#the author but no it was very clear on the rewatch that she meant YOU THE AUDIENCE and?????????? why you gonna go accusing your audience of | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bonesofapoet · 5 months ago

Text

sunrise over the devil's revenge [ roan x you ] author's note: long time no post <3 i rewatched the 100 during my hiatus and my adoration for roan was reignited and so was my inspiration, it seems word count: 2333

Life could be beautiful, here at the end of the world.

When the sun broke apart from the horizon, precious honey golden beams dragged warm fingers across your skin and combed through the hair of your beloved. They were warm, those beams, kissing you awake in the glow of a new dawn, the bright star ascending slow and languid to draw the rest of Polis from its restless dreams.

Pure radiance, was the temperance of the sunrise, yet no rival was it to the crown prince of Azgeda, still sound asleep beside you. Head pressed to your shoulder he stirred as you did, when sunlight brushed over your lashes, traced the dip of your nose and the curve of your jaw. Even stuck in the crossroads between dreaming and waking, you felt him move away from you, though not enough to free his tangled limbs from yours.

A palm glided over your stomach, all gentle and calloused and adoring, tracing shapes and runes across soft skin. The touch began to awaken you further, pulling you from the embrace of sleep into the embrace of Roan, still half confined to the realm of dreams himself. And yet, with eyes as blue as the tumultuous sea, he watched you with a contentment that he has never felt anywhere else, has never felt with anyone else. They met your own as they slowly - ever, so slowly - blinked back the remnants of the night. The sun was bright, those golden streams still caressing your cheekbones, harshly imposing themselves through eyelids now scrunched up against this luminous, unwelcome awakening.

Next to you, Roan laughed rich and smooth, voice still a bit discordant from sleep. You felt it roll through his chest pressed to your side, heard it low in your ear while you adjusted to the contrast of the - was it truly morning, already? Dawn was still young, yet your bones felt the whispers of last night clinging tightly to your memories as if no time had passed at all. You swore it had been mere minutes since you had fallen asleep tucked into Roan's side, his fingers tracing shapes and swirls along your spine just as he had been doing a moment ago.

Gracelessly, and without sparing him another look, you groan and burrow deeper under the covers. "It can't be morning already."

The hand on your stomach ceased the comforting movements. He huffs another laugh, soundless this time. You burrow deeper into his chest, your own heart filling with warmth when you hear the amusement in his voice. "Only just."

You hum, a soft smile pulling up your lips when knuckles begin to trace your cheekbone, down the dip of your nose, along the curve of your jaw, the column of your throat. Your eyes flutter open then, adjusted now, to the bright welcome of the sunlight illuminating ruined, rotting wallpaper and scuffed wooden floors. Your prince - enamored with you, always - in the midst of it all. Those impossibly blue eyes are clear as they meet yours for the second time this morning, and for a moment - fleeting, as it is - you catch a flash of the bitterness he keeps buried deep and guarded close; something that lingered loud and jagged and unspoken between you, in contented silences such as these.

In reality, the precious nights you spent together were never meant to exist. Tensions were high past these walls, outside of this room; Roan was still very much royalty, and Queen Nia was still very much Queen Nia. Everything was a distraction for the Crown Prince of Azgeda, and unwavering loyalty was what she commanded. There was no doubt that anything other than carrying out her schemes for Ice Nation's ascension would get in the way of her projected success.

You were one of those threats, distracting Roan so. Both of you knew that's how this would be perceived, but you were careful. He was careful. It was a necessity, if not for your very safety, then for the sake of what little sanity his mother had not yet stolen.

"Tell me then, Prince Roan," you begin, pushing yourself onto an elbow. You reach to take his hand in your own, holding it safe and sound against your chest. "Is the sunrise as beautiful as you?"

Roan blinked. Scoffed at the teasing sincerity of your voice, still colored with sleep. Pulled his hand away from your touch and ran it through sun-kissed curls. Even though he broke eye contact with the movement, you caught the beating heart of a smile he tried to hide by slipping to the edge of the bed. His gaze turned toward the windows across the room, yet you lingered on him, and the way tension began to slip across his shoulders like a cloak made of promises.

"I wouldn't know," he says, tone playful in contrast with how he held himself, how he was already beginning to pull away from you, if only just a little. "It's a shame anyway, because they're rarely as divine as you."

As he spoke, a balmy breeze swept through the windows then, rustling the furs still draped across your skin. The laugh Roan pulls oh, so seamlessly from you is carried on the wind, dancing around this little space you call home. It fuses deep and steady with the time you have left in each other's company. It's limited, now that the sun rises higher with each given breath. It's something you push away when you crawl to his side and press a kiss to his shoulder.

"We'll see about that," you say, voice stolen away by his skin. Your lips linger for a moment longer, feeling, ever so slightly, a small thread of tensity unravel from Roan's shoulders for as long as you stay. You would have missed it, had you not been allowed to learn every tell, every way to read your prince the way he had been allowed to learn you.

Another laugh falls through his lips and into yours, as he guides you up to meet him in a kiss that's soft, and another one that's sweet. You pull away with a lazy smile still dripping repose, and drift to the windows and the sunrise beyond.

With a smile in his voice, he says, "Tell me how right I am when you finally catch your breath."

And, well - you failed to, wholly, completely, tremendously - because Roan was right about one thing, at least. Your hands fluttered along the windowsill, textured stone rough under your fingertips to ground you down, down, down to remain tethered to this one, single moment because, oh.

It was breathtaking, this sunrise careening through the sky beyond. It was all vibrant amber dancing with deep coral against the horizon. Strong crimsons embraced bittersweet violets streaking along the treeline as they swept through boughs and branches of laced leaved canopies. It was nature's version of hide and seek, you thought idly. And then your eyes drifted up, and it was enough to draw a startled breath through your teeth, lips parting in awe as you beheld the clouds, wisplike ghosts swirling rich plum-colored shapes that were too, awash in the golden accouterment of the rising sun. The velvety midnight hues were being chased away right before your eyes it seemed, painted into nothing by the saturated paintbrushes of the ancient gods of old.

They've revealed themselves once again, here at the end of all things.

The unfiltered beauty of it all is enough to deepen the cracks coiling out from your heart with new ones beginning to shake themselves awake, separating once more, from the parts of yourself that understand this kind of life is anything other than hell. With every reminder, every breath of life breathed back into your soul, the heartache ran deeper and the rage propelled them farther because there was still raw, radiant love in this world and it was looked upon with scorn.

And yet, somehow -

You found peace even here, in your home built upon ruins, built among the bones of Polis itself. A contrast stark and deadly against the brightness of the careless sky. A reminder, that life was not always war and blood and betrayal and the lingering fear of losing your life in your bed, in place of the ones you held most dear.

It was jarring, these moments. They've been such a rarity since the meeting of Skaikru and Grounders all those months ago.

And yet, you had Roan. The Crown Prince of Azgeda who pulls you back from the precipice of losing yourself in the disarray, the neverending conflict that seeps into the cracks of your bones, your soul, threatening the only way of life you've ever known. Uprooted unceremoniously by the melting of your many cultures, just like everyone else.

War was always a breath away, these days.

He arrives when you need him, always - your prince, your friend, your love - anchoring you to this moment here at your window, as he slips arms around your waist to hold you steady, resolute, calm. He pulls you backwards to find relief leaning against his chest. Perceptive, always, was your prince. Ardent, was he, always. Always, yours and yours and yours.

You wonder, not for the first time, if you will be his undoing. You, his moonlight in the night mooring him to steady land as the chaotic current rages between his head and his heart, his crown and his resolve. You, the one to shatter his claim, forever.

"I'm going to assume by your silence that for once, you're too stunned to speak," he says quietly. Says it with head dipping to rest heavy on your shoulder. It's a comforting weight, this. A kiss, chaste, is pressed to your temple. Though what stuns you, always, is the way he lines the hard contours of his body with tenderness, weaving radiance and serenity through his words when you're alone. "I'll remember this forever, you know," he needles, "as the day my lover finally falls silent for once in their lives."

Something stirs in your chest as he teases, and it's warm, it's warm, it's warm - but above all, it's what you imagine it might feel like to be safe, truly, in all possible facets of this word built on rocky soil, pieced together with fragile foundations. What's worse - when you notice not only how easily your walls crashed down around your Roan - of course you notice how his barriers of iron ice bloody vengeance tumble into dust at your mere breath filling his lungs. So you faltered, if only a little.

It was all so unpolished, this thing blooming between you.

Roan noticed, of course. Felt your body gain a little more balance of its own, drawing away from the strength he shared with you willingly - he felt it, wracking open the deepening fractures in his chest that he thought you had begun to heal. He held tighter, but only enough for you to notice, for you to stop pulling away from him to gently - always, ever so gently - melt back into him piece by cauterized piece.

He wondered if this was what love only ever was - this fragile, secret thing. Strength in privacy, dangerous while observed.

Except how could something so bright be so fatal?

He questions this, when a laugh, smooth and saccharine spills through your lips. It's effortless, always, around Roan. He notices that too, of course, and it's never lost on him how much easier it is to laugh around you as well.

"You know you're the worst, right?"

Your elbow collides with his ribs, in which he shakes against you with a soundless laugh, breath warm and comforting as it cascades down the column of your throat, tumbles across your collarbone to be swept up in the breeze gone cool, gone just a bit too chilled, as it glides through the windows to coast around your bodies entwined into one. The sun climbs higher in the distance, casting this secret solace into partial shadow, yet the rest continues to remain gilded golden with the glowing sunlight. It blended freely with the vibrant euphoria of a morning spent together, if only until the city began to stir.

And, like always, it happens sooner rather than later.

"I should go," his gaze falls past you, past the alleyways and fallen stone structures beyond the open windows. He acts like looking anywhere other than your eyes will erase the dread creeping up his spine at the thought of leaving you, once again, to slip into his own quarters only to embrace a role that's never fit him as well as you do.

"Yes," you agree. All intonation of your contentment crawls off to the shadows still growing in the corners of your room. They held your heart in a grip of bone, their icy darkness prying open the chasms carving deeper into your soul all the while. "It would be wise if you did."

Roan pulls away, regret gnawing at his heart within seconds, minutes, breaths. He leaves you standing in front of your sunrise fading into blue skies and white, gauzy clouds. You're motionless, not turning to watch him leave as the door clicks open, creaking shut as he pulls it closed behind him.

You always watch him go. Always smiles wide and adoring as he steals one last parting kiss. Yet, today is different. He feels it as he enters his own cold, darkened quarters, feels it fuse into the marrow of his bones and thrum through his blood as it pulses hard and fast through the fissures in his lungs.

He won't see you again, Roan thinks. He's not sure how he knows, but he feels it; that sure presence looming tall and fierce stalking him the same way one does on a battlefield. He thinks about slamming his fist into the wall. Thinks about placing his mother's head on a pike outside the walls of Polis.

He should have told you he loved you.

#roan kom azgeda #roan the 100 #roan x reader #the 100 imagine #the 100 #kas writes

37 notes · View notes

stripedtabbycat · 17 days ago

Text

normally i feel like i can't relate to most posts about reading books you were way too young for as a kid/teen because despite being a Reader from a young age i never really actively sought out books that were above my age level. i just kind of assumed as a kid that i wouldn't be interested in Adult Books because they were only appealing to grown-ups and that was that. i did read the occasional ya book while below the target demographic - i don't think my mom knew the princess diaries books were actually for teenagers when i was reading them at age 9-10 lol. i don't remember how i acquired them but i owned the first 3 and did not understand half of what they were talking about until we learned what sex was in fifth grade health class. (this may sound like i was a very sheltered child but i really wasn't, i just didn't go outside of what i assumed was appropriate for me very much. my parents rarely actively forbade me from reading anything, but that might have been because i wasn't as adventurous a reader as i could have been, despite my high reading level according to my teachers.)

that said i did recently remember that i read one flew over the cuckoo's nest by ken kesey when i was 14-15 and fucking loved it. this was right around the age when i was in fact starting to read more classic books on my own, so not that out of the way for my age, but still kind of a swing for a high school freshman. i think somehow my mom and i starting watching clips from the movie on youtube, and she said it was a really great film but i was interested in reading the book first, so we bought a copy online, a really nice 50-year anniversary edition, and i devoured it that summer. i watched the movie afterwards but because i was so invested in the book i ended up a little disappointed that it was pretty different in a lot of ways.

i also recently rewatched the movie and reread the book. still thinking about the experience of the latter; i realized it had been a while since i last read it.

under a cut for discussion of sensitive topics and also - shocker - this got long.

for someone who was just starting to get into the kind of very zealous tumblr-style social justice at the time i had a remarkable tolerance for "problematic" content in older literature. nowadays i don't think that "well it was a different time, we can't judge older works by modern standards" or "how dare you try to CANCEL the Classics" are any more productive modes of engaging with criticism than "wow this old book is super problematic, we should never read it ever again". so i don't know what young me made of the way this book uses gender and race as themes. it's from 1962 so it's really not that old in comparison to works of classic literature that get talked about like that, which i guess makes it less excusable to some. since i wasn't reading it for class or consciously analyzing it at the time i probably didn't think about it too hard. now reading it again i can.

although the book's mental institution setting is reflective of what psychiatric hospitals were like at the time - the author was working the night shift at a veterans' hospital psych ward when he started writing it - it's also clearly meant to be a metaphor for broader society, while also being a place to either "fix" the people who don't fit into that society or keep them hidden away from it. and it's also pretty clear about what it means that in this hospital in particular, all the patients are men and the head oppressive authority is a woman. the system is explicitly described as a "matriarchy", her means of oppression is basically described as emasculation, there's a very uncomfortable conversation between two men where they basically say that the only real power men have over women is sexual - although the man saying this is all but stated to be gay and the guy he's talking to, who's been in jail for statutory rape, seems put off by the idea and never seriously considers it. there's layers, i guess. but the way the oppressive female antagonist is taken down is in an attack that leaves her blouse torn open and her breasts exposed, and part of the reason she no longer commands as much authority after that is because now everyone has seen her in that state which proves she is in fact a woman. not subtle, really. not every female character is antagonistic, but it feels like a classic case of "woman + power = evil", right?

there's a lot you could say about how this is one of the few situations at the time in which a woman genuinely would have power over men and how it's just that the kinds of people drawn to those kinds of positions of authority over vulnerable people are the kinds who would abuse it - see the modern "mean girl to nurse" pipeline. but is the book asserting that? it's very hard to tell because of how often books written by men will use women (or a woman) as representative of an antagonistic force and seem to genuinely believe that women are "really" the ones in charge in society, so what can i say?

then there's the racial element, also pretty hard to ignore; ratched's orderlies are all black, and the novel makes a point of saying that she deliberately hires that way - she clearly has absolute power over them as a white woman with authority, but they're also antagonists without much sympathy or humanization afforded to them and the narration can get pretty pointed in the way it describes them, always referring to them as "the black boys", and mcmurphy outright dropping slurs in heated moments that don't get questioned or even commented on by anyone. sure you could say this is all intentional as part of the way marginalized people are pitted against other marginalized people and encouraged to take out their anger on whoever's below them in the hierarchy, but...is it?

on the other hand, the main character - or, well, the narrator, it's one of those books where the narrator and the "main character" are supposed to be different people but i never quite got that concept when i was younger and i figure if we spend enough of the book inside one character's head they deserve to be considered A main character, you know? - is native american and the author is a lot more respectful and empathetic towards indigenous characters than you'd expect from a white writer at the time, even if it's probably not strictly accurate. we never do learn bromden's real first name, since the other patients and employees at the hospital only ever call him by the racist nickname "chief", but maybe this is part of how he's been kept in these oppressive institutions for long enough that he doesn't even remember his own name, only being left with his white mother's surname that was bestowed on him to further distance him from his father's culture - but i could be being too generous again. still, the book is definitely concerned with the real-life oppression of indigenous tribes by the us government and paralleling it with the oppression faced by bromden and the other patients in the institution, so it's not like kesey is unaware of the existence of racialized power dynamics in the world "outside". i don't know!

you might wonder what i did like and still do like about this book and it's easy for me to tell what the appeal was when i first read it: i was a neurodivergent kid in public high school who was in fact diagnosed but that didn't make things any easier for me because it just meant i had more scrutiny on me at all times, from condescending adults who didn't offer any meaningful help. and obviously my situation was nowhere near as bad as anything in the book - i've never been institutionalized, thank god - but i felt a lot of it on a deeper level. you know. i wasn't offended by the misogyny in some parts because i wasn't seeing myself as A Woman, i was seeing myself as an autistic person, because i faced ableism irl way more often than sexism and i just knew if i had lived back then i would have been in an asylum. subjected to electroshock "therapy", maybe even lobotomized when they couldn't figure out what else to do with me.

