building, the proprietress furrowed her brow in concern. “It’s minus five degrees right now.”

Yuki had planned to go outside, but he quickly changed his mind. He would have to wait until the temperature rose a little, or his muscles would stiffen up from the cold.

“May I borrow this space?”

He pointed at the empty lobby, and the proprietress graciously said, “By all means.

“Do you want to read the paper? I asked them to deliver it earlier today.”

While reading the newspaper, Yuki sat down on the floor of the lobby and began to stretch. He exhaled and began to relax his muscles and joints.

The paper had a big spread on the outbound leg of the Hakone Ekiden. Bousou University won the outbound leg by a narrow margin. It was a close race where it was impossible to tell if Rikudou University would make a comeback in the return leg, or which school would take the overall victory.

There was also a mention of Kansei under the headline “A Challenge with Only Ten People”. There was a photo of Shindou, unsteady and desperately trying to run on the mountain roads. Yuki opened his legs and brought his upper body down while reading the article.

“With only ten members, Kansei University unexpectedly put on the brakes in the fifth leg. They dropped down drastically in the rankings and ended the outbound leg in eighteenth place. However, with ace runners such as Kurahara, a freshman, and Kiyose, a fourth-year, in the return leg, there are still plenty of opportunities for a comeback. All eyes will be on the development of this small team’s great challenge.”

At the end of the article, there was a signature (布). It’s Nunoda-san, Yuki thought. The reporter Nunoda, who had come to Lake Shirakaba during summer vacation, had continued to keep an eye on Kansei.

There are still more than enough opportunities. We believe that, but it’s reassuring to have a third party say so as well. Yuki put the newspaper on the rack in the lobby and silently worked on stretching.

It was 6 when Shindou appeared in the lobby. He was wearing Musa’s bench coat and a mask. “Good morning,” he said in a hoarse voice, and pushed on Yuki’s back to help him stretch.

“You should be sleeping.”

“I asked Musa to give me a wake-up call because I knew you would be thoughtful like that.” Shindou sat down next to Yuki. “It’s snowing.”

“Yeah.”

The two watched the fluttering snow through the lobby window.

“How are you feeling?”

“Good. What about you?”

“I’m feeling much better.”

Yuki began doing sit-ups. Shindou lightly held his ankles still.

“To tell you the truth,” Yuki murmured, “I’m getting uncomfortably nervous. I want to run away, if I could.”

“I was the same way,” Shindou laughed under his mask. “Why don’t you try listening to some music? I took it from your luggage without asking.”

Yuki took the iPod Shindou gave him and put the earphones in his ears. He listened to his favorite songs for a while, but today, the world of sound was no comfort to Yuki.

“It’s no use.” Yuki tore out his earphones. “When I’m running, it feels like music I don’t like is playing through my head incoherently and endlessly. And it’s music that you can’t even get into! Like My Grandfather’s Clock (1) and stuff like that!”

“You hate it?”

“I don’t like irritating things.”

“I think it’s a good song, though,” Shindou said, and Yuki stood up with a “hmph.” Looking up at Yuki, who was rotating his ankles, Shindou made a suggestion.

“No matter what song plays in your head, you can always arrange it so it’s up-tempo.”

“Shindou, you’re amazing.” Yuki was deeply impressed. “I’m filled with worries. All I can think about are bad things like, what if I fall down the slope, or what if my shoelaces get torn off.”

“Yuki-senpai, you can even aim for the sectional prize.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because you’ve always accomplished what you said you would do. Whether it’s the bar exam or the Hakone Ekiden, you said you’ll do it, and you did.” Only Shindou’s eyes were smiling. “So say it this time too. That you’re aiming for the sectional prize.”

As though pushed by Shindou’s quiet force, Yuki said, “I am.”

“Yes, then it’s fine now. You will definitely run a good time.”

Yuki looked down at Shindou, who was nodding in satisfaction, and couldn’t help but laugh.

“I know how useless I was yesterday,” Yuki said. “I knew you were experiencing this pressure before the race, but I couldn’t support you like this.”

“No matter how much support I get, in the end, I’m the only one who can bounce back from the pressure.” Shindou also stood and prompted Yuki. “Let’s jog.” The two put on their shoes at the door and went outside. There was no sign of the sunrise anywhere, but birds were singing in the mountains. The fine snow felt dry against their cheeks.

“But yesterday, you stayed by my side until the very last moment before I started running, Yuki-senpai. That gave me a lot of strength.” Shindou pulled down his mask and breathed in the cold air. “That’s why, I’ll stay with you today. I’ll stay with you until you start.”

Yuki didn’t have any words to respond. He was simply happy, and watched Shindou put his mask back on.

“We’ll freeze if we stay in one spot. Let’s run.”

“By the way, how’s the landlord?”

“He said he’s going to take a morning bath.”

“He’s in a sightseeing mood, that person.”

“His nighttime teeth grinding was very loud, wasn’t it?”

They chatted about trifling things as they jogged, and Yuki and Shindou's white breaths flowed shakily along the dark, snowy lakeside path.

---

Kakeru was feeling restless.

Kiyose was acting strange. When Kakeru invited him to go jogging after breakfast, he refused, saying, “Go ahead. I’ve got a lot of calls to make.”

It’s definitely strange that Haiji-san didn’t do his morning jog. He didn’t seem to sleep well last night either. I wonder if his leg hurts.

After running around Yokohama Station for about thirty minutes, Kakeru decided to go back to the hotel. He could still warm up at the relay station. He had never cut a jog short before, no matter how sick he was, but right now he was worried about Kiyose. He wondered if he was planning on pushing himself too hard. As if spurred on by a bad premonition, Kakeru ran back to the hotel.

In the lobby of the small business hotel, Jouji was opening a sports newspaper while watching the weather forecast on TV. Noticing Kakeru running across the lobby and pushing the button for the elevator, he came up to him and said, “You’re early.

“Your jogging time was unusually short today.”

“Where’s Haiji-san?”

“I think he’s in his room. Prince-san and Hana-chan are organizing their luggage together. I was chased away. I can sense that he’s trying to keep me away from Hana-chan.” Jouji pouted in dissatisfaction, but Kakeru wasn’t listening anymore. He rode the elevator to the fifth floor. “What’s going on?” Jouji asked as he followed him.

Kansei had three rooms: Kakeru and Kiyose’s room was at the far end of the corridor, Jouji and Prince’s was next to theirs, and Hanako’s room was near the elevator.

After exiting the elevator, Kakeru passed a man in the hallway. He was in his late thirties and carrying a large black bag in his hand. Thinking that it looked like a house call bag, Kakeru turned around with a start. The doors to the elevator the man got into were just about to close.

That wasn’t a guest just now. That was a doctor. Kakeru had a hunch. He must be the doctor who came to examine Haiji-san’s leg.

“Haiji-san!”

Kiyose was sitting by the window near the two beds. He looked up in surprise at Kakeru’s menacing attitude, and Kakeru sprang at him.

“Let me see your leg, let me see it!”

Kiyose fell down onto the bed, pushed by the momentum. Kakeru didn’t care and tried to pull up the cuff of Kiyose’s track pants.

“Just calm down, Kakeru! I’ll explain!”

Jouji was standing in the doorway of their room, watching in amazement as Kakeru and Kiyose grappled with each other. Noticing the commotion, Prince and Hanako came out of the room next door.

When Hanako asked, “What’s this all about?” Jouji tilted his head to the side.

“Uh, I have no idea.”

Kiyose finally pulled Kakeru off of him and beckoned everyone in the doorway to come in. The group that had stayed in Yokohama gathered in the room and sat down on the beds and chairs of their choice.

“Haiji-san, there was a doctor in this room a while ago, wasn’t there?” Kakeru sat on the bed and questioned Kiyose.

“There was,” Kiyose admitted as though he could see that there was no way out of this. “It was the doctor who always examines me. I asked him to make a house call and he gave me some painkillers.”

“The leg you said you injured—did it not heal?” Prince asked in shock. Jouji and Hanako had never even heard that Kiyose was injured, and they looked at each other in disbelief.

“What are you going to do?” It was all Kakeru could do not to let his voice tremble.

“Of course I’m running.”

“Are you okay with being so reckless?”

“If I’m not going to be reckless now, then when?”

“If…” Kakeru hesitated to put it into words. He was afraid that if he said it aloud, it would become reality.

“What if you can’t run for the rest of your life because of your recklessness today?”

He saw Jouji gasp and Prince hanging his head. Hanako didn’t move, only watching the course of Kiyose and Kakeru’s exchange.

Kakeru stared fixedly at Kiyose and waited for a response.

“It would be very painful,” Kiyose’s voice was quiet, and Kakeru knew that he had been thinking about that for a long time already. “But I won’t regret it.”

There’s no stopping him, Kakeru thought. If he were in Kiyose’s position, he would still choose to run.

Kakeru made up his mind. If that’s the case, then there’s only one thing I can do: to put as little burden on Haiji-san as possible, I should gain as much time as I can in the ninth leg.

The silence that enveloped the room was broken by Kiyose's phone ringing. He hung up after a short conversation.

“That was Shindou. The final entries were announced at Lake Ashi. Just as expected, Rikudou put Fujioka in the ninth leg.”

Jouji looked at Kakeru with both anticipation and worry in his eyes. “Okay,” Kakeru murmured. Blood was rushing through his body, and his heart was beating with joy and a fighting spirit; the day had come when they could finally compete in the same place. At the TSU meet in spring, he had only chased Fujioka’s back, but it was finally time to test how fast and strong he had become since then.

“Kakeru, don’t lose the race,” Kiyose said. Kakeru nodded determinedly.

It was past 7 in the morning.

They had to leave the hotel now. From now on, they were to split up: Kakeru and Jouji were going to the Totsuka relay station; Kiyose and Prince were going to the Tsurumi relay station; Hanako was going to Otemachi, the finish line.

“Are you okay with Jouji attending you? I can go with you, if you’d like,” Prince asked Kakeru, but he didn’t understand the intention of his question at all.

“Why? It’s fine as we planned.”

Even though his generous consideration was turned down, Prince didn’t seem offended at all, instead laughing and shaking his head lightly as though to say, “Good grief.”

When they reached the Yokohama Station premises, Kiyose said to Kakeru, “About what you said earlier.

“The situation isn’t as serious as you think. The painkillers are working, and I’m not beyond recovery.”

“Is that really true?”

“Have I ever lied?”

“Quite a lot.”

Kiyose frowned at the sky for a few moments, seemingly recalling his past acts.

“Don’t worry. I’m telling the truth this time,” he smiled. “I’m looking forward to seeing you run at Tsurumi.”

He felt like he wanted to say something to Kiyose—his gratitude, worry, and determination. But they were feelings that would never take shape no matter how many words he spent on them, so Kakeru only said, “I’ll hand you the sash not a second late.”

The group raised their hands a little to say goodbye, and then headed up the stairs to the platform to go to their respective places.

---

8 a.m.

As the starting gun sounded from Lake Ashi, the Bousou runner started running first. One minute and thirty-nine seconds later, the Rikudou runner followed.

One after another, the runners from each school left Lake Ashi with their sashes, with a time difference reflecting the times they had finished at Lake Ashi in the outbound leg. This time, the return leg of the Hakone Ekiden was beginning, heading for Otemachi, Tokyo.

Schools with more than ten minutes of difference from the outbound leg leader, Bousou, would start together ten minutes after Bousou began the return leg. In this year’s race, five schools had to start at the same time: the federation selected team, Eurasia University, Kansei University, Tokyo Gakuin University, and Shinsei University.

Kansei had a time difference of eleven minutes and fifty-three seconds with Bousou. Even though they would start the race simultaneously after ten minutes, the extra one minute and fifty-three seconds would not be discarded and would be automatically added to their overall time. Because of the simultaneous start, the visible order in which the runners were running and their orders by their times might differ from each other for the return leg.

In the return leg, especially for lower ranked teams, the competitors must not only look at the race’s development before their eyes, but also keep in mind the complicated time calculation, and try to fight calmly to raise their actual rankings as much as possible.

I’m made for this, Yuki thought. Rather than competing against others, he preferred to think about how to achieve his goals by developing countermeasures and how to show off his abilities while doing that. The sixth leg of the Hakone Ekiden, the mountain descent, suited his personality; he didn’t have to be misled by the apparent rankings, he just had to use his skills to run down the winding slope against the invisible enemy called time.

Just as he had declared, Shindou stayed by Yuki’s side the entire time before his departure. He helped him stretch, massaged his calves to prevent them from stiffening up in the cold, and conversed with him casually. Thanks to him, Yuki was able to calm his mind and focus on the race.

When the time came to set off, Yuki took off his bench coat and left it with Shindou. The temperature at Lake Ashi was minus three degrees Celsius. There was still powder snow in the air. The road surface was covered in snow and the ruts were frozen. Even with a long-sleeved T-shirt under his uniform, there was no way to prevent the cold from pressing down on him. The lack of wind was the only saving grace.

Jounan Bunka University was the last team that was able to start according to its time difference with Bousou. After being called by the staff member, the teams hurriedly lined up at the start line to start simultaneously.

Yuki looked at the crowd of people next to him. Shindou was almost swallowed up by the waves of spectators, but he was watching Yuki firmly.

“We’ll meet at Otemachi,” Yuki said. It might not have reached him, having gotten lost in the cheers, but Shindou was nodding.

Ten seconds after Jounan Bunka, the runners from the five teams started running at the same time on cue. Yuki’s glasses immediately fogged up from his body heat, but he soon regained his clear vision thanks to the cold wind blowing.

The road surface was covered with a thin layer of snow, making it nerve-wracking to even walk on flat surfaces, but running on it, there was no time to check your footing. Every step he took, the sherbet-like snowflakes bounced off his legs. Even the lightest shoes with the latest features couldn’t prevent the soles from slipping slightly as they kicked the surface.

The first four kilometers from the lakeside road to the highest point of Route 1 were mostly uphill. Of the five teams that had started at the same time, Eurasia was in front and Yuki didn’t hesitate to follow him. When he checked his watch at the first kilometer, his pace was less than three minutes and twenty seconds.

On the way up, he was a little too fast considering the poor road conditions. But if he didn’t go all out here, then there was no way Kansei would be able to improve their ranking in the return leg. Besides, Yuki thought, among the runners assigned to the sixth leg, the Rikudou runner was the only one who has a record of twenty-eight minutes for the ten-thousand meter. In other words, the runners in the sixth leg don’t put much emphasis on speed.

From the highest point to the town of Hakone-Yumoto, almost the entire sixth leg was downhill. Even if your time on flat surfaces wasn’t good, you could still go fast on the downhill if you gathered momentum. What was important was the dexterity to change your running style depending on the ups and downs, a sense of physical balance, and the boldness to run downhill without fear.

Even if he entered the first uphill slope at a somewhat fast pace, he would be able to conserve enough stamina. With this judgement, Yuki didn’t recoil.

They left the lakeside and headed up the path towards the mountains. There was one small up-and-down right before the highest point. As they approached the first descent, Yuki looked at his watch again. Kiyose had instructed him to run at a pace of three minutes and twenty seconds per kilometer on the way up, but he was now going at a pace of three minutes and fifteen seconds per kilometer.

I can do it. He was convinced. His body felt light and he was able to asjust his footwork according to the ups and downs without even thinking about it.

Tokyo Gakuin University and Shinsei University were already about to be shaken off from the lower-ranked group, which was now composed of six schools as it had absorbed Jounan Bunka, who had departed ahead of them.

All Yuki could think about was overtaking as many schools as possible in front of him. The cold didn’t bother him anymore. He climbed to the highest point in one go.

The downhill slope, which stretched for nearly fifteen kilometers, awaited him, meandering on and on beyond the falling snow.

---

“Isn’t he going too fast?”

Watching the portable TV, Kakeru arrived at the Totsuka relay station with Jouji. The screen showed Yuki and the others passing in front of the main gate of the Flower Center, the five-kilometer marker.

“But I heard that the normal pace for the sixth leg is five kilometers in around thirteen minutes?” Jouji said in his usual carefree way, but it didn’t ease Kakeru’s concerns. It was the pace after you got into the descent in earnest—it was hard even for a runner himself to hold back his speed once he was completely going downhill. Once your body got into the rhythm of the descent, it wasn’t impossible to run down a hundred meters in fifteen seconds. In the sixth leg, despite the long distance of 20.7 kilometers, the speed in some places was comparable to that of a short distance run.

However, even though the first five kilometers were uphill and the road conditions weren’t good, he was running in sixteen minutes. Even with Yuki’s running ability, it seemed to Kakeru that this was clearly an excessive pace.

“I’ll call Haiji-san.”

Kakeru took out his phone from his jacket pocket.

“You worry too much,” Jouji said, shrugging a little.

“Yes, this is Kiyose.” The phone immediately relayed Kiyose’s voice along with the bustle from outside. It seemed that he had already arrived at the Tsurumi relay station.

“Are you listening to the radio?”

“Prince’s phone has a TV function. He also found out about it just now. We’re watching it. It’s amazing what you can do with a cell phone these days.”

“Yes. No, not about that…” Prince’s slow pace and Kiyose’s hopelessness with technology made Kakeru feel dizzy. “Isn’t Yuki-senpai running a little too fast?”

“Yeah. I would call the landlord, but there’s no point—the coach cars don’t stay close to the runners on the mountain roads of Hakone.”

“What should we do?”

“There’s nothing we can do. The rest is the descent. It would be foolish to slow down now, so we can only pray that Yuki doesn’t slip and fall,” Kiyose let out a light laugh, as though he had gotten over all his worries. “Anyways Kakeru, make sure to jog and warm up properly. I have to get in touch with Nico-chan-senpai and King now, so we’ll talk later.”

The call ended, and Kakeru let out a sigh.

“I told you it’s fine,” Jouji took the phone from Kakeru. “You need to trust us a little more.”

“Trust, huh,” Kakeru began to rotate his ankles and prepare for a jog. “Come to think of it, Katsuta-san said that too.”

“H-Hana-chan?” Jouji immediately turned red. “Why are you bringing up Hana-chan?”

“What do you mean why?”

“Are you doing that on purpose or are you really that airheaded?” Growing impatient with Kakeru’s pointless reply, Jouji turned to him again. “Hey, you know, I like Hana-chan.”

“I know.”

“You know!? How?”

“Nico-chan-senpai said it on the phone yesterday.”

Even when we’re apart from each other, we can still be overheard just as well as when we’re in Chikusei-sou, Jouji grumbled.

“What about you, Kakeru?” He asked the question he wanted to ask the most: “Is it okay if I confess to Hana-chan?”

Why do you need to check with me for that? It seems that the residents of Chikusei-sou are convinced that I like Katsuta-san. Kakeru, pondering up to that point, felt a jolt to his heart like the feeling of falling during the first stage of sleep.

I like Katsuta-san.

It was partly because he was so dense that he couldn’t even laugh at the twins, but it was a feeling that had been in his heart so quietly and naturally that he hadn’t been aware of it until now.

Kakeru had always kept Hanako’s figure carefully in his memory. The color of her scarf on the night they walked together. The profile of her face when she watched them train under the sky where summer clouds were rising. The first time he saw her, her thin back as she pedalled her bike through the shopping district.

Kakeru was looking at Hanako. And all that time, her eyes and thoughts were solely on the twins.

“Now I get it.”

Kakeru was shocked at his feelings that had finally become clear.

“…What are you talking about?” Jouji nervously asked, seemingly thinking that it was creepy how he had suddenly zoned and then nodded to himself.

“No,” Kakeru shook his head. “I think you should just confess to her.”

It wasn’t an act of bravado, but a feeling of clarity. He was sure that Hanako would be happy to know Jouji’s feelings. Perhaps she would be equally pleased with a confession from Jouta, and there might be a quarrel there. But that wasn’t Kakeru’s business.

This wasn’t a competition. Hanako’s heart belonged to her. Jouji’s heart belonged to him as well. It was the same as how Kakeru’s heart only belonged to him. It was a domain that was free from all standards and measures, something no one could steal or bend.

It was satisfying to know that there was a gentle but strong feeling within him that had nothing to do with speed or victory or defeat. Hanako, who taught him those feelings, seemed more and more important to him. Kakeru would be happy if her love was realized.

Also, I’m used to long-distance running. I’m good at patiently waiting for an opportunity. Even if Hanako has feelings for the twins right now, you can’t state definitively that it’ll be forever.

“I see, I guess it’s better to tell her. Uwah, what should I do, I’m so nervous.”

Jouji was determined to confess his feelings to Hanako without any hesitation, not realizing that Kakeru, who was patient when it came to the important things, was chewing on his first realization of love like a ruminating cow.

---

Yuki was smoothly descending the mountain.

In the beginning, he tried to run on the ruts because he was afraid of slipping on the frozen snow, but then he couldn’t steer a good course through the turns. Too much concern about slipping would cause him to put pressure on his muscles, which would make it all come to nothing. In the end, Yuki decided to run and take the course as usual.

Running downhill is fun, Yuki thought. To be able to feel such acceleration with my own body. His speed was so fast that even the soft snowflakes hitting his face from the front hurt like pebbles. While balancing with his whole body, he followed the slope as it led him forward. His fear of falling down didn’t cross his mind at all in the face of the pleasure of speed.

The front of Kowakien was the ten-kilometer point of the sixth leg. It was also a TV relay point. Even though the weather was bad and it was early in the morning, there were spectators along the roadside cheering for them. Following the Eurasia runner, Yuki turned to the right, and he could hear the watery footsteps of the Shinsei runner right behind him.

Yuki, of course, had no way of knowing, but the announcer and the commentator Yanaka were watching the live feed and commentating on the running of the athletes from each school.

“The footage of the lower-ranked teams at the ten-kilometer mark is coming in. What do you think, Yanaka-san?”

“They’re going at quite a fast pace. I thought that the section prize for the sixth leg would go to Manaka, who is steadily improving their rank from twelfth place, but there is a possibility that it will go to one of the lower-ranked teams.”

“According to the data at hand, except for Tamura-kun of Rikudou, all the runners in the sixth leg have an official record in the twenty-nine-minute range for the ten-thousand meters.”

“When it comes to the mountain descent, the time on flat surfaces is not that important. If you can run ten-thousand meters in the twenty-nine-minute range, then the rest is all down to guts.”

“Guts, you say?”

“Yes. The speed and incline the runners experience is much more than what you see on the screen. It’s like pedalling a bike down a steep slope with both hands free. And today, the footing isn’t good. It’s crucial to calmly keep your balance and have the guts to keep your momentum going.”

“Which of the lower-ranked teams do you think is closest to the section prize?”

“I still don’t know yet, but I like Iwakura-kun of Kansei. He has a very stable lower body. His upper body doesn’t sway unnecessarily, and he doesn’t flinch from running down bad roads at all. He is an excellent example of how to run downhill.”

“I see. The rest would depend on their persistence when the road becomes flat after Hakone-Yumoto. They've passed the ten-kilometer TV relay point.”

As they descended in altitude, the snow turned into sleet mixed with rain and the road became covered with a sherbet-like muck. Yuki realized that he had crossed the width of the crosswalk in two steps.

The current crosswalk was probably four meters wide. If he had crossed it in two steps, then that meant he had gone two meters in one step. Yuki was once again shocked at himself—his acceleration was incredible. He had gained momentum and was literally running as if he were flying, and his stride was widening as a result. He glanced at his watch: for the past five kilometers, he had been running downhill at a pace of two minutes and forty seconds.

One kilometer in two minutes and forty seconds. It was a time Yuki couldn’t achieve on flat ground. As far as he knew, the only person who could sustain such a pace for five kilometers on level ground was Kakeru.

The branches of the cedar trees on the roadside were piled with pure white snow. The trunks were black and wet, and the mountains had been transformed overnight into a beautiful, monochromatic world. As soon as they appeared in the corner of his eye, they streamed backwards, smoother and faster than in a movie.

So, this is the world Kakeru normally experiences. Yuki had a lump in his throat.

Kakeru, you’re in a very lonely place, aren’t you? The wind rumbles loudly in your ears, and all the scenery passes by you in an instant. It feels so good that I never want to stop running, but it’s a world you can only experience alone.

For the first time, he understood why Kakeru was so devoted to running, sometimes to the point of overdoing it. If Yuki were allowed to run at such a speed, he would certainly indulge in it like an addict. He wanted to see the world in quicker, even more beautiful instants. Perhaps that was a momentary experience, almost like an eternity. However, it was too dangerous—it was a world that was too beautiful, too harsh to challenge with a flesh and blood body.

Now I’m just looking at the gate that would lead me there from a distance, with the help of the mountain roads of Hakone, Yuki thought. He knew that he wouldn’t get any closer.

Dragged in by Kiyose’s enthusiasm, Yuki’s life had been centered around running for the past year. But that life was coming to an end today. I have my own way of life. I don’t want to aim for momentary beauty and exaltation, sharpening my mind and body day after day. I want to choose to live among people, even if I’m covered in filth. That’s why I passed the bar and am trying to become a lawyer.

Today’s the end. But I’m glad I experienced this speed for the first and last time. Yuki smiled slightly as he sped along the mountain road. Kakeru, don’t go too far. What you’re aiming for is a beautiful place, but it’s lonely and quiet. So much that it doesn’t suit a living person.

It would be nice if there’s something to tie Kakeru’s soul to the earth, Yuki thought. In people’s lives, in people’s joys and sorrows. It’s only by planting his feet on the ground that Kakeru would definitely become even stronger. Balance was essential. It was the same as running down a snowy mountain road.

As Yuki entered the Miyanoshita Hot Spring Village and passed in front of the Fujiya Hotel, he saw something unexpected and let out a short cry.

“Uwah!”

In front of the hotel, there were many guests waving Hakone Ekiden flags. Some of them were dressed lightly in yukata and padded kimonos, shouting their voices hoarse even as they shrank back from the cold. Among them, Yuki saw his mother, his younger sister who was only half related to him, and his mother’s second husband.

“Yukihiko!” his mother shouted loudly.

“Onii-chan, do your best!” His young sister leaned forward, and his stepfather, who was holding her, nodded firmly.

“This is so embarrassing…”

He passed by the hotel in a few moments, but Yuki ran for a while with his head down. Did my family elegantly spend the New Year’s at that hotel? Yuki snarked inwardly to cover up his embarrassment. They probably knew I wouldn’t be able to come by even if they invited me, so they planned to surprise me by not saying anything. Even so, it’s too bad for my heart. I hope the TV and radio didn’t pick up the voices and figures of Mom and the others. Nico-chan-senpai would definitely make fun of me if he knew. Well, he should only have a radio, so I think I’ll be fine.

Yuki suddenly felt happy. That look on Mom’s face just now. She looked desperate and tearful, like she was the one running.

Yuki didn’t remember his biological father. He had died in an accident right after he was born, so his only memories of his father were in his mother’s words and photos. Since his father’s death, Yuki had only lived with his mother, and he treasured her very much. His high school girlfriend had once said to him, “Yuki, you’re a mama’s boy, aren’t you?” Of course I am, Yuki thought. A son who doesn’t take care of his mother isn’t a good son.

Perhaps because he grew up watching his mother work late into the night, Yuki set his sights on his goals early on. He wanted to get a steady job so that he could make his mother’s life easier. Fortunately, he had confirmed during his school life that his brain wasn’t half-bad. If that was the case, then it would be easy to aim for the bar exam, which was called the strongest qualification. He thought that being a lawyer, where he could work between logic and emotion, would be suitable for him, and more importantly, it seemed to make a lot of money. As soon as Yuki entered high school, he began preparing for the exam on his own. He studied hard and worked on his stamina. He thought that he should be well-versed in the inner workings of relationships between men and women, so he went out with girls.

However, something happened that made Yuki’s efforts all come to nothing: his mother remarried. Her new husband was an office worker who earned a decent wage, so his mother didn’t have to work anymore. She loved her new husband and seemed to be very happy. His stepfather was easily able to do more for her than Yuki had ever wanted to do for his mother.

Yuki couldn’t help but feel devastated. He had his pride, and when he decided to do something, he had to finish it, so he didn’t give up on passing the bar exam. However, it was all in vain now. The following year after his mother remarried, she had his little sister. This was also a situation that made Yuki, who was in his late teens, feel awkward and uncomfortable. When he got into university, he left home and rarely came back, even at New Year’s.

Seeing his family cheer him on made the trivial pent-up feelings he had melt away. As though to match that, the snow had completely transformed into rain.

Both his stepfather and his sister had always cared for Yuki as a member of the family. And most importantly, his mother was happy. That’s all that matters. That’s exactly what I’ve always wanted. It would be childish of me to keep sulking about the fact that my mother became happy in a slightly different way than I envisioned.

Yuki laughed, unnoticed by anyone else, in the midst of his white and billowing exhalation. Before he knew it, he caught a glimpse of the Teitou University runner's back at the end of the turn. He couldn’t sense anyone behind him; he seemed to have pulled away from the lower-ranked teams he had started the race with.

He looked at his watch and confirmed that he hadn’t slowed down his pace at all. His mind and body felt light. He could go the rest of the way downhill at this pace. What was important was whether or not he could keep up this running for the last three kilometers of flat ground after Hakone-Yumoto. Kiyose had given him advice yesterday.

“After a downhill slope, even flat ground feels like going uphill. That’s when the real battle begins.”

I think I’ll be okay, Yuki answered in his mind. I have no intention of losing today—to the battle between me and my body and mind.

---

The drums were still beating at the Odawara relay station. In front of Kazamatsuri Station, there were many people crowded into the kamaboko company's parking lot, waiting for the arrival of the sixth leg athletes.

“Did you see that, Jouta? Yuki’s face was there just now!”

Nico-chan had directly witnessed the scene in front of Fujiya Hotel with the TV function of his cell phone. It was only when Haiji called him earlier that he realized he could watch TV on Jouta’s phone as well. Even Nico-chan, who was knowledgeable about computers, only used his phone for calling, and Jouta only used his for texting. Perhaps it was because he wasn’t interested in the evolution of machines that he could be satisfied with the rundown apartment.

“Yuki-senpai’s mom is young and beautiful,” Jouta said, biting into a rolled omelette. “By the way, he’s going to win the section prize at this rate, isn’t he?”

“Yuki doesn’t seem to be aware of that fact, though. The Manaka guy is just as fast as him, so it's hard to tell.”

“Ugh, I’m so frustrated! I want to tell Yuki-senpai his time.”

“How?”

“I’ll use willpower or telekinesis or something,” Jouta put the omelet he was partway through eating away in his sports bag and began to look at his phone intently. “In less than twenty minutes, it will be Nico-chan-senpai’s turn.”

The screen showed Bousou in the lead, and Rikudou chasing behind with a difference of about one and a half minutes. They were about to finish their descent and head towards Hakone-Yumoto Station. The Manaka runner, aiming for the section prize, had improved his position and was now in eighth place. His pace hadn’t slowed at all.

“How’s Yuki?”

“He’s not on the screen. Until they go out to Hakone-Yumoto, the lower-ranked teams won’t be shown much.”

Nico-chan told Jouta to keep an eye on Manaka’s time and began his final adjustments. He ran lightly in the parking lot to loosen up.

Nine o’clock in the morning. The Bousou runner arrived at the station in the lead. His time was sixty minutes and forty-six seconds. Rikudou and Yamato were the next to receive their sashes. Nico-chan hurried back to Jouta, who was near the relay line.

“Amazing!” Jouta was excited. “Even on flat ground, his speed hasn’t slowed down. Keep going, Yuki-senpai!”

On the screen of his phone, he could see Yuki sidestepping the Teitou runner at the crossroad with New Hakone Road. Kansei, in fourteenth place, had a clear view of TSU in front of them.

“Yes, that’s it!”

Nico-chan took off his jersey. Now it was time to see if Yuki could get the section prize.

“Manaka?”

“We'll be able to see them with our own eyes soon.”

Jouta raised his head from his phone. “They’re here!” he shouted.

The red uniform of Manaka, running along the railroad tracks, was just about to turn off the road and enter the relay station. They knew he was a candidate for the section prize, so the cheers were even louder. Manaka’s sash was handed over.

“What’s his record!”

“Sixty minutes and twenty-four seconds.”

Jouta read the information on the TV screen on his phone out loud. It was a good time for running on snowy roads. Even Rikudou’s Tamura, whose ten-kilometer time was in the twenty-eight minute range, had a time of sixty minutes and forty-eight seconds.

At the relay station, the schools relayed their sashes one after the other. The TV screen showed that Yuki was almost there.

Yuki, just a little more. The staff member called Nico-chan to stand at the relay line. All that was left was a race against time. Next to him, the TSU runner received his sash and started running. He could hear Jouta’s voice as he timed Yuki on his watch.

“Sixty minutes and seventeen seconds, eighteen, nineteen…”

Yuki entered the relay station. He was gritting his teeth and holding the unfastened sash in his right hand. He might have learned Manaka’s time from the spectators along the road and was trying to summon up all his strength in the final stretch.

“Yuki!” Nico-chan howled. “Sixty minutes and twenty-four seconds,” Jouta screamed. There was a stir from the spectators. The sash still hadn’t been passed to Nico-chan’s hand. Yuki was a step short of the section prize.

But at that moment, Nico-chan forgot about the existence of times. Yuki’s eyes were looking straight at him. He wasn’t thinking about the section prize at all, he just wanted to give the sash to Nico-chan as soon as possible. That was the only thing he was thinking about as he made it through the last three flat kilometers. Nico-chan understood that. He could see that in Yuki’s fingertips, which were still hot and damp despite being exposed to the cold wind.

“Good job,” Nico-chan muttered.

“I’m tired. I’m leaving the rest to you.”

Yuki clapped Nico-chan on the back, managed to step firmly on his trembling legs, and prevented himself from falling over.

“Yuki-senpai!” Jouta snatched a towel from a staff member and ran up to Yuki to support him. “It's disappointing, but you were incredible!”

“Disappointing? What is?” Yuki drank water from a plastic water bottle and finally found his voice.

“The section prize. Yuki-senpai’s time was sixty minutes and twenty-six seconds. If you had been two seconds faster, you would have tied for the section prize.”

“Really.”

Two seconds. Yuki laughed. Only two seconds. Such a short amount of time that passed in a single breath. Did I miss out on being the best in this leg by such a small margin?

“Oh well,” Yuki said. “Those two seconds were like an hour to me.”

Jouta almost cried when he saw Yuki’s soles after he took off his shoes. The blisters at the base of his big toes had peeled off and there was blood welling up, even though the skin on his soles had grown so thick over the past year. He realized just how hard it was to run down the mountains of Hakone.

“Of course it was enough. You were so cool, Yuki-senpai.”

After patting the tearful Jouta on the head, Yuki looked at the road leading toward the town of Odawara.

I’m leaving the rest to you, Nico-chan-senpai.

Previous | Next

#Kaze ga tsuyoku fuiteiru #kazetsuyo #kazetsuyo translations #run with the wind

32 notes · View notes

seerofmike · 4 years ago

Text

The Writing In Apex Kinda Sucks And Also They Use Ship Bait As A Plot Device I Hate It Here

a stupid essay/rant encouraged by @zombiegloss that originally started as a youtube video script so if its like. weird at points. this was intended to be a verbal rant SNZISKSIA

basically i'm gonna talk abt the caustic-wattson-crypto relationship drama and how i think it was mishandled and how much the writers kind of Suck because i Can

you are free to disagree with me on any of my points and think that this aspect of the story was handled well, this is just my opinion, and i'd love to hear your thoughts and counterpoints !

first, addressing some things:

i know this is a battle royale and not necessarily a story-based game, so i can’t expect it to have masterful witcher-style writing.

but with the direction the game seems to be going; putting quests, evolving interactions, and comics in the game, plus coming out with a lore book and hinting at something bigger in the future, i think it’s fair to criticize it for lackluster writing, especially since what i’m criticizing has been something present since Apex’s story technically began.

secondly, i am not a professional writer. i’m a high schooler who writes as a hobby. i don’t have the decades of experience that some of the apex writers do, and i can’t claim to be a better writer than they are--but i also don’t have to be a five-star chef to realize that something tastes bad. when i critique something and give suggestions, i am not saying i could’ve done it better. i’m just bringing up what i think could have worked.

third, before i upset anyone , when i say a relationship is badly written, i’m not telling you that you can’t ship it or that your ship sucks. i’ll briefly touch on the shipping aspect of this and how it’s a detriment to the story but Ye

okay, so with that out of the way, let us Begin

relationships are often the emotional core of a story, and how strong your reaction is to conflict in these relationships depends on how the story sets them up. if you want the audience to care about these characters and what they go through, you need to develop them and establish the type of relationship they have well. it’s why so many people cried in the last episode of telltale’s the walking dead. you’ve spent roughly 12 hours bonding with clementine and protecting her, and your relationship with her is part of several story beats as well as character beats for lee.

when these two characters’ relationship reaches its peak at the end of the game, it’s powerful, and it’s emotional. you care. you feel something, and the fact that you have to choose what to do to lee only makes it more gut-wrenching.

now, the walking dead is entirely story-based and especially character-driven, so it may be unfair to compare it to apex, but i just wanted to lay the groundwork down for what i think is a strong relationship that makes you feel something when conflict arrives, in this case the conflict being lee getting bit and clementine having to decide his fate.

the broken ghost in general is kind of not-good sometimes, tom casiello previously wrote for soap operas and you can really, REALLY tell sometimes.

this story feels like it should’ve taken place a little later, and that we should’ve had a season to actually set up the characters and their relationships, but that’s a story for another day.

to put it bluntly, the set-up for the crypto, wattson, and caustic conflict is done poorly. for caustic and wattson's relationship it’s a little better, but not by much.

wattson and caustic having a relationship was hinted at in season 2, when her lore indicated that caustic was among one of the Legends who comforted her after her father died. In season four lore materials posted on Twitter, an email from Jacob Young states that Caustic is acting paternal towards Wattson. In season five, interactions get added to the Game, and this is the first time we actually see their relationship in action, as they have unique revive voice lines for each other. in the quests, when wattson is injured, caustic lashes out at loba and attacks her out of what seems to be anger at wattson’s current state.

Side Note this plot point was really stupid and done for cheap drama because she literally wakes up like two chapters later and they don’t even give her anything to say it’s just suddenly oh yeah crypto and wattson are working together. the same exact injury thing happens to octane later but nobody gIVES A SHIT because again, it’s just cheap soap opera drama.

their relationship might seem a little bit sudden for anyone who wasn’t on top of twitter lore drops, but like, it’s okay, i guess. i’ll give it the slightest credit for at least establishing something between the two in terms of voice lines and stuff, even if for some it might seem like it came out of nowhere.

what did come out of nowhere, though, was crypto and wattson’s friendship. in the quests, crypto and wattson are tasked with rebuilding the broken ghost because of their respective skills, and they’re seen talking in chapter six while they work on it. we’re not really given a clear timeline on how long the story in the broken ghost is, but i think it takes about a week, maybe.

unlike wattson and caustic, their relationship has been given absolutely zero material to work with before now, not even a passing glance in the trailers--which is a little weird considering crypto took down the repulsor tower and destroyed wattson’s home, but. Whatever.

tl dr of the chapter: crypto and wattson talk to each other while doing nerd shit, crypto laughs at wattson’s bad pun, and then suddenly they’re BESTIEEEES, until a couple dozen lines later in the same chapter. then they’re Not.

crypto’s drone gets hacked by revenant while everyone was kind of on edge after the reveal of a spy in their midst, he gets framed as the spy by caustic, anddddd wattson gets upset.

before i get into how dumb this storyline is, i’m gonna talk about the set-up to this conflict.

we have been given no reason to believe that these characters have ever talked to each other, and quite frankly, their friendship doesn’t really make sense.

ignoring the fact that crypto destroyed wattson’s home--which she probably doesn’t know about, so that’s forgiven for now--crypto is a paranoid guy. in the lore book he makes people stand on fucking footprints in his house so he can scan them for weapons and listening devices, and he apparently doesn’t stick around much after the games and nobody knows anything about him because he doesn’t talk to them.

a key part of crypto’s story is the fact that he is undercover and afraid of anyone finding out anything about him ever. him becoming friends with wattson kind of comes out of the blue, and we’re not even given a reason as to why they supposedly became close in the first place. i would kind of understand if like, maybe he draws parallels with her and mila in his mind and it makes him open up a little more, but that doesn’t happen. he just laughs at her joke and suddenly they’re friends.

maybe they’re trying to go for this ‘wattson can become friends with anybody’ angle, kind of hinted at with caustic but not really we’ll get into that, but that also? kind of doesn’t make sense since so many of her voice lines straight-up say she doesn’t understand people and electricity is more her thing, but honestly, she also does have those really friendly elements in her voice lines too, so its not as egregious as what they did with crypto.

their sudden out-of-the-blue friendship would’ve been fine if they spent a little more time fleshing it out, and giving us something to work with, but instead, the story immediately tries to rip it apart and frame it as this grand conflict where crypto is framed as the mole, crypto then accuses caustic, and wattson feels betrayed.

except it doesn’t really work, because we don’t give a shit. for several reasons.

one: crypto and wattson became friends and then ended their friendship in the same exact chapter. they did not speak to each other onscreen until this chapter began, you can read the entire quest on the wiki and see for yourself that their interactions up until that point were nonexistent aside from mentions in the narration that they were building something together.

the reason wattson feels betrayed is kind of stupid too. why does she really care that much if one of them betrayed loba? nobody else really cared about the fact that one of them was a spy, in fact, nobody even seems to like loba that much, and they just found out that loba’s been lying to them this whole time, and wattson was conscious for that conversation and had a speaking line, so she’s fully aware of the situation.

maybe it’s just like, the idea that one of them lied, but that’s still kind of a weak reason.

this entire betrayal thing is just dumb, and it gets even worse when you realize that there could have been an actual legitimate reason for wattson to feel betrayed by crypto--even if it still would’ve come across as weak conflict because of their newly established friendship, it would’ve made more sense than this.

Crypto destroyed Wattson’s home. He took down the tower and then all the flyers and stuff invaded Kings Canyon and made it their bitch. Not only that, but Wattson considers the Syndicate her family. The Syndicate are the very people who framed Crypto for murder and he’s trying to take them down.

They could’ve set up actual conflict with these things, and it almost seemed like they would, because Caustic briefly brings up that Crypto could be working with Revenant because he has something against the Syndicate but then that doesn’t really go anywhere and we’re just back to Wattson feeling betrayed because either Crypto or Caustic was a spy and she doesn’t know who.

Weak conflict could’ve been made better by a strong relationship and a weak relationship could’ve still been interesting with strong conflict, but both the relationship between Crypto and Wattson and the conflict that drives them splitting up as friends were really weak and didn’t make much sense.

It would’ve been ten times more interesting if Wattson found out Crypto ruined her home, the arena she grew up in, and was now participating in the Games to take out the people she regards as her family. That’s where her distrust could’ve manifested and conflict could’ve began, but instead it was the stupid betraying loba thing. why do you care. you just started talking to this guy like 2 hours ago.

also caustic’s whole reason for framing crypto feels stupid as fuck. he didn’t just frame crypto randomly, he framed him specifically because he doesn't want him to influence wattsob because he likes her Big Brain, but this is the FIRST time we have seen those two interact.

what influence is he talking about? wraith and wattson have been shown to be friendly with each other in the trailers, according to tom’s tweets, and in the story too so why doesn’t he frame her? at this point the audience had slightly more build-up for those two’s relationship than crypto and wattson and a betrayal storyline would’ve felt a little more deserved if still weak.

this is the point where i briefly want to touch upon shipping, and the fact that part of this conflict feels driven by shipbait.

aside from their relationship coming out of nowhere and the writers trying to make the stakes seem high and deeply emotional to the characters involved (despite this essentially being the first time they’ve ever interacted) tom casiello literally addresses shippers in a tweet regarding chapter seven, and as the story between these characters progresses, it becomes clear to me, at least that the crypto-wattson thing is just bait for shippers, and it’s lazy.

it’s easy to get away with giving your characters little to no relationship development if you’re just counting on shippers to do the heavy mental lifting for you

why should i put any effort into making this relationship seem believable? people are going to see a young guy and a young girl having bare minimum interaction and assume there’s romantic interest! then i don’t have to do any work, see look, it’s a ready-made relationship wrapped in a bow for me! all that’s left for me to do is give them conflict so i can keep teasing shippers with lines like ‘you never deserved her’!

i think it’s reasonable for me to suspect shipbait, since tom casiello likes doing darksparks shipbait on twitter, and i’m like, eighty percent sure mirage and bloodhound suddenly being childhood friends in the book is shipbait too, because these characters were the number one ship in apex for a long time despite little to no interaction, and then all of a sudden in the lore book they’re childhood friends despite this literally never being mentioned before?

like bloodhound is set up to be mysterious and nobody knows what they look like, or where they’re from, or who their family is--except for mirage Apparently, who played with them when he was a kid on their home planet, and has seen them with their mask off, because bloodhound did not wear a mask when their parents were still alive.

its weird.

i’m pretty sure they’ve said somewhere they were working on this book before apex even came out, so i could just be completely wrong and they always planned for mirage and bloodhound to know each other, but if that’s the case, why did they never mention it like they did octane and lifeline?

i refuse to believe MIRAGE never brought it up either like ‘heeeeyy bloodhound remember when we used to throw eggs at our parents lab haha wanna go do to that to bangalore’s room’

[silence]

‘good talk buddy’

ANYWAYS I GOT OFF TOPIC. POINT IS, shipping is a detriment to the story because the writers don’t feel like they actually have to put any work into establishing or developing the relationship between characters when they know the community’s just going to do it for them anyways, and that they can put in shipbait and it’s fine and it makes sense when it really doesn’t.

imagine watching captain america civil war after not seeing a single other marvel movie.

why would you care about the avengers splitting up or tony and steve butting heads or steve’s commitment to bucky? you wouldn’t care, at least not as much as someone who’s seen all the movies and knows the relationship between the characters and why the sokovia accords exist in the first place. you don’t have context and you don’t have any reason to be emotionally invested in these characters’ relationship.

this feels like that. the writers tried to squeeze this relationship and stuff into a single chapter and we don’t fucking care unless we were already invested in the idea of their relationship (shippers) because we barely spent any time with it.

so to summarize this little section, the set-up of this storyline Kinda Sucks! crypto and wattson barely seem to know each other, because we the audience barely saw them together and the writers are relying on shipbait in place of a relationship.

wattson and caustic are a little better but not great, but the conflict is stupid and it only gets stupider.

moving onto summarizing the rest of the broken ghost, gibraltar and caustic talk, caustic LITERALLY confesses to being the mole and says he framed crypto so he couldn’t corrupt wattson and to appear innocent because his identity was suspected, then that wraps up the season storyline.

season six begins with new voice lines, where wattson has had enough of crypto and caustic’s shit and is all passive-aggressive and going ‘this doesn’t change anything’. she has to decide who to trust, and how to figure out The Truth for herself because she’s not a little girl anymore. crypto and caustic are both trying to convince her they’re innocent and it creates some interesting conflict.

just kidding. it’s terrible conflict. you want to know why?

BECAUSE GIBRALTAR TRIED TO TELL HER THE TRUTH, RIGHT AFTER THE SEASON 5 QUEST HAPPENED, AND SHE LITERALLY REFUSED TO HEAR IT.

LIKE THERE’S A SEASON 6 LOADING SCREEN WHERE HE’S TELLING EVERYONE THE TRUTH ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED, AND WHEN HE GETS TO WATTSON AND IS LIKE HEY I KNOW WHO THE MOLE WAS AND WHY THEY DID IT, SHE JUST GOES i dont wanna hear it. i need to think

IF YOU WANT THE TRUTH WHY ARE YOU REFUSING TO HEAR IT

SHE SPENDS ALMOST TWO ENTIRE SEASONS MAD AT CRYPTO FOR SOMETHING HE DIDN’T DO BECAUSE SHE TOLD GIBRALTAR TO FUCK OFF WHEN HE TRIED TO TELL HER WHAT HAPPENED

ITS SO DUMB

i think it was towards the end of season 6 or the beginning of season 7 where apex posted this picture of wattson asleep at her desk where she has a letter from gibraltar on it that looks like it tells her the truth, so she knows now, she knows what happened, but NOW her issue is the fact that she doesn’t know anything about crypto.

WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT IS YOUR GODDAMN DAMAGE. YOU DON’T KNOW SHIT ABOUT BLOODHOUND EITHER ARE YOU THIS UPSET WITH BLOODHOUND TOO?? HAVE YOU EVER TALKED TO PATHFINDER. DO YOU HATE PATHFINDER TOO

oh but she was friends with crypto and now she’s mad that he lied to her EXCEPT THEIR RELATIONSHIP WASN’T BUILT UP WELL SO IT JUST FEELS STUPID. THEY SPENT LONGER BEING NOT-FRIENDS THAN THEY SPENT BEING FRIENDS. THEY BECAME FRIENDS IN ONE CHAPTER AND THEN IMMEDIATELY AT THE END OF THAT CHAPTER THEIR FRIENDSHIP ENDED AND THEN WATTSON SPENT LIKE 2 SEASONS MAD AT HIM FOR SOMETHING HE DIDN’T DO .

AND THE WRITERS TRIED TO RECTIFY THIS BY SAYING OH SHE’S NOT MAD ABOUT THE TRAITOR THING SHE’S MAD BECAUSE SHE DOESN’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT HIM AND IT’S LIKE WHY THE FUCK DID YOU NOT MAKE THAT CLEAR WHY DOES SHE SAY ‘IT DOESN’T CHANGE WHAT YOU DID’ IN HER VOICE LINES WHY DOES SHE CALL HIM A TRAITOR IF HER CONFLICT WAS HER NOT KNOWING MUCH ABOUT HIM . WHAT DID HE DO.

HE JUST STOOD THERE AND LAUGHED AT HER JOKE AND THEN HE GOT FRAMED AND THEN THAT WAS THE END OF THE CHAPTER AND NOW SHES SUDDENLY LIKE IM ACTUALLY MAD BECAUSE YOURE A LIAR AND I CANT TRUST YOU EVEN THOUGH I NOW KNOW YOU WERE FRAMED I STILL DO NOT LIKE YOU AND HES LIKE YEAH THATS MY FAULT

The Caustic voicelines are stupid too, again his reason for framing Crypto was stupid and a lot of his voicelines just seem to be that shipbait thing again but like from the angle of overprotective dad who doesn’t like the new boyfriend. it’s stupid but not as egeregious as this next part which is

crypto telling wattson his identity.

CRYPTO was framed for MURDER and is paranoid and can’t trust anyone and doesn’t talk to anyone and the last time he did talk to someone he got framed for Another thing and the person he was talking to turned her back on him and actively refused to know the truth for like 2 seasons and then he went This Is Fine I Can Tell Her My Identity

the stupidest update to this storyline was crypto telling wattson the truth

why did they do it on the dropship where there are presumably syndicate members and other legends around.

why didn’t he scan wattson for listening devices like he did for pathfinder in the book.

why is he telling her his identity when he knows she has very close ties to the people that FRAMED HIM for MURDER. Does he trust her that much? WHY? They spoke to each other in a chapter and then spent two seasons not talking to each other beyond passive-aggressive BS. why are you so fucking stupid taejoon

their relationship was so poorly set-up that even if the writers maybe intended for them to come across as close friends who had spent weeks bonding, it really feels like they became friends in a single conversation, had a falling out, and now crypto suddenly trusts her with his identity after an undetermined amount of time because he wants to be friends again.

that does not make SENSE this conflict feels contrived AS FUCK and the resolution feels even worse and unearned UGGGHHHH

it honestly comes across as crypto feeling desperate for friendship, and maybe this would’ve worked better if that’s the angle they played it as.

he’s been alone for roughly two years, and just wants a friend, and he’s honestly so lonely he just breaks down to the first person who’s really talked to him. it could’ve been an interesting little part of his character, and they could've gone into depth about how much this situation has affected him, but that’s not what they’re doing. he’s still paranoid and anxious and doesn’t trust anyone, except for wattson, because the plot needs him to or else there won’t be any stupid soap opera drama.

and to rub salt in the wound, wattson’s new voice lines with caustic have him telling her that she forgave crypto.

WHAT ARE YOU FORGIVING HIM FOR. ARE YOU FORGIVING HIM FOR BEING FRAMED? WHY DID HE HAVE TO APOLOGIZE TO YOU WHEN YOU WERE THE ONE WHO REFUSED TO HEAR THE TRUTH?

did the conversation just go hey my real name is taejoon park and something bad happened to me and she went aight i forgive you WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT

Caustic’s new voice lines to Crypto where he’s like ‘what did you tell her’--YOU TOLD GIBRALTAR STRAIGHT-UP YOUR EVIL MASTER PLAN LIKE A SUPERVILLAIN AND NOW YOU’RE SURPRISED WATTSON AND CRYPTO ARE ON GOOD TERMS NOW?!

THAT’S LIKE TELLING SOMEONE YOUR SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER AND THEN BEING SURPRISED WHEN YOU BECOME THE VICTIM OF IDENTITY FRAUD. YOU SET YOURSELF UP FOR THIS WHY ARE YOU ACTING LIKE CRYPTO DID SOMETHING SINISTER OR LIED OR WHATEVER. WHAT THE FUCK. WHY DO YOU HAVE LIKE 3 BRAINCELLS

this is at like ten pages already so i’m going to just try and wrap this up quickly.

it’s frustrating seeing this storyline play out when there are actually good relationships and storylines written into apex. i’m kind of getting tired of the loba and revenant conflict, but we at least had set-up to it in the form of a few animated shorts and it doesn’t play out as stupidly as this story does. bangalore and loba’s friendship is actually developed well, even if the point between the end of season 5 and season 6 where they suddenly talk like each other feels like it could’ve used a little more.

where crypto and wattson having an established friendship in the broken ghost failed, lifeline and octane’s established friendship works because we’ve been told since octane’s release they were childhood friends and given lore materials that indicate they’ve known each other for a very long time.

apex wants this storyline between crypto and wattson and caustic to feel dramatic and tense and ultimately rewarding when crypto and wattson did become friends for real and stuff, but instead it just comes across as hollow and empty.

there’s nothing there. it’s a case of tell, don’t show, and it looks like this stupid conflict is gonna keep going for another couple of seasons at this rate.

side note: this entire script was written before the new twitter comics

please tell me ur thoughts and feel free to respond with ur own lil essay

also believe it or not this is not the "shipping is a detriment to apex's story" essay i was gonna write this is a completely different essay that has some overlap SKXISOSOW

#apex legends #apex critical #crypto #wattson

35 notes · View notes

swordofpevensie · 4 years ago

Text

Anything I Do, I Know You're Gonna Watch

[Chapter • II]

warnings: mentions of strict parents, jane eyre appreciation, peter is being annoying but we still love him, i don't know why i made y/n's mother sort of a villain, y/n you go honey!

a/n: writing this chapter was fun! sorry for writing very slowly though :( it really takes some time for me to write because writing in english is can be hard sometimes :( but i sincerely hope you like it! and let me know if you want to be tagged in the taglist! ♡

word count: 2981

Books. Leather bound, thick, and beautiful books. Oh, how much you loved them.

You were in the library of the university. You had an essay to write, therefore you were looking for sources, such as encyclopedias or books that were related to your subject.

Walking between the shelves and wandering inside the library made you feel so good. Libraries were the places where you felt free and truly happy. Books were your saviours, they saved you from reality and took you to the places you needed to be.

This time you were in Thornfield, walking inside the hall with Jane. You knew you were supposed to read scientific researches right now and your mother would've been very upset and angry if she'd seen you reading a romance novel, however you couldn't resist the beauty of the book you were holding in your hands, and you were curious to learn what was going to happen in the next chapter. You gave yourself fifteen minutes to read it, then you were going to start doing some research about your topic.

You touched the page to turn it, your fingers caressed the paper, and you felt the beauty and antiquity of it. You loved to think that so many people had touched the same very page before you did. That idea was very romantic for you. You bit inside of your cheek not to smile. ‘If only my mother knew I am smiling while reading a romance.’ You thought and it increased your desire to smile.

You looked at your watch and saw that you have eight minutes left to read. You frowned a little and focused on your book again.

You changed your position, this time you leaned your right shoulder to the bookshelf. You read for the eight minutes you had left in that position. You were truly captured by the incidents that Jane experienced and it was really hard to leave the book the shelf it belonged, then left the book section you were in.

You walked through the desks, there were so many people studying or reading. You quietly walked and finally reached to the section you were supposed to have been when you first arrived at the library.

You took a short breath, pulled your bag’s handle to your shoulder (you probably didn’t notice it felt down from there while you were reading), and started wandering between the shelves. When you found a book that could help you, you took it and soon, you had a tower of books in your arms. That old but beautiful scent of the books was everywhere and it made you feel good. You loved everything about books, you couldn’t help it.

After collecting the books, you decided to sit down somewhere and take a look at them to see if they could actually help or not. You’d visited the library during summer a few times, for this reason you knew where the studying desks of this section were. You quickly walked there and tried to see whether there were any empty seats beneath your tower of books. Luckily, there was an empty chair and desk. You breathed out; you really were relieved to find a place to study. Otherwise, you would have to borrow them and go home to study. But you really liked to study in the library because the aura of the place had always motivated you.

As you got closer to the desk, you realized there was a boy sitting next to it. He was looking at the books he had on his desk, he seemed completely lost to you because he almost buried his head to them. He had a stack of books consisting of five or six books. He also had some opened and his hand was touching one of them.

You put your books to your desk, took of your bag and sit down to your chair. You took a short and silent breath, and then opened the first book you grabbed and immediately started reading.

At first, you forgot him, the rest of the library, and almost where you were because you were really captured by everything you were reading and also realizing the subject was actually a bit hard and writing an essay on it wouldn't be easy caused your stress level to increase. You were too busy with being stressed and panicking to pay attention to the boy next to you.

However, when you heard someone taking a really big breath brought you back to reality. ‘Oh,’ You thought. ‘At least someone is as stressed as me.’ You turned your head to your right, where the boy was sitting, and you saw that he was already looking at you.

You'd rather have deceased than seen him, and his blue eyes looking directly to you.

You knew what you must do was to look away but for some reason, you couldn't turn your head. Maybe you thought it'd be rude; he was your classmate after all.

It gave him courage to talk to you. Now that you weren't looking away, he could finally introduce himself properly.

“Hi,” He said in a low voice.

You almost couldn't hear him and you didn't know what the reason was. Was it your excitement that came out of nowhere or was he really speaking whisperingly?

“I think we are in the same department and class, aren't we?” He had a smirk on his face after he stopped speaking.

You nodded. You were scared of talking because you really didn't want to be one to bother others.

“Peter Pevensie.”

You saw his hand was waiting to be shaken. Normally, you weren't supposed to do this because your mother wouldn't approve, but you were scared of being that girl again because of your mother and her never ending demands, therefore you took his hand and shoke it quickly, and then let go of it.

“Y/N Y/L/N.” You whispered and turned your head to your book again.

But you couldn't focus at all. Why was he there? No, why on the earth must he be there at the same time you decided to visit the library? No, why the last empty chair was next to his? Why couldn't it be somewhere far away from him?

You put your finger to the page, hoping it'd help you to focus on what you were doing. You shouldn't mind him, at all. He was just your classmate and the person who'd been bothering you for a week.

Actually, you were trying your best to not take it personally or let him invade your mind. You needed to focus on studying, your lectures, and professors. But, oh God, that boy was trying his best to overshadow you during the lessons.

At first, he raised his hand to speak, and it was good. At least he was waiting you to stop talking. But then he started interrupting you in the middle of your speech and somehow, everything he said went counter to your ideas. He was looking down on the things you said and was making of them in a very sarcastic voice.

You were a competitive person and honestly, you liked being challanged. You never held back; you answered him and put him to his place when needed to be. You politely asked if you could continue to talk because you weren't done when he inturrupted you. You knew your calmness and kindness drove him crazy because you saw him breathing out furiously. You enjoyed annoying him and loved to be the cause of his rage.

You never showed it tough. You weren't allowed to get closer with any boy, even if you made them mad and they hate you. Your family was one of those families who didn't approve any interactions between a man and a woman unless it was for marriage.

For that long and tiring week, besides your lessons, duties, dealing with your family, and helping your father in the bakery, you had to put up with him and his hate towards you, whose reason you didn't know and couldn't understand.

It wasn't like you liked him, but at first you didn't hate him. Until he drove you crazy with everything he said. You never thought a person would be able to conflict with a person in the way he did. It felt like he tried to say and defend the exact opposite of everything you said, thought, and defended on purpose. It felt like he spent hours at home to find things to say so that he could put you out of temper.

The only time he couldn't object to you was when you said something he'd absolutely say to see what he'd do. And he did what you expected; he didn't raise his hand and he was quite for the rest of the lecture.

Well, he took his revenge by ruining all the other lessons but you still were happy to beat him.

Oh, God, you wasted minutes while thinking about him. No, not him. You thought the things he did all week and the things that bothered you.

You took a short breath and this time managed to focus on what you were reading.

After skimming through two books, you saw there weren't much information that could help you in them. Therefore, you put them away and grabbed a new book.

But wait, what was he reading so intensely? What was he studying? Was he doing the same assignment with you? You wanted to figure out.

You threw a glance at the books that were on his desk. You could see five books and all of them had titles related to the subject of your assignment.

Oh, how strongly and badly you wanted to hit him with one of those books. You didn't do it becayse you felt pity for the book you'd be hitting him with.

Maybe that was the reason why he introduced himself out nowhere, and although you knew each other already. Maybe he wanted you to pay attention to him so that you could see he was studying with the books you needed.

You clenched your left fist (because he couldn't see your left hand). You didn't react in any other way as you didn't want him to intuit you were pissed off. You wanted to leave and come back later when he set those books free but you couldn't because he'd guess why you left and you just didn't want to give this pleasure to him.

You were going to stay there, read anything you find, and wait until he was done with them. You didn't care if it would take hours for him to finish studying. You were going to wait and meanwhile make the best of the books you had.

You took your notebook and pen from your bag. After opening a page, you started reading again. Meanwhile you took some notes that could actually help you. You were relieved to find a book that really had some information you could use.

Throughout the time you spent reading and taking notes, you heard him and the noise he made. You heard the noise his pen made as he was writing. You heard his breathing. You heard the noise of the book page he turned. The library was so silent that you could hear his hands running on the pages.

You were distracted sometimes but never showed it. You kept your eyes on the words, never looked at him. Thank God, you were a stubborn person, otherwise you'd probably keep looking at his desk to see what he was doing.

You stood up to put the books you wouldn't use back to their shelves and also to see if you could find new books, or books that he didn't see yet.

You felt safe between the shelves. He couldn't see you and all you could see was book covers. You were happy now.

You wandered for a while, picking up some books hoping to find something. When you were done, you went to your desk with three books you held in your arms.

His eyes were on you. He wasn't even trying to hide it. He was watching you as you approached to your desk. He looked at the books. He looked at the ink covering your fingertips. He let himself gaze at your clothes.

You wore an brown skirt with pockets. The pockets had cream lines on them. Your shirt was also brown and it was simple. All the buttons were buttoned up. Your shoes were black, had short heels. Your hair was tied up in a loose bun on your nape. It was loose because you were playing with your hair while reading. He saw you mussing it.

Honestly, you were fine according to him. You were simple, but fine. There was nothing exaggerated or you weren't trying too hard. He of course didn't have any problems with people wearing fancy clothes or trying too hard; once upon a time he himself wore magnificent things. But he liked this simplicity on you. He secretly envied the way you could look fine without even trying.

When your eyes caught his, he immediately looked back to his book and pretended nothing happened. You couldn't understand why he was looking at you but you didn't mind and sit down. Then, you put your books to your desk and got lost in reading again.

Your notes took almost two pages when you were done. You felt good while you were making progress. You were going to start writing your essay at home with a clear and relaxed mind.

You actually weren't done with searching but you felt satisfied because of the things you'd managed to learn and find. After collecting them in a logical order at home, you were going to come back and continue searching and writing your essay.

Despite knowing you said you'd stay as long as he stayed, you also knew you had to go to the bakery and help your family. You were stubborn and competitive but you were also aware of your responsibilites. Besides, he couldn't piss you off enough to make you stay there for hours and forget about your other duties yet. Therefore, you quickly put your notebook and pen to your bag, and left your desk with the books in your arms waiting to return back their shelves.

You heard another chair moving. You didn't look back, and kept walking. You knew he was behind you and probably following you, however you didn't know why. Why on the would he stop studying and follow you? Despite being a girl knowing many things, you didn't know the answer of this question.

When you put the last book to its place, you decided to ask him why he was following you, yet the moment you turned, you realized it wasn't him. It was just a girl you didn't know looking at books.

Why did you think he was following you? Did you want him to follow you? Oh, no, you definitely wouldn't want that. Because if he followed you, he would just bother you and you'd had enough of him today.

After taking a short breath and calming down, you walked to exit door. You were really going to leave until you saw him standing in front of the circulation desk.

He was smiling to the staff member and he seemed having fun. Then you realized the books on the desk. You could see there were more than ten books. It dawned on you.

It was a really cliche and cheap move, even for him. Was he really flirting with the stuff member and trying to borrow books more than allowed? Oh, there was no way way you let it happen.

Besides reading very fast, being pretty witty, and baking really delicious pies, one of your superpowers was being extremely annoying when you wanted to be. Oh, how strongly you wanted to be annoying at that moment.

You walked there and stood next to him.

“Hi, classmate.” You said with a obviously fake smile on your face. “I was leaving but I saw you and didn't want to leave without saying goodbye. What are you doing?”

He was shocked and it was very clear. You wanted to smile so badly but could stop yourself. Victory seemed so close that you could almost taste it.

“Nothing.” He tried to sound casual and shrugged his shoulders. “Just borrowing some books.”

“Yeah, I can see. For our assignment?”

He nodded.

“But, Mr. Pevensie, I believe there are thirteen books. I thought we could borrow only ten, am I wrong?” You turned to the staff member when you finished your sentence.

“Yes, you are right ma'am.”

“Oh, I think you counted wrong then Mr. Pevensie.” You used your most irritating voice.

“Yes, yes, Miss Y/L/N, I think I might have counted wrong.”

He seemed so angry and annoyed that it made your whole day.

“To help you, I think I could borrow these three. Would you mind if I did? I sincerely hope you wouldn't Mr. Pevensie. I'm just a classmate trying to help you.”

He took a short breath and you saw his jaw clenching for a moment.

“You can borrow whatever you want, Miss Y/L/N. Thank you for your help.”

You grabbed three of the books.

“You are very welcome, Mr. Pevensie. I'm always here to help you. Have a nice day!”

He didn't say anything and you weren't expecting him to speak. You left him behind you and walked to the door.

You looked at the books. They seemed they could help you.

You couldn't stop smiling until you arrived at your bakery. You loved that sweet taste of victory and weren't going to let it go easily.

Peter Pevensie wanted a battle but now you declared a war.

•••

taglist: @thegrxywitch @generalblizzarddreamer @bast-s

#peter pevensie #peter pevensie fanfic #peterpevensie #peter pevensie imagine #peter pevensie fanfiction #peter pevensie fic #peter pevensie x you #peter pevensie x reader #peter pevensie x y/n #andreaiswriting #academic rivals to lovers

69 notes · View notes

jade-of-mourning · 3 years ago

Text

theformat wrote, "im floating with the birds im talking to the weeds look what youve done to me"

in which i spontaneously take several hours to translate nate’s awfully punctuated commentary on dog problems into Comprehensive English Words. partially so i can write my stupid essay on it for fun. but yes here you go, 4.2k words from a 2006 livejournal archive that i managed to snatch out of two saves. here’s a link if you want to read it from the source, but i’ll have you know it’s a nightmare. early 2000′s nate ruess learn how to type properly challenge.

theformat wrote,

[@ 2006-5-18 18:44:00]

"im floating with the birds im talking to the weeds look what youve done to me"

Hi,

Sitting on my couch, watching ESPN. Damn, it’s good to be home. Things have been pretty crazy the last 6 months. As a lot of you know, we were dropped by our label — we went and recorded a new record, labels became interested, [and] we decided to release it ourselves. We went on tour, and now I’m [...] home for the next week: my first week off in six months. What do I do?

Well, my roommate and I got memberships to the YMCA down the street from our house. It’s an amazing place. Downtown Phoenix is pretty much an amazing place. It’s not like the rest of the state — speaking of which, I’m declaring war on Scottsdale, it’s the opposite of Downtown Phoenix.

Anyways, so I wake up at 9am every morning. I don’t know what it is, really — I’ve been a "pro" musician for about 3 years now, [and] we are supposed to wake up at 11 or 12. I know some dudes that wake up at 1, but no; since I’ve been home the last few days, I’ve been going to bed at 1 and waking up at 9. My roommate has a job, [so] I think it has to do with that.

See, there are 3 showers total in our house. I have the big bedroom, so I have the big shower, [and] since I’ve been off on tour and recording, he has gotten used to the nice shower in my room (Which is fine — anyone that’s gotten close to me knows I’m not too fond of showers, so it’s not like I use it that much). So every morning around 8:45, I wake up to my door opening and my roommate going through my room to use the shower.

You know what it’s like when you’re half asleep but you want to act like you’re awake so as not to freak someone out with all the crazy babble, but you just end up saying all the same crazy babble? I do that every morning. I turn and look at him and try to act like I wasn’t just dreaming about tootsie rolls and parrots that shatter like glass. "Hey [Roommate's Name], that was some game last night" [is what usually] comes out of my mouth — something to that extent — and I think he feels sorry for me, but continues to walk right into my bathroom, and use the shower.

At this point, I’m awake. I usually have to pee, and I have to then use his restroom. It’s a terrible swap, and it always ends with me wide awake on my front porch (har har) smoking a cigarette and wondering how the hell I’m gonna fall back asleep when the air conditioning is broken. Ah, what a wonderful life at home, [but] that’s the weird thing — I love it. Now we wake up and we go to the [YMCA]. We run, we play basketball, we jump in the pool, we play pool basketball, we get yelled at for dunking the ball. We don’t use soap before we go into the sauna, and the night usually ends with a poker tournament. This is the life I love to live when I’m away from the road. It too is the opposite of Scottsdale. It’s who I am, [and] it’s pretty much who I’ve become.

See, for the last 23 years, it’s been about the highs and the lows for me. I’ve got an addictive personality, [so] I stay away from a lot of things because of this; however, when I find things, I get generally excited. I go crazy. It’s all I think about and all I do for the next howeverlong. For the first 23 years, it was either talking non-stop or locking myself in my room. It’s either great or terrible; not good or bad. Dog Problems changed that.

Initially, Dog Problems was supposed to be that — the original concept of Dog Problems was to be 2 sides of music, the first half taking over where Interventions [+ Lullabies] had left off: "We'll be together in the morning…"

We weren’t, in fact. We were over before Interventions was even released. We were over two weeks after it was recorded, [and] I spent the next 2 years feeling terrible. We got back together… we broke up… we got dogs… we broke up… we got back together and got dogs…

I was still miserable, but I wanted Dog Problems to get me through everything. I wanted it to help me, not anyone else — just me. The first side was supposed to be me down in the dumps [and] everything that went down: how the two of us were dealing with it differently, [and] the second half was supposed to be a realization.

The first inkling of realization was a day [when] we were on tour. We were all laughing about something I’m sure Marko or Adam said. Here I was supposed to be depressed, but the fact that I can spend all of my days in different states with my best friends, all of us doing what we love — that was major! Then my mom called… I’ve got my parents! My friends! What else could I possibly need?

At that point, I felt as if a relationship in a Michael Bolton sort of way didn’t mean anything. It was the people you surrounded yourself with — those were the people that made the difference, and that was going to be side two. I was convinced that when I just closed my eyes and thought about the wonderful people around me, I was going to be great. Not good, [but] great.

I didn’t get that far, no. I got back into the relationship.

I was sure it was going to work. At that point, life would be perfect, and we all want perfection right? [But] things went right back to far from perfect. Things went to terrible. I couldn’t stop feeling sorry for myself, but I had a concept. At that point, I figured that even by singing and recording these positive songs I was going to feel better, so Sam showed me what was then just a short acoustic guitar version of Snails.

This was it. This was my first chance to prove to myself that life can be beautiful. The thing is, I had never been more miserable. I remember writing the lyrics to Snails: my roommate was at work, I was on the bed, on my night stand was a giant bottle of booze, and somewhere off in California she wasn’t calling me back on a Friday night. So I went to work, listened [to it] over and over. I wanted to get it right; I wanted to be positive. I passed out, then I woke up the next morning [with a] big headache (P.S. drinking is not really that cool; it’s cool when you condemn it for the first 22 years of your life, then it becomes not cool, then it becomes ok when you moderate yourself) and I started writing everything positive I could think of. [...] Snails was, in Sam’s mind, supposed to be a 2 minute kid’s song, [but] I wrote so much that there was no going back. I thought that was it — Snails solved all of my problems.

It didn’t get that far either. Nothing could shake the depression, [and] I really started to worry about myself. Here I want to feel great, but I only feel terrible, [and] a few months later it got really really bad. I had to go to my parents house that night, I didn’t want to be at my house. I wanted to feel like a kid.

It’s funny how we always want to be adults when we're younger. We want to drive cars, we want to have girlfriends. I still didn’t consider myself an adult — all I wanted was to come home, be tucked in, know that everything was going to be alright. I woke up the next day [and found out] she met someone new. I’ve got to figure myself out…

In the meantime, we've got 4 songs we are recording over at our friend Aaron’s house (he is an amazing producer and [...] musician, and his house and his roommates have gotten me through a lot of tough times. They’re some of the only people I know who would rather spend their Saturdays getting dinner and watching a movie instead of going to a party. I like that). All of this turmoil in my relationship was going on at the time, and I was trying to write side two [but] I couldn’t. There was more fuel to side one. These songs have to be done, so I wrote about what I knew, and at that point I knew how to feel terrible.

So much for side two. Dog Problems is going to be one giant mess of depression and "look what you’ve done to me".

Atlantic got those four songs, as well as a few others. They were not psyched, to say the least, but some people at the label actually cared about it enough to say "go record". So we were able to pick our producer, we met with a few people, talked to a few more. Things were looking up. Dog Problems was going to happen.

I remember meeting Steve McDonald at his house — Sam and I were excited to be [there] because we knew his wife Anna would probably be there. Anna was the lead singer/songwriter for a band we used to obsess about called "That Dog", her brother was one of the ten drummers in the world that I actually liked, so Steve couldn't be so bad. And he wanted to produce our record, so he had to be pretty cool!

He was just that, and more. Sam and I were eating every word that came out of his mouth. He had stories; he was young, hip, energetic, and yet very all knowing. We saw someone that was going to let us do whatever we wanted to do, and in the meantime he was going to make us laugh and make sure we didn't lose our minds. From that point on, I knew there was someone I could always trust. I made a friend pretty quick.

Things were moving forward. Steve McDonald was to be the producer. I hated Los Angeles so there was no way in hell I was going to record there, [so] we decided Palm Springs would be perfect. Weird, but perfect. I had a phone conversation with Steve that night and we were finalizing everything. I was going to call Atlantic in the morning and let them know just how everything was going to work, [but] I didn't get that far.

I was sleeping in a blowup bed at the house when my phone rang. I didn’t wake up and answer like it was my roommate and he was coming into my room to use my shower, [because] this call felt different. Right away, I was awake.

It was our manager: "You’ve been dropped."

When I heard that, the first thought going through my mind wasn’t "Oh man...how are we going to be famous now and make boat loads of money?" It was more like "fuck...but Dog Problems. We were supposed to go make Dog Problems."

The thing is, Atlantic wasn’t into Dog Problems. They were into whatever it was they thought we were. Never had The First Single made more sense — what was supposed to be a song about getting the band started and doing something with it had actually turned into a song about how stuck we were in the labels eyes because of the song. I was past that; we're proud of something we wrote when we were 19 and 20, but when I think of music, I think of progression.

I think of all of the wonderful records I had been introduced to when I had nothing to do riding in a van. I think of all of the new influences, all the instruments, all of the "How did they do that?" And I think of how much it gets me through everything.

Music has been the consecutive[ly] great[est] thing in my life. It’s been that one thing, and with Dog Problems, it wasn’t about "I want everyone to sing along because I can write a catchy song." It was about feeling. It was paying tribute to all of the bands that we obsessively listened to. It was for Harry Nilsson and Van Dyke Parks, it was for Jellyfish and XTC. It was our way of saying thanks for making our lives better, whether it be lyrically or musically. It was never about being something, being told something, and sticking to something. It was an adventure, for the artist and for the listener.

[And] they didn't get that. They wanted the old record, the old songs, just with different words and a few different chords here and there. They didn’t care about Snails or Dog problems [or] what it meant to write those songs. They knew it wasn't going to be huge; the guitars were not big enough (if big guitars are your thing that’s fine, it’s just not really our thing right now); it wasn’t going to be competitive, and so they dropped us. And rightfully so: we weren’t going to change, and obviously the major label business is never going to change, [so] now it comes down to who goes down first. And we weren’t ready to go down.

Sam and I had conversations about it, whether the business end of things have been fucking with us so much that we'll never be sane enough to just enjoy it. We thought about getting out — it wasn’t [be]cause we hated each other, or the songs; it was because we hated the business.

Steve called to let us know that he was still onboard, label or not, [and] we let him know we were still on board. We were going to make this record, [and] I was going to feel great! But the record was going to cost something. How could we afford it?

We were lucky that we had a management company like Nettwerk. Not only are they the most forward-thinking music business people around, [but] they’re also (for the most part) Canadian. Oh, and they care a shit load about the music we make. They could have waited for the ship to sink, but they told us they would pay for the record if need be. Fortunately, we were able to get money for getting dropped — Atlantic actually paid us to leave, so we could afford the recording ourselves. The only stipulation was that it had to be done quicker, and when you want something quick, you have to go to the "right here, right now" capitol of the world: Los Angeles. I was a little irked at the thought at first, then Steve said it was his personal goal to make LA a wonderful city for me. Like I said, I would jump off a cliff if Steve said it was the best way to get coffee, but I wasn’t jumping off of cliffs. I was too excited to make Dog Problems, [so] LA it was.

Sam and I moved to the "Silver Palace" in Silverlake California in the middle of December. We found an amazing studio in Burbank, California and an amazing engineer in Ken Sluiter, and our goal was to just do everything free from a record label and someone constantly messing up the recording process by saying things like "that’s not high octave enough". The only pressure we had at all was from our manager saying "You have a tour you accepted in March, [so] get it done by then.” Other than that, it was me, Sam, Steve, and Ken working 13 hours a day for 6 days a week.

It became our lives we were putting so much of ourselves into. Everyone that worked and played on the record was the same way when they were there contributing. I would leave the studio at 2 in the morning and wake up at 10 to be at the studio by 11. There was no free time — the four of us were so invested in this. We all bought into the concept.

In the meantime, things outside of the studio were getting interesting. We had a lot of labels calling and constantly asking about it. During one week of recording, I remember at least 3 different label people coming down to the studio. Our minds weren’t made up as to what we were doing with the record once it was recorded — all we wanted to do was finish it — but we kept our options open and let people sit in the big chair and listen to what we had been working on. The response was overwhelmingly positive, but we didn’t really think about it too much beyond the compliments we were receiving. Sam and I got used to LA — I was 10 minutes away from where I had been the previous summer when I was back "on" in my “on and off" relationship. I was ten minutes from her, she was calling every day, I was singing about it… but how was it not getting to me? Why did I not care?

My phone was off. I woke up in Silverlake one morning and started wondering why for the last month I had a smile on my face. Sure, I was down at times, but the thing that had been bringing me down for 3 years was now the last thing on my mind. Apparently, it had been that way for awhile. Something that took 3 years to get over… I was finally just okay with it. No big realization — just the fact that things happen. People make mistakes. And I came out of it alright. I was good; not great… I was good, and that felt good.

I wasn’t looking for great anymore. I was okay. The last song on Dog Problems is all about that. Here, this record was supposed to be the downs, and the ups, and it ended with the middle: the realization that I don’t need to be talking; I don’t need to be locked in my room — I need to enjoy what’s going on around me. And if things go wrong, they go wrong. There’s always tomorrow.

Dog Problems means so much to me in so many different ways. I’ve never been more proud of anything in my life. I cried so many times during the making of the record. All the money I had spent on therapy, and all I had to do was go make a record, realize that I’m alright, and realize that I made something that I’ll forever be proud of.

Shit… the record was supposed to be about how California can change you for the worse, [but] it played a huge part in doing the opposite!

So as we were putting the finishing touches on the record (all our friends came in and recorded! A ton of people we admired came and worked on the record! All of their responses were so positive that it's hard not to get an ego about it. These are the people I worship. They’re the ones I wanted to pay tribute to, and they think we've made something unique and special. It’s like Michael Jordan telling you that you have a nice jump shot (no more sports references… I swear I’m done)) and we started to think about what we were going to do with it. How we were going to release it. Labels were getting pretty into it, and we knew we would have to make a decision soon.

After much debate and discussion, we decided that the record was something we had made completely on our own, so why not release it completely on our own? Nettwerk was going to take care of the distribution so it would have a major label distro. It would be inside all of the Best Buys; what more did we want? We didn’t want a big fat check — we did that last time. It made us miserable, and nothing came out of it. Barely anyone at the labels helped us, we weren’t making music videos, our songs weren’t on the radio, so why would we take their criticism? After all, everything that we’ve done — any success we’ve had is from being real people who make music. From showing up to play, from 3 years on the road.

On Interventions [+ Lullabies], there might have been an Elektra logo on the back of the record, but it ended right there. We were the ones SHOWING people who we were. I wouldn’t have it any other way — no one knows us better than ourselves, so why not release it ourselves? To me, it’s not only a testament to the hard work we put into the band (Mike, Don, Marko, Toco, everyone else involved in putting these songs to life — you guys are the best thing we have. It’s pretty special when your best friends are some of the most talented musicians), but I really feel like the people who come to our shows are such good people that they don’t give a fuck what label it’s on.

They are there because we are doing something positive, and because we care about them as much as they care about us. So for the time being we've said "fuck the middleman": we're the only people we can blame at this point. I’m so tired of even talking about major labels and the split and everything like this. The music is the only thing I care about. Dog Problems is the only thing I care about, so why let someone else ruin it?

The Vanity Label was born.

The record got finished. We had no time to rehearse, and we had to go right back out to tour. Our first show before the Motion City Soundtrack tour was in Nashville — I remember the last time we were in Nashville, there were about ten kids. Reuben’s accomplice kept asking them why they hate whales, so we figured why not go there and get some of the rust out of the way. After all, we haven't toured in a year so there should be like 3 kids there; we can mess up if need be.

Unfortunately, we were not allowed to mess up. On a Sunday night in Nashville, with Ted Leo playing across the street (I <3 Ted), our first headlining show outside of Arizona in almost a year was over sold out. What the fuck happened?

We thought we were going to have to play for another 3 years just to get back to where we were when we left, and yet it’s sold out on a Sunday night? It didn’t end there either — the whole tour went like that… night after night ("nite after nite?"). I couldn't believe it. As if having Dog Problems wasn’t enough, now we have people showing their support in the most positive way: coming to the shows, being there from the only thing they knew before. Those two months were such good months. It was the last thing I expected. Thanks so much to all the bands that played with us, and thanks so much for everyone that came to the shows and sang along. We'll be back in July.

In the meantime, things were going great on the Vanity Label front. Business actually felt natural. We are shooting a video with the directors we had always dreamed of doing a video with (it won’t be serious...no pouty face). There were magazines like AP and online magazines like AP taking notice, supporting the whole idea and concept. We actually took press photos. I’ve never been through any of this before, it’s exciting. I don’t think it’s going to change who we are, not one bit, but it’s still exciting to see people who can help out actually help out.

So where does that leave me now? Sitting on my bed. I’ve rambled for hours, the air still doesn't work, and I’ve been told that Dog Problems (something that isn't supposed to come out till July) has been leaked. Not the best news when you just got out of the pool, but it happens. I freaked out at first — I thought I was going to lock myself in my room. After all, this is something that we spent over two years making. It’s something that you have to take the time… listen to in headphones… play loud… listen to in order of the tracks… the artwork… Sam did the best artwork he has ever done. The packaging is something we paid extra for because Sam’s concept was so brilliant, and now… it’s leaked on the internet? I was locking my door, then our manager called.

"Hello?"

"We're releasing it on the website today."

"Wow."

So, here goes. You’ve read enough. I shouldn’t have to go on about it anymore, but I will say, if you wanna wait for the full hard copy release then do so. It’s July 11 — we are gonna be touring right after that — but if you want to get it now,.please do it by purchasing it right here. We released it, it’s our money, it’s our little baby — you should take the time to listen to it all the way through, free of distraction. You should turn the songs into your own. It’s an adventure, and it’s something that we put everything we have into; and if anyone deserves it first, it’s you guys who have been here with us all along.

Without further ado...

"Dog Problems"

- Nate

#dog problems #the format #nate ruess #basically: dog problems; a lyrical & musical & emotional masterpiece #i honestly feel like i don't even need to write that essay anymore wtf #4.2k words baby that took me ages to edit bc he has the WORST typing habits #every half statement is interspersed with ellipses and there are no apostrophes and everything was no caps lmaooo #moving on #this is absolutely my favorite album ever and holy shit #finally reading this post in its entirety gave me so much more insight it's wild #i'm like so fucking emotional help jhfhbjgfhsdkg #i'm just glad he's doing alright now and having a good time even if music isn't a big part of his life anymore #and i also feel like i understand the breaking up of fun. a lot more as well #hell i just really understand nate ruess in general a lot more and it's really nice #bc he's been my favorite artist for a while and i know a lot of people shit on him for his personality but like. fuck off people are people #and u know. if work permits is my favorite song so hearing shit about it makes me happy #truly makes me appreciate the album more than i already did #and makes me get why it's the only part of his discography he still actually likes #even though OBJECTIVELY SPEAKING they are all Excellent but okay then nate

12 notes · View notes

matildashoney · 5 years ago

Text

London Town

Loving You’s the Antidote Extra

MASTERLIST // MOODBOARD // TAG LIST // TAGS // PLAYLIST

TAG LIST: @ihearthemcallingforyou, @goldenfeelin, @detroitkiwis

talk to me about it!

thank you miss @berrynarrybanana for creating the sex bucket list fic challenge! i wanted to write something with the mile high club for harry and ames a while ago and this gave me every opportunity to do so. this is pure filth about harry and amelie getting back to london recently after being stuck in malibu during the quarantine.

warning: this is literally 4.4k of filth. i can’t be sorry for what my brain has done. i take no responsibility.

Harry is guarded, to say the least. There was too much happening for him not to be.

One of the security guards that was driving them to the airport got out with Amelie first, making sure that there weren’t any photographers waiting outside for them (which there shouldn’t be, all things considered) and having her get inside to wait for Harry when he was able to get all their luggage and out of the car. Harry was nervous, his hoodie tugged over his head and his passport and identification all sitting in his hoodie pocket. Amelie was wearing the hoodie they bought at a Spice Girls concert the year before, but it was beginning to fit a big snuggly around her tummy and they knew that anyone that saw them would start pregnancy speculations before they could even begin trying to have a baby themselves. Her hand grabs his as soon as he walks beside her, interlocking their fingers and hiding her face in his chest, the exhaustion beginning to set in and the bruising on her hips from the needles beginning to ache as she stands for much too long without rest.

Harry guides them through security, his heart breaking as Amelie knuckles her eyes and desperately clings to her last bit of energy and pouts as his bag gets checked once more and she isn’t able to sink into his embrace as she wants. Considering the amount of time Harry and Amelie have spent together in quarantine, it would have made more sense that they need space, when in fact, Amelie has never been clingier. Not that Harry pays any mind to it. He knows that it’s with the best intentions, all because she loves him and is happy to be with him. Her hormones are messy with the new birth control she was trying, as well, with all intentions to perhaps make her body ready to be pregnant later in the year. All Amelie wanted was a good snuggle a very hefty amount of the day. Harry was happy to give that to her.

Los Angeles International Airport is surprisingly empty, Harry thought there would have been more celebrities trying to get back to wherever they’re from now that flights are slowly beginning to depart again – not that they really should be. Harry is excited to get back to England, London particularly. Amelie, although her heart is in love with California, misses London, misses home. All of the exhibition pieces that she was working on were left there, and for nearly four months her creativity was dry and there was nothing she could think of. Harry misses his family, his home. He even misses Tigger, especially now that he’s been staying with Anne for nearly six months. Harry misses their routine. Amelie misses the comfort of being home.

Malibu is home in a lot of ways.

Malibu is where they said the three words for the first time. Malibu is where they got engaged. Malibu is where they got married on a whim. All of Amelie’s family is nearby and their best friends and godchildren are only a fifteen-minute drive away. Mostly, it’s being together that makes it feel like home. Home is so subjective. To Harry, after travelling for so many years, unsteady relationships, the media overwhelming him with labels and rumours and the way his mental health suffered, Amelie really became the one thing that made the most sense, that made him feel safe. To Amelie, with all that she went through, the idea that someone could make you feel like home was absolutely mad, and there was a nagging voice that always told her she wouldn’t find it, and then Harry waltzed into her life and simply knocked every single thought she had about her life into another world; Harry made her feel as though there was nothing that she couldn’t do, and maybe he was right about that. Home was with each other, no matter where they are or where they go.

Harry squeezes Amelie’s hand, the engagement ring and wedding band ice on his skin. He smiles though, the feeling that the symbol gives him making his eyes sting with tears. He sniffles, drawing her attention and her eyebrows furrowing together in confusion. He shakes his head, kissing her hairline and nodding to the near-empty terminal that was about to board their flight.

“’ey,” Amelie whispers, brushing her thumb under his eye and moving the mask slightly to kiss his cheek, “you okay?”

“Thought about how we’re married and got all,” Harry mutters, his nose in her hair and laughing to himself. “Don’t know, guess m’heart is softer, now.”

“Always has been, baby,” she smiles, laying her thighs over his legs and cuddling into his chest, her eyes falling shut as he gently rubs her back. “Think they’ll yell at us for laying in the same bed, again?”

“Don’t think so since everyone has to stay away,” he mumbles, taking in the way the ten other passengers for the flight are wearing masks and gloves. “Can’t wait to be home and don’t have to wear this thing.”

“Meaning you’re gon’a be naked in the garden most days and dragging me out with you.”

Harry snickers, meeting Amelie’s knowing stare and shrugging his shoulders, “As long as you’re naked, too.”

“Don’t try your luck, Mr Styles,” Amelie sighs, squeezing his hips as his thumb dips beneath the waistband of her leggings. “Harry.”

“Didn’t wear any knickers.”

“Je ne voulais pas qu'ils me montent au cul pendant douze heures,” she whispers under her breath, trying to avoid the entire terminal hearing that her decision this morning was to go without any knickers on an eleven-hour flight.

Harry smirks, tugging his mask to his chin and pressing his lips to the shell of her ear, “Tu essaies d'entrer dans le club du mile high, chérie?” For a man that slept maybe three hours, Harry is awfully horny at barely four in the afternoon.

Amelie lightly smacks his hand as his fingers inch towards her inner thigh, coming dangerously close to her centre. “Harry, I swear to God.”

“Oh, it could be fun, Ames.”

“Ah, yes, because you,” Amelie’s voice lowers to a whisper that even Harry can barely hear, “fucking me in our seats in first-class sounds like so much fun when we could get caught.”

“’s the thrill of it all, baby.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t use the baby card,” she says warningly, her eyes narrowing at the man she loves with her whole heart, trying to convey her seriousness. Her thighs clench around his hand, a near-death grip to break his movements where his fingertips would brush over her heat.

“Need those fingers, Cherry.”

“Don’t stick your hands in my leggings, then.” Harry smirks at Amelie. “That doesn’t mean you find a loophole and stick your hand over my fanny either, thank you.”

“Mean, technically I’m not over your fanny.” Harry laughs so loudly, the entire terminal turns to face him. “Need you to tell me when the hell you started calling it that, though. Taking to all the slang now that you’re half a Brit, huh.”

“Much less aggressive than calling it my,” Amelie whispers, “cunt. Don’t you think?”

“Quite like calling it that,” he shrugs, weaselling his hand further up her thigh, nearly holding her heat in his palm. “’s mine to call anything, you know.”

“Oh,” she snorts, shaking her head and lightly pushing his shoulder and smirking when he grabs her hand with his other hand, kissing her palm with a smirk. “Is that how marriage works? Don’t think that was on the document we signed.”

“Mean, as far as I’m aware. Got like,” Harry hums, pretending to count on his fingers the number of months since they’d gotten married in March, “three months under m’belt. ‘s kinda like how you say you want my cock in your mouth.”

“Harry, quit it. There are people around.”

“Half of them would need a hearing aid to hear me, honey.”

Amelie shakes her head, “Whipping your best terms of endearment isn’t making me any more inclined to have sex on the plane.”

“Hate to break it to you, angel, but you saying, fanny, doesn’t really give me an inclination to stick my hand in your pants, anyways.”

“Good,” she says, wrapping her hand around his wrist and moving it away, interlocking their fingers and grabbing their bags to walk to the desk to board. “Not to mention, it’s barely four in the afternoon.”

“Oh, time is a social construct, baby. Isn’t that what you say when you’re begging for it in the morning before I have get on a flight out somewhere?” Harry whispers in her ear, smiling at the flight attendant and handing his phone for the boarding passes.

Amelie releases Harry’s hand, tugging her sweatshirt sleeves over her fingers and crossing her arms over her chest. “I hate you.”

Harry smirks, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and kissing her head, his phone stuck in the front of his The Face sweatshirt that Amelie threw onto the bed for him to wear while he was sleeping. “No, you really don’t.”

“Welcome,” one flight attendant says through their mask, oblivious to the sexual tension spurring in between the freshly married couple and the way her hand was holding his simply to ensure that he wouldn’t squeeze her breast with his hand hanging limply over her shoulder.

Harry steps inside the row first, and Amelie knows why he’s hiding in the seat that would be the least likely to be seen by the flight attendants. Her head shakes with a sigh, heaving a breath and settling into the chair, giving a warning glance to him as his lips toy with a mischievous grin.

“Garder les mains pour soi.”

“Can’t keep m’hands to m’self for eleven hours,” Harry stresses, his cheek laying on her shoulder as he stares at her through hooded eyelids, the separator pushed away to allow him to cuddle into her, the way her nails are scratching at his scalp making him want her more.

“Harry, yes, you can,” Amelie says, knowing that Harry is trying to wear her down with the dramatic nature of the conversation. Her thighs are warm thinking about the adrenaline that would course through her veins by having sex where they very well shouldn’t be, but with the environment being heavily closed away from interaction, maybe this was just the right time to do so.

Amelie wouldn’t admit that to Harry, though. No. Because that means he won.

“Haven’t touched you in like, three days.”

“Because we had to get all of our things together, see our godchildren, and see my family. Not because I didn’t want to.”

“Alright, well, now we have eleven hours.”

Amelie sighs, carding her fingers through her hair and gently pulling out the tie in her curls and letting the baby pink fall over her shoulders. Through her peripheral vision, she can see Harry roll his eyes, trying to look away as she tugs on the sleeves on the sweatshirt, gently pulling the material away and leaving his eyes to bask over the loose-fitting shirt from his closet and her chest free from any restrictions.

“For fuck’s sake, Amelie,” Harry groans, sitting up and beginning to pull his mask away from his mouth, all the passengers boarded and the flight attendants beginning to go through the safety measures as he’s heard a million times before. “Did you not wear a bra, either?”

“Like you said, eleven hours,” she shrugs, a smirk playing at her lips as she set the sweatshirt over her thighs, dragging the blanket over her body, locking his hand between her legs.

“Know just how to get what you want, huh?”

“Maybe,” she hums, spreading her thighs the slightly amount to give him the ability to roam further across her skin. “Have had quite a few years of practice.”

Harry smirks, taking Amelie by surprise and sliding his hand beneath the waistband of her leggings, her thighs unable to be held together as his fingers drag slowly and teasingly across her mound. “About, five years, huh, baby?” Amelie gulps. “Don’t go quiet on me, now. Have had the wittiest comebacks for an hour and now you’re quiet?”

“Harry,” she says through a clenched jaw, trying her swallow back a moan as his fingers delicately trace along her core, arousal collecting on his fingertips as his finger draws over her clit lightly, barely touching her skin. “Either you do it or you don’t.”

“Do you want me to?” Harry smirks, lips ghosting across the shell of her ear and making her sink further into her seat, her thumb between her teeth as she nods shamelessly. “Amelie Fay, tell me what you want or I’m going to take my hand back.”

Harry rarely uses Amelie’s whole name. And by rarely, Amelie means that Harry only uses her whole name – first and middle – when they’re arguing and she won’t listen (which is most of the time) or they’re about to do something filthy and she won’t give verbal consent (which is most of the time they’re taking to exhibitionism). But whenever Harry uses it, fuck, it’s another type of sexy. His accent draws out every syllable, especially when he’s trying to use an accent that her mother has or it’s deeply his own.

Amelie sucks in a deep breath, trying to steady her breathing and not melt into the chair with the barely-there movements of his fingertips, his middle finger teasing her warmth by dipping in to collect more arousal over her clit. “Okay, okay.”

“Okay, what.”

“Need you to use your fingers,” she sighs, his fingers beginning to ease into her warmth and brush against the velvet that squeezes him in. “Fuck.”

“Be quiet,” Harry says strictly, his cheek laying on her shoulder and his lips touching the cut of her jaw. “Have barely touched you and you’re already squeezing me, doll. Maybe I should’ve tried a bit harder to get you into bed, hm? Have I been neglecting you? Horrible husband, you have.”

Harry and Amelie never could describe their sex life as neglected – certainly not that – but it definitely was not what it was when they first got married at the beginning of March. Harry and Amelie tiptoed around the subject because there were days when there was too much frustration to even think about getting naked and sharing their thoughts with the other person. That definitely isn’t what want they wanted, what they promised each other. And so, here they were, three months into the isolation and just being able to go home, and there was a desperation lingering between them that neither really knew was there. Getting comfortable was something they didn’t want, and that’s exactly what they did.

His fingers work at a speed that could only be described as desperate and longing. His thumb pressed against her clit with patterns that have her hips longing to writhe beneath him, his middle and third finger curling inside of her with every thrust, taking a second to ghost across the spot that would have her screaming inside their bedroom.

“Baby, please,” Amelie whimpers, tucking her face into his hair and breathing out through parted lips, squeezing her eyes shut as the flight attendant walks through the aisle, completely unsuspecting of what is happening beneath the linen. “Harry.”

“All over me, honey. Gi’ me all of it.”

Amelie tugs on Harry’s curls, earning a smirk and a grateful kiss, swallowing her moans as the orgasm ripples through her body. Her hands shaking as she grasps onto the blanket and her hot breaths hitting his neck. His hand is coated with her orgasm, his mouth watering at the thought of her taste on his tongue.

If Harry couldn’t go down on her, right now, this is the next best option.

“Get out the fruit and water from your bag.”

“Huh?” Amelie whispers, her eyes barely opening to try and read Harry’s expression. “For what?”

“For you to drink,” Harry smiles, kissing her hairline sweetly. “And so, I can stick my fingers in m’mouth and it won’t look like I just fucked you under the blanket.”

“Christ, Harry,” she mutters, rolling her eyes as he chuckles under his breath. “Do you realise you still have your fingers in me?”

“And?”

“Can’t lean over and grab everything with you puncturing my cervix.”

“Don’t flatter me that much, baby,” Harry quips, nodding towards the bag laying at her feet and gently tapping his thumb against her clit once more. “Already have a big head.”

“Hate you,” Amelie swallows, trying to control her breathing as she leans forward and reaches for her bag, Harry’s fingers wiggling inside her warmth. He is just as needy as she is, at the moment, except, Amelie would rather wait until they are home and can’t be caught. “Here.”

“But, baby, I know you don’t.” He chastely kisses her cheek, gently taking his fingers from her warmth and slowly removing his hand from her pants, pouting his lips, “My hand is cold, now.”

“Unfortunate,” she shrugs, taking a long sip from her water as his tongue licks along his palm, his two fingers suckled between his lips and tasting all that he’s missed in nearly four days. He isn’t used to going that long. Maybe, he’s a bit spoiled in that regard. Harry and Amelie are running on the same sex drive at all times. Call it inspirational in some respects. Amelie has found it quite useful in the exhibitions recently. Harry finds that flattering.

“Quit being a brat,” Harry teases, squeezing her knee over the blanket and standing on his feet, nodding towards the bathroom a few feet away. “Have to wash my hands. Got a bit messy.”

Amelie shakes her head, wiggling around in her seat and shrugging her sweatshirt over her torso, settling under the blanket and laying over the chair, waiting for Harry to get back and cuddle into. Harry smiles at the sight, wiping his hands over his sweatpants and manoeuvring around her legs and settling into his seat. His arms open wide, graciously accepting Amelie as she climbs over into his seat and lays in the reclined bed with him, tucking her face into his neck. “Hi.”

“Hi, Cherry.”

“Can’t wait to go home,” she whispers, yawning as his fingertips drag through her hair. “Miss home.”

“Know you do,” he says, kissing her temple and bringing the blanket tighter over her body. “Me too.”

“Need a really good night of sex, too. Or day. I’m not picky.”

Harry snorts, “Have our other nights not been satisfactory to you?”

“Always the best with you. Don’t worry,” Amelie smirks, kissing his jaw and breathing in his cologne. “Different when we’re home, though. Don’t care about anything or anyone. Can just do it wherever, whenever. Don’t have to worry about my parents or sister, or our friends coming and knocking on our door.”

“Love your sister,” Harry says, his voice hanging on the last word, “but she is the biggest cock block in the entire world.”

Amelie laughs so loudly into Harry’s chest that the flight attendant peers over his novel. “God, you’re right.”

“Need to just be alone with m’missus for a while.”

Her voice is quiet, once again, barely above a whisper as she begins to fall asleep nuzzled into his warmth. “Alright.”

His eyebrows furrow together in confusion. “No argument? No rebuttal?”

“Not today.”

Harry laughs breathily, shaking his head and kissing her hair, his hands dragging along her spine as she drifts asleep. He stays awake until nearly eleven, waking her to eat and watching a film on his phone until they’ve fallen back asleep together, only waking to the sound telling them to buckle their seatbelts and settle into landing. Harry can see the relief on Amelie’s face, the smile that sits permanently on her lips as the pilot welcomes them to England and Heathrow Airport.

Amelie nearly forgets their luggage when Harry pulls into the garage, rushing inside to see Tigger and breathe in the scent that is permanently a mark of their London home. He tugs in their bags, setting the mickey mouse printed luggage in the foyer and wrapping his arms around her waist, kissing her neck sweetly and nosing her hair away from her skin.

“Fuck, ’m happy to be home.”

“Know you are,” Harry smiles, gently biting her neck and licking over the red mark lingering on her skin. His hands squeeze her thighs, lifting her onto his hips and wrapping his arms under her ass, his eyes rolling as their cat begins to rub along his legs. “Not the time, Tigger.”

“He missed you.”

“Flattered, but not really the time. Quite missed shagging m’wife, so that’s the priority at the minute.”

“That sounds really sexy coming from your mouth,” Amelie hums, dragging her thumb over his plump lips.

“Hm?” Harry asks, carefully making his way up the stairs and shoving their bedroom door open, careful to make sure that their cat would not be in the way when the door closed behind him. He became way too good at carrying her up the stairs when they moved in two years ago.

“My wife.”

Harry snickers, walking straight into the bathroom and turning on the light with his elbow, setting Amelie on the counter and harshly pressing his lips to hers. “’s what you are, m’wife.”

“Can’t wait to have this on me,” Amelie smirks against his cheeks, her fingertips dragging along his beard as Harry tugs their sweatshirts and shirt off their bodies. “First place you’re going to have sex with me in our house is the shower.”

“Know you better than that to think you’ll let me on the clean sheets after we were just on a plane for twelve hours.”

Amelie giggles, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and tugging him into her, his arms circling her waist and his tongue tasting her lips, her tongue, her. “Know me well.”

“Hope so after five bloody years.”

“Go turn the water on.”

Harry nods eagerly, walking away and turning the water in the shower, the waterfall faucet sprinkling water over him as he tugs on his sweatpants tie. His head rolls back as two hands skirt along his naked torso, dancing dangerously close to where he wants them most, his cock already painfully hard between his thighs.

“Don’t tease me, now.”

“Am I not allowed to have a taste, either? ‘s been four days, remember?”

“For fuck’s sake,” Harry moans, squeezing his eyes shut as Amelie’s hands bring his sweatpants over his ass and thighs, her gently hand tugging teasingly over his shaft. “Get in the bloody shower, woman.”

Amelie laughs, taking Harry’s hand and stepping inside the shower, the steam already beginning to fog over the glass doors. His back hits the tile wall, a gasp leaving his lips as she sinks to the ground, her knees printed with the tile, her tongue dragging over the arousal wetting his tip. He moans, the sound spurring her on, his hand running through her hair as she wraps her fingers around his base and begins sucking on his cock, all of him surrounded by her tongue and her wet lips and her warmth.

His stomach tightens, nearly spilling his entire orgasm down her throat. His whimpers as she pulls away makes her laugh, his eyes barely open before he’s helping her stand and grabbing her thigh to wrap around his waist, his cock sliding deep inside her warmth without warning. Her forehead falls to his collarbone, the sensation overwhelming and deeply missed. Her nails dig into his shoulders, their kisses messy and sloppy as his thrust reaches every inch into her core, his thumb drawing shapes around her clit the way he knows she loves.

“Missed this so much,” Amelie moans, her fingers tugging at his curls and bringing his mouth to hers. “Can’t go that long again.”

“Fucking swear on m’life,” Harry grunts, the way his cock is driving into her making her lift onto her toes. “Gi’ me your leg.”

“Do you want to fall over?”

“Trust me.”

Amelie wraps her legs around Harry’s waist, sighing when her back hits the cold tile that is out of the water’s reach, a gasp leaving her lips as his shaft sits deeper inside her warmth.

Harry is grunting mercilessly into her neck, Amelie’s moans echoing inside the bathroom, and to anyone that doesn’t know them, they might have thought that they’d not seen each other for a month, maybe two, with how intense their orgasms spill onto each other. Her thighs shake around his waist, their orgasms dripping out of her and onto his legs as he holds her, making sure that she wouldn’t fall.

And their shower isn’t devoid of more touching and kissing, in fact, the water goes cold before they’re fully finished washing up and rinsing the shampoo and conditioner from their hair.

Harry watches Amelie change intensely, soaking in the way she’s never changed the way she looks in their time together – except for the new three tattoos – the way she’s never felt the need to. Harry adores every curve and tattoo and mark and dimple, especially when she’s naked and he’s touching her skin.

“Can you look away for maybe two seconds?”

“No,” Harry deadpans, laying his hands behind him on the bed, the towel still loosely covering his waist.

“Are you going to eat lunch with me?” Amelie wonders, tugging one of Harry’s old shirts on and sliding briefs onto her hips – he never wears them anyways.

“Think I need to go for a run, and then I’ll shower and come back and eat.”

“You want to go for a run? After a twelve-hour flight?”

“Need to otherwise you and me will be in that bed for the next twelve hours,” Harry says surely, taking a deep breath and nodding his already semi-hard cock between his thighs.

“For fuck’s sake,” Amelie breathes, shaking her head and walking to him on the bed. Her lips press against his chastely, once, then twice, smiling when he tugs her onto his chest, and they fall against the mattress.

“Love you.”

“Love you more. Go for your run. Think I can take, like, six hours in bed, with breaks, alright? I’m not a machine.”

“Ooh, a compromise.”

“Married men get three compromises a year, this is one.”

“Deal.”

358 notes · View notes

readyourimgaines · 4 years ago

Text

The Little Things

Summary: Derek knew fully well that moving in with Spencer was going to bring around some changes. Dr. Spencer Reid was different and Derek loved him for it. There were little quirks that the doctor showed at work and some Derek was still learning. So there must be some at home.

And a special thanks, of course, to @chaoticgremlinwholikescheese for helping me compile this list!

1. Alphabetizing Movies by Title

“Pretty Boy?” Derek was crouched down in front of their TV looking for their movie while Spencer did the dishes. The latter hadn’t seen Happy Gilmore and Derek couldn’t let that stand.

“Yeah?” Spencer called from the kitchen.

“I can’t find it?”

“What?” Spencer stepped away from the sink and went to the living room. Water dripped from his fingertips. “The movies are alphabetical. It’s between Hamlet and Ice Age.” He went to Derek’s side and gestured to the movie. “I was going to order them by director, but Hotch said most people don’t know directors very well. Which is a shame because J.J. Abrams destroyed Star Trek but Guy Riche-”

Derek pressed a kiss to Spencer’s lips with a fond smile. Spencer blinked.

“Sorry,” the doctor blushed.

Derek just chuckled. “You know you’re adorable, right, Pretty Boy?”

“You may have mentioned it a time or two,” Spencer laughed.

“You can tell me all about directors later,” Derek promised. “I know a bit about the mainstream guys, but not a whole lot.”

“All you really need to know is that J.J. Abrams kills anything he touches and Peter Jackson doesn’t get as much attention as he should.”

*****

2. Morning Rituals

One thing that Derek very quickly learned about Spencer was that he

had a specifically timed morning ritual when not on a case. And that if it was broken or disturbed, the whole rest of the day would go down hill like a train on greased tracks.

He woke up at 6:17, was in the shower by 6:25, eating breakfast by 7:00, his bed made by 7:30, and shoes on his feet by 7:32. The last half hour before they left at 8:00 was free game.

The first morning in their new place was the roughest. Spencer went

about his usual morning, but Derek didn’t usually wake up until 7:45 because he took less time to get ready and ate in the car. So when Spencer finished breakfast and went back to their room to make the bed but Derek was still asleep… He paced for the next fifteen minutes and his head nearly went through the ceiling when Derek’s alarm went off.

Spencer almost had a panic attack as he fumbled his way through making their bed and cramming his feet into his shoes. Needless to say, the extra half hour was spent- in vain- trying to calm the doctor down. None of the rest of the day lined up properly and Spencer was on edge and fidgety. Hotch even had to gently remind him to focus a few more times than the usual redirection of infodumps.

That was the first and only time Derek didn’t follow Spencer’s morning routine. He found the same day that Spencer had a much simpler night ritual: Snack (sometimes) at 10:10, teeth brushed by 10:25, in bed by 10:35, reading until (supposed to be) 11:18, and then lights out. This routine was much more flexible and relaxed.

Derek found waking up and going to bed at the same time every day made the former much easier. He also found that Spencer reading to him most nights- no matter the book or topic- was very relaxing. And of course there were nights when Derek read to Spencer.

*****

3. Sugary Coffee

Derek took a sip of coffee from his travel cup and whistled. “Think I got yours, Pretty Boy. There’s enough sugar in this to hype up a six year old’s birthday party.”

Spencer braced himself and took a sip of the coffee in his own cup. He was pleasantly relieved when the bitterly sharp taste expected never came. “I-I put sugar in both of them. I wasn’t thinking,” he said sheepishly.

Derek shrugged. “You know what they say: I’ll try anything once.” He chuckled. “I’ll just brush my teeth for an extra three minutes.”

Spencer scoffed as he got into the passenger seat of Derek’s car. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll like it. You don’t get the caffeine drop when the eight hour half-life is over.”

“Is that why you put so much sugar in coffee?” Derek raised an eyebrow, thinking he already knew the answer.

“And coffee tastes like battery acid. I’d rather drink vinegar than black coffee.” Spencer shuddered.

Derek chuckled but didn’t say anything else as he pulled onto the street.

*****

4. Cuddly Sleeper

Even though Spencer wasn’t huge on PDA like Derek was, he sure was a cuddly guy. The second the door closed, he was a six foot koala. That included in bed- but usually not until after he was asleep.

Some nights, Spencer would fall asleep reading. So Derek would take his book, close it, gently remove Spencer’s glasses, and turn out the lamp. Nine times out of ten, Spencer was curled up against his side before Derek was asleep himself.

At first, Derek found himself wondering why Spencer wasn’t nestled against him before sleep took him. But after a while, it sunk in that the doctor unwound by reading.

The look on Spencer’s face when he curled into Derek’s side always sent the older man over the moon. The absolute peace on the doctor’s face. One night, Derek almost woke Spencer up laughing. Derek rolled over to out the lamp and Spencer had gripped Derek’s arm tighter and whined in his sleep. Derek then had to assure his boyfriend- in soft whispers as to not actually wake him up- that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Spencer never thought to question why his book and glasses were gone when he woke up.

*****

5. Leaves Books Everywhere

Anyone who had a 30 second conversation with Spencer- anyone who glanced at Spencer- could tell the man read more than he did anything else.

Derek picked up the doctor’s satchel once and was moderately surprised the slim man hadn’t dislocated his shoulder with how heavy the bag was. But Spencer didn’t only keep books in his bag. No. They were all over the place.

Their bedroom, the craft room where Derek made floor plans for his renovations, the kitchen, the dining room, the living room. Even both bathrooms and the basement.

When the two first moved in together, Derek debated building an extension onto the living room for a library. He still debated it from time to time (just in case). But as time wore on, Derek grew to appreciate the countless (if seemingly random) books around the house.

Spencer would read when Derek was working on floorplans, so Derek would read when Spencer worked on an academic paper or consult.

“What’re you reading?” Spencer asked one night, finally looking up from his notebook. He was writing an essay on how handwriting analysis could help catch a serial killer and/or rapist.

“I don’t even know,” Derek chortled. “Uh..” he looked at the cover, “it’s Introduction to Law by Joanne Banker and Yvonne Ekern.”

“Oh! Hotch loaned that to me yesterday,” Spencer noted. “I should get that back to him soon.”

Derek just shook his head. “You know, Pretty Boy, I didn’t read this much in college.”

Spencer smiled. “See? Maybe there’s a good side to not spending thousands of dollars on building a library,” he teased.

6. The Nightlight

In the bedroom, in the outlet closest to the door was a nightlight. But not just any night light. This nightlight made the move in the front pocket of Spencer’s satchel.

“So what’s the story behind this platypus, Pretty Boy?” Derek had to ask one night as Spencer turned it on. “Because you’ve had this since before we were dating.”

“My uh- my mom’s went on a sort of field trip with her hospital a couple years ago. It was on one of her good days. She saw this in the aquarium’s gift shop and bought it for me.”

“That’s pretty cute,” Derek encouraged. He knew Spencer didn’t open up about his mom often so Derek tried to learn everything he could about the woman during the rare occurrences.

“We named him,” Spencer laughed. “Alfred Nicholas Brian Reid.” He giggled. “I just… He helps.”

*****

+1. Bleeding/Infected Hangnails

Spencer usually had something to stim or fidget with. A strip of paper, a pen or pencil to twirl, a shirt with a loose thread, something. On the off chance that he didn’t, the doctor somehow decided that his fingers were good enough. If Spencer didn’t have a hangnail, he’d start one.

This was the one and only thing about Doctor Spencer Reid that Derek Morgan hated. He could see the minute flinch when Spencer held a utensil wrong and it pressed on the swollen skin. He heard the soft hiss when Spencer got tomato or orange juice in the broken skin.

What Derek hated even more than that was when the hangnail would get infected. The skin around the nail or turn a greenish-yellow and harden. Which, in turn, gave Spencer another thing to pick at.

“Pretty Boy, you gotta stop,” Derek sighed. He’d gone into a convenience store to get them something other than coffee- but tastier than water- to drink. While inside, he bought a box of Band-Aids and a tube of anti-bacterial cream.

Spencer snapped out of his daze. “What?”

“Picking at your nails.” To prove his point, Derek took Spencer’s hand in his to show him, as well as to stop his current picking. “I know you’re worried about the case, Baby, but we’ll catch the son of a bitch and put his ass behind bars like we always do. You gotta stop destroying your hands.”

“I didn’t realize I was,” he admitted.

“I know,” Derek said softly. He applied the cream and a Band-Aid to each finger that needed it (five in total between both hands). “We just gotta get you a couple of those fidget cubes Garcia has.”

Tag List: @mayonnaiseismycomfortfood

#read your imagines #combefere's journal #criminal minds imagine #moreid imagine #spencer reid imagine #derek morgan imagine #5+1 things #6+1 things #moreid #moreid fluff

47 notes · View notes

idk-maybe-i-did-it · 3 years ago

Text

Scars: Year six, Chapter one

Remus Lupin x Reader

Warnings: Breif mentions of self harm, heavy swearing, self deprecation

Remus Lupin had been hammered ever since he set foot in the building, from escorting First years to classes and assiting teachers with their problmes to disiplining missbehaving students at all hours of the night and taking too many courses to count.

Godric Gryffindor, he just wanted to take a damn break.

The teachers were piling them with homework and the lectures were so extensive. Not to mention the fact that he hadn't been able to see her all week.

I'd been two weeks since he bumped into her father and yet he still couldn't get his words out of his head. Stupid mutt. To make matters worse the full moon was in two days and all he wanted to do was kiss her in the rain. But no, he had to sit at a stupid desk until he finished writing the rest of those essays, was done drawing an accurate picture of a Doxy, had finished writing down all of the poison antidotes from his Advanced Potions textbook (and the ingrediants required to make them). To top it off though, he'd had prefect duties earlier that evening and his head was absolutely pounding.

It was around three in the morning when Y/n came back into the common room and fell onto the couch nearest a fire. She kicked her boots off and loosened her tie before she even began to settle down. His love looked as if she'd just ran through a twister. Her hair was a tangled mess and her clothes were wrinkled and torn. He couldn't help but question where she'd been. He had to endure three classes without her and even more with her but he hadn't caught even a glimpse of her at all that week.

Remus missed her horribly and yearned to simply sit with her on that couch for a few moments before she went off for bed.

He almost started to cross the threshold to reach her when that little voice in the back of his head began to speak again. He almost told himself to shut the bloody hell up, but then he thought about how stupid that would be, telling yourself to shut the bloody hell up. So he turned around in his seat and tried to concentrait on what he was writing on the piece of parchment but found it rather hard to focus when N/n was exchanging her button-up shirt for one of his sweaters, he found it quite difficult when she began to brush through her hair with a comb and pulled it into a bun at the top of her head (he thought she looked to be wearing a hat with it that way) and started to yawn.

She hadn't noticed that he was even sitting in the common room until she looked over and saw him staring doe eyed at her. For moments they simply looked at each other. But then she was grabbing her satchel and her shoes and making her way towards his table.

Some part of Remus wanted to break down and cry and yell at her to go away when she plopped down in that chair besides him. But he found, yet again, that he prefered her company much more than he prefered the company he recieved in his head.

Her skirt was so wrinkled, Godric he wanted to steal his mothers iron and steam the thing until all of the wrinkles came out of it. It irritated far more than it should have. Wrinkles in clothing, he absolutely hated them, Remus's mother used to laugh when he would spend chunks of his day ironing clothing in the sitting room.

The young woman beside him had pulled out three glass vials filled with a redish liquid that he recognized to be wolfsbane. Remus knew he should've been paying more attention to his homework and the potion but he just couldn't stop looking at her, wouldn't stop.

" Y/n."

She turned to him then, stopped rummaging through her satchel and actually looked up at him with those beautiful e/c eyes.

Remus went to reach a hand out to grasp her chin but then stopped abruptly, his voice unnatrually quiet, " Can I just look at you for a moment."

She bobbed her head once and then his hands were on her face, caloused as they were.

He was holding her face in his hands again, her face felt cool to the touch, as if she'd been outside for a good while beforehand, and there were purple circles beneath her eyes. Anyone would say that there was no need to look at her for too long because she looked nearly the same as before, but to him, no, to him she looked bloody brilliant and as long as she was sitting next to him he wouldn't stop looking at her face. It felt like ages had gone by since he'd held her, since he'd even seen her, so for the chance to arrise before him just then, he didn't hesitate to hold her in his grasp, even if it would last only a moment. A moment was all he needed, a moment of salvation.

" I've missed you Remus."

Her eyes flicked up to his and she scorned them for something, anything to let her know how he felt, but she found nothing other than shadows pooling in his irises.

" I've missed you too bunny."

His voice was nothing other than a mere whisper but she loved the sound of it either way. He hadn't uttered a single word to her since those two weeks after the incident at James's house.

" Then why haven't you come back to me yet?"

He tried to retract his hands from her face but found that she was grasping his wrists to keep his hands attached to her jaw.

His eyes flicked up to hers and she held his gaze while he answered her question.

" Because I hurt you and I'm afraid I'll hurt you again if I come too close."

He shuddered, his shoulders shook and he hid his face.

" I know it's four in the morning but do you want to do this homework together."

Remus laughed lightly, a somehow light sound.

And he said, sure.

_______________________________________

Godric fucking Gryffindor, his head was spinning and he didn't even know if walking straight was still an option.

Remus didn't know why he stayed up that late knowing damn well had duties in the early morning hours but what he did know was that he really fudging regretted it.

He'd been ushering children to class and seperating unseperatable tongue-tied couples all morning and if it wasn't bad enough that he was really bleeding tired, it was as if the universe just had to give him a splitting headache too.

So splitting, in fact, that James had to 'escort' him to Madam Pumfrey to give him a potion to take that did the exact opposite of what it was supposed to do and so for the rest of the day he was excused to lay in bed.

There was absolutely nothing to do.

Remus's head was spinning but his thoughts were clear as day and he knew that he wanted company.

He ended up curling under his blankets in a sweater his sister had given him and tried to sleep.

------

Sirius Black face planted onto his bed and landed on a pile of homework instead of the soft pillows he'd hoped for.

It wasn't until after he'd gotten through with the first two pages of work that he noticed Remus napping.

Remus finally got that company he'd asked for, but it wasn't the company he'd wanted.

He simply went back to sleep, not knowing that Y/n would come by soon afterwards to give him the lunch that he'd missed earlier.

She gave it Sirius and turned around on her heel to leave when she felt a hand grasp her wrist.

" N/n I'm begging you, help me with this disastrous pile of work."

He was on his knees, an arm draped over his brow in a pretend faint.

In a swift motion he gathered her hands in his and began pouting.

She knew he was one of the smartest boys in school but they were all exhausted as shit, and she knew that if she didn't help him with the work he'd be more behind in all of his classes than she had been when she first started the year.

James had been helping her catch up her charms and re-learn some of the more important spells in his free time. He was like-what would you call it ?-a tutor. That was exactly what James was like now, her best friend and her tutor.

The boys were all so smart but they were all so bloody stupid.

Her and Sirius ended up fifteen minutes late for their next class, even though they'd been given more free time as sixth years, the group still found that all of the extra time they'd been given was spent mostly on homework and worrying about the Dark Lord and less on pranks and having fun.

Any amount of spare time they'd had in the previous school year was something for them all to cherish, of course they all were still pranking and going off to Hogsmeade for candy but they now had little time to enjoy doing such things.

They were always the brightest group of sorcerers at Hogwarts, they just had to work three times as hard now.

While they were studying Sirius noticed Y/n hadn't been paying any attention to Remus and she smiled more. She always tried to catch his eye, always had been trying to make sure he was okay and well rested but then in that moment, he rejoiced at the fact that she didn't glance his way, it was his way of knowing they were getting better; she didn't have to glance his way if she'd already talked to him, learned of how he was doing.

Whenever they rushed off to class after all their time studying, she kissed Remus's cheek and blew out the candles in the dormitory before she ran off with Sirius.

Sirius didn't let her know, but he saw Remus smile before he closed the door behind Y/n. It warmed his heart to know his lad was smiling again, if only for a moment. _____________

Remus steered clear of her for the rest of the week, only letting her within his sight after the full moon's destructive wave had been over with.

Well, he didn't really let her within his sight, he more or less woke up to her sitting on the edge of his hospital bed, lathering the countless wounds littering his body in the same goo he used ever other day to help the bruises heal over. He felt her fingers delicately brush over his scarred forearms and side and neck and he basked in the pain.

He heard Madam Pumphrey slide open the curtain to his bed to help Y/n wrap his wounds and to give her the medicines to give to him when he awoke.

It wasn't until after she'd left before Y/n spoke.

" You're awake." She said with a frown on her face.

He watched her wash her hands and he watched as she sat back on the edge of his bed.

She tapped the crown of his chest.

" You know, your chest rises with a different rhythm when you're awake."

Was it not Madam Pumfrey but her bandaging his wounds every full moon and other instances? Was it not the Madam but her who left Wolfsbane by the side of his bed the days before the full moon? Was it not himself but her who had been making him feel better every full moon?

When he had cried afterwards and found his favorite chocolates on his bedside in the middle of the night, when he knew the others would be asleep, was it her who had placed them there? None of the teachers would know his favorite bedside flowers were Periwinkle and Blue Delphiniums nor would any of them know they'd always calmed him down after the full moon. None of them would know of his favorite chocolates.

Oh Godric Gryffindor he was a bloody idiot to have thought that Madam Pumfrey had been patching him up for the past month.

Every stupid time he had came in and slept after opening one of his wounds, every night that he had spent with a sore ass in the bloody hospital wing and it was her who had been fixing him up.

What a fucking idiot.

______________

It's been like two months people, how's my writing holding up? Still trash or is it better?

Drop a Vote, Drink Some Water, Eat some food, take screen breaks and remember You Are Loved!

^ - ^

#Remus Lupin #remus lupin x reader #remuslupinxreader #RemusLupin #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin fanfiction #James Potter #Sirius Black #remus x reader #hogwarts #remus john lupin

18 notes · View notes

jalapeno-princess · 4 years ago

Text

Love you the Most

Jinyoung X Reader

Genre: Fluff (and some angst)

Word Count: 4.5K

Summary: For the last couple of months, you and Jinyoung have been seeing each other in secret. Unfortunately, the two of you aren’t dating, but you do things that couples do and you can’t help but feel as if Jinyoung asked to keep your relationship a secret because he is ashamed of you. As much as you love Jinyoung, you refuse to let him continue taking advantage of your heart.

A/N: This imagine was based on Got7′s “Love you better” and it was requested by the lovely @anotherjjmb I’m sorry if this wasn’t what you had in mind and only while I was in the middle of writing did I want to change what it was going to be about but then I decided to just stick with it. I hope you enjoy! (I’m sorry, I’m terrible whenever it comes to writing about the other members so I hope this is okay)

Hey, you still up?

The soft lofi playlist you found on YouTube along with the rapid typing against your keyboard as you worked on your women’s studies essay ultimately prevented you from hearing your phone buzz at the incoming text message. It was finals week and that meant that you were drowning in assignments on top of studying for five different exams. When you looked at the clock on your computer, a frustrated and overly exhausted sigh fell from your lips.

12:38 A.M.

You knew that it was going to be another one of those nights where you pulled an all-nighter. In times like these, with dry tears on your cheeks from all the crying you did because of how difficult school has been and all the coffee you consumed in the last three hours, you wanted nothing more than to sleep for the next two months.

After putting the finishing touches on your research paper, you allowed yourself to take a well deserved break and went on the search for your phone that was hiding somewhere in between your bed sheets. Once you got around to finding it, it was in that moment that you mentally cursed yourself for not keeping your phone next to you. Six missed calls, three text messages and two voicemails all from the one person whose arms you could only wish you were wrapped in right now.

Park Jinyoung.

You haven’t seen Jinyoung in almost an entire week. It’s not that you didn’t want to invite him over; hell, you were losing your mind the longer you stayed away from him but you needed all the time you could get to spend on completing your work. Whenever Jinyoung was around, you could never get anything done because he was always such a distraction.

He could literally be doing nothing and you’d still stare at him in awe of his beauty. Sometimes you’d look at him and had a hard time believing that out of all the girls that he knew; either from your university or somewhere else, he liked you. Or at least, that’s what he claimed he felt for you at the beginning of this untitled agreement of yours.

What you and Jinyoung had wasn’t that hard to describe; you weren’t exactly just friends but he had yet to take things further and establish an actual relationship with you. There were some days that you felt he enjoyed just fooling around with you and that he wanted to keep his options open.

Especially because he’s the one who wanted to keep things a secret between the two of you. He claimed it was because he didn’t want his friends messing around with you, but there was a tiny voice in your head nagging at you that Jinyoung was actually ashamed to be seen with you. Both you and Jinyoung came from two different worlds; he was the captain of the soccer and volleyball teams whereas you were the president of the national honor’s society.

He was all about partying, getting drunk and hanging out with his friends and you preferred staying home, baking recipes you saw on the food network and reading books that were recommended by your Biology professor. Jinyoung was a social butterfly; he was extremely friendly to everyone that he’d meet and everyone he knew could only say good things about him. You on the other hand were a wallflower; you never talked to anyone other than your friends unless you really had to.

Matter of a fact, if you and Jinyoung weren’t put in a group together just a couple of months ago, you wouldn’t have even batted an eye at the older boy but now, you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off of him. You could pinpoint exactly when you and Jinyoung started this secret affair, and the way he kissed you that one night after he dropped you home from studying together was forever stuck in your mind like a broken record.

He told you that he thought you looked really pretty that night and giggled when you told him you only ordered pumpkin spice lattes during the winter to “be in the holiday spirit”. You weren’t even a fan of pumpkin to begin with. You didn’t think much of your confession, but Jinyoung thought it was extremely adorable as he watched your multiple unimpressed facial expressions every time you took a sip of the drink.

That was only one of the many reasons why Jinyoung developed feelings for you. The longer you spent working on your group project together, the more Jinyoung found himself enjoying your presence and he’d always try to find excuses to spend more time with you. With each and every meet up, he learned something different about you and when he realized he couldn’t care less about working on the project and just wanted to listen to you go on about your passion for astronomy, he knew he wanted to be the lucky guy that got to see your eyes light up as you talked about the many different constellations.

Jinyoung wondered if you were aware of how your beauty mirrored that of what you claimed the sky to be. He was never one to beat around the bush, nor was he the type to pretend as if his feelings for someone—for you didn’t exist. Park Jinyoung was blunt to say the least; when he wanted something, he did whatever he could to get it. You were no different. When he told you he developed a crush on you and that he would like it if you agreed to see how things would pan out between the two of you, you weren’t able to form any sentences that made sense.

You had hoped that the gentle kiss on his cheek and the tiny nod of agreement was enough for him to confirm that you were more than happy to do so. Unfortunately, the happiness that built up inside of you at the idea of dating Jinyoung left quicker than it did arrive. He didn’t miss a beat to tell you that he would prefer it that the two of you would keep your relationship amongst yourselves.

It was discomforting you hear, especially because you were ready to run home to your friends and tell them what had happened but now, you felt like you made a mistake in saying yes. Sure, you couldn’t wait to spend more time with the older boy and to see the sides of him that nobody else got to see. However, there was a tiny voice in your head telling you that he was ashamed to be seen with you.

You’ve known Jinyoung since your freshman year in high school and even then, he was quite popular amongst the student body. He’s had a couple of girlfriends since then and actually broke up with his last girlfriend only four months ago. All of his relationships were exclusive. If you didn’t see him walking around campus holding hands with his girlfriend at the time, then you’d hear about how much of a perfect boyfriend he was and how exciting it was to date him.

The rumors were proven true when you got a taste of how Jinyoung was like on your own. But it didn’t feel as good as it probably would if he were to make things official between the two of you. As much as it bothered you and how you craved to know why he was so hesitant on taking that extra step in your relationship, you didn’t want to lose him completely if he were to get upset with your question.

It wasn’t your fault though; you were only human. It was natural for you to feel uncomfortable and be bothered with the fact that he didn’t want anyone knowing about you. If he liked you as much as he claimed to, wouldn’t he feel wrong for doing such a insensitive thing to you? Many questions have been plaguing you this entire week and a part of you was glad that you had an excuse to stay away from him.

You needed the time to think things out. No matter how much you genuinely liked Jinyoung, you refused to allow him to continue pretend as if he doesn’t know who you are when you’d walk past one another in school. You felt so stupid every time you’d wave to him out of force of habit only to get ignored.

What irritated you even more was that he’d come over to your place right after and act as if he didn’t do anything wrong. You were going to ignore him, but your heart—your stupid heart missed him and wanted to see him. As soon as you sent the text that you were awake, he responded only seconds later.

I’m outside. I want to see you. I’ve missed you. Can I come up?

You hated your stupid and equally naïve heart for getting excited at his words. Almost as much as you hated yourself for saying yes. You began to tidy up your area and took a quick look in the mirror to fix your appearance. Not only was your hair out of place, but the dark circles under your eyes from staying up so late were growing prominent. However, you couldn’t find it in yourself to really care.

Before you could do anything else, you heard a gentle knock on your window and your heart practically jumped out of your chest at the sound. His signature grin was prominent through the window; although you knew from past experiences that he was probably extremely nervous at the thought of falling off of the tree.

It wasn’t like it was the first time he found his way up the tree that just so happened to be right outside of your window. You lived in a house with four of your best friends; since nobody knew of your relationship, Jinyoung could only really sneak in to your room through the window. In your mind, you considered it some what karma for him.

He was the one who wanted to keep the two of you a secret, so if he wanted to see you he had to work for it. As soon as he made his way inside, he took no time in pulling you against his chest and placing his face in the crook of your neck.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love how involved you are in school but shit—being away from you for so long is torture.” You playfully rolled your eyes at his comment before placing a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“It’s only been a week Jinyoung—“

“Exactly baby. A week. Do you know what we could’ve done in a week? A lot.” You decided to ignore his complaints and made your way back to your desk but as you were about to sit down, he gripped at your wrist lightly and wrapped his arms around your waist while taking you with him as he plopped down on the bed.

“Jinyoung!”

“Good, practice that. You’ll be chanting my name here pretty soon—don’t look at me like that. You deprived me of sex for over a week now I deserve some love y/n. Preferably oral—but I’m fine with whatever you want to do.” You scoffed while attempting to get out of his hold but he refused to do so.

“And here I thought you wanted to see me just because you’ve missed me. Asshole.”

“I did miss you, more than I’d like to admit if I’m being honest but—Mini Jinyoung missed you too. Well, not so mini if you know what I mean—fine, I’ll stop bothering you but can I least get a few more kisses?”

You couldn’t say no to him, no matter how many times you wanted to. Being with him took your mind off of the many negative thoughts that you had, but whenever he’d leave or when you’d see him at school only for him to pretend he didn’t know who you were, you’d begin to wonder if this was all worth it.

The sweet kisses, holding him and being held by him, the cute little gifts he’d buy you every now and then, his compliments and many words of encouragement, the butterflies you’d get just by hearing him call your name. Was it worth sneaking around for? Pretending that it didn’t hurt whenever you’d see girls flirt with him or hearing him claim that he was single to his friends if you just so happened to walk past him in the hallway?

Since you hardly ever spoke up about it, it was as if you were allowing him to continue treating you like you meant nothing to him and you were getting tired of it. What was it about you that he didn’t want people knowing the two of you were seeing each other? Was it because you weren’t of the same social status? Or because he cared about what his friends would think of him if they were to find out he was dating someone like you. Someone considered “nerdy”, “boring” and too much of a “goody two shoes”?

There were times where you’d sit back and wonder, does he think about you that way too? Was he leading you on and making you think he cared about you only because he didn’t want to hurt your feelings? Deep down, you knew that wasn’t the case. Even if he was just sticking around because he knew he could count on you to help him with his studies and because he knew you were willing to do anything that he asked, he wouldn’t do all of these extra things for you if you were nothing but an easy fuck who helped him with his school work.

You must’ve been too deep in to your thoughts to notice Jinyoung attempting to ask you a few questions and if it weren’t for the all but gentle squeeze on your hips, you would still be overthinking this entire affair between the two of you.

“Hey, everything alright? You were dozing off for a moment.” You put on a fake smile and nodded in agreement. The confrontation was on the tip of your tongue, but you didn’t want to ruin your time with him before it could really start.

“I’m fine. Just tired. Don’t worry about me.” He playfully pinched your cheek and placed a quick kiss on your nose. Another reason why you were so afraid to tell him of your worries and your doubts, was because you were afraid to lose him. It took you a few months to accept it, but you were in love with Jinyoung and you were willing to have him in your life any way you could. Even if that meant being someone he had to hide from everyone in his world.

“I do worry about you. You’re working yourself to the bone y/n. Come on, take a little break with me, please? We can just cuddle and catch each other up on how the last week has been. You could use some rest, the circles under your eyes are getting more prominent baby—ow! I climbed up that big ass tree just to spend time with you and this is the thanks I get?”

“I’m sorry, but whose fault is that?” You didn’t think much of the question since it was the truth. It was his fault and also his choice to have to climb up the tree just to get in to your room. He was the one who adamantly wanted to keep your relationship under wraps; he could be having it so much easier by coming through the door like most normal people but that would mean your friends would see him and the secret would come out. He slowly pulled away from you and raised his brows in curiosity at your sudden interrogation.

“What is that supposed to mean?” This was it, you had to let him know of your true feelings whether or not he were to pull the plug on your entire relationship. Sure, you may have loved Jinyoung, you loved the effect he had on you. You loved the way he never failed to make you smile, or the way your laugh was only really genuine when he was the reason behind it.

You loved how happy you were because of him, how he never failed to check up on you to see how you were doing, how he would stay up late just to talk to you on the phone and keep you from falling asleep while studying for a test. What you also really admired about Jinyoung was how he would act differently around you. From time to time, you’d observe how he was around his friends and other classmates if you had a class together, and although he was very outspoken and friendly to everyone, you could tell he was always hiding something or that he didn’t want anyone knowing too much about him.

However, whenever it was the two of you alone, he was an open book. He’d tell you everything and everything his heart desired. From his worries and his doubts about his future, to his passions and aspirations in life. It was in those moments where the two of you would be lying in bed together after a steamy love making session or right before you decided to call it a night that you learned everything there is to know about park Jinyoung. You’d think that you would want the world to know of the person who knew all your deepest, darkest secrets.

Unfortunately, you became one of those secrets and you could no longer allow this to continue. Although he had no right in doing so, especially because he was the one taking advantage of your kindness and your patience, if he got upset that you weren’t too fond with being someone he had to hide from the world, then you’d have to let him go. You may not have thought too highly of yourself, but you knew you deserved someone to treat you much better than how Jinyoung currently was.

“It means I’m tired Jinyoung. You mean a lot to me, but I don’t think you feel that way about me. What am I to you Jinyoung? Am I easy? Is that what it is? You know that I’d tutor you whenever you need it, I’m at your beck and call no matter the time or place. Or that I let you ravish in my body when it’s convenient for you? Do you say one thing when you’re with me but another when you’re with your friends? I’m a fucking human being Jinyoung. I have feelings too! I hurt too! Did you forget that? I have a fucking heart and it beats and breaks because of you! I love you and I hate that I do. I really do. You kiss me, pick me up and drop me off wherever I need to go, you call me when you’re bored or when you’re having anxiety and need me to calm you down. But it’s only when you want to, and it’s away from everyone else.”

You took a deep breath before continuing. There was so much you wanted to say—wanted him to know, but you were afraid tears were going to fall from the brim of your eyelids before you could confess everything you wanted to tell him. Since you refused to look at him because you knew you’d start sobbing if you did, you weren’t able to see the way he was looking at you with so much regret and remorse.

He hated that he didn’t look at things from your point of view. He was so focused on himself that he had no idea how much hiding your relationship from the public was hurting you. What you didn’t know, was that he was doing it all for your sake. After hearing your voice crack during your rant, he regrets not telling you why from the moment you started seeing one another. In the few months you’ve been fooling around with Jinyoung, not once had he seen you so upset about something other than school before and now that he was the reason you were on the verge of crying, he wanted nothing more than for the the ground to swallow him whole.

“Baby it’s not like that—“

“Then what is it like Jinyoung? Elaborate. Please, enlighten me because the more I fall in love with you, I fall out of love with myself. I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can do this anymore—“ as soon as you felt his lips on yours, you knew you were done for. Jinyoung’s lips were one of your biggest weaknesses. His lips were always so soft and melded perfectly with yours. He was very skilled with that pretty mouth of his and you were sure by the way he was roughly nipping and sucking at your bottom lip that he was aware of how much his lips affected you.

You couldn’t help yourself, you allowed him to kiss you even if so many red flags were going off in your mind. The kiss had to mean something to him right? Either that or he was stalling time to make up the right thing to say like he normally did. After making out for a few minutes, you pulled away and placed your forehead against his.

“Talk to me Park. What is it like?” He gave you a sad smile before bringing you to your bed and pulling you on to his lap as he sat down. He wrapped his arms around your waist and placed his chin on your shoulder.

“Y/n, let me just start off by apologizing okay? I’m so fucking sorry baby. I’m sure my sorries mean jack shit to you, but I truly am so sorry. I’ve been such an asshole to you and I’ve been taking you for granted—you have been nothing short of perfect and I know I don’t deserve you. This is going to sound so stupid; I’m sure you’re not going to believe me and I should’ve explained this to you the minute we started dat—uh, seeing each other. I’ve been keeping us a secret for your sake—“

The scoff of disbelief that fell from your lips worried the older boy and caused him to tighten his grip around you. He was afraid it was too late for his explanation and that you were going to call it quits on whatever this was between the two of you.

“My sake? Why the fuck would you think keeping me a secret would benefit me in any way? You weren’t afraid to show off your past girlfriends. Why? Is it because they were way prettier than me? More popular? Accepted by your friends? Skinner? More petite and dainty—“

“I NEVER CARED ABOUT ANYONE AS MUCH AS I DO FOR YOU AND THAT’S WHY I’VE BEEN ADAMANT ON KEEPING US A SECRET OKAY? All of my past relationships went to shit because everyone in school knew about them and were nosy about every little thing. If I was seen talking to another girl, a rumor would start and fights would break out with my girlfriends. I never understood why everyone was so interested in my business, but that’s just how things are. And my friends, don’t get me wrong, they’re amazing and I love them all to death but they’re not the most understanding guys ever. You’ve seen them. All they think about is partying, sports and having sex. I didn’t want them giving you any unnecessary trouble. One of my exes actually broke up with me because she thought I chose them over her when I didn’t defend her once. Most of my breakups were because of what people were saying and I just—I don’t want to lose you y/n.”

He turned you so that you were making eye contact with him and he stole a chaste kiss from the corner of your mouth before continuing. “I love you too by the way. More than I can even fathom in to words. I’ve loved you for quite some time and if I’m being honest with you, you’re the first girl I’ve ever loved. Nobody gets my heart beating as fast as you do. Nobody has ever consumed my thoughts the way you do. Nobody has ever made me feel the way you do and I don’t ever will.” You hid your face in the crook of his neck; his words were tugging on your heartstrings in the most adorable and heart fluttering way. Stupid Park Jinyoung, why did he always have to say the right things?

“You’re wonderful y/n, I hope you know that. Everything about you is extraordinary. Sometimes I have a hard time believing you actually exist and that I’m the lucky guy who gets to experience what it feels like to love you and now, be loved by you—well. That is if you decide you still want me. I just want you to know that you’re all that I want and could ever need in my life. I promise, I will treat you the way you deserve from now on. I will love you better—the way I should have been the minute you said yes when I asked you out. If you need time to forgive me or to think this entire thing over, then I’ll give it to you. Take however long you need baby. I’ll do whatever it is you want to do. If you want me to make it known that we’re a couple, then so be it. I’ll tell the world that you’re mine if that’s what’ll make you happy.” You took in a deep breath and playfully pinched his cheek.

“You’re an asshole Park Jinyoung.” He giggled.

“I know. A huge asshole. The biggest asshole.”

“You don’t deserve me.” This might have been true, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt hearing you say it. Right as he was about to respond and make another promise to change your mind, you placed a soft kiss on his cute little nose. “But I only want you. I’m crazy for you. I want to be with you. I’m sorry for never looking at it in that perspective, but I hope you understand where I was coming from earlier too.”

“I do baby. Now, since we have this all figured out, can we continue from where we left off? Seeing you so angry turned me on, you’re so fucking hot—“

“Nuh uh, you go tell the world first and then we have ourselves a deal.” He shrugged slightly before whispering in to your ear.

“You’re mine and I’m yours.” The giggle that emerged from the back of your throat caused him to laugh also and you couldn’t help but playfully slap him.

“Jinyoung what the hell—“

“You said tell the world, you’re my world—and I just told you. Now for the steamy makeup sex—“

“I think it’s time for you to go home Park Jinyoung.”

#got7 imagines #park jinyoung imagines #park jinyoung #got7 jinyoung #got7 fluff

86 notes · View notes

isoscele · 3 years ago

Text

Lumberjanes Week Day 1 - First Day of Summer

(This is longer, weirder, and later than I wanted it to be, but isn’t that the spirit of the week?)

--------- Jo’s last exam is electrical engineering, and she finishes twenty minutes early. Dr. Quispe winks at her as she turns it in, and Jo tries to smile. The constant fog of formulae and diagrams dissipates from her head, replaced by a more all-consuming calculation.

One hour, six minutes to go.

She drops by her room, picks up the single backpack sitting on the bare mattress. On her way out, Gabi pops out of the lounge. “All done?”

Jo’s smile softens, takes on something real. “Yup. You?”

“I still have an essay, but I’ll probably do it at home. Got any big summer plans?”

“Kind of.” She shifts her backpack higher on her shoulders, silently debating how much to say. “I’m going camping with some friends.”

“Oh, cool,” Gabi says. “I wouldn’t’ve pegged you as an outdoorsy type, Jo.”

“Oh, you know.” Something under her skin humming, some outdated circuitry splitting into life. Forty-nine minutes. “In certain circumstances.”

Gabi giggles. As is the case with every one of their sporadic interactions, Jo wonders if they’re flirting. “Have fun! Don’t get eaten by a bear!”

She swans back toward her laptop and empty M&M packet. If she’d looked back for just a moment, she might have wondered what she had said to make Jo look so devastated.

---------

Mal has a pickup truck. It’s disgusting, with a windshield wiper that sounds like a dying macaw and a clutch that, for two heart-stopping seconds at the beginning of each gear shift, refuses to move at all. Mal has always defended it with a vigor previously only saved for her best friends and favorite bands.

Jo slides into the passenger seat. The radio is blasting heavy metal and the interior smells shockingly of mayonnaise; she has to blink hard to hold back her tears. There are some things that are so beautiful, so precious that it’s impossible to look at them head-on. Jo always forgets, when she’s away.

“You’re in the bus lane,” she tells Mal.

Mal obligingly starts the very long process of getting her car to move. “I thought the idea behind going to fancy science school with adults was that bus lanes were no longer necessary. Also, it’s fucking amazing to see you.”

“The buses shuttle students around campus. Also, I’m delighted that you’re here and I want to give you a hug.”

“Motion passed,” Mal says, and they squeeze awkwardly over the two melted Frosties in the cupholders.

The car jolts into first gear hard enough to throw Jo into the seatbelt, and then suddenly she’s laughing so hard she has to hold her sides to keep herself from spilling over.

“Sorry!” Mal says, “sorry, she’s jumpy around strangers,” which is what she says every summer. It’s a terrible joke laced with an irrefutable affection, and it’s so Mal that it makes Jo laugh even harder.

“We’re not strangers,” Jo says. She pats the center console, feels a little of the polyester flake off on her hand. “Me and this truck go way back.”

“Well, let’s hope you and this truck go way forward, too,” Mal says, “because I’m really not sure the engine’s going to last us to California.”

---------

They pull into the trailhead at around six the next morning, and make silent work of the luggage in the back. The sun’s just starting to come up, blinking warily between the table pines. Mal waves her on, and Jo sets off along the winding path.

The first year or two, they mostly stuck to campgrounds and RV parks, warming hot chocolate on the camp stove despite persistent, obnoxious heat. Jo didn’t think much of it at the time, but now she knows that Molly was trying not to inconvenience them, trying to keep them to the shallows of the forests. Trying to keep anyone from going too far, getting too stuck.

The fact that they were instructed to bring backpacking gear this year doesn’t do much to assuage the constant thread of worry in the back of her mind. This isn’t something they can dip their toes in anymore; the world is always a more dire place than they left it last summer.

The hike is long and treacherous. They go off the trail almost immediately, but neither of them need a map. It sounds cliche to say that they’re following something else, but they are. The anxious chitter of the birds and the sun balking at the edges of the trees and the distant hush of a river form a clear topography in their minds. They walk without discussion, taking each turn as naturally as if they had always lived here.

Around mile seven, they start to hear voices. Mal breaks into a run, and Jo comes crashing after her.

They knock straight into April, who catches both of them with practiced ease. For a moment, the air splits with three different calls of incomprehensible joy, and then they’re lowering themselves to the moss as a single, complex organism.

“Holy Felicia Flames, you guys look great!” April hollers.

“I have so much to tell you,” Mal says.

“Are you trying to set the forest on fire?” Jo asks, wandering over to where April has piled an impressive set of branches and old newspaper. She must have packed most of it in herself; the trees around here don’t look like that.

“Might make our job easier,” April says, and then a grim silence falls over the clearing.

I’m going camping with some friends, Jo had said, as if it was just camping, as if they were just friends. As if Jo’s relationship with these people, the things they had to do together, could be described in such a mundane and immaterial way. As if Jo won’t sit at the fire with them tonight, watching the way the sparks clear the shadows around their eyes, and love them with everything she has in her. As if she won’t hate them, too, for making her come here.

Here they are, in the annual half-second when they don’t know what to say to each other. The moment when the summer teeters, still soft and blameless, on the edge of something sharper.

But then April asks Mal how the band’s doing, and the moment passes.

“I wish I’d thought to bring pictures,” Mal says. “We played at this amazing venue last January--there was this skylight, and it was pouring rain, and people just kept coming in because it was so miserable outside.”

“Aw, that’s great,” April says. “I’d love to come someday, but y’all sell out so fast!”

Mal scratches the back of her neck, looking embarrassed. “Yeah, sometimes.”

“What are we talking about?” Ripley half-shouts. Jo yelps, and then that turns into more laughter, which turns into an incredible group hug. For someone who carries no fewer than three kazoos on her person at all times, Ripley can be surprisingly stealthy when she wants to. Jo never hears her approaching anymore; first, there’s nothing, and then there’s Ripley.

April hugs Ripley so hard she lifts her off the ground. Ripley immediately starts listing all the weird birds she’s seen this year and asking April to cross-reference them with her encyclopedia of creatures.

And then, of course, there are four.

Jo drifts half a step closer to Mal and extends her hand. Without tearing her gaze from the blot of trees, Mal takes it.

Last year, Molly had been sort of--sick. They’d been camping on a bauld where eagles circled high overhead and the flowers were all this terrible saffron yellow, bent under the shadow of the rocks. Molly had walked with a stick, like the Bear Woman--like Nellie used to use, thick and gnarled. But she said that was temporary, just because of a bad fall, and no one talked about how her freckles had almost overtaken the white of her hands, how her eyes were spotted with yellow and seemed to constantly rove towards the sky.

No one had mentioned much of anything, because the year before that they had buried Nellie in the soft earth beside the lake and they had all tacitly agreed not to talk about it. Maybe that’s what growing up is like--finding more and more things that no one is willing to say. Holding a grief in you that sometimes feels so bright and all-consuming that it can’t possibly be real.

“She’ll be okay,” Jo says, quiet so as not to kill April and Ripley’s buzz. “The forest loves her.”

But that’s a cold comfort, because they have all spent the same six summers learning that the forest’s love can be the most terrifying force in the world.

---------

It doesn’t take long at all before a familiar sound comes rolling in from the mountain. It’s a sound like dinosaurs, like goliaths, like the world collapsing in on itself.

It’s a sound that heralds the approach of Bubbles, who these days is about the size of a house.

I don’t know! Molly had said, laughing, the first time they had seen him again. I guess he was just a baby when we met him. I’ve been feeding him a lot of peanut butter lately, maybe that’s it.

Bubbles crashes through the trees, chittering so loud that it sounds like the laughter of a god. On his back, perched awkwardly against the scruff of his neck, sits Molly.

She does look okay. Their home hasn’t killed her yet.

There’s a little more white in her hair, a little more curl to her fingernails. But she’s smiling so wide it’s almost like they’re just here to catch up, like just for today they can afford to be a group of friends and nothing else.

Later, of course, will come the campfire, and the birds falling silent, and even the cicadas forgetting to cry, and they will map out another fraction of the world. They’ll find another dozen stone men, sleeping still enough to be dead. They’ll find perhaps hundreds of potential apocalypses, and they’ll spend the month eating little and sleeping less, preventing the end of the world again and again and again until they can’t even remember what they’re saving.

But right now, Molly slides down Bubbles’ side and yells “Guys!” and the summer bursts into being.

#lumberjanes week #lumberjanes #my writing #sorry about the weird formatting this website is a genuinely terrible place to publish writing

10 notes · View notes

simply-zhouye · 4 years ago

Text

Entering the rivers and lakes for the first time, brutal heart丨Interview with Zhou Ye

Zhou Ye’s first full length interview with Sohu’s 骨朵星番 Gu Duo Xing Fan is out! She talks about her character Gu Xiang in-depth, working with her costars Gong Jun plus how she’s handling netizens feedback about her acting. [Rough translation] Spoilers ahead for her character’s history & future ~

https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/fQphUwOd9ATrIV8QXXv6DQ #山河令 #wordofhonor

"Savage Sniper Little Witch", Zhou Ye replaced with this as her Weibo signature when "Shanhe Ling" was broadcasted.

This is Gu Xiang’s character in the play. She and "Please call me Philanthropist Wen" Wen Kexing, "Chief Editor 裸辞事业 " Zhou Zishu, and "Optimism Researcher" Cao Weining and other actors collectively entertained and opened a happy atmosphere. Overflowing the screen.

However, the little witch Gu Xiang is a somewhat tragic character. Her destiny and feelings affect the hearts of the audience, so that when netizens find clues from the screenwriter that Gu Xiang and Cao Weining may be happy ending for the CP pair, celebrating in advance, it can be seen how attractive this girl in purple clothes and holding a long whip is, and she likes it to the point that "the audience has already begun to feel unhappy before saying goodbye."

This is not unexpected. Quite a few actors in the world leave some mark in the audience’s brains and hearts when they “pass”, deep or shallow. Those spiritual marks are often called “impressions”, and Zhou Ye’s especially, the scratches she left on people are deeper.

This may be due to the characteristics of her character, clear loves and hates, or complex and multi-faceted, or from her pure and awe-inspiring face under the lens, which is unforgettable, but it is certain that people have seen it in Zhou Ye. Something, what is that thing?

When we don’t know how to explain the “goodness” of an actor, we often add the word talent to it, but Zhou Ye doesn’t think she belongs to this type of actor. She said, “I think I’m a little bit of an acquired taste.”

01 First entry into the arena

This is Zhou Ye's first time filming a costume drama.

Some people say that there are "walls" between ancient costume dramas and modern dramas, and the moment Zhou Ye decided to take over the role in "Shanhe Ling" was the beginning of Zhou Ye's breaking of the wall.

"When I read the script, I thought it was a very good story. It told a series of stories from the rivers and lakes at the time, including the fact that I actually liked the role of Gu Xiang. She was eccentric, dare to love and hate, and had her own shining point."

Zhou Ye's love for "Shanhe Ling" is beyond words. A few hours before the show went live, she wrote a small essay on Weibo to interpret the Gu Xiang in her eyes. In an interview with Gu Duo, Zhou Ye missed that unforgettable environment. "It’s actually very happy to be on the shooting scene. Gong Jun sings in the dressing room every day , and everyone often chats together."

More under cut. Spoilers ahead.

However, playing Gu Xiang is not without pressure. For the first time in ancient costumes, Zhou Ye didn't know what kind of state the costumes should be, and she didn't know if she could play this role well.

"She has a miserable life experience. She had no parents since she was a child, and was later taken in by Wen Kexing. Although A-Xiang is from Guigu (Ghost Valley), she is not bad in the full sense. She has some things from Guigu, but she is very naive. For example, she has rescued two people, the first time was to rescue two girls from the hands of the jealous ghost, the second time was to save the singing girl when she met Cao Weining in a tavern.

When Gu Xiang saved people for the first time, Wen Kexing mentioned that the dog she raised when she was a child was stewed and eaten, and she cried for three full months, as a reminder: If saving people is irresponsible to the end, It's better to give it a pass.

"Gu Xiang agreed, because she is particularly eager to have companions and sisters. The multi-faceted character of Gu Xiang is very attractive to me."

In the play, Gu Xiang followed Wen Kexing from Guigu to the "world". She felt that the people she met after leaving Guigu were stupid, but she also said that "Wen Kexing next to Zhou Zishu feels is like a person." However, the "different paths between people and ghosts" laid the tragic tone for the master and servant to walk through the world, just like the implied meaning of the names of Wen Kexing and Gu Xiang, "the hometown of mourning for the guest."

In Zhou Ye's eyes, Gu Xiang and Wen Kexing have a feeling of being dependent on each other.

"Wen Kexing is like her brother and her father, because Gu Xiang was saved by Wen Kexing since childhood, so her broken mouth and her violent temper were actually learned from Wen Kexing. The guest line said, "Gu Xiang is the only living thing around him."

When Zhou Ye talked about the relationship between Gu Xiang and Wen Kexing, she seemed to have re-entered the role, and everything was vividly visible.

02 "The people I play are not very like me"

"Have you seen the eyes of wild animals?" When the policeman played by Yin Fang uttered this line to Wei Lai, a bullying girl played by Zhou Ye, in "Better Days", Wei Lai's eyes were pure and chilling.

That was the first time Zhou Ye entered the public eye. With her outstanding performance in this film, Zhou Ye was nominated for the 33rd Chinese Film Golden Rooster Award for Best Supporting Actress, and also received a lot of support from netizens. "Sister Wei in society, there are not many people who are ruthless", "This damn bad woman is so sweet" , there is no lack of pampering in the words.

Actors who have portrayed villains often have an annoyance, that is, if they act well, the audience will hate the actor if they are too deep into the play, and it will be difficult to transform in a short time. But for the newcomer Zhou Ye, the audience is uncharacteristically "double standard". They are afraid of Wei Lai, but like Zhou Ye.

As a newcomer actor who has just entered the industry, Zhou Ye admitted that when facing the camera, she was actually a bit "fearful". Whether it was when the director shouted at the beginning or when working with seniors, she would be a little nervous, but she couldn't take this fear away. Show it.

"Because Wei Lai herself is an aura and relatively calm person, so of course the Wei Lai you look like will not show your fearful side in front of your eyes."

"Then are you a calm person?"

"I am more in line with the stubbornness of the Taurus. I am more stubborn. Calmness still depends on the situation. I am not particularly calm." Zhou Ye paused for a while and continued, "It seems that my role is not very close to myself. Wei Lai is very close to me unlike Gu Xiang. She is a little girl who has lived in a particularly bad environment since she was a child. Lin Huajun of "Our Southwest Associated University" is a schoolmaster, but she is a talented girl from Peking University, and Tang Susu in "Ah Cradle" in fact, is not too different from Gu Xiang’s character."

The reporter tried to get Zhou Ye to summarize herself in four words. She only thought of two words- "stubborn and delicious", and then she added herself in the eyes of the staff, "They said I was hardworking and well-behaved." It's too early for a girl who is new to campus to analyze herself. It is far from the time to analyze and summarize. Everything has just begun.

Last week, she just graduated from the Beijing Film Academy. She spent six yuan to get the graduation certificate photo and happily shared the joy of "saving money" with netizens.

"At that time, it was a rather unexpected result to be admitted to the film school. Later, when I was in school, I found acting was more and more interesting, and then I embarked on this road. I didn't really have a long experience as an actor. I started an internship when I was almost a senior. I took the stage slowly, and didn't make many films."

03 The life she loves and understands

Regarding "professionalism", Zhou Ye expressed that he is a person who "takes one step at a time and sees another step."

Although she is not the main protagonist in the broadcast of "Youth in the Young / Better Days" and "Shanhe Ling / Word of Honor", she feels that "the protagonist and the supporting role are no different, they are all a role, and each role will have its own shining point. With her own story, I will definitely play a supporting role in the future. If I have to have any small goals, it is to play every role well.” Zhou Ye seriously emphasized the matter of “playing every role well”.

"Then what do you think is the standard for acting well?"

"Then it depends on the reactions of the seniors who filmed with me, the feedback from the director, and the feedback from the audience."

When "Shanhe Ling" first aired, some viewers responded that they were not comfortable with the "not cold" Zhou Ye played by Gu Xiang, but now they love this role more and more.

"I pay attention to the audience's evaluation and criticism. I think their feedback is reasonable and I will accept it with a humility. As for Wei Lai and Gu Xiang, in fact, each character must be different. I will try a variety of roles and let everyone see a different me ."

This year Zhou Ye is only 23 years old. When answering the question, the tone was a bit childish, but the words spoken were surprisingly peaceful, with a natural sense of transparency.

She said, "I don't mind the comparison. I think everyone has their own choice. I can't interfere with other people's ideas, so I don't mind what they say. Everyone has the right to express their preferences."

As for the audience who likes her, Zhou Ye said: “Thank you very much to them for liking me so much. I want to make a good film and reward them with more good film and television works. I can’t let them down. In fact, some of the films I’ve filmed have not been broadcast yet. I especially want to see how I am in a different state in different scenes."

During the epidemic, Zhou was not very anxious. She read books at home, played with slimes, and chatted with her mother.

"Because all the work at that time was pushed back, it was actually quite good, and I could rest at home for a period of time." Zhou Ye entered busy work after the rest.

"The pace of work is actually good now, because you have to adapt if you don't adapt. You are a worker, of course you have to adapt to your job ."

The wish of "Playing Workers" Zhou Ye this year is to take a driver's license, and like all southerners, Chongqing Girls, Zhou Ye also has an obsession-"skiing".

“I didn’t go skiing when I was in college in Beijing. Now I graduated, and I’m filming in other places every day, skiing is even more impossible. In my impression, I haven’t skied before, but my mother told me that when I was very young, I didn’t go skiing. I went to the Fairy Mountain in Chongqing once and glided there once, but I don’t remember."

"If you were say a few words to your future self, what do you want to say?"

"Filming every day, staying up all night every day, you have to protect your body, and then protect your hair."

However, Zhou Ye told Gu Duo that he has not yet begun to pay attention to health preservation.

"Because young and capricious."

#zhou ye #word of honor #gu xiang #cdrama #wei lai #sohu interview #周也 #better days #shan he ling

19 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 4 years ago

Text

Me and You Together, 3/10 (Taywhora) - Ortega

fic summary: The cardinal rule of having flatmates is that you Do Not Catch Feelings For Your Flatmates, because everything inevitably goes to shit and gets made horrifically awkward. A’whora and Tayce both know this, but being in first year of uni and making good decisions have never really gone hand in hand.

a/n: again, fucking bowled over by the love and support this has had so far. i cannot thank any of u enough, ur all absolute wee diamonds in the sky. hope u enjoy this one- we’re in January for this one, where the girls have to deal with the consequences of December…and Tayce is tasked with keeping a secret for Lawrence.

last chapter: September- On a damp, bright Saturday in September, six flatmates move into their student flat and meet for the first time.

this chapter: January- Tayce and A’whora still have unfinished business from a night out and a hungover morning in December. But it’s only awkward if they make it awkward…right?

***

Tayce is pretty sure she’s going to combust if something doesn’t happen soon.

It’s been a month and a week since A’whora kissed her, and twenty-four hours shorter than that since Tayce kissed her in return. Or thereabouts, it’s not like she’s counting. It’s not like it’s been consuming her every thought every waking moment of the day or anything.

In all fairness, Tayce seems like it’s an achievement to think about a kiss for that length of time. Especially through her first semester essay deadlines, Ellie’s raucous eighteenth, her first Christmas back home, her first New Year seeing all her old school friends after uni and updating Cheryl and Cara on everything. She’d drunkenly come out to Cheryl too after being gently encouraged and supported by Cara, and they’d both cried as Cheryl held her and confessed that since uni had started she’d also begun seeing a girl she really liked too.

It’s funny how at uni everybody seems so much more free. Away from a stifling hometown, Tayce and her friends can properly spread their wings and be who they’ve always been but have either not realised it or been afraid to show it. Tayce is the happiest she’s ever been when she’s at the flat with the others in her little bubble of a home away from home, with Bimini’s intelligent insights and Tia’s funny quips, Lawrence’s chaos and Ellie’s kindness and A’whora being…well, her best friend.

Except she’s not really sure that best friends kiss each other like that.

But maybe they do, because since they’ve all come back from home after Christmas A’whora hasn’t mentioned the kisses, as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened between them. Hasn’t even joked about it with her or in front of the others (which is fair enough, as if Lawrence knew she’d probably tease them about it until they graduated). Tayce is pretty sure that none of the others even know, or at least if they do they’ve not spoken about it.

And the worst part is that A’whora has been absolutely…normal. Fine.

See, Tayce could’ve dealt with any awkwardness- she’d be upfront, bluntly ask A’whora if she wants to forget about it or what she wants the plan for them to be. Even better would’ve been if A’whora had rugby-tackled her the moment she’d got back from Wales and smothered her with kisses, told her how much she’d been thinking about her while they’d both been away. Tayce supposes it’s kind of her fault they never properly talked about it since she’d practically bolted out of A’whora’s room when she’d kissed her that morning, but she’d been nervous in case she’d made everything too weird. A’whora hadn’t seemed to be complaining at the time, though.

In fact that night, A’whora had been up for plenty more than just a drunk kiss. If Tayce thinks about everything she’d said when they were walking home her face still gets hot and she has to squeeze her thighs together. She’s definitely glad they never crossed any of those particular lines when they’d both been drinking, but sometimes when she’s lying in bed at night Tayce lets her hands drift between her legs as she thinks about A’whora telling her how much and for how long she’d wanted her.

Best friends definitely don’t do that.

So Tayce feels guilty spending time with just A’whora these days, the fact that things haven’t been awkward between them somehow being worse than if they were. She’s not been avoiding her per sé, she’s just been finding ways to make sure it’s very rarely the two of them alone together: hanging out in the kitchen with everyone instead of in her room, going to bed when the others do instead of staying up with A’whora, inviting the others to anything A’whora suggests the two of them do together. It’s silly, and Tayce does miss spending time alone with her, but A’whora acting like nothing’s happened while conversely Tayce wants everything to happen hurts her embarrassingly more than she’d care to admit.

Such a time is a lazy Sunday afternoon halfway through the shittiest month of the year, when the weather outside is full of misty rain that’s a recipe for frizzy hair, puddles, and misery. Just to add to the rubbish day Tayce is holed up in her room, watching the grey clouds drift and overlap over each other to create a paint colour chart in the sky as she begins an essay that’s due in a mere five days. It’s been hard to focus on anything when her head is full of her best friend and imaginary scenarios but the prospect of an all-nighter isn’t one that’s particularly desirable either, so she and the ninety-five words she’s written so far are engaged in a stand-off as Tayce waits for the essay to write itself and the word document waits for her brain cells to conjure up any more opinions on “Is art a conveyor of emotion?” (4000 words).

And then there’s a knock on the door that doesn’t wait for permission to enter and A’whora bounces in. She’s in a pair of grey joggers and a baggy navy pyjama top that she’s tucked in at the waist and rolled up the sleeves of, and her hair is up in a bun that’s had approximately 5% effort put into it apart from the little diamante hair clasp she’s slid through it at the top.

In spite of herself, Tayce can’t help but snort when she sees her. “Only you could make your shitty potato loungewear fashion.”

“Shut up! This is haute couture. This is actually my final project for the semester,” A’whora jokes in return, moves to sit at the foot of her bed and pout at her. “Tayyyce. I’m boreddd.”

Tayce raises an eyebrow at A’whora’s whining from over her laptop screen. “And I’m doing this essay. Find someone else to bug.”

“Don’t be such a hound,” A’whora frowns, falling sideways and landing onto the bed so she’s hugging Tayce’s legs through the duvet, her head resting on her shins. “I’d annoy Ellie but she’s in town with one of her friends from home. C’mon, let’s do a movie day. We’ve not had one in ages. I feel like we’ve barely had any time together since you got back.”

“Just been trying to catch up on all my coursework. It’s not personal,” she lies, her heart sinking only the tiniest bit at the realisation that her attempts at staying out of A’whora’s way have obviously been louder than they’ve been subtle.

“Please?” A’whora bats her lashes, and if it was impossible to say no to her before it’s surely illegal to do so now.

Tayce sighs and closes her laptop, eliciting a smile from the other girl. “Fine. Fine! But you better ask the others, I don’t want them feeling left out.”

It’s a good spur-of-the-moment excuse to make sure Tayce doesn’t have to spend two hours cuddled up next to A’whora while her heart hurts, but she’s confused by the way a small look of something passes over A’whora’s expression. She can’t put her finger on what it is, but A’whora’s agreeing and bounding down to the living room before Tayce can figure it out.

Tayce throws on her dressing gown over her clothes before leaving her room to join her, the blue fluffy one with the narwhal hood that’s complete with a horn on the top. She doesn’t own many embarrassing items of clothing, but this is definitely one of them. It doesn’t matter too much, though. A’whora’s seen her in it before, when she’s been hungover or sad or hangry and on her period.

It’s so funny how she can only have known her five months and still feel closer to her than half of the friends she spent six years with at high school.

In the kitchen, A’whora’s already cheerfully getting organised as Bimini and Lawrence lounge on the sofa lazily. Tia’s not in either- it emerges she’s gone round to Veronica’s, which nobody’s surprised about.

“Main question is, what’re we watching?” Bimini asks. “It’s a lazy Sunday so it can’t be anything that’s too good. I want something I can rip the piss out of while I watch it, y’know?”

There’s some squabbling about film choices as A’whora makes popcorn in the microwave, burns it, then subsequently has to make another packet. It’s eventually decided that they’re going to watch Love Actually despite the fact it’s January, because they all either hate it or like it because of how bad it is and the film will simply be a vehicle for them to yell jokes over.

“Have we got anything to drink? We could make this into like…a day drinking situation,” Lawrence suggests casually.

“You’re not helping the stereotype that all Scottish people are alcoholics at all,” A’whora quips, causing Tayce to let out a too-loud laugh.

“Listen, if you’ve not figured out that I’m a walking talking stereotype by now, A’whora, are we even friends?” Lawrence shoots back, and A’whora shrugs in an unspoken fair enough.

Tayce tilts her head then remembers something. “I actually still have loads of canned cocktails in my suitcase that my Mum got me for Christmas. Haven’t unpacked them yet. Think there’s about…twelve?”

“Ooh, three each? That’s alright!” Bimini smiles, clearly buoyed by the prospect of being slightly tipsy in the middle of the afternoon.

“Right, that’s settled then. I’ll go get them,” Tayce decides. A’whora’s crossing the kitchen before she knows it.

“I’ll help you with them.”

Before Tayce can speak, Bimini gives a snort. “ ‘Ow much do you think canned cocktails weigh, exactly?”

As Lawrence bursts into peals of laughter, Tayce watches as A’whora rolls her eyes at them, then turns on her heel to follow her to her room. Tayce can’t help but be a little wary, though. It does kind of seem like A’whora’s trying to get her on her own, which Tayce wouldn’t mind if she knew where she was coming from. But she doesn’t.

Tayce kneels down onto the floor as she rolls her suitcase out from under the bed, chatting mindlessly as she does so because if she’s talking it means A’whora doesn’t have a chance to bring up whatever she clearly wants to bring up. “I think there’s actually eleven here, you know. Because, uh…I think I drank one of them while I was at home, so we’re gonna need to fight over who gets one less. I don’t fancy my chances in a fight against Lawrence, she’d probably give me…what’s that expression? A Glasgow kiss? She’d give me one of those. Although Bimini, what do you think they’d be like in a fight? You know I think they’ve secretly got a set of knuckledusters, they seem the type. Although when I think about it-”

“Tayce,” A’whora cuts in, forcing her to snap her head up. Her expression is troubled, and a little frown dips on her forehead as she looks at her. “What’s wrong? Why are you being so…I don’t know, weird? Like you want to get rid of me?”

Tayce feels ashamed for being called out on her behaviour, and she can feel her stomach drop as she looks back at the cans in her otherwise empty suitcase. She wants to tell her there’s a reason for the way she’s been acting but A’whora beats her to the punch, murmuring with her head down and not meeting Tayce’s eyes.

“Is this because we kissed?”

“A’whora…” Tayce immediately groans in exasperation, the heat rushing to her cheeks as if she’s been slapped. She’s embarrassed, because she knows she’s got the capacity to talk about this like a grown-up but there’s a part of her that’s cringing, because if A’whora’s about to tell her she regrets it then she’s not sure she’ll ever live it down.

There’s a small silence where neither of them seem to move, let alone speak. A’whora is yet again the one to break it. “I just feel like you hate me all of a sudden.”

Fuck. If there was one thing Tayce had wanted to avoid, it’s this. Even though she herself is hurting she can’t bear the thought of having hurt A’whora’s feelings too, so she frowns, reaches up and squeezes A’whora’s hand which prompts her to look at Tayce. “I don’t hate you, Rory, of course I don’t hate you. I just…”

Tayce looks up to the ceiling as she searches for the right words, even though she’s not really sure what they are. She wants to tell A’whora she’s yearning for something to happen again between them and that even the fact she’s holding her hand is setting her pulse off all too quickly, but now’s not the right time. Besides, she doesn’t even know if A’whora feels the same way. Either way, Tayce can hear A’whora holding her breath, can feel the way her body’s tense beside her, so Tayce finally formulates something that doesn’t sound too hot or too cold.

“…I just don’t know where we go from here, that’s all.”

A’whora visibly relaxes, then shrugs. Her voice is quiet as she speaks. “Well, it’s only awkward if we make it awkward. And I feel like I’ve been okay at not making it awkward?”

Tayce narrows her eyes at her, laughs. “So what you’re saying is it’s all my fault.”

“Yes.”

The pair of the giggle softly and things already seem to have shifted back into comfortable territory. The green of a spring bulb popping up through the snow.

Tayce swallows her not-inconsiderable pride and smiles up at A’whora. She supposes going back to being friends and not ever talking about the fact that they kissed again is better than existing in a tense purgatory for the rest of their time in the flat together, even if it does make her feel a little sinking feeling of disappointment and a sense of mourning what could’ve been. “I’m sorry for being such a…mingebag.”

A’whora cracks up, repeats “mingebag!” incredulously, before her laughter dies down and she gives Tayce’s hand a squeeze in return. “That’s okay. Just good to know you still like me.”

They share a soft smile before piling the cocktails high in their arms, cradling them as if they’re babies as they rush back through to the living room where Bimini and Lawrence are hanging up a huge white sheet on the wall opposite the sofa for the projector. The projector had been Tia’s addition to the flat, an AliExpress purchase that had turned out to not be broken, or unusable, or made for a doll’s house.

“Tia won’t mind us borrowing that, will she?” A’whora asks with concern. Lawrence scoffs, bats a hand in her direction dismissively.

“She’ll be too mouth-deep in Veronica to care when she realises we’ve used it, let’s not lie!”

There’s a cry of disgust at Lawrence’s turn of phrase from the others, and as Tayce sets up the cocktails on the little coffee table A’whora brings the bowl of popcorn through.

“It’s fun to be able to make jokes about Tia and her girl, in’t it?” Bimini chuckles good-naturedly. “Always feel like we can’t properly tease her when Ellie’s there ‘cause she always looks like she’s about to jump out the window any time we mention Veronica’s name.”

The revelation that Ellie has feelings for Tia had come via a drunken, tearful confession to the others the night of her eighteenth birthday, when Tia had left the party with Veronica instead of staying overnight at the flat. Poor Ellie had been so devastatingly upset that the others had seemed to forge an unspoken agreement that the situation wasn’t going to be fodder for flat jokes. Instead they make sure to ask Tia how her budding relationship is going when Ellie isn’t around.

As she and A’whora laugh in agreement at Bimini’s joke, Tayce doesn’t miss the way Lawrence grows uncharacteristically quiet.

“When d’you think Ellie will get over Tia? I mean it’s a shame she doesn’t like her back, but she’ll ‘ave to at some point.”

“She won’t. She’ll just pine after her every day until we graduate,” Lawrence says. It’s meant to be a joke but her delivery is somewhat flat, and Tayce wonders if she’s the only one that picks up on it. From the way A’whora and Bimini are laughing, it appears she has been.

Bimini and Lawrence step back from the sheet, satisfied with the job they’ve done. A’whora’s busy plugging in the fairy lights Ellie strung up where the wall meets the ceiling a few months ago, and Tayce can’t help but think to herself that sacking off her essay was a good idea as she glances at their setup. Never let it be said that their flat does things by halves.

“Oh! We should bring duvets through. And blankets,” A’whora suggests, and Tayce’s heart is both warmed and hurt by how adorably enthusiastic she is about the whole endeavour. She wishes she could shake the lingering feeling of disappointment she’s got in her gut at the knowledge that they’ll probably never talk about their kiss again; they’ve moved on from it, it was a one-time thing, and it’s only awkward if they make it awkward so Tayce bringing it up would be awkward, right?

So she settles on the sofa with Lawrence while Bimini helps A’whora gather up all their pillows, cushions, blankets and duvets from their respective rooms. Tayce is about to become lost in her own head when Lawrence turns to her with a look in her eyes that Tayce has never seen before. It’s almost conspiratorial and definitely suspicious, and for one horrific moment Tayce is convinced that Lawrence knows everything that happened in December.

“What is it?” Tayce asks her, before her flatmate can even open her mouth. Lawrence sighs, tips her head back to the head of the sofa and squeezes her eyes shut.

“I need to tell you a secret.”

Tayce’s heart drops as if she’s on a rollercoaster. Her mind immediately jumps to A’whora. What’s she told her? What does Lawrence know? It would make sense to wait until A’whora was out of the room before telling her anything. Tayce tries to keep her face impassive as she turns to Lawrence, nods quietly. “Okay, spill.”

“You can’t tell anyone, Tayce,” Lawrence insists, looking at her pleadingly. Tayce promises she won’t, although in retrospect she probably should’ve asked what it was first. The way Lawrence is acting is intriguing, though. It makes Tayce think it’s something about herself if it’s something she doesn’t want the others to know so badly.

“Christ, this is so cringe,” Lawrence groans, dropping her head forward and resting it in her hands. Tayce can still see the pink flush that’s started to dust her face, and by now she’s convinced that this has nothing to do with A’whora and everything to do with Lawrence herself.

Lawrence mutters out something incoherent into her hands. Tayce frowns, humoured. “What?”

A huge huff comes from the girl on the sofa beside her, and as she removes her hands from the front of her face she sticks them to the side of it like blinkers on a horse. It’s the quietest Tayce has ever heard Lawrence speak as she says the secret again. “I’ve got a crush on Ellie.”

Tayce’s face lights up at her friend’s confession. “Do you actually?”

“Christ, don’t make me say it twice. I’ll get struck down.”

Tayce leans into Lawrence, uses both her hands to lightly poke her in the arm. “Look at you! Being cute and having feelings!”

“It’s not, though! It’s not cute at all! It’s just sad!” Lawrence rolls her eyes, shaking her head at the same time. “Because she doesn’t…she’ll never see me like that, and she’s too busy making cow-eyes at Tia all the time anyway, so. It’s pointless, I don’t even know why I’m even hoping for something to happen.”

“Hey, listen! How long do you think Ellie’s gonna be able to keep moaning about Tia when she’s still seeing Veronica? I mean there’s only one way that relationship is going, the only ‘end’ there is in ‘girlfriend’. So Ellie’s gonna have to get over it eventually!” Tayce says supportively, shaking Lawrence’s arm to gee her up. Lawrence bats her away, though, giving another sigh.

“Tayce, it’s not exactly like she’s gonnae suddenly realise that I’ve been here all along! Like some fuckin’ chick flick. I’ve fancied her for years,” Lawrence explains. The information knocks Tayce for six, but when she thinks about it it makes sense- the way Lawrence gently bullies her so much, the way she gravitates towards her all the time, the way she gets quiet if Ellie starts moping about Tia. Tayce had never thought about it in that light before.

Lawrence hugs her knees to her chest as she continues. “Realised I liked her the last time we were at the caravan. And obviously we were at opposite sides of the country but like…I’d still meet up with her in Summer, get the train to Dundee and have sleepovers and all that shite. And when she came into the kitchen on that first day I was so happy she was gonnae be living with us, and I am still happy, because obviously she’s my friend? But like…it’s just shite to know that she’ll never like me back.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Ellie’s type is obviously tall, dark and skinny. Which…” Lawrence gestures at herself with a deprecative laugh. “…how can I be any of that?”

“Right, for a start! Stop thinking about what you’re not and start thinking about what you are,” Tayce says firmly, gripping her hand tightly.

Lawrence rolls her eyes and fixes her with a pointed stare. “Oh, like what? I’m beautiful on the inside! I know I’m the fat funny friend, Tayce, you can spare me the bullshit.”

“Well…you’re fat, and so fucking what of it? Doesn’t mean you aren’t drop-dead-fuckin’ gorgeous. Being fat and being beautiful aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“Very easy for you to say, sat there wearing size eights. Tell that to literally any piece of media we consume. Or any of my brain cells. Even if there are only about ten of them,” Lawrence sighs, then pauses. “I do like the way I look, and I don’t want to change anything about myself. It’s just…several things make that very hard almost all of the time, and it’s tiring to feel like you’re constantly fighting a losing battle. And it’s not like I’m pinning all my self-worth on a girl liking me back, but just…it would be nice to be the one that someone has a crush on for a change, if that makes sense?”

Before Tayce can say anything to affirm how Lawrence is feeling, a movement from down the hall makes her flinch and point at Tayce accusingly. “Not a fucking word, right? Least of all to A’whora, if she knows then I might as well just tell Ellie myself and like fuck is that happening.”

Tayce nods rapidly in a promise as A’whora and Bimini emerge from the hall comedically draped in materials, like a child’s attempt at a dress made out of knitting and featherdown quilts. They all set about arranging everything to make their setup as comfy as possible, and as the film gets loaded up they get comfortable in their respective positions. Lawrence is at one end of the sofa, with Tayce in the middle and A’whora at her side, while Bimini sits on the floor with their back to the sofa because they’re quite happy sitting there with enough cushions and pillows. The big lights are turned off, the film begins, and the room is filled with the soft glow of the fairy lights and the hazy light from the movie and all Tayce can think about is A’whora, warm and soft and squashed up beside her sharing the blanket.

Tayce feels silly for being so disappointed. This was what she’d wanted- they’d talked about it. They’d addressed the fact that the kiss had happened, and now they were just…moving forward. Not making things awkward. Because obviously to A’whora, the fact it’s happened has made things awkward.

And that shouldn’t hurt Tayce as much as it does.

It’s hard to dwell on things for long, though, when she has block four flat ten’s very own Ant and Dec in her living room. Lawrence and Bimini keep her and A’whora giggling pretty much from the film’s first scene, and they all fall about screech-laughing when Bimini forces them to pause it on a shot of Liam Neeson’s hall in which there’s a horrific blob of a child’s painting on the wall that looks so cursed they just had to point it out.

It’s probably because Lawrence and Bimini are distracting her that Tayce doesn’t initially notice A’whora leaning into her at first until she’s pressed up against Tayce’s side. This isn’t anything out of the ordinary. They’ve always sat close before, but this time things feel different. This time it feels as if there’s little sparks of electricity between them, metaphorical manifestations of the anticipation Tayce feels of something she’s yearning to happen.

So when A’whora bumps her knuckles against Tayce’s, brings her hand over hers and laces their fingers together, Tayce feels as if she’s suddenly evolved into some ridiculous cartoon character; she can practically feel her eyes bulge out of their sockets in shock and she has to stop her jaw from dropping onto the floor. If her heart could comedically fly out of its chest it would. Tayce keeps her gaze steady and focused on the film, blocking out her peripheral vision and not even turning to see if A’whora’s looking at her too. Because if she is it would make everything ten times worse (better?) than it currently is, and Tayce’s head is already in a spin. They’ve held hands before. It’s not like this is different.

But it is. Before they hadn’t kissed. Before A’whora hadn’t told Tayce she wanted to sleep with her. Before all of Tayce’s feelings for her friend were cooped up into neat little boxes in her mind that were so full they were close to bursting, but now they have and now it’s After and so holding A’whora’s hand has gone from usual to extraordinary, routine to electric.

Tayce hopes A’whora can’t feel the way her pulse is racing because that’ll definitely let her know something is up.

She’s suddenly startled out of her overthinking by a tut of disapproval from Lawrence. “How many fuckin’ couples are in this film and there’s not one single lesbian?”

“Lesbians didn’t exist in 2003, remember?” Bimini deadpans, causing A’whora to giggle.

“Yeah, lesbians were invented in 2013 when Orange is the New Black aired.”

“Nah! When did Sugar Rush come out? Mind that programme on Channel 4? I remember watching that through a crack in the living room door when my parents thought I’d gone to bed,” Lawrence recounds excitedly, her enthusiasm at remembering her lesbian awakening making Tayce laugh and relate at the same time.

“For me it was Sophie and Sian. Remember on Coronation Street? They were my first lesbians.”

“At least you all got representation at some stage. If I wanted to see another pan I’d have to watch fuckin’…Kitchen Nightmares,” Bimini rolls their eyes, their joke making the girls howl with laughter and let out cries of consolation.

And then A’whora squeezes Tayce’s hand under the blanket.

Tayce thinks only for a second before squeezing it back, and subsequently doesn’t think before turning and looking at her friend beside her. A’whora shoots her a little smile that if Tayce didn’t know better she’d say was innocent, but the twinkle in her eye and the way she shuffles herself to lean closer against her and tuck her other hand into the crook of Tayce’s elbow makes her heart give a judder like she’s been crashed into from behind.

She supposes it’s only awkward if she makes things awkward, just like A’whora said. So when Tayce gently strokes A’whora’s hand with her thumb, it’s only to illustrate to A’whora that things aren’t weird between them. It’s not to see how the other girl is going to react to that at all. It’s not because being affectionate with A’whora just feels correct and perfect, the easiest thing in the world.

Tayce is holding her breath waiting for A’whora to do something else. Something to raise her hopes, something to show her that maybe she does want something to happen between them again. She wants the film to go on forever and give them infinite time in this no-man’s-land of comfortable tension, because when it ends she knows A’whora will probably just get up from under the blanket and slip away as if everything is back to normal.

When A’whora lets go of her hand, Tayce feels her hopes drop into the pit of her stomach, a rollercoaster coming to a dead stop. The ride is over.

But a second later she wraps her arm around Tayce’s waist, squeezes her close in a hug, and the ride begins all over again. Tayce’s heart rate spikes as she shifts a little, getting comfortable before bringing her arm around A’whora’s middle too and holding her right back.

It’s then that Lawrence’s voice makes Tayce snap her head away from the film, her glazed-over eyes having to focus on her friend who’s regarding her with a raised eyebrow. “Fuck’s going on under that blanket? You two fingering each other?”

Bimini snaps their head up and yells as Tayce tries to conceal the wave of panic that hits her, rolls her eyes and shakes her head and tells Lawrence that she needs to get her mind out the gutter. She’s sure that being called out will make A’whora flinch away, a woodland animal startled by a twig breaking, but she just giggles and buries her face into Tayce’s side all bashful.

God, Tayce wants to kiss her so much.

The film reaches the scene where Emma Thompson cries in her bedroom to Joni Mitchell, and the sniffing from the floor indicates she’s not the only one.

“Bimini! You said you hated this film!” Tayce laughs, nudging her friend with her foot.

“Yeah, but anyone who doesn’t cry at this scene is a hard-hearted bastard,” they reply, voice thick with emotion.

“Aww, BonBon. It’s okay, I’ve got a little tear as well,” A’whora murmurs from Tayce’s side. She huffs a sigh. “I can’t even believe anyone would fall for that pencil-skirt-wearing cow. I mean, she fucking manspreads and that’s supposed to be some sort of sexy come-on?”

“Aw, and like you could do any better?! We’ve all seen you trying to flirt, it’s embarrassing!” Lawrence cries in outrage.

Tayce is reminded of nights out earlier in the year when A’whora would talk to girls at bars and Tayce would always feel this inexplicable burn in her chest in response. She remembers the unfounded relief when A’whora would come back home to the flat with the rest of them, one-night-stand missions failed, and the churn in her stomach the times when she’d leave with a girl she didn’t know and sneak back into the flat at nine in the morning, ready to tell the others about her exploits from the night before which Tayce never wanted to hear.

She’s really fancied A’whora for a long time, now she thinks about it.

“I could so do better!” A’whora complains, and Tayce isn’t looking at her but she just knows she’s pouting.

Lawrence chuckles, tilting her head in amusement. “Go on then! What would your plan of action be, Miss fuckin’ Womaniser?”

There’s a pause before A’whora says, “Well I’d probably wait until we were both drunk on a night out, do tequila shots with them, drape myself over them, kiss them, then get them to take me back home.”

Tayce thinks she deserves an Oscar for the way she refuses to outwardly react to the way A’whora has essentially just described their kiss from that night out. Inside, however, it’s a different story. She’s not sure it’s possible for her heart to go any faster, and every cell of her body seems to buzz. She can barely hear Lawrence and Bimini laughing in response to A’whora’s comment for the way her blood’s roaring in her ears. Once the others stop paying attention and go back to watching the film, it’s only then that Tayce turns her head, raises one unimpressed eyebrow at A’whora who’s looking up at her with a scheming smirk on her face and a glint in her eye.

And right as she’s looking at her, A’whora closes her eyes and plants a kiss against Tayce’s arm then goes back to watching the movie as if nothing ever happened.

It’s at that point that Tayce feels her mouth dry up, feels something coil tight inside her and a throb between her legs. Something is going to happen the moment the pair of them are alone, she can feel it. There’s no way it can’t. In stark contrast to earlier, Tayce now wills the film to end sooner rather than later.

And it does. Finally. The credits roll, the Beach Boys are playing, and Lawrence slaps her thighs. “Well, that was a heap of shite!”

“I’ve still not forgiven Alan Rickman. God love the dead old bastard,” Bimini shrugs, heaves themself up off the floor and slides their phone out of their back pocket, scrolling busily. “Oh, Ellie’s asking if we wanna come join her an’ Anne for drinks. Apparently they’re in some boujie cocktail bar in town spending all their student loan and need responsible adults to stop them.”

“Why the hell are they asking us then?” Tayce quips, the giggle it elicits from A’whora sending a shockwave down her spine.

“I’m down to go meet them both. I’m already tipsy, might as well go the whole hog and get rat-arsed,” Lawrence says decisively, leaping up from the sofa and fixing Tayce and A’whora with an inquisitive glance. “You two coming?”

Tayce lets go of A’whora’s waist and stretches to make a point. “Nah, babe, I can’t. Got this essay due on Wednesday I’ve not started.”

Bimini snorts. “Yeah, I forgot. You’re dead on it and organised, in’t ya?”

Tayce pulls a face at them while Lawrence asks A’whora.

“Mmph. Think I need a nap before I even think about drinking any more, hun.”

Lawrence eyes them both suspiciously and appears to be about to say something else before Bimini tugs on her arm and distracts her. “C’mon then, let’s leave these two to be boring. Have fun, losers!”

Goodbyes are exchanged between them and Lawrence and Bimini finally leave, the fire door to the kitchen swinging shut and leaving the warm glow of the fairy lights, the blanket, the sofa, and A’whora gazing at her with that shit-eating smirk on her face again.

So Tayce wastes no time in bringing a hand up to her jaw, leaning down and kissing her, and judging by the way that A’whora melts into her and lets out a little happy sigh of satisfaction she’s been waiting for it just as much as Tayce has. They fall together like it’s easy, as if both of the times they’ve done this before have been all the practise they need. A’whora brings her hand to rest against Tayce’s cheek as if she’s trying to somehow pull her closer than she already is, and her neediness makes Tayce giggle against her lips. In turn it sets A’whora off, and when she pulls away their faces are still close and there’s little smiles on each of them.

“What’s so funny, you little bitch?” A’whora smirks, her barbed words cushioned by the way she’s wriggling onto Tayce’s lap and bringing her arms up to circle around her neck just like she did the first time in the club.

“Just you’re kind of giving me mixed signals here, baby. Saying you don’t want things to be awkward and then moving to me the entire film,” Tayce mutters, keeping a playful smile on her face despite the fact her words hold entirely too much truth.

It clearly takes the wind out of A’whora’s sails because she casts her gaze down, pauses before speaking and looking at Tayce from under her lashes. “I didn’t mean that, I just meant…I want us to be able to do stuff and not have it be awkward afterwards.”

Oh.

This is a game changer. So A’whora doesn’t regret anything. She doesn’t want them to go back to the way things were- well no, she does, just with an extra little bit of something more added in. She wants the friendship they have but she also clearly wants Tayce like she wants her back, and the realisation makes Tayce squeeze her thighs together, anticipation now so high she feels scared for her blood pressure.

Tayce tries not to let her realisation show on her face. Instead she looks at A’whora with interest, raises an eyebrow at her in amusement. “What’s ‘stuff’, then?”

“Well, just like…if we’re both horny and in the same flat then it saves us having to swipe Tinder for hours on end only to find a girl with a boyfriend who’s looking to ‘experiment’ and never found another girl’s clit in her life, doesn’t it?” A’whora shrugs blithely despite the blush that’s hit her cheeks, her turn of phrase making Tayce bite back a smile. “Whereas I’ve been told I’m quite good at that.”

The twinkle is back in A’whora’s eye again and the combination of that, her smirk and her words make Tayce’s stomach do a somersault. She can’t let it show, though, can’t let A’whora see her crack so she blinks to maintain her composure, tilts her head with mock-curiosity. “Have you now.”

“Yeah. Could show you if you wanted,” A’whora grins brazenly back at her, shifting a little in Tayce’s lap and sending her into orbit. “Plus I can’t remember if I put on matching underwear this morning, so…you should come help me check.”

Tayce breaks the stalemate to throw her head back in a laugh. “Jesus Christ, Lawrence was right. You actually can’t flirt to save yourself.”

She watches A’whora’s face drop into a pout and instantly feels as if she’s kicked a puppy, so Tayce brings one of her hands up to rest on top of her thigh and gives it a squeeze. “Says a lot for how fit you are that it’s still working though, doesn’t it?”

The pout cracks into a scheming smile, and Tayce matches it before A’whora leans in and kisses it off her face. It’s more heated this time, that little undercurrent of intensity as Tayce runs her tongue over A’whora’s and hears her whimper against her lips. As A’whora pushes her fingers into Tayce’s hair Tayce lets her hands drift around to the small of her back, and the way A’whora keeps shifting needily in her lap only makes Tayce want her more, which she didn’t think was even possible.

“We’ve got a free flat, you know,” A’whora mutters in between little kisses, her voice low as she whispers against her lips.

“Probably a good thing. You couldn’t be quiet if your life depended on it,” Tayce teases, running her fingers over the waistband of A’whora’s sweatpants in an attempt to try and convey how much she needs her.

“Oh, you have no idea, babe,” A’whora smirks before pulling away, ripping her top out from where it’s tucked into her waistband and tugging it off, barely even giving Tayce a chance to react. She’s left in a little black bralet with Playboy logos along a white band at the hem, and Tayce feels her mouth go dry.

She’s really, really hoping A’whora put on matching underwear this morning.

But she’s still taken aback because after all- they’re in the middle of their living room, and any of the others could walk in at any given moment- so she can’t help the way her mouth drops open and the way she lets out a little shocked giggle. “A’whora!”

“What?!” A’whora smiles smugly back at her, clearly glad she’s got the reaction she wanted.

“We’re not shagging on this couch, are you insane?! It’s rotten! Kim Woodburn would have a fit if she saw it!”

“Oh, so we are going to shag?” A’whora regards her with one cocked eyebrow, and Tayce can’t help but mirror it. There’s a pause before she gives a small huff of mock-resignation, sealing their fate.

“God. We’re really doing the whole friends with benefits cliché, then?”

A’whora smirks affectionately at her. “Only awkward if we make it awkward.”

She holds out her pinkie between them and Tayce takes it with a resigned laugh, the childish nature of their promise contrasting deeply with the whole situation.

“C’mon then, bestie, lead the way.”

And as A’whora scrambles excitedly off her lap and Tayce takes the opportunity to smack her ass playfully, she feels her heart soar and her head grow light at the thought of being able to do everything she’s been thinking about doing for over a month with one of her best friends in the world.

She wonders why everyone seems to say that a friends with benefits situation isn’t a good idea. This is already the best decision she’s made in years.

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #ortega #me and you together #taywhora #uk2 #lesbian au #british au #college au #freshers au #roommate au #tayce #a'whora #friends with benefits to lovers #lawrence chaney #ellie diamond #bimini bon boulash #tia kofi

14 notes · View notes