#and also i had the bit of beach life in death where its all 'the ocean washed over/open your grave' in my head just now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

futurecorps3 · 6 months

Note

Hey! I was wondering if you could write a Kaz brekker x reader fic. Where the reader has a nightmare and Kaz comforts them if you can please.

𝐓𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

Masterlist<3

Summary: Req sums it up!! Pairing: Kaz Brekker x fem!reader Warnings: Mentions of drowning, death, nightmares ofc and I think that's it, lmk if I missed any Word Count: 674. tiny!! Requested: Yes

There it was. That heavy feeling in her chest. Y/N could recognize it anywhere; it was part of her routine now, and she couldn't be more grateful. Kaz's arm pressed tightly against her, guarding her even in her sleep. She smiled contently and opened her eyes after tilting her head to see her lover's hand.

Or so she thought.

A big rock tied with a rope stared back at her, beginning her descent into some large body of swampish water, as if her stare was its cue to stop resisting gravity. She tried moving her hands in a futile attempt to swim to the surface, to try and overpower the force of the rock against the water and her body, but they were also tied.

Y/N watched as the light got further and further away. She was still holding her breath but soon realized that this was the end of her. Kaz came to mind immediately. God, she'll miss him. Will she even be able to miss? Soon enough, she thought, when water filled her lungs, the mystery of existence would be answered.

She hoped whatever awaited her, whether it was a perpetual calm or a realm filled with endless meadows and a place to rest, would be nicer than the life she led before she met him. He was a lifeline. Ironic, isn't it? She probably would've laughed if she wasn't about to die.

Should she pray for a quick recovery for Kaz? It will be hard for him to get back up. They both knew almost by experience that there was no God or Saint, but like, what if, right? She didn't know any prayers, so she did not pray. Y/N really hoped he got back on track quickly, though. After all, routine was everything for him, and now she wouldn't be able to brew him a nice cup of tea every morning like she had been doing for the past five years.

"I hope he can find his cup in the drawer; it's a bit hidden so Jesper doesn't take it," she thought as she sank even further, just like the pebbles she used to throw on the beach with her sister all those years ago. Tears started streaming down her face, and she could somehow feel them, like they couldn't blend in the water that surrounded her. She was scared. She didn't want to die scared.

In all those years working with the crows, Y/N was certain her life was on the line in every single job they performed, but that didn't scare her. If she died during a heist, she'd die surrounded by the man and friends she loved; there were certainly worse fates than a fatal bullet wound. Fates like this one. She'll die cold, wet, and her body would probably never be found. That did scare her.

Then there was an impulse to move that washed over her. To do anything in her power to at least try and get out of this situation. She kept sinking, now squirming and failing to squeeze herself out of the ropes. Desperation came, and she started screaming, her lungs filling up quickly. She started coughing violently, closing her eyes and then a pang to her heart.

"Y/N, wake up!"

The girl was greeted by a pair of concerned, brown eyes that she wouldn't mind drowning in. She immediately noticed she was sweaty under her nightshirt, and her collarbones were also wet, but from the tears that ran down all the way from her eyes to there.

It was a nightmare.

As she composed herself a little, her boyfriend lit the oil lamp they kept on her nightstand and crawled back to her. "Breathe for me, Y/N. Come on," the girl heard faintly, still in a sleepy stupor. She hadn't realized she was holding her breath. Kaz took her hand and placed it over his chest, just like she did when he had trouble similar to this.

It was rare now, but the first nights they spent together were often filled with sweet nothings whispered and labored breaths in an attempt to calm Kaz's racing heart and mind. She blinked rapidly and tried wiping her eyes dry. "It's okay, breathe with me, love," he whispered, rocking both of them back and forth gently as his girlfriend tried to follow his pace.

The Bastard of the Barrel may have dreaded few things in this life, but seeing his girl suffering, at the mercy of her own mind (which also happened to conjure the most beautiful depictions of love, translated in words and acts that warmed his heart), was almost unbearable. He knew the feeling all too well, and to even think she had to go through it all as well made him sick.

So he did what he knew helped.

He stayed there for long minutes, breathing consciously for the both of them and whispering things like "You're doing so good, it's okay" or "You're fine, love. Steady breaths... there you go." Words of affirmation worked heavily on her, and Kaz was very aware, so he resorted to them immediately.

After a long while, the room stopped spinning for Y/N, and she could breathe normally again. She hugged Kaz in an exhausted manner, whispering a small "thank you" that made her sound almost frightened of breaking her newfound peace. Her eyes felt heavier than before when she first got into bed with Kaz, and she just rolled over and lay next to him, turning to face him.

He had this calming aura to him. She couldn't explain it as anything other than magical, and since both of her best friends were Grisha, she wouldn't be surprised if it was. The girl stared at her boyfriend's eyes and felt safe and warm inside; the complete opposite of whatever was happening in her head just moments ago.

"Bad dream?" he asked, stroking her hand beneath the covers. "Yes. A very bad one," Y/N feebly uttered. "Do you want to talk about it before we go back to sleep?" "You worked hard all day, and I don't feel like—" "You know I don't mind." That was true. Kaz had a horrid sleeping schedule, even when she tried to keep him in check, which meant he spent most of his nights reading or planning their next heist. Truth is, he'd stay up listening to Y/N and comforting her rather than buried in piles of blueprints and books.

"I'm drained, w-we can talk about it in the morning. When there's more light," she nodded, smiling a little bit before closing her eyes, not before grabbing her boyfriend's hand and circling it around her waist. "Wait," he grumbled, getting up and checking if her eyes were open again, the bed dipping behind him. She looked at him quizzically, resting her weight on her arms and contemplating murder if he didn't let her rest after that literal nightmare.

"What?" "Your shirt is wet, you might catch a cold if you sleep in that when you get warmer in a while," he said absentmindedly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, dodging Y/N's side of the bureau fully on purpose and grabbed one of his black sleep shirts, walking with soft steps towards the bed.

"Up," he asked, and his girlfriend's heart melted when he carefully replaced the clothing, making sure the fit was right, even when his would be inevitably longer on her shorter frame. "Better?" the Bastard of the Barrel mumbled, looking at her while folding the discarded shirt and tossing it gently over to the loveseat they had at the foot of their bed.

"Never better. T-thank you, love," Y/N smiled, getting back into her position and receiving a peck on the cheek, courtesy of the man who once broke a man's fingers one by one because he wouldn't tell him where she was, followed by a small "Always" before cuddling back.

They talked about her nightmare in the morning over coffee, and the silliness of her ever feeling anything other than safer when Kaz Brekker was around hit her. She had never known such peace before him, and he promised that no matter what, she'd never die on his watch. Y/N was counting on that.

˚ · • . ° .

Holy shit this is so short and it took so long cause I'm going through writer's block!! I'm so sorry. Hope you enjoyed nonnie<3

Remember, the best way to support writer’s works on here is by REBLOGGING WITH TAGS. I’d very much appreciate it if you did!

Thanks again, stranger. Hope you have a nice day<3

NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO REPOST AS THEIR OWN/TRANSLATE/OR COPY MY WORK IN ANY PLATFORM OR SPACE WITHOUT MY EXPLICIT CONSENT.

#kaz brekker x female reader #kaz brekker fluff #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker smut #kaz brekker angst #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker #six of crows #six of crows fanfiction #six of crows imagine #six of crows duology #six of crows x reader #shadow and bone x reader #grishaverse x reader #six of crows fanfic #six of crows x you

287 notes · View notes

st6rly · 4 months

Text

gods no longer.

SYNOPSIS: love, as in the feeling, is fate. love, as in the choice, is conscious (or in other words, 4 times where zhongli gets close enough to the truth of the matter and the 1 time he does) | word count: 1.8k

characters: god!office worker!zhongli x deity!barista!gn!reader

categories: apocalypse au, modern au, angst, hurt / comfort, fluff, 4+1 fic

warnings: mentions of typical apocalypse stuff ( blood, injury, death, etc.), mentions of food & drinks, ooc zhongli sorry TwT

notes: i went a little too silly and related falling in love to the cycle and formation of a rock. ok the au sounds confusing but i promise it makes sense- also i ended up using parallels as a writing device way too much in this my bad :’D

surprise surprise @lychniis / @ainescribe !! im your astro twerk secret santa :DD im sorry if this fic is messy in structure and probably doesn’t make sense in the long run but i hope you enjoy some parts of it at least TwT happy holidays !!

I. WEATHERING & EROSION.

The world was crumbling to its knees and yet, all Zhongli could think about was how his morning tea was bitter.

Gravel crunched under his foot, topsoil turned over to reveal the small bits of life that had yet to fall through the cracks. The pavement had split, rumbles having left long and jagged fractures in the ground and buildings tilted. Sun bore down on skin battered with small cuts and contusions, a layer of dirt covering both his forearms and the formerly white dress shirt he wore. His shoes scuffed along the deserted road, steps deliberately languid. He screamed, thrashed around in his mind, prayed that others had survived. In the back corners of his mind, he hoped none did.

Selfish; maybe that’s all he’d ever be to the people. Gold ran down his arm, trickled from the punctures left from stone and debris. The ichor in his veins served as a shackle of what he could not have and Zhongli stared down at it in disdain, fist clenched. For the better, he assured, pulled free a steel pipe from the framing of a store, and continued on. Gods couldn’t die by a knife to the throat. They could if forgotten.

Zhongli knew he tore a seam in the dress shirt he wore when range of motion wasn’t such a struggle, able to lunge himself up over fallen street lamps and what once used to be apartments with ease. There was no destination and he was sure that if he had one, it wouldn’t be standing.

He walked because if he didn’t, then nobody else would. Zhongli does not die easily; not in this way at least.

II. TRANSPORTATION.

The world was at an end; you wished it had come sooner or not at all.

You pulled yourself from beneath the rumble and broken frames of the shop you had so dearly loved, clawed a hand through sharp edges and chipped paint, to come face to face with the remains of flattened machines and shattered glass panes. The first thing you noticed was the front entrance that withstood the initial fracture. The next was the blood and dusty limbs that laid on the floor.

The grief was worn like sticky sunscreen on a beach day, a protective and mocking cover over your skin as you ran, scuffed sneakers thundering along ridges and bumps in the uneven lane. In hindsight, it was stupid of you to exert so much force when there wasn’t a place you could run to; you just needed out, to scrub the dirt and grime and blots of red and gold until the only thing that was leftover was whatever shred of dignity you still kept. Flee and leave it all behind, there was nothing for you anyways.

Until him.

“It’s you,” the man stated, finger poised accusingly, “you gave me the wrong order of tea.”

You blinked back owlishly, lost for words as he pointed at you with a scowl. Hesitation in your actions, you slowly lowered the plank of wood with one nail stuck through it in your hands and squinted your eyes. The sleeves of his shirt were ripped and rolled to his biceps, hair tied back loosely, and posture high on alert as he clutched onto a metal rod with a death grip.

“And you are…” you trailed off, voice cracked and lips dried as your throat protested the strain of letting the words out. It had been months since the dirt beneath your feet started to split; weeks since you’d seen another share the means of language.