(i mean, i probably wouldn't have been. but when i was 14 i sure thought so. it's easy to be dramatic when you're 14-15 years old. i was also much more privileged than a lot of other neurodivergent kids, and in many ways was treated much better than other autistic kids in different demographics would ever be, but it's also easy not to think about people other than yourself when you're 14-15 years old.)

anyway i think this book also appealed to me because the narrator was genuinely mentally ill and that's a fact. the movie's more grounded approach probably wouldn't have worked with all the novel's literally hallucinatory scenes but i do feel like a big part of what was missing was the film shifting it over to almost solely mcmurphy's pov. aside from putting the focus back on a white guy it also makes the film feel like yet another "wrongfully incarcerated perfectly sane man" story, which is what so many asylum-based narratives get criticized for; the sympathetic/pov characters aren't allowed to be actually mentally ill, and anything they suffer in the asylum is wrong only because it's happening to a sane/neurotypical person who doesn't "deserve" it. there's some anti-psychiatry stuff in the book, which is a topic that definitely requires a lot of nuance today, but i think it comes down harder on the psychiatric abuse parts and it makes it clear that most of the characters in the hospital are there because they do have legit mental problems that society hasn't figured out how to adequately deal with yet. (well, i don't know if harding checked himself in because of homosexuality still being considered a mental illness that a lot of gay people at the time were trying to cure themselves of, or more for some kind of general anxiety thing; it's probably the former, but i don't think the book agrees that it's something unnatural and aberrant. i don't think?)

maybe the reason i connected with this book in particular is because i felt like most asylum-set stories focused on women also went hard on the "we're not really mentally ill, we're just too independent for our time and they don't like that so they brand us insane" themes. which i could never relate to. i never felt like i was being forced to fit a narrow standard of femininity as a girl, but i sure was acutely aware of my identity as an autistic person and how i was treated based on that. (while i definitely don't think one's own identity should be based on how much you're oppressed for it - that line of thinking leads down some very dangerous paths - i do think looking back this was kind of an "i'm probably nonbinary but i have homework to do so idrc about that right now" situation. or i could just be one of those cis women who doesn't really identify that strongly with womanhood. not that important to me tbh.) honestly if i wanted an early 60s novel about mental health and how the psych system failed people maybe i should have read the bell jar - alongside this one, not instead of it.

i guess what i'm trying to say here is that people connect with art for all sorts of reasons, and sometimes you find yourself loving a flawed piece of art because it was important to you at some time. you don't have to be able to relate to a story to appreciate it (obviously!) but it certainly can help when you're young and looking for something that resonates with your own experience. or even when you're not actively looking for it. also that it’s normal to feel insane when you’re a teenager.

i wouldn’t have expended this many words on this book if i didn’t still like it so much. would i recommend it? with caveats but honestly if you’re only familiar with the movie you should read it. the film does tone down a lot of the more troublesome elements discussed above; if anyone is turned off or actively dislikes the book because of those elements i would completely understand tbh. it’s why i also was inspired to write something justifying my fondness for it. not something you can enjoy uncritically but that’s okay. few things are.

now another inspiration for this post was me deciding to give the soundtrack of love in hate nation a listen right when i was in the middle of rereading cuckoo’s nest, but that’s another post entirely.

#my thoughts #books #one flew over the cuckoo’s nest #jfc this is long. I blame my own urge to address every possible thought I’ve had on a topic in the course of writing about it #would be interested in recommendations for good fiction set in mental institutions written by and/or focusing on women #I also think I would have been interested in emilie autumn’s novel/memoir the asylum for wayward victorian girls #as you can see a lot of books fitting that category are at least semi-autobiographical

2 notes · View notes

paperstorm · 11 months ago

Note

The recent anon about fandom recovery after controversy made me want to ask something I’ve never been brave enough to but feel like you’ll give me an honest answer even if you don’t agree you’ll be respectful. Is it ok to like (love) Harry Potter? I know JK Rowling is problematic these days but those books, the films, the world she created meant (still mean) a lot to me but people say I shouldn’t be giving her money by buying merchandise and I shouldn’t like Harry Potter because she’s a terrible person etc. What do you think?

As for the Tarlos/Lonestar fandom I hope it will be ok. The majority of people I saw seem to be able to separate actors and characters so there is still a lot of TK love out there. As long as it doesn’t affect the acting and chemistry, and thus the characters we love then I think we’ll be ok. I don’t think it will (people have speculated they hate each other for years, or they’d lose the chemistry after Ronen got married and none of that has come to pass) so fingers crossed.

PS it would help if they went back soon. Has anyone been able to find out when they’ll start filming. I got hopeful when Ronen posted about getting in shape for S5 but that’s disappeared so I don’t know if they are still months away from going back. Natacha seems to be in the UK.

I am not any kind of authority on whether it's 'okay' to like anything honestly, I have my opinions but that doesn't mean I get to tell other people what they're allowed to like. Personally, as someone who grew up with Harry Potter and loved it to pieces and still has so much fondness for the story and the characters, I think that what matters in a boycott is not giving new money to the thing. The BDS movement as an example is very clear about like, if you already own an HP laptop (which I do), it doesn't make any sense to throw it out and buy a new one made by a different company. You already have it, you can't un-spend money on it. I think the principle holds for something like the Harry Potter franchise. I own the books, I own DVDs of all 8 movies. I have owned them for years, rereading them or rewatching them is not giving Joanne anything that she doesn't already have. That's very different from purchasing the new video games, and that, for me, is where I draw the line. I see no problem in continuing to love something that you already loved, my boundary is giving new money to it.

I do think it's important also to be able to recognize problematic content within media that you love. Again, I'm nobody's mother, I have no right to demand that everybody do this. But an important step that I take in my media consumption is looking with a critical eye at the things I'm consuming and recognizing where there are elements that are problematic that I need to be able to identify so that I don't let harmful ideas creep into my brain and make themselves at home without realizing it. Her portrayal of the goblins is incredibly antisemitic. Other problematic things exist like naming the Chinese character Cho Chang and having a 'race' of slaves that only one character seems to have an issue with. Harry Potter isn't the first medium to feature harmful tropes and it isn't the last either, and part of being an ethical consumer of any show/movie/book is putting in even a bit of work recognizing that and understanding that nobody is immune to propaganda. I still love Lone Star even though there is an element of copaganda to it. It doesn't mean you have to only consume content that is ethically pure - because that doesn't exist. It just means being willing to put in some work recognizing the harmful parts.

#anon asks #911ls asks #this is an older ask that it took me forever to get to #i'm assuming you know that there has been some posting about them starting soon

8 notes · View notes

esther-dot · 1 year ago

Note

I sent the show!Jonsa ask! Yeah, I was toying with it because one of the sticking points for me is figuring out why the show did or didn't do Jonsa and why that may or may not happen in the books. That to me is really some of the most damning stuff, and I can't point to Dany's arc in the show or Stannis' etc. (many of the examples you use) as argumentation for what makes sense in the books but have yet to have happened without, too, including Jonsa.

Anon asks are limited by length (and I would not want to waste your time with adding caveat after caveat lol) but I do also have complicated feelings about D&D; on the one hand I think there were serious problems on set and I have a lot of capital F feminist problems with them, but that doesn't belie all the creative work they put into the show (I do think there are Choices they made about how to portray romance without the source material at hand, and even before that honestly, but I already wrote that ask lol).

You're definitely right about the heaping of romantic parallels; one or two of those relationships alone could be written off, but the Sam/Gilly one is very weird, and Kit's acting choices are... very weird lol. Re: Sansa's jealousy, I had read that more as Dark Sansa foreshadowing as opposed to Jonsa jealousy, so I don't know???? When it comes to show!Jonsa I mostly only like the S6 dynamic anyway, so that might be down to some of my bias.

Basically I'm trying to entertain alternative ideas that might explain things as opposed to genuinely arguing for show!Jonsa being an accident, and I was thinking about this as well because it is an issue I've encountered with shipping/romance/fandom in general before. The male-gazey tropey dynamic ends up feeling off, but by virtue of the romance goggles of the author not being applied to another dynamic, it ends up feeling more mutual and less objectified and more interesting lol. A good example off the top of my head, given you've just watched the MCU films, is that I shipped Steve/Natasha (yes...) because the dynamic in Winter Soldier was above and beyond any other M/F pairing in the films. Naturally everybody goes on about ~platonic soulmates~ but I love good guys with sad/evil/redeemed ladies so I can't help it. Not saying it's at all canon though, I think they absolutely stumbled into that one.

I'm glad your nephew enjoyed the MCU films! I remember when I rewatched Endgame with my best friend, her dad came in and we had to keep explaining who the 'blue one and the green one' were. It made the film much better.

Anyway, thank you so much for entertaining my ask, and as always, being such a good sport. 🥰💝

(continuation of this convo)

You have no idea how much I sympathize with the caveat issue. I write answers and then delete entire paragraphs because I have such a tendency to try to clarify everything that it makes things less clear because I bury the point, but then I regret it when the vague blogs start. We all have limited time though, and every answer can't be thousands of rambling words! Sometimes I've literally just said "insert caveat" lmao!

I do also have complicated feelings about D&D; on the one hand I think there were serious problems on set and I have a lot of capital F feminist problems with them

I read this article about Emilia's experience on set for GoT (I have not been able to relocate it, but I did actually read an article with her quotes--it wasn't just a tumblr post), and I felt that she was taken advantage of when it came to the nudity/sex scenes. I actually think she meant for some of the stories to be amusing, but I felt sick reading it. She didn't say it was D&D, but apparently when she wanted to do less nudity going forward, she was told her fans expected it and it became a fight trying to move away from it, and....I just worry about the power dynamics with all these young actresses and what they're told they "need" to do. The fact that even if they ultimately agree to certain things, it still may be a result of coercion or they aren't actually being taken care of/feel safe when doing it...it left a very bad taste in my mouth regarding the behind the scenes stuff. And obviously, we all noticed the changes they made to the story, what they did to Sansa...plenty of things we can take exception to purely on what made it to our screens.

Basically I'm trying to entertain alternative ideas that might explain things as opposed to genuinely arguing for show!Jonsa being an accident

I enjoy doing that too! Groupthink is boring! I don't expect everyone to think the same way/come to the same conclusion, and I've changed my mind on a few things which only happens if we're willing to entertain different ideas instead of shutting people down. I mean, I'm not easily persuaded to a different way of thinking, but I try to be open to it. With the condition that someone interprets Sansa in a way I can live with which excludes most of the fandom/their theories tbh.

I basically work myself to one position and then back to where I started when it comes to show Jonsa. If it was an accident, I don't love it any less, if it wasn't, I'm curious what the hell happened. I didn't get what I wanted there, so it really doesn't matter to me what people conclude. I genuinely thought it was amusing when Kit acted surprised when he was asked about Jonsa because it was his face that was saying "not normal sibling feelings here." Silly man. 😂 And, D&D fucked up enough I don't like to take them too seriously, so I can't say, "this doesn't make sense therefore it was an accident" because, uh, a lot of their choices ultimately made no sense.

it is an issue I've encountered with shipping/romance/fandom in general before. The male-gazey tropey dynamic ends up feeling off, but by virtue of the romance goggles of the author not being applied to another dynamic, it ends up feeling more mutual and less objectified and more interesting lol.

I certainly agree about the general male v female view of romance. I found that a problem when I said that they didn't write a romance for Jonerys, and the guy I was talking to was like, "they had sex tho???" There was just...a massive gap between what we were looking for when talking about the characters/relationships. Although, he did know what I meant when I said "well, they filmed Jon and Sansa like a ruling couple." He immediately understood that. And, considering what they did to the sandsnakes (I'm not saying the line), I do understand the argument that if they meant for there to be a romance, they would have done it in such a way that we would have objected.

I think part of the reason I believed Jonsa was intentional was because I don't ship non canon pairings. My brain isn't one to think, "oh but what about those two" as I wasn't even involved in fandom before, and I generally just took what a story was and reacted to it, rather than re-configuring it. Obvy, having been in the fandom for so long now, that's changed somewhat, but for me, s7 was a total puzzlement, and Jonsa / some variation of poljon was the only way it connected to everything we had established before. In a bizarre twist, we didn't get the story that would make it coherent, but we still got the endpoint: Jon betraying Dany for Sansa. It's still weird to me, all these years later. Now I'm mainly bemused rather than angry though.

#dot chat

10 notes · View notes

callipraxia · 1 year ago

Text

I had forgotten the sound of Bill’s voice, unless it changed a bit in later episodes/my head is stuffed up to the point that some sounds are registering a bit off.

Also, does Stan base his assessment of Mabel Juice (“it’s like coffee and nightmares had a baby”) just on Mabel’s behavior after consuming it, or has he tried it before?

Also, I know she’s a knitter and that knitting and sewing are different, but it seems a bit weird to me that Mabel acts like she’s never heard of cross-stitch?

Interesting that Bill says it’s been a long time since he inhabited a body; admittedly, Bill is a lying liar that lies, close enough to everything that comes out of his face can be written off or twisted into a corkscrew to serve one’s own purposes, and “a long time” could incorporate a range of time frames, but if he really hasn’t inhabited a body since Ford’s…what’s the implication? Has Bill just been lounging around on the nightmare throne for thirty years, chilling and waiting for Stan to figure out the Portal? Are nerdy Pines boys really the only people in the ‘verse who are trickable enough for him to scam? Or does this tie into him probably (the nicknames for Dipper, Mabel, and Soos could be coincidence, especially since he later uses multiple designations, appearance-based or casually sexist, for Wendy and since he calls the Stan Twins by their actual names more often than not along with occasionally mixing up his mocking nicknames for Ford as well…but it seems might-impossible, given that it’s in Journal Two and how Gideon apparently uses it to summon him too, that he doesn’t know about the Wheel design at all) being aware of the Prophecy and/or some other Prophecy involving the same people? Does he just think this universe was his best chance to change destiny/fulfill the version of destiny where things go his way, and thus his wider reputation is just a result of casual terrorist acts undertaken to pass the time in between the centuries where he spots new pawns? What were you up to, you highly punchable geometry demon?

(Yes, yes - I know official Word of Creator is that the show had no plot in the beginning, and that said plot was thrown together last-minute during season two and partially in response to viewer questions about initially meaningless things - but I…kiiiinda take Hirsch’s comments of that nature with a grain or two of salt, if I’m to be honest, mostly because of the respect I have for the man’s accomplishments. I mean, we know he went to some lengths to set up the Author-is-McGucket hoax, and incorporated useful codes into even the earliest published episodes. I also know as well as any other scribbler how you can realize you foreshadowed a plot point long before you ever consciously thought of said plot point - heck, reading back, I can’t believe how clear it was that one person was probably gonna die in FWJB, even though I was planning not to kill anyone at all when I wrote that character’s first scene and I later spent over a month trying to force the plot to kill someone else instead because of the whole “bad thing happens only because of your active efforts to prevent it from happening” trope of prophecy - but…it strains credulity, hard, to rewatch season one with season two in mind and then to try to believe that they hadn’t, at the very least, already decided Stan was a twin who had assumed his brother’s identity *much* earlier than claimed. I will grant that the Weirdmageddon switch seems like the kind of thing you could serendipitously/sub-consciously write your way into, and I’ll believe them about how McGucket’s backstory and Wendy and Pacifica’s places in the circle were late additions, but I remain skeptical about the idea that Bill was never meant to return - aside from “Dreamscaperers” showing hints and red herrings about a link existing between Stan and Bill and/or the Author and Bill, there’s also the Twin Peaks connection to consider - and that as much of the plot was improvised as has been claimed. The “clunks” McGucket’s late-arrival backstory and the situation with the girls kinda just underlines the improbable tightness and elegance of so much of the rest, really - though I will, of course, freely admit to the error and apologize if it is one day established that I have unfairly and inaccurately impugned the character of Mr. Hirsch by these suspicions and/or by now just flat-out telling folks about them. I will furthermore accept evidence of such an error as evidence that I’m probably too cynical about successful creators sometimes, in the event that there is evidence I’m not aware of that can cast substantial doubt on my doubts. That’s only good form, after all. Plus, even if we’re granting my doubts about the WoC comments, though: I really do find it quite plausible that one could throw that line I started this hour-long tangent with out there without thinking about it. I’ve done far more open-to-question things in my work myself, and it’s always easier to spot that kind of…not a plot hole, but place with loose enough dirt to easily dig in, shall we say…in someone else’s work than in one’s own….

