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felice-jaganshi · 1 month ago

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Send Me An Angel

StolasXM!reader fic

Chapter 2 - Background Check

It was Sunday, and Zach excitedly stood at the entrance to Stolas’ foyer. The butler had let him in, and led him through the mansion to the backyard garden.

Stolas was waiting inside a gazebo with snacks and tea, the book Zach had gifted him lay on the table as well.

He looked around at all the plants, “Whoa… this is so beautiful… man, this would be a great backdrop for a soft romance scene.” He was thinking out loud to himself before sitting down at the table.

“Hm, a romantic tryst in the garden? Well, it certainly would be memorable.” He gave a polite smile, unsure if Zach was flirting, or just planning his next story.

Zach smiled at the book on the table before looking Stolas in the eyes, “So, what did you think of it?”

Stolas couldn't help but feel joy at Zach's enthusiasm, “It was quite lovely. You said it was part of a series, yes? I'm planning a trip to earth soon to collect the rest of the books. How many books are there?”

“For this series, it's 8! But the author has two other series as well if you like her writing style. Oh man, if you're going to earth, I should ask you to pick me up some Danmei novels as well, that's the name of the genre.” Zach then began to go off on a bit of a rant, and Stolas let him, glad to learn about a new genre of books to get into.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Somehow the monolog on books turned into reminiscing about their life on earth. “Oh! While you're there, think you could snag me some Prickly Pear lemonade? I miss that stuff so much…” Zach sighed, their ears drooping a bit. His body language was so open with his emotions, like he had nothing to hide. It made Stolas curious what kind of life this sinner had… and what exactly landed them in hell in the first place?! What was his sin?

“Tell me more about your life? How did you end up in hell, if I may ask. I'm terribly curious.”

Zach paused a moment before looking thoughtful, “Oh that? Well… we'd have to go back to my childhood for the full story. Short version is I chose to be here, and landed in the hotel. Hurt a lot too…”

“You chose to be here? Why in all of creation would you do that?” Stolas raised an eyebrow.

Zach looked at him with a serious, focused gaze. “Because this is where you are.”

The look unnerved Stolas immensely. “Ah ha… I see…”

“Hm, I don't think I explained it right. Let me give the long version, it sounds less creepy that way.” He sighed and closed his eyes. “When I was a child, I had a slightly strange condition that caused me to have these… seizure-like spasms that were harmless, but I couldn't control them. I had one at school in third grade, and well, this was around the time the movie ‘the Exorcists’ was really popular, so every referred to me as ‘the demon kid’ after that. And in the movie they tried to ‘beat the demons’ out of the possessed person, soooo… you can guess how much of a nightmare that was everyday.” His ears were flat as he told the story, holding his own tail and petting the fur to soothe himself.

“Anyways, I loved reading, and didn't have many friends. So I kinda embraced the ‘weird demon kid’ nickname and started reading every book I could find on demons, and watched a lot of anime. Naruto was my favorite… oh, but yeah, you. I read about you in fourth grade, and I couldn't help but imagine, what if you were lonely too? I really wanted to be your friend, because then we could both not be lonely anymore. It was a dream I've had ever since then. I think I was 9 or 10 at that point? Either way, whenever I looked up at the stars, I'd think about you, and daydream about being your friend. It made me feel less lonely.”

His words touched Stolas’ heart, and it felt like it was breaking all over again. “Well you won't have to be alone anymore, my friend.” He reached out and placed a hand on top of the one Zach was using to pet his tail. Zach turned his hand over and held Stolas’ back.

“Thank you, neither do you…”

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Before Stolas could press further, the sound of the garden gate slamming open, then shut made Zach jump and turn to look at who was entering their sanctuary. Stolas looked over and smiled, “Octavia! Dear, I'm glad to have you back. How was your week with-”

She looked over and his words were cut off by the glare she gave. She then looked at Zach and sneered, “New boyfriend already? Thought you were still hung up on that imp. Now it's what, hellhounds?”

She always spoke like her mother for the first few minutes after getting back from spending a week under her influence. But she eventually acted more like herself after settling in.

Zach just smiled though, “A friend who happens to be a boy, yes. Nothing romantic or sexual.” He pulled his hand from Stolas’ grip. “Oh hey! That pin on your hat! That's from Linkin Park's minutes to midnight album!”

Her eyes widened in surprise, and her shoulders dropped to a more relaxed pose, “Yeah, how do you know them? They're a retro human band.”

“Oh yeah, I was alive when it first came out on cd. Listened to it all the time. I recommend their Meteora album. It's Daddy Issues the musical, and my favorite.”

She paused for a moment to just stare and take in what was said. “Huh… you know, this one isn't so bad, dad.” She smiled, then turned to walk into the house.

Zach turned back to see a complicated look on Stolas’ face. “Really? ‘Daddy Issues’?” He was pouting, Zach realized.

“What? It's their best album. Did I say something wrong?”

“Oh, just implying she and I have a strained relationship. That's all.”

Zach's ears drooped, “Oh, wait no, that wasn't- I… shit. I fucked up there, I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you with my words. I mean it.”

Stolas sighed, “It's fine, you're not wrong… the divorce has put a strain on our relationship… but I'm trying my best.”

Zach smiled softly, ears still laying down, “Hey, the fact that you're trying automatically makes you better than most human dads. She may not recognize it right now… but she will appreciate it later.”

He scoffed, “Really? And I'm just supposed to take your word on that?”

“Well, I was a teenage girl once myself. So I kinda have an idea what she's going through.” Zach shrugged like it was a normal thing to say.

Stolas dropped his pout, “I'm sorry, you were what? But you're… I'm confused.”

Zach sighed, “I was hoping to just gloss over this. So, I was born a male soul in a female body, because the universe has an obnoxious sense of humor. Fortunately, death decided to correct its mistake, and now I have the correct body. All man bits intact and functional.” He went back to petting his own tail, this time with both hands. He was trying to act like everything was fine, but was worried how Stolas would react.

“Oh… I see. Well, regardless of that, please don't make comments like that about my relationship with my daughter again. I'll believe it was a mistake this time, but if I sense a pattern, I will take action.”

Zach nodded, ears perking back up. “Yeah! That's fine, totally understandable. It won't happen again.”

Stolas relaxed, “Good. Then why don't we go back to talking about the novel? I'd like our meeting to end on a positive note rather than a sour one.”

#helluva boss #stolas x reader #stolas #stolas x blitz

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tea-with-evan-and-me · 1 year ago

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(birthday gift continued)

I'm sitting at home trying to find something to watch on TV, but I can't concentrate. I tried to read a book, but I read the same page 5 times before I chucked it across the couch in disgust. It's the day Evan's family is supposed to arrive and my heart feels like it's sinking into my stomach but also beating so hard it's going to explode. I try to stop my mind from going to terrible places. Like if he's going to find out it was me and think I'm a total lunatic. Or that he's going to be upset with me that I took the liberty to insert myself in his life. These are the reasons I asked everyone involved to not let on that they knew who did this.

Evan's mom called a second time a few days after I initially talked to her. She asked if it was ok if we could add one more person to the trip. Apparently her son was getting divorced and the only way he could take his daughter out of state is if they traveled as a family with his soon to be ex-wife in tow. I said that was fine if it meant they would be able to come. We had a longer conversation this time and I found her delightful. She's sweet, but also hilarious. She asked me why I didn't want Evan to know this was my idea and I told her that I just need some time to think about all of it. Maybe I would tell him at some point. She assured me she would tell him it was her idea.

Now, on the day they were supposed to arrive I was having so many mixed feelings. I'm deep in thought and a ringing startles me. It takes me a second to realize it's my ring doorbell. I'm always in the habit of looking on my phone to see who's at the door as I live alone and am obsessed with true crime.

I open the app on my phone and I stop breathing. The video is lagging slightly so I hear the knocking on the door before I see Evan turn around with a look that I cannot read on his face.

I open the mic on the app " Evan? What are you doing here? I will be right there." How does he even know where I live? He doesn't answer me. I jog to the door and slowly open it trying to still my very rapidly beating heart. He's just staring at me.

"Hey" I say softly

"Is this true?" He holds his phone out to me. I see he has a screenshot up of a text that I quickly sent to his mom one day when she had a question. Somehow he ended up seeing it.

"Was Marlon able to come with them? I wasn't sure how he would do flying at his age" is my reply.

His eyes are shiny and he blinks out a tear. He's still standing outside my door and I'm gripping the doorknob with strength I don't really have. He takes a step forward without even asking if he can come in. He takes my face in his hands and eagerly kisses me. His sudden movement is so intense it forces me to take a step back and almost stumble. He grabs my waist and straightens me out without breaking his mouth away. Suddenly he's darting his tongue inside my mouth and running his hands down my back. He breaks away and puts his forehead against mine. We are both breathing so hard it's almost soothing as that's the only sound I can hear at the moment.

He kisses me again. This time he's backing me up and I feel myself gently meet the wall. His lips are so soft and they feel so good I moan. He pulls away and I see fire in his eyes.

His phone chimes. He ignores it. It chimes again two more times. He pulls it out with a frustrated huff to look at it and says

"it's my mom. She wants me to invite you to dinner tonight"

To be continued .......

#SORRY I DIDN'T POST IT IN ORDER!#my drafts just came out that way #this is the first update from today

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pagetreader · 5 months ago

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While Benjamin was a brilliant man, to be sure, Penelope hadn’t expected him to share in her revelry about the medical sciences at such an inopportune moment, but it seemed that a scholar was always a scholar, even in the worst of times.

"I like to learn...perhaps someday, you can tell me more about Morgagni? Although I have heard his name in passing, I confess to not being familiar with his works…”

“I…I would like that,” she confessed softly, her lips curling upward into a pleasant smile, “His collection is made up of seven hundred autopsies, which he then connected to patients’ symptoms and diseases. It’s a miraculous breakthrough for anatomic pathology. By default, it will certainly improve diagnostics as well.”