“An unsatisfied customer.” The reply was blunt and left no room for argument. It was not a final answer.

If he hadn’t just been locked in a stare down with you mere minutes ago or held himself in such a manner, you would’ve snorted and laughed it off.

“Listen, I really don’t think now is a good time to be talking about tea.” you groaned, a heavy sigh falling from your lips. “It’s not like I can fix it either.”

The stranger responded with silence. His eyes darted quickly over your figure and you shifted your weight from foot to foot.

“Travel with me.”

You blinked once, twice, stared at him until your eyes burned and forced you to close them again. Words died out on the tip of your tongue, the embers and syllables smothered out in the muddled mess of your own thoughts.

“What?” you croaked out. He looked back as if it were common sense.

“You’re one of them.” It was only after those words that you realized he had fixed his gaze to your arm. A shaky breath left your lips, the sting of the cut underneath a flimsy wrapping of torn cloth grounding. You could feel it now, the way the liquid gleamed when caught under the light, its brilliance shown as it started to trickle down your skin again.

One of them.

“There’s nothing left here,” he muttered, the ghost of a smile on his lips. Your jaw went tight and nails dug into the soft flesh of your palms.

“You think I don’t know that?” The words were bitter as they left your throat. “Do you think I’m that detached?”

He ignored you.

“Come with me,” he took a step closer and held out a hand. “You won’t be forgotten.”

It was neither warm or inviting, but enticing nonetheless. He knows, you calmed yourself, he knows he can’t kill me.

“If not for that, then for the company?”

Blindly, stupidly, you took it.

III. DEPOSITION.

Tin cans rattled softly, the noise muffled by the worn fabric of what you called a backpack, as you rummaged through food and water supplies. The box you pulled out was supposed to be white, the plastic smooth and red cross marked in the centre bright and bold. Somewhere underneath the dirt, it still was.

He’s all too familiar with the furrow of a brow and the soft brush of fingers against his shoulder. He suppressed a shiver when your breath tickled his neck, held in a sigh when you blew gently on the cut after cleaning. With careful movements, you wound the bandage around his arm, the occasional ghost of your skin against his startling. Zhongli found it wasn’t unwelcome.

It was you who broke the silence.

“You aren’t who you say you are,” you stated, words hushed and still rough around the edges. He locked eyes with yours, searched them only to come up empty; not a single bit of malice or spite was present in the look you gave him. That was either a good thing, or an equally bad one. The ground was stained with tinges of gold, bits that clumped up dirt, left shimmer in its wake. The small pads of cotton used to wipe the bleeding were stained vibrant yellow.

He barked out a laugh; the sound was foreign to his ears.

“You’re one of them. One like me,” you whispered when his voice died down.

“And we’re different in every way,” he said, hand clutched to his ribcage at the cramp that began to form. “Why do you insist on fighting so hard?”

“What?”

“We’ve lost what makes us like this. Why do you continue to try?”

“We were, I was, never a proper god to start with,” you spoke carefully, considerate. “It was never up to me what went on.”

“In the blink of an eye,” Zhongli matched your tone, “you could wish this all better.”

“Just as you could make it all the worse.” You hummed and leaned your head back, eyes averted away from him. “I guess I just found something worth trying for.”

Zhongli’s heart pounded.

IV. METAMORPHISM.

“Grab my hand!”

The Earth groaned and rumbled, opened its mouth, swallowed up buildings and wires without much thought. You braced yourself against the broken chain fence, glancing up at where Zhongli stood up on the roof opposite from you, having made it before the cracks had begun again and the distance grew.

Grave desperation set his nerves alight, every fibre alert, and arm reached out to where the joint could’ve pulled loose had he gone farther. His face pulled into a cruel grimace as the concrete ledge of the other building dug into his stomach below the ribs and something in him burned, shouted and throbbed beneath layers of flesh and bones, in an intelligible mess of tightness and ache.

“Please, Y/n!” he shouted. Begged. He’d bare his throat to you in a heartbeat if it meant you believed in this, believed in him.

You jumped. His heart dropped to his stomach, legs weak, when your hand grasped his wrist and met his eyes. Feet dug into the cracks of the barrier, he pulled you to him, the quiet gasp of relief he let out once you touched down on solid ground lost to the wind.

God can’t die. Gods cannot die, he repeated to himself, a mantra of painful reassurance. Zhongli’s hands melded with the fabric of your shirt, cloth twisted in a similar way that could only mock the feeling in his chest.

You tugged on his hand, laced your fingers slowly with his before the rumbles started again. Down the both of ran, across unsteady roofs and rusted fire escapes, until the sky turned dark and the shakes stopped,

Adrenaline, nerves, the worry he’d lose you again, whatever it was, he fell for it. It was winter when he first kissed you under the moonless sky; it felt more like early spring with the warmth that still laid heavy in the air and the dry crust of dirt that coated everything.

“You should have just let me,” you had mumbled against his lips the same night.

“I made a promise and I intend to keep it,” he replied back, the words sitting just right as he spoke. “I wish it were more. You deserve more.”

“This,” you hummed, a hand cupping his cheek, “is more than enough.”

V. ROCK MELTING.

It was summer when the ground beneath his feet first began to give out and the streets ran rampant with silence; it’s summer again when he found a new life with you.

This was all laughable, really. Hands intertwined, the sun that peaked over the horizon and set alight to the dust in the air, the domestic nature, it all was a joke. You’d, turned and brushed stray hairs from his face with light touch and features set into a grim, yet foolishly hopeful, face.

He gazed at you like you could craft the universe anew, match his destruction blow for blow and reverse everything. In some sense, you could. Not this one though.

“You could find them again, you know,” you mumbled, not so he couldn’t hear but it felt right. “What would you do if you did?”

Zhongli paused, licked his lips as he stared out into the open expanse of the wasteland.

“My love is a choice,” he smiled as he spoke, a delicate thing, “and that choice is you.”

“Took you long enough,” you chuckled with a soft nudge to his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Zhongli released a long sigh, squeezed your hand and traced an outline around the joints of your thumb, before letting out a small ghost of a chuckle when you squeezed back. How low he had fallen, mad at something as simple as the grime that separated the true touch of your palm in his. “It did.”

#zhongli x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗#astronetwrk #zhongli x gender neutral reader #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin impact x gender neutral reader #genshin x gn reader #genshin impact x gn reader #zhongli fluff #zhongli angst #genshin fluff #genshin angst #! notepad.txt #zhongli x you #genshin x you #genshin impact x you

89 notes · View notes

smurphyse · 1 year

Text

Lead Paint & Salt Air | Spencer Reid

Smurph's Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 of Routine Maintenance

Warnings: mentions of Diana's death (not explicit), mini-PTSD flashback for Spencer, Spencer's horny and lonely, also cranky.

Summary: After two years on the road, Spencer breaks down in Thunderbird, California. In only a few hours he meets some of the most eclectic townspeople of his life when all he wants is some peace and quiet.

(Note: Because of the nature of this fic, being inspired by one of my favorite bands, the chapters will be a bit longer than usual to fit with the vibe of the song they're named after <3)

After he was released from Milburn, Spencer’s mother passed in her sleep. It was blessedly quick and painless for her, and though it tore him apart he was grateful at least for that. Finally, Spencer had nothing pressing tying him to D.C., and he followed Gideon’s lead so many years later. Buying a Jeep and taking to the road, Spencer lived out of a suitcase as he’d done for years.

Instead of searching for serial killers, he began a long search for himself.

For two years now, he’d asked miles of pavement and yellow dashed paint who he was. He questioned the night sky and the morning sun over countless towns and cities. He’d even asked the mountaintops and hillsides, and yet he had found no answer.

Spencer started drinking again. It seemed the thing to do in shitty motel rooms and dive bars, putting on a few pounds with each greasy dish that accompanied his bourbon. The bags under his eyes were no longer from a lack of sleep - though he still didn’t get much because of the nightmares - but instead they stained his skin from the exhaustion of that ever-present question in his mind.

Is this who I am now?

Am I broken? Am I beyond salvation? Am I as worthless and lonely as I feel every single fucking day?

It all started when he tried to strangle a pregnant Cat Adams in an interrogation room. He slid down the cold concrete wall in a prison too much like the one he’d been released from when it first erupted through his brain like a bullet. One question led to another… and another and another, but they always started with that one.

Is this who I am now?

At this point, he was sure he’d never find the answer. Instead, he’d contented himself with wandering, exploring all that America currently had to offer. One day he’d move internationally, maybe go back to Paris where he’d spent time with his mother.

He’d happened upon Thunderbird, California early that morning. Worried he was lost forever in the Cali wilderness, Spencer followed the rising sun through winding forest roads as it streamed through the trees. After a few hours cautiously eyeing the offshutes of paths and trails, he finally burst into civilization.

It was a tiny beach town. A handful of buildings littered the main street, string lights connecting them along with the wind-blown piles of sand scattering along the road. Houses haphazardly were plopped along the varying hills that hid it from the outside world, but it was beautiful.

The shops on the main strip were brightly painted, handmade signs reading Billy’s Bait and Go!, Sue Says Sew, and Gil’s Grocery proudly proclaiming strangely named stores that gave little question for what they did to service the town. Spencer had yet to spot a normal chair on the porches outside- they were all either beach chairs or porch swings swaying in the light breeze.

Sunday was the Fourth of July, and the town was in full patriotic mode. Red, white, and blue windmills and flags sprung up from nearly every lawn. A fireworks stand was smack dab in the middle of a roundabout in the center of town, with a few people hurrying across the curved road to it. A man in an oversized Uncle Sam hat handed out sparklers to the kids, smiling wider than the sun.

Spencer spent the morning in the town diner, Bean There, looking out the large window as the small town came to life. It was apparently known for its local coffee. Spencer had to admit it was good, on the top ten list he’d tried in his travels. Though the best coffee had been found in a China Town shop in lower Indiana, which he was loath to admit.

He sat in a booth in the corner, people watching as the crowds picked up and petered out. All sorts of people filtered through the door as they used the diner as a waystation before heading out to the rest of their days. In a town of less than five hundred, any outsider was noticed immediately, and Spencer was no different. Nearly every person who came in eyeballed his Jeep on the way through the door and squinted at Spencer before ordering. He didn’t mind, he was used to being the outsider, had been his whole life.

He picked at a plate of waffles and bacon, holding a book loosely in one hand as he enjoyed the morning sunlight through the window. His waitress, Michelle, had given him a side-eye after his first hour, unsure what to make of him. He simply tipped her early, going with a twenty-five percent tip of what he’d already ordered. She was much more amenable after that, mostly leaving him alone but checking in periodically with a smile and a refill.

His hair was still long. He had refused to cut it, even after JJ's insistence over video chats. He liked it, especially liked these new trends of men finally getting to put their hair in a bun. He liked the look, and had been enamored with the Nordic styles he read of in his youth, braiding and intricate knots decorated with silver and beads. He missed those days in Earth’s history.