….but I’ll still proceed with this kind of speculation even if I’m proven flat wrong, because it’s more fun to try to pick a thorny tale out of even sliiiiiightly interpretable canon than it is to gloss over it - or at least it is to me. This is what I do, this is who I am, and…yeah. Anyway, done with attending to the laundry and easing some worries for Elderly Relative, on to “Soos and the Real Girl.”)

Plan: play GF season 2 while dozing for…subliminal inspiration or something.

Reality: start watching the episodes….

#gravity falls #gravity falls will take over your life #sock opera #wild theories #picking things apart #fun #gravity falls season 2 #rewatch

26 notes · View notes

visd3stele · 3 years ago

Note

Hey author absolutely love your works and you're amazing...just wanted to know if I can request a bit angst, like after sirius breaks up with reader (pureblood), she's forced to marry regulas and sirius is heartbroken. But then homie gets motivation from jily and wrecks the wedding (like the drama queen he is) and marries her. Bonus point if you do this in after Hogwarts plot ♥️ take love <3

hi, dear nonnie 💛. I must say, I'm very happy to write your request and I hope it'll do justice to your idea, but first of all THANK YOU SO MUCH! I'm so glad you think so

TW: angst (duh) but happy ending, smoking, bad parents, implication of child abuse, a semi descriptive fight scene with casualties (one of which is a child), death (talks and mentions of it) cussing (twice, but still); anything else you think should be up here?

A/N: this is my first anon request and it feels special to me. Is this normal? I don't quite understand why myself... it just... does. Anyway, I really got carried away with the story, so buckle up for a loooong, painful ride (I'm not even sorry, I love it sm). Also, I recently rewatched Anne with an E and the use of big words set me on a classic books reading haul again which in turn influenced my writing a bit. I like the finished draft, but I can admit it might seem a little weird.

The white sheep of the House of Black vs the poisoned snake

masterlist and requests

"Sirius! Watch out!" Y/n's strident voice echoed through the foggy mind of the oldest Black brother. The young soldier leaned on his flat's open window, starring in the quiet night. His fingers became cold and numb around the forgotten cigar as Sirius tried to shake off the events of the day.

"Levicorpus," a masked figure whispered in the crowd, sending a muggle passer byer flying into the nearest wall. Sirius, Peter, y/n and another member of the Order of Phenix had just arrived, being tipped off about an attack on one of the safe camps. After the Death Eaters gained more and more power, Dumbledore created small settlements for muggle borns and their families, where they could hide from Voldemort's rage. For maximum security, a different group of wizards and witches had been assigned their own safe camp to watch over. They were the only one who knew how to find it, or so it was meant to be.

Sirius closed his eyes tight, crumpling the cigar in his fist. The fire has been put out by the wind for a while now, but the young man couldn't notice. Not when another fire, shone behind his forged lids.

Y/n was the first to run forward. Waving her wand to make space between fallen roofs, broken furniture thrown in the streets and remains of what used to be strong buildings, the witch shouted spells to lift the heavy concrete off people, or shield them from curses. Sirius woke up from his stunned trance and moved to cover his girlfriend's back. Together, they weaved a passage for their proteges, leading them to where Peter and their friend waited with healing potions.

The disowned wizard took an uneven breath, preparing for the worst part. Colorful spots danced in the darkness of his closed eyes, the powerful hold on his lids a poor attempt to keep tears from spilling.

"Sirius, watch out!" She yelled, tackling him to the ground as the familiar criss cross of a cruciatus spell passed above their heads and hit a small boy. Y/n was holding his hand, whispering comfortingly over the sound of battle and his own tears when she heard the mad cackling of Bellatrix Lestrange. The witch turned right in time to see her cast the unforgivable towards Sirius and all things left y/n's minds. Except for one: save him.

The little boy cried and trampled on the ground. Before either of them could get on their feet, a loud explosion boomed close by and the nearest building blew up. Sirius shielded his face with his arm, pushing y/n under him to protect her with his body. She let out a strangled sob, but didn't protest. Nor did she move. When the smoke cleared off enough to see through it, the image burned deep in both of their souls.

Y/n was quiet on the way home. Thinking. Brewing hatred towards her enemies. She never followed the rules that seemed inked on all pure bloods brains. She didn't comply to the path her parents laid out for her. Because deep down, y/n always knew how wrong all of it was. Is. But never in her most painful dreams did she expect such a vicious, ruthless war.

She collapsed on her and Sirius' bed, hugging herself and allowing the tears to fall. Angry, sadness, shame, disappointment. They flew from her, lulling her to a restless sleep, while Sirius dealt with the reports and aftermath of the attack.

Once home, the former Black heir paced around for hours. His thoughts swirled like a hurricane. In his fourth year at Hogwarts, the rebel pure blood felt butterflies in his stomach for the first time. Sirius managed to let down his family in all aspects of his life – beginning with his love for muggles, following with his Gryffindor sorting and the pride he took from it and ending with his loyalty towards his friends. But one thing he did right.

No one saw it coming. It was the shock that went simultaneous through the entirety of Hogwarts. Sirius Black dating the notorious y/n, a witch descending from a family with blood as pure as their hearts were frozen. The pair landed rumors in every corners of the wizarding Britain, even making an appearance in the papers: The Black heir came around and accepted his heritage ; The union between y/l/n and the Black family is confirmed ; Two ancient blood lines, what does it mean for the wizarding future and how will it affect the current situation?

After the fateful summer when Sirius has been disowned, everyone expected the couple to be pulled apart. But y/n stood by his boyfriend's side, defying her parents and asking to be disowned as well if they can't accept her choices. It never happened, as y/n was the only heiress to her name. They only deprived her of the rights to the family fortune and hoped for a better match one day.

It didn't bother Sirius as much as he'd think. He knew it didn't matter. Y/n was still on his side, the right side. And that knowledge was something he never questioned. Until now. Until he saw the worse the war could offer and had a feeling it was just the start of it.

Sirius Black had a hard time believing the rumors of a traitor in their rows. He couldn't bring himself to believe someone he's close with, someone whom he bled for, someone who killed for him, could do such a thing. But as Dumbledore grew more and more worried, groups formed within the Order and speculation found a home at their table.

It was James who'd always reassure him. James who trusted his friends more than he trusted the sun to rise at the dawns of every new day. James, whom Sirius convinced in the sixth year that y/n was worthy of that trust. Because just like him, he relented the old ways and prejudices and wanted to be free from her awful family.

A dark thought crept in the abyss of Sirius' mind. A guilty doubt which seemed to turn into a painful truth right before his eyes. Sirius knew Peter wouldn't ran his mouth to anyone about the safe camp, he's a marauder, after all. And the friend they've got paired up with was a muggle born, with no motive to be loyal to the Dark Lord. Which means, it must've been y/n.

As if Sirius summoned her with, the witch climbed tiptoed behind him. She swinged her arms around his waist and he felt her shiver from the cold.

"Hey," her thumbs rubbed circles on the back of her hands where they meet on Sirius' chest.

"Hey," he answered. "Why aren't you sleep? It's late."

"I could ask you the same." She moved in front of Sirius, arms still locked around her boyfriend, trapping him in the hug. Y/n's lower back now pushed against the window's edge, her shoulders facing the chilly air.

For a moment, Sirius considered breaking into a crooked smirk, willing playfulness to imbue his voice as the words "Ah, but I asked first," almost left his lips. But he decided against it. Seeing her, feeling her, tired him more than the hours of self torture did. She looked drained. Eyes swollen from crying, lips pierced here and there from biting, muscles flexing involuntarily at her own flashes of recordings of the day. But it couldn't be, right? Because she betrayed them. She betrayed him.

Sirius shook his head, a handful of black locks tickling his face. He pulled y/n away from the window, pushing it with his shoulder and freeing a hand to properly close it. "Go back to bed," he said, fixing his quartz eyes on her for the first time. She wore one of his AC/DC shirts that covered her body, but did little to keep her worm. "It's cold," he swallowed thickly, grey orbs almost shining in the far away light of stars, a crescent moon and street lamps down below.

"I know," she gave Sirius' own attire a pointed look, unwrapping her arms and rubbing his bare arms. He stilled under her touch for a second, before gently pushing her away. The wizard took snatched a blanket from one of the armchairs and placed it atop his girlfriend while searching desperately for another he could use. Y/n moved faster. The witch engulfed her boyfriend with the material, bringing him with her to the couch.

She nestled against him, knees to her chest, half sitting in Sirius' lap. Ignoring the stiffness of his body as she assumed it's due to the fight from earlier, y/n lightly threaded her fingers through her boyfriend's hair. "Couldn't sleep," she mumbled out of breath.

"Me neither."

Y/n pulled back. The wizard still avoided to look at her. Sighing, the young woman rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry –" she started, starring at nothing in particular – "for the boy." Sirius tensed, which y/n took as a sign to continue. "You blame me, don't you?"

When he didn't answer, the witch dared a peak through her lashes at his face. For the first time since they started dating, y/n couldn't read it. Sirius wore his heart on his sleeves all the time and today was no different. But she didn't understood what she was seeing.

"I shouldn't have..."

"No, you shouldn't've."

Y/n watered her lips as she nodded at the harsh tone. "I know. I'm sorry. I was trying to –" her voice broke – "I only thought about you. I had to protect you."

"You had to keep that kid safe."

"Fine. I needed to protect you."

"Why? I can take it, you know I can. I'm sure I build enough strength against the cruciatus that I wouldn't've felt a thing." His voice was void of any emotion, but somehow accusing. Y/n felt the bitter taste of guilt morphing into anger.

"Because I wanted to!" The witch screamed. "You should never have felt it and I‐ I," her voice cracked. "I want you to never feel it again." She had so much more to say to him. Tell him of how she promised herself she'll never allow such cruelty upon him ever again. How when the glow of the spell caught the corner of her eyes, she acted on impulse alone. But a knot twisted on itself from her very own vocal chords and y/n could speak no more.

Silence stood no chance to properly settle over the two of them when Sirius jumped to his feet. He had enough of it already and it only hurt him. So the wizard argued back, vigorously. "I'm a grown fucking man, y/n! The damage is done already. But that boy? That little boy?" Sirius' irises twitched in response to tears pinching the sensitive eyeballs. He spat the next words with great hardship, voice dripping with reprieved feelings unlikely to reach other's ears. "Him you could have saved. But you didn't."

Y/n rose to her feet as well. Her mouth opened and closed while she failed to decide how to respond. However, Sirius has never been a patient man and he is known for his temper to burn bright and short, after all.

"What were you thinking, y/n? Fuck it!"

"You! I was thinking about you and only you."

"We're not in school anymore! We don't prank people and bully to take revenge for how they hurt us. We're soldiers! And this is war."

"You think I don't know that? You think I wanted him to die?"

Deafening silence suddenly stilled the room. Glistening grey bore into tears stained y/e/c. His jaws pulsed, clenching and unclenching. Her nostrils flared, realization sinking in.

"You do," y/n whispered. "You do!" She yelled. "You do?" The witch forced her eyes to focus on her boyfriend through the mist of moisture. "How can you- you believe... why?"

Sirius grew restless and begin pacing, messing his hair when his hands gripped his scalp. "Why? Why?!" He broke into a phrenetic laugh. "Because you sold them out, y/n!"

"What?"

"You're the spy. Of course you are the spy! You told Voldemort where the safe camp is."

"Oh-huh," y/n scoffed. "So not only you think I wanted a little boy to –" she couldn't bring herself to speak the word, wiping furiously at her eyes instead – "but you also think I tried to get everyone killed. Bloody hell, Sirius! What's wrong with you?"

"I don't know, y/n. You tell me. How did the Death Eaters where to come?"

"I didn't tell them."

"Then who did?"

"I don't know!" The witch spreaded her arms then twisted them over her chest within seconds. She closed the gap between her and Sirius. "I don't know, Sirius. Why does it have to be me?"

"Because there is no one else who knew about our camp. Who else could've?"

"What is that supposed to mean? What, you still see just a pure blood puppet when you look at me? No matter what, I'll always ran back to mommy and daddy and condone to their actions. Is that it?"

Sirius' lack of an answer was telling enough. He crossed his arms over the thin white undershirt he was wearing. The wizard's lips trembled, but he fixed the shining cold of his quartz eyes on y/n. His brow wrinkled his forehead with a swift lift.

"Is that it? Bloody answer me, Sirius!"

"Yes."

Y/n gasped. The witch took several steps back, the single word hurting like a hard slap over the cheek.

"If you really think that, why stay with me this long?"

"I, uh, I don't know. I s'pose there is no real reason to drag this along anymore." Sirius forced to gruff out. Anger dimmed within him like a used match. And despite his suspicious, putting an end to such a long, meaningful relationship wasn't easy.

"Drag this along? So that's how you think about us, then."

"I can't be with you, y/n, if you compromise the mission. If you're a danger to my friends."

The woman passed a hand over her face. She nodded, withholding the cries threatening to escape her throat. "You accuse me of treason, having no proof at all. And you're wrong, Sirius Orion Black. You are so very wrong!"

"Good bye, y/n. I'll send your things home, I assume there's where you'll be now that you're finally free of the disgrace that I am."

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

Y/n did indeed returned home. Not out of longing or a deep rooted feeling of belonging. In fact, walking down the paved path, leaving house after house behind and closing in to the small palace that stood as y/l/n's home, the witch felt more and more like climbing a rooftop and screaming as loud as her lungs could support it.

Her heart ached, but there were no tears. Y/n's eyes were dry as the wind blew in her face. Her feet carried her out of muscle memory alone, her head throbbing with so many thoughts none actually made any sense. A numbness took over the young witch when the chilly air and too much pain to bear met on her body.

"Y/n?" When she was but a young little girl, she imagined this is how the jewels in her mother's box would sound like. Regal, nonchalant, demanding. As if the entire world is meant to gawk and obey.

"Hello, mother."

"What in Salazar's name are you doing outside dressed like this?"

Y/n has forgotten she still wore Sirius' shirt. And if she wasn't staying outside of the palace like house, she'd have pull it over her head and toss it in the mud.

"May I come in?" She decided to ignore her mother's question. It took a while, but eventually, the older woman stepped aside and allow y/n passage to enter.

"What is this?" The dusty voice of mister y/l/n exclaimed, briefly glancing up from his newspaper to capture the abnormal sight.

"Our daughter seemed to have misplace her shame, along with manners and values."

"That much is obvious. I don't know why it comes as such a surprise to you, my dear."

Y/n resisted the urge to roll her eyes and run up the stairs to her childhood room like she used to whenever her parents admonished her in the past.

"Shouldn't you be with that blood traitor, mud bloods lover of yours?" Her father continued.

"Sirius and I broke up tonight." Y/n murmured. It was enough, though, to lighten up her mother's petrified face.

"Is that so? You have finally come to your senses, I see."

"He cut me off."

"Ah!" Her mother's face deformed in an almost comical depiction of outrage. "How dare he, that little scum. Does he know the honor you were doing him by simply allowing him to be near you? After he dishonored his family the way he did, that good for nothing boy had the nerve to..."