“I've mostly read up on Erasmus Darwin, and Thomas Denman's expertise on midwifery." He smiled. "In other words, I'm no medical scholar -- I merely like to study."

“Zoonomia, yes! And Denman has a plethora of works I’ve thumbed through in the past. My father has several of them in his study…You’re more than welcome to borrow them, if you’d like. No one else in the house seems interested in them.”

That was putting it mildly. Penelope was certain neither of her sisters would know a book from a tufted throw pillow.

Despite the fact that telling her mother was perhaps the most terrifying thing to come of this scheme, she somehow felt a little braver with Benjamin at her side.

Though, admittedly, it did little to stop her mother from displaying her clear disappointment upon hearing the news. She’d melodramatically collapsed onto the nearby settee, declared her grief over the fact that Penelope was to be wed to an American commoner and begged for Mrs. Varley to bring her a gimlet to soothe her nerves.

Fortunately, the reaction from the Bridgertons was quite the opposite. They were overjoyed to see two people they cared so much about joining together. Eloise and Hyacinth had hugged her so tightly that she was certain she might collapse from lack of oxygen while the brothers each congratulated Benjamin on choosing a prize of the ton. Lady Bridgerton even commented that she was sure that they would make some beautiful children, much to Penelope’s embarrassment.

In celebration of their impending union, a ball was thrown the very next night. Leave it to Violet to plan and execute such an extravagant soiree at a moment’s notice. The couple were seated at the head of the banquet where the members of the ton could give their heartfelt regards and best wishes beside a growing pile of engagement gifts, the sight of which left Penelope rather overwhelmed, seeing as they were swindling everyone present.

Could she really go through with this like she’d thought? This wasn’t merely her writing under an alias, this was gambling with a second person’s life in her hands. What would she do if it all went terribly wrong?

She must have been squeezing Benjamin's hand a little too tightly, for it wasn’t long before he was clearing his throat to get her attention.

“I suppose I didn’t expect this much fuss, even with Whistledown's commentary…” she confessed sheepishly, her free hand placed over her stomach as she attempted to breathe evenly, “Perhaps I just need some air…”

“Perhaps one day, we’ll be able to tell them of what truly happened and they will at least know that you’re alive and well, but I agree. For now, it’s best that all but us remain in the dark about this plan.”

Benjamin nodded, his smile a touch melancholy. "I would like to," he agreed, "if...i-if only they can forgive me, of course. To mess with one's heart is a cruelty. I don't imagine it would be easy to accept, were they to learn I'd willfully deceived them."

To his surprise, his talk on medical science seemed to light in Penelope a fiery fervor, her eyes wide and elated as she gushed, “Morgagni has a fascinating work on the latest discoveries in pathology, De Sedibus et Causis Morborum, and René Laënnec, who invented that fascinating pulmonary device, the stethoscope I believe it’s called, just recently published De l’auscultation médiate where he describes the curious sounds of the human heart and lungs. Truly fascinating and utterly remarkable!"

Unable to help it, Benjamin laughed, his brows drawing upward in incredulous delight. "Yes!" he exclaimed. "Yes, yes, I just read on such a device a month or two ago...Laënnec used a hollow tube of wood, if I'm not mistaken, and somehow, that was able to enhance the human heartbeat with startling clarity." He grinned. "If nothing else, I suppose we'll no longer need our physicians to nuzzle our breasts akin to nursing babes, vainly listening about for a heartbeat. The world is a startling and fascinating place..."

Noting Penelope's embarrassment, Benjamin was quick to raise a hand. "No, no, please," he entreated. "I like to learn...perhaps someday, you can tell me more about Morgagni? Although I have heard his name in passing, I confess to not being familiar with his works...I've mostly read up on Erasmus Darwin, and Thomas Denman's expertise on midwifery." He smiled. "In other words, I'm no medical scholar -- I merely like to study."

Penelope's face soured at the talk of her mother, and mirroring her frown, Benjamin listened while she muttered, “I suppose we should tell her as soon as possible. If she heard from anyone other than me, I don’t think I’d ever hear the end of it.”

"Ah." Anxiously flexing his free hand, he rolled his palm over his thigh and exhaled. "Well...I always imagined an engagement would be a joyous occasion, and yet the outlook here almost feels like an execution." He glanced toward Penelope with a weakened smile. "Not because of you, of course, but your mother...she seems difficult to please, for lack of a better word, and I hope she won't have too many questions."

Rising from the settee, Benjamin held out his arm for her. "Shall we go? I'm as ready as I'll ever be..." Which wasn't much, but he couldn't turn around and recant now.

#quiet and preoccupied #honorhearted

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shadowsinger11 · 4 years ago

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You, The Stars And I

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Word Count: 3.8k (oops)

Requested by @amira3113: Can I request a fic abt the reader seeing Fred and George comforting a kid after Umbridge punished him and the reader helps them and Fred thinks it's so cute what she is doing and she does the same and extra mega fluff, pls?🥺 you don't gotta do it if u don't want to btw.. so no pressure ;)

Warnings: A bit more angst than intended, Fred being a soft boi™️

A/N: I don't know how to feel, I just roasted myself hardcore with this and I'm feeling even more single. I'm sorry for not being able to use a 'keep reading' tab

Masterlist

The sun fell asleep behind the endless hills, enveloped by dense, opaque darkness. Its golden rays no longer shone through the wide windows of the castle and instead let shadows creep into the long, empty hallways, revealing the ugly truth about what the school had turned into over the past few months.

The naked walls stood tall, towering over you and inching closer with every step you took, and you hung your head low, aiming to block out the singular buzzing thought in your head.

Hogwarts was no longer home.

Your heart ached at the memory of hundreds of students chattering and laughing all day long, freely walking around the school grounds and simply being children. You so terribly missed being careless and having fun without the fear of potentially facing a life-threatening punishment.

But now there was no laughter, only your footsteps echoed in the hallway.

You were headed straight to your common room, determined to go to sleep early. The curfew and the dozens of new restrictions prevented you from meeting your friends, and you hoped that sleep would at least somehow distract you from your worries for a couple of hours.

The deafening silence nearly caused you to miss the muffled sobs and quiet whispering, coming from a turn not far away. It seemed as though there were more than one voice speaking, and your chest clenched with dread.

You hurried your pace until you reached the source of the noise, and peeked from behind the wall.

The sight most definitely surprised you, but the pain in your chest only sharpened.

There, on a bench, Fred and George were sitting, hunched over a small boy, probably no older than a second year. You could tell by his green robes which house he was in, but his red, tear-stained face was what alarmed you.

You immediately approached him and fell to your knees. George was on his left, rubbing slow, soothing circles on his back, while Fred was on the other side, holding his small hand in his, on the back of which a few words glistened with fresh crimson blood.

I must not ask questions.

You sent the twins a questioning look, but Fred dismissed it by shaking his head; clearly that was not the time for an explanation, nor was one necessary to begin with.

You placed a hand on the boy's knee to make your presence known.

"Hey. How are you feeling?"

This only caused the child to sob harder and you internally cursed for having to go through this routine.

"It hurts…" he whimpered, "I thought Hogwarts was fun. I met friends last year and it was great. But now… Now I really want to go home."

Your jaw clenched and you swallowed hard, furious about seeing innocent children slowly losing faith and joy in life, turning into hollow shells of the amazing people they could have grown to become.

The horrifying experience would inevitably have a massive impact on them and unexplainable guilt twisted your stomach. And even though the long-term damage had already been done, you could at least take care of the temporary pain.

"It's not going to hurt for long, I promise," Fred whispered, tenderly playing with the boy's trembling fingers. "Ours are already fading."

"That's true, see?" George showed the back of his hand on which you could make out the faint, bloody words 'I must not cause trouble.', and you felt sick. "Soon you won't even remember it was there."

Tears stung in your eyes, but before you gave them a chance to fall, you turned to the redheads.

"I can heal the wound. Well, to an extent. If anything, I can lessen the pain," you began. "But I need to grab something from the Charms classroom."

Fred frowned, confused, "Wouldn't you need a potion for that? Why Charms?"

"Snape isn't the only one armored with potions for just in case things go wrong. And we can't risk going to the dungeons at this hour. It's not wise to tell Madam Pomfrey yet either."

The twins nodded. George said.

"It's not a good idea for all of us to go at once. I suggest one of us returns and covers the others up if necessary."

"I'll go with her," Fred stated without a second thought. "I can get them safely where they need to be, let her do her thing and bring them back."

Fred's eagerness to help filled you with warmth and for once that night you had the strength to smile, even for just a second.

"That sounds like plan then. But you should really take the map," George added, already pulling out the neatly folded Marauder's Map from his backpack. "Don't wanna risk getting caught by the ugly toad, you know."

"As if she'd be strolling down the hallways late at night. Doesn't she have hobbies?"

"Does hanging creepy pictures of cats on pink walls count as such?" you commented and the second year giggled, which made you feel slightly better as well.

Fred took the map from George and you grabbed the boy's hand.

"Good luck, guys. And, like, don't die."

"Woah, greatly encouraging, Georgie," you replied sarcastically, but appreciated it nonetheless. "You sure you'll be fine?"

"Absolutely. I got the route memorized like the back of my hand. I'll be careful."

And with that, George headed towards the Gryffindor Tower while you, Fred and the boy went in the opposite direction - the East Towers.

The night was eerily quiet, only the footsteps and shuddering breaths of the three of you keeping you sane. The soft light, gleaming at the tip of your wands, didn't do much to brighten the empty hallways which now seemed like endless voids of darkness.

Occasionally Fred would warn you about Filch's cat approaching, or Peeves causing trouble nearby, but fortunately, you reached the classroom sooner than expected.

"Alohomora," you whispered, but the door didn't bulge when you tried to open it.

Fred grinned, "Surely a Charms professor wouldn't let such a cliché unlock his own classroom."

"Shut up," you grumbled. "Aberto!"

The door opened. Fred's eyes widened in amusement and you flashed him a charming smile on your way in.