He wore a pair of jeans and a purple flannel shirt with his boots. Though he often preferred suits, this style had appealed to him greatly in his early days on the road. He’d been called a “hipster” more times than he cared to admit, but he felt strong in his fashion choices. He knew he looked good, and Spencer had long since gotten used to the beard. Shaving on the road was hard and without the dress code constrictions of the BAU, he was happy to grow it out.

“Hey, Honey!” Michelle chuckled from behind the counter as the front door swung open. It chimed in greeting as two people stepped through and into the cool air-conditioned building. Spencer tried not to stare at the woman, but he’d spent a good long time on the road and it had been a while… and she was gorgeous.

Her hair poofed around her shoulders, eyes alight with an animated excitement. Copper toned muscles peeked out of a tank top and tight jeans, a red flannel tied around her hips as she sauntered into the diner. She had her arm looped around an older man’s waist, who hugged her tightly back before letting go as they approached the counter.

He had a clearly visible Ranger tattoo on his bicep, both of which were bigger than Spencer’s head. With his slicked back salt and pepper curls and giant frame, Spencer knew he wanted nothing to do with being on that man’s bad side.

“Mornin’, Chelle,” she smiled, easing into the stool across from the waitress. The man stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders, looking curiously around the diner as many patrons had that morning. His gaze landed on Spencer, who quickly glanced out the window to avoid his hard stare. "How's it going?"

“Oh, you know how it goes- a flirt here, a proposal there,” Michelle jokingly lamented as she pulled two mugs out from under the bar. She snagged the carafe from the coffee maker and filled them before sliding them across the counter.

“Oof,” the man chuckled heartily, finally tearing his dark eyes from Spencer and to her. “Sounds exhausting.”

“You joke all you want, Rose Delgado,” Michelle scolded, her playful smirk turning to a hard glare. She pointed at him, “I am a catch and everyone here knows it.”

Rose held up his hands in defeat, “My bad, Chelle. You’re absolutely right. If I were a few years younger I’d try for your hand too.”

“Who says you can’t?” she quipped with a wink, and Rose went bright red.

He dragged an awkward hand across the back of his neck and laughed, "Huh, well, I think Mattie May might have a problem with that."

The women laughed along with him, and Michelle tapped the counter lightly with her fingers, "I'll put your usual in. Extra powdered sugar, right, Honey?"

The girl referred to now forever in Spencer's brain as Honey nodded, licking her lips. "It's gonna be a long day, Chelle. Give me as much coke as you got."

Rose smacked the top of her head in jest, and Honey looked up to stick her tongue out at him. She glanced over at Spencer as he slid out of the booth, and even as he made his way over to the counter to pay she never averted her gaze. A gold ring was tied to a string necklace around her neck, and it was all Spencer had not to follow it to where the pendant rested between her boobs.

"You drive that Jeep outside?" Rose grumbled as he approached. Michelle came back up to the counter as Spencer tugged his wallet out of his pocket.

He handed her more than enough for his meal and another tip, then nodded, "Yeah, that's mine."

"Your axle is about to crack. You should get it looked at."

"I'll do that," Spencer replied politely. He was used to strangers telling him things he didn't really need to do by now. They often took one look at him and deemed him an academic, which wasn't wrong, but to them it usually meant he couldn't take care of things himself.

"Here's your change, baby," Michelle interrupted, reaching across the counter with a ten in one hand and a to-go cup of joe in the other. Rose stared at him, as did Honey, but Spencer just shook his head at the waitress.

"Keep it. Thanks for letting me keep your booth for a few hours."

He swept up the cup, gave her a nod and turned on his heel out the door. She laughed to herself and shouted after him, "Come back soon!

"Boy tips real good," he heard her just before the door closed behind him. "He can live in that booth if he wants."

Spencer smiled to himself as he hopped in the jeep. This was a nice town, but he'd been through a lot of nice towns. He had to keep moving, searching, coming up with a reason for leaving his friends behind to worry about him.

He decided to see the beach before going back through the trees. He wanted to see Oregon, but his phone didn't work so well in these isolated parts of the state so he'd have to buy a map somewhere. He made note of the lone gas station in town, then followed the signs to the sand.

It was early, but there were people in the water. Spencer wasn't much for swimming, so he parked his jeep in the small lot and pulled a blanket out of the back. He found a secluded spot on a hill, unfurled the blanket and sat down. He took off his flannel and shoes, leaning back to enjoy the view.

The sounds of shrieking laughter and the waves lulled him into complacency as he sipped his coffee. The sun was hot, but not too bad for this early in the morning. Unlike DC, this area wasn't humid, and the soft winds off the water cooled his skin.

Is this who I am now? Popped into his mind, always at the worst times. Once upon a time, he was a strong and capable man, an elite FBI agent always willing to go the extra mile. Now, even sitting here exhausted him. Speaking to the townsfolk at the counter exhausted him, and all he wanted to do was have a drink and go to sleep.

Is this who I am now? He wondered. Am I the guy who has nowhere to go and nowhere to be except the road, running far away from my past and the pain that follows?

He supposed so. Being out here hurt less than sitting in his empty apartment, looking into the void of his missing heart and wondering just when exactly his life passed him by. He always thought he’d have a family, kids and a wife by now. He thought he’d have a house and people to depend on him, that he’d love and they’d never wonder if it was out of obligation or a bond from trauma like it had been with the BAU.

Sure, they called him every week or so, just to see if he was okay. Their voices were always laced with concern, but a dripping tiredness of having to worry about the kid. Spencer hadn’t been a kid in a long time, and with each new trauma their babying of him became just another weight added to his shoulders. Another reason to prove himself.

It never worked.

Deciding it was time to go, time to run away again, Spencer dragged himself away from the beach and its false allure of peacefulness. He rolled up the blanket and put it back in its usual spot in the back of the jeep, put his coffee in the cupholder and he was off again.

Coming up the bend from the beach, he spotted a pothole one second too late. The back wheel slammed into it with a loud crunch, and before he knew it the back of the jeep collapsed into the sand-dusted street.

“Oh, goddamnit,” he grunted, punching the passenger seat in irritation.

Spencer pulled his phone out of his pocket, and sure enough he had zero reception. He groaned and let his head fall back on the headrest, his eyes shutting. Sucking in a deep breath, Spencer counted to five before letting it go.

“Yer axle’s cracked!” a voice came from the side, and when Spencer opened his eyes he spotted a beat up truck next to him on the road. It had cans dangling from the sides on old fishing line and other random trash piled up in the back, a boat hitched to the back of it.

An old grizzled man leaned heavily out the window, pointing at the back of the jeep and nodding, “Yep, y’ain’t goin’ nowhere, son.”

“Yeah,” Spencer snapped, furrowing his brows at him. “I noticed.”

“Ain’t no need to take a tone with me, boy,” the man grumbled. He pointed a gnarled finger at Spencer that shook in the air. “I’mma help you.”

Spencer didn’t have a lot of faith that his twisted tree limb of a man was going to be much help to him, so he waved his cell phone at him. “I’m sorry. Can I borrow your phone so I can call a tow truck?”

The man frowned with an exaggerated bottom lip and shook his head animatedly, “I ain’t got one of them things! Ya think I want brain cancer or somethin’?”

“Uhm… no?” Spencer began, but he cut him off with a beckoning hand.

“No. I don’t,” the man nodded firmly. “C’mon, I’ll take ya up to Rose’s place.”

Spencer groaned internally at the name he’d heard this morning. It was the same squinting old man who told him the axle was about to crack in the first place. Then he brightened up at the thought of getting to see Honey and her tight tank top again.

“I ain’t got all day, son. I’m busy, y’see,” the man called, breaking through his thoughts. Spencer nodded to himself and turned off the jeep before getting out and snagging his suitcase from the back seat.

He rounded the truck only to open the creaky door and find almost an entire carton of cigarette packs littering the floorboards, along with a variety of loose tools and nails. Spencer climbed into the cab and closed the door behind him, setting the suitcase on his lap. It was a travel size, just big enough for a week’s worth of clothes and shoes. He kept his toiletries in another bag in the back of his car.

“Thanks for the ride,” he said softly. “Sorry for snapping. It’s been a bit of a day for me.”

The man chuckled, a little choked huffing sound from deep in his throat. “It’s been a bit of a day for everyone, son. It’s only nine in the mornin’!”

Deciding it was better to scoff in his mind and not at this weird stranger driving him through town, Spencer nodded. The brightly colored shops passed them by as the man drove at a snail’s pace, stopping for the allotted three seconds at each stop sign and never using his blinker.

“Name’s Nell, by the by,” the old man declared suddenly, jerking Spencer out of his reverie of the town. “Not that you asked. What’s yer story, son?”

“Uh, I’m Spencer,” he said slowly. Awkwardly. “I’m just traveling.”

“That’s a sheht story. No pizzazz, no flare. Ain’t you got stories where yer from?”

How do you like dead mutilated bodies? He wondered. Spencer laughed quietly and made sure to stare straight ahead. Nell’s eyes flicked quickly to his each time he looked over, and the truck veered with them.

“I’m not much of a storyteller, Nell.”

“Shame,” Nell muttered, his top lip twitching as he seemed to think very hard about that. “Puppy dog eyes like that, you could get a peach and a half to follow you home if you could string a good yarn.”

Spencer struggled to follow that metaphor, so he just gave a noncommittal hum. The thought of a man who looked like Nell referring to a woman as a ‘peach’ left a bad taste in his mouth.

"You ever been this way up before?"

"Nope. Just passing through on my way to Oregon."

"Ah, sheht," Nell grumbled. He slapped the steering wheel and pointed at nothing. "Oregon ain't got nothin' on Thundabird! I came here after 'Nam and never looked back!"

Spencer thanked God that Rossi didn't talk like this, not that fighting in Vietnam caused mushmouth, but he was getting irritated.

"Lotsa people round here just showed up. Never left. It's a town of strays, y’know? Might find somethin' purty and never wanna leave like I did."

"Oh yeah?" Spencer asked, not really paying much attention. He gazed longingly out the window and decided he could have walked faster than Nell drove.

"Met my Bernie and never could leave. She’s purtier than a seagull at sunset, I swear it.”

“You have any kids?”

“Nah, she’s small. Not much more’n me can fit in there most of the time.”

Spencer made a face and turned to him, disgusted, “What?”

Nell leaned forward and rubbed a hand across the dash of his nasty truck, “She’s small, but she’s a beaut! All I ever needed.”

Thankfully, they finally made their way up to the diner. Delgado’s lay catty corner to it, right next to a small inn called The Thunderbird Inn. Spencer got the hell out of Bernie as fast as he could and waved a hand to Nell. “Thanks for the ride, Nell. It’s been a trip.”

“Anytime, son!” Nell chuckled manically, and it was all Spencer had not to grimace. He pulled out of the small driveway slower than molasses, almost hit a stop sign, then rumbled down the street.

Spencer took a steadying breath and shook his head before going into the mechanic's shop. A small reception area stood in the front, the smell of grease and exhaust puffing in from the door leading through the garage. There was a window in front of a desk where a small woman sat in a headscarf. She wore a brightly colored floral shirt, her braids piled high above her head as she gave him a small wave.