"Mother! That's enough. Please."

"Well, that's it, then. You washed your hands of that embarrassment at last. Good."

"If you are to return in this household, y/n, I expect you to act properly. Start by changing that... attire." Her father commented. Which sounded close enough to a dismissal for y/n, who gladly seized the opportunity and rushed up the stairs.

Meanwhile, Sirius tried to wrap the muggle's sticky tape over a carton box. He spent all the time since y/n's departure packing her stuff and sealing them the muggle way. It was petty, but the quickest revenge he could piece together at the time being.

His cheeks were heated, painted in an angry red. His nose hurt from the many times he snuffled, suppressing his tears. Fueled by his pain, Sirius Black tore his flat upside down, using his fists, his legs, his wand. Until he dropped to the ground, too tired to keep it up and started boxing y/n's belongings.

The wizard heard muggles say it helped. It supposedly healed. But Sirius was just as terribly shattered as before by the end of it. He waved his wand and muttered a spell, vanishing every proof of y/n that might have been laying around in his flat.

Days passed and Sirius heard nothing from y/n. She ceased her attendings to the Order meetings, which he took as a sign he could safely tell everyone she was the spy. James was more than happy to fill the vacant place she left in Sirius' group, seeing as the people who fell victims to the vial attack were in drastic need of as much help the Order could spare.

"Alright, mate. Speak up." James Potter took his best friend by the shoulder and led him sidelong. The noises of rebuilding, using both magic and muggle ways, echoed under the rare sunny sky above the outskirts of London. Lots of volunteers offered to help and the camp starting to look anew. The two young men afforded a break.

"What are you talking about, Prongs?" Sirius fickle with the lighter before giving up and enchanting a flame for his cigarette.

"You know what, Padfoot. Your sulking. I can't help of you don't talk about it."

"There is nothing to say, alright? Y/n betrayed us, she lied to us, she was a peril for these people and our cause. She had to go."

"Us, these people, the cause... Sirius, my friend, you're not talking about yourself at all here. And you dated her for what? Four years? Five?"

"It doesn't matter. I'm not the important one right now."

James bumped his best friend playfully in the arm, a tentative grin forming on his face. "I never thought I'd hear the day Sirius Black would say such a thing."

The grey eyed wizard smiled at the other's joke, but his lips couldn't hold it for too long. He masked the fall of his smile with drawing a breath around the smoking stick.

"Look, Padfoot, I think you need some time away from the war. Lily and I are going to have a big family dinner tonight. My parents, her parents, even her sister is coming. It'd only be fair if I bring my brother too, what do you think?"

For a brief moment, Sirius felt warm and a pleasant feeling tickled his senses. The war erupted as soon as the marauders graduated Hogwarts, giving them all too little time to further explore their blissful friendship. Even though the united group remained the same in their minds, there could have been whole weeks in which they wouldn't talk to each other. And even when they managed, the change of words tended to be short and restrained to good luck wishes.

It was the first time James called Sirius his brother since after their seventh year when the Black disowned heir was allowed access to his uncle Alphard's inheritance and bought the flat he moved in, leaving the Potters' house behind.

Then, as soon as it came, it was gone. Replaced by a bitter taste as Sirius' mind drifted to y/n. Who made him feel real – one rebellious pure blood seemed odd, out of place. He begin to question his choices in fifth year in the light of everyone pointing out how wrong he was. But two descendants of old families, sharing stories and beliefs, soothed his mind. And now? Now all that proved to be a sham. And he was alone all over again.

Sirius pondered if he should decline James' invitation. Not only would he ruin the jolly mood with his sour one. But he could use his time better. Make amends to all the people whose lives his love ruined. However, he decided against it. Knowing James Potter as good as he did, Sirius was aware that he won't take no as an answer. And one needs double the normal doze of energy to argue with the Quidditch star.

"Sure, Prongs. I'll be there."

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

"Y/n! We are waiting for you. We mustn't be late."

The young woman groaned inaudible. She hadn't even finished to unpack the mountain of boxes Sirius sent her and her parents were expecting smiles and attendants to pure bloods events. Where she was expected to be glad of being rid of the wanker she had the displeasure to call boyfriend for too many years, to put it in their words.

"You didn't even tell me where are we going this time." She complained.

Y/n's parents exchanged looks. "I suppose we can tell her now."

"Yes, yes. Maybe it's for the best she won't be taken aback by the news."

"What news?" Y/n asked, seemingly impatient, but dread climbed its way up her spine.

"Oh, dear, maybe you can marry a Black heir, after all. Isn't it wonderful?"

"What?" Y/n knew her parents allowed her to date Sirius only because of his family's name. The dream of one day being a Black caught deep, thick roots in their minds. Even after he got disowned, they clung to that hope. It's never too late, her father would say. He'll get bored of playing games, her mother would agree. And y/n would bite the inside of her cheeks to keep from defending her boyfriend.

It went on like that until the war started and it became clear Sirius Black was too far gone in his honorable morals. Apparently, y/n's parents only gave up on him, not their dream of tieing unbreakable connections to the most Noble and most Ancient House of Black.

"Regulus Arcturus is of age, only a year younger than you. Wallburga wants to be sure the blood line will continue as pure and powerful as it is and we'd like nothing more than mix our ancestry with such a good family."

Now no amount of chewing her own skin could stop y/n from rolling her eyes and speaking up. "I just ended a relationship. I can't marry! And what about Regulus? What does he have to say about this arrangement?" Because the witch knew the youngest Black resented and condemned his brother's friends. Including her own self.

"He should be thrilled of having such a beautiful, sharp, educated, wife." Her mother answered and hurried her out the door.

Once the group made it to Grimmauld place nr. 12, the unfriendly house elf presented them to the household.

"Walburga, such a pleasure to see you again. And in such happy circumstances no less." Y/n's mother greeted. The Black matriarch inclined her head and smiled tightly.

"The pleasure is all mine, lady y/l/n. Good day to you too, lord y/l/n."

"Thank you for having us, lady Black. Lord Black." Y/n's father nodded towards the scrawny, tall boy by the chimney. He held his hands entwined behind his back, back straight and chin slightly lifted. Although it was clear he was still young and shoved into his mother's expectations from infancy, Regulus behold his title well. After his father's passing, the youngest Black took upon himself the responsibility and great honor of being Lord Black. Which laid proof enough of his association with the Dark Lord even without the ink y/n knew was dancing creepily up and down his sleeved forearm.

"Y/n, it's good to see you again," Walburga fixed the witch with her emotionless eyes.

Panicking, y/n curtseyed and muttered a greeting. A snort snapped her head in Regulus' direction. She frowned at him, while he only rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Maybe we should let the newly engaged to their own." Y/n's mother suggested.

"Yes. Come, we have plenty to discuss about the wedding."

As soon as the two of them remained alone, y/n turned towards her betrothed. "You look as bad as I feel." She commented, noticing the sickly pallor of his face, the bags under his eyes, the too thin hair – though perfectly arranged even so – and his wobbly feet.

"Marriage may not suit me well, m'lady." Regulus mocked.

"Hey! Don't act like the victim here. You're one of them, aren't you supposed to be on board with all this?"

The boy shrugged. "Weren't you supposed to be my brother's bride?"

"Shut it, baby snake." The words, though as light hearted as they could be coming from Regulus Black, hit her hard. Her stomach shifted painfully and a familiar sting wailed up behind her eyes.

"Original." Regulus mumbled. "How come you're not with my idiot brother anymore? I can see it's not because you had a change of heart."

"Why do you care?"

"Aren't I supposed to care about my future wife?"

"I thought you don't want the wedding either."

"I didn't want a lot of things. It never stopped them from happening," the young Lord Black threw matter of factly at y/n. Arms still behind his back, the witch couldn't see how he rubbed his wrist, where the mark itched. But she noticed the shift in his demeanour. The tremble of his jaw muscles, the lost gaze in his grey eyes, the lids slowly disappearing as long eyelashes connects with eyebrows when his eyes widen.

"Want to elaborate on that?"

"My tale for yours, if you are willing to start." Regulus wasn't a talkative person. He shared little about himself and his views, his voice tended to take people by surprise as the youngest Black preferred to observe things from the shadows. But this secret he had now, he needed to unburden his shoulders of its weight. And y/n made it clear where she stands with the purists nonsense.

Y/n chuckle took him by surprise. "I think that's fair." She brought her arms in front of her, cupping her elbows for a sense of support and sat on the sofa. "Sirius and I broke up," her gaze never left the carpet. "It was his idea. He assumed I betrayed the Order and switched sides."

"And did you?"

Now, her head snapped up, eyes blazing with fury. "No!" She spat at Regulus. Who immediately put his hands up in deffence.

"Alright, alright. Sorry."

Y/n grunted. "Whatever. Your turn."

Regulus told her about Kreacher and the cave. About how he searched for a way to make the Dark Lord pay and weaken his plans. By the end of it, y/n grinned genuinely for the first time in weeks.

"Wicked. Didn't know you had it in you, Black."

Regulus sent her a shy smile as well, tugging at some wanton raven strands of hair. "My brother truly is an idiot, y'know. He's fast to jump to conclusions and then never thinks twice about it."

"Yeah," y/n sighed. "I know."

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

Sirius seized the opportunity to make himself scarce after the dinner ended. The young man was now on the terrace, blowing off twirls of smoke in the early night. Lily and James saw to their guests as they leaved, but Sirius couldn't bring himself to join them. As bad as he felt about avoiding Effie and Monty, the wizard didn't want to face them in his state. The older Potters had enough on their plate with already without adding his sour mood to it.

"Oi, Sirius! Lily asks if you want to stay the night?" James leaned on the door frame after his and Lily's families were gone.

"Nah. I should be on my way as well, thanks mate."

"I insist." The young man with glasses blocked Sirius' way. He pressed gentle hands on the older Black brother's shoulders, making an effort to look up into his eyes and still be convincing. "It's exactly what you need, really. Some time with your friends and you'll be anew in no time, you'll see."

Sirius doubted it. Not only was he blind to his own girlfriend malice intentions, but by it, he also endangered so many people. The betrayal stung worse than his parents' punishments, but still couldn't compare with the ache in his heart from ending his longest, most wonderful relationship.

However, he nodded, being met with James hopeful and worried gaze.

"Sirius," Lily exclaimed. "You're staying, right? Good –" the redhead mused when the taller wizard hummed his confirmation –"you can borrow some clothes from James, I'm sure he won't mind." She smiled sweetly, but the edge of her lips' corners showed how troubled Lily was because of him.

"Of course not!" The bespectacled young man huffed and landed on the couch, remote already in his hand. Lily rolled her eyes at his antics, but chuckled softly and nestled against him.

"Thanks," Sirius' voice chocked and caught in his throat. The pair sitting lovingly tangled on the couch reminded him of himself and y/n on so many occasions. Cuddling after a long Order meeting, falling asleep on each other when they both thought they could play early birds for once, murmuring sweet nothings while the newspapers spread dread and uneasiness.

James and Lily were doing just that: comforting the other. Lily just said good bye to her parents and sister for good, being too dangerous for the muggles to remain close by. And as much as James' parents tried to hide their hurting from him, he saw right through their acts.

Lily stroked her husband's wild locks, twirling and untwirling the messy strands around her fingers. James rested his palm on her knee, toying with the material of his wife's jeans. Their free hands entwined, Lily and James conversed silently with each other.

Sirius shifted from foot to foot, an intruder. Before he had the chance to excuse himself and go back outside – something about the chilly air soothed him – a familiar owl flew by the window. The prey bird didn't stick around, though. And in its place, a letter found its way inside the house.

Well, letter was an overstatement, actually. A single piece of parchment, folded carefully. Sirius recognized the elegant calligraphy of his little brother.

If it's any of your concerns, y/n and I are to marry. You're not welcomed, of course, mother wouldn't allow it. But I thought you should know. She loves you still, brother – the ink smudged over the word and the loops of the letters were too squared. As if Regulus grew unsteady. Drops of ink colored the thin paper in a futile attempt to write more.

Sirius drew in a breath. His fingers flexed involuntarily and crumpled the parchment. Swallowing thickly, he allowed himself to drop on a armchair.

"Sirius? What's wrong?" Lily asked. James was on his feet within seconds, kneeling in front of his best friend and trying to catch his eyes.

"Padfoot?"

Without a word, the taller wizard passed the note over. James scanned it briefly before returning his attention to Sirius. Lily picked it up as well, thoughts drifting away as she gave the two men some space.

"I'd ask if you're ok, but clearly that'd be stupid even by my standards," James jocked. "Seriously, though, how do you feel about this?"

"Don't know, Prongs," Sirius shrugged hopelessly. "It shouldn't bother me, right? I mean, she's a traitor. They're both on the wrong side here. I shouldn't care what either is doing." His voice grew louder and louder, pitched and edged. "In fact," Sirius stumbled over a pitiful laugh, "I should be happy they found each other."

James shook his head. "Look, I know you don't want to hear this right now, but are you sure? Are you sure–" Potter begin again at Sirius' puzzled look –"that y/n really betrayed us?"

"What are you talkin' about, Prongs? Of course I am, she's the only option. She's a..."

"Pure blood?" Lily interfered with a pointing look. Sirius had the decency to blush. Lowering his gaze, the wizard fidget with his hands joined in front of him.

"I don't know how bad your fight was, but it's clear you still love her. And if we're to believe Regulus, she loves you too. There are no actual proof of her betrayal, Sirius. I never thought you're the one to chicken out in bad times."

James nodded. "You should go, mate. Settle this for good. You deserve closure."

"And what if I was wrong all along? What if she's innocent and I've been such a wanker?"

"Then you'll figure it out from there."

"Bollocks! Thanks a lot, Prongs!"

"Hey, relationships aren't easy, mate. I can't tell you the number of times Lily-pad here makes it a woeful... Ouch!"

From where the redhead witch stood, a small army of pillows flew towards James. "But it's ever so worthy, my dear. Ouch!"

"You should try living with yourself, Potter. I'm a perfect saint by comparison."

"If you say so, Mrs. Potter."

The light tease carried on, leaving Sirius to dwell in his mind.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

Y/n and Regulus stared at the empty room. By the end of that night, they'd be husband and wife. Both enjoyed the peace for a couple more minutes, before the guests would arrive and the ceremony would start.

"You know what's funny?" Y/n suddenly asked. "I always knew I'd end up with a Black. I just assumed it'd be Sirius."

Regulus nodded. "You're not the only one. He was mad about you, everyone could see that."

"It wasn't meant to be, after all, was it?" Her voice dripped with sorrow.

"Have you tried to reach out to him after the fight?"

"I doubt it'd've made any difference. If he can think so low of me after all the years we've been together..." she sighed and shook her head. The witch pursed her lips, holding back tears she didn't want to spill. A sob still escaped the carefully locked prison of her rib cage.

It startled Regulus, but the young Lord Black came to his senses and tentatively opened his arms for his future wife. Y/n walked in the hug and broke as soon as his arms engulfed her.

"It just hurts so much, Reggie." She sobbed.

"I know," the wizard said solemnly while stroking y/n's head. The heavy silence that followed spoke to both of them. There was no need of words anymore as two souls clung desperately to each other, calling for the kind of understanding only sharing experiences could really bring out.

Regulus lost a brother long before y/n lost a boyfriend. But Sirius believed them both traitors, mindless followers of Voldemort. And left, never glancing back once. It was a type of heartache the silently rebellious pure bloods shared.

"Do you think it'll ever pass?"

"Not sure. Supposedly, yes, I guess. Maybe if we have each other?" Regulus struggled with the question. It's been a good five years since Sirius was disowned and yet, the younger brother still weeps in his dreams, calling for him.

"Like actual partners?"

Regulus turned red. "I, I don't want you to hate me like mother hated father. I know there's pressure on our duties, I just... I thought..."

"We could be allies," y/n sufficed, a small smile growing weakly on her face. She pulled herself back at arm length and brushed her thumbs under Regulus' eyes. The digits wettened from his own tears, which softened the witch's y/e/c gaze. She nodded. "I think that'd be best. Great marriages started with less than this... at least in muggle novels."