You placed the boy to sit on a desk as you and your friend rushed to look through drawers and chests for something useful. Most of them were full of basic items such as old books and quills, half-full jars of salamander blood, pearl dust and gillyweed, and after long fifteen minutes of not having found anything, you slid your back down against the wall, sighing in frustration.

Sleep-deprivation was kicking in, but your anxiety was getting stronger.

You needed to do something. Fast.

"What about this chest right here?" Fred asked from the other side of the classroom, pointing at something under Flitwick's desk.

You shook your head, "Doesn't open, already tried. Even if the cure is there, we can't get it."

"I take it your brilliant spells don't work anymore?" the redhead teased and you so badly wished to slap away the cocky smirk on his face. Or kiss it. There was something oddly attractive about the way he'd set your nerves on fire, and you hated yourself for enjoying it. Fred seemed to love it too.

"If you're only here to be annoying, just leave."

"I'm here to help too. I can multitask."

You nearly jumped from the ground to strangle him, and he clearly saw through your intentions because his toothy grin almost split his face in two. That bastard.

That super annoying, devilishly handsome bastard.

"Are you gonna keep staring at me, or are you coming? Not that I mind the attention," he shrugged.

You rose to your feet and made your way over to where he was standing, not granting him the pleasure of facing him, "Don't flatter yourself, Weasley. Your stupidity is simply impossible to be unnoticed."

Fred laughed, "Oh, so I was annoying and now I'm stupid too? Make up your mind, woman."

You pulled out your wand and smirked at him over your shoulder.

"You said it yourself that you can multitask. Aberto!"

Nothing.

Fred squinted his eyes as he stared at the wooden chest. What spell could the professor have possibly used? Could you have even heard of it? The chances of ever finding the precious item were becoming grimmer with each passing second and the inevitable sense of dread had started to settle in.

After a minute Fred finally spoke.

"I think your problem is that you're using spells that only work on doors. You need a charm which unlocks containers."

"You might be right. What would that be then?" you enquired, glancing at the redhead. He took his own wand out of his robes.

"I know a spell that's come in handy before. Hopefully it will work now," he wettened his lips and said. "Cistem Aperio!"

Blinding light caused you to cover you eyes, and the chest opened with a loud thud which could have easily alerted the entire floor of your presence if it wasn't for the silencing charm you were lucky to have used when you first entered the classroom.

You finally dared to open your eyes and kneeled on the ground, carefully rummaging through fancy-looking boxes and vials sparking with liquids that seemed to be quite important.

"What are we looking for?" Fred asked as he crouched next to you.

"Wound-Cleaning Potion. Purple."

It was weird having Fred stand this close to you; sparks of electricity would pierce your heart every time his shoulder brushed against yours, or his fingers would accidentally graze yours. And when they did, they had you longing more and more for their touch, for their warmth.

But this warmth did not belong to you.

You swallowed down the disappointment and instead attempted to focus on the task at hand.

Just as you had expected, the precious crystal bottle was carefully wrapped in sparkling cloth and placed inside a box that was hidden deep in the corner of the chest. You breathed a sigh of relief and got on your feet, determined to stay away from Fred. For his sake and yours.

"Here it is," you smiled at the boy as you walked over to him. "Fred, can you get me some bandages from the drawer in the back?" you asked, pointing right behind him, and he did as he was told.

You took the hand of the young Slytherin and examined it closely - the wound was sure to leave a nasty scar, one that would never heal.

"Can you make it disappear?" he asked, fearfully.

Your heart dropped. But you replied with all the courage you could muster.

"I can try."

Fred was soon by your side and placed the medical items on the desk; a half-full packet of cotton, some bandages and a small box of bandaids. You muttered a 'thanks', not even looking at him, and opened the middle-sized bottle. It spread a characteristic smell of ashes, mint and lemon when you lifted it towards your nose - it was ready to use.

"So what now?" Fred asked.

Not granting him a reply, you simply took a small piece of the cotton and dipped the opening of the bottle into it, soaking it with a generous amount of the purple, dense liquid. The smell grew stronger.

Fred could only watch as you yet again gently grabbed the boy's hand and carefully dabbed the back of it; a thin steam of smoke soared from the contact of wet cotton and wounded flesh, purple mixing with red, and the kid hissed in pain. You worked attentively but quickly, with measured gestures and a straight face, and you missed the way Fred's eyes seemed to soften at the sight of you helping a small kid.

But one thing baffled him - why did you suddenly start acting so emotionless? Even towards the youngling who didn't know a thing. And though your expression seemed calm and collected, the Gryffindor noticed your tensed jaw.

What he wasn't aware of, however, was the racing speed of you heart, increasing each second. He wasn't aware of the short, shallow breaths you were taking because if you had allowed yourself to breathe freely, you'd certainly let out tears along with the deeps sighs.

Every move was calculated, every word and breath.

You pressed a fresh piece of cotton against the now cleaned wound and kept it there as you began to roll the bandage over it, securing it in place. When you were done, you placed a gentle, lingering kiss on the hand.

"There. It should do the trick."

The boy's face lit up and he hugged you, not giving you another choice but to wrap your arms around his small body. At least you had managed to bring him back some of the lost warmth.

"We should get him to his dorm," you told Fred and despite not facing him, he knew the words were directed towards him. That still didn't prevent the stinging pain in his chest from being so effortlessly avoided by you, and he frowned, bewildered by your unexpected coldness towards him.

Had he accidentally done anything to upset you? Were you mad at him? What for?

The boy jumped to his feet, visibly less burdened despite the present tear stains on his puffy cheeks. You hoped he'd be able to get some sleep that night regardless of the circumstances.

The three of you left the classroom as quietly as you had entered it and went in the direction of the dungeons. Fred, as usual, did his job at looking at the map and keeping track of the names, moving on the yellow-ish piece to old parchment.

Fortunately, you reached the Slytherin common room without any disturbances along the way, and the boy went inside, eager to crawl into bed and not think about the ugly lady who had punished him so unfairly just a few hours ago.

The door closed without a sound, leaving you and Fred on your own.

His soft voice broke the burdening silence.

"Are you going to bed?"

If you were being honest, you hadn't even thought about sleep during your secret adventure and though your body was on the verge of giving out, your restless mind was sure to wander all night. And the idea of being alone with your thoughts scared you.

"Actually… I don't think so," you began, fiddling with your fingers in hopes to not let Fred see how much they were trembling. "I doubt I'd be able to get any sleep now."

"Me too, I admit," Fred scratched the back of his neck, uncertain as to how to make the situation less awkward than it was. Trying to get you to talk was hard enough as it was, but your sudden avoidance wasn't helping either. All Fred wished for was to witness the hopeful spark in your eyes, the spark that he had noticed diminish on the first day of school when the unsettling news was announced.

Fred was determined to bring the light back and see your joyous smile again.

Without skipping a beat he said.

"Come with me."

Your eyes shot up in surprise, meeting Fred's for the first time that night. You expected to see the ever-present playful mischief in them, but instead they glistened with something you could not quite recognize. The corners of his mouth had formed a smile, one that didn't intend to mock or provoke in any way, but still contained his usual boyish charm. It was humble and sincere, and along with the anticipating look in his eyes it read.

Trust me.

Your mouth went dry, any and all reasoning to stay vanishing in thin air as you tried to make sense out of your inner conflict. Fred surely wouldn't care if you said no, would he? It's not like he'd be offended that someone like you refused to go with him; why would he even be interested in you in the first place?

But the idea of spending some time alone with him did sound very tempting - you desperately needed some positivity in that moment, feeling exceptionally drained of all your energy after having to witness the emotional and psychological impact of Umbridge's dictatorship. And if there was someone who could lift your spirit even in such dark times, that would be Fred.

Screw the idea of a potential relationship, you needed a friend right now.

"Where to, Weasley?"

Fred grinned at the nickname and shoved hands into his pockets.

"The Astronomy Tower. Are you coming?"

You smiled at him.

"Sure."

It was indeed a brilliant idea to spend the night at the place where anyone rarely ever set a foot. Regardless of it being crowded during classes all day, the Tower wasn't a common choice for students to meet, them much preferring locations like the common rooms, the Great Hall, the school grounds or even the Black Lake. But the Tower did possess a magnetic, obscure charm which many people failed to comprehend and appreciate; charm only meant to lure the wandering souls seeking peace under the stars.

Fred approached the iron railing, breathing in the cold, early spring air, and sat cross-legged on the ground. As he saw you standing a few feet away from him, he patted the empty spot next to him.

"Come on now, don't leave me sitting on my own like that," he joked and his face lit up when he noticed the ghost of a smile on your lips for a brief moment. You joined Fred on the ground, settling on a polite distance from him, and though he was slightly disappointed by the gesture, he was grateful to be in your presence nonetheless.

Silence fell over both of you like soft velvet while you stared off into the horizon; the view reached the Forbidden Forest, the outlines of which had melted into the pitch black sky like ink, the lines between the two practically nonexistent in the dead hours of the night as they blurred into one endless void.

"I don't remember the last time I saw stars on the sky," Fred addressed your ever-listening companions above in a low, hushed voice that caused warmth to blossom within you regardless of the cold surrounding you.

"Me neither," you agreed, nostalgia creeping into you, but you decided you'd welcome it this time. "Such a shame we can't see the moon though."

Your friend nodded, lips pursed into a thin line, "That's because it's currently new moon. We'll need to wait for awhile until it's visible again."

You turned to Fred and the air was knocked out of your lungs. All you could do was silently admire the way the starlight was softening his sharp features and giving his usually flaming red hair a calming shade of copper. His eyes seemed to glow in the dark, and you found yourself coming to the conclusion you had realised long ago.

He was such a beautiful man.

Those glowing eyes landed on yours and you felt your face heat up.

"How are you?" he asked abruptly and you choked out in bafflement.

"Y-You mean, right now? Or in general?..."

"How are you coping?" he rephrased. "You know, with everything going on. I noticed Umbridge bothering you recently."

A shuddering breath.

"I like to think that I'm doing better than others," you nodded hesitantly, finding it hard to sort out your emotions. "I'm more worried about the most vulnerable among us, the youngest students. They're just children. They're the ones that are most terrified. I really hope Dumbledore will be able to do something about it… no matter where he might be right now."

Fred was watching you intently; he did not miss your expression, darkened with concern, nor did he miss your slumped figure, slightly hunched over for a reason he believed was other than exhaustion. Your friend moved closer and nudged your foot with his.

"I don't want you to talk to me about the rest. I want to hear about you. I can clearly see you're being tormented by her."

"As if you're not."

"That's not the point," he insisted and placed a hand on your knee, causing you to face him. His smile was gone. "I need to know how this madness is affecting you."

"I couldn't care less about what that toad puts me through," you shook your head dismissively and shrugged. Why was he getting so worked up about it? "It doesn't matter."

"Of course it does! It matters to me!" Fred hissed in frustration. "Do you think it doesn't hurt me every time I see Umbridge picking at you or calling you for detention? Because it bloody does and you have no idea how horrible it feels to not be able to help you."

He gave your knee a squeeze.

"For once, just for one time, please. Please, stop trying to be the hero of everybody. Believe me, we see- I see how hard you're trying to keep your chin up despite all the shit you're facing, and that's admirable, but right now it's not necessary. Let go. It's just me."

A way too familiar lump formed in your throat and your chest constricted painfully before it harshly dilated, letting out choked breaths. Fred was quick to envelope you in his long arms before your tears even rolled down your cheeks, and when they did, they met his shoulder. Your hands flew around his neck, body falling into his and soaking up his warmth. Fred pressed his soft lips to your temple, calming the racing pulse as you cried freely and unapologetically. Darling, you feel too much.

It's just me.

Your friend didn't let you out of his hold even when your heart-wrenching whimpers were reduced to weak sobs. He continued cradling your exhausted body which was on the verge of completely giving out. But Fred didn't mind, finding astonishing strength in your vulnerability.

After what seemed like hours, you forced yourself to timidly whisper, lip quivering, "I'm scared... And confused."

"Me too, sweetheart," Fred hummed into your ear. "Me too."

You wiped away the trails of dried tears lingering on your face.

"There's just too much going on. Too much that I'm not ready for."

Realization flashed in Fred's brown eyes and they looked down at you with so much longing, sincerity, but also sympathy and understanding.

You weren't angry at him. You were afraid.

And that was alright.

There was enough time, not need for a rush.

Fred had been waiting for years to find out whether his burning feelings for you were reciprocated, constantly suppressing them in fear of scaring you away and losing you. And now that he knew your heart belonged to him like his did to you, all the stars above couldn't contain his untamed happiness, pure and hopeful.

Surely he could wait a little more for you to grow comfortable with your own emotions.

Fred tightened his hold around you and pecked your cheek tenderly, the subtle touch sending a shock throughout your body and subsiding your need for sleep.

"That's alright," he whispered. "Rest now."

@self-ship-love @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hufflexpuff @neovannii

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Masterlist

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x reader angst #fred weasley x reader fluff #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley #james phelps #george weasley #oliver phelps #fred and george weasley #weasley twins #harry potter imagines

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internalsealpanic · 4 years ago

Text

Love Through the Ages (Jason Todd)

Summary: Love like baggage needs to be declared.

a/n: This is part three of a series that is a fic rec list disguised as a fic. For these fics, most of the characters will be speaking different languages, so unless specified otherwise assume that the characters are speaking in the first language I mention. They’re all vampires with centuries under their belt. Why wouldn’t I make them all polyglots. Also, thank you to the proof reading gang for putting up with my shenanigans. I will have links to the fics I recommend in the fic itself. ALSO, y'all can thank @littleredwing89 for the poem that comes up.

Warnings: Everyone is dramatic.

Masterlist

Series Masterlist.

You tap at your phone screen, planting seeds in a satisfyingly hypnotic rhythm, the sounds of the train vacillating in and out of your periphery. It was soothing having your own compartment, a little world you can isolate yourself in while you anxiously await for the inevitable.

It wasn’t a secret that you found Gotham stressful. It was about as much a secret as Tony Stark’s civilian identity. You pulled your knees up to your chest at the thought. Big cities were stressful but Gotham was a different beast entirely. It was a writhing monster of steel and smoke. You wrinkle your nose deciding to sweep the thought away.

Instead, you concentrate on your plants and your farm. You wince looking at your journal. It looks like you’d forgotten another quest. Pursing your lips, you decide to turn your phone off for a bit and pretend the NPCs can sort it out on their own as you look out the window.

You lean against the wall, pressing your cheek to the cool window. You can’t help but smile to yourself thinking of a sea of black curly hair interrupted by a shock of white, sea green eye perpetually alight with mischief or intelligence (9 times out of 10, you really couldn’t tell which it was.), freckles like star map, and a mouth permanently set in a cocky grin. It’s hard not to smile like an idiot when thinking of Jason Todd.

Your skirt flutters in the wind as you dance your way through the crowd, bobbing up and down on your tiptoes over the sea of humans. Sometimes the smell of them still makes your mouth water but not now, not when the smell of Gotham is so pungent in the air.

You see a gloved hand wave at you on the other side of the crowd. You pin your sunhat against your head as you rush through the crowd, your luggage dragging behind you.

Jason waves a two fingered salute at you in front of a motorcycle, his foot clearly stomping a cigarette. You toss your hat to him. It flutters over the crowd. Jason catches it easily, putting it on his own head.

"Hey Princess, welcome back." Jason greets, the syllables of your native French gliding off of his tongue so easily. Fighting down a blush, you swallow your own greeting. Jason would have been a great ambassador in a different life were he not inclined to murder someone with a desert spoon for being a jackass.

He offers his hat back to you, but you shake your head. "You might freckle too much in Gotham's sunny weather." He gives you a hearty chuckle keeping the hat on.

"Missed you too, princess."

You roll your eyes. Pinching your nose, you look around. "You forgot to tell me to bring a gas mask."

"Every city smells like this."

"Darling, you've been in Gotham for too long."

"And you've been in your French villa for too long." Jason says, putting his sunglasses on you. You glare at him through them.

"First of all, it's a cottage."

Jason snorts, "As if that makes a difference. It's still in the idyllic French countryside, isn't it?"

"I-"

"I rest my case."

You cross your arms. "You're welcome to visit, you know?" It was a hopeful suggestion at best.

"We both know the quiet will drive me crazy."

"I said visit," you say, "besides, I think the train ride alone would drive you up the wall." You remember how Jason is with tight spaces.

"Not with you there." Jason winks.

Your heart presses a bruise into your throat and you hate Jason Peter Todd all over again.

"Ah yes, you plan on driving me mad. Evil. Truly evil of you." You say, grinning back at him.

"Here's a wild idea, how bout we just not listen to Roy? How does that sound?" Jason gently suggests, handing you your offensively pink cup of caffeinated goop. Jason can smell the sickening amount of sweeteners added. He might gag.

"Nope," you say, smiling at him as you slurp your ooze. Jason's stomach rolls. Alfred would have an aneurysm. "He was even nice enough to get us both tickets." You hand him one, fingers brushing against his. They felt calloused as they always did. Jason suppresses any oncoming reaction.

He instead turns his attention to the ticket in his hands. Love Through the Ages: Gotham Museum Exhibition on expressions of love. Jason runs through the numbers. "These are $59 each."

"So sweet of him, isn't it?" You chirp adorably.

Jason makes a mental note to kill both of you. "You're only going along with this cus you want to watch me suffer." Jason says, slumping his chair. His foot kicks out to tap your foot.

"I'm doing it affectionately," you say, tapping his foot with yours. "Besides, it's a universal pass time at this point." You swirl your drink and grin at him. It was your real grin, all bright and eager and stupidly sweet. Something in Jason's chest twists. It's always hard to breathe when you smile at him but really Jason would rather all the oxygen in the atmosphere be burned up than see your smile disappear.

He sounds dramatic and he knows that but still he knows it's true.

"C'mon Jay, it'll be fun."

Shoulders slouched, Jason smiles at you indulgently. "Fun for who?"

"Mainly me but you can have fun too."

"You are so lucky you're adorable when you're being evil."

Your smile brightens and with a tap of his foot against yours, he thinks he'll survive whatever Roy has in store for him.

You and Jason have been walking around the museum for quite a bit with Jason's arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders and homicide radiating off of him every time someone even looks at you funny. He'd said that the arm slung around your shoulder was so that you wouldn't get lost. As for the homicide, he elected to ignore the question entirely.

You flush as Jason quotes another line from 'Master Valentine' back to you. You definitely regret letting him house sit. You regret even more not hiding your books. You squirm as Jason whispers the quote in your ear in a husky drawl. The erotica in the book is amazing and you're normally comfortable with talking to Jason about everything, but this- this was just cruel and unusual punishment. It's what you get for trying to make him suffer.

All the pet names he murmured in your ear crawled up your spine. You shove his face away hiding your own in your sleeve. He laughs into your hand enjoying your sudden bout of shyness.

Jason mumbles a half-hearted apology into your hand, pressing a soft kiss into your palm. You lower your head. You're still clearly avoiding his gaze but you let him press you to his side. Jason Todd is an asshole.

You point to a pair of ice skates so well worn and well loved that you almost miss the little penguins stitched on the side. "Love on the ice? That's so cute!"

Jason glances at them with mild interest. "Sounds like hypothermia." He says, shrugging.

Swatting at his chest, you pout at him. He rolls his eyes nudging your shoulder with his. You scowl at him and stick your tongue out. Jason leans down, unable to stop the urge to press a kiss to your brow. You scowl even harder.

"Admit it, doll. The whole exhibition is just Dickie's favorite fanfiction tropes."

"Professor Todd, be a dear and enlighten my troglodyte ass."

He snorts, "Princess, if I was a professor we both know I'd have the highest attendance rate."

"And the highest failure rate." You say cocking a brow.

"Probably."

"You're terribly humble today."

"I just know I look good."

No, you don't, you think. You shake your head. "That explains the leather jacket."

"You love my leather jacket."

"Well, Biscuit certainly loved your previous one."

Jason wrinkled his nose thinking of the yellow disaster. "That dog was a menace."

"She is the sweetest creature on earth."

"She destroyed my jacket and ate my wallet AND phone."

"I never said she was smart... wait, we're getting off topic."

Jason narrows his eyes at you then points to a crown. It was an intricate lattice of silvers and golds with diamonds that glittered like starlight. "Royal AU," he says simply, "go on read the description."

"A prince and a princess from rival nations are bound by a marriage of convenience. Through a series of missteps. They fell for each other.... that one was pretty easy. Do it again."

He points to a blue feather. "Mythology AU."

You arch a brow at him. He waves at it, urging you to read. "A god descended to earth to be with his mortal lover only for him to lose his memories of her." The feather's glow is incandescent. You can feel the power radiating off of it, a sure sign of divinity.

Once, you would have brushed it off as mere story. You've spent more than twice your lifetime now dipped into the world of myths. You glance at Jason. Simple divinity no longer fazes you.

"See?"

"I- Nope."

"You're just being stubborn."

"Would you have been my friend if I wasn't?" Would you have saved me if I wasn't?

You think Jason hears your unspoken question when he frowns. Instead, he turns on his heel to face the other direction. He points to a bouquet of wilted roses tied together by a green ribbon. They still smell of blood and something you couldn't identify. Your eyes drift down curious. Your eyes trace over the words feeling your stomach tumble.

"Gruesome." Jason vocalizes inanely. He hooks his head on the crown of your head, neatly slotting your body under his. You're safe, surrounded by walls of muscle. The crease in your brow softens. You would think that Jason would be less protective after you'd turned but now that you were a vampire, he was somehow even more protective. Roy always joked you only got Biscuit and your other dogs as lap dogs because you already had Jason. He may not have been too off on his guess.

"This should be in a horror exhibit," you say leaning into Jason's chest, "kind of reminds me of you though." You tilt your head up grinning at him.

"If you make a joke about me being jack the ripper again, I swear I'll-"

"-Bury me alive 6 feet under concrete with a recording of Roy singing Auld Lang Syne in a terrible British accent. Got it. What I meant was... you're just as protective as the man in the story." You say, smiling at him.

For good reason, Jason thinks.

Jason buries half of his face in your hair, hiding his answering smile. You smell like sugar and cinnamon. It's a familiar combination of smells that puts him at ease despite the atrocious amount of people in the museum.

You point to another artifact, afraid that you'd accidentally picked at an old wound.

"Star-crossed lovers." He mumbles into your hair.

"Bullshit!"

"Read it and weep, doll."

You read the plaque and the words 'meet' and 'different world' assault your eyes. You scowl at him. "Fuck you."

The grin on Jason's face is genuine. It makes something in your veins sing knowing how much fun he's having.

Your face softens. "You really love this romance stuff, huh?"

Jason narrows his eyes at you.

"You were the one bawling your eyes out when we binged Spaces Between Us. Who the hell cries during erotica?"

"IT'S TRUE LOVE AND YOU KNOW IT IN YOUR SOUL," you protest, pounding your fist against his chest,"besides, you're the one who was crying nonstop when we watched the IDHY duology."

"I was crying because they were accurate book adaptations."

You blink at him confused. "There's a book?"

"Yes, you illiterate heathen."

"You sound like a conquistador."

“....”

"At least they got their happy ending." You say, changing the subject.

"That's true."

"Still better than Titanic."

He furrows his brow at you. "What's wrong with the Titanic?"

"First of all," You pitch your shoulders like you're about to give him a lecture, "That was 3 hours of my life wasted on a shitty movie. It wasn't even that accurate."

"Princess, not everyone can survive the Arctic."

"And second, the most romantic scene in that romantic movie was the old couple staying together as they sank."

Jason laughs, a deep rumbling sound. It scrambles your brain, almost dissolving your annoyance until he opens his mouth again. "You sound like Damian."

"Jason Peter Todd, take that back." You screech, swiping at him.

He jumps back, his laughter still echoing. "Stop sounding like the demon brat first."

You run after him, telegraphing your murderous intent. Jason walks away faster, sticking his tongue out at you. Your growl and claw at the air. You screech obscenities as Jason continues to evade you. He is having way too much fun with this.

You chase Jason around the exhibition for a solid half hour before you come to a skittering halt.

Your eyes land on a vermillion book, leather bound and carefully crafted by skilled hands. You step closer to admire the swirling, arabesque patterns lining the leather. No title is embossed on the front. It's thick. You would wager it was at least 400 pages.

Your eyes drift down even further, finding a familiar scrawl. Below the book were photocopies of some of the pages. Pablo Neruda's 'If You Forget me', Beethoven's 'Immortal beloved', Ibn Hazm's 'My Heart', and a bunch of other poets you didn't know but recognized as ...

"Jason these are your favorites."

"What?" He says, walking over to you cautiously.

You look back down at the pages and your eyes catch on the one in the middle. From the numbering, it was the last.

Love is such a hard thing to define,

I don’t know if I could ever find,

The words to truly express the complexity of such an emotion.

It is an emotion felt in the heart,

Long before it makes sense to the mind,

illusive and uncertain until suddenly it just clicks.

Like so many things in this world,

we tend to know it when we see it in others,

even if we can’t be sure of it ourselves.

I think I’ve always known how much I love you,

When I look at you,

I see everything I’ve ever wanted.

When I look at you,

I see nothing else but your perfect beauty.

Inside and out.

I'm not a poet, (Y/n), but I will tell you anyway I can how much I love you.

-Jason Peter Todd

Jason is a stone next to you.

His mouth is filled with sand as he looks at the far too familiar handwriting. He knew. He knew the moment he saw the red book what it was. Hell, the moment you told Jason it was Roy who told you to go to the museum, he knew what it was. God, why can't he just turn to ash.

Jason can't make himself turn to you. He can't bear to see what ever disgusted expression you make. He just can't.

He feels a tug on his sleeve. He doesn't move. He feels another tug, this time harder. When he doesn't respond the second time, you lace your fingers in his and spin him around.

You squish his cheeks in your hands. "Jason, you actual sap." You say. You look like you're glowing. You beam at him, all toothy and scrunched faced. Jason's lungs stop working again. His mind can't process what you're saying. All Jason knows is that something warm is crowding his chest, pushing everything else out.

"Wha?"

"Jason, you absolute dork!" You repeat, unfazed by his temporary bout of insanity.

Jason is blushing, looking like a strawberry with his freckles. Jason is more adorable than anyone has any right to be. But that's ok. That's perfectly ok cus he's yours.

In a moment of uncontained affection, you pull Jason to you, pressing a kiss against his lips. It's soft and earnest and exciting. It was a kiss Jason spent lifetimes dreaming about. It was you and completely you.

"Jay, they're beautiful." You say in a breathless laugh.

Jason looked down at his feet. "I-" was never planning on giving it to you, he thinks. Because, why would you ever love someone like Jason? Especially, after what he'd done to you.

As if reading his mind, you press your forehead against his. "I love you too, Jay, and you can't argue me out of it. Sorry bud, you're stuck with me."

Jason can't help the smile as it curls on his lips.

He's happy. He's so stupidly happy and he blames you.

"Plus, I already knew."

"Why didn't you say it first?" He asks, his fingers brushing against his tingling lips.

"Cus," you say, pirouetting away from him, "you wouldn't believe me if I did."

"How-"

You put your hand up. "Trust me, Jay. I've tried before." You tilt your head back looking up at the sky light. The curtain of light fell on you like a spotlight highlighting everything ethereal about you. "Remember in Milan? When I told you I cared about you and you told me I didn't."

Jason remembered that. He was angrier back then. He snarled that to you like some wild animal and threatened to throw you out on your ass if you ever so much as spoke a word of that nonsense again. It was the first time he'd seen you look hurt. You face was wide open with shock. Jason felt something in his chest tear at that look. He stormed off, leaving you in that room.

When he came back, you offered him warm tea and a smile. You were quiet, inconsolably quiet.

It didn't…

He didn't…

It didn't occur to him that look in your eyes was heartbreak.

Jason curses under his breath.

You chortle at him, the mirth in your eyes incandescent.

"Yeah. Exactly." You say, clasping your hands behind your back. Jason would like to be buried six feet under with the only words carved into his gravestone 'I am so sorry (Y/n)'.

You snick seeing the look in his eyes. "Or that time in Paris. The one in the little patisserie when I told you in perfect Catalan that you meant more to me than anything else and do you remember what you told me?"

"I told you you were possessed." Jason's shoulders slump. "Please tell me you don't have a third example."

You smile at him pityingly. "I don't-"

"OH THANK FU-"

"I have 50. Well, 51 but the last one didn't count since I was joking that time."

In Jason's mind, his jaw hits the obsidian floor with an audible 'plop'. It would be loud enough that the entire museum would hear it were it real. He blinks at you. "You tried more than 10 times?"

"I was encouraged." You say shrugging.

"Of course, you were," he grumbles and you laugh. Jason's heart skips a beat but he pushes past the feeling in favor of pleading with you. "Please don't list them."

"Oh, I'm not." You hum.

Jason sighs with relief.

"I'm gonna leave that to Roy."

"Son of a- He knows?"

You look over your shoulder. "Yeah. Who do you think I complain to?"

"Who else knows?" He asks, trailing behind you as you walk to .... Jason doesn't know at this point and he doubts you do too.

"Oh just your family."

"I'm surprised they haven't given me shit about it."

"Oh I bullied them into not doing it."

"Impressive." He whistles and you preen.

"Always," you say smugly. You begin to walk a bit faster, craning your neck. "Now, let's go find out if Dickie installed that bakery I asked for."

"That's what you're after?" Jason laughs.

"It's a noble goal." You protest.

"You don't even need to feed."

"I need to feed my inner sweets monster. She's very fussy and is demanding crepes specifically."

Jason smiles softly at you, amused that of all the human traits you could have retained after being turned was a sweet tooth.

"Sorry to tell you doll face, Dickie still hasn't done it."

You look aghast like he'd slapped you in the face with a large baguette.

"What?!"

"He hasn't put in your suggestion from 10 years ago."

"Where am I supposed to get my fix?"

"Are we still talking about sweets or have you moved on to cocaine?"

"Dunno, have you tried snorting sugar?"

"No. Why- Have you?"

"...my lawyer advised against answering this question."

Jason cackles. "How am I the stupid one?"

"I-" Your scowl turns sickeningly sweet. "Yanno, the third time I tried was when-"

"OK. Stop." Jason's face lights up again. "I give."

"Pfff." You smile, looking far too pleased with yourself.

Jason straightens up, something sly passing through his eyes. You stop. The look in his eyes makes you nervous.

"I think I know where you can get something sweet."

You swallow nervously.

Jason leans in. He’s so close to you. You can feel his breath brush against your lips. Nothing else around you seems to exist at the moment.

You lean in to kiss him but you freeze when you register his voice.

“I’m taking you downtown. There’s a new bakery there and I heard the crepes were to die for.” He chuckles, turning to walk towards the exit.

“What the hell?!” You call out falling into step with him.

He grins down at you, arms folded behind his head. “Something wrong, princess?”

Heat rises in your cheeks and elbow him in the side.

“I want to take you on a proper date and I sure as hell am not starting here.” He says, rubbing his side and conspicuously not looking at you. There’s a dust of peach on his face. Your anger fades away. It gives way to a fluttering in your chest.

“Where?”

He looks at you then, brow furrowed.

“Why don’t I take you to the fair, princess? There’s plenty of sweet treats there that’ll tickle your fancy.”

Your mouth waters when you think about all the cotton candy they have.

“I heard there’s a kissing booth too, so if you’re lucky,” Jason continues, winking at you. Predictably, you blanch at him. You knock your knuckles against his chest. Jason chuckles, rubbing his chest. “Sorry princess, I mean if I’m lucky enough to get a kiss from you.”

The temerity.

The gall.

“As long as you get me something sweet.” You huff, exiting the building.

Jason stops on the steps, turning to you with a sly smile. Crossing your arms, you pause bracing for whatever trick is up his sleeve. Jason tilts his head. He says something but the little noises of the city make the words hard to discern. You lean closer to hear him better. Jason steps closer to close the distance, his lips warm against yours. You’re stunned. Your entire body divided on how to react, some parts stiffen while others turn to jelly.

He pulls away, wolfish grin unwavering. "That sweet enough for you sweetheart?"

@batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @bungunz, @birdy-bat-writes, @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-inkage, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical @glorified-red

#Jason Todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #vampire au #food

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sandayuswife · 3 years ago

Note

hi it's me again. i'm in the middle of hanzo's act 1 so i didnt read your post to the end bc spoooilers but i still have a q about something he said.

i quote: "there was nothing to amuse me in my village. the boredom was terribly lonely".

is he lying to mc there? or does that mean he's just lonely and wants friends but thinks it's boredom he feels?

A very deep explanation for Hattori Masanari's boredom and loneliness

The answer is neither.

To make that clear, I think I should explain why Hanzo seeks entertainment all the time first, and the two reasons for his loneliness afterwards. Hanzo’s form of ASPD is very severe, meaning that so are his symptoms, one of which is a constant need for stimulation, and on the flip side – gnawing, sometimes unbearable boredom.

Simply put, there are two states of boredom a person with ASPD experiences. The ‘mild’ one is somehow comparable with that gnawing feeling when you are trying to relax, yet an important project due tomorrow is burning a hole in your head – only more intense, ever present, and void of fear of what happens if you don’t act on it.

Most of the time, it is easy to quell, but it requires constant stimulation, which makes your attention jump between hobbies, people, activities, duties – having ASPD makes it impossible to sit still.

However, sometimes (second state of boredom – a psychopath's literal hell, one could call it) the boredom is too extreme to bear. It might come up anyplace and anytime with seemingly no reason, and the worst part is that it is very difficult to control.

When that happens, no amount of stimulation – not even overstimulation – is enough to achieve momentary peace of mind. Things you love become boring, the most fascinating topics and activities become boring, you can't sleep; it makes you want to rip everything around you into pieces (not many actually do it, obviously, but the urge is there all the same), do something to make it stop. For some people, that boredom is so intense it even becomes physically painful.

The point is, Hanzo is not just very curious about how people react to this and that – his brain is hardwired to make him seek amusement and thrill all the time. Well, at least that’s the reality of ASPD – whether or not the authors know this is another question, because the majority of psychiatrists don’t know that, either.

As for why Hanzo used the word ‘lonely’ to describe his boredom – there are two reasons, I believe. The first one is that feeling it makes antisocials even more detached from their environment and society; it makes him realize he is completely and truly alone. The second one is that I’m pretty sure Hanzo unconsciously wishes for attention and emotional care – everyone does, whether or not they understand it.

Having conduct disorder and later ASPD means being completely detached from other people – having to study them like books, not being able to understand how and why they feel most of the time (depends on the EQ, but every antisocial still has to learn it), not being able to relate to their feelings. Obviously, that also means emotional bonds don’t come naturally to antisocials; whereas normal people can bond easily, antisocials don’t feel the need to, and don’t have an emotional base to build them on – and thus almost never do.

It might be difficult to imagine in Hanzo’s case, but he does wish to be loved and cared for just like any other human being does – it has nothing to do with boredom, however. The scene you’ve based your ask on is the one where Hanzo spoke of his lack of understanding of love to MC – he chose to do so because he wanted to keep her at his side, and knew he had to feed her emotional details to bind her; yet probably didn’t realize he would enjoy the attention and sympathy from MC (I wouldn’t say it was “soothing” for him – people with ASPD are generally not emotionally affected by most negative events in their past). Or maybe he did realize he enjoyed it after they spoke, which made MC more intriguing and interesting in his eyes – I may understand Hanzo, but I’m not a mind reader still xD.

There’s honestly so much more I could say and explain (man, I love analyzing, it’s really fun), so don’t hesitate to ask whatever you want to know. I hope I could help you understand :)

Greetings,

- A

#slbp #hattori hanzo #slbp hanzo #hattori masanari #voltage inc #samurai love ballad party #samurai love ballad

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karandonna · 3 years ago

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Dirt Music (2019)

Either the aesthetically pleasing view of Western Australia or simply because of somehow soothing vibes that this movie breathes in through Lu, the 'broken' musician with haunting past and Georgie, the lone wolf who's being outcast by the folks and sadly, her husband. The rest is just as simple as connecting the dot. As the story goes further, it's kinda lame and revealing unstable for both leading role. The plot that come off cold and detached would be forgettable but can't say the same for the scenery which was absolutely well served.

This color palette that I'm dying for 💚

The Gerald's Game (2017)

(Viewers discretion is advised as some of contents you find might be quite disturbing)

To be honest, I would prefer the eclipse images with nothing to show but red than those striking circulating posters. I have not read the book, but considering there was never an easy mind with Stephen King so I guess the making of The Gerald's Game into scenes is one mind-bending. This is some kinky game gone terribly wrong and eventually triggers the traumatic past of Jessie until her alter ego slowly takes over. For the starter, the message is clear: your limitation is only yourself. She keep trying to survive whilst alter keep confronts her, otherwise she would bring her secret to the grave. I'm glad that she didn't so at least I stay until the credit for something.

ps: the fact that Mike Flanagan prefers to potray some familiar faces in his many movies had me confused at first. Guess I'm stuck inside the "Flanaverse".

#movie review #review #thriller #drama #psychology #mike flanagan #midnight mass

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nyctolovian · 4 years ago

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Summary: Martin is an incubus and Jon is the drunken human who just accidentally summoned him.

Written for @aspecarchivesweek Day 4 prompt: AU

Warning: nudity, terrible humor and shenanigans

Martin felt a prickle at the back of his neck and hummed. A call. How unusual.

He lifted his head and looked skyward, or as skyward one was allowed to look up from the depths of the underworld. It was unusual, being called in this day and age. Humans, as a society, had long moved on from their initial obsession with witchcraft and demonic rituals so summoning for underworld beings had been and far between.

Usually, the minor demons would be clamouring over one another, in a flurry for a chance to feed upon human soul. However, as the ceiling of the underworld was burned open with a summoning circle and light from the human realm streamed in, the imps and lesser fiends around him cowered. In fact, they actively avoided eye contact with Martin. Intrigued, Martin licked the air and let the scent of blood settle on his senses. When he recognised the taste it left on his tongue, he blinked in surprise.

The call… was for Martin. Specifically.

From the corner of his eye, some of the other demons shifted out of his way politely. Slowly, Martin rose from his spot, stretching his arms and grunting softly as his joints popped at the movement.

“Long time, eh?”

“Sure is. I just hope it’s not another horny teenager,” Martin muttered and glanced at Tim who grinned slyly at him. He was violating several social rules, which usually signalled an invitation to confrontation, but Martin knew Tim well enough to recognise the lack of hostility. Besides, it was absurd to compete for this particular summoning. Every demon was curiously watching with bated breath. Interrupting this would ruin the fun. After all, the art of summoning specific demons was thought to have long been lost.

Especially something as specific as summoning a demon by name.

Martin couldn’t help the shiver of anticipation as he spread his wings. What could be waiting for him beyond the circle? With a deep breath, he launched himself upwards. As he approached the summoning circle, he felt the familiar light tingle of cool air against his skin. As his hands curled around the edges of the circle, it burned into his fingers.

Martin heaved himself up into the human realm and found the summoner, staring up at him with wide dark eyes. This was not an unusual reaction. Martin could be a terrifying sight indeed to a human, with his large ram horns and razor-sharp teeth. But humans were terribly confused creatures who often mistook their rapidly racing hearts for carnal thrill so it had always worked in Martin's favour.

Smoke poured out of the summoning circle and he stepped out into the dark bedroom. “Why, good evening,” he greeted with a smile.

The human was quite the frazzled mess with his unshaved face, and black but greying locks tied up in a high fuzzy bun. He was wearing a purple cotton skirt that fell to his ankles, and the baggiest possible shirt with the words "Trust me, I Majored in Not Giving a Fuck" printed on the front. Clutched in his hands was a thick tattered volume of which he made full use by shielding his eyes with it.

He smelled of alcohol and a dark red coloured his brown cheeks deliciously. Martin's suspicions were confirmed when he stepped another stepped forward and kicked an empty can of beer, sending it rolling across the room and hitting a stack of newspapers on the floor with a dull klunk.

Questionable choices aside, he looked rather adorable and Martin might say this looked to be one of his finer catches. If only said summoner didn’t immediately scrunch his handsome face in disgust and mortification.

“Oh, fuck!” the summoner said. “Wha— I thought…?” He narrowed his eyes at the pages of the book in his hands and let out the most exasperated groan Martin had ever heard. Then, he hurled the book at the wall. "Agh god! This is what I bloody get for sleep deprivation, I suppose. A fucking incubus!"

If Tim were in Martin's situation, he might have slid in a quip like, "Oh, if it pleases you, and I know it will, I can be a fucking incubus." Or a line that sounds much smoother than anything Martin could come up with. But Martin was not Tim so he just flinched awkwardly as the summoner's glare shot upwards and practically bore holes into him.

“Alright, back into the circle,” the human said. “Back! Back!” He walked towards Martin and waved his arms dismissively, wobbling every step in his intoxicated state.

“Are y– Are you seriously shooing me?” he huffed at the audacity. “Like some cat?”

“Do I need to invite you out? Or perhaps I should rescind my invitation as if you’re a vampire. Begone, demon!” he said, flailing his arms ridiculously.

Martin looked incredulously at the small man. “But you summoned me! You can’t just shoo me away!”

“Look, I’m sorry. There’s been a mistake.”

“A mistake?!” Martin shouted. How could he be summoned by name (by name!!) in a mistake! It was unheard of and he was frankly quite offended. He gesticulated wildly, searching for the words to express how utter bullshit this was. But rage rendered him speechless and he could only sputter broken noises.

“I read the wrong page and did the wrong ritual. I never meant to get… this.” He motioned to all of Martin, as though somehow greatly offended by the demon’s emergence he brought about himself. “What do I have to do to send you back?”

“I have to finish my contract, human! I can’t be sent back any old how.”

He frowned, hilariously befuddled. “Which is?”

“Take a guess,” the incubus deadpanned.

“Ah. That’d be… hm… difficult,” he said. “Ah! I think Sasha next door has been rather pent up lately. If you went out and knocked on the first door to your right, a nice young lady—that’s Sasha—will open the door and you could render your lovely services to her.”

“What? No, you can’t–”

The summoner clearly did not hear him because he nodded to himself sagely, humming in self-approval. He made his way over to the living room, swaying from side to side. "Oh. Wait." He halted just outside the main door. “No, that doesn’t sound like a good idea after all.”

Martin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course it isn't–”

“It’s better if I came with you to explain things. I don’t think she’d be keen on receiving a random stranger, and especially not someone who’s in this state of…” The summoner pulled a face of disgust. “Of undress.”

“Wh– I’m an incubus for hell’s sake! What other state of dress could I possibly be in? I'm not usually summoned to be taken on a stroll outside!”

"It's just a short walk. I wouldn't constitute that as a stroll," he mumbled. “I’m sure Sasha can appreciate this look better than I ever could. That’s a thing most other people appreciate, right? Must be,” he decided, opening the door.

Immediately, Martin slammed it shut. “Wait! No! That’s not the point! You can’t just cart me off to another human!”

Folding his arms like a petulant child in a supermarket, the human demanded, “Why the hell not?!”

“Because you made the contract! It’s your blood on the sacrificial circle, not this… this Sasha person.”

“Well,” he said, pout upon his lips, “that’s inconvenient.” He sat on the floor and tucked the skirt of his dress inwards.

Then, came the first breathing moment Martin had had since he first emerged from the summoning circle.

Head lolling against the wooden door, the summoner slumped into himself and exhaled loudly. “What now?”

“Well, um,” Martin said, “I usually begin things by finding out what my summoner’s name is.”

The human blinked sleepily, as though not registering for a moment (and perhaps he really didn’t), before saying, “You’re not going to… steal my name or something, right?”

“What? No!” Martin exclaimed.

“Sorry. I was just–”

“You summoned me yourself! You should know damn well I’m not a fae!”

“God, I’m sorry! It’s not every day I summon something."

Martin sighed heavily. "Yeah, it's fine. I'm sorry too. For yelling."

They settled back down into quietness. “It’s Jon. My, uh, my name. And you’re… A long name I can’t remember.” He grunted as he pushed himself up to get the book.

“Actually, just call me Martin. Don’t… Don’t use my full demonic name.”

Jon slid back down lazily. “Alright then, Martin. Is there any way we can, um, complete the contract without doing any of the–” He gestured vaguely– “stuff.”

"There's nothing else, really," Martin said with a wince of sympathy. "I am a sex demon after all so I trade in sex favours."

Deflating like a balloon, Jon let out a puff of frustration. "Oh, bollocks," he muttered. "Just my luck to summon a sex demon. Of all the wrong demons."

"Oh, so it's the sex demon part and not specifically the incubus part?"

"Yes. Don't, um, don't get me wrong I'm not a prude or anything. I'm just, well, terribly asexual," Jon said, fidgeting with the hem of his collar. "Do you… Is that something you're familiar with?"

"Oh, yeah. Humans like that have existed for ages," Martin replied and Jon visibly relaxed. "I've never been summoned by one before though."

Pulling the collar over his mouth, Jon chuckled drunkenly, his nose crinkling delightfully as he did so. "That's fair."

Martin couldn’t help the little upward curl of his own lips. Jon had a nice laugh, one that soothed and gently brushed away the tension in your chest. Martin found his chest warming at it and he sort of wished he could hear the pleasant sound again.

The laugh faded with a soft exhale. "Is there really no other way I can… end the contract?"

Martin gave Jon a pitying look. "Look, I'm… How about kissing? Kissing can be sexual and—"

"Kissing's worse."

Martin blinked. "Really?"

"I'm kiss-averse. Lips on lips is just… All that wet breathy movement. It just…" Jon pulled a face of revolt and exaggerated shudder to demonstrate his point. "You know? I mean, of course you don't. It's just stupid."

"No no no. It's not stupid at all," Martin assured him as he sat down on the floor so Jon didn't have to crane his neck to look at him. "Reasonable, in fact."

"Thank you!" Jon said. "Kissing has zero appeal. What is there to like about it other than the fact that it's supposed to be a show of affection? At least with sex it's not so bad. To me, at least."

"Not so bad how? Um, if, well, if I may ask…"

"I… It's…" Jon was sliding further and further onto the floor until his entire back was against the floor and his head was propped up by the door behind him. He exhaled through the corners of his mouth. "I'm… sort of neutral, I suppose? It's complicated. And quite a lot. I-I… I wouldn't want to go on for too long. I mean, I'd just bore you and—"

"I'd say I'm a pretty good listener. You'd be surprised how much pillow talk I do with the humans who summon me." Martin laughed sheepishly as he scratched the back of his head.

It was clear the moment Jon's restraint snapped because something in his eyes changed. Immediately, Jon was launched into an alcohol-driven spiel. "It's a fluctuating thing, you see? Most of the time, I forget sex is even a thing so when I'm suddenly reminded of its existence, I'm incredibly caught of guard. It's dumb but I feel offended even. That's why this—" he gestured to all of Martin— "is frankly rather off-putting. No offense."

Martin shifted awkwardly.

"But sometimes, you know, it feels… okay? As in I-I want it sometimes. Not often. Maybe once every three months, it sounds like a fascinating idea. But then there's no one in mind to do it with and I don't feel comfortable just… picking someone. And—" He frowned, his brow wrinkling cutely. "God, this is embarrassing to talk about. I didn't even talk about this in as much detail with Georgie. She's my, uh, my ex. It just never seemed like the right time to talk about it and then suddenly we've drifted apart and…” Jon sighed loudly. “I just never could talk to her about things. Even if they bothered me." A look of devastation crossed his features as his arms slackened. "God, this is probably why we broke up," he breathed.

"I'm sorry," Martin said consolingly.

Sliding further onto the floor till he was completely lying on it, Jon held a hand up. "No. No, it's been a long time since then. I'm no longer hung up about it. I just… well, this thing… my relationship with sex as a… thing. It just creeps up on me once in a while. It complicates things. So you can see why this is an odd situation I've accidentally gotten us into?" He turned his body so he lay on his side.

"Yeah."

His eyes were pleading as he pulled his legs up to lie in a foetal position. "I'm really sorry I got us into this mess.”

“Don’t worry,” Martin said. “We’ll figure a way out of this together.”

Hesitantly, Jon nodded.

Martin wracked his brain for any possible solution. He sat there for a good minute before his brain gave out. “No good, I can’t think of any right now.”

Silence.

"Jon?"

The slowness and depth of his breathing made Martin frown in suspicion. He approached Jon tentatively and peered at his face. Sure enough, lying there with his eyes lightly lidded and arms crossed over his chest, the human was sleeping.

“What?!” Martin exclaimed, nudging him with his foot. “Did you seriously pass out in 5 seconds?!”

Thankfully, Jon was not entirely in dreamland yet because he furrowed his brow, refusing to open his eyes, and grumbled, “Wha…?”

In utter dismay, Martin yelled, “Jon, you can’t sleep on the floor like this!”

“You’re not the boss of me,” he slurred out in drunken drowsiness, turning his face towards the floor.

A groan of exasperation left Martin. “You’ll catch a bloody cold!” he scolded. “Your head will be aching and you’ll have a crick in your neck at the very least.” He squatted down and began shaking the human violently.

This time, Jon’s eyes flew open in shock and he immediately squeezed it shut. “Ack! For fuck’s sake! Why is the first thing I see when I open my eyes your big smelly dick?!”

"Wh- It's not smelly!"

Jon rolled out of Martin’s grasp. “I’m up. I’m up.” Sitting up, he began to rub his eyes.

Martin rolled his eyes. “We wouldn’t have to come to this if you didn’t decide to fall asleep on the floor like a caveman. I thought you humans will have a better appreciation of the comforts of a bed.”

“I’m tired, alright? God, you'll be stuck here for a while, won't you?” Jon said.

Martin hummed.

“Let's get you something to wear. I can’t have you going around butt naked in my house.” He stood up and gestured for Martin to come with him. And because he was wobbling dangerously as he walked, Martin followed him to make sure he didn’t trip and die on the way to his bedroom.

After flinging his wardrobe doors open dramatically, Jon scanned its contents with folded contemplative arms. He grabbed a pair of boxers and tossed them into Martin’s arms. “Try it on. These are the biggest I’ve got so if you can’t fit into these, I’ll murder you.”

Brushing the strange threat off as a drunkard’s words, Martin stepped into the boxers. They were a tad bit of a squeeze but he supposed they could be considered a fit. When he looked up, Jon threw a dress over him with the hanger still on, checking the fit with narrowed eyes, before sighing and shoving it back into his wardrobe.

They went through several iterations of this before Jon ran out of clothes. Not that this was unexpected, if you asked Martin. Jon was quite scrawny, standing at about 160cm and completely dwarfed by Martin’s broad-shouldered figure of 192cm. It was already a miracle that Jon had any underwear at all that fit him and Martin expressed as much to Jon.

“Aren’t I dressed enough?” he added.

However, that only earned himself a scathing glare from Jon. “If you think being in a pair of boxers is called ‘dressed enough’ then you’re terribly wrong,” he replied.

Martin decided not to comment that this was the most dressed he has ever been, even more than that time he wore lacy lingerie during a summon.

“Aha!” Jon cried, slapping Martin’s shoulder. “I have just the thing!” He squeezed between Martin and his bed and fetched a plastic chair from the corner of his room.

Clumsily, he clambered onto the chair and if Martin had a heart, it would leap to his throat at the way Jon rocked. Then, he stood on the chair to reach the top shelf of the wardrobe and Martin's hands shot out to steady the incredibly drunk and wobbly human.

And good thing that Martin did because Jon suddenly lurched leftwards. Martin let out a frightful squeak as he caught Jon. "Careful!"

In his arms, Jon was stiff with shock. He pursed his lips nervously.

He really did have a nice face, round and sharp in all the right places. Short but thick lashes that flickered as he blinked. Uneven lips with the left corner curling upwards slightly, as though just to keep things interesting. Thick, strong eyebrows that accentuated his eyes—dark eyes that were so soulfully deep, one could drown in it, and Martin was struggling to breathe a bit actually.

"I… Uh, thanks?" Jon mumbled as his gaze fell. Upon seeing what he had pulled out on the way down however, his face lit up. "There!" he exclaimed, lifting the thing in his hand triumphantly. "A bathrobe!"

Martin sighed in frustration, slowly let the scrawny man down and accepted the proffered bathrobe. Jon was about to step onto the chair again but Martin pulled him off and set him onto the bed behind them, where he could not endanger his own life. “Alright, alright. No more climbing up things tonight. What do you need?” Martin said.

Huffing, Jon flopped backwards onto the bed. “I need to close it.”

“I’ll do it,” he said. He raised his hands and easily shut the upper shelf of the wardrobe. With that settled, he put the bathrobe on, tying it neatly, and turned to Jon. “Alright, what–” He stopped when he saw Jon fast asleep in the most bizarre position, upper body on the bed while his entire lower body dangled off, his skirt fanned out as the human slept with his legs stretched onto the floor.

Martin grimaced openly. This was going to be one long summoning. This Jon person was really quite the hassle. Sure, Martin has met his fair share of human disasters—adulterers, gamblers, sex deviants. But he has never met this particular brand of mess before.

Still, he couldn’t bear to leave Jon in this state. Let it be said that Martin the Incubus was an excellent bed partner. He leaned down and picked Jon up to lay him properly on his bed. While Martin tried to tuck Jon into bed, sleepy arms wound around his neck. It was quite cute actually, so Martin let him.

When he was done, Martin tried to push Jon off, but the stubborn human only clung tighter. He tried to pry Jon’s arms apart. To his horror, that made Jon let out a whine before he threw his leg over Martin’s back and tugged with more force than Martin thought he was capable of in his sleep.

“Oomph!” Martin steadied himself before he fell and crushed the poor human under his weight. “You really are a bloody handful!”

They wrestled for a while longer before Martin let out a groan of sufferance, jostled himself a space on the bed and lay down, all while making sure he didn’t accidentally hurt Jon with his ram horns. As though satisfied, Jon’s stick-thin limbs wound round Martin’s body and he pressed his face against his chest. Jon was all elbows and knees, and all that shifting in his slumber did not help. But, left with not much of a choice, Martin resigned himself to Teddy Bear Duty.

#the magnus archives #tma #magpod #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #asexuality #ace jon #incubus #fanfic #my writing #god im delirious at this point i keep staring at words and not registering what im supposed to be doing #i rly should sleep #but yeh enjoy this weird fic #also for some weird reason i rly like throwing sex demons at ace ppl #*looks at that one kacc/hako fic i wrote a couple years back*

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notexactlyrocketscience · 5 years ago

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Coffee, Marshmallows and Reflections

I'm going to the mall opposite the university today—after two entire months of stalling. I've been in San Antonio for almost a year and haven't even visited Barnes and Noble yet, despite it being so close to home. That, put together with that the fact that I it's been impossible for me to pick up a book for days has been giving me a whole new level of identity crisis. So I'm winging it now, setting off. I have a club meeting in a few hours and spending it at the mall is definitely going to be so much better than just doing homework by myself in the library (... right?).

The first thing I make sure to do is get on the wrong bus (an inherently Sabiha character trait). Fortunately, the kindly woman beside me smiles and gives me directions on where to get off and which bus to take after that. "It's pretty confusing," she shakes her head, as if it is the (perfectly organized) system's fault and not mine that I‘m here right now. For a second, I let myself believe her, let the mix of panic and embarassment subside.

I follow her instructions and get off at the stop by the mall. The Shops at la Cantera, the signboard says, in reassuring big letters. Yup. Definitely the right place.

(If you're thinking of big buildings with glittery lights and movie theatures, I'll stop you right there, because malls in San Antonio are basically an entire area with parking spaces, a square, fountains, and one-storeyed shop outlets. Beautiful, of course. Just ... not what I associate with the word "mall".)

Barnes and Noble. Somehow, I've always imagined coming here with someone. Who? I don't know. Someone. I walk down the aisles, running my hands over the glossy, beautiful book spines. (I should really get back to reading again. I miss it.) I skim the instructions of a hundred different board games. I leaf through the creamy, heavy-set pages of a $100 bullet journal, and take pictures of the Harry Potter merch to show my little sister.

When I'm tired, I find a little table at the Starbucks downstairs, and I open up my laptop to get some work done, the footsteps and hushed voices of customers fading into the background. I don't get coffee because I'm already full from lunch.

When I've looked over my essay enough that I can't even distinguish between words and typos anymore, I check the time. Still a few more hours to go. Time does a great job of freezing when you're alone. (That is, unless you have a deadline coming. Then it flies no matter what.) When I'm just about to get up, a middle-aged woman asks me if I would watch her bag for her while she visits the restrooms. I'm a little miffed because I can't really say no, but her resulting grateful smile is enough to make me not care anymore.

I pick up a pair of tights I need at Forever 21 (I have trouble using Apple Pay on their machine like the dumbass that I am, but the cashier doesn't even bat an eye. She cheerfully shows me how), and then I enter NYX, looking for a few items I've been planning to buy for a long while. The shop assistants are so nice, chatting away with me about the terrible tans caused by the ruthless Texas sun as they gently tilt my head and brush foundation onto my jawline, trying to find the right shade. I smile and thank them as I once again step out, checking my watch as I do.

Still an hour and a half to go. That shouldn't be a problem. There are so many shops here that I've never explored before. I love window-shopping. It'll be nice. And fun.

Yet as I start walking my legs are carrying me towards the bus stand instead. Am I going ... home? I'm tired. I really am. So exhausted from this long day that doesn't want to end, this sun that's beating down heat on me. And I've still got so much more work to do. I need to meet people and socialize, I really shouldn't miss any more club meetings, but I feel so drained right now. I'll attend the next one for sure.

I rest my head against the window-pane as the bus rumbles along gently, watching the evening sun coat the world in soft orange. I'll make coffee for myself when I get home, put mini marshmallows on top. Light a vanilla buttercream scented candle in my room as I complete the assignments due tomorrow. Catch up on sleep too, if I can. Try on my new makeup and check it out in the mirror. Maybe even pick up a book again.

As I'm walking towards our house I kneel down to take a look at the little wildflowers (daisies?) lining the sidewalk. I take a picture of the soothing sky. I used to think I loved window-shopping, but turns out I only loved the company that came with it. No matter how much time goes by, I always seem to know myself less than I think. It hasn't been a bad day though. I sacrificed meeting new people for ... well, for even more me time. But that's okay. There'll be other days. There'll be other opportunities.

I'm doing good. I'm busy, always tired, exhausted, alone. But also happy. And that's what matters.

⠀

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