"How ya doing, baby?" she asked with an easy grin. The tension in Spencer's shoulders from talking to Nell eased in just one look at that smile. There was also something about an older black lady calling him ‘baby’ in a soft voice that made him feel better for some reason.

"Uhm, my car broke down," Spencer said, pointing behind him.

She nodded, "I'm Mattie May. Rose told me you might be making your way here."

"Oh, he did, did he?" Spencer snarked, rolling his eyes.

"Don't take it personal," Mattie May hushed. She stood and rounded the corner, then waved for him to follow. "Man's got a sixth sense about cars. In fact, I first met him when I broke down on the side of the road outside of town."

Spencer followed Mattie May behind the counter and into a small kitchen area. He eyeballed the fridge as she puttered around. Pictures of Rose, Mattie May, and Honey littered the front. Some had group photos with a few of the eclectic townsfolk he'd run into already, others with people he didn't know.

"He asked me to dinner before fixing my car. I fell head over heels and never looked back. Moved here a few months later." She pulled out a fresh pot of coffee and poured him some in a brightly colored mug with flowers on it, then one for herself. "You take sugar, baby?"

"Lots of it," he muttered, leaning down to look at more of the photographs. "This town's like the Bermuda triangle, huh?"

"For lost souls… yeah, I guess it is," she said softly. Her skin glimmered under the fluorescent lighting, dark and beautiful against the bright purples and pinks of her shirt and beaming smile. "You lost?"

Spencer stood up sharply, suddenly rocked with defensiveness. He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "How long do you think the repairs will take?"

Mattie May clicked her teeth and sighed, then handed him the mug. "Rose will have to tell you that. If he doesn't have the parts you can stay at the inn. I'll have Honey make you up a room."

Spencer took a sip. It was fantastic, obviously from the same beans the diner used. "Is she your daughter? I saw her with Rose at the diner."

"We've definitely taken to her like she is. Another stray that showed up a while back and never wanted to leave."

"Do people who come here ever leave?" he snarked, flashing her a look.

"People land where they need to. Sometimes that's here."

"I'd like to get the hell out of here as fast as possible. No offense."

Mattie May smirked at him and leaned against the counter, "None taken."

"Axle cracked, huh?" a familiar deep voice came from behind them. Spencer looked to find Rose leaning over the front counter and watching him expectantly.

"Right in half."

"Hmmm," he grunted, nodding to himself. "I'll send out Rico."

"The man's got somewhere to be, Rose," Mattie May said, waving her cup at her husband. "How long will it take to repair?"

Rose pushed himself off the counter with a sigh. He ran a hand over his face as he ambled slowly into the small kitchen, then shrugged. "I don't have that model in stock as nobody in town drives it. Could take a month for the parts to come in."

"A month?" Spencer asked sharply. He set the cup down harder on the counter than he meant to, and it hit with a clatter. "I can't sit around here for a month."

“Or more.” Rose shrugged, "UPS only comes through here once a month by boat. It's too hard to get through the mountains."

"Where you off to in such a hurry?" Mattie May asked softly. She set a comforting hand on his shoulder and gave him a soft squeeze. "If you gotta be somewhere soon, I'm sure we can find you a ride."

Spencer rubbed the back of his neck roughly in irritation. "Nowhere. I just don't like sitting in one place too long."

"You some sorta drifter?" Rose asked, eyeing him with a hard glare. Spencer was sure he looked the part with his old flannel, messy hair, beard and battered boots, but he didn’t like the thought after his previous line of work.

Spencer glared right back, his jaw set tightly. Mattie May blew out a breath and gave him another squeeze before letting her hand fall from his shoulder. “It might do you good to sit still for a while, then. C’mon, baby, I’ll take you over to Honey and we’ll get you a room.”

Mattie May steered him around Rose and out the front door. A loud boom! Made him jerk away from her and flinch from the sound. A few errant pop pop pops followed, and when he heard her soft laughter he looked up to see kids lighting fireworks in the street.

His vision dragged, his blood pounded in his ears as he tried to convince himself he was fine. He wasn’t being blown up, and he wasn’t at Everett Lynch’s home. Mattie May’s voice ripped him sharply to the present as she called to them.

“Y’all go somewhere else and do that! People are tryin’ to work!”

Their shoulders deflated and they nodded, “Yes, Mrs. Delgado!”

She shook her head and chuckled, turning back to Spencer. He stared at the charred spot on the pavement where the firecrackers had erupted, chest heaving as the acrid scent of burnt embers flooded his nose.

“You okay, baby?”

Spencer found himself turning toward her kind voice, his eyes wet and suddenly more tired than he’d been in months. “Yeah. I’m… I’m not a big fan of the fourth of July.”

“The firecrackers?” she asked. He nodded. “Did you serve?”

“Uh, no ma’am.” He didn’t want to tell her anything about the FBI. Since leaving, Spencer hadn’t told anyone that he used to be an agent. What he’d become was too shameful.

“Holly Henson isn’t much for it either since he came back from Iraq, neither is Rose. I bought them some noise canceling headphones for this time of year. I have an extra pair.”

“I'll keep that in mind. Thanks."

She led him into the front of The Thunderbird Inn, where Honey sat behind the reception desk with a young man Spencer hadn't met yet. He was tall and about her age, near thirty, leaning over the counter and smirking at her. His easy going grin and good looks reminded him of Luke, as did his dark closely cropped hair.

"I'm serious, Honey. It'll be fun."

Honey lounged in a roller chair and crossed her hands behind her head, "I'm not going to the bar on the fourth. I'll end up having Lionel and Ritchie pawing all over me and looking down my shirt."

The man peeked a little further over and grinned, "I'd tell you to wear a different shirt, but I can't exactly blame them for trying to sneak a peek."

Honey sat up sharply and slapped at him, and he jumped back with a mad laugh. She looked over his shoulder and her eyes brightened as she saw Spencer. "Axle cracked, huh, big tipper?"

Spencer squinted at her and nodded. Mattie May laughed and put a hand on his shoulder, "He needs a room for the night, Honey. Rico, Rose is lookin' for you. You gotta go tow this young man's car."

She turned to him, "I never caught your name."

"Spencer. Spencer Reid."

Rico eyed him the way Rose and every other person in this town seemed to, "Your axle cracked?"

Spencer sighed in pure exasperation. “Yes.”

Rico glanced back at Honey, who shrugged and made a face. He made his way toward the door, watching Spencer. His shoulder bumped Spencer's as he passed and then he was gone, Mattie May following closely behind.

"I got Room 4 open, Mr. Reid," Honey said playfully as Spencer glared out the door where Rico went. He looked up to see her dangling an ancient key attached to a little green tag with the inn name on it. "Follow me."

Spencer followed her and her tight jeans down a hallway to the left. The inn was a big square, two levels, with only a handful of rooms on the first floor. Honey took him to the center where the rooms met in the middle of the curved hallway. A door across from his had a sign on it that read Management on the front in faded gilded lettering and a doorbell on the side.

"Dinner’s at six. I'll bring you a plate," she said absentmindedly as she fiddled with the door. She clasped the handle and tugged up as she turned the lock. "Door sticks, and there's a patio out back where we usually have a bonfire this time of year. If it's too loud, let me know."

The door opened with a crack, and she pushed it open for him to step inside. The room was small and airy, wide broad windows that had a view of the far off ocean and palm trees. Spencer spotted boats and people in the water as he stepped up to them to look out. The tulle cottony curtains swayed with the breeze through the cracked door, and without much thought Spencer shut and locked it.

The bedspread was a bright sky blue with matching pillows. The walls were painted off-white, with pictures of the beach and the town plastered all over, much like Mattie May’s fridge and the reception areas of both businesses. Spencer dug into his pocket as he looked around with hardly disguised disdain and pulled out his wallet. He handed his credit card to Honey, but she just stared at him.

“Don’t you need this?”

“First night’s on Lionel. He was supposed to fix that pothole weeks ago.”

Spencer squinted at her, “How do you know I hit a pothole?”

She smiled, wide and bright. “Saw you drive toward the beach. Townspeople know to avoid it.”

“Good to know,” he grumbled, stuffing his card back into his wallet. “Is there a phone I can use?”

“Mmm, most people here don’t have cell phones. Providers don’t get great service around here, but there’s a landline on the nightstand.”

Spencer nodded, looking to where she pointed. “Internet?”

Honey laughed, but when she saw him watching her sternly she stopped. “Oh, you’re serious. There’s Collie’s Cafe down the street. It’s dial-up but it’ll get you what you need for a dime every ten minutes.”

“God this place really is the Bermuda Triangle,” he groaned, rubbing his face roughly with his hands. “Does everyone have a weird name here?”

Honey put her hands on her hips and made a face, “Who’s got a weird name?”

Spencer just glared.

Honey broke out into a creeping slow smile and nodded to herself. “You’re not a lot of fun, are you, Mr. Reid?”

“You can call me Spencer.”

“Hmm,” she hummed. She tapped her jaw and watched him, “This is a nickname kinda town. You stay here long enough and you’ll get one too.”

“I hope to God that doesn’t happen,” he said irritably. “If Honey’s not your real name, do you mind if I ask what it is?” “Y/N,” she replied with a grin. “Call me that and we’ll have a problem.”

“I don’t want any problems, Honey,” Spencer snarked back. “I just want to leave Margaritaville and go to Oregon.”

Honey bit her lip and smiled before turning on her heel and walking toward the door. She lingered for a moment with her hand on the knob, obviously chewing on something in her mind. Sucking in a breath, she glanced his way once more and said in a soft voice, “Maybe your problem is that you can’t enjoy where you’re at, Spencer. Maybe you should take a breather.”

Before he could angrily reply, she closed the door behind her. It didn’t fit in the frame well, and he heard her little grunt as she pulled up on the knob to latch it shut. Shaking his head and letting out a pained breath, Spencer hoisted his suitcase up and tossed it on the bed, grateful to be alone again. He plopped down next to it, elbows on his knees as he looked around, and that question popped into his head again.

Is this who I am now?

Smurph's Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Notes: PLEASE tell me what you think... this series is so close to my heart. What do you think of the townspeople we've met so far? Reader/Honey? Sad!Spencer??