Regulus rolled his eyes, but chuckled along with y/n anyway. The genuine smile playing on his lips caused the witch to burst into giggles. Sometimes, the relief of having another supporting oneself is so great, it leads to temporarily madness.

Mere hours later, the young Lord Black gripped y/n's fingers reassuringly in front of a sea of noble, ancient wizarding families. She squeezed his hands back. "Are you ready for this?" Regulus whispered.

"No. You?"

"Absolutely not."

The wizard dared a peak to the pure bloods gathered. Whatever he saw made his gaze snap back to y/n's face. Who was currently stealing glances all over the place. Her roaming eyes finally settled on Regulus' for the vows when the thick wooden door blew open.

Wind still swirled at the entrance, hiding whoever disturbed the wedding. As the view cleared, it revealed a tall, lean figure with a wand stretched forward and strands of hair whipping the air framing the silhouette. Gasps erupted under the high ceiling and at the same time y/n breathed out a name she thought she'll never have reason to speak again.

"Sirius Orion!" Wallburga screeched. The old woman refused to call her wayward son by the family name. He was unworthy of it. "What in Salazar's name do you think you're doing?!"

The crowd was on their feet now, confused or angry murmurs following the young man as he took a few confident steps forward. Though it was clear for y/n that he didn't feel as powerful as he made it look like.

"Why, hello, mother dearest," Sirius managed to slip bitter venom to his words. "I see you're wasting no time to ensure more precious heirs. Good to know you hadn't changed. Imagine the shock I'd have to face if you actually cared about your kids for once." With one look at Regulus' hidden grin, Sirius knew he pointed perfectly the reason this wedding was taking place during a gruesome war. Wallburga needed to see with her own two eyes the blood line of the most ancient and purest family in wizarding Britain being secured.

"You will leave this place in an instant!" Wallburga emphasized her words by pointing her wand towards her son. Y/n saw the gulp Sirius wished to pass unnoticed. Both brothers tensed, growing even more restless as few others in the gathering drew their own wands. Regulus' fingers curled and uncurled around the magic wood at his side. Y/n prepared herself for a fight as well. Though it was unclear why Sirius showed up, it could only be a matter of the Order, right? Which must mean he came as an Auror. Probably to pick her up for interrogation. But all alone? That was a new kind of brave idiocy on his part.

"I can't do that, I'm afraid." Sirius advanced. "I made a terrible mistake and I won't leave... unless y/n wants me to."

Under the pressure of too many pairs of eyes on her, the witch widened her own and stumbled backwards. Regulus caught her elbow to keep her from falling, giving a subtle nod at the same time. Hear him out, it seemed to say.

"I can't say I do." The witch ignored her parents' burning glares and the disapproving sighs around the room. As much as she wanted to dispatch her insufferable son, Walburga knew causing a scene wouldn't be the best course of action. So she stepped back, allowing Sirius a clear path to y/n.

The wizard tucked his wand away and strode forward, stopping a few inches before the pair about to marry. Disregarding the audience, Sirius fell to his knees. His grey eyes bore through y/n's, trying to travel as far as her soul. "I am so, deeply sorry, y/n!" His head fell, a curtain of black hair muffling the sound of his voice.

"I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. I should have listen to you, truly listen. I..."

"Don't think I'm a purist sod anymore?"

Sirius winced. "I never thought you a sod," he mumbled. "But that's not... what I try to say is- uh, I was wrong. You couldn't have been the spy, you're so much better than this, I know that."

"Now you know that?"

"I've always did. It just took me too much to admit it. I was looking for someone to blame and you were there. You've always been there... I'm so bloody sorry, y/n!"

"What made you change your mind? Why now?" Y/n's voice ringed hoarse and unsteady.

"I missed you. I've gotten jealous on Prongs and Lils, I couldn't lose you."

"You broke up with me. How is that not losing me?"

"I don't know. I don't... just, I don't know." Sirius' shoulders shrinked but he brought his silver eyes up in a teary plea. "Just, please? Please forgive me. Please."

In the silence that followed, in which y/n took her time to process what happened, Wallburga scoffed. "That's ridiculous! Get on your feet, boy and get out of here. You wasted enough of our time." Some rumbles of agreement echoed from person to person. But Sirius didn't move. It seemed like he didn't even hear his mother, with how focused he was on y/n.

A few guests moved to forcefully remove the stray wizard, but Regulus hexed them subtly. The spell wore off as soon as it bloomed, but it gave y/n enough time to reach her ex. She played with her sleeves, unfurling threads by mistake which she later ripped off altogether.

"Get up, will you?" Y/n tried to keep her voice even. But to Sirius it sounded like a final sentence. He shook his head, rubbing his bowled fists over his thighs. "Y/n, please. Please. Don't tell me to leave." His voice broke as the wizard chocked over his feelings.

Y/n rolled her eyes to sooth the stinging of tears. The y/e/c landed on the lean muscled figure at her feet. "That's not what I'm doing, Sirius." She said, wiping her face and dropping down next to him.

Her palms cupped his face, forcing Sirius to look at her. "You really, really hurt me."

"I know..."

"But," y/n quickly cut him off, "you hurt yourself too while at it. And I missed you." A miserable chuckle surfaced from the bottom of her lungs. "I missed you so bloody much!"

Sirius looked confused. Too afraid to hope, but feeding it to his yearning nonetheless. "Does it mean I'm forgiven?"

"Promise to never pull something like that again?"

"Yes! Merlin, y/n, yes. I swear it!" Sirius suddenly jumped, cackling like a maniac as he scooped her up in his arms and twirled and twirled and twirled until he lost his balance and had to stop.

"Sirius," y/n breathed between laughs. The man in question leaned down to press a kiss on top of her head.

"Sorry, m'love. Couldn't help it."

Y/n rolled her eyes again, but the glee that took over her remained as strong as ever. Lost in their happiness, the newly found couple missed the crowd circling in on them. Sensing the danger of all the man Death Eaters against them, Regulus grabbed his brother and friend and apparated away.

"What the hell?" Sirius eyed his little brother with a scold on his face. The magic took him by surprise.

Y/n raised a brow at him. "I think what you really mean to say is 'thank you, Reggie', isn't it?"

The young Lord Black smiled complicity to her, grinning at Sirius' expression. It varied from short lived anger to a quick fright only to stop at annoyance. "Maybe. Whatever," the wizard mumbled, sighing resigned. "Thanks, little brother." He said eventually, a small smile playing on his lips.

Regulus nodded, pleased. "I'll leave you alone. It's probably for the best."

"Wait!" Sirius exclaimed. Taking everyone by surprise. "I was thinking," the wizard starting, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. "Well, if y/n is dressed for the occasion... wouldn't it be a shame to waste such beautiful clothes?"

"Sirius Orion Black! Are you proposing to me?"

"I don't have a ring yet, but I promise I'll sell my bike if I have to so I can buy you the prettiest one. That's it, if you want to. Do you? Want to marry me, that's it."

"Who's gonna perform the ceremony if I say yes?"

"Not to influence your answer; in fact, I truly beg of you to consider it more, but I could do it if you're sure." Regulus chimed in.

Both Black brothers were starring expectantly at her. But it didn't faze y/n. She knew exactly what she'd choose. "I see you are a man of many talents, Lord Black," the witch started, mocking a high class accent. "Very well, then. Proceed to marry us."

Sirius actually squealed, though he'd never admit it. And when the sun sat far in the distance, leaving Britain behind for warmer places, two shadows mingled together in a passionate kiss, filled with love and longing, desire and despair. But most importantly a shared cheerful dream of a bright future together.

243 notes · View notes

myloversgone · 3 years ago

Text

Drabble - The perks of wearing glasses

Author’s notes: Hey, guys! I recently rewatched 12x15 “Somewhere Between Heaven and Hell”, and the highlight of the episode for me is Dean Winchester wearing glasses. So I had an idea and decided to write a little drabble about it. I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: language.

Parings: Dean x reader (but barely)

“Oh, god, I look like a grandpa!”, Dean exclaimed, looking at himself in the broken mirror on his bedroom.

Sam was at the door, watching his older brother and trying not to laugh at Dean’s drama. “C’mon, Dean, we’re gonna reverse the spell. Just give Rowena a few days”.

The Winchester brothers had been hunting a witch when Dean was hit by a spell that damaged his sight. For this reason, he would have to wear glasses so he could see properly until Rowena could find a way to reverse the spell. She was already working on it, but the magic was unfamiliar to her, which meant it could take a while, which was exactly what was scaring Dean.

“What if it takes her a full month, Sam? Or even more than that! You think chicks gonna dig me? Fuck, I look even older than I already am”. Frustrated, Dean ran a hand through his hair, glancing at the mirror and making a face, disapproving his own image.

“Dude, chill! Girls are gonna think you’re smart, intellectual. Seriously, don’t worry”, Sam said, actually surprised at how the situation affected Dean, but still finding it funny.

Mumbling something unintelligible, the older Winchester left the room not convinced by his brother’s attempts to calm him down.

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

Two days later

Rowena was nowhere near finding a way to reverse the sight damaging spell, so Dean had to resort to his favorite method of trying to clear his mind off of his current problem: drinking.

That’s why he was sitting at a bar two towns away from Lebanon, hoping he wouldn’t ran into someone who knew him and would make fun of his new “grandpa look”, as he called it.

Drinking from a beer bottle, Dean was dristracted texting Sam about a possible case, when the barman placed a glass of whisky on the counter right in front of him. “Courtesy from that lady over there, pal”, the man explained, when Dean was about to say he hadn’t orderer another drink.

You were sitting at the far end of the bar, and when Dean looked in the direction the barman had pointed, you nodded and smiled at him.

You’ve been watching Dean since he arrived. Tall and broad, the man had the most handsome face you’ve ever seen. Big green eyes and full lips, not to mention that his jaw could probably cut glass. The fact that he wore glasses only made him look more atractive to you. You found it very, very charming.

He looked a little older than you, but you decided to buy him a drink and give it a try. You really had nothing to lose. Having just ended a crappy relationship, you deserved at least one fun night with a hot guy.

Dean, on the other hand, looked at you and seemed very surprised, even looking over his shoulder to make sure your nod wasn’t directed to another man. Still, he got up and decided to sit next to you and ask why you’ve send him a drink.

“Well, you look like a nice guy. I mean, you don’t seem like the psycho type, and you’re handsome, so I thought I’d give it a shot”, you answered shrugging, the alcohol making you more uninhibited.

Furrowing his brow, Dean stared at you like you’re crazy. “You-you think I’m handsome? Not old or something? I mean, the glasses-”

You scoffed, interrupting him. “Have you looked at youself? Yeah, you’re probably older than me, but so what? You’re far away from being old, old. And I totally dig the glasses”, you gave him what you hoped was a sexy smile.

“You do?” Dean asked with a smirk. “Well, thank you, sweetheart. You’re very beautiful yourself. My name’s Dean”, he introduced himself, taking your hand in his and kissing the back of it, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you, Dean”, you replied, blushing at his compliment.

“Pleasure ‘s all mine. How about I buy you a drink and you tell me what is that you like so much about glasses, huh?”, he winked at you, already signaling to the barman, his eyes gleaming with the promise of an unforgettable night.

#dean winchester #dean x reader #dean x reader drabble #dean in glasses #spn drabble #supernatural fic

100 notes · View notes

jokenotfunny · 2 years ago

Note

I have two questions. Do you think writing fanfiction is the same as reading it? I ask because, I've been thinking about writing a fanfiction for a certain fandom that barely has any fics, but I'm hesitant because I'm very insecure about my writing style, and I just think that if I write it it will take the fun out of it because I would already know how it goes. And I'm also not confident in the way I portray personalities, sometimes I feel as if I'm not doing justice to the characters I write, which brings me to my second question, Do you have any tips for writing about existing characters and how to portray their personalities accurately?

That's really all I have to ask. I don't want to go on too long because I tend to ramble lol.

(Btw I'm in love with your fics and I'm super excited for the summer camp fic and I'm in love with the platonic eddie fic (I feel like platonic fics are way too underrated) )

hi ! honestly, i don’t really think writing fanfiction is the same thing as reading, because of exactly what you said about already knowing what’s going to happen!

but ! i alao don’t think that meansthat the fun is taken out of it. me for example, with my sev x platonic! eddie fic. even though i already know what’s going to happen, sometimes i just like to go back and read each chapter just for the fun of it.

their may even be times when you go back and read it, and think “wow, i thought / said that? i’m so funny 🌚” jkjk i’ve never done that 🫣

and about your hesitation for writing for a fandom with few fics, i say go for it! you never know if there are others looking for fics for that fandom, and only having a few to work with.

about you being insecure about your writing style, i completely understand. i was as well! my advice for that one may be to think of how you like to read others works and what about those writing styles makes you comfortable enough to read it.

and, before i continue, if you feel comfortable, you could send another anon, clearing up what you meant in the terms of your writing style specifically and what you don’t feel too comfortable about, or just message me privately!

but to continue, i think that if you have issues with your writing style, when writing for existing characters personalities accurately, i think that the type of pov you use is important.

for example :

1st person : “i , me , our , we” that’s telling the story from the reader’s perspective, as if they were the narrator. writing from that p.o.v can make it difficult to let the readers know how other characters are feeling/thinking, other than it being a guess because the reader doesn’t actually know. kind of like the show, euphoria and how rue isn’t a reliable narrator because all the information she gives the audience is based on things that she’s observed herself, but she doesn’t actually know what’s going on in other character’s heads.

2nd person and 3rd person : “you , your” & “she, her, him, he , they” that’s telling the story as the narrator, who in majority of cases, knows everything about everyone (because it’s the author) and what’s going on, beyond the characters knowledge. with 3rd person, i think it would be better to use when talking about the other characters, such as letting the audience know that character’s inner thoughts, without having them have to broadcast it out loud for it to be known. leaving it to be just between , that character, and the readers, which could possibly be used later on for build-up and/or suspense.

now, more on the sense of using imagery and being able to portray existing character’s thoughts and personalities (because i feel like the two go hand-in-hand), i would say go back and reread or rewatch certain scenes with those characters and note the types of things they do.

such as : body language , actions they take as they speak , or little things they do or say while talking

like constant “um’s” or just little bouts of hesitancy, or even urgency, where instead, the character tries to fit everything they say into one sentence but it comes out as a jumbled mess.

that would be portraying personality, also, instead of just saying something like “he/she/they said” after a dialogue, try adding an action to it as well !

like : “if i knew this was gonna happen, i would’ve never came here!” she whimpered, pressing her head into her knees, digging her hands into her hair, as she rocked back and forth on the ground.

“what about this…?” he spoke up, but trailed off, as everyone looked at him. “could..could this work?” his voice wavered at the sudden attention.

or things like

waving their hands as they speak , person a pacing back and forth, person b getting annoyed at person a’s pacing, cutting other characters off in the middle of their own sentences (not in a rude way, but in a “if i don’t get this out right now, it won’t make sense later.” type of way.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

and lastly, you don’t ever have to worry about rambling in asks or anons for this blog, because as you can see i always have too much to say 😭

also like i said earlier on, if you feel comfortable you can message me privately or just send another anon , clarifying what you meant in regards to writing style, because i’d really like to try and help you :) !

and, yay !! i’m so happy to hear that you like my fics that much !

so now just for you, i’m going to push through the stress of not knowing what to do for future chapters that are currently irrelevant to what i’m writing right now, and finish this damn chapter 2 of my summer camp horror story and my season 3 chapter of my eddie x platonic! experiment! reader ! 🥱

and sorry i took so long to respond i literally spent hours typing and erasing what i was saying because it was such a good question and there were so many different ways to go about it 😭

#❥ anon #my third anon ! 🫶🏾#send more pls #if you can’t tell i explain things in too much detail #eddie munson x reader

9 notes · View notes

soria-mori · 3 years ago

Text

white oleander is such an odd movie.

it's quite beautiful and the dynamic between the characters has so much potential, but it's consistently lacking in almost every aspect. the dialogue is stiff and bland. it is possible to argue that this was an artistic choice, but i don't think it was well executed at all. astrid is cold and her responses are short and to the obvious. if this was a conscious decision, it's extremely hard to tell.

to be completely frank, the women in this movie were written terribly. astrids mother is the most relatable female character and you can tell she's sort of an edgy self insert for the author. between astrid and ingrid it's obvious the author divided up herself to create two character with turmoil. portraying yourself as a mother daughter relationship has a lot of potential to be heart-wrenching; unfortunately in this case it seems to have been done with little to no actual reflection of self.

the men in this movie are written just fine, they don't serve too much purpose- but it's clear they aren't meant to. this isn't a man's movie. ingrid has a clear distain for not only men, but anyone that threatens to dismantle her narcissistic echo chamber. this reflects onto astrid as a general disinterest in men. (although she does find herself in new york with paul in the end. which is an excellent example of her mother letting her go)

it is quite the feminine thing to have inner turmoil only a mother can instil in you. we'll see it time and time again, misogyny breeds the worst relationships between mothers and their daughters- they're raised to not get along. daughters will often mock and betray mothers for a fathers approval or just for their own independence. but this does not save them from a mothers fate. astrids only protagonist is her mother, whether or not ingrid is a representation of janet fitch's own mother or the conflicts within herself that her relationship with her mother bred, she represents a mothers role in their daughter's life with all the nunaces that sidelong it. she is confusing, she is stark and she is manipulative, but only in a way that a mother who has lived a life before childbirth would be. astrid is free from her mother in the end of the film; both literally, because her mother is sentenced to no parole and with her new found freedoms in new york- this weight being lifted of astrid allowed her to truly live the lives she lived while she was still hidden under her mothers wing. the concluding monologue reveals that astrid has spent time reflecting on her foster families which is something i imagine was hard to do with her mother looming over her. ingrid was a very protective energy throughout astrids life- but emotional protection from a prison yard while being alone in the real world is an obviously detrimental thing for astrid to go through and she wasn't able to fully digest what was happened to her, nor her own emotions regarding the situations.

all in all, this movie is an amazing cathartic watch as long as you're willing to put in the self reflection work it takes to enjoy. there's a lot i wanted to talk about, like the presence of sexual assault and child sexual abuse that takes place throughout the movie aswell as claire, her motherly presence and her guided suicide. perhaps ill have more to say the next time i rewatch this film.

#white oleander #whiteoleander #film #movies #filmcommunity #movie review #film review #janet fitch #peter kosminsky #alison lohman #michelle pteiffer #patrick fugit

9 notes · View notes

mittensmorgul · 4 years ago

Text

Since the finale aired, I’ve been yammering on about how it would’ve only worked as a finale to s2, and now that I’m actually rewatching s2, I stand by that even more staunchly. The finale doesn’t work in a post-s2 supernatural universe.

This is the version of Dean we saw in the finale-- the one whose only mission in life was to Save Sammy, to help him get his revenge and allow him to go out and live a Normal Safe Life pretending that hunting and monsters don’t exist. The one who just wanted some pie, to drive his car, and had no real connections beyond Sam in the world outside of Bobby. Even Dean’s characterization in the finale is this far younger Dean who’d never allowed himself to crack open and truly understand love. It would take me years to plow through everything I’ve ever written about him as a character and his long struggle to emotional maturity we saw evolve over the next 13 years beyond this episode, but the tl;dr will always be “this s2 Dean is the same as the Dean in the finale.”

The goal of s2 was saving SAM from his “destiny,” too. In this era of the show, Dean didn’t have a “destiny” the same way Sam did. The ONLY thing that mattered was freeing Sam from “becoming evil,” and being manipulated into terrible things. What Dean wanted, what he was “destined” for by the narrative was irrelevant, because all of his choices and emotional burdens were tied only to saving Sam. To freeing Sam so he could safely return to his “normal life.” Go back to college, have a family and the white picket fence life.

This was before Dean truly began fighting for HIMSELF. Which only really and truly began after he sells his soul to resurrect Sam. That’s when Dean truly begins fighting for himself. Sure, he’s angry with John during s2 for trading his own life for Dean’s, for putting the burden of “if you can’t save Sam, you’ll have to kill him” on his shoulders with his dying breath, but Dean is still fighting against John’s authority and the complicated tangle of feelings of his own childhood and not actually coming to terms with his own wants and needs and wishes out beyond that yet. He’s still unwittingly confronting the “destiny” John had set up for him, and hasn’t moved beyond that yet. It’s only trading his soul for Sam’s that finally brings Dean into the cosmic narrative that will fuel his introspection and personal growth for the rest of the series.

And out beyond that point, his entire character arc explodes into orbit.

Dean’s entire character arc in s3 is confronting this very basic fact: he doesn’t deserve to have been sacrificed just to save Sam. He doesn’t deserve that burden, and he does deserve to live. This is the realization he comes to before eventually being dragged to Hell and then rescued by an angel, who literally tells him, “you don’t think you deserve to be saved” in the aftermath of that. From that point on, we have TWELVE SEASONS of Dean struggling with what he “deserves” versus what is “fate” and “destiny” and eventually confronting what he WANTS if he truly could choose his own destiny.

Plus, out beyond that point, he has Cas. And nothing changes Dean, pushes him to grow and understand himself, and accept himself-- all of himself, from the good to the horrific-- than the pure and unflinching acceptance of Castiel. Cas never looked at him and said “you are evil,” or “you are worthless.” (well, they’ve both said some pretty awful stuff to each other over the years, but there was either brainwashing or other deeper issues pushing those things on them, and they have ALWAYS eventually come back to one another, and the awful stuff was dealt with). Point is, Dean and Cas both began running these parallel arcs of duty versus desire, and for Dean, the duty was always framed around “taking care of Sam” versus pursuing any sort of ambition or goals for himself. They would fight for this for most of the rest of the series, until eventually the goal for ALL of them would be about discovering what they would want for themselves.

The show explicitly dealt with this, repeatedly, over later seasons, asking all of the characters the big questions: is this what you would choose for yourself? What WOULD you choose for yourself if you could?

And then they made the narrative of the final season, of the final Big Bad, the fact that they had NEVER had real freedom, and that their entire lives (and the entire history of not only this universe but every parallel universe) had been Chuck’s Puppet Theater, and true free will had been a lie all this time. Pushing all of the characters to confront their own choices and understand what about who they were as people was separate from what Chuck pushed them into choosing and doing all these years. The main thing that Dean (and also Cas, and to the extent she was included in the narrative this was Eileen’s issue as well) were being pushed to come to terms with what really was real, and were their feelings and choices their own or imposed on them for the furtherance of Chuck’s story.

At the end of the road, finally free and out from under Chuck’s control, they knew what was real. For Sam and Eileen, they had chosen each other. Cas had chosen Dean, but Dean hadn’t yet had a chance to reply, but anyone with two eyes and a brain knows what he would’ve said in return. It’s what Cas stopped him from saying even back in Purgatory in 15.09. And yet, for some reason Sam and Dean forgot all of that, as if none of it had ever even really happened at all, and we went right back to who they were right after they finally defeated the YED, before we even knew Azazel had a name, let alone the fact that the ultimate boogeyman of their entire lives to that point had been nothing more than a fanatic pawn in a much larger destiny for both of them.

The end of s2 was the last time Dean sacrificing himself so Sam could have a normal life, where Dean really felt there was nothing more for himself than fulfilling his father’s orders to save Sammy, even feels remotely plausible. It’s the last time we can feel like Dean might find peace and contentment in a Heaven where John is nearby to be proud of him, and where Dean would actually feel like that validation was even relevant to his own life.

And that finally brings me back to s2, where that was actually addressed through John’s self-sacrifice to save Dean, to serve Dean up to the narrative and provide a stage for this self-transformative journey INTO being a version of John himself. Only... Dean DOESN’T choose that. He fights to save Sam at all costs, even when it seems clear that the right answer would probably be to KILL Sam instead. When not only the ghost of John Winchester plaguing Dean’s mind would make him doubt his own drive to save his brother, but the John Winchester Insert Character of s2-- Gordon Walker-- basically put Dean’s own doubts out there in plain words in 2.10:

GORDON: I'm surprised at you, Dean. Getting all emotional. I'd heard you were more of a professional than this. Look, let's say you were cruising around in that car of yours and, uh, you had little Hitler riding shotgun, right? Back when he was just some goofy, crappy artist. But you knew what he was going to turn into someday. You'd take him out, no questions, am I right?

DEAN: That's not Sam.

GORDON: Yes it is. You just can't see it yet. Dean, it's his destiny. Look, I'm sympathetic. He's your brother, you love the guy. This has got to hurt like hell for you. But here's the thing. It would wreck him. But your dad? If it really came right down to it, he would have had the stones to do the right thing here. But you're telling me you're not the man he is?

This, the episode where Dean finally confesses John’s final orders to Sam, where Dean has decided that saving Sam is all that matters, even when circumstance and everyone else is practically screaming at him that this could all be over if only he gave in-- be it his own self-sacrifice OR killing Sam. Six of one, half a dozen of the other, the universe doesn’t care (and neither does Chuck... especially at this point... and the proof of that is Sam��s s15 nightmares where one of Chuck’s alternate universe endings for Sam and Dean was Sam actually going Darkside on demon blood and killing Dean... any iteration of the old drama, Chuck has explored all potential endings-- oh, except the ending where TFW gets to just be happy and live... that’s the one ending they never get and the only one they deserved in the end).

also from 2.10... loads of chat about “destiny” and one of Dean’s first “we should just lay all this shit down and take a vacation” moments when he suggests they go to Amsterdam and enjoy some of the not-coffee-coffee-shops, which Sam counters by doubling down on the fact that Dean has a destiny in all this as much as Sam does:

SAM: Well, come on, dude, you're a hunter. I mean, it's what you were meant to do.

DEAN: Ah, I wasn't meant to do anything, I don't believe in that destiny crap.

SAM: You mean you don't believe in my destiny.

DEAN: Yeah, whatever.

SAM: Look, Dean, I've tried running before. I mean, I ran all the way to California and look what happened. You can't run from this. And you can't protect me.

DEAN: I can try.

And that’s it, right there. This is the “neither of you can try for a normal life outside of the other while the other is still alive.” This is Sam pinning a destiny to Dean that’s just as inescapable within Chuck’s narrative as Sam’s demon blood and psychic powers.

This is the core essence of Chuck’s story about them. The sibling dynamic that Chuck failed to free himself from, and that Sam and Dean failed to free themselves from after Chuck’s demise in 15.19.

Destiny. One must die so the other can live.

And considering the next 13 seasons of the show and the long and emotionally grueling character arcs Sam and Dean proceed through where they truly confront the core of who they are as people-- as individuals outside of their duty and destiny-- the finale ceases to make any sense outside of Chuck’s narrative for them. If 15.20 really happened exactly as we saw it on screen, then Chuck still won.

And they had to loop Sam and Dean all the way back to where they were emotionally at the end of s2 in order to make it seem plausible. Which, for those of us who actually care about what they endured after s2, makes the finale entirely implausible as a whole.

#spn 2.10 #spn 15.20 #spiders georg of the tnt loop #while i was writing this up i also watched 2.11 and yep... still holds up #the ghost of john winchester #chuck's process

107 notes · View notes

gisellelx · 4 years ago

Note

Do u have any thoughts on the Romanians?

Tumblr is very interested in the Romanians, I think! I find it fascinating. I don’t have very many thoughts on the Romanians because they are so tangential to the overall story that they almost don’t warrant thinking about. They seem very much like an afterthought to me. One of the cardinal rules of writing, ascribed in turn to almost every famous 20th century author you can imagine (well, the white male ones, at any rate) is “kill your darlings.” Meaning, when you’re drafting a piece, especially a long piece like a novel, you are going to have so many more interesting ideas than you can fit in the work, but many of them will turn out to not make sense for the narrative or not further the narrative. I think the Romanians were a darling that SM couldn’t stand to kill. It’s clear that SM was really interested in the worldbuilding aspect of Twilight, even as she lacked the writing dexterity to pull off the world she was imagining. Her editors reined her in to write New Moon and Eclipse, and I have little doubt they were heavily involved with the plots therein--that they said, “Okay, what if Bella has another love interest” and “Okay, what if there’s a big showdown?” (Also Eclipse was so clearly meant to be the end of a trilogy, but that’s a story for another day.) So she created the Volturi, who are stand-ins for one of the higher orders of the Mormon church, the First Presidency, which is made up of the President and two counselors. SM clearly, at one point, decided to have an idea that the Volturi had enemies. Maybe she thought it would lead to some narrative tension; I don’t know. But it doesn’t work with the story as written--the story as set up is designed for the Cullens to triumph; Forever Dawn was always meant to give Bella and Edward an uncomplicated HEA, and the thing that the Romanians do is present the idea that there is a force out there who could defeat the Volturi, or at least, who could, if they were actually able to marshall the 16 vampires who come to the Cullens’ aid.

So from the perspective of future conflict, they’re great. But they offer next to nothing to the story of Breaking Dawn and to the arc of the Twilight saga more generally. It is hinted that there is some disagreement about who should run vampiredom. But ultimately, everyone agrees that the person who does run vampiredom is Aro. The Cullens don’t “win” the battle in BD, they just convince Aro they’re not a threat. So Vladmir and Stefan serve no purpose, from a narrative standpoint. They are darlings who should’ve been killed. But ngl, “We do not care what you did Carlisle,” absolutely terrible, stereotypical, racist accent aside, is one of my all time favorite lines and the only reason I ever rewatch BD II. It is just such pure characterization of both the Romanians and Carlisle--that Carlisle is losing his mind trying to convince everyone that nothing is wrong, and the Romanians are spoiling for a fight, and in fact were probably just waiting on Saint Carlisle to do something to give Aro an excuse to take him out, and there's just so much good sentiment wrapped up in those eight words.

#romanians #twilight #writing #asks

27 notes · View notes

s1rcus · 3 years ago

Text

Second Chance (NatDex/Blackhill)

Rating: Teen and up

Words: 1555

Fandoms: Marvel, Stumptown

Characters: Natasha Romanoff, Dex Parios, Original Female Character

Additional tags: Reincarnation, Post-Avengers: Endgame, Reincarnation AU, Stumptown Crossover

Summary: After Vormir Natasha wakes up in a new world where she has a different name and works as a ballet dancer? She also finds a familiar face she has missed, when her best friend/co-worker, Katya, drags her into a bar on a Friday evening.

Authors note: So this a thing I've been working on pretty much since I watched Stumptown. There's also a little cameo for one of Emily VanCamp's characters because I've been watching the Resident and rewatching Revenge recently.

Story below the cut or in AO3 here

The last thing Natasha can remember was her falling. She rubs her eyes and sits up in a bed, the covers pooling on her lap. A bed? That can't be right. She very much remembers falling to her death to save Clint from doing that.

A phone goes off on the nightstand next to her. She grabs it and realizes it's an alarm she had put on. Dismissing it she gets up and heads towards the bathroom. She's not alarmed by the fact that she clearly knows where it is until the shower is running. Something is very wrong.

She gets out of the shower and dries her hair with a towel and wraps it around herself. She goes to check the mail to see who's apartment this is. Veronika Bobrova is the only name in the few letters that lie in front of the door. She's starting to think she's hit her head or something but then the phone starts to ring again and she goes to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Vera where are you? We're starting in fifteen minutes and there's so much I can do until someone notices you're not here."

And with that voice her life flashes back to her. She is Veronika Bobrova, a ballet dancer. They have rehearsals for shows during daytime and during evenings they teach children. Her class is on Tuesday and Thursday evenings so today was a free evening. She shakes her head to clear her head.

"I'm so sorry. I had put the alarm wrong. I'll be there as quickly as I can. Thank you Katya. I owe you some drinks or something."

"I'm gonna keep that in mind."

She ended the call, got dressed and grabbed a toast on her way out of the door.

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

And Katya did keep it in mind. When Friday evening came she was being dragged across town to a bar she had never even heard of. Bad Alibi was such a weird name for a bar anyway.

Katya sat down at a table and Natasha went to order them a couple shots of vodka. When she got back and was sitting across from Katya, she saw a face she knew she could never forget. It didn't matter what had happened, if she was Natasha or Veronika or whoever she was supposed to be, but that face she could never forget. It was Maria. Somehow she hadn't even thought about how her sacrificing herself to keep Clint with his family and to get everyone else back would affect her. Does that make her a bad girlfriend? It probably doesn't even matter anymore. She's dead. In that world at least.

She must've been staring for a while because Katya speaks up next to her.

"She's actually the reason we're here. She's a PI and I really need help with the Jack situation."

Before Natasha has time to really say anything, Katya has downed the rest of her drinks and is making her way towards the woman who looks like Maria. She comes back with her and sits next to Natasha while the other woman sits across from them.

Veronika had never been this happy she was single, while Natasha was happy that Veronika actually was single. Being single had never been a problem for Natasha, she actually kinda preferred it, but Maria had proven how wrong she was. While Veronika definitely hated being single. That probably shows the difference of how they grew up. Or so at least Natasha thought.

The woman says her name is Dex Parios and she asks Katya to explain her situation to her. Natasha hears none of Katya's explanation, barely registering Katya introducing her as her "emotional support". She just keeps staring at Maria/Dex, whoever she is.

This version is way more laid back as her Maria. She's more like the Maria Natasha got to know. The one who'd watch movies with her and eat popcorn. The one that'd cook her dinner after a long mission. The one who called her grandma every Sunday evening no matter where she was. The one Natasha fell in love with.

After a while it becomes too much and Natasha excuses herself, making her way outside. Without a thought she digs through her purse and pulls out a small carton. When she's holding a lighter on her other hand, she makes a face. Of course Veronika would have a bad habit Natasha couldn't stand. She puts the lighter back into her purse and throws the carton to a bin. Leaning against the wall she takes a deep breath. She needs to get a grip.

"What's going on with you? You've been weird these past few days."

Of course Katya would follow her. She needed a lie, a good one. Because telling her best friend that a couple days ago she woke up and suddenly she has all these memories of another life in her head. A whole new personality that had mostly taken over. Maybe just telling a partial truth would be for the best.

"I quit smoking."

"Oh. Well good for you! I was expecting something totally different. Maybe even something bad."

"What? That I joined a secret agency and killed a bunch of people?"

"Uh, no? That was weirdly specific?"

"Sorry, just a dream I had. How'd it go with the PI?"

"Good. She said she'll contact me when she has something."

Before Natasha even realizes she's speaking, she's said her thoughts out loud. "She's so beautiful."

"Oh?"

Shit. Does Veronika date women? Did Katya know if she does? Natasha tries to start thinking back on the memories she's still trying to figure out but it's still all mixed up with her own memories.

"She didn't really seem your type. Well, mainly she wasn't blonde or rich."

Okay, good. Yes to all of the questions. Wait, blonde and rich? Why is her memory showing her Carter in fancy clothes and why does it hurt? Not really important right now but she does need to figure out her mixed memories.

"Well, you saw those eyes yourself. You tell me they weren't the most beautiful eyes you've ever seen."

"Sure." Couple beats of silence until Katya lets out a breath and continues, "I'm heading home. You wanna share a cab?"

"Oh?" Looking back inside where she could see Maria/Dex. She's got a second chance in this and she has to take it. She shakes her head. "No. I'm good. I think I'm going to try to get her number."

"You know I have her number right or you could just get it online?"

"Yeah, but where's the fun in that?" Natasha smirks.

"Fair enough. Don't have too much fun without me though."

"No promises. I'll see you on Monday."

"See ya."

Natasha watches Katya wave a cab and makes her way inside. She goes to the bar and orders a beer. Not really her choice in drinks but Maria had liked it and she had got used to the taste. Also maybe getting drunk while she's mixing memories isn't a good idea and beer isn't strong enough to get her drunk. She moves to a table with her bottle and sits down. Slowly sipping her drink she keeps her gaze at Maria/Dex. Dex, that's her name and she really should start calling her by that. She isn't Maria, just looks like her (and maybe sometimes acts like her).

It doesn't take too long before Dex catches her watching her. Natasha flashes her a quick smile and shifts her gaze to the table top. Dammit, she's way off her game. This isn't how Veronika did things and her body keeps betraying her by doing small things the way it used to. When she lifts her eyes back up, she sees Dex making her way towards her.

"I was wondering if you'd come back," is all Dex says as she sits on the empty chair across from Natasha.

Being this close to her makes Natasha feel at ease, Maria always had that effect on her, and having a gentle smile on her face feels almost effortless and natural.

"How so?" Natasha responds, tilting her head as she tries to read Dex. It's hard, because she clearly isn't Maria like her brain and heart are telling her. Was she interested in her? Part of her was saying yes, but the other part couldn't get a read on her.

"Someone like you doesn't stare at a person without a reason. Either you're hoping to get something or I have something on my face. And I checked myself in the mirror after your friend left, so I'm pretty sure it's the former."

"Someone like me?" It's a challenge and Natasha knows that Dex knows it too.

"Fuck. I didn't mean it like that. I-"

Natasha smirks at her, "I'm just messing with you. I know what you meant. Let me buy you a beer?"

Dex is smiling now and suddenly Natasha has butterflies in her stomach without a reason. She blames Veronika, but it might also just be her.

"I don't think you buying me a beer at a place where I get them always for free is fair. But how about I'll get you one?"

Maybe she really does have a second chance at this. Natasha smiles at her, "I'd like that.

#blackhill #dex x natasha #natasha romanoff #dex parios #black widow #marvel #mcu #stumptown #my fic

18 notes · View notes

cosmic-goddess-leo · 4 years ago

Text

Show Me Your Teeth

Vampire!Kuroo x Monster Hunter! Reader

Chapter 1

Summary: Kuroo Tetsuro finds himself in quite the predicament when an injured monster hunter stumbles into his castle seeking refuge.

Word Count: 5,762

Warnings: Violence, blood, smut in upcoming chapter

Author’s Note: Sooooo I’m rewatching Castlevania lmao

A cry of pain reverberated off the gargantuan trees and echoed into the night sky as monstrous claws tore through armor and flesh.

Taking on such a sizeable pack of werewolves was a calculated risk, but the rather large sum of money offered as reward for the alpha’s head was just enough for (Y/n) to throw logic and reason out the door and begin tracking the beasts.

Of course, the amount of villagers the pack had eaten or turned was taken into account as well. If no one stepped in, the village would surely be wiped out within the month. Innocent people, children, all suffering as their bodies were devoured by savage creatures of the night.

(Y/n) couldn’t allow it. The money was merely a perk. (Y/n) could rest well knowing she had done the right thing in helping the village as well as not have to starve while on her travels.

And that was the rough chain of events that led to this current shit show.

(Y/n) was now dodging attacks from the beasts left and right, which proved to be no easy task with her injured leg.

A displeased growl slipped through her gritted teeth as the huntress pulled her whip from her harness on her hip. “Since you want to play dirty...” She trailed off, cracking the whip once in the air, the moonlight catching on the bits of silver adorning the very tip of the popper.

This didn’t seem to intimidate the wolves as one lunged towards her. (Y/n) cracked the whip in his direction, the consecrated leather slashing at the beast while the silver carved into the werewolf’s skin.

Almost instantaneously, the wolf went up in wild blue flames and a horrendous cross between a scream and a howl ripped through its burning esophagus into the night.

(Y/n) smirked triumphantly, using the moment of temporary shock to put some distance between her and the pack. She broke off into a sprint, limping in a random direction away from the wolves.

She swore she could see a castle through the trees, and was relieved to find her vision hadn’t failed her once she exited the tree line.

The villagers at the tavern had spoken in hushed whispers about the abandoned castle past the great forest, how they wondered if anyone had taken up residence in the large structure.

Worst case scenario, a couple of vagrants had taken up residence in the place and would be displeased about a monster hunter bringing a pack of werewolves into their lodging.

(Y/n) grunted as she climbed the steps leading to the castle, the pain in her leg becoming increasingly evident as she put more weight on it. She attempted to heave the large wooden doors open, shakily exhaling as the doors refused to budge.

Whoever had left this castle locked it before they vacated.

The huntress cursed under her breath as she heard the wolves approaching, sparing a glance over her shoulder as she continued pulling on the large, metal ring handle on the door.

She was almost knocked off her feet when the locks clicked, the door finally swinging open towards her. Had (Y/n) not been running for her life, she would have thought to question how the doors suddenly unlocked.

(Y/n) clambered into the castle, shutting the large doors behind her and locking them in hopes of buying herself some time. She pulled a bottle from the pouch strapped onto her hip and poured the clear liquid onto her leg, the mixture numbing the pain enough for her to walk properly.

As she capped the bottle and began to place it back in her pouch, a dark figure at the corner of her eye caught her attention. She whipped her head in that direction, but the figure disappeared.

Her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness as she continued searching for the shape in that direction, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end as she swore she could feel something breathing down her back.

Before she could give it any more thought, the doors of the castle began to rattle and creak as the wolves attempted to get in.

(Y/n) got to work pouring holy water at the entrance and rubbing salt onto her silver sword, the mysterious presence now long forgotten as she prepared for battle. She then sheathed her sword and unfurled her whip, eyes glued to the door just as the wood began to crack.

The wolves burst through the door, the first to enter screeching as they stepped into the holy water. (Y/n) dispatched the immobilized wolves quickly with her whip, the room now illuminated by the blue fire burning through their flesh and fur.

The next wave of wolves leapt over the burning embers of their fallen pack members, only to be met with the crack of (Y/n)’s whip. She knew this plan wouldn’t stay viable for long, werewolves tended to be very craft creatures, their bloodlust only clouding their animal instincts for so long.

Just as she began to take a step back towards a nearby room, one of the large, stained glass windows beside her shattered. The biggest bastard of the pack, the alpha, came crashing through the glass right towards her.

(Y/n) raised her arm to shield herself on instinct, knowing the second the alpha had her head between his jaws this would all be over.

The beast took hold of her arm, its fangs clamping down on the limb and breaking through her chainmail like it was paper. (Y/n) screamed in anguish as her blood gushed from her arm and onto her body.

The alpha then tossed her body aside, as if she were nothing but a ragdoll, a ghastly laugh vibrating through its chest as it watched her body smack against the nearby wall.

(Y/n) struggled to pick herself up, arm limp at her side as she weakly gripped at her sword with her non-dominant hand. She whipped around to face the alpha, just as it began charging at her, unsheathing her sword weakly and holding it in front of her body at the last second.

The massive wolf pounced onto her, whimpering as the salted silver blade pierced its stomach. (Y/n) quickly pushed its limp body away, sending it to the floor with a loud thud.

(Y/n) looked down at her arm, a sense of dread filling the pit of her stomach as she examined the large bite. A bite from an alpha meant she would turn in only a matter of minutes if she didn’t treat it. She had no time to worry about the remainder of the pack as she pulled a pouch of salt from her hip and rubbed it onto the large wound.

She whimpered at the sting, knowing the worst was yet to come as she pulled a waterskin full of holy water from her belt. (Y/n) then doused her arm with the water, another violent scream erupting from her chest and echoing into the hall. The water bubbled against the wound, hissing quietly as it cleansed the torn flesh.

(Y/n) could feel her vision going blurry, her body beginning to wobble as her ears rang. She tried to will herself to snap out of it, tried to stand straight and prepare for the attack from the rest of the pack. But she couldn’t stop her body from collapsing onto the floor as she went into shock.

She could see the wolves slowly closing in on her, eyes practically glowing with hatred as they looked between the huntress and their slain alpha. (Y/n) never thought she would lose her life to a pack of werewolves, but at least it would be quick.

The blue fire began to dim as the burning bodies were now reduced to ash. Darkness consumed the room just as a large figure suddenly tackled the nearest werewolf away from (Y/n)’s limp form. (Y/n) fought to keep her eyes open so she could see who had saved her, eyes struggling to focus on the blur currently ripping apart what was left of the wolves.

The room was now silent, save for the click of her savior’s heels against the stone floors. (Y/n)’s eyes slowly fluttered closed as a pair of glowing gold eyes entered her field of vision. The last thing she felt was her body being lifted from the floor and into a pair of strong, firm arms.

———————————————————–

The first thing (Y/n) noticed about her new surroundings was the plush, comfortable bed she was currently laying in. She couldn’t remember the last time she slept in a feather bed... and one with silk sheets at that.

It was then that (Y/n) realized that she was, in fact, very naked. Save for the bandages wrapped around her injured arm and leg, her body was completely bare.

“What the fuck...” she croaked, her throat raw from her screaming the night before. She lightly rubbed at her neck, wishing she had some tea to soothe her worn vocal cords.

(Y/n) then caught a whiff of something delicious, turning to find a tray of cooked breakfast and tea resting on her bedside table. “... that’s oddly convenient.” She muttered.

Her body felt stiff and heavy as she pushed herself to sit up and take the tray of food. She set the tray in her lap and began eating. The bacon was a bit burned and the porridge was very soupy, but (Y/n) knew she was in no position to criticize the cooking of whoever was showing her all this hospitality.

“Good to see I didn’t poison you...”

(Y/n) practically choked on her eggs as she turned to the door of her room. Was the door cracked open like that the whole time? She could vaguely see a tall figure with its back to the door, a long, silk cloak hanging off his broad shoulders.

“Perhaps I spoke too soon?” he inquired, referring to her weak coughing.

“N-no... it’s very good. Thank you...” she said, throat still burning and prompting her to take another sip of her tea.

The man chuckled softly, the sound sending a chill up (Y/n)’s spine. “I am glad to hear it. I don’t host very often, so I am a bit out of practice when it comes to cooking for others.”

(Y/n) set the tea back on the tray, tugging the sheets to cover her chest despite the man’s back being turned to her. “Did you undress me...?”

He chuckled a bit awkwardly at that, “I had to dress your wounds properly... to do that I had to remove your armor and your clothing. I hope that’s alright.”

“I suppose I’d rather be naked and alive rather than clothed and dead,” she said, earning a rather loud laugh from the stranger. “Why won’t you come in?”

His laughter died down and he went silent as he seemed to ponder her question. “This is my home... am I not allowed to enter a room whenever I so choose?”

“I suppose that’s reasonable...” (Y/n) sighed, not wanting to press the issue further. It was quite possible he was disfigured, or burned horribly in some sort of accident, and didn’t want the random woman who had entered his home to see his face.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of hosting a huntress in my halls? I suppose you just wanted to use my home as some sort of stronghold against those werewolves last night...” He declared, clearly already knowing the answer to his own question.

(Y/n) set aside the tray before shrinking into the bedding. “I’m truly sorry. The villagers told me this castle was abandoned...”

The man chuckled once more, “They’d like to think so... This castle belonged to my family before the villagers drove them out long ago...” he admitted, “I am the only member of my bloodline left.”

(Y/n) frowned at that as she made a move to stand from her bed, only to be cut off by the sound of his voice.

“You shouldn’t be moving.” His tone was stern, like a father scolding his child, deepening the frown on (Y/n)’s face.

“Well I can’t just lay naked in this lovely bed all day. I may go mad.” she grunted, ignoring the pain in her leg as she attempted to stand. “I have to retrieve my reward for the dead alpha in your foyer... I’ll be damned if I almost got turned into a werewolf for nothing.”

Movement at the corner of her eye caused her to turn towards the door as she covered her chest once more. (Y/n) could just barely make out the man’s eyes in the dark hall, body shivering as his gaze remained fixed on hers.

“You’re very tired... you want to rest.”

A wave of fatigue suddenly rolled over (Y/n)’s body, causing her to lay back in bed despite her desire to get up. Her head weakly lulled to the side, eyes struggling to stay open as she watched him turn his back to her. “What... did you give me...?”

“I mixed poppy milk into your tea... to help with the pain.” He responded, listening closely as (Y/n)’s breathing began to soften.

“Your name...” she heaved, her drowsiness slowly getting the better of her and slurring her speech.

“Kuroo Tetsuro... I’ll take care of the alpha.”

Kuroo’s name lingered on the tip of (Y/n)’s tongue, something about it seemed familiar for some reason. But before she could further question it, she was drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

Kuroo turned and entered the room once he heard that her breathing had evened out. He pulled the sheets further up her body to cover her chest. His gold eyes lingered over her throat, now exposed to him due to the angle her head was tilted at.

His tongue dragged over his lips at the thought of latching onto her neck and taking a drink... just one drop couldn’t hurt. Maybe a bit more. It had been so long since he had a proper meal, limiting the amount of people he fed on to avoid suspicion had taken its toll on him.

At least he had enough energy to compel the huntress to sleep. Kuroo lightly brushed the tips of his fingers over her throat, feeling the delicious rhythm of her pulse under his touch.

Kuroo knew once he started he may not stop... so he pulled away from her, gathered the tray of dirty dishes and left the bedroom.

He didn’t know what compelled him to save the huntress in the first place. The bloodsucker was perfectly content enjoying the show, watching her absolutely decimate the pack of werewolves she had lured into his home.

Though Kuroo hadn’t asked her to formally introduce herself, he knew by the family seal engraved onto her armor that she was a (L/n), part of a long line of monster hunters whose names were renowned throughout the land... until the church branded them as witches and had them burned at the stake for their knowledge of the supernatural.

He could tell she was perfectly capable of handling herself against those wolves, and even if she didn’t, it would be one less human in the world willing to stake him without a second thought.

So why step in? Kuroo scoffed at himself, shaking his head to clear his thoughts as he continued making his way to the kitchens. In all his years he had never questioned himself, why start now? All because of some huntress?

He decided that he would allow her to heal, maybe let her leave if he found her too amusing to suck dry. Out of the kindness of his heart, of course. Not many vampires would ignore their hunger just to appear kind. But then again, he wasn’t like other vampires.

———————————————————–

(Y/n) awoke to the smell of cooked meat beside her bed. Her confusion about when she had fallen asleep quickly was replaced by hunger as she sat up, reaching for the tray until she saw a large shirt folded and placed beside her.

Right. She was still naked.

She quickly put the shirt on, eager to get to her dinner as she placed the tray in her lap and started eating. The meat was a bit dry and some of the vegetables undercooked and crunchy, but she wasn’t about to complain about getting treated to another free meal.

(Y/n) jumped at the sigh she heard from the doorway as she bit into a particularly crunchy carrot.

“Apologies... I told you I’m not much of a cook.” Kuroo said, the embarrassment in his tone almost humorous to his guest.

“I appreciate your hospitality nonetheless... Truly I do.” She said through a mouthful of meat, washing it down with a sip of tea. “Since you’re clearly intent on keeping me here till my wounds are fully healed, I suppose I should give you my name...”

His lips twitched into a small smile at that, one (Y/n) couldn’t see with his back to her as it was earlier. Kuroo knew the second he allowed the huntress to see him fully, she would probably rip off one of the bed posts and shove it through his chest.

“Judging from the seal on the armor I had to pry off you, you’re a (L/n)... Never thought I would see one in person. I heard they had all died off.” He declared, absentmindedly running a hand through his messy hair.

“That I am...” (Y/n) confessed, glancing at said armor in the far corner of the room. “My sister and I were the sole survivors of the siege on our house… now I am all that’s left...I’m surprised you’ve heard of us,” she continued. “Usually only clergymen and older people recognize my family name and seal.”

“And what makes you think I’m neither of those things, (L/n)?” he chuckled.

“It’s (Y/n).” she corrected.

“Any clergyman would have quite literally left me to the wolves the second he recognized my seal...” (Y/n) trailed off, eyeing his figure in the crack of the doorway carefully before she continued. “And I don’t think any old man could have taken on the remainder of the werewolf pack on his own the way you did... are you a trained hunter?”

Kuroo leaned against the doorframe, making sure not to push the door open any further and reveal more of himself to her. “I was trained in swordplay at a young age... Once I arrived in the foyer you had already fallen and your sword was tossed aside. I took it upon myself to defend you with it.”

(Y/n) couldn’t help but feel suspicious at that. Though her memory was fuzzy, she didn’t remember seeing him carrying a sword as he slayed the rest of the wolves. There were possible explanations for it: (Y/n) couldn’t see very clearly, the room was dark, etc.

“Well... thank you. Being ripped apart by a pack of werewolves isn’t exactly how I pictured my life ending.” She said, taking another bite of her carrot as she glanced around the room, eyes stopping on a stack of books placed on the bedside table she hadn’t even noticed. “And what are these?”

“Books? I thought that would be quite obvious.”

(Y/n) scoffed at his sarcastic tone. “I can see that. Why are they here?” She set the tray of food aside, replacing it with a rather hefty book that she patted some dust off of.

“Your wounds may take some time to heal... and I can’t have you wandering around the castle on that bum leg of yours. There are parts of this building that are dangerous...”

(Y/n) glanced up at him, quirking a brow at the back of his head. “Is that your friendly way of telling me I’m confined to this room for the duration of my stay?”

“That’s precisely what it is. Very perceptive of you.”

She almost choked at his bluntness, setting the book aside and resuming her meal. Kuroo technically wasn’t lying, there were parts of the castle that had been destroyed during the siege, leaving many staircases collapsed, bedrooms destroyed and floors unstable.

Plus it would be rather awkward if she ever stumbled upon him draining a squealing pig of its blood in the kitchen one day.

“I will ensure you have everything you need to heal... just please trust me, (Y/n).” He pleaded, hoping (Y/n) would agree to his terms. He imagined that this would be a rather lucrative deal. The only surviving child of an exiled and excommunicated family, loved by few and hated by many, being offered free lodgings while her wounds healed? How could she refuse.

He was pulled from his thoughts as (Y/n) heaved a sigh as she finished her dinner. “Fine... but I have some rules of my own.”

Kuroo couldn’t help but laugh at that, crossing his arms as he glanced at her over his shoulder, straightening out his posture once he remembered he was supposed to keep hidden. “And what are those?”

“Don’t undress me without my permission again. If you do I’ll bury you alive.”

‘Wouldn’t be the first time.’ he thought to himself.

“And cook your vegetables at least 10 minutes longer.” (Y/n) quipped. “Other than that, nothing else comes to mind...”

The vampire snorted through his nostrils, an amused smile on his face as he lightly shook his head. He was really going to take orders from a human? A huntress no less?

“You have a deal...”

———————————————————–

The next couple days consisted of (Y/n) waking up to her meals, exchanging short pleasantries with Kuroo until he eventually left to do... whatever it is he did. For the first couple days of her stay, (Y/n) made a game out of thinking up what he did when he wasn’t bringing her meals.

Maybe he crocheted. Or he painted. Or he ran a secret brothel in the bowels of this castle and that’s why (Y/n) wasn’t allowed to try and explore it. Once she reached that train of thought she quickly stopped playing that game.

She found herself going stir-crazy from the lack of interaction, and there was only so much the books Kuroo brought to her could do to entertain her.

(Y/n) was maybe a week into the healing process when she asked Kuroo to stay with her rather than leave. She couldn’t hold back her relieved sigh when he agreed to keep her company.

Kuroo figured if he humored her just once she would be satisfied. However, he himself had spent the past 60 years alone in that castle, no one to talk to. He had gotten used to the loneliness by now.

He didn’t count on actually enjoying their conversations they had that day, he especially didn’t expect to spend the night restlessly waiting for her to wake up in hopes of speaking with her again.

Sometimes they spoke about what random things they had on their mind, Kuroo had decades worth of unspoken thoughts he wanted to share, each one interesting, amusing, or bewildering her. If they weren’t going on tangents together, he would ask (Y/n) to read a passage of whatever book she was attempting to finish.

That would usually get her tired enough to nap and allow him to leave to make her next meal and place it beside her bed. He had gotten much better at cooking as well, but Kuroo dreaded the trips he would have to make to the market in the village, fearing he would be caught sooner or later by some nosey townsfolk.

It didn’t help that he had to make these trips during the day, when any clumsy child or old man could step on his cloak and expose him to the sunlight. But he very well couldn’t allow his guest to starve under his roof, so he continued his lowkey trips, satisfied that he had not been caught... at least so he thought.

Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and soon (Y/n) was healed enough to walk on crutches. Kuroo knew he couldn’t keep his secret much longer with her on her feet, so he would have to send her on her way soon... a thought that filled his undead body with dread.

He could never admit it to himself, but he found his chest aching when he wasn’t with her, and when he sat at the door of her bedroom he only wished he could be closer to her. Kuroo hadn’t felt such an emotion in decades... but he recognized it almost instantly, making the subject of having to send her away even more painful.

The pain only festered when he wondered if she felt the same... this longing to be closer to him, and to be with him always. Longing to hold him to her, press her lips to his... He never asked. So he never knew that the answer was ‘yes.’

Kuroo gnawed on his lower lip, wondering how he would even go about mustering the strength to ask her to leave until her voice interrupted his thoughts.

“You never told me why your family was chased out of here...” she murmured just low enough for him to hear, trying to occupy herself with repairing her damaged armor.

The vampire was thoroughly caught off guard by the question, his fingers slipping on the pattern he was currently sewing by hand and pricking his pointer finger.

“Well you never told me why your family was excommunicated...” he replied, hoping that would change the subject and take the spotlight off of him.

“You know why my family was excommunicated... everybody does,” she sighed, glancing at the doorway sadly. “I’m curious... and you’ve never told me when I’ve answered practically every question about myself that you’ve asked...”

Kuroo took his lip between his teeth once again, huffing as he tried to think up a delicate way to put it without getting staked.

“Your family was accused of witchcraft for their knowledge of the supernatural... Mine was actually guilty of it.” He paused, listening as (Y/n)’s heart rate quickened.

“My father... he was a man of science. He studied the world as we know it and everything it had to offer. He became enraptured with studying the supernatural... creatures that went bump in the night, and tales we told children to scare them into behaving that had hints of truth to them.

Eventually... he got his wish of studying one of these creatures up close when a vampire came to our door one night. She seduced him... turned him... my mother and I didn’t learn this until the mob with torches and pitchforks arrived at the castle weeks later. He and my mother were killed... I was the sole survivor.”

He was met with silence, causing him to glance at (Y/n) through the crack in the door and quirk an eyebrow at her. “Not the answer you were expecting...?”

(Y/n) slowly shook her head, staring wordlessly at her damaged armor until clearing her throat. “No... I figured it had to be something major enough for the village to take action against you... but I thought it would have been a misunderstanding, as with my family...”

Kuroo slowly shook his head, eyes now cast down at the fur resting in his lap. “No... it was all true... So much suffering and for what... his foolish curiosity...”

(Y/n) could sense his sour tone, partially regretting that she had asked him about it in the first place. “I’m sorry... it wasn’t my place to ask such a question.”

“You were curious,” he responded, all too quick to feel the need to comfort her.

“Yes well curiosity killed the cat, didn’t it?” (Y/n) sighed, continuing to fiddle with her armor.

“Well you’re a rather tough cat, aren’t you? It would take a lot more than curiosity to kill you...” he teased, hoping to bring the mood back up. A smile tugged at his lips at the sound of (Y/n)’s light laughter.

“My sister used to say the same thing…” (Y/n) chuckled, a sad smile playing on her lips.

Kuroo tilted his head towards the door, sensing the sadness in her voice. “You never told me what happened to her…”

(Y/n) gnawed at her lip, her work on her armor long forgotten now. “Vampires…”

HIs undead heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. Fuck.

“We had never encountered them before… but she knew they were tailing us through a forest after we had been turned away from a village… She made me leave her behind as she attempted to fight them off…” (Y/n) explained.

Kuroo’s eyebrows knitted together as he processed her words, “Was that the only time you’ve encountered them…? Vampires, I mean…”

The huntress nodded. “Yes… I count myself grateful for that. I found her remains in the morning and- shit!” she hissed as the scent of blood filled the air. Kuroo froze in place already feeling his fangs growing at the mere smell of the blood dripping from her cut finger.

“Damn,” she hissed, taking her thumb between her lips and sucking at the small but deep cut in hopes of stopping the small beads of blood from staining the silk sheets.

One would think that would be enough to quell Kuroo’s hunger, but now he could practically taste the blood on her lips. He could feel himself aching, the need to feed overcoming his senses.

(Y/n) heard Kuroo scramble onto his feet before he abruptly left the doorway, his heeled boots echoing down the hall as he got further and further away. Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion, as she got up to retrieve an ointment for the cut.

(Y/n) didn’t see him the rest of the day, eventually falling asleep out of boredom and waking to find her dinner where it always was. But a note was placed beside her tea, directing her to open the parcel placed at the foot of her bed. She didn’t even notice it until then.

She tore at the parchment, smiling brightly as her hands ran over the large fur pelt. (Y/n) looked back at the note, chuckling softly as she read Kuroo’s complaints about having to skin the alpha after taking its head to the village for the reward. She then noticed the large bag of coins placed on the floor beside her armor.

But her attention was more focused on the pelt. No one had ever gotten her a gift before, and it was clear that Kuroo had put a lot of work into this given the intricate stitching and needlework. Perhaps her theories about him crocheting were correct...

(Y/n) happily ate her dinner with the pelt draped over her shoulders, protecting herself from the cold winter air that seeped through the walls and into her bedroom. She purposefully avoided the tea, knowing Kuroo always added poppy milk to the mixture to help her sleep through the pains her healing wounds brought her during the night.

Kuroo was a creature of habit... living with him for almost 3 months had made that very clear to her. It was obvious he came to take her dishes once she had fallen asleep, doing so to keep her from seeing his face.

Maybe it was that curiosity again, or her desire to look into the eyes of the man who had saved her and nursed her back to health. All (Y/n) knew was tonight was the night she would finally see his face.

She laid back in bed, getting comfortable once she had finished her dinner and waiting for him to enter her room. It was hard to stay awake with her belly full and her new fur pelt warming her, but somehow she managed it and a surge of excitement filled her body when she finally heard the bedroom door creak open.

Kuroo stepped towards the bed, overcome with relief that the smell of blood was completely purged from the room. The click of his heels came to a stop as he stood above (Y/n), admiring her peaceful expression as he gently brushed a strand of hair out of her face and behind her ear.

He glanced down at her throat, breath hitching for a moment before he forced his eyes onto the tray of food. He hadn’t processed the full cup of tea until he felt (Y/n)’s fingers graze his wrist, causing his body to jolt as he looked down at her in shock.

Kuroo didn’t know if he should be angry, mortified, ready for a fight, or all three. To his surprise, (Y/n) made no move to retrieve her sword from the other side of her bed. She didn’t even glance in the weapon’s direction. She only stared up at Kuroo almost in disbelief.

She really wasn’t lying when she said she had never encountered a vampire before. A (L/n) with no clue as to what a vampire looked like, possibly only hearing misleading tales about the creatures rather than facing one herself. Kuroo could have laughed at that, but he was too preoccupied with trying to read (Y/n)’s expression as she lightly gripped his shirt sleeve.

He was... the most beautiful thing (Y/n) had ever seen. Messy jet black hair, intense amber eyes and soft, pink lips, parted as he watched her with bated breath. Why had he kept hidden from her?

“I take it you weren’t in the mood for tea, tonight?” he gulped, watching as she slowly took his hand. If his appearance weren’t enough of a giveaway, his cold skin would be... right?

A quiet gasp escaped her lips as she felt his skin like ice against her touch. She slowly sat up on her knees, taking his hand and slowly cupping his cheek with the other. Kuroo shuddered at their close proximity, his undead heart hammering in his chest as (Y/n)’s thumb ran over his bottom lip.

“You’re so cold...” she whispered, sending another chill down his spine as her warmth seeped into him. “Let me warm you...”

———————————————————–

Tag list: @iwaxme @vventure @lydzisanerd @bb-noya @gemini-writes @ochacostrange @yams046 @tokyoghoose @madireyn @global---weaboo @achoohq @ardorwrites-hq-mha

#Vampire!au #Show Me Your Teeth #chapter fic #chapter series #Kuroo Tetsurou #Kuroo Tetsurō #Kuroo Tetsuro #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader

161 notes · View notes