CM Forever Tag:

@thedancingcostumeyoungadult @muffin-cup @simplyparker @spencerreidsmommy @hotchandspencearedilfs @gspenc @kbakery @nomajdetective @givemeth @hoshihiime @halloween-is-my-nationality @reidselle @thisiscalmanditsdoctorreid @dreatine @thebloomingeagle @fortheloveofwonderland @theforgottenwinter @parkerreidnorth @reidselle @randomhoex @scargarcia-magshotchner @stitchwrites @pygmygoat-bicyclehelmet @cle13 @aysixdy @elhotchner @directioner5life @elhotchner @loveeee2134 @preciousbabypeter @la-stuffs @stories-you-wont-hear @hotchlover @fortheloveofwonderland @lokiandhisdagger @bellanutellababyyy @dark-night-sky-99 @straightforbuckybutgayfornatasha @maltamurdock @charelletjee @kansas-reid @zephyrmonkey @spencer-reid-wonderland @spencersprettyslut @im-sure-its-fine @tvdstelenaforever @teddylupintonks @lilibet261 @kneelforloki @dirtytissuebox @almostgenerallyalways @whovian378 @cl0udyqu33n @thegettingbyp2 @averagestudent03 @the-sun-died-out @squishycalumxo @sebastiansstanswhore

@louderfortheback @pandabiiissh @calebye

@dottirose @lfaewrites @padsfirewhisky @wheels-upin-thirty @f-me-reid

132 notes · View notes

nanowrimo · 2 years

Text

Black Joy Is Revolutionary or Why Writing Black Doesn't Equal Trauma or Pain

It’s important to talk about what kind of stories get represented in mainstream media. NaNo Participant Kymberlyn Reed tells us why stories centered around Black joy are necessary. As a little Black girl who loved reading, it always saddened me that there was never a Babysitter's Club or Sweet Valley High series in which Black kids were centered (not sidekicks or best friends lacking a backstory) just having fun, going through typical teenage stuff and hanging out with cool friends. The fantasy genre, as much as I loved it, also seemed to have no place for Black people to had amazing adventures in far away worlds.

That's why — as a middle aged Blerd — I have been on an absolute roll with so many wonderful stories about Black people just existing and I think there needs to be MORE of them. There is room for Black joy in a society that devalues Blackness as a whole (while co-opting and/or misappropriating the aspects it finds marketable).

This isn't to say there's no need for stories centered around the very real issues of social justice. There's a reason Angie Thomas' The Hate U Give resonated with so many readers of all races (and why so many school districts are trying to ban it). However, not everything about Blackness is about pain and suffering.

And that's the problem. The idea of a single black experience — mainly centered around our suffering —has far too long dictated what people want to write and/or read about us. If there had been more books about Black mermaids in the past (despite the fact that many African cultures have myths about mermaids), people probably wouldn't be losing their minds over Halle Bailey right now.

Not every book about Black people needs to be a "teachable moment" for non-Black readers. Black people should not have to exist or expend unpaid emotional labor just to "teach." Our historical and current traumas should not be the only way to create "empathy.”

Black joy seems to upset people or has some of them believing it's not "authentic Blackness." One of my all time favorite romance authors — Beverly Jenkins — once received a letter from a white reader who was SHOCKED that Black people actually fell in love and had committed relationships! She long believed that Black people just had indiscriminate sex and children out of wedlock.

It took a historical romance featuring a Black hero and heroine to open this woman's mind.

Reading and writing about Black people doing the mundane (as we do everyday) in made up worlds shows us just being, that our skin in all of its glorious hues, is just a part of who we are. We have many intersecting identities, and limiting us to the "poor downtrodden Black person in need of saving" deprives us of our individuality.

Black LGBTQ have coming-out stories and meet-cutes.

Black girls can be princesses.

Black men can be cowboys (and in fact were some of the original cowboys).

Most importantly, Black people exist in every walk of life, even in places and spaces where the media at large ignores our presence. For example, there are Black surfers who teach free courses at The Inkwell, a historic stretch of beach located in Santa Monica, California.

When you read or write about Black people living fully, you are changing the narrative and in a lot of ways, changing minds. Not only that, but writing Black joy is fun too. It's inclusive and it's telling Black readers our stories matter.

All of them.

Kymberlyn Reed is an author who's been published in two countries--Germany and the U.S. No, she doesn't speak a bit of German, but her writing "sister" does.

She's been doing the NaNoWriMo thing for a long time now and will always be a pantser because her characters refuse to behave otherwise. She owns more books than clothes. She's also a lifelong Blerd, fountain pen and Japanese stationery aficionado, lipstick junkie, and an unapologetic metalhead who can do a pretty good death metal growl with enough absinthe in her system. Photo by Junior REIS on Unsplash

#nanowrimo #writing #amwriting #black joy #black stories #by nano guest #kymberlyn reed #Black Writers

323 notes · View notes

bridenore · 4 months

Text

HD fic recs - disability (blind, mute or deaf)

Here are a few drarry fic recs where either Harry or Draco is blind, mute or deaf, whether it is permanent or temporary. Listed in alphabetical order, as always.

Darkest Before the Dawn by @dualwieldteacup [47k]

The last thing Draco wanted was to show up at Harry Potter’s door, cursed blind and holding a boxful of his friends Transfigured into snakes, but here he was. Between breaking the curse, adjusting to life without sight, and teaching his Defence Against the Dark Arts classes, Draco’s got his hands full. Being forced to live with Harry Potter might just be the death of him. This is a story about the bonds of friendship, fairy tale endings, and learning to ask for help (even from Gryffindors).

The Lip-Lock Jinx by cassisluna [20k]

It's a jinx that renders the victim mute, unless he/she serves the purpose of the jinx and kisses the person that they desire. It's just Harry's luck that he's in love with Draco.

Obliviation by @dysonrules [26k]

When Harry decides to quit Auror Training in order to care for young Teddy over the summer, he has quite enough to worry about without Pansy Parkinson dumping a mute Draco Malfoy on his doorstep.

The Piano by shushu_yaoi_lj / @orange-peony [37k]

He arrives on a boat during a particularly stormy day. Harry knew Astoria Greengrass had sent for a husband, someone to keep her company on the particularly dreary and dark winter days on this remote island. Harry didn’t know who it was she had arranged to be sent here. All he knew was that the weather was horrid today, and the Portkeys had never properly worked in this remote corner of the North Sea. The island was special, its magic working in odd and surprising ways. The last person Harry expects to find on the beach is Draco Malfoy.

Potential Gravity by @lol-zeitgeistic [32k]

Draco is not good at Cards Against Humanity, but Harry’s not good at being human, so it all works out. Except for the explosions. And Harry’s inability to live when Draco’s not around.

Silenced by the Night by @parkkate [55k]

After a spell goes horribly wrong, Harry has to deal with the loss of his eyesight. It’s such terrible timing, too, because how is he supposed to find out what Malfoy has been up to in the Room of Requirement? It’s not like he can ask the git, not only because it’s Malfoy, but also because the Slytherin has suddenly lost his voice. While they’re both trapped in the hospital wing, however, Harry discovers there’s so much he didn’t know about Malfoy, and it’s highly intriguing, but also a bit alarming. Where did all these confusing feelings come from all of a sudden? And what is Harry going to do about them?

Speechless by mayberry_rose [6k]

In which Draco can’t speak, and Harry learns to listen.

The Standard You Walk Past by @bafflinghaze [46k]

On returning to Hogwarts for their Eighth Year, Headmistress McGonagall decided to room Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter together. She may have hoped for a leading example of house unity; the other students fully expected insults and fights. But nothing happened. That was, until Harry sleepwalked into Draco’s bed.

Talk to Me by Saras_Girl [15k]

When the usual channels of communication are shut down, the most surprising people can find a way in. A strange little love story.

A Thousand Beautiful Things by geoviki [104k]

Draco Malfoy struggles with changed fortunes, shifted alliances, an ugly war, and an unusual spell, with the help of a concerned professor, an insightful house-elf, and an unexpected Gryffindor friend. Delicate Sound of Thunder by geoviki [61k] Draco Malfoy has always known that happily ever after is only true for fairy tales. When someone threatens to expose his wartime past, he risks his life to protect his secrets, but learns he’s not the only one with something to hide. The sequel to A Thousand Beautiful Things.

When I Put My Eyes On You by Zzzara [31k]

When a hero defeats a villain, there’s supposed to be a happily-ever-after… but when did anything ever happen to Harry Potter the way it was supposed to? Having sacrificed himself to the greater good, Harry is left alone in the darkness, blindly groping for the shreds of the life he knew. When the enemies meet, how is the story supposed to go, once they learn there’s more to it than the eye can see? A story of pain, hope and things we discover, once we stop looking for them with our eyes.

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

#my recs #drarry #drarry recs #theme rec

22 notes · View notes

girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 11 months

Text

tuesday again 5/30/2023

all you can see is my hand over the back of the couch as i give a limp wrist flick of acknowledgement and point you toward the post ↓

listening

Smooth Jazz by GUPPY, a selfdescribed comedic punk band that makes secular guitar music with bedroom-pop overtones. said to myself out loud on my walk "this sounds gay" and whaddya know they are.

I’m listening to smooth jazz In the parking lot outside of Joann’s Fabrics & Crafts And I’m feeling like a dumb spazz Because my mind is moving way too fast

i have had this exact experience at multiple joanns. the last bit of the song has been on loop in my head since uhh thursday when i was catching up with my spot/ify weekly recommended list. the tired, slightly ironic last-number-in-the-musical performance is really doing it for me

Jazz, baby! That’s just jazz, baby That’s just jazz That’s just jazz, baby In my brain, baby So give me a lobotomy

reading

raymond chandler's the long goodbye.

this book destroyed me. there is some BREATHTAKING racism even for 1953. it's one of the cruelest things ive ever read. it's a sucking chest wound of a book. i'm going to think about it for the rest of my life.

i'm not able to talk about chandler novels objectively.

i am partially grieving the incredibly fucked up shit that happens to marlowe in this book (i have no fucking clue how you even go on after that, but he does) and partially grieving that this is the last full novel and there aren't any more. i know the unfinished poodle springs was finished after chandler's death but! i do not care.

watching

One-Eyed Jacks (1961, dir. Brando). widely available for free, pluto had the nicest copy but ads that weren't blockable. this is a film where the production is as much of a story as the actual film.

i don't actually know if i enjoyed this film or had a good time watching it. i don't know that i ever need to see it more than once.

it is artistically distinct, and i genuinely mean that as a compliment. it is a rare western-that-doesn’t-have-to-be-a-western, and such a weird artifact of a particular guy's career in a particular time.

surprisingly, this is a pretty okay western to watch if you happen to be a woman. katy jurado and pina pellicier are acting their GODDAMN hearts out. despite itself, the movie paints a very good portrait of a mother-daughter relationship and some goodass parenting. women make mistakes and don't die about it. nobody gets raped!!! the absolute lowest bar a western can possibly have. as a quick sidebar, it's not that i think movies should never address rape, it's that westerns always address it in a way that makes my stomach turn.

it is a slow-burning revenge that mostly takes place on a beach, but it also takes you in great uneven hurtling lurches toward its finale. it wants to have things to say about lies, revenge, and storytelling but cannot help but give itself a certain kind of ending. it can only push so far. it is fascinatingly earnest, horny, and earnest about being horny.

playing

grim fandango remastered (2015, originally 1998) by double fine. the EPIC tale of CRIME and CORRUPTION in the LAND OF THE DEAD!!! critically acclaimed, what we would now call Mexican Gothic i think, but billed itself as a Aztec-inspired noir.

technical details: i am not totally impressed by this remaster bc it still looks pretty fucking janky in parts (things clipping through other things, heavily pixelated stuff despite being on the highest quality settings, etc)

why i bounced off: i did not play video games growing up, and have not played many point-and-click games. despite this i do like walking simulators (the modern successor to point-and-click) and visual novels. i think bc i do not have the point-and-click background and am not playing this through nostalgia-tinted glasses for 1998, four years after i was born, the way the design team of this game expect the general population to solve problems and the way i personally solve problems are severely mismatched. i have spent about ten hours playing this game (in four acts) getting to about halfway through the third act, and i would say about half that time has been looking for/at guides or making up lost progress bc i didn't save. this is a tremendously frustrating way to spend free time.

what i did love: however, it does Look. i ADORE this tile and want it in my home. in a cutscene in this little automat there are not one not two not three but FOUR reflective surfaces. they're not real-time, of course, but i did say "what the FUCK" out loud. it's also hysterically fucking funny! many short sharp barks of laughter! i am greatly amused at how a game about skeletons invented permadeath! both the writing and the voice performances are so fucking top notch. i understand why this is a beloved classic and im glad a remastered edition exists in the world, but i do not anticipate finishing this game bc i don't get a lot of joy out of having to closely follow a guide to progress.

how i found this: it was free on GOG several years ago, i wanted to play something this weekend that was compatible with lying down on the couch and used a maximum of one finger for the controls.

making

i cannot show any of the extremely doxxable embroidery samples that will zhuzh up this cardigan for a work event in mid-june, but i can show how i tacked the buttonband down. this is somewhat indifferent stitch spacing but it stays down and is invisible at a distance from the right side, and that's what matters. gotta de-pill this also but that's a bit boring for a tuesdaypost

#tuesday again #tuesday again no problem #Bandcamp

25 notes · View notes

rggtattoos · 2 years

Text

Tattoo Analysis: Shimabukuro Rikiya

Everything in Rikiya's tattoo reflects his love and dedication to his hometown and the people that live there.

(Tattoo Breakdown)

Being that the eye is such a small detail to be the only bit unfinished, I am guessing that Rikiya had his tattoo done in small bites at a time over a number of years. That is assuming the artist didn't just drop dead mid-session. The Nakahara family isn't exactly flush with cash, so I can see him doing it in more affordable chunks. The eye is a key part of emotional expression, and as 3’s story unfolds Rikiya grows from a brash, impulsive kid to a source of emotional support to Kiryu and Morning Glory. He learns to listen, and ultimately to give his life for the people he loves.

Snakes protect sacred places, and Rikiya gives everything he has to protect the orphanage, Kiryu, and all of Okinawa. Okinawa is definitely a sacred place in Y3. It’s arguably where we see Kiryu at his happiest. We are shown its natural beauty, how peaceful it is, and the kindness of its citizens. It is a safe haven for Kiryu, Haruka, the Morning Glory kids, and Nakahara’s daughter.

Harming a snake is said to bring curses, and Rikiya’s death does incur the wrath of Kiryu, who spends most of 3 trying to be a peaceful civilian who stays out of yakuza affairs until Rikya's death forces his hand.

Also Habushu (Viper infused Awamori- a distilled rice alcohol unique to Okinawa ) is used to enhance male virility. I don't know what to do with this information. There are also reports of the snakes used in the drink surviving the process and "reviving" when removed from the booze.

Windmill palms are real servants of the people as far as plant life goes. Useful for making medicine, tools, clothes, and wax. Rikiya is a simple, small town boy who loves his home and does everything to support the people living there, often directly. He helps people anyway he can, from supporting a girl who moved away from Okinawa who lost her way in life, to playing the heel in a wrestling match to boost the mood of a sick kid.

More of an anecdote than symbolism, but while I was researching palm trees for Rikiya’s tattoo description, I was struggling to find much about them. They don’t really come up in any myths or legends that I could find. However, on a gardening-based message board I saw a discussion where a few people were discussing that some Japanese people, when questioned, seemed to believe that there are no palm trees native to mainland Japan. They are almost solely associated with more beach-y locals, despite there being several species native to the main island. Once again this was an extremely isolated conversation, but something could be said about the parallels to a native plant that is seen as foriegn, and Okinawa’s Japan-but-not relationship to the rest of the country that is discussed a bit in 3.

#yakuza #ryu ga gotoku #yakuza games #yakuza 3 #rikiya shimabukuro #tattoos #irezumi #rgg #habu viper #windmill palm #analysis #like a dragon

55 notes · View notes

actualbird · 1 year

Text

so playing thru vyn's CCG route after playing marius' CCG route reminded me how much i hate the beach. i'd almost forgotten since i havent had to go to the beach in a while, but the contrast between going from lovely plains and mountains and forests to BEACH made me remember. im still having fun w vyn's route and he and mc are So Cute but also this is why im not mc cuz

me in marius' ccg route: OH HELL YEAH A WHOLE BIT WHERE WE'RE LOOKING AT BIRDS AND TALKING ABOUT BIRDS, THIS ROCKS!!!!!

me in vyn's ccg route: a floating market.. on the Ocean. i would die. i hope you know i'd die, vyn. the water is a death trap monster and no matter how glitteringly beautiful it looks, it hungers, it kills kills kills

this is wholly just a personal preference thing because im land lover and it makes me so thankful that luke's ccg route in ccg part 2 is gonna be in the forest (I WANNA HARVEST MUSHROOMS WITH HIM SO BAD) because i LOVE the forest. meanwhile beaches are just...

i'll (respectfully) never understand ppl who find beaches relaxing, it's always the most stressful location for me. like, first off theres just so much going on. theres too much heat, too much wet, and very often too much people, that is Too Many Things going on and i have the brain of a very frightened animal.

second off, it's contradictory. like it's HOT and the only way to get COOL is to submerge into the GAPING MAW OF THE OCEAN THAT WANTS YOU TO DIE???

.....okay lemme rescind all the bits where i say the ocean hungers and the ocean is hunting you down. actually, the scariest thing about the ocean is that it doesnt desire your demise. it's simply built like that.

water as the cradle of life is such a fascinating and ironic metaphor for me because i see it as the opposite, it is a force of quiet horrid DESTRUCTION but thats most probably because i have a horrid phobia for bodies of water due many instances of me drowning and also a fear of the sheer destructive force of water because ive lived through some catastrophic floods, BUT EVEN PERSONAL EXPERIENCE ASIDE, WATER KILLS US ALL. the progenitor of life, but we, as humans, have walked too far for too long away from the water to come back to it fully and survive the experience. "from ashes to ashes, dust to dust" no no, from water to water and to water we will return, submerging one's self in water is always something so momentary because we cannot breathe it anymore, it will get inside you in all the crevices of your body and internals where it no longer belongs because we no longer belong with it either. beaches and bodies of water do no evoke relaxation to me, it evokes respect but the kind of respect implicit in the trait of "god-fearing" like i respect that water! because it can KILL ME. it doesnt want to kill me. it's not like a fire that needs to devour to keep itself alive and burning. water will keep on going no matter what happens, whether you die or not. it does not want or need to kill anything, but it can and it will because it's in its nature to rush into anything that doesnt already have something there. it's just built like that! and thats worse!

//shakes head from the vague water-horror-induced daze i just went in.

anyway. true peace is found up in the mountains when it is night and you cannot hear or see a single thing but then you look around and theres fireflies and the chittering of animals you'll never know the look of. take me back to the mountains

which, i came to a realization this morning that the summary of my experience is basically

beach: sensory overload (bad)

forested mountains: sensory gentleness (good)

here are some pictures from the last time i went up to the mountains. i miss it SO MUCH //CLAWS AT THE WALLS OF MY HOME

#under the cut cuz this is less abt tot and more me rambling abt why i find beaches horrifying HAHA #dootdootdoot

30 notes · View notes

chumby4life · 3 months

Text

Some cute and funny screengrabs from Maison Ikkoku that i liked

GAAHH this was such a good show, so just heartwarming idk. I watched it over a period of a few months, one ep a day during my work breaks. It's the perfect show for that, a lighthearted sitcom with some really heartfelt moments. Just a nice and relaxing reprieve from stressful work. And it's a wonderful example of the found family trope (i'm always weak for that stuff) and I feel like the show presents grief in a really nice way even when it can be silly at times.

I love how the two main characters, Godai and Kyoko, are around my age (although they do get older thru the series) because I feel like it's hard to find anime that focuses on twenty-somethings. Godai's struggles as a college student and later finding a good job were pretty relatable for me tbh.

As for Kyoko, her whole character conflict was, so...poignant? Spoilers, but she is introduced as someone who was widowed at 22, a pretty young age for that. You get the sense from her that her life has ended before it really began - she married just a few years earlier, she had a taste of feeling fulfilled and complete, only for it to be taken from her. Now the manager of the boarding house belonging to her late husband's family, it really seems like she's living in the shadow of the past, and is reluctant to move on. Hell, she named her dog after her husband, maybe just so she has an excuse to keep saying his name. She just seems so trapped within herself for a good portion of the series.

Not to mention that her husband was actually her high school geology teacher...haha. Which I really feel conveys her tendency to refrain from stepping out of her comfort zone. I mean, she had it all set up nicely - she gets to spend her days with someone who was already a constant in her life, someone who taught her and guided her through unfamiliar territory. Maybe this extended into a desire to be guided through life, to ease the burden of making one's own choices. Don't get me wrong, Kyoko is more than capable of handling things on her own, but doesn't everyone kind of want to be led and taken care of through life's difficulties, at least a little bit? And with her spouse gone, she feels lost and scared, as anyone might.

With all this in mind, it's funny that we see Kyoko frequently frustrated with Godai's lack of maturity at first, as he was likely a far cry from the mature person that her husband was. And, of course, Kyoko's late husband kind of reminds me of the whole "dead wife" trope you see in action movies, you know? Those scenes where we see the protag's memories of their dead wife, so angelic and perfect and running on a beach or something. Because only in death can someone become perfect, I guess. How is Godai supposed to measure up to that? Obviously, he can't. And he can't expect that of himself, nor can Kyoko.

Eventually, though, Kyoko does get to experience an entirely new kind of love and romance through Godai. Instead of being led through life as she may have once wanted, these two help each other through their struggles equally, and it's really satisfying to witness.

Good show good show, also it has one of my favorite anime op's... The op for one episode has Gilbert O'Sullivan's "Alone Again" as its music. That is so strange and yet kind of fitting for the series lol. Anyways rant over I recommend this one

#maison ikkoku #rumiko takahashi

5 notes · View notes

samooooo1 · 2 months

Text

(Credits to the artist (蒼柳はぜよし), noice art)

Marcus x reader

Sunny aniversary

(Thought many times of writting for him and it finally cameee)

_____________________

Sunny, angry boy. Good combo in a hot summer day, its your aniversary and the both of you wanted to spend some quality time in the beach, but naturaly being the gorgeous person that you are. (You all are beautiful cause God created you ;) )

Its bound to happen that eyes might direct themselves on you, and already having a angry bird boyfriend named Marcus who already has some small anger issues and is one big of a jealous guy, it wont be easy to have a peaceful. Welp atleast you can say that you have the most overprotective and loving man by your side.

While he was arguing you just looked at him with a sigh... then you just gone up to him and took him by the arm and dragged him away, into the water and threw him in, he just looked at you... and sighned."Your right low life arent worth the trouble, let spend some time." He said as he began to slightly smile and look at you, you knew in a way he does have some issues with his emotions which is why you always drag him off to cool him off.

"Its fine :D, now lets get surfing board and have some fun" you sad and winked at him, to which he blushed.

Right before the both of you were going to run to the car to get your boards, you just ran to him kissed him, he blushed madly and you took the chance to steal his sunglasses, he just looked dumbly at you and you said "Catch if ya can" you said and winked and ran to your car, he just smirked and ran after you.

The people around saw the both of you and smiled, seeing how cute the both of you looked, even a eldery woman chuckled and said to her husband. "Honey, they look so much like us back in the day" she said, her husband just chuckled and smiled and agreed with his wife.

As you ran, Marcus has catched up to you and caught you and took you in his arms twirling you in the air, you just screamed at him to let you down and he just laughed at you. He then had the brilliant idea of carrying you to the car while everyone was watching, you just rolled your eyes and let him do it and as soon as the both of you have reached your car, he has let you down back on your feets.

You both took your boards off the car and then he said, "Last one in the water is rotten egg" and ran as fast as he could with the board you, being the stuborn you that you are and having just lost, you couldnt let it go any further and tried to win this time and by the mercy of the lord... you weirdly were able to outrun him. Welp a blessing you could say send by the lord Jesus ;).

Timeskip

After the both of you had your fun with the ocean, the both of you decided to just go back and buy some food to relax near your car."Today was a wonderful day :D" you said, Marcus just nodded back and you understood what he wanted to say, seems as if only mere motions can be understood, even after 3 years the love between you is just as pure as it was in the beginning❤️.

Now the both of you just spend time together, having fun and just loving the feeling of being together, the both of you have spend so much that the sun began to come down. While it was happening Marcus took you by your chin and ended the day with a kiss, and the both of you hope that another year will come where you will be able to spend the time together, til death do you apart.

_____________________

Authors note:

My dear readers :D Hope you enjoyed, I had planned to write for Marcus or better said Digimon Data Squad for a long time, but I am not lying I dont have the motivation nor the time to watch and search for every character independently, it is good that I know this character a bit atleast and its also one of the reason it takes time, also like I got some ideas but I would appreaciate if you maybe could ask for more request and give a small description of said character and what ya want in the fic, would be noice as it does save some time and gives me more time to think about the quality of the fic, but that should be it for now :D God bless, bye byee!

;)

#digimon x reader #x reader #digimon #request

3 notes · View notes

tietensgo · 1 year

Text

note: spoilers

As i did for Squid Game, I am going to write down my thoughts about Alice in Borderland and its ending, which I thought was lovely and satisfying, despite my initial impressions.

1. Firstly are the parallels I picked up on*, given the title and character names:

Arisu: Alice

Usagi: White Rabbit (I’m late, I’m late)

Chishiya: The Cheshire Cat

(Danma) Hatter: The Mad Hatter (and the Beach is his teaparty)

Mira: The Queen of Hearts

Kuina: The Caterpillar*

Ann: The Duchess**

*I did not note this one personally, but looked into it and it made sense, given Kuina’s bent for smoking and the transformation from caterpillar to butterfly

**Also didn’t pick up on this one, (and the connection is less obvious to me) but it’s rumoured along with several more about Arisu’s close friends Chota, Karube, and others.

2. Secondly is the unfolding of the plot:

So Season 2 was much anticipated, and was an interesting change of pace from Season 1. We’ve figured out the mechanics of the game now, the ins and outs of visas, game rules, what the suits mean, and the practicalities of the world. The focus shifted more to understanding how the world came about, who rules it, and most importantly, how to leave.

I loved the ability of the show to keep a steady pace that alternated between the mind-bending, sadistic games that still gripped in both conception and visuals (death by sulfuric acid was terrifyinnggggg I couldn’t watch it) and the middle bits, the exploration of character arcs like the romance between Arisu and Usagi, Ann’s exploration of the physical world, or the persistent questioning about the meaning of life.

3. Lastly was the ending.

I must say I initially didn’t like it. I fully appreciated the nod that was given to the most plausible theories at the beginning of the last episode: Is this time travel? Is this some sort of deep brain simulation? IS IT ALIENS??!?! This part of the Episode 8 conversation with Mira showed that the showmakers (author even?), knew that the audience’s mind had been asking these questions almost since the Moment Arisu arrived in Borderland.

Compared to all of these theories though, saying it was a rogue meteor strike was... a let down. BUT. The more I thought about it, the more I realized it could’ve been anything, tbh, that caused them to be transported, because the point is that ANY near-death experience can take you to Borderland, the space between life and death. And it brings to front and center the conversations that each person had been having thus far about the meaning of life. The hypothesis is that when the body is fighting to survive an accident of some sort in the real world, the mind is also doing a sort of ‘Systems Check’, trying to search for a reason to keep going, a purpose for which to exist. And Borderland provides a place for such a battle to take place, a limbo of sorts where people are forced to remember how precious life is and why it needs to be fought for- enough that they get shaken out of their stupor and wake up.

Of course, this is not a perfect solution. Did Chota and Karube die in Borderland because they didn’t think life was precious enough? (No.) And what happens to the physical bodies of those who choose to become citizens? (They die, eventually. Time works differently in Borderland, but even Game Runners don’t appear to live forever.) I don’t purport to have every answer. I just mean that... by all accounts, /everyone/ affected by the meteor could’ve died. (It was a meteor, which a huge explosion!) But Borderland took the consciousness? souls? of the dead people there and provided a way for /some/ of them to live.

If you look at it that way, Borderland, despite the random death games and constant terror, actually /reduces/ the number of people who die from a mass-casualty event, and, makes sure that, of those that come back to life, most of them are determined to live life to the fullest when they get back.

ALSO, in the Netflix version, we see that the last shot is of a player with a Joker card. This is expanded on a bit more in the manga, but basically he’s some sort of limbo-esque character, giving credence to the idea that Borderland is a last-chance type of world, where, if you fight hard enough, and convince enough people to try with you, and hold on to hope long enough, you can earn one last chance to be returned back to the real world and live.

TLDR; Alice in Borderland Season 2 did not pull any punches with the games, which were as visceral and heart-pounding as ever. I personally enjoyed discussing extensively with my watch-mate about how we would approach each game, and loved seeing the details of the Alice in Wonderland characters woven into the narrative so well. The ending was at first disappointing, but the more I thought about what the Borderland represented, the more appropriate the ambiguity became, and eventually I could accept Borderland for what it is: a train station between the real world and the afterlife, where people fight for the opportunity to go board the train back to the real world and live.

#alice in borderland #netflix #arisu ryohei #chisiya shuntaro #usagi yuzuha #ann rizuna #kuina hikari #tietensgo

16 notes · View notes

astraldelights · 2 years

Text

Come Fly With Me

Sypnosis: Maverick takes you flying :)

Content: A small bit of angst but just Maverick being Maverick

Author's Note: I wanted to write this after watching Tom cruise take James Cordon in an L39 and thought this would be fun to write hehehe. Also the title is just a Frank Sinatra song

“Are you sure it’ll be safe?” You nervously asked Maverick. Somehow your ruggedly handsome scoundrel of a boyfriend had convinced you to take a flight with him. Even with the knowledge that he flew so regularly and was still alive, your nerves got the best of you. However, being the kind man you fell in love with, Maverick laid down with you the night before the flight, comforting most of your worries.

“What if an engine fails? Or the plane just stops working? Will I fall unconscious?” Maverick, listening to your concerns just grabbed your hands and hugged you closer as you laid on top of him.

“If an engine fails, I’ll plop you out and you’ll parachute down. The plane will be checked before takeoff. And don’t worry we won’t go above 5Gs alright?” You nodded. He moved his hand up to your head, giving your forehead a kiss.

“I won’t let anything bad happen to you.” Looking back at him you smiled.

“I know you won’t.”

Snuggling into the comfort of your shared bed, the both of you stayed together and fell asleep in each other's arms, excited for the next day to come.

It was 5am . Maverick had woken you up early to arrive at base in the wee hours of the morning. The yawns that came out of your mouth were endless.

“I don’t think you’ll be yawning once we are sky high.” Poking fun at your tiredness, Maverick laughed.

You grumbled in response.

The hanger was huge, containing multiple motorcycles that Maverick regularly rode. He even had the one you rode on during your first date. He reached into his locker and grabbed his anti-g-suit and a spare for you to wear. As he suited up you couldn’t take your eyes off how good he looked. How could he look better than he already was?

“Enjoying the view?” Maverick teased. You averted your eyes, embarrassed from getting caught in the act.

Trying to change the subject you immediately asked, “ So where's the plane we are flying today?” Smiling at your attempt to divert his attention, he walked over to the giant plane that was present in his hanger. It was a beautiful P-51 Mustang with a red tail and a giant white star on its wings and sides.

He walked along the plane's length, admiring the beauty of the aircraft.

“She sure is beautiful.” You commented. You saw the love for his planes through his eyes. He never stopped wanting to fly, even rejecting a promotion from captain to a would be desk job with a higher rank. A silent nod came from Maverick, agreeing with your statement.

“I’ll get her prepped and we’ll be ready for takeoff.” Maverick left, leaving you in the hanger alone. Walking around, you noticed photos that were attached to his locker.

The first photo was of your fifth date. You leaned against his motorcycle admiring the sunset along the coast of a beach. The wind rushed through your hair as the salty air filled your lungs. The sun in all its golden glory was setting, it was a picturesque scene. Snap! Maverick had captured the moment. Turning your glance to him, you moved closer and closer. Eventually both of your lips had touched and a passionate kiss was shared. It was a wonderful memory that he decided to keep with that photo. Having you close to him in his mind even when he’s far from you.

The second photo was of Iceman and Maverick together. Even Though they were bitter rivals at first, it seemed that life had found a way to make them the best of friends. They still kept in contact from time to time. While Iceman had become a 4 star admiral, he still had time for his wingman.

The last photo was of Goose. He told you everything that had happened one quiet night. Sometimes the guilt of Goose’s death eats him up from the inside, even if he knows it wasn't his fault. However he knows that Goose would always be with him in spirit. During certain moments of duress you can catch him whispering, ‘talk to me Goose’, under his breath. Maverick knows that Goose would always be there with him and that alone gives him all the courage he needs to face the adversity that comes along in his life.

Closing the locker, you left the hanger with heavy thoughts, almost forgetting the flight you were about to take.

Getting into the backseat you put your headset on.

“Alright, are you ready?” As the plane’s engine fired up and the canopy was closed, the realisation set in, there was no escape. The blades spun faster and faster while the plane drove forward. And then, take off! The plane slowly rose up in the air, gaining speed and altitude every second.

“You alright hon?” Maverick’s voice came through your headset. You managed to squeak out a small ‘yes’ at first.

“Yeah, yeah it isn't actually that bad up here.” You admired the emerald green forests that grew below, the landscape was immaculate. Hills and mountains that rose thousands of metres high, all covered with lush vegetation. Flying through two mountains you saw why Maverick wanted to fly so early in the morning. The Sun rose framed between the mountains, its golden light slowly shining on every surface it could touch.

Enamoured with the sight you didn’t notice immediately that Maverick was slowly tilting the plane to the left. He flew closer and closer to the mountain side, the only thing alerting you was his silence and the changing angle of the plane.

“Mav! Don’t you think we’re a bit close to the Mountain?” He laughs

“You see these trees here right?”

“Yeah I can see them but I don't need to be so close to them!” Maverick let out one last light hearted chuckle before returning the plane to a neutral position in the air.

After a few more acrobatics in the air and multiple screams of Maverick’s name he promised to fly you back straight.

However this time the plane was upside down.

“MAVERICK! OH MY GOD. THIS ISN’T FLYING US STRAIGHT.” Curses came out of your mouth left and right like a sailor. Maverick flew like this only for a short time to your relief. He then turned the plane back to its normal flying position and flew you back while you scolded him for the stunts he pulled in the air.

Once you landed you got out of the plane and felt a slight sickness hit you. Hunching over trying to regain your stability, you held onto Maverick as he patted your back.

“I will admit that was fun but Pete Maverick Mitchell I swear to god if you do something like that again I am never flying with you again.”

“So you’re up for another flight?” You just glared at Maverick before breaking into a smile and looking away.

“No promises.”

#top gun #top gun maverick #maverick x reader #pete mitchell x reader #pete maverick mitchell #Pete maverick mitchell x reader

37 notes · View notes

i-like-potatoes · 2 years

Note

ty for your reply! its me my liberation notes anon! since my ask i was planning to come and talk about it more but i got soaked into the story every day that i didnt break out of it but the ep i just watched was too heavy not to get away from. their mom died :'( and so suddenly? i was not expecting it and it scared me to death... like one minute shes checking if her daughters bf is someone she should marry and the next, shes gone? god.. the scene when theyre at the funeral just breaks me. but one thing i really relate to is the sibling dynamic. my siblings and are i not that close. we're like roommates like they are.. and i always get a little jealous of families and siblings that were close cus im wondering what thats like. but when they had that moment together on the beach :'( god a lot has happened i dont even know what else to talk about. like i relate to each of their stories in different ways. i understand the exhausted mom, i get the sister wanting to find love, i get the one that has someone and lost him, i have the older brother that wants to take a break... also gu calling mijeong after idk how long ahhh 🥺 i hate how he left and how much she could've used him there but he has his own life and i really wonder how they all up and left to seoul. but this has been one of the most engaging dramas and nothing /that/ grand has happened. its just life, and its still very much so interesting. also the little comedy moments in the show is hilarious. i have 2 more eps left 😭

hi anon! i'm happy that you got back to me!! i wrote my previous reply assuming that you already finished the series, i'm sorry for that. did i spoil anything? 😅

this one’s pretty long so i kept the rest of my answer under the cut.

i understand what you mean. my liberation notes might not be for everyone, but once you connect to the characters and their stories, your heart opens up a little space for them to sit in.

about their mom :(( i did not see that coming either. it was so sudden that the only thing i could think of was that i'm glad that hyesuk had a bit of some good moments with the kids: asking mijeong if she's still in contact with mr. gu, sneaking in to see what kind of person gijeong dates, and that truck race with her husband and changhee.

i totally get you about the sibling dynamic. i have siblings too, although they're much younger than i am. we bicker a lot, we criticize each other's decisions, we get annoyed by each other's existence. but there are times where we just talk about deep things (life, plans, politics, etc.), talk about our worries and perhaps dreams, agree on the things we hate, and disagree with the things we love. sometimes, we just sit in comfortable silence, and that's it. that kind of thing. i remember you talking about the situation you're in from that ask where you found me in the replies. i hope that you're hanging in there, and i hope that you have someone, or maybe find someone, to speak your mind to.

the scene in the beach is so beautiful and emotional. i have no words for it (too).

like i relate to each of their stories in different ways.

yup, it's too realistic. you just resonate with them. that's why i can't hate gu for leaving like that because i see where he's coming from. i'm just really happy how mijeong and gu were all smiles the first time they met after a long time instead of dragging the heartache. i loved how they enjoyed their sunday saturday too.

but this has been one of the most engaging dramas and nothing that grand has happened. its just life, and its still very much so interesting.

right?! it's amazing how park hae young (writer) managed to write these characters and bring a drama into life. a piece you can really call a slice of life.

also, please tell me your thoughts when you're done watching. i wanna hear them!

btw, anon, are you the type of person who watches the intro of the shows they watch? i'm not sure if you noticed, but there's a bit of change in the opening from ep 13 (i think?) onwards. anyway, i really am emotional for the shows i watch, and i remember being so overwhelmed by the music that i ended up crying when i heard the change in the intro. weird.

#potato answers #mln anon 📒#and now im off to sleep~#my liberation notes

4 notes · View notes

hugsandchaos · 2 years

Text

Part 2 of the Octonauts post that no one asked for but I had to make anyways

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of death and alcohol addiction

Kwazii walked down the sandy path that went through the forest, the horizon visible through the leaves and branches. It feels like he’s been walking forever, even though he also just started. Did he? He only remembers following the sand path, nothing before that. The edge of the beach squeezed through the trees and bushes, almost encouraging him to pick up the pace. Kwazii did as the inaudible voice told him to and started running down the path, careful not to trip over any tree roots coming out of the ground. The sky above was getting dark, the clouds looked light, but not bright blue, and the sky was different colors of orange, purple, and dark blue. Above and behind him, the stars were staring to come out, as if they were following him. The sand path guided him to the beach, and there she was. A young black cat was wearing a pirate frock coat that was way too big for her over her shoulders, and Kwazii immediately recognized it as his own. She turned to him soon after he found his way to the beach and he could see she was also wearing the traditional white lineal shirt and black leather pants, and a pair of brown boots that looked almost a bit too big for her. She stood up and started running to him, and he did the same, running down the sandy slope while being careful not to slip. When they were close enough, Kwazii let himself fall to his knees and hunched over to hug the girl. She hugged back at the same time he hugged her and burrowed her face into his chest. She broke out sobbing and Kwazii’s eyes began to fill with tears as well, but he wasn’t going to cry.

He rubbed her back gently, moving his paw up and down, and stood up.”I don’t wanna die…” The girl said. Kwazii felt his heart take an emotional hit and held the kitten carefully in his arms.”I know, Uma… I don’t want you to die, either…” He said, careful to make sure his voice didn’t crack. He didn’t want his little sister to think he was lying or that she was going to die, he truly didn’t want that. He closed his eyes and Uma moved her head so she was resting it on his right shoulder, now crying hysterically. Kwazii couldn’t blame her, any child faced with the probability of death would be this upset, devastated even. Uma was right to be crying this much, but Kwazii still felt obligated as her big brother to calm her down.”Shh, shh… It’ll all be okay, you’ll be alright… Shhh…” Kwazii lowered his head a bit and opened his eyes to look at the ground. Uma tears began to soak his shirt and a few tears fell down from Kwazii’s face onto the face.”Shh…”

Later on, the sun was almost completely gone over the horizon. It didn’t hurt much to look at it and the stars were almost out completely, the moon in its waning crescent phase not too far behind. Uma had calmed down enough to stop crying and so did Kwazii. Uma closed her eyes and sniffled.”I wish this was real.” She said. After hearing those words, Kwazii remembered everything. His little sister’s death, her corpse being found drained of all life, him getting sick because he hugged her when she was found dead, and all those nights blacking out at the bar after drinking so much, the fact that this was just a dream... Everything hit him like a brick to the face.”Me too.” He said, giving his sister one last small squeeze.

Kwazii eyes slowly opened and he propped himself up halfway with his right forearm on the bed that strangely wasn’t his. He remembered what happened just as quickly as he questioned where he was.”Right, the bar fight…” Kwazii mumbled to himself, looking at the bandages covering his arm from his shoulder to his elbow for a second. There was no one with him as far as he could tell with his tear-filled vision, so he laid back down and wiped the tears from his eyes and cheeks, realizing he had been crying in his sleep. Kwazii pulled the blanket over his shoulder and he clutched it in one of his paws, feeling a sting every time he moved his left arm. He reminded himself that no one was around and that it was okay to cry, so that’s what he did. He curled up to himself a bit and kept his eyes shut as the tears began flowing down again. It didn’t take long until his breathing began to shake.

Soon or later, Kwazii was hiding under the blanket like a kitten and crying. He hadn’t cried in… over a year, actually. Maybe two. His ears lowered down and his eyes were still shut. The headache he often got while he was crying was definitely there, and he had curled up to himself even more on his right side.”Kwazii…?” Kwazii quickly covered his mouth and shot his eyes open as his muscles tensed. It was the captain’s voice. Sh*t. His ears lowered even more, now practically pinned against his head.”Are you okay?” Kwazii felt a paw lay on his left side and he did his best to stop his shaking and sudden breaths, trying to not look like a fool.”Aye, I’m fine.” He said. His voice was definitely unconvincing and he regretted speaking. It was quiet for a moment.”If you need to talk about it, you can. I won’t judge you, but if it’s not something you’re ready to talk about, then that’s alright. But don’t bottle up your emotions.” Barnacles said. Kwazii was quiet for a moment before turning over, making sure he was still under the blanket, and grabbed the captain’s arm. Kwazii was careful not to put any strain or weight on his left arm. Barnacles didn’t pull away and patted his back with the paw belonging to the arm that Kwazii grabbed. Kwazii probably didn’t want to outright hug someone right now, and he wasn’t scratching him, so Barnacles was okay with it.

Ten minutes passed by and Barnacles heard quiet snoring from under the blanket. He moved the blanket so it wasn’t covering Kwazii’s head anymore, so he could breathe better, and wiped the leftover tears from his friend’s face. Slowly, he pulled his arm away and replaced it with a pillow, which Kwazii hugged in a way that looked like he was trying to keep it safe instead of hoping the pillow would keep him safe.”Hope you have better dreams.” Barnacles whispered, gently rolling Kwazii back over onto his right side just to make sure he didn’t end up putting weight on his left arm, knowing how the pirate often sleeps with the arm of whatever side he sleeps on under his pillow. He returned to the spare bed he had slept on instead of his own bed, since the pirate had a bad habit sneaking off to go into his own room and lock himself in there while he was sick or injured, often ignoring the symptoms that he needs help. Barnacles just wanted to make sure he stayed where medical supplies was closest with that cut on his left arm, so he decided he’d stay up for just another five minutes and then go to bed if nothing happens. Just to make sure.

#au #octonauts #kwazii #captain barnacles #part 2 #hugsandchaos #octonauts slight angst #slight angst

2 notes · View